At 3:17 a. m., the glow of the streetlights began to turn white.
The cleaning truck had just rolled over the puddles when the roller shutters slammed up to the top. The sizzling griddle at the breakfast stall sizzled as the fried dough sticks flipped in the boiling oil. A stray cat darted out from the alleyway, snatched half a loaf of bread, its tail brushed past a fire hydrant, and disappeared around the corner. The city was like an old-fashioned radio, clicking twice before slowly tuning back to its everyday tune.
Ye Mo was still standing in the center of the open space. The tiny arc of electricity in his palm hadn't extinguished, but it had shrunk to the size of a grain of rice, pulsating against his skin like a pacemaker that refused to sleep. He didn't move, Tony didn't move, and Emma Frost didn't move either. The three of them were in the same positions as they had been half an hour ago, but the atmosphere had changed—not because they were too tired to move, but because they couldn't move.
Tony leaned back on the bench, his left wrist-controlled projector long since retracted, the design blueprints sealed and stored in his briefcase. He didn't close the lid; his fingers were still lightly tapping the metal casing, a slow, deliberate tap, as if waiting for some signal. The armor module lay quietly inside, neither activated nor disassembled, like a loaded gun with the trigger unpulled.
Emma Frost stood by the window, her tactical gloves neatly on, her fingertips slightly bent, ready to conjure a mental Force Field at any moment. Her eyes were closed, her breathing steady, but the veins in her temples throbbed occasionally. The Mental Scan hadn't stopped, but it was reduced to the lowest power, like a radar with its strong beam turned off, leaving only background noise for monitoring. She knew that real movements wouldn't be written on her face; she had to rely on her ears to hear the wind and her skin to feel changes in air density.
Ye Mo slowly raised his hand and took off his silver half-rimmed glasses. There was a bit of dust on the edge of the lenses, which he wiped with the cuff of his hoodie, his movements slow, as if performing some kind of ritual. When he put them back on, his eyes were different. The slight relaxation after his fatigue had vanished, replaced by a coldness as sharp as a knife frozen in a freezer.
He pulled up his hat, the black cloth covering half his face, revealing only his chin and tightly pursed lips. The moment he did this, his entire demeanor hardened. He was no longer the crazy college student squatting by the roadside adjusting the electrical circuits, nor the ordinary person pretending to relax in the coffee shop. He was Mr. X, the man who always woke up three seconds before the alarm went off.
"Hoo..." Tony suddenly sighed, the sound not loud, but especially clear in the quiet morning.
"What?" Ye Mo didn't turn around.
"I was thinking, the last time I stood here like this waiting for something to happen was when I had just built my first suit of armor." Tony cracked his shoulder, his joints popping. "Back then, I thought that as long as I flew high enough, I could see all the dangers."
"And now?"
"Now I know that some things can't be detected by radar, can't be captured by satellites, and even JARVIS can't find them." He paused, "But you can sense them."
Ye Mo didn't reply. He had indeed sensed it.
Just moments ago, a notification sounded in my mind without warning: [A new challenge is coming soon]
There were no coordinates, no countdown, no energy fluctuation values, not even an "expected threat level." The system never minced words, and this time it was even more concise, bordering on cold. But it was precisely this simplicity that sent chills down one's spine.
Last time the enemy came, at least there were drones, signal sources, and heat sinks. This time? Nothing. It's like knowing there's a knife hanging over your head, but you can't see where the rope is attached.
His fingers trembled slightly, the arc of electricity in his palm contracted sharply, almost extinguished, then stubbornly reignited. He looked up, his gaze sweeping across the street to the skyline at the city's edge. It was still dark there, the silhouettes of buildings piercing the night sky like jagged teeth. The sun was about to rise, but the darkness seemed nailed down, refusing to recede.
"A new challenge... is coming," he said softly, almost as if talking to himself.
But Tony heard it.
He looked up at Ye Mo, but didn't laugh or ask, "Did you listen to the system's nonsense again?" He knew Ye Mo wouldn't joke about something like this. He simply sat up straight, crossed his arms, and turned his gaze into the distance.
Emma Frost opened her eyes.
She didn't speak, but the scope of her Mental Scan quietly expanded by half a circle. She didn't try to verify whether the voice in Ye Mo's mind was real, because she knew that for Ye Mo, the system was part of reality. She only needed to confirm whether this reality had spread to the outside world.
There was no unusual emotional outburst, no collective anxiety, the streets were sparsely populated but normal, the breakfast stall owner hummed a song while flipping fried dough sticks, and the girl in her pajamas had already gone home. Everything was peaceful.
But it's precisely because everything is so peaceful that something's not right.
She gently pressed her right hand against her temple, then released it, her glove tightening again with a soft rustling sound. She was assessing how long the barrier could hold. Three minutes? Five minutes? Or would it be torn apart silently by something in the next second?
No one spoke.
The three of them stood there, one in the center of the open space, one beside the bench, and one by the window. Their positions hadn't changed, and their postures hadn't changed much, but their aura was completely different. They were no longer those resting after a battle, but had entered another state—like three stakes driven into the ground, waiting for the wind to come.
Tony suddenly spoke up, "Hey, shall we go somewhere else? Standing here makes us look like three high school students who skipped the night and got kicked out by their parents as punishment."
"If you want to go back to the lab and sleep on the sofa, I won't stop you," Ye Mo, still gazing into the distance. "But I have to stay here."
"That's not what I meant," Tony clicked his tongue. "I meant, could you at least buy me a coffee? I'm starving."
"The coffee shop owner just finished frying his second batch of youtiao (Chinese fried dough sticks)," Emma Frost suddenly said. "His wife is mixing scallions in the kitchen, and his son is playing video games upstairs, streaming on his phone with the chat full of 'Go, Dad!'"
"So what?"
"So the city is still functioning normally." She opened her eyes. "But the three of us are no longer in its rhythm."
Tony was silent for a few seconds, then suddenly laughed, "Ha, that really hits home."
He didn't mention leaving again.
The three fell silent again. A gust of wind blew from the street corner, swirling a piece of scrap paper and sticking it to the fire hydrant. Ye Mo's gaze followed the paper until it stopped moving. His fingers twitched unconsciously, and the arc of electricity gathered again at his fingertips, more stable and solid than before.
He knew this was not the end.
The dust of the Extremis Virus hadn't yet settled, the cleaning trucks had washed away the bloodstains, the citizens remembered the hero's name, and the media began writing headlines like "Crisis Over." But he knew this was just a halftime break. The system wouldn't lie to him, nor would his body. The chilling feeling at the back of his neck lingered, as if someone were pressing an ice needle against his spine.
Tony glanced down at his watch; the time had jumped to 3:21. He pushed his briefcase to his feet, crossed his arms on his knees, and tilted his chin slightly, staring at the sky. He was waiting—waiting for the first ray of sunlight to pierce the clouds, waiting for some shadow that shouldn't have appeared to sweep across the horizon.
Emma Frost closed her eyes again. She stopped scanning the streets and instead focused her mental energy into the city's underground pipes, cables, and communication nodes. She was looking for that subtle "lag," like a frame that suddenly stops while a video is loading. If the enemy came again, they wouldn't attack from the front, but would slip through the gaps.
Ye Mo finally moved.
He turned to face the two of them, said nothing, but simply nodded slightly. The gesture was small, but its meaning was clear—I'm ready.
Tony returned the look, a slight upturn of his lips—not a smile, not serious, just an "I understand" expression.
Emma Frost didn't open her eyes, but she raised her left hand and made a pressing motion in the air. This was their newly formed code: I'm here, I'm listening, I'm watching.
The three people stood in a line again.
Ye Mo was in the middle, Tony on the right, Emma Frost on the left. Their shadows were stretched long by the streetlights, overlapping each other like a complete shield. The street gradually became more crowded. Office workers hurried past with their bags, and deliverymen turned the corner on their electric bikes. No one gave them a second glance. To passersby, they were just three young people who hadn't returned home late at night, perhaps waiting for the early bus, or perhaps they had just had an argument and needed to calm down.
Nobody knows what they're waiting for.
No one knew that they were never waiting for a car, nor for a person.
It's the moment the wind changes direction, the second the air density changes abruptly, the instant an unseen switch is quietly flipped.
Ye Mo raised his hand, arcs of electricity crackling at his fingertips, the color changing from blue-white to deep purple, steady as a breath.
He gazed into the depths of the city, his lips moving slightly, but no sound came out; however, the shape of his mouth was clear:
"Bring it on."
The wind didn't move.
The flag wasn't even raised.
But their feet were already nailed to the ground.