Chapter 73: Viral Propagation
In mid-October in New York, the presence of Astral had penetrated every corner of the city.
In the subway during the morning rush hour, half of the people kept their heads down, fingers swiping up and down on their screens, while the background music of short videos mixed with station broadcast announcements, drifting from the front of the car to the back.
White-collar workers in suits browsed food tutorials during their commute, muttering under their breath, "I'll make this tonight."
Middle school students with schoolbags on their backs curled up in the corners, holding back their laughter while browsing funny skits until their shoulders shook violently, only hurriedly darkening their screens and pretending to look out the window after being poked by their deskmates.
The Chinese owner of a breakfast shop at the street corner propped the phone beside the steamer, flipping pan-fried dumplings while speaking to the camera, "Today's filling is pork and scallion, freshly wrapped." A bunch of people in the comment section asked for the address, saying they would make a special trip to check in over the weekend.
"This thing is devilishly weird," an older man on the subway complained to his companion. "My wife already loved browsing gossip, but now it's even worse—she browses while cooking, browses before bed, and even takes it out to swipe a couple of times during breaks from ballroom dancing. Yesterday, she was browsing videos while stewing a pot, and she didn't even realize when the soup boiled dry."
His companion nodded in deep agreement. "Who's to say otherwise? My son's grades were originally okay, but lately, he hides under the covers browsing it every day, and his homeroom teacher even called me in for a talk. Yet, you can't say it's useless; last week, I learned a plumbing repair tutorial on it and actually saved fifty bucks in repair fees."
Half a month, thirty million registered users.
This number soared upward like it was riding a Rocket. From North America to Europe and then to East Asia, Astral phones and the Astral app swept across the globe almost by riding the favorable wind.
No one who came from the era of button phones ever imagined that a glass screen plus a few short videos could completely devour everyone's fragmented time.
"Half an hour on Astral, three hours in reality" became a universally popular meme across the entire internet, with countless people shouting, "I'll browse just one more video and go to sleep," while looking up to see the Sun at four in the morning.
And one of the platform's top influencers turned out to be a dog.
Ares became popular without any warning.
In the very beginning, it was just two daily updates casually posted by Logan—retrieving a frisbee and tearing apart a sofa—and as a result, the comment section exploded.
This Blue Bay Shepherd was simply too huge! Standing up, it was almost as tall as a person, with smooth muscle lines all over its body, bringing a gust of wind when running, and crouching there as steady as a small mountain, its gaze as domineering as a wolf king.
Someone edited a compilation of "Wolf King Ares," where the first second captured its ferocious drive baring its teeth to deter strangers, and the next second showed its obedience as it trotted happily toward Logan with a frisbee in its mouth; this contrast-induced cuteness directly pierced the heart of the entire internet.
Memes flew everywhere, and derivative secondary creation videos became more popular than the last. Some people even specially opened an account called "Daily Wolf King Sniffing," everyday reposting bits and pieces of Ares, and its follower growth was even faster than many internet celebrities.
Logan truly experienced what it meant to be "less famous than a dog."
That afternoon, he walked Ares to Central Park for a stroll. Having barely walked five hundred meters, he was stopped by three young girls with sparkling eyes, clutching their phones and so nervous that they couldn't speak fluently: "E-Excuse me, is this Ares? That wolf king on Astral! Can we take a picture together?"
Logan raised an eyebrow and looked down at Ares.
This fellow was usually wildly arrogant when tearing up sofas at home, but in front of outsiders, it put on airs, crouching straight with its tail swaying leisurely, sporting a high-and-mighty expression that said, "You guys can take pictures all you want, I won't bite."
"Sure, just pet it gently." He smiled and loosened the leash a bit.
The young girls instantly cheered, crowded over to crouch beside Ares for selfies, cautiously touching its back with their fingertips, their faces flushed with excitement.
When they finished expressing their gratitude and left with satisfaction, they ran into a mother with a toddler not two steps away, who pointed at Ares and told her child, "Look, that's the big doggie from the video." The child reached out with babbling sounds, wanting to touch it.
After a whole circle of walking, taking photos, shooting videos, and coming up to ask about the dog breed, they ran into seven or eight batches of people back and forth.
Logan didn't know whether to laugh or cry, and rubbed Ares's big head: "Not bad, you're even more famous than me now. Do I need to assign you a bodyguard when we go out, huh?"
Ares tilted its head, its throat emitting a purring sound, as if it didn't understand, or as if it were showing off.
When they returned to the Villa, Logan collapsed onto the sofa and casually pulled out Astral to start browsing.
In a mere half month, basically everyone he knew had joined, pulling up a long list of mutual follows, and each person's account style was practically carved from the exact same mold as themselves.
At the very top was Ororo.
Her ID was her own name, and her verification was as a teacher at the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters. Her homepage was exceptionally clean, filled entirely with cloud photography and weather science popularization, things like "Cumulonimbus Cloud Formation Conditions" and "Hurricane Classification Trivia." The matching photos were shot like National Geographic, aloof and professional.
The only "unprofessional" one was a close-up photo of pudding, with no caption, just a pudding emoji.
Logan smiled and commented underneath: "Did Hanknewly make this? Save two portions, I'll come over to bum some tomorrow."
In less than two seconds, he received a reply consisting of just a single word: "Scram."
Following it was a blocking meme, her stubborn mouth matching her actual self down to a T.
Jean's account was much gentler, posting entirely the daily lives of the children at the school: crooked clay dolls made in handicraft class, smiling faces playing with frisbees on the lawn, side profiles of heads bowed reading books in the library. Her captions were always soft, like the spring breeze. She also occasionally shared reading insights, recommending entirely literature-oriented books, with a bunch of people shouting in the comment section, "Teacher Jean is so gentle."
Logan casually liked the latest video of the children drawing, without commenting—he couldn't just go up and say "The children draw pretty well," making it look too much like a leader coming for an inspection.
Emma's account was in the standard female corporate executive style.
Verified as the CEO of Frost Industries, her homepage featured either industry summit scenes or new product launch conferences, occasionally showing off a high-end custom gown paired with red wine, exquisite like a walking fashion magazine.
Yesterday, she posted a dynamic update about the launch of a cooperative project with Stark Industries, tagging Logan and Tony.
Logan clicked into it and saw that Tony had already left a message below: "Pleasure doing business, Ms. Frost."
Emma replied gracefully: "Looking forward to the continuation, Mr. Stark."
The two of them engaged in mutual business flattery with utter seriousness, and Logan smiled and added a line: "When two moguls collaborate, remember to give me a discount."
Emma quickly replied with a brow-raising emoji: "There are no discounts, but we can talk about splitting half of the dividends with me."
Between the lines was a familiar ambiguity, and people in the comment section had already started shipping the "overbearing CEO duo."
Scrolling down was Maggie.
Her avatar was a latte with latte art. By now, Logan had already helped her take over that coffee shop, and she peaceably worked as the boss lady concurrent waitress, routinely sharing some latte art videos, unknowingly gaining tens of thousands of followers as well.
Scrolling further down was John Wick.
The account ID was just a single letter "W," the avatar was pitch black, with no verification whatsoever. The homepage was squeaky clean, with a grand total of five dynamic posts, all of which were about Daisy: Daisy running with a ball in her mouth, Daisy lying on the lawn sunbathing, Daisy sleeping by his feet. There wasn't a single caption, nor even an emoji.
Even with just this, there were still hundreds of thousands of followers, and the comment section was entirely filled with "Daisy is so cute," "Master is also so handsome," and "Begging for more daily updates of Daisy."
Logan smiled and liked the latest video of Daisy sleeping, muttering to himself: This guy speaks so little, yet his follower growth rate is actually not slow at all. Truly, appearance is justice, even a dog gets to bask in the glory.
Frank's account was even more monotonous.
The avatar was a silhouette of a fishing rod, and all dynamic updates were about fishing: caught a bass today, discovered a new fishing spot tomorrow, shared a bait recipe the day after. The pictures were unpretentiously captured, and the captions did not exceed ten words, as taciturn as he himself was.
Logan commented under his latest catch picture: "This fishing spot looks good, together this weekend?"
In less than five minutes, Frank replied with a single word: "Good."
Crisp and neat, without half a word of nonsense.
Jessica's account, on the other hand, was a massive complaining scene.
Verified as a private detective, her daily routine consisted of cursing eccentric clients, cursing New York's poor public security, and cursing Astral for being too addictive and delaying her information checking.
Yesterday she had just posted: "Halfway through a stakeout, I took out my phone to browse cat videos, and by the time I snapped back to reality, the target had already left. Who developed this lousy app? It harms people deeply."
Logan mocked her underneath: "Slacking off at work, your bonus this month is deducted."
She instantly replied: "Deduct my bonus and raise my salary instead, otherwise I'll spill the beans about you secretly browsing cat videos for half an hour."
Logan raised an eyebrow, replied with "Money-grubber," and casually transferred a sum of pocket money to her as a bonus. In no time, he received a "Boss is magnanimous" meme sent by the other party, accompanied by a GIF of a kitty bowing.
Michaela's account was full of youthful vigor.
Posting modification parts teardowns, school cafeteria's dark culinary dishes, and group photos shopping with Emma and Harriet, her brows curved into crescents when she smiled, full of vitality.
Last week she posted a video of Logan's harley parked at the entrance of the modification shop, without showing her face, only filming the car body, with the caption "The old pal is here for maintenance again."
A bunch of people in the comment section guessed whether it was Wolverine's car, and the comment threads shipping the couple built up by hundreds of layers.
Logan neither liked nor commented, just smiled and scrolled past.
The young girl had thin skin; being too flagrant would make her easily shy.
Scrolling further down, one could see Mei Parker's account, posting Peter's exam papers, cinnamon rolls she baked herself, and stray cats in the neighborhood, brimming with the warmth of mundane human life.
Peter's own account was quite lively, with his following list full of tech bloggers and Tony, forwarding Tony's armor videos every day with the caption "So cool!", acting purely like a little fanboy.
Remembering the child's sparkling eyes at the expo, Logancouldn't help but like Peter's latest forwarded mark viiivideo.
He was browsing with great relish when his phone suddenly vibrated, and Tony's name bounced around on the screen.
"Logan! Did you cheat!" As soon as the call connected came the other's exasperated voice, "How come you have two million more followers than me? Isn't it just relying on a dog! If you have the ability, let's compete on real substance!"
Logan changed to a more comfortable posture leaning against the sofa, and said lazily, "Just say you're jealous, nobody's laughing at you. Who tells you to post armor blueprints everyday, who can understand that? Learn from me, post some cats and dogs, aren't they more popular than your tin can?"
"Bullshit! My armor is called technological aesthetics! What do vulgar people know!" Tony stubbornly argued, paused, and then started showing off again, "But you just wait, I'll live stream building Mark ix tomorrow, and by then my followers will surpass yours in minutes! Also, daily active users already broke nine million yesterday, and next week it'll definitely break ten million! Get your whole year's supply of whiskey ready to cough up!"
"Who wins and who loses isn't certain yet," Logan smiled and retorted back. "When you live stream, make sure you don't blow up your laboratory again; when Pepper deducts your pocket money then, don't come crying to me."
"Scram! My technology is so good, how could it possibly blow up!"
The two of them bickered back and forth across the phone for ten minutes before hanging up. Logan threw his phone aside, unable to stop laughing.
This fellow, already nearing his forties, still competed and compared every day like a child.
Just as he was laughing, the study door was gently pushed open, and Anna walked in holding documents.
Wearing a beige shirt paired with black dress trousers, her silver hair was neatly tied up, and the folder in her hand was held with sharp corners.
"Mr. Logan, these are the global operation data from last week." She placed the document on the table, her voice cool and steady. "As of yesterday, registered users are thirty-two million seven hundred thousand, daily active users are nine million one hundred thousand, and it's expected to break ten million before next Wednesday. Mobile phone production capacity has been increased to five million units per month, but it's still in short supply, and distributors in Europe and East Asia call every day urging for goods."
"In addition," she paused and added, "Over a dozen brand owners have approached us to discuss advertising cooperation, and quite a few creators have applied to join the incubation support program. The legal and operations teams are making a proposal; if you have time next week, you can look it over."
Logan picked up the document and flipped through two pages; the data was ridiculously gorgeous.
He looked up at Anna and said with a smile, "You've worked hard. Just handle these matters as you see fit, you don't need to ask me about everything. Oh right, this month everyone's bonus in the team is doubled, and yours is tripled."
Anna's hand holding the pen paused imperceptibly, and lowering her eyelids, she said, "Thank you, Mr. Logan."
She put down the document, turned around ready to leave, stopped when she reached the door, turned her head, and softly said: "Right, the video of Ares tearing up the house that you posted has hit number one on the trending list."
Having said that, without waiting for Logan to react, she gently closed the door behind her and left, her pace half a fraction faster than usual.
Logan was stunned for two seconds and shook his head with a smile. He tapped open Astral, and sure enough, saw his video hanging at number one on the trending list, the comment section having already laughed like crazy:
"Hahahaha the wolf king's image has collapsed! Turns out at home he's a little expert at tearing up the house!"
"Boss: Beat him and he still doesn't change. Dying of laughter, I simply can't bear to beat him!"
"Ares: Tearing up the sofa is giving the boss face, otherwise what would be torn up is the house!"
He smiled and browsed two more posts. Ares was napping by his feet, its tail swaying from time to time, scratching his ankles and making them itch.
New videos kept refreshing inside the phone—there were everyday lives of ordinary people, dynamic updates of friends, scenery from all over the place, lively and bustling, as if condensing the entire World into this tiny screen.
Logan stretched lazily, casually filmed another video of Ares yawning, and clicked publish.
Chapter 74: Joining in the Fun
In late October, New York had just experienced its first hint of chill, and Logan was curled up on the sofa in the Villa's living room, laughing incessantly at the astral trending list.
A glaring headline hung on the screen — # Astral Daily Active Users Exceeds Ten Million #, followed by a gold-stamped "Hot" character. The comment section was already in an uproar; some people were posting screenshots of their video-browsing duration, some were complaining that "Astral stole my sleep", and others were lingering around waiting for Tony to fulfill his bet.
Just as he wanted to take a screenshot and send it to the other party, his phone vibrated first. Tony's name bounced cheerfully, and his tone carried a bit of gritted-teeth reluctance: "You win this kid! I'll cover the whole year's whiskey, eighteen-year single malt, pick whatever you want in the wine cellar. But I'm warning you, don't go around showing off, or I'll tell everyone about you watching cat videos for half an hour."
"Oh, Mr. Stark is willing to admit defeat?" Logan smiled and adjusted his posture. Ares leaned over and rested his head on his lap, and he casually rubbed the dog's ears, "I thought you'd renege and say the data was falsified."
"Bullshit! Am I, Tony Stark, that kind of person?" Tony's bristling voice came through the receiver, paused, and then lowered a bit, carrying the excitement of discovering a new continent.
"Hey, did you browse that hammer video in New Mexico? Right there in the desert, stuck in the ground and nobody can pull it out, locals are spreading it like wildfire, saying it's a relic of an ancient god."
Logan's expression paused.
mjolnir, the iconic item of Thunder God Thor being banished to the mortal world.
This plot node had finally arrived.
He deliberately played dumb: "A hammer? What hammer, industrial waste? Maybe it's a defective product thrown away by the Military experiment."
"Defective product my ass." Tony sneered, and the clicking sound of armor assembly came from the background, "I saw the video, dozens of locals tried, even trucks couldn't pull it, it's damn weird. I've already had Jarvis check, the geological team said there's no iron ore in that place, for a hammer to pop up out of nowhere, there's definitely a problem. I'm flying over to take a look, are you going?"
Logan raised an eyebrow.
Originally, he didn't want to get involved in Asgard's mess, but on second thought, since he had nothing better to do, going to see the Zhenren (Immortal)-version Thor in distress would also be quite interesting, and by the way, he could check if mjolnir was really as weird as legends said.
"Sure, just right to go to the desert to bask in the Sun." He stood up and stretched, "But let's make it clear first, if S.H.I.E.L.D.'s people are also there, don't sell me out. I certainly don't want to be pestered by Fury that one-eyed dragon."
"Rest assured, I'm here." Tony said with full assurance, "See you in your backyard in ten minutes, Mark Nine has just finished debugging, just right to test if long-distance flight is stable."
Hanging up the phone, Logan changed into a dirt-resistant work jacket and put a few cigars into his pocket.
Ares wagged his tail and followed him to the door, only to be pushed back by him: "Stay at home, the desert is full of sand, it hurts the paws to step on. I'll bring you beef jerky when I get back."
The big dog whimpered aggrievedly, drooped its ears and squatted back beside the sofa, watching him go out with eager eyes.
Above the backyard, the silver-red Mark Nine hovered there, with its faceplate open. Tony wore sunglasses and waved at him: "Hurry up, hurry up, if we're late, someone might move it away."
Logan leaped up and sat on the flying vehicle brought by Tony.
With a "hum", it rushed into the clouds, and the clouds swept backward rapidly.
He leaned back in his seat, casually browsing Astral, and sure enough, the topic # Desert Mysterious Hammer # had surged into the top ten of the trending list.
The video was taken by a local resident, and the footage shook violently. One could only see a rusty hammer stuck in the sandy ground, with its handle wrapped in old leather cord. Several strong men gripped the hammer handle and exerted all their strength, their faces turning flushed, but the hammer remained motionless. The brain holes in the comment section were about to fly out of the atmosphere:
"Could this be Thor's hammer? The one from Norse mythology!"
"Is the poster above obsessed? I think it's a secret weapon of the Military, accidentally dropped here."
"Is anyone teaming up to pull it out? Whoever pulls it up gets it!"
"Don't bother thinking about it, those in front, there are already streamers on Astral who drove over overnight, estimated to have actual test videos out tomorrow."
Logan smiled and swiped past.
Let alone ordinary people, even Tony probably couldn't pick up this gadget.
After all, mjolnir recognizes its Master, and without Odin's blessing, no matter how strong one's strength is, it's all in vain.
Over two hours later, Mark Nine landed in the desert outside the town of Puente Antiguo in New Mexico.
From afar, one could see a circle of temporarily erected warning lines, several beige tents pitched, Agents in black combat uniforms patrolling back and forth, and a helicopter parked on a nearby dune, its propellers slowly turning.
S.H.I.E.L.D.'s actions were indeed fast enough.
Tony landed and retracted his armor, his sunglasses sliding to the tip of his nose. Looking at the battle array in front of him, he couldn't help complaining: "What did I say, Fury's nose is more sensitive than a dog's. Wherever there's something new, S.H.I.E.L.D. is there."
As soon as his voice fell, Coulson walked out of the tent in a crisp suit, wearing a standard professional smile on his face, followed by a man in tight black clothing, with short hair, carrying a bow and arrow, and eyes as sharp as an eagle, quietly appraising the two of them.
"Mr. Stark, Mr. Howlett." Coulson stepped forward, reached out and shook hands with Tony, "I knew you would come."
"Agent Coulson." Tony raised an eyebrow, tilting his chin towards the hammer, "Moving fast enough, huh? I just saw the video two hours ago, and you guys have already pitched camp. What, S.H.I.E.L.D. changed its profession to digging up antiques?"
"It's just routine anomalous item recovery." Coulson smiled leak-proof, stepping aside to make way, "If you want to study this hammer, it's not impossible. But there are two conditions: First, sign a confidentiality agreement, and everything seen today must not be leaked to the outside; second, all data and analysis reports produced from the research need to be shared with S.H.I.E.L.D."
"So I research things myself, and I still have to give you guys half?" Tony crossed his arms with an unhappy face, "Fury has a good calculation, getting something for nothing huh?"
"The material and origin of this hammer are both unknown, posing a security risk." Coulson's tone was steady, neither humble nor pushy, "S.H.I.E.L.D. has professional databases and teams that can help you figure out its background faster. And... we won't take your research results for free either; subsequent related scientific research resources can all be open to you."
Tony touched his chin and pondered.
He had originally come for the unknown metal before him, and S.H.I.E.L.D.'s database really had some stuff; sharing data wasn't too much of a loss.
Anyway, the core technology was tightly held in his own hands, so giving them some superficial stuff wouldn't hurt.
"Fine, deal." He waved his hand readily, "Bring the confidentiality agreement over, I'll sign. But let's make it clear, I only share material analysis, nothing else at all."
"No problem." Coulson breathed a sigh of relief, gesturing sideways with a please motion, "This way, gentlemen. Agent Barton, you guard here."
Hawkeye behind him nodded slightly, his gaze lingering on Logan for two more seconds, his fingertips tapping lightly on the bow body, without speaking, just making way to the side.
Logan raised his chin at him, which counted as a greeting. Secretly thinking in his heart, Hawkeye was indeed as rumored, speaking little and being fierce, with not a single word of nonsense the whole time.
Walking to the center of the sand dune, that legendary mjolnir quietly stuck in the sandy ground.
The hammer body was a dark silver metal with mottled traces of years of erosion, the patterns were antique and complex, and the end of the hammer handle was wrapped in worn leather, looking unremarkable, yet exuding an inexplicable sense of heaviness.
The surrounding sand seemed to be pushed away by an invisible force field, forming a shallow depression around the hammer.
Tony circled the hammer twice, his eyes glowing brightly, like a kid seeing a new toy.
He squatted down and knocked on the hammer body, making a muffled metallic sound, and turned his head to instruct Jarvis: "Scan the material, analyze the composition, and also the energy fluctuation."
A scanning beam popped out from the wrist of the armor, and a light blue light scanned back and forth on the hammer three times.
A few seconds later, Jarvis's voice sounded with a rare hint of hesitation: "Sir, the scan failed. The metal is not in Earth's known periodic table, the density is extremely high, and a weak unknown energy field is detected inside, unable to be parsed."
The smile on Tony's face faded a bit, and his brows furrowed.
Earth's known metal? Meaning it came from outer space?
He stood up, moved his wrist, and unconvincedly gripped the hammer handle: "I don't believe it, can there still be something that I, Tony Stark, cannot pick up?"
He sank his waist and braced his stance, his arms' muscles tensing, and pulled upwards hard.
However, the hammer remained completely motionless, as if welded into the ground.
Tony's face turned a bit red, and he exerted more effort, turning on the armor's auxiliary power. The sand under his feet was stepped into two pits, yet mjolnir was still steadily stuck there, not shaking even a bit.
"Damn." He let go of his hand, shook his arms, losing a bit of face, "Is it welded to the underground? It must be fixed on the rock layer, otherwise it couldn't possibly be this heavy."
Logan leaned against the stone nearby, biting a cigar and almost laughing out loud.
This guy, still stubborn after losing.
"Shall I give it a try?" He deliberately teased Tony.
Tony glanced at him sideways: "It's futile for you to try, even I can't lift it, you can still..."
Before he finished speaking, Logan walked over and casually grasped the hammer handle.
Just putting on an act to lift it up a bit, then letting go smoothly and shrugging: "Indeed heavy, damn weird."
Tony snorted, recovering a bit of face: "I told you, it's not that my strength is small, it's that this gadget has a problem."
Coulson nearby watched the two tossing about without speaking, a flash of realization passing through his eyes.
From the discovery of this hammer until now, S.H.I.E.L.D.had tried dozens of people, used cranes and tractors, all to no avail.
Tony and Logan being unable to lift it was already within his expectations.
Tony didn't argue further, squatting on the ground staring at the scan data, his expression growing increasingly solemn.
Metal not belonging to Earth, unknown energy field, appearing out of thin air in the desert...
He suddenly remembered what Fury had said before — "When danger comes, no one can stay out of it."
In the past, he just regarded it as Fury's rhetoric to fool people into joining, but now looking at this solid alien hammer in front of him, that bit of nonchalance in his heart was finally reeled in.
If this gadget came from outer space, what about its Master? Friend or foe? Could there be more alien things falling down?
A series of questions popped up, his fingertips tapping lightly on his knees, and his brows knitted into a knot.
"What are you thinking about, looking so deeply bitter and deep in hatred." Logan kicked the sand at his feet, "Isn't it just a piece of alien iron lump, why so serious."
Tony looked up at him, with rare seriousness in his tone: "You don't understand, Logan. This thing is not a meteorite fragment, it's man-made... No, it's a weapon made by alien intelligent life. Since there is a first piece, there might be a second, a third. Those things Fury said... might not all be alarmist."
Logan knew it very well in his heart, but deliberately feigned an indifferent appearance: "If there really are aliens running all the way here, it won't be our turn to worry first. Isn't S.H.I.E.L.D. doing exactly this?"
He spoke lightly on his lips, but in his heart he also knew that the Battle of New York was getting closer and closer.
The Chitauri fleet and Loki's scepter were both approaching step by step.
Tony didn't answer, stared at the hammer for a long time, and then stood up and patted the sand on his pants: "Alright, the data has been copied, let's go back and study it slowly. This ghost place is full of sand, it's uncomfortable to stay."
He spoke with disdain on his lips, but his footsteps were a bit heavier than when he came, obviously taking this matter to heart.
The two greeted Coulson and turned to walk towards the armor.
Just two steps out, Logan instinctively glanced in the direction of the town.
From afar, one could see a tall blonde man wearing a shabby t-shirt and jeans, walking out of town with a woman in a denim jacket. His back looked a bit down-and-out, yet exuded an indescribable upright vigor.
Thor.
Logan retracted his gaze, the corners of his mouth curving.
The distressed Thor, the troublemaking Loki, there would be plenty of fun to watch next.
Tony sat into the cockpit of the armor, still muttering about the hammer: "When we get back, I'll start a new project specifically researching alien metals. Maybe I can make a material harder than Adamantium, and upgrade the armor then..."
Logan leaned against his seat, interrupting him with a smile: "Think about how to deliver the whole year's whiskey first, Mr. Stark. Everything else can be put on the back burner, the bet must be fulfilled first."
"Get lost, get lost, get lost!" Tony retorted ungraciously, but the armor steadily lifted off into the air, flying towards the direction of New York, "You won't be short of it! When we get back, I'll have someone send the wine to your wine cellar, stuffing you to death!"
Chapter 75: Bumblebee
As November arrived, the beach in Long Island had already taken on a chill, and the sea breeze carrying a salty and fishy smell swept past the parasol, blowing Michaela's long hair all over her face.
The girl screamed as she tucked the stray strands behind her ears, her bare feet stepping into the slightly cool seawater, pulling Emma and Harriet into the waves.
The laughter of the three blended with the sound of the waves, drifting far away.
Logan slouched in the beach chair, holding an unlit cigar in his mouth, his sunglasses sliding down to the tip of his nose, and his gaze casually swept over the backs of the three girls.
Sunlight fell on Emma's light brown curly hair, casting a soft golden halo around it.
Her relaxed brows and eyes looked very much like Anya Taylor, and even the slight tilt of her head when she smiled was identical.
Beside her, Harriet skipped and chased after the waves, her cheeks tinged with a natural flush, and those round eyes were the spitting image of a young Mia Goth.
He twirled a lighter between his fingertips, clicking his tongue inwardly.
Emma Woodhouse, Harriet Smith.
With these two names put together and matched with those two faces, ghosts wouldn't even believe it if someone said they weren't plucked straight out of "Emma".
Back when he first time-traveled, he might have been surprised for a moment, but by now, he was long since calm.
After all, his assistant Anna's face was identical to that of the ace Agent in a certain spy thriller, and didn't she still organize reports and arrange his schedule every day?
Speaking of Anna, Logan's fingertips paused.
Jessica's side had been investigating for nearly three months, and the information sent back was thick enough to be bound into a book.
From Anna's resume in Europe to her whereabouts in recent years, it seemed seamless, but in reality, it reeked of deliberation everywhere.
Her KGB background was real, and the projects she had taken over were also real, but her whereabouts for the half-year before she came to the United States were as clean as if someone had deliberately wiped them clean, and not even a consumption record could be found.
Was she communicating with her handler too secretly, or was their agreed-upon dormant period simply longer than half a year?
Logan chuckled softly and cast the matter to the back of his mind.
Whether it could be found out didn't matter.
Anyway, Anna was reliable at handling things currently, and her ability was more than enough to top ten vice presidents; there was no rush to expose whatever intentions she harbored.
This feeling of harboring secrets and probing each other was like fishing by a lake—you stared at the bobber, and the fish beneath the bobber stared back at you, which was much more interesting than pulling it up in one cast.
As for that business in New Mexico?
Logan glanced at the internal encrypted flash news from S.H.I.E.L.D. on his phone.
The Destroyer had caused a ruckus in the small town for half the night, and Thor had taken back his Thor's power and smashed it to pieces with one hammer blow, and by now he had long since taken Sif and The Warriors Threeback to Asgard.
Throughout the whole thing, he didn't even show his face.
It wasn't because he was scared; it just wasn't worth it.
Those domestic trivialities of Asgard—Loki stirring up trouble and Thor cleaning up after him—repeated in a loop like an eight o'clock soap opera.
He had seen it eight hundred times in the movies; going over there wouldn't earn him any points, and he would also get pestered by Fury to be roped into service, making the losses outweigh the gains.
Catching a distant glimpse of Thor's down-and-out figure in the desert that day was enough.
If he really wanted to deal with them, he'd wait until the day Loki led the Chitauri to New York.
"Logan! You've been sitting there all afternoon, come down and play for a bit!"
Michaela ran over stepping through the water, her trouser legs rolled up to her knees, water droplets clinging to her calves, and shouted at him while waving her hand.
Emma and Harriet were also standing not far away looking over.
The former smiled and nodded slightly, while the latter directly hopped and waved.
"Nope, you guys go ahead and play."
Logan lifted his chin at them.
"We should clear out in half an hour. I booked a seafood restaurant for tonight, and if we go too late, there won't be any tables left."
Michaela let out an "oh" and skipped back.
When the setting sun dyed the sea a golden-red, the three of them reluctantly walked back, the ends of their hair damp and their feet covered in fine sand.
Harriet clutched three picked-up shells in her hand, tucking them into her bag like precious treasures, chattering about which shell had the prettiest pattern.
Emma gently added a word or two beside her, from time to time amused by Harriet's silliness.
Listening to them, Logan unconsciously hooked the corners of his mouth into a smile.
This life was truly comfortable, a ten-thousand times better than staying up late every day rushing projects before time-traveling.
The seafood restaurant at night was right by the seaside, and outside the floor-to-ceiling windows was the sea surface rippling with crushed gold.
The four of them sat in a window booth, and Michaelaflipped through the menu at lightning speed, ordering a bunch of lobsters and king crabs, and finally didn't forget to add a glass of whiskey for Logan.
"Oh right, Logan, there's something interesting I want to tell you."
Michaela bit on the straw of her lemon ice water, and as if suddenly remembering something, her eyes lit up.
"Lately, there's a guy trying to pursue Harriet."
"Didn't we agree not to bring that up?"
Harriet's brows furrowed, and she poked Michaela's arm.
"That guy is too rash, like a child who won't grow up."
Emma nodded, her voice gentle and soft: "I have that feeling too. Seems his name is Sam Witwicky?"
Logan's action of shelling shrimp in his hand paused for a second.
Sam Witwicky?
Has he already appeared?
It had been almost a year since he met Michaela, and he had almost forgotten about the Transformers storyline.
Since Sam had appeared, it meant that Bumblebee and Optimus Prime would also descend upon Earth before long.
"What? Do you know him?"
Seeing him not speaking for a long time, Michaela curiously leaned closer and asked.
"Don't know him, just think the name is a bit strange..."
Logan came back to his senses, smiled, and threw the crushed shrimp shells into the bone dish.
"It's best to have less contact with such strange people."
"Right! I think so too!"
Michaela immediately chimed in and enthusiastically started chatting about other things.
Logan replied casually on his lips, but in his mind, he was already hatching a plan.
Since they had bumped into this, there was no reason not to go take a look.
It wasn't that he wanted to meddle in the messy business of the Autobots and Decepticons; he was just curious.
Were those legendary alien robots really like the movies, dropping parts with clanging sounds when transforming?
More importantly, since they were all made of metal, would his Magnetic Field Manipulation actually work on them?
Getting the bottom of things in advance was better than reacting only when someone tore their way up to his doorstep one day.
The meal was lively and bustling, with the three girls chattering away about school gossip and interesting things they browsed on the astral realm.
Logan occasionally chimed in, making them laugh incessantly.
By the time they broke up, it was almost nine o'clock.
Logan first drove Emma and Harriet back to their school dorms, and then drove Michaela back to the small apartment she rented.
The car stopped downstairs.
Michaela unbuckled her seatbelt, leaned over, and quickly kissed him on the cheek, carrying a sweet fragrance of seafood and lemon.
"I had a super fun time today, thank you."
"It's no big deal."
Logan ruffled her hair.
"Go on up, get to sleep early."
Michaela nodded, pushed open the car door, and skipped away, turning around to wave again when she reached the apartment entrance.
Watching the girl's figure disappear into the stairwell, Logan didn't rush to start the car; instead, he took out his phone and flipped through the map.
He vaguely remembered the name of that used car dealership—it was bizarre, called something like 'Bolivia's Best Used Cars and Pet Zoo', and the owner's name was Bob Bolivia.
After finding the location, he started the car, turned the steering wheel, and drove towards the used car dealership.
When Logan arrived, the used car dealership had just closed.
The rolling shutter door was half pulled down, and Bobwas locking the side door while humming an out-of-tune old song.
Logan parked his car at the alley entrance across the street.
Without getting out, he swept his gaze across the dealership's yard from across the street.
A dozen old cars were parked crookedly, covered in dust, and all looked completely ordinary.
Only the yellow-and-black second-generation Camaro in the corner, though looking old with several patches of paint peeled off, faintly exuded an indescribable vibe.
Much like a ferocious beast curled up and sleeping, it looked docile, but was fiercely violent to its core.
Logan raised an eyebrow.
Somewhat interesting.
He pushed open the car door and silently vaulted into the dealership's backyard.
His footsteps were extremely light, not even alarming the stray cats in the yard.
Walking up to that Camaro, his fingertips gently tapped the car door, and the sheet metal made a dull sound, sounding no different from an ordinary car.
But what kind of person was Logan?
With his magnetic field perception, the moment he got close, he sensed something was wrong.
The metal density of this car was wrong; it was much heavier than ordinary steel, and there were faint energy fluctuations inside, somewhat similar to the feel of alien metal like mjolnir, yet more active and complex.
"You hide pretty deep, huh."
Logan chuckled softly, his fingertips lifting slightly.
Magnetic Field Manipulation quietly spread out like an invisible net, gently wrapping around the entire Camaro.
He didn't use force, just tentatively pulled towards the direction of the car door.
It was like the force of an ordinary person gently lifting a car hood with their fingers.
The next second, the car body vibrated extremely slightly.
It wasn't blown by the wind; it was a tremor carrying a hint of vigilance coming from within.
The metal structure of the car door tightened slightly in the magnetic field, as if something inside was flexing its 'muscles'.
The smile at the corners of Logan's mouth deepened.
It worked.
Magnetic fields worked on Cybertronian metal.
Although manipulating it was a bit more strenuous than Earth metal because the opponent's metal density was too high, it was definitely not useless.
If they really fought, to say nothing of crushing it directly, restricting its movements and snapping its limbs could still be done.
He didn't continue probing; he stopped while he was ahead.
If he really forced Bumblebee to transform on the spot, the commotion would be too big, which would instead be troublesome.
He just came to test the waters, not to start a fight.
"Alright, seeing as you're sleeping soundly, I won't disturb you."
Logan patted the car roof, his tone as light as greeting an old friend.
"If you ever tear your way to New York in the future, remember to take it easy and don't smash up my yard."
Finished speaking, he turned and walked away, vaulting out of the yard in a few bounds and returning to his own car.
Inside the car, Logan held the unlit cigar in his mouth, glancing through the car window once more at that yellow-and-black Camaro.
The car body still parked quietly in the corner, no different from the other old cars, as if the tremor just now was merely an illusion.
He smiled, started the car, and drove toward downtown.
When he returned to the Villa, Ares had long been squatting at the door waiting, and upon hearing the car sound, scratched at the door and whimpered.
The moment Logan pushed open the door, the big dog lunged over, rubbing its large head back and forth against his hand, its nose twitching as it sniffed the seafood scent on him.
"Such a glutton, only knowing how to eat."
Logan smiled and ruffled its head, pulling out the packaged crab meat from the trunk and pouring it into its food bowl.
Ares immediately wagged its tail and lunged forward, eating with a crunching sound.
He walked over and sat down on the living room sofa, casually tapping open the astral realm.
The homepage pushes were all follow-up discussions about mjolnir, and someone had even edited a "New YorkAnomalous Events Collection", cutting together the Hulk, Whiplash, and mjolnir all in one, with the caption "New York Routine: Garbage Recycling Bin".
Logan laughed so hard he almost spilled his whiskey.
That was actually spot on.
He browsed two posts, thought of tonight's Bumblebee, and pondered inwardly.
The AllSpark and Megatron were probably still hidden under Hoover Dam, and the Decepticons would sooner or later come looking.
Should he contact that bunch of Autobots?
While pondering, he stretched lazily and got up to walk toward the bathroom.
Although everyday exercise like this made it hard for him to even sweat or feel fatigued, taking a bath was a very enjoyable thing, and he did not plan to cancel this meaningful activity.
Chapter 76 Optimus Prime
Early the next morning, Logan didn't sleep in; pocketing his checkbook, he hurried over to a used car dealership in Long Island.
While taking a shower in the bathroom last night, he had figured it out: rather than waiting for the Decepticons to cause trouble in New York and then cleaning up the mess, it was better to take the Autobots into his own hands first.
At least he could know in advance when these metal lumps were going to wreck the house, saving him from reacting only when the courtyard wall was smashed down one day.
Just as the dealership opened, the boss Bob was biting on a toothbrush and wiping down a beat-up pickup truck, foam dripping down his chin.
Seeing Logan walk in, he hurriedly spat the toothbrush into a bucket, walking up with a face full of wrinkled smiles: "You have a good eye, sir! We have all kinds of cars here—pickups, sedans, SUVs—suitable for getting around or picking up girls, and the prices are definitely fair!"
As he spoke, he led him toward a gleaming Ford sedan, spitting everywhere as he talked about the configurations.
Logan waved his hand, raised his chin, and pointed at the yellow-and-black second-generation Camaro in the corner of the yard: "That's the one. How much?"
The smile on Bob's face froze for a moment, he turned his head to glance at the paint-peeling old car, then turned back to look up and down at Logan's attire, guessing in his heart that this was someone who wasn't short on money.
He rubbed his hands and started chattering idly: "You have a good eye, sir! This car is a classic model. Just yesterday, a high school student came over and nagged for two hours, practically kneeling down to me. I'm not bragging, when this car runs…"
"Four thousand," Logan couldn't be bothered to listen to him ramble and directly quoted a price, which was two thousand higher than the dealership's listed price. "Cash, pick up the car now. If you can sell it, bring out the contract; if you can't sell it, I'm leaving."
Bob's eyes lit up instantly, as if afraid Logan would go back on his word, and he turned and ran toward the office: "I can sell it! Of course I can sell it! Please wait a moment, sir, I'll bring the contract over in two minutes!"
In less than five minutes, after signing and getting the keys, Bob even eagerly offered to help open the car door.
Logan waved his hand telling him to go ahead with his busy work, walked up to the Camaro himself, grabbed the door handle, and pulled upward—it didn't budge an inch, as if it were welded to the car body.
He tried again, putting strength into his knuckles, but the car door still had no movement whatsoever, and even the windows were as steady as a solid slab of iron.
Bob shouted from far behind: "Sir, is the key out of battery? I have a spare here!"
"No need, just a minor issue, I'll adjust it myself," Loganshouted without turning his head, bent over to the car window, and slowly spat out three words in a volume only the two of them could hear: "Stop pretending. allspark."
As soon as his voice fell, a soft "click" was heard, and the car door automatically popped open a crack.
Logan raised an eyebrow and bent over to sit in the driver's seat.
The seat automatically adjusted back to the most comfortable angle, the car radio crackled twice, its frequency jumping back and forth, for a moment being morning news and for a moment being old rock, piecing together a few intermittent syllables: "Who... are you... how... do you know..."
"Who I am doesn't matter," Logan started the car, the tires crunching over gravel, and slowly drove out of the dealership onto the coastal highway.
The sea breeze poured in from the half-open car window, blowing the stray hair in front of his forehead slightly, "What matters is that not only do I know the allspark, but I also know where it's hidden. You send a signal now and call Optimus Prime and the others down. Before the Decepticons touch Earth, rendezvous early, so that when a fight breaks out and tears down the house, I won't have to find people to repair it."
The radio crackled even more fiercely, its frequency jumping wildly, as if calculating and hesitating at high speed.
After several seconds, it pieced together another hoarse male voice: "Are you... trustworthy?"
"Believe it or not, up to you," Logan smiled. "If you want to wait for the Decepticons to find it first and get torn into parts when you can't fight for it, I don't care either. At worst, half of New York City gets torn down, and I'll just pay to have it repaired."
As soon as these words fell, the car body shook slightly, as if it had made up its mind.
Logan turned the steering wheel and drove the car to the backyard of an abandoned warehouse in the suburbs.
The surrounding weeds grew tall, without even a proper road, and not a single human figure could be seen, making it most suitable for engaging in some alien contact activities.
As soon as it stopped steadily, Bumblebee's chest area slowly opened a groove, and a light blue beam shot straight into the clouds, piercing through the cloud layer and disappearing into the sky.
Logan pulled open the car door and got out, leaning against the car body.
He took out his phone to browse Astral, and incidentally sent a message to Anna saying that he had some personal business these few days, and she could handle company affairs entirely on her own.
Anna instantly replied with a "Okay".
Concise and neat, truly an ace assistant born from the KGB, without a single extra word of nonsense.
After waiting for about two hours, the distant sky gradually lit up with a few dazzling fireballs, dragging long tail flames as they plummeted toward this side.
The roaring sound went from far to near, the ground slightly trembled along with it, and the weeds were blown to one side by the airflow.
Logan raised his eyes to look, four fireballs successively fell from the sky and scattered in various places.
Before long, four tall figures slowly walked over.
The tallest one was in blue and red coloring, with an upright figure and a glass face mask embedded in its chest—it was none other than Optimus Prime.
Next to him, the silver-gray Ironhide had heavy cannon barrels on his arms, with a fierce look that told strangers to stay away.
Jazz had a flexible and slender figure, silver-white coloring, leaning against a boulder while twirling the energy blade in his hand.
Ratchet was greenish, carrying medical equipment on his back, and his optical lenses were scanning the surrounding environment everywhere.
Immediately afterward, the yellow-and-black Camaro beside Logan emitted a dense series of click-clack sounds; the car body disassembled, flipped, and reorganized, the metallic friction sound being crisp and heavy, and within a few seconds it transformed into a yellow robot, a head shorter than Optimus Prime, its antenna shaking, and it stepped forward to nod at Optimus Prime.
The intermittent voice in the radio sounded again: "Optimus Prime... he... knows the allspark... location... take us..."
Logan looked up at these metal giants several stories high, clicking his tongue in his heart.
Seeing them live was still exhilarating.
You couldn't see this sense of oppression on a movie screen; the solid Cybertron alloy was right in front of you, every single piece of armor exuding a heavy sense of power. No wonder ordinary people would be scared weak in the legs upon seeing them.
Optimus Prime lowered his head, his optical lenses flashing, and his voice was deep and heavy, carrying a bit of polite alienation: "Earthling, thank you for helping my companion. Regarding the allspark, how much do you know?"
"I know more than you guys think," Logan held the cigar at the corner of his mouth, hands in his pockets, raising his chin to look at him, "The allspark is on the seventh underground level of the Hoover Dam, frozen in a constant-temperature chamber together with Megatron. That place is guarded like an iron tortoise, with radars, missiles, and heavy weapons all fully equipped. If you guys just swagger in like that, not to mention whether you can get the stuff, the first round of artillery fire will skin you alive."
Ironhide took a step forward, the ground shaking so that the dust jumped, and he spoke in a muffled voice, carrying undisguised disdain in his tone: "Mere primitive human weapons cannot harm Cybertron armor. Kid, stop trying to scare us with alarmist talk."
"Alarmist talk?" Logan smiled, his fingers lifting slightly upward.
An invisible magnetic field instantly spread out, like an airtight large net, suddenly wrapping around the four Autobots in front of him.
Ironhide, who had still been stepping forward, had his newly raised arm instantly freeze in mid-air, his joints making click-clack noises, and his metal skeleton frictioning out a harsh sound, yet he couldn't move a single bit no matter how hard he tried.
His pupils shrank sharply, wanting to activate the plasma cannon on his arm, but the muzzle seemed as if it had been welded shut, unable to even turn its angle; the energy was buzzing inside the barrel, but just couldn't vent out.
Jazz nearby reacted the fastest, kicking off the ground to retreat and dodge, but as soon as his body moved half an inch, he was pinned in place by an invisible power, the armor at his waist and abdomen slightly depressed under the pressure, and the metal plates made an unbearable groaning sound.
Ratchet wanted to activate the defense barrier, the indicator lights on his panel flashing wildly, the program running extremely laggingly, and even the shield generator couldn't be started.
Optimus Prime frowned tightly, wanting to step forward to protect his companions, but his legs felt like they were filled with lead, extremely heavy, and every inch of metal was firmly pressed down by an invisible force, making even the energy core in his chest run half a beat slower.
"How is it?" Logan spoke slowly, adding a little more strength.
The alloy plates on Ironhide's shoulder guards began to deform slowly, the indentation marks becoming increasingly obvious.
He could feel that this force permeated everywhere, drilling into every mechanical gap, wrapping around every screw, as if the next second it could tear him apart into a pile of parts.
"Earth's weapons are a bit crude, but that doesn't mean no one can deal with you guys." Logan's tone was light, without the slightest sign of anger, yet carrying full oppression, "With just this little skill, you still want to barge into the Hoover Dam? Do you really think there's no one in this place who can dismantle you iron lumps?"
The binding of the magnetic field became stronger and stronger, and the four Autobots found it difficult even to speak, only able to make muffled metallic friction sounds.
Optimus Prime's optical lenses flickered between light and dark; he could feel that this power completely suppressed Cybertronian metal. Not to mention fighting back, if this continued any longer, their core components would suffer damage.
Just as Ironhide was about to not hold on anymore, Loganloosened his fingers, and the magnetic field abruptly withdrew.
The four Autobots swayed collectively, Ironhide staggering back half a step, his arms still stiff, looking at the tiny human before him with disbelief.
Jazz shook his wrists, his metal joints clicking, the casualness in his eyes completely gone, leaving only solid apprehension.
Ratchet quickly scanned his own damage, and a string of minor deformation warnings popped up on his panel.
"Do you believe it now?" Logan raised an eyebrow at them.
Optimus Prime was silent for a moment, nodding slightly, his tone carrying a bit more solemnity, and there was no longer the previous probing and alienation: "Sorry, we underestimated the power of Earth. Thank you for showing mercy."
"You're welcome, I'm not here to fight." Logan waved his hand, turned and walked out of the warehouse, waving as he went, "Giving you a heads-up in advance is because I don't want things to be a mess later. Barging in definitely won't work; underneath the Hoover Dam, besides garrison forces, there are also quite a few weird and quirky things. If things really blow up, no one will come out ahead."
"Then what do you suggest?" Ironhide asked in a muffled voice, his tone much more polite than just now, his arrogant streak completely gone, and even his form of address unconsciously changing.
"There are plenty of methods, what's the rush?" Logandidn't look back. "Follow me first, find a spacious place to settle down, and discuss it at length. Megatron has been frozen for decades without waking up, a day or two won't make a difference. If we really want to make a move, we have to wait until I pave my way back, so as not to be caught in the crossfire."
The four Autobots looked at each other, seeing hesitation in each other's eyes.
But right now they truly didn't know how else to extract the allspark, and Logan had displayed terrifying power far exceeding expectations, so following him seemed to be the only choice at present.
Optimus Prime nodded slightly, signaling everyone to follow.
Jazz whistled, his figure flickering and turning into a silver-white stream of light, transforming into sports car form and leading the way to follow.
Ironhide and Ratchet also successively transformed, their engines emitting a low roar.
Bumblebee walked to Logan's side, lowering his head to signal him to get in the car.
Logan pulled open the car door and sat in, couldn't help patting the steering wheel: "If you had cooperated like this earlier, it would have been over; you just had to get a beating before behaving."
The radio crackled twice, popping out a brisk jazz tune, the rhythm a bit messy, as if awkwardly smoothing things over.
The motorcade drove along the suburban highway towards a more distant abandoned factory area. Logan leaned back in his seat, looking at the receding weeds and utility poles outside the window, a hint of a smile curving the corner of his mouth.
Well, now there were a few more metal big guys at home.
Whenever New York had any more trouble in the future, at least he could get word in advance.
If worst came to worst, using the magnetic field to lift this bunch of iron lumps as thugs would also be quite hassle-free.
He took out his phone and sent a message to Jessica: "Help me find an abandoned factory in the suburbs, a big one, with high walls, capable of parking four or five heavy trucks. Name your price, get it done within three days."
Jessica instantly replied with a rubbing-hands-for-money meme: "Received! Boss is magnanimous! What mysterious big project are you pulling off again?"
Logan smiled and replied: "Nothing much, took in a few iron lumps and am finding them a nest."
After sending it, he threw his phone back into his pocket, looking at the extended highway ahead, calculating the next steps in his heart.
First settle the Autobots down, then figure out a way to probe the bottom of the Hoover Dam.
As for the allspark, it was better to let them handle it themselves. This thing, if handled carelessly, could easily create a mechanical army, and leaving it on Earth was quite dangerous.
Chapter 77 allspark
The convoy bumped along the dirt road in the suburbs for over twenty minutes before finally stopping at the gate of an abandoned heavy machinery factory.
The rusted large iron gate was half-open, and the factory building inside was spacious. The surrounding walls were a full four to five meters high, and the weeds grew up to the knees without even a single patrolling figure in sight, making it the most suitable place to hide a few transforming trucks.
Logan pushed open the car door and jumped down, kicking the gravel near his feet, and turned back to raise his chin at the four Autobots behind him who were successively transforming back into human shape: "This is it. The place is big enough, the walls are high, and usually no one comes here.
You guys can make do and stay here for a couple of days. Once Jessica finishes the paperwork, this factory area will belong to us, and you can toss and turn however you want then."
Jazz whistled, his optical visor sweeping across the empty factory building, his tone carrying a bit of banter: "The place is not bad, it's just a bit rundown.
I originally thought I could live in a nice place when I came to Earth, but I didn't expect to squat in an abandoned factory first."
"It's already not bad that you have a place to live."
Logan smiled, took out a cigarette case and bit a cigar in his mouth without lighting it, "If I really let you drive into the downtown area, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s helicopters would be hovering overhead by tomorrow, and that one-eyed dragon Fury could bug you until your heads hurt."
Optimus Prime stepped forward, his heavy metal soles pressing shallow pits into the ground. He lowered his head to look at Logan, his tone solemn: "Logan, you said before that you know the specific location of the allspark, so do you have a way to bring it out?
Hoover Dam is heavily guarded, and our rash action will only alert the enemy."
"There is indeed a way."
Logan leaned against a rusted iron pillar and slowly spoke, "I can teleport, and walking through walls is a breeze. Sneaking into the underground level seven of the dam is like child's play.
But there is a problem. That allspark thing is too big, like a small house. Even if I go in, I have no way to put it in my pocket and bring it out.
You can't expect me to teleport while hugging hundreds of tons of metal lumps; that would be too much of a hassle."
Ironhide beside him was just about to open his mouth to say "We Cybertron have..."
The words reached his lips and were swallowed back down, and he glanced at Optimus Prime.
Optimus Prime nodded slightly and said: "You don't need to worry about this. We have space compression technology and can make an allspark storage device that can compress it to a size that a single person can carry.
It just takes a little time to manufacture, about twelve hours."
"Alright, that works out perfectly."
Logan raised an eyebrow, "Hurry up and make it, and call me when it's done.
I'll make a trip and fetch the allspark out for you.
To save you from making a grand entrance and storming in, only to have the Military's missiles flying all over the sky and New York having to be demolished again."
As soon as these words were said, Ironhide's brows twitched, obviously wanting to say something more. His lips moved slightly, but in the end, he still didn't make a sound.
He still remembered the taste of being pinned down and unable to move by the magnetic field last time. Tough talk aside, he truly believed that the human in front of him had the ability to stir up a huge commotion.
"Then I'll have to trouble you."
Optimus Prime slightly nodded, "When the device is ready, Bumblebee will notify you."
"A piece of cake."
Logan waved his hand and turned to walk towards Bumblebee, "You guys go ahead and stay busy, I'm going back to catch up on some sleep.
Blowing in the wind on the beach all afternoon yesterday made me a bit sleepy."
He pulled open the car door and sat in. Bumblebee very sensibly automatically started the engine and drove back to the downtown area along the original route.
The radio crackled and hopped between stations, finally stopping on a soothing old jazz tune with a slow rhythm, which was much like Logan's mood at the moment.
After Logan left, the four Autobots stood around the center of the factory building. In the empty space, only the slight humming of metal parts operating remained.
Ironhide broke the silence first, saying in a muffled voice: "Optimus Prime, do we really trust him?
Handing the compression device to him just like that, what should we do if he runs away with the allspark?
That is our only hope for reviving Cybertron."
"If he wanted to snatch it, he wouldn't need to lie to us at all."
Jazz leaned against the machine tool rack, shaking the energy blade in his hand, his tone carrying a bit of nonchalance: "With his ability to control metal, if he really wanted to make a move, the four of us combined might not even be his match.
Was there any need for him to go such a long way around?"
Ratchet nodded, his optical visor flashing: "I scanned his vital signs, and there is no malicious tendency.
Moreover, he knows the locations of the allspark, Megatron, and Hoover Dam like the back of his hand, doesn't look like he's lying."
Ironhide was still a bit unconvinced, muttering: "What if he is in cahoots with the Decepticons? Deliberately acting for us to see..."
"Impossible."
Optimus Prime interrupted him in a deep voice, his tone resolute: "His power completely restrains Cybertronian metal. If he were allied with the Decepticons, there would be no need to go to such great lengths at all.
And every detail he mentioned matches up; it doesn't look like it was temporarily fabricated.
More importantly..."
He paused and looked towards the direction of the factory gate: "If he really wanted to plot against the allspark, given his ability, we wouldn't even have room to stand here and discuss it right now.
He has no need to lie to us."
After these words were spoken, Ironhide also fell silent.
He recalled the feeling of being wrapped by the magnetic field back then—that pervasive power seemed as if, as long as the other party was willing, he could be dismantled into a pile of scrap metal in an instant.
If the guy really wanted to snatch the allspark, would he bother being polite with them?
"Fine, I'll listen to you, Optimus Prime."
Ironhide said in a muffled voice: "I'll go prepare the parts for the compression device right now."
The few no longer hesitated and each performed their duties: Ratchet adjusted the energy parameters, Jazz helped disassemble spare parts, Ironhide was responsible for forging the core components, and Optimus Primecontrolled the overall precision from the side.
The factory building suddenly resounded with the clanging sounds of metal collisions, with sparks flying everywhere, which was quite lively.
On the other side, when Logan returned to the Villa, Areswas running wild in the yard with a frisbee in its mouth. Seeing him return, it immediately wagged its tail and rushed over.
Logan smiled and rubbed the dog's head, went into the house, and first sent a message to Anna to arrange the subsequent work.
Then, he slumped on the sofa and browsed the Astral Realm for a while. The homepage was still brushing over the remaining heat of Thor's Hammer; someone posted live footage from the desert, and a bunch of people in the comment section guessed it was an alien relic, arguing fiercely.
Logan smiled and swiped past it, thinking to himself: This is nothing yet. In a little while, alien Autobots will be running all over the streets; let's see how you guys guess then.
Sleeping soundly until the afternoon of the next day, the phone vibrated twice. It was a text message sent from an unfamiliar number with only two words: "Done."
Without thinking, one could tell it was done by Bumblebee, probably stealthily using a nearby signal tower.
Logan rolled over and got up, changed into a lightweight black hoodie, tucked away his tools, and hurried to the suburbs.
When he arrived at the factory, the compression device was already made, resting right in Optimus Prime's palm.
It was a palm-sized silver metal box, with intricate Cybertronian patterns engraved on the surface and a pale blue energy core embedded in the middle, looking very exquisite.
"Just this?"
Logan reached out to take it and weighed it in his hand; the weight was not light. "How do you use it?"
"Stick it to the surface of the allspark and press the core button. It will automatically start the space compression program."
Optimus Prime instructed: "The process takes about thirty seconds. Do not move during this period, and do not let it be disturbed by external forces."
"Got it, rest assured."
Logan stuffed the box into his hoodie pocket and stretched his wrists, "Wait here, I'll go and be right back."
As his voice fell, his figure flickered and instantly disappeared from the spot.
The next second, Logan had already appeared outside the constant-temperature cabin on the underground level seven of Hoover Dam.
The surroundings were bone-chillingly cold, and the metal walls were covered in frost. Patrolling soldiers had just walked past the corner, completely unaware that a person had appeared out of thin air.
He silently passed through the heavy alloy door, and after walking less than two steps inward, he saw the allsparkstanding tall in the center of the hall.
The huge cubic metal block went straight up to the ceiling, its surface covered with fine patterns emitting a pale blue micro-glow. Countless tiny energy streams wandered within the patterns, and a humming drone filled the entire space.
Standing in front of it, a person was as small as an ant.
"Goodness, this is really big enough."
Logan muttered a low complaint, took out the compression device from his pocket, leaped to the bottom of the allspark in a few steps, and raised his hand to firmly stick the device onto it.
The moment the core button was pressed, a pale blue light burst out from the device, rapidly spreading along the patterns of the allspark.
The originally stationary cube began to tremble slightly, and its volume slowly shrank at a speed visible to the naked eye.
The surrounding air twisted along with it, the energy fluctuations grew stronger and stronger, and even the alarm lights on the wall flashed twice.
Logan stood in place without moving, with one hand in his pocket and the other hand lightly supporting the device. His magnetic field quietly unfolded to stabilize the chaotic energy around, lest the alarm sound attract people.
Just as thirty seconds arrived, the allspark, which was originally over a dozen stories high, had shrunk into a cube about the height of a calf, and its weight was quite heavy.
Logan picked it up with one hand and weighed it a couple of times; it was quite handy.
At this moment, the footsteps of soldiers and the static of walkie-talkies came from outside, obviously because the energy fluctuations just now had drawn attention.
Logan smiled, his figure flickered once more, and there was no longer any trace of him on the spot.
When he appeared again, he had already returned to the center of the factory building of the abandoned factory.
"Here, brought back."
Logan casually tossed it, and the allspark, which had shrunk to calf-height, landed steadily in front of Optimus Prime, hitting the ground with a muffled sound.
The four Autobots were all stunned, even forgetting to put down the tools in their hands.
They were originally still worrying about whether an accident would happen, but as a result, in less than two minutes total, the person came back, and really brought the allspark back?
Ironhide stared with his optical visor, unable to speak for a long time.
He had broken into countless Military Bases and had never seen anything so easy.
Without even the alarm going off, he just hauled the allspark out like that? It was like going to his own backyard to grab something.
Optimus Prime stepped forward, holding the allspark in both hands. The pale blue light reflected on his face mask, and one could hear the unmaskable emotional stir in his voice: "Thank you, Logan.
You not only saved Bumblebee, but also helped us retrieve the allspark.
You will be an eternal friend of the Autobots."
"What's there to be polite about, just a piece of cake."
Logan waved his hand, leaned against the nearby box, picked up the unlit cigar and twirled it: "As for you guys, you've got the allspark, what are your plans next? Return to Cybertron, or find somewhere else?"
Optimus Prime was silent for a moment, his fingers holding the allspark tightening. He looked up at Logan, his tone calm and firm: "I've decided to stay on Earth.
Cybertron has already been destroyed, and the remnants of the Decepticons are still lurking on this Planet.
If we leave, they will definitely turn Earth into a second battlefield.
I don't want you to repeat the tragic path of Cybertron."
He paused and added: "As long as we are still here, we will protect this Planet well."
Logan raised an eyebrow and clicked his tongue in his heart.
As expected of Optimus Prime, this ideological awareness is faultless.
If someone else got the allspark, they might just pat their butt and leave, but he actually voluntarily stays behind to act as a bodyguard.
Just for this sense of responsibility, no wonder he can be a leader."
"Alright, stay if you want to stay."
Logan smiled: "It just so happens that New York has a lot of messy business, so having an extra thug is pretty good.
But to put the ugly words upfront, don't transform casually when there's nothing going on, and don't fight in the downtown area. If you demolish a house, you'll have to pay for it yourselves.
I certainly don't have the money to clean up your messes every day."
Jazz snorted a laugh and chimed in: "Rest assured, we will keep a low profile as much as possible.
If we really need to fight, we'll drag it out to the suburbs to fight, and absolutely won't demolish your yard."
Ironhide also muffledly added: "The matter last time... thanks."
Although he was still stubbornly talking tough, there was no longer the previous disdain in his tone, but instead a bit more conviction.
Bumblebee shook the antenna on his head, and a cheerful march popped out of the radio, as if celebrating.
Logan looked at these big metal guys in front of him, the corners of his mouth curving into a smile.
Actually, staying behind is also pretty good.
Having a few more reliable allies means having a few more free thugs when the Chitauri attack.
Besides, with this bunch of alien metal lumps around, if any more monsters or freaks appear in New York in the future, there will at least be someone who can lend a hand.
He took out his phone and sent a message to Jessica: "Help me order a batch of high-calorie industrial lubricating oil, want the best quality, large quantity."
Jessica replied instantly: "Boss, did you change careers to open a repair shop?"
Logan smiled back: "Pretty much, raised a few 'big eaters', they consume a lot of oil."
Putting down his phone, he looked up at Optimus Prime: "Alright, you guys use the place first, tell me if you lack anything.
I'll head back first, have Bumblebee contact me if there's anything.
Right—"
He pointed at the allspark, "Keep this thing well hidden, so as not to attract the Decepticons over.
If a real fight breaks out, wait until I come over before talking."
"Rest assured."
Optimus Prime nodded his huge head.
Logan waved his hand, turned and got into the Camaro transformed by Bumblebee, and the engine roared as it drove out of the abandoned factory.