Agent Sakuara

ARCTIC OCEAN

The plane skids violently across a glacier. It careens off the edge and crashes into an icy lake. The plane floats a moment, then starts to sink.

TRAFALGAR SQUARE

People lean from balconies, holding the V for Victory sign. A paper on a newsstand reads, "WAR OVER!"

THE WHIP & FIDDLE PUB

Amidst the revelry, Morita, Jones, Dernier, Falsworth and Dugan stand at attention. Their bags rest against the wall. They solemnly raise their glasses.

UNDERWATER

The plane sinks slowly in the icy water.

STARK SEARCH BOAT

A trawler bobs on the ocean's surface, at anchor. All sorts of antennae sprout from the wheelhouse.

Howard Stark hunches over a monitor on a high-tech bridge. His ȧssistants eye sonar and radiation detectors. One features a steady green blip.

On Stark's screen is a grainy video footage of the sea bottom. Sand and fish roll past as the camera explores the terrain. Howard Stark peers. He stops the camera sub, adjusts the monitor, bringing into focus the cracked, inert cosmic cube. He operates a pair of joysticks. On screen, two robotic claws extend. They reach out and clasp the cube.

Howard exhales and looks to his ȧssistants. "Move us to the next grid point."

"But there's no trace of wreckage, sir. And the energy signature stops here." One his ȧssistants said.

Stark pushes back from the monitor, spent, grim. "Just keep looking."

ARCTIC OCEAN

The plane's wingtip slips below the ice.

UNDERWATER

Through the ċȯċkpit window, Steve's shadow can be seen. He slumps, strapped in his chair.

ALLIED HEADQUARTERS - BRIEFING ROOM

Colonel Phillips signs an official report, "CLASSIFIED-CAPTAIN AMERICA." He stamps it "INACTIVE." He slides it into a red box marked "TO BE DESTROYED." He looks up as Agent Carter walks in. He regards her, stoic, suppressing his emotion. "No one said we have to forget the man, Agent." .

Agent Carter nods. She picks up the box and puts it with others on a table near the door. For a moment, she just stands there, overwhelmed. She opens the box, taking out a photo of pre-rebirth Steve. She smiles. Then she tucks it in her brėȧst pocket. She closes the box and leaves.

LOWER EAST SIDE

On a New York street, two boys play. One fires a toy gun. The other blocks imaginary bullets with a garbage can lid.

On the bed where Steve is sleeping, it can be observed that he looks paler, thinner but alive. Suddenly, his eyes flicker open. He sees an old glass light fixture on a white ceiling. He sits up and finds he's on a bed in a quiet, 1940s room. The sun shines through white curtains. The Dodgers game plays on an old vacuum tube radio on a wooden dresser.

"Workman up for the Phillies, now. Holding that big club down at the end. He sets, Chipman pitches. Curveball, outside. Ball one." The Radio announcer said.

Steve slides his bȧrė feet to the worn, wooden floor.

"Good morning." An SSR Agent greeted.

Steve turns to see a pretty 1940s brunette sitting in a chair. She folds a copy of The Brooklyn Eagle and checks her watch.

Smiling gently, the SSR Agent said "Or I should say, afternoon."

"I don't...remember going to sleep." Steve said cautiously.

"Well, it was quite a while ago." The SSR Agent said.

Steve rubs his face. The radio plays and the announcer can be heard saying "So the Dodgers are ahead eight to five. And Chipman knows one swing of the bat and this fella's capable of making it a brand new game."

Steve eyes the radio. He takes a long look at her and asked "How long have I been out?" In the background, the radio announcer continue to say "Outfield deep, round toward left, the infield overshifted."

"I'm afraid I couldn't say—" The SSR Agent started to say but with lightning speed, Steve grabs her arm. "Captain Rogers, please!"

"Who are you? How do you know my name?" Steve asked menacingly.

Wincing, the SSR Agent replied "We know all about you."

Just then, a large, menacing man in strangely modern garb rushes into the room. He carries a set of metal restraints. Steve lets go of the SSR AGENT. He stares, red-eyed as the man moves in on him.

At the hallway a door suddenly explodes, blown off its hinges by the flying body of the manacle man. Steve staggers out.

Steve races into a busy, modern lobby. SHIELD operatives stare. MP'S appear ahead of him.

"Halt!" A SHIELD MP shouted.

Steve bowls them over and runs for the door. Steve burst outside the SHIELD hospital. He takes a few steps then stops.

Modern cars honk and roar in the street. Towering plasma billboards play moving ads featuring lots of flesh. Modern people rush past, iPods and cellphones to their ears. Steve staggers, confused. He glances over his shoulder to see the MP's rushing out. Steve takes off, sprinting down the crowded sidewalk.

Steve skids into an alley and stops, panting, freaked. Steve looks down the alley only to find it's a dead end.

"At ease, soldier." Steve whips to see Nick Fury standing alone at the alley entrance.

"Who are you?" Steve cautiously asked.

"Colonel Fury, Director of SHIELD. You would have known us as the Special Scientific Reserve." Nick Fury answered honestly.

Steve's eyes narrow. The first reassuring thing he's heard. "Where am I?"

"Round about 34th and 5th." Nick Fury nonchalantly answered.

Steve looks confused. Fury nods over his shoulder at the Empire State Building rising above them. Steve gapes. Fury waves a couple of MP's to block off the alley. They stand at attention.

"Sorry about that little show back there. See, there's no precedent for what you've been through. We couldn't tell how delicate your mental state might be. We thought it best to break it to you slowly." Nick Fury explained.

"Break what?" Steve asked anxiously.

"You've been asleep, Captain. For almost seventy years." Nick Fury answered honestly.

Steve looks around, stunned. "Seventy...the World of the Future."

"Well, thanks to you, there is one." Nick Fury nonchalantly said.

Steve eyes Fury. "What about the war? Did we win?"

"Hell, yes. Unconditional surrender, baby. And taking down Hydra was a big part of that." Nick Fury replied.

Steve reels. "How am I...not dead?"

"To be perfectly honest, we're not sure yet. My docs say it's some kind of suspended animation. Dr. Erskine's formula, the extreme cold...I can't break it down for you on a cellular level, but you haven't aged a day since that plane went down." Nick Fury summarized.

Steve looks around, overwhelmed. Above him, a highway sign reads "FDR DRIVE, NEXT LEFT."

"You don't mind my asking, what gave us away back there?" Nick Fury genuinely asked.

"What? Oh. Bob Chipman was traded for Eddie Stanky during the '44 season. He's with the Cubs now." Steve looked troubled. "Or...was."

"I know it's a lot to swallow. But the world's not as different as it looks. There's still work to be done..." Nick Fury pointed at him. "Soldier's work."

Steve meets Fury's eyes. Fury signals to one of the MP's. He brings forward a case. Fury opens it, revealing Steve's battered shield. "The world could still use a man like you, Cap." Steve touches the shield, remembering. "Take your time. God knows if anybody's earned it, you have. All the same..." Fury offers his hand. Steve takes it. "There's a place for you on the team."

Steve rubs his head, so many things coming back.

"You sure you're all right?" Nick Fury asked.

"Yeah. It's just..." When he remembered, Steve became stunned and quietly said "I have to find my family." With that thought, he felt like crying.. He much rather not have survived the plane crash than appearing before his family after all these decades and be blamed for not rescuing them.