He reminded him again.
Ian vanished from the Marvel Universe.
"That guy teleported?"
Tony stood in the garage for a while, put the welding torch back on its rack, pulled off his goggles and hung them back on the hook, then walked to the workbench by the wall and opened a laptop.
The screen lit up. He entered a few commands, brought up a list of surveillance permissions, and typed a name into the search bar: Steve Rogers. The results did not appear right away; the system was matching across databases. A moment later, a line of information popped up—his current surveillance clearance was insufficient to directly view the target's movements, and additional authorization was required.
"Interesting. Even after I hacked into that mysterious S.H.I.E.L.D. and got director-level clearance, it still won't work?" Tony looked at the screen, his fingers pausing at the edge of the keyboard for a few seconds without submitting an authorization request. He closed the computer, stood up, and poured himself a glass of water.
His movements were unhurried, rhythmic.
Roughly recalling Ian's serious expression, he picked up his phone and sent Pepper a message: "Adjust tomorrow morning's scheduled meeting."
Pepper replied quickly: "What time should it be moved to?"
"Postpone it. Not sure what time."
Pepper did not ask further, only replied, "Okay."
Tony set the phone on the table, leaned against the edge of the workbench, and looked at the unpowered computer screen. Under the light, his expression did not change noticeably.
But his gaze did not leave the screen for a long time.
He knew Captain America was a symbol, one that had almost defined the modern perception of heroes.
But a symbol itself did not act. The ones who truly acted were those willing to accept that symbol and use it to