The winter of 2015–2016 felt heavier than the snow blanketing Cambridge.
Alex Kane, twenty-one, was in his final year at MIT—classes a formality now, grades perfect without effort, most of his real work happening in the quiet hours between lectures and lab sessions. KaneTech had become a mid-tier player in the disaster-tech space: $120 million annualized revenue, 180 employees across three continents, partnerships with FEMA and the UN's disaster-response arm. The company's valuation hovered near $800 million on private-market estimates. Alex owned 62% through layered trusts; the rest was held by silent investors he'd carefully vetted—no Hydra ties, no government strings.
But the world was fracturing.
The Sokovia Accords leaked in fragments throughout late 2015: international oversight for enhanced individuals, registration, mission approval boards. Tony Stark pushed for them—guilt from Ultron still raw. Steve Rogers resisted—freedom first, always. The Avengers split down the middle.
Alex saw the lines forming early. Aether's simulations ran thousands of variants: Accords ratification probability 87%, Avengers fracture 94%, potential armed conflict 62% within six months. Civilian risk: low globally, but high in any direct clash zone.
He chose neutrality—publicly. KaneTech issued a bland corporate statement: "We support global safety frameworks that protect civilians while respecting individual rights." No side taken. No endorsement.
Privately, he prepared for both.
He deepened his network.
In February 2016, during a tech-ethics symposium at MIT, he met Bucky Barnes—quiet, hooded, attending under a false name as "James Buchanan." Steve had brought him, testing the waters of normal life. Alex recognized him instantly: the arm, the haunted eyes, the way he scanned exits.
No direct approach. Instead, Alex "accidentally" bumped into Steve in the hallway after a panel—coffee spill, quick apology, handshake.
Skin contact. Trace DNA from Steve's glove.
*[DNA Sample: Steven Grant Rogers (refreshed post-serum baseline). Analysis: Super Soldier Serum full suite – Peak human metrics across all vectors. Minor psychological resilience markers (unbreakable will).]*
*[Selective Copy: Strength & durability refinement +0.6σ (stacking on existing partials), Willpower reinforcement +0.5σ. Copy?]*
Taken. The boost was subtle but noticeable—his punches felt denser, his resolve sharper.
Later that week, during a quiet coffee run near campus, Alex crossed paths with Bucky again. This time intentional: he sat at the next table, reading a book on PTSD recovery (a deliberate choice). Bucky glanced over, tense.
Alex spoke softly, without looking up. "The coffee here's terrible. But the quiet's good."
Bucky didn't reply at first. Then, low: "You know who I am."
Alex met his eyes. "I know enough. And I know you're trying."
Bucky's metal fingers twitched. "Most people run."
"I'm not most people." Alex slid a small card across the table—burner number. "If you ever need someone who won't judge. Or just a place to sit without questions."
Bucky stared at the card for a long moment. Then pocketed it. No thanks. No promise. Just a nod.
Alex didn't push. He'd planted the seed.
Gwen noticed the shift in him—more distant some days, eyes always scanning. One night in March, studying in her dorm, she closed her textbook.
"You're carrying something big, aren't you?"
He hesitated. Then: "Yeah. And it's getting heavier."
She took his hand. "You don't have to carry it alone."
He squeezed back. Their first real kiss happened then—slow, tentative, full of unspoken things. No grand declaration. Just two people choosing each other amid uncertainty.
The interface noted it quietly:
*[Relationship Status: Gwen Stacy – Bond level: Deepening. Mutual emotional support detected. No exploitation vectors.]*
Friends remained anchors. Tommy landed his first big design contract (a KaneTech rebranding project—Alex paid premium rates). Sofia started clinical rotations, texting him late-night worries; he talked her through them. Jamal's second shop became a hub for local kids learning coding—Alex funded the program anonymously.
But the storm broke in May.
Leipzig-Halle Airport. The footage leaked within hours: Cap vs. Iron Man, teams clashing, Bucky in the center. Helicopters, webs, shields, repulsors. Chaos.
Alex watched the live streams from his office, Aether overlaying casualty projections (zero civilian deaths—miraculous). He didn't intervene directly—too public, too risky—but he fed anonymous intel to both sides via proxies: safe extraction routes for Cap's team, damage assessments for Tony's.
When the fight ended—Cap escaping, Tony left battered—Alex felt the fracture echo in his chest.
He reached out to Bucky that night via the burner.
*You okay?*
A reply after two hours: *Alive. Thanks for the card.*
Alex exhaled.
He also messaged Gwen: *Can we talk?*
She met him on the riverbank at midnight. He told her fragments—not everything, but enough: "There's a war coming. Not with aliens. Between people who used to fight together. I'm… involved. Not on a side. Just trying to keep the damage low."
She listened. Then: "I'm not asking you to stop. Just… come back to me when it's over."
He kissed her forehead. "I will."
The interface updated:
*[Milestone: Super Soldier refinement complete. Physical capabilities now 92% of peak serum baseline.]*
*[Hydra Exposure Risk: Elevated. Fury monitoring intensified.]*
*[Next Critical Node: Zemo activation. Siberian facility confrontation imminent.]*
Alex stood alone on the roof later, snow falling again.
The lines were drawn.
He wouldn't cross them.
He'd walk between them—protecting what mattered.
Family. Friends. Gwen.
And maybe, someday, the fractured heroes who still believed in something bigger.
(Word count: 1008)