STEVE ROGERS ♦ SOLDIER ♦ S.H.I.E.L.D SAFEHOUSE, BROOKLYN ♦ S.H.I.E.L.D
C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:
"I can do this all day."
Steve Rogers never considered himself anything special.
Born to Sarah Rogers, his father died when he was young. Leaving just him, his mother, and his sister Anne. He took odd jobs before he was ten, doing the little things to earn what money he could for his family—even a little thievery, though no more than grabbing some bread when there were too many bills and not enough money. By the time he was eighteen he had a good job at a local grocery store, while his mother worked as a nurse for the army. Life was simple, and stable. But when the war started, Steve knew he had a duty. He tried to enlist several times, but his relatively weak constitution kept him from service. Bitterness began to claw at him, until he was noticed by Doctor Abraham Erskine.
The rest is, as they say, history.
After Doctor Erskine was murdered, and Steve the sole success of Project Rebirth, there was a brief debate among army staff on whether to put him forward in a propaganda positon, or send him to the front. After seeing the test results of his new, formula enhanced body it was eventually decided to put him fully into service. With General Chester Phillps stating that “We made the damn gun. Might as well pull the trigger.”
Slapping him in a fancy suit and an in-your-face codename, Steve Rogers, now dubbed Captain America, took to the field with resounding success. From Tunisia to France, Captain America was at the forefront of almost every major campaign in the western theater of World War Two, with his exploits, exaggerated and practically deified by some of the population, becoming the stuff of legend back home.
It said a great deal about his influence that when, in 1945, he ‘died’ attempting to stop the deployment of chemical weapons and other ‘wunderwaffen’ on U.S soil by HYDRA, only to end with their superjet bomber going missing over the arctic circle, presumably crashing, that Army Staff chose to withhold news of his demise for fear of the damage it may inflict on morale. Even restraining news being given to his surviving family until the war was over.
And for decades, that was the last of him.
Now, fished out of the freezing waters by SHIELD after being discovered by a team of scientists attempting to pick up Chitarui wrecks, Steve Rogers is a man out of time in perhaps the strangest sense. The world is far, far removed from what he once knew. Super humans more powerful than anything HYDRA was able to muster roam the globe, aliens, actual aliens, invaded. The only family he has left is Sharon Rogers, the descendent of his sister Anne, whom he barely knows. Everything is foreign.
But one thing remains the same. The world needs a soldier.
And that, that
he can be.
It’s probably a bit mean, but I find the idea of throwing good ‘ol Cap head first into the mess that is Marvel while a lot of its principle actors have been underway for about a decade or so already to be somewhat amusing—and interesting. Captain America adapting to the circumstances of the modern world, and all the history he’s missed has always proven fascinating to me. Even if its, understandably, pretty much not really focused on all too much. Which is why I’m having him start recently defrosted.
I pretty much intend to play him as a man out of time, doubling down on the one thing he knows: Being a soldier. Or, in this case, a hero. Perhaps keep his time fighting in WW2 at a constant low-hum in the back of his mind. Rest assured I don’t intend to bring any of the particularly nasty social aspects of the 40’s back with him. As, frankly, that's not the kind of character I want to play.
C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:
I don’t think his powerset will be any different from what has been presented of him. Superhuman strength and durability, but not at the levels of, say, Hulk or Thor. Skilled at fighting, especially with that shield of his.
NPC’s are a bit barebones for now, but I figure that’ll evolve and change over the course of the game.
NPC's: Sharon Rogers:
Great Granddaughter of Anne Rogers, Sharon has been working with SHIELD since its revival post-invasion. More often than not cleaning up the actual mess of it, alongside those caused by clashes between superhumans, due to her skills and, admittedly, blood relations to the man, she has been tasked with helping Steve Rogers acclimate to the modern world. Truthfully, she doesn’t know how to feel about any of this. But she’ll do her job.
Rogues: Johann Shmidt/The Red Skull:
When Nazi Germany fell, and HYDRA with it, the Red Skull disappeared from the face of the earth alongside Captain America. What none know is that one of the ‘wunderwaffen’ he was intending to use on America was an ancient artifact called the tesseract, which instead threw him into space. A year after the Chitarui invasion he finally made his way back to earth, now a learned traveler of the stars, and seeks to take advantage of the worlds vast potential—particularly magical—for his own sinister ends.
The freezing wind howled through the broken windows, and Steve took an icy, stinging breath.
Shmidt wasn’t a large man, even with the mutating enhancements of the proto-formula the HYDRA Director was still relatively thin. But from Steve’s place resting against the plane's wall, crumpled inwards from just having the american soldier thrown into it, he was tall enough. The window to the jet's cockpit had been punctured by Shmidt’s luger, letting the howling wind freeze the spacious room. The gun itself lay in the corner, barrel hanging on by an edge from where Steve slammed his shield into it.
“Again, you come.” Shmidt snarled. His flesh had become taut, or his skull enlarged, Steve didn’t know which. The end result was that Shmidt’s skull had overtaken everything. His blue eyes watched Steve from the sunken pits of his eye-sockets, and bone-white teeth stretched into a death's-head grin, bereft of any lips. Steve honestly didn’t know how the man could still speak.
He didn’t say anything, simply spitting out some blood and getting to his feet. This wasn’t the time for talk. Not with what was in the hold of this damn plane. Shmidt watched him rise with cold eyes, and Steve glanced at his shield, embedded into the wall just behind the damn Nazi. It was just them. Everyone else on the plane was dead, knocked out, or just plain unsuspecting. Between the two men lay a strange cube, locked into some device, glowing with power.
“Nothing to say? Very well, captain. Let this be the last dance.”
Steve sprinted at Shmidt, his boots ringing on the metal deck. For a lot of the folks that were unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of his bull-rush, it was startling. Many of his buddies, when on the receiving end of it, complained that a man shouldn’t move that fast. He had been told he was something of a blur.
Shmidt, evidently, didn’t care.
As Steve wrapped his arms around the bastard for a tackle, Shmidt clasped his hands together before thundering them down on the captain's back. Steve almost lost his footing from the force of the blow, and grit his teeth at the splash of pain. But momentum was with him, and he slammed Shmidt through one of the leather seats in the cockpit, and into a control panel. Sparks showered them both, but while Steve cried out at the searing touch, Shmidt remained silent.
Steve felt two more blows crack down onto him, one right on the back, and the other crashing into his helmet, before he decided he had enough. Bringing his head up, he made sure it slammed into Shmidt’s jaw. As the Red Skull reeled back he began thundering in punches into the man's stomach, in vicious set after vicious set. He began to feel something crack before a red hand slammed into his face. His head snapped to the side, and Shmidt followed it up with a kick that Steve barely blocked.
“Enough!” The Red Skull snarled. “You’ll stop nothing. Nothing!
“Won’t stop me from trying,” Steve said, spitting out a wad of blood.
Shmidt flexed his thin red hands for a moment, before his gaze darted to the glowing cube. In a flash he was racing for it, Steve rushing forward an instant after. He didn’t know what the bastard planned, but after far too many years bearing witness to the horrors he worked, Steve didn’t really care to find out. He pushed his all into it. He’d kill Shmidt, get this damn plane to stop, land, something, and then he’d…well, he’d figure it out.
Flesh smoked from where Shmidt grasped the cube, but he clearly didn’t care. Steve attempted to tackle him again, but a pulse of force sent him flying back into the wall. His world went white for a moment from the pain, and when his vision returned it was to see Shmidt’s head tilted back, his monstrous jaw wide open, laughter spilling out.
“A single step, captain!” The Red Skull said gleefully, even as his hand began to burn. “The progress of humanity has always been just that. And now I have more sheer power in the palm of my hand than anyone has ever known in the world! For years I have studied the tesseract, and now…”
Finally, he looked at Steve. The american soldier could see a gleeful madness dancing in those cold eyes.
“A leap of faith, admittedly. But that's all a single step is. Now-”
That was as far as he got before Steve, spotting his shield a short distance away, dived for it. Fingers closed on the edges, and he threw it with all his might at the Red Skull. Those bone-white teeth clacked shut, and he barked out a laugh, waving his hand in Steve's direction. But the only thing that happened was that the cube, tesseract as Shmidt called it, began to glow even brighter. The Red Skull looked at it in clear confusion.
Then the vibranium shield hit him.
As the Red Skull stumbled back with a cry, the tesseract slipped from his hands. But instead of falling to the ground it began to rise higher in the air. Steve closed his eyes at the intensity of the brightness, such was its sheer power. There was a snarling force, a feeling of cold that far outstripped the arctic winds. A shrill cry of true, genuine fear. And then, at last, silence. Of a sort at least. When Steve opened his eyes again, blinking back tears, it was to find himself alone.
In an instant he was on his feet, fists up. But no matter where he looked, Shmidt was gone.
Hurrying to the controls, Steve felt his heart sink at the sparks that leaped from some of the panels. Bullet holes punctured some, while one whole section held the clear indent of a man. And those that were so far untouched were well beyond his ability to understand. He was on a Nazi superplane carrying a bomb bay filled to the brim with every horror HYDRA could conjure up. All of it heading to the states. And he had no idea how to stop it.
To Be Done.