Steve Rogers: A Man Out of Time
Steve Rogers sat in the dimly lit living room of an old Brooklyn apartment. The walls are bare except for a single framed photo of his old unit—the Howling Commandos. On the desk in front of him lies a collection of relics: old black-and-white photographs, a film projector, and several yellowed documents marked "CLASSIFIED."
He flips through a file labeled Operation Paperclip, his brow furrowed in thought. As he skims through the lines, he comes across Peggy Carter's name, her signature bold and unmistakable at the bottom of a debriefing report. His hand lingers on her signature as he exhales deeply.
On the projector, a reel spins, playing silent footage of a wartime rally. Steve watches himself, younger and full of hope, surrounded by his comrades. Bucky's laughter fills his mind as though it were yesterday. Then Peggy's face appears, her smile radiant, her voice ringing in his memory:
"Don't you dare be late."
Steve clenches his jaw and shuts off the projector. The room falls into silence save for the hum of the city outside.
Donning a simple leather jacket and a baseball cap, Steve steps out onto the streets of Brooklyn. The old neighborhood is almost unrecognizable—gleaming glass towers rise where brick buildings once stood. Modern cars whiz by, and the chatter of passersby feels foreign, their slang and references alien to him.
He stops in front of a construction site. A plaque reads: Future Site of the Brooklyn Arts Center. Steve's gaze drifts to a mural nearby, honoring local heroes. Among the faces painted is Bucky Barnes, with the inscription:
"In Memory of Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, 1917–1944."
Steve's stomach tightens. He pulls his cap lower and continues walking.
After wandering for hours, Steve finds himself near Stark Tower. The shimmering structure rises above the skyline, its modern design starkly contrasting with the brownstones Steve grew up around. He enters a small café across the street, ordering a black coffee.
As he waits, his eyes drift back to the tower. He recalls Tony Stark's father, Howard, and their brief but impactful friendship. The man who gave him his shield.
"Howard would've loved this," he mutters to himself.
The waitress sets down his coffee, and Steve nods in thanks. He stares into the steaming cup, his thoughts pulling him back to the war, to Peggy, to everything and everyone he lost.
As the sun begins to set, Steve finds himself outside an old, run-down boxing gym. A weathered sign above the door reads: Frank's Gym – Est. 1922. It's a relic, like him.
Inside, the smell of sweat and leather greets him. A lone punching bag hangs in the corner, swaying slightly in the draft. Steve approaches it, shrugs off his jacket, and wraps his hands with practiced ease.
With each punch, memories flood back—his helplessness in the alley against bullies, the rush of adrenaline when he first stood up to them, the fiery determination in Peggy's eyes, the cold isolation of the ice.
The bag splits open after a particularly hard blow, spilling sand onto the floor. Steve stops, breathing heavily. He wipes his brow, staring at the destroyed bag as if it holds the answers he's seeking.
"Man out of time," he whispers to himself. "What now?"
The gym owner pokes his head in.
"Hey, buddy, you okay?"
Steve nods and grabs his jacket. "Yeah. Just needed to clear my head."
SHIELD HEADQUARTERS
"Sir, what do we do now?" asked Agent Coulson, standing inside Fury's office. He glanced at Fury, who was seated in his chair, deep in thought. Agent Maria Hill stood at Coulson's side, her posture straight and professional.
"Phase Seven," Fury said at last, his tone resolute after a moment of contemplation. The current situation was far beyond what humanity, even SHIELD, could handle alone. Fury understood this all too well.
Fury's only notable ability, beyond his sharp intellect and resourcefulness, was his slower aging—a gift compared to the average person. But even that wasn't enough. Loki was a threat too dangerous for SHIELD to manage on its own.
"Sir, I thought that plan was abandoned by the council," Hill said, her voice laced with confusion. Fury's decision to reactivate Phase Seven seemed unexpected.
"Maybe it was," Fury replied, leaning forward. "But a war is coming, and we'll need all the firepower we can get. I'll talk to the council and explain the situation. In the meantime, we begin recruitment."
Fury shifted his gaze to Coulson. "Phil, contact Agent Romanoff. She'll reach out to Doctor Banner."
"Sir, isn't it risky to approach the Hulk?" Hill interjected, her concern evident. The idea of bringing someone as volatile and uncontrollable as the Hulk on board didn't sit well with her.
"It's not the Hulk I'm after," Fury clarified, his tone calm but firm. "The cube emits low levels of gamma radiation. Doctor Banner is the leading scientist in gamma research. We'll need him if we want to locate the cube quickly."
Coulson nodded, understanding the urgency. Fury turned back to him. "Agent Coulson, go meet Stark. Bring him on board."
"Yes, sir," Coulson replied before leaving the room, leaving Fury and Hill alone.
Fury looked at Hill. "Hill, I'll need you to make contact with our shapeshifter. You've studied his file, haven't you?"
"Yes, I have," Hill said, stepping forward and crossing her arms over her chest.
"Good. This will be our first official contact with him. Be cautious, but do everything you can to persuade him to join us," Fury instructed.
Hill hesitated for a moment. "Are you sure about this? Things could spiral out of control quickly. Will Stark and the others even be able to work together?"
Fury gave a small, humorless chuckle. "That's a risk we'll have to take."
---
INDIAN SLUM – NIGHT
A little girl darted through the crowded, narrow streets of a bustling Indian slum, pushing her way past people. She weaved through the chaos, clutching something close to her chest. Finally, she reached a tiny, dimly lit shack.
Panting, the girl hurried up the rickety steps but was stopped by a stern-looking woman at the door.
"What are you doing here?! Get out! You shouldn't be here!" the woman yelled in the local language, trying to block her entry.
"It's my father! I need the doctor!" the girl pleaded, her small voice desperate.
From inside the shack, Bruce Banner appeared, wiping his face with a damp towel. He heard the commotion and approached the doorway, speaking softly in the girl's language. "Calm down. What's wrong?"
The girl, with dark black hair and wide, frightened eyes, turned to him. "My father…" she said, her voice trembling.
Bruce glanced past her at the sick patients lying on the floor behind him, their weak bodies barely able to move.
"Is he like them?" Banner asked, kneeling down so he was at eye level with the girl. He gestured toward one of the patients lying on a makeshift bed.
The girl held out a handful of crumpled money—everything she had. With tears brimming in her eyes, she said softly, "Please."
Banner stared at her for a moment, his heart heavy. He didn't need to think twice. "Take me to him," he said gently, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
The girl nodded, and together they disappeared into the bustling streets, leaving behind the quiet hum of the shack.
SLUMS BORDER AREA
Banner and the little girl rushed toward the edge of town, weaving through narrow alleyways. The girl, now several steps ahead, moved with urgency. As Banner followed, his eyes caught sight of a government vehicle parked nearby.
Immediately, Banner turned his back to the vehicle, pulling up the hood of his jacket to obscure his face. The last thing he needed was unnecessary attention.
Hurrying into the little girl's home, Banner took a quick look around the dimly lit space. But before he could say anything, the girl slipped out through a window, disappearing into the night.
Standing there, Banner let out a resigned sigh. "Should've gotten paid up front, Banner," he muttered with a dry chuckle.
"Funny. For a man trying to avoid stress, you've picked one hell of a place to settle."
The voice came from behind him, calm and familiar. Banner spun around quickly, his eyes landing on a striking red-haired woman stepping out from behind the curtains. Natasha Romanoff stood there, dressed elegantly in a sleek black dress, her expression poised yet watchful.
Banner instinctively tensed. "You here to take me in?" he asked, his voice guarded.
---
SHIELD ANALYTICAL ROOM – NIGHT
"This isn't about the Avengers," Fury said firmly, standing in front of the room's massive monitors. The images on the screens displayed various global incidents tied to Loki and the stolen Tesseract.
The World Security Council members, their faces either shadowed or obscured on the screens, listened but were visibly skeptical.
"We're running the world's greatest covert security network, and you're proposing to leave the fate of humanity to a handful of freaks?" one of the councilmen challenged, his frustration evident.
"I'm not leaving anything to anyone," Fury replied evenly. "What we need is a response team that can handle threats like the one we're facing."
Another councilman leaned forward slightly, his voice sharp. "And what about Agent Barton? He was part of your so-called Avengers Initiative. Now he's working with the enemy."
Fury's expression didn't waver. "Agent Barton's mind has been compromised by Loki. The same goes for several SHIELD operatives, including Doctor Selvig," Fury countered, keeping his tone controlled.
The councilman's response was immediate. "So what you're saying, Fury, is that SHIELD's resources have been infiltrated and compromised by a single man."
Fury paused for a moment, his gaze hard. "I'm saying we're not dealing with an ordinary man. Loki isn't just some rogue agent. He's a threat on a scale we've never seen before."
The room fell silent, the council members absorbing the gravity of Fury's words. They had all seen the reports on Loki, but it was easy to forget that he was no ordinary adversary. Fury's reminder struck home.
When the meeting concluded, Fury left the analytical room, his long strides purposeful. Agent Hill was waiting for him outside.
"You ready?" Fury asked as he strode past her without breaking his pace.
"Yes, sir. Judging by your mood, I take it the meeting didn't go well," Hill replied, walking quickly to keep up with him.
Fury stopped abruptly, turning to face her. His eyes narrowed. "Did you tell the council that Agent Barton has been compromised?"
Hill met his gaze without flinching. "Yes. Isn't that standard procedure?"
Fury exhaled sharply, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. Without another word, he turned and resumed walking. Hill followed silently, noting the tension in her superior's posture.
INDIAN SLUM – NIGHT
Inside the decrepit house, Natasha placed a folder on the rickety table in front of Banner. The papers inside were well-organized, despite the worn state of the folder itself.
"This is the Tesseract," Natasha began, pointing to a photo within the file. "It contains enough energy to wipe out the planet."
Bruce leaned in to examine the image, his brow furrowing as he processed what he was seeing.
"What does Fury want me to do with it?" he asked, still focused on the folder.
Natasha crossed her arms and explained, "He wants you to help us find it. It's been taken, and it emits a gamma signature—too weak for us to trace, but not for you. You're the world's foremost expert in gamma radiation."
Banner's expression shifted as he absorbed the seriousness of the situation. He glanced at Natasha, realizing the gravity of what was being asked of him.
For a moment, he hesitated, his mind racing through the possible implications of getting involved. But the weight of the situation was undeniable.
ABOVE THE PACIFIC OCEAN – APPROACHING JAPAN
The stars shone brightly above as Ben streaked across the night sky in his Jetray form. His sleek, aerodynamic body—predominantly white with bold red and black patterns—seemed to shimmer in the moonlight. Large, manta-like fins extended from his sides, flaring slightly with each adjustment to his flight path. His elongated head featured a single glowing green eye, scanning the horizon with unerring precision. Twin antennae sprouted from his crown, twitching subtly as they detected faint changes in the atmosphere.
The blend of aquatic and aerial elements in Jetray's design made him a marvel in motion. The tapered tail behind him cut through the air like a blade, while his sharp claws added a touch of menace to his otherwise fluid silhouette. Every movement was purposeful, every shift in his position calculated to maintain maximum speed and efficiency.
As he approached the sprawling city, Tokyo revealed itself as a sea of lights and motion. Jetray glided lower, skimming over the glowing waters of Tokyo Bay before weaving through the towering skyscrapers with ease. The air carried the faint hum of urban life—a mix of engines, chatter, and distant music—though it was muted by Jetray's incredible velocity.
"Energy signature's stabilizin'," Olivia said. "Looks like it's comin' from a more isolated part of town. Sendin' the coordinates to your HUD."
Ben's green eye flashed as the coordinates appeared in his vision. Adjusting his trajectory, he banked left and shot toward the abandoned district. The skyline gave way to skeletal construction sites and empty lots, their unfinished structures standing like forgotten monuments.
ABANDONED CONSTRUCTION SITE – INVESTIGATION
Ben touched down silently atop a steel girder, the Omnitrix symbol on Jetray's chest flashing briefly before he reverted to human form. The transformation was seamless, his red-and-green hooded mask immediately activating to conceal his identity. He straightened the material, the sharp edges of the mask's lenses glowing faintly in the dim light.
"Alright, Olivia," Ben muttered, crouching low as he scanned the area. "What do we have here?"
The site was desolate, bathed in eerie moonlight. Half-finished buildings surrounded him, their skeletal frames casting long shadows across the debris-strewn ground. Rusted machinery lay scattered about, forgotten and silent.
"Residual energy's still fresh," Olivia said, her tone sharpening with focus. "But it's faint. Whatever caused it, they didn't stick around too long. Might've left us somethin' to follow, though."
Ben activated the detective mode in his mask, the lenses flaring green. The world shifted into a high-contrast overlay, highlighting structural weaknesses, footprints, and faint heat signatures. Olivia's built-in analysis system began cataloging the information, her voice offering real-time guidance.
"Footprint patterns are uneven—whoever was here was movin' fast, probably carryin' somethin' heavy. Head southwest; I'm pickin' up traces of synthetic material."
Ben moved cautiously, his steps deliberate but not yet practiced. His two and a half years of training had given him a foundation, but he still relied heavily on Olivia's expertise.
"Y'know," he said, scanning a rusted scaffolding for clues, "if you keep solving everything for me, I'm never gonna get better at this."
"Aw, don't sell yourself short, cowboy," Olivia teased. "You're doin' just fine. For someone who's basically cramming a decade's worth of detective work into two years, anyway."
Ben smirked but didn't reply. He dropped to a crouch near a pile of broken concrete, spotting a faint glimmer beneath the rubble. Brushing the debris aside, he uncovered a small scrap of crimson fabric, snagged on a jagged shard of metal.
"Got somethin'," he said, holding the fabric up to his mask for analysis.
Olivia's voice chimed in immediately. "Well, look at that. That ain't your average red scarf—it's a silk-polymer blend. High-end, custom-made. Not somethin' you pick up at the corner store."
Ben examined the fabric more closely, his thoughts racing. "Could be from one of the Hand's elites," he mused. "They've got connections everywhere. This might give us a way to narrow down who's been here."
But Olivia wasn't done. "Hold your horses, sugar. I'm pickin' up somethin' else. Southeast of your position—about 300 meters. Similar to the one back in New York, seems like we're not the only ones to disturb the Hand's plan."
Ben straightened, tucking the fabric into a compartment on his belt. "On it. Let's see what they're hiding."
Ben approached the site Olivia had marked, his movements growing more confident with each step. The hole was massive—an artificial chasm plunging deep into the earth. Metal reinforcements lined the edges, suggesting it was part of a larger underground structure.
"Yup, that's suspicious as all get-out," Olivia said. "Looks like they've been usin' this place for more than just meetin's. Could be a supply route, could be somethin' worse."
Ben peered down into the abyss, the faint hum of machinery echoing from below. "Whatever it is, it's not going to be easy to investigate from up here." He tapped the Omnitrix, its interface lighting up.
"Time to bring out the big guns," he said.
"You sure about this?" Olivia asked. "Subtle ain't exactly Wildmutt's strong suit."
Ben grinned. "Subtle's overrated. And besides I know how to be subtle when I need to. Let's see what he can sniff out."