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Issue #1 by Steve Crosby
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Eager to serve his country during World War Two, Steve Rogers was transformed into a physically perfect man by the government's Super Soldier program, becoming the United States' Sentinel of Liberty! Armed with an indestructible shield and the physical prowess of an Olympic athlete, Rogers fought valiantly to uphold the ideals and principles of democracy. At the end of the war, he was accidentally frozen in a block of ice and preserved for decades until discovered and revived by the Avengers. Now a man out of time, he is ever-vigilant in his battle to protect the innocent and uphold the beliefs upon which America was founded. Willing to sacrifice his own life for the greater good, Steve Rogers is the physical embodiment of truth, justice, and honor.
“RIGHT TO BEAR ARMS”
In the 1920's, Steve was born in Brooklyn. When he grew up, it was a nice place to life, even during the Depression. Good, hardworking families lived there. People who took care of one-another during rough times. It was growing up in that kind of environment that led to Steve volunteering for the army once war had broken out in Europe.
When he returned home, nearly fifty years later and less than ten years older, Steve had found that a lot was different about his old neighborhood. For him, the worst thing was that all the young men were playing soldier.
That in itself wasn't too bad. Steve had done it himself before he'd gone to war. A bunch of friends getting together to hang out, even do minor crimes for a thrill. And yeah, sometimes there had been times when some kid you got in an argument with decided to settle things with a few of his friends holding you down while he kicked you into the dirt, and the only way to stop that was to have your own friends around to back you up.
Things had gotten worse though, Steve saw. For one thing, these groups of friends all had guns. And when they had arguments, these kids didn't settle things with fists or even knives. They'd drive by in their car and shoot at each other on the streets. Streets where little children played, and if one happened to get caught in the crossfire that wasn't considered a big deal to the 'soldiers'.
To Steve, though, it had been a big deal. So much so that he spent a great deal of time and energy trying to fix the problem. He put a lot of young men in jail, but a lot of boys were growing up into the same thing. Everybody had guns, so for a while Steve went after the dealers. But as long as there was a demand, the dealers would just keep appearing. Eventually, Steve recognized that if he couldn't win a war by fighting, there was only one other thing to do.
Negotiate.
"This neighborhood is mine." That was the declaration Steve had made to every group of young men he sought out. "I hear a gunshot from my home, I will go out and deal with whoever fired that shot. And they won't get away in a car."
For several weeks after that, Steve hardly got any sleep. Every night he was out, chasing down drive-bys and breaking up rumbles. If nobody was seriously hurt, then nobody went to jail. Everybody just lost their guns and were sent on their way.
"You don't need these here," Steve told them all. "You won't have them, and neither will they. None of you will have a reason to carry them."
Slowly, everybody began to see the rationale, and things quieted down. No gunshot went unanswered, until there were hardly any for Steve to respond to. The gangs he'd originally be fighting against were returning to their original purpose, helping out the neighborhood by volunteering and looking out for people in the community. Soon Steve was spending more time out of the neighborhood, even rejoined the Avengers in combating a multitude of threats.
In hindsight, Captain America did not regret putting the world before his neighborhood. He'd done it before, and if necessary would do it again. Better if that neighborhood got razed to the ground and the rest of the world survived, than all the world becoming conquered by a time-traveling dictator. It didn't come to that, of course. The neighborhood in Brooklyn was relatively untouched by the conflict, and after a few weeks it was as though nothing had changed.
But all the same, Captain America would not be there to answer the shots.
"Where you been at?" the young man demanded as Steve Rogers rode up to the curb on his motorcycle. After taking off his helmet and laying it on the seat, Steve stared at the scene taking place farther down. Even took a few steps in that directions. "I axed you a question, hero-man. Where you been while my homies were getting shot at!"
Steve spared the young man, black, a brief glance, but didn't give a response. Mainly because he knew that there wasn't anything he could say. The fact remained that he hadn't been around to respond immediately, let along prevent the tragedy. Instead Steve went towards the crime scene, to find out what he could, so that maybe he could give some kind of a response.
The first thing Steve noticed were the faint tire marks on the road, forensics officers already knelt beside them. Steve knew that they were the result of a sudden acceleration, and took a brief glimpse over his shoulder. So it'd been one of those. The car had slowed down, the occupants inside opened fire, and then the driver sped up to get away. Nearing the ambulance, the next thing Steve saw was the aftermath of that drive-by.
That the guns had been automatics was the first thought that ran through Steve's mind. The number of marks on the wall, so recently fixed up just last month ago, told him that much. That and the number of covered bodies on the sidewalk. Nearly a dozen, and under the sheets too many of those shapes were too small.
The second thought that flashed through Steve's mind was the date and time, as well as location. The local Youth Center was a block down the street, and the park was another too blocks up. An open cooler was lying on the sidewalk, small puddles of melted ice and cans of soda near it. Good weather on a Friday. It wasn't yet noon. If enough boys showed up at the Youth Center the volunteers would escort them all to the park for a game of baseball. Only if they came to the center, and anybody who went to the park on their own wasn't allowed to participate. The rule had been meant to keep everybody together, supervised and safe.
"You're him, right?"
In his mind, Steve Rogers had been replaying the scene that must have occurred, so he wasn't immediately aware that one of the officers on the scene had asked him something.
"I-I'm sorry?"
"You. You're what's-his-name, the guy who's Captain America? I recognize your face, from television, but I can't think of your name. Maybe you didn't say it, then, and I'm talking like an idiot."
"No." Setting his mind right, Steve shook his head. "I mean, yeah, I did say it. It's Steve Rogers and, well, I live here in the neighborhood."
"Really? Wow, and here I figured you probably lived in that mansion."
"I do. Well, for a while I did, and when I'm on monitoring duty. I'm sorry, Officer…"
"Oh, right. Officer Congers. You can call me Sam." Officer Congers extended his hand. Steve took it.
"Maybe now wouldn't be an appropriate time for that, Officer Congers. Like I said, I live in the neighborhood. Could you…what happened here?" It was best to play things dumb, Steve knew, like a regular citizen. Moving in with demands, exuding authority, was the sort of thing that put backs up.
In the case of one young officer, the approach was working. "Oh, well, I guess even in your line of work you're not used to these kinds of things, Cap. Er, Mister Rogers. Looks pretty much like a typical drive-by shooting. Probably gang-related, but you'd have to ask the detective in charge about that. I'm just keeping people away, right now. Not you, of course. It's not like I could or anything, right?"
"Don't sell yourself short. Is that him? The detective?"
"Who?" Officer Congers turned his head to look. "Him? Yeah, that's Detective Hall. Paul Hall. Funny, right?"
"Ha." Hall. The name seemed familiar, but Steve couldn't place it. "Listen, I couldn't help but notice that some of these bodies…I sometimes volunteer at the Youth Center about a block down the way…"
"Oh, oh god, I'm sorry. Uh, yeah, why don't you go ahead and talk to the detective? He can just…fill you in, and hey, you could probably help him out with some things."
"Yeah. Yeah maybe. Thanks."
Moving past the officer, Steve walked towards Detective Hall. He was kneeling near one of the bodies, the sheet pulled back from the face.
"Excuse me, Detective Hall? I'm Steve Rogers, I live in the neighborhood."
At seeing who was coming towards him, the detective quickly rose to his feet. "How did you get the officers up there?"
Steve stopped, and indicated behind him. "Yeah, Officer…Congers, I think it was, he let me by. Figured you might want to talk to me."
"He did, huh?"
"Well, I told him I sometimes volunteer at the Youth Center. I saw this here, and remembered that sometimes the staff take kids to play ball in the park."
"We already figured that out, Mister…"
"Rogers."
"Right. Lot of kids, and some adults, all with gloves. Plus we found a couple bats and some balls. I am a detective."
"Oh. Sorry, I didn't mean…seeing this, odds are I know a lot of these kids. It's just, well, a shock."
"Yeah, I'm sure. How many people you seen dead since the thirties, Captain?"
"….the face or the name." The face, most likely. With his blond hair, blue eyes and handsome features, people had a tendency to remember what Steve looked like.
"The face. From CNN."
The man known as Captain America sighed. "I said my name then too. Nobody listens to television anymore. Sorry, but I didn't want to seem like I was trying to…"
"Uh huh. Like I have a choice if you are?"
"Believe me, I don't want to interfere. All I want to do is help, in whatever way you feel is best."
Detective Hall gave Steve a considering look, then shook his head. "Go home. If we need to talk to you, well, you're not hard to find."
Steve didn't try to push the issue. The offer was made, and as expected was turned down. "I hope you find these guys. Good luck."
After giving those words, Steve turns and walks from the crime scene. He did hope that the police found whoever did it, hopefully before any retaliations were made. A lot of time and effort had been made on Captain America's part to make the neighborhood safe again.
As he neared the parked motorcycle, Steve saw that the young man from before was still there, and others beside. Most of them he recognized; Captain America had disarmed all of them on more than one occasion. Later, he'd gotten to know them all better, in the community.
"Thought you said this neighborhood was safe now?" one of them, by the name of Randy, asked in a derisive tone.
Again, Steve chose not to respond. Those sort of remarks were to be expected. People expected miracles of Captain America, and when he didn't deliver they would act like he'd cheated them. The key was not to react to their hostility, and just focus on doing what you could.
"The police are going to deal with it," he told the youths. "They'll look for anybody who saw what happened, try to get a description of the car. It won't be long before they find who did it."
"Oh, we already know who did it," another one from the group said. He tapped his waistcoat, where Steve could see a bulge. If not for the police nearby, he probably would have lifted his shirt to display the piece. "We'll go deal with it ourselves. Them's our friends bleeding over there!"
"That's my kid brother lying in the street!" Another said in a raised voice.
"You give anybody specific a reason to shoot at you?" Steve asked the group. "Then you can't know for sure. I know I'd want to be damned sure before I destroyed several lives, including my own!" There was a pause, and Steve continued. "And yeah, you're right. I did say this neighborhood was safe, and whoever killed your family and friends, they made a liar out of me. So let me make it right, before you all do something stupid. With me and the police looking, these people will not get away with it."
For a moment, the man and the group just looked at one another, challenging each other. Steve had made his offer. Would they accept?
"Heard somewhere that if a crime ain't solved within forty-eight hours, it don't get solved. Dat true?"
"There are exceptions but, usually, yeah."
"You got that long then. After that, we do our justice. Sure or not, it'll send a message."
To that, Steve nodded. No lectures, or threats of his own, because Steve knew it wouldn't do any good. If anything, it'd push one of those kids to jump the gun. No, Steve thought as the youths walked away and he mounted the bike, the only thing he could do was make sure the killers were caught. That, and prepare to deal with the consequences if he failed.
# # # # #
When he wasn't staying at the mansion, Steve Rogers had a studio apartment in Brooklyn. All one room, and somewhat bare. There was a shower stall and toilet, with a curtain set up around them for privacy. There was also a sink, with shelves set up over it and a portable stove-oven nearby to serve as a kitchen. A large table was folded up against the wall when not in use. Acting as a living room/bedroom was a fold-up coach and two tables, on which sat a clock-radio, lamps, and Steve's cell phone in its charger.
Roughly half the space was used for a gym, with a weight set and exercise mats. When the knock came at the door, Steve was doing bench presses.
"It's open," he called out. Company was expected.
The door opened, and a man several years younger than Steve stepped into the room. His hair was brown, and unlike Steve in his sweats this man wore a pressed shirt and dress pants. In his hand was a small briefcase. He took a quick look around Steve's apartment.
"Hunh, not quite what I expected."
"More than what I had in the army," Steve grunted as he placed the bar onto the rack. He sat up to face the man. "Thanks for stopping over so quickly, Jack."
"Thank Drake," replied Jack Flagg, formerly known as the patriotic hero Jack Flag. "I had hardly finished telling him what you wanted when my fax machine started up." Laying his briefcase on the high back of the couch, Jack opened it and took out a file with several sheets of paper inside. "Here you go. Everything the NYPD has on what happened yesterday. Well, what they have on computer, anyway."
"I'll be sure to, then." On his feet, Steve walked towards Jack to the file up and open it. Glancing through the papers inside, he nodded. "Witness interviews and the ballistics report, these are just what I need. I really appreciate you doing this, Jack. You and your brother took a risk here."
"Nah, Drake's too smart to get caught hacking the department network. As for me, well, there's no crime against having a phone conversation with your brother." Then, Jack's posture went uneasy. "Still, I'm curious why you didn't get this yourself. With your security clearance, it wouldn't have been a problem."
"This isn't related to Avengers business. I just don't feel right, using their resources on a personal issue."
"Uh, Cap, didn't you once call the President of the United States for clearance to fly into a foreign country?"
"An Avenger was in trouble at the time, and Gyrich wasn't being-"
"Exactly, those weren't Avengers resources you used. That was all you, getting what you needed. Call the mayor, tell him you want to help fight New York's gang problem, he would fall over ass-backwards to give you whatever you wanted. If you hadn't been specific about it, I'd have just asked my boss. You know he used to be in the department."
In its charger, the cell phone rang. Picking it up, Steve looked at the caller I.D. "I need to get this." Turns it on. "Hello? Yeah, that was me. Can we talk about this later? Fine. No, I'm doing this. I understand." Turns the phone off and places it back into the charger.
"Who was that?" asked Jack.
"SHIELD," Steve replied. "That was the conversation I'd hoped to avoid. Probably bugs in this place. Means I'll have to go over it all again."
"You know it's a waste of time," Jack said. "But why would they talk to you about this?"
With a sigh, Steve settled into the couch, file in hand. "My security clearance isn't free. Every year I'm evaluated in order to maintain my status. If I push things, piss off the wrong people, I can get shut out of things pretty quickly. The Avengers would to, as a result. That," Steve indicated the phone. "Was Sharon warning me that getting involved in an inner city gang dispute would ruffle all sorts of feathers, especially if it looked as though I was supporting one over the other."
Jack shook his head, angry. "So SHIELD would rather the city became a war zone? You shouldn't have to justify yourself to them, Steve."
"It hasn't come to that yet. Sharon was just warning me, off the record." Steve raised the open file. "But, hopefully, the police should be close to making an arrest. No license plate, but they have a solid description of the car. It shouldn't be too hard for them to find."
"Unless it's stolen," Jack pointed out.
"Hmm, this is interesting." Steve passed a sheet of paper to Jack, and he saw that it was from the ballistics report. "So far they've collected over a hundred rounds from the crime scene. 9mm."
"Wow, those are a lot of bullets."
"Yeah, especially when you consider the number of guns fired from the car. One man driving, two shooters from the passenger's side, maybe somebody on the other side doing a reach-around. Three, maybe four guns at the most. No time to reload, probably not even to empty the magazines."
"So whatever they used had to have held a lot of bullets," Jack finished. "No way they were using handguns, and machine guns wouldn't have been easy to fire from inside a car."
"So we're talking about submachine guns, small, handheld. Yeah, they come to the same conclusion in these notes." Placing the file down, Steve rose to his feet.
"What? You think of something."
"Yeah." Steve was moving for the closet. "Almost a year ago, when I was trying to fight the problem directly, I'd followed these guys to a gun dealer, guy by the name of…Shea. He had some bad stuff, including submachine guns. When I confronted them outside, after the deal, they fired a lot of rounds at me. I'd managed to catch one in the leg, and I'd dug it out afterward. 9 mm."
"You think these guns came from him?" Jack asked. "But wouldn't be still be in jail after that?"
But Steve shook his head. "I never actually saw the exchange, and when the police searched his place they came up empty. He'd only had enough on hand for the deal. Still, he'd been spooked, didn't do any business as far as I knew."
In the closet, Steve knelt down over a nuclear-proof trunk, locked with the most supplicated technology on the planet. Sensors took his fingerprints, retina and DNA, then he punched in a twenty-digit code into each of the five keypads.
A fair distance away, Jack mused over the ballistics report. "Sounds like he's back in business. You thinking he had something to do with this."
"Doubtful. But he'll know who did."
The trunk was open. Inside was the costume and the shield, both of the same colors and design. Red, white and blue, stars and stripes. The headpiece was blue with a white 'A' on the forehead. Some people thought it was a stupid thing to have on the forehead, but Steve knew different. That letter wasn't a symbol, but a simple abbreviation of what Captain America stood up for. America, plain and simple.
"And after he tells me, so will I."
# # # # #
It was not originally suited for night-work, the uniform. Back in World War II, it'd been designed as a symbol, made with the colors and style of the American Flag. Red, white and blue, in vibrant primaries meant to be seen in daylight and even the darkest settings. That was often how Captain America would be introduced on the newsreels, with the screen pitch black and then he would step into few with the white parts of his uniform and shield becoming visible first, like pure light piercing the shadow of fascism.
Whatever purpose there may have originally been for Project: Super Soldier, the destruction of the formula and assassination of it's inventor altered things forever. Even with access to the formula in Steve's veins, the best scientists of America were clueless as to how the formula would be reproduced, and so Steve Rogers was alone. One perfect soldier who the Allied nations could not afford to lose, but at the same time they couldn't just leave him leashed against the fence.
So the costume was made, the shield designed. The soldier became a symbol to inspire hope in Americans and fear in her enemies. In the newsreels he would convince young men to enlist and assure everybody in the justness of their fight.
But still, any actor could have worn the uniform. The super-soldier was made with a purpose in mind, and the military wanted that potential utilized. The flimsy triangle shield was scrapped for an indestructible disc, and the photogenic design on cloth was redone with more practical ideas. Cloth became woven Kevlar, two sheets in between strong rings of plastic were strung together, both flexible and protective. The colors were muted and dulled so that no light was reflected. In this body armor, Captain America was able to thwart Nazi schemes in America and infiltrate Europe for missions of vital importance.
The years have led to advancements in the uniform's effectiveness, including special polarizations that made the colors vibrant one moment and dull the next, so that both purposes could be achieved with the same threads. So it was that Captain America, his costume mixed in with the night-time shadows, was able to creep along rooftops towards the home of the gun dealer Shea.
Once before Captain America had been at the small tenement building on the far side of Brooklyn, far from his own neighborhood. It'd been some time ago, but Steve knew the route as though it'd been only yesterday. That'd been part of his training, being able to recall minute and vague pieces of information, including the small tidbit Captain America had failed to mention to Jack Flagg.
There the building was, six stories tall and in relative disrepair. From across the street, Captain America ran his eyes over the cars parked along outside the building. The dark red Pontiac was there, almost black in the night. Steve narrowed his eyes at seeing it, the car described to the police by eyewitnesses. Had the police mentioned the description to Steve Rogers, asked him about it, he could have told them about Shea in an instant. But they hadn't asked him. Steve had had to find out by raiding files. Still, it'd been months, Shea could have sold or otherwise ditched the vehicle, so Captain America had gone to see with his own eyes.
And now what? An anonymous call to the police would lead them to the car, to Shea. They would have his file, know what kind of a threat he was, and prepare accordingly. If he resisted, it was likely Shea would be killed in the exchange.
From the rooftop across the street, Captain America spied a shape exiting the building. To far away to make out features, but the height and build matched, and he was moving towards the red car. The door opened. Shea was getting in. Captain America reacted.
Downward the shield was thrown. Under the car it went, slicing the right front tire before ricocheting off the pavement and up at the building. During this, Shea had been turning his key in the ignition, and Captain America had leapt from the rooftop. A little more than halfway across the street and beginning his descent, Captain America extended his arm out and took the returning shield in hand. He landed several cars ahead of Shea's, shield arm back and ready to throw as the car started and he could see Shea's head disappear under the dashboard.
"What the-!" Shea yelled as he saw the red, white and blue figure illuminated in his headlights. Reaching under the seat for his gun, Shea wasn't aware of the shield flying towards him until it smashed through his windshield and out through the rear window, showering the inside of the car with glass shards. Pinpricks of pain tingling along the back of his head, Shea pressed his foot against the gas and shot off towards Captain America. "Gonna get you!"
But as the car traveled, so too did the shield. Against a lamp post it bounced off, then again off the tenement building and back into Captain America's hand. Just in time, Captain America held it out in front of him and braced for the impact.
At a little more than twenty miles per hour, Shea crashed his car against the shield of Captain America. Made from indestructible adamantium and impact-absorbing vibranium, the shield easily withstood the assault, with Captain America only having to back-peddle several steps. And it was then that Captain America jumped up and forward, vaulting over the car while at the same time hurling his shield down through the hood. Rolling easily along the roof of the car, Captain America dove to land on the pavement while the crippled vehicle fell to a stop several feet ahead.
"You gonna die for that!" Shea screamed as the driver's side door flew open. He rushed out, a submachine gun in hand. But Captain America was moving also, faster than the gun dealer could, and his fist shot out to strike Shea in the wrist.
With a cry, Shea dropped his gun, which Captain America caught before it could land on the hard pavement and go off unexpectedly. Turning it easily in his one hand, Captain America drove the back of the gun into Shea's solar plexus, causing the criminal to double over in pain. Then a kick against the back of the knee, and Captain America sent him crashing to the ground. With nimble fingers, the gun was quickly disassembled and it's pieces scattered on the road.
Taking the stunned Shea by the back of the collar with one hand, Captain America reached into a pouch on his belt with the other and removed a cell phone. One number pressed for three, and he was speaking into it.
"Hello, I'd like to report a disturbance."
# # # # #
Some time later, it was all over. The police had searched Shea's home, and found the other two guns used in the attack. Fingerprints taken from these would lead to more arrests. Screaming that his rights had been violated at he wanted a lawyer, Shea was handcuffed and driven to lock-up, his dead car towed off as evidence. Soon, the crowds and the police had all gone, and the only men remaining on the street were Captain America and Detective Paul Hall.
"I thought we'd agreed you weren't going to get involved?" the detective asked. "How'd you know to come here, anyway?"
"I saw all those holes in the walls earlier, submachine guns came to mind. I thought about this guy, decided to check things out before wasting your time."
"That was considerate. So, you remembered this guy you ran into a few months ago, didn't bother mentioning it to us-"
"I remember it later, at home," Captain America added. "And the last time I'd tried to offer information, you said that you'd get in touch with me."
"Right, but instead of waiting, you thought you'd 'check things out.'"
The hero shrugged. "If it turned out I was wrong, then I just never would have mentioned it, and save you the time of following a bogus lead yourselves."
"Again, there's that consideration." Detective Hall glanced down at the visible mark in the road, left by the shield. The he looked up at the marks in the building wall. "Let me see if I understand this. You weren't sure enough to tell the police, but you were sure enough to smash up the guy's car."
"I was sure as soon as I saw the car."
"Really?" the detective looked at Captain America with a raised eyebrow. "And how would you know his car matched the description we had?"
"You might not have wanted my help, but some people in the neighborhood did. One of the witnesses told me. Don't ask me who, because I'm not telling you."
Detective Hall shrugged. "My job's done here. The D.A. will probably want to know though, for trial. I think I got it now. You came to make sure Shea was the guy. When you saw that he was, you took it upon yourself to bring him in."
"When I saw him leaving the building, yeah," replied Captain America. "For all I knew, he was leaving the city. If I'd called you then, and you went to pick him up while he was moving, there's no telling what could have happened. Who could have gotten hurt. This," he indicated the crime scene. "Was a controlled situation."
"So controlled you decided to be fancy? Or was there a purpose to throwing the shield through his windows?"
"I saw him reach down, probably for a gun. I threw my shield to shake him up."
"Huh," said the detective. "Well, between you and me, I'm glad a shootout was avoided. This guy wouldn't have gone quietly, and with his firepower somebody would have gotten hurt. Officially, Mr. Rogers, don't interfere in a police investigation ever again."
Captain America didn't say anything as the detective walked away towards his car. It didn't matter what he thought, of course. Steve knew he did the right thing. If he'd just called the police, tracked Shea's car, it would have all taken up time when there wasn't any to spare. Every minute that passed without an arrest was a minute when the neighborhood gang would have gotten fed up and decided to blindly retaliate. Which would have been exactly what a gun dealer like Shea had wanted. Sometimes there's nothing like a war to boost the economy.
But now it was over, Captain America thought as he scaled the building and started along the rooftops for his place. Nobody else was going to get hurt.
# # # # #
In the dark, silent night, the explosion could be heard and seen from blocks away. Residents would awaken suddenly from their beds, rush to the windows to see what had gone on. They would find the upper levels of a tenement building aflame, and a gaping hole of which the remains littered the street. Most, even through their drowsy minds, would recall that the building was home to a number of young men who were known to be involved in suspect activities.
But with the sudden devastation and momentary restlessness, none of the onlookers would notice the car tearing out of the neighborhood. Inside the car were more young men, once rivals of those who had surely just been killed. One of these young men, named Randy, threw down the grenade launcher he'd fired moments ago. With his friends in the front seat, Randy whooped and hollered in celebration. They celebrated because, in their minds, justice had been served.
Next Issue: With more lives lost, Captain America must stop a war before it begins!