Coulson felt like he had been running himself ragged lately. If he wasn't already working overtime, he was on his way to work overtime.
Not that employee benefits or labor protections had meant much since he'd become an agent of a classified organization, but wasn't his boss pushing him a little too hard?
The disappearance of Iron Man. Recovering Captain America. Tracking Superman. Cleaning up after the Hulk incident. Thor's hammer. Tracking Superman.
And tracking Superman.
Alright, Coulson finally understood something.
More than half of his workload seemed to be caused by a certain flying superhuman they still hadn't officially established contact with.
No wonder the boss had called earlier just to chew him out again.
Though it really wasn't his fault. Superman was a superpowered individual capable of flying at ten times the speed of sound, and Stark was constantly covering for him both openly and behind the scenes. Who could possibly keep track of him without resorting to force?
This time, Tony had apparently caused yet another disaster.
A sixty-meter-tall giant robot had literally fallen out of the sky and crushed the rooftop logo and helicopter landing pad on top of Stark Tower.
Footage captured by long-range cameras was being projected onto a display inside the Quinjet cabin. As Coulson observed the scene, he naturally noticed Superman waiting on the rooftop.
Then, while staring at Superman through the screen, Coulson suddenly realized something.
It felt as though the other man was staring right back at him.
Through the screen.
Across dozens of miles.
The sensation was so strong that Coulson glanced at the instrument panel and double-checked that the Quinjet's optical cloaking system was functioning normally.
"Everyone, be friendly when we get there. Don't make any unnecessary movements. There's a good chance the target isn't the kind of dangerous superpowered human we usually deal with."
After repeatedly reminding the strike team members like an overly concerned middle-aged mother, Coulson prepared himself for another round of diplomatic persuasion.
He didn't forget to bring along the idol sitting beside him.
"Cap, would you like to come with me?"
"You can just call me Steve, Coulson."
On his first mission since being thawed from the ice, Captain America adjusted the vibranium shield strapped to his left arm before awkwardly tugging at his uniform.
"Couldn't you have found me a different outfit? The gear your field agents wear looks perfectly fine."
The old uniform Coulson had found wasn't bad, exactly.
It was reasonably comfortable and durable.
And it was practically a perfect one-to-one recreation of the very first uniform Steve had worn during World War II.
Coulson collected all sorts of memorabilia, including every Captain America comic book and piece of merchandise produced since the 1960s. Producing a 100% accurate replica uniform wasn't surprising at all.
The problem was that it was too accurate.
Every time Steve wore it, it reminded him of the embarrassing days when he had been little more than a propaganda mascot, singing and dancing for senators, businessmen, and wealthy socialites.
Lyrics like: Who's strong and brave, here to save the American Way, Carry the flag shore to shore for America, The Star Spangled Man with a Plan, still echoed through his mind from time to time.
The present-day Steve Rogers would rather spend another full day fighting HYDRA bastards—even if it meant taking a couple of bullets—than relive those painfully embarrassing memories.
"How aggressive is the target?"
Captain America wasn't someone who sought conflict, but a competent commander always prepared for every possibility.
"Is there a chance things could turn hostile?"
"Anything's possible, Cap, but I think we'll be alright."
Coulson kept his eyes fixed on the monitor projection.
"The guy can tolerate Tony Stark, after all. That suggests he can't have a terrible personality."
Then he paused.
"Speaking of which... do you get the feeling that the target has been staring straight at us this whole time?"
Coulson was, after all, a Level 8 S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. That feeling of being watched wasn't coming out of nowhere.
Captain America, whose senses had been enhanced by the Super Soldier Serum, noticed it as well.
Without hesitation, he raised a hand and gave a military salute toward Superman, who was more than ten miles away on the other side of the monitor.
Then, on the screen, Superman casually waved back in the direction of the camera.
"Yes, Coulson. Your instincts were right."
After confirming it for himself, Steve's expression turned serious as he nodded.
"Even from several miles away, while we're under optical camouflage... he can still see us."
---
Tony Stark fled back to his seaside mansion, the same one that he and Joey had managed to thoroughly wreck over the course of just a few days.
For Tony Stark, the beauty of life had never been his fortune, luxury cars, or beautiful women.
It was the future.
A future filled with limitless possibilities, shaped by his own intelligence and effort.
But if the future was already predetermined—and if he was destined to become a villain—then what exactly was he still moving forward for?
He had chosen to be a hero.
Someone who did everything in his power to help others.
Someone who would continue doing the right thing no matter how difficult the obstacles in front of him became.
And now everything was a mess.
He didn't even know what the right thing was anymore.
Every step he and Joey had taken over the past few days seemed to bring him closer and closer to that future Doctor Doom.
He still remembered why he had originally accompanied Joey to Universe 2099.
The goal had been simple: bridge the technological gap as quickly as possible and figure out how to decipher—and perhaps even replicate—the Amazo Core.
And now he had succeeded.
He hadn't acquired any of Universe 2099's advanced technology, but he had grasped the key principles.
Joey's earlier advice about relying more heavily on sensors wasn't something Tony had ignored.
The moment Doctor Doom's army of Amazo robots had appeared in Universe 2099, every scanner and sensor built into his armor had been running at full capacity.
To anyone else, the fragmented data returned by those scans would have been completely useless.
Unless that 'anyone else' happened to be the creator of the robots.
Iron Man.
Some second-rate programmers couldn't even recognize code they had written the day before.
Tony Stark was not one of those people.
From that brief glimpse in Universe 2099, he had already obtained the answer to the problem that had been troubling him.
Give him a month or two, and he could fully understand the operating principles of the Amazo robots.
Enough to begin building a new one himself.
The only problem was that the destruction of Universe 2099 had already demonstrated the limitless potential of those machines.
They were weapons far beyond Jericho missiles.
Far beyond Iron Man armor.
Should he really create something so overwhelmingly deadly to the vast majority of superpowered beings?
Should he really build not just one... but thousands?
Had he truly prepared himself to walk down a path that might ultimately lead to ruin?
Though his mind was tangled with doubt, his hands never stopped moving.
Inside the laboratory, Tony opened a secure vault and carefully removed the Amazo Core.
He held it gently in his palms.
The curiosity that burned within one of the world's greatest scientific minds drove him to begin unraveling the technology hidden inside, regardless of the consequences.
"Hello there, Pandora's Box."