The messages in the chat fell into silence. The audience, who had been watching intently, felt a strange tightening in their chests. This silence wasn't merely quiet, it was heavy, oppressive. Especially after witnessing what Tony had drawn, everyone's throats seemed to tighten, their noses stung, and tears welled up unbidden. Some of the women watching couldn't hold back; tears spilled freely down their cheeks.
In everyone's mind, that haunting image replayed, the lone figure carrying a nuclear bomb on his shoulder, soaring fearlessly into the unknown void, never once looking back.
"Did Tony develop anxiety because of that mission, the one where he flew the nuke into space?"
"That kind of anxiety hurts so deeply... I went through the same for two years. I even wanted to die back then."
"No wonder Tony keeps building so many suits!"
"He's using that cold armor to numb his pain. He buries himself in work so he doesn't have to face the trauma again."
"When his anxiety flared up just now, the first thing he did was put on his suit. That means his mind has linked the armor with safety."
"It's just like a blanket or a toy children can't sleep without. Even when torn, they cling to it for comfort."
"But Tony's a hero, and he's being treated unfairly!"
"He's clearly suffering from post-traumatic stress, psychological scars from that event."
"He's unhappy… and now it's even harder for him to find happiness."
"Did anyone notice? When Tony appeared, he was wearing the Mark 7, the same armor that took him into space."
"I finally understand him now."
"That cold steel suit is his last sense of security."
"Tony's actually quite pitiful…"
The Federal Hospital, the most advanced private medical institution in the entire Terra Federation, exceeded even public hospitals in standards.
In the 300-square-meter general consultation room on the top floor, all department directors sat assembled. A high-definition screen displayed footage, the broadcast that had captured Tony's life.
Dean Kawata Tetsuo and Vice Dean Jay Sorya sat in the front row, exchanging quiet words. The young Jay looked proud, sharp-eyed and confident.
He glanced at the screen and said, "See, Dean? I was right."
Tetsuo squinted slightly, appearing half-asleep, and offered a faint hum of acknowledgment.
Jay rolled his eyes. "It's obviously post-traumatic stress disorder."
"Tell me your diagnostic basis," Dean Tetsuo asked lazily.
Jay twirled his pen, sighing with boredom. "Isn't it obvious? After the Chitauri battle, 72 hours without sleep, classic insomnia. Whenever he hears words like 'Chitauri' or 'space,' he experiences chest tightness and sweating. He's been building suits day and night, obsessive behavior linked to trauma. For adults, exposure to life-threatening danger is a direct trigger. Tony faced that head-on."
"He involuntarily experiences distress and discomfort when reminded of it. He avoids all stimuli connected to that traumatic event. And his thinking's changed, he's lost confidence in himself. He sees the world as dangerous and believes he isn't strong enough to protect those he loves. So he keeps building suits, to guard himself and Pepper. And of course, his sleep is totally disrupted."
Yawning, Jay asked, "Satisfied now, Dean?"
Tetsuo's gaze stayed fixed on Tony. "I'm wondering," he murmured, "is human intelligence really as powerful as Tony's? Do you think Tony truly solved the turbulence mystery? The Extremis virus, what kind of genetic material did they manipulate?"
Jay froze for a moment, his face growing serious. "You mean, when Tony tested that armor, its stable flight meant he had already cracked the turbulence problem?"
Tetsuo nodded. "Exactly. You catch on fast."
Jay frowned, his tone suddenly grave. "If that's true, then the turbulence issue in our guidewire research might be solvable!"
That turbulence problem had been Tetsuo's ultimate obstacle in interventional surgery. If Tony's method could be applied, it would revolutionize the field, with fewer punctures, faster procedures, and fewer risks.
As Jay listed the potential benefits, his eyes sparkled with excitement, until he suddenly paused, realization dawning: "So… Tony's even more of a genius than I am?"
In the Terra Federation, Jay had always been a prodigy, a surgeon whose skill dazzled even senior doctors. Any operation could be mastered after a few observations. His academic record was unmatched, yet Tony's brilliance humbled even him.
"Dean," he asked, "do you think the Extremis virus could really exist?"
Tetsuo shook his head firmly. "A stable version? Impossible. I'm no geneticist, but I've read enough research; it can't be done."
Jay blinked, stunned. Tetsuo never spoke carelessly, yet his tone carried absolute certainty.
The conference room fell silent again.
Beneath the super-body helmet, Tanner was losing his mind. The reward counter kept climbing like a flood. When Tony's anxiety was revealed, donations surged.
"It's a pity the double-effect bonus didn't trigger this time," Tanner muttered. He checked his account balance and broke into a wide grin. It was absurd, faster money than any real job.
"No wonder people are lining up to show their life videos," he chuckled. "It's all pure profit!"
Suddenly, his body stiffened. A flash of understanding crossed his face.
"The solution to the Extremis virus?!" But after a moment, he shook his head. "Too dangerous. Too unstable. Not worth it. I'll just stick with the suits."
Every detail of the suit-building process remained vivid in his mind, though still imperfect.
As footage of his past life continued to play, a deep unease spread among the audience once more.