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[Frog] Chapter 132: Captain America Awakens, Pikachu’s New Suit
🕑 Added 2024-10-28 17:32:12 +0000 UTCSomewhere in New York City.
Black Widow, dressed in her signature black suit, sat lazily across from Nick Fury. Fury looked at her and asked, “Are you sure?”
Black Widow nodded. “I wasn’t certain at first, but after watching the footage from last night, it’s pretty clear. Stark has developed a new energy source, and the palladium poisoning in his system is gradually clearing up.”
She added, “And it seems to have little to do with you.”
Nick Fury’s expression darkened. “I figured. Ever since he met the Emperor, he’s been acting... different.”
Black Widow didn’t seem particularly concerned. In fact, she was somewhat tired of her current life as a spy. If she could, she’d have left by now.
“And still no leads on Spider-Woman or the Emperor?” she asked with feigned ignorance.
Fury responded, “None. Every time we get close to something concrete, all relevant information mysteriously disappears. I suspect someone—or some organization—is covering for them.”
Black Widow gave a nonchalant smile, then stood up. “My assignment isn’t over yet; I’ll be heading back.”
“Your task now is to assess whether Tony Stark is qualified to join the Avengers,” Fury reminded her.
She shot back, “Do you even have a choice? That reverse psychology only works on him, though.”
Without looking back, she walked to the door but paused to add, “I doubt a place like this could hold Steve Rogers.”
Though Fury claimed he was assessing Stark, in reality, he was staging a psychological play. He knew Tony’s personality well—an outright invitation would make Stark feel like an outsider.
By first denying him and then sweetening the deal, Fury could foster a sense of belonging. This way, Tony might truly see himself as part of the Avengers.
As the director of S.H.I.E.L.D., Nick Fury was a master at manipulating others. When it came to psychological plays, few could match him.
Watching Black Widow leave, Fury stayed silent, turning his attention back to the surveillance screen. The subject on the monitor was none other than Captain Steve Rogers, recently retrieved from the ice and showing signs of life.
To ensure that Rogers would stay calm upon waking, Fury had set up a small, period-accurate room, complete with an old-fashioned radio playing a baseball game from Rogers’ time.
Lying on the bed, Rogers started showing faint signs of consciousness as he listened to the familiar baseball commentary, his eyelids twitching slightly.
Fury immediately noticed this on the monitor, quickly standing up and issuing orders through his earpiece, “Send someone in. Make sure to keep him calm and encourage him to stay in the room.”
In a single-story building, a group of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents gathered around a small room hastily built from plywood. Some of the agents were puzzled as to why Fury had chosen such a setup when better facilities were available.
“Understood!” replied the agent in charge, nodding toward a woman dressed as a soldier from Rogers’ era. She wore a serious expression and held a cup of coffee, approaching the room as instructed.
Inside, Rogers awoke, looking around with a mixture of confusion and familiarity. Though nearly seventy years had passed in his frozen state, his body wasn’t overly stiff.
Moving carefully, he sat up on the bed, trying to shake off his disorientation. His last memory was of crashing a plane into the Arctic Ocean, after which everything had gone dark.
Hearing the vintage baseball broadcast, he turned toward the radio with a puzzled expression. The announcer’s voice continued filling the room, and as Rogers listened, his suspicion deepened.
At that moment, a female soldier opened the door and walked in, smiling at Rogers. “Good morning,” she greeted him, then glanced at her old-fashioned watch and joked, “Or maybe I should say good afternoon.”
“Where am I?” Rogers asked directly.
“You’re in a post-surgery recovery room here in New York.”
Between the baseball game on the radio, the sunlight streaming through the window, and the unfamiliar soldier before him, Rogers grew increasingly alert. However, he kept his composure as he asked, “Where exactly am I…?”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” the female agent replied, trying to stay calm. She hadn’t expected the man, who had been frozen for seventy years, to exude such an intimidating presence and keen perception. Their setup was supposed to be flawless.
Rogers looked at her and said, “This game happened in May of 1941.”
“I know,” she responded.
“Because I was there.”
The agent tried to contain her shock—she hadn’t anticipated such a slip. Watching from the control room, Nick Fury’s lips curled slightly. Captain America truly lived up to his reputation.
Realizing the situation was escalating, Fury decided he had to intervene personally.
Rogers rose from the bed and advanced toward the agent. “I’ll ask you one more time,” he demanded. “Where am I?”
Understanding she could no longer keep up the pretense, the agent pressed the button on her pen-like communicator while attempting to calm him. “Captain Rogers! Please, stay calm!”
“Who are you?” Rogers asked, but before he could get an answer, two agents in black suits burst through the door, causing Rogers to take a step back in alertness. The next moment, he charged through, breaking through the flimsy plywood wall and escaping.
As Rogers ran into the unfamiliar surroundings, trying to pick a direction, the female agent called into her communicator, “All agents, emergency alert!”
But Fury’s voice came through, “No need to worry; I’ll handle it from here.”
Times Square, New York.
Rogers sprinted through the streets, bewildered by the vibrant lights and huge screens flashing with images. The bustling crowd and the towering buildings were all strange to him. Several black S.H.I.E.L.D. vehicles pulled up, and Fury stood behind Rogers. “Take it easy, soldier,” Fury said calmly.
“Look, I’m sorry about the staged setup, but we thought it’d be best to help you ease into all of this.”
“Ease into what?” Rogers asked, sensing these people meant no harm and lowering his guard.
“You’ve been asleep, Captain. For about seventy years…”
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At Alan’s house...
Gwen stood in front of a full-length mirror, admiring her new suit. This time, Alan had designed it in a classic red-and-black color scheme, complete with a red-and-black striped hood. And it wasn’t just Gwen—Pikachu also had a matching new outfit.
Pikachu glanced at his reflection with satisfaction, murmuring, “Pika pika…”
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