In that almost-forgotten past, Whitney had been a bully who enjoyed causing trouble at school, with a carefree demeanor and an air of arrogance typical of a campus favorite.
Every time Soren saw him, he was tempted to punch him in the face.
But now, standing in front of him, Whitney—despite having the same facial features as the Whitney he remembered—was steady and composed.
His demeanor was calm and exuded a disciplined seriousness honed from years of following orders, making it hard for Soren to believe his eyes.
"…It really is you," Soren said with a complex impression of Whitney.
Although not particularly pleased, he didn't show excessive joy, merely stating, "I didn't expect to run into you here."
Steve glanced at the two of them and asked, "Sergeant Fortman, do you know each other?"
"We were high school classmates," Whitney tilted his chin slightly as he looked at Soren, regaining a hint of his old demeanor, "You're quite the surprise too, Hargreaves. I heard you were dead."
Soren: …
As soon as his mouth opened, it was clear it was the old Whitney.
He leaned out from behind Steve and whispered, "Dead, but not entirely."
"Soren," Steve frowned.
He wasn't pleased with Soren bringing up this topic, so he turned his attention to the soldiers behind Whitney and asked, "Are these the soldiers you brought back to the base today, Sergeant Fortman?"
Whitney raised his eyebrows in surprise.
He noticed Steve was defending Soren.
But he didn't want to say much more in front of Steve.
Years of military experience had him instinctively stand at attention and reply, "Yes, Captain. These are a group of volunteer soldiers who sent us a distress signal from the Pacific theater a few days ago. They are from the former world government army."
Steve nodded, "Thank you, Sergeant—and to our soldiers, welcome to the resistance."
He looked at the soldiers behind Whitney, nodding at each of them, "Soon, someone will come to help you acclimate to life at the base and integrate into the resistance training. On behalf of myself, I appreciate your courage and dedication. You are all extraordinary human soldiers. With your addition, we have even more hope for victory."
When Steve spoke, his expression was sincere and solemn, with no trace of insincerity.
Even though the words were the same platitudes used by politicians, when they came from him, they felt undeniably genuine.
Perhaps this was the charisma of Steve Rogers as Captain America.
No matter the circumstances, he was always dependable, making people instinctively place their trust in him, like a lighthouse of impeccable character, shining eternally on lost convictions.
The soldiers, who had initially appeared somewhat tense, began to look more determined after shaking hands with Steve one by one.
They were among the last remaining fighters from their homeland, still openly resisting the ruling forces.
Three years of continuous conflict had severely drained their bodies and health, but as long as the resistance existed, they wouldn't give up hope.
After saying his goodbyes to the soldiers, Steve continued with Soren toward Batman's treatment room.
Batman's room was a secured and encrypted ward within the base, accessible only to a select few.
Steve entered the code and led Soren inside.
The room was small, with a single hospital bed and dozens of screens, all glowing with a faint blue light.
Bruce Wayne, now without his Batsuit, lay in the bed.
Not only was he fully conscious, but he was also using the limited mobility of his two fingers to manipulate the controls and focus on the screens.
This was the first time Soren had seen Batman out of his suit since returning to Earth.
He had never imagined it before, but now Soren realized that Bruce... Bruce wasn't young anymore.
The once carefully groomed black hair, always styled with precision mousse, was now streaked with white, an unsettling sight.
Superman had broken two of Bruce's vertebrae.
Although emergency surgery had repaired part of the damage to his spinal nerves, the shattered vertebrae left him completely unable to stand, confined to bed for long-term recovery.
When Soren and Steve entered the room, Bruce's fingers, which had been flying across the keyboard, paused briefly.
Bruce's face was stern as he slowly turned his head, leaving Soren with a view of his graying hair from behind.
"You shouldn't have come," Bruce said, his voice low and restrained.
Soren walked up beside him, trying to calm himself with a deep breath.
"I just wanted to see how you were doing, Bruce," Soren replied, though it felt like a heavy stone was pressing against his chest, making it hard to breathe.
His eyes flickered over the area of Bruce's waist, now concealed by the white hospital sheet, but he quickly looked away, unwilling to linger on the sight.
Bruce remained silent.
His fingers tapped once on the keyboard resting by the bedside, and one of the screens lit up, revealing Tony Stark in his lab.
The lab was cluttered with test tubes, and Tony sat in the middle, holding a small vial.
He turned toward the camera with a displeased expression, clearly annoyed by the interruption.
"Bruce Wayne, I told you not to interfere with my experiments," Tony grumbled.
"Your progress is slower than I expected," Bruce said calmly.
That one comment was enough to irritate Tony, who was already stuck in a bottleneck.
With a cold laugh, Tony didn't hesitate to cut off the feed, and the screen briefly flickered with static.
But that was only one of many screens in the room.
A few seconds later, the scattered black-and-white static flickered across several of the screens in unison.
Then, all the screens shut off, replaced by the same distorted, flickering snow.
Bruce raised his gaze, his eyes locking instantly.
...After the flashing static on all the monitors, a face appeared—one they all knew too well, impossibly handsome and godlike.
At that very moment, every electronic screen on Earth was simultaneously hijacked.