When the transport plane door opened, Ye Mo was still leaning against the window frame, half-asleep. A gust of cold wind rushed in, making the back of his neck shiver, and he finally became fully awake. He didn't rush to move, but first looked down at his hand resting on his knee—his knuckles were white, and there was a small cut on the web between his thumb and forefinger; the blood had long since dried, looking like a line drawn with red paint. The injury on his shoulder didn't hurt much anymore, probably because the numbness from the frost was still working.
The base lights were on, and the row of incandescent bulbs at the end of the corridor reflected off the ground, making it look like a layer of plastic film. He slowly stood up; his legs were still a little weak, but he could walk. Tony and the others had gone down earlier, so no one was waiting for him or calling him back. That was fine; he didn't want to deal with any polite "Are you alright?" right now.
He walked along the main corridor, his footsteps echoing in the empty space. As he rounded the medical area, he heard someone adjusting equipment; the sound stopped after two beeps. He didn't stop, continuing forward until the glass doors of the second-floor observation deck came into view.
The door was ajar.
He pushed open the door and went in. A gust of wind immediately swept in, carrying the dampness of night dew. It was dark outside, and the city lights in the distance stretched out like a patch of shattered glass. Vision stood there, his back to him, his face turned outwards, his red eyes glowing faintly in the darkness, like two indicator lights that hadn't been turned off.
Ye Mo stood still for a few seconds, catching his breath. The battle had drained not only his physical strength but also his mind. Every nerve in his body felt like it had been twisted, buzzing, but he knew that some things couldn't be delayed. Delaying them would only create a rift.
He took a few steps forward, his shoes making a soft rustling sound as they scraped against the floor.
"Still not asleep?" he asked, his voice a little hoarse, but clear enough.
Vision turned his head, his movements slow, as if he had just emerged from some kind of calculation. He nodded. "I'm organizing the signal stream. There's too much combat data from just now; it needs to be categorized."
"Oh." Ye Mo leaned against the railing, the cold metal frame making him pull his hand away. "I thought you were like us, wanting to lie down after a fight."
The Vision sensed that its lips should twitch, so it did. "I don't need sleep. But... I understand that kind of exhaustion. Even though I'm not human, I can sense your emotional fluctuations."
Ye Mo smiled, raised his hand to take off his glasses, and wiped the lenses with the hem of his T-shirt. There was a gray streak on the lens that he couldn't wipe off; it was probably carbon dust that had splashed on it during the explosion. He put them back on, and the world became a little clearer again.
"Honestly," he said, looking out the window, "That telepathic communication you made in the rubble just now was spot on. If you hadn't cut off the main control node, we'd still be stuck down there with that pile of junk for another half hour. Tony would have been yelling and cursing us out."
Vision paused for a moment before saying, "I was just... trying to help. I'm not sure if I'm needed."
"You are needed." Ye Mo interrupted him, her tone crisp. "Stop with those philosophical questions like 'I'm an AI' or 'I don't belong here.' You stepped forward today, and that's enough. We don't get into this circle based on status; we get in based on who dares to step forward."
Vision's red eyes flickered slightly, as if his internal programs were recalibrating.
"But I am different from you," he said. "I have no heartbeat, no blood; my consciousness comes from the fusion of code and gems. I'm not even sure who 'I' am."
Ye Mo listened without immediately replying. He looked down at his right hand—a faint metallic sheen flowed beneath his skin, a trace of the Steel Bone repair. He raised his hand and gently tapped the railing twice, producing a soft "clang" sound.
"Look at me," he said, "I'm not entirely 'human' in the traditional sense. I can Wall Phasing, Regeneration, sense energy pulses, and hear voices from the system. Sometimes when I look in the mirror, I wonder, what am I? A Mutants? A time traveler? Or just an experimental subject in human skin?"
He paused, his voice lowering, "But even now, standing here talking to you, my shoulders still ache, my legs are still weak, I get tired, and I'm afraid of dying. These feelings are real. So I don't dwell on 'what I am,' I only care about 'what I'm doing.'"
Vision turned around and faced him directly.
Are you telling me... that existence itself is meaning?
"Pretty much." Ye Mo shrugged. "You saved us, you chose to stand on this side. That shows you have judgment, choices, and a stance. These things can't be generated by code. You're not a tool, you're an ally."
A breeze blew in from the window, lifting the hood of Ye Mo's hoodie. He didn't press it down, just let it sway.
Vision looked down at his hands. They looked no different from human hands, with clear skin texture and distinct knuckles. He slowly clenched his fists, then released them.
"You didn't exclude me," he said. "Even though I know JARVIS's access key, even though I can access S.H.I.E.L.D..'s main network, you didn't put me in quarantine."
"That's because we trust you," Ye Mo said. "And you trust us too, otherwise you wouldn't have proactively cut off the broadcast protocol, leaving only a low-frequency pulse. You were afraid Ultron pinpoint your teammates' locations, right?"
Vision nodded.
"You've made your choice." Ye Mo patted him on the shoulder. "That's enough. We'll take our time with the rest. Anyway, the base's WiFi is free; you can pay for as long as you want."
This time, Vision genuinely smiled. Not the simulated smile, but a warm smile that emanated from his eyes.
"Thank you," he said.
"Don't thank me." Ye Mo waved his hand. "Thank yourself. Your willingness to step forward is more important than anything else."
The two quieted down and gazed at the city outside. The lights stretched like rivers, and the traffic flowed like slowly moving stars. The night was still, with only the ventilation system humming softly in the distance.
"You know what?" Ye Mo suddenly said, "What I used to fear most was being seen through. I acted like Mr. X, wearing a hat and a hoodie, just so no one would notice I was different. But after today's fight, I realized... you don't have to hide it so tightly. Some people, you don't have to say anything, they already understand."
Vision turned his head to look at him.
"You trust me," he said.
"Yes." Ye Mo nodded. "I believe you."
The wind blew again, and Vision's red eyes shone steadily in the night, like two lamps that would never go out.
Ye Mo moved his shoulder; the wound was still there, but it didn't affect his movement. He glanced at the time—2:17 AM.
"Get some rest," he said. "We have to practice tomorrow."
Vision didn't move, but simply nodded slightly. "You too."
Ye Mo turned and walked towards the door. Halfway there, he stopped, without turning back, and only said, "By the way, could you please give me a heads-up next time you use voice transmission? My ears were almost deafened."
"I'll adjust the volume," Vision replied.
Ye Mo snorted and pushed the door open to leave.
The corridor lights were still bright. He walked back along the same path, his steps much steadyer than when he came. Behind him, the doors of the observation deck slowly closed, and the glass reflected Vision's still-standing figure.
He didn't look back.
But surprisingly, his lips weren't pursed.