'No adverse reaction—looks like it evaporated.'
The next morning Artoria checked herself: skin still flawless, body still sleek, every calorie seemingly funneled into her oversized bust. Reassured, she let the maid dress her. She'd long since surrendered to the decadent perks of capitalism—money made everything easy.
Clip-clop!
She didn't need to guess whose hooves those were. Her 'mount' was back. The little foal had grown faster than expected, nourished by Artoria's pure mana and a unicorn's peculiar tastes. Nicknamed 'East', she tolerated no men; one examination attempt had ended in tantrums until a cute Nurse helped confirm the filly's gender.
Silvery coat, flowing snow-white mane, sapphire eyes, a spiral horn of polished silver, long athletic legs—still only waist-high yet destined for breathtaking beauty. A rare unicorn-pegasus hybrid.
Luckily Artoria knew runes. A minor glamour dulled memories of 'East', or chaos would have erupted.
'Enough cuddling. Walk finished—time to rest.'
The fuzzy filly nuzzled Artoria's thigh, then trotted happily into the pocket-dimension stable, exhausted from play.
'Research phase complete. Time to resume training. Next up: the Battle of New York.'
The details were hazy, but she remembered highlights—like 'Princess' Loki rag-dolled by the Hulk. Poor guy.
'Armored Cavalry: Motorcycle.'
Using every scrap of Destroyer alloy, she'd commissioned a performance monster. Silver-painted, brutally cool—think Cloud's Fenrir, only now it bore the Stark name and zero Asgardian control runes.
'master, anomalous super-human activity detected. Display feed?'
Saturday's voice yanked Artoria from her daydream of riding the beast into battle.
'Show me.'
She had nothing to fear from a random Mutant. On command a window opened: a broad-shouldered man sprinting at triple human speed—impressive glutes, too.
'Sustained triple-speed sprinting is beyond baseline human capacity.'
'His muscle distribution far exceeds normal parameters, therefore—'
'Therefore, he's our special guy.'
'Affirmative, master.'
When the runner turned his face, Artoria recognized him from an old photo beside young Howard Stark. Captain America, freshly thawed and still adjusting to the modern world.
No one else had noticed; the world believed him dead for decades. Besides, the Human Torch of the Fantastic Four supposedly shared his face—an actor's curse. The nation's icon had become a collectible toy, not a living man.
'A hero's tragedy. Welcome to the future, Captain—Hope you like it.'
She dismissed the feed. Whatever became of Captain America, it wouldn't involve her. If he ever clashed with her big brother, she'd still side with family—because they were Starks.
Seeing him like this really brings back memories! So many years have passed.
You're right, Nick.
Yeah, and that Captain—how long has it been since we last saw him?
A'strange' old man was chatting with the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. It was Howard, using a life model decoy. Even as an LMD, the nostalgia, relief, and sigh at the passage of time shone from those artificial eyes. After learning the Captain had been thawed, he hadn't rushed to meet him; too many years had passed, and he needed time to let his weathered heart adjust. Tony had grown up—no longer a child—and so had Artoria, which filled him with pride. Still, he couldn't help wondering why Tony looked more and more like that Mr. Potts he'd once glimpsed in passing. Yet he loved his child—truly, more purely than gold.
A daughter is, of course, more important than a son… I mean, they're both important.
Nick, are you absolutely set on activating that? I don't think the time is right.
There are still things festering inside S.H.I.E.L.D.; how can we activate it before we clean house?
After mentioning the Captain, Howard voiced his worries. The deeper their investigation went, the more anxious he felt, as though some colossal creature had fastened onto them in the dark—like a parasite living off its host. By now he had no idea how many Special Agents still served the real S.H.I.E.L.D.
Relax. I'll arrange everything. There's a saying in China: 'Cast a long line to catch a big fish.' I'm the bait. When the moment comes, old friend, you'll need to show yourself.
A ruthless resolve glittered in that single dark eye; he was hard on others, harder still on himself—that was the mark of a top-tier Special Agent.
Stay safe. If she came back, things would be easier; you wouldn't have to push yourself so hard.
Don't worry. She'll return—I just Hope she doesn't.
He rubbed the pager in his pocket. Nick spoke; Howard didn't linger, operating his LMD to leave. Only Nick remained, silently staring at Captain America's impressive backside.
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