Lucas returned once again to a thoroughly laid-back life.
Gwen, Peter, and Felicia had all gone back to New York to begin their internships. All three entered Stark Industries. In truth, calling it an "internship" was mostly a formality—Gwen and Felicia were there in name only. Pepper had set aside a private laboratory just for the three of them, giving them free rein to experiment however they liked.
Peter and Felicia were particularly passionate about biotechnology, while Gwen focused on medical technology. Overall, their specialties all revolved around biology, which happened to be one of Stark Industries' weaker areas.
Back in New York, Gwen no longer needed to live in a dormitory. She only had to submit a monthly internship report to her professors. After all, among the entire MIT student body, only the three of them had secured internships at Stark Industries. MIT placed great importance on them.
Felicia also came clean about her background.
Her father was an infamous international thief, known as Black Cat. She had inherited his legacy—not in the sense of theft itself, but in skills. From a young age, she had been personally trained by her father. In addition to thieving techniques, she had undergone extensive combat training and physical conditioning, including flexibility and agility.
Those months when she had been leaving early and returning late were simply the final phase of her training. Otherwise, there was no way she could have possessed the combat ability necessary to kill so many Chitauri during the Battle of New York.
No one was particularly surprised by the revelation. Lucas had always known about Felicia's past. She had already told Peter as well—this was merely filling Gwen and the others in.
"Your father is Black Cat, the master thief?"
Natasha asked, lounging lazily on the sofa, clearly intrigued.
"Yes. You've met my father before?" Felicia asked.
Natasha nodded. "I once had a mission to capture him, but he escaped. I have to say—his combat skills and agility were incredible. We had dozens of people involved, and not one of us could catch him."
She drifted into memory. Black Cat was infamous worldwide, specializing in priceless gems and cultural relics. Yet once stolen, these items seemed to vanish completely, never appearing on black markets or at auctions. Natasha had even once suspected that Black Cat was simply a collector with an obsession.
---
Over the next few days, Lucas was so idle that he practically melted into his chair, dozing off daily.
That was the normal state of his agency—everything except clients. He had no idea whether the place had bad feng shui. Even the dessert shop across the street was packed every day, while his agency gathered dust.
With nothing else to do, Lucas passed the time watching Skye work. In the entire office, she was the busiest one. Lucas, on the other hand, was completely useless, sprawled out all day.
Natasha was unusually free as well. She spent most of her time sitting in the agency or dragging Skye out shopping. She was so bored that she even started helping clean the office.
That alone was enough to make Lucas uneasy.
Just imagine it—an elite spy casually tidying up your place. No matter how you looked at it, it felt like a conspiracy waiting to happen. Chilling.
"Why don't you just turn this place into a restaurant?"
Natasha said, sitting idly at the bar.
"Your food would definitely be popular. Why cling to this useless agency and stare into space all day?"
"A restaurant is exhausting," Lucas replied lazily.
"I'm not short on money. Isn't lying flat the ideal life?"
What he didn't say was that the damned system simply wouldn't allow him to remodel the place—it had to remain an agency.
Natasha thought about it and found it reasonable. Lucas owned one of the most luxurious and secure apartment buildings in all of New York, located right in the city center, with long-term tenants and full occupancy. He also held a large number of Stark Industries shares and was even a minor shareholder.
With those conditions, who would still want to work? If it were her, she'd lie flat even harder than Lucas.
---
That calm routine was broken by a piece of news on television—one that instantly put Natasha back to work.
On the screen stood a bearded man wearing sunglasses, positioned in a public square. Armed terrorists surrounded him. Against a wall nearby, a line of hooded hostages knelt on the ground.
"Some people call me a terrorist," the man said calmly.
"I prefer to think of myself as a teacher."
As he spoke, the terrorists behind him opened fire on the kneeling hostages.
"America—are you ready for your lesson?"
"You all know who I am," the man continued,
"but you never know where I am. Meanwhile, I know exactly where each of you is."
He removed his sunglasses. The screen immediately cut to static, replaced by an emblem: two crossed blades, encircled by ten rings.
Moments later, all television signals were restored. News outlets erupted with nonstop coverage, and Congress convened an emergency meeting to discuss the incident.
---
Three days later, a congressional spokesperson held a press conference.
"In response to this terrorist incident, Congress has decided to deploy newly developed military assets. Please welcome Colonel James Rhodes."
The spokesperson gestured forward.
Colonel Rhodes stepped onto the podium, wearing a steel battle suit painted with the American flag—the War Machine armor Tony had once given him.
"Colonel Rhodes will now serve as a publicly recognized protector: the Iron Patriot!"
Cameras flashed wildly.
Another armored superhero had emerged after Iron Man—and this one officially represented the United States government.
The announcement caused a nationwide uproar. Some believed Congress was finally getting serious about combating terrorism. Others scoffed, calling it pure spectacle. Slapping an American flag onto a suit of armor didn't magically make it represent the nation.
Many dismissed it as yet another routine political show. After all, the U.S. government put on displays like this every year—nothing new.
---
At that very moment, Rhodes sat inside Tony's home, the two of them silently watching the broadcast.
After a long pause, Rhodes spoke first.
"Overall, the market response is positive, isn't it?"
"The Iron Patriot?"
Tony scoffed.
"Who came up with that name? It sounds like something from a child's game."
He didn't even want to start criticizing it.
"They said 'War Machine' sounded too violent," Rhodes argued.
"This name is supposed to feel more approachable."
Tony snorted. "And the paint job—don't get me started. It's even flashier than Steve's uniform. He looks like a clown. I gave you that armor, Rhodes, not so it could be butchered like this."
Tony found the garish red-white-and-blue suit on screen almost comical.
"Hey—no personal attacks," Rhodes said helplessly.
"You think I wanted this? Everything was decided by the people upstairs. I didn't have any say in it."
His tone was resigned. Tony's armor had become a military asset, and now even its name and appearance were completely out of his hands.
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