The taste of the Restoration Potion was surprisingly pleasant, better than other magical concoctions Steve Rogers had encountered—or, rather, had never encountered until now. The faintly golden liquid, glowing softly in its small, thin flask, astonished him. When he learned he was to drink it, he was even more surprised. It looked like something straight out of a high school chemistry lab—and he wasn't far off. The potion had indeed been brewed in a high school chemistry classroom.
Yet, as someone conditioned to obey orders, Steve would drink it without question, no matter how odd the situation seemed.
Solomon instructed him to drink the potion and then sprinkled diamond dust over the burn on Steve's arm. He cradled the arm carefully as he pulled out a wand, recited an incantation, and traced the burn with the tip of the oak wand. Three incantations, three strokes—and the burn vanished. The new skin was so tender that Steve felt as though even a gentle breeze might sting it.
"Amazing," Steve said, wide-eyed, feeling an incredible sense of relief. "What is this—magic? Honestly, ever since I saw that flaming skull guy, I thought nothing could surprise me anymore. I guess I've been asleep for too long. I just watched Harry Potter—a gym buddy recommended it to me—and since you're from England…"
"Movies are full of lies. You should know that," Solomon replied as he packed away his wand and the now-empty potion flask. Pulling out a sheet of paper and a pen, he began writing a prescription. "And for the record, Ghost Riders have always existed in this world; ordinary people just don't know about them."
Hellfire doesn't just burn flesh—it scars the soul. While the Restoration Potion had healed Steve's physical wound, his soul remained damaged, requiring time to recover. That's why Solomon prescribed a range of herbs, including tulips, African violets, hollyhocks, knapweed, and aloe. Most of these plants possessed soul-soothing properties, their extracted oils capable of healing when evaporated into the air. Of course, there was an easier remedy—sleep.
But it was evident that Steve wasn't a fan of that second option. He'd slept enough already.
"All done?" Nick Fury stood up. "Then we should be going." But Solomon remained seated, as if he hadn't heard Fury at all.
"What's the matter?" Fury feigned surprise, though inwardly, he was desperate to drag Solomon out of there before he could say anything regrettable. "I'm sure you have other things to attend to, Solomon, and so does Rogers."
Steve glanced at his two guests with suspicion. "You… have something else to say? Or do you want an autograph? Sorry, I've signed a pile of papers since waking up, most of which I didn't even read. I can promise to keep the magic a secret, I swear."
"If I asked you to, I'm sure you could, no question," Solomon said, casting a glance at Fury's expressionless face. "But someone doesn't want you to know what the world is really like now. After all, you haven't even learned how to use the internet, so you can't see the truth for yourself."
"The truth? Are there things I don't know about?" Steve turned his questioning gaze toward Fury. "Sir, is there something you need to tell me?"
"There's too much to explain," Fury admitted with a sigh, taking a reluctant sip of his cola. He glared at Solomon, who wore a completely innocent expression, before continuing. "The world has changed a lot while you were asleep."
"I know…"
"No, you don't," Solomon interrupted, cutting Steve off mid-sentence. "And this will be hard for you to hear. You probably didn't read much before the war, and now you're busy catching up on pop culture or indulging in retro trends. But I need to tell you: America's post-war sins are no less severe than those of the enemies you fought in Germany."
"That's not fair to say," Fury interjected, making one last desperate attempt to steer the conversation. "America fights for freedom and democracy—"
"Oh? Then tell me," Solomon said with a scornful smirk. "Were the sexual assault cases committed by U.S. troops stationed in Korea and Japan part of the fight for freedom and democracy? Was supporting terrorist organizations in the Middle East to fuel wars about securing oil? Was backing corrupt governments and cartels in Latin America for drug profits about promoting freedom? Did Eisenhower's government supporting civilian massacres in Vietnam after World War II have anything to do with democracy? Were the tens of thousands of illegitimate children left behind by U.S. soldiers in London after the war contributions to democratic society? And what about the eugenics programs in America—did they not target Native Americans for 'cleansing'?"
Solomon's every word was a jab, leaving Fury unable to refute him and rendering Steve speechless. The sheer weight of these revelations stunned the super soldier, leaving him struggling to process.
"Steve Rogers," Solomon continued, "the country you fought for is far from just. Post-war documents reveal collusion between Wall Street and Nazi Germany. This country has always been about money, never morality. I want to know: are you fighting for humanity, or just for this country? This distinction matters."
Standing, Solomon placed two books on the table: Das Kapital and Jack London's Martin Eden. He believed these works could help Steve find a cause truly worth fighting for.
"You may find this hard to accept," Solomon said, "but mark my words: when this government sees no more residual value in you, they'll discard you without hesitation. Right now, you're a liability—an asset that can't be replicated. The media has elevated you to sainthood, making you untouchable for the military and the White House. But if not for Nick Fury's intervention, you'd already be on a dissection table."
"Solomon!" Fury's tone was laced with frustration.
"I hope you'll choose a goal truly worth fighting for," Solomon concluded. "Don't waste your life serving those bloated politicians and capitalists."
Fury let out a long sigh. That little punk had said it all! Damn it, Steve shouldn't have heard any of this!
"Sir," Steve asked, furrowing his brow, "is what he's saying true? Does the military really want to dissect me?"
"The military just… they just want to replicate the serum…"
"And then what? Use it to uphold the democratic world?" Solomon sneered. "Anyone with their eyes open knows what would happen if the military got their hands on the serum. Every attempt to replicate it has failed, including that big green brute—that was a failure too. If they succeeded, you'd be obsolete, Steve. America needs a more obedient Captain America."
"That won't happen—not now, I promise," Fury said, finally giving up the argument. He regretted not bringing along a skilled PR agent—someone who could spin bad into good, good into great, and even nothing into something.
To Fury, the cola in his hand tasted as bitter as bile.
"I think we should leave now, Mr. Rogers," Solomon said, feigning politeness. "And remember—reading is the path to wisdom. Set aside those movies and songs for now. You didn't have much of an education before your slumber, anyway."
"I…" Fury reached for the books, but Solomon grabbed his arm.
"If you're not hiding anything, let him read them," Solomon said with a mischievous smile—the kind Fury hated most. It was the grin of someone springing a trap. Fury could already see Steve's curiosity leading him to research Solomon's claims online. He dreaded the possibility of Captain America losing faith in the nation he symbolized, but there was nothing he could do.
"Damn it! You little punk! You act like you admire any government in this world!"
"Not liking something and hating it are two different things."
"Your antisocial personality needs therapy!"
Ah, the arrogance of those in power.
_________________________
[Check out my Patreon for +200 additional chapters in all my fanfics! Only $5 per novel or $15 for all!!] [[email protected]/Mutter]