On this ordinary day, Peter was patrolling New York as usual. The city was unnervingly peaceful today; only a few petty thefts and robberies had occurred, with no particularly heinous crimes to be found.
Peter had thus spent an increasingly rare period of "Friendly Neighbor" time when he encountered two people who looked like they were in need of assistance—Ms. Marvel, Carol Danvers, and War Machine, James Rhodes. The two superheroes, who currently possessed almost zero public presence, seemed to be wandering about in search of something.
"Hey there, friends. Looks like you could use a guide."
Peter descended slowly while hanging upside down. The two, who had been deep in conversation, were nearly startled out of their wits by the sudden sound of Spider-Man's voice, though they managed to react in time.
Colonel Rhodes was the first to pick up on Peter's lead. "Yeah, we're looking for someone. To be more precise, we're looking for an address... but it seems neither of us is quite sure where this place is."
"Maybe I can help."
"I'm not holding out much hope, but it's not like we have any other options," Rhodes said as he handed a slip of paper to Peter. He didn't expect much, but Peter took one look and recognized exactly which apartment building in Harlem it referred to. He immediately pulled out his phone and marked the location on their map.
Carol and Rhodes were genuinely surprised to have an answer so quickly. As they watched Spider-Man swing away, Carol looked at his retreating back, feeling a bit bewildered. "Is it just me, or does Spider-Man know New York to a frightening degree?"
"It's normal. After all, New York is basically his turf," Rhodes replied, checking the synchronized map on his own phone. He added, "Besides, he's fought so many battles here; he couldn't have gained an advantage without keeping his intelligence sharp."
Carol sighed. It had been several months since she had taken over this so-called "Ultimates" team following the disbandment of the American Avengers.
The progress over these few months amounted to essentially nothing. Having lost A.I.M., the Ultimates had lost their technological support, which was a death blow for them. Furthermore, they hadn't even managed to recruit enough members.
The bigger issue was that they simply couldn't find enough suitable candidates.
"If you were willing to bring Ares in, this whole setup would have probably been up and running long ago. We wouldn't be dealing with all this hassle now," Rhodes grumbled.
After the American Avengers had been brought under hard control, Ares—who had not been controlled by A.I.M. but had turned traitor nonetheless—became a point of contention. On one hand, Ares had indeed betrayed them; on the other hand, he was a genuine god and was willing to help. If the Ultimates truly intended to carve out a place for themselves in this era of exploding superhuman populations, a "god" was likely inevitable.
But Carol really didn't want the guy.
Strictly speaking, Carol hadn't even wanted to form the Ultimates. At the time, she had thought the American Avengers were disbanding and she could finally join the main Avengers. Instead, a few words from the President had dragged her into this position. She hadn't even been allowed to choose the team's name; she didn't like the name "The Ultimates" one bit.
"We've discussed this many times, Rhodes. Not unless we are completely out of options."
"I know, I know, but we have to consider it. Look, I'm the counterpart to Tony, and Ares could be the counterpart to Thor—mainly because Hercules has no intention of cooperating with us. Otherwise, we wouldn't be stuck choosing Ares, would we?"
"We aren't choosing people based on the Avengers' roster."
"Then what are we doing here?"
Rhodes' words were so persuasive that Carol was left speechless. Indeed, they had come to Harlem today for a specific superhero, hoping to persuade the individual to join the Ultimates. This person was the best candidate Carol could find in the short term.
Following the information on the paper, the two arrived at the door of an apartment. Carol knocked, and a young boy of about six or seven opened the door. Carol smiled at the boy and asked, "Hello, does Isaiah Bradley live here?"
The boy called out "Grandpa" as he ran back into the room. Shortly after, Carol and Rhodes were met by a black man of incredible physical stature. His hair was streaked with gray, and his eyes were cloudy, lacking their former spark.
This was the person they were looking for.
"Hello, Mr. Bradley..."
"I know who you are. I've seen you on television back when you were the American Avengers." Isaiah Bradley shook his head, clearly knowing why they were there. He issued a blunt refusal. "You want your team to have a Captain America, or something like it. You found me, but unfortunately, I'm not going to say yes."
Isaiah Bradley was a victim of the Super Soldier Serum. Toward the end of the Vietnam War, in an attempt to turn the tide of battle, the Pentagon decided to skip several protocols and conduct human experimentation with a reconstituted version of the serum. They selected three hundred soldiers for the injections; in the end, only one survived: Isaiah Bradley.
However, the birth of a new Super Soldier did not turn the tide of the Vietnam War, and a black Super Soldier was apparently not what the Pentagon or the White House desired. Before long, Isaiah Bradley was sentenced to fifteen years in prison on the charge of "stealing the Captain America uniform"—the irony being that the uniform had been handed to him by the Pentagon itself in hopes that he would become the next Captain America.
"Mr. Bradley, I know what you went through, and that is precisely why I've come to find you. President Ellis is willing to admit the mistake. He wants you to step forward and tell the full story of what the military and the government did back then, and he wants to publicly clear your name."
Carol laid out her terms. Did they need a Super Soldier? Perhaps, perhaps not. But taking everything into account, Isaiah Bradley was indeed the most suitable candidate Carol and her team could find.
As she spoke, she handed him a design schematic. It was a new suit designed by the White House; he would join the Ultimates under the codename "Patriot."
A Vietnam veteran, an experimental victim, and a persecuted black soldier—this black version of Captain America, who had just passed sixty, had so much narrative potential that President Ellis viewed him as a goldmine.
The man remained silent, lost in thought. Finally, he looked up and met Carol's eyes.
"Tell me the rest of your requirements. Let me hear just how sincere the President is."