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Brooklyn, an old-school boxing gym.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
Dull impacts echoed through the empty hall.
Steve Rogers, in a sweat-soaked gray T-shirt, was pouring his excess energy into a long-misshapen heavy bag.
Every punch carried crushing force, every punch laced with an inexpressible frustration.
"Knock! Knock!" A rap on the door sounded.
"Door's open," Steve called without looking, keeping the rhythm. "If you're selling insurance, I already bought some."
"I'm here to sell you a job, Captain." Jessica pushed the door wide.
Steve stopped, steadied the still-swaying bag, and turned
to face Jessica, a gentle smile surfacing.
"Jones… oh, right—President of Vought now, isn't it? Saw the news." Steve toweled off.
"Congrats on the promotion. Since when does Vought do door-to-door sales?"
"Anthony's gone," Jessica cut in, never one for small talk.
"He's in Asgard; I'm running Vought."
Steve's hands stilled, concern sharpening his features.
"Asgard? But the news said—"
"The news is for suckers." Jessica leaned against the ring ropes.
"To help me, he fought Thor and got taken by the Bifrost Bridge."
Steve studied her; the old soldier's instinct caught the brittle strength she wore like armor.
"You need help?"
"No. I don't. Vought doesn't." Jessica lifted her chin, defiant.
"But those kids do."
"Kids?"
"Who is the Next Superhero?? I know you hate the show, think it turns heroes into circus monkeys. But, Steve, a lot of those powered contestants are just sixteen, seventeen."
Jessica held his gaze.
"With Anthony here, he kept them in line. He's a bastard, but he's strong; they feared him, so they behaved."
"Now he's not."
"If the show spins out, no one will guide those kids, no one to tell them right from wrong…"
Jessica drew a breath, echoing something Anthony once said.
"…they'll become the 'villains' we see on the news—lost, using power to hurt people."
"You're Captain America, the moral compass."
"You can stay home punching bags, pining for the past… or…"
Jessica stretched out her hand toward the door.
"…or step onto that stage and teach those confused punks what a real hero is."
Steve stayed silent.
He looked at Jessica and saw the old Brooklyn kid who only ever wanted to serve.
At last he unwrapped the tape from his knuckles, offering a wry, warm smile.
"Jewel… you sound more like him every day."
"Got forced into it," Jessica rolled her eyes.
"All right." Steve slung the towel over his shoulder.
"If it's for those youngsters—I'm in. But I have one condition."
"Which is?"
"…I don't read ad copy."
"Deal."
…With the hardest moral compass handled, next came the hardest capitalist.
Avengers Tower, Mark Workshop.
Tony Stark, goggles on, torch in hand, was fine-tuning a new Mark armor prototype.
"Sir, a guest has arrived," Jarvis announced.
"No appointment—she landed directly on the helipad."
"Besides the one-eyed pirate, who else is that rude?"
"It's a Vought International helicopter. Visitor: Ms. Jones—or, per latest intel, 'Jewel'."
Tony's hand froze.
"That violent little minx?" Tony blinked.
"Let her in; I kinda like her style."
"I'm already in, Stark." Jessica's voice rang from the lab doorway. She set a 1945 Romanée-Conti on the workbench—liberated from Anthony's wine cabinet.
"Bribing me?" Tony glanced at the bottle.
"Nice taste, but I've seen that exact wine in Anthony's cellar. Borrowed flowers to offer Buddha?"
"Drink or don't."
"Drink." Tony waved; the cork popped and two glasses poured, one handed to her.
"So where's the golden snitch? Don't tell me he's off saving the Milky Way Galaxy."
"He's in Asgard."
"Ha!" Tony laughed.
"Meeting the parents? Knew it—him and Thor have weird tension. Your spot in jeopardy; when's he back?"
"No idea." Jessica's eyes dimmed for a second, then hardened again.
Tony's grin faded; he caught the flicker of emotion.
"So you're at the helm now?" Tony looked her over.
"Vought's new queen?"
"Jewel," Jessica corrected.
She paused. "I need you, Tony."
"Ahem—" Tony nearly choked on the wine.
"Look, I'm charming, but I've reformed. Pepper would kill me, and Anthony would slice me with Heat Vision when he gets back."
"Shut up, Stark." Jessica rolled her eyes. "I want you as a mentor—on Vought's reality show."
"Forget it." Tony turned back to the armor.
"I'm Iron Man, I've a company to run and I foot S.H.I.E.L.D.'s mess. No time for a gimmick talent show."
"Besides," Tony snorted, "why help Vought rake in cash?"
"Because you're a hero. Anthony said you've always wanted to armor Earth against alien invasion—but what if the rot starts inside?"
Jessica cut the small talk, driving straight at the heart.
"I've seen the Top-100 list. Pietro Maximoff—so fast your suit's lock-on fails. And this 'cyborg' laced with tubes calls himself a mutant, but he's pumped an unstable toxin; any moment he could snap and become a second Abomination."
Jessica lowered her voice.
"…and plenty more are wild talents S.H.I.E.L.D. never logged."
"With Anthony gone, no one can leash them. If they lose it, New York gets hit first."
"Mr. Stark, you wouldn't want… to wait until they level the city before you suit up for cleanup, right?"
Jessica tapped Tony's chest plate.
"…or stand in front of them now and use that irresistible charm and brain of yours to show who's boss?"
"Call it surveillance," Jessica added. "Or risk assessment—whatever. Sit on that judges' panel and you decide who advances and who's out."