Transformer in MCU

Everyone was stunned, but Coulson maintained his smile, while Downey looked thoughtfully at Optimus Prime.

"Optimus Prime? Is that what you call him?" Coulson asked, his voice as calm as a spring breeze, gently dispelling the awkward confusion in the air.

"Yes, that's the name I gave him. It stands for justice and responsibility. I want him to be the hope and faith that never falters in my heart," Downey said, feeling an intensifying tingling in his brain.

The flame within his mind burned brighter, but not with the same intensity as during his awakening.

Downey attempted to manipulate other parts of Optimus Prime, but as the energy of the fire moved through the materials, they made it clear to him that forcing them into a complete Optimus Prime would eventually lead to collapse—like a structure losing its steel frame, vulnerable to even a single blow.

Downey's power, which he called "Ember," gave him an extraordinary comprehension and intuition for crafting and modifying Optimus Prime. It allowed him to make changes in the shortest time possible.

This ability was unprecedented. Wherever the fire's energy touched, the metal seemed to become transparent to him, enabling him to understand every characteristic at the maximum level and use it to its fullest potential.

However, this connection was currently limited to Optimus Prime, the little truck that had been his companion day and night. 

Modifications could be made to it smoothly, but the true principles of this ability required further testing.

After the battle with Abomination, this ability had drawn the attention of certain powerful individuals. 

A newly emerged, potentially Omega-level mutant had captured the eyes of the world. His miraculous ability, while difficult to analyze, had left many curious and covetous, eager to learn more.

"It seems Optimus Prime holds special meaning for you. Would you care to share more about it?" Coulson asked, showing genuine interest.

"There's nothing bad to share," Downey replied, walking over to Optimus Prime and gently patting its metal frame. 

He spoke slowly, "My family of three relied on this truck to make deliveries. It was our livelihood, and it kept our family going."

Downey went on to explain their modest life. His family didn't possess any special skills, and living in New York, where the cost of living was high, made things more difficult. 

Yet, they were proud to have been able to afford a down payment on a house and, eventually, to save enough to purchase a Nissan Frontier. 

The truck was small, and its limited capacity meant they had to make several trips to earn a living.

Life wasn't luxurious, but it was warm. Their family was healthy, and their everyday concerns were about making enough money from deliveries, putting aside savings, and ensuring their truck—an essential member of the family—was well taken care of. They even splurged on better gasoline when they could.

Downey recalled fond memories of his parents driving the truck, and how, when he wasn't in school, he would help out with deliveries. 

Sometimes, they would even eat and sleep in the truck. It had been a constant companion, weathered by the elements but cherished by the family.

Downey smiled slightly as he recounted those memories.

"But now, it's all gone," Downey added, his expression darkening. His fingernails dug into his palms, drawing blood. 

What he spoke of wasn't just his experiences in this life but also the lingering pain from his past.

He was filled with anger, resentment, and self-loathing for his perceived incompetence.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Downey. But think of it this way: as long as you and this truck are still here, a part of them remains too. Doesn't it carry their beliefs and memories?" Coulson said gently.

Coulson gestured to an agent, who handed Downey a black suit, indicating that he should put it on.

Downey looked at the suit. It fit him perfectly, as though it had been prepared specifically for him. 

Black, a color that symbolises solemnity, also conveyed a silent sorrow, the kind of sorrow that didn't need to be expressed with tears.

Downey then pressed Coulson about Hulk's whereabouts.

Coulson hesitated for a moment, then carefully answered. They had been tracking the monster's movements, but Hulk moved so quickly that they lost sight of him.

"I'm not going after Hulk right now. What are you worried about? I know I'm no match for him, and I'm not stupid," Downey said, his tone cold.

Coulson smiled warmly, attempting to steer the conversation: "Mr. Downey, Hulk's information is classified. I don't have clearance to share those details with anyone outside our organization. Secrecy is just part of the job for us agents."

Downey quickly caught on to what Coulson was implying. He remained expressionless, but he understood that now was not the time to push for more information. 

Downey wasn't interested in joining an official organization at the moment, but he would consider it later.

He didn't fully trust S.H.I.E.L.D., at least not yet. With the presence of Hydra within its ranks, Downey knew that throwing himself into their hands would be a risky move. 

He could already imagine the dangerous experiments they might conduct on him—perhaps turning him into "Downey No. 1" or "Downey No. 2" with their twisted human modifications.

Downey, a rare Omega-level mutant, knew the dangers of being too trusting.

"Mr. Downey, you're in a dangerous position right now. Many eyes are on you," Coulson cautioned, trying to convince him.

Downey smiled half-heartedly and pointed to the sky. "I'm sure Professor X is watching all of our conversations right now, making sure you're not doing anything... questionable."

"To be honest, I appreciate your help. But if it comes down to trust, I'd place my faith in Professor X over you or any other government agency," Downey said bluntly.

Coulson forced an awkward smile.

Professor X's love and protection for mutants were well-known, after all.

Downey promised Coulson that if S.H.I.E.L.D. ever found themselves in trouble, they could come to him, and he would repay the favor.

Coulson, pleased with this answer, gained further confidence. Between the psychological evaluations of Downey and their recent interactions, Coulson felt that they had won a significant ally in this powerful mutant.

As for Downey, he wasn't naive. He knew the corruption running through S.H.I.E.L.D., and he was well aware that darker times were coming.

But for now, Downey's focus was elsewhere.

"What about them?" Downey asked, his voice trembling slightly.

The room felt a shift, and everyone could sense Downey's fear. He wasn't afraid of the world's dangers as much as he was afraid of confronting his personal loss.

Coulson lowered his voice sympathetically. "I've arranged for your parents' bodies to be properly taken care of. Their remains have been placed in coffins, and they're well preserved. You can visit them whenever you're ready."

Downey thanked him softly and made his way to the nearby cemetery, with Coulson personally guiding him.

"Do you have a motorcycle I could use?" Downey asked.

"A motorcycle? I could drive you there myself. You know, I don't let just anyone ride in my beloved car. She's like my wife," Coulson jokes.

"I'd prefer to go alone. I want to ride there myself and bury them with my own hands," Downey replied quietly.

"If that's what you want," Coulson said, shrugging with indifference.

The sound of their voices faded as they left. Meanwhile, Optimus Prime reassembled itself into the battered pickup truck, waiting patiently for its creator to return.

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