Stark Tower.
Luke stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, clutching a document he had just received from Pepper, with the name Obadiah Stane printed on it.
He flipped through two pages.
Iron Monger.
A bald old geezer wearing an oversized version of the Iron Man armor, with firepower settings at least three levels higher than Tony Stark’s suit, was preparing to have a father-son showdown—no, an uncle-nephew showdown—with Iron Man.
In short, internal family conflicts had escalated to the point of needing missiles to resolve them.
Luke slammed the document onto the table.
The information had been digested.
Luke had some impression of Obadiah.
He had met him once before while on a mission; he was bald and shiny, smiled very kindly, and looked so affectionate when patting Tony on the shoulder.
Now, the man wanted to pat Tony into the ground.
Capitalists turn against you fast.
Luke looked down at his watch.
5:56.
No.
The second hand ticked forward.
5:57.
Three minutes.
Three minutes until off-duty.
You want him to go deal with Iron Monger now?
A lunatic wearing an enhanced armor, with firepower fully engaged, clearly intending to blow half the city into the sky?
Three minutes before he gets off work?
Luke closed his eyes and chanted silently in his heart.
“System!
System, are you there!” A semi-transparent panel popped up.
Luke quickly asked: “Can I break the rules and work overtime again today?
There’s an emergency.” The text on the panel flickered out.
[Of course you can.] Luke’s eyes lit up.
[But this counts as consecutive overtime.
According to Article 7, Section 3 of the “Admiral Labor Protection Regulations,” the hourly wage for consecutive overtime increases by 100%.] [Current hourly wage: 2,000,000 USD/hour.] Luke’s eyes dimmed again.
Two million.
USD.
One hour.
He stared at the number on the panel, counted the zeros three times, and confirmed he hadn’t misread it.
Two million USD an hour; working a full eight-hour day is sixteen million.
Working for a month is—never mind, my brain will explode if I calculate that.
Given the current state of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s funding, Fury’s budget was likely already gutted by that last battle with Hulk.
Two million an hour—where would Fury scrape that from?
Dig it out of his leather coat?
Luke rubbed his fingers, his brain racing.
Forget it, I can’t give up without trying.
What if?
What if Fury bleeds out cash today?
What if S.H.I.E.L.D.
just received a huge appropriation?
What if Fury was possessed by an alien and suddenly became generous?
Might as well try, it won’t cost me anything anyway.
Pepper was stamping her feet anxiously nearby, grabbing Luke’s arm: “Are you even listening to me!
Obadiah has already activated that armor!
Tony is now—” Luke raised his hand to make a “wait a moment” gesture.
“Hold on, it’s just a phone call.” He pulled out his phone, flipped to his contacts, found the number marked “One-Eyed Dragon,” and pressed the call button.
Beep— Beep— Beep— It connected on the fourth ring.
Fury’s voice came through the receiver, carrying a hoarseness that reached his bones, every word reeking of “I’ve had enough for today.” “…What is it.” Just from those three words, Luke could tell Fury was having a rough day.
Just as he was about to speak, the other end of the line suddenly exploded.
A staff member’s voice pierced through the background noise, sharp, panicked, and cracking: “Director!
Director!
Hulk, Hulk is smashing the wall again!
He seems to have broken containment again!
The door to the second level isolation chamber has been completely blown off!
Quickly activate the containment—” A muffled sound of metal tearing.
Then, an angry curse from Fury.
That curse contained dissatisfaction with fate, anger at Hulk, despair over everything happening today, and the final struggle of a middle-aged man on the verge of resignation.
After cursing, Fury put the phone back to his ear.
“Speak, what is it.” Luke opened his mouth.
Two million an hour.
Hulk is smashing the wall again.
He processed these two pieces of information in his mind and then made a very rational judgment.
“Nothing, wrong number.” “Beep—” He hung up.
Luke shoved the phone back into his pocket, his movements clean and efficient.
Alright.
The path is blocked.
If the path is blocked, don’t force it; that’s a lesson he had known since childhood.
Fury was already about to snap; bringing up the two million thing now wasn’t negotiating overtime, it was driving a man to jump off a building.
Pepper was almost going crazy with anxiety, stepping forward: “Are you done?
I’m telling you, this is very serious!
Obadiah, he—” Luke turned abruptly and made a “shh” gesture at Pepper.
His index finger was held before his lips, looking very serious.
“Don’t say it, don’t say it.” Pepper paused: “Don’t say what?” Luke lowered his finger and walked quickly toward the door, saying as he walked: “I know exactly what happened: Obadiah Stane, Iron Monger, reactor-driven, heavy armor, firepower at least three times that of the Mark I.
I know it all.” Pepper caught up to him: “Then you—” “There’s no time left.” Luke stopped, turned to face Pepper, placed his hands on her shoulders, and said word by word: “Listen carefully to what I’m about to say.” Pepper was stunned by his seriousness and nodded subconsciously.
“Okay, tell me.” Luke stared at her.
“First, now, immediately, right away, let everyone in this building get off work, evacuate everyone, leave no one behind.” Pepper nodded.
“Second, after you get out, hurry and hail a taxi on the street, get as far away from here as possible, don’t look back, don’t hesitate, just run.” Pepper nodded again.
“Third—” Luke let go of her shoulders.
“That assistant of yours, the red-headed one—” “Natalie?” “Yes, she is also an Agent of our S.H.I.E.L.D.
You need to contact her immediately and have her handle the scene.
Hurry, there really isn’t time!” Pepper froze for two seconds.
“Wait.” “Hold on,” her voice rose half an octave, “Natalie?
Natalie Rushman?
She is, she is also an Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.?!” Her brain was clearly running at high speed, trying to digest this amount of information.
The assistant who helped her schedule, ordered coffee, and organized files every day was an Agent?
But she didn’t have time to overthink, because the man in front of her looked even more panicked than she was.
Luke was already pacing back and forth on the spot, as fast as a sewing machine, checking his watch every two steps.
“Contact her quickly, there really isn’t time.” Luke urged.
Pepper looked at his face.
This face was full of anxiety and urgency.
Brows furrowed, lips pursed, there even seemed to be a thin layer of sweat on his forehead.
For a well-trained Agent to show such an expression, it meant the situation was truly critical.
Pepper couldn’t help but ask: “Are you…
really in such a rush?” “I’m really in a rush!” Luke’s voice went up half a pitch.
Pepper swallowed: “Can I ask, what is so urgent?” Luke had already walked to the lobby entrance, one foot already outside.
He turned back and looked at Pepper.
“I’m getting off work.” He paused for 0.5 seconds.
“Goodbye!” Pepper: “…” Pepper’s mouth was open, holding that position for a full three seconds without closing.
“You what?!” Her voice echoed in the empty lobby, but Luke had already dashed out of the revolving door.
On the side of the road outside, a yellow taxi was just pulling over with its “vacant” light on.
Luke rushed to the car door in two steps, pulled open the back door, and dived inside.
Pepper chased out, her high heels tapping rapidly on the ground: “You can’t just—” Luke was already half inside the car; he poked his head out and waved at Pepper.
“I’m taking this one!
You wait for the next one!” He turned to the driver.
“Driver, go, go, go, toward Queens, as fast as possible.” The door closed.
The taxi merged into traffic.
Pepper Potts stood at the entrance of Stark Tower, the wind blowing through her hair.
Pepper stood where she was.
Her expression went through a complete five-stage transformation: shock, denial, anger, confusion.
Then came a deep, soul-deep bewilderment.
You call this a S.H.I.E.L.D.
Agent?
He moves faster than a temp worker!