A revolving scanner circles the shield, taking readings via lasers. Scientists begin to write down the information gathered. "So the shield?," Fury asks. "Made entirely of vibranium," Simon responds as they walk down a hallway, "The boys in the lab say it's quite possibly the most physically perfect man-made artifact in the world." A door slides open for them and they enter the lab. Nearby, the body of Steve Rogers lay on a gurney, ready for inspection. "The body's ready to be studied," Simon explains as they begin to attach monitors, "We should be able to find out rather quickly if it is, indeed, Steve Rogers." Fury examines the body, "This is weird. I mean, really weird. If this guy were alive, he'd be, what... ninety-two? Doesn't look a day over twenty five It's too bad we can't ask him about ..."
Fury's sentence is interrupted by the sound of a beeping monitor. The scientists are speechless as they gaze at the heart monitor recording a very slow heartbeat. For a moment, they stare at the monitor stupidly before Fury asks, "Uh... That means he has a heartbeat, right?" One of the scientists nods, slack-jawed. Fury spins around, "Get him to the infirmary, now!".
Doctors rush Steve down a hallway. He is now equipped with more monitors and a breathing apparatus. He is still unconscious and wearing a hospital gown as they wheel him toward the hospital ward. "Breathing is steady," one of the doctors announces. "Heartbeat is regulating," another one shouts. Fury runs alongside them as they bring him into a private room in the infirmary. One of the doctors prepares an IV. He turns, bringing the needle against Steve Roger's bicep. He begins to press down and...
A hand grabs his wrist. Steve's eyes snap open. A moment later, the doctor is hurled over the hospital bed, into another one. "Security, get in here," Fury shouts into the wall intercom. Steve Rogers sits up with a gasp, eyes panicking. He rips off the monitors and tears the breathing apparatus from his face. He then tumbles off the bed, back against the wall. "Whoa, whoa! Calm down!," Fury pleads, raising a single hand. Meanwhile, the doctors rush out of the room.
Steve's eyes go wild. From his point of vie, everything is blurry and dizzying. Nick Fury raises his hands, "It's okay. We're here to help." Steve continues to breath frantically. He kicks his gurney, sending it into Nick Fury's gut. Steve leaps over the bed and out the door where he slides along the floor, falls, and gets back up. As he sprints down the hallway aimlessly, doctors leap out of the way. Fury runs after him. Agents in black suits dash out of a nearby elevator, directly in his path.
Steve flies into the air, kicking one of them in the chest, sending him back into the elevator. Another agent tries to grapple with him, but he is quickly flipped over Steve's shoulder. The next one is punched in the chest and sent sliding along the floor. The agent on the floor tries to get up, only to be hurled over the receptionist's desk. Fury stops running and produces a tazer from his coat, "Sorry, sir," he says and fires. The electric charge hits Steve in the neck. He grunts and spins around. His vision becomes even blurrier before he passes out.
Steve wakes up again. He is back in his hospital room. This time, he's slightly more calm, but only slightly. He snaps awake and tries to jump out of bed, only to find that he has restraints. "Relax," he notices that Fury is sitting beside his bedside, "You've been through a lot, sir. There's a lot that we have to tell each other, but first, we're going to need you to calm down." Steve takes another long look around the room and contemplates his next action before asking, "Where am I? Who are you?"
"My names is Colonel Nick Fury. I am the Director of SHIELD: the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division."
"I've never heard of it."
"Well, sir, in your time, it wasn't around."
"That American accent is good."
"I am American. This is an American base, I assure you."
"Prove it."
"You want me to sing the national anthem?"
"Get me General Chester Phillips on the phone."
"Sir,... I'm not sure how to tell you this, but General Phillips has been dead since 1965."
"Do you honestly expect me to believe that?"
"No, not really; but I have this," Fury reaches into his pocket and produces the old black and white photograph, "Your name is Steve Rogers. You were born in the Lower East side of Manhattan in 1917. In 1941, you entered the Super Soldier Program and became Captain America."
Steve pauses, "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"With all do respect, sir, I'm sure you do."
"And if I do?"
"As I said, sir," Fury moves over to the window, "We have a lot to tell each other."
Fury opens the window. It's daytime now. Steve looks out, witnessing a modern airfield including jets and a massive carrier in the sky. He shakes his head in disbelief. Fury unties the restraints, freeing Steve. He sits up in bed, contemplating what to do next.
"We should probably start from the beginning," Fury tells him.