Marvel : Super Extraction

From a distance, a swarm of heavily armed terrorists advanced, their sneering faces and disorganized tactics making them seem like easy prey. But their sheer numbers and firepower: AK's, submachines, RPGs, and relentless determination, made them a deadly threat. Leon didn't need to issue further commands, his elite security team of sixteen, alongside the military personnel, had already taken positions. They waited patiently, their discipline unshaken, until the terrorists entered their firing range. Then, with deadly precision, they opened fire.

The terrorists retaliated, their weapons spitting fury. Submachine guns rattled, RPGs streaked through the air, and explosions punctuated the chaos, sending clouds of dust and shrapnel flying. Despite the ferocity of the attack, it paled in comparison to the coordinated defense mounted by Leon's team. The firefight was chaotic, but Leon's crew held the line, their training and teamwork cutting through the storm of violence.

Crouched behind a big rock, Tony Stark squinted at the enemy's gear, his sharp eyes catching something unsettling. "Damn, some of the equipment they've got is Stark Industries. I don't remember selling my weapons to terrorists," he said, his tone grim, a rare crack in his usual cocky demeanor.

Leon sneered, his voice laced with dark humor. "Come on, Tony, don't be so naive. Even if we don't directly supply arms to terrorists, there are plenty of ways our stuff ends up in the wrong hands. Black markets, shady deals, you name it."

Tony's expression darkened, a flicker of unease crossing his face. He didn't respond. Instead, he reached into the secured compartment of a downed military vehicle, yanking out a rifle. He chambered a round, his movements swift and practiced, and joined the fray. "Hah," he muttered under his breath as he squeezed the trigger three times. Each shot hit its mark, dropping terrorists like sacks of meat. For the first time, Tony Stark ended a life. Despite it being his first kill, his shooting was impressively precise, a testament to his meticulous nature as the largest arms manufacturer in the country. Tony tested everything he created, making modifications and adjustments to ensure perfection.

Meanwhile, Leon fumbled with his rifle, squeezing off shots that sailed wide, missing by miles. Tony snorted, reloading with a smirk. "Hahaha, man, your marksmanship is awful."

Leon didn't get a chance to snap back. His spider-sense screamed, a sniper's crosshairs locking onto Tony. Without thinking, Leon yanked Tony down behind cover just as a bullet zipped past, grazing where Tony's head had been a second ago.

Tony exhaled, pale but grinning. "Thanks, Leon, you just saved my life again," he panted, his bravado returning.

Leon shot him a wry look. "Be careful. Don't make it a habit."

....

High above the fray, on a ridge overlooking the battlefield, a middle-aged, bald man named Raza surveyed the carnage through a telescope. His face was twisted in cold fury. Raza was the same man who had captured Tony in the movie, threatening him to comply with demands to produce missiles. Now, watching the chaos unfold below, his eyes narrowed with determination. This was supposed to be a swift operation. Under normal circumstances, even the special forces would have been caught off guard by such a sudden, brutal assault. But Leon's team was holding strong, turning the tables.

Raza grabbed his radio and barked out orders, his voice sharp and merciless. "Increase the intensity of mortars- now!"

Almost immediately, the terrorists doubled down. Mortars and artillery began pounding the position where Leon and his team were holding out. Shell after shell rained down, the ground shaking with each impact. Leon's pupils contracted in warning, his spider-sense tingling non-stop, his nerves on fire.

"Rhodey, cover Tony!. I'm going to take out their artillery camp!" Leon shouted.

Rhodey's eyes bulged. "Hey, Leon! Are you out of your mind? That's suicide!"

Tony, catching his breath, chimed in. "Leon, we've been fighting for minutes now. The U.S. military's been alerted, they'll be here soon and bomb the shit out of them!"

Leon's jaw clenched, his gaze hardening. "We can't hold out until reinforcements arrive. Right now, the enemy is desperate to kill us. They'll overrun us first."

Realizing there was no time to debate further, Leon spotted a black box left behind by one of the fallen soldiers. He kicked it open, revealing a cache of grenades. In a flurry of movement, he clipped a belt's worth to his waist, slammed the box shut, and tossed it aside. Then, like a man possessed, he sprinted toward the enemy's artillery camp, his enhanced speed and spider sense guiding him through the chaos.

Raza, still perched on the ridge, caught the movement through his scope. "What the hell is he doing? Has he gone mad?" he snarled, enraged by the sight. "Bring me Barrett, now!"

A lackey scrambled over with a Barrett sniper rifle. Raza snatched it, braced it on a rock for stability, and took aim. Leon was a blur, closing fast, 1,300 meters and counting. Raza's finger tightened on the trigger, his cold eyes locked on his target.