Brooklyn, an ordinary apartment.
Sunlight streamed through the window and fell across an easel. Steve Rogers, dressed in a clean white shirt, carefully painted the view outside.
His face held a peace and contentment he had never known before.
No war. No sacrifice. At last, he was living the life Peggy Carter had wanted for him. Dancing, painting, watching the neighbors' children grow up... He had given his life for this peace.
He treasured it.
The doorbell rang.
Steve was surprised. In a world where everyone was content with things as they were, visitors had become rare.
He opened the door and found someone he had never expected to see.
Bruce Wayne.
He wasn't wearing his Bat suit, only a plain black suit. But the brooding air that set him apart from this "peaceful" world had not faded in the slightest.
"Mr. Wayne?" Steve said in surprise. "What brings you here?"
"Captain Rogers." Bruce's voice was low and hoarse. "There are things we need to discuss. Alone."
Inside the apartment, they sat facing each other.
"I don't understand what you mean, Bruce." Steve frowned. After hearing why Bruce had come, his first instinct was to resist. "Link ended the war. He healed the world. We... we won, didn't we?"
"Won?" Bruce gave a cold laugh. He opened a tablet and slid it toward Steve. "Look at this."
The screen showed a set of figures: the global birth rate was down forty percent from before Link took control; global patent applications were down ninety percent; and for three straight months, not a single "masterpiece" had appeared in art, literature, or music.
"What does that prove?" Steve asked.
"It proves that passion, ambition, creativity—the most precious human qualities, born of pain and struggle—are disappearing along with crime!" Bruce's voice rose. "Link didn't