Chapter 26: The Campaign
Previously on "The Man Out of Time"…
"It is my profound honor to introduce to you a figure who embodies the very essence of American courage and integrity. A symbol of unity and resilience, standing tall in the face of adversity. Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to the Star-Spangled Man himself, the one and only Captain America!"
" ~Who's strong and brave, here to save the American way?~"
"As Captain America, I stand before you not as a superhero from the pages of a comic book, nor some symbol of nationalism….but as someone who believes in the power of unity and understanding. We are at a crucial juncture in our society, where fear and misunderstanding threaten to divide us. But it doesn't have to be this way."
" ~Who vows to fight like a man for what's right, night and day?~"
"metahumans and humans have more in common than we have differences. We share the same dreams, hopes, and desire to live in a world where we can coexist peacefully."
" ~Who will campaign for peace door-to-door in America?~"
"This suit, this shield, they're just symbols. But the real strength lies in each of us – in our actions, our choices to stand up for what's right, to support and understand each other."
" ~Carry the flag to unite all shore-to-shore in America~"
" ~From Hoboken to Spokane~"
"Let us all strive to be heroes in our own right, to be brave enough to stand for what's right, and to be the change we wish to see in the world."
" ~The Star-Spangled Man With a Plan!~"
Over the course of six months since his official introduction in March 2043, the figure of Captain America became a beacon across the United States. His journey through every state was not just a series of rallies; it was a campaign of unity, bridging the ever-widening gap between humans and metahumans.
In the sweltering heat of Arizona, Captain America stood before a diverse crowd, his voice carrying over the throngs of people. "We all share this land under the same sun," he said. "Whether human or metahuman, our aspirations for a better future unite us more than our fears divide us."
In the bustling streets of New York City, he was seen helping local community workers, his hands as ready to serve as his words were to inspire. The sight of Captain America assisting in a soup kitchen, conversing earnestly with the homeless, metahumans and humans alike, was a powerful image that resonated deeply with many.
In rural Kentucky, he visited schools, speaking to children about the importance of acceptance and understanding. "Every one of you can be a hero," he told a classroom full of wide-eyed kids, "by showing kindness and respect to everyone you meet, no matter how different they may seem."
The media dubbed this phenomenon the "Captain America Tour," with major news outlets covering his every move. Commentators and pundits weighed in, offering varied perspectives on what Captain America represented in this modern era.
"On one hand, you have this symbol of hope, reaching out to communities, preaching unity," said a news anchor from a prominent media network. "It's hard not to be moved by his message of peace and coexistence."
However, not all the commentary was positive. As Captain America's influence grew, so did the voices of skepticism and criticism.
"I don't buy it," a political commentator remarked during a prime-time broadcast. "This whole Captain America act reeks of political maneuvering. It's a clever ploy by Senator Brandt and his party to secure the metahuman vote. Are we really naive enough to believe that this isn't just nationalism dressed up in a fancy costume? I mean, we don't even know this supposed captain's real name!"
Another critic echoed these sentiments in an op-ed piece,"Captain America is nothing more than nationalist propaganda. A tool to distract us from the real issues at hand. It's a spectacle, a well-orchestrated stunt to manipulate public sentiment."
Amidst the rallies and community work, these critical voices began to shape a counter-narrative, casting doubt on Captain America's intentions and authenticity. Questions about Senator Brandt's involvement and the true purpose behind this nationwide campaign started to gain traction.
Despite these challenges, Izuku continued his mission, undeterred. In a rally in Oregon, he addressed the growing skepticism head-on. "I know there are doubts and cynicism," he said, standing under the grey, drizzly sky. "But I'm not here for politics. I'm here because I believe in us – in our ability to rise above our fears and prejudices."
In a small town in Texas, he joined a community dialogue between human and metahuman residents, listening and mediating as they voiced their concerns and hopes. "It's about finding common ground," he said, "about understanding that we all want safety, peace, and a chance to thrive."
The media coverage continued, a mix of admiration and suspicion, of hope and cynicism.
In a bustling inner-city Chicago neighborhood, his voice resounded with empathy and understanding. "Our differences are not a barrier, but a mosaic that makes this nation beautiful," he declared, his words a soothing balm to the fractured community before him.
Cutting to a small, crowded living room, a family gathered around the television, their eyes fixed on the screen. A young metahuman boy with porcupine quills growing on head, clutching a makeshift Captain America shield, watched with wide-eyed wonder. His mother, a hint of hope lighting her eyes, murmured, "Maybe he can really make a difference."
The scene shifted to an auditorium at Harvard University, where Captain America engaged in a lively debate with students. He listened intently, nodding as a young woman passionately expressed her concerns about metahuman rights. "It's about respect, mutual understanding," Captain America responded, his words stirring thoughtful nods and contemplative silence among the students.
In a cozy, dimly lit bar, patrons watched a mounted TV as Captain America shook hands with workers at a manufacturing plant. His message of unity and hard work resonated with the blue-collar crowd. "He talks a good game," a grizzled man sipping his beer remarked, though his skeptical tone was softened by a trace of admiration.
On social media, clips of Captain America's interactions went viral. A heartwarming moment of him helping an elderly lady cross the street, a respectful exchange with a vocal critic at a rally, and a candid laugh shared with children at a community center – each clip painting a multifaceted picture of a hero striving to bridge divides.
In an urban youth center, a group of teenagers huddled around a smartphone, watching a clip of Captain America playing basketball with kids on a public court. They laughed and cheered as he amazingly made a shot from across the court, showing off his superhuman prowess.
The airwaves were abuzz with varied and often conflicting viewpoints.
On a popular morning news show, a panel of experts sat around a sleek, glass table. "Captain America is really challenging our perceptions of heroism and unity," one commentator began, her tone analytical. "But we have to ask ourselves - is this merely performative? Are these grand gestures truly bridging gaps, or is it all for show?"
Another panelist, a seasoned political analyst, chimed in, his expression thoughtful. "There's a deeper narrative here. This isn't just about a costumed hero doing good deeds. It's about the message he's carrying – one of coexistence and mutual respect. It's a powerful narrative, especially in today's divided society."
Switching to a conservative talk radio show, the host's voice crackled through the speakers, tinged with skepticism. "Captain America, huh? Seems like a convenient symbol for the powers that be. A way to distract the public with a shiny, heroic figure while pushing a political agenda. I mean, come on, folks! Is this where we're at as a country? Needing some guy who looks like he's straight outta 1940s comic book to tell us how to live together?"
In the aftermath of a devastating tornado in Moore, Oklahoma, a small rural town, the scene was one of chaos and despair. Amid the rubble and remnants of what once were homes, emergency crews worked tirelessly. The air was filled with the sound of sirens and the urgent shouts of rescue teams. Then, like a beacon of hope amidst the devastation, Captain America appeared and moved with purpose through the wreckage. The crowd, initially surprised, watched in awe as he approached a massive telephone pole that lay across a collapsed house.
With a calm determination, Captain America positioned himself near the center of the pole. Then, to the amazement of the onlookers and rescue workers, he lifted it effortlessly over his shoulder. His display of superhuman strength was not just for show; it was a genuine effort to aid in the rescue of a family trapped under the debris. The rescue team quickly capitalized on the opportunity, moving in to clear the remaining rubble and reach the family.
As the family was safely extracted from the wreckage and carried to the waiting ambulances, Captain America set down the pole with the same ease as he had lifted it. He then turned to the crowd, a slight nod acknowledging their gratitude, before moving on to help wherever else he was needed.
This moment was captured by numerous cameras and smartphones, soon making its way onto news broadcasts and social media.
In a well-lit studio, a roundtable discussion on a leading cable news network was underway. "It's not just about politics or symbolism," argued a young pundit, her voice earnest. "Captain America resonates with the younger people, especially metahumans. You see him out there, engaging with communities, listening to their concerns. Heck, we just saw the video of him helping emergency crews after that tornado disaster in Moore! He's doing far more than what any politicians are doing."
"But isn't that precisely the point?" countered another guest, a professor of cultural studies. "This entire Captain America campaign - it's a masterclass in branding. It's about shaping a narrative, controlling the optics. It's less about genuine change and more about managing public perception."
On an independent news podcast, the host posed a poignant question to her listeners. "What does Captain America represent for us? Is he a symbol of hope in a cynical age, or is he a tool of propaganda, designed to placate a restless populace?"
A late-night comedy show took a lighter approach. "So, Captain America visited a school today. Gave a talk about unity and understanding. Then he arm-wrestled the gym teacher. Spoiler: the gym teacher won. Guess that super-strength of his doesn't cover biceps!"
In a small, candle-lit vigil for victims of a recent tragedy, Captain America stood among the mourners, his head bowed in respect. The camera lingered on his solemn expression, a stark contrast to the energetic figure seen in earlier clips.
As the six-month mark approached, the narrative began to shift subtly. The initial enthusiasm and optimism were now tinged with doubt and suspicion. The "Captain America Phenomenon," once a story of unification and inspiration, now faced the harsh scrutiny of a divided public opinion.
The final rally of the six-month campaign took place in Los Angeles, where it had all begun. Under the bright lights of a packed stadium, Captain America's figure stood tall, yet the air was heavy with mixed emotions.
"This journey has shown me the best of what we can be," the Captain said, his voice echoing through the stadium. "But it has also shown me that we have a long way to go. The path to understanding and unity is not easy, but it's a path we must walk together."
As he concluded his speech, the cheers were loud, but so was the undercurrent of dissent and doubt. The camera panned over the crowd, capturing the faces of those moved by hope and those clouded by skepticism.
The Man Out of Time
Chapter 26
"Yes, beliefs are important for they shape who we are, but our identity is revealed not through our beliefs or our talk, but through our actions."
– Thomas Ingram
Kyoto, Japan - August 2043
In the verdant embrace of Kyoto's dense forests, a serene mist enshrouded the trees, lending the area an almost mystical quality. Here, amidst this natural sanctuary, the members of the Strategic Scientific Reserve (SSR) were a hub of activity, their preparations for the imminent clash with Hydra forces underway. The sound of weapons being readied, and quiet, urgent discussions filled the air, a tangible mix of tension and resolve.
Sergeant Peggy Yamamoto, her once long black hair now practical and shoulder-length, tied neatly under her cap, moved with a purposeful gait among her team. Her commands were clear and decisive, her presence commanding respect and authority – a leadership style she had honed over time.
Leaning against a tree, his arms crossed, James "Bucky" Barnes watched her closely. "Wish I'd seen her with her hair down once before she cut it," he mused aloud, a hint of regret in his tone. "Bet she looked stunning with it."
Sharon, standing nearby with her own hair cropped short, glanced at Bucky. "It was a necessary change, given what we're dealing with," she pointed out, her voice tinged with practicality.
Nick Fury, joining the conversation, couldn't resist a tease. "What's the matter, Barnes? Smitten with the Sergeant?"
Bucky shot down the notion immediately, shaking his head. "No way. She's like a sister to me, and besides, I wouldn't make a move on Izuku's girl."
Sharon chuckled, a twinkle in her eye. "Well, aren't you a true friend."
Namor, overhearing the conversation, looked up, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Sergeant Yamamoto is dating Izuku?"
Nick shook his head, his voice laced with amusement. "Nah, man. Well...not yet anyway."
Their exchange was cut short as they observed Sergeant Yamamoto sternly reprimanding the latest SSR recruit.
"Private Powers, you represent the SSR now. Walk straight and keep your uniform as tidy as possible." Yamamoto asserted, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Carry yourself with more pride. You're not in high school anymore."
Despite the clear disdain etched on her face, born out of a personal history that they were all somewhat familiar with, Yamamoto's professionalism never wavered. She stood firmly before Powers, her voice sharp yet composed as she imparted her instructions.
Zak Powers, his annoyance palpable, shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. "Yes, Sergeant," he responded, the words seemingly forced out.
Yamamoto held his gaze for a moment longer, ensuring her message was understood, before curtly nodding and dismissing him. Powers quickly turned and walked away, his frustration evident in his brisk stride.
James Howlett, checking over his rifle, glanced up with a smirk. "God, I love her Iron Woman side."
Sharon, meanwhile, watched Zak's retreating form with narrowed eyes. "I don't like him," she said flatly.
"Who? Powers?" Nick queried, his tone one of mild curiosity. "Why? We hardly ever interact with him."
Sharon's expression darkened slightly. "Peggy told me he went to the same school as her and Izuku. He made Izuku's life hell for years."
"That so?" James rolled his eyes with a scoff. "Knew there was something off about that guy...aside from his pretty-boy, dumb face."
"Jealous?" Namor teased.
"Shuddup!"
Bucky's gaze lingered on Powers as he vanished into a barrack, his expression contemplative and slightly troubled. "Have you guys noticed? Powers has gotten a lot stronger since he got here. More than what's normal, I mean."
Nick Fury, methodically checking his rifle, glanced over. "Kind of became hard not to. But I thought I heard a rumor that he was some hotshot baseball player back home."
"When's the last time you saw a baseball player single handedly push over an overturned Humvee?" Bucky challenged. "Or carry around hundred-pound bags like they're nothing?"
"What?" Nick looked at the Brooklynite suspiciously. "You think he might have a meta-ability himself?"
"It would make sense…" Bucky's expression darkened, his eyes lowering to the forest floor as he was momentarily lost in thought. Unwelcome memories surfaced – vivid images of his childhood home and the familiar streets of his neighborhood engulfed in flames. The destruction, caused by a metahuman, still haunted him. He clenched his jaw, the memory evoking a pained grimace.
Namor, sharpening his blade (which strangely resembled a trident), noticed Bucky's discomfort. "Even if Private Powers is a meta, he's still one of us. Abilities don't change that."
Bucky nodded slowly. "I know. It's just hard to forget what happened. But Namor, James, I don't look down on you or anyone here. I trust you guys with my life."
James grunted painfully as he gruesomely extended three bone-like claws from his knuckles, ignoring the blood and checking the claws sharpness. "All this mushy talk before a battle. Let's just focus on kicking some Hydra tail."
Their preparations continued in a more somber tone, each member lost in their thoughts.
Bucky Barnes sat thoughtfully on a nearby stump, his fingers fiddling with a newspaper clipping that depicted Captain America at a recent rally in Los Angeles. His brow furrowed in a mix of frustration and contemplation. "We're out here risking our lives, and meanwhile, this guy's playing hero back home?" he muttered, a hint of bitterness in his tone.
The group around him murmured their agreement, a shared sentiment of skepticism and perhaps a tinge of envy towards the celebrated figure back in the States. However, Namor, always one to offer a different perspective, spoke up. "That may be true, but don't underestimate what he's accomplishing. He's helping shift the public's view on metahuman rights," he pointed out.
James nodded in agreement, his voice tinged with a mix of respect and regret. "He's making more of a difference for metahumans than anything we've seen in Japan or elsewhere. That counts for something."
Bucky's expression hardened as he clutched the clipping. "It all feels like a show to me. The Izuku we trained with... he's a real hero. This guy's nothing but a superhero wannabe."
His words resonated with the group, each of them reflecting on their shared experiences with Izuku at Camp Erskine. Since the day of his transformation into a super-soldier, over a year had passed. Peggy had confirmed the procedure's success, yet, despite this, Izuku was deemed too inexperienced for active duty.
The silence that followed was a mixture of concern and curiosity about their friend's current status. No one, not even Peggy, had received any updates about him. Amidst the chaos of the ongoing war, it was difficult to focus on this mystery, yet it remained a nagging thought in the back of their minds.
Wanting to get her mind off the verdette, Sharon curiously glanced at the newspaper in Bucky's hands, noting that it was written in Japanese. "I'm curious, Barnes, why have you been interested in learning Japanese?" She asked, a playful tone in her voice.
Bucky's cheeks tinged with red. "Well, after Izuku gave me those lessons back at Camp Erskine, I thought learning it might be handy."
Sharon raised an eyebrow. "Just handy, huh?"
"I don't buy it." James said gruffly, sheathing his bone claws back into his hands. "There's another reason, is there?"
"Maybe," Bucky said evasively. "But we should focus on the upcoming battle."
Nick chimed in his voice taking on a more serious tone. "Remember, we might not all make it through this. If there's something you want to say, Barnes, best say it now."
Bucky considered Nick's words and reluctantly agreed; however, before he could respond, Sergeant Peggy Yamamoto reappeared, her expression set with determination. "Listen up, we're deploying within the hour. Gear up.
Fresno, CA - September 2043
The early September air carried a hint of the coming autumn as Izuku Midoriya rode into the parking lot of his old apartment complex in Fresno. His used 2020 Harley Davidson seemed almost out of place amidst the compact cars and minivans that populated the area.
Dressed in a camouflage army uniform, adorned with his surname and various patches, a testament to his nine month-long journey with various special forces, Izuku cut an imposing figure. The insignia of a captain was prominently displayed on his left chest.
Stepping off the bike, Izuku's boots hit the pavement with a solid thud. The weight of his return, after a year of grueling training and transformation, settled heavily on his shoulders. He reached into his pocket, retrieving a set of keys, one of which was meant for his mailbox. As he approached the row of metal boxes, he inserted the key into the lock of the parcel box and turned it…only for a ton of letters to spill onto the ground.
As Izuku Midoriya sifted through the mountain of letters that had spilled onto the ground, he couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. "Looks like the postal service didn't take a break while I was gone," he muttered to himself, gathering the envelopes and junk mail. He stuffed them back into the parcel box, grabbed a handful, and made his way up to his apartment on the third floor, room 99.
Entering the small, modestly furnished apartment, Izuku set the pile of mail on the coffee table. He paused for a moment, taking in the sight of his old living space. Dust had gathered on the surfaces, casting a muted, forgotten air over the room. The two-seat couch, the small coffee table, and the television stand seemed untouched, frozen in time. The tall shelf, heavy with books, stood as a silent testament to his once routine life.
Unbuttoning his camouflage jacket, Izuku headed towards his bedroom to put on some casual wear. Upon opening the drawer and seeing how small the clothes were, the realization hit him like a stack of bricks. "Right... I forgot," he said with a light-hearted chuckle. "Guess it's time these find a new home." He considered donating them to a local thrift store.
Looking around his bedroom, another thought crossed his mind. 'Maybe it's time to let go of more than just clothes. There's no point in keeping an apartment I barely use, especially with my limited salary.'
Later, after settling on the couch with the television on in the background, Izuku began sorting through the pile of letters. Most were advertisements and old bills he had already paid online. The mundane nature of these letters contrasted starkly with the life he had been leading. Then, his eyes caught a different envelope at the bottom of the pile.
It bore the familiar handwriting of his father, Hisashi Midoriya. The seal was unbroken, as if marking the finality of a chapter in his life. Taking a deep breath, Izuku carefully opened the envelope, revealing the letter inside.
The words were neatly penned, unmistakably Hisashi's. As Izuku began to read, his father's voice seemed to echo in his mind, distant yet clear:
"15, July 2042
Izuku,
As you read this, you are now eighteen – an adult in the eyes of the world. It is with a heavy heart that I write this letter, but it is necessary.
The time has come for you to stand on your own two feet. I'm certain you have grown into a strong and capable young man, and I have every confidence in your ability to navigate the path ahead. However, as you embark on this journey of independence, I must be honest about the limitations of my own role in your life moving forward.
My work as a politician, especially in Japan's current tumultuous climate, demands my full attention. The war and the metahuman crisis have created a situation that requires my constant involvement. It is a demanding and all-consuming responsibility, leaving little room for personal matters.
Therefore, I regret to inform you that I will be unable to provide the support I once did, both financially and emotionally. This decision was not made lightly, but it is one I must adhere to for the sake of my duties.
I wish I could offer more, be more present, but the nature of my work and the demands it places upon me make it impossible. I hope you understand the difficult position I find myself in.
As you move forward, know that my thoughts are with you, even if my presence cannot be. You have always had the strength to overcome challenges, and I have no doubt that you will continue to do so.
This is a new beginning for you. Embrace it with the courage and determination that I know you possess.
I wish you all the best in your future endeavors, my son.
Farewell,
Hisashi"
Izuku's gaze remained fixed on the word 'Farewell', the finality of it echoing in his mind. His father's words, though distant and formal, severed the last threads of a relationship that had been strained for as long as he could remember.
Izuku let out a heavy sigh. The words on the page confirmed what he had long suspected; his father would never be a significant part of his life. It was a painful acceptance, but one Izuku knew he had to make. He set the letter aside, his thoughts drifting momentarily before the sound of the television caught his attention.
"As the conflict in Japan continues to evolve, we're seeing a significant shift in the dynamics on the ground. NATO forces have made considerable strides in pushing back Russian and her allied troops, a development that offers some hope in what has been a prolonged and arduous struggle. However, a new and disturbing element has emerged, complicating the already volatile situation.
"Hydra, a new radical metahuman organization, are capitalizing on the growing discontent among metahumans by inciting chaos and rebellion, undermining the efforts to restore peace and stability in the region."
Various video clips of metahuman riots in city streets played with some waving flags with Hydra symbols.
"In response to this escalating threat, the Japanese government has taken a firm stance with the enforcement of the Japanese Metahuman Registration Act. The act, designed to regulate and monitor the activities of metahumans, has been met with mixed reactions. While some view it as a necessary measure to maintain order, others see it as an infringement on personal freedoms and rights.
"Critics argue that this approach only exacerbates tensions, driving a deeper wedge between the government and the metahuman community. Incarceration of offenders under this act has been on the rise, with various prison facilities across the nation reaching capacity.
Many photos were displayed showing thousands of people being led by force into prisons and camps.
"This situation raises critical questions about the balance between security and liberty, and how best to address the unique challenges posed by metahumans in times of conflict. As both sides dig in, the hope for a peaceful resolution seems increasingly distant. We will continue to monitor the situation closely and bring you updates as they unfold."
As Izuku watched the report, he could feel the weight of the situation. He frowned deeply. 'Things are only getting worse over there...' His thoughts lingered on Peggy and his friends. 'I should be there, helping them.'
As he contemplated, the news shifted focus, discussing the recent conclusion of the "Captain America Campaign". The media heads debated vigorously, their opinions about the star-spangled man split between praise and criticism.
One commentator argued, "Captain America embodies the spirit of heroism. He's inspired many and brought hope in these trying times."
Another retorted, "But let's not forget the political undertones of this 'campaign'. It's clear that Captain America is being used as a symbol for propaganda, rather than focusing on the real issues at hand."
A third chimed in, more cynically, "It's all a show, isn't it? A man in a flashy costume, diverting attention from the real problems. How much did this 'campaign' cost taxpayers?"
Izuku listened to the back-and-forth, his expression growing weary. He turned off the television, seeking a moment of quiet to gather his thoughts. The room fell into a quieter ambiance, broken only by the soft hum of the traffic outside.
Just as he was about to be consumed by his thoughts, the sudden buzz of his phone snapped him back to reality. He fished the device from his pocket, seeing Senator Brandt's name flashing on the screen. Drawing in a deep breath to steady himself, Izuku answered the call. "Yes, Senator?"
"Captain! How're you, my boy?" Brandt's voice was robust and warm, a stark contrast to the cool detachment of his father's letter.
"...I've been better, sir," Izuku replied honestly, his voice tinged with a hint of his inner turmoil.
Brandt's tone shifted, expressing genuine concern. "I'm sorry to hear that. But listen, I've got something important to discuss with you. It's a new opportunity for Captain America, one that could reshape the narrative that's been building in the media."
Intrigued, Izuku found himself momentarily distracted from his somber thoughts. "What kind of opportunity, sir?"
"It's about the war effort in Japan," Brandt revealed, his voice carrying an undercurrent of seriousness.
Izuku's heart skipped a beat. "Wait! Are you serious, sir?"
"Yes, but we'll need to discuss it in person. Can you get to LA?"
"Of course, Senator. Just give me till tomorrow. I'll be there," Izuku replied, a renewed sense of purpose igniting within him.
After ending the call, the verdette super-soldier stared at the phone for a moment, the reality of the situation settling in. "Not even a few days off," he mused aloud, a wry smile touching his lips. Yet, the prospect of reuniting with Peggy and his comrades at the SSR, of being involved in something significant, stirred a deep-seated excitement in him.
His gaze shifted from the now darkened screen to a small, neatly arranged table in the corner of the room. On it rested an urn, lovingly polished to a soft sheen, beside which stood a framed photo of his mother Inko, her smile as warm and comforting as he remembered.
He approached the table with a reverence born of deep respect and love, stopping before it to bow his head slightly. "Hey, Mom," he began, his voice carrying a mix of joy and wistfulness. "I'm finally back." A chuckle escaped him, a sound of both amusement and disbelief at the journey his life had taken. "I've... had a big makeover, as you can see. Surprised, huh?" He paused, as if expecting an answer, a smile playing on his lips. "It's a long story... Well, I don't think I need to go over it. You've been watching me the whole step of the way, haven't you?"
The room seemed to hold its breath, enveloping Izuku in a moment of silent communion with the memory of his mother. He continued, his voice softer now, more reflective. "I know this isn't what you had in mind for how my life would go... honestly, I had no idea it'd go this way either." His gaze wandered, taking in the familiar walls, the furniture that had seen better days, the little knick-knacks that told the story of their life together in this space.
He looked back at the photo, his expression tender. "This place has been a good home for us... but like Hisashi said, this is a new beginning. It's time to close the chapter here." The words hung in the air, a solemn vow to move forward, not just in place but in spirit.
Later that evening, in the main office of the same apartment complex, the air was thick with tension. An African-American woman was locked in a heated argument with the complex manager, a middle-aged man with a demeanor as unwelcoming as his grizzled appearance.
Off to the side, her teenage son, absorbed in his phone, occasionally glanced up, his interest piqued more by the undercurrents of the conversation than by the game on his screen. His black hoodie, adorned with a black-and-white rendition of Captain America's heater shield, seemed almost defiant in the setting.
The mom's voice, firm and insistent, broke through the office's stifled air. "I had a deposit down. It was supposed to be move-in ready by this week!" she stated, her frustration mounting.
The manager, unmoved, responded with a grimace, "Complications have come up, Ms. Bradley. The last tenants—some metahuman punks—left it in shambles, and without paying, no less." He scoffed to himself. "Last time I ever let their kind stay here."
The teenager caught the thinly veiled disdain in the manager's voice, furrowing his brows.
The chime of the door announced a new presence in the office. Izuku Midoriya, clad in his camouflage uniform that did little to conceal his muscular build, stepped in. His entrance drew a curious glance from the boy, who appeared impressed by Izuku's stature.
'Holy crap…!' He thought in amazement. 'GI Joe in the flesh…'
Ms. Bradley, seizing a momentary pause, expressed her predicament. "I understand, but I still need the apartment. My new job starts soon, and my son begins high school next week. We need a place to stay."
The manager, unyielding, shook his head. "There's nothing I can do right now. It'll take weeks to repair the damage."
Izuku, having overheard the conversation, approached them. "What seems to be the problem here?" he inquired; his tone friendly yet concerned.
After a brief explanation of the situation, Izuku offered a smile, a soft gesture that seemed to lighten the room. "Well, I might have a solution."
Everyone turned to him, their expressions a mix of curiosity and disbelief. "And what would that be?" Ms. Bradley asked.
"I can give you my apartment," Izuku proposed, the simplicity of his offer belying its generosity.
The room fell silent, the shock palpable.
"Hold up! You live here?" the manager asked, dumbfounded.
The son couldn't help but interject, his voice laced with incredulity. "Yo! You don't know your own tenants?"
"I would've remembered someone like him," the manager retorted, still in disbelief.
"Third floor, room 99," Izuku clarified, his smile unwavering.
The manager's brows furrowed in thought. "I thought some little guy was living there... Haven't seen him in a while, though."
"That would be me," Izuku confirmed, his demeanor unchanged.
"You?!" The manager's shock was evident as he looked Izuku up and down. "What in the hell happened to you?"
"I got a growth spurt," Izuku joked lightly, eager to move past the manager's astonishment. "Anyway, I came here to say I'll be moving out. Effective immediately, actually. So, you can give my unit to these two."
The room was silent for a moment as the magnitude of Izuku's gesture sank in. Ms. Bradley, moved by the unexpected kindness, found herself at a loss for words. Her son looked up from his phone, his earlier detachment replaced by shock for the stranger before them.
Later on, as the details were ironed out, Izuku walked out of the office with Ms. Bradley and her son. Basking in the early evening glow, Ms. Bradley turned to Izuku, her eyes reflecting immense gratitude. "Thank you," she said, her voice rich with heartfelt emotion. "This means so much to us."
Izuku responded with a modest nod. "Don't mention it. This works out well for all of us."
Hesitation colored Ms. Bradley's voice as she inquired, "How soon can we move into your unit?"
"By tomorrow evening," Izuku replied promptly. "I've arranged for a thrift store to pick up everything inside tomorrow. It'll be ready by then."
Surprise flickered across Ms. Bradley and her son's faces. "You're just giving it all away?" she asked, a tinge of awe in her voice.
Izuku shrugged lightly, "Apart from a few personal items, I won't be needing them anymore."
The son, who had been observing Izuku with growing curiosity, piped up. "Um, sir? What are those patches on your uniform?"
Izuku looked down at his uniform, tracing the patches with his finger. "These are from my time training with special forces units," he explained, pointing to each patch in turn, detailing the significance of each emblem.
His finger eventually came to rest on the captain's insignia. The boy's eyes widened slightly, recognition dawning. "You're a captain?" he asked, a mix of respect and intrigue in his voice.
Izuku nodded, "Yes, I am."
"That's amazing!" Ms. Bradley acknowledged. "You seem so young though…"
"Some higher ups thought I should be promoted despite that, I guess." Izuku replied, undertones of exasperation in his voice.
The boy paused before asking a question that seemed to linger on his mind. "Um, sir… What do you think about Captain America?"
Izuku observed the boy's hoodie, featuring the heater shield in black and white, and a small smile tugged at his lips. "You're a fan of Captain America, I take it?"
The boy nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! What's cool about him is he doesn't just talk; he's out there, taking action and helping people. I don't understand why the news and people online give him such a hard time."
Izuku's expression turned thoughtful, understanding the boy's perspective. "Yeah, I see what you mean."
Curiosity piqued; the boy leaned in slightly. "So, what's your take on him? What do soldiers think of him?"
"Well," Izuku began, weighing his words carefully, "I can't speak for everyone, but many soldiers do agree with the media. They see him as a political pawn, a distraction from more pressing issues."
The boy's eyes searched Izuku's face for a more personal opinion. "And what about you?" he asked, a hopeful note in his voice.
Izuku paused, reflecting on his own views. "I think Captain America is simply a man who wants to help his country. Yes, some might see him as propaganda, but at a time when we're all divided, I believe he wants to remind us that we're stronger together than apart."
The boy's face lit up with a mixture of relief and admiration. "That's awesome! I knew there was more to him than just the propaganda stuff. He represents hope, resilience, and all that jazz!"
Izuku chuckled softly, appreciating the boy's enthusiasm. "I agree. It's important to look beyond what's presented to us and see the values and actions that truly define a person."
Ms. Bradley, having silently observed the conversation, spoke up in agreement, her voice imbued with a sense of pride and understanding. "You're right," she addressed her son. "That's a lesson worth remembering. Make sure you take it to heart, Isaiah."
Isaiah responded with a typical teenage groan, "Yes, mom," but the slight smile on his face indicated he understood the importance of their conversation.
Watching the mother and son, Izuku's smile grew more tender, a hint of nostalgia in his eyes as he was reminded of his own mother and their past together. "I should be going now," he said, turning to leave. "You both take care. I'm sure you'll love it here in Fresno."
As Izuku turned to leave, a call from behind halted his steps. "Hey!" Isaiah's voice carried across the distance.
Izuku turned back, a questioning look on his face. "Yes?"
Isaiah hesitated for a moment before asking, "This…might sound dumb, but do you think heroes like Captain America are going to become a regular thing?"
Pausing to consider the question, Izuku finally answered with a thoughtful expression. "Maybe. But, you know, meta-abilities or not, we all have the potential to be heroes in our own right. It's about the choices we make and the actions we take."
Isaiah paused, taken aback by Izuku's words. "Yeah…" .
With a final nod of farewell, Izuku walked back to his motorcycle, which had a small box of personal belongings strapped to the back. Isaiah and his mother watched him ride away, the rumble of the engine fading into the distance.
"What a good young man," Ms. Bradley murmured, a hint of regret in her voice. "Oh no! I didn't even get his name!"
Isaiah, who had been silent reflecting on Izuku's words, spoke up. "Midoriya... It was on his uniform."
"Midoriya…" Ms. Bradley nodded, filing the name away in her memory. "I wonder what ethnicity he is." Shaking her head of that irrelevant question, she looked back to her son. "So, Isaiah, after meeting that young man, do you still want to become a superhero one day?"
Isaiah looked off in the direction that Izuku had driven off, a small smile playing on his lips.
Izuku spared a final glance at the apartment complex that had once been a significant part of his life before pulling away.
'I'm sorry it took so long, but I'm finally joining you guys! Just hang on a little longer…' He thought, his mind set on reuniting with his comrades overseas.
Unknown location…
In the shadowy confines of a secure online meeting room, an array of silhouetted figures was gathered, each represented by a dark outline on the digital display. The scene was tense, charged with an undercurrent of grave seriousness. The primary focus was on two men standing in front of a camera, positioned in what appeared to be a highly advanced laboratory.
The discussion among the participants revolved around the escalating global chaos resulting from the proliferation of metahumans.
One of the men, his voice tinged with a Swedish accent, spoke with a clinical detachment. "Metahumans are merely doing what any new species introduced to an environment would do: finding their place in the food chain," he observed.
His colleague, a man donning a purple ski mask and speaking with a German accent, joined in. "Doctor Zola is correct," he asserted. "Despite the peace efforts by some, the conflicts that are brewing are unavoidable. History has shown that when a superior civilization encounters an inferior one, the latter faces obliteration."
"And which side do you believe humanity is on, Zemo?"queried one of the dark figures.
Zemo's response was tinged with a grim certainty. "One side possesses an ever-growing arsenal of abilities. The conclusion is yours to draw," he said. "The metahuman population is increasing daily. It's conceivable that within a few decades, the majority of the new generations will have some form of abilities."
"Meaning those without meta-abilities could become the minority," another voice added thoughtfully.
"Exactly," Zemo continued. "In the best-case scenario, regular humans might face persecution or enslavement. In the worst case, we're looking at potential genocide. This is something we at Humarise have already foreseen."
Doctor Zola, nodding in agreement, added his perspective. "Metahumans could very well be the next evolutionary step for humanity. What we are witnessing is a natural process. Consider the fate of the dinosaurs and other preceding species."
Zemo interjected with a note of urgency. "Unlike the dinosaurs, we have the capacity to prevent our own extinction. And now, thanks to our efforts, we have the means to do so."
The collective attention of the shadowy figures sharpened. "So you claim, Zemo. But what exactly is your proposed solution to manage the metahuman threat?" one of them asked.
Zemo's response was chillingly matter-of-fact. "The term 'manage' is a misnomer. Our goal isn't to minimize the threat; it's to completely annihilate it."
The group fell into a contemplative silence, absorbing the weight of Zemo's declaration.
"Explain."
Zemo initiated the presentation. "My friends, we are at a pivotal moment in human history," he began, his voice cold and calculating. "The wars and riots we see across the world are a mere prelude to the chaos these metahumans can unleash."
Tapping a few commands on his tablet, he pulled up a live video feed of three metahumans contained within separate high-tech containment cells.
The screen showed Wade Shockley, his frustration palpable as he banged against the cell walls. "Let me out of this damn cage!" he yelled, his voice tinged with anger and desperation. He unleashed a surge of electricity, only for it to fizzle against the insulated walls.
Serena Viper, with venom dripping from her fangs, spat at the glass, her acidic attack leaving no mark. "You can't keep us here forever!" she hissed vehemently.
Peter Stonewall, his body encased in a rocky exterior, pounded his fists against the cell, his surprise evident when he found no give in the material. "What is this stuff?" he growled, confusion mixing with his growing fear.
Zemo's voice cut through their protests. "Meet Wade Shockley, Serena Viper, and Peter Stonewall," he introduced, his tone laced with disdain. "American thugs, using their powers to wreak havoc. You may or may not recall them as the perpetrators of the violence that ensued at America's World Series last year."
"Curious… Their names are on the nose regarding their respective abilities." One pointed out.
"I believe that is because they changed their names at some point." Doctor Zola chimed in. "But that is neither here nor there. As you can see, conventional methods are inadequate against such beings. To counter this, we must target the very source of their powers."
A participant in the meeting, catching on to their implication, interjected, "The source? You mean their DNA?"
"Precisely," Doctor Zola affirmed. "Gentlemen, after years of rigorous development and trials, we present to you our ultimate solution to the metahuman problem – Virus X."
With a few more taps on his tablet, Zola activated the virus dispersal system. Purple mist began to seep into each cell, and the panic among the three criminals was instant.
"What the hell is this?" Wade shouted; his voice laced with terror as he stepped back from the encroaching mist. His eyes widened in horror as they became bloodshot, and he started coughing uncontrollably, his body wracked with spasms.
Serena gagged as she inhaled the mist, her body convulsing as she vomited venom uncontrollably. "It burns…" she gasped; the pain evident in her voice.
Peter, witnessing the deterioration of his cellmates, began to bang on the glass with renewed vigor, but his rocky skin started to shed, revealing the vulnerable flesh beneath. "No, no, NO!" he screamed, the horror of his situation dawning upon him.
In just minutes, the once lively cells fell silent, the bodies of Wade, Serena, and Peter now motionless. The purple mist slowly dissipated, leaving a scene of devastation in its wake.
Doctor Zola, devoid of emotion, cut the feed. "As demonstrated, Virus X is both swift and effective."
Applause and murmurs of approval echoed through the digital meeting space. "Well done, Doctor Zola, Baron Zemo," praised one member.
One attendee voiced their concern about the virus's specificity. "Will this affect all metahumans indiscriminately?"
Zola nodded. "It's designed to attack the 'Quirk Factor,' a term coined by the late Doctor Hatsume. It's unique to metahumans. But further testing is necessary," he cautioned, "to ensure its efficacy on a global scale."
The group concurred, one adding, "With the number of metahuman detention facilities worldwide, acquiring more subjects for your experiments should be trivial."
Zemo, ever the pragmatist, added, "There is also the matter of funding. The production of Virus X requires substantial resources."
"If Virus X performs as you claim, funding will not be a concern," the first figure replied confidently. "Just ensure that Humarise fulfills its promise, or you might find wearing that mask more permanent, Baron."
Zemo's expression was unreadable, but his voice carried a hint of resolve. "Gentlemen, be assured, Humarise is dedicated to the preservation of humanity, by any means necessary."
And with those ominous words, the meeting concluded.