Darren stared at Steve Rogers for a few seconds, then quietly stepped out of the chamber.
He wasn't some pervert. Watching America's golden hero lying there shirtless with those ridiculous pecs was awkward enough , he didn't need to spend his day admiring the Star-Spangled Chest.
Besides, his job was simple: standby and supervise. The rest of the medical and security teams would handle the boring stuff.
Finding a nice corner, Darren sat down, pulled out a comic book, and slipped neatly into AFK mode.
"Poor Joker," he murmured, flipping a page. "Beaten up by that bat again."
...
The next morning, a message buzzed across his comms , Captain America is waking up.
Darren snapped the comic shut and jogged toward the containment area. But as soon as he reached the door, a commotion erupted inside.
Steve Rogers , freshly thawed, disoriented, but still very much the soldier he used to be , had opened his eyes.
And within seconds, he'd figured it out.
All the carefully placed props, the 1940s music, the fake baseball broadcast , none of it fooled him. This was a man who'd survived Hydra deception, Nazi espionage, and Stark's ego. A couple of S.H.I.E.L.D. interns in period costumes weren't going to trick him.
When the agents tried to calm him down, Steve did what he did best.
He moved.
Lightning-fast punches, textbook takedowns , the next few seconds turned into a blur of flying bodies and groans.
The once-peaceful "Steve Rogers recovery ward" now looked like a bar fight gone nuclear.
And then Steve sprinted for the door.
For a man who'd been a human popsicle for seventy years, he moved like a panther , muscles coiled, boots pounding, every instinct screaming escape.
Only one thing stood between him and freedom.
Darren.
"Out of my way!" Steve barked, charging forward.
Darren grinned. "Sorry, road's closed."
Steve frowned, his instincts on high alert. Then, before he could decide whether to dodge or shove, Darren yelled ,
"Watch the fist!"
Steve braced for a punch , only for Darren to kick him straight in the chest.
The air exploded between them.
Steve's arms crossed instinctively, blocking just in time , but the impact still rattled through his bones. The shockwave forced him back several steps, boots scraping against the floor, until he steadied himself with a sharp exhale.
That strength… that wasn't normal.
For a brief moment, his soldier's mind whirred. Super-soldier serum? Enhanced combatant? Hydra experiment?
Whatever this man was, he wasn't standard issue.
Steve dropped into a combat stance, fists raised. "Fine. Let's see what you've got."
His punch came like thunder.
Darren tilted his head , the fist sliced the air just past his nose.
Then came the follow-ups , a flurry of precise, powerful strikes, each transitioning flawlessly into the next.
The Captain's fighting style was an art form: boxing, judo, kickboxing, even some hand-to-hand tactics lifted straight from the SSR playbook. Every move honed by years of battlefield survival.
But none of it landed.
Darren slipped through every attack with lazy grace, ducking and weaving like a man dancing to music only he could hear.
"Muay Thai warning!" he suddenly called out cheerfully.
Before Steve could react, Darren twisted and drove his elbow squarely into the man's chest.
Originally, he'd aimed for the face , but that heroic chest plateau was just too damn distracting.
THUD!
Steve staggered back with a groan, clutching his ribs.
Darren smirked. "You might as well give up, Captain Rogers."
Steve grit his teeth, eyes fierce. "I can do this all day, you Hydra scum!"
Darren froze. "...Wait, what?"
Hydra?
Oh, crap. Did I blow my cover somehow?
But then it clicked.
Steve's last clear memory was from the war , his final battle against Hydra. He'd gone down fighting, and now, waking up in an unfamiliar facility surrounded by strangers in suits and technology beyond his era, his brain had filled in the blanks: captured, manipulated, imprisoned by Hydra.
And Darren, standing there with a suspicious grin and tactical armor? Yeah, he definitely looked the part.
In short , Steve wasn't wrong. Just… accidentally right.
Before Darren could explain, footsteps thundered from the hallway.
Dozens of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents poured in, rifles raised, cutting off every exit.
Steve's heart sank.
A building full of armed men dressed in black, surrounding him like wolves , classic Hydra move.
Without his shield, the odds were grim. Even for him.
Then a deep, steady voice cut through the chaos.
"Stand down, everyone."
The crowd parted.
Nick Fury , black coat, black gloves, single glaring eye , stepped into view.
"I'm Nick Fury," he said calmly. "Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. And you, Captain Rogers, need to relax."
Steve eyed him warily. "S.H.I.E.L.D.? Never heard of it. Sounds like a Hydra front to me."
"It's not," Fury said, his tone steady as a rock. "You've been asleep for almost seventy years, Captain. The world's changed , a lot. You're safe now."
Steve's expression didn't soften, but the words hit him like a brick.
"Seventy… years?" he whispered.
Fury dismissed the agents, leaving only Darren behind, and began the long, careful process of explaining everything , from the end of the war, to Peggy Carter founding S.H.I.E.L.D., to the modern era. Every detail was laid out with surgical precision, every sentence crafted to ground Steve in the truth.
Darren watched, impressed. Damn, he thought. The man really does have the "silver tongue of the century" perk.
Fury didn't even stop there , he used Peggy's name, Howard Stark's legacy, even the Howling Commandos to bridge the gap between past and present. It was manipulation wrapped in empathy, the kind of emotional judo only a world-class spy could pull off.
In the end, Fury personally escorted Steve outside.
The Captain stepped into the streets of New York , and froze.
Neon lights. Skyscrapers. Cars that looked like spaceships. Digital billboards flashing faces and slogans he couldn't even begin to comprehend.
The future wasn't just new , it was alien.
Slowly, painfully, Steve accepted it.
He wasn't dreaming.
He wasn't in Hydra's hands.
He really had slept through seventy years of history.
But acceptance didn't mean peace. His gaze wandered over the city, and behind those blue eyes lay a deep, quiet ache. Everyone he'd known was gone. Every cause, every home, every friend.
He was a man out of time.
Darren clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Cheer up, pal. I get it. Must be rough waking up and finding out your boss is a guy you didn't even know existed when you went in the ice."
The air froze.
Fury's one good eye twitched.
There was a long, deadly silence.
"Agent Darren," he said slowly, "you really had to say that in front of me?"
Darren grinned, unfazed. "Just trying to break the ice."
"...You're lucky I like results," Fury muttered.