Three days later—
Vought Media's propaganda machine roared to full capacity.
Every massive LED screen in Times Square, prime-time television slots across the globe, and YouTube's front page were flooded with a carefully edited "documentary."
Its title:
Winter: The Forgotten Sacrifice.
There was no cold-blooded Winter Soldier.
No assassinations.
No red-stained snow.
Instead—
The film opened in black and white.
A young, handsome Bucky Barnes plummeting from a train in the freezing winds of World War II, sacrificing himself to save Steve Rogers.
The score swelled. Tragic. Heroic.
Cut.
A blurred "covert surveillance" angle inside a Hydra facility.
A chained Bucky—bloodied, defiant—enduring "unspeakable torture."
(Thanks to a top-tier Hollywood stunt double and flawless prosthetics, the illusion was seamless.)
A deep, weathered voice narrated:
"He did not die… he fell into hell."
"Seventy years of torment. Brainwashing. Reconstruction."
"Hydra sought to shatter his will. To turn him into a weapon."
"But he never truly surrendered."
On screen, Bucky, strapped to an electric chair, blood running down his face, screamed curses at his captors—even as voltage coursed through him.
"In the deepest part of his subconscious… the boy from Brooklyn kept fighting."
The footage shifted—
To the hydroelectric dam reunion. Steve and Bucky locking eyes after decades.
"Though his body was controlled… he never forgot his brother."
"He is a victim. A survivor."
"He bears scars—but he chooses to rise."
"With the arm they cursed him with… he will crush the throats of monsters."
The final shot:
Bucky today.
Hair trimmed. Beard shaved. Clad in V.G.D tactical gear. His metal arm gleaming under sunlight.
He stands beside Steve.
They salute the camera.
Then—
Antony himself appears on screen, voice low and magnetic.
"He was once a hero… consumed by darkness."
"Seventy years in hell… yet the light in his heart never died."
"Now he has returned."
"Not to reclaim the past… but to defend the future."
"Welcome home, Sergeant Barnes."
The final caption fades in:
James Buchanan Barnes. Codename: Silverhand.
The Howling Commandos—Assemble.
The effect?
Explosive.
The internet detonated.
@AmericaSweetheart: #SergeantBarnesIsInnocent I'm crying. He suffered so much and still gets misunderstood! He's the real victim!
@USAGreatAgain: Even after everything they did to him, he resisted! That's a patriot!
@Stucky4Ever: Seeing him and Cap side by side again—my heart is healed. This is TRUE brotherhood!
@JohnnyWuStrong: "Silverhand" is such a badass codename. When are the figures dropping? I want the mechanical arm replica!
Vought struck while the iron was molten.
They announced a new reality show:
Howling: Soldier Assault.
Times Square.
The giant screens lit up again.
Steve Rogers, clad in his iconic blue-and-white uniform, pointed directly at the camera.
"Seventy years ago, we fought for freedom."
"Today, threats still remain."
"We need new warriors. New blood."
"If you have ability. If you have courage. If you're willing to stand for justice—"
"Join us."
"Become part of the Howling Commandos."
"Superpowers are not required."
"All you need… is a brave heart."
Cut—
Steve raises his shield, blocking an incoming RPG in dramatic slow motion.
"I can fight all day."
"But your car can't."
"Vought Comprehensive Vehicle Insurance—giving your car vibranium-level protection."
"Call now and receive a limited-edition Captain America… anti-slip floor mat."
As Steve delivered that final line, his jaw twitched almost imperceptibly.
The look in his eyes?
Pure "I cannot believe I agreed to this."
-----
In a penthouse across Manhattan—
Tony Stark sprayed coffee across his television screen.
"HAHAHAHAHAHA!"
He nearly fell backward in his chair laughing.
"JARVIS! Record that! All of it!"
"I want it looped on every V.G.D outdoor display!"
------
Meanwhile, at V.G.D's training field—
Steve watched his own commercial on the massive monitor and looked like he wanted to bury himself with his shield.
He had sworn off advertisements.
But this…
He owed Vought.
"Captain, honestly—it looked pretty cool," Pietro said, barely suppressing laughter. "Especially the anti-slip mat. I might get one for my Pagani."
"Silence, Pietro."
Steve's expression darkened.
"Weighted run. Thirty thousand kilometers. Now."
"WHAT?! Captain, I just recovered from the last mission!"
"Sixty thousand."
"…Yes, sir! No problem, sir! Long live Vought Insurance!"
…
The recruitment ad ignited something deeper across America.
Veterans.
Patriotic youth.
Hard men living quiet lives in forgotten towns.
Unlike the distant, celebrity-like Seven—
The Howling Commandos offered something different.
A path for ordinary people to become heroes.
The recruitment website crashed three times within thirty minutes due to overwhelming traffic.
…
Washington D.C.
At a veterans' mutual aid center.
Sam Wilson stared at the screen.
At Steve.
At the unshakable resolve behind those awkward commercial lines.
He walked to a locker.
Opened it.
Inside—
His repaired mechanical wing pack.
Natasha had fixed it for him after the dam operation.
Sam picked up his phone.
Dialed the hotline.
…
New York.
Long Island.
V.G.D Second Training Base.
It had been transformed into a massive reality-show set.
Cameras everywhere. Crane rigs. Producers barking into headsets.
Steve stood on a platform, megaphone in hand, staring at the sea of applicants below.
Hundreds.
Maybe thousands.
"This is a lot of people, Bucky," he muttered. "How are we going to filter them?"
"First round is open screening," Bucky replied, glancing at the scoring sheet Ashley provided. His eyebrow twitched. "Apparently we score… facial symmetry and physique."
He paused.
"Ab definition adds points. Tragic backstory adds points."
"We're recruiting soldiers. Not underwear models."
Steve sighed.
He crumpled the ridiculous sheet and tossed it aside.
"We do this our way."
He lifted the megaphone.
His voice thundered across the field.
"Listen up!"
"This is not Hollywood!"
"This is a battlefield!"
"First test is simple!"
"Forty kilograms on your back."
"Fifty kilometers."
"Finish line at the shoreline."
"The last two-thirds to arrive—eliminated!"
A stunned silence rippled through the crowd.
Then murmurs.
Then nervous laughter.
Steve lowered the megaphone slightly.
And allowed himself the faintest smile.
Now—
They would see who truly wanted to be soldiers.
--------------
T/N:
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