"I'm coming with you," Steve said, his voice dropping into that familiar tone of quiet command that had led men across the beaches of Normandy. He looked at Huang Wen, his blue eyes sharp with a soldier's skepticism. "I appreciate the history lesson and the hospitality, but I've spent enough time in labs. I want to see if this world is really the one my friends bled for, or if it's just another one of your high-tech illusions."
Despite Logan's presence and Huang Wen's seemingly transparent honesty, Steve wasn't ready to drop his guard. It was a survival trait—one honed by dodging Hydra snipers and questioning every order given by high-ranking brass who sat safely behind desks.
Huang Wen didn't take offense. In fact, he respected the caution. "Fair enough, Captain. A man who trusts too easily doesn't survive a war like yours. But if you're coming out, don't leave your teeth behind. Grab your gear."
Steve turned toward a nearby table where his iconic circular shield rested. As he reached for it, his hand froze. His brow furrowed into an angry line as he traced a series of deep, jagged gouges near the star in the center. He whipped his head around, glaring at Logan.
"Logan! Are you back to your old tricks? Why on earth were you sharpening your claws on my shield?" Steve's voice rose in genuine indignation. "And wait... since when are your claws this sharp? I remember you trying this in Belgium, and you couldn't even leave a scuff mark on the Vibranium!"
Logan let out a sharp, awkward cough, shifting his weight and looking anywhere but at the shield. "Ahem! Easy there, kid. Things change. My 'pedicure' got a bit of an upgrade recently. And maybe don't bring up the Belgium thing in front of the kids? I've got a reputation to maintain."
Huang Wen couldn't help but chuckle at the sight. The legendary Wolverine, looking like a teenager caught vandalizing a locker. "Alright, Uncle Wolf, your street cred is already in the gutter with this group. Let's move. Those of you with secret identities, mask up. We're going to a party, and I'd rather not have the paparazzi following us back to the Dojo."
The scene became a flurry of activity. Peter Parker scrambled to pull his red-and-blue spandex over his head, while Gwen Stacy followed suit. Huang Liang, however, sighed as he adjusted his mask, looking over at the Swallowtail Trio—Jack, Reese, and Steve—who simply stood tall in their custom-tailored swallowtail suits.
"I'm telling you, Master," Huang Liang muttered, "we need better uniforms. They look like they're going to a gala; I look like I'm going to a wrestling match."
"Style follows function, Liang," Huang Wen teased. "Now, hold on tight."
In a flash of golden light, the group bypassed the traffic and materialized a block away from the Hammer Industries Exhibition. The shift was instantaneous. Steve Rogers stumbled slightly as the sterile silence of the base was replaced by the roar of 21st-century New York.
He stood on the sidewalk, paralyzed for a moment by the sheer scale of it all. The skyscrapers reached into the clouds, draped in massive LED screens that played colorful advertisements for products he couldn't name. The cars were sleek, aerodynamic pods that hummed instead of rattled. The air smelled of exhaust, hot dogs, and something electric.
"It's real," Steve whispered, his eyes wide as a taxi sped past. "The bustle... the lights... it's all here. We really won, didn't we?"
"In some ways, yeah," Logan said, walking beside him. "Though you'll find the 'peace' we fought for is just a different kind of loud."
Steve pointed at a passing SUV. "I remember Howard saying he was working on a magnetic levitation prototype for the civilian market. Why aren't those things flying yet? Surely sixty years was enough time to iron out the kinks."
Logan shrugged, a shadow passing over his face. "Howard was a one-of-a-kind brain, Steve. After he moved on to 'classified' projects for the government, nobody could really pick up where he left off. Besides... he's been gone a long time now."
Steve stopped walking. The noise of the city seemed to fade into a dull hum. "Howard... he's dead?"
He had expected age. He had expected to see an old, grumpy Howard Stark in a wheelchair, still complaining about the price of steel. But to hear he was gone—truly gone—was a reminder that Steve was a man out of time.
"Look on the bright side, kid," Logan said, clapping a heavy hand on Steve's shoulder. "I've watched a hundred years of friends turn to dust. You get used to it. You just have to keep moving, or the weight will pin you down."
They reached the grand entrance of the Expo, where a massive banner featured Justin Hammer's face, looking smug and overly tan. As they tried to enter, two beefy security guards stepped into their path, their hands moving to their holsters.
"Whoa, whoa! Where do you think you're going?" Guard A barked, eyeing the masked Peter and Liang with deep suspicion. "You got invitations? This is a high-security military exhibition, not a comic book convention."
Huang Wen began to raise his hand, his eyes glowing with a faint hypnotic light, ready to suggest they simply walk through. But Jack, ever the pragmatist, stepped forward first. He reached into his swallowtail jacket and produced a heavy, gold-trimmed badge from the 21st District.
"Police Intelligence," Jack barked, his voice carrying the authority of a man who had spent years as a station chief. "We're here on an undercover sweep regarding a credible threat to the Expo. If you block our path or leak our presence, it's not just a firing offense—it's treason against the state. You want to be the guys who let a terrorist through because you wanted to see a ticket?"
The security guards turned pale. Jack's badge was the real deal, and his intimidating stature did the rest.
"Sir! No, sir! We didn't know!" Guard B stammered, stepping aside so fast he nearly tripped over a velvet rope. "We haven't seen anything! Please, carry on with your... intelligence gathering."
"Good," Jack grunted, leading the group past. "Keep your mouths shut and you might keep your pensions."
Steve Rogers watched the exchange with a raised eyebrow. "Is that how the law works these days? Intimidation and badges?"
"In New York? Pretty much," Huang Wen whispered as they entered the massive auditorium.
The interior was a cathedral of glass and steel. On a raised stage at the center, Justin Hammer was dancing—literally dancing—to a loud, rhythmic beat that Steve found incredibly jarring. Hammer grabbed a microphone, his voice booming through the speakers.
"For too long, the safety of this great nation has been held hostage by a single, erratic billionaire!" Hammer shouted, gesturing toward the empty sky. "Tony Stark tells you the Iron Man suit is a shield. I tell you it's a liability! Why trust one man when you can have an army? Ladies and gentlemen, the Hammer Drones!"
Rows of mechanized suits—Air Force, Navy, Army, and Marines—rose from the floor, their metallic faces cold and expressionless. The crowd erupted in cheers, but the atmosphere changed in a heartbeat.
A sonic boom rattled the windows. A streak of crimson and gold tore through the ceiling, decelerating with a violent burst of thrusters. Iron Man landed in a three-point stance right in the center of the stage, the floor cracking under the impact.
The faceplate slid up, revealing Tony Stark's smug, determined face. He didn't look at the crowd; he looked straight at Hammer.
"I heard you were throwing a garage sale, Justin," Tony's voice amplified through his suit's speakers. "I figured I'd come by and see if you'd finally managed to build something that doesn't explode when you turn it on. But looking at these... toys? Honestly, I've seen better engineering in a box of cereal."