Steve Rogers was keenly aware of the labels he carried: brave soldier, great hero, the standard-bearer of the American spirit, and perhaps also some nonsense like teen mentor or a Protestant vision of a Jesus incarnate. But he knew these labels were a manufactured illusion to fool the world. In the eyes of the Middle Eastern and Eastern European civilians rescued by the Undying City, the name Captain America had never represented peace and justice—it meant war and oppression. So when Solomon Damonet asked him to betray America—even though another matter (Bucky Barnes) still weighed on him—Steve Rogers nodded and accepted Solomon Damonet's request.
He would carry a shield that belonged to him alone, take off the blue uniform, and join the Undying City's great endeavor.
It seemed Solomon Damonet had long anticipated this day. He held out his hand for Hammurabi Badia to retrieve the gift he'd prepared from the armory case. Steve Rogers watched as the deep black velvet was lifted to reveal it—a deep red circular shield. At its center spread a golden eagle, circled by laurels and lightning—pure Undying City style. Compared with the shield Steve used now, this one employed the same technology as the Honor Guard's storm shields: a miniature energy-field generator housed within. And to accommodate Steve's habit of throwing his shield, the user would wear a wrist-mounted signal emitter to guide the shield's gyros so it returned like a boomerang.
"This is yours now, Steve," Solomon Damonet said, using an address more intimate than in past years. He extended his hand and shook Steve Rogers's. "Let's fight for justice. I believe you won't betray your convictions. From now on you're no longer Captain America. Have you thought of what you'll call yourself?"
"Steve Rogers is fine. Captain America is just a label for propaganda."
Hammurabi personally escorted Steve Rogers to board the assault transport. The black hull bore ablation marks and cratered pockmarks from impacts; the craft belonged to the Sisterhood, which meant the former Captain America had still been in Eastern Europe when summoned—and likely fresh out of combat. Solomon Damonet gave Steve and the Honor Guard time alone, and he also told Hammurabi that if Steve asked how the Honor Guard were made, he could tell him everything except the technical minutiae.
"My lord, why do you value this mortal so much?" Suppiluliumas removed his helmet, baffled. "Even a hundred of his kind, I could cut down. Steve Rogers is far too weak."
"He carries a humanistic spirit we lack, Suppiluliumas. If even Captain America betrays America, won't those who believe the United States is a messenger of justice start to quietly ask themselves whether everything they clung to was right? Of course, I don't expect one Steve Rogers to trigger a great reckoning. He was always destined to turn on America, but this reason is far better than doing it for private feelings, isn't it?" Suppiluliumas wanted to say he didn't understand what his sovereign meant, but Solomon Damonet didn't give him time to ask. "Tell the pilot to hurry. I think our next guest is already impatient."
The vibration of the engines made his teeth chatter. His messy, damp brown curls smelled faintly of soap. The cabin's dim lights felt like those in an interrogation cell. Two women in black power armor sat nearby with large-caliber firearms in hand, their blood-red visors fixed on the man shackled to the floor. He wet the tip of his front teeth with his tongue and drew a deep breath, trying to detach his thoughts and dispel his nerves. The aircraft and the power armor made clear that this organization possessed extremely advanced technology, but that was not what truly made him tense.
He was nervous because of the person he was about to meet.
He had been untangling the chaos in Latovinia and Eastern Ukraine for a long time. Relying on his superb investigative skills, he had finally tracked down a military base in the Donbas. In that temporary camp flew a flag bearing a golden eagle. He had heard rumors from locals about a force clad in black power armor, but before he could act, those women in black power armor broke down the door, stormed the safe house, and arrested him.
He didn't resist—he surrendered, and during interrogation he divulged his entire plan, requesting an audience with the organization's leader. Naturally, that proposal was ignored. The operatives who took over subjected him to extreme measures: waterboarding, sleep deprivation, humiliation, hypnotics, and more. In the constant transfers, he lost all sense of place and time. But he never forgot his purpose.
Vengeance—vengeance for his wife and child. That fire kept his spirit alive. It kept him surviving in a prison beneath the deck of an ocean liner on the high seas, kept him enduring the hundredth round of painful interrogation. Whatever they wanted to know, he would tell the specialists, and then add that he wanted to meet the leader. Until one day, amid the clanking of anchor chains, he heard someone calling his name. The repeated agony had dulled his mind; it took him a long time to realize it was his own name. Then several operatives who had interrogated him before brought him out. They let him shower, shaved his beard, dressed him in clean clothes, and gave him a proper meal. With enough blood sugar, his stiff brain began to race again. He thought his proposal had been accepted. He had a chance to persuade the organization's leader to help him take his revenge. Especially when he boarded the aircraft—he still didn't know their purpose, but he knew the man hidden in the fog wanted to see him.
He stared up at the gray sky over the sea and burst into wild, heartfelt laughter. Though his arrest had disrupted his plans, he believed he had seized the key to victory—a power without equal.
"Your wife and child." Solomon Damonet studied the haggard man before him, silently raising his estimation of him yet again. Most of those interrogation specialists were S.H.I.E.L.D. agents with CIA backgrounds; after the HYDRA revolt, they had been abandoned on the high seas with no way to make port. The Undying City had taken over those prison ships and everyone aboard. From then on, those liners became the Undying City's mobile prisons, and the wardens were granted broader authority and methods. Not everyone could endure such torture. The man before him had not only endured, he'd clawed his way here.
"Yes. I want to ask you to help me avenge them. I believe our interests align: the destruction of the Avengers and the United States." Helmut Zemo nodded. While Solomon Damonet evaluated him, he was evaluating Solomon Damonet. But no matter how he focused, he found he couldn't retain the man's image in his mind. He suspected it was an aftereffect of interrogation, so he turned to the two golden-armored giants standing beside Solomon Damonet, estimating whether they were robots or gene-modified warriors—and whether they could threaten Tony Stark.
"In truth, I'm curious why you wanted to meet me," he said. "You could have sent your subordinates to negotiate."
"Yes. The reason I wanted to do this personally is because you are very useful. I will grant your request—but only if you follow my plan. Then you'll get what you want."
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