"Who are you?"
Phil Coulson gripped his pistol tightly, his expression tense and wary.
Robert, wearing a makeshift mask, lowered his voice and answered, "As you can see, I'm Tony Stark."
Phil Coulson: "..."
If you hadn't said it, I wouldn't have guessed it in a million years.
The tension between them was thick. Both men stood still, staring each other down.
Phil Coulson examined Robert carefully. This man had taken out two trained S.H.I.E.L.D. agents without being detected—clearly, he wasn't some amateur. But Coulson was no rookie either; as a seasoned agent, he knew how to keep his emotions from showing.
He intended to apply pressure during the standoff, hoping to find a flaw and take down the intruder quickly.
Robert, meanwhile, was observing Coulson with great interest. After a few seconds, he suddenly broke the silence.
"Come closer. You look familiar."
Coulson frowned. Did this guy know him?
He took a cautious step forward, letting the overhead light illuminate his face.
Robert's eyes lit up. "That hairline—wait a second—you're Phil Coulson!"
"..."
Coulson was speechless. He wasn't sure whether to be flattered or insulted. Since when did his receding hairline become a calling card?
But Robert had already confirmed his identity. That iconic silhouette was unmistakable. The legendary S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who always showed up at major events—yup, that was Phil Coulson.
Seeing that he'd recognized a familiar face, Robert relaxed his stance. "I mean no harm. I just used a tranquilizer. They'll wake up in a bit. My gun's a kind one—it doesn't kill."
Coulson glanced at the two unconscious agents. Sure enough, they were breathing.
His nerves settled a little.
Just then, Robert took out a second pistol.
"This one's loaded with real bullets. Just saying—this one's not so kind."
Coulson immediately shelved the idea of testing his luck.
He had no doubt Robert would pull the trigger if pushed.
Still, Coulson didn't want this standoff to drag on. Who knew when that monstrous steel armor would return? Every second mattered, and they hadn't found the blueprints yet.
"Since you say you're not hostile, what's your objective?" he asked.
Robert shrugged. "Same as yours."
"You're here to apprehend Obadiah Stane?"
Robert nodded solemnly. "Exactly."
They stared at each other, unspoken agreement forming.
It was obvious—they were both here for the same thing: the steel armor blueprints.
After a brief silence, Robert offered a proposal.
"Why don't we work together? We can search for Obadiah—and his data."
Coulson paused, then replied, "Fine."
Neither of them mentioned the three-meter-tall steel monster that had burst through the ceiling moments earlier. In their minds, that thing had nothing to do with their mission.
So, with pistols pointed in casual warning, the two men began searching the lab side by side.
As they passed the damaged prototype armor, Robert used his internal system to scan it.
[Target does not meet the conditions.]
As expected, it didn't qualify.
After a few minutes of combing through debris and overturned desks, they stumbled across a lone computer in the far corner of the lab. The screen displayed a password prompt.
The steel armor schematics were likely in there.
Their eyes met again, tension rising.
Robert coughed. "My legs are a bit sore. I'll rest here. You go ahead and look for Obadiah."
Coulson smiled politely. "No worries. I can have someone escort you out while I continue searching."
Both of them, of course, were lying through their teeth.
Robert stared at the monitor, then said, "Finding the blueprint is important. Maybe I can help unlock this."
"You know the password?"
"No. But I'm a well-known computer genius in my neighborhood. A six-digit code? Child's play."
Robert's confidence made Coulson's mental gears turn. A tech expert? That was useful information. Could he be from another intelligence agency? Coulson silently began forming a profile.
"Fine," he replied. "Finding evidence of Stane's crimes is important too."
Robert smiled and turned to the keyboard.
"123456," he typed.
Incorrect password.
Coulson: "???"
Robert furrowed his brow. "No way!"
Coulson nearly dropped his gun.
No way? Who uses such an obvious password?
"Wait," Robert said. "Maybe it's six zeroes. That's my ATM pin!"
Before Coulson could react, Robert started typing again.
Coulson's eyes widened in panic. If Robert entered one more wrong password, the system might lock them out.
Crack!
Before Robert could hit the final key, a jolt of electricity surged through him. His body spasmed and collapsed.
Coulson exhaled slowly, slipping his taser back into his coat.
He couldn't let that clown ruin the mission with wild guesses. Most secure systems only allowed three attempts.
And Robert had already wasted two.
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