AN: Thanks to all those who have read, favorited, followed, and reviewed this story. I've already written a good chunk of my next story, "Avenger Origins: Ant-Man," so I will post a preview at the end of this chapter, and start posting the story soon when I'm done writing it.

Phil walked over to where Tony was standing at the bar. On seeing Phil walk over, the VISION android fell into step next to him, stopping a couple paces from the bar. Phil stopped at the bar a couple feet from Tony and set down his binder of drawings on the counter. Tony glanced up at Phil from his scotch. He cleared his throat and said, "So… I wasn't expecting to see you again, Coulson…"

"Actually, it looks like you were expecting to see me everywhere, Stark," Phil smirked, gesturing toward the android.

"Yeah, about that," Tony responded, following Phil's gesture with his eyes. "It was an awesome idea back when you were dead—designing my badass security android to look like you and mimic your personality. Hell, when Blondie found out, he called him a 'fine tribute to a good warrior and friend.' Of course, now that you aren't really dead any more, it's more like I have a creepy fanboy obsession with you…"

"I'm… touched?" Phil said, giving Tony an awkward look.

"Would you like me to change him a little?" Tony asked abruptly, turning to look Phil in the eye. "I could give him a longer nose, maybe a beard. Change his skin tone… Hell, I could even give him a Black Widow obsession instead of the Captain America obsession!"

"If you did that, I'm pretty sure Romanoff would rip your android apart piece by piece with her bare hands, density-enhanced plating or not!" Phil observed with a snort.

Phil turned to look at his robotic counterpart, who stared back at him. The two stood there silently for a moment before coming to an unspoken agreement. Phil turned to look at Tony and said, "No, I actually kind of like him the way he is. Besides—" he smirked.

"Now I can always have my eye on you!" Vision chimed in.

Coming Soon: Avenger Origins: Ant-Man

"Lang, sign here."

"Gee, thanks," Scott Lang responded, grabbing the extended clipboard from the prison warden. He quickly read over the forms and signed his name on the line at the bottom of the page. Once he had handed the clipboard back, the warden pulled a clear plastic bag out of a crate on the floor and dropped it on the counter in front of him. Scott looked at the bag. "So who do I have to thank for the wonderful accommodations?" he asked sarcastically.

"Just take your stuff and go, Lang," the warden growled.

Scott grabbed his bag, turned on his heel, and stalked toward the changing room. He violently pulled off his prison uniform and exchanged it with jeans and a red-and-black T-shirt. He tossed the orange jumpsuit into the corner, stuffed his personal effects into his pocket, and threw the plastic bag into the corner on top of the jumpsuit. He walked out of the changing room without a backward glance. As he reached the prison exit, he pulled out a pair of sunglasses and slid them on. "Well," he muttered to himself, pushing the door open, "I guess I gotta get busy living."