Post by Captain America on Sept 29, 2013 18:56:45 GMT -5
Unconsciousness is just a step below being frozen on the scale of things that are not okay. Steve loathed that he had to undergo both of these situations on several different occasions, but if there was one thing he had learned in his ninety-three years of life, it was that you had to press on. Though pressing on is slightly difficult when you're not entirely positive on where you are and what the hell happened.
Steve blinked several times, trying to see if he could shake away the dizziness, but nothing seemed to be helping, so he opted to simply prop himself up, not getting very far. A large piece of rubble was pinning down his right leg, rendering him immobile. Superhuman or not, he couldn't move the wreckage alone. He was stuck until someone came and found him. But first, he decided to try and find himself. Where was he? He glanced around and noticed immediately that he was in a city. Well, it used to be a city at least. Some buildings were barely standing while others were completely demolished. He lay in a pile of debris, consisting of machinery parts, building materials, and objects that Steve couldn't even identify. The whole scene had a sort of sickeningly green glow to it, blotches of orange and blue displaying themselves on and off. Or was he just imagining things? Central Park was just across the street, also completely trashed. It looked more like a dump, with unorganized piles of waste scattered across the brown, grassy floor. Steve began searching the bits of his memory he had. Was he even in New York? That's where he was the last time he could remember, but how could he be sure that he was even looking at Central Park?
His aching head forced him to stop thinking so hard as he tried again to free himself, to no avail. His uniform was torn and bloody, his entire body covered in minor cuts and bruises. He felt as if he had just plummeted off a building. Glancing around at his surroundings again, he caught sight of a small blue and white shard. Curious, he stretched his body out as far as he could until he snatched the shard, no larger than his palm, out of the debris, recognizing the white point on the blue background immediately. "No," he muttered. "Damn it, no." There was no doubting it. That was his shield. What was left of it, rather. Some way or another, it must have gotten itself shattered.
As if his situation could get any worse, Steve's memory began slowly returning to him. There was a fight. A big one. He was definitely in New York, but how long had he been out? He remembered seeing Loki, running with him up the stairwell of a tall building. There was a machine. And there was an explosion. That was all he could piece together, but he knew that Loki wasn't the enemy he was facing. It was someone else. Someone he'd never encountered before.
That's when another question crossed Steve's mind. Where was his team? If you could even call them a team anymore. The Avengers split up during the war, each taking on different enemies, none working together, like they should have been. The Avengers were no more, at least in Steve's mind. What use is calling yourselves a team if you're not going to act like one?
Deciding enough was enough, Steve stopped trying to be tough and escape his situation alone. He needed someone. Swallowing his pride, he took a deep breath and bellowed, "Help!" Trying his best not to sound pathetic, he continued, "Anyone, I need some help over here!" His voice echoed as he waited for a response. He wasn't even sure if anyone was within earshot, but it was worth a try.
Steve blinked several times, trying to see if he could shake away the dizziness, but nothing seemed to be helping, so he opted to simply prop himself up, not getting very far. A large piece of rubble was pinning down his right leg, rendering him immobile. Superhuman or not, he couldn't move the wreckage alone. He was stuck until someone came and found him. But first, he decided to try and find himself. Where was he? He glanced around and noticed immediately that he was in a city. Well, it used to be a city at least. Some buildings were barely standing while others were completely demolished. He lay in a pile of debris, consisting of machinery parts, building materials, and objects that Steve couldn't even identify. The whole scene had a sort of sickeningly green glow to it, blotches of orange and blue displaying themselves on and off. Or was he just imagining things? Central Park was just across the street, also completely trashed. It looked more like a dump, with unorganized piles of waste scattered across the brown, grassy floor. Steve began searching the bits of his memory he had. Was he even in New York? That's where he was the last time he could remember, but how could he be sure that he was even looking at Central Park?
His aching head forced him to stop thinking so hard as he tried again to free himself, to no avail. His uniform was torn and bloody, his entire body covered in minor cuts and bruises. He felt as if he had just plummeted off a building. Glancing around at his surroundings again, he caught sight of a small blue and white shard. Curious, he stretched his body out as far as he could until he snatched the shard, no larger than his palm, out of the debris, recognizing the white point on the blue background immediately. "No," he muttered. "Damn it, no." There was no doubting it. That was his shield. What was left of it, rather. Some way or another, it must have gotten itself shattered.
As if his situation could get any worse, Steve's memory began slowly returning to him. There was a fight. A big one. He was definitely in New York, but how long had he been out? He remembered seeing Loki, running with him up the stairwell of a tall building. There was a machine. And there was an explosion. That was all he could piece together, but he knew that Loki wasn't the enemy he was facing. It was someone else. Someone he'd never encountered before.
That's when another question crossed Steve's mind. Where was his team? If you could even call them a team anymore. The Avengers split up during the war, each taking on different enemies, none working together, like they should have been. The Avengers were no more, at least in Steve's mind. What use is calling yourselves a team if you're not going to act like one?
Deciding enough was enough, Steve stopped trying to be tough and escape his situation alone. He needed someone. Swallowing his pride, he took a deep breath and bellowed, "Help!" Trying his best not to sound pathetic, he continued, "Anyone, I need some help over here!" His voice echoed as he waited for a response. He wasn't even sure if anyone was within earshot, but it was worth a try.
