Steve Rogers trudged out of the recruits building. Big bold letters on the file clutched in his frail hands declared him unfit for duty. It was as if the letters were indelibly stamped on his forehead instead of the once-blank space on his military enrollment file.

As his heart sunk in resignation, for a moment a stubborn determination flashed through his mind; he could always try out in another location. However, his desire to serve his country was not high enough to risk prison, where he definitely would not be able to defend himself. Instead, he continued on his way, steering clear of any dark alleys along the sidewalk.

Arriving at his depressingly empty apartment, he went through the motions of making a small dinner for himself. Steve missed Bucky. The older boy's loud laughter, friendly conversation, and happy tales had filled the place and made it a home, not just a place to sleep. He had also been a much better cook. Every once in awhile they would entertain a couple girls and maybe attempt to impress them with the rudimentary cooking skills that they possessed. He paused for a moment, phantom memories of the feeling of home and friendship overwhelming the lonely boy.

But he was not a boy anymore. He was 22, not the 12 that most who saw him generally assumed he was. It was time for him to take some responsibility in his life, give up impossible dreams, and move past that set-back. As he slowly fell asleep, he vowed to do the best that he could in his situation and help out where he could.

.

Meanwhile, Doctor Erskine had a problem. His animal trials for the Super Soldier Serum's second formula had seemed to be successful. He still didn't feel safe injecting it in his future candidate without having an assurance that he would survive. The precious little government funding he received for his efforts was at risk if his trial severely harmed or killed the one who ended up chosen. He also couldn't risk having another failed test go out of control, like that disgusting Johann Schmidt. Given those absolutely unacceptable options, he decided that what he needed was a human test subject.

Because of limited resources, however, assistance would be needed. Howard Stark had been a great help with working on the equipment and tests for the original tests. When Erskine approached him with a less than ethically appropriate proposal, the so-called "Merchant of Death" had no problem with agreeing. As someone who made increasingly damaging weapons for a living, relatively small ethical issues were of no consequence to him at all.

Then came the true dilemma: who would be their test subject?

The criteria needed to be narrowed down quite a bit. They couldn't pick a woman, because the serum was to be used on a man and even that difference might influence the results. A child wouldn't work because if there was any possibility of it coming out, the scandal would ruin everyone involved. It would be better to have someone who wouldn't be missed, so maybe a grown orphan, or rebel runaway. Tests had shown that even the sickly runts grew to be bigger than the largest of those without the serum. In fact, the effects had even been stronger than on the healthy ones. So they needed a sickly, small, adult male, who wouldn't be missed.

That might have been quite a difficult person to find, had Erskine not stumbled upon Steve Rodgers being whaled upon by a couple of drunks. Immediately the scientist in him had noticed that most of the criteria for his test subject was present. Even the first glance brought an estimate that he was maybe 90 pounds soaking wet. While the tiny physique threw him off for a moment, the face made it obvious that this was no child. This also clued him into the sickly features that could only be brought about by chronic only thing he needed to do was figure out whether or not the runt had family.

After stepping in and easily convincing the drunks to leave, he made his move. "Generally, it's considered polite to introduce oneself to his rescuer." He started in, attempting to sound good-natured, "I'm Doctor Erskine, may I have your name?"

The calm introduction humiliated Steve. He reasoned that here this kind man had stopped those other men from putting him in the hospital, and he rudely neglected to introduce himself. Along with that, the man was a doctor, a man of power who should be respected. "My name is Steve Rogers, sir, thank you so much for stepping in. I'd rather not have had to add another bill to my list I have to pay off."

"Nobody to help you with it?"

The question seemed innocuous enough, so Steve felt fine answering it. "No, just me. My friend Bucky used to room with me, but he's overseas now, fighting for our country. He got into the 107th regiment, the one my birth-father was in. We were raised together at an orphanage, so I really miss him."

Erskine had hit the jackpot. There was definitely nobody to come looking for this runt. And it just so happened to be that he knew the 107th had recently been captured by his old employers in HYDRA. Given the way they were known to treat prisoners, no doubt by now he was long gone.

"Let me buy you a sandwich or something. You look like you could use a square meal!" Despite protests, the doctor was insistent. Eventually Steve gave in and agreed to let the man feed him. He was tired of canned food and could also use to save up a little cash for his art supplies.

.

A couple blocks away and they came upon a small sandwich shop. Distracting the younger man by encouraging him to order, Erskine made his move.
Three drops of a clear liquid into a glass of water, and all he had to do was wait.

Sitting at a small table, he waited as Steve walked up with his sandwich. Once sat down, he immediately dug in with gusto, having not had a meal with real fresh food in quite a while. As he went to get up for a glass of water, Erskine stopped him.

"I figured you would be thirsty, so I went ahead and got you some water." Anticipation welled up in his heart. Soon he would have the test subject he needed for the final experiment.

Steve was extremely content. His stomach was filled with a good meal. The consequences of his being noble and stepping in to protect others were less than usual: instead of waking up bruised and broken in a back alley, intervention came and he was breathing a little easier at being safe. The salty salami he had just ingested, however, made him quite thirsty. He gratefully grabbed the glass of cool water the doctor had set near him.

It was actually quite delicious water! Normally the water in the city was musty and somewhat grimy-tasting. This water had a nice flavor that was slightly sharp, but blended well enough to be pleasing.

Doctor Erskine watched him closely. The only signs that Rogers had noticed the taste of the drug was his evident enjoyment of the differing taste. He knew it was time to be patient.

Gradually Steve became more and more sleepy. He repeatedly apologized to Doctor Erskine for his rudely yawning. As his words became more and more slurred, he allowed himself to be guided out of the shop. As his consciousness slipped further into oblivion, he was vaguely aware of being set on the ground, propped up against something. Then it all went black.

They had stopped by a telephone booth. Doctor Erskine made a quick call to Howard Stark:

Hello, this is Stark. The smooth arrogant voice came on the line.
"Erskine here, I've found the perfect candidate. Fits every single parameter."
Great. I had expected it to take longer. This gives us a bit more time.
"Yes it does. I was fortunate enough to just stumble upon the opportunity. Can you send a car?" After the addresses were given, Howard had one final thing to say.
The car will bring you to the lab. You are to bring him in after hours, absolutely not any time when this could be seen. I always say: It's easier to apologize later than to ask first. Don't make it necessary to ask.

A dark car pulled up a few minutes later. An unconscious Steve Rogers was pulled in, never to be seen again.

.

A file lay abandoned in a back alley. It had the name Steve Rodgers written on the front. As dirty water seeped along the pages, blackening with spreading ink, all trace of any enlistment washed away.