Chicago

Nicholas Grossman balanced the dagger with its point resting on the tip of his index finger. He sat perched on the bank manager’s desk, staring out at the bank customers and employees who comprised their hostages. Glancing towards the front entrance, he saw his leader, Charles Last, standing guard while he twirled a razor-sharp ring around his wrist.

As Knickknack and the Ringleader, they were two of the criminal juggling troupe known as the Death-Throws. They were also the only ones who utilized non-incendiary weapons, which made them ideal for guard duty as their three teammates worked on the vault.

Another of their teammates, Alvin Healey, also called Tenpin, came out from the vault area. “We got it open. Gonna need to start loading it up.”

The Ringleader nodded and tossed Tenpin a set of keys. “Bring the car around back. Make it snappy.”

“Got it, boss.”

Tenpin left the bank and approached an armored car. Just as he was about to climb into the front seat, a shadow was cast over him. Tenpin spun just as his attacker landed before him.

“What the—you?!”

Tenpin barely got a glimpse of the large white star on his assailant’s chest before he was knocked unconscious by something hard and metal.

Inside the bank, the Ringleader grew impatient, staring at the clock on the wall. He walked towards Knickknack. “Go see what’s taking that idiot so long.”

“Why me?” asked Knickknack.

“Because I’m the boss, you snarky little shit. Now go!”

Knickknack grumbled something under his breath as he hopped off the desk. He twirled his dagger between his fingers as he approached the glass door. Just as he was about to open it, a red fist slammed through the glass, shattering it. The attacker grabbed Knickknack and lifted him off the ground, then hurled him into the far wall.

The Ringleader threw several of his weapons at the attacker. But they ricocheted harmlessly off metal, not even leaving a scratch on its red, white and blue surface. He charged towards the Ringleader with incredible speed, and no matter what the Ringleader threw, it was no match for the star-spangled hero.

The hero barely dodged a ball that flew past his head, exploding on contact with the wall instead. Oddball stood at the entrance to the vault, juggling several of his namesake. He smiled devilishly as he hurled two more.

But the hero was prepared, holding up his hands. Energy surrounded his fists and shot out, firing round, disc-like bursts. They enveloped the juggling balls in their field and prevented them from causing any damage. Oddball turned to run, but the armored man directed his energy towards the star on his chest plate. It began to glow brightly and then fired a star-shaped burst of energy that struck Oddball in the back.

He went to the vault next, but the last member of the Death-Throws, Bombshell, had managed to escape during the fight. Four out of five wasn’t bad, though. As the armored hero approached the hostages, they looked up at him in surprise.

His appearance was oddly similar to the Avenger called Iron Man, but lacking the traditional red and gold color scheme. Instead, the armor was red, white and blue, even complete with stripes and a large white star on his chest that pulsed with energy.

One of the hostages, a little boy no more than seven, came up to the hero and tugged on his hand. “Are you Iron Man?” he asked.

They couldn’t see it because of the helmet he wore, but beneath the faceplate, the armored hero had a large grin on his face. “No son, I’m not.”

THE IRON PATRIOT

Part I

By Scott Redmond and Dino Pollard

New York

For those in the Russian mob, a public bathhouse was the ideal place to conduct business. In the criminal underworld in Russia, your tattoos told your life’s story. So when a man went unclothed, everyone could see just who they were dealing with.

The lean black man with dreadlocks and a full beard looked more than a little out of place in this particular bathhouse. His skin was completely devoid of tattoos and he entered the sauna with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. As he waited, he closed his eyes, the dry heat building up a sheen of sweat on his body.

The door to the sauna and three men entered, also wearing nothing more than towels. Each was heavily tattooed. Two of them were big guys, with well-developed muscles. They stood at the door. The third was shorter and rounder, as well as older. From the chain around his neck hung a cold cross, resting in a nest of curly, white hair. He was bald, but had a thick, white mustache. He sat next to the black man.

“My men, they have looked into your background in Los Angeles,” he said in a Russian accent. “Quite a history you have, Mr. Wilson.”

“Call me Snap,” said Wilson.

“Snap, yes. I am Yuri Korzhakov. I understand you wish to do business?”

“I know who you are, Yuri,” said Snap.

Yuri chuckled. “Yes, of course you do. One thing I find strange…you have dropped off the map. No one hears of Snap Wilson in many years.”

“I got set back, caused a lotta trouble,” said Snap.

“This I do not like.”

“Relax, Yuri.” Snap patted the elder Russian’s back. “Trouble’s long past. S’why I’m lookin’ to reopen shop here out east. I was talkin’ wit’ another man ‘bout providin’ me with some merchandise, but then he got shut down.”

“And what man would that be?”

“Pavelko.”

“Ahh yes, Burian. I was very sad to hear of his death. He was good soldier.”

“But way I unnerstan’ it, he weren’t no top dawg. That’s you, ain’t it, Yuri?”

“Your compliments, they mean nothing. Let’s get to business. What you want?”

“Five hos t’ start me off. You get twenny per cent of what I pull down.”

“Twenty?” Yuri scoffed. “You insult me. Fifty.”

“Fiddy’s a lot, ‘specially since I’m doin’ all the work.”

“Work? Feh. You know nothing of work. I bring these girls over. I set them up. I get them hooked. These things, they cost much money. Twenty is too little for what I pay.”

“Twenny-five.”

Yuri pointed at the two men by the door. “You see these boys? They my nephews. Do not like it when some hoodlum try to take advantage of they poor immigrant uncle.”

Snap rolled his eyes. “Old man, you been in this country since I was swingin’ on monkey bars. Don’t give me that shit.”

“Thirty-five. That is final offer. And I require deposit.”

“Sheeeeeeeit…”

“Final offer, Snap. Do we deal?”

Yuri offered his hand. Snap rubbed his beard but finally shook it. “You a tough old cracker, y’know that?”

“I know.” Yuri stood. “My associate will contact you with further instructions.”

When Snap left the bathhouse, a car pulled up to the curve. He got into the passenger side and the driver pulled away. The driver wore dark sunglasses and a black do-rag. As the car pulled away, Snap pulled the dreadlock wig off his head and peeled away the fake beard.

“Man, I hate wearing this crap.”

“Couldn’t risk any chance he might recognize you,” said the driver.

“Yeah, ‘cause Sam Wilson is such a well-known public figure,” said Sam.

“I appreciate what you’re doing. I know this is dangerous for you.”

“Not to mention distasteful.” Sam tossed the wig and beard into the backseat. “I left Snap Wilson behind years ago. But I know this is important.”

“Pavelko and Baranski may be gone, but Korzhakov is apparently a major player here as well.”

“Taking on the Russian mob. That’s pretty big,” said Sam. “You think even Captain America can handle it?”

“We’re gonna find out,” said Josiah. “What did Korzhakov say?”

“He bought it, the whole routine. Setting me up with five girls,” said Sam.  “Just gotta wait for the call.”

A phone began to ring.

“Well, that was quicker than expected,” said Sam. “And how did Yuri get your number? You horning in on my territory already?”

“Very funny.” Josiah reached into his jacket and pulled out the ringing phone. The call ID was blocked and he answered it. “Hello Sharon. … Because about ninety-nine per cent of the blocked numbers I get on here are from you, that’s how I knew. What’s up? … Okay, I’ll meet you there.” Josiah slid the phone back into his jacket.

“So what’s up?” asked Sam.

“No idea. Sharon just said she had something she thought I’d like to see,” said Josiah.

“I hope this isn’t a job that’s gonna take you outta the country or anything. Last thing I need is making a return to the hospital because my back-up was off fighting Hydra.”

Josiah groaned. “I don’t think it’s a mission, just seems like she wants to discuss something.”

Sam grinned. “Sounds like you wish it was a mission.”

“Hope you remember how funny these jokes were when you’re wondering what happened to that back-up of yours,” said Josiah.

SHIELD Safehouse

Once Josiah entered the safehouse in his costume, he found Sharon already standing in front of the door. She had a tablet computer in her hands and walked towards Captain America, handing it to him. Josiah looked at the screen and saw a video already playing of a newscast. The title on the screen read “WHO IS THE IRON PATRIOT?”

Various short clips were edited together, showing a man in a red, white and blue suit of armor, decorated like the American flag. Josiah looked at Sharon in confusion. “What’s this all about?”

“I take it you haven’t heard anything until now,” said Sharon.

“Not at all. Sam and I have been busy working on the Korzhakov case,” said Josiah. “The Iron Patriot?”

“That’s what the media’s dubbed him. Or her. Or it. We don’t know anything about this character, other than he’s been moving across the Midwest for the past week now, taking down various criminals.”

“Interesting…”

“Come with me.” Sharon led him through the small safehouse to a room with a two-way mirror. On the other side, they could see into an interrogation room where Oddball was seated, shackled to a chair.

“Who’s that?” asked Josiah.

“Elton Healey, also called Oddball. A member of the Death-Throws, a group of criminals whose talents are based on juggling dangerous weapons,” said Sharon. “Also worked with the Masters of Evil for a time. His specialty was incendiary juggling balls. The Iron Patriot took them down in Chicago when they tried to knock over a bank. Healey got the best look at him.”

“You want me to ask him some questions?”

“It might give us some sort of lead,” said Sharon. “I’ve really got no other ideas at this point.”

Josiah paused the video on a semi-clear shot of the Iron Patriot. “From this footage, looks like it could be Starktech. Have you talked to Tony?”

“He’s in Europe at the moment, but I’ve sent him the footage and he should arrive in a day or two.”

“I’ll talk to Oddball but I don’t think he’ll be much help,” said Josiah.

“Thanks.”

Josiah entered the interrogation room and Oddball looked up. “Well, looks like they’re sending in the big guns. SHIELD must really be worried about the Iron Cap.”

“Iron Cap, huh?” asked Josiah, sitting across from Oddball.

“That’s right,” said Oddball. “Shellhead’s armor with Cap’s design? Guy’s a walking infringement.”

“You were the only one of your teammates who got a good look at him,” said Josiah. “What can you tell me?”

“Only what I already did, guy looked like a mix between Iron Man and Cap.”

“Nothing else you remember?”

“Nothing else to remember. An’ if you’re hoping to get something outta me, you must be lost, because I didn’t see much more than those cameras,” said Oddball.

Sharon opened the door to the room and looked at Josiah. “Something’s happening.”

Wall Street

The protests started off peacefully. But as time went on and tempers began to flare, some chose more drastic actions. The protests were quickly descending into a full-on riot, with police being dispatched in riot-control gear. But the protestors outnumbered them to a great extent.

From the skies, a figure descended, clad in red, white and blue armor. He hovered over the crowd, looking down on them. A protestor threw a Molotov cocktail towards the police but the Iron Patriot decimated it with a simple repulsor blast. The police raised their weapons to open fire, but the Iron Patriot came down and landed on the street, facing the officers.

“If you open fire on these people, you answer to me,” he said.

The police exchanged nervous glances and slowly lowered their weapons. Then the Iron Patriot turned to the protestors. “I understand your anger, but this is not the way. We can’t resort to violence, we have to find a more peaceful solution to these problems. Yes, there have been injustices, but we can’t counter injustice with more injustice.”

From above, Captain America was crouched on a rooftop with the Falcon by his side, overlooking the crowd. The protestors seemed to calm, returning to their peaceful occupation. The police seemed to relax as well, but both groups kept mistrustful eyes on each other.

“Who the hell is this guy?” asked the Falcon.

“I have no idea,” said Captain America.

“Something about him seems familiar, huh?”

“There’s not much we can do about it now. He seems to be doing good work, so the biggest question is how he got that armor and until Tony gets back, we won’t be able to answer it.”

“Just gonna forget about it?” asked the Falcon.

“Korzhakov is our priority, this guy’s just a distraction.” Captain America stood, walking towards the other end of the rooftop. “Unless something else happens, we stick to the mission and leave the Iron Patriot to the media.”

Falcon looked at his partner. “You okay? Cap?”

He sighed. “Do me a favor, Sam. Just call me Josiah, okay?”

The Falcon was a bit taken by surprise. “Any reason why?”

“I just don’t like that nickname,” said Josiah. “Never really did.”

Captain America jumped to the next rooftop, making the trek back to his home in Princeton Walk. The Falcon was tempted to follow, but knew that his partner had something he was wrestling with and only wanted to be alone at the moment. Instead, he looked back over at the crowd, but the Iron Patriot was gone.

“Why are you hiding up here?”

Falcon spun and saw the Iron Patriot hovering above the rooftop. The mysterious armored man had his arms crossed over his chest. “Who are you?”

“Just a man trying to do what’s right,” said the Iron Patriot.

“A man with access to a suit of armor worth the GDP of a small country?” asked the Falcon.

“I’ve got some pretty smart friends.”

“So do some unsavory types I’ve met.”

The Iron Patriot tilted his head slightly. “Why are you so suspicious?”

“Dunno, guess I just am,” said the Falcon. “There’s something about you…can’t quite put my finger on it.”

“Well, don’t worry,” said the Iron Patriot. “You’ll get your answers soon enough, Sam.”

“How do you—”

The Falcon’s question was interrupted as the Iron Patriot rocketed up into the night. Sam flew after him, trying to keep up, but the Patriot’s suit was capable of far faster flight than the Falcon’s harness and holographic wings could.