Combat Test

The meeting dragged on for an unbelievable five hours before finally ending. As Michael stood up, Elizabeth promptly handed him his suit jacket.

He raised his arms to let her help him into it and asked, "Aside from the Mayor's party this weekend, there's nothing else, right?"

"Hamm er Tech's CEO has requested a meeting tomorrow evening. What do you think?"

"Hammer Tech? The one whose former CEO went to prison two years ago and is practically on its last legs?"

"That's the one."

"Then make up some excuse and turn it down. I don't have time." Michael straightened his collar. "It's getting late. If there's nothing else, you can head home."

Elizabeth nodded. "Understood, sir. I'll notify you if anything comes up. Good night."

"Good night."

Leaving the conference room, Michael walked through the corridor and entered the encrypted elevator that led directly to his office. He rode it up to the top floor of the building. Then he strode straight across the entire room to the innermost wall, where a thin, seamless crack appeared on the smooth, flawless surface. The wall slid open slowly and heavily to both sides, like a massive automatic door.

Michael stepped inside, and the wall closed behind him, the surface once again as smooth as a mirror.

No one entering his office would ever find this entrance, because it wasn't a hidden door triggered by a mechanism—it was magic, a spell. The wall was magically connected directly to his private laboratory, located more than twenty miles away beneath his personal residence. Only the spell he had cast could activate this magical hidden door.

"Welcome back," a pleasant electronic female voice chimed as he entered the lab, the sound seeming to come from all directions. "Boring, long meeting?"

Michael walked straight to the workbench. The black-and-white armor lay disassembled on the bench, several mechanical arms busily modifying it.

"I suspect those people are plotting to slowly murder me with boredom," Michael said casually, stopping by the workbench as a mechanical arm sparked and drilled into the armor's ankle joint. "How's the progress, Sherry?"

Sherry was the AI he had developed himself. In the Marvel Universe, AI technology was far ahead of what Michael had known in his world before his transmigration. Representative AIs included Iron Man's butler Jarvis and the super AI Ultron, which had yet to be born.

AI assistance greatly enhanced the armor's combat performance and analytical capabilities. Early in his transmigration, Michael had spent some time with the international terrorist organization Hydra, where he had specifically studied this field. He had started developing AI even before leaving the organization, and Sherry was his finest work.

"Eighty percent complete, sir," Sherry replied. "With painting, it should be finished within an hour. Want to take it out for a spin?"

"Sounds good. Make sure it's fully charged and equipped with live weapons. I want a real combat test."

"Live combat?" The AI's voice carried a hint of curiosity. "Against whom, sir?"

Michael didn't answer. He picked up the modified gauntlet from the workbench. The gauntlet recognized him, split open in the middle, and wrapped around his hand.

He clenched his fist inside the gauntlet and said, "Three years. We've been hiding long enough. Now... it's about time to strike back."

Late at night, at a classified location.

A stretch of white lights blazed against the pitch-black night sky, illuminating a massive steel facility. Military jeeps drove across the open square in front of the building, and futuristic jet fighters took off and landed on the tarmac, making the place look like a heavily fortified military fortress.

In the central control room, S.H.I.E.L.D. Level Six Agent Randall Mallory stood before a giant suspended screen over five meters tall, directing the base's operations and coordination. The rapid clatter of keyboards and the clicking of mechanical cipher machines echoed through the sealed room, while intelligence officers with headsets bustled at their stations.

"Sir!" a communications officer shouted, looking up. "An unidentified flying object is heading straight for us! It's fast and coming directly this way!"

Randall Mallory tensed. "What is it?"

"Unknown. We've cross-referenced it with all known databases—no matches."

"Have you tried to make contact?"

"We did, sir. No response."

"Sir!" another officer called out. "That thing—it's vanished from the monitors!"

A blur of motion appeared out of thin air, descending vertically with pale blue exhaust flames. The black armor landed with a crisp clang in the center of the square, an almost invisible ripple of air spreading from its feet.

Everyone in the square froze. Many agents instinctively drew their guns and aimed at the black intruder.

"You have entered a US Military command center. Disarm immediately and identify yourself, or we will open fire!"

The amplified announcement repeated over the loudspeakers, echoing through the suddenly silent square. Dozens of dark muzzles pointed at the intruder, ready to unleash a storm of bullets at the slightest suspicious move.

The black armor slowly raised its head, pale blue light glowing from its V-shaped visor.

He didn't reply—or rather, he answered with action. Without a word, he raised his hand, and a powerful blue pulse beam roared from his palm, blasting the agents in front of him into the air.

The battle erupted instantly. All muzzles flashed with bright gunfire, and hundreds of bullets ricocheted off the black armor with sparks. The armor stood motionless under the barrage, then thrust flames from its back, lifting it into the air. Hovering above, it fired pulse beams from both palms in rapid succession, wreaking havoc across the square.

A Quinjet on the tarmac powered up, its sci-fi anti-gravity lifters allowing it to rise vertically. Large-caliber rounds poured from the gun pods under its wings. The black armor twisted, jets on its waist and back firing simultaneously, weaving nimbly through the hail of bullets. It raised its hand and fired twice—two Quinjets spiraled down in smoke and flames.

"Sir, there's a squad of armored vehicles equipped with Electromagnetic Cannons at your three o'clock," Sherry's voice sounded inside the helmet. "I thought you might want to know."

"Thanks for the heads-up. Mark them on the display for me, will you?" Michael said, taking down another Quinjet.

Metal shells screamed along rails, wreathed in crackling blue lightning. The electromagnetic rounds, like roaring azure dragons, hurtled straight toward Michael in midair.

But Michael didn't dodge. He calmly raised his palm, and a fiery magical array spread open from his hand. The thunderous electromagnetic shells plunged into the array one by one, vanishing as if into a bottomless pit. Michael flipped his hand, and the intricate patterns on the array shifted. The shells that had just disappeared shot back out at the same speed, trailing arcs of electricity as they returned along their original path.

Several shells tore through the hulls of the armored vehicles with devastating force. The wrecked bodies flipped sideways in midair, exploding violently, sending shards of metal and burning tires flying in all directions.

In just three minutes, all resistance in the vast base had been wiped clean. The black armor strode forward with steady steps, its metallic form cutting through the blazing flames like a Terminator.

No one could stop its advance. No weapon could bring it down. The base's emergency security protocols had been activated, the central control room sealed behind layers of reinforced doors. The automated defense system was online, every corridor rigged with deadly traps.

At the same time, an urgent distress call had been sent to S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters. The reply came back: reinforcements would arrive within five minutes. But Agent Randall, in charge of the base, knew they might not last that long.

"Sir!" a communications officer shouted, drenched in sweat. "The first defense line has been breached!"

"The laser net is down! The second defense line has also been breached!"

A chill ran down Randall's spine. Through the monitors in the control room, he could clearly see the black armored figure. He couldn't help but think of someone—someone he had only heard of, but who was extremely dangerous.

Heavy, muffled thuds were drawing steadily closer, each one heavier than the last as the distance shrank. He felt like a turtle curled up inside its shell, keenly aware that a deadly venomous python was slithering just outside.

Boom!

The two massive doors, each weighing over a ton, flew into the command room like projectiles, as if struck by an immense force from the outside. A steel figure stepped through the thick dust, its V-shaped visor illuminating the swirling particles in the air.

The agents waiting there didn't hesitate—they drew their guns and fired, only to prove it was futile. Michael raised his palm, a magic circle forming in his hand. Seven or eight Magic Flying Daggers materialized out of thin air, each locking onto a target at their master's command. In the blink of an eye, every agent in the command room was struck and fell—except for Agent Randall, who stood pale-faced on the high platform of the control room, leaning against the railing, not daring to breathe.

Michael ignored him, as if he hadn't even noticed the living person still in the room. He walked straight to the control console, spreading the five fingers of his right hand over the main computer. A Connector Cable extended from his palm and plugged into the machine. A torrent of data streamed through that thin cable in an instant, classified file interfaces flickering across the computer screen like a strobe.

"Transfer complete. All data has been backed up," Sherry said.

Michael retracted the Connector Cable, then slowly turned his head to look at Agent Randall on the high platform. The moment the latter felt his gaze, he jolted, nearly toppling backward from the height.

Flames burst from Michael's back as he flew to a level parallel with the pale-faced agent. Randall's legs gave out, and he slumped down against the railing, landing on his backside.

His throat was dry, almost smoking. He heard a voice twisted beyond recognition escape his own lips: "D-Dr. Norton?"

"Give your boss a message. Tell them this is just the beginning," the cold, mechanical voice rang out through the speaker beneath the black mask. "You know I'm not talking about Fury, just as we both know you're not really a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent."

With that, he didn't linger. Two long jets of flame shot from his back with a whoosh, and his steel form vanished like an arrow back the way he came.