Transformer in MCU

The crowd watching the spectacle had grown increasingly enthusiastic.

They began to urge John, advising him to let bygones be bygones.

They insisted that any grievance or feud could be resolved through conversation, not violence. After all, constant fighting only disturbed the peace.

Even the strong man who had earlier seemed eager to cause trouble for Downey now stood up, extending an olive branch.

He spoke with a tone of camaraderie, trying to reason with both sides: "What's the big deal? Isn't it just a little bad blood? Look at me—two months ago, I was at odds with the Northern Irish Gang, and last month, we joined forces to take on the Scottish Gang."

His manner was casual, with a hint of streetwise pragmatism. He knew better than to pick a fight with the likes of Downey, who had clearly established a fearsome reputation.

Sensing the tension in the air, the man stepped in, hoping to calm things down and perhaps curry favor with one side or the other.

He continued to speak, "So why keep up with the bloodshed? We're all brothers here. There could be future opportunities to work together..."

His sincerity was almost tangible as he began to envision a prosperous alliance that would benefit them all.

Bang!

John finally lost his composure. Trembling with rage, he fired his gun at the strong man, hitting him in the chest.

The sudden act of violence shattered the crowd's growing optimism, and panic quickly spread through the onlookers.

Enraged murmurs began to rise from the crowd: "Who dares to cause trouble on Irish Gang turf?" But despite their tough words, none dared step forward.

Downey, however, remained unperturbed. He watched the vampire in front of him with a bemused expression, as if trying to decipher whether this was a farce.

"You came here to demand someone and restore your family's dignity... but you're leaving after a few harsh words?" He cocked his head and continued, "Are you sure this isn't a joke?"

John, still trembling, shot Downey a glare. His face betrayed a mix of fury and humiliation—this negotiation had veered far off course.

"Tell me," Downey said, his tone now steely, "who sent you here? Your acting skills are terrible. At the very least, you could've grabbed this old guy and pretended."

His mechanical wristwatch shifted seamlessly into the form of a gun, ready to fire at a moment's notice.

"If you were serious about this, you wouldn't hesitate to take him. If you hesitate any longer, I'll just assume you're a dead man walking."

John, who had initially tried to play it cool, now found himself trapped. He was caught in a dilemma between saving face and surviving.

Even as a pureblood vampire, he knew the consequences of a direct confrontation with Downey.

"Even a pureblood like you would die if I dragged you into the sunlight," Downey added, his voice laced with a chilling warning.

John's frustration mounted. His initial plan had crumbled, and this mutant wasn't playing by the rules.

"I'm just surprised by your... uprightness. It's quite different from the rumors I've heard,"

John spat out, trying to regain control of the situation. He leaned down to grab the old bartender, eager to wrap this mess up.

Despite the tension, the old bartender played his part well. His face was a mask of feigned distress, yet his eyes darted nervously, revealing his awareness of the high stakes at play.

Downey stood motionless, watching John's every move with cold detachment.

Meanwhile, the device embedded in his mind—the source of his mechanical prowess—flickered, fully prepared to unleash hell. He was ready for any treachery.

John clenched his jaw and started to drag the old bartender away. His pride was in tatters, but it was better than dying here. He'd figure out how to salvage his position later.

Downey's voice cut through the air, sharp and sardonic: "You think you can just walk away? You didn't come here for him—you came here to keep me at odds with the vampires, to push us into endless conflict. If all you wanted was the old man, you could've taken him from a distance."

John's skin grew clammy. His earlier bravado had completely evaporated.

"Are you accusing me of lying? Do you want to declare war on us?" he asked, his voice now shaky.

Downey's gaze didn't waver. "It doesn't matter what you say anymore. You're clearly just a pawn. Whoever sent you doesn't care whether you live or die.

You're an expendable tool. But tell me who's really behind this, and maybe, just maybe, I'll let you walk away."

John hesitated, his mind racing. The pressure was unbearable. After a long pause, he finally muttered a name through clenched teeth: Deacon Frost.

Downey smirked, unsurprised. "So, it's Frost. A mongrel vampire."

Deacon Frost was notorious in the vampire world. Unlike the purebloods, he was a self-made vampire, transformed after birth.

Yet his ruthlessness and ambition had propelled him to a high rank, second only to the most powerful families.

Downey scoffed at the notion of a noble lineage like the Thompsons working for someone like Frost.

"It's pitiful, really," Downey said, his voice dripping with contempt.

"The Thompson family, once proud and noble, now reduced to doing the dirty work for a mongrel. You've thrown away centuries of dignity."

John clenched his fists but said nothing. His subordinates, however, bristled at the insult, their hands twitching toward their weapons.

Downey remained unfazed. He knew Frost's reputation well. The vampire was both a lunatic and a shrewd manipulator.

It wasn't surprising that Frost had somehow coerced or manipulated a faction of the Thompson family.

What was clear now was that John Thompson, for all his talk of family honor, was nothing more than a disposable pawn.

John, now desperate to escape, barked an order to his men: "Kill all the humans. Leave no witnesses!"

The onlookers, mostly unaware of the true nature of the vampires, began to panic as they overheard fragments of the conversation. "Vampires?" they muttered in confusion.

The reality of their situation began to dawn on them, but for many, it was too late to flee.

One injured man, still alive after being shot, lay writhing on the ground.

He pleaded with Downey, his voice full of desperation: "Mechanic, please! Help us! We'll owe you our lives!"

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Sayo nara ~~