Marvel: A.T.L.A.S. - Ghost Protocol

Massachusetts Institute of Technology - May 1987

The chemical burn on Caspian's forearm was still raw beneath his graduation gown. Three days ago, he'd been extracting information from a Russian operative in a Bangkok warehouse. Now he stood among MIT's brightest, maintaining the carefully constructed facade of merely being the Valemont heir and Tony Stark's brilliant friend.

Blood had been washed from under his fingernails, but the memory remained fresh: the wet crack of the Russian's jaw, the metallic tang in the air, the way the man's eyes had widened when Caspian whispered coordinates in perfect Moscow dialect. The Emperor Eye had made reading the target's micro-expressions child's play.

"You look like shit," Tony muttered beside him, barely moving his lips. "Another 'family business' trip?"

"Something like that." Caspian's response was equally subtle. Years of friendship had taught Tony not to press about certain things, just as Caspian never mentioned the bruises he sometimes spotted on Tony after particularly heated arguments with Howard.

The graduation ceremony droned on, a perfect cover for Caspian to observe the crowd through his Emperor Eye. Three plainclothes A.T.L.A.S. agents in the east section. Walter, ever-present, positioned near the exits. His mother, Director Valemont, seated beside his father with perfect posture that belied the shoulder holster he knew she wore beneath her designer jacket.

Howard and Maria Stark sat in the front row, Howard's attention divided between the ceremony and the stack of contracts partially hidden in his program. The slight tremor in his hand when he reached for his flask didn't escape Caspian's notice.

Later, at the reception, Caspian navigated the crowd with practiced ease. His Emperor Eye tracked multiple conversations simultaneously, noting which defense contractors were approaching Howard, which professors were discussing classified research, which students were being quietly recruited by various agencies.

"Mr. Valemont." The voice belonged to Professor Carlton, head of Applied Physics. "Remarkable work on your thesis. Though I admit, some of your theoretical applications seemed... rather specific to certain military applications."

"Theoretical is the operative word, Professor." Caspian's smile didn't reach his eyes. Through his Emperor Eye, he watched Tony arguing with Howard near the punch bowl, their voices still civil but bodies tensed for escalation.

"Of course." Carlton's laugh was forced. "Though I imagine both Valemont Enterprises and Stark Industries could make practical use of such theories."

"You'd have to discuss that with my father." Caspian excused himself smoothly, making his way toward the Starks. Howard's voice was rising slightly, the whiskey on his breath becoming more pronounced.

"—barely scratching the surface of what's possible," Howard was saying. "If you'd just focus on the weapons division instead of these pet projects—"

"The 'pet projects' are the future," Tony shot back. "But you're too busy chasing ghosts and government contracts to see it."

Caspian inserted himself into the conversation with practiced diplomatic ease. "Mr. Stark, I believe Secretary Pierce was hoping to discuss the new missile guidance systems with you."

Howard's attention shifted, years of political maneuvering taking over. "Pierce is here? Excuse me, boys." He moved away, leaving Tony with a familiar mix of anger and resignation on his face.

"One day," Tony said quietly, "I'll show him what those 'pet projects' can really do."

Caspian merely nodded, his Emperor Eye catching the subtle signal from Walter across the room. Time for another assignment. Another death in the shadows while the world of academia celebrated achievement in the light.

"I need to handle something," he said. "Dinner next week?"

"Sure." Tony's smile was genuine despite his mood. "Try not to get any more chemical burns before then."

In the secure basement of Building 7, Carrie Valemont waited with a file folder. "Your extraction in Bangkok proved valuable. We've identified three more cells operating out of Southeast Asia."

Caspian accepted the folder, scanning the contents with his Emperor Eye. "The Malaysian connection?"

"Confirmed. You leave in three hours. Walter has your equipment ready."

"And the graduation celebrations?"

"Your father will make appropriate excuses." Her expression softened fractionally. "You've done well, Caspian. Both here and in the field."

The praise was rare enough to note, but Caspian's mind was already shifting to operational mode. The graduate's gown was replaced by tactical gear, the diploma by weapons. In three hours, he'd be on another continent, doing the work that really mattered.

The Emperor Eye caught every detail of the equipment laid out before him: modified close-quarters weapons, communication gear, toxins designed by Q Division. Each piece checked and verified with mechanical precision.

This was his real graduation. Not the ceremony above, but the blood and shadows below.