A cold wind swept across the wilderness, carrying fine snowflakes, and the temperature dropped a few degrees compared to moments before. Tony gazed at the hazy outline of the town in the distance, then looked at Lynn beside him, who remained calm and composed. The anxiety churning within him finally subsided.
He raised his hand to close the visor of his armor, then lifted it again. The anger in his eyes faded, leaving only weariness and determination. He slowly answered, "I choose the latter."
His tone was candid, the impulsiveness and sharpness of his earlier words gone, replaced by a deep trust in his close friend. "We've known each other for so long, I know your character well. You've never intentionally hurt me, and you have no reason to deceive me whatsoever."
"In every crisis in the past, your decisions have always prioritized the greater good. Therefore, I believe your advice is the best choice for me."
Tony raised his chin, looking at the country road ahead covered with a thin layer of snow, and said crisply, "Alright, I've already followed you here, so there's no need for further words. What should I do next?"
Lynn chuckled softly upon hearing this, her tense emotions easing slightly. She took a step and walked slowly along the snow-covered path, gesturing for Tony to follow.
Night had fallen in the Rose Hill of Tennessee. Fine, soft snowflakes drifted down from the sky, lacking the biting chill of a blizzard, only the damp, cold snow unique to the South, gently covering the withered grass, roads, and the rooftops of low houses in the distance with a thin layer of pure white frost. The surrounding area was sparsely populated, the suburban wilderness deathly silent, with only the sounds of wind and falling snow mingling, a stark contrast to the bustling, noisy New York.
Walking along the path for about a hundred meters, a solitary old wooden cabin comes into view in the wilderness. The house is old and simple, with the wooden planks on the exterior walls bearing the marks of wind and sun. Next to the house is a separate garage.
Lynn stopped in front of the cabin, looked up at the quiet little house, turned to Tony and whispered, "This is it."
He pointed to the wooden house in front of him, then looked towards the scattered lights of the town in the distance, and continued, "The boy living in this wooden house is named Harley. He is the one in my heart most suitable to inherit all your will and your armor."
"And the Silk of Happy's attack, are hidden in that small town ahead."
Lynn turned to Tony, her eyes open and honest, without any concealment. "I've given you both the straightforward shortcut and the long road of personal investigation. The choice has always been yours. I won't interfere with your investigation, nor will I reveal any of the truth beforehand."
"Furthermore, you can rest assured that I will protect the safety of everyone else and will not give the enemy lurking in the shadows any opportunity. Next, follow this clue step by step to find the mastermind behind it all and get the answers you seek."
Tony suddenly realized that Lynn's seemingly casual arrangement was actually full of hidden meaning.
He looked at Lynn beside him and asked in a deep voice, "Aren't you going to stay and keep me company?"
Lynn shook her head, the evening breeze ruffling her clothes, and said calmly, "Some things are better faced alone. If I'm with you, it will most likely disrupt your rhythm."
"I'm going back now. Natasha is waiting for me at home for dinner. Call me anytime if there's any mortal danger. The rest is up to you."
As soon as he finished speaking, Lynn didn't linger. A faint light flashed at his fingertips, and a pale golden portal slowly opened in the snowy night, leading directly to Stark Tower.
He waved gently to Tony, then stepped into the portal. The light closed instantly, and Lynn's figure disappeared from the wilderness, leaving only the falling snow and Tony standing alone in front of the cabin.
Fine snowflakes landed on the armor's visor, slowly melting into water droplets. Tony gazed at the empty wilderness, sighed softly, suppressed the lingering restlessness in his heart, and turned to walk towards the old wooden cabin in front of him.
He raised his hand, flicked his fingers, and gently knocked on the wooden door. The dull knocking sound was particularly clear in the quiet snowy night.
One second, two seconds, three seconds... The room remained deathly silent; there was no response, and no footsteps approached.
Tony pursed his lips, knowing the homeowner was probably not inside, so he turned and walked towards the half-open garage door. The metal lock was old and simple; he applied a little force with his fingertips and easily pried open the latch. With a slight creak, the garage door swung open inward.
A smell mixed with engine oil, rust, and sawdust wafted over, revealing the authentic suburban garage furnishings.
The garage is small and cramped, with a cluttered layout but not dirty or messy. Rows of wrenches, pliers, screwdrivers and other hand tools are neatly hung on the walls, of varying lengths; discarded circuit boards, aging batteries, broken wires and various electronic waste are scattered on the floor; old tires and cardboard boxes stuffed with miscellaneous items are piled up in the corner, and a worn-out fabric sofa leans against the wall.
There are no sophisticated industrial machines here, only the simplest handmade objects, everywhere filled with traces of a solitary boy studying mechanics.
Tony stood quietly at the doorway, looked around, and understood everything perfectly.
Tony walked slowly into the garage, casually closing the door behind him to shut out the wind and snow. He walked to the worn-out sofa, opened his armor layer by layer, stepped aside, revealing Tony in casual clothes, his eyes full of exhaustion.
Shedding his armor, he finally shed the sharp edge of his steel shell and began to curiously examine the handcrafted objects around him. Homemade circuits, simple robotic arms, modified motors—each item was not particularly refined, but they all revealed a hands-on talent and mechanical inspiration beyond his years.
Tony's fingertips traced the surface of a hand-soldered circuit board, and he became so engrossed in looking at it that he didn't realize how much time had passed.
"Don't move! What are you doing!"
A clear, yet wary, boyish voice suddenly rang out from the garage door, interrupting Tony's thoughts.
Tony turned around abruptly and saw a thin boy standing in the doorway, clutching a homemade potato pneumatic gun tightly in his arms. The muzzle was pointed directly at him, the boy's face was tense, his eyes were full of vigilance, and his whole body exuded the unique alertness and defensiveness of a child living alone.
Tony didn't panic. Instead, he looked at the simple yet well-structured pneumatic gun with great interest. His gaze swept over the precise valves, sealing pipes, and trigger mechanism, and he sincerely praised, "A homemade high-pressure pneumatic potato gun, you've done an excellent job among your peers."
The straightforward yet professional praise eased the boy's tense emotions slightly.
Tony slowly raised his hands to indicate that he meant no harm, and introduced himself calmly, "I am Tony Stark. I mean no harm and am not a bad person. My armor broke down halfway, and the snowstorm was too heavy to continue my journey, so I had to temporarily break into your garage to take shelter."
He then went straight to the point, frankly explaining his purpose, "I heard there was an explosion in the town, and I need to know some relevant clues."
Upon hearing this, the boy's wariness lessened considerably. Holding the potato gun, he pondered for a moment before nodding earnestly and replying, "I know about the bombing. There was indeed an explosion in town a while ago. I can take you to the scene."
After saying that, the boy hid the potato gun behind his back, turned around, and stepped out of the garage into the swirling snow. Tony followed closely behind, and the two walked side by side on the country road covered with a thin layer of snow, the cold wind carrying snowflakes brushing against their cheeks.
As they walked, Tony glanced at the incessantly muttering yet meticulous young man beside him and slowly began to inquire about the details of the bombing, "When did the explosion occur? Were there any strange debris or unusual traces left at the scene?"