Courtyard House: Initial Donation of 50 Million

The cold, metallic touch traveled from his fingertips as Tony Stark carefully picked up a small, dusty metal ingot. The only light source in the cave was the flickering kerosene lamp; in its dim light, the surface of the ingot was covered in impurities and pores. He weighed it in his hand, a sardonic smile creeping across his face as he glanced at the Ten Commandments gang leader beside him, who was watching him nervously.

"Wow," Tony's voice, tinged with exaggerated amazement, echoed clearly in the empty cave. "Purity... hmm, let me guess, sixty percent? Or fifty-five percent? This is the purest palladium I've ever seen! Which junkyard did you find this treasure at? Or did you mean by 'getting the materials on the list' you got, but actually just weighing them at a scrap yard?" He casually tossed the metal ingot back into the old tin bucket on the ground with a crisp clang. The ingot bounced once and rolled into a corner. "Using this to build Jericho? Ha! I bet the chance of it exploding is a hundred times higher than hitting its target! Are you planning to use it to set off fireworks for the enemy, or to send yourselves to their deaths in a suicide attack?"

The foreman's face instantly darkened to a grim, his withered hand gripping the pistol at his waist. Dr. Ethan's heart leaped into his throat. He quickly stepped forward and began explaining rapidly and in a low voice in the local language, trying to ease the tension. As he translated, he secretly winked at Tony, signaling him to tone it down.

Tony seemed oblivious, or rather, he simply didn't care. The sharp pain in his chest and the persistent discomfort from the battery gnawed at his nerves like venomous snakes; only this biting sarcasm could slightly alleviate his pent-up anger. He pointed to a pile of rusty, twisted scrap metal beside him: "And this 'high-quality steel'? Are you sure this is for making missile casings and not for building goat sheds? Oh, and that 'precision lathe,'" he pointed to an old, nearly broken machine in the corner, half its gears missing, "when was the last time it was used? World War II? To machine parts? I suggest you just bend it by hand; that would be more precise, at least you wouldn't turn the missile casings into pretzels."

"Enough!" The henchman finally snapped, yanking out his pistol, the dark muzzle pointed directly at Tony's forehead. His voice trembled with rage. "Stark! Don't think I won't kill you! We have ways to make you talk!"

The cold muzzle of the gun pressed against his skin, bringing a chilling sense of death. Tony's body stiffened instinctively, but there was no fear in his caramel-colored eyes; instead, a fiercer fire burned within them. He raised his head slightly, meeting the other man's almost spitting fire in his eyes, the mocking smile still playing on his lips: "Kill me? And then what? Expect this kind-hearted Dr. Ethan to help you build a Jericho capable of destroying Tel Aviv? Forgive my bluntness, but he's probably better suited to using this junk to build you an oven, baking some naan bread or something. Kill me, and you'll really have nothing left, including your 'grand plan' to attack Tel Aviv." He deliberately emphasized the words "grand plan," his sarcasm palpable.

The foreman's chest heaved violently, his knuckles white from gripping the gun so tightly. He stared intently at Tony, seemingly weighing the pros and cons. The cave was deathly silent, broken only by the crackling of the kerosene lamp and the faint sounds of guards talking in the distance.

A few seconds later, the foreman abruptly holstered his gun and spat fiercely. "Fine! Stark! I'll get you the materials you want! Higher purity palladium! Brand new steel! And... a lathe!" He practically gritted his teeth as he uttered the last two words. "But if you dare to play tricks, or if you can't make what we need..." His chilling gaze swept over Tony, finally settling on Ethan. "I'll let you two, and those 'disobedient' prisoners outside, experience something even more thrilling than waterboarding! Ethan! Keep an eye on him! You make a list of what he needs!"

After saying that, he left the cave with his men, filled with rage, without looking back.

Only when the footsteps completely disappeared at the end of the corridor did Ethan let out a long sigh of relief, his back soaked with cold sweat. He looked at Tony, his eyes filled with complex emotions—lingering fear mixed with a barely perceptible hint of admiration: "Tony…you were too reckless! He could have shot at any moment!"

Tony leaned against the cold stone wall, clutching his chest. His earlier bravado vanished, his face turning pale, and a fine layer of cold sweat beaded on his forehead. He gasped for breath before managing a weak smile. "Don't worry... Ethan... he wouldn't dare. He knows better than we do... my worth... especially in his foolish plan..." He paused, a sharp glint in his eyes. "However, he did remind me of something."

"What?" Ethan asked, puzzled.

"Time," Tony's voice deepened. "They won't give us much time. That leader... and the people behind him... have limited patience. We have to speed things up."

He struggled to sit up, his gaze sweeping over the pile of discarded scrap metal and rudimentary tools in the corner, yet his eyes scrutinized them like the most sophisticated instruments. "The list… give them the list I gave them last time. But what they really need…" he whispered, almost in a breath, "is those scraps they consider 'useless.' Copper wire… the more the better. And those old circuit boards… find a way to remove the capacitors and resistors… any model, as long as they work. And… that discarded generator casing… find a way to get it in, just say… say I need a sturdy workbench."

Ethan immediately understood Tony's intention, and his heart pounded. He nodded vigorously, "I understand! I'll figure something out!"

In the days that followed, the atmosphere in the cave became extremely subtle. On the surface, Tony and Ethan, under the watchful eyes of the Ten Commandments, were "seriously" studying the materials and blueprints needed to build the Jericho missile. Tony would occasionally complain about the inferior materials and outdated tools, drawing impatient rebukes from the watchers. But secretly, when the night was deep and quiet, and the watchers changed shifts or relaxed their guard, the two, like the most tacitly coordinated thieves, used every available moment to devote themselves to a secret and grand project.

The battery strapped to Tony's chest became both his biggest obstacle and his driving force. The pulling pain with every breath, the constriction of the wires with every movement, reminded him that he had to get rid of this burden as soon as possible. Under the cover of his daytime "missile research," he repeatedly calculated and modified the design drawings of the miniature electric arc reactor on rough scrap paper. Energy output, magnetic confinement structure, the size and purity requirements of the palladium core, cooling cycles… every parameter underwent countless revisions. Inspiration, like sparks in the darkness, constantly burst forth, collided, and refurbished in his mind. Sometimes he would stare at the flickering flame of the kerosene lamp, lost in long contemplation; other times he would suddenly grab a charcoal pencil, quickly sketching a key structural element on the stone wall, then swiftly erasing it.

"Here... the winding method of the magnetic confinement coil needs to be adjusted..." Late at night, Tony leaned in the dim light, pointed to a spot on the drawing, and whispered to Ethan, "The magnetic field uniformity produced by conventional Helmholtz coils is not enough... We need a more compact design with a larger field strength gradient... Perhaps we can borrow some principles from the tokamak device... but it must be miniaturized..." His voice was a little hoarse because of weakness, but his thoughts were exceptionally clear.

Ethan listened with trepidation. Although he wasn't a nuclear physics expert, his basic engineering skills told him just how groundbreaking Tony's design was. As an assistant, he carefully followed Tony's instructions, using rudimentary tools to process the collected "scraps"—stripping and straightening copper wires; salvaging usable micro-components from discarded circuit boards; and polishing the generator casing to create a sturdy base for the reactor.

"Tony, this palladium core... is still not pure enough, there are too many impurities..." Ethan looked at the palladium metal block in his hand, which was still not pure enough after repeated hammering and refining, and was full of worry.

Tony took it, examined it carefully under the light, and frowned. "There's no other way... limited resources. We can only compensate by adjusting the magnetic confinement parameters and energy output threshold... this will reduce efficiency and stability... but... it's better than nothing." A ruthless glint flashed in his eyes. "As long as it can start... as long as I can get rid of this damn battery!"