Chapter 31: Unfurnished Room
The motel was located in the outskirts of Washington, right beside the national highway.
Lynn sat on the edge of the bed with a bowl of braised beef noodles placed in front of him. Steaming hot, the scent of chili oil diluted the slight musty odor.
He was not wearing his armor. The armor was sprawled across the chair next to him like a pile of listless black scrap metal. Tony's voice in the earpiece was intermittent, carrying static noise:
"I mean, do you really have to pick such an un-city place to wait for people? Looking at this environment, even monkeys would shake their heads."
"What do you know."
Lynn slurped a mouthful of noodles,
"A place like this has no surveillance, no informants, and you won't feel bad if things get smashed up during a fight."
And—
He chewed on his noodles and vaguely added,
"It's cheap."
"Someone from the Stark Family is telling me about being cheap?"
"So what?"
Lynn picked up the bowl and took a sip of the soup,
"Saving money is a virtue, understand?"
Before his voice had even faded—
The window exploded with a bang, and shattered glass poured in like hail.
The instant noodles bowl in Lynn's hand flew out, its soup splashing a brownish-red arc in mid-air.
His entire body sprang up from the bed, his back hitting the floor as he rolled and crashed into the bedside table. The desk lamp smashed down, and its bulb shattered with a snap.
There was no warning, no footsteps, and no killing intent.
It was pure, unreasonable, zero-frame startup.
A black shadow vaulted in through the window, moving so fast it was like a piece of black iron being thrown inside.
He landed extremely lightly, making almost no sound, holding a suppressed pistol in his hand with the muzzle steadily pointing at Lynn's head.
Winter Soldier.
His left metal arm gleamed with a cold light under the dim illumination, and his skin was damp with rainwater, mixed with a fishy stench of engine oil and rust.
There was little expression on his face, and his eyes were grey and hazy like two glass beads soaked in formalin, devoid of any human warmth.
Lynn lay flat on the ground, looking into those eyes, and suddenly smiled:
"...Your entrance is pretty passion."
Winter Soldier didn't speak. He pulled the trigger.
The sound of the bullet leaving the chamber was muffled like a fart.
Lynn moved half a second in advance—
His Spider-Sense pricked the back of his head, and he rolled to the side. The bullet grazed his face and punched into the wall, causing wall dust to cascade down and splash into his eyes, stinging with a dull pain.
"Holy shit!"
Lynn cursed and reached out to grab the armor on the chair,
"Tony! Armor! Remote start!"
"Starting it up, starting it up!"
Tony's voice in the earpiece grew anxious as well,
"The signal in your crappy place is as bad as a primitive tribe—"
Winter Soldier didn't give him time.
He strode over, swinging his metal left arm around to smash down.
Just as Lynn grabbed the chest plate in his hand, that punch had already smashed right in front of his face—
He instinctively raised his hands to block. His forearms were shaken numb, and his entire body flew backward, crashing into the bathroom door and cracking the door panel with a crisp snap.
"I've been humbled..."
Lynn coughed, crawled out from the shattered door panels, and shook his arms,
"That punch packs a real punch."
Winter Soldier followed up expressionlessly, raising his pistol once more.
Lynn lunged fiercely toward the armor, buckling the chest piece onto himself as the reactor lit up with a cold blue glow.
The other parts weren't on him yet. Half-suited in the armor like wearing an unbuttoned vest, he rolled awkwardly to the side.
Bullets chased after him, blowing out a row of bullet holes across the room. Cotton wadding flew out from the mattress, drifting down like white snow.
"Tony! Thrusters!"
Lynn roared.
"Power isn't enough! You can only fly for three seconds!"
Tony shouted in the earpiece,
"And directional control—"
"Three seconds is enough!"
Lynn pressed the button, and a blast of airflow roared from his back. His entire body crashed diagonally through the wall, bursting into the next room.
Next door stayed a snoring truck driver, who was awakened by the loud noise. Opening his eyes, he saw a half-human, half-metal guy crashing through the wall,
followed by a gun-toting metal-armed man. Stunned for two seconds, he let out a piercing scream, rolled off the bed wrapped in a quilt, and scrambled out the door in a panic.
"Sorry to disturb you, buddy."
Lynn stepped right over him,
"I'll cover the accommodation fee, guaranteed."
Winter Soldier chased through the hole, his metal arm smashing a fist against Lynn's back armor.
Lynn lunged forward, crashing into the TV cabinet. The television screen shattered with a snap, sending sparks flying with a scorched plastic odor.
"You motherf—"
Lynn turned around and finally buckled on the last piece of shoulder armor. The armor fully activated, and the HUD lit up,
"Hitting my back armor? Don't you know my suit is matte black, built specifically to be dirt-resistant and durable?"
Winter Soldier still didn't speak. He discarded the empty pistol, drew a dagger from behind his waist with a reverse grip, and closed in.
The two of them started fighting inside the cramped motel room.
Winter Soldier's fighting style had no fancy moves; every single one was a fatal blow—fast, ruthless, and direct.
The dagger scraped against the armor, generating a string of dazzling sparks with a sound as shrill as fingernails scratching a chalkboard.
Lynn relied on his reaction speed to block, but the armor's power was insufficient, and his movements were always half a beat slow, almost getting the dagger stabbed into his joint gaps several times.
"You're basically hard-controlling me here."
Lynn cursed while blocking,
"Can't we talk things out? You start stabbing right off the bat, where's your manners?"
Winter Soldier didn't even blink an eyelid.
He suddenly changed tactics, his metal arm locking onto Lynn's neck and pressing him against the wall with astonishing strength.
The armor's neck guard let out an unbearable creaking sound. Lynn's face turned beet red, and his vision darkened.
Tony was still nagging in the earpiece:
"Are you gonna make it? If not, I'll remotely trigger the self-destruct—"
"Trigger my ass!"
Lynn squeezed a sentence out from between his teeth, lifted his knee, and slammed it hard into Winter Soldier's lower abdomen.
Winter Soldier let out a muffled grunt, his grip loosening by half. Lynn seized the opportunity to break free and smashed a backhand punch across his face.
This punch carried the armor's augmentation. Winter Soldier was hit and staggered back two steps, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth.
He raised a hand to wipe it, looking at the blood on his fingertips. His eyes remained grey and hazy, without the slightest fluctuation.
"Seriously,"
Lynn panted, rubbing his neck,
"Can you at least give some reaction? Does it hurt? Does it feel good? So what? Can you say something?"
Winter Soldier looked at him, his lips moving slightly.
Thinking he was about to speak, Lynn leaned forward a bit:
"...What did you say?"
Winter Soldier suddenly moved again with a zero-frame startup, thrusting his dagger straight at his heart.
Lynn sidestepped, and the dagger grazed past the reactor's outer shell, carving out a deep gouge.
"...Holy shit, you tricked me!"
Lynn cursed,
"You're more petty than the eye of a needle!"
The two of them smashed through another wall from the next room, returning to the original room.
This place was now completely unrecognisable.
Two walls were gone, the bed had collapsed, and the instant noodle bowl was overturned on the floor. Noodle soup seeped into the carpet, and the smell of chili oil mixed with wall dust, choking people into coughing.
Lynn's armor thrusters flared once more. This time he didn't fly, but instead used the recoil of that airflow to duck low and sweep his leg.
Winter Soldier jumped up to dodge, and this was exactly what Lynn was waiting for—
He leaped up half a beat early, twisting his waist in mid-air, and smashed an elbow strike fiercely against Winter Soldier's back neck.
Winter Soldier landed, lunged forward two steps, dropped to one knee, and shook his head.
"This hit—"
Lynn landed and loosened his shoulders,
"Is guaranteed to knock you out."
Winter Soldier didn't pass out. He braced his knees, wanting to stand up, but his legs went soft and he dropped back down to his knees.
He looked up at Lynn, and for the first time, a trace of something resembling "confusion" appeared within those grey, hazy eyes, like a machine whose program had frozen.
"Still holding on?"
Lynn walked over,
"Humbled already, bro."
Winter Soldier jerked his head up, swinging his metal arm toward him—
But the speed was far too slow. Lynn easily caught his wrist, twisted it using leverage, and pinned his entire body to the ground with a knee pressed against his back.
Winter Soldier struggled twice, but couldn't break free.
His face pressed against the carpet covered in instant noodle soup and glass shards, breathing heavily as the scent of engine oil and sweat wafted off him.
Holding him down, Lynn suddenly noticed a blurred mark at the metal seam of his left arm—
It was scratched up, but still recognizable.
A red background, a black stamp, eight legs.
Hydra.
"...Good grief."
Lynn stared at that emblem and cursed softly,
"It's even a co-branded edition."
Winter Soldier stopped struggling. His pupils began to dilate, and his body twitched slightly, like a machine running out of battery.
Lynn relaxed his grip by half, and he immediately went limp, passing out cold.
The room finally quieted down.
Only the air conditioner's outdoor unit was still humming, like an exhausted old ox.
In the earpiece, Tony's voice sounded cautious:
"...Hello? Are you still alive?"
"Alive."
Lynn panted, looking down at the unconscious Winter Soldier on the ground,
"He's out."
"And you?"
"I'm about to pass out too."
Lynn took off his armor helmet, shaking the dust off his head,
"Tony, your armor needs an upgrade when we get back. Today's power output was like a senior mobility scooter; it almost sent me to the afterlife."
"Who told you to insist on such a sketchy 'un-city' cheap motel?"
"So what?"
Lynn sat down against a half-section of the broken wall, picked up half a pack of unopened potato chips from the floor, and tore it open,
"Didn't we still win?"
He chewed on the potato chips while looking at the sleeping Winter Soldier on the ground. That face was young and pale, with brows furrowed slightly even in deep sleep, as if having some bad dream.
Outside the door, the sound of police sirens approached from afar.
Lynn stuffed the potato chips into his pocket, stood up, and patted the dust off his hands.
"Fury should be arriving soon."
He muttered softly, "Let him come and see what kind of 'gift' his 'former Director' left behind for him."
Chapter 32: Subdued
When Fury's black Chevrolet crunched over the gravel and stopped, Lynn was sitting on the broken wall of the second floor of the motel, clutching half a bag of potato chips and crunching loudly.
Downstairs, two medics carried the Winter Soldier, tied up like a rice dumpling, onto a stretcher. His metal left arm gleamed coldly in the morning light, like a dead mechanical python.
Hill got out from the passenger seat and walked straight up to Lynn.
Her gaze first fell on the slash mark on the shoulder guard of his armor, then moved up, stopping at the side of his neck where there was a bluish mark left by Natasha last night.
She narrowed her eyes and tapped her fingertip on the mark:
"This wasn't left by me."
Lynn instinctively touched it and didn't speak.
Hill pulled back her hand, shoved it into her pocket, and turned to say to Fury:
"Director, I'll handle the cleanup of the scene. You take the people back first; the Winter Soldier needs the thawing procedure."
Fury looked at her, then looked at Lynn, a flash of an "I understand" light flickering in his single eye.
He didn't ask more, turned around and got into the car, and the Chevrolet drove away in a flash.
Only the two of them were left at the scene.
Hill walked toward her black SUV, pulled open the car door, and without looking back said:
"Get in."
"Where to?"
She sat in the driver's seat, her fingers tightening on the steering wheel, and her voice drifted out from the car window, carrying a bit of suppressed Fire: "Shut up."
The hotel was in the downtown area, on the twenty-eighth floor. As soon as the door was swiped open, Hillbackhanded Lynn into the room and pinned him against the door panel.
A fierce intensity burned in the depths of her eyes, not the gentle kind, but the ferocity of someone starving and wanting to swallow the entire table of dishes.
"My stomach Fire is heavy."
She said.
Lynn leaned against the door panel and smiled:
"Then I—"
"Shut up."
She bit down.
This bite was urgent and fierce, as if she wanted to completely cover the marks left by someone else with her own.
The movements of her hands were as deft as disassembling a gun, her fingertips carrying thin calluses, sending a shiver through him as they brushed across his skin.
"That AI in your armor,"
she panted, biting his Adam's apple,
"talks a lot?"
"It inherited Tony's talkativeness."
"What about you?"
She looked up at him, her grayish-green eyes startlingly bright in the dimness,
"does your mouth only know how to talk, or...?"
"You can try."
She pushed him into the bedroom and locked the door behind her.
Hill rushed into a private restaurant that was never open to the public like an extremely hungry diner.
At first, she still put on the airs of a Commander, using her knife and fork gracefully and chewing every bite slowly and carefully.
But every dish on Lynn's table was a heavy meal, and the kitchen's output was as fast as a pea shooter.
As soon as the previous plate was empty, the next one was refilled, covered by a barrage, giving her no breathing room at all.
Her eating manners changed.
From appreciation to wolfing it down, from restraint to losing composure.
She was like a true competitive eating champion, her stomach pouch bottomless yet never full, as if she wanted to chew up and swallow all the food.
And Lynn's cooking style was classic heavy pounding from Russia.
It was not the meticulous knife work of Japanese cuisine, nor the sauce garnishes of French cuisine.
It was pure, violent, ground-technique-like grappling and slamming.
Every strike carried the weight of a cast-iron skillet, powerful and heavy, intending to completely smash the diner into the seat cushion until she was dizzy and disoriented.
"You..."
she propped herself against the mattress, her voice shaking beyond recognition,
"can you... change the cuisine style?"
"No."
Lynn chuckled lowly,
"I refuse to submit."
"Then I'll smash you until you submit."
She was like a rookie participating in an extreme challenge, rolling from the head of the bed to the foot of the bed like a leaf in a fierce gale, completely unable to find a point of leverage.
By the third round of extra courses, Hill completely gave up resistance.
She collapsed on the dining table, her hair scattered across the napkin like a stranded fish, only her chest heaving violently.
Her pupils were unfocused, her lips parted slightly,
Lynn leaned against the edge of the kitchen counter, pulled up the apron, and covered her shoulders.
She vaguely moved her lips, emitting a breathy sound:
"...Scumbag."
"Mhm."
"...Get lost."
Then she completely lost her voice and fell into a deep sleep.
The doorbell rang.
Thinking it was room service, Lynn walked over and pulled open the door.
Natasha stood at the doorway, with red hair and a black fitted jacket, carrying two cups of Starbucks, looking at him with a smile:
"I heard there's an eating contest being held here?"
Lynn's hand holding the doorknob froze.
Natasha's gaze swept past his shoulder and took a glance into the room.
On the bed, half of Hill's shoulder exposed outside the quilt and the damp hair scattered on the pillow were fully in view. A certain scent still floated in the air.
Natasha's smile didn't change, even deepening slightly.
She raised the two cups of coffee in her hand and shook them slightly:
"Oh, eaten to the point of passing out? Chef, your skills are not bad."
"...I can explain."
"Explain what?"
Natasha stepped forward, the tip of her shoe resting against the doorframe, her voice cloyingly sweet,
"Explain how your shady shop engages in hunger marketing and only serves VIPs?"
Hill turned over in her sleep, emitting a vague murmur.
Natasha raised an eyebrow:
"Looks like someone beat me to the city."
Lynn opened his mouth, but before any sound came out, Hill's hoarse voice came from behind:
"...Who?"
Lynn turned back.
Hill had already sat up, the quilt sliding down to her waist, her hair messy, her eyes still carrying the mist of unawakened sleep,
but when she clearly saw the person standing at the doorway, that trace of mist instantly dissipated, leaving only the instinctive vigilance of an Agent.
The gazes of the two women met in mid-air.
Hill:
"...Romanoff."
Natasha:
"Deputy Commander Hill."
Silence.
Three seconds later, Natasha chuckled, shoved one of the cups of coffee into Lynn's arms, and patted his face:
"You, go stand outside and face the wall as punishment first."
Hill grabbed a pillow and smashed it at him:
"Get out and close the door."
Lynn was pushed out of the room, clutching a cup of iced latte in his hand, wearing a bathrobe, standing on the carpet of the hotel corridor.
The door slammed shut behind him with a bang and was locked.
He lowered his head, looked at the coffee in his hand, and remained silent for five seconds.
His cell phone rang. Fury.
He answered it, his voice carrying a kind of "subdued" calm:
"Hello?"
"The Winter Soldier is awake."
Fury's voice was very urgent,
"He specifically asked to see you. Where are you?"
Lynn looked at the window at the end of the corridor; the sky over Washington was grayish.
"I'm at the hotel."
"Which hotel?"
"...You might not believe it if I told you."
Lynn took a sip of the cold coffee,
"Right now, I've been chased out of the restaurant by two diners."
On the other end of the phone, Fury was silent for a long time.
So long that Lynn thought the signal was cut off, before Fury slowly spoke. Although his single eye couldn't see,
his voice exuded an exhaustion of "I give up":
"...Young man, take care of your health."
"Beep—"
The phone call hung up.
Lynn stood in the corridor, his bathrobe feeling a bit chilly from the air conditioning wind.
He lowered his head, looked at the logo printed on the coffee cup, suddenly chuckled, and muttered to himself:
"So what?"
"Since I've been reborn, I want it all."
Chapter 33: Two Slaps
In the hotel hallway, the air conditioning was cranked up high, and the cold wind poured in through the collar of Lynn's bathrobe, giving him goosebumps on the back of his neck.
He leaned against the wall, and rustling noises came from inside the door, as if someone was tidying their clothes, occasionally mixed with a couple of extremely low female voices whose content could not be heard.
Lynn pressed his ear against it, wanting to eavesdrop.
The door was yanked open abruptly.
He almost tumbled in.
Hill stood at the doorway, already fully dressed, with the top button of her dark gray jacket buttoned up, her short hair combed meticulously, and no expression visible on her face.
Without even looking at him, she walked straight ahead, her leather boots stepping silently on the carpet.
Natasha followed behind, having reapplied her lipstick, with her red hair loose and her trench coat belt tied tightly.
When she passed by Lynn, her footsteps paused for a moment, and she tilted her head to look at him, letting out a chuckle:
" Streamer, still standing here? "
"... Streamer? "
" Aren't you quite good at livestreaming? "
Natasha walked forward,
" Connecting with two viewers at the same time, that's quite eventful. "
Lynn clutched the cup of cold coffee and hurried after her:
" Wait. "
At the elevator entrance, Hill pressed the button.
The metal doors reflected three figures, and staring at Lynn's face in the mirror surface, she suddenly spoke:
" Choose. "
" Choose what? "
" Her, "
Hill turned her head, her gaze as cold as ice,
" Or me. "
Natasha leaned against the wall with her arms crossed, her fingertips tapping gently on the cuff of her trench coat:
" You have to choose one today. No dodging. "
Lynn stood between the two of them, looking left and right.
The cold wind in the hallway was still blowing, his bathrobe belt tied loosely, and holding that cup of spoiled coffee in his hand, he suddenly felt as though he had lost all his strength and means.
" What's wrong with that? "
He tried to struggle,
" Adults don't make choices; I want them all. "
Before his voice had even faded.
Natasha raised her hand with zero-frame startup.
" Slap! "
His left cheek burned fiercely, a buzzing sound rang in his ears, and the coffee cup flew out, smashing onto the carpet, splashing brown liquid all over the floor.
Before Lynn could even turn his head back,
Hill delivered a backhand, her movement even faster.
" Slap! "
His right cheek went numb right after.
Both sides were symmetrical, burning hotly.
Lynn covered his face, stunned in place, his ears buzzing and stars dancing before his eyes.
He opened his mouth, half a sentence rolling out of his throat:
"... You two? "
" Scumbag. "
Natasha shook her wrists, as if tired from slapping, and turned to enter the elevator.
" NPC. "
Hill added a sentence, without even looking at him, and followed her inside.
The elevator doors slowly closed.
Through the crack in the doors, Natasha gave him one last glance, her red lips curving:
" This isn't funny. "
" Ding. "
The elevator descended.
Only Lynn was left in the hallway, wearing a bathrobe, barefoot, with a red mark on each side of his face, standing in the middle of a puddle of sour coffee stains.
He covered his face, the tip of his tongue pushing against his cheek, and suddenly chuckled, muttering to himself:
"... It's over. "
His phone rang.
Lynn fished his phone out of his bathrobe pocket, Tony's name jumping on the screen.
He answered it, his voice muffled:
" Hello. "
" Where are you? "
Tony's voice carried the echo of the laboratory,
" Fury is urging us; the Winter Soldier wants to see someone over there. Hurry up. "
" I just got slapped twice. "
There was silence on the other end of the phone for two seconds.
Tony:
"... 6. "
Lynn:
" What 6? "
Tony:
" You're invincible. "
" Getting slapped by two women at the same time, your life is complete. "
"... Piss off. "
" Put on some clothes quickly. "
Tony said,
" I'm waiting for you downstairs at S.H.I.E.L.D. Any later, Egghead is going to overheat. "
" Got it. "
Lynn hung up the phone, glanced at the elevator door, then looked at the puddle of coffee stains on the ground, and turned to walk toward his room.
The door was already locked, and the room card was inside.
"... "
He stood at the doorway, was silent for three seconds, and raised his hand to knock on the door:
" Hello? My clothes are still inside. "
S.H.I.E.L.D., Triskelion, seventh floor underground.
The air carried a cold scent mixed with disinfectant, metal, and old cement, and the lights were ghastly white, making people's complexions look livid.
Lynn had changed into a black suit, the red marks on his face not yet completely faded, and his left cheek slightly swollen, making him look like a thug who had just finished a fight.
Tony stood beside him, holding back a smile, his gaze sweeping back and forth across his face:
" Your face... is symmetrical. "
" They really know how to measure their force, one on each side, as if it were measured out. "
" If you look again, I'll punch your other eye black too, " Lynn said.
" Yo, threatening me? "
Tony raised an eyebrow,
" How much combat power do you have left now? "
" To slap you, it's enough. "
Fury walked over from the end of the hallway, his single eye pausing on Lynn's face for a second before shifting away, as if he hadn't seen it, his voice low:
" The Winter Soldier has woken up. "
" But his state is wrong. "
" The brainwashing program is too deep, nothing can be interrogated out of him. "
" He only said one sentence: 'Mission. Stark.' "
The hallway fell silent.
The trace of banter on Lynn's face gradually faded.
He looked at Fury, his voice dropping: " Is the target me, or Tony? "
" I don't know. "
Fury said,
" But he specifically asked to see you. We showed him your photo, and only then did he react. "
The door of the interrogation room was a heavy metal door with a piece of bulletproof glass embedded in the middle.
Lynn pushed the door open and entered.
The Winter Soldier sat in a chair, his hands handcuffed by electromagnetic locks, his metal left arm connected to several data cables leading to the instrument next to him.
He lowered his head, his hair covering half his face, and upon hearing the door sound, he slowly raised his head.
Those eyes were grayish, like two glass beads soaked in formalin, devoid of light.
Lynn walked in front of him, pulled out a chair, and sat down.
The two stared at each other.
The Winter Soldier's lips moved, producing a hoarse breathy sound:
"... Mission. "
" What mission? " Lynn asked.
The Winter Soldier looked at him, his eyeballs slowly rolling as if identifying something.
Then, he suddenly smiled.
That smile was extremely brief, extremely distorted, like garbled code flashing when a program malfunctioned.
"... Kill you. "
He said.
Lynn didn't move.
He stared into the Winter Soldier's eyes, suddenly leaning forward slightly, his voice lowered:
" Then give it a try. "
The Winter Soldier's smile froze.
For the first time, something resembling "confusion" appeared in his pupils,
like a machine given wrong instructions that could no longer process it.
Fury stood behind the glass, his single eye staring at the two people inside, and suddenly spoke, his voice directed at Hill beside him:
" See, I told you he could do it. "
Hill crossed her arms and didn't answer.
Her gaze pierced through the glass, landing on Lynn's back, her lips pressed into a line.
Natasha stood at the other end of the hallway, twirling a set of car keys in her hand, looking at the door of the interrogation room, and suddenly chuckled, murmuring softly:
"... Idiot. "
Chapter 34 Formatting
In the seventh underground level of the S.H.I.E.L.D.Triskelion, as the pneumatic door of the interrogation room pushed open, it hissed out a wave of even colder air.
Winter Soldier sat on the reinforced chair in the center of the room, his hands bound by electromagnetic locks, his metal left arm exposed, with fine water droplets condensed on the surface of his skin, looking like he was just dragged out of a freezer.
Lynn leaned against the wall, not sitting down.
The marks on both sides of his face had not faded yet; the left one was left by Natasha, with deeper knuckle outlines, while the right one was from Hill, with sharper edges.
He pressed the tip of his tongue against his cheek, still a bit numb.
Tony squatted in front of the terminal, a portable decoder spread across his knees.
He stared at the scrolling hexadecimal code on the screen, his fingers hovering over the keyboard, and suddenly stopped.
"December 16, 1991."
Tony read out the timestamp, his voice very soft, as if afraid of disturbing something.
The footage began to play.
Snowy night. Highway. The icy road reflected the headlights. A black sedan lost control, skidded, and crashed into the guardrail.
A person stood by the roadside without an umbrella, snowflakes falling on his shoulders, holding a pistol in his hand. The camera zoomed in; that face was pale and young, his eyes like two frozen glass beads.
In the sedan, the man in the driver seat turned around and spoke half a sentence. A gunshot rang out.
The silencer muffled half the sound, and the other half exploded in the snowy night, like a stone crashing into an icy lake.
Tony's breathing stopped.
He watched the man being dragged out of the vehicle on the screen,
He was too familiar with that face, from the first page of the old family album to the portrait hanging on the study wall.
He watched the man in the suit fall into the snow, blood seeping out and staining the white snow dark red.
Tony's ears began to burn. The veins on his neck throbbed violently.
"...."
He didn't make a sound, just stood up.
Lynn, behind him, saw the screen and cursed in a low voice:
"Fuck."
Tony turned around, pushed open the door of the interrogation room, and walked in with big strides.
He grabbed Winter Soldier by the collar, lifting him up from the chair, the electromagnetic locks clanging loudly as they were pulled.
Winter Soldier's head swung back and forth from being shaken, and blood scabs from his earlier struggle still hung at the corner of his mouth.
"Did you kill my father?"
Tony's voice squeezed out from between his teeth, every word tinged with the taste of rust.
Winter Soldier looked at him, his pupils dilated, his lips moving mechanically:
"...Mission. Stark. Target. Eliminate."
"I asked you a question!"
Tony swung his right fist in a full circle, smashing it onto Winter Soldier's face.
Winter Soldier's head jerked sharply to the left, hitting the metal back of the chair and bouncing back.
Blood trickled down the corner of his mouth, dripping onto the restraint strap across his chest.
He licked the blood from the corner of his mouth, his gaze still holding that hollow dullness, even carrying a hint of confusion, as if processing a piece of incomprehensible foreign language:
"...Unrecognized command. Please try again."
"I'll try you again—"
Tony was about to strike again when Lynn grabbed him around the waist from behind and dragged him back.
"Bro!"
Lynn dragged him two steps away,
"He's already obedient, stop hitting him! If you hit him again and he crashes, how are we supposed to investigate?"
Tony panted heavily, his chest heaving violently, his eye sockets red, the whole person like an overloaded machine on the verge of crashing.
Outside the one-way glass, Fury had arrived at some point. He stood in the shadows, his single eye staring at Winter Soldier, his complexion grayer than the wall plaster.
He spoke, his voice as heavy as if squeezed from deep underground:
"Hydra washed him into a machine. He shoots wherever he is pointed, with no off switch."
"Who the hell is he?" Tony turned his head.
"Bucky Barnes."
Fury said,
"During World War II, Captain America's closest person.
Theoretically, he is decades older than your father. Looking like a young man now is entirely due to Hydra's cryo-freezing and modifications."
Tony was stunned.
He turned back, looking at Winter Soldier's face again. That face was indeed young, pale, with his brow slightly furrowed, like a college student who had just woken up and hadn't figured out the situation.
Hill walked in holding a tablet, without looking at Lynn, walking straight to the terminal.
Her fingers swiped twice on the screen, her voice flat without fluctuation:
"Severe prefrontal lobe damage, memory partitions seem to have been formatted.
Recovery probability... not high. Unless someone can bypass Hydra's firewall and directly reinstall his system."
"What about the risk?"
Fury asked.
"He could go berserk again at any time."
Hill finally turned her face slightly, her peripheral vision sweeping past Lynn and quickly moving away,
"And twist off the head of whoever tries to help."
Natasha leaned against the doorframe, twirling a tactical dagger with her fingertips, and suddenly chuckled:
"Lynn, did you hear that? Deputy Commander Hill is calling you out. The slap marks on your face are so symmetrical they could be used as an emoji."
Lynn raised his hand:
"If I beg for mercy now, is it too late?"
"Only human-machines beg for mercy."
Natasha sheathed her dagger back,
"Scumbags just accept the penalty directly."
Lynn didn't pick up the conversation. He glanced at Tonyand turned to Fury:
"Give me twenty-four hours."
"On what grounds?"
"Because I am faster than him."
Lynn pointed at Winter Soldier,
"Because my brother needs to calm down now. Because his brain contains Hydra's roster, funds, and evidence of Pierce's crimes. Egghead, do you not want them?"
Fury was silent for a long time.
The cold air of the seventh underground level was still blowing howlingly, making the hem of Lynn's suit flutter slightly.
"Twenty-four hours."
Fury finally said, and the two Agents at the door cleared the passage,
"If he goes berserk, I will seal him away permanently. You as well."
Fury turned and left, the sound of his leather boots fading further down the corridor.
Four people remained in the room, along with Winter Soldier on the chair.
Tony was still standing in the corner, not lifting his head, his shoulders tightly tensed.
Hill stood in front of the terminal, with her back to Lynn, her shoulder lines taut like a fully drawn bow.
Natasha walked over to the coffee maker, with her back to him, and poured a cup of black coffee without any for him.
Lynn walked up to Winter Soldier and squatted down.
Winter Soldier lowered his head, his hair covering his eyes.
There was a fishy stench of rust and old blood in the air, mixed with the chemical sweetness resembling cryo-fluid seeping from his skin.
Lynn didn't speak, just looked at him.
Winter Soldier slowly raised his head. Those dim, gray eyes slowly focused under the pale light. He stared at Lynnfor about ten seconds, his lips chapped and breathing heavy.
Then, his lips moved, his voice hoarse, blurry, but clear enough—
"...Steve?"
Lynn was taken aback for a moment.
He stared at that tiny bit of shimmering light in Winter Soldier's eyes, as if floating up from the deep sea, and the corners of his mouth slowly curved upward,
and reached out to pat Winter Soldier's other shoulder that didn't have the metal arm, whispering:
"...He is still here."
"You are still here too."
"Let's take it one by one."
Chapter 36 Spaghetti Code
Tony stared at the screen, his knuckles rapping with a click-clack sound.
The coffee had gone cold, a film of oil floating on the surface, but he didn't even look at it.
"This firewall,"
he cursed,
"is last century's spaghetti code, stinking and stubborn."
Lynn leaned against the edge of the console, flipping a tactical dagger in his hand:
"Can you crack it?"
"I'm cracking it."
Tony licked his dry lips,
"but right now I really want to shove this pile of shit into that crispy brain and do a direct physical reboot."
"Bro,"
Lynn caught the dagger,
"calm down. He's just a flash drive."
Tony looked up, his eye sockets bruised and dark:
"He killed my dad."
"That's all the more reason to make him remember."
Lynn walked over, pressing a palm to the back of Tony's neck and giving it a firm squeeze,
"Whoever gave the order has to clean up the mess. You need to keep him alive and talking sense."
The communicator crackled. Hill's voice was as flat as a steel plate:
"I've kept a lid on things inside S.H.I.E.L.D. Fury gives twenty-two hours. One minute more, and he'll send a strike team to pull the plug physically."
Another channel chimed in immediately, Natasha's voice carrying a smile:
"The Winter Soldier's heart rate just spiked to one hundred eighty, like he's riding a roller coaster. What did you feed him, so passion?"
Hill:
"Romanoff, this is my encrypted channel."
Natasha:
"Borrowing it for a second, the Deputy Commanderwouldn't be so petty, right? Besides, I deserve half the credit for the symmetrical aesthetics of the slap print on someone's face."
Lynn raised a hand and muted the communicator.
Tony glanced at him and lowered his head to continue typing on the keyboard.
The Winter Soldier suddenly opened his eyes.
The skin on the back of Lynn's head tightened abruptly, as if pricked by a needle.
The Spider-Sense exploded; without even looking, he sidestepped and hurled Tony away with one sweep.
Tony slid three meters away, chair and all, his cursing barely reaching his lips
when the Winter Soldier's metal left arm already slammed into Lynn's chest.
Thud.
The muffled impact sounded like a beating drum.
Lynn's feet left the ground as he flew backward, crashing into the reinforced glass, causing the entire wall to tremble with a hum.
He tumbled down, dropping to one knee as sweetness surged into his throat and the taste of blood spread in his mouth.
The bones in his chest emitted a protesting click-clack, but his accelerated self-healing had already started working, a burning sensation crawling outward from the wound.
The Winter Soldier snapped two restraint straps, tearing the carbon-fiber guardrails apart like paper.
He lunged toward Tony, his dim, grey eyes devoid of light, holding only the mission.
Lynn wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, stood up, and rolled his shoulders:
"...That's some real strength."
He met him head-on.
No afterimages, no sonic booms. Just sheer, peak-physical brute force.
Lynn sidestepped to avoid the Winter Soldier's straight punch, which grazed his ear and smashed into the console, sending sparks bursting across the desk.
He seized the momentum to slip into the Winter Soldier's inner guard, slamming his right elbow into the Winter Soldier's ribs with a dull crunch of bone impact that set teeth on edge.
The Winter Soldier didn't retreat. Taking the elbow, his metal arm swept horizontally across; Lynn raised his arm to block
Bam.
His forearm felt like it had been hit by a car.
Lynn staggered back two steps, knocking over an instrument rack and sending metal trays clattering all over the floor.
Before he could steady himself, the Winter Soldierfollowed up, driving a knee toward his lower abdomen.
Lynn's Spider-Sense exploded once more;
he pulled in his stomach half a second early, the knee strike brushing past his abdominal muscles and leaving a burning trail.
"Lynn!"
Tony scrambled up from the ground, reaching for the nearby stun gun.
"Don't move!"
Lynn roared,
"Stay put!"
The Winter Soldier had already drawn his dagger, holding it reverse-grip, and thrust it toward Lynn's heart.
Instead of retreating, Lynn advanced, actively throwing his chest forward
as the blade grazed his ribs, slicing through his suit and causing blood to seep out.
Seizing the opportunity, he clamped onto the Winter Soldier's knife-wielding wrist, grabbed the elbow joint of his metal arm with his other hand, pressed his entire body close, and used his weight to push him down.
The Winter Soldier struggled once, but couldn't shake him off.
The muscles in Lynn's arms tightened like two cables.
He twisted the Winter Soldier's knife hand behind his back, drove a knee into his lower back, locked in a rear-naked choke, and sealed off his throat.
The Winter Soldier's metal arm flailed wildly, slamming into Lynn's back and against the wall, punching craters into the concrete.
Lynn let out a muffled grunt, blood overflowing from the corner of his mouth again, but his arms remained motionless, tightening more and more.
"Still fighting?"
Lynn pressed against his ear, his voice hoarse, 'Take a break.'
The Winter Soldier's struggle began to weaken. The range of motion of his metal arm diminished, and the frequency of slamming the wall slowed down.
With his face pressed sideways against the floor, his pupils dilated, and his lips moved mechanically:
"...Mission... Stark... Eliminate..."
"Eliminate my ass."
Lynn tightened his arms further,
"Your name is Bucky Barnes. You have a friend named Steve Rogers."
"He isn't dead yet, and you can't die either."
The Winter Soldier's lips trembled.
Deep within those dim, grey eyes, something moved ever so slightly,
like a bubble floating up from a sunken ship.
Tony stood three meters away, the stun gun still clenched in his hand, unfired.
He looked at the blood on Lynn's back, watched the Winter Soldier's metal arm gradually come to a halt, and his Adam's apple bobbed.
The terminal suddenly made a ding sound.
Tony snapped his head around. On the screen, a crack split open in the spaghetti code, and a folder popped up with a Russian label:
[ З и м н и й С о л д а т — И н и ц и а ц и я ]
winter soldier program
Activation file.
Tony's fingers hovered over the keyboard, his voice dry:
"...I've cracked in."
Lynn didn't let go. He looked down into the Winter Soldier's eyes and said in a low voice:
"Hold on a little longer. Let's see just how much trash they stuffed into your head."
The Winter Soldier's eyelashes fluttered, his lips moved, and he spat out a muffled syllable:
"...Steve?"
Chapter 37: Michelin Three-Star, Meeting Ivy Blake Again
Lynn emerged from the back door of Stark Industries. The wound on his back was healing and itching, feeling like ants crawling under his skin.
The slap mark on his face had almost faded, leaving only a slight pale blue on the left side, which stung coldly when blown by the night wind.
Tony didn't come out of the safe house, staring at that pile of code with eyes as red as a rabbit's.
Lynn didn't disturb him and sent a message:
"I'm going out to get some fresh air."
Tony replied very quickly:
"Remember to come back after you're done. This fragile skin might reboot at any time."
Lynn shoved his phone back into his pocket, hailed a cab, and gave the name of a hotel.
The bar was on the top floor, and there weren't many people.
Ivy Blake sat in a corner, wearing a black silk shirt, swirling a glass of whiskey in her hand, the ice cubes clinking.
Opposite her lay a tablet with the screen still lit, displaying a certain financial statement.
She looked up and saw Lynn walking over. Her gaze first fell on the pale blue on his left cheek, then moved down and stopped at his collar.
Uncovered there, a little above the collarbone, there were still old marks.
"Yo,"
She took a sip of her drink, her voice lazy,
"Did the chef get a bad review today?"
Lynn sat down opposite her and ordered a neat drink:
"Two diners didn't agree on their opinions and started a fight."
"Then you still dare to come out to take new guests?"
Ivy flipped the tablet face down and pushed it away,
"Aren't you afraid of being exposed on Xiaohongshu?"
"The shop still has to open."
Lynn took the drink, swallowed it in one gulp, burning his throat,
"Besides, my place is private cuisine, not publicly listed."
Ivy stared at him for a few seconds and suddenly laughed.
She put her glass on the table, stood up, and grabbed her bag:
"Let's go. I happen to be hungry."
The room was on the thirty-sixth floor.
As soon as Ivy entered the door, she took off her coat, stepped barefoot on the carpet, and looked back at him, her eyes gleaming with an amber light in the dimness.
"I have a big appetite."
She said,
"And I'm a picky eater. If it doesn't taste good, I'll flip the table on the spot."
Lynn locked the door from the inside and loosened his tie:
"Then you're in luck today. All you can eat."
Ivy didn't look like a starving tiger pouncing on food; she was a true gourmand.
After taking her seat, she first surveyed the table setting, her fingertips sliding across the tablecloth as if evaluating the quality of the tableware.
She even had time to raise an eyebrow, signaling Lynn to "start serving the dishes."
Lynn didn't stand on ceremony.
At first, Ivy could still maintain her elegance, using her knife and fork with precision, but soon she found that the back kitchen of this place didn't play by the rules at all.
There was no palate cleanser between courses, no waiting, and plates were cleared away faster than they were served.
Her breathing began to grow heavy.
"You..."
She grabbed the edge of the table, her voice filled with disbelief,
"The back kitchen doesn't take a break?"
"Michelin three-star,"
Lynn chuckled softly,
"High table turnover rate."
It was no longer delicate plating, but brutal cooking on a cast-iron skillet level.
Every strike carried full weight, powerful and heavy.
Ivy reached out to support the head of the bed, but her fingers couldn't grip steadily, and her nails scratched a few shallow marks on the upholstered padding.
"What kind of cuisine is this..."
She gritted her teeth, her voice shattered beyond recognition.
"A hearty dish."
Lynn said,
"Specially cures picky eaters."
Ivy finally revealed the true nature of a big eater.
She no longer picked and chose, no longer evaluated.
She barged into a buffet like a diner who had been starving for three days, greedy, fierce, wishing she could sweep clean all the food.
Sweat slid down her spine, short hair stuck to the sides of her neck, her pupils dilated, and a suppressed, out-of-tune whimpering rolled from her throat.
Just when Ivy thought she had grasped the rhythm of this meal and was ready to swallow along, Lynn suddenly changed his angle, showcasing the Wheel King technique,
changing from a straight punch to a hook, from a frontal smash to a lateral cut-in, from a steady charge to a variable-speed staccato.
Ivy's body tightened abruptly, as if struck by an electric current, her fingers digging desperately into the mattress.
"You..."
She widened her eyes, her pupils full of garbled code,
"What is this..."
"Private secret recipe."
Lynn whispered against her ear,
"Not passed on to outsiders."
Ivy completely lost her composure.
"Enough..."
She finally begged for mercy, her fingers grabbing his arm, her nails sinking into his flesh,
"...Really enough..."
"Is it enough?"
Lynn asked, but his movements didn't stop.
Ivy raised her head, letting out a completely out-of-control breathy sound, and then her whole body went limp, like a puddle of melted slime, unable to even lift a finger.
She lay on her side on the bed, her chest heaving violently, her eyes unfocused, her lips slightly parted, left with only the strength to pant.
Lynn pulled the quilt over and covered her waist.
It took her about five minutes to recover enough strength to speak. She didn't open her eyes, her voice muffled:
"...This dish of yours will kill people."
"Then why did you still come?"
"...Glutton for punishment."
She closed her eyes, but the corners of her mouth curved up slightly,
"Delicious."
Lynn leaned against the head of the bed, picked up the whiskey on the nightstand, and took a sip.
The liquor slid down his throat, burning comfortably.
Ivy propped herself up, picked up his shirt from the floor, and threw it to him:
"I checked Pierce's accounts."
Lynn turned his head.
"There's another sum of money,"
she said,
"transferred to Eastern Europe forty-eight hours before his death. The recipient is a shell company registered in Sokovia."
Lynn's fingers stopped on the rim of the cup.
"Hydra isn't fully dead,"
Ivy finally opened her eyes, her amber pupils regaining clarity, but still retaining a bit of moisture,
"The Winter Soldier is just the front desk. There are still people running code in the backend."
Lynn didn't speak and finished the rest of the wine.
Ivy collapsed back onto the bed, pulled the quilt over half her face, her voice floating out from beneath the quilt, muffled:
"Do those two at your house know you came out to take private orders tonight?"
"Don't know."
"Then what if they find out?"
Lynn slipped his shirt on, before he finished buttoning it, his phone rang.
On the screen was Hill's name.
He glanced at it, and then glanced at Ivy.
Ivy laughed out loud, her voice muffled from inside the quilt:
"Your backyard is on fire, Chef. Hurry back and put it out."
Lynn picked up the phone, Hill's voice as cold as ice:
"Where are you?"
"Outside."
"The Winter Soldier has woken up," Hill said, "calling a name. Not Steve."
She paused.
"It's Howard. He's calling Howard Stark."
Lynn gripped the phone, standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling window. Washington's night view unfolded beneath his feet, the lights like an inverted starry sky.
He was silent for two seconds and said, "I'll be right back."