[center][img]https://storytellingdb.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/11/banner-captain-america-1024x384.jpg[/img][/center][sup][h1][b][center][color=red] C A P T A I N A M E R I C A[/color] [color=dodgerblue]C A P T A I N A M E R I C A[/color][/center][/b][/h1][/sup] [u]May 1944[/u] [color=slategray]Steve Rogers greets the various dignitaries and society's more successful sons and daughters with politeness, a smile, and a crisp handshake which draws guffaws from some of the more liquor and humour-filled gentlemen. James Buchanan Barnes had been booked elsewhere for this one. A debutante ball, the coming out party for some of the more eligible youth of the city. Doubtless being fawned over by the girls in attendance. The Army seemed to almost have them on double-duty, wringing out every dollar they could before they'd be sent off-shore to the front, where they'd doubtlessly be used more indirectly to raise more with tales of what [b]CAPTAIN AMERICA AND BUCKY BARNES![/b] were up to. Still... it'd keep the boys armed, and all went to the war effort. It never sat well on his shoulders though. Even these new broad ones. The American Army. Not 'One Man's Army' where all your sons had lesser roles, to potentially die for a country which dedicated itself to a man's right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. He understood as much as anyone could the importance of the propaganda movement, but when he was put on a pedastal over the rest... it didn't seem to be consistent with any of what he'd been taught was America's own story about itself. Give a King the boot just to fight for an nation's army where one man stands above as some idealised figure. An idealised figure who happened to have blonde hair and blue eyes, as well. The fact was certainly not lost on him. Talk of Nazi fifth columnists was already rife. He'd busted a few small Nazi sympathiser groups here himself already. He was all too pleased to actually be put into action to do something positive about the issue at home. For what little he could do. He'd be concerned about more goose-stepping out of the shadows if not for the fact that his activity had seemed to inspire other similar minded folks to take action against similar groups already. Some from the shadows, others more at home in the light. Forming their own Society for justice, they'd seemed to rise up more out of inspiration to action than from any real organised movement. [color=white][i]"Ladies and Gentlemen, for your edification tonight, we have a real treat. What was once called 'An Experiment in Modern Music', we have here tonight, Big Band-leader Paul Whiteman, and George Gershwin himself, to present Gershwin's own groundbreaking, experimental masterpiece 'Rhapsody In Blue'. And so, without further ado, I leave you to Mister Paul Whiteman..."[/i][/color] Steve heard a small mumble of dissent to his right and looked over the disagreeing party. 'Rhapsody In Blue' had been critiqued quite harshly by many... Wagner-enthusiasts as vaguely 'derivative' and 'stale'. And whilst disapproval alone certainly wasn't reason enough to suspect the gentleman of other sentiments some of those people shared. It did certainly make Steve curious about the root-cause for his disapproval in the first place. He ran eyes over the man, dressed in his crisp suit. Bespectacled, the light shone too bright to clearly make out his eyes, but the man had soft features. Approaching middle age. A tall wine flute in front of his face, paired with the spectacles obscuring his nose and mouth, combining to mask his face. [color=dodgerblue]"Sir..?"[/color] Steve asked. [color=olive]"Hmm? Oh. I was just thinking 'the most groundbreaking and experimental aspects of 'Rhapsody in Blue' could have been regularly found on a hot Harlem night at the Alhambra.'"[/color] Steve's back relaxed, with the response. He hadn't expected that response, but was willing to be pleasantly surprised. Rare would be the Nazi who would be willing to pay respects to the African American community and their role in jazz. The bespectacled man took a drink from his glass and lowered it. A wry smile crossing his gentle face. He too seemed pleasantly surprised with the response to his comment. It seemed it was equally rare to find the man who wouldn't seek to diminish the African American influence and their role in jazz, regarding their influence on the works of the highly respected Mister Gershwin. [color=dodgerblue]"I can't tell you I've given much thought to music appraisal. If I'm being perfectly honest."[/color] There was no aggression in his words, it was as if the bespectacled man's comments had just called him to 'Rest'. [color=olive]"Abraham did say he had found a good one."[/color] Abraham. He knew-- [color=olive]"Dr Erskine. Yes. He's one of the few people I've known in my life, who I've never known to introduce me as 'a sensitive fellow'."[/color] His wry smile creased wider, in reflection of his friend. [color=olive]"I think--"[/color] He continured, in reflection. [color=olive]"I think it's because..."[/color] He started, before realising he needed to add some context. [color=olive]"I've heard him mention a few times that the ideal world would be one in which a woman, a black man, or any hypothetical caste or class that a society may most deem as 'lowly' or 'lesser than' can ascend to the pinnacle of power and respect in their own field of endeavour, and such a thing would not be remarked upon, because such a thing is no longer seen to be remarkable."[/color] [color=olive]"Some dream, isn't it? But I think that's why he never referred me as a 'sensitive fellow', because I think he-- liked the thought of a world where the ways I think, ways we thought, aren't viewed as the wispy dreams of a sensitive man, and are merely the way the world we woke up to happens to be."[/color] Once again, the glass held long in front of his face, in reflection of a better world. Before finally taking a sip, and then making a sudden realization. [color=olive]"Oh, I'm dreadfully sorry, Mister Rogers. I neglected to introduce myself."[/color] He placed his glass on a passing tray, withdrawing a napkin in payment and held out his other outstretched hand in the regular cultured greeting. [color=olive]"Wesley Dodds. And if even half of my father's stories are true about the Great War, I don't envy what you're about to be marching into. But I must thank you from the bottom of my heart for your service."[/color] His hand shake was firm, but held no test of his mettle. This wasn't a man for such things. [color=dodgerblue]"Dodds. Not enlisting yourself?"[/color] Steve asked. [color=olive]"The war effort is not yet so dire, that they're relying on this aging body just yet."[/color] His smile cracked with the remark. He'd started to turn the napkin in gentle hands. [color=olive]"But should it come to it..."[/color] Wesley shrugged. [color=olive]"Not a one of us can change the world ourselves, nor should we hope to. The best we can do is bend it back in the direction we hope it to be. And that sweet dream I mentioned before? Well, for that to be the dream that we one day wake up to. Then a man like this Hitler - and there will always be men like this - these men MUST fall."[/color] He kept manipulating the napkin, as he spoke, almost without thought. [color=olive]"I'm not a warlike man, Mister Rogers. In fact, I believe you'd be hardpressed to get me to go along with most international conflicts - after my father's stories, the way he was when he returned home, political frittering and arguments over lines on a map, in search of colonies in the Philippines? That's not for me. But I do believe that [b]THIS[/b] fight is a just one."[/color] [color=brown][b]"Well, if it isn't the man of the hour!"[/b][/color] Another man approached the pair. This one larger, and far more full of excitement than Dodds had beeen. Clapping Steve on the back. [color=olive]"Hello, Rex."[/color] Wesley simply offered, a gentle attempt to keep Rogers at ease, displaying prior knowledge of the boistrous man who was now upon them. [color=brown][b]"Rex Tyler. I saw you over here talking with Wesley and just thought I'd come over and make sure somebody kept you awake!"[/b][/color] He held out a palm in greeting. This one absolutely searching for a test of strength. [color=brown][b]"Wow. The grip on you! A-dolf better mind his Ps and Qs!"[/b][/color] He emitted a low whistle, stretching out his hand afterwards. Steve had enough experience dealing with people like Rex, that he knew the kind of interaction he was hoping to have with him. [color=olive]"Rex here, like Dr Erskine, had also been looking into similar methods of--"[/color] [color=brown][b]"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Let's not compare the work I've been doing to the only successful administration of the Super Soldier Serum. Sorry 'bout your loss with Erskine, by the way. Only met him a few times. Wes' here seemed to get on with him better."[/b][/color] The uncomfortable pause seemed to beg for an explanation of what work Rex had actually been doing. [color=brown][b]"Well... in the light of Erskine's success. The American government looked into various means of creating various weapons, both human and otherwise. There's the work I've been doing in the pharmaceutical sector, then... well, anyone other than Captain America I'd keep my mouth shut... but down in [sub][sup]Los Alamos[/sup][/sub] they're working with radiation. Stupidly dangerous, if you ask me. Not that you did. But yeah, like I said. I've been working in the pharmaceutical sector, something a bit different than what you went with, which was aiming for a rounded self-sustainedupper level limit. I'm more working on... ehhhh... Red-line-and-recovery."[/b][/color] [color=dodgerblue]"Red line and Recovery?"[/color] [color=brown][b]"Yeah. In response to finding 'Psycho Pills' on Nazi soldiers out in the field. I'm currently contracted, working on this 'Miracle drug' pharmaceutical flipside of what Erskine did for you. Basically a short term pill solution that will give a quick HIGH LEVEL 'red line' performance, which the human body can struggle to maintain, and then safely secrete waste toxins in a recovery phase."[/b][/color] [color=dodgerblue]"And you-- you've been able to come up with this miracle drug? A breakthrough?"[/color] [color=brown][b]"Ha! Relax, Cap. You're still one of a kind yet. I mean, I've made in-roads... I've got ideas... but, nothing I'd feel would be safe enough to distribute widescale across the US Army."[/b][/color] [color=olive]"As glib as Mister Tyler can be. He's very thorough, and highly competent with his work."[/color] [color=brown][b]"...and that's about as glowing as Mister Dodds praise can get. So with that, I'll quit while I'm ahead and take my leave. Don't go winning the war til I can come up with my Miracl-- oh!"[/b][/color] Rex realized how loud he was discussing his highly-sensitive project and mimed zipping his lips shut, before pointing to both Captain America and Wesley, suggesting they do likewise. [color=olive]"I should go and find Diane. She'd never forgive me if I had the opportunity to introduce the pair of you and missed the boat. Would you please wait here for me?"[/color] He put the finishing touches on his napkin, now perfectly folded into a small eagle, it's wings outstretched, and handed it to Steve, before intending to cut a path to find this Diane in the throng of people. [color=olive]"A hobby I picked up in the Orient, when my father sent me there for my studies."[/color] He explained. Steve looked at the folded paper, the detail belied the minimal effort he had seemed to put into the work. [color=dodgerblue]"Dodds."[/color] He asked before the smaller man could leave. Wesley turned back to look at him. [color=dodgerblue]"When I shook your hand. Your breath. You were drinking ginger ale."[/color] Wesley raised an eyebrow, but his smile remained. Not entirely sure of what Steve Rogers was saying to him. [color=dodgerblue]"You were drinking ginger ale. And this."[/color] He held up the origami crane. The unspoken connection. Origami found by police and reported in the papers at several smashed crime scenes, of both criminals and fifth columnists across New York alike. The ginger ale to keep his head for further activities tonight, after the pomp and circumstance that the pair had subjected themselves to, tonight in this place. The strange sightings of the man capable of great feats of strength and daring beyond that which most men could even imagine, albeit for only one hour. [color=olive]"Mister Rogers. I believe I thanked you for your service. Both for the Hell that you're going into, and that which you've performed for your country already. The nation will be in good hands whilst you're gone."[/color] Then, with that, Wesley turned and went back through the crowd to find Diane. [h3][center][b][color=white]*[/color] [color=dodgerblue]*[/color] [color=white]*[/color][/b][/center][/h3] [/color] [u]June 1944[/u] [color=slategray] [h3][sub][color=orange]"EXTRAAAAA! EXTRAAAA! CAP SHIPPING OUT TO GIVE OL' ADOLF WHAFFOR!"[/color][/sub][/h3] [color=dodgerblue]"Scrap' there's no way that's in there."[/color] [color=orange]"Latest edition."[/color] Cap flipped him a nickel. The boy made with the newspaper. [color=dodgerblue]"Keep the two-bit."[/color] He opened the paper up and gestured to the contents to the small boy. A judgemental expression on his face. [color=orange]"Hey! Editorial licence."[/color] Patrick 'Scrapper' MacGuire replied with his thick Brooklyn licence and a shrug, before pulling his hat down over his eyes with a cheeky grin. [color=dodgerblue]"So how'd you hear?"[/color] [color=orange]"There's chatter. Just cos it ain't fit to print don't mean there ain't chatter."[/color] Steve didn't like it. Shipping out to storm some beach in France, and already a kid like Scrapper knew when he was about to depart. [color=orange]"Jes' you make sure you sock ol' A-dolf one on the jaw for the Scrapper."[/color] [color=dodgerblue]"It's getting hard to keep track of his tab at this point."[/color] [color=orange]"Yeah well, jes' make sure he makes payment. Didn't get into the newspaper business to have people skipping out on the readies. Goosesteppin' rat-zis or whoever."[/color] It was as simple as that. He had to march his way to Berlin to collect. Scrapper MacGuire told him so. IOU one sock in jaw. Machinegun fire be damned. [color=dodgerblue]"Yeah well, gotta be going, Scrap'. Take care of your mother."[/color] [color=orange]"Hey! Whadda you know about my mother? You watch yourself! You have any idea how many papers I could move sayin' Steve Rogers is my Dad?"[/color] The cheeky grin returned. [h3][sub][color=orange]"EXTRAAA! EXTRAAAA! YOU HAVE GOT TO READ THESE GOSSIP PAGES! CAPTAIN 'MERIC--!"[/color][/sub][/h3] [color=dodgerblue]"Don't you dare, Scrap'!"[/color] Laughter echoed from Patrick MacGuire's corner as Cap made his way to the docks. [center][h3][b][color=white]*[/color] [color=dodgerblue]*[/color] [color=white]*[/color][/b][/h3][/center] [/color] [u]Modern Day[/u] [color=slategray] [i]They're gone. They're all gone.[/i] Everyone Steve knew was dead. The adults he didn't even bother to check. But Bucky's friends, and the kids he knew. He went digging online, both alone and with some help. Just hoping for any outreach. Any possible connection, that he may have had, who might just be much, much older today. But no. Everyone he could think of. He sat in the small room he was provided, in the S.H.I.E.L.D facility - the legacy of friends he had, and their attempts to clean up and finish the job he'd started in World War II - holding the small device that could connect the world, but held no living connections left for him. [i]What... are you gonna do now, Rogers?[/i] He seemed to be getting pushed into a box. Not by anyone specifically. He wouldn't have stood for that. Not after the war. Not after the Pits. But by fate. There was just so little options that actually made sense for him, to the point that he felt he was being guided to a singular solution. What, was he going to just be a man from 1945, making new friends, new connections, a new life, from scratch in 2025? What possible frame of reference could anyone have to try and get to know him, or he them? He raised his head and looked at the S.H.I.E.L.D logo that adorned the wall. The logo of the organisation that was the remaining legacy of friends. Who sought to finish the job they started, and couldn't before their deaths. Friends who had continued in his absence. Friends who had always shouldered each other loads. In the muck and the mire, under inclement weather and under gunfire. It was a choice which wasn't even a choice. Fate was stuffing him in a box. [/color] [center][h3][b][color=white]*[/color] [color=dodgerblue]*[/color] [color=white]*[/color][/b][/h3][/center] [color=slategray] [color=#0300BA]"--your team. This, is Sam Wilson. Codename: Falcon. For reasons which will become more than apparent."[/color] [color=red]"Hey."[/color] [color=dodgerblue]"Hey."[/color] Rogers matched the greeting. [color=#0300BA]"This is Sharon Carter. Codename: Thirteen. An immensely skilled infiltration and espionage specialist. I would not recommend attempting to initiate contact with Thirteen in the field. She will find the means to communicate with you."[/color] [color=#A000BD]"Besides,"[/color] interjected another blonde haired man seated amongst them, leaning back on two legs of his chair eating an apple, [color=#A000BD]"its not like--"[/color] [color=red]"Careful..."[/color] Sam warned, trying to put the cork on this before it got messy. [color=#A000BD]"--she's one for--"[/color] [color=white]"Where are you going with this?"[/color] Sharon cut him off. [color=#A000BD]"Well, there's 'cool professional' and then there's--"[/color] [color=red]"Barton, just don't man."[/color] [color=white]"What?"[/color] [color=#A000BD]"Frigid."[/color] [color=#0300BA]"[/color][color=red].[/color][color=white].[/color][color=#A000BD].[/color][color=dodgerblue]"[/color] Sam shook his head in the uncomfortable silence. [color=white]"Barton,"[/color] Agent Thirteen spat between gritted teeth, [color=white]"they will never find your body."[/color] [color=#A000BD]"So I'm just like any other man someone went looking in your room for?"[/color] Carter burst to her feet, slapping both palms down on the table. Fury finally interjected. [color=#0300BA]"Carter, down."[/color] [color=#0300BA][b]"BARTON."[/b][/color] [color=#A000BD]"What? She can't expect to serve me up a target like that. I never miss."[/color] He turned the apple and took a loud bite out of the fresh side. [color=#0300BA]"And the man making the first impression which is... sadly indicative of what you can expect from here on out, is your final subordinate, Clint Barton. Codename: Hawkeye. Sniper/Weapons specialist."[/color] [color=#A000BD]"Wait... Fury? Subordinate--?"[/color] He erupted from his recline, straightening in an instant. [color=#0300BA]"That's right."[/color] Nick Fury flashed a grin, that suggested he revelled in his selection of those words. Guaranteed to get under the blonde man's skin as much as anything. [color=#A000BD]"He's been inactive for decades! What could possibly make him qualified to tell me what to do?"[/color] [color=white]"Besides a pulse? A functioning brain?"[/color] Sharon shot back. [color=#A000BD]"Not now. We're not talking about your uncontrollable unrequited love for me. There's bigger fish to fry here. Or are you okay with having to answer to Captain Relic over here?"[/color] [color=white]"Personally, I didn't have a problem with it. And now that I see you do, I'm feeling better about it every minute."[/color] [color=#A000BD]"See, my feelings shouldn't have such an impact on you, Carter. You really need to let this obsession go."[/color] [color=red]"Wait-- what is all of this anyway. I thought you were seeing--"[/color] Clint started to shake his head and mouthed 'No' at Sam. [color=red]"Who was it... Agents whoozit--? What happened?"[/color] [color=#A000BD]"It didn't work."[/color] He said flatly. [color=white]"Well, you know now I'm just going to ask her."[/color] Sharon said. The thought of avoiding transferral of intel to Sharon Carter a near impossibility. [color=#A000BD]"I-- may have called Agent 24... Agent 42s name."[/color] [color=white]"You're such a pig."[/color] [color=#A000BD]"Hey! You're in no position to say that... well, not unless I ever get you in the position I had Agent 47."[/color] [color=white]"Ugh..."[/color] [color=#A000BD]"That... really wasn't enjoyable for anybody in the end. I just started to feel bad."[/color] Clint grimaced in retrospection. The cracked stone faced look of disgust on Fury's face as he saw a world of HR despair unravelling itself in front of him, was enough to prompt his leave. [color=#0300BA]"Rogers. Your team. I need to be elsewhere. If anyone asks, I heard none of this-- whatever this has been."[/color] Steve looked around the table at the three people forming his new 'Team' and how he was supposed to bring this rabble together. [/color]