The air in the museum was thick with the scent of old paper and hushed whispers. You stood transfixed, your gaze drawn to the magnificent display case that held Captain America's shield, a testament to the indomitable spirit of a true hero. Behind the shield, a photograph of the Captain himself gazed out, his expression a mixture of determination and unwavering resolve. You yearned to know more about this legendary figure, to understand the weight of his legacy.

Suddenly, a hand rested on your shoulder, startling you. You turned to see James Rhodes standing beside you, his face etched with a solemn expression.

"I know, man," Rhodes said, his voice heavy with emotion. "We all miss him. It sucks we have to live in a world without Captain America." He paused, his gaze drifting towards the shield. "I hate to ruin this moment," he continued, his voice somber, "but we've got intel on the Feraldes. They... they found a bunch of bodies over in Mexico. Looks like they never even got a chance to get their guns out."

Rhodes's voice trailed off, a chilling silence filling the air. "It's definitely Barton," he said, his voice low and grim. "I mean, the things he's done... I... I'm gonna be honest, there's a part of me that doesn't even want to find him."

The weight of Rhodes's words hung heavy in the air. The image of Captain America, the symbol of hope and justice, seemed to fade, replaced by the harsh realities of a world grappling with the consequences of a fallen hero.