Marvel's Iron Lady

The white putty-coated walls, the lower half painted in a cheap green, and the creaking sound of a ceiling fan awakened the person lying in bed. In this room, styled after the 1940s, Steve Rogers slowly opened his eyes. He sat up gradually, leaning against the pillow behind him, his expression somewhat dazed as he instinctively surveyed his surroundings.

Before becoming Captain America, he was an excellent soldier, and as a soldier, he was always vigilant about his environment. Especially now—his memory seemed off. Before he lost consciousness, he should have been on the front lines in Germany, fighting Hydra.

"The Dodgers are tied 4-4... Ebbets Field, another glorious day," came the slightly static-laced live broadcast from a wooden radio on the windowsill. "The Phillies have tied the score at 4-4, but the Dodgers still have three substitutes ready to go..."

Listening to the broadcast, Rogers' expression grew solemn. As he stared blankly at the old-fashioned radio, the sound of a door opening behind him caught his attention. A woman dressed in a light green military shirt and a dark green skirt, typical of the U.S. Army, entered the room. She had long, wavy hair, her face lightly powdered, and her lips painted a striking red.

"Good morning—or should I say, good afternoon. I'm glad to see you're awake," she said with a sweet smile that seemed to have a certain charm.

"Where am I?" Rogers asked, without showing any appreciation for her politeness.

"This is a recovery room in New York, Captain," she replied.

"The Dodgers lead, 8-4—oh, Dodgers! The crowd is on its feet!" the broadcast continued.

Though the woman's words seemed normal enough, Rogers' frown deepened. He glanced at the window, where the off-white curtains swayed gently in the breeze. Through the panes, he could see the neatly arranged windows of another building across the street. Outside, the sounds of a bustling street—people chatting, car horns blaring—drifted up from below.

It seemed there was a busy street below, yet Rogers felt no trace of the usual city life. Despite just being freed from the ice, Steve Rogers didn't show any signs of weakness. His demeanor shifted suddenly, making the atmosphere in the room tense as he studied the woman before him with a sharp gaze.

"Tell me where I am, and be honest," he demanded, his tone growing more severe.

The woman's composure faltered under his intense scrutiny. "Captain, I don't understand what you mean..." she responded, her smile reappearing as she shook her head, though her expression now held a hint of confusion. But that smile was identical to the one she had when she first entered—perhaps it might fool others, but it couldn't deceive him.

"The sound outside is coming from the floor level, the building across the street is just a painting, and even this room..." Rogers trailed off as he got out of bed and walked briskly to the wall beside it.

Under the woman's increasingly panicked gaze, he punched the wall, leaving a hole the size of a bowl. The thin plasterboard wall stood no chance against his iron fist—it was fake, the entire wall was fake.

"I was at that game being broadcast, so I'll ask you one last time—where am I?" His sharp gaze bore into the woman, who now looked up at the dangerous man in front of her.

Even after more than seventy years of slumber, Steve Rogers was still the strong and dangerous super soldier known as Captain America. Captain America was synonymous with strength—on the battlefields of World War II, he had killed countless enemies, and the smell of blood clung to him.

Facing such a formidable presence, even a well-trained and experienced female agent couldn't help but feel flustered. She feared that if she made even the slightest mistake, this dangerous man would perceive her as an enemy and eliminate her on the spot. The more nervous she became, the more dangerous Rogers' expression grew—until her hand accidentally brushed against something.

It was a small alarm button; just one press would summon others to ensure the situation in the room was under control.

"Captain, I—" The S.H.I.E.L.D. agent began, but before she could finish, the door behind her was suddenly slammed open.

Two agents dressed in black tactical gear rushed into the room, but Rogers' fierce gaze immediately locked onto them like they were dangerous predators. The intensity of his glare froze the two agents in place; they didn't move but dared not take any action either. They knew full well that the tall, stern man before them was a national hero. If they were to make a move against Captain America, not only might they fail to subdue him, but they would likely face severe consequences.

This was Captain America, the hero who had helped win World War II. If they dared to attack him, their careers would be over. While the two agents hesitated, Rogers had no such concerns; in the next moment, he sent both of them flying with a single strike. Their bodies crashed through the flimsy plaster and plywood wall, shattering it entirely.

Seeing the hole in the wall, Rogers noticed that the space beyond was encased in metal. Wasting no time, he charged through it. "Attention all units, Situation-13—Captain Rogers has escaped his room. Repeat, Captain Rogers has left his room," the female agent reported over the radio after Rogers had made his escape.

Unhindered, Steve Rogers sprinted down the hallway, heading towards the opposite end. Along the way, the people in black suits who saw him and heard the broadcast immediately dropped what they were doing. Whether they were clerks or agents, they all shared a common identity—they were all S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.

More importantly, if Captain America were to escape, the situation would become unmanageable. His identity was too important; even after his revival, he couldn't be exposed to the public just yet. However, there was a problem—they were all ordinary people, and despite their S.H.I.E.L.D. training, they were still just ordinary people.

Using his superhuman strength, Rogers quickly evaded pursuit and burst out of the building, heading towards the distance. The S.H.I.E.L.D. New York branch was located in the East Broadway area, only half a block from Times Square. A large number of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents poured out of the office, following Captain Rogers' footsteps towards Times Square.

"Warning to all units at the New York branch, Captain Rogers has reached Times Square—"

As more and more S.H.I.E.L.D. agents arrived, chaos broke out in Times Square, which was already crowded with people. This was Times Square, home to dozens of large shopping malls and theaters—the center of New York City. The Broadway theaters, the neon sign advertisements on the buildings, and the promotional billboards left Rogers overwhelmed.

Of course, he recognized the place; this was Times Square, but it was fundamentally different from the rundown square he remembered. Now, the streets were bustling with people and vehicles, lively yet strangely foreign to him. Soon, dozens of black Chevrolet Suburbans arrived from all directions, encircling Times Square.

The scene quickly descended into chaos, but S.H.I.E.L.D. agents moved swiftly to cordon off the center of the square from the outside world. Certain departments were likely to face consequences for this. One of the black SUVs drove straight to Rogers in the middle of the square, and a man stepped out.

"Listen—I apologize for that poor performance," the man began. "Our psychologists believed you needed time to adjust to the changes."

He was a black man wearing a long black coat and an eye patch, exuding an air of authority.

"I told you, a muscle-bound guy like him would never understand your intentions," a tall woman disembarked after him, her tone laced with sarcasm.

"What are you talking about? What happened to me?" Rogers ignored the woman beside Fury, focusing only on learning the truth from the man who seemed to be in charge.

"You've been asleep for seventy years, Captain Rogers. We only recently managed to dig you out of the ice."

"To be precise, it was I who found you and provided the equipment to dig you out," the woman added with a smirk, stepping up beside Fury.

Hearing their back-and-forth, Rogers' scrambled memories started to clear. He remembered what had happened before he fell into that long sleep—crashing the plane into the sea, the Red Skull being consumed by the Tesseract, and the icy waves rushing into the cockpit through the shattered window.

He also remembered someone—a person buried deep within his memory, someone he had made a promise to. As countless memories intertwined, they formed a surreal scene, leaving Rogers momentarily disoriented.

"So... the war is over?" he asked, taking a few seconds to gather himself before speaking again, this time with a slight tremor in his voice.

"It's over, thanks to you. You stopped Hydra's plans and brought us victory," Fury explained, his dark complexion making it difficult to read his expression.

"Then why did you wake me up? This world doesn't need me anymore," Rogers sighed, his eyes now filled with sorrow. He had survived and become a hero, but in doing so, he had lost his chance to return to the woman he loved.

"You're wrong—so very wrong. This world needs you now more than ever," the woman said, stepping forward and gently patting Rogers on the shoulder.

But Rogers, having regained his composure, paid little attention to her comfort; his thoughts were on someone else. Seventy years had passed—two people who loved each other had missed out on seventy years together. How many lifetimes does a person get?

"I told you he wasn't ready for all of this, but you insisted on waking him up," the woman sighed, casting a reproachful glance at Fury.

From the beginning, she had wanted to prevent S.H.I.E.L.D. from waking Steve Rogers, but they hadn't listened. Perhaps Captain America was simply too important to them, and there wasn't much she could do about it.

"He needs time to adjust to everything. I'll arrange for trauma counseling," Fury said, waving his hand to signal the agents to start clearing the square.

"She's still alive. You still have time to go see her. Cherish it," he added, this time addressing Steve Rogers, whose head snapped up at his words.

"And you, Miss Stark, I'm afraid I won't have time this afternoon after such a big incident. As for our meeting, I'll arrange it for tonight. See you then—" With that, Fury turned and left with Steve Rogers.

"You—what kind of person does that? So unreliable," Miss Stark muttered softly, her expression turning slightly resentful. But Maria Hill, who stood beside her, merely chuckled, saying nothing.