Steve Rogers was born in the Lower East side of New York City on the Forth of July 1917. He was the son of two Irish immigrants who came to the new world looking for a new life.

The two came looking for everything America had been promising them. The land of free and home of the brave where anyone who works hard enough can achieve the impossible.

They were good parents and cared for Steve, they entrusted him with their hope and fed him the stories and ideals of American. He was a true American while they would forever be immigrants. They instilled in him the American dream and the thoughts of those who went before them on what the perfect land should be. Free Speech and true freedom. Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

Steve grew up and lived through the depression ever knowing that if he stuck at it, if he worked hard and followed the American dream he would make it.

December, 7th, 1941 changed the world. On that day the Japanese bombed the US military base of Pearl Harbour and America was dragged kicking and screaming into the second world war.

Steve Rogers being the good American he was, the good American his parents had brought him up to be instantly ran along to the closest recruiting office and volunteered in the army.

He was unfortunately rebuffed, he was however chosen on that day to be given a chance. He was given a chance to become the American dream, become the personification of the land he loved so much.

He worked hard over the next few months in his training until he was ready, he had beaten out the other possible recruits and prepared to become the true American hero. He became Captain America.

Years passed.

Captain America stood staring out the window. The room he was in smelled of decay and was coated in a thin layer of dust. The floor boards were bare and wall paper was slowly peeling itself away from the walls.

He watched the streets below carefully.

A car slowly pulled around the corner and he moved to the side of the window whilst turning his head away. He couldn’t be spotted at any cost, he had a mission to do.

Once the light from the car had passed he stopped and looked out of the window again. He watched the car as it proceeded down the street. The Swastika flag flying from the back of it.

The men in the car were dressed in their uniforms and held their rifles in their hands as they patrolled the streets.

Cap moved across the room and lowered himself slowly into the chair where he had made his home through the day. He didn’t know whose home it was he had come to hide in during the day until he could go out into the streets on this night and fight the war.

His hands moved gently across the face of his shield, it was perfect in its colour and its form. Those who had made it so perfectly had really done their job. Even after all of the battles he had been in and all the scum of the world he had slammed his shield into it remained as ever perfect.

He stood up quickly and began to change. He slipped the jacket he had been wearing from his shoulders and began to fold it gently and carefully before laying it over the arm of the chair.

His fingers traced the length of his shirt as they shakily undid the buttons. He told himself the shaking was due to the adrenaline of the fight that was coming.

The shirt like the jacket slid slowly away from his body revealing his chest and broad shoulders. He sat on the chair as he kicked off his shoes with one foot and then the other pressing down on their backs for leverage. He unbuttoned his pants and slowly slid them down.

He paused for a few seconds as he breathed in deeply. He prepared himself for what he was about to do. He was preparing to attack monsters, fighting for the American dream of equality and freedom.

His hand slowly unzipped the top of his kit bag and he with a tightened fist dragged the bright blue uniform out of his bag.

He unzipped the body part of the costume and brought it to his legs before pushing them through. The costume was made out of a fine mesh like the chain mail of knights of old but much smaller and twice as strong.

He pushed his legs through the armoured legs of the suit until his feet moved through the legs as the bottom. He shifted his weight forward and pulled.

He thought back to all the times he had put the suit on. The enemies had fought and the people he had saved. Even he bought into the hype of Captain America, the man he thought of was not himself however but the symbol he stood for shouldering the responsibilities and might of America.

He zipped the back of the costume up with little difficulty and slipped his feet one by one onto the high red leather boots and then his hands into the gloves.

He turned to take one last look at himself in the mirror. He had changed because of the Super Soldier Formula and he had aged since but he could still see it in his face. He could still see the young kid who walked into the recruiting office and signed up to join the army before he had even started on the crazy course of his life.

He nodded to himself in a last attempt to strengthen his resolve before he pulled the mask from his belt and pulled it down across his face. The A on his head let him know who he was now. He had stopped being Steve Rogers and had became Captain America. It scared him slightly that this face was more familiar to him than when he was unmasked.

He strode across the room as he pushed all his fears and misgivings away and seized the shield from the table in his hand and threaded his arm into the supports on its back. He was ready.

He crossed the room again and opened the door to the hallway. He heard another door close. One of the tenants of the building who obviously didn’t want to get involved in anything which was going on outside of their own door, its safer that way.

His feet moved slowly as he began to descend the stairs taking one at a time. He had no need to rush.

He took his time as he move down the couple of flights in the building and reached the door. He opened the door with the back of his shield and stepped onto the street.

Rubble and debris from the destroyed neighbour hood assaulted his senses. The war had taken it toll on the neighbour hood reducing buildings to rubble or burned out shells of what they used to be.

Swasikas lined the walls and fences of the neighbourhood showing who was in charge, showing who owned and ran the place. The Nazis were in charge.

Cap turned and began to walk the street down away from the building he had stayed in. He looked around the streets and knew the pain of these people forced to hide in their home through fear of the war which could swing their way at any moments. Hiding below windows with no lights as not to draw attention to themselves.

He would put a stop to it.

He turned the corner and spied his current target. There were about fifteen or so of them standing on the street corner.

They held their weapons with carelessness. They were the kings around here and had nothing to fear of reprisals from the people who made their homes near their HQ.

Cap began to walk towards them showing no fear. His heart beat was slow and steady. He tightened his grip on the handles of his shield.

The attention of one of the men opposite him was suddenly drawn to him as they caught a glimpse of the moonlight reflecting from his shield. He nodded gently towards Cap which made the others turn to face him. They began to approach him.

He met the group in the centre of the street, they instinctively flanked around him closing him in a circle of bodies as the man Cap identified as the leader of the little group addressed him.

“Hey where do you think you’re going?” His tongue flicked across his lips as he spoke.

“I think the real question is who do you think you are?” chipped in one of the other men with a laugh from behind Cap. Cap didn’t turn to look at him.

“I’m Captain America,” the claim of Cap was met with a mocking laughter of the group. He didn’t let it effect him and continued to speak. “You have run rough shot across this…”

His words were cut short as the leader nodded to one of the men behind him. Cap saw the gesture and turned to defend himself and parry the blow. He was no where near fast enough.

The arm of the man clubbed him from behind across the back knocking him forward. His knees gave way dropping him down. The impact of the blow dislocated his knee when it struck the floor sending pain shooting through his leg.

The effect of the man going down was like a red rag to a bull or blood to a shark. The men descended with kicks across the length of his body.

Cap’s skin was bruised and bleeding in a matter of seconds.

The leader of the men crouched down close to the face of Cap, his left arm was emblazoned with a swastika and placed in front of him to balance himself. He stared at the grimacing face of Cap and smiled to himself.

His right arm moved from his side and stretched to the face of Cap. He briefly caught a glimpse of a second tattoo on the mans right arm.

Cap began to cry as it all got too much for him. The years he had been fighting for the good fight and the American dream, the golden land and the war on terror which he had failed.

The first step had been the wall stopping immigrants coming across the border from Mexico, The patriot act and tighter security.

The gangs began to spread across the country, each one fighting for their little piece of turf. Ruling the area they ran with an iron fist and running it along with their beliefs.

The hand of the man seized the mask of Cap and pulled the mask clear of his head in one clean pull. A boot slammed into Cap’s now unmasked face.

The gang leader stared at the face of Captain America. His skin was sallow and hung loose as the lines and wrinkles of age stretched across his face. His grey and thinning hair hung sweatily around the top of his forehead.

The chain mail top of his uniform hung low no longer padded by his bulky muscles. The gang leader could see through the neck hole the thin and bony shoulders of Cap which were welling up bruised and broken. His thing chest made him look almost skeleton like as the skin clung tightly to his rib cage.

Cap tried to defend himself with his shield but his arms so thin and old with their wasted muscle no longer had the power to throw it and his eyes lacked the acuity to aim.

The shield was torn from his hands easily breaking one of his fingers due to his brittle bones.

Cap gave way to the pain as the boots rained in on him. He stared up to the gang leader who now sported both his mask and shield and was laughing manically. One his arms were his two symbols that of the swastika and that of the star spangled banner.

This was America. This was what Cap had been fighting for.

When he stopped struggling, stopped fighting and gave up the gang quickly grew tired and moved on. They left him alone battered and bleeding, his old bones broken and his heart struggling to keep up with the demand put on it.

He was alone in the dark, alone helpless and hopeless.