"Logan?" Steve whispered, his voice cracking as he took in the man's melancholic aura.
In Steve's memory, he and Logan had parted ways only a few years prior. Back then, Logan was an abrasive, nearly unkillable brawler who seemed to treat the horrors of World War II as a slightly annoying chore. He was the man who could take a tank shell to the chest and stand back up with a snarl. To see him now—looking as though he had carried the weight of a thousand lifetimes on his shoulders—was jarring.
"Is it really that bad, Logan?" Steve asked, a flicker of unease crossing his face. "We only went our separate ways three years ago. I know war changes a man, but you look like you've been through a meat grinder for a century."
Logan let out a long, dry rasp that might have been a laugh. He leaned against a support pillar, the unlit cigar clamped between his teeth. "Three years? Steve, kid... the calendar doesn't work that way for me. We haven't shared a drink in over sixty years. You were on ice; I was out here watching the world go to hell and back in high-definition."
"Sixty years..." Steve's heart hammered against his ribs.
He had known, intellectually, that he'd been under for a while, but hearing the number out loud was like taking a physical blow to the stomach. He had lived less than thirty years total, and now, in the blink of an eye, the world had doubled his age without him being present for a single second of it.
"The appointment," Steve murmured, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I missed the dance. I missed... everything."
A heavy silence fell over the room. Most of the people there, even the rowdy students like Zhong Qiang, felt a pang of sympathy for the man. He was a hero who had sacrificed his life to save a world that had now moved on without him.
"You mean Peggy Carter?" Logan's gravelly voice broke the tension. "I haven't seen her in ages. I wonder how the old girl is doing these days..."
Steve's eyes snapped up, his sadness instantly replaced by a sharp, protective spike of adrenaline. He glared at Logan. "Wait. You kept in touch with her? You actually went to see her?"
"Now, don't get your stars and stripes in a twist," Logan grunted, raising his hands in a mocking surrender. "After the news broke that you'd crashed into the drink, I figured the lady needed a shoulder to lean on. I went to pay my respects... and maybe see if she wanted a drink with a guy who actually understood what you went through."
"You tried to flirt with my girl while I was dead?" Steve stepped forward, his fists clenching.
"I said I went to console her!" Logan coughed, looking a bit sheepish. "But she wasn't having any of it. She rejected me faster than a Nazi at a peace rally. I haven't seen her since she told me to get lost, so you can relax, Steve. She's loyal to a fault."
The younger kids in the room—Peter Parker and Gwen Stacy—shared a look. Even decades later, the "Sentinel of Liberty" was still protective of his sweetheart.
"Hmph. I'll remember that, Logan," Steve said, though the tension in his shoulders relaxed slightly. He turned his attention back to Huang Wen and the rest of the group. "So, who are you people? Why did you drag me out of the ocean? If you're looking for the Super Soldier serum, you're about seventy years too late for a sample."
Logan let out a bark of laughter. "Easy there, Captain. Don't let the uniform go to your head. I hate to burst your bubble, but in this room? You might be the weakest guy here if you aren't careful." He gestured toward the crowd, his gaze lingering on Tony Stark with a mischievous glint. "Especially since your great-nephew over there has a bit of a temper."
"Great-nephew?" Steve blinked, looking at the man in the expensive suit. "What are you talking about? I don't have any family left."
"Howard Stark's kid," Logan pointed at Tony. "Old Howard was like a brother to you, wasn't he? That makes this loudmouth your honorary great-nephew. Come on, Tony, say hello to your Uncle Steve."
Tony Stark's face went through a fascinating series of contortions. He looked like he wanted to either scream or crawl into a hole. "Logan, I swear, if you say that word one more time, I will build a suit specifically designed to launch you into the sun."
"Ding! Mr. Stark, excuse the interruption," Silly Girl's voice chimed through the lab, cutting through the family drama. "I have an urgent update regarding Stark Industries and your specific monitoring requests."
Tony's expression sharpened instantly. "What is it, Silly Girl? Is Pepper okay?"
"Miss Potts is fine, but the competitive landscape has shifted," the AI replied. "Justin Hammer of Hammer Industries has just announced a global press conference. He claims to have perfected a 'Legion of Iron'—a mechanized army of remote-controlled combat suits. He is currently televised, mocking the Stark 'monopoly' on peace and claiming your technology is obsolete."
Tony's eyes flared with a cold, focused rage. "Hammer? That hack couldn't even build a functioning toaster without stealing the schematics. He's challenging me? On my own turf?"
"He has also secured a massive contract for a military exhibition," Silly Girl added. "He is inviting the press to witness the 'obsolescence' of Iron Man."
Huang Wen stepped up beside Tony, a knowing smile on his face. "Justin Hammer... Norman Osborn... Ivan Vanko. The sharks are circling, Tony. You should be careful. Sometimes a desperate man can stumble into a win he doesn't deserve."
"Wait," Tony paused, his genius intellect connecting the dots. "You mentioned a man with a mini-Arc Reactor before. The one who attacked the racing circuit. You think Hammer found him? You think he's using a bootleg reactor to power those tin cans?"
"There's only one way to find out," Huang Wen said, waving his hand. "Go home, Tony. Protect your legacy."
"Send me to the lab!" Tony shouted.
Huang Wen's palms glowed with golden light. With a flick of his wrist, the Dream Butterfly Escape activated, dissolving Tony into a stream of particles that shot out of the base and through the spatial fabric of New York.
Steve Rogers watched the teleportation with wide-eyed shock. "What... what was that? Is he a mutant? And what's an 'Iron Man'?"
Logan shrugged. "The boss isn't a mutant. He calls it 'Kung Fu,' though it's a lot flashier than the stuff you remember from the gym. And as for Iron Man... well, just think of it as a flying tank that talks back to you."
"Sixty years," Steve whispered again, feeling the weight of the gap. "It's a different world."
"It is," Huang Wen said, turning to his students. "And it's about to get very loud. Silly Girl, give the Captain a crash course. Download the last seventy years of history into a format he can digest—start with the moon landing and work your way up to the internet. We've got a 'Good Show' to get to."
"A good show?" Huang Liang asked, his eyes lighting up. "Are we going to the Hammer Expo?"
"We're going to watch the fallout," Huang Wen smirked.
Meanwhile, on a cliffside overlooking the ocean, Tony Stark reappeared in a flurry of golden light. He landed on his feet, ready to sprint into action, but he immediately froze.
He wasn't at the sleek, modern Stark Tower. He wasn't even at his Malibu mansion. He was standing in front of a smoking pile of rubble and twisted rebar—the remains of his old workshop that had been destroyed during the recent conflicts.
"Damn it! Huang Wen!" Tony roared at the sky, his voice echoing over the crashing waves. "I told you to send me home! Why did you send me to this ruin? I don't live in a construction site!"
He kicked a piece of charred metal, his frustration boiling over. He had a legacy to defend and a "great-uncle" to process, and his primary transport was a martial artist with a warped sense of humor.