Chapter 26 I Am Iron Man
On the day the weapons division was shut down, Stark Industries' stock price was kicked off a cliff by someone.
It was green at the opening, and by closing it had plummeted into a sea of miserable red.
The financial channel host faced the camera, speaking at a rapid pace: "Stark Industries' stock price dropped by more than forty percent in a single day, setting the largest decline since the company's inception. The market generally believes that Tony Stark closing the weapons business is a complete commercial suicide."
The headlines the next day were even more ruthless:
"Genius or Madman? Tony Stark Personally Destroys His Own Empire"
"King of Weapons Transforms into a 'Philanthropist'? Wall Street: This Is the Worst Business Decision of the Century"
"How Many Steps Are Left for Stark Industries Until Bankruptcy Liquidation?"
Tony sat in his office with a stack of newspapers spread out before him, each one cursing more viciously than the last.
He flipped over the last newspaper, glanced at the boldly smiling photo of himself on the front page, threw it aside, and leaned back against the chair.
Pepper stood at the doorway, clutching a stack of documents in her hands, hesitating for a long time before speaking:
"The Board of Directors... at three o'clock this afternoon, there's another meeting. They want to discuss—"
"Discussing removing me from my position?"
Tony interrupted her.
Pepper didn't answer, but that silence itself was the answer.
"Let them hold it."
Tony said,
"I have things to do this afternoon, I'm not going."
"Tony,"
Pepper took a deep breath,
"Now is not the time to be stubborn. The stock price has plummeted like this, suppliers are urging for payments, partners are watching and waiting, and even from the Military side, Colonel Rhodes has called three times, saying he wants to talk with you about the matter of 'weapons business restructuring'."
"Rhodes?"
Tony sneered,
"Is he coming to persuade me too?"
"He isn't persuading you,"
Pepper said,
"He is worried about you."
The office was quiet for a moment.
Tony looked out the window, New York's skyline casting a grayish shadow on the glass.
He suddenly spoke, his voice a few degrees lower than before:
"Pepper, do you know what those people are saying about me?"
"...What are they saying?"
"Saying that I'm a rich second-generation heir who courted his own death."
Tony twitched the corner of his mouth, "Saying that I closed the weapons department because I was frightened out of my wits in Afghanistan. Saying that Stark Industrieswill be doomed sooner or later, all because of my arbitrary actions."
Pepper opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but swallowed it back down.
"But Pepper,"
Tony turned his head to look at her, something burning in those eyes,
"I wasn't frightened out of my wits."
"I have seen clearly—"
"Every artillery shell I sold, every bullet, ended up hitting people who shouldn't have been hit."
"That incident in Afghanistan wasn't because of bad luck; it was my own fault."
"I closed the weapons department not because I was afraid."
"It's because I don't want to be that 'genius weapons dealer' anymore."
Pepper stood in place, looking at him, and after a long while, softly said:
"...Then what do you plan to do this afternoon?"
Tony stood up, walked out from behind the desk, and when passing by her side, patted her shoulder, his tone suddenly reverting to that nonchalant appearance:
"This afternoon? I'm going to the Underground Room to do some serious work."
"What serious work?"
"Building something."
Tony said,
"Something that can win back the face I've lost, piece by piece."
Over the next twenty days, Tony locked himself in the underground laboratory.
Lynn went to see him once.
As soon as the laboratory door opened, a wave of scorched metal and engine oil hit his face. Tony was wearing a greasy work vest, his hair as messy as a chicken coop, squatting in front of a half-person-high metal skeleton, tightening something.
"Twenty days,"
Lynn leaned against the door frame,
"and you haven't even gone upstairs?"
"I have."
Tony didn't even raise his head,
"I went up three times, ate six meals, and took two showers."
"Your frequency is even lower than the hamster I keep."
"Does a hamster have as much to do as me?"
Tony finally looked up, grinning at him,
"Come over and look, isn't this thing handsome?"
Lynn walked over and circled around an unpainted metal skeleton.
The outline was already there, and the gold and red paint hadn't been applied yet, but just those lines exuded an aura of "this thing can fly."
"It is handsome."
Lynn said,
"But you don't really want to wear it and go do something, do you?"
"Whether I do or not, we'll talk about it when the time comes."
Tony patted the skeleton,
"Anyway, tomorrow afternoon, I'm going to hold a press conference."
"A press conference? To announce what?"
"To announce—"
Tony smiled mysteriously,
"To let the World know that I, Tony Stark, am not the 'good-for-nothing rich second-generation' they talk about in their mouths."
On the day of the press conference, New York, Stark Industries headquarters.
The lobby was jammed with media. Cameras and microphones were set up row after row, and camera flashes flickered like thunder.
Reporters whispered to each other, all guessing what Tony Stark had been brewing up over these twenty days.
Some guessed he was going to restart the weapons department, some guessed he was going to announce selling the company, and others guessed he was going to announce retirement.
"I bet he's going to announce remarrying."
A reporter lowered their voice and said.
"Has he ever been married?"
The companion rolled their eyes.
"Then let's bet he's going to announce transforming into selling sports cars."
"Stark Industries selling sports cars? Then the stock price would be cut in half again."
On the stage, Tony walked out in a sharp suit. It was rare for him to dress so formally, his tie tied straight and neat, except that he was clutching a piece of manuscript paper in his hand, his knuckles exerting a bit of force.
He stood still at the front of the stage, scanned the reporters below, and cleared his throat:
"Ladies and gentlemen, good afternoon."
The audience below quieted down, and the sound of camera shutters clicked away.
"During this period of time, a lot of things have happened."
Tony lowered his head, glanced at the words on the manuscript, and read very slowly,
"Some people ask me why I suddenly closed the weapons department."
"Some people ask me if I'm panicked with the stock price dropping like this. And others ask if I was frightened out of my wits in Afghanistan."
He turned a page of the manuscript and continued reading:
"Regarding these questions, I want to say..."
He paused for a moment.
Hundreds of pairs of eyes below stared at him.
Tony glanced at the manuscript again, and suddenly stopped reading.
He lowered his head, looking at that piece of paper as if looking at something boring.
Then he made a movement that caught the entire audience off guard:
He crumpled the manuscript into a ball and casually threw it aside.
"Forget it."
He said,
"This manuscript is written like chanting scriptures, it's not my style."
A low commotion broke out in the audience.
Tony raised his head, looked at the camera, and suddenly smiled.
That smile carried a bit of rogue charm, carrying a bit of the satisfaction of "I've been holding it in for twenty days and finally get to say it":
"The stock price dropped? It doesn't matter. The weapons department closed? Whatever. You say I'm crazy? Say whatever you want."
"Because"
"starting from today, I am no longer that arms-dealing Tony Stark."
He paused, his gaze sweeping across the entire audience, word by word:
"I am Iron Man."
The whole venue went silent.
It was quiet for about two seconds. In those two seconds, hundreds of cameras stubbornly failed to press their shutters, and hundreds of reporters stubbornly failed to make a sound. The air seemed as if it had been sucked dry.
Then, it exploded.
The sound of shutters slammed down like a rainstorm, and camera flashes connected into a vast sea of white light. Reporters stood up with a rustle, raising microphones and squeezing towards the front of the stage, shouts rising and falling one after another:
"Mr. Stark! Are you saying that you are that Iron Man who saved people in Afghanistan?!"
"When did you start building the armor?!"
"Does the Military know about this?!"
Tony stood on the stage, submerged by that sea of light, yet standing straight.
He listened to those exploding questions, didn't answer, and just smiled.
At the same time, the trading floor of the New York Stock Exchange.
On the big screen, Stark Industries' stock price was shooting upwards at a speed visible to the naked eye.
The pitch-red numbers turned green bit by bit, climbing higher, traders staring at the screen with eyes wide open.
"...It's rising?"
Someone murmured,
"It was still falling just now,"
"and now—"
"It's risen!" someone next to them shouted out, "It hit the daily limit!"
At the same time, Washington, S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters.
Fury stood in the office, looking at the live broadcast screen on the big screen.
Tony Stark stood in a field of white light, smiling boldly. He was silent for a long time, his single eye unable to reveal any emotion in the screen's light, and after a long while he finally spoke:
"...Interesting."
"This kid has pulled himself up from the bottom of the valley."
The press conference dispersed, backstage.
When Tony walked in, his tie was already loosened, and his hair was messed up from being squeezed, but his eyes were frighteningly bright.
Lynn leaned against the corridor wall, looking at him, and suddenly let out a laugh:
"The stock price hit the daily limit. What you said just now was worth hundreds of millions."
"What's being worth hundreds of millions."
Tony tugged at his tie,
"This is me winning back all the face I lost."
"Won it back."
Lynn nodded,
"Only, guess how many people want to peel off your iron shell right now to see what's actually inside?"
Tony was stunned:
"What do you mean?"
Lynn didn't answer. He took out his phone, the screen lit up, showing a newly received message:
[Ten Rings Gang remnants, making a move tonight. Target: Your brother.]
He glanced at the message, then looked at Tony, put his phone back into his pocket, his tone bland:
"Meaning that you fought this comeback battle beautifully."
"But beautiful battles always invite hatred."
Tony looked at him, the smile on his face gradually receding bit by bit.
Chapter 27: Meeting Ivy Blake at the Hotel
New York, late at night.
"I'm back in New York. Want to see you. Same old place, top-floor suite."
Sender: Ivy Blake.
Lynn looked at those words, his thumb pausing on the screen for two seconds.
He thought of that night in Singapore, the way she shoved the list into his hand, and what she had said:
"Favors are like things you save up; there will always come a day when you can use them."
He replied with a message:
"Fifteen minutes."
The top-floor suite door was ajar.
Lynn pushed the door open and went in. The room was dimly lit, and outside the floor-to-ceiling windows was the night view of New York, densely stretching all the way to the horizon.
Ivy was standing by the window holding a glass of red wine. Hearing the commotion, she turned back, saw him, and smiled. "You haven't changed at all."
"Neither have you."
Lynn walked over and sat down on the sofa next to her.
"Short hair suits you well."
"Spare me that nonsense."
Ivy put down her wine glass, walked up to him, and looked down at him from above.
"After that night in Singapore, you never looked for me again. I thought you had forgotten about me."
"I didn't forget."
Lynn said,
"I just had a lot of things going on."
"I know you've been busy."
Ivy reached out, her fingertips hooking onto his collar.
"You handled that business in Bangkok quite beautifully. You got the list and took down the laboratory."
"I heard even S.H.I.E.L.D. made a note of you."
"You're quite well-informed."
"In my line of work, if you aren't well-informed, you'd be dead long ago."
As she spoke, she pressed closer, her knees against the edge of the sofa, looking down at him.
"So, how do you plan to thank me tonight?"
Lynn tilted his head back to look at her and smiled.
"How would you like me to thank you?"
"What do you think?"
She stood on tiptoe, kissed him, and added in a muffled voice,
"What you owe me is more than just a list."
This kiss came dense and hurried, carrying a sense of things pent up for a long time.
Her fingertips slid down his collar, unbuttoning his buttons. Her movements were more practiced than that night in Bangkok, as if rehearsed countless times.
Lynn reached out, gripped her waist, and pulled her into his arms.
After the upgrade, Wheel King's body was a cheat-like existence.
In the first round, she still had the energy to be stubborn, panting against his shoulder and saying,
"You're just so-so."
By the second round, she had started biting the corner of the pillow, her voice suppressed in her throat, intermittently scolding him,
"Did you take medicine again?"
By the third round, she completely softened up, burying her face in the nook of his neck, her voice trembling beyond recognition:
"...Just how many tricks do you still have up your sleeve?"
"Plenty."
Lynn's voice pressed against her earlobe with a hint of mischief,
"Do you want to try them one by one?"
"...Spare me."
"Can't spare you."
He said,
"You delivered yourself to my door."
She bit his shoulder, half-angry and half-smiling, halfway through the smile she was panting again.
(Omitted here.)
In the middle of it, Lynn's cell phone on the bedside table vibrated several times.
He reached out to grab it and glanced at the screen.
It was a message from Tony, several in a row:
"Lynn! Did you see the news?"
"Those bastards from the Ten Rings Gang actually dared to come!"
"Tonight, I'll let them experience what Iron Man is!"
Holding the phone, Lynn looked at those messages and then glanced out the window.
A tablet happened to be placed on the bedside table, its screen still lit, broadcasting a live stream.
At the New York port, an abandoned dock warehouse was ablaze with fire. A gold and red figure shuttled through the flames, punching and kicking, knocking down figures one after another.
It was Tony.
His first actual combat as Iron Man.
In the video, Tony punched a gun-wielding figure away. The moment he landed, the camera zoomed in.
He raised his hand, and the repulsor beam from his palm flipped the last truck over. The firelight reflected off the white eye lenses on his helmet, glaringly bright.
The live broadcast host's voice trembled with excitement:
"Oh my god... This is real! Tony Stark! He really is Iron Man! The Ten Rings Gang's attack was completely fended off by him alone!"
Lynn looked at the screen without speaking.
Lying beside him, Ivy also saw the screen, froze for a few seconds, and suddenly said:
"Your brother... is quite fierce."
"Mmm."
Lynn turned the tablet around. "He's been holding back for twenty days, just waiting for this moment tonight."
"And you?"
Ivy turned her head to look at him,
"Your brother has become a superhero, do you plan to just keep being that 'younger son of the Stark Family' forever?"
Lynn didn't answer.
He put the tablet back on the bedside table, lay back down, and looked at the ceiling.
As for Tony and the Ten Rings Gang, it seemed he didn't need to worry about it.
Then the remaining...
"Pierce."
He suddenly spoke up.
Ivy's movements paused for a second:
"Who did you say?"
"Alexander Pierce."
Lynn turned his head to look at her,
"The former Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. In that list of yours, the group that traded with Obadiah, their superior is one of Pierce's people."
Ivy was silent for a few seconds, propping her chin up to look at him:
"How do you know about him?"
"Santa Monica. A retired old employee told me."
Lynn said,
"Back then, he deleted my father's files for someone. The mastermind behind the deletion pointed to Pierce."
Ivy didn't answer. After a long while, she slowly spoke:
"...Pierce, I've had contact with him. Not direct contact, but I saw him from afar at some cocktail party. The feeling he gave me didn't feel like a retired Director."
"Like what?"
"Like someone..."
Ivy deliberated her choice of words,
"Sitting behind the scenes, holding many threads in his hands, yet never revealing any emotion. That kind of person, you watch him smile, but you have no idea what thoughts are turning in his stomach."
"What else do you know?"
Ivy looked at him for a moment, as if hesitating.
Finally, as if having made up her mind, she took a photo out of the bedside table drawer and handed it to him:
"This is something from the last few pages of my list. I've never figured out what it's for, but if you're investigating Pierce, you might find this photo useful."
Lynn took it.
On the photo was a snapshot from a cocktail party.
In the center of the frame, a white-haired man in a suit and tie was holding a wine glass and talking to someone—it was Alexander Pierce. And in the corner of the photo, a person stood with their back to the camera, revealing only half of their side profile.
Lynn stared at that half of the side profile, his pupils slightly contracting.
That person, he knew.
It was identical to the demeanor of the figure he saw that night on the top floor of Stark Industries when listening through the crack of the door while Obadiah was on the phone.
No. He stared at that side profile, the more he looked, the more familiar it seemed.
He suddenly remembered—that was the appearance of the young assistant standing behind Howard in a yellowed group photo within Howard's old archives.
"...Interesting."
Lynn put the photo away and said in a low voice,
"I'll take this photo."
"What are you going to do?"
Ivy asked.
"Return to Washington."
Lynn lifted the blanket and got out of bed,
"Go meet this 'former Director'."
"Now?"
"Now."
Lynn said while putting on his clothes,
"As for Tony, he can handle it himself. Over on my side, it's time to close the net."
He turned back, glanced at Ivy lying on the bed still flushed with warmth, paused, and added:
"Thanks. Consider this photo another favor you've saved up."
"Favors don't need to be repaid."
Wrapped in the blanket, watching him put on his coat, Ivysuddenly gave a little smile,
"As long as a person like you can remember not to forget me, that's enough."
Walking to the door, Lynn paused without looking back. "I won't forget."
The door closed.
Lying on the bed, listening to the footsteps fading down the corridor, Ivy sighed softly and buried her face in the pillow.
Outside the window, the night in New York was still very deep.
Chapter 28: Brother Hero
Early morning, New York, at the hotel entrance.
The cold wind poured into his collar, Lynn shrunk his neck and suddenly stopped.
Under the street lamp across the street, a person was leaning.
Red hair, a black trench coat, holding a cigarette between her fingertips, the flame flickering in the winter night.
She saw Lynn and didn't move, just looking at him across the street, as if she had been waiting for him here for a long time, or as if she were just passing by.
Natasha.
Lynn crossed the street and walked over, stopping in front of her.
"What are you doing here?"
He asked.
"Mission ended, just passing by."
Natasha exhaled a puff of smoke, her green eyes looking at him under the light,
"Just came out of the airport and saw you coming out of that hotel.
Oh, I thought I recognized the wrong person."
"...How long have you been watching me?"
"Not long."
She stubbed out the cigarette butt, "Just enough for me to confirm that you indeed came out of that hotel."
Lynn looked at her, suddenly wanting to smile a little:
"So you came specifically to intercept me?"
"Not really."
Natasha said, "Just happened to remember
that you said last time if I wanted to find you for a drink I could come to that bar anytime. As a result, I waited for you for three months, and there wasn't even a shadow of you."
"..."
"What, can't speak?"
Natasha took a step forward, looked up at him, her green eyes carrying an indescribable meaning,
"Lynn, did you, this person, forget about me?"
"Didn't forget."
Lynn looked down at her,
"Just too many things to do."
"You have a lot of things to do, I know."
Natasha said,
"Bangkok, Santa Monica, Washington.
In these three months, you ran around even more diligently than me, an Agent."
"Your news is quite well-informed."
"In my line of work, if the news isn't well-informed, I'd be dead long ago."
She reached out, her fingertips tapping the collar of his chest,
"However,
there is someone else's perfume on your clothes. Quite familiar, it's that kind of... brand commonly used by modeling agencies."
Lynn:
"..."
"Did I guess right?"
Natasha raised an eyebrow.
"Your nose is sharper than a dog's."
"Thanks for the compliment."
As she spoke, she suddenly hooked his collar, pulled him slightly towards her, and lowered her voice,
"So
tonight, how do you plan to compensate me, a person who waited for you for three months?"
Lynn lowered his head, looking at her green eyes that were astonishingly bright in the winter night, and smiled:
"How do you want to be compensated?"
"What do you think?"
She let out her hand, turned around and walked toward the street corner without looking back,
"Keep up. Where I live is two blocks away from here."
Hotel room, once the door closed, the heating rushed towards them.
Natasha didn't turn on the light, used the street lamp outside the window, pinned him against the door, and kissed him.
Her kiss was different from both Ivy and Hill,
carrying a hint of a "hunter's" tenacity, as if she wanted to settle the accounts accumulated over these three months all at once.
Lynn clasped her waist, turned her back and pinned her back, the two exchanging a couple of moves in the dark,
she reached out to clasp his wrist, wanting to regain the upper hand, but was seen through half a beat in advance and pinned back;
she lifted her knee to thrust forward, he sidestepped to make way, and smoothly picked her up and pressed her into the bed.
"Your reactions are still so fast."
She panted and let out a laugh in the dark.
"You aren't slow either."
Lynn said,
"It's just that compared to making turns, you're still a bit lacking."
"What turn?"
"You'll know once you try."
Everything that followed was a tug-of-war between the two people.
Natasha's trained body had excellent resilience, no matter how much they tossed about she wouldn't fall apart, instead getting braver the more they fought.
She seemed to treat this "game" as a mission, trying time and again to figure out his rhythm and snatch back the initiative.
But "autonomous turning" would always suddenly swerve in another direction just as she had grasped the pattern,
crashing her carefully deployed defense line into disarray.
"You..."
Towards the end, her voice finally carried an out-of-control tremor, her fingers grasping his shoulders tightly,
"What kind of... routine is this of yours?"
"Veteran driver's routine."
Lynn's voice brushed against her earlobe,
"It emphasizes catching people off guard."
"...You just wait,"
she bit her lip and made a fierce remark,
"I will always figure out your pattern."
"Then take your time figuring it out."
Lynn said,
"Anyway, once my turns start making turns, they never stop."
In the end, she didn't figure it out after all.
By the late night, she completely gave up resisting, lying prone on his chest, panting so much she couldn't speak fluently, and after a long while squeezed out a sentence:
"...You person, really, are a monster."
"Thanks for the compliment."
Lynn stroked her red hair,
"You're not bad either. Changed to anyone else, they would have passed out long ago."
"Of course."
She hummed, and after a while, suddenly came out with a non-sequitur:
"Your brother, that show last night, did you watch it?"
"Watched it."
Lynn said,
"One person wiped out the Ten Rings Gang, quite handsome."
"Iron Man, right."
Natasha turned her head sideways, looking at him in the dark,
"Have you never thought about
letting your brother hook you up with a set too?"
"...How do you know I was thinking about this?"
"I guessed it."
She let out a laugh,
"Which man doesn't like Iron Man?"
Lynn didn't answer, reached out to take the phone on the bedside table, and glanced at the time: half past four in the morning.
After thinking about it, he still dialed Tony's phone.
It rang several times before it was answered. Tony's voice carried a heavy sleepiness and ruffled wake-up anger:
"...What the fuck, it's four thirty in the morning—"
"Tony."
Lynn interrupted him, "I want to discuss something with you."
"What is it?"
"Build a suit of armor for me too."
On the other end of the phone, it was quiet for a few seconds.
Then Tony's voice became as sober as could be:
"...What did you say?"
"I said,"
Lynn said,
"Build a set for me too. Matching brother edition, one set for each of us."
"You want one too?!"
Tony's voice suddenly pitched up,
"Didn't you say before that you were just an idler?! Didn't you say you just wanted to lie flat and enjoy life?! Didn't you say whoever loves saving the World can go save it?!"
"Times have changed."
Lynn said, "Besides, which man doesn't like Iron Man?"
"..."
Tony fell silent on the other end of the phone, as if digesting the fact that "his own younger brother suddenly wanted to wear an iron shell."
After a long while, he finally spoke, his voice carrying a complex tone, "Fine. If you want it built, your brother will build it for you. But"
"But what?"
"But I have to ask first,"
Tony's voice lowered a bit,
"is there another woman lying next to you?"
"..."
"I heard breathing on your side."
"...Hang up, I'll find you tomorrow."
"Hey you wait—
Hello? Hello!"
Lynn hung up the phone and threw it back onto the bedside table.
In the dark, Natasha let out a muffled laugh:
"Your brother is quite interesting."
"He's just like that."
Lynn said,
"Big-mouthed."
"Then what color are you planning to paint that suit of armor of yours?"
she asked,
"Same as your brother, gold and red?"
"No."
Lynn thought about it, "Black, let's say."
"Black?"
"Low-key."
Lynn said,
"I'm a person who doesn't like to be too flashy."
Natasha looked at him in the dark and suddenly said:
"A black armor matches you—"
She paused,
"it really suits you quite well."
The sky outside the window slowly brightened.
Lynn lay there, looking at the ceiling.
Over on Tony's side, the matter of the armor was settled. Going back to Washington to investigate Pierce's matter should also be put on the agenda.
Chapter 29: Black Armor
Early morning, New York, the top floor of the hotel.
Lynn was woken up by the unconscious movements of the person beside him.
Natasha was fast asleep, lying on her side with even breaths. Her red hair was scattered across the pillow, revealing a section of her clean-lined nape.
He turned his head sideways, watched her for a moment, and remained silent.
Then he rolled over and moved closer.
Natasha let out a drowsy "Mn," subconsciously dodging to the other side, and mumbled vaguely:
"... Stop messing around, let me sleep a bit longer."
"It's dawn."
Lynn pressed against her nape and said:
"It's time for morning exercise."
"... Morning exercise my ass."
She cursed with her eyes closed, her voice heavy with sleepiness,
"Go run laps by yourself."
"Running laps is so boring."
Lynn's hand had already rested on her waist,
"Let's practice something else together."
"... Don't—"
Before she could finish her sentence, her voice suddenly changed pitch. She abruptly opened her eyes and glared back at him, those green eyes still carrying lingering sleepiness,
"You, early in the morning—"
"The early bird catches the worm."
Lynn looked completely innocent,
"I call this cherishing the morning time."
"... You call this cherishing time?"
She glared at him, both angry and annoyed, a lingering flush still on her face, yet her voice had softened by a few degrees,
"You tossed me around until 4:30 AM last night, you—"
"From 4:30 AM until now,"
Lynn said,
"you've also slept for over three hours. That's enough."
"Enough my ass—"
Halfway through her curse, her voice changed pitch again, the rest of her words choked in her throat as she squeezed out a short, hurried muffled grunt from her nasal cavity.
She bit her lip, trying to prop up her body, but her arms turned soft. Midway through propping herself up, she collapsed back down, able only to turn her head sideways to glare at him, her eye sockets watery, both angry and helpless against him.
"You just wait,"
she threatened breathlessly,
"once I recover, I'm not letting you off."
"Fine."
Lynn said,
"I'll wait. Anyway, before you recover, I can still make a few more turns."
"... You!"
The morning light brightened bit by bit.
This session of "morning exercise"
dragged on from early morning until the sun climbed high.
Natasha went from being stubborn-mouthed to giving in, to completely giving up resistance, until finally she didn't even have the strength to curse.
She lay prone on the bed, her face buried in the pillow, her red hair scattered messily over her shoulders, her voice hoarse beyond recognition:
"... What time is it?"
"Almost ten o'clock."
Lynn leaned against the head of the bed, glanced at his phone, and said,
"Still early."
"Early my ass."
She cursed muffledly,
"I have a mission briefing at noon—"
"Then we'll talk about it in the afternoon."
Lynn reached out and pushed aside the sweat-dampened red hair on her face,
"Anyway, you also said last night that you waited for me for three months."
"... You really keep a clear account of things."
"Mn."
Lynn said,
"Accounts that should be settled won't miss a single one."
After a while, as if she had finally recovered a bit, she rolled over, lay on her side to look at him, and suddenly blurted out inexplicably:
"Are you going to your brother's place later?"
"How did you know?"
"You were on the phone last night talking about the armor."
Natasha looked at him,
"Black armor, low-profile, not flashy. I remember all of it."
"Pretty good memory."
"In my line of work, if your memory wasn't good, you'd be dead long ago."
As she spoke, she propped herself up and left a faint kiss at the corner of his lips,
"Go on. When your suit of 'Black Iron' is made, remember to wear it for me first."
"Fine."
Lynn said,
"The first one will definitely be you."
"That's more like it."
She wrapped herself tightly in the quilt, rolled over, her voice already carrying heavy sleepiness,
"... Then I'll catch up on some sleep. Pull the door shut when you leave."
"Mn."
Lynn got up, put on his clothes, walked to the door, and glanced back.
Natasha had fallen asleep again, her red hair spread across the pillow, breathing steadily as if she was truly exhausted.
He pulled open the door and closed it softly behind him.
Stark Industries, underground laboratory.
When Lynn pushed the door open and entered, Tony was squatting in front of a brand-new metal skeleton, holding a welding torch in his hand without even raising his head:
"You're here? Come over and look—"
"Your older brother here modified it for you overnight last night."
Lynn walked over.
That skeleton was different from Tony's gold-and-red one.
It was matte black all over, without too many decorative lines, clean-lined like an unsharpened blade.
The reactor on the chest glowed with a ring of cold blue light, quietly pulsating in the dim laboratory.
"Black."
Tony put down the welding torch, stood up, and clapped his hands,
"Didn't you say you wanted to be low-profile? I equipped you with a full set of matte coating. When you go out at night, it won't reflect even under a street lamp,
It specializes in the'stealth build'."
"... You really understand me."
"Of course."
Tony patted the shoulder armor of the suit,
"Your older brother here understands you best. However—"
He paused, looked Lynn up and down, and said,
"I'm actually a bit curious, why did you suddenly want to wear this thing? Didn't you say before that whoever loves saving the World can go do it?"
"Times have changed," Lynn said. "And—that fight of yours last night was quite handsome. I want a matching one too."
"Just this?"
"Just this."
Tony stared at him for two seconds, then suddenly laughed, his smile carrying a bit of the flavor of "I believe your ghost":
"Fine. If you don't say, I won't ask. Anyway, now that this thing is built, whether you want to wear it is up to you."
He turned around, picked up a document from the table, and tossed it to Lynn,
"However, since you're getting into this, there are some things you need to know.
This is the latest progress on the miniaturization of the Arc Reactor. The energy core of your armor is the same model as mine, but I've turned down the power by two gears,
Why, you know in your heart, right?"
"Afraid I'll use it to cause trouble?"
"Afraid you'll blow yourself up."
Tony said,
"You're not a professional doing this. Since it's your first time handling it, play it safe."
"Fine."
Lynn put away the document, "Then I'll try it out first."
Just as he was about to walk toward the armor, his phone suddenly rang.
Lynn glanced at the screen; it was an unknown number. He picked it up without speaking, listened for a few seconds, and his expression changed slightly.
"... Are you sure?"
The person on the other end of the phone said something. Holding the phone, Lynn glanced at Tony, then withdrew his gaze, lowering his voice a bit:
"Alright, I understand. I'll arrive tomorrow."
Hanging up the phone, he put the phone into his pocket and fell silent for a few seconds.
"What's wrong?"
Tony asked,
"Your expression is looking wrong again."
"Nothing."
Lynn said,
"It's just that—
Over in Washington, an 'old friend' is reporting for duty tomorrow."
"Who?"
"Alexander Pierce."
Lynn said,
"The former Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.. I heard he's going to the Triskelion tomorrow to give a 'farewell speech', and by the way, meet a few old acquaintances."
Tony was stunned for a moment:
"Pierce? The one you checked before—"
"Mn."
Lynn interrupted him,
"All the ends of the threads have converged on him. I'll go meet him tomorrow."
"You're going alone?"
Tony frowned. "S.H.I.E.L.D.'s turf—"
"What about S.H.I.E.L.D.'s turf?"
Lynn walked up to the black armor, reached out, and touched the cold shoulder armor,
"Just right, this suit of 'Black Iron' of mine is also due for a test of its quality."
He turned his head back and grinned at Tony:
"Tony, you say, if I, a 'younger son of the Stark Family', were to wear a suit of Black Iron armor and barge into the former S.H.I.E.L.D. Director's speech venue, what kind of effect would that be?"
Tony looked at him for a long time, then cursed:
"... You fucking madman."
"Madmen are great."
Lynn said,
"Only a madman can suppress those people hiding in the shadows."
Outside the window, New York's skyline gleamed white under the midday sun.
And in the direction of Washington, a long-concocted confrontation was waiting for him.
Chapter 30: The Former Director's Speech
Washington, 2:00 PM.
The sky was overcast, and the wind whipped across the Potomac River, carrying a damp, fishy stench mixed with soil and exhaust fumes that poured into the collar.
Lynn wore his matte black armor, standing on the rooftop opposite the Triskelion, the thrusters humming as they warmed up behind him, vibrating his shoulder blades until they went numb.
The HUD inside the helmet glowed with a cold blue light, and Tony's voice came through the earpiece with a hint of gloating:
"Hey, just a reminder, the power output I configured for you can only sustain a vertical descent for fifteen seconds at most."
"You'd better not put on a hovering performance for me in the air, or if you fall and land face-first, I'm not taking responsibility."
"Fifteen seconds is enough."
Lynn looked at the grayish-white building opposite,
"I'm not here to shoot a movie."
"Then what are you here for?"
"To crash the place."
With that, his thrusters blasted fiercely, and his entire body slanted outward, tracing a rather ungraceful arc through the air,
like a black iron toad being thrown, crashing toward the window of the top-floor conference room of the Triskelion.
The sound of shattering glass exploded within the conference room.
Pierce was standing at the podium, holding a cup of water, right as he spoke the word "inheritance".
His hair was graying, his suit was impeccably ironed, and a scent of old-fashioned cologne drifted from him, making him as steady as a piece of oil-soaked wood.
Shards of glass smashed down head-on, but he didn't even blink, merely tilting his head slightly to watch the black figure that rolled in from outside the window and slid half a circle across the floor before coming to a steady stop.
The entire room was dead silent.
Sitting below were dozens of people—
S.H.I.E.L.D. department heads, Military representatives, and Nick Fury, sitting in the front row with his single eye staring fixedly at the stage.
Hill sat beside Fury, originally twirling a pen in her hand, but at this moment the pen stopped at her fingertips, and she looked up, her gaze falling upon the black iron armor as the corners of her mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.
Lynn climbed up from the ground, the joints of his armor making clicking sounds.
The HUD inside the helmet was throwing errors frantically, and Tony's earpiece was still exploding:
"I told you! The power output was turned down! Are you fucking treating yourself like Iron Man?!"
"Shut up."
Lynn cursed under his breath and raised his hand to turn off the earpiece.
He stood straight, swept his gaze around the room, and finally pinned his eyes on Pierce's face at the podium.
"Sorry, I took the wrong door."
He spoke, and the armor's built-in loudspeaker magnified his voice with a slightly metallic echo,
"I should have registered and entered through the front desk, but the front desk lady asked if I needed a visitor badge, and I said no, I brought my own skin."
Someone in the audience gasped sharply, and someone instinctively reached for the gun at their waist.
Pierce looked at him, slowly setting down the cup of water in his hand, and the smile of a "kind elder" on his face faded away little by little:
"Young man, do you know what the crime is for trespassing into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s highest-level conference room?"
"I don't know."
Lynn took two steps forward, the armor crunching on the shattered glass,
"But I know that hiring hitmen, trafficking arms, and deleting my old man's file—add those three things together, and it's enough for you to celebrate your eightieth birthday in prison."
The air in the conference room seemed frozen.
Fury sat in the front row without moving, his single eye scanning back and forth between Lynn and Pierce before suddenly leaning back against the chair, adopting a posture of "I'm just here to watch the show."
Pierce's expression finally darkened completely.
He stared at Lynn, his voice lowering:
"You are Howard's son."
"Good memory."
Lynn walked up to the podium, pulled the old hard drive out from the storage slot of his armor,
and slapped it onto the podium in front of Pierce with a loud smack,
"The things William Strauss deleted on December 1, 1991, are backed up right here."
"And also—"
He slapped down the photograph again; on it, Pierce was holding a wine glass, and a side profile in the corner was clearly visible.
"This person taking a photo with you, Obadiah Stane, you're familiar with him, right? Half a year before he died, he made a deal with you regarding the Power Laboratory."
Pierce's gaze fell upon the photograph. His fingers trembled ever so slightly, but quickly steadied.
He raised his head, looked at Lynn, and suddenly smiled, smiling so warmly and gently as if he were coaxing a throwing-a-tantrum child:
"Young man, you've been misled. These materials were deliberately forged by someone to provoke discord within S.H.I.E.L.D.."
"Forged?"
Lynn also smiled,
"Then how about I play the audio in the hard drive right now? Let everyone present hear how you and Obadiahdiscussed selling my brother to the Ten Rings Gang?"
Pierce didn't speak.
His gaze moved away from Lynn's face and swept toward the corner of the conference room.
Standing in the corner were two security guards in black suits, their hands resting behind their waists, knuckles turning white.
Lynn's Spider-Sense pierced into the back of his head like a needle.
"Don't move."
Without turning his head, his voice exploded through the loudspeaker,
"You two, keep your hands away from your holsters."
"I'm a fast reactor; the moment your fingers touch the trigger, I can have you lying on the floor. It's all about pre-judgment."
Those two security guards froze.
Fury finally stood up, his single eye staring at Lynn as he said in a low voice:
"Stark, that's enough. This is S.H.I.E.L.D., not your living room."
"I know."
Lynn tilted his head to look at him,
"That's why I dressed like this to come here, in case you were poor hosts."
The corner of Fury's mouth twitched, as if he wanted to laugh but held it back.
Taking advantage of this brief moment of chaos, Piercesuddenly moved.
He violently knocked over the water cup on the podium, the water splashing onto the hard drive, while at the same time he turned and retreated toward the side door.
He retreated very quickly, completely unlike a seventy-year-old man.
Lynn had been prepared. He activated his armor thrusters, pushed the power to the maximum, and a light blue airflow spewed from his back. Like a cannonball, he smashed through the blocking chairs and caught up to Pierce in two steps.
An iron palm slammed against the wall beside Pierce's ear with a loud bang, pinning the old man firmly in place.
"What are you running for?"
Lynn looked down at him, the helmet's faceplate popping open with a click to reveal his young face,
"Didn't you just say that I was misled?"
Pierce was pressed against the wall, panting, his well-maintained face finally twisting.
He stared at Lynn, the gentleness in the depths of his eyes completely torn apart, revealing the gloomy and ruthless streak underneath:
"...You and your father are really alike. Both of you are so unyielding to the times."
"Thanks for the compliment."
Lynn said, "But my dad didn't know how to yield to the times, and ended up in a car crash. I'm not like him."
He leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice so only Pierce could hear,
"I'll send those who don't know how to yield to the times into prison first, and then slowly investigate the car crash."
Pierce suddenly laughed. The laughter squeezed out from his throat, dry and carrying a hint of madness:
"You think... you've won?"
"Otherwise what?"
"The Winter Soldier..."
Pierce's voice was pressed extremely low, like a viper flicking its tongue,
"He woke up long ago. Moreover, his next target—"
His gaze crossed over Lynn's shoulders, looking outside the conference room window,
"is the last person of the Stark Family."
Lynn's pupils suddenly contracted.
At that exact instant, a very faint sound of glass being shattered came from outside the window—
A sniper rifle.
Lynn's body reacted before his consciousness; he slammed sideways, pushing Pierce down onto the ground.
The bullet flew past the shoulder guard of the armor, blasting a fist-sized crater in the wall as concrete debris splattered everywhere.
"Lock down the building!"
Fury's roar exploded within the conference room,
"Sniper!"
Hill had already drawn her gun and rushed toward the window, shouting into the earpiece:
"East rooftop, there's a heat source!"
Pierce, whom Lynn was pressing to the ground, suddenly went limp.
Lynn looked down and saw—
A wisp of dark blood overflowed from the old man's mouth. His eyes were still open, his pupils dilating. He had bitten into the cyanide capsule hidden in his teeth.
"...Fuck."
Lynn cursed, patting his face,
"Pierce! Where is the Winter Soldier?!"
Pierce's lips moved, producing a barely audible breathy sound:
"He... is... already... on the way..."
His head tilted to one side, losing all breath.
The conference room was in complete chaos. S.H.I.E.L.D.personnel drew their guns or called for medics. Fury stood in the middle of the mess, his single eye staring at Pierce's corpse on the ground, his face livid.
Lynn squatted on the ground, then slowly stood up, a scorch Mark from where the sniper bullet grazed still remaining on his shoulder guard.
He looked out the window; the wind over the Potomac River whipped up dark clouds, pressing down very low.
The Winter Soldier.
Awakened.
And coming straight for him.
He raised his hand and snapped the helmet's faceplate back into place, the joints of the armor making clicking sounds.
Tony's earpiece automatically reconnected at some point, his voice carrying a hint of tension:
"Hey! Hey! What's that commotion over on your end?! I just detected gunshots—"
"Nothing."
Lynn's voice came through the armor's loudspeaker, muffled,
"Pierce is dead."
"Dead?!"
"Yeah."
Lynn turned around and walked toward the shattered window as the thrusters began to warm up,
"But before he died, he left me a message."
"What message?"
"The Winter Soldier is awake."
Lynn stood at the window, the wind pouring in and causing the armor's outer shell to flap and rattle,
"Tony, can you dial up the power on that armor of yours even higher?"
"...What are you going to do?"
"Waiting for someone."
"Waiting for who?"
Lynn looked at the gray skyline in the distance, his voice lowering:
"Waiting for someone who's coming to kill me."