Stark Tower, top-floor training facility.
Bright lights illuminated the space like daylight as Paul danced around Steve Rogers with childlike excitement.
"Captain, look at this! Check out the new suit!" Paul pointed at the dark blue-gray uniform, his eyes gleaming with the fervor of a tech enthusiast. "The fabric uses newly developed adaptive fibers—30% more defensive than your last suit, yet lighter and more breathable! Best of all, it's fully compatible with the new toy I made for you!"
Steve studied himself.
This suit far surpassed any previous gear he'd worn—sleek, form-fitting, shedding the bulkiness of his old uniform for modern precision and efficiency. He flexed his limbs, feeling no restriction.
His gaze settled on the silver-gray circular disc at his feet.
It looked like a shield without a handle, its surface smooth and undeniably high-tech.
"So this is the… disc you mentioned?" Steve's tone carried curiosity.
"More than just a disc!" Paul snapped his fingers. "A magnetic personal mobility platform! Step on it!"
Steve obliged, planting both feet firmly on the metal disc. It hovered steady, suspended effortlessly a few centimeters off the ground.
"Use your core to control it. Treat it like an extension of yourself," Paul instructed.
Steve closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
The Super-Soldier Serum didn't just grant strength and speed—it gave him unparalleled control over his own body. The moment he willed himself forward, the disc responded instantly, gliding silently before halting just as smoothly.
No lag. No wobble.
Then, he tried more complex maneuvers.
Sharp turns, lateral slides, serpentine patterns…
The disc came alive beneath him, moving like a master ice skater tracing invisible paths across the training floor. The fluidity was so seamless that even Paul stared in awe.
"My god… The top agents in my sim needed at least fifteen minutes to adjust," Paul muttered. "You—you were born for combat, weren't you?"
Steve stopped, the disc hovering beneath him. He could feel it—this gadget bridged his mobility gap. His expression flickered with caution but steadied into assurance.
"It's good, Paul," Steve said sincerely.
"Good? This is a revolution!" Paul puffed his chest. "Now, let's test the real star!"
He gestured toward a vibranium shield at the far end of the room.
Steve picked it up, the familiar weight grounding him.
"I made a few tweaks," Paul explained. "Embedded electromagnetic modules in the shield's edge and your gloves. Now you can control it with even more finesse. Hell, you can make it fly… a little more fancy."
Steve said nothing, merely raising the shield and locking onto a stationary target.
Whoosh—
With a single throw, the shield streaked through the air like silver lightning.
BANG!
The reinforced alloy target shattered on impact.
But this time, the shield didn't drop. Instead, it hung mid-air, arcing smoothly back into Steve's grasp, anchored by magnetic pull.
Genuine surprise flashed in Steve's eyes.
This defied all physics and throwing techniques he knew.
"Just the appetizer," Paul said, grinning. "This is your weapon. This is Captain America's shield."
Steve turned toward a cluster of moving targets.
The shield flew again.
It didn't travel straight. It danced—cutting elegant curves, ricocheting, spiraling through the obstacles like an elite performer.
Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!
Every target was struck with surgical precision, all within five seconds.
Finally, the shield blasted back into Steve's waiting hand.
The training room fell dead silent.
Paul stared at the spiking data on his screen, jaw slack.
This wasn't a throwing weapon anymore. It was a guided missile.
"Captain, look," Paul swallowed, eyes gleaming. "Offense and defense—flawless. But I've got one tiny idea. What if we added edge-mounted plasma cutters? Tank armor would feel like tofu—"
Steve's rare smile vanished.
He turned, fixing Paul with a stare that brooked no argument.
"Paul."
His voice was quiet but ironclad.
"My shield is for protecting people. Not dismembering them."
Steve's mind flashed to Dr. Erskine's wise, gentle face.
"The weak know the value of strength. Don't be a perfect soldier. Be a good man."
He studied the brilliant but trigger-happy young inventor before him, his tone grave.
"I swore never to be a bully. Science has no limits, but I do. I won't be a killing machine."
Paul blinked, then shrugged at Steve's stubborn blue eyes.
"Alright, alright. You're the boss."
He muttered under his breath, "Adorably stubborn fossil."
Despite his words, Paul's respect deepened. In a chaotic world, holding onto one's principles was rarer than any tech. That purity was what made Captain America who he was.
But just as the tension eased—
Beep—beep—beep—
A shrill, unfamiliar alarm blared through the training room.
This wasn't Stark Tower's security.
"What the hell?" Paul whipped toward the console. "Not S.H.I.E.L.D.'s frequency—JARVIS, report!"
"Sir, the alert did not originate from our systems," JARVIS replied, unusually tense. "The source… is inside Captain Rogers' suit!"
Steve's tactical display flickered, scrambling into static before green, indecipherable code scrolled rapidly.
[ALERT: ENCRYPTED SIGNAL DETECTED.]
[FIREWALL BREACHED.]
[TRACING SIGNAL ORIGIN…]
Paul and Steve both snapped toward the central hologram.
The code resolved into a single, glaring set of coordinates.
[64.8451° N, 177.3732° W]
Paul's breath hitched.
He knew those numbers.
The barren ice near the Bering Strait—where the plane carrying Steve and the Tesseract had crashed decades ago.
Who?
Who had hacked through Tony Stark's encryption?
Who was sending a signal to the newly awakened Captain America… using a seventy-year-old location?
The unknown bred fear.
The alarm wailed on.
A storm was coming.