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Anthony's fingers trembled slightly; he flipped his hand and locked her fingers with his.
Fingers interlaced.
Tony watched their clasped hands. This time he didn't mock them; he simply took a silent sip of his drink.
Steve lowered his head, staring at the glass in his hand. "At least you still have memories. My Christmas… is still stuck in 1943. Bucky was still around then, and we couldn't afford turkey, so we shared a roasted potato in a Brooklyn alley."
"But back then I thought… that was the best Christmas ever," Steve's voice was hoarse.
"Because everyone was still here."
"…"
"All right, since we're all orphans," Tony broke the gloom, "let us parentless kids take care of ourselves."
He raised his glass.
"To us."
"To us."
Their glasses clinked with a crisp ring.
Ding! Special popularity +1,500 (from Tony Stark)
Ding! Special popularity +2,000 (from Steve Rogers)
Ding! Special popularity +5,000 (from Jessica Jones)
…"Tick-tick-tick…"
The wall clock showed 11:55 p.m.
"Okay, sentiment time's over," Tony Stark clapped his hands, back to his carefree self. "Now let's get to tonight's main event."
Tony had Jarvis switch the feed to the living-room's big screen.
"So, Anthony," Tony pointed at the screen, "your crazy reality show… really opens for applications at midnight?"
"Of course." Anthony leaned back on the sofa, his confident smile returning.
"It's a Christmas gift to the entire United States."
On-screen, the Times Square countdown was underway.
Vought Media had bought every ad slot for the night.
The giant logo of WHO IS THE NEXT? flickered on every screen.
Countless anchors and reporters stood in the cold, shouting into their mics.
"Five minutes left! Vought's website traffic has already broken its historical peak!"
"Supers across the nation are waiting for this moment!"
"Who'll be the next lucky one?!"
Tony frowned at the footage.
"Do you even know what you're doing, Anthony?" Tony's tone turned grave.
"You're opening Pandora's box."
"Before, people with powers stayed hidden. S.H.I.E.L.D. kept them in check—lousy methods, sure, but at least… society was stable."
Now you're telling them: Hey! Come on out! You can be a star! Make big money!"
Tony turned and stared at Anthony. "You'll drag every psycho, criminal, and nutjob into the open. The World will go to hell."
"Go to hell?" Anthony shook his head, stood up, walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, and met his own image on the screen.
"Tony, you think if you don't look at them, they cease to exist?"
"They've always been there. In the gutters of Hells Kitchen, in barns on remote farms, in padded cells of asylums."
"They're repressed, surrounded by fear. That repression is the real ticking bomb."
Steve Rogers looked at Anthony, his eyes conflicted.
"But this is too… mercenary, Anthony," Steve sighed.
"Heroes shouldn't do it for fame or money."
"That was your era, Captain." Anthony said calmly.
"In this era, no one works for free. If you want them to protect the World, you have to give them… incentives."
Dong—!!
Right then, the midnight bell tolled.
A new day had begun.
The instant the registration portal opened on-screen, the numbers started racing.
1,000… 10,000… 50,000… In mere minutes the applicant count broke a hundred thousand!
"My god…" Steve was stunned. "This many people?"
"That's the American Dream, Captain." Anthony turned, watching the numbers on the screen, ambition sparkling in his eyes.
"Everyone wants to be the protagonist."
"A hundred thousand?" Tony Stark furrowed his brow.
"America has this many supers? I thought super-humans like Steve were rare."
"Most are just faking it." Anthony calmly swirled his glass, eyeing the frantic data.
"Some can only roll their tongue into a lotus or chug two liters of Coke and think they're 'superheroes'."
"But it proves one thing."
Anthony pointed at the still-soaring figure—public opinion, desire, an unstoppable torrent.
"People crave power; people crave attention."
"Tony. Steve."
Anthony turned his back to the madly climbing numbers and spread his arms like a godfather embracing the entire era.
"This is the future I'm talking about."
"A future where super-humans no longer hide, but stand center-stage."
At that moment the screen began airing real-time "application videos".
Clip 1:
A pimple-faced fatty shouted at the camera: "I'm the Fart King! I can blow out candles with my farts!"
Then came an earth-shaking blast.
Everyone: "…"
Jessica: "Ugh…"
…Clip 12:
A bikini-clad beauty produced a bright spark at her fingertip. "I'm Fire Girl! I'm hot!"
Tony: "Hmm… I can approve this one. Jarvis, get her contact info."
Pepper: "Tony!"
…Clip 25:
A masked weirdo in red spandex and twin katanas.
He flashed the middle finger at the camera, then sliced it off with a blade.
"Witness the miracle! Ta-da! It grows back! Hahaha! I'm Wade! I wanna sleep with Homelander!! Pick me, pick me!!"
Everyone: "…"
Steve Rogers frowned. "That… that's way too gory."
Anthony's eyes suddenly sharpened.
Deadpool? Wade Wilson? He exists in this Universe too?
Hmm, probably just another Deadpool variant… interesting…
Clip 33:
A silver blur flashed across the camera.
Nothing could be seen clearly; only a cocky laugh rang out: "I'm Pietro! The fastest man alive! By the time you read my name, I've already run from the East Coast to the West!"
An imperceptible smile tugged at Anthony's lips.
Pietro Maximoff… Quicksilver. Can't HYDRA sit still anymore?
"Looks like some real players have slipped in." Tony Stark's expression turned grimmer. "That silver kid's pretty fast. Jarvis, done the math?"
"Sir, frame-rate analysis shows his speed in the video exceeds Mach 20. He's a genuine super-human."
"And that finger-chopping lunatic." Steve also sensed something off.
"That regeneration speed… faster than any super-soldier I've ever seen."
"That's exactly what I'm going to do, Captain."