Taking Sides

Donnie ultimately didn't make a move, letting the Old Bartender snore away where he lay.

He could have taken the chance to kill the Old Bartender and be done with it. That would have been the easiest choice, but in the end, he still didn't act. He merely watched in silence, deep in thought.

Donnie sighed and dropped onto the sofa, absently tapping the table. The Old Bartender had become a critical link. Neither Donnie nor the Vampires could tolerate him falling alive into the other side's hands; that would mean their own intelligence and information had been leaked.

In other words, with the Old Bartender in his hands, the Vampires had every reason to suspect that Donnie knew about their God-Making Plan and had obtained detailed information from him. To stop further leaks and prevent him from learning things they didn't know about, they would inevitably move against both the Old Bartender and Donnie. Donnie couldn't tolerate the Old Bartender being taken away either. That would expose information about him and let the other side confirm that he knew about the God-Making Plan and details they themselves didn't know.

But he fucking didn't know any of those details, and the Vampires would never believe that. Donnie's attack on the Vampire stronghold and his killing of the Thompson Family's person in charge had already been a declaration that he knew everything.

The severe information imbalance and the logical deadlock meant that a complete falling-out was inevitable. Neither side could extricate itself. There was no need for negotiations, nor was there any way to negotiate. The war had already begun.

"This is such a fucking headache. My plan to get rich quietly is ruined." Donnie sighed repeatedly, feeling incredibly unlucky. He had originally intended to develop discreetly and wait until he had fully grown stronger before getting involved in a series of major events, but clearly, that was no longer possible.

The Vampires would never let him go. Even if they used preserving their dignity and making an example of him as a pretext for the outside world, a bloody battle was unavoidable.

He didn't trust the Vampires either. He feared that if he handed over the Old Bartender in exchange for peace, the Vampires would interrogate him for enough information, then turn around and kill Donnie without mercy.

Neither side trusted the other, and neither could allow the Old Bartender to remain in the other's hands.

Donnie took out the phone and sent a message to that number: Who exactly are you? After waiting a long time without a reply, he put the phone back into his pocket.

"I'm still too kind. I can't even kill someone this troublesome." Donnie felt helpless. He still considered himself a kind person. He could casually kill villains and those who targeted him, but he couldn't casually kill someone who could barely be considered innocent.

Of course, that didn't mean he refused to kill without exception. He wouldn't make "not killing" his code of conduct like the Flash and other superheroes. Yet the Old Bartender's existence already threatened Donnie's safety. He could have killed him, but at this moment, he was thinking further ahead.

This was a world of superhumans, a world of superheroes.

Donnie had a vague premonition that whether he killed the Old Bartender or not was more like choosing a side. If he killed him, he would stand with evil. If he didn't, the heroes might not accept him, but at least they wouldn't easily regard him as an enemy.

It was as if someone was forcing him to decide, forcing him to make a choice, even hoping that he would kill the Old Bartender and become opposed to certain people.

"Who the hell is plotting against me..." Donnie's face darkened. He thought of many things. After being set up so many times, he had to grow a little. Thinking deeper, he realized many possibilities.

The Old Bartender's purpose might not have been merely to make him and the Vampires fight to the death. He was also a benchmark by which Donnie could be judged.

Donnie turned to look at the Old Bartender, who was snoring away, seemingly completely defenseless. His gaze flickered. He had never been a softhearted fool. The Old Bartender had threatened him, after all.

The Old Bartender's sleeping posture was indecent, his back turned toward Donnie. He seemed utterly carefree, as though he had completely resigned himself to fate.

"What role are you playing in all this?" Donnie sat on the sofa and stared at the Old Bartender for a long time. "Maybe it isn't as you said... Maybe you know yourself that you're a pawn, but just refuse to say it... But who exactly is the player? Heh heh!"

At that moment, the Old Bartender turned over, muttered a few words, and started snoring again.

Donnie took out the phone again. It might be his only lead. He could use it to track down someone. Even if that person wasn't the mastermind, they were definitely connected. But how could he track them? He didn't understand hacking, didn't know any skilled hackers, didn't trust S.H.I.E.L.D., and his own Transformers were still creations of his ability rather than mature lifeforms. For now, they couldn't decipher computer languages like they did in the movies.

"Professor X or Magneto... I can only seek them out..." Donnie sighed. He didn't want to get close to either of them. Their abilities completely countered his; even with one hand tied behind their backs, they could easily crush him.

He stayed awake all night. Dawn came quickly, and a round sun peeked over the horizon, quietly spying on the earth.

Donnie woke the Old Bartender and had him help modify a motorcycle, asking what he would need.

"Modifying it is simple. You want to use it for combat, not just for safety and racing." The Old Bartender told Donnie that this kind of vehicle mainly required work on its energy circuits. "You can transform vehicles and control them to fight for you. Metal strength and energy transmission efficiency are the most important things."

The Old Bartender's analysis sounded quite insightful. He reminded Donnie that while motorcycles were convenient, tanks and armored vehicles were the first choice.

"If possible, get your hands on a few fifth-generation fighter jets and modify them. Then you'll be invincible." The Old Bartender waved his liquor bottle as he boasted extravagantly, claiming that if Donnie got him fifth-generation fighters, he could modify them further and build Donnie the strongest Killing Machines.

Donnie asked if he could really modify fifth-generation fighter jets. The Old Bartender shamelessly admitted he had been bragging.

Smack!

Donnie dragged the bruised and swollen Old Bartender along the route he provided, driving Optimus Prime to a large repair shop in the city. Secretly, it was the most famous racing modification base in the area, though it had underworld ties. Donnie dumped him there and told them to keep an eye on him until he had modified a high-performance motorcycle.

That had been Donnie's original goal. He hadn't expected things to become so troublesome.

At the large repair shop, the Old Bartender picked through various items. Under everyone's astonished gazes, he casually called over the staff and asked about all kinds of related parts. Finally, he came over to Donnie, flashing a mouthful of yellow teeth. "This place has a complete selection of parts and alloy molds, but they're expensive. A traction inverter alone costs a lot. I can modify a high-performance motorcycle for you, but I want five thousand dollars as payment."

The Old Bartender wanted payment to buy liquor. The alcohol in Donnie's home had nearly been drunk dry by the two of them last night.

Donnie agreed immediately. The Old Bartender happily ran off to begin the modifications, gathering many motorcycles on the spot and busying himself with all sorts of parts and large equipment.

Donnie warily watched his surroundings. He still couldn't let the Old Bartender die so easily.

After creating Arcee, he could only hurry to find the nearby Professor X. He couldn't cross half the globe to search for the Brotherhood's island in the vast ocean. Donnie could only take a gamble—he was betting on Professor X's character.