Marvel: A.T.L.A.S. - Ghost Protocol

Titan Facility Medical Wing - August 1987

Howard Stark sat beside Caspian's recovery bed, scotch forgotten in his hand. Through the observation window, Manhattan's skyline glittered in summer heat. No trace remained of the supernatural cold that had nearly consumed it.

"Your grandfather made the same choice," Howard said quietly. "Back in '48. Stood alone against something ancient, knowing the cost." His hands shook slightly. "Watching you in that vault... it was like seeing Arthur again."

The Emperor Eye tracked micro-tremors in Howard's voice, caught the guilt beneath his words. The older man had been fighting these shadows for decades, watching friends die, keeping secrets that poisoned him slowly.

"How did he handle it?" Caspian's voice was stronger now, though frost still formed with each breath. "Afterward?"

"He went colder. More focused. The weight of knowing what's really out there..." Howard finally took a drink. "That's why he built A.T.L.A.S. the way he did. Independent. Absolute. Because some threats can't be managed by committee."

---

In her private office, Carrie Valemont reviewed after-action reports. To anyone watching, she was the perfect image of A.T.L.A.S.'s Director. Only Walter, standing quietly by the door, saw how her hands lingered over medical files.

"He'll recover fully," Walter said softly.

"That's not what concerns me." Carrie's voice was precise, controlled. "He faced something ancient. Something that spoke to him. Changed him. And he chose duty over corruption." Pride and fear mixed in her tone. "Just like Arthur did."

"The burden of the name," Walter acknowledged. "But he carries it well."

"He carries too much." For just a moment, the Director's mask slipped, showing the mother beneath. "And there will be more. Always more."

---

Tony Stark burst into the medical wing like a force of nature, all nervous energy and hidden concern. "Three weeks," he said without preamble. "No calls, no messages, just some vague story about a training accident. You really think I bought that?"

The Emperor Eye caught the genuine worry behind Tony's aggressive tone. The subtle signs of sleepless nights and frustrated attempts to breach A.T.L.A.S. security protocols.

"Tony—"

"Save it." Tony dropped into the visitor's chair. "I know the drill. Family business. Classified. Need to know. Just..." He ran a hand through disheveled hair. "You scared the hell out of me, you know that?"

"I know." Caspian watched frost patterns form and fade on his water glass. "Thank you. For caring enough to be angry."

Something in his tone made Tony look up sharply. The Emperor Eye caught the moment his friend truly saw him—saw the changes the ice had left. Not just physical, but deeper.

"Jesus, Cas." Tony's voice softened. "What happened to you?"

"I made a choice." The frost patterns shifted, complex and beautiful. "The kind of choice a Valemont has to make."

---

In the facility's training area, Walter supervised the cleanup of ice damage. Junior agents worked efficiently, but he caught their whispered conversations. Word had spread about what happened in the vault. About the agent who faced something impossible and won.

"Sir?" One of the younger analysts approached. "Is it true? About Agent Valemont?"

Walter considered his response carefully. These moments, these stories, shaped A.T.L.A.S.'s culture. Defined what it meant to serve.

"He did his duty," Walter said simply. "As his grandfather did. As any Valemont would."

The weight of that legacy hung in the air. The knowledge that some families didn't just serve—they stood as bridges between humanity and darkness.

---

Night fell over Titan. In his medical room, Caspian watched frost form and melt on his skin. The Emperor Eye tracked changes in his cellular structure, adaptations born from ancient ice. Not corruption, but evolution. The price of standing against the dark.

Howard had dozed off in the visitor's chair, decades of guilt and secrets weighing on his shoulders. Tony had finally left, but not before extracting promises of future contact. Through the facility's systems, he felt his mother coordinating A.T.L.A.S. operations, protecting a world that would never know how close it came to freezing.

The Valemont legacy was more than just duty or power. It was standing alone against ancient threats. Making choices that cost pieces of your soul. Carrying burdens in silence.

But not complete silence, Caspian reflected. Not anymore. Howard understood, having watched his grandfather make similar choices. Tony cared enough to be angry at being shut out. His mother... she understood best of all.

Some weights were meant to be carried alone. But that didn't mean you had to be lonely while carrying them.