“You said you plan to close Stark’s weapon manufacturing department?” Schiller asked.
“But you shouldn’t be telling me this,” Schiller continued.
Stark covered his forehead, looking troubled. He said, “Because of the good things you guys did, Pepper received thousands of employee complaints these past few days. She had to re-establish the entire employee welfare system and is swamped.”
“Actually, that’s not the point,” Schiller said. “If you want to talk, she’s always willing to listen.”
Stark rubbed his nose bridge and didn’t reply.
After a while, he said, “Alright, I know how much pressure this decision will put on her. I know I’m a damned selfish jerk. I know she’s already helped me enough. I know I shouldn’t do this, but I have no choice.”
Schiller spread open the notebook beside him, writing as he spoke, “Let me think, what you want to do now is like sentencing a gun to death.”
“But my weapons have killed many people.”
“Weapons also have no choice,” Schiller said.
“Do you expect them all to be like Jarvis? To speak, to protest to you? Do you think they like going to that hellhole Afghanistan? Or do you think, when a bullet is manufactured, its lifelong dream is to go to the battlefield and kill others?”
Stark sat silently opposite him, saying somewhat fragilely, “I admit, I blame all of this on the weapons because I know I am the culprit, but I can’t judge myself.”
“But I also know, Mr. Stark, that you can’t judge yourself not because you want to live an easy life, but because you believe you have the ability to make up for all of this. When a crisis arises, only you have the ability to save the World, to turn the tide. It’s out of this sense of responsibility that you did these things.”
“But frankly, have you ever thought that it’s quite an arbitrary and reckless idea to always find a responsible person or thing for an event and judge them?”
“But every event has its root cause.”
“But this root cause isn't necessarily either right or wrong. You should understand better than I that this World isn't black and white. You found what you believe is responsible, but it didn't make the situation any better. You think weapons are responsible, so you want to shut down the entire weapon manufacturing department, then make Pepper lose sleep for several nights, make many employees jobless, and even those on the battlefield won't thank you.”
“Is the pain brought by such an exhaustive search for the root cause truly worth it?”
Stark looked very pained, his entire face wrinkled. If Spider-Man’s transformation was like a grand fireworks display, then Stark’s transformation was perhaps like the inward collapse of a dying star.
Stark didn't know yet what kind of dispute he would have with Steve over the same issue, which would destroy the entire Avengers.
“My brain tells me I can’t stop thinking about right and wrong,” Stark said.
“Alright, if that’s the case, then your brain has to be responsible for it. It won’t let you go, so you should go bother it. That’s your theory, isn’t it?”
“Ask your brain if there’s a way to achieve what you want without harming those around you? That’s the answer it should give you, because it’s the one making you so miserable.”
Stark didn't feel any better. He leaned back in his chair and said, “Look at me, this idiot. I hired a Devil Doctor, a Satan, for a million U.S. dollars an hour… ”
“Your damned psychotherapy has never brought me any positive change. Every time I leave here, I feel even worse.”
Stark said, almost gritting his teeth.
Schiller, uncharacteristically, didn’t joke with him. He said, “You can think of me as a catalyst. You’ll understand later… ”
“Thinking brings pain, no one is exempt. I’m giving you a shot in advance, and you’ll be much better in the future. You’ll thank me.”
Stark made a cross on his chest and said, “If you keep bragging like this, you’ll almost surpass Howard’s place in my heart.”
“This is the first time I’ve heard you voluntarily mention your father, but it’s strange. Most people, when in pain, prefer to call for their mother.”
Stark slammed the table hard. He didn’t want to admit he mentioned his father because he was in pain.
He wasn't some fledgling in need of protection. The eagle that flew from the cliff and never returned wasn't the person he should think of in despair and pain.
Schiller said, “Perhaps that’s why you make yourself mechs. You wear that iron shell wherever you go. You feel that only it can protect you, and only by wearing it are you the strongest Iron Man.”
“But I have to say, if you can’t learn to take it off, you’ll never become the true Iron Man.”
Schiller had thought about it before: Stark and Batman are really quite similar. Their growth experiences and educational backgrounds have some bizarre similarities, and the methods they choose when facing certain problems are surprisingly consistent—
They create a pile of weapons that no one else can make, then arm themselves with them, feeling that this makes them incredibly powerful. Then, when they discover that this can't solve all problems, they fall into a painful struggle.
Schiller was writing and drawing in his notebook when Stark said, “What are you writing?”
“Steve’s psychotherapy has temporarily ended, so Natasha took the bug back. I have to write your case by hand.”
Stark narrowed his eyes and said, “You wrote down everything I just said?”
“Not the others, but the part where you called out for your father, I remember very clearly.”
“5 million U.S. dollars.”
Schiller threw the notebook directly in front of Stark. Stark picked up a lighter and lit it, muttering, “How could I have fallen for the evil of a damned Vampire Doctor?”
“It’s getting late, you should go back. Your quarrel with Miss Pepper can’t be solved by hiding out here,” Schiller said.
Stark clearly didn’t want to leave. He said, “That Spider-Man kid can stay here with you, why can’t I? I don’t even mind your dilapidated place, and you’d be fortunate enough to make breakfast for the genius Stark.”
“Yes, and then Miss Pepper works overtime alone in Stark Tower. The employees have long gone, and that tower is dark and cold… Oh, Jarvis might be with her. I heard Jarvis also developed emotions, perhaps he understands Miss Pepper’s disappointment better than you.”
Stark immediately couldn't sit still. He sprang up from the chair, put on his coat, and said, “I would never be jealous of my own artificial intelligence butler, never.”
Schiller opened the clinic door for him and said, “Yes, of course, of course, God bless Jarvis.”
After Stark left the clinic, he was in a very bad mood, his mind a jumble of thoughts.
He had long accepted the fact that geniuses are lonely, and most of his life had been lived that way. He always thought he lived well—rich, intelligent, with enough capital to realize his life’s value, and an excess of responsibility didn't bother him. But he had never felt so in need of companionship as he did today.
Uncharacteristically, he didn't call for his armor, and even turned off his phone. He slowly walked down the street to the dilapidated bus stop. The driver of the last bus reeked of smoke, which made Stark very uncomfortable, but he still got on and found a seat.
Thanks to Schiller’s notorious reputation, few people dared to cause trouble in the nearby streets. Stark safely took the bus out of Hell's Kitchen and hailed a taxi on a New York street, getting in.
“Stark Tower,” Stark said.
The driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror. He didn't recognize him as the Master of Stark Industries. After all, when Stark was on TV, he was always radiant, but now, he looked more like a middle-aged man who had lost everything.
The taxi carried Stark through the cold neon lights of New York. The streetscape rapidly receded in his vision. The jazz music playing in the taxi perfectly suited the late autumn in New York. Stark sat in the back seat, hands on his knees, covering his face.
He thought to himself, 'Alright, alright, I'm just a fragile little boy, not some great hero at all. I just want to see Pepper now and give her a hug. To hell with saving the World.'
Stark never wanted to admit his immaturity; he preferred to call it childlike innocence, an innocence unique to a genius.
But it must be admitted that in everyone’s life, there must be someone who plays such a role, like a homing eagle, sheltering the fledglings under its wings.
Pepper was just an ordinary person, not an eagle or a bird of prey, but when Stark, this hungry fledgling, felt cold, he still wanted to burrow under her feathers.
After getting out of the car, Stark practically sprinted into the building. He knew the office on the top floor must still have its lights on; Pepper always worked there late into the night.
Stark hurried into the elevator. He didn't know what was wrong with him; he was like a greenhorn, nervously rubbing his hands and pacing in the elevator. As soon as the elevator doors opened, he rushed out.
He wanted to say something to Pepper. He should say something.
But the entire floor had no lights. Stark spun around in place. He couldn’t see a single office with lights on. This was very unusual.
“Pepper, Pepper, are you there?” Stark shouted loudly.
But the only answer was the layered echoes within the office. Stark slammed his fist against the nearby glass door, then yelled, “Jarvis? Are you there? Jarvis, where did you go?”
The response was also silence.
Now Stark was truly panicked. If Jarvis wasn't responding, it meant he was likely hijacked or had his power cut off. If someone had done that, their target must be Pepper.
Stark ran frantically through the office, rushing to the office Pepper usually used.
But Stark, without his armor, was just an ordinary person. He had no night vision, and since Jarvis wasn’t responding, the entire office’s smart lighting system wouldn’t turn on.
As soon as Stark rushed in, he tripped over an office chair lying across the floor. After he got up, he realized he couldn’t see anything around him, let alone check for details.
He opened his mouth to call for his armor, but without Jarvis, the armor's smart remote control wouldn't respond either.
Stark was truly on the verge of a breakdown. He suddenly realized that everything he once thought was under his control actually didn't belong to him. Without that outer shell, Iron Man was just an ordinary person who couldn't see in the dark.
His voice trembled slightly as he fumbled in the dark on Pepper’s desk, muttering to himself as if to reassure himself, “Damn it, she’ll be fine… This is Stark Tower, no one can break through its defenses. I’m Stark… ”
Suddenly, the lights on the entire floor came on. Stark’s eyes were dazzled. He covered his eyes and turned around, finding Pepper standing at the office doorway holding a remote control. Stark froze in place.
Then, before Pepper could speak, Stark rushed forward and hugged her. Pepper had never seen Stark so terrified.
She heard Stark repeatedly muttering, “I knew you’d be fine… Of course, you’d be fine… ”
Pepper sighed. This fledgling, now almost bigger than an eagle, was so repulsive, yet so irresistible.
Now, rewind time a bit, back to shortly after Stark left the clinic, when Schiller received a call from Pepper.
