Meanwhile, the hum of machinery filled the lab as the defrosting process reached its final stages. The thick, prehistoric ice that had encased Steve Rogers for seventy years had finally surrendered, turning into a steady drip of meltwater. However, thanks to the precision of the AI, 'Idiot,' the transition wasn't violent. Steve's core temperature was being managed with surgical care. It remained at a stabilized sub-zero level, held there by the cooling systems to prevent a sudden "thaw-shock" that could turn the Captain's cells into mush.
Tony Stark and Bruce Banner were huddled over a holographic display, their faces illuminated by the blue glow of scrolling biometric data. They were calculating the "Return to Life" curve—a delicate balance of metabolic acceleration.
"His vitals are steady, but we can't just throw him in a microwave," Tony muttered, adjusting a slider on the screen. "If we bring him up too fast, his heart will burst before his brain even realizes it's 2024."
"The current rate is optimal," Bruce added, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. "It's faster than a natural seasonal thaw, but slow enough for the Super Soldier Serum to repair the frostbite damage in real-time. The heavy lifting is done. Now, it's just a waiting game. The AI can handle the micro-adjustments."
Logan, leaning against a cold steel pillar, stared at the pale man in the tank. "So, when does the Boy Scout actually open his eyes and start asking for his shield?"
Bruce checked the projection. "Unless the universe decides to throw us a curveball, he'll be conscious in about three days. His neural pathways are starting to fire, but he's still in a deep REM state. His body thinks it's still 1945."
"Three days?" Huang Wen rubbed his chin. He had a sudden realization. If Nick Fury was currently scrambling to deliver the promised Adamantium and Vibranium, he'd probably show up right as Steve was waking up. That would be a hell of a welcome-home party—getting handed a bill for your own resurrection by a one-eyed spy.
"Hey, Idiot," Huang Wen called out, looking toward the ceiling-mounted sensors. "What happens if we kick this into overdrive? Can we use the 'Healing Mode' on the pod to skip the three-day wait?"
"Negative, Master," the AI's synthesized voice echoed through the lab. "Activating the high-intensity healing protocols while the subject's internal temperature is below 36 degrees Celsius is highly discouraged. Forced cellular regeneration at these temperatures could cause the cell walls to crystallize and shatter. You would be 'healing' him into a pile of dust."
"Fair enough," Huang Wen sighed. He wasn't in a rush to kill the Legend of Liberty.
His gaze drifted to the side of the room where a circular object rested on a velvet-covered table. It was the iconic shield—red, white, and blue, looking remarkably pristine despite being buried in an iceberg for a lifetime. Huang Wen looked at Logan and then back at the shield, a mischievous thought crossing his mind.
"Hey, Uncle Wolf," Huang Wen grinned. "Back in the day, when you and Steve were playing soldier in the mud, did you ever actually settle the debate? Which one is tougher—your claws or that frisbee of his?"
Logan snorted, a dry, rasping sound. "Are you kidding? The guy could block tank shells with that thing. My claws were just bone back then, kid. I wasn't exactly eager to test my knuckles against Howard Stark's finest engineering."
"Wait, bone?" Huang Wen blinked. He sometimes forgot that this version of Logan had lived a whole life before the Weapon X program. The timeline was a bit of a blur in his head. "Right. I keep forgetting you weren't born with the shiny metal."
"Idiot, scan the shield," Huang Wen commanded. He was genuinely curious. In the vast multiverse of lore, Captain America's shield was a bit of a wildcard. Sometimes it was just Vibranium. Other times, it was the "Proto-Adamantium"—an accidental, one-of-a-kind alloy that was supposedly even harder than the stuff in Logan's skeleton. If it was the latter, this shield was a god-tier artifact. If it was the former... well, it was just very expensive scrap metal.
"Scan complete," the AI responded. "Material composition: Primary Vibranium alloy. Hardness rating: Grade A+. Note: While the hardness is technically lower than 'True Adamantium,' its unique molecular structure allows for near-total absorption of kinetic energy and vibrations. It does not break; it simply refuses to move."
Huang Wen felt a small surge of disappointment. So it was "just" Vibranium. But that raised a massive scientific paradox in his mind. If Proto-Adamantium—the accidental fusion of Vibranium and steel—never happened, then where did the formula for the "True Adamantium" in Logan's body come from? True Adamantium was supposed to be the result of scientists trying and failing to replicate the shield's unique alloy.
If the shield was just pure Vibranium, the existence of the Adamantium in this world was a giant middle finger to the laws of causality. Logan and Steve were living proof of a science that shouldn't exist, yet here they were.
"Clang! Clang!"
The sharp, metallic ringing snapped Huang Wen out of his existential crisis. He turned to see Logan standing by the table. One of Logan's hands was gripping the edge of the shield, while the three claws of his other hand were extended, glinting dangerously under the lab lights.
Logan wasn't waiting for a lecture on metallurgy. He wanted to know now.
"Let's see what all the fuss is about," Logan grunted. He braced himself and swiped his claws downward with a surge of strength.
SCREEEEEE!
The sound was like a thousand fingernails on a chalkboard, amplified through a stadium sound system. Peter Parker and Huang Liang winced, covering their ears. Logan leaned into it, his muscles bulging as he tried to put the full weight of his Adamantium-laced skeleton into the strike.
When he pulled back, the result was... underwhelming.
Three long, ugly gashes had been ripped through the iconic blue and red paint, revealing the dull silver metal beneath. But that was it. The shield itself wasn't cut. There were no deep grooves in the Vibranium, just the surface-level scarring of the aesthetics.
"Tch. I don't have enough juice," Logan muttered, looking a bit embarrassed. He tucked his claws back in and tossed the shield back onto the table with a loud thud. "Like the robot said, the metal is 'weaker' than my claws, but it eats the impact. It's like trying to cut a rubber band with a razor—it just gives way instead of snapping. Though, I did tell Steve back in the day that the paint job was a bit much. 'Too much of a target,' I said. Looks like I was right."
Huang Wen nodded to himself. It made sense now. In the movies, Thanos had managed to shatter the shield with his giant double-bladed sword. People assumed the sword was made of some super-metal, but the real factor was Thanos's raw, celestial strength. If you hit Vibranium hard enough, eventually the molecular bonds that absorb the energy simply overload and fail.
Logan had the "sharpness," but without the "power," he was just a very angry cat scratching at a very expensive door.
"Wait, back up," Tony Stark interrupted, stepping away from his consoles. He looked at Logan with an expression that was half-impressed and half-insulted. "Did you just say he painted that himself? The Captain of America had a side-hustle in arts and crafts? And more importantly... who are you? You look like you've been living under a rock, but you're talking about 'back in the day' like you were there for the signing of the Declaration of Independence."
Logan gave Tony a long, unimpressed look. "I've lived under a lot of things, pal. Rocks included. And yeah, I was there. I was usually the one digging the trenches while Steve was busy being a poster boy."
Tony opened his mouth to deliver a witty comeback, but he stopped when he saw a small notification flicker in his peripheral vision.
"Uh, Sir," Jarvis's voice whispered directly into Tony's ear, loud enough for those nearby to hear. "According to the historical archives and some very classified files from the SSR, the individual before you is indeed Logan, also known as 'The Wolverine.' He is listed as a combatant in multiple major conflicts dating back to the 19th century. His cellular structure suggests he is functionally immortal."