THIS WAS A VERY different New York City than the one Steve Rogers had known. His beloved Brooklyn Dodgers had left “the borough of churches” for the glitz and glamour of Los Angeles. Their uptown rivals, baseball’s New York Giants, had also up and left for the West Coast. The spectacular adverts in Times Square—always impressive—had transformed from mechanical gimmickry to mind-blowing high-tech LED lights. The skyline had nearly doubled its height during the time he’d been away. Subways were faster—and cleaner. Traffic was more congested than ever, but the cars were sleeker. Gone were the phone booths—people now carried personal phones that had no need for wires. And these devices were not merely used for speaking, but also watching films, reading books, listening to music, and sending and receiving information instantaneously.
Steve was reminded of Howard Stark’s vision of the future at the World Exposition that had changed Steve’s life back in 1941. Steve was sure that in no small way, Howard was responsible for many of these great advancements.
This was the new world outside of Steve’s apartment window. Inside, Colonel Fury had used new technologies to supply Steve with everything he needed to familiarize himself with the new world in which he found himself. It was jarring to emerge from the mid twentieth century into the twenty-first. To make the leap from never having seen a television to fidgeting with a tablet device would not be easy. Steve needed to know about everything that had come in between.
He started from the beginning, watching old newsreels of himself in battle during the war. He shook his head in disbelief at how crude and unsophisticated the film and sound were compared to what he’d recently seen—flat crystal-clear screens where it seemed as though you could reach out and grab the images.
He shifted his attention to old war-era files. He sifted through them until he reached the file that mattered most—Peggy Carter, who was alive and living in London. What would Peggy think of him now? What would he think of her?
Overwhelmed, Steve stepped out of his apartment into this brave new world. He needed to clear his mind and process all this. The street was not conducive to deep thinking. Traffic jammed the roads, street vendors shouted from their carts, tourists clogged the sidewalks. He needed to find somewhere to sit down. The bars were too crowded and depressing. Besides, he didn’t drink. He thought about a coffee shop, but still couldn’t find it within himself to pay more than a few cents for a cup of the stuff, no less a hundred times that, which seemed to be the going rate.
Steve found himself by Stark Tower—the legacy of his old friend Howard Stark. He looked up at the tower in awe. Almost nothing in his time looked so tall and sleek. He shook his head and sighed, then he settled into a diner across the street. The scene felt much more familiar than any of his other options.
“You waiting to see him?” the waitress asked as she set down his water.
“Who?”
“Iron Man. People come in and sit here all day waiting to see him fly by. You can stay here all day, too,” she said with a flirtatious smile. “We have free Wi-Fi,” she continued.
“Is that radio?” Steve asked naively.
The waitress flashed her pretty smile again and shook her head.
“Get her number, you moron!” an old man at the table across from him snapped.
But Steve just ordered, finished up, and uncomfortably thanked the waitress for her service as he paid the bill. He was frustrated as ever with his place in the world. He’d tried walking, sitting, and thinking, there was only one other option open to him.
Steve pounded and pounded and pounded on the punching bag that hung from the gym’s ceiling. He came here when all else failed—when he was out of options for how to deal with all the information he’d been having difficulty processing.
He thought of his fellow soldiers and hit the bag. He thought of Peggy and slammed it again. He thought of Howard Stark, of progress, advancement, of the seventy years of history he’d not been a part of and punched and punched and punched; harder and harder, faster and more furious.
He would have beaten that bag forever if he hadn’t been interrupted by the last man in the world he wanted to see at this moment—the man who was to blame for the fact that Steve was here at all—Colonel Fury.
Fury told Steve that the Tesseract had been stolen. Steve knew all too well the destruction that could be wrought if the power of the cube fell into the wrong hands. He’d seen the destruction it caused when the Red Skull held it. What if someone smarter and more dangerous got hold of it? Fury knew from his research in S.H.I.E.L.D. databases that Steve put himself before no one. No matter what Steve was struggling with, if the world needed Captain America, he would rise to meet the challenge.
“I’ve left a debriefing packet at your apartment,” Fury said. Then he turned and left the gym.