Norman didn't relax after Ross and the military left.
The grudge still burned in his eyes, and someone would have to pay for it.
He walked into one of the research rooms and unleashed all his rage on the researcher who had spoken too much.
In the end, Norman walked out alone, adjusting his tie as if nothing had happened and as if there wasn't a small bloodstain on his shirt. He dryly ordered someone to "clean up the place."
After finishing everything, Norman, still wiping his hands with a handkerchief as though trying to erase invisible stains, calmly returned to his office. He sat down, took a deep breath, and pressed a button hidden beneath the desk.
One of the walls slid open slowly, revealing his most prized possession: the private laboratory.
Norman stepped inside, his footsteps echoing against the metal floor. His eyes narrowed as they fell on one of the cages. Several white rabbits had been used in his experiments, but now only one was alive.
Or rather, alive in a distorted way.
The rabbit, once with pristine white fur, was now stained red, gnawing furiously on the corpse of one of its kin. Its eyes glowed crimson.
Norman frowned. He still couldn't understand the origin of those side effects, let alone how to neutralize them.
"It would be great if I could get some DNA samples from Captain America…" he muttered.
He spent the next few hours buried in calculations and notes, lost in equations that wouldn't balance and in data tables screaming failure.
When he finally left the lab, physically and mentally exhausted, he ordered the butler to take him home.
In the car, the ride seemed ordinary until, as they passed through Times Square, Norman noticed the road was blocked.
"What happened?" Norman asked, irritated.
"I don't know, sir," the driver replied.
Norman leaned out the window, but the air caught in his lungs when he recognized the vehicles up ahead.
"…S.H.I.E.L.D."
They never acted so openly. That roadblock meant something big—very big—was happening.
Norman opened the door and stepped out of the car. The butler tried to stop him, but he raised a hand.
"Wait for me here."
As he drew closer, his eyes widened.
A man was standing in the middle of the square, confused, staring at the buildings as if they were from another planet. To the crowd, he might have looked like just a lost passerby. But Norman recognized him instantly.
"Captain America…?"
He wasn't dead. The face Norman knew from military reports and old photos was right there before him—alive, breathing, and bewildered by the new world.
The impact hit him like a tidal wave.
The man who should have been nothing more than a historical relic, a name in war history books, was standing right there.
Before Norman could fully process the scene, Nick Fury appeared, exchanged a few quick words with Rogers, and whisked him away.
Back in the car, Norman trembled with rage and confusion.
Seventy years. How could someone simply return after all that time? Could it be the serum? Had Howard truly created something that bordered on immortality?
The thought made Norman slam his fist so hard against the door that the butler flinched.
"Take me back to Oscorp!"
The driver only nodded.
---
Meanwhile, in the S.H.I.E.L.D. car, Fury was answering Rogers's questions. Steve wanted to know about Bucky, about the world, about everything he had missed. Fury calmly responded to each one.
When silence finally fell inside the car, a thunderclap suddenly tore through the sky. Steve lifted his head, puzzled.
"That was… thunder? But the sky is completely clear," he murmured.
Fury only frowned.
---
At Stark Mansion.
Tony was on the couch with a glass of whiskey in hand, his expression a mix of disbelief and amusement. On the screen, footage showed Steve Rogers wandering through the streets of New York.
"Is this official?" Tony laughed, taking a sip of his drink.
"Our grand historic popsicle actually thawed out? After seventy years in the freezer, someone finally remembered to defrost him."
Pepper came down the stairs just then, holding a glass of water.
"Tony, what are you watching?"
He pointed at the hologram.
"Oh, nothing much, just a 1945 experiment back in action. The guy's basically a 'patriotic popsicle': vanilla-flavored, wrapped in stars and stripes."
Pepper raised an eyebrow.
"What are you talking about?"
She glanced at the image projected by J.A.R.V.I.S., and for a moment thought it was a file error. But no—it was Steve Rogers himself.
"How is that even possible?"
Tony leaned back on the couch with the air of a professor explaining something nobody asked for.
"Simple. His body went into cryogenic hibernation, blah, blah, blah, minimal metabolism, cells preserved. In short: it was like throwing chicken in the freezer. Only instead of turning into nuggets after a month, he came back walking."
Pepper covered her face with her hand.
"Can't you be serious for five minutes?"
"Of course I can!" Tony raised a finger.
"But honestly, look at this: my dad spends his entire life trying to leave a legacy for the future generations, and in the end the one legacy that comes back from the dead is the guy who wore the tightest pants in World War II."
He took another sip, sighing.
"I bet even the whiskey my dad stored in that vault aged better than him."
Pepper, out of patience, just crossed her arms. She was about to say something when a thunderclap exploded across the sky, shaking the mansion.
Tony looked up.
"Great. Now Zeus wants to compete for ratings with Captain Freezer."
Pepper took a deep breath.
"I'm going to bed."
"Good idea." Tony got up, following her.
---
Arthur, distracted while staring out the window in the direction the thunder had come from, shook his head and turned to Gwen and Jean.
"So, my queens… what do you want for dinner?" he asked, leaning casually against the kitchen counter.
Jean, sitting on a stool by the counter, smiled at him.
"I want Italian food."
Gwen, stirring her glass of juice, lifted her gaze and added firmly:
"I want Italian too."
Arthur raised an eyebrow, irony practically dripping from his expression.
"Really? Italian food… on a Monday? Who the hell orders lasagna on a Monday?" he teased, crossing his arms.
Jean leaned closer, eyes sparkling, a challenging smile on her lips.
"If you don't make it, Arthur, you'll be sleeping on the couch tonight," she said, her playful tone carrying a veiled threat.
Gwen backed her up, just as determined:
"And don't even think about curling up in that armchair. Straight to the couch—no blanket privileges."
Arthur huffed but couldn't hide the mix of amusement and resignation.
"Alright, alright… you win. But only because you're so stubborn." He chuckled softly, already starting to gather ingredients.
Jean and Gwen exchanged victorious looks, smiling in satisfaction.
Arthur opened the pantry, his face contorting into theatrical horror.
"Oh, of course… as always, half the ingredients I need are missing. Wonderful!" He sighed, placing his hands on his head.
Jean laughed, arms crossed.
"So you'll have to go shopping, hero?"
"Exactly, my dear Jean. And of course, I'll bravely face the claws of housewives at the supermarket to bring you what you ask," Arthur replied, as if about to embark on an impossible mission.
Gwen took a sip of her juice and winked at him.
"Don't take too long… or the lasagna's gonna turn into frozen pizza around here."
Arthur feigned a dramatic gasp, as if struck by an invisible arrow.
"Frozen pizza? Never! Nothing stops my mission as chef! But let me warn you: if either of you eats the raw pasta while I'm gone, you'll be guilty of treason!"
Jean burst into laughter, clapping lightly.
"Then make sure you come back in one piece, Arthur… and with the right ingredients. No improvising!"
"I promise, ladies. I'll return victorious… and no, I won't bring instant noodles." He grabbed his keys, preparing to leave, throwing one last dramatic look at the two, who couldn't stop laughing.
---
(End of Chapter)
"Hmph. If you really want to be useful, then entertain me, try to throw those pathetic power stones at me. Let's see if even your insolence can amuse a king."