On the edge of an abandoned industrial area, three floors underground.
The air was thick with the smell of rust and damp concrete. The emergency light overhead flickered twice, emitting a faint crackling sound. A cracked projection screen hung on the wall, the image loading, pixels scrolling down one by one. Several figures were gathered around the control panel; no one spoke, only the intermittent clicking of keyboards could be heard.
"The signal source is finally connected," a man in a gray-green tactical vest said in a low voice, his finger hovering over the enter key. "Should we play it?"
The tall guy at the front didn't turn around; he just raised one hand and made a "start" gesture.
The projector lit up, the image shook for a few seconds before stabilizing—it was a battle recording from a few days ago. Ye Mo used his Steel Bone body to withstand the purple light cone, Tony's armor dove down amidst sparks, and Emma Frost's psychic shockwave swept across the enemy ranks. The camera was shaking violently, clearly having been salvaged from the recorder of a damaged drone.
"Zoom in on him." The tall man pointed at Ye Mo on the screen.
The camera zooms in. He's leaning against the wall, panting. A burn that hasn't healed is visible at the edge of his protective gear. His skin has an unnatural bluish-white sheen when his Regeneration abilities are first activated.
"See that?" the tall man said in a low voice, "Each time he uses the Wall Phasing, there's a 0.3-second regeneration delay. Regeneration isn't unlimited either; after three consecutive high-intensity uses, it will overheat, and the system will automatically lock for ten seconds."
Someone nearby sneered, "We were fooled by this trick last time. It looked like he Wall Phasing, but it was just Feint. Once we opened fire, he circled around to the side and counterattacked."
"So he's not invincible." The tall man turned, his gaze sweeping over everyone present. "He's human; he gets tired, he feels pain, he makes mistakes. And..." He paused, "He knows we're watching him, which only makes him more arrogant. The fact that he dared to use himself as a guinea pig on the training field shows he's become accustomed to victory."
The room was silent for a few seconds.
"So what?" A muffled thud came from the corner. It was a young man wearing a tactical mask, slamming his fist on the metal table. "We can't even get close to the base now! Last time, we were completely wiped out, half of our equipment was destroyed, and their communication channels were silenced, so we couldn't even plant a mole! What's the use of these weaknesses? With the three of them working together, there's no chance to make a move!"
No one argued with him. In fact, several people lowered their heads. The shadow of failure hung over everyone's hearts like a film, lingering there.
The tall man wasn't angry; he simply walked to the control panel and pulled up another video. This time, the footage came from city surveillance— Ye Mo was alone in the control room, removing his protective gear and staring blankly at the scars on his arm. Outside the window, the sky was gradually darkening, and the streetlights were turning on one by one, while he sat there, motionless for a long time.
"What do you see?" the tall man asked.
"He's... recording data?" someone asked hesitantly.
"No." The tall man shook his head. "He's waiting. Waiting for the next order, waiting for the next battle. But he forgot that a true hunter never holds a gun forever."
He pressed the button again, switching to the footage inside the medical pod— Pepper was lying inside, pale-faced, with weak vital signs. This was followed by footage of a laboratory explosion, green mist filling the air, and Ye Mo kicking open the pod door to rescue her.
"He saved her," the tall man said, "Not because of a mission, but because of feelings. He was afraid of losing the people around him. So he would take risks, fight desperately, and push himself to the limit."
"Then strike at his weak point," the man in the tactical vest gritted his teeth. "First, disable Tony's armor energy, then sever Emma Frost's mental link, and finally surround and kill him. As long as he panics and his Regeneration rhythm is disrupted, we'll win."
"No." The masked young man suddenly looked up. "You've overlooked something—he's not afraid of dying, but he's afraid it won't be time to save him."
These words stunned everyone.
"Remember that self-destruct countdown?" the young man continued. "He could have retreated, but he stayed behind, stubbornly repairing the Steel Bone Shield. Why? Because he knew that if he hesitated even a moment, everyone behind him would be finished. You can't expect someone like that to break down; you have to leave them no time to react."
The tall man nodded slowly. "So our plan isn't a frontal assault, but rather... a war of attrition."
He walked to the whiteboard, picked up a marker, and drew a circle on it.
"Phase One: Infiltration. All personnel will cut off external communication and go underground. Electromagnetic signals and networked devices are no longer permitted; all actions will rely on physical intercoms for information transmission."
Someone frowned. "Then how do we gather intelligence?"
"Use the most primitive method," the tall man said. "Human eyes, human ears, human legs. Divide the city into sixteen blocks, and assign two observers to each block, disguised as cleaners, deliverymen, and repairmen, to record Ye Mo's travel routes, dwell time, and contacts every day."
"Phase Two: Simulation and Analysis," he continued, "retrieving all publicly available combat footage from the past three months and analyzing his capacity limits using medical models. Highlighting the three key time periods: ' Regeneration Cooldown,' 'Peak Energy Absorption,' and ' Wall Phasing- Penetrating Delay Window.'"
"The third stage..." he wrote the last word, "Waiting for the wind to come."
"What do you mean?" someone asked.
"Wait until they relax." The tall man's voice turned cold. "After every battle, they'll think the crisis is over. They'll rest, they'll joke around, they'll believe they've got enough understanding. That's when we strike."
Silence filled the room.
Then, the man in the tactical vest stood up, walked to the projector, and punched the close-up of Ye Mo's face on the screen. The plastic stand snapped, the projection tilted, and the image distorted into a diagonal line.
"We've already had our lives ruined once," he gasped, "Do we have to live on our knees again?"
No one responded, but their subsequent actions spoke volumes.
The young man wearing a mask took it off and threw it on the ground.
Another woman pulled out her headphones and stomped on them, crushing them.
The technician next to the control panel turned off all network ports and unplugged the data cable, stuffing it into a fireproof bag.
Someone took a paper map out of their bag, spread it on the table, and circled several key locations with a red pen.
"He once installed a resonator in the alley behind the Starbucks in the East District."
"He went to the Beiqiao substation to inspect the lines after the third battle."
"The city center square, the landing site of the aircraft, the place where the largest crowds gather."
"These are his usual routes." The tall man walked over, pointing to the map. "Remember, we're not in a hurry to kill him. We need to let him know that the feeling of defeat has returned."
"They need to pay the price," the masked young man whispered.
"They'll pay the price," the woman repeated.
"They must pay the price!" everyone shouted in unison, their voices not loud, but like nails driven into the wall.
The tall man glanced one last time at the skewed image on the projection screen and whispered the command, "Code name ' Ashes,' activate."
Everyone dispersed, their footsteps fading at the end of the corridor.
He was alone in the control room. He walked to the safe in the corner, entered the password, and pulled open the drawer. Inside were no weapons, no ammunition, only a yellowed notebook with the words "AIM Research Log - Aldrich Killian " written on the cover.
He turned to the first page, where an old photograph was pasted—a young Killian standing on a stage, with a cheering crowd behind him. The caption read, " Extremis Project, Born for Human Evolution."
He gently ran his fingertips along the edge of the photograph, then tore off the page and put it in the shredder.
The machine hummed as it ran, and the paper pieces turned into thin strips that fell down.
He turned and left, and in the last moment before the lights went out, he uttered a sentence:
This time, we won't let them define what 'failure' is.
On the other side of the city, in the control room.
Ye Mo was still sitting at the control panel, his glasses tucked between his fingers, the screen scrolling with the cooling progress of the Gene Spiral Tower. The 90th notification was still flashing: [" Regenerative Phasing " combination cooldown 87 seconds remaining.]
He stared at the words and suddenly felt a chill on the back of his neck.
The knocking sounds from the repair shop in the distance continued, one after another, like some kind of countdown.
He frowned, raised his hand to touch his neck, but found nothing there.
It's just an illusion.
He put his glasses back on, looked down at the screen, and prepared to continue recording trial and error data.
Just as my fingers touched the keyboard, the last rays of the setting sun sank into the buildings outside the window.