Transformer in MCU

"New Threat or New Hero: Eyewitness Interviews" – The New York Times

"Downtown Battle, Military to Blame, Ross to Be Court-Martialed" – Daily Herald

"Day of Calamity, Spider-Man Flees Without a Fight" – Daily Bugle

The cataclysmic street battle in New York City sent shockwaves across the world, with public opinion in an uproar.

For the first time, a battle of such monstrous proportions had unfolded in the heart of a bustling metropolis, disregarding the safety of civilians and leaving behind a trail of destruction. 

Countless lives were lost, and the aftermath was nothing short of a disaster. Those bold enough to venture into the war zone after the battle were met with scenes of devastation. 

An entire street had been reduced to ruins, and nearby areas suffered severe damage, as if a natural calamity had struck. Grief-stricken survivors wept amidst the wreckage, mourning their loved ones.

In response, masses of people flooded the streets in protest. They held banners aloft, condemning the military for its incompetence and recklessness.

One man, hobbling on crutches, was interviewed and spoke bluntly, "If they can't protect us, why should we pay taxes? I'd rather pay someone who can."

Another citizen, visibly emotional, said, "If that man hadn't been there, I'd be dead now. I'm grateful. I don't care if he's a mutant or whatever—they can call him what they want. All I know is he was there when I needed help."

The incident sparked widespread panic, with people questioning their safety and whether the government could truly protect them. Protests became common, and experts were called upon to weigh in on the disaster.

During a talk show, a well-known host posed the question, "What do you make of this catastrophic event?"

An elderly professor of sociology replied solemnly, "This is a human-made disaster that will be etched into the annals of history. Our generation will be remembered for this tragedy, and someone must be held accountable."

"Who's to blame?" asked the host.

Without hesitation, the professor replied, "It's all on Ross."

The military, under immense pressure from both the public and internal factions, eventually conceded. 

They issued a statement, attributing the disaster to the failure of the Super Soldier project, and announced that the project would be terminated.

Yet this statement did little to pacify the public. Many victims and their families demanded more than just words; they wanted justice. 

In response to the growing outrage, a military spokesperson finally admitted, after a long pause, "It's all Ross's fault."

General Ross's reputation was in shambles.

---

When Downey finally awoke, it had been two days since the battle. He had been unconscious, recovering from the immense physical and mental toll.

Opening his eyes, he found himself in a hospital room—quiet, sterile, and notably private. 

Sunlight streamed gently through the half-drawn curtains, and the sound of birds chirping outside provided a serene contrast to the chaos he had left behind.

"Is anyone there?" Downey called out, his voice raspy and unfamiliar even to him.

The door opened, and instead of a nurse, a man in a suit stepped in. He wore a calm, friendly smile that, despite its warmth, conveyed a sense of purpose.

"I've been waiting for you to wake up," said the man, his tone measured. "I'm Phil Coulson, with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. You can call me Coulson."

Coulson's demeanor was professional yet approachable, his attire crisp and formal, right down to his perfectly knotted tie.

Downey blinked, taking in the situation. "So, you're the one who saved me?" he asked, reaching for the glass of water on the bedside table. He drank it down in one gulp, feeling the liquid soothe his parched throat.

Coulson smiled, a hint of modesty in his expression. "You could say that. We put in a good deal of effort to keep you safe. A lot of people were very interested in you—some for all the wrong reasons."

He explained how, in the aftermath of the battle, several powerful entities had tried to take Downey into custody. 

Many saw him as a valuable asset—or a dangerous threat. Chief among them was General Ross, who had been especially eager to get his hands on Downey. But thanks to intervention from Coulson's agency, Ross had been stopped.

Downey scoffed at the mention of Ross but nodded for Coulson to continue.

"What about them?" Downey asked, his voice suddenly tense.

Coulson hesitated before answering, "Your... friend is outside. I thought you'd want to see him when you woke up."

Downey's eyes narrowed. "He. Not 'it.' He's not just a machine," he said, correcting Coulson firmly.

Coulson nodded apologetically, "My mistake."

After a brief pause, Coulson gestured for Downey to follow him outside, assuring him that everything had been arranged to avoid any unwanted attention.

As Downey stood, he could feel a sharp pain in his head—a lingering reminder of the strain the battle had put on his body. 

He tried to channel the energy from the fire within him, but the flow was weak, barely a trickle. The difference was stark from before the battle.

"The doctors said your brain took the brunt of the damage," Coulson explained, noticing Downey's discomfort. "Your two-day coma was mostly your brain trying to heal itself."

Downey said nothing, testing his abilities further. Though his condition was improving, he couldn't recover the same amount of power he had wielded during the battle.

With a resigned sigh, he followed Coulson outside to the hospital parking lot.

There, a wrecked pickup truck greeted him—a shell of what had once been a powerful machine. 

The hood was torn open, exposing the internal wiring and engine. Every window was shattered, a tire punctured, and vital parts missing. 

The truck was barely holding together, an unmistakable sign of the brutal conflict it had endured.

Coulson cleared his throat. "We didn't touch much, Mr. Downey. We weren't sure of the extent of your abilities, so we just cleaned off the dust."

Downey gave a quiet nod. "Thank you."

He raised his hand, and without much warning, the air seemed to ripple as an invisible force extended from him to the ruined truck. The sound of grinding metal filled the air, and the battered vehicle began to transform.

Coulson and the agents observing from a distance watched in awe as the pickup truck reshaped itself. 

Metal plates shifted and reassembled into a humanoid form, while useless parts were discarded to the ground.

In moments, Optimus Prime stood before them, though far from the imposing figure he had once been. His body was visibly diminished, with several parts missing or damaged beyond repair.

Optimus tried to rise, but his weakened form failed him. He collapsed to the ground with a heavy thud, leaving an awkward silence in his wake.

Coulson's eyes widened, but Downey simply sighed. "He's reached his limit," he murmured. "Too brittle... too weak..."

The transformation was complete, but Optimus Prime's true power had been greatly diminished, a far cry from the towering, indomitable warrior that had fought beside him.

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