There was a new era in America, and he desperately, desperately wanted to be part of it...but he wasn't. Not yet, anyway.

His handler had told him to go to New York City. They were supposed to meet up around midnight, which meant that he had the day to himself. He'd spent it walking around the city. The Candidate had been in New York before-he'd carried out a few operations there-but that had been years ago. The place had really changed, to say the least. Everyone kept looking up. College kids were running around with big, clunky cameras, hoping to strike it rich. The cynical, hard-bitten city that he remembered was now full of wonder and excitement. It was more like that in some neighborhoods than others, granted, but even Hell's Kitchen felt a little hopeful. Hood-looking criminal types kept nervously whispering to each other, while squarejohn citizens walked the streets unafraid.

The Candidate saw the Human Torch and Spider-Man. Newspaper headlines talked about atomic power, supersonic tests, and the space program. It was like living in the future.

No one had given him a second glance...but then, that was part of his training. He knew how to blend in. The Candidate was a young man-he wouldn't be turning thirty until next year-and he had brown hair and brown eyes. He wore a dark suit and a blue tie. In the past, his hair had been much shorter, but he was out of the military, now. For his current job, he needed to look like a standard civilian. He carried two guns, a knife, a garrote, a poison-capsule, and a miniature camera that was the size of a wallet.

Unfortunately, the day was over, now. It was night, and it was time to get to work. He was walking to the address that his handler had given him. New York never slept, so there was plenty of two-legged camouflage for him to hide in, and many of them looked like him: suit-wearing men that had put in extra hours at the office (or the bar), and were just now going home.

The Candidate's original name didn't matter. Not to him, anyway. Once upon a time, he'd been an angry, troubled boy that lived in a tiny desert town, but that person was gone. He'd had a run-in with the law when he was sixteen, and a judge had given him a choice. Jail or the service. He'd joined the military, fought in the Korean War, and finally gotten to prove that he was more than no-name white trash. He earned stripes, medals. His exploits led to even more important work. He'd taken part in conflicts that history would never know about, including one that involved Nazi holdouts in a place called the Savage Land.

And then, when it was time for him to make a decision about his future, an Agency man had approached him. "If you want, you can go home and enjoy that freedom you've been protecting. Marry the girl next door and all that kind of stuff. But, if you don't feel like you're done, yet, we have more for you to do."

The Candidate did jobs in Russia, Cuba, Vietnam, Latveria, and countries that he'd never even heard of. He murdered America's enemies while they were sleeping. The Agency taught him how to spy, steal, infiltrate, and assassinate. He'd thought that he knew how to fight, but they'd brought in people that pushed him to a new level. In the run-up to America's involvement in World War II, the military had scoured the globe for martial arts experts, using them to train the original Captain America. Some of these men were still alive, and they'd taught the Candidate everything they knew. The Candidate got to where he could take out a dozen armed men with nothing but his fists and feet.

Some of his targets were truly dangerous individuals, and their deaths definitely made America safer. Others, though...he wasn't entirely sure why he was killing them, though he was always told that he was "protecting American interests."

While his own life became darker, America was getting brighter. Kennedy was a breath of fresh air. He was a politician, so he was compromised in certain areas, but the Candidate loved what he represented. The Agency didn't. They still blamed him for the Bay of Pigs-which was easier than admitting that they'd mishandled their end of it-but there was also the matter of Operation: Northwoods. A year ago, the Joint Chiefs had proposed a series of false-flag attacks, making it appear as if Cuba had attacked the U.S. mainland. The public would be outraged, and call for a war against Cuba. But Kennedy had shot Northwoods down. The Pentagon and the Agency had wanted a full-scale war; they'd had to settle for less, and they weren't happy.

Things were tense right now, but the Candidate was glad to be back in America. The country was changing in incredible ways...and he was eager to follow suit. For the last few years, he'd lived in the shadows, utilizing a variety of cover identities. He was ready to become someone better, and step into the light.

The Candidate had heard the whispers all along. "They're grooming you," "They've got plans for you." Then, a few weeks ago, he'd been officially informed that he was a candidate for a certain program, and given a new call-sign. It was something that could change his life, but he was trying not to get his hopes up.

Was tonight about that? Or were they giving him another job-another chance for him to prove that he was worthy of the mantle?

The address they'd given him was a plain-looking office building. He quickly climbed a fire-escape ladder, got on a rooftop, and watched it through a small, extendable telescope. All of the lights seemed to be off; he didn't see any suspicious figures or vehicles lingering near the building. He'd heard sirens a few minutes ago, but they were in another part of Manhattan, and they'd been getting further away, not closer. The Candidate went back down to the street, did a weapons-check, and walked to the door.

Getting inside was easy. As ordered, he went to the east end of the second floor, and he found an unfurnished office. A dusty sign said that it was available for leasing. The office's air seemed stale and undisturbed, but he could tell that someone was there. He drew a gun from his hidden shoulder-holster and aimed it at a corner.

"Easy, easy." He recognized the voice: it was "John," his new handler.

"Trying to sneak up on me...that's a good way to get yourself killed."

John stepped out into the open, holding his hands up. He was smiling. "Did you have an enjoyable day in the city, Agent?"

"I'd have enjoyed it more if you weren't spying on me."

John put his hands down, and he tried to act shocked. "I wasn't-"

"A little after three in the afternoon, Times Square. I was talking to a blonde, and you were wearing a blue suit, trying to hide behind a delivery truck."

"I just wanted to make sure she wasn't Russian."

"John" was like every other handler he'd ever had: expensive clothes, a lot of excuses. This one seemed like a real golden boy. He had sandy blond hair, and he was clearly uncomfortable in less-than-posh settings. John was always checking his watch-like he had better places to be.

The Candidate holstered his weapon, sighing. "Am I here for a job?"

"You are, yes."

This was usually the part where "John" gave him some files, or at least a photograph of the target...but, this time, he just stood there with his hands in his pockets. "This is a different type of job."

Oh, great.

"Are you familiar with the work they're doing upstate? The mutant, the outer space stuff?"

"Of course I am. His name's Paul Battaglia," the Candidate said, crossing his arms. "I'm the reason the Russians don't know about him. NASA's security people screwed up, and the Chameleon almost got the project files. God, if those idiot guards hadn't blundered in and scared him off, I would've had a great shot at capturing him."

John clearly didn't know about any of that, and he got a horrified look on his face-the classic "I can't believe my asset knows more about something than I do" look. That made the Candidate smile.

"Anyway, my point is, that program has a problem," John said. "The mutant went rogue a few days ago. He's in the city, and we think he's after some of the local heroes."

"...what? Why?"

"I wish I could tell you," John said. "They think he's having mental problems. Gravity powers screwing up his brain, something like that. Apparently, he's been having these 'memories,' but they're actually hallucinations. They started a month or so ago. Something about heroes and villains that don't exist, I guess. I don't know if it's related, but, when he was younger, his powers made him really sick. He became fascinated by the idea of the afterlife. He's fixated on these two new heroes: the vigilante known as Daredevil, and a new mystery-man with wings, who sort of looks like an angel."

Sounds like some kind of religious thing. "If they knew that he was mentally unstable, why didn't they lock him down?"

"Well, A, this guy is powerful, and we don't have the science to imprison him. Not yet. And B, they thought that he might have mental powers, too. What if he wasn't imagining that stuff? What if he could do remote viewing, or maybe even see the future? They waited to see if his 'visions' were accurate...but I guess he's just crazy."

The Candidate frowned, shaking his head. This kid was the cornerstone of the space program-Kennedy's biggest project. Without him, Russia might beat them to the moon.

"What are my orders?"

"Like I said, we'd never be able to hold him, so capturing him would be pointless. And what if the Russians found out about him because of this? If they beat us to him, and offered him a better deal...it'd be a disaster. There's also the issue of him knowing things about the space program. If he takes some reporter hostage, or he crashes into a TV studio and starts talking on-camera, we're in big trouble. We need you to eliminate him ASAP."

John seemed extremely nervous, today. The upper echelon must have really been worried about this. Everything that he'd said was true, but the Candidate knew that there was another reason to take him out, as well. They couldn't let the public find out about the existence of mutants, let alone that the government sometimes worked with them.

The Candidate stayed calm on the outside, but on the inside, he wanted to strangle the mutant. I can't believe him. He had the chance to be part of something incredible, something that will help all of humanity, and he threw it away for nothing. I'd give anything to have skills or powers that would help with a project like that.

"We just...we can't afford to take another big hit in the next few months," John said.

" 'another' big hit?"

"Well, I'm thinking in advance: sooner or later, it'll get out that Doom has seized power in Latveria, and it'll be a major black eye for the Agency."

The Candidate didn't care about that right now. "His powers-gravity rings, right? They can make people and objects really light or really heavy?"

"Yeah," John said, looking a little nervous. "But, uh, apparently, he can fly, too."

The Candidate ran a hand through his hair. He didn't know how to kill someone that could just up and fly away from him, but he'd have to figure it out.

"Obviously, the mutant is extremely dangerous, so we'll be sending you in with a team. I assume that won't be a problem?"

"No, of course not." As an assassin, he was a lone wolf...but, before that, he'd been a soldier, and he knew how to be a team player. The job wasn't about his ego. In a situation like this, where national security was on the line, they couldn't afford to take any chances. The more help he had, the better.

"There's one other thing," John said, touching his watch (but somehow managing not to look at it). "The mutant stole a spacesuit prototype. They say that it's 'combat-oriented'-for fighting Russians on the moon, someday, I guess. The helmet is bulletproof, and the suit itself is padded and protective."

"Great."

"This is an extremely serious situation," John said, avoiding eye-contact, "but look at it this way: you couldn't have asked for a better audition, right? If you get the job, you'll be fighting freaks like him all the time."

"This isn't about me."

It was the truth...but, in the back of his mind, he knew that John was right. He was a candidate for the Sentinel of Liberty Directive. The original Captain America had been missing in action (and presumed dead) for almost twenty years, and with all the new powered people running around, the military was thinking that it was time for a new one. The Candidate's new call-sign was Sentinel-3. He'd always done what his country asked of him, but he was ready for a change of pace: to be a symbol of hope.

Sentinel-3 was thinking about that, and feeling better...so, naturally, his handler had to ruin everything. "If the mutant leaked intel to anyone, they'll have to be eliminated, as well. He's obsessed with Daredevil and the winged man. We don't know anything about them, so they're complete wild cards. If they know about his connection to the space program, or they try to interfere, well-"

"I'm not killing superheroes for you, John."

"Oh, uh, no, I didn't mean to imply that. Sorry. What I was trying to say was, they might know more about this situation than we do. So, if you encounter them in the field, we want you to bring them in for interrogation. Whether they come willingly or not. It's two birds with one stone: we keep certain details from leaking out, and we find out what they know. Plus, they're heroes, so maybe they'll play ball and help us with this."

"I understand."

Sentinel-3 had hoped to be their ally, not their enemy. Fighting them was the last thing that he wanted to do-it literally made him feel sick to his stomach-but certain national secrets needed to be kept. He also had an ulterior motive, of course. America's "New Frontier" was coming along nicely, but there was still a lot of turmoil and chaos out there, and the country needed Captain America. This could be the assignment that got him the job. He wasn't going to let anyone stand between America and what it needed, even if the people in question were part of the brotherhood that he wanted to join.