Major America - Tumblr Posts
Major America: Ch. 1
Jordon Wilkinson was seven years old when he first learned of Captain America; he and his siblings were told by their grandfather of the time he fought beside Captain America and Bucky in World War II. All were enthralled, but none more than Jordon himself. Jordon began reading all he could about the Captain’s escapades before and during the war, learning his origin, his identity, and his disappearance; taking the hero to heart, Jordon stood up for those who couldn’t stand for themselves throughout his life, even joining the military after the Twin Towers fell, serving seven years before a hip injury took him out of action permanently. In 2012, Captain America resurfaced and Jordon was thrilled to have him as a moral standard in the country again, only to notice a change in the hero over the years.
***
2021, nine years after Captain America was freed from the ice; Major Jordon Wilkinson sits in a security office picking at his spaghetti and meatball lunch, staring intently in thought. Wally Gertz, his partner, is fidgeting with a Rubik’s Cube keychain with his feet up.
“Something wrong?” Wally asks.
Jordon blinks a few times and looks over at Wally. “Hmm?”
“Lunch ended ten minutes ago and usually you finish in five minutes just to keep watch on the feed.”
“No, I just have a lot on my mind.” Jordon takes a bite of his lunch as Wally puts away the cube.
“We’ve been working the same shift together for three years, Jordon; I would think I can read you well enough.”
Jordon sighs and pushes his lunch away before leaning back in his chair.
“You know the phrase ‘never meet your heroes’?”
Wally takes his feet off of the desk and leans forward. “You met him? You met Captain America?” He asks, eyes wide.
Jordon slowly nods. “The saying is true. At least, it wouldn’t have been if I met him when he came out of the ice. He’s changed and I think society was what did it; a man out of time, trying to keep up with the seventy years he missed, and I believe it corrupted him.”
“Sounds plausible; society is a bit of a mess these days.” He straightens his hat. “It’s a shame someone can’t just grab the shield and say ‘I’m the Captain now’.”
Jordon stops completely, an idea forming.
***
Later that day; Jordon is in his apartment on his computer, looking for a shield.
“The shield is the easy part.” He says to himself. “It’s the costume that will be hard to get; how am I going to get an extra thousand dollars for an accurate costume?”
He pauses as something dawns on him.
“Hang on…”
He gets up, grabs his phone, and calls someone as he sits back down at the computer.
“Hello?” Georgie Berke answers the phone.
“Georgie, it’s me, Jordon.”
“Hey, Jordy! How are you doing? How was your nephew’s birthday?”
“Loud, and disruptive, but I love him, so I didn’t leave. So, hey, I have a question.”
“Shoot.”
“How does one get an accurate costume?”
“Jordy.” She says teasingly. “Are you getting into cosplay?”
“Georgie, I’m 43 years old, I don’t do cosplay.”
“I’m 37, Jordy, what’s your point?”
“My point is-.” He says with a tad of frustration. “I want an accurate costume and I would like to know how to get one for a good price.”
“Weeelll… if you had an extra small fortune to spend on one you could do that.”
“Nope.” Jordon shakes his head. “I have bills to pay.”
“Then you could make a costume with your own twist, I’ve seen plenty of cosplayers use this method to save a buck without having to get a cheaply made costume.”
“That sounds doable. Thanks.”
“May I ask what exactly this is for?”
“… No. Bye.”
He hangs up, opens a new tab, and begins searching for his costume-with-a-twist.
***
One week later; Jordon is in his apartment listening to a police scanner app on his phone as he peals masking tape off of the recently painted heater shield; just as Jordon finishes taking the tape off, dispatch warns of an attempted robbery at a nearby bank.
“That’s a mile from here…” Jordon says to himself as he looks at his partly assembled costume on the couch; he looks at the shield and back to the couch, wondering whether he should go without a complete costume.
Jordon sighs and quickly puts the costume on, wearing the shield on his back like a backpack; he jumps down the fire escape and onto a red 2013 Harley-Davidson Breakout, tearing out of the alley way and down the street.
Literally a minute later, Jordon pulls into the alley next to the bank and walks into the rear entrance to hear two men trying to break into the safety deposit boxes; he sneaks up behind them, pulls out his gun, pistol-whips one crook, knocking him out, and knocks out the other with his shield, only for the resounding “clang!” to catch the attention of the crook standing guard at the other side of the room.
The crook shouts at Jordon. “HEY!”
Before Jordon can turn around and shield himself, the gunman shoots him in the thigh and side; Jordon holds in a scream of pain as the gunman empties his magazine into the shield; as the gunman tries to quickly reload, Jordon sprints forward at full speed and punches the man out cold only to find himself in front of the remaining three robbers ready to fire on him.
“Oh, crap…”
Jordon ducks behind the shield as the three men fire at him, emptying their magazines; they stop to taunt him as they reload.
“You supposed to be Captain America or something, man?” One asks.
“He’s got a round shield, you imbecile!” Another taunts.
Jordon takes a deep breath, blocking out the pain from being shot, and pulls out his gun.
“Come on, just like in the military.” He whispers to himself
He stands up and hits the first two gunmen in the shoulder without effort, but he and the third gunman fire at the same time; Jordon hits the gunman in the shoulder same as before, and the gunman hits Jordon in the bicep. The gunman goes down and Jordon holsters his gun, his breathing shaky; he looks around at the employees and citizens getting up from the floor.
“Is everyone okay?” He asks, trying to keep his voice from shaking.
A man in a suit nods. “Yes, we’re fine, but you need a doctor.”
“I’ve suffered worse, trust me.” Jordon says as he turns to go back the way he came in.
“Wait!” A woman calls. “What do we call you?”
Jordon stops and looks back. “I’m… Major America.”
He heads to the back of the bank to leave.
***
Soon, in Georgie’s apartment, Georgie is watching the news as she sips from a cup of tea; the news anchor is reporting on the bank robbery when the footage of the fight is played on screen. Georgia spews her tea out, coughing.
“JORDY!?”
***
In Jordon’s apartment, Jordon is sitting at his dining table stitching up the wound on his side when his front door bursts open, causing Jordon to jump as Georgie bolts in.
“Why didn’t you tell me!?”
Jordon grabs some gauze and puts pressure on his wound that has begun bleeding again.
“I really need to lock my door more often.” Jordon says, wincing. “Can you pass me that whiskey?”
He points to the bottle on the kitchen counter and Georgie hands it to him, watching as he takes a swig.
“Why are you drinking while stitching yourself up?” Georgie asks. “How do you even know how to stitch a wound?”
Jordon continues stitching.
“Back in Iraq our field medic got hit by a frag grenade along with a couple others; the anesthetic was apparently hit and drained out so we raided the basement of a bombed bar and the medic taught me how to stitch a wound because I had the steadiest hands.” He takes another swig of whiskey. “Sometimes the old ways are the best.”
He finishes stitching the wound and places some gauze over it.
“Can you hold that while I wrap the wound?”
“Fine.” Georgie huffs as she holds the gauze in place. “Just tell me what you were thinking when you decided to do this?”
“What are you? My mother?” Jordon quips as he finishes wrapping his wound. “I’m a grown man who can make his own decisions.”
“Not when they get you nearly killed!”
Jordon stands up and puts his shirt back on.
“I fought for seven years in a country that hated my guts, I can stand to fight a few more in another country that hates my guts. Doesn’t matter what you say, Georgie, I won’t stop what I’ve started.”
Georgie sighs and crosses her arms in a huff.
“No, you’re right; you’re an adult.”
She notices his bloodied costume and picks up the sweater.
“Also, what kind of costume is this? A baby could do better!”
“The gloves and jacket hadn’t arrived yet, they’ll be here in a couple of days.”
Georgie looks at him, cocking an eyebrow.
“Are you… Are you cropping a jacket?”
“… Noooo…” Jordon answers reluctantly.
“What color is the jacket?”
“Blue…”
“The only way you’re going to get the look you want is by cropping the jacket.”
“Fine! Yes, I’m going to crop the jacket!” Jordon winces and holds his side after the defeated outburst bothers his wound. “Okay, back to small talk.” He says, pained.
Georgie picks up Jordon’s helmet and mask and gives it a once over.
“Where did you get this?” She asks.
“The helmet was my grandfathers; quick coat of paint and it was perfect.” He takes a swig of whiskey once again. “The mask I found at an antique shop; the tag said it was an aviator’s mask used in the war, but I’ve never seen one like this before.”
“And the shield?”
“Got that online, bought three and tested two of them on my uncles range to see what guns they could handle; surprisingly a lot. I’m going to have to buy more after a while though, I’ll need to make a budget for that.”
“You really are serious about this, aren’t you?” Georgie asks, pulling a chair up next to Jordon.
“I am.”
“Why, though? What on God’s green Earth would get you to do this?” She asks, genuinely concerned.
“America needs a hero who will truly fight for them, a hero who understands what it means to be the little guy, America needs an underdog; do you think Ironman understands what it’s like to live paycheck-to-paycheck, or if Thor understands what it’s like to get mugged and you can’t pay your rent by the end of the week?”
“Probably not…” Georgie says.
“We rely too much on them; yeah, they’ve saved the world, but we don’t need Black Widow to find a stolen car. I’m going to try to be like that spider guy in Manhattan; he sticks to one area and does it well.”
Georgie stands up and stretches.
“If you’re going to do something stupid, I may as well help: if you find any information you can’t track just call me and I’ll see if I can find anything for you; I’m pretty good with computers, you know.”
“Yeah, I know. I’ll see you Monday.”
Georgie smiles and leaves the apartment.
***
A couple days later; a young man is being mugged by two men in an alley way, getting beaten; someone clears their throat and the muggers stop and turn to look down the alley to see Major America wearing a complete costume.
“Alright, boys, we can do this the easy way or the hard way.” He says.
The muggers look at each other and pull their knives.
“Hard way it is.”
He raises his shield and jumps into the fray.
End.
The Incomplete costume.
The Complete Costume.
Don't judge the art too harshly, I know what I have to work on I don't need people pointing it out.
Also, I suck at writing origins, I'm better at writing stories where the reader is assumed to know exactly who the characters are.
Where were you?
Major Jordon Wilkinson and Georgie Burke are at the footprints of the twin towers, looking across the remnants.
“William Construction.” Jordon states quietly.
“What?” Gerogie asks, a bit confused.
“That’s where I was when this happened.” Jordon explained. "We had just loaded up our equipment and supplies when our boss ran out to us; all he had to say was ‘Twin Towers’ and ‘Attack’ and we all piled into the main office to watch his TV and see what happened. We caught the aftermath of the first tower and saw the second come down. It was over an hour away but our boss told us to take our dozers, our cranes, and anything else we had to move rubble and head down there to help with the recovery efforts; he rented out a fleet of Semis and busses to get everything and everyone down there. Two months later I enlisted.”
“I was still a sophomore in high school when it happened; we were just starting second period when the principle came over the speaker to tell the teachers to turn on their TVs. We saw the aftermath of everything. We didn’t do anything for the period as we watched.” Georgie wipes the tears from her eyes.
“I met quite a few folks during my tour who were affected by the attack; a lot of them didn’t make it through the first year.”
He stands at attention and salutes; Georgie sees this and takes off her hat, holding it to her heart.
“May all those affected rest in peace.” Jordon says, eyes tearing up.
Major America
Couple small additions to this:
Plus, a mid-battle pose.
I tried using different shades of the same color due to the fact it's a homemade costume, the colors aren't gonna match exactly.
And MAN is shading hard.
Jordon Wilkinson/ Major America
Name: Major Jordon Wilkinson.
Superhero name: Major America.
Age: 43.
Base of operations: New Haven, Connecticut.
Abilities: above average marksmanship, above average stamina, above average strength, surprising amount of will power, decent at boxing and hand-to-hand combat.
History: Served seven years as infantry in the U.S. Army, honorably discharged due to injuries. Security guard for 12 years, head of security for eight. Has been Major America for just under six months.
Jordon has lived in New Haven for over a decade and has memorized a majority of the city, this helps when Jordon has to go out heroing, it also helps when he needs to get home unnoticed due to his knowledge of shortcuts around the city.
Requests are open!