Back to Gatefold
Issue #2 by Steve Crosby
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“WHAT I MUST DO”
The van was parked across the street. Its paint job was weak, a black that could easily be removed or painted over. The license plates marked the van as being registered in New York, though Steve Rogers was certain that if he ran the plates they'd be shown as belonging to another vehicle entirely. Most important was the man sitting behind the wheel. Steve recognized him immediately as Frank Castle, the Punisher.
At a brisk pace Steve Rogers crossed the street towards the van. Though Frank must have seen him, he made no movement. Of course he would know who was approaching him. Captain America had removed his mask and declared his name on national television. So Frank wouldn't open fire, no. But still, Steve had thought the murderous vigilante would have done something. It made what came next all too easy.
The bare fist broke through the driver's side window easily, and smashed into the side of Frank Castle's face. The windows of the van were shatterproof, so broken glass did not fly about. Still, there were cuts on Steve's fingers and on Frank's cheek. The force of the punch also sent Frank across the seat to slam the side of his head against the passenger side window.
With his arm still through the window, Steve reached down and opened the door from the inside. Then he withdrew his arm from the window, and reached in with both arms to grab Frank Castle's feet. The Punisher was still somewhat conscious, and was groping for a gun. Steve backed up fast and pulled hard. When Frank was entirely out of the van, Steve turned and let go, so that he fell on his side against the pavement rather than headfirst. Before he could try to get up, Steve stepped forward and kicked Frank hard in the face. Frank rolled along the road several times, and didn't get up.
Confident that the man would be unconscious for at least a few hours, Steve turned around and walked down the street towards the building both he and Frank Castle had been watching.
Steve knew the building well, as it was the Youth Center in his neighborhood. Many of the young men who volunteered there belonged to the local gang, and were suspected of last night's explosion that killed over a dozen people, including members of another gang. The explosives used had been sold by the gun dealer Shea, currently in custody, had in fact been apprehended the night of the explosion. Most likely the police were grilling him, trying to get information on whomever he had sold the ordinance to. Of course, odds are he wouldn't talk unless the charges against him were dropped. Charges of multiple homicide in a shooting that started the whole mess. Up the street from the Youth Center, signs of the shooting remained. Young children had been killed, many of whom were family to the local gang. They had leapt to the assumption of a rival gang doing the shooting, had even told Steve that they'd retaliate. While Steve didn't know for sure if the gun dealer had sold the weapons to people he'd victimized, the irony did make sense. Business had been low since Captain America had moved in and gone about disarming the gangs. A drive-by to stir things up, then right back to dealing instruments of death.
Steve had made them promise they wouldn't make a move until after forty-eight hours, until they'd given him and the police time to make things right. They'd gone back on that promise, killed people, and while the police were on the edge of making a deal, Steve had gone to try and make things right. Standing across the street from the Youth Center, Steve had wondered what he'd do, what he'd say, how he'd approach the matter. Then he saw the van.
Approaching the Youth Center, Steve was dressed in street clothes. There was no mask over his head, no costume under the clothes, and no shield on his arm. He wasn't wearing the colors of his country. What Steve intended to do, it wouldn't be while representing America.
Steve took hold of the double doors and pulled them open, then stepped inside. Down the hall and the left was a relatively large common room, with some pool tables, chairs and a couch, and a television. Steve turned to enter this room, and immediately found a gun pressed up against his face.
"You shouldn't have come here, Boy Scout," the young man holding the gun told Steve. Behind him were about half a dozen friends, all around his own age. "But it's cool. We can use a hostage when-"
Before the young man could finish, Steve had moved. A shift to the right, and his hands went up to take hold the young man's wrist. The hand holding the gun went up. Steve turned slightly, and brought the young man's arm down on his raised knee. There was a snap and then a clatter as the gun fell. The young man screamed, with his arm bent unnaturally. Steve swept his arm out, sending the man through the air to crash into a few of his friends.
"That damn-! Get him!"
Shots rang out. Bullets went flying. Steve did the only thing he could do, which was to run at the shooters. It was an old and therefore an effective tactic against untrained shooters. Nobody ever expected it, and when a person is caught by surprise the first thing to suffer is aim. This was particularly true when the shooters were used to firing at still targets from a moving vehicle. Bullets passed by Steve, none connecting, and it wasn't long before he closed the distance and made use of the only weapon he had. Himself.
At a charge, Steve hurled himself at the young killers, the boys who thought they could be soldiers. He broke jaws with strong punches, cracked ribs with thrown elbows, and kicked knees out of location. Steve fought with the ordered chaos of a soldier who'd been in such brawls.
As for the young men, they tried to shoot and, failing in this, tried to run. Steve grabbed a pool cue and threw it at one such pretend soldier. It got tangled in his legs and the boy fell over, with Steve Rogers walking slowly towards him. That young man near the doorway was the last one conscious. More than that, he was the one who'd made Steve the promise.
"You said forty-eight hours," Steve told the man struggling to free his legs.
"That…that was just to get you off our backs," the young man said loudly. "And it worked too. We got the suckas did it, and what was you doing?"
"Me?" Steve replied softly. He was standing directly over the young man, his boot inches from a hand pressed to the ground. "I was making sure, and then I got the man who really did it. All you did was kill innocent people."
Steve lifted his leg, lifted the boot, off the ground. Then he stomped on the young man's hand. "Those fingers, did they pull the trigger?" Steve asked. His voice was drowned out by the young man's screams. "Did you fire it yourself; the weapon you bought from the man who, incidentally, committed the drive-by shooting that killed your little brother? I saw you pulling the trigger at me. That was the last time."
Steve bent down, putting even more weight on the young man's hand. Then he grabbed the other hand, held it tight in one fist, and took hold of a finger. Slowly, Steve bent the finger back.
"You will never use a gun again," Steve said through the screams.
# # # #
Rewind. Steve was on the street, looking at the van. In his mind, he saw himself charging in. He could see those young men bleed, could feel their bones breaking under his blows. Steve could hear the young man's screams while he went to work on him. And with his eyes, Steve saw the van, parked facing the Youth Center.
"No," Steve whispered to himself. That wasn't the way to do things. It wouldn't be the way to do things. Steve took his cell phone out of his jacket pocket, dialed the number and brought it to his ear. "Come to the Youth Center in Red Hook, Brooklyn," Steve told the man on the other end. "They're prepared to surrender." Hopefully, that would be true by the time the police arrived.
Pocketing the cell phone, Steve Rogers crossed the street. As he passed the van, Steve turned his head to look at the man inside the van. Two soldiers from very different wars met eyes, and Frank Castle saw something that been too rare in his life. A true superior officer was giving him an order, and like any good soldier Castle decided to follow it. He didn't move from the van as Steve Rogers walked inside. He wouldn't take any action unless absolutely necessary.
The air inside the Youth Center was deathly quiet. When Steve Rogers moved, he made sure to do so without stealth. It would be better if they didn't think he was trying to sneak up on them. Purposefully and without an insignificant amount of noise, Steve traipsed through the Youth Center towards where he knew the boys would be.
"I'm alone," Steve called out. At the next doorway ahead of him, Steve heard the click of a semi-automatic weapon being readied. This would be the hardest moment, Steve knew. A wrong move here wouldn't kill him, but people would get hurt.
With his hands held out in front of him, Steve slowly approached the doorway. The first things anybody inside the room saw were his bare hands. They started to rise slowly as Steve came into view, and he turned to face the room with his hands over his head.
Seven young men were inside. Three had semi-automatic weapons pointed at Steve. A television was on, with the volume off, turned to the news. On the television screen, Steve saw the face of the gun dealer Shea he'd apprehended the night before.
"So, now you know you killed innocent people."
Not one of the boys said a word. Steve's eyes ran over them, one by one. He knew each boy. "All of you boys know me."
"We ain't boys!" One of them cried out.
"You haven't earned the right to be called men," Steve shot back. "Men keep their words. I kept my word when I brought in those responsible for what happened. You boys lied to me, and innocent people are dead." Steve locked eyes with one of the boys holding a gun on him. "You lied to me, Tyrone."
The gun wavered, the hands holding it shook. It was the boy standing next to Tyrone replied, though. "It's not like they didn't deserve it anyway."
Steve turned his gaze to that boy, and he shrank back involuntarily. "That's very discouraging to hear, Carl. Well, I suppose I'll be leaving now." He started to turn to leave.
"Where you think your going?" A second boy holding a gun asked loudly. Steve turned to look at him.
"The police know who killed those people. The only reason they aren't here yet to arrest all of you is because they don't have the evidence. What they do have, however, is the man who sold you those guns rotting away in one of their cells. It wouldn't surprise me if he's already offered to make a deal, and it's only a matter of time before the District Attorney's office has no choice but to accept that deal. I'll give you boys one guess as to what deal he wants to make."
Again, there was no response. Steve hadn't expected any, and answered his own question.
"Worst case, the charges against him will be dropped in exchange for naming the individuals that he sold those guns to. That will be when the police come charging in here to arrest you all. If you try to resist, odds are that some or all of you will die. That's assuming the Punisher - who happens to be parked outside this building - doesn't get involved. You'll all be dead, and the man who killed your friends and family - the man who started this whole thing - will be back out on the street to sell guns to the friends and family of the people you killed so that this whole thing can keep on going. Does that sound right to you boys?"
That last sentence was yelled out, revealing Steve Rogers' frustration. All seven boys shrank back at this outburst. The three semi-automatics steadied on the hero of World War II. Steve took a deep breath, fighting the urge to disarm those boys.
"It's easy to lose control," Steve told them instead. "People you love get hurt. You get frustrated that nothing is being done about it. Eventually that grows to the point where you choose to take matters into your own hands. That happens to everybody. Even me.
"Last night you boys did something wrong. Now is your chance to make it right. Stand up and take responsibility for what you did. Say whom you bought the guns from and make that man an accessory to your crime in addition to what he did."
From outside, the sound of police sirens could be heard. Steve talked fast.
"I told the police you were turning yourselves in. That was meant to hold off on any possible deals. The choice is yours. I can walk out alone and tell the police that the boys inside are not prepared to surrender. Or I can walk out with a group of men."
"That some choice," one of the boys said. "You leave us that Punisher will just come in here! We walk out with you, he got a clean shot!"
"I promise you that won't happen. You know I keep my word."
"What about when we get put away?" Another boy asked. "You can't protect us in there. Sooner or later somebody's gonna get us."
"Maybe so," Steve said truthfully. "But as long as you're willing to take responsibility, as long as those people see that justice was done, the chances of retaliation against your loved ones will be less likely."
There was no response to this. Even if there had been, Steve didn't wait around to hear it. As soon as he'd finished talking, Steve Rogers turned his backs and the boys and the semi-automatics, and walked back out the way he had come in. What he would find outside, Steve Rogers had no idea. The police shouldn't have had any reason to use the sirens, not even if Steve had been late and a deal had been struck. Because of this uncertainly, Steve left the Youth Center the same way he'd entered, with his hands out to show that they were empty.
Sunlight reflected off the windshields of three police vehicles and one unmarked car. Standing at the front of this last car was Detective Paul Hall, whom Steve Rogers had been dealing with the past few days. Behind the detective were half a dozen uniformed police officers. Their guns were drawn, and aimed at Steve.
The only thing Steve was concerned about, however, was the van. It wasn't parked on the street anymore. Steve's eyes drifted up, and he saw a glimmer of light reflecting off of a sniper's rifle. The police had their attention focused on the Youth Center; they wouldn't have noticed it. As soon as Steve had noticed it, the glimmer vanished. Frank Castle had only made a brief allowance for a fellow soldier.
Through the scope of his rifle, Frank Castle saw Steve's eyes give him an order.
Nobody is going to die today.
In compliance with this order, Frank Castle activated the safety on his rifle. A series of brief light flashes told this to Steve. But Frank didn't move, just in case.
Satisfied that he wasn't in any danger, Steve Rogers lowered his hands. "You can put those down. Nobody is going to die here today." This command Steve had to put into words, because the men he gave them to weren't soldiers.
Even so, some of the policemen looked to Detective Hall, the officer in charge. He gave a brief nod, and the officers behind him complied with the order. "Where are they, Captain?" Steve didn't correct him about how the title only went with the uniform.
The sound of footsteps alerted Steve that the men were coming out behind him. He turned, and was glad to see that they were all unarmed, with their hands raised over their heads. The man who had made Steve the promise, Tyrone, walked out in front. He addressed the detective.
"If it's not too late, sir, my friends and I would like to take responsibility for something we did."
Steve Rogers watched Detective Paul carefully. The police were allowed to lie to suspects in order to gain confessions. When the detective said that no, it wasn't too late, Steve was glad to see that it was the truth.
The next time Steve Rogers looked up was as the men were being escorted into the police cruisers. The sniper rifle and its owner were both gone. Detective Hall approached Steve.
"We'll be taking them in to the station to take down their statements. You're welcome to come along. Some of their family are there already."
"You've been questioning them."
"Of course we have. What I'm saying is, you can keep everybody reassured."
Before Steve could decline the detective's offer, a black car pulled up alongside him. The driver's side door opened and out stepped a beautiful blonde woman whom Steve recognized instantly. She flashed a SHIELD badge at the detective.
"This man is coming with me, now. And he was never involved with this incident. Is that understood?"
Steve Rogers answered for Detective Hall. "I'll be available if you need me to obtain a conviction. Let the men talk with their families. It would be better if they're reminded of what this is all for."
With those parting words, Steve Rogers left Detective Hall and got into the car with SHIELD Agent Thirteen. Without a word to her passenger, she started the car and drove it away from the scene. Over a minute passed by in silence as the car was navigated through the streets. It was Steve who spoke first.
"You can stop the car here."
"No, I can't," replied Agent Thirteen, "Because I haven't yet taken you where you should be. There's been a safe-house prepared. Once you're settled in, we'll collect your trunk and have it brought to you."
Steve turned to look his former lover in the face. "I know where I need to be. Stop the car. Now."
There was hesitation on Agent Thirteen's face. With a sigh, she complied and pulled the car up to the curb. One block over was Steve's apartment. "You know you can't stay here. Whatever lid we try to keep on things will boil over. The word will get out, and people will come after you."
"People have no reason to come after me. Steve Rogers is nobody."
"Wrong!" Agent Thirteen almost shouted this. "Steve Rogers is Captain America. Your face is out there, you idiot. Crazed fanatics, nutjobs with a grudge and losers looking to elevate themselves will come after you! You've been lucky so far, but-"
"I'll tell you again. Steve Rogers is nobody. When I unmasked, I doubt more than a few hundred people actually recognized the face they saw, and fewer people recognized the name. Outside of classified military records, the name exists in the credits of comic books. The handful of individuals who do more than a cursory check and actually find me will also be those smart enough to know that killing a no-name in his sleep will do nothing except bring the wrath of very powerful people down on their heads. And those rare individuals who do decide to act on this useless information will discover that I am ready."
"You know it's not just you Steve-"
"I have no family," Steve said bluntly. "I also have no real friends outside of my occupation. Nobody has been exposed by this that wasn't already exposed."
"Steve, you're not the Fantastic Four!" Agent Thirteen was angry. "When Doctor Doom knocks on your door in return for you foiling one of his grand plans, you will not be able to handle him!"
There was no immediate response from Steve. He allowed the words to hang in the air. "If you don't think he didn't already know, then you're not giving him enough credit."
"Oh come on-!"
"A school teacher in the 1950s figured out who I was. My name is in government files, in government computers, and in government brains. We both know that the very people who shouldn't know my name are the ones who have known all along. Look outside of your world of lies Sharon and see that what I did doesn't change anything!"
Sharon Carter gasped at the mention of her name. Acting as though he hadn't noticed, Steve Rogers opened the door and stepped out of the car. "If I'm needed, I'll be in the area. There's still a chance of gang retribution that I'll need to fend off."
"Steve." Sharon leaned over and reached towards him. "You do know I'm sorry, don't you? About everything that happened, I'm sorry."
There was a pause as Steve allowed his eyes to linger on Sharon. "I never blamed you."
Steve closed the door. He walked down one end of the street while Sharon drove off in the other direction. She glanced briefly in the rear-view mirror, but Steve never looked back.
Next Issue: Before he went missing in action, Captain America witnessed a horrible crime. Now, he must seek out justice against those who got away with what they did. Don't miss part one of War Crimes!
At a brisk pace Steve Rogers crossed the street towards the van. Though Frank must have seen him, he made no movement. Of course he would know who was approaching him. Captain America had removed his mask and declared his name on national television. So Frank wouldn't open fire, no. But still, Steve had thought the murderous vigilante would have done something. It made what came next all too easy.
The bare fist broke through the driver's side window easily, and smashed into the side of Frank Castle's face. The windows of the van were shatterproof, so broken glass did not fly about. Still, there were cuts on Steve's fingers and on Frank's cheek. The force of the punch also sent Frank across the seat to slam the side of his head against the passenger side window.
With his arm still through the window, Steve reached down and opened the door from the inside. Then he withdrew his arm from the window, and reached in with both arms to grab Frank Castle's feet. The Punisher was still somewhat conscious, and was groping for a gun. Steve backed up fast and pulled hard. When Frank was entirely out of the van, Steve turned and let go, so that he fell on his side against the pavement rather than headfirst. Before he could try to get up, Steve stepped forward and kicked Frank hard in the face. Frank rolled along the road several times, and didn't get up.
Confident that the man would be unconscious for at least a few hours, Steve turned around and walked down the street towards the building both he and Frank Castle had been watching.
Steve knew the building well, as it was the Youth Center in his neighborhood. Many of the young men who volunteered there belonged to the local gang, and were suspected of last night's explosion that killed over a dozen people, including members of another gang. The explosives used had been sold by the gun dealer Shea, currently in custody, had in fact been apprehended the night of the explosion. Most likely the police were grilling him, trying to get information on whomever he had sold the ordinance to. Of course, odds are he wouldn't talk unless the charges against him were dropped. Charges of multiple homicide in a shooting that started the whole mess. Up the street from the Youth Center, signs of the shooting remained. Young children had been killed, many of whom were family to the local gang. They had leapt to the assumption of a rival gang doing the shooting, had even told Steve that they'd retaliate. While Steve didn't know for sure if the gun dealer had sold the weapons to people he'd victimized, the irony did make sense. Business had been low since Captain America had moved in and gone about disarming the gangs. A drive-by to stir things up, then right back to dealing instruments of death.
Steve had made them promise they wouldn't make a move until after forty-eight hours, until they'd given him and the police time to make things right. They'd gone back on that promise, killed people, and while the police were on the edge of making a deal, Steve had gone to try and make things right. Standing across the street from the Youth Center, Steve had wondered what he'd do, what he'd say, how he'd approach the matter. Then he saw the van.
Approaching the Youth Center, Steve was dressed in street clothes. There was no mask over his head, no costume under the clothes, and no shield on his arm. He wasn't wearing the colors of his country. What Steve intended to do, it wouldn't be while representing America.
Steve took hold of the double doors and pulled them open, then stepped inside. Down the hall and the left was a relatively large common room, with some pool tables, chairs and a couch, and a television. Steve turned to enter this room, and immediately found a gun pressed up against his face.
"You shouldn't have come here, Boy Scout," the young man holding the gun told Steve. Behind him were about half a dozen friends, all around his own age. "But it's cool. We can use a hostage when-"
Before the young man could finish, Steve had moved. A shift to the right, and his hands went up to take hold the young man's wrist. The hand holding the gun went up. Steve turned slightly, and brought the young man's arm down on his raised knee. There was a snap and then a clatter as the gun fell. The young man screamed, with his arm bent unnaturally. Steve swept his arm out, sending the man through the air to crash into a few of his friends.
"That damn-! Get him!"
Shots rang out. Bullets went flying. Steve did the only thing he could do, which was to run at the shooters. It was an old and therefore an effective tactic against untrained shooters. Nobody ever expected it, and when a person is caught by surprise the first thing to suffer is aim. This was particularly true when the shooters were used to firing at still targets from a moving vehicle. Bullets passed by Steve, none connecting, and it wasn't long before he closed the distance and made use of the only weapon he had. Himself.
At a charge, Steve hurled himself at the young killers, the boys who thought they could be soldiers. He broke jaws with strong punches, cracked ribs with thrown elbows, and kicked knees out of location. Steve fought with the ordered chaos of a soldier who'd been in such brawls.
As for the young men, they tried to shoot and, failing in this, tried to run. Steve grabbed a pool cue and threw it at one such pretend soldier. It got tangled in his legs and the boy fell over, with Steve Rogers walking slowly towards him. That young man near the doorway was the last one conscious. More than that, he was the one who'd made Steve the promise.
"You said forty-eight hours," Steve told the man struggling to free his legs.
"That…that was just to get you off our backs," the young man said loudly. "And it worked too. We got the suckas did it, and what was you doing?"
"Me?" Steve replied softly. He was standing directly over the young man, his boot inches from a hand pressed to the ground. "I was making sure, and then I got the man who really did it. All you did was kill innocent people."
Steve lifted his leg, lifted the boot, off the ground. Then he stomped on the young man's hand. "Those fingers, did they pull the trigger?" Steve asked. His voice was drowned out by the young man's screams. "Did you fire it yourself; the weapon you bought from the man who, incidentally, committed the drive-by shooting that killed your little brother? I saw you pulling the trigger at me. That was the last time."
Steve bent down, putting even more weight on the young man's hand. Then he grabbed the other hand, held it tight in one fist, and took hold of a finger. Slowly, Steve bent the finger back.
"You will never use a gun again," Steve said through the screams.
# # # #
Rewind. Steve was on the street, looking at the van. In his mind, he saw himself charging in. He could see those young men bleed, could feel their bones breaking under his blows. Steve could hear the young man's screams while he went to work on him. And with his eyes, Steve saw the van, parked facing the Youth Center.
"No," Steve whispered to himself. That wasn't the way to do things. It wouldn't be the way to do things. Steve took his cell phone out of his jacket pocket, dialed the number and brought it to his ear. "Come to the Youth Center in Red Hook, Brooklyn," Steve told the man on the other end. "They're prepared to surrender." Hopefully, that would be true by the time the police arrived.
Pocketing the cell phone, Steve Rogers crossed the street. As he passed the van, Steve turned his head to look at the man inside the van. Two soldiers from very different wars met eyes, and Frank Castle saw something that been too rare in his life. A true superior officer was giving him an order, and like any good soldier Castle decided to follow it. He didn't move from the van as Steve Rogers walked inside. He wouldn't take any action unless absolutely necessary.
The air inside the Youth Center was deathly quiet. When Steve Rogers moved, he made sure to do so without stealth. It would be better if they didn't think he was trying to sneak up on them. Purposefully and without an insignificant amount of noise, Steve traipsed through the Youth Center towards where he knew the boys would be.
"I'm alone," Steve called out. At the next doorway ahead of him, Steve heard the click of a semi-automatic weapon being readied. This would be the hardest moment, Steve knew. A wrong move here wouldn't kill him, but people would get hurt.
With his hands held out in front of him, Steve slowly approached the doorway. The first things anybody inside the room saw were his bare hands. They started to rise slowly as Steve came into view, and he turned to face the room with his hands over his head.
Seven young men were inside. Three had semi-automatic weapons pointed at Steve. A television was on, with the volume off, turned to the news. On the television screen, Steve saw the face of the gun dealer Shea he'd apprehended the night before.
"So, now you know you killed innocent people."
Not one of the boys said a word. Steve's eyes ran over them, one by one. He knew each boy. "All of you boys know me."
"We ain't boys!" One of them cried out.
"You haven't earned the right to be called men," Steve shot back. "Men keep their words. I kept my word when I brought in those responsible for what happened. You boys lied to me, and innocent people are dead." Steve locked eyes with one of the boys holding a gun on him. "You lied to me, Tyrone."
The gun wavered, the hands holding it shook. It was the boy standing next to Tyrone replied, though. "It's not like they didn't deserve it anyway."
Steve turned his gaze to that boy, and he shrank back involuntarily. "That's very discouraging to hear, Carl. Well, I suppose I'll be leaving now." He started to turn to leave.
"Where you think your going?" A second boy holding a gun asked loudly. Steve turned to look at him.
"The police know who killed those people. The only reason they aren't here yet to arrest all of you is because they don't have the evidence. What they do have, however, is the man who sold you those guns rotting away in one of their cells. It wouldn't surprise me if he's already offered to make a deal, and it's only a matter of time before the District Attorney's office has no choice but to accept that deal. I'll give you boys one guess as to what deal he wants to make."
Again, there was no response. Steve hadn't expected any, and answered his own question.
"Worst case, the charges against him will be dropped in exchange for naming the individuals that he sold those guns to. That will be when the police come charging in here to arrest you all. If you try to resist, odds are that some or all of you will die. That's assuming the Punisher - who happens to be parked outside this building - doesn't get involved. You'll all be dead, and the man who killed your friends and family - the man who started this whole thing - will be back out on the street to sell guns to the friends and family of the people you killed so that this whole thing can keep on going. Does that sound right to you boys?"
That last sentence was yelled out, revealing Steve Rogers' frustration. All seven boys shrank back at this outburst. The three semi-automatics steadied on the hero of World War II. Steve took a deep breath, fighting the urge to disarm those boys.
"It's easy to lose control," Steve told them instead. "People you love get hurt. You get frustrated that nothing is being done about it. Eventually that grows to the point where you choose to take matters into your own hands. That happens to everybody. Even me.
"Last night you boys did something wrong. Now is your chance to make it right. Stand up and take responsibility for what you did. Say whom you bought the guns from and make that man an accessory to your crime in addition to what he did."
From outside, the sound of police sirens could be heard. Steve talked fast.
"I told the police you were turning yourselves in. That was meant to hold off on any possible deals. The choice is yours. I can walk out alone and tell the police that the boys inside are not prepared to surrender. Or I can walk out with a group of men."
"That some choice," one of the boys said. "You leave us that Punisher will just come in here! We walk out with you, he got a clean shot!"
"I promise you that won't happen. You know I keep my word."
"What about when we get put away?" Another boy asked. "You can't protect us in there. Sooner or later somebody's gonna get us."
"Maybe so," Steve said truthfully. "But as long as you're willing to take responsibility, as long as those people see that justice was done, the chances of retaliation against your loved ones will be less likely."
There was no response to this. Even if there had been, Steve didn't wait around to hear it. As soon as he'd finished talking, Steve Rogers turned his backs and the boys and the semi-automatics, and walked back out the way he had come in. What he would find outside, Steve Rogers had no idea. The police shouldn't have had any reason to use the sirens, not even if Steve had been late and a deal had been struck. Because of this uncertainly, Steve left the Youth Center the same way he'd entered, with his hands out to show that they were empty.
Sunlight reflected off the windshields of three police vehicles and one unmarked car. Standing at the front of this last car was Detective Paul Hall, whom Steve Rogers had been dealing with the past few days. Behind the detective were half a dozen uniformed police officers. Their guns were drawn, and aimed at Steve.
The only thing Steve was concerned about, however, was the van. It wasn't parked on the street anymore. Steve's eyes drifted up, and he saw a glimmer of light reflecting off of a sniper's rifle. The police had their attention focused on the Youth Center; they wouldn't have noticed it. As soon as Steve had noticed it, the glimmer vanished. Frank Castle had only made a brief allowance for a fellow soldier.
Through the scope of his rifle, Frank Castle saw Steve's eyes give him an order.
Nobody is going to die today.
In compliance with this order, Frank Castle activated the safety on his rifle. A series of brief light flashes told this to Steve. But Frank didn't move, just in case.
Satisfied that he wasn't in any danger, Steve Rogers lowered his hands. "You can put those down. Nobody is going to die here today." This command Steve had to put into words, because the men he gave them to weren't soldiers.
Even so, some of the policemen looked to Detective Hall, the officer in charge. He gave a brief nod, and the officers behind him complied with the order. "Where are they, Captain?" Steve didn't correct him about how the title only went with the uniform.
The sound of footsteps alerted Steve that the men were coming out behind him. He turned, and was glad to see that they were all unarmed, with their hands raised over their heads. The man who had made Steve the promise, Tyrone, walked out in front. He addressed the detective.
"If it's not too late, sir, my friends and I would like to take responsibility for something we did."
Steve Rogers watched Detective Paul carefully. The police were allowed to lie to suspects in order to gain confessions. When the detective said that no, it wasn't too late, Steve was glad to see that it was the truth.
The next time Steve Rogers looked up was as the men were being escorted into the police cruisers. The sniper rifle and its owner were both gone. Detective Hall approached Steve.
"We'll be taking them in to the station to take down their statements. You're welcome to come along. Some of their family are there already."
"You've been questioning them."
"Of course we have. What I'm saying is, you can keep everybody reassured."
Before Steve could decline the detective's offer, a black car pulled up alongside him. The driver's side door opened and out stepped a beautiful blonde woman whom Steve recognized instantly. She flashed a SHIELD badge at the detective.
"This man is coming with me, now. And he was never involved with this incident. Is that understood?"
Steve Rogers answered for Detective Hall. "I'll be available if you need me to obtain a conviction. Let the men talk with their families. It would be better if they're reminded of what this is all for."
With those parting words, Steve Rogers left Detective Hall and got into the car with SHIELD Agent Thirteen. Without a word to her passenger, she started the car and drove it away from the scene. Over a minute passed by in silence as the car was navigated through the streets. It was Steve who spoke first.
"You can stop the car here."
"No, I can't," replied Agent Thirteen, "Because I haven't yet taken you where you should be. There's been a safe-house prepared. Once you're settled in, we'll collect your trunk and have it brought to you."
Steve turned to look his former lover in the face. "I know where I need to be. Stop the car. Now."
There was hesitation on Agent Thirteen's face. With a sigh, she complied and pulled the car up to the curb. One block over was Steve's apartment. "You know you can't stay here. Whatever lid we try to keep on things will boil over. The word will get out, and people will come after you."
"People have no reason to come after me. Steve Rogers is nobody."
"Wrong!" Agent Thirteen almost shouted this. "Steve Rogers is Captain America. Your face is out there, you idiot. Crazed fanatics, nutjobs with a grudge and losers looking to elevate themselves will come after you! You've been lucky so far, but-"
"I'll tell you again. Steve Rogers is nobody. When I unmasked, I doubt more than a few hundred people actually recognized the face they saw, and fewer people recognized the name. Outside of classified military records, the name exists in the credits of comic books. The handful of individuals who do more than a cursory check and actually find me will also be those smart enough to know that killing a no-name in his sleep will do nothing except bring the wrath of very powerful people down on their heads. And those rare individuals who do decide to act on this useless information will discover that I am ready."
"You know it's not just you Steve-"
"I have no family," Steve said bluntly. "I also have no real friends outside of my occupation. Nobody has been exposed by this that wasn't already exposed."
"Steve, you're not the Fantastic Four!" Agent Thirteen was angry. "When Doctor Doom knocks on your door in return for you foiling one of his grand plans, you will not be able to handle him!"
There was no immediate response from Steve. He allowed the words to hang in the air. "If you don't think he didn't already know, then you're not giving him enough credit."
"Oh come on-!"
"A school teacher in the 1950s figured out who I was. My name is in government files, in government computers, and in government brains. We both know that the very people who shouldn't know my name are the ones who have known all along. Look outside of your world of lies Sharon and see that what I did doesn't change anything!"
Sharon Carter gasped at the mention of her name. Acting as though he hadn't noticed, Steve Rogers opened the door and stepped out of the car. "If I'm needed, I'll be in the area. There's still a chance of gang retribution that I'll need to fend off."
"Steve." Sharon leaned over and reached towards him. "You do know I'm sorry, don't you? About everything that happened, I'm sorry."
There was a pause as Steve allowed his eyes to linger on Sharon. "I never blamed you."
Steve closed the door. He walked down one end of the street while Sharon drove off in the other direction. She glanced briefly in the rear-view mirror, but Steve never looked back.
Next Issue: Before he went missing in action, Captain America witnessed a horrible crime. Now, he must seek out justice against those who got away with what they did. Don't miss part one of War Crimes!