On the cliffs of Malibu, the waves relentlessly crash against the rocks.
"Ouch--! Be gentle! You idiot!"
"Are you trying to pierce my ribs with tweezers so you can inherit Stark Industries? Dum-E!"
Inside the operating room, Tony Stark sat shirtless and grinning in the operating chair.
The robotic arm " Dum-E " was carefully using its metal claws to grip a wad of cotton soaked in Venom to treat the hideous bruise on Tony's side.
Finally, just before Dum-E nearly dumped an entire bottle of disinfectant on Tony's head, Happy burst in with a private doctor.
Get him out of here!
Tony pointed at Dum-E and yelled angrily.
After the long process was over, Tony slumped into his chair, panting heavily.
"Injury assessment complete. Three fractured ribs, mild concussion, and multiple soft tissue contusions."
JARVIS activated the holographic projection.
"Sir, you need to rest in bed for at least two weeks."
"Miss Pepper was furious on her way back and even canceled the press conference that was originally scheduled to be held in Paris."
"Lock the door shut, and see no one, not even Jesus."
He limped to the workbench.
Tony suffered a crushing defeat in Jacksonville.
The problem wasn't a lack of firepower, but a lack of sound thinking.
The Mark 3 was a mobile arsenal, but it was utterly useless against the Shocker monster with its abnormal mobility.
The delay in mechanical transmission and the large size both became weaknesses.
" JARVIS, pull up the combat replay."
The dark green figure in the picture moves as fast as lightning, Mark 3 looks clumsy and ridiculous every time he turns around.
Tony has replayed Bucky's move—dodged the missile to the side and then smashed his chest armor with a single punch—twenty times.
"It's too big."
Tony stared at the screen, his pupils reflecting the blue light.
"To cram in those damn missile pods and heavy armor, I built it like a tank, but that's not what I need."
He remembered what Lynn had once said.
"If you're just trying to build a big toy, you'll always just be an arms dealer. Real armor should be an extension of your body."
"An extension of the body..."
Tony muttered to himself.
He suddenly grabbed the laser pointer from the workbench and frantically scribbled across the air, erasing the design blueprints of the Mark IV.
"Throw away all those hydraulic transmission devices! They're for excavators!"
"Sir, if the hydraulic system is removed, the mech's load-bearing capacity will decrease by 60%."
"Then throw away the weight too! I don't need to carry half a ton of explosives around!"
A fervor ignited in Tony's eyes, even though his ribs were still throbbing.
"This time, I'll try a different approach. I need speed, agility, and the ability to cut off that egg's neck before it even throws a punch!"
He redraws the lines on the holographic projection.
This time, the lines are closely aligned with the human body model.
It's no longer about the cockpit concept, but rather... clothing.
"I want to make the armor thinner, replacing the original single sheet metal with a multi-layered composite Gold-Titanium Alloy. Like a knight's plate armor, or... skin."
Tony's fingers flew across the keyboard, disassembling and reassembling the modules one by one.
"The thrusters need to be miniaturized and distributed across the limbs and back."
"And this too."
Tony pointed to the reactor on his chest.
"The energy transfer efficiency is too low, JARVIS. Integrate the reactor directly into the armor's neural transmission system. It has to respond within 0.01 seconds when I want to raise my hand, instead of waiting for that damn hydraulic pump to pressurize."
JARVIS was processing massive amounts of data at lightning speed. "Sir, this design places extremely high demands on the strength of the materials."
Tony didn't respond, excitedly watching the new Mark IV model gradually take shape.
It's much slimmer than the Mark 3, with a streamlined body that exudes explosive power, and the red and gold paint scheme makes it look even more flashy and dangerous.
Tony was about to admire his masterpiece when his gaze inadvertently fell on the red briefcase he had carelessly tossed aside at his feet.
He thought of the black-clad Kamen Rider, and he also thought of Bucky.
They can switch between combat forms at any time.
And what about myself?
Are you just supposed to stand there dumbfounded and wait for the robotic arm to slowly dress you?
That's not cool.
This is not cool at all!
In a real battle, there's no time for fancy dress-up games.
JARVIS.
Tony's voice rang out, his eyes even more intense than before.
He grabbed the metal briefcase and slammed it onto the workbench with a bang.
"Create a new project for me!"
His fingers traced the metal surface of the briefcase, but what he saw was a Iron Man Armor that was transforming, unfolding, and covering his entire body.
"I'm going to stuff a whole suit of armor into this box."
Tony flashed a bright white smile.
Project code: Mark V - Suitcase!
Smithsonian Museum.
Steve Rogers pulled his dark blue baseball cap down low.
He was wearing a gray hoodie two sizes too big, with his hands in his pockets, blending in with the tourists like a high school student skipping class.
"Look! That's Captain America's motorcycle!"
A chubby little boy in a T-shirt pointed at the booth and shouted excitedly.
"It looks much newer than that shabby thing on TV!"
"That's Harley WLA, an old relic from World War II."
The father next to him pushed up his glasses, his tone carrying a hint of showing off.
"But the captain is so cool!"
The chubby boy was unconvinced.
"Being cool won't put food on the table, son. In this day and age, firepower is justice."
Steve walked silently past the father and son without pausing for a moment.
He walked through the corridor called " Howling Commandos ".
The black and white photos were enlarged several times and hung on the wall; he could name every face in them.
Dugan, Morita, Montgomery...
They grinned widely and without restraint.
That was his era.
That was an era of stark black and white.
Steve stopped in his tracks.
In front of him was a stand-alone glass display case.
There were no weapons inside, only a somewhat worn sniper uniform and an enlarged solo photograph.
Sergeant James Buchanan Sergeant Barnes (1917-1945).
" Captain America's only close friend, the ace sniper of the Howling Commandos, heroically sacrificed his life in 1945 while on a mission in the Alps."
"Heroic sacrifice..."
Steve repeated the word in a low voice.
That would be great.
If Bucky really did die on that snowy day, dying under that speeding train would be a kind of relief.
At least he will be remembered as a hero, rather than becoming a killing machine that only obeys the orders of Nazis remnants.
Steve's face was reflected in the glass.
Pale and lost, those blue eyes showed no trace of the resilience expected of a superhero.
His moral principles seem so pale and powerless in this complex modern society.
He couldn't save Bucky, nor could he calm Tony down.
He's just a fool who runs around with a shield.
"You weren't this quick to give up before, soldier."
A familiar voice cut through the noisy crowd and reached my ears.
He slowly turned around.
" Peggy..." Steve's voice trembled slightly as he hurried over. "Why are you here? The doctor said you need to rest."
"The doctor also said I can't drink whiskey, but I still sneaked a sip yesterday."
Peggy Carter smiled.
"Those S.H.I.E.L.D. can't keep an eye on me, especially when I want to see someone."
She reached out and gently stroked Steve's cheek.
"You're looking worse and worse, Steve."
Steve lowered his head, his voice low and somber. "I messed up, Peggy. I messed up everything, every single time."
"You're always too gentle, Steve. You're afraid of hurting him, so you always hold back. But on the battlefield, facing a soldier who has lost his mind, the best mercy is to incapacitate him first."
Peggy pointed to her chest, then to Steve's heart.
" Howard is a genius and a jerk, but he would never want to see you abandon your current responsibilities because of past grievances."
" Tony, that's anger. What you need to do is channel that anger, not let it consume you."