Aftermath

"New Threat or New Hero: Witness Interview" — The New York Times

"Street Battle, Military Inexcusable, Ross Should Face Court-Martial" — Herald Tribune

"Day of Disaster, Spider-Man Flees Without a Fight" — Daily Bugle

The street battle in New York stirred up a tidal wave of shock, sending global public opinion into an uproar.

This was the first time monster-level combatants had completely abandoned law and morality, disregarding civilians, and waged war in a bustling downtown area, leaving countless dead and injured. Afterwards, the bold ventured into the war zone, finding nothing but devastation. One street was reduced to rubble, neighboring blocks lay in ruin, a scene of apocalypse, with countless people weeping over dead relatives amidst the debris.

Large crowds of citizens spontaneously took to the streets, marching with raised banners, cursing the military's incompetence.

"Since I can't get protection, I shouldn't have to pay taxes. I should pay taxes to those who protect me... This is all Ross's fault."

A man on crutches gave an interview, speaking bluntly.

"Last night, if it weren't for that person, I'd be dead. I'm grateful to him... A mutant? He can be whatever he wants, I don't give a damn! All I know is he protected me when I needed it most."

Unprecedented upheaval jolted the public's nerves. People began to worry about their own safety, protests flared up one after another, and countless experts and professors jumped in, quoting classics and talking endlessly.

"How do you view this bloody incident?" a well-known talk show host asked.

"This is a man-made disaster that will go down in human history. Our generation will be nailed to the pillar of shame, written about in bold letters. Someone must take responsibility..." said an old professor of human sociology.

"Please estimate the cause of this incident."

"It's all fucking Ross's fault," the old professor said.

The military remained silent for a long time. Facing immense pressure from outside and above, they finally cracked, claiming it all stemmed from a failed Super Soldier Program, and that they would terminate it.

A furious victim demanded of the military spokesperson: Could a flimsy "termination of the program" make up for the harm they'd suffered? Did the military, as the culprit, have no explanation?

The spokesperson was silent for a long moment, then replied: "It's all fucking Ross's fault."

General Ross was thoroughly ruined.

When Donnie woke up, it was two days later. He had slept for a full two days.

Opening his eyes, he saw a hospital room, and it was the only patient bed in there—clearly arranged by someone.

The curtains were half-drawn. Outside, the sun shone brightly, and the occasional chirping of birds added to the peace.

"Anyone here?" Donnie called out, his voice hoarse to the point of startling himself.

Someone pushed the door open, but it wasn't a nurse as Donnie had expected. It was a man in a suit, wearing a gentle smile yet exuding a sense of efficiency.

"The doctor said you'd wake up today. I've been waiting for you for a while," the man said with a smile. "My name is Phil Coulson, from the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. Mr. Donnie, you can just call me Coulson."

Coulson kept smiling, warm and courteous, his suit immaculate, his tie tightly knotted.

"Coulson... So, you saved me, then." Donnie sat up, picked up the water on the table—it was still warm—and downed it in one go.

"You could say that. We put in a lot of effort, and we also stopped a lot of people with ill intentions toward you, Mr. Donnie."

Coulson briefly explained what happened after Donnie passed out. He was straightforward: many people were very interested in Donnie, using connections and means to try to drag him back for research, but they were all stopped. General Ross was the most eager and hot-tempered, furious to the point of nearly slamming his sidearm into Coulson's face.

Apparently, Ross had received orders from some higher-ups, specifically demanding that Donnie be brought in.

Donnie snorted dismissively, neither confirming nor denying, and gestured for Coulson to sit down and talk.

"What about him?" Donnie suddenly asked.

"The car's outside. I figured you'd look for it when you woke up."

"It's 'he,' not 'it.' I'm very particular about that. I hope you won't make that mistake again." Donnie corrected him stubbornly.

Coulson put on an apologetic expression and invited Donnie to go outside and check on his car, since its condition didn't seem great.

Donnie got up. Coulson moved to help him, but Donnie pushed him away. He activated his Spark, and a sharp pain shot through his brain. Only a thin trickle of energy flowed into his body, nothing like before.

Coulson quickly said, "The doctor said your brain took the worst damage. Those two days of unconsciousness were mainly your brain healing itself."

Donnie said nothing, circulating Spark Energy through his body. His condition improved a lot, but he could only recover part of it—the effect wasn't that pronounced.

Donnie understood. The Spark's main function was to create and control Transformers; its effect on himself was limited.

"Honestly, that final outburst of yours stunned a lot of people. No one expected someone who'd just awakened to have that kind of power," Coulson said.

Donnie tentatively tried to use the AllSpark. Every use sent pain through his brain, and the Spark itself grew dim. That was the price. Just like how Jean, a Level Five mutant, had to suppress part of her main personality every time she used the Phoenix Force, always walking the edge between life and death. Donnie might have been born at Level Four, but that didn't mean he had Level Four strength. Forcing a power surge came with a terrible, unbearable cost.

But he didn't regret it. At that moment, given the chance to kill Abomination, he would have paid any price.

The two stood in the hospital courtyard, observing a wrecked minivan.

This Changan Star Card was in terrible shape. The hood was gone, exposing the wiring and engine underneath. Almost all the glass was shattered, with only stubborn remnants clinging to the frame. Three of the four tires were missing entirely, and the last one was flat, with most of its axle gone.

There wasn't a single intact part on the whole vehicle. It was a miracle it hadn't fallen apart.

Coulson proactively told him that this hospital belonged to the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. If Donnie wanted to do anything, he didn't need to worry about causing any bad consequences.

"Mr. Donnie, since we weren't sure about the specifics of your abilities, we didn't rashly repair the car. We just wiped off the surface dust to make it look a bit better," Coulson said, finding a topic to break the silence as Donnie stood there quietly.

Donnie shot Coulson a grateful look and said softly, "Thank you."

Donnie hadn't reacted much to being taken care of. Before he passed out, he had already estimated his possible fate and was mentally prepared for various outcomes. But now, he genuinely felt a fondness for Coulson. This man was meticulous, yet perfectly measured, handling things with flawless precision.

Coulson smiled warmly and made a "go ahead" gesture. He had already figured it out, analyzing more of Donnie's psychological traits, enough to build a more complete psychological model.

Donnie slowly reached out his hand. Under the expectant gazes of Coulson and the agents lurking nearby, he made a grasping motion toward the small truck from afar. An invisible wave of force rippled outward, kicking up a gust of wind that forced everyone to squint. The battered truck immediately roared to life, the screech of grinding metal filling the air as it began to transform.

"This is... a miracle!"

Coulson's eyes went wide as he exclaimed, voicing what many were thinking. Even though he had replayed the street surveillance footage from that night countless times and was mentally prepared, facing the transformation in person still left him awestruck.

Countless hidden cameras from every angle captured this visually stunning scene up close, frantically transmitting the video to the outside world, allowing more people to witness this unprecedented, breathtaking sight.

A series of clicks rang out as a humanoid metal figure took shape. But what made Donnie frown was the large number of broken parts scattering to the ground during the process—scrap metal, no longer usable.

Optimus Prime assembled himself with an imposing presence. Even his battered metal frame carried an overwhelming impact, radiating a fierce, intimidating aura.

"The transformation is almost complete!" someone couldn't help but exclaim, their expression bright with excitement.

"Can't wait," another chimed in, breaking the tension. Others followed, voicing their amazement, faces full of anticipation.

Finally, the transformation neared its end. People grew even more excited, faces flushed red, eager to witness the miracle. They saw Optimus Prime, fully formed, propping himself up with one hand, about to stand tall and proud—when with a thud, he fell flat on his face, shattering everyone's expectations.

Countless onlookers were stunned, unsure what had just happened.

Donnie showed no sign of surprise. He let out a deep sigh. "Too fragile, too fragile... Optimus Prime, he's already reached his limit..."