Begin from the original form of torture and become immortal

Chapter 1744 The Pranked Surveillance Team

"Captain, but I remember you didn't say that."

"Rumlow said."

Steve looked embarrassed, his voice was low and each word had a sluggish quality, as if he had just broken free from the ice.

“You can’t expect someone who has been asleep for seventy years to immediately understand Tony Stark’s ‘biomass processing unit,’ especially when it sounds like some kind of alien weapon.”

Rumlow nodded knowingly, his smile carrying a hint of knowing teasing.

Steve's embarrassment was stirred up again by that gaze—he would never forget the first time he faced that smooth, mirror-like cubic space called the "biomass processing unit".

Deep on the seabed, surrounded by tons of seawater and unknown darkness.

Tony had pointed to the almost cruelly transparent bathroom (the glass door was said to be able to fog up instantly, but in his panic, Steve had no idea what the control panel was). Steve Rogers was now standing in front of the biomass processing unit that glowed with a cold blue light—the "epoch-making terminator of human waste" in Tony Stark's words—every muscle taut as if he were about to go into battle.

My fingertips hovered above the touchscreen, trembling slightly.

On that smooth, curved screen, rows of complex molecular formula charts and real-time energy flow data scrolled coldly, like a cryptic book to this veteran who had just awakened from seventy years of ice.

He held his breath, as if he were facing not a device to satisfy his physiological needs, but a bomb that could explode at any moment.

This damned caution stems from the unforgettable experience I had when I first stepped into this "cleaning fortress" at the bottom of the deep Pacific trench.

At that time, he had just witnessed the core of the base—a terrifying device that was said to be able to turn the Pacific Ocean into a radioactive soup in an instant—during Tony's "welcome tour," which was a mixture of morbid humor and ostentation.

With a cautious approach to the unknown technology, he entered the bathroom that Tony had touted as a "cosmic standard of hygiene." The interior was pristine white, spotless, and emitted a faint scent of ozone, resembling a sterile laboratory.

The so-called "biomass processing unit" was quietly embedded in the wall, with a smooth outline and flashing superhuman blue indicator lights, like the eyes of a deep-sea monster quietly opening.

Following Jarvis's gentle yet uncompromising verbal instructions, he removed his clothes and sat down with an almost devout, warrior-like attitude.

The cool touch of the toilet seat made him flinch slightly.

Just as he finished his most natural physiological release and was about to reach for the flush button—a sudden change occurred!
Without warning, a dull yet powerful "humming" erupted from beneath him! A violent suction force, seemingly capable of tearing through space, instantly seized him!
He suddenly sank downwards, his buttocks almost being pulled off the smooth ceramic surface by that invisible force!

The excrement vanished without a trace, not even a splash or a sound was made, leaving only the chilling, powerful turbocharger roar emanating from the cold machine, like a deep, guttural roar from the throat of a giant beast.

"God!"

Steve screamed in terror, a warrior's instinctive reaction. His muscles tensed, and he gripped the walls tightly with both hands, barely managing to keep his balance from being completely dragged down by the suction force. His heart pounded wildly in his chest, crashing against his ribs. The sudden loss of control and the unknown, terrifying power sent a cold sweat down his back.

He pulled up his pants, still shaken, his face pale.

At that very moment, Tony's signature, teasing voice blared through the hidden speakers in the walls, filling the small, ozone-scented space: "Aha! How's the experience, our WWII fossil? Did you get a feel for Stark Industries' ultimate interpretation of 'cleanliness'?"

Steve jerked his head up, glaring angrily in the direction of the sound, his fists clenching instinctively: "Stark! That thing almost sucked me in! Is this normal?"

"Normal? Of course it's normal, my captain!"

Tony's voice, with its deliberately exaggerated seriousness, hummed through the speakers.

“Listen, this isn’t your old, drafty outhouse in Brooklyn. Beneath our feet lies the ‘core of the abyss,’ capable of turning the entire Pacific into a deadly broth! You know what? Any tiny, insignificant organic odor molecule from the human body—yes, the kind you just contributed—can trigger unpredictable entanglement at the quantum level! Once they escape, they can contaminate even a picometer-precision sensor reading…”

Tony paused deliberately, letting the invisible threat permeate and expand in the cold air, like the pressure of the deep sea squeezing his eardrums.

"...boom!"

He suddenly raised his voice, simulating a deafening explosion that made Steve's eardrums buzz. "If the entire core chain reaction goes out of control, all of us, along with all life in half the Pacific Ocean, could say goodbye to this beautiful blue planet! So, this 'small' suction force is an absolutely necessary safety redundancy! For the sake of all humanity, Captain, just bear with your terrified little heart, okay?"

Tony's "scientific intimidation" was like a cold steel needle, precisely piercing the core of Steve Rogers's sense of duty.

He stood silently before the processing unit that was flashing blue light, his brows furrowed, his azure eyes filled with heavy worry and a sense of helplessness as if bound by an invisible force.

The words Tony used, such as "quantum entanglement," "picometer-level contamination," and "core chain annihilation," sounded like obscure incantations from another land to him, each syllable carrying a suffocatingly threatening weight.

He couldn't understand the intricate logic of its operation, but he clearly felt the devastating consequences—for the "abyss core" beneath his feet that could turn the ocean into a poisonous soup, for the billions of living beings beneath this deep blue, what did his personal discomfort matter?

Since then, every time Steve walks towards that coldly glowing unit, it's like walking into a miniature battlefield.

He forced himself to adapt to the terrifying suction that burst forth in an instant. Every time he sat down, his muscles tensed subconsciously, and every time he stood up, he felt a slight, imperceptible stiffness.

He even began to obsessively check himself for any possible source of odor—washing his hands repeatedly, making sure his clothes were absolutely clean, and even unconsciously breathing softly.

This deep-sea prison, because of the design of a bathroom, added another invisible and heavy shackle to him.

Back to the present, Steve could only mumble something vaguely, trying to cover his burning cheeks with his tactical briefing clip: "The situation is different, Rumlow. The risk level here... Stark explained it very clearly."

(End of this chapter)