1: Lights, Camera, Action!
You know what happens with unexpected situations? You can't prepare for them. John was a man who fancied himself quite good at improvising.
So when he suddenly woke up in the bed of a cheap hotel in a body that wasn't his own, he knew that something damn wrong had happened. But he didn't panic. Sure, using someone else's body was messed up, but he could adapt.
The first thing he did was try to wake up because, while jumping to the conclusion that this was real would be the easiest, one also had to prove that they weren't just having a strange lucid dream.
So after subjecting himself to a self-torture worthy of an aspiring masochist, John could say with total certainty that this was real.
That's when the truly exciting part came: investigation. He searched the entire room. There wasn't much to find, really. Just an old suitcase that seemed to contain clothes, a leather wallet, and a pair of half-worn boots.
He decided to try the wallet.
Some old bills with a design that wasn't familiar, a crumpled brochure about an exposition or something like that, a folded white paper that looked like a letter, and an ID.
"Bingo!"
John Benjamin Vogelbaum, American citizen born in 1921.
What a strange name. Well, at least he retained some of his real name, which was a plus in his books.
Still, he couldn't help but squint at the surname. Where had he heard it before?
Without thinking too much, he tossed the ID aside and took out the second thing that had caught his attention the most: the perfectly white and folded paper resembling a letter.
He unfolded it and read what was inside.
"Hey man! Hope you're having a blast. Things got a little complicated, so you might not remember some stuff about how you got where you are, at least not at first. I can't reach out to explain it again because I've pissed off some really upset people. So, from now on, you're completely on your own. But I've held up my end of the deal. Whether you can make the most of this second chance depends on you. You're a sharp kid, so I trust you'll figure it out. Lastly, I've left you a little gift. Check your suitcase! However you use it is not my problem, so do as you please. Sincerely, your good friend, V"
John furrowed his brow. Who the hell was V? He looked at the strangely familiar symbol.
"Huh, kinda looks like the Vought logo..." The smile on his face froze, his pupils dilated, and he hastily picked up the ID again.
That face, no beard, and he looked much younger, but... it was recognizable now that he brought it to mind.
He was in the body of the damn Soldier Boy!
"Damn it!"
Okay, things weren't so bad, right? He could work with this. Get some cool superpowers and enjoy life, avoiding all the mess that was the future. Sure, waiting until it was 2024 again would suck, but technically, he'd be something like immortal? He didn't know what Compound V did to the original Soldier Boy to make him last so long, but he wanted it.
Now, he just had to figure out how the hell he got access to Compound V.
He had only watched the series once in a row so he'd forgotten some things. He hoped he wouldn't screw it up. With that big concern in mind, he remembered the mentioned gift and quickly grabbed his suitcase and put it on the bed.
Well, maybe there was something in here to help him get his superpowers.
That turned out to be more true than he expected.
When he opened the suitcase, he saw clothes as well as some common items and a military acceptance letter, which he supposed was to be expected. He was Soldier Boy! He was going to be in the military one way or another.
But what caught his attention the most was the box with the V-shaped logo inside. It was small, smaller than his palm.
He opened it and saw a glass container, a vial containing a light blue substance that almost seemed to glow. He read the name on the label.
"Compound V!" He smiled, almost wanting to jump with excitement. But like a lightning bolt striking him, his excitement vanished.
This was wrong. If he was Soldier Boy, then having access to Compound V was something he should be able to get on his own if he played his cards right. Sure, you could say this was insurance, an easy way to access power, but John felt it wasn't that simple.
Why consider this a gift if he could already get it anyway?
As if having a bad premonition, he remembered something and took out his wallet again, took the crumpled and poorly folded brochure and this time read more carefully what was written on it.
"World Exposition of Tomorrow 1943"
No, that wasn't important. What was truly important was the name of the man presenting this exhibition.
"Howard Stark..." John let the brochure fall to the floor, his body gave a brief tremor but quickly composed himself, swallowing hard and licking his suddenly dry lips.
It seemed like... things weren't going to be as easy as he imagined.
He quickly took out the military acceptance letter, reading everything written on it and focusing on the most important words.
"U.S. Army Special Scientific Testing Squadron Number 1." It wasn't a battalion, he wasn't assigned to a team or anything like that. He wasn't a soldier, so he didn't know exactly how a newly enlisted soldier got assigned, but he definitely didn't believe the words "Special Scientific Testing" were the right ones.
"Shit!"
It was at that moment that his memory, which seemed somewhat confused, began to clear up. Recent memories started to come to him, causing him to close his eyes and grab his head in pain.
.
.
.
"I'm telling you, man, it's disappointing!" His voice was loud but still drowned out by the music and cheerful atmosphere of the bar.
John took what might have been his ninth or tenth shot of tequila, his face flushed, hair disheveled, clothes wrinkled, and clear erratic movements made it evident that while this might be his tenth shot in this bar, it wasn't the tenth he'd had today.
"Really? I thought it was pretty inspiring, you know, with all those stars and stripes, the ultimate super soldier."
John shook his head at the words of his newly acquainted good friend.
He slapped his back and, in his drunken state, began to blabber nonsensical nonsense.
"You know who's a real super soldier? Soldier Boy! Bulletproof, super strength, and freaking crazy as every World War II soldier should be!"
His friend looked at him as if he were stupid.
"The racist? Seriously?"
John pondered.
"Well, maybe minus that part"
He took another sip of his beer and continued his talk.
"But you know, man, I'm sure even I'd be better. Just give me that damn shield, a real super soldier serum, and I'd kick all the bad guys' butts into oblivion"
Of course, deep down, John knew he was just talking nonsense. In reality, he liked Cap. Well, he had liked him until he saw that Civil War movie. John wasn't someone with a lot of free time; he had been working himself to the bone for the past few years, so he had been out of touch with the world's trends until he decided to catch up when he finally managed to get his long-postponed paid vacation.
First, he watched some great series like The Boys, and then he decided to give those Marvel movies a chance since his mother had bought him some Marvel comics when he was young, and he remembered quite enjoying reading them.
He had gotten as far as the so-called Civil War, and well, he had also broken up with his girlfriend the day before, so he needed something to curse while he drank away his sorrows. Cap was a pretty good scapegoat like any other.
The reason he didn't curse his ex-girlfriend? Well, she ended things because he had cheated on her, so he couldn't blame her for anything. He was the bastard. But being a stubborn man, he decided not to torment himself over it and instead vent his anger on a fictional character. That didn't hurt anyone, right?
"Hahaha, do you really think you could?" V laughed at him as if his words were absurd.
Noticing the mockery in his voice, John clicked his tongue.
"Of course! It'd be a walk in the park, I'd be the Super Captain America!"
Of course, he was just talking bullshit; he didn't even know how to shoot a gun. If he were to go to a real war, he'd probably be the extra who dies from a stray bullet.
V stopped laughing, looked at him seriously, and scoffed.
"You know what? Why not, it's not like your life has any purpose right now."
That wasn't pleasant to hear. All of John's good humor suddenly vanished, and he looked at V with clear annoyance.
"What the hell do you mean?"
"Come on, you know what I mean, you're a failed theater actor, working a job you hate just to pay off the debts your dead parents left you. You don't even have your own house; you live in a shitty apartment, living without hope or dreams. Isn't that a purposeless life?"
John immediately became furious. Maybe if he were more sober, he would have questioned how this guy, whom he had just met, knew so much about him. But in his current state, he didn't care; all his brain registered was the feeling of being insulted.
He stood up immediately, ready to hit him, but the guy seemed to have superhuman strength. He grabbed John's shoulder and with a simple movement, forced him to sit back down.
John opened his eyes in disbelief. He wasn't a small man; maybe he wasn't in top shape, but he was still 6 feet tall and over 90 kilograms. V seemed to be at least ten centimeters shorter and had a slender build. The unexpected display of strength left him perplexed.
"Come on, didn't you say you'd be better? A little truth in your face, and you're already jumping like that. You need to relax, buddy" V poured himself a shot of tequila and took a sip leisurely.
"So, how about we make a deal?" he offered with a smile that sent shivers down John's spine.
"A deal?" His anger had dissipated a bit; even though he was drunk, he could tell something was off with the situation. Maybe it was instinct or something else, but he felt that something had changed.
"I'll give you what you want, a chance, to be the 'Super Captain America,' simple, right? Your mission: be better than him. He was a hero? You'll be a superhero. He was an icon? You'll be a symbol. Two simple goals, right? I won't ask you to be morally better than him because that's simply impossible" he chuckled at the last part.
"But at the end of the day, you're an actor, aren't you? Or at least you tried to be one. Well, even if you failed, everyone deserves their moment of stardom at some point. Here's your role, served on a silver platter. So, what do you say? Do you accept this script, or will you continue living your shitty life?"
John wanted to laugh in his face. Was this guy stupid or high? Was this some kind of comedy show? A hidden camera prank?
But for some reason, he couldn't laugh. There was something about this guy, the way his presence had changed, something strange.
He swallowed hard and asked a question without knowing why.
"It's a deal, right? So what do you get in return?"
V stopped smiling.
"From you? Really, nothing. From the situation? Well, it's been a while since I've had a good show, but if you fail, if you give a bad performance, well, maybe once you die, I'll drag your soul with me on a trip to hell"
That last part sounded truly sinister for some reason. In some corner of his mind, John wondered if what was in front of him was a demon.
Another, much stupider and drunken part of him mocked and made him speak aloud.
"Sounds easy, let's do it!"
.
.
.
The very sober and rational John looked at his palms and wanted to slap himself ten thousand times.
"I'm such a damn idiot!"
Now everything started to make sense, where he was and why.
Being the Super Captain America? What kind of idiot would say something so ridiculously stupid?...
He sighed and sat on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
"A role, huh... Being a symbol? Being a superhero? What a damn joke" he looked at the vial with the Compound V for what seemed like hours. Maybe... maybe he could do it.
V was right; he had been living a purposeless life beyond simply existing and experiencing brief fleeting moments of excitement.
A pretty messed up life... but now he was here.
He remembered his past, when he was young and full of hope, when he had joined the local theater to pursue his dreams, dreams he was forced to leave behind due to circumstances.
Stardom, huh...
"A second chance..." well, he could work with that.
"All right, V, watch closely because this performance will be worthy of a Fucking Oscar"
John had never expected to achieve anything in his life, but now, now he wanted to be something, now he could be something.
So, he was going to give it a try.
.
.
.
Note:
An idea that came to mind while watching the Soldier Boy singing.
The protagonist is not a role model, at least not like Daniel in my other fic, but John is an aspiring actor, and you know what they say, right? Just fake it till you make it.
In summary, this is the story of a guy who pretends to be a hero while learning what it truly means to be one.