“Is it all right if I call you Thaddeus?”

The speaker had a distinct German accent to his voice, sounded vaguely sophisticated. However, Thaddeus Ross, dressed in prison fatigues, could see nothing. He had been bound to a chair, a blindfold draped over his eyes.

“No,” said Ross. “No one calls me that. Everyone calls me Thunderbolt.”

“Ah yes, Thunderbolt Ross. Your old nickname. Quite an illustrious record you have, General.”

“We here to talk about my record?” asked Ross.

“As a matter of fact, yes. There are some things I need cleared up, Thunderbolt. Would you care to help me out with that?”

“What do you wanna know?”

“Does the name Lewis Haywerth sound familiar?”

“I knew him.”

“Cecil Slinkard?”

“Yup.”

“Edward Harrison?”

“Yeah.”

“Howard Stark? Bolivar Trask?”

“Yes, dammit, I knew ’em all, what’s your point?”

“What do all these men have in common, Thunderbolt?”

“They were all really powerful in their day.”

“In what way?”

“Why don’t you ask them that question?”

“Perhaps we should move on. General, do you recall an incident with the Hulk?”

“Be more specific.” Ross spoke with a slight snarl in his voice.

“Your last encounter with him. You had used your influence to arrange for the Hulk to battle some decommissioned Sentinels, which he destroyed quite easily. The incident led with the destruction of your base.”

“And?”

“Well General, you went missing. Until now. When you attacked Jim Hammond and Jack Monroe while wearing one of Stark Industries’ Hulkbuster armors. You attacked them when they broke into the very first Hulkbuster base.”

“I was disoriented when I came to after the Hulk’s attack. Went to familiar ground. Dunno how long I was there for.”

“A few months, it seems.”

“Sounds about right. The place was well-stocked, had enough food and water for me to survive.”

“And after you were apprehended by SHIELD, what did they ask you?”

“Basically the same questions you are. I’ve been over this already, why do you keep asking me this stuff?”

“You’re right, General, I apologize. I’m just trying to ensure all my facts are accurate.”

“They asked me about the others, too.”

“Others?”

“Yeah, the others. The guys you asked me about. They asked me what I knew about them.”

“Did they show you a photograph?”

“What kind of photograph?”

“One of the six of you together. A photograph taken in 1961.”

“They asked me about it.”

“And you said?”

“I’m an old man, that was almost fifty years ago. I’ve had pictures taken with hundreds of high-ranking military officers and influential civilians. Why’s this one so important compared to all the others?”

“Because General, Lewis Haywerth was killed a few weeks ago.”

“That’s what they told me. Don’t see what it’s got to do with me. Never cared much for Haywerth. Working with the goddamn marvels instead of recognizing the true threat they posed to national security.”

“Marvels?”

“That’s what we called ’em. Actually, that’s what some reporter called them, back in the thirties when they first appeared. The name stuck. My old man once said, ‘marvels my ass, they’re like the goddamn Sword of Damocles hanging over our head.’”

“So you and Haywerth didn’t get along.”

“That’s puttin’ it mildly.”

“Ever have any desire to see him eliminated?”

“Now wait just a goddamn minute. We didn’t like each other, but that doesn’t mean I wanted to see him dead.”

“Did you and Haywerth have any other connections, General?”

“We were both involved in different aspects of national defense.”

“Slinkard and Harrison?”

“Also different aspects.”

“And how did Stark and Trask figure into it?”

“Military and industry have been in bed for a long time. Should anything go wrong, they helped provide us with the means to defend ourselves if the marvels couldn’t be controlled.”

“Controlled, you say?”

“That’s what I said.”

“What else did SHIELD ask you? About Control?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Do you know what Control is, General?”

“You’re not making any sense.”

The man’s voice seemed to change in pitch. “That’s good, General Ross. Because Control, that’s a word you should put out of your mind. Do you understand what I am saying to you?”

“Yeah, I get it.”

“Good.” The man removed a gold pocket watch from his vest pocket and opened it. He adjusted the monocle over his eye to check the time and then placed the watch back in his pocket. He stood from the chair, placing a hand on Ross’ shoulder. “Thank you for having this chat with me, General. It’s been enlightening.”

The man walked to the room’s entrance and knocked three times on the door. A uniformed guard opened it for him and he walked through the building with ease, where a black limousine was waiting for him. The driver opened the rear door and the man climbed inside where he faced another man dressed in a black suit.

“Make yourself comfortable, Doctor Fennhoff. Care for a drink?”

“No thank you,” said Fennhoff, easing his large body into the seat. He removed the monocle and wiped it with his handkerchief. “But please, you may call me Doctor Faustus.”

“You saw Ross?”

“I did. He has said nothing to SHIELD and I have ensured that he never will,” said Faustus. “As per our agreement, your organization continues to remain in the shadows.”

LEGACY

Part III: End of an Era

By Dino Pollard

The circular shield left his arm, flying through the air and striking two of the gun turrets on its curve. Josiah X, meanwhile, slid on the ground, dodging gunfire and sprang with his feet, flipping in the air and landing on the head of an attack drone. He sprung back into the air and grabbed the shield, landing in a crouch and using it to defend himself against an oncoming rush of armed drones.

He stood, running forwards with the shield held out in front of him and jumped, throwing it to the side. It ricocheted off the wall and flew back towards the drones, knocking them down one by one.

Josiah X walked towards the shield as it clattered on the ground and lifted it up. He heard the sound of one man clapping and looked up. From the observation deck of the SHIELD training room stood a man dressed in a red and white costume. He jumped from the deck and artificial wings sprung from his back, lowering him to the ground.

“I’d heard you were getting good with that thing,” he said.

“Not quite there yet,” said Josiah, patting the shield on his arm. “But it’s a responsibility I’ve agreed to bear.”

“And with no idea of what exactly you got yourself into,” said the costumed man with a chuckle.

“The Falcon, right?” asked Josiah, extending his hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you from Steve.”

“Then I’m sure he told you to call me Sam,” said the Falcon and the two men shook hands. The Falcon motioned to Josiah’s outfit. “SHIELD threads?”

Josiah looked down at the blue and white uniform he wore. “Yeah.”

“Why aren’t you in the costume?” asked the Falcon.

“Still getting used to it, the shield alone is difficult enough.”

“You’ve earned the right, though. Is it true about Isaiah Bradley?”

Josiah nodded. “Yes.”

“So the black Captain America really does exist,” said the Falcon with a bewildered smirk. “I always heard stories about it when I was a kid, there were all sorts of rumors, but I never really believed them. Especially when I started working with Steve. I figured if it were true, he would know, right?”

“Except he didn’t,” said Josiah.

“Are you ready to suit up?” asked the Falcon.

Josiah looked to him. “What’s happening?”

“Fury says we’ve got a hostage situation, some domestic terrorists at a government building, threatening to blow it up unless their demands are met.”

“What demands are those?”

Falcon looked at Josiah. “They want you. The ‘impostor’ Captain America.”

Sharon looked over the video footage recorded by the terrorists. Fury sat in his chair, chewing on a cigar and watching as skinheads armed with assault weapons spat demands into the camera.

“We want this fraud to show his face! This so-called Captain America! First the White House and now the blacks have chosen to corrupt our very symbol of freedom! For every hour that this slave fails to show, we will kill a hostage!”

“Bastards,” muttered Fury. “Back in my day, Nazis were a real threat. None of this skinhead posturing bullshit. Give a pussy a gun and a few tattoos, all of a sudden he thinks he’s the Red fucking Skull.”

“This is just the beginning,” said Sharon. “Josiah is going to stir up a whole powder keg.”

Fury regarded Sharon with his good eye. “Think I don’t know that? Unpopular wars, racial tensions, invisible enemies—it’s like the sixties all over again.”

“I don’t like this.”

“Take it up with Steve.”

“I would, if he’d return my calls,” said Sharon. “But he’s locked himself up in that brownstone of his.”

“So go there.”

Sharon shook her head. “No, he needs his space after what the Skull did to him, I get that. And if I broke in there to try and talk to him, I’d just get a lecture and I’m not in the mood for that right now.”

“This was Steve’s call to make. He said Josiah’s good enough to pick up the shield, that he deserves this right, and if there’s one man whose word I’ll take as gospel, it’s Steven Rogers,” said Fury.

“Any word on Ross?”

Fury shook his head. “The Pentagon says since he’s still an active general, it’s for them to deal with. SHIELD getting involved in an internal matter like that violates America’s sovereignty or something.”

“Bullshit.”

“My thoughts exactly. But the Defense Department’s got its lawyers breathin’ down the necks of the U.N.’s Security Council, so we’ve been told Ross is their business.”

“Which means Control is probably involved in this somehow,” said Sharon. “They don’t want our psi-division getting a crack at him and seeing what they can dig out of his head.”

“And they won’t kill him because he’s too high-profile and it’ll raise too many questions,” said Fury.

A buzzer sounded and Fury pressed a button on his armrest. The door opened and Josiah entered the room with the shield on his back, followed by the Falcon. Fury turned in his chair to acknowledge them.

“Glad you could make it.”

“What’s this about?” asked Josiah.

Fury pressed another button and the footage he had been just watching with Sharon played back again. Josiah’s expression remained cold and stoic as he witnessed the events unfold on screen. Once the tape ended, Josiah looked at Fury. “How many?”

“Fifty hostages, ten captors,” said Sharon.

“Sharon will take you there in a transport, you go in first, offer to trade yourself for the hostages.” Fury motioned to the Falcon with his cigar. “Sam here’s your back-up if you need it. He’ll be your eyes an’ ears around the perimeter.”

In the transport, Josiah pulled the chain mail armor over his bare chest. Next came the red gloves. He wore standard combat boots over the dark blue pants, his forearms were bare and instead of the same mask Steve wore, he tied a red bandana around his head with slits for his eyes.

“Why aren’t you wearing the real costume?” asked Sharon.

“Because it belongs to Steve.”

“It belongs to Captain America and that’s you.”

“No, it belongs to him, regardless of who else is called Captain America,” said Josiah. He slid his arms through the shield straps, affixing the round red, white and blue symbol to his back. Sharon offered a slight smile as she looked at him.

“You look good.”

He grinned back. “Thanks, sister. Let me off right here.”

“Why don’t you let me land first?” asked Sharon.

Josiah opened the hatch. “Because that wouldn’t be making an entrance.”

He jumped from the open hatch and once he was gone, Sharon hit a switch on the console to automatically close it again. As she watched him descend, she couldn’t help the grin on her face.

He fell through the air with his arms outstretched and as he came closer, he brought his arms together, extending them over his head and gripping a street light. Josiah swung around the light before releasing and landing in a crouch before the government building, just as swarms of reporters ran to him and photographers and cameramen worked to get him on film. Microphone after microphone was shoved in his face, questions fired at him like bullets.

“How do you feel about the allegations that you aren’t the real Captain America?”

“Have you met with the President yet?”

“Will you accept Tony Stark’s offer to join the Avengers?”

“Where is Steve Rogers? Why did he choose now to retire?”

“Did Steve Rogers have some sort of mental breakdown after his encounter with the Red Skull?”

“Why the new costume?”

“What is your reaction to the response you’ve received from both Muslim and African American communities?”

“Are you an American citizen?”

Josiah pushed past the crowd, saying nothing to any of the reporters. As he approached the police barricade, the officers kept the reporters at bay but allowed him to pass. A man dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt with a loosened tie and a trench coat approached him. In one of his hands, he held a cell phone.

“Thanks for agreeing to come out here,” he said, offering his free hand. “Jack Travis, I’m the chief negotiator here. These bastards have about fifty hostages up there and we want to get them out before they decide to make good on their threats.”

“I’ve got all the details, they wanted Captain America so here I am,” said Josiah.

“Yeah, they said if you don’t show up, they’re gonna start shooting.”

Josiah made a mental note that Travis would not acknowledge him by any name. Seemed obvious to him that Travis didn’t feel comfortable calling him Captain America, but Travis also didn’t want to use Josiah’s real name out of concern of possibly offending him or souring their brief working relationship.

“Can I talk to them?” asked Josiah.

“Just a second,” said Travis. He called the last number dialed and one of the skinheads answered. “Yes, I’ve got him right here. He wants to talk to you. Okay, hold on.” Travis lowered the phone, covering it with his hand and looked at Josiah. “Said he refuses to lower himself by talking directly to you. Said you need to come in.”

“Of course he did,” said Josiah. “Tell him I’ll come in if they let half the hostages go.”

Travis relayed the message then waited for the response. “They said five.”

“Fifteen,” said Josiah.

Travis spoke into the phone again. He looked back up at Josiah. “Ten, that’s the best they’ll do unless you want twenty-five corpses sent out.”

“Ten it is.”

“We’re agreed on ten.” Travis listened as the skinhead relayed the instructions. “They want you to go into the lobby first with your arms raised. Once they’re sure you’re alone, they’ll send out the ten hostages. And they told you to bring the shield and lay it on the ground as soon as you get inside, then to walk away from it towards the escalators.”

Josiah nodded. He walked towards the glass doors and opened them. He walked into the lobby and once he reached the center, he removed the shield and set it down. He spoke softly, the earpiece he wore transmitting his words to his partner. “I’m in but I need your eyes. They’re going to send out ten hostages. I need you to confirm that all ten are out safely.”

“Redwing’s circling overhead, his eyes are mine.”

“Anything else you can see?”

“There’s a skylight, depending on where they are, could prove an easy way for me to get in if it comes down to that.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t,” said Josiah. “Keep quiet unless you have confirmation on the fate of the hostages. Other than that, just listen for your cue.”

“Got it.”

He continued walking forward. Three of the men came out, holding assault rifles pointed at ten of the hostages. Josiah raised his arms to the sky. “I’m here, just like you asked.”

One of the skinheads motioned to the door. “Get the fuck out of here!” The hostages ran for the doors as one of the skinheads approached Josiah, pressing the barrel of the gun to his face.

“Scum like you, desecrating that uniform,” he hissed. “What gives you the gall to think you can wear that flag?”

“It brings out my eyes,” said Josiah.

“Goddamn trash!” He pushed the gun against Josiah’s cheek. “I should put a bullet in your head right now! Send you right back to fuckin’ Mohammed!”

“Allah.”

“The fuck did you say?”

“Allah is the name of God in Islam,” said Josiah. “Mohammed was the prophet.”

“You think I give a rat’s ass what your heathen god’s name is?”

“Brice!”

Brice looked at the man who addressed him. He held the gun firm in his grip, seemed as if it were trained on both of them. “You know how this goes. The boss wants to see him. Grab the shield.”

Brice spat in Josiah’s face. He turned his head just slightly so the spittle struck the side of his mask instead of his eye. Brice cursed again then went to get the shield, having some difficulty lifting it.

“Cal, the fuckin’ thing’s heavy as shit,” he said.

“Just do it,” said Cal.

Brice lifted it, sliding his arm through the twin straps and holding it on one shoulder as he hefted the rifle in the other. Josiah couldn’t help but grin slightly at this visual image.

“You know, it’s a lot easier on your back if you put an arm through each strap.”

“Fuck you!” spat Brice as he tried to aim the gun. His grip obviously wasn’t that strong and Josiah knew he could snatch the rifle from Brice’s hands before beating him with it. And he could do it before the other two had a chance to fire off a shot. But he was going to play this their way for now, make sure the hostages were all okay before he made his move.

“Let’s go.” Cal motioned for Josiah to go ahead of them. “Up the escalator.”

Josiah started to walk up the escalator steps, which had been turned off. His gaze shifted upwards and he could see the skylight Falcon had mentioned. The second floor had a lounge area near the escalators with doors to board rooms and offices all around. The forty remaining hostages all sat against the wall with their heads down. Josiah could tell from the quivering that some were quietly sobbing.

The other seven skinheads stood waiting. One in particular caught Josiah’s attention. He had the eagle of the Third Reich tattooed over his face. He wore no shirt, proudly displaying the large tattoo of a cross over his torso. In the center of the cross was a circle with a large swastika on it. Josiah also noticed some German phrases tattooed on the man’s muscled arms, but his German was too rusty to translate them.

“So glad you could make it,” he said. “You know who I am, black shit?”

“A stupid kid with more ink on his body than sense in his head,” said Josiah.

The tattooed man grimaced and aimed his gun at Josiah. “Max Lohmer. My grandfather was the first Master Man.”

“My father was the first Captain America,” said Josiah. “What’s your point?”

Lohmer turned to the hostages. “Look up, all of you. Look at what you’ve wrought. We warned you of the black menace that lived in your borders, but you wouldn’t listen. Gave them the right to vote, allowed them to go to your schools, to fuck your women. Allowed them to corrupt this once great nation at all levels. And then you turned a blind eye when the Muslim threat took root in the black consciousness. You still refused to listen to us, refused to heed our warnings. And now look at this!”

He turned the gun back to Josiah. “Now you have a nigger Muslim in the White House and one wearing the flag of your national hero.”

“Let these people go, Lohmer. They’re not part of this.”

“YES THEY ARE!” Lohmer screamed. “They’re culpable in this! They voted in that traitor! They stayed quiet as their hero allowed you to desecrate the flag!”

Lohmer stepped closer to Josiah, holding the gun tightly in his grip. “My grandfather hated Rogers. But he still respected him. Because despite his ideological failings, Rogers was still of Aryan blood. He was just misguided. But you?”

Lohmer slowly began to circle Josiah, his eyes burning with hatred. “You are nothing more than a slave who needs to be reminded of his place in the natural order.”

“We had a deal, Lohmer. Me for the hostages. You have me, you can do whatever you want to me, but let them go.”

Lohmer raised the gun. “The shield, Brice.”

Brice approached him as the other eight kept their guns trained on Josiah. Brice handed Lohmer the shield, who hefted it on his arm as he handed Brice the gun. Lohmer stepped right up to Josiah.

“They aren’t leaving yet,” he said. “Because I want them to watch as this wolf in sheep’s clothing is beat to death with the very symbol he tried to corrupt with his gutter religion.”

Josiah kept a steel gaze on Lohmer. “Shut your mouth and get on with it. I don’t have all day.”

Lohmer raised the shield and slammed it against Josiah’s head. He knocked him to the ground and raised the shield over his head, bringing it down hard on Josiah’s head repeatedly. Josiah bore the brunt of it for a few strikes but then he raised his arms and placed his palms on the shield’s front, holding it in place. Lohmer found he couldn’t force it any further.

Josiah’s leg shot up, striking Lohmer in the crotch. He shoved Lohmer back, taking the shield in hand and hurling it towards Cal first, the shield hitting him in the back of his neck. The rest of the skinheads opened fire and Josiah grabbed the shield as it flew towards him, twisting around and using it to deflect the bullets.

At that moment, the skylight shattered, courtesy of the Falcon. He wasted no time, dive-bombing into one of the startled skinheads and knocking him to the ground. The Falcon leapt into the air again to dodge gunfire from another, easily evading the shots, then diving feet-first into one of the shooters.

“Six on two, their odds aren’t improving,” said the Falcon.

Josiah grinned, jumping into the air and flipping, throwing the shield against the wall. It ricocheted right above the hostages and then shot back, knocking the guns out of the hands of two of the skinheads. Josiah grabbed the shield before his feet hit the ground and charged into another skinhead. One tried to approach him from behind, but Falcon tackled him to the ground and quickly disabled him. Josiah grabbed the gun from the fifth one, tearing it from his grip and swinging it like a bat before he slammed it against the man’s bald head.

Only Brice stood now, holding both his and Lohmer’s rifle, aiming them both at Josiah and the Falcon. The two men approached him slowly. “S-stay back!”

“What are you going to do, Brice?” asked Josiah. “There’s two of us and one of you. We stand between you and the hostages and if you try and fire both of those, the recoil would be too great, you wouldn’t even come close to hitting us.”

“Especially with the way you’re shaking,” said the Falcon with his arms crossed.

“So either you surrender peacefully or we make you surrender.”

Brice’s legs shook violently and he couldn’t keep a firm grip on the guns. He could feel the beads of sweat on his forehead and his fingers strained on the triggers. But then, his grip loosened and the rifles fell out of his hands and he collapsed to his knees.

NEXT: What Ever Happened to the Living Legend?