As soon as he saw the craftsman step out, Ethan immediately activated the thrusters on the soles of the Anti-Hulk Armor and soared into the air. The sight made the men in bipedal mechs widen their eyes in shock—their suits couldn't pull off a maneuver like that.
They instinctively gripped their weapons tighter and pointed their guns at Ethan, but under the craftsman's subtle gesture, they quickly lowered them.
The Anti-Hulk Armor descended gently before them, its metallic footsteps echoing heavily through the quiet night.
The massive suit cast a looming shadow. At the same time, the craftsman slowly approached, squinting slightly as if adjusting to the intense light reflecting off the mech's surface.
His gaze roamed across the mech, examining every inch of its metal plating, as though silently communicating with this towering mechanical beast—exchanging information through sheer presence.
"Is this... vibranium?" the craftsman suddenly asked, raising a brow.
His mutant ability also granted him a kind of perceptive insight—he could visualize the kinetic and potential energy within any mechanical creation within his line of sight.
Because of this, the moment he caught sight of the Anti-Hulk Armor from a distance, he instantly understood that the young men under his command stood no chance against the newcomer.
And now, up close, he could clearly see that this already formidable mech was further reinforced with a layer of vibranium—completely extinguishing any thought of trying to repel these intruders through force.
And didn't that guy just mention something about the Avengers? And Clint Barton?
"That's right, vibranium," Ethan replied, knocking on his chestplate with a crisp metallic clang, as if to affirm the armor's strength. Then he waved at the figure lingering near the dropship, unsure whether to approach. "Over here, Hawkeye!"
Clint hesitated for a moment, then walked over to Ethan and the craftsman, while Wanda remained in the dropship, peeking out with curiosity but not stepping off.
As he drew closer, Clint furrowed his brows slightly, his lips twitching. Then he forced a big grin and called out loudly, "Craftsman! My old friend—" stepping forward as if to give a big hug.
"Spare me," the craftsman cut him off coldly, raising one hand to stop him. His gaze was frosty, distant, clearly unwilling to entertain any emotional pretense.
Seeing Clint stop awkwardly and scratch his head, the craftsman gave a slight nod. "Back in the day, we only knew of each other's existence. No need to pretend like we were ever close."
"Let's get to the point. What brings you to my sanctuary? From the looks of your gear, it doesn't seem like you're here seeking protection." As he spoke, the craftsman's gaze swept over the silver-white mech and the Moon Knight's aircraft in the distance.
With firepower like that, they could easily dominate the wasteland.
At the craftsman's words, Ethan chuckled and shook his head, unlocking his helmet with a soft hiss.
"Protection? Of course not."
The craftsman narrowed his eyes, waiting for further explanation.
Ethan's eyes scanned the scenery, then returned to the old man with the red headband standing before him. He spoke slowly:
"We're here to seek collaboration. You have the ability to build machines."
"And we have manpower—and intelligence. If we work together, taking down Red Skull and the others won't be a problem."
"Is that so?" The craftsman touched his red headband and looked down, voice low with a hint of weariness. "In the past forty years, countless would-be heroes have risen up to 'save the world.' The outcomes... weren't good."
The memories came flooding back.
After the Fall, he had heard about the conflict between the X-Men and Wolverine. So he formed a team and set out to take revenge on Mysterio.
He searched for years. Suffered huge losses. Watched friends who had narrowly survived the apocalypse fall to enemy bullets—only to learn that Mysterio had already been killed by Red Skull. The Red Skull didn't want such an unstable element close to him.
Disillusioned, the craftsman retreated to the Native American reservations, guarding his own little corner of the world in silence.
"Sorry, guys," he said, waving a hand as he turned to leave with his people. "Looks to me like you've already got everything you need to wipe those bastards out. You don't need me."
He'd only come here to verify whether these visitors were a threat. Since they weren't enemies, he saw no reason to stick around.
"Words alone aren't very convincing... Wanda?"
Ethan sighed and looked toward the Scarlet Witch in the distance, hoping she could provide the craftsman with something undeniable.
"Wanda? Didn't you die—?" The craftsman turned his head in surprise at hearing her name, but the sentence cut off abruptly as a red glow flashed in his eyes.
Not just his.
The red light spread across the faces of his companions as well, slowly forming an ethereal halo around each of them.
"You're going to 'purify' them too?" Hawkeye asked in confusion, glancing at the Anti-Hulk Armor beside him.
"Of course not. Why would I do that?" Ethan spread his hands helplessly. "I just want him to see where we came from—and what we've done so far."
Wanda wasn't interested in brainwashing random thugs. But using telepathy to share memories? Even Professor X had said there was nothing ethically wrong with that—called it "top-tier practical."
Moments later, the red glow faded.
The craftsman and his men returned to reality. His eyes were a bit dazed, as if still immersed in what he had just experienced.
In that alternate reality, the suffering Earth had endured in just a few days made the past forty years seem trivial by comparison.
The zombie hordes devouring people in the streets, the screams, the terror, the cries of helplessness—scenes straight out of a nightmare.
Then the memories shifted to the actions Ethan and his group had taken after arriving in this world.
Zemo, dead in a wheelchair. Magneto, shot and killed. Super soldiers enhanced by the Venom symbiote.
"I... I..." The craftsman pressed a hand to his forehead, his voice dazed. "I saw... everything you've been through."
"Maybe... just maybe, this time really could change everything," he murmured, a subtle excitement in his voice. "What do you need me to build?"
Ethan smiled, raising one hand, his fingers sketching something into the air.
"Imagine this: a suit that lets the wearer move like lightning across the battlefield... lift heavy objects with ease... defend against attacks from any direction..."
"Power armor."
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