Chapter 49: Evil Begets Evil

New York’s weather was gradually turning colder; morning mist clung to the window glass, leaving a hazy white film that blurred the newly lit streetlamps into halos of dull yellow light.

Schiller sat at Stark’s lab desk with a cup of coffee, while Stark walked over holding a thick stack of data and said: “We need to modify Joint 5 again, then run a control experiment with Joint 13. Also, the data for the outer armor of Arm 7 is off—I’ll need to readjust it later…”

Schiller said: “Can’t you take a break? Aren’t you tired?”

Stark spread the data across the desk as he replied: “You’ve asked me this question at least twenty times tonight—since 7 p.m. yesterday, all the way to 7 a.m. today.”

“That’s because you’ve been dragging me into experiments since 7 p.m. yesterday—I didn’t even have time to finish a cup of coffee.”

“Then what are you doing now? Three minutes have passed—haven’t you finished drinking? We still have two sets of experiments to run, and we must finish them before 8 a.m.”

Schiller collapsed face-first onto the desk.

Peter walked out from behind the lab’s glass door holding two files and said: “Mr. Stark, the external frame of Leg Joint 5 seems to have an issue. Jarvis’s third data report indicates the bone support structure is showing signs of instability, and the frame risks fracturing. Though Jarvis suggests replacing the material, if we use too rigid a keel, flexibility and mobility will be compromised…”

Stark took the files from Peter, glanced at them, and said: “This isn’t a big problem.”

He pointed at the design schematic with his finger. “We’ll add a shock absorber here at the joint, then shift this section down two centimeters…”

Peter rubbed his chin in thought, while Stark pulled Schiller up from the desk. “Normally, you down a strong coffee in three seconds. You’ve been sipping for nearly five—get up and work.”

“My magical energy needs to recover…”

“Didn’t someone say that was a low-end technique?”

Schiller covered his eyes and said: “Can’t you just bring me a complete suit of armor, let me cast one spell on it, and then you can use it directly? Why do you have to test every single component separately?”

Stark stared at him in disbelief. “Sometimes I think you understand this stuff, and other times I think you’re a complete mechanical idiot.”

He spread the schematic on the desk and pointed to the diagram. “See? When you used magic to solve the scaling and deployment issues for Mark 4, I could focus on performance and function. But once I enhance any part’s performance or function, I must retest whether it can still scale and deploy properly—or whether its deployed function matches my expectations.”

“So I need to run countless modular experiments to test whether each function performs as expected when scaled and deployed individually.”

“So has any component failed to meet your expectations?” Schiller asked.

“What if the next one does?” Stark said.

Those damn meticulous science nerds—Schiller collapsed face-first onto the desk again.

Peter said: “I agree with Mr. Stark. Building this armor isn’t a game. If a component fails while you’re flying tens of thousands of meters in the air, it’ll be deadly.”

“Not just that,” Stark said as he organized the schematics. “Low-power, high-power, and overclocked operation all behave differently. You must ensure optimal performance at every power output level.”

Then Stark dragged Schiller over to the testing bench. Peter handed him a component; Schiller disassembled and reassembled it, then Stark tested it. Peter handed him another component; Schiller disassembled and reassembled it again, then Stark tested it.

Peter and Stark were running experiments—but Schiller felt like a factory worker tightening lightbulbs on an assembly line.

The symbiote kept repeating in his mind: “Their heads smell so good, so incredibly good, I want to eat them. Can I eat one? Just one, then the other next meal—I want to eat the blue-eyed one first…”

Schiller realized the symbiote could detect brainwaves. When someone’s mind raced, the symbiote sensed a pheromone released by their brain—the faster the mental activity, the more aromatic it smelled.

Unfortunately, Peter and Stark—both super-geniuses—smelled to the symbiote like walking, ultra-delicious fried chicken, impossible to resist.

Somehow, the symbiote had learned to replay the sound of swallowing repeatedly in Schiller’s mind—making him hungry.

After tightening the last component handed to him, Schiller said: “Let’s get something to eat. Aren’t you hungry?”

Stark tossed him two energy bars. “Thanks to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s new stuff—I can now work for forty straight hours.”

Schiller took a deep breath. “Aren’t you tired? And you, Peter—haven’t you slept in nearly two days?”

“I brought this kid here because he’s got way more energy than anyone else.”

Peter shrugged. “Ever since I gained my powers, I only need short naps to stay energized. I just slept fifteen minutes in the break room—I feel fine.”

“More to the point—why does a mage feel tired? Don’t you have any magic to stay alert?”

Schiller wasn’t physically tired; with the symbiote, he could go without food, drink, or sleep. But anyone who’d spent twenty hours tightening lightbulbs would feel mentally drained.

Schiller didn’t understand a single thing about their armor designs. But every time Stark emerged from behind the glass door excitedly showing off a new idea, Schiller had to play cheerleader and clap. If he didn’t, Stark would storm back inside, there’d be a series of clangs and explosions, and then he’d reappear with a new idea.

Stark said: “How can you be so indifferent to such a great endeavor? This is a milestone in human scientific history—perhaps even in magic! We’re the first to merge human technology with a new magical force. Don’t you look forward to the results?”

“I care more about another question,” Schiller said. “Are you planning to call this entire armor series ‘Mark’? I think it deserves a new name.”

“A new name? What about the S-series? Your initial and my surname’s initial.”

“Peter will be upset—he helped build it too.”

Stark scratched his head. Peter said: “I don’t mind the name, but I think the new armor should have a completely different, cooler look than the Mark series.”

“I think you should design it blue,” Schiller said. “It matches magic well, and distinguishes it from your Mark series.”

“Then let’s hurry. Once we test all the components, we can start assembling it, then paint it a beautiful color—I think blue and silver would look great.”

“Also,” Stark looked at Schiller. “I think this armor should have some magical offensive capability.”

“I’m sorry, but the magic I know has no offensive power,” Schiller said.

“What about the weightlessness spell? I think being able to levitate objects would be useful.”

“You might consider magnetism,” Schiller said without hesitation, betraying Magneto. “It might be stronger than you think.”

When Natasha arrived, the three had been awake for over fifty hours. Schiller and Peter, due to their powers, looked relatively normal, but Stark had massive panda-like dark circles under his eyes. Natasha said: “We were about to issue a missing persons alert—you’ve been gone nearly three full days.”

“But we’ve got an outstanding result!” Stark said.

Then Natasha saw Stark pull out a cigarette. The female agent smiled. “Still as clueless as ever. Since I joined S.H.I.E.L.D., I’ve quit smoking.”

“Only now are you thinking about your health? Isn’t that a bit late?” Schiller asked her.

“Health? I’m not doing this for health! Have you ever met a Russian who cares about health? That damn smoke alarm in the S.H.I.E.L.D. office goes off more than twenty times a day—I quit because I couldn’t stand the noise.”

“Hey, look here! What are you talking about? Look at me—look at my achievement!” Stark said.

He tossed the cigarette upward—and in an instant, a suit of armor composed of silver and deep blue appeared on his body.

This armor differed slightly from the Mark series—it was lighter, sleeker, and more form-fitting to Stark’s frame. During deployment and movement, it emitted none of the mechanical noises typical of other armors. More than armor, it resembled an elegantly designed bodysuit.

Schiller stood up and said: “You used to be ten centimeters taller than me in armor. Now you’re only three centimeters taller.”

“Is that the point?!”

“Of course. Because without armor, you’re one centimeter shorter than me.”

“Two centimeters, sir,” Peter said. “You have to subtract your shoes.”

Stark took a deep breath, leapt lightly—and the armor floated into the air, far quieter than before. “Thanks for the inspiration. I agree jet propulsion feels cheap, but this magnetic levitation system is still immature—I need to improve it further.”

Schiller quickly asked Natasha: “Did Nick Fury have something for me? I can go give him another invoice—any amount will do.”

Natasha said: “Well, there is something—it seems related to the ninja group Captain and Peter fought before.”

“So you’re here for Peter, then Schiller…” Stark said.

“No, no, no. I’ve been paid a lot by S.H.I.E.L.D. I think it’s necessary to give everyone a basic psychological and emotional assessment. You know—important for field agents, helps prevent them from going insane from anxiety.”

“No charge this time?”

“Of course not!”