MK-Ultra. The Tuskegee Syphilis Experiment. Internment camps for Japanese Americans. The Korean War. Operation Northwoods. COINTELPRO. The Vietnam War. Agent Orange. The My Lai Massacre. Afghanistan. Iraq. Drone strikes at weddings.
"And these are just the ones the public knows about."
Alvin read every article he came across. Every war, every atrocity committed by his country over the last eight decades.
It hurt to know the truth, yet he refused to turn away.
But to be honest, any delusion he might have harbored about America being a perfect utopia had shattered long ago.
He remembered the racial segregation in the American Army during the war, how Black soldiers had been severely discriminated against by their own countrymen, despite fighting as bravely as any white soldier.
"It's even worse at home," one of them had told him.
Officially, fraternization between white and Black soldiers was discouraged, but Alvin and his friends had broken that rule. They had talked to the Black soldiers, listened to the stories they told, stories of the discrimination they faced not just in the military, but back home in America. They had spoken of the great race massacres in the South, some led by state governors themselves, in collusion with the KKK.
Interacting with the black soldiers had made Alvin realize how ignorant he was. Back in Kentucky, his uncle had taught him that Black people were lazy and slow of thought. But the men he met on the battlefield had been brave, hardworking, and intelligent, their only "crime" being the color of their skin.
Learning about the race massacres and witnessing how Black soldiers were treated had forced Alvin to accept a painful truth: the idealistic America he had once believed in existed only in a dream.
Yet he still chose to keep believing in that dream. He had kept fighting, even sacrificed his life, hoping that one day, the dream would come true, even if he might not live to see it.
But he had not been the only one fighting for that dream, had he? Others had kept fighting, even when he was gone.
In the quiet solitude of his room, he pulled up more information on the screen. This time, he didn't search for atrocities or military secrets. He searched for hope. He looked for those who, like him, had clung to the dream of a better world, even when it seemed distant and unattainable.
He didn't have to look far to find those brave heroes. They were there, woven into every chapter of history, fighting in every battlefield, marching in every movement for justice. Ordinary men and women who had dared to challenge the status quo, who had dared dream of a world that was fairer, kinder, and more equal.
Most of them didn't have superpowers. They were not impervious to bullets, not like he was. Yet they had risked everything for the dream, often sacrificing their lives in the struggle for a brighter future.
"I wish I could have fought by their side," Alvin murmured.
During the war, he and his friends had pushed for racial equality in the military, forcing racist generals who still clung to the "Lost Cause" to treat Black soldiers with the dignity they deserved.
And yet, when the Civil Rights Movement took shape, he had not been there. He had been in a coma, trapped within his own body, unable to add his voice to those rising up against injustice.
Regret gnawed at him. A longing to have stood alongside those who had fought for change. But at the same time, he felt an overwhelming sense of pride. Pride in the fearless heroes who had taken up the mantle of equality, who had persevered against all odds to push the world forward, despite lacking the protection of superpowers.
"Martin Luther King Jr.," Alvin read aloud, scrolling through the story of the civil rights leader. He watched a speech King had given in 1963, the words echoed in his mind:
"I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed…"
Alvin couldn't help but marvel at the man's courage, his belief in the power of dreams, even when it ultimately cost him his life.
King's words hardened Alvin's resolve. Yes, he had missed those pivotal years, but he was here now, in a new era. And the fight for justice was far from over.
America was more tolerant than it had once been, but the dream was still far from reality.
He couldn't change the past, but he could help shape the future. He was Allstar, the last living hero of the Golden Age. He had a duty to continue the fight.
He owed it to the fallen. To those who had dreamed of a better world. Who had dared to hope despite the world's cruelty. Who had fought no matter how grim things had seemed.
Turning toward the window, he gazed out at the world beyond, ready to face whatever challenges the future held.
-
"Some things never change, huh?" The words slipped out with a chuckle as Alvin carefully disentangled a fluffy Manx cat from the branch where it had found itself stranded.
The frightened feline clung to his costume as he descended from the tree, meowing pitifully in gratitude. The rescue was a small act of kindness, a tiny blip in the grand scheme of things, but to the small creature cradled in his arms, it meant the world.
"Meow," the cat looked up at him, hazel eyes filled with trust. Its clean, shiny coat and well-fed physique told Alvin it had a home, and likely a worried owner waiting anxiously for its safe return.
Sure enough, after a few inquiries, he found the owner: a small, elderly woman with silver hair and a warm smile.
"Oh, you found Missy!" she exclaimed, cradling the cat in her arms as tears welled up in her eyes. "Thank you so much, Allstar. My mother used to tell me stories about you. You were her favorite hero–"
Alvin felt a strange mix of emotions at her words. Touched by the sentiment, yet a nostalgic ache settled in his chest. It was a compliment, of course, but also a reminder of just how many years had passed. He was a young man trapped in a past long gone, thrust into a future he was still trying to understand.
Over the next few days, he focused on getting acclimated, finding small ways to help. From stopping muggers in dark alleyways to guiding lost children back to their parents, he did what he could. He even managed to find a shelter for a homeless man, a veteran of the Iraq War who had fallen on hard times.
Each act was small, maybe even insignificant in the vast expanse of the world's problems, but they mattered to the people he helped. It reminded him that heroism wasn't always about grand battles and world-saving feats. Often, it was about the little things: the small acts of kindness, the day-to-day battles people fought and often lost.
Helping one person might not change the world, but it could change the world for that one person. As he stared at the city skyline, a renewed sense of purpose filled him.
No matter how much the world had changed while he was away, his purpose as Allstar remained the same: to serve, protect, and make a difference, no matter how small.
It was getting dark, and he debated flying back to his apartment when a distant scream cut through the air.
Then, he saw the smoke rising.