"Where… where am I?"
The last thing he remembered was sacrificing his life to stop the Wunderwaffe, a terrible weapon created by the Nazis near the end of World War II.
He had been just a few days short of his eighteenth birthday, yet he had died with a smile, knowing his sacrifice would lead to a brighter future.
However, it appeared that he hadn't died but had instead fallen into a long coma, waking up in 2023, seventy-eight years after his supposed death.
Confusion settled deep within him as doctors tried to explain the modern world.
"The president is a Catholic… there was a neg… black president before him… superheroes no longer wear capes… and a soda costs two dollars?"
He tried his best to adjust, but nothing was like he remembered.
Taking deep breaths, he steadied himself. He didn't understand this new world, but one thing remained unchanged: his determination to be a hero and use his powers to save others.
"I read about you in school, sir."
Agent Garcia, a plainclothes government agent, was serving as his chauffeur for the day. "Allstar, the seventeen-year-old hero who sacrificed his life to save the world. It feels like meeting George Washington or Abraham Lincoln."
"I'm not anything that special, Mr. Garcia," he replied with a sigh. "Just an average boy from Kentucky who lied about his age to fight in the war. It feels strange to be treated… as a legend."
A few days ago, he had been given a tour of the White House. The president, an eighty-year-old man with white hair, had told him that he was his father's favorite hero. The words were likely meant as a compliment, but instead of feeling proud, he only felt old.
A ghost from the past.
A relic of a time long gone.
"Here we are, sir." Agent Garcia parked the car in front of a cemetery where the bravest sons of America were laid to rest.
"Is it all right if I say a few words alone?" he asked in a soft voice.
"Of course, sir." Garcia nodded and stepped away, leaving him alone.
He read the names on the gravestones.
Patriot.
Starboy.
Galahad.
To the world, they were heroes. To him, they were Joseph, Jacob, and Jerome.
"I hope you lived good lives," he said to his fallen friends. It felt like only yesterday they had been fighting side by side, doing everything in their power to defeat the Nazis and save as many lives as possible.
He had sacrificed his life to save theirs. Yet here he stood, alive and well, while they lay in their graves.
He had thought visiting them would bring him some measure of peace, but instead, it only made him feel lonelier than ever. The government had asked him to lead a team of teenage superheroes, but he had politely declined. Joining a new group would feel like betraying Joe, Jake, and Jerry.
He wasn't ready to let go of them yet.
"This world feels like a dream, Mr. Garcia," he confessed as the agent drove him back to his apartment. "I remember fighting in the war. Patriot, Starboy, and Galahad with me. They feel real… not this world."
"I think you should talk to a professional," Garcia hesitated. "A handler, perhaps, to help you reintegrate into modern society."
"That would be truly helpful, Mr. Garcia."
He accepted the offer of a handler to help him reintegrate into modern society. He was having a difficult time making sense of the new world and felt like a stranger in his own country.
He needed someone to guide him, someone who could help him find his place again so he could serve as a hero and use his powers to help others.
"A pleasure to meet you, Allstar."
He was surprised when his handler arrived at his apartment the following day.
"My name is Marie Arakawa, and I have been assigned as your handler."
"You are… Japanese?"
Seventy-eight years had passed, but it still felt strange to see a Japanese woman working as an agent of the American government.
"Third-generation Japanese American," Ms. Arakawa replied with a cheerful smile, unfazed by the question. "With a bit of German and Korean thrown into the mix."
Embarrassment washed over him. He remembered the anger he had felt when Pearl Harbor was attacked, how he had sworn never to forgive the Japanese. Looking back, it wasn't one of his finer moments.
In his defense, he had been thirteen years old in 1941. And back in Kentucky, he had been raised by people who were neither particularly progressive nor tolerant of other races and religions.
However, four years on the battlefield had changed him. Fighting side by side with Jews, Catholics, and Black soldiers, he had come to recognize his mistakes. Anyone could be a hero, no matter their race or religion.
"The pleasure is mine, Ms. Arakawa," he said with a polite nod. "Thank you for coming to my aid."
Ms. Arakawa gave him an overview of the evolution of American society and the changes in the legal system since World War II. She also taught him how to use a smartphone.
"You can use your smartphone to search the internet," she said in a cheerful voice once he learned how to navigate the touchscreen. "Don't believe everything you read on it, though."
"All right."
He searched for the names of people he had known. Not just heroes, but regular people from his time.
Every single search led to the same result.
Obituaries.
Some had died young; some had lived long and happy lives.
Yet every single one of them was gone.
"How do I check the news, Ms. Arakawa?" he asked, trying to mask the sense of loss in his voice. The loneliness of losing everyone he had ever loved to the passage of time.
He wanted to check the news, to move on from the ghosts of his past and focus on the present.
However, every news website in his area was covering the same thing.
He gritted his teeth.
The world needed him to be a hero again.