Stark nodded.
"I'll handle the corpse, and the people in this town won't say anything."
Banner next to him paused, and silently reached out and closed the wooden door. Even though it's inhabited by all—Stark calls it a "pixel villain," a name he says comes from the mouth of the warden—the topics they're openly discussing here don't seem quite right.
They carried the unconscious prisoner up to the second floor, Banner closed the curtains all around, and several people stood around the bed, looking at the sleepy face.
Unfamiliar, but somewhat familiar.
Stark's throat was a little dry, but he forced himself to speak in a calm tone.
"One last... vote." He paused, "If we stop now, at least this prisoner is safe. He can live in this world until his old age."
The scene fell into a moment of silence.
"But... that's not Mr. Warden, is it?" Peter said softly. This person has no memory of the warden and is not that person, even though he is indeed the warden's new life after "retirement".
No one answered, and no one spoke.
Stark glanced at Peter: "So, you voted for it?"
"No, no, let me think again." Peter quickly waved his hands and shook his head, as if he was afraid that his vote had already been cast.
Stark retracted his gaze, and there was no expression on his face.
In silence, Strange said, "I agree."
The stagnant air seemed to be broken by something.
Banner glanced at Strange slowly, sighed slightly, and finally said, "I agree too."
Peter twitched his lips.
Stark looked at him, but the boy still didn't make up his mind, scratched his messy brown hair covertly, and turned his head away.
"I wanted you to choose first," he said, "Peter. If Mr. Warden is here, he certainly doesn't want me to leave the final pressure on you."
The boy scratched his hair slightly.
He raised his head slowly, a little afraid to meet Stark's eyes, but still looked over.
"I'm just... We can't decide, decide a person's life or death?"
"They are the same person, Peter." Strange's voice came from the side, "Only one person can stay, and the soul cannot be divided into two."
Peter bit his lip.
He looked at Stark and asked, "So, Mr. Stark, you chose Disapproval, right?"
Stark was noncommittal.
"Otherwise you don't need to give me a chance at all." Peter pulled the corners of his mouth and smiled, but it looked more like he was about to cry.
Stark looked at the boy who was a head shorter than him.
Mr. Warden has a high opinion of Peter, and he doesn't want him to bear too much pressure—from the fact that he asked Stark to notify Peter as soon as possible after revealing his identity, he still regards the boy as a child who needs protection.
But Peter isn't, and he's smart.
"I'm sorry," Stark said.
Peter swallowed and said with determination, "I vote yes—I hope Mr. Warden will come back."
Stark didn't look particularly surprised, and didn't seem too disappointed.
"It's selfish, I admit," Peter said softly, "but we need him, and the world needs him, doesn't it?"
Judging from what he saw when he walked out of the warden's office this morning, the new Warren warden didn't look very happy.
Of course, he may not be able to express his feelings at all.
But Peter felt it intuitively.
He didn't know what it was, maybe one of the things the warden had left him.
This world needs a warden, and the warden is also born for this world—he shouldn't make decisions for other people's life and death, but Mr. Warden needs him to make a decision at this time.
He cannot escape, he must stand up.
A boy's serious voice suddenly came from beside him, interrupting his thoughts.
"Do I need to vote?"
Stark glanced at the black-haired boy standing beside him: "It's none of your business."
"Oh." Bill replied.
"Take us in." Stark said directly.
He no longer needs to make a choice, 3 to 1, everyone else voted for it, and they will go to "resurrect" Mr. Warden in the sandbox.
When Act initially revealed the plan, Stark nearly punched someone.
Fortunately, there is only the serious little face of the black-haired boy in front of him, but not the person who proposed this plan—Tony Stark from another universe, who is also the creator of the prototype of the sandbox.
Bill said that when he asked the other Stark how to solve the sword of Damocles hanging over Mr. Warden's head, the other Stark quickly gave such a plan.
Because the plan was the same as what he had done before—copy a copy of Mr. Warden's memory and keep it in the sandbox.
Someday it will come in handy.
I just didn't expect this day to come so soon.
But he has a request, he needs to observe Mr. Warden carefully before he is willing to copy his memory, so the law has to let him enter his body and come to this world.
When they went into the sandbox to find the law, the Warden got separated from them, precisely because another Stark at the time wanted to take the Warden away for a copy.
But I didn't expect that Mr. Warden had been with Strange from another world or Stark from this world, and things almost failed—fortunately, the mechanical squid finally got close enough.
All in all, the copying of the memory was successful, but no one could tell whether this warden was one of them.
The other Stark also said that this matter is really hard to say, even if all his own memories now come from the replica.
At least from his point of view, it was real.
The Warden's memories are stored in the basement of the cabin where he and Stark ended up staying, where they also escaped the mechanical squid.
The comatose prisoner also slept in his own bedroom, even though it was actually the first time in his "life" in that bed.
Although Strange said that the soul cannot be divided into two, and temporarily stored the "soul" of the prisoner in the Eye of Agamotto, saying that this can protect the fragile soul when crossing dimensions.
But Stark would never accept this unscientific explanation.
Assuming that the world is a disk, and everyone occupies a sector, then the soul is probably a stamp that allows data to be written.
Strange scoffed at that.
Fortunately, the dawn was fast enough to allow the dispute between the two to end early.
When they arrived at the door of the hut where they once settled, Stark from another world was already standing at the door and waiting with arms crossed.
Stark squeezed his fist, and the other party smiled at him.
"I am taller than you."
Stark: "?"
"That's why I promised to help you," said the black-haired and blue-eyed man lazily. "It's good news to know that Tony Stark in another universe is a little shorter than me."
Stark: "...?"
"We can get straight to the point, Tony." A voice came from the side of the cabin.
Following the sound, a man with gray temples came out from behind the corner, wearing a blue mage robe and a red cloak.
Apparently it's a Strange too.
The two Strange glanced at each other, and nodded expressionlessly.
But the cloaks on them were much more enthusiastic, and they rushed to each other and gave each other a big hug.
Two Strange: "…"
"I thought you two didn't have a good relationship." Strange said with a cold face, "Last time you fought for a long time."
The cloaks paused for a moment, then returned to their master in a despondent manner.
On the other side, the two Starks faced each other, and the atmosphere seemed quite unharmonious.
The black-haired and blue-eyed man finally shrugged his shoulders: "Others don't need to follow, just look at those mechanical squids here—although they are useful, but to be honest, they are not under anyone's control, and they may step down this place at any time." a cottage."
other people:"… "
The black-haired man turned around and walked into the hut, waving his hands behind him: "Your task is to lure it away when it finds this place—it's actually a good after-dinner exercise."
Stark could only drag the unconscious person in his hands and followed him in.
The two walked down the stairs, and the sound of empty footsteps echoed in the basement, making people feel a little cold for no reason.
The basement is still the same as before, full of messy sundries, a bit like Stark's utility room-or a garage, or a studio.
Potts also occasionally called it a "garbage dump", mostly when Stark conducted a large number of armor tests and threw the room full of scrap iron.
Stark looked around with a straight face, guessing in his heart which box Mr. Warden was packed in.
"Don't look," the dark-haired man turned his head and said, "Put the man in your hand on the ground—didn't you notice that he changed a little?"
Stark put one arm of the unconscious prisoner on his shoulder, and of course couldn't see what happened to the person next to him. But when the black-haired man said that, he suddenly felt a little cold against his body.
He put the man on the cold ground in the basement.
"That's a memory, not a memory card." The black-haired man said, "Of course, it can be digitized, but this is almost a digitized world. The data is recorded in this area of the basement, from the time you move this person Starting from the basement, the data is being synchronized.” He shrugged, showing what could be called a serious expression for the first time: “This also means that the person outside, the body itself, has lost its ‘soul’— Of course, there are too many slots in this word.”
Stark was silent for a moment, he didn't expect that he would actually want to express his agreement at this time.
But he didn't say it.
"Anyway, there's no turning back for you, man," said the dark-haired man leisurely.
Stark paid no attention to his tone.
He looked at the people on the ground.
The face of the young prisoner seemed to be somewhat blurred, as the black-haired man said, some changes were taking place. The short green stubble on the top of his head is growing at an extremely fast speed, and the facial features have gradually softened a little from the appearance of a tough social idler, and become more and more familiar.
Stark knelt down, wanting to touch the person in front of him, but hesitated to reach out.
Although he has always voted against it, hoping that Mr. Warden can continue to live like this in the prisoner's body, but until now, he still feels that his fingers seem to have lost control.
The heart beats fast too.
He remembered the heartbeat that touched his heart just yesterday. Very calm, seems to have easily accepted the arrangement of fate.
Stark wanted to tell the man that it shouldn't be like this.
If there is still a chance, he can take him to see what the world really looks like. He hasn't met the people he came to this world to protect—of course, sometimes he will be pissed off by their speech, Stark has experience.
But that's the job.
They could go to a fast food restaurant together, yell at the assholes, and eat a cheeseburger, or hang out at the lake and go fishing.
He has never seen this vivid and real world.
"Now," said the dark-haired man beside him, "you can kiss your sleeping beauty, my prince."
Stark looked down.
A hand fell quickly on his shoulder, pulling him back.
Stark met a pair of blue eyes in amazement.
"There's something wrong with you, brother." The dark-haired man stared at his face, "Didn't you realize that was a joke?"
Something exploded in Stark's head.