In 1943 Steven Grant Rogers was enlisted to the United States Army.
Everyone knows the righteous, patriotic Captain America and his story. People might have heard of his mother, Sara, who was a nurse and died of tuberculosis. Perhaps some have even...
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His face burned, his stomach churning as the whole world seemed to be cut off from him. Everything was dark and hazy, golden and red dots flying in his vision as his ears rung. The sound was high pitched, drowning out everything else around him.
He breathed heavily, having lost all sense of the world. He didn't even understand if he was laying down or standing or maybe he was even upside down. He couldn't tell.
He blinked his hazy eyes, seeing the white flash in the darkness as time seemed to speed up once again. The familiar sound of bullets rung in his ears, but the sound was just slightly muffled as if he was underwater.
He was on the floor, in the space between the bed and the wall as he stared at his hands. One moment they were covered in blood, the next, they weren't. He hyperventilated, groaning under his breath as his temples pulsed with pain and legs shook as he pulled some pants on, his brain immediately going to the war zone as he swayed on his feet, eyes glazed over as he looked for his rifle.
Rifle, rifle, rifle, where was his rifle?
His eyes landed on the girl who was on the floor due to the heavy blast, he breathed heavily, eyes moving up the wall that was earlier covered with pale yellow wallpaper and elegant golden flowers.
Instead, he was now starting at the night, out into the streets, smoke and flashes of light in the dark as bullets flew like arrows of death through the darkness, piercing the flesh of soldiers who were screaming for strength and victory. They screamed so the adrenaline would drown their fear and terror. And instead, hate would rise and make them kill and kill and kill.
And Will knew he had to kill, too. In order to survive.
But where was the rifle, rifle, rifle...
His blue eyes wide as he stood in the room, the dust and gunpowder reaching his nose as the door suddenly blew open. His startled eyes looked up to the angry eyes of Johnathan Lawford who was screaming at him while covering his own head with the helmet. Will didn't really hear, but he felt the man's finger dig into his shoulder as he tried to you'll him away from the collapsed room. “Downstairs, Cap is sending us to the forest, we have to surround them!” he rushed out, his green eyes wide as he pushed Wills rifle into his chest.
The younger tugged on his shirt and jacket and boots, the fastest he ever did. The training in camp coming to use as he tied the laces of his boots in a split second. “Wait.” he said through gritted teeth, the shock starting to fade as they rushed down the stairs. “Wait!” he said louder, trying to get John to stop. “What!” he hissed, turning around abruptly as they both ducked while the whole building shook. “Th-the girl!” the British soldier scoffed and turned around, keeping low as he started jogging towards the entrance of the building, keeping his rifle ready. “Forget it, the wench is dead. Come now.” he said lowly, disappearing into the night as the sky was covered in thick smoke. Confusion and a large amount of guilt made him nearly trip, but the flashbacks of a large pool of blood and oddly bent neck came to him in Tsunami waves.
