The alarm to Dawson’s Pawn Shop, located on 6th and Main, had been going off for several minutes. The thugs were taking their sweet time now that the heroes had died in the horrible Onslaught incident only a few short weeks ago. That was why they were not afraid when they heard the engine of a motorcycle coming towards them. The leader, Adam ‘Big Guns’ Murphy, nodded for one of the boys, Jeremy Walters, to take care of him.

Adam Murphy had restarted the Junkyard Dogs after a majority of them were captured by S.H.I.E.L.D (Don’t Tell me you haven’t read PUNISHER 11! Shame on you!). He had taken control of the gang from Rashid Jones , who was probably sitting in some dank cell in S.H.I.E.L.D. custody wasting away as he will for the rest of his life. He was a tall black man with an equally large and intimidating smile. The stud in his nose shined prominently, making it look more like a sign of respect than something that happened when he got too drunk.

Joining the gang only days ago, Jeremy Walters had been hoping for protection from the other gangs that roamed the streets now that the heroes had died. He reached in under his jack and pulled out his Glock 17. He closely inspected it, making sure it was clean and ready to fire. In all honesty, it was cleaner than any other gun in the world, for Jeremy only bought it days ago. He dropped the clip out, and looked in making sure his gun was loaded. And it was, for he had never even checked it before. He held it up at shoulder height and aimed it forward. He pointed it at the biker who was getting closer. After praying for forgiveness, he opened fire. The bullets just appeared to bounce off the oncoming man.

The rider leapt of his bike and landed on the ground at break-neck speeds. He rolled, tumbled, and then leapt to his feet. His bike crashed into a wall and exploded. The flames gave light to the biker’s figure. He was wearing all blue tights, with the exceptions of his red gloves, white forearms, and red and white stripes which ran vertical on his abdomen. In his left arm he held a large shield, it rested on his forearm and covered from his neck to his stomach.

Jeremy gasped as he realized that the recently deceased Captain America stood before him. Jeremy remembered stories his grandfather had told him about Captain America, and how it was like fighting alongside him in the war. His eyes watered up and he fell to his knees. And there Jeremy kneeled, crying before Captain America as if he was some type of God inside the uniform. Captain America walked over to where Jeremy had kneeled and with one swift motion, slammed his shield into the side of Jeremy’s head. And then he walked past the unconscious body which had already started to form a pool of blood.

All of the other goons had looked over when the explosion had occurred. And now they saw a figure coming from the funeral pyre, and it did not take long for anyone to figure out who it was. Captain America’s eyes now burned with a white hot fury and he ground his teeth into a painful-looking grimace. One of the goons dropped his weapon as he lost control of his bladder.

Adam Murphy stepped forward, he was as confused as anyone that a hero had arrived on the scene. He considered them to either be dead or in hiding, and that none of them would come out. “Of course, if one did, it would be during my crime spree,” Adam thought to himself. Captain America appeared to know who the leader was, for he was walking straight towards Adam, and that made Adam very afraid.

One of his men close to Captain America spoke out, “It can’t be the Cap. He bought with Onslaught!” And with that a herd of men jumped into battle. Captain America dropped one foot back, and distributed his weight. Adam could tell even if this wasn’t Captain America, he knew how to fight. Captain America’s eyes were never taken off Adam. And deep down inside Adam felt that Captain America knew whose plan this was and who to take down. But the group of men about to attack him gave Adam a moment to decide what to do next. And what he decided to do was run. Sure, it sounded cowardly, but at least he wouldn’t end up in jail, or have anything worse happen to him.

He slammed his shield into the first man’s head, and as he followed through, the punk dropped to the street. As the second one came, Captain America kicked him in the jaw. His head jerked back and small droplets of crimson blood flew out of his mouth. The next potential threat was brought down quick with a punch to the nose, the punk fell to his knees and clutched his nose tightly. Captain America brought his foot up into the man’s chest who immediately fell unconscious

Captain America saw that three guys approached him in an attack formation. Captain America dropped to the ground, and foot swept one of them. He then jumped to his feet, and knocked the second one in the face with his shield. As the man was about to fall to the ground Captain America grabbed him by his shirt collar and picked the goon up over his head and tossed it at the last man standing. The flailing body of his comrade knocked him out almost instantly.

One man who had been sitting on the steps of a building stood up. “You ain’t too bad of a fighter, eh? But how good are you?” He asked, his Canadian accent standing out among all the surrounding New York accents. Captain America only stood tall and silent. “The quiet type, eh? That’s alright, I like it anyway you can give it. Loud. Quiet. Pleading for your life. Begging for a quick death. Whatever works for you. By the by, my name is Dagger, just in case you wonder what they’ll put on your tomb.”

Captain America just squinted his eyes. “The only way you’ll kill me, is if you talk me to death.” The man smiled quietly to himself. He reached in his coat and quickly pulled out two sixteen inch daggers. He threw them with an amazing grace ad accuracy, and had it not been Captain America, they probably would have killed him. He ducked one, which imbedded itself six inches into the brick wall behind the Captain. The other one struck Captain America in the bicep, diving deep within him. Captain America grabbed the handle and quickly pulled it out. Blood rose to the surface, but the three-inch wound had already closed before one drop could be spilled. Dagger looked at this with amazement and disbelief. Captain America dropped the dagger, and hit the ground with the loud clang of metal upon pavement.

Captain America looked up, a sadistic grin on his face as sweat dripped off his face, “Impressed yet?” Dagger took a deep breath, and calmed himself down. He pulled a long dagger out from his coat and held it out to show Captain America that it was a real knife. He then dropped to one knee and drove it ten inches into the pavement. He looked up with a smug look on his face.

“Be glad I wasn’t trying to kill you, otherwise you couldn’t of gotten that dagger out.” Captain America looked as if he had been watching someone explain what they think an atom really looks like. Captain America slid his shield off his arm and threw it into the corner of a nearby building. It sliced through the wall, made a circle, and then returned back to the Captain, who caught it one handed.

“A real man is made up of more than his arsenal,” Captain America said, “Are you a real man?” At this the Dagger’s smile grew bigger. He dropped the knife and took a step forward. Captain America dropped his shield and took a step forward.

They charged each other at the same moment. Captain America threw the first punch which Dagger blocked. A foot connected with Captain America’s face, sending blood flying into the wind. Captain America shot his arm forward, Dagger caught the fist, twisted it upside down, and brought his elbow down on Captain’s over turned elbow. A loud crunch was heard as Captain America’s elbow broke in two places. But, while Dagger was distracted, Captain America swung his foot around and kicked Dagger in the face. Dagger let go of the Cap’s arm, and grabbed his own face.

Captain America stifled a scream as a his arm healed itself with a large crack. Dagger looked at Captain America. Dagger jumped at Captain America, who brought up his fist, hitting Dagger in the jaw. Dagger staggered backwards, holding his jaw. Captain America jumped at Dagger, grabbed him around his waist, and pulled him to the ground. They both landed with a loud thud. Captain America coughed as the air rushed out of his chest. Dagger brought his elbow around and hit Captain America in the face. The hold that Captain America had broke, and Dagger pushed himself free.

Dagger jumped to his feet, and turned around. While Captain America was confused and disorientated, Dagger kicked him in the stomach three times. Captain America rolled over and leapt to his feet. He grabbed Dagger by the throat, and started to squeeze. Dagger, finding no other alternative, grabbed Captain America’s throat and squeezed back. They both let go and fell to the ground, gasping for air.

After Dagger recovered, he ran over to Captain America, placed his hands on Captain America’s back and pulled him forward as he brought his knee up into his chest. He let Captain America fall to his knees. He then punched him in the chest and kicked him in the face. Captain America fell down on his face, but he then grabbed Dagger’s ankle and pulled hard.

Dagger fell on his back and hit his head on the cold pavement. Captain America shakily stood up and leaned on the wall while he stabilized himself. Captain America looked down at Dagger. Dagger had rolled over and was pushing himself off the ground. Captain America stumbled towards Dagger. Dagger pulled out one of his daggers and drove it so deep into Captain America’s stomach that the tip of the blade poked out from Captain America’s back.

Captain America looked down in disbelief at the blade now sticking through his stomach. Captain America pulled the blade from out of his stomach. As large amounts of blood poured out, Captain America thought of a name, Armstrong.

When Captain America regained consciousness he was laying in the street surrounded by a large crowd of people. Television crews, fans, news reporters, police, everyone seemed to be around him. He got to his feet and took a shaky step forward.

A woman with a microphone in hand and look of a crazed woman looking for the truth stepped forward. “Captain America? Trish Tilbey, what can you tell me about where you’ve been?” She turned the microphone so that it faced Captain America’s face. “Are the other heroes alive? If so, where are they?”

“Look, ma’am, I’m having trouble remembering a few things right now. I was just on my way somewhere, when I saw these fellas committing a crime. I just felt the need to step in.”

“Where were you headed when you saw this crime happening?” A vast silence followed Trish Tilby’s question. But, to Captain America it was the loudest silence ever. He tried to concentrate on it, but all that he came back with was a fuzzy haze of nothing. He thought back as far as he could. His mind flashed with images of war, disease, pain, and suffering. He cleared his throat.

“I can’t quite remember,” Captain America responded truthfully. Trish eyed him suspiciously.

“Surely you must remember something of what happened over the past two and a half weeks!” Captain America placed his hands on his head as a unimaginable pain filled his head. Tears ran down his face. He squeezed harder, as if trying to shut the pain out the way one would try to ignore noise. He fell to his knees, an on National television the world watched as one of its heroes was in pain and suffering. And there was nothing anyone could do about it.