Chapter 4: The Golden Cage
Life in the Stark Mansion was, for Adama, a gilded cage. A very, very comfortable gilded cage, mind you, with gourmet meals, a dedicated staff, and a father who could probably build a fully functional theme park in the backyard if he felt like it. But a cage nonetheless. The constant presence of security, the watchful eyes of nannies, and the sheer scale of the estate meant true privacy was a luxury. Still, he adapted. He always did.
His days were a blend of typical childhood antics and covert training. Morgan, his twin, was his unwitting accomplice in the former. She was a force of nature, a tiny whirlwind of questions and boundless energy. They were inseparable, two peas in a pod, often found in Tony's lab, much to Pepper's exasperation and Tony's secret delight.
"Alright, you two miniature geniuses," Tony would say, wiping grease from his brow, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Who wants to help Daddy calibrate the new… uh… 'atmospheric particulate filtration system'?" Which usually meant, "Who wants to hand me tools while I monologue about quantum mechanics?"
Morgan, with her insatiable curiosity, would be right there, asking pointed questions about thermodynamics and material composition. Adama, meanwhile, would offer a dry, perfectly timed comment.
"Dad, are you sure that's not just a fancy way of saying 'oversized vacuum cleaner'?"
Tony would pause, a slow grin spreading across his face. "See, Pepper? He gets me. He truly understands the nuanced art of technological euphemism."
Their bond with Tony was a strange, wonderful thing. He was a doting father, but also a chaotic one. He'd read them bedtime stories about theoretical physics, teach them how to hotwire a toaster (much to Pepper's horror), and engage in philosophical debates with a five-year-old.
"Adama, Morgan, if a tree falls in the forest and no one's around to hear it, does it still make a sound? More importantly, if that tree was made of Vibranium, would it still make a sound if I hit it with a repulsor blast?"
Pepper, the steady hand, provided the much-needed normalcy. She taught them manners, read them actual fairy tales, and ensured they had a semblance of a routine. She was the calm eye of the Stark storm, and Adama cherished her quiet strength.
His secret training with the Coat of the Ascended continued, mostly in the dead of night. He'd found a secluded, rarely used wing of the mansion, a forgotten library filled with dusty tomes and the faint scent of old paper. It was his sanctuary. Here, he pushed the limits of the Coat. Invisibility became second nature, a flicker of thought making him vanish. His enhanced speed allowed him to traverse the vast mansion in moments, a silent blur. He could now run up walls, leap across wide chasms, and land with the grace of a cat.
He also started to experiment with the Coat's ability to dampen sound. It wasn't true silence, but it made his movements almost imperceptible, a faint rustle of air the only indication he was there. This was crucial for his future plans, for being the unseen hand that nudged events.
[System Message] Training with Coat of the Ascended: Progressing.
The System's silent affirmation was a constant motivator. He knew these skills, these subtle powers, would be invaluable. He wasn't meant to be a front-line brawler. He was a strategist, a manipulator of luck, a ghost in the machine. And the Coat was his first, most reliable tool in that arsenal.
One evening, as he watched Tony and Pepper bickering playfully over dinner, and Morgan was meticulously dissecting a piece of broccoli to understand its cellular structure, Adama felt a profound sense of belonging. This was his new family. Flawed, eccentric, brilliant, and utterly, wonderfully his. And he would do everything in his power, with or without the System's direct guidance, to keep them safe. Even if it meant living a double life, forever hidden in the golden cage of the Stark legacy.