"Here we are—this is my largest workbench."
After walking through a bright corridor for a while, the craftsman led the group into a spacious room. The militia members who had been wearing bipedal mechs earlier had already dispersed, returning to their respective posts.
The room was neatly arranged. Tools and instruments of all kinds hung from the walls, while components of every imaginable size were laid out in perfect order across the wide workbenches.
The central table was enormous and sturdy, its surface coated in a special material that gave it a tough, durable look. Around it were several advanced computers and monitors, softly glowing with pale blue light.
The craftsman introduced his workshop with evident pride:
"Here's where I've built most of my tech gear and weapons. This workbench is my place for thinking, creating, and improving. Nearly every project I've ever done started right here."
"Not bad… and that over there?"
From the corner of the workshop, something caught Hawkeye's attention—a peculiar room that looked noticeably different from the rest of the facility.
Unlike the other work zones, this one resembled more of a cell. The front wall was a transparent panel of pale yellow glass, allowing a clear view of everything inside.
Through the glass, one could see that every inch of the room's inner walls was padded with soft cushions, carefully arranged to absorb any kind of impact.
Lying inside the cell was a blond old man in a tight blue bodysuit. The moment he saw visitors entering, he perked up, stood, and pressed a hand gently to the glass—whereupon faint yellow bubbles of energy began to shimmer around him.
"Speedball…?" Clint muttered in surprise, widening his eyes as he stepped closer.
Ethan didn't move forward. He simply watched quietly.
Speedball—an obscure, low-tier hero. His ability was to absorb all the kinetic energy in his surroundings and store it within his body. Beyond that, most attacks had little to no effect on him.
In the mainline history, his greatest claim to fame was… disastrous. He and his reality-TV hero team, a bunch of showboating influencers, once tried to capture a villain group made up of self-detonating criminals known as the Nitro Squad—purely for ratings.
It went horribly wrong. The team, known more for comedy skits and cute idol acts than real combat, had no way of stopping the villains. Their taunting only enraged one of the Nitros, who blew himself up—flattening an entire square kilometer, including a crowded elementary school. Nearly a thousand lives were lost.
That tragedy triggered the infamous Civil War storyline, where Iron Man and Captain America led opposing factions—the Registration and Anti-Registration sides—into a bloody conflict that tore the hero community apart.
But in this universe, it seemed Speedball had escaped that fate. Thanks to the catastrophe known as the Day of the Fallen Heroes, he'd never lived through those events—never carried those hundreds of deaths on his conscience.
And the proof was right before Ethan's eyes. The old man inside the cell was still wearing his pre–Civil War blue suit, not the spiked "penance" costume he'd adopted later.
"Yeah, that's him." The craftsman wiped his hands with a damp towel and nodded when he saw Clint's expression. "Found him out on the wastelands. By that point, he'd been absorbing kinetic energy nonstop for over a decade. One wrong move from him, and…"
He shrugged, then mimed an explosion with his hands. As if to illustrate, he picked up a broccoli-shaped ornament from a glass bowl and shook it—the vegetable's fluffy crown resembling a mushroom cloud.
"Hiss—no offense, buddy, but that's terrifying."
Clint sucked in a sharp breath and instinctively backed several steps away from the glass, throwing the craftsman a frantic look that clearly said: Why the hell is that walking bomb so close to us?
"Relax," the craftsman replied, chewing on the broccoli with a grin. "I told you, that room's custom-made."
He gestured toward the cell. "The cushions are built from the same kinetic-absorption material as Speedball himself. Even the glass can soak up energy. The room's also fitted with motion sensors—if he trips, gravity in the chamber cuts off instantly, so we don't end up as dust."
"Uh… still doesn't sound very safe," Clint muttered, though curiosity got the better of him. Grimacing, he stepped closer again to the glass and awkwardly struck up conversation with Speedball.
Truth be told, the two had never been close—and after Clint's earlier panic, their small talk was painfully awkward.
"They can chat all they want," Ethan said, turning back to the craftsman. "We've got our own business."
"Sure thing," the craftsman replied, tying his headband tighter. "So—what exactly do you want me to build? Some kind of powered armor? Like one of those Anti-Hulk Armor? That's not easy work."
"Not quite."
Ethan smiled faintly. "I'm not asking for something like that. Iron Man's suits are designed for personal combat—custom-built for a single user."
The craftsman considered that for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Ah… so what you need is a model that can be mass-produced—a power armor meant to enhance ordinary soldiers. Something scalable."
"Exactly. Think of it less like Doom's Doombots…" He tapped a few keys on the computer, bringing up a holographic projection of a green-cloaked, iron-masked figure.
"…and more like this."
Ethan stepped forward, adjusting the parameters on the holographic blueprint. "Start with the Iron Man Mark II armor as the base—it's simpler to manufacture. Ditch the flight systems and weight restrictions. Focus on defense and stability."
"Then," he continued, "mount a power pack on the back, and replace the repulsor and laser systems with high-caliber firearms. That'll keep costs down."
"Makes sense," the craftsman agreed. "Repulsor tech's powerful, sure—but it's hellishly expensive to make and maintain. Conventional ballistics are cheaper, more flexible."
The two of them began exchanging ideas rapidly, each suggestion improving on the last. On the holographic display, the armor's design kept evolving—bit by bit taking on a more defined shape.
As their discussion went on, the power armor grew more elaborate, more functional.
Finally, the completed image materialized before them—a towering suit of gleaming gold armor. Compared to the Mark II blueprint it was based on, this one was bulkier, sturdier, exuding sheer strength.
A massive power pack dominated its back, while the legs were reinforced with heavy plating.
"It's beautiful…" the craftsman murmured, eyes shining. "What do we call it?"
Ethan thought for a moment, then said,
"Thunder Power Armor. And those who wear it… shall be called the Thunder Warriors."
To read 30+ future chapters, head over to Patreon:
patreon.com/WhiteDevil7554