Steve Rogers felt like he was having a very long dream.
He was sitting in that Hydra bomber equipped with super missiles.
"Damn it! Peggy's waiting for me!"
The alarm wailed, the red lights flashed incessantly, the gauges on the instrument panel had gone off track, and the aircraft could no longer defy gravity, tilting as it flew towards the icy sea.
Steve gripped the control stick tightly, trying to get the plane back up.
"No, I still have a dance to keep!"
The engine had completely lost control, and the bomber, like a heavy piece of scrap metal, plummeted into the sea, trailing billowing black smoke.
The communicator was turned on.
Steve said the famous line, "I still owe you a dance."
Peggy's voice remained gentle yet firm.
"Next Saturday, one week from now, Stork Club, 8 PM. No lateness, Steve."
Steve could only leave behind one last sentence.
I think I'll have to postpone that dance.
They didn't even have time to say goodbye.
With a tremendous roar, the bomber crashed into the icy seawater.
The impact instantly engulfed the entire cockpit.
Steve lost consciousness, and his body went numb, his mind sinking into darkness.
The darkness lasted a long time.
So long that he had forgotten about time.
So long ago, that ball became a hazy dream.
Then, he heard a voice.
"Captain, wake up."
"Captain, can you hear me?"
The voice sounded somewhat familiar, and there was an undisguised excitement in its tone.
Steve gradually regained consciousness.
The first thing to return was a wave of pain.
I had some difficulty breathing, as if something was blocking my airway. The back of my head slammed into the hard ground, and my body felt like it was being pierced by countless needles at once.
The instinct to fight precedes the awakening of consciousness.
Steve suddenly opened his eyes, grabbed the man in front of him by the neck with his right hand, and slammed him to the ground.
"Ahem... Captain, it's me!"
The man's face flushed red, and he frantically pounded on his arm with both hands.
"I am Phil Coulson, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D..!"
S.H.I.E.L.D..?
What is it?
Steve had never heard of this name.
He was only unconscious for a short time after the plane crashed into the sea, at most a few minutes.
But what he saw before him was completely beyond his comprehension.
Metal walls.
A blindingly bright screen.
A dense array of mechanical equipment.
There was also a group of people dressed in unfamiliar clothing.
This is definitely not the cockpit of a bomber; it looks more like a laboratory.
Steve quickly scanned his surroundings, finally fixing his gaze on the one-eyed man in the distance.
The other party was wearing a black trench coat, had a gloomy face, and was tall. Several fully armed agents stood beside him.
This outfit makes him look like a bad person.
Especially that one eye, which makes this guy look nothing like a good person.
Although Hydra is an extremist organization, it is unlikely that it would accept a black person as a high-ranking officer.
But the world is so big, there will always be exceptions.
Let's take him down first.
Steve released Coulson and used his core strength to flip himself up.
The Stars and Stripes shield fell back into his hands.
He shifted to the side, his arm muscles tensing instantly, and the shield, with a terrifying whooshing sound, hurtled straight towards Fury's head.
"Team leader!"
"Coulson cried out in terror."
Fury's pupils contracted sharply, and his hand instinctively reached for the pistol at his waist.
Before he could even draw his gun, the shield was already upon him.
The next second.
The shield stopped.
It was held in mid-air by a hand, its edges still vibrating violently, yet it could not move forward even half an inch.
Chen Mo stood in front of Fury, his five fingers loosely clenched, his expression as calm as if he had caught a flying paper cup.
He glanced down at the shield.
"Is this Captain America's greeting gift? You're a bit grumpy when you wake up."
Steve did not answer.
He stared at Chen Mo, lowered his body again, and prepared to rush forward to take back the weapon.
Chen Mo raised his hand and flicked it.
The shield flew back and landed precisely in Steve's hand.
"Don't be so tense, this isn't Hydra Base."
Steve gripped his shield tightly, watching everyone warily.
Who are you?
This is a rather lengthy question to answer.
Chen Mo pointed to Coulson on the ground.
"Let him get his neck out of your hands first."
Coulson stood up, clutching his neck; a noticeable bruise had appeared on his face.
But he paid no attention to his injuries.
He looked at Steve, his eyes flashing with an alarming light.
"Captain, it really is me."
"I am Phil Coulson, a Level 8 Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.."
"Are you with the military?" Steve frowned.
No, S.H.I.E.L.D.. is an international security organization.
"I've never heard of it."
"Because it was established after you went missing."
Coulson took a deep breath, trying to calm his tone.
"Captain, it's not 1945 anymore."
Steve's eyes grew even colder.
What year is it now?
The laboratory fell silent.
Coulson glanced at Fury, and only after receiving the other's tacit approval did he slowly say, "2010."
Steve's fingers tightened slightly.
"What did you say?"
"Captain, it's already 2010."
This number, like a dull knife, slowly sliced away his last vestiges of hope.
Seventy years.
He slept in the ice for seventy years.
What about Carter?
Where's Bucky?
What about that ball?
Steve looked down at the somewhat faded paint on his shield.
It still stood firmly in front of itself, only the shield remembered that war.
"That's impossible. I was only unconscious for a few minutes after the plane crashed."
"According to our records, you were preserved under the Arctic Ocean ice cap; the long-term freezing may have caused some memory problems," Coulson said. "Mr. Chen Mo dug you out of the plane."
Steve suddenly looked up.
Chen Mo leaned against the lab bench, picked up a grape, and put it in his mouth.
"You're welcome. I just felt S.H.I.E.L.D.. needed a mascot, so I dug you out while I was at it."
Fury's face immediately turned ugly.
" Steve Rogers, this is Nick Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.."
Steve stared at him for a few seconds.
The chief? A Black man? While I don't discriminate against Black people, isn't this a bit strange?
"Um, okay, I'll pretend this is 2010 for now. Why did you bring me here?"
"Because you've just woken up, your condition is still unstable," Fury said in a deep voice. "The equipment here can help you recover; we mean you no harm."
Steve looked around.
"What about my plane?"
Still in the Arctic Ocean.
Are there any other people on the plane?
"Only you," Coulson said quickly. "We've checked; there's no one alive."
Steve fell silent.
His tactical instincts told him that these people did not intend to attack him immediately.
But that doesn't mean he already trusts them, especially the Easterner who caught the shield with his bare hands.
This person is very dangerous.
"I need to leave here."
Steve raised his shield and turned slightly toward the exit.
"I still have a mission."
Tony finally couldn't hold back any longer.
What other tasks do you have?
"Stop Hydra."
It's over.
Tony spread his hands. "You're seventy years too late."
Steve frowned deeply.
This news is even harder to accept than being asleep for seventy years.
The enemy he once desperately tried to stop had vanished without his knowledge.
He missed his family, his comrades, the era, and that dance he could never attend again.
No one spoke in the lab.
Coulson wanted to offer some words of comfort several times, but he didn't know where to begin.
Chen Mo didn't continue teasing.
Anyone would need some time to adjust if they were forcibly thrown into the future from the past.
But Tony clearly didn't have that kind of patience.
"Alright, stop making that world-ending face."
He snapped his the Snap.
A crisp sound rang out.
The dimly lit laboratory instantly illuminated.
Hundreds of holographic projections rose simultaneously from the ground, walls, and ceiling, interweaving 3D maps, flight data, energy models, and city images.
The mechanical platform in the distance quickly opened.
Tall Iron Man Armor rose from the shadows, their shoulder weapons automatically unfolding, and their palms gleaming with a blinding blue light.
Armor in shades of red-gold, silver-white, and pure black was arranged throughout the laboratory.
They made no sound, yet filled the entire underground space with an atmosphere of danger.
Steve's pupils contracted sharply.
He gripped his shield tightly and slowly turned his body.
There was no sky above.
There were no trenches nearby.
Everything here was beyond his comprehension.
Tony stood with his arms outstretched amidst countless mechanical armors, his face still sporting that smug grin.
Welcome to the new era, veteran.