Them

Everyone was stunned. Coulson's smile remained unchanged. Donnie looked at Optimus Prime, lost in thought.

"Optimus Prime? That's his name?" Coulson's smile was warm, effortlessly breaking the awkward silence.

"That's the name I gave him. It stands for justice and responsibility. I hope he'll always be the unshakable hope and belief in my heart." Donnie said, the stabbing pain in his head growing sharper.

The Spark in his mind flickered faintly, but it was nothing compared to its intensity when it first awakened.

Donnie tried to mobilize other parts of Optimus Prime, but as the Spark energy passed through, every piece of metal it touched made it painfully clear: forcing a complete Optimus Prime with this pitiful scrap would only end in collapse—like a house without steel beams, fragile and useless.

Donnie's Spark gave him an astonishing intuition and instinct for building and modifying Optimus Prime, allowing him to make changes in the shortest possible time.

This was an unprecedented ability. Wherever the Spark energy permeated, all metal seemed to turn transparent. He could understand every property of it to the fullest and put it to use.

But for now, it only worked smoothly on Optimus Prime—this little truck he spent every day with. The exact principle still needed further experimentation.

After the battle with Abomination, this ability had already caught the attention of those in the know. A newly emerged suspected Level 4 Mutant was already drawing countless eyes, let alone this near-miraculous power that defied analysis. Countless people coveted it, curious to understand it further.

"Sounds like he means something special to you. Care to share?"

"Nothing to hide." Donnie walked over, patting Optimus Prime's metal body, speaking slowly. "Our family of three relied on him to haul goods, earn delivery fees, keep our lives going..."

Donnie told him their family wasn't well-off, had no impressive skills, and struggled in New York's high cost of living. They were proud of scraping together a down payment on a house, then scrimped and saved to buy a Changan Star Card pickup for deliveries. With its small load capacity, they could only make money by running more trips.

Life wasn't rich, but it was warm. His parents were healthy, life was peaceful. Their daily worries were just about hauling more goods to earn a little extra, save a little more, and give the family's workhorse—the little truck—some maintenance and better gas.

His parents drove the little truck day in and day out. When Donnie wasn't in school, he helped out, sometimes eating and sleeping in the truck. This battered, weather-beaten old truck, always working without complaint, was an important member of their family. Everyone cherished it.

As Donnie spoke, a faint smile appeared.

"But now there's nothing left." Donnie said, his nails digging deep into his flesh, leaving bloody marks. He wasn't just talking about this life—he meant his past life too.

So pain and rage filled his heart. He hated himself for being so powerless.

"I'm sorry. Please accept my condolences. But you and this truck carry their beliefs, don't you?"

Coulson called someone over, handed Donnie a black suit, and gestured for him to put it on.

Donnie looked at the suit. The size was perfect—they'd prepared it for him. Black symbolized solemnity, and an unspoken grief that demanded silence.

Donnie pressed him about Hulk's whereabouts.

Coulson paused, choosing his words carefully before answering. They'd been trying to track the monster's trail, but Hulk's speed was astonishing—they'd lost him.

"It's not like I'm going to settle the score with him right now. Why hide it? I know I'm no match for Hulk. I'm not stupid."

Coulson's smile grew more relaxed as he gently guided the conversation. "Mr. Donnie, Hulk's file is classified at a high level. I have no authority to disclose it to outsiders. Please forgive me—secrecy is instinct for us agents."

Donnie instantly caught Coulson's unspoken meaning. His face expressionless, he figured they could talk about this later. He had no intention of joining an official organization right now, but he'd give it serious thought.

Donnie didn't trust S.H.I.E.L.D.—at least not yet. Who could guarantee that if he naively walked into their hands, those Hydra lunatics wouldn't turn him into some experiment? Donnie Mark One Cyborg, Donnie Mark Two Cyborg, or something.

A rare Level 4 Mutant at his core! They'd be fools to stay indifferent.

"Mr. Donnie, a lot of people are watching you. You're in danger right now."

Coulson wasn't ready to give up, trying to persuade him further. He had S.H.I.E.L.D.'s expert psychological evaluation report and a psychological profile built for Donnie. Combined with their recent interactions, Coulson felt he understood Donnie well enough—this was someone worth having a serious talk with.

If it were Dr. Banner, he'd already be staring suspiciously, then turning into Hulk and smashing everything...

Donnie gave a wry, knowing smile, pointed at the sky, and said, "I believe Professor X and his people won't give up on me. For all we know, he's watching every word and move we make right now, making sure you don't harm me. Don't try to fool me. His student Dr. Jean even spoke publicly before Congress."

"Honestly, I'm grateful you saved me, but I'd rather trust Professor X than you official types." Donnie said.

Coulson laughed awkwardly.

Professor X's character and his care for his kind were no secret.

Donnie made a promise: if their organization ever ran into trouble, they could come to him. He'd repay the favor.

Coulson smiled with satisfaction, his opinion of Donnie rising. Combined with the psychologists' assessments, he felt more confident.

A life-saving debt and a cleanup debt—how big were they together? How could they ever be fully repaid? Coulson was smug. This suspected Level 3, core Level 4 Mutant—they'd already got half a grip on him.

Donnie smiled too. Repaid in full? Not a chance. With even a little knowledge of this universe, he knew S.H.I.E.L.D. was up to its neck in mud, never able to climb out of the cesspool.

The future of this universe held countless ferocious enemies roaming the stars, endless bloody battles where heroes would fall, tears spilling across the sky, and disaster-level variables beyond number—mountains crumbling, earth splitting.

If Donnie couldn't develop his abilities, couldn't even restore his strength, couldn't rekindle the Spark, he'd always be a fake Level 4—just a decent grunt, qualified to be high-grade cannon fodder.

Either die and fade away, or face endless bloodshed, charge through the hardships, and carve out a broad road, drenched in gore.

Repaying this debt? Easy.

"What about them?" Donnie asked, his voice trembling.

Everyone could clearly sense the fear in Donnie's heart. He had a demon inside him. He dreaded facing reality, even wished it was all just a dream, that he'd wake up to happiness and warmth.

Coulson lowered his voice appropriately, speaking softly. "I was wondering how long you'd hold out... You're more afraid of facing them than this cruel world. Don't worry. I've already arranged for your parents' bodies to be placed in coffins. They're well preserved."

Donnie thanked him quietly. Under Coulson's personal guidance, they headed to a nearby cemetery.

"Got a motorcycle?" Donnie asked.

"A motorcycle? I can drive you. My car rarely carries anyone else—I treat her like my wife."

"Then I'd rather ride a motorcycle alone... I want to ride there myself and bury them with my own hands." Donnie said softly.

"If you insist." Coulson shrugged, unconcerned.

Their voices faded into the distance. Optimus Prime reassembled into the battered little truck, standing there quietly, patiently waiting for his creator to return.