<div class="floatleft">(https://i.imgur.com/dLcz0kA.jpg)</div><strong>NAME:</strong>John Walker (USAgent)<br/><strong>WEARING:</strong>USAgent outfit<br/><strong>DAY:</strong>Sep 10, 2019<br/><strong>TIME:</strong>Early Day<br/><strong>LOCATION:</strong>The Avengers Facility<br/><strong>CONTENT:</strong>John has a dream, works out, then heads for Vision's meeting<br/><strong>TAGGING:</strong>Black Knight, Iron Heart, Gambit<br/><hr/><br/><div align="center">John Walker's Beautiful Dream</div><br/><em>It was a beautiful sunny afternoon in Georgia. John found himself sitting in a rocking chair on the porch of his parents' house, watching the sun play over the peach trees. The peaches would be coming in soon, and boy howdy, there was nothing sweeter than a Georgia peach. John reached down and pulled a beer out of a cooler that rested beside his chair, and popped the cap off with ease. He took a sip and felt the cool, bubbling beverage refresh himself. It was warm, but not unbearable, and the cold beer was a perfect way to wet the whistle.<br/><br/>"Hey now soldier, you got another brew in there for me?" John almost fell out of the rocking chair at that commanding voice. The voice of a soldier that could command a god. It belonged to none other than Captain America, Steve Rogers. John hastily grabbed a beer, opened, and stood up, holding it out to Steve. Steve took the brew with a thankful nod, and took manly swig from the brew before he ascended the porch steps and settled down into one of the rocking chairs. Steve let out a satisfied sigh. "At ease, John. At ease." Steve said and John took a seat, trying to relax. But in the presence of a living legend, a man who was everything John's beloved America stood for, how could he? A lot of people talked the talk of loving America, but Steve was the real deal. A real Christian, too - though Steve did not spend a lot of time on his knees. But that was because Steve was the real deal there, too: a real Christian was a doer! Jesus Christ did not go around muttering platitudes about 'thoughts and prayers!' Jesus got shit done. Jesus got angry. The Lord had a righteous anger at sin and injustice, and two strong hands to help those in need. And by God, when someone needed help Steve Rogers was not on his knees and his hands were not clasped in prayer. Steve was on his feet and his hands were hard-working until the job was done!<br/><br/>"By God, this is America. Right here." Steve mused, and John could only find himself nodding in mute agreement. John raised his beer to his mouth to mask that he had nothing to say. Steve drank, and for a time there was a companionable silence. "John, I know you had one go around, and it didn't work out for you. I don't fault you for that. But now that I'm gone-"<br/><br/>John's brow furrowed. "- you're going to have step up. It's going to be hard on you, John. You know it in your heart, John, but you need to know it in your head: America's a place for any person to come and make a life for themselves. Good, hard honest work is the measure of someone's character. The Founding Fathers conceived of a free country where anyone could have a go at it and make something better than where they came from. No matter what, John. Now I'll bet that they didn't have muties back in those days but you know Wanda's always been such a sweet girl and Wolverine was . . . well, he was on our side during World War 2. I know you had problems with Johnny Storm - I heard about that Macey's Day Parade thing-"<br/><br/>"He was wearing lipstick, Cap." John interjected, but immediately regretted it. <br/><br/>"- and let me tell you, John: back in the big one, I fought alongside men who were - well in my day we called them 'confirmed bachelors.' Always suspected Wolverine was one. They were just men like your or me, John, in the end. They're your neighbors, John: love them like God commands, whether human, mutie, miscellaneous. Only thing you ought to judge a person on is their character, and we both know character's in what a person does. A man honestly loves another man? None of our business, John. Maybe those San Francisco types get a little tasteless but they don't like to be told how to live their lives anymore than you or I would. And anyway, Johnny's passed and he and Jim've made their peace up in Heaven over Johnny fagging up Jim's good name all these years but now they're melting Nazis together up in Heaven . . ."<br/><br/>John made to raise the beer to his mouth when-</em><br/><br/><div align="center">John Walker's Modern Life</div><br/>- suddenly the scenery shifted. No longer was John Walker sitting in a comfortable rocking chair, sipping beer with Captain America. Instead he was in the dark of one of the standard bedrooms of the Avengers Facility. The buzzing of an alarm clock had roused John out of slumber, and he reached over groggily to depress the button that would silence it. John gave a groan and the contents of his dream was rapidly fading. He threw off the sheets and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, rubbing his face with the palms of his hands. The Georgian got up, scratched his ass, and went to brush his teeth, mostly on auto-pilot, then shaving the same way. John changed from star-spangled boxer shorts into some grey, nondescript gym clothes.<br/><br/>He grabbed a towel from his closet and made his way down to the gym. There he hit the weights hard, pushing himself to the limits of his superhuman strength for a good hour, working all of the major muscle groups. He was conscientious about cleaning up each station after he used them, leaving them just the way he found them. Then it was back to his room for a shower. In the shower he experienced a bout of dizziness and felt a headache coming on, but John was expecting it - he was still recovering from that concussion after he got hit by that train. John gave an irritated grunt and had to stop himself from putting a fist through the shower wall.<br/><br/>After he dried off and donned his USAgent attire, John made his way to the kitchen. He prepared a breakfast of fruit and oatmeal, and washed it down with some orange juice. It was, honestly, not a good breakfast because John was worth fuck all in the kitchen. The MREs he had subsisted on before coming back Stateside were genuinely better than the food he made himself, but John was not one to bitch and complain. About food, anyway.<br/><br/>John was, honestly, not looking forward to working with Gambit. One of Charlie X's 'children of the atom' brain-washed child soldiers who were the 'next step in evolution' or some hippy garbage like that. Not that John was a card-carrying Friend of Humanity, or anything. He had not had any problems with Wanda, who was a sweet girl, and she was the daughter of the world's number one mutant terrorist: Magneto. Magneto. Who led a group that honestly called themselves the 'Brotherhood of Evil Mutants.' How in criminy was anyone not supposed to want to stomp a Texas-sized mudhole in their asses and then walk that son of a bitch dry with a name like that? Then the fucker would open his mouth and talk about genociding the whole human race.<br/><br/>Still, John grit his teeth and trudged into the main lobby. He saw Iron Man's daughter there in one of those fancy suits that got Tony hard, and had to bite back a 'isn't it a school day?' remark. John knew that Cap would not turn her down if she wanted to step up and make a difference.<br/><br/>So instead of making that remark John just grunted and crossed his arms over his chest, grimacing as the headache he was experiencing got worse.