Chapter 91 Confrontation
Brooklyn safe house, 6:15 a.m.
Rogers sat in a hardwood chair with the book "Chronicle of World Events After 1945 " open in front of him.
He didn't look at it; his fingers tapped on the spine of the book slowly, once, twice, as if waiting for some kind of signal.
The phone Fury had given him was still on the table, but it wasn't turned on. He didn't know how to turn it on, nor did he want to.
Outside the window, the sky was just beginning to turn blue.
A garbage truck was collecting bins downstairs, the metal bins clanging together with a loud thud.
He listened for forty-eight hours and had grown accustomed to the noise. It was noisier than in his time, but also more real.
The door opened.
Fury walked in, his trench coat damp with dew, and his one eye swept around in the dim light:
"Time's up, Captain. The car's downstairs."
Rogers stood up.
He had no luggage, only a photo of Howard and a faded photo of Peggy in his pocket.
He walked up to Fury, but instead of leaving, he stared directly at the one-eyed man: "Take me to Stark Tower."
"The plan is to go back to SHIELD headquarters first,"
Fury said,
"Conduct a comprehensive assessment."
"The assessment can wait,"
Rogers ' voice was flat, but he pronounced each word clearly.
"I need to see Lynn Stark first. Now."
Fury's lips twitched. He looked at Rogers for about three seconds, then stepped aside to clear the doorway.
"...Get in the car. I'll take care of it."
9:40 AM, Stark Tower rooftop.
The wind blew in from the direction of the Hudson River, carrying a fishy smell of diesel fuel mixed with waterweed.
Lynn leaned against the railing, holding a cup of black coffee in his hand. It had gone cold, and a layer of oil had formed on the surface. He didn't drink it; he just held it, like he was holding a hand warmer.
The iron gate to the rooftop was pushed open, making a loud scraping sound.
Rogers walked in, followed by Fury, but Fury didn't come closer; he just stood by the door like a guard tree.
Rogers walked up to Lynn, keeping a distance of about half a person's width between them.
He pulled the newspaper out of his pocket— a photo of Howard Stark standing in front of the plane—and slapped it against the railing. The wind blew a corner of the paper up, which he then pressed down with his hand.
Who exactly are you?
Rogers asked. Not interrogating, but inquiring, like a soldier confirming coordinates.
Lynn glanced down at the photo, then looked up at Rogers.
The morning light cut in from the east, illuminating Rogers' profile clearly. He had no wrinkles, but his eyes held an aged look, like a pot that had been used for too long.
"Project ADAM,"
Lynn said the sound was a bit scattered by the wind.
" Howard used his own cells, mixed them with a fragment of an old rock he dug up from Arctic, and created me in a test tube. I wasn't born naturally; I'm an engineered product. I woke up sixty years later than you, just in a different way. You are ice, and I am culture medium."
Rogers remained silent for a long time.
He picked up the photo and looked at it against the light;Howard's smile appeared faint in the backlight.
"he..."
Rogers carefully considered his words.
Why did he create you?
"Initially, I wanted to make a key,"
Lynn said, tracing a circle with her finger along the rim of the coffee cup.
"Later, when the keys were made, they discovered there were too many keyholes, and one key couldn't open them all. So they made several more. I'm one of them, ADAM-0 is the original, and you are..."
What am I?
"You came here on your own,"
Lynn turned to look at Rogers.
"He didn't create you, but he found you, froze you, and hid you in Hydra's file. Maybe to protect himself from others, or maybe to protect himself."
Rogers slowly stuffed the photo back into his pocket.
He leaned on the railing, his knuckles white, gazing at the buildings on the opposite bank. Those buildings were much taller than he remembered, like a metal forest.
"I was in remission for forty-eight hours,"
He said, "I watched the Vietnam War, I watched the moon landing, I watched the Berlin Wall fall. There are many things I can't accept, but I have to accept them. There's only one..."
He paused, then turned to look at Lynn:
" Bucky. James Barnes. Where is he?"
Fury coughed by the door:
" Captain, Winter Soldier is a high-risk target for SHIELDdetention, currently in..."
Where is he?
Rogers didn't turn around, but raised his voice an octave, like a steel plate being struck.
Lynn placed the coffee cup on the railing, the bottom of the cup making a very soft tap:
"Downstairs. SHIELD temporary detention center, B12. You want to see them?"
"I want to see him,"
Rogers said.
" Furry will not agree,"
Lynn said.
"That's why I asked you,"
Rogers looked directly at him.
"I'm not asking about SHIELD. I'm asking you."
Fury took two steps forward, his one eye narrowing:
" Stark, don't do it on your own."
"Just one meeting,"
Lynn interrupted him without turning around.
"There's glass between us, and it's insulated. Bucky'smemory is messed up right now, so he won't hurt anyone. If we see him, Captain will be at ease. If we don't, he won't be able to sleep tonight, and you'll have to send even more people to watch him tomorrow."
Fury's Adam's apple bobbed.
He glanced at Rogers, then at Lynn, and finally squeezed out a sentence through gritted teeth:
"...Twenty minutes. Through reinforced glass. Natasha was present."
"Can,"
Rogers said.
10:25 AM, Stark Tower, B12 floor.
The glass in the detention cell was thick and had a faint green tint, like a fish tank.
Rogers stood on this side of the glass, his hands hanging at his sides, his fingers unconsciously curled, as if ready to grab something at any moment.
The door across the street opened, and the chains rattled.
Two agents escorted Bucky in.
He wore a gray prison uniform, an electronic lock around his wrist, and his hair was longer than Rogersremembered, covering half of one eye. His steps were slow, not leisurely, but mechanical, like an old machine running out of power.
The agent pressed him into a chair.
Bucky kept his head down, not looking at the glass.
Rogers took half a step forward, his nose almost touching the glass: " Bucky."
No response.
" Bucky,"
Rogers called out again, his voice lower, as if pulled from a very deep place.
"It's me. Steve."
Bucky's shoulder twitched.
He slowly raised his head, his gray-blue pupils looking through the glass and landing on Rogers' face.
His gaze was initially unfocused, as if looking at a blurry photograph, then slowly focused, like a camera lens turning a knob.
"... Steve?"
Bucky spoke, his voice hoarse, like sandpaper scraping against a rusty iron pipe.
"It's me,"
Rogers said.
His fingers pressed against the glass, the pads of his fingers turning white.
"I'm awake. I've... recovered."
Bucky stared at him for about five seconds. Then the corner of his mouth twitched, not in a smile, but as if it were some kind of muscle memory:
"You...are getting old."
"The same to you,"
Rogers said his eyes were a little red, but there were no tears.
"You're just cold, so you can't tell."
Bucky looked down at his hands. The electronic lock on his wrist glowed red, like a luminous snake.
His fingers twitched, as if he were recalling something.
"I remember… the Fire car,"
Bucky said the voice was very soft, like someone talking in their sleep.
"It was very cold. Then... lots of sounds. Someone was calling out numbers. Someone was getting an injection. And then..."
He looked up abruptly, a faint golden light flashing in his gray-blue pupils, like the flickering of a light bulb due to unstable voltage.
"...Then it was you. But not you. It was the photo. They showed me your photo and said you were the mission target."
Rogers ' jaw tightened, as if he were biting down on something:
"No, not anymore. Bucky, look at me. I'm not a mission."
Bucky tilted his head, as if listening to some distant sound.
His lips moved, but no sound came out; instead, his mouth formed the word " Steve."
Natasha stood in the corner, her hand on her holster, but not drawing it. She glanced at the time and whispered to Fury:
"Eight minutes left."
Fury didn't speak, staring at Bucky's wrist with his one eye as if it were a time bomb.
Meanwhile, on the medical floor of Stark Tower.
Wanda's finger moved.
First the little finger, then the ring finger, like a steel Jeantesting keys.
Pietro lay on the edge of the bed, dozing off, a bowl of coldwhite porridge clutched in his hand.
Red mist seeped from Wanda's fingertips, thin and like diluted blood, but it didn't disperse; instead, it floated straight up to the wall, pierced through it, and drifted down in some direction. Her eyelids trembled, and she opened them, a trace of crimson still remaining in her pupils, like bloodstains that hadn't been wiped clean.
"… Winter Soldier,"
She said her voice was as hoarse as a broken bellows.
Pietro was startled awake and nearly fell off his chair:
"sister?!"
"That Winter Soldier,"
Wanda struggled to sit up. The red mist was increasing, like iron filings drawn to a magnet, sinking towards the floor.
"There's something in his head… the same frequency as downstairs… and ADAM-0…"
Banner rushed in from the hallway, holding a coffee cup, and nearly dropped it when she saw Red Mist.
" Wanda? Why are you awake? Banner said you need at least..."
"Help Lynn,"
Wanda threw back the covers; her legs were still weak, but she managed to stand.
"That Winter Soldier … is another key. Hydra … also left a keyhole in his head."
B12, detention room.
It's time for the meeting.
Agent stood up and pulled out Bucky's chair. Buckyobediently stood up, but stopped abruptly as he passed Lynn.
Lynn stood by the door, ready to see Rogers out.
Bucky's hand suddenly reached out, moving with a speed unlike that of a human, more like a machine suddenly starting up.
His fingers gripped Lynn's wrist with the force of a hydraulic clamp, his knuckles pressing white marks into Lynn's skin.
" Bucky!"
Rogers shouted and lunged at the glass, but Natashastopped him.
Bucky's golden-green eyes stared at Lynn. Not grayish-blue, but golden, exactly the same gold as ADAM-0.
His lips moved, the sound like two rusty iron pieces rubbing together:
"The master key... is inside the door. Don't open the door. If you open the door... the backup will be home."
Lynn did not break free.
He looked into Bucky's eyes, and there was no hostility in them, only a faint fear suppressed to the deepest level by programming, like a person trapped at the bottom of a well looking at the sky through the well cover.
"What backup?"
Lynn asked in a very calm voice, as if she were chatting with an ordinary person.
Bucky's golden pupils flickered, like a light bulb with unstable voltage.
His fingers slowly loosened, the force gradually dissipating, like a tire leaking air.
Finally, his hands fell limp, and the agent grabbed him and dragged him out the door. His head was down, but he was still muttering to himself, like a cassette tape recorder:
"...Don't open the door...Don't open the door..."
The door slammed shut behind him, the latch clicking shut.
Rogers turned around and looked at Lynn.
His face was very pale, as if he had just been pulled out ofthe water: "...What do you mean?"
Lynn raised his wrist, revealing five red finger marks thatwere fading visibly thanks to Wolverine's healing abilities. He lowered his sleeve to cover the marks.
It means,
He said the voice was a notch lower than before.
Hydra not only used your friend as a weapon, but also as a keyhole. They implanted an interface in his brain, connected to the relay station downstairs, originating from the same source as the ADAM-0 fragments. Someone is collecting keys, Rogers. And your friend is one of them.
Fury emerged from the corner, his one eye fixed on the direction Bucky had been taken away, his face darker than usual.
"If the interface in his brain is activated..."
"Then he'll become the second ADAM-0,"
Lynn said,
"Or worse. At least ADAM-0 knew he was the key. Buckydidn't. He was kept in the dark and used as a tool."
Rogers walked to the wall, pressed his fist against the concrete, and his knuckles pressed shallow dents into the wall.
His shoulders were trembling, but his voice was steady, as if he was suppressing something about to burst out: "...Can it be removed? The interface in the brain."
"able,"
Lynn said,
"But we need to find out who is remotely controlling it first. Only after we find out can we cut off the power."
"who?"
Rogers turned his head, his gray-blue pupils burning with a cold light.
Lynn didn't answer immediately. He looked towards the medical level, and although it was several floors away, he could feel Wanda's Red Mist drifting towards them, like a thin thread trying to connect to something.
" Hydra,"
Lynn said, "But it's not the kind of Hydra we thought it was."
Not like Pierce in a suit, but something deeper. Hidden in the net, hidden in the frequency, hidden in…
He paused, looking down at his palm. The healed whitemark was almost invisible under the light.
"...hidden inside the key itself."
Chapter 92 Frequency Hunter
Zero 5:11:00 AM, Stark Tower, third basement level laboratory.
Banner's glasses slipped down to the tip of his nose, but he didn't push them up. He just stared at the signal path diagram on the screen, which looked like a ball of yarn tangled together.
Seven lines of different colors start from New York, jump once in London, once in Dubai, and once in Singapore, finally plunging into a gray area in Eastern Europe like a snake with seven knots tied.
" Sokovia,"
Banner pointed to the flashing red dot at the very end of the screen, his voice hoarse.
"Three kilometers west of the border is the abandonedHydra outpost. We bombed that place just three months ago."
Tony stood beside him, twirling a screwdriver in his hand. It wasn't Pietro's chipped one; it was his own from his lab, with a titanium handle engraved with "STARK."
The screwdriver spun twice between my fingers, then slammed onto the table with a snap.
"The bomb that exploded three months ago was on the ground. This signal is coming from underground, like a groundhog."
"A groundhog doesn't use seven layers of intermediaries,"
Banner pushed her glasses up and pressed her fingertips against her brow.
"This was intentionally designed to lure us in. Each transition had a deceptive element, like breadcrumbs, designed to guide us toward our mouths."
"Then bite it,"
Natasha's voice came from the shadowy figure. She leaned against the ventilation duct, unarmed, but twirling a coin between her fingers, its silvery light flashing. "Let's see whose hand is behind the bait."
Lynn pushed the door open, and the hinges, lacking lubrication, made a harsh, creaking sound.
He changed into a clean black T-shirt, but the collar was still askew, exposing more of his left shoulder. He walked to the screen and glanced at the tangled signal cable: "Isthe interface in Bucky's brain sending out a heartbeat?"
"It's not a heartbeat, it's a handshake agreement,"
Tony picked up the screwdriver and tapped it on the screen, creating a ripple-like pattern.
"Every forty-seven seconds, the implant in Bucky's brain shakes hands with a remote host to exchange status data. We just intercepted one of those handshakes and traced the packet back to Sokovia."
"Can it be blocked?"
Lynn asked.
"able,"
Banner said,
"But blocking it is like alerting the enemy. Once the other party discovers that the node is offline, they may remotely reactivate it, or... destroy the evidence."
"Or destroy the node,"
Natasha continued, and the coin stopped spinning, falling into her palm.
" Bucky's brain is the node. Destroying evidence and destroying him are the same button."
The lab was quiet for a few seconds. The exhaust fans whirred overhead, blowing the cool coffee from the bannerall over the place.
Fury emerged from the corner; he had been standing in the blind spot of the holographic projection figure, his black trench coat blending seamlessly with the shadowy figure.
" Sokovia is a sensitive area. The local government just changed leadership, and the approval process for SHIELD's drone entry application takes 72 hours."
"Then don't apply."
Natasha said,
"I took a commercial flight, then transferred to three buses, and walked across the border. It took me forty-eight hours to get there."
"The signal is alive,"
Lynn leaned against the edge of the table, the hem of her T-shirt brushing against the corner of a piece of equipment.
"Forty-eight hours later, the groundhogs had long since run away."
"Then what do you suggest we do?"
Natasha turned to look at him, her eyes bright, like two polished black pebbles.
Lynn did not answer immediately.
He pulled the old badge from his pocket, twirled it between his fingers, and the metal edge gleamed.
"I'll go with you. I'll fly my plane; no need for commercial air travel permits. We 'll be over Sokovia in three hours, then parachute out."
"Too reckless,"
Fury said,
That's Hydra territory, not New York. Manhattan.
"The signal is leading me there,"
Lynn tucked the badge back into her pocket, her voice flat, as if stating the weather.
"From ADAM-0 to the Winter Soldier backup, and then tothe interface in Bucky's mind, every step was aimed at me. If I didn't go, they wouldn't reveal their hand. If I went, at least I would know who was dealing the cards."
"I'll go too,"
Rogers ' voice came from the doorway.
Everyone turned their heads.
Rogers stood there, still wearing the gray hoodie and jeans Fury had given him, the tags on his sneakers freshly cut off, the frayed edges still visible on the tongues.
His hair was unkempt, his blond hair sticking out in a messy, upright manner, as if he had just woken up. But his back was ramrod straight, like a steel bar driven into the muddy water.
Fury narrowed his one eye: " Captain, your assessment?"
"The assessment can wait,"
Rogers walked in, his steps heavy, the soles of his shoes making a solid sound on the floor.
" Bucky's matter can't wait. Hydra planted the seeds in his mind, and I'm his friend, so I have to be there."
"What can you do if you're there?"
Fury's voice hardened, "You've only been thawed for two days, and you don't even know how to use a smartphone. When you get to Sokovia, you won't even be able to understand navigation."
Rogers walked up to Fury, the two standing about half a step apart. Rogers was half a head taller than Fury, butFury didn't step back; he just looked up at him, his single eye like a red-hot coal.
"I can recognize people,"
Rogers said his voice wasn't loud, but every word was clearly enunciated.
" I've been killing Hydra's men for sixty years. I recognize their faces, their walk, the angle at which they hold their guns. Do you recognize those agents in suits under your men?"
Fury's jaw twitched, as if he were biting something. He looked at Rogers for three seconds, then looked away atLynn:
"...You're going too?"
"go,"
Lynn said,
"But we'll need a guide."
"What kind of guide?"
The door opened again.
Wanda walked in, her steps slow but steady.
She was wearing a dark gray hoodie with sleeves that covered the backs of her hands, and a new stabilizer was wrapped around her left wrist. The LED lights were all green, but she was jumping faster than usual, like a startled bird. Her lips were still dry, and there was a crack on her lower lip that had scabbed over like a dark line.
" Sokovia is my territory,"
Wanda said, his voice hoarse, like a broken bellows leaking air, " I know Hydra's base better than a map. I'll be more useful than you guys."
"sister?!"
Pietro burst in from the hallway, his hair sticking up, his shirt on backwards, the tag sticking out from behind his neck—exactly the same as last time.
He was clutching a paper bag filled with white porridge, which had already seeped out from the bottom of the bag, leaving a layer of rice water between his fingers.
"You just woke up! Banner said you need at least [a certain amount of time]."
" Banner has said too much,"
Wanda interrupted him without turning around.
"You stay here. Keep Mom company. Help me pack my luggage. I want to see White porridge still hot when I come back."
Pietro rushed up to her, pointing his finger at her nose, then at Lynn, his chest heaving like a broken bellows.
"You two! It's always the same! You take her out as soon as she wakes up."
"I didn't bring it,"
Lynn said, hands in her pockets, "She walked by herself. I couldn't catch up."
Wanda finally turned around and looked at Pietro. Her eyes were red, not from crying, but from exhaustion, but her pupils were clear.
" Pietro. White porridge. Extra sugar. Got it?"
Pietro's lips trembled, as if a thousand words were stuck in his throat.
Finally, he pulled the chipped screwdriver from his pocket, slammed it to the ground, and the metal handle bounced twice on the floor with a crisp sound. Then he squatted down, picked up the screwdriver, stuffed it back into his pocket, and muttered:
"...Add more sugar. Two spoonfuls."
Wanda's lips curved into a smile, but she quickly looked away. She walked over to Lynn, but didn't lean on him; she just stood half a step away, like two separate telephone poles, but connected by wires.
Fury looked around, his gaze lingering on each person's face for a moment.
Finally, he sighed, the sigh coming from his nose like the snorting of an old ox:
"... Quinjet is on the roof. Natasha, you're in charge of the ground infiltration route. Stark, you're in charge of technical support. Banner, you stay in New York and continue monitoring Bucky's brainwaves for any anomalies."
"I understand,"
Banner said her fingers were already typing on the keyboard.
"Call us if there's anything unusual, whether you can answer is another matter."
Tony put the screwdriver back in his pocket, picked up a portable reactor from the table, and tossed it to Lynn.
"Here you go. It's a backup power source. If there are no underground lights, this can illuminate half a football field."
Lynn caught it; the reactor hummed deeply in her palm, like a bee being suffocated.
Thanks.
"You're welcome,"
Tony said,
"Remember to bring me a bottle of Sokovia vodka when you come back. It has to be cheap, the cheaper the better, the more authentic the better."
At 2:20 PM, above Quinjet, at an altitude of 12,000 meters.
The cabin was noisy, and the vibrations from the engine came up from the floor, making your bones tingle.
Rogers sat by the window, his hands gripping the seatbelt, his knuckles white.
He disliked flying, especially this kind of enclosed metal box without a propeller and where he couldn't see outside. He looked down at his hands; the skin was still young, but there was an old scar on his knuckles, a shrapnel wound from Italy in 1944, which was still there.
Wanda sat opposite him, a paper map spread out on her lap.
Natasha gave me a topographical map of the Sokoviaborder, with three circles drawn on it in red. Wanda's fingers moved across the map, her fingernails still bearing the scabbed marks of lingering blisters.
"here,"
She pointed to the circle in the very center, "There's a ventilation shaft under the main building ruins, about 80 centimeters in diameter, you can climb in. But the opening is sealed off with concrete."
"Can it be blown up?"
Natasha asked. She was sitting next to Wanda, inspecting the magazine of a pistol, loading the bullets one by one with a soft click of metal.
"Yes, but it would alert the area within a five-kilometer radius,"
Wanda said,
"Unless you cut it with Red Mist. Slow, but quiet."
"how long?"
Lynn asked. He was sitting next to Wanda, his eyes closed, as if he were sleeping, but his mouth was moving.
"Twenty minutes,"
Wanda said,
"In my current condition, twenty minutes is my limit."
"Then twenty minutes,"
Lynn said,
"You can rest after you're done cutting, then we'll go."
Wanda turned to look at him. His eyes were still closed, and his eyelashes appeared faint in the cold light of the cabin.
She reached out and pinched his thigh lightly, like stamping. Lynn opened his eyes and turned to look at her.
Where did you go last night?
Wanda asked in a low voice, which was just drowned out by the engine noise, and only he could hear it.
"sleep,"
Lynn said.
"one person?"
"Otherwise what?"
Wanda stared at him for two seconds, then turned back and moved her finger across the map again:
"...It's best to be alone."
Rogers listened nearby, his lips twitching, but he didn't laugh; he simply turned his head to the window.
Outside the window, all I could see were clouds, a vast expanse of white, like the snow in the Alps in 1945.
At 5:40 PM, on the Sokovia border, in the ruins of the Hydra outpost.
The plane hovered 300 meters in the air, and the rappelling rope was thrown down. Natasha was the first to slide down, his figure shrinking into a small black dot in the twilight.
Then it was Rogers' turn. He gripped the rope awkwardly, like he was holding onto an overly thick vine, but he slid down steadily, his muscle memory taking over his body.
Lynn went down third.
Wanda followed behind him, red mist seeping from her fingertips, wrapping around the rappelling rope to reduce friction. Her breathing was heavy, and she would stop every five meters, her fingers leaving white marks on the rope.
When she landed, Wanda's knees buckled slightly. Lynnsupported her lower back from behind, her hands firmly planted on her back, helping her stand up straight. Wandadidn't turn around, but simply whispered, "...Take your hands away. You can stand."
Lynn removed her hand and put it back in her pocket.
The ruins were larger than I had imagined.
Half of the main building was destroyed, with steel bars sticking out like bones and concrete blocks piled up like small mountains. Natasha squatted in front of a pile of rubble, holding a portable signal detector in his hand. The ripples on the screen were pointing to a seemingly ordinary piece of ground in the northwest corner.
"There's hollow down there,"
Natasha said, "It's hollow. The metallic reflection signal is very strong."
Wanda walked over, and Red Mist welled up from his palms, like two red snakes crawling along the ground. The mist stopped in front of the water slab in the northwest corner and began to seep into the cracks. Fine beads of sweat appeared on Wanda's forehead, and his lips were pressed into a thin line.
"It's windy,"
She said,
"There is airflow circulation below. This indicates that there is still power, and the fan is running."
"Cut it,"
Lynn took the reactor out of her backpack, turned it on, and the blue- white light looked like a ghostly fire in the twilight. "I'll keep it lit for you."
Wanda nodded, placing her hands on the edge of the water slab. The red mist coalesced into a thin line, like a laser, and began to cut through the concrete.
The sound was sharp, like fingernails scraping glass, but not loud, mostly drowned out by the wind. Dust rose up, mingling with the twilight, like a cloud of gray mist.
Rogers stood three meters away, his back to them, facing the woods surrounding the ruins.
His ears were twitching, catching every sound in the woods.
The sound of wind, birdsong, and a diesel truck climbing a hill in the distance. No human footsteps.
Seventeen minutes later, an eighty-centimeter square opening was cut into the Water slab.
It was pitch black below, with a cool breeze rising up, carrying a strong musty smell and the stench of rusting metal.
Natasha was the first to jump, landing very lightly, like a cat.
Rogers was second; the reactor lights illuminated his silhouette, making his figure appear elongated. Lynnhelped Wanda down first, then jumped after her.
Below was a passageway with mud walls and cable conduits. Faint green indicator lights, like ghostly eyes, shone from within the conduits. The air was stuffy, but not thin; the ventilation system was operating at its lowest setting.
"This place was bombed three months ago,"
Natasha said in a low voice, holding the pistol in his hand, muzzle pointing downwards.
"The lights are still on. Hydra's backup power lasts longer than we thought."
"Or someone restarted it,"
Lynn said that the reactor lights shone forward, and at the end of the passage was an alloy door, very similar to the door of ADAM-0, but without the ADAM serial number, only a faded Hydra logo, a red and black skull, like a dried bloodstain.
The door wasn't locked. It was ajar, with a crack, as if someone had deliberately left it open.
Rogers reached out to push the door open.
Lynn stopped him, placing her hand on his forearm with light pressure, but enough to halt Rogers ' movements.
"I'll go first,"
Lynn said,
"I am the key. It is only natural for a key to open a door."
Rogers glanced at him, didn't argue, and took a half step back.
Lynn pushed the door open.
The door hinges made a very faint creaking sound, like an old bone groaning.
It wasn't very big inside, about 20 square meters. In the center was a row of server racks, with indicator lights flashing like stars, a mix of blue, green and red, making the room look like a cheap disco.
There's a 30-inch main screen in front of the server rack, lit up, displaying a world map with a dozen or so dots marked on it.
Natasha strode to the screen, took a small device out of his pocket, plugged it into the USB port on the server rack, and began downloading data.
Her fingers flew across the keyboard, switching between images on the screen, peeling back layers of detail.
"Global Node Map,"
Natasha said the voice was tense.
"Each point of light is a 'key interface'."
She zoomed in on the image.
The dot in New York is labeled "ADAM-0," and its status bar is red, indicating "Sealed." Next to it is another dot labeled "WINTER SOLDIER - ALPHA," with a yellow status indicating "Hibernation." The third dot has just turned green, labeled "ROGERS, STEVEN," and its status is "Active."
Rogers stood in front of the screen, staring at the green dot, his gray-blue pupils reflecting the screen's cold light. His lips moved, but no sound came out; instead, he mouthed a curse.
"And another thing," Natasha scrolled down the list, her finger stopping at the last line.
That line had no light spots, only a number: "ADAM-1-PRIME".
The status bar displays a line of text, the font of which is one size larger than the others, as if it had been deliberately bolded:
"The master key has awakened. Awaiting final resonance."
Lynn stared at the line of text. The reactor light shone up from his hands, illuminating his chin and the bridge of his nose, but his eyes were sunken in the shadows. He took a half step forward, his nose almost touching the screen.
"ADAM-1-PRIME,"
He read it aloud, his voice flat, as if he were saying the name of a stranger, "That's me."
Wanda walked over to him, and Red Mist spilled from her fingertips, but this time it wasn't aggressive; it just drifted faintly toward the screen, like some kind of resonance.
She held Lynn's wrist with her fingers, pressing her fingertips against his pulse. She could feel that his heartbeat was steady, but a beat slower than usual.
"It's not 'that's you,'"
Wanda said the voice was soft, but very clear.
"Yes, that's what they think you are. A number is a number, and a person is a person."
Lynn didn't speak. He raised his other hand, palm against the screen, covering the text. The screen's coolness seeped through his skin, like a block of ice.
"Someone is watching me,"
He said the voice came from deep within his chest, very low.
"From the day ADAM-0 was sealed, from the day Buckygrabbed my wrist, from the day Rogers was thawed. They have been waiting, waiting for me to willingly insert myself into the keyhole of a certain door."
"Then don't insert it,"
Rogers said. He stood on Lynn's other side, his hands hanging at his sides, fists clenched tightly.
"You can choose not to open the door with the key."
Lynn turned to look at him. Rogers ' eyes were a greyish-blue in the screen light, like the surface of the Atlantic Ocean in winter, with undercurrents beneath.
"You can choose the key," Lynn said, a slight twitch at the corner of her mouth, but she didn't actually laugh, "but the keyhole will come to you by itself. You try to dodge it, it chases you. You run, it blocks you. Unless you weld it shut, melting the wall along with it."
Natasha's device beeped softly, indicating the download was complete. She unplugged the device and put it back in her pocket: "The data's in. Banner can analyze the signal source and pinpoint the physical location of the remote host."
How long will it take?
Lynn asked.
"At the fastest, within 24 hours,"
Natasha said,
"At the very least... we'll see when they discover we've been here."
Wanda's Red Mist suddenly recoiled, like a tongue that had been burned. She abruptly turned her head to look at the doorway:
"...Someone's coming. Up above. Lots of footsteps. They've surrounded us."
Rogers ' ears had already picked it up. He turned to face the door, leaning forward slightly like a leopard ready to pounce: "Six people. Two in the northeast corner, three directly above, and one crawling in the ventilation duct. Not heavily equipped; they could be border patrol, or they could be—"
" Hydra's security guard,"
Natasha continued speaking, raising his pistol and pointing it at the doorway.
"Whoever it is, get out first."
Lynn turned the reactor lights up to their brightest setting, and a blue- white beam of light pierced the dimness of the room.
He walked to the door, glanced back at the screen, and saw the words "Waiting for the final resonance" still there, like an invitation without a date.
"Let's go,"
He said,
"We'll talk about welding the door when we get back."
Wanda followed behind him, and the Red Mist surged forth again, condensing into two thin blades in his palm.
Rogers walked at the back, his steps heavy, each one seemingly trying to dent the floor.
They rushed into the passage, running towards the ventilation shaft. A faint, rat-like scurrying sound came from above, followed by the clanging of metal—someone pulling the bolt of a gun.
Chapter 93 Infinity Symbol 6:20 PM, Sokovia border, Nine Heads
The underground passage of the snake ruins.
A metallic scraping sound came from the ventilation ducts overhead, like a large rat crawling around.
Natasha's back was pressed against the wall, her pistol pointing upwards, the muzzle moving with the sound. Her breathing was very light, almost inaudible.
"Give me the one in the pipe,"
She said she didn't turn around.
"You guys go first."
Lynn turned the reactor to its brightest setting, and a blue-white beam of light illuminated the water slab outlet at the end of the tunnel, which Wanda had cut open.
The edge of the beam of light swept across Rogers ' face, making him look like a plaster statue under an old-fashioned lamp.
"You go first,"
Lynn said to Rogers
"Once you're outside, run towards the woods at three o'clock, don't stop. Quinjet is hovering above the treeline, and the rope ladder is hanging down."
Rogers nodded, said nothing, and bent down to crawl into the cut-out square opening.
His movements were awkward; an 80-centimeter cut was indeed cramped for someone who was 1.88 meters tall, but he slid up like an eel, his knee scraping against the edge of the muddy water without making a sound.
Wanda followed behind Rogers, Red Mist forming two very thin blades in her palm, as thin as napkins.
Her face was pale, but her steps were still steady: "I'll cover the rear. Once we get up there, we'll seal the breach."
"If you can't get up there, then seal it off,"
Lynn said,
"Now we can save some fog."
Wanda ignored him, but simply reached out and pushed him in the back:
"You go. I'll count to three."
Lynn drill inlet and outlet.
Above is the outer perimeter of the ruins. Dusk has fallen, and a purplish-red edge remains on the horizon.
He knelt on the ground, the reactor's light illuminating the surroundings. Rogers crouched behind a broken wall ten meters away, waving at him.
Wanda leaped out of the hole, more agile than Lynn, like a cat jumping out of a cellar.
She turned around, placed her hands on the edge of the cut, and Red Mist gushed out, re-melting the Water slablike a welding torch.
Molten lava dripped down, sealing off the passage. A muffled thud came from below; the pursuers had arrived, but were trapped underneath.
"Walk,"
Wanda stood up and brushed the dust off her knees.
"They sealed it off for thirty seconds. They brought a cutter and it only lasted a minute."
Four people walked through the ruins.
Natasha caught up from behind, still holding a gun in her hand, with a faint wisp of blue smoke rising from the muzzle.
"The two above are dealt with. But three are flanking us from directly above, about forty meters away."
"run,"
Lynn said,
"Don't fight. Fighting will only make things worse."
They started running.
Rogers was the fastest runner, but he deliberately slowed down by half a step, following Wanda's flank. His sneakers slipped on the gravel; the soles were too soft to grip. He cursed under his breath, took off his shoes, threw them into the rubble, and ran barefoot.
The gravel was under his feet, but he didn't even flinch.
Lynn ran at the back, the reactor lights sweeping back to reveal three figures in dark uniforms, flipping over from the other side of the ruins.
Those men were carrying short-barreled rifles, not AKs, but more modern models with rails and laser sights on the barrels.
"Get down!"
Natasha shouted.
Lynn didn't lie down; he turned to the side, and the reactor's beam of light suddenly shone into the pursuers' eyes.
Two of them were blinded by the bright light and raised their hands to shield their eyes. The third person fired a shot, and the bullet grazed Lynn's ear, leaving a burn mark on her earlobe.
Wolverine's self-healing factor immediately activated, and the abrasions on her ear began to itch, like ants crawling on her. Lynn ignored it and kept running.
Natasha turned around and fired two shots.
The bullet didn't hit the body, but the gravel at the feet. The ricochet grazed a man's calf, who groaned and fell to his knees. The second shot hit the rail of another gun,sending sparks flying.
"Don't linger in the fight!"
Lynn tugged at her arm.
They rushed into the woods.
Quinjet's rope ladder hung fifty meters away in the open ground, like a silver tongue. Hill poked his head out of the cockpit and waved to them.
Rogers was the first to grab the rope ladder. Instead of climbing up, he turned around and helped Wanda up.
He supported her from behind, then pushed her upwards.Wanda grabbed the crossbar, her fingers turning white.Rogers followed, climbing clumsily but powerfully, like a bear climbing a telephone pole.
Lynn and Natasha reached the bottom of the rope ladder at the same time.
Lynn shoved the reactor back into his backpack, gripped the ropes with both hands, and stepped onto the bottom bar. Natasha was above him, his pistol holstered.
Just as the rope ladder began to retract, Lynn looked down.
A pursuer rushed to the edge of the woods, raising his gun to aim. Lynn's gaze swept over the gun's receiver. It bore a symbol—not Hydra's skull, but a circle containing a horizontal "8," like the infinity symbol in mathematics.
"Do you see that sign?"
Lynn shouted upwards.
Natasha bowed her head:
"What?"
"On the gun. Not Hydra."
The rope ladder was suddenly pulled upwards, and the four people were pulled into the cabin.
The cabin door closed, the engines roared, and the plane ascended, shrinking the people on the ground into tiny black dots.
9:15 PM, Stark Tower Medical Floor.
Wanda lay in bed with a body temperature of 38.2 degrees Celsius and flushed cheeks, as if she had been drinking fake alcohol.
Her stabilizer was still on her wrist, and the LED light changed from green to yellow very slowly, like a firefly running out of power.
Pietro sat on the edge of the bed, holding a bowl of whiteporridge. Two spoonfuls of dissolved white sugar floated on top, the surface shimmering with a fine sheen. He stirred it with the spoon, scooped it up, and brought it toWanda's lips.
"eat."
Wanda tilted her head:
I'm not hungry.
"Eat even if you're not hungry,"
Pietro pushed the spoon forward, and a drop of porridgewater dripped onto the sheet, leaving a dark stain.
"You said you wanted to see hot White porridge when you came back. Now the porridge is hot, and you are hot too, a perfect match."
Wanda smiled slightly, then opened her mouth and took the porridge in. She chewed it a couple of times—actually, porridge doesn't need to be chewed—and swallowed it, then frowned.
"...Too much sugar. It's too sweet."
"The two spoonfuls you mentioned,"
Pietro scooped up another spoonful.
"I counted them."
The door slid open, and Lynn walked in. There was still a red mark on his earlobe, a bullet graze, which had scabbed over, the edges of the scab sticking out like a poorly applied band-aid.
He walked to the bedside and pulled a small object from his pocket—a folding knife with a short blade, like a fruit knife.
"Reach out,"
He said to Wanda.
Wanda looked at him, but didn't move.
What are you going to do?
Try it.
Lynn unfolded the folding knife, and the blade flashed under the light.
" Wolverine's self-healing factor may be able to be transmitted. Not through blood transfusion, but through cell resonance. Banner's theory has not yet been verified."
"Do I need to verify?"
Wanda raised an eyebrow, but extended her left hand.
Lynn grasped her wrist, her palm pressed against the skin beneath her stabilizer.
Then he used a folding knife to make a cut on the tip of his right index finger, and a bead of blood welled up, very red.
He smeared the blood droplets on the surface of Wanda's stabilizer and also on the veins on the inside of her wrist.
The blood was cold, and Wanda shuddered.
"...nausea."
"Endure it,"
Lynn said. He closed his eyes, placed his fingers on her pulse, and felt the beating.
Wolverine's self-healing factors flowed through his veins like a group of repairmen, and now he was trying to get these repairmen to swim along the skin's contact points.
Ten seconds later, the Wanda stabilizer LED light changed from yellow to green, indicating that the jump speed had increased slightly.
Fine beads of sweat appeared on her forehead, but they weren't from a fever; they were a reaction to some kind of energy exchange.
"...it's a little itchy,"
Wanda said her fingers curled up unconsciously, "like ants crawling in my veins."
"That's under repair,"
Lynn released her grip, closed the folding knife, and put it back in her pocket. " Banner said the healing factor can promote cell regeneration."
Your battery is overcharged, like an over-discharged battery. We're giving you a little "virtual charge" now.
Wanda looked at his fingers; the cut had healed, leaving only a white line.
"What about you? Does it hurt when you get cut?"
"pain,"
Lynn said,
"But it heals quickly. In two seconds."
Pietro watched from the side, spoon dangling in mid-air; the porridge was almost cold. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but in the end only mumbled:
"...You two, one dares to cut, the other dares to receive. A match made in heaven."
Wanda glared at him, but a smile played on her lips: "Porridge. Just one more bite."
Zero 3:00 PM, Tony's lab.
Banner stared at the screen, his fingers tapping on the keyboard, his glasses sliding down to the tip of his nose, but he didn't push them up.
The screen displays a data package downloaded from Sokovia, which, after being decompressed, contains a bunch of coordinates and logs.
"Found it,"
Banner said her voice was strained.
"The physical location of the remote host."
Tony stood beside him, twirling a screwdriver, but slowly, without his usual flashy movements.
Where?
Banner brought up the map, zoomed in, and zoomed in again. The red dot landed on New York. Manhattan, Lower East Side, under a very ordinary street.
"Distance from Stark Tower,"
Banner swallowed.
"The straight-line distance is 740 meters. It's right under our feet, a little to the southeast."
Tony stopped using his screwdriver.
He looked down at the floor. The laboratory was on the 43rd floor of Stark Tower, and the floor beneath his feet was the 42nd floor. There were more than 40 floors below, then the foundation, then the subway tunnel, and then various abandoned pipes and air-raid shelters.
"Someone is running a shady business right in front of our house,"
Tony said,
"They're still selling my dad's stuff."
"What's even stranger is this,"
Banner brought up another image, which was Lynn's photo of the infinity symbol.
"I found the same logo in Howard's private journal from 1972. He called it the ' Locksmith Guild,' an underground organization that… manufactured and maintained super-soldier interfaces."
" Is Howard a member of theirs?"
"It used to be,"
Banner pushed up her glasses.
The last page of the log reads: 'Left the membership. Too many keys, too few locks. No more raw materials provided.'
Tony slammed the screwdriver onto the countertop, the metal handle making a crisp sound.
"So Lynn was Howard's last job before he left the company?"
"may be,"
Banner said,
"It's also possible that they stole the sample and created it themselves without Howard's consent. In any case, The Union is still operating now, and it's located underground in New York."
At 11:20 p.m. on the same day, in a brownstone building in Brooklyn.
Fury rang the doorbell three times, with a rhythm of long, short, and long rings.
The door opened a crack, revealing half of an old woman's face. Her wrinkles were deep, like contour lines on a map, but her eyes were bright.
" Furry,"
The old woman said the voice was hoarse, like someone who had been smoking for fifty years.
"You haven't been here for ten years."
"I haven't bothered you in ten years,"
Fury said that they slipped a photo under the door, and the photo had the infinity symbol on it.
"But this has appeared. In the hands of Hydra's remnants, in Sokovia, in the hands of those who are chasing LynnStark. "
The old woman took the photo and looked at it for a long time under the corridor light.
Then she sighed, a sigh that seemed to come from a very deep well.
"That's not Hydra,"
She said,
"It's the Locksmith Guild. Howard was a member back then, number 017. He made a lot of keys, but later he had a change of heart, left the guild, and hid the last key he hadn't finished making."
" Lynn?"
Fury asked.
" Lynn is the last item on their list,"
The old woman returned the photo to him.
"ADAM-1-PRIME. The Union thought he hadn't awakened yet, so they've been waiting. Now that he's awakened, the Union is here to collect the goods."
Fury narrowed his one eye:
What does "Received 93" mean?
It means,
The old woman closed the door, her voice drifting out from under the door.
"They make keys not to open doors, but to sell doors. Lynnis both a key and a commodity. Someone bought him, but hasn't come to collect it yet."
Fury stood in the doorway, clutching the photograph in his hand, his knuckles pressing white marks onto the paper. He looked up at the New York night sky; there were no stars, only city lights reflected from the clouds, like a dirtywhite cloth.
Chapter 94 Delivery
9:20 a.m., Stark Tower equipment room.
Tony dragged a black metal box out of the cabinet. The box made a dull thud as it scraped against the floor.
He lifted the lid, and inside lay a vest-style exoskeleton, grayish-black, with a miniature reactor embedded in its chest, two sizes smaller than the one on Tony's chest, but glowing with the same blue light.
The two robotic arms are folded on both sides, like a crab's folded pincers.
"Lightweight,"
Tony said he tapped his fingers on the reactor, making a crisp, ringing sound.
"Weighing eight kilograms in total, it covers the chest, back, and arms. It can enhance grip strength by three times and comes with a small pulse cannon, one shot. You have to go home to recharge it after use."
Lynn lifted her vest, shook it, and the mechanical joints made a clattering sound.
"ugly."
"Dad's trial of the US,"
Tony said,
"Ugly, but sturdy. He drew the sketches back in the 70s, and I added Bluetooth and heart rate synchronization. It won't lag when you're nervous."
Lynn put the vest over his T-shirt and fastened the buckle. The moment the reactor touched his chest, a very light tingling sensation spread from his collarbone to his shoulder blades, like someone had put a heat pack on his back.
He raised his arm, and the robotic arm moved accordingly, with a faint servo motor sound coming from the joints, like a swarm of mosquitoes flying in the distance.
He clenched his fist, then opened it again; the strength in his fingertips was indeed greater, enough to make a slight crackling sound as he squeezed the air.
"Too tight,"
Lynn said.
"It's good that it's tight,"
Tony adjusted his shoulder straps, "so they won't fall off when you run."
Rogers was sitting on a nearby box, trying on a pair of black combat boots. They were a gift from Natasha; they were lace-up and had thick tongues.
He bent down to tie his shoelaces, his fingers twisting and turning on the nylon rope, making three knots, then untying and retying them.
"It's tight,"
He said.
"It's good that it's tight,"
Natasha leaned against the door frame, inspecting a short-barreled submachine gun in his hand. "It won't fall when I run."
Rogers looked up at her, his grey-blue eyes blinking:
"You modern people...do you just copy and paste what you say?"
"It's not about copying, it's about experience,"
Natasha slammed the magazine in, making a crisp click.
"If your shoes are loose, you'll twist your ankle while chasing someone. If you twist your ankle, you won't be able to escape when someone is chasing you. These are all details."
Rogers lowered his head and tightened his shoelaces one notch further.
His toes curled up inside his shoes, feeling as if they were locked in a small cage. He stood up and stomped his feet on the ground, the boots making a solid thud, like pile drivers.
Banner walked in from the corridor, holding a tablet in her hand, with dark circles under her eyes, clearly indicating that she hadn't slept all night again.
He handed the tablet to Lynn, which displayed a map near Chambers Street in the Lower East Side, with a point marked in red.
"The entrance has been identified,"
Banner said,
"Go down into the abandoned subway station maintenance passage, and forty meters to the east, there's a fork in the road sealed off by water and mud. I compared it with the structural diagram, and there's an empty space behind it, a cavity with a diameter of more than fifteen meters. Acoustic detection shows that there are fans running inside, and…" He paused, "and the sound of keyboard typing. Someone is working down there."
"Office?"
Lynn raised an eyebrow.
"Do people who sell people even have regular office hours?"
"It might be a shift system,"
Tony chimed in from the side.
"Five social insurances and one housing fund, paid annual leave. The agreement your dad signed might even include labor clauses."
Lynn returned the tablet:
"I'll go see what they sell. If it's suitable, I'll buy it; if not, I'll smash the store."
Natasha slung the submachine gun over his shoulder and then pulled a dagger from his boot to check the blade:
"I'll lead the team. Rogers, you stay with me and don't rush ahead."
"Why?"
Rogers stood up, his new boots making a solid click on the floor.
"Because your account was only unfrozen two days ago, and you don't even know how to use QR code payments,"
Natasha sheathed the dagger.
"Once we get down there, you'll be in charge of recognizing faces. You'll know the people from Hydra, and you might also know the people from Locksmith Guild. They're all from your generation."
Rogers didn't argue, but simply bent over and did two squats, his boots creaking painfully. He frowned.
"...These shoes make a sound."
"Good that it rang."
Lynn said,
"The enemy hears you first, saving you the trouble of introducing yourself."
At 11:40 a.m., in the Lower East Side, at the abandoned Chambers Street subway station.
The iron gate was rusted to a reddish-brown color and had a sign that read "No Entry" in red letters on a whitebackground, with peeling paint.
Natasha pulled a hairpin from her hair, inserted it into the lock, and flicked it three times until the latch clicked open.
"Thirty seconds,"
She said, tuck the hair clip back into her hair.
"There has been progress."
Lynn pushed the door open, and the exoskeleton's shoulder armor scraped against the door frame, the metal scraping against the metal, making a very harsh creaking sound.
He squeezed in sideways, the reactor lights illuminating his vision.
A set of mud steps extends downwards, with waterseeping down the wall and pooling into a thin stream on the steps.
"No light,"
Rogers followed behind, his combat boots making a solid slapping sound as they stepped into the puddle.
"At least the bunkers of my time had light bulbs."
"Saving electricity,"
Lynn said to turn up the reactor brightness.
"Or they might prefer night vision goggles. Modern people value ambiance."
"Atmosphere?"
Rogers frowned in the darkness.
"Does war also need atmosphere?"
"The atmosphere is already dead,"
Natasha walked last, closing the iron gate behind her.
"Those who survived were all people of integrity."
The passageway was narrow, barely wide enough for two people to walk side by side. Exposed overhead cable conduits dripped water from the screw connections, landing on Lynn's hair; it was cool. He shook his head, andthe water droplets splashed onto Rogers' face.
"Feel sorry,"
Lynn said.
"fine,"
Rogers wiped his face.
"Much gentler than rain bullets."
After walking about eighty meters, Natasha suddenly stopped and raised her hand.
Lynn and Rogers stopped. She pointed to the corner of the wall. A black sphere, about the size of a thumb, was embedded in a crack in the watery mud, and a red dot flashed.
"monitor,"
Natasha said that he raised the pistol, didn't aim, and just fired a shot.
The bullet grazed Lynn's ear, shattering the black sphere.Sparks flew onto the wall like firecrackers during Chinese New Year.
"It's never-ending,"
Lynn said that she touched her earlobe with her fingers, and the scabbed wound there became itchy again from the vibration.
"They're watching. They're probably making tea now, waiting for us to get to the living room."
"Then let's hurry up,"
Rogers said, "Don't keep them waiting."
"What's the rush?"
Lynn said,
"We're here to deliver goods. We deliver to your door, so please be courteous."
The passage suddenly widened at the end, as if a bottleneck had burst open. A circular space, about fifteen meters in diameter, with a water- mud dome, was revealed. In the center was a metal folding table, behind which sat a man.
He was in his forties, with an Asian face, wearing a gray suit and a neatly tied blue tie. In front of him was a silver laptop with the screen lit up, as if he were working in a Starbucks.
When the man saw them, he stood up, flashed a standard smile, revealing eight teeth:
" Mr. Lynn Stark. It's good to meet you. I'm Chen, the account manager at Locksmith Guild. I don't sell violence, I only handle handover."
Lynn didn't move forward, standing at the entrance of the hall, her exoskeleton joints humming at low power: "Who is the buyer?"
"Encrypted information,"
Mr. Chen sat back down and slid his finger across the touchpad.
"I don't even know the code name, I only know that the deposit has been paid and the balance will be paid upon arrival. You come with us to complete the final resonance test, and the contract will end. You will be free, and your friend will be safe."
"What test?"
"physical,"
Mr. Chen spoke as if he were discussing a medical checkup, his tone flat.
"Your template is currently 73% complete. Captain America physique, spider agility, endurance, Wolverineself-healing, and the charm of a heartthrob. Just one more thing and you'll be ready to deliver."
Lynn's expression changed.
He took a step forward, his robotic arms slightly outstretched, like two hands ready to swat a fly:
How do you know about the heartthrob?
"We designed it,"
Mr. Chen tapped on his computer, and the screen turned toLynn, displaying a row of gene sequence diagrams.
" Howard uses our gene bank to adjust the formula. We are just tracking the progress. Every time you unlock a template, our server receives a heartbeat. Three months ago, the moment ADAM-0 was sealed, your gene chain completed the seventh stage of recombination, the system popped up a window, and we placed an order immediately."
Rogers frowned, his fingers unconsciously moving to his waist. There was no gun there; Natasha had only given him a dagger. He whispered to Natasha, "What heartthrob?"
"To be explained later,"
Natasha said, her eyes fixed on Mr. Chen.
"If he were still alive."
Mr. Chen continued:
"The testing site is ready, right below Stark Tower. Mr. Howard signed a site co-ownership agreement when he joined in 1971, with a 99-year lease. As part of his legacy, you have the rights and are bound by them. No need to carry luggage, how convenient!"
Lynn's lips twitched:
"That's my underground room. Did you rent it?"
"The deposit has been paid," Mr. Chen pushed over a paper document, an A4 sheet of paper covered with densely printed terms, "The buyer is very patient, but the deposit is only valid for seventy-two hours. After that, the contract will automatically be transferred to the alternative plan."
"What alternatives?"
"James Barnes,"
Mr. Chen opened a folder on his computer, which containedBucky's brainwave diagrams.
"The interface in his brain could be upgraded to a master node. It's technically feasible, but the process wouldn't be very comfortable. Or Steve Rogers, whose serum has an affinity for your gene chain, could force a splicing. That wouldn't be very comfortable either."
Rogers leaned forward half an inch, like a fully drawn bow.
Natasha reached out and pressed down on his forearm, her fingers digging in so hard her knuckles turned white.Rogers stopped, but his jaw was clenched like a steel plate.
Lynn looked down at the document.
The paper was ordinary, the printing font was plain, but the date on the cover was indeed three months ago. He extended his robotic arm, not to retrieve the document, but to slam the laptop in front of Mr. Chen shut with a crisp snap.
"I won't sign,"
Lynn said.
Mr. Chen wasn't annoyed; he simply took the file back and put it into a transparent folder.
"I understand. Big deals take time to consider. The exit is on your left, the third passage leading straight to the ground. There's water on the ground, be careful not to slip."
He stood up, straightened his tie clip, then picked up the thermos on the table, filled with goji berries, the small red berries floating in the water —and walked towards a small door on the side. The door closed behind him with a click, like the door to someone's balcony.
The hall fell silent. Natasha walked to the table to check for any hard drives or USB drives left behind, but the tabletop was spotless, without even a fingerprint. She crouched down and looked under the table, but found no listening devices.
"Seventy-three percent,"
Rogers said, his voice escaping between clenched teeth, "He treats you like a progress bar."
"Not a progress bar,"
Lynn turned and walked towards the exit, the joints of her exoskeleton echoing heavily in the empty hall.
"It's pork. They fatten it up before slaughtering it."
"And now?"
Natasha followed.
"go home,"
Lynn said,
"Weld the door to the underground room shut. Then wait for them to come and collect the rent."
He looked down at the palm of his left hand.
There was a red dot there, like a mole, slightly warm.
Wanda's voice came through the communicator, very soft, with a slightly nasal tone, as if she had just woken up:
"...I've attached a GPS anchor for you. I can find you wherever you go. Don't lose contact."
Lynn spoke into the communicator on her wrist:
"Then don't sleep too soundly. I might call you to open the door at any time."
A slurping sound came from the other end of the communicator, followed by Pietro's complaint:
"Can you guys please stop whispering sweet nothings while I'm eating instant noodles? The noodles are all soggy."