Levi returned to the top-floor office of Stark Tower. Night had fallen.
He poured himself a glass of water and stood before the floor-to-ceiling window. Below him, New York shimmered like a river of light.
Quiet.
He didn't like quiet.
The fight in New Mexico had loosened his muscles, but it had left him even more bored. Thor had returned to Asgard. Loki had fallen into the cosmic abyss. Earth suddenly lacked anything interesting enough to stir him.
Peace meant nothing to do.
A quarterly Stark Industries financial report sat on his desk. He picked it up and skimmed it—Energy Division profits up three hundred percent.
All thanks to Tony's triangular arc reactor.
The man had a foul mouth—but he delivered results.
Levi tossed the report aside. The numbers meant nothing to him.
What he cared about was when the next interesting "toy" would appear.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
"Come in."
Natasha Romanoff stepped inside, dressed in a tailored business suit, tablet in hand. Her expression was neutral.
"Mr. Chen. The Polaris Project survey report."
Polaris Project.
Officially, it was a Stark Industries deep-sea exploration initiative.
Unofficially, only Levi and a handful of others knew its true purpose—
To locate the Valkyrie bomber that crashed into the Arctic Ocean seventy years ago.
To find Steve.
"Results?" Levi asked, taking the tablet.
"Yes." Natasha's tone remained even. "Greenland Sea. Coordinates 75°N, 72°W. A large metallic signature. Sonar scans match a WWII bomber."
Levi scrolled through the blurry green sonar images.
A wreck.
Thousands of meters below.
"And inside?"
"There's an anomalous life signal," Natasha said carefully. "Extremely weak. But stable. The team suspects deep-sea biological activity within the wreckage."
Levi's lips curved faintly.
Not a sea creature.
Super-soldier serum had slowed a man's metabolism to near zero.
Suspended between life and death.
He handed the tablet back.
"Inform Nick Fury," Levi said. "Tell him I found what he's been searching for for decades. He can retrieve it. Use Stark's encrypted channel. No paper trail."
"Understood."
She turned to leave.
"Wait."
Natasha paused.
"When a man who's slept seventy years wakes up," Levi asked casually, "what does he want to see first?"
She didn't hesitate long.
"A familiar face."
"Good answer."
She left.
The office fell silent again.
Levi poured himself whiskey this time. Ice clinked against glass.
Seventy years.
A lifetime for ordinary people.
For him, barely a nap.
Names surfaced in his mind.
Dugan. Falsworth. Gabe.
The Howling Commandos were likely names etched into stone now.
Peggy Carter would be elderly—silver-haired, perhaps in a wheelchair.
Only a few of them remained untouched by time.
Logan.
Himself.
And soon—
Steve Rogers.
Old friend.
The phrase felt unfamiliar… but solid.
Levi picked up a black satellite phone and dialed Nick Fury.
It connected after a single ring.
"It's me."
"I know," Fury replied, weary and cautious. "Romanoff briefed me. Mr. Chen… thank you."
"It's not thanks. It's investment. I'm reclaiming an asset."
Silence.
"Recovery begins immediately," Fury said. "Forty-eight hours, we'll have him in New York."
"I want to be there when he wakes."
A pause.
"We have psychological protocols," Fury said carefully. "Controlled environment. Gradual exposure. A man waking after seventy years—shock can destabilize even enhanced individuals."
Levi gave a short, humorless laugh.
"You mean a fake 1940s hospital room? Painted walls. Actress nurse. Old baseball broadcasts playing in the background?"
Fury went quiet.
"How do you—"
"Don't insult him," Levi cut in. "He's Captain America. Your props wouldn't fool him for three seconds. Then you'd have a startled super-soldier tearing through your facility."
Another silence.
"Your proposal?"
"I'll be there. First face he sees is mine. A familiar face beats a hundred psychologists. Your people stay outside."
Fury exhaled.
"…Fine."
He had little leverage.
"Send me the location."
Levi ended the call and drained his glass.
Old friend.
I'll be there when you wake.
…
Two days later.
A secure S.H.I.E.L.D. medical facility outside New York.
Armed agents stood everywhere.
Behind one-way glass, Phil Coulson watched a hospital room decorated in 1940s style. On the bed lay a blonde man connected to monitors.
Captain America.
Coulson's palms were sweaty.
The door opened silently.
Levi stepped inside.
"Mr. Chen—" Coulson straightened immediately.
"Status?"
"Vitals stable. Like he's sleeping. Physiology remains at peak twenty-something condition."
Levi glanced at the staged room.
"Turn off the baseball broadcast."
"Sir, that's part of the—"
"Turn it off."
"Yes, sir."
The sound cut.
Levi entered the room itself and pulled up a chair beside the bed.
He waited.
Seven decades.
Steve's face was unchanged. Young. Stubborn. Brooklyn written into his bones.
After a long stretch of silence—
Steve's eyelids twitched.
Then opened.
His gaze snapped sharp instantly. He sat upright, scanning the room.
White walls. Old furniture. Outside—New York?
Something felt wrong.
Too clean.
Too new.
No hospital disinfectant smell.
His eyes landed on Levi.
And froze.
"…Chu Hang?"
His voice was hoarse, disbelieving.
Levi smiled faintly.
"Sleep well, Captain?"
Steve's mind raced.
"The mission— the plane— Peggy—"
"The mission succeeded," Levi said calmly. "Red Skull is gone. The plane didn't hit New York."
Steve swung his legs over the bed.
"Where am I?"
Levi didn't answer directly.
He walked to the window—
And tore the curtains open.
Outside: modern facility grounds. Armed agents. Futuristic structures.
A different world.
Steve's breathing faltered.
"How long?"
His voice trembled.
Levi looked at him steadily.
"A long time."
Then, clearly—
"Welcome to the twenty-first century, Captain."
"You've been asleep for nearly seventy years."
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