The massive reinforced gates of the V.G.D. base slowly swung open.
Brock Rumlow felt a surge of relief.
At least they know when to fold, he thought. Finally showing some sense.
But the person who walked out wasn't Steve Rogers in handcuffs.
It was a woman radiating absolute authority—Ashley Barrett.
Behind her stood dozens of heavily armed Vought security personnel, along with more than a dozen city heroes already suited up for combat.
"Stop right there!" Rumlow drew his pistol and aimed it at her. "I don't want to hurt you, ma'am!"
"But don't do anything irrational!"
"Agent Rumlow, is it?" Ashley sneered, lifting the documents in her hand.
"Are you attempting to arrest a Vought S-Class registered hero?"
"What?!" Rumlow froze.
"Steve Rogers is now an S-Class registered hero under Vought Global Defense & Hero Operations," Ashley announced loudly.
"Under the Superhuman Registration Act, he is entitled to special operational immunity while on duty."
"If you intend to arrest him, please present a special arrest warrant personally signed by President Ellis."
"We are S.H.I.E.L.D.!" Rumlow barked, trying to sound fierce. "The World Security Council authorizes us! We don't need White House approval!"
Of course he didn't have the President's signature.
And at this point, the President absolutely wouldn't sign one.
"Oh? Is that so?"
Ashley smiled mockingly.
"Then you may have forgotten something."
"This is the United States of America."
"Here, we are protected by U.S. law."
"And if you intend to force your way in…"
Her gaze sharpened as she gestured behind her—toward trainees whose eyes glowed red, whose bodies bristled with spikes, and who were already casually forming fireballs.
"…my heroes, under qualified immunity, would be delighted to conduct a perfectly legal act of self-defense."
"You—!" Rumlow choked.
He stared at Ashley, finger trembling on the trigger.
But he didn't dare fire.
This was Vought.
Above them, hundreds of drones were livestreaming.
If he pulled the trigger, never mind whether he'd be torn apart on the spot by people in colorful spandex—
By tomorrow, S.H.I.E.L.D. itself would be ripped apart by an enraged public.
"…Retreat!" Rumlow growled. "This isn't over!"
Behind him came waves of cheers and mocking laughter.
The convoy turned around and began withdrawing.
-----
However, when the lead armored vehicle reached the outer checkpoint gate—
The barrier didn't lift.
A grizzled old bruiser with a cigar in his mouth slowly ambled over and knocked on the driver's window.
"What the hell is it?!" Rumlow rolled it down and snapped.
"Parking fee," the old man said calmly, pointing to a sign.
"…What?" Rumlow thought he'd misheard.
"Non-authorized vehicles and visitors without appointments entering controlled zones must pay land-use occupation fees," the man said flatly, tapping the fine print.
Rumlow looked.
[Temporary Parking: $500 per minute]
"Are you insane?!" Rumlow roared. "I'm here on official business! I'm S.H.I.E.L.D.!"
"S.H.I.E.L.D. still pays," the man replied, pulling out a timer.
"You stayed forty-five minutes. That's $22,500 per vehicle. Cash or card?"
"I—!"
Rumlow was so angry he nearly tore the steering wheel off.
"If you don't pay," the old man added, pointing ahead,
"there are three more blast barricades and spike strips. Hope your driving's smooth."
"PAY THEM!" Rumlow screamed at his adjutant.
"Sir… my credit limit—"
"POOL IT! EVERYONE EMPTY YOUR WALLETS!"
Five minutes later—
After scraping together every last dollar, the once-imposing S.H.I.E.L.D. convoy finally drove away in humiliated silence.
-----
South Africa — Johannesburg
The sun blazed overhead.
A counter-terror raid was underway.
Antony hovered mid-air, having just sliced through a fleeing armored vehicle with his heat vision.
Ding!
A cheerful system prompt chimed in his mind.
System Notice:
Captain America Steve Rogers has officially registered as a Vought hero and joined the host's contracted roster.
Reward: Special Popularity +50,000
Reward: Special Physical Enhancement — American Ass™
Passive Effect:
When facing away from the audience, Charm +50%
Allied morale +30%
Antony froze mid-air.
Completely.
Bullets clanged uselessly off his chest as he stared into the void.
"…What."
He exploded internally.
"American Ass?! System, are you sick in the head?! I busted my ass recruiting Cap, and THIS is what I get?!"
"Couldn't you at least give me a leadership aura?!"
"What the hell am I supposed to do with a butt?!"
The system, as always, ignored him.
A strange heat surged straight toward his… lower rear.
It felt like two invisible hands were expertly sculpting and energizing his glute muscles.
Firm. Tight. Spring-loaded.
"…Hiss—"
Antony sucked in a sharp breath, his body unconsciously straightening.
At that moment—
"Antony?!"
Jessica Jones flew in from the flank.
She'd just punched a rocket-launcher terrorist into paste—and now saw Antony hovering there like a practice target, taking gunfire without reacting.
"What's wrong?! Are you hurt?!"
She rushed over, alarmed, circling behind him to check for injuries.
Then—
She lifted his cape.
Her gaze… locked.
The blue bodysuit clung perfectly.
That curve.
That tension.
Jessica's breath stalled for half a beat.
She'd seen plenty of men online.
But this?
This was art.
"This bastard…" her eyes glazed slightly. "…When did he train this? This is way too—too—"
Before her brain could catch up—
Smack.
Her hand landed squarely on that American Ass™.
The feel—
Springy. Firm. Warm.
Jessica's mind blanked.
Instinctively—
She squeezed.
Antony: "?!!"
He spun around in shock.
Jessica's hand was still there, frozen mid-grab in the most awkward position imaginable.
Their eyes met in mid-air.
Time stopped.
Gunfire, explosions, screams—everything vanished.
Only suffocating awkwardness remained.
"Uh—"
Jessica's usually cool face flushed crimson at visible speed, all the way to her ears… and down her neck.
She stammered:
"I—I was just… that was… a tactical maneuver! Yes! I was checking if your suit was damaged!"