The Quinjet's engines hummed softly, cutting smoothly through the clouds.
Steve Rogers sat by the window, silently gazing at the unfamiliar mountains and cities flashing by below. Skyscrapers pierced the sky like a forest of steel, while streams of metal boxes—cars—flowed endlessly along the highways.
Seventy years had passed, and the world had turned into something he no longer recognized.
"Everything's changed," he murmured, half to himself, half to the man beside him.
Phil Coulson, the man who introduced himself as a S.H.I.E.L.D. officer, wore a look of near-reverent respect. He handed Steve a tablet displaying an encrypted file.
"Yes, Captain. Technology, war—everything's different now." Coulson's tone was gentle, trying to ease the legendary soldier into this new era. "We've been trying to carry on your legacy. The Super Soldier Program never truly stopped."
A photo appeared on the screen—a man with glasses, kind yet wearing an air of lingering exhaustion.
Dr. Bruce Banner.
"A leading mind in gamma radiation," Coulson explained. "He tried recreating Dr. Erskine's serum, but… the experiment went wrong. Instead of becoming another Captain America, he became… something we're still struggling to understand."
Steve studied the photo, scanning the briefing on the accident. He didn't see a monster—only another man whose fate had been twisted by science and war. He remembered Dr. Erskine's final words, remembered the frail, eager boy who had longed to serve his country.
"He won't be the first, and I doubt he'll be the last." Steve's voice carried a weary weight. Science was meant to help humanity, yet it always seemed to be warped into a weapon by ambition.
Coulson sensed his mood and smoothly switched subjects, pulling out a neatly folded uniform from a nearby metal case.
"Now, something to lift your spirits. A gift from Mr. Stark."
At the name "Stark," Steve's expression flickered—one of the few remaining links to his past.
"Howard?"
"His son. Paul Stark." Coulson couldn't hide his admiration. "A… genius even more astonishing than his father."
Steve ran his fingers over the suit. The material was durable yet lightweight, far beyond anything he'd known. The core design remained intact—the white star on the chest, the red and white stripes across the torso—but the armored reinforcements at the shoulders, elbows, and knees were sleek and modern. It was both a continuation of the past and a rebirth for the future.
"He kept these," Steve said, pointing to the familiar symbols.
"Paul said some ideals should never be left behind by time," Coulson replied with a smile. "He just found a way to make them stronger."
Steve held the uniform, its weight grounding him. After seventy years of emptiness, he finally felt a flicker of belonging.
The Quinjet descended smoothly onto a vast deck.
A red-haired woman stood waiting, her posture sharp, her gaze keen—every inch the trained operative.
"Agent Natasha Romanoff," she introduced herself briefly before guiding Steve toward the other side of the deck.
A man in a purple shirt stood with his back to them, engrossed in a data tablet. Sensing their approach, he stiffened slightly before turning around.
It was Bruce Banner, the man from the photo.
"Doctor," Natasha broke the silence. "This is Steve Rogers."
Banner adjusted his glasses, his eyes darting away uncomfortably. Facing the Super Soldier Program's only success as its most notorious failure was… complicated.
"Mr. Rogers," he said hoarsely, extending a hand. "I've, uh… studied your case. Dr. Erskine's work has never been replicated."
Steve clasped his hand firmly, warm and steady. His gaze held no judgment, only quiet understanding.
"Just Steve is fine."
The lack of scrutiny made Banner's tension ease slightly. Still, he couldn't resist voicing the question gnawing at him.
"You must have heard things about me. About… 'the other guy.'"
He braced for the usual reactions—fear, disgust, wariness.
Steve merely shook his head.
"I've heard enough rumors in my life to know better than to believe them."
Banner blinked.
Out of all the responses he'd imagined, this casual dismissal wasn't one of them. The simple, prejudice-free reply thawed something inside him, a crack in the ice he'd carried for so long.
A faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at his lips.
Then, the entire deck shuddered violently, a deep metallic groan rumbling beneath their feet. The distant sea churned as a colossal silhouette rose from the depths.
An aircraft carrier.
No—bigger than any carrier he'd ever seen. Four enormous turbine engines extended from its sides as water cascaded off the steel deck like a waterfall.
"My God…" Banner breathed, pushing up his glasses, his scientist's mind alight with awe. "This… this is Paul Stark's work too?"
The sheer engineering required to make such a behemoth defy gravity was staggering.
"Welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Helicarrier, Doctor," Natasha said with a hint of pride. "Also known as Paul's mobile lab."
A rapid announcement blared from the speakers: "All personnel, clear the deck! All personnel, clear the deck! Engine one activating. Prepare for ascent!"
The vibrations grew stronger as the turbines roared to life, the deafening whir sending waves of seawater spraying upward.
"We need to move!" Natasha urged, herding them toward the bridge entrance.
Steve glanced back at the floating fortress, rising like the era he'd just awakened to—full of unknowns, power, and hidden dangers.
And he was about to write a new chapter on this battlefield.
The Helicarrier broke free from the waves, ascending through the storm toward the skies.
An unprecedented crisis awaited them.