Howard Stark circled Steve, eyeing him with the appraising gaze of an engineer assessing a successful prototype. "You actually did it," he said to Erskine, genuine respect in his voice.
From the control panel, Jay Garrick stared open-mouthed, his clipboard had fallen to the floor by the shock of it all. Lieutenant Scott approached from the side, nodding with approval though his eyes held a hint of wary assessment—evaluating not just the physical transformation but what it might mean for the war effort.
Captain Trevor let out a low whistle. "Impressive," he said simply, exchanging a meaningful glance with Sergeant Rock, whose skeptical expression had softened considerably.
In the observation booth, Patrick Wayne was already making notes, his analytical mind calculating the implications and applications of what they'd just witnessed. Senator Brandt leaned forward against the glass, his earlier disdain replaced by calculating interest.
Peggy Carter made her way through the gathering crowd of technicians and officers, her professional composure momentarily faltering as she took in Steve's transformed physique. "How do you feel?" she asked, her voice steady despite the wonder in her eyes.
Steve met her gaze, still adjusting to looking down at her rather than up. "Taller," he answered with a hint of his familiar self-deprecating humor.
A small smile played at the corners of Peggy's lips. "You look taller," she agreed. Almost unconsciously, her hand reached out, briefly touching his chest as if to confirm the reality of his transformation. Realizing what she'd done, she quickly withdrew her hand, her professional demeanor reasserting itself, though a hint of color touched her cheeks.
Jim Hammond approached, studying Steve with the unique perspective of someone who understood what it meant to be physically extraordinary. "Your cellular structure appears to have stabilized immediately," he observed with scientific detachment that couldn't quite mask his wonder. "Remarkable adaptation rate."
Dr. Horton nodded in agreement. "The integration is seamless. No signs of rejection or cellular degradation." He exchanged a significant look with Erskine. "You've succeeded where others only theorized, Abraham."
Colonel Phillips turned to Senator Brandt, who had descended from the observation booth with his entourage. "How do you like Brooklyn now, Senator?"
Brandt surveyed the scene, his political mind already calculating the propaganda value of what he was witnessing. "I can think of some folks in Berlin who are about to get very nervous." He extended his hand to Erskine. "Congratulations, Doctor."
"Thank you, sir," Erskine replied with quiet dignity, the culmination of decades of work standing before him in the form of Steve Rogers.
The moment of triumph, however, was brutally short-lived.
In the observation booth, Fred Clemson remained behind as the others descended to the lab floor. His eyes narrowed as he watched the celebration below, his attention fixed not on Steve but on the remaining vial of serum resting in its storage unit.
With practiced subtlety, Clemson removed what appeared to be a cigarette case from his pocket. He flicked it open, revealing not cigarettes but a complex mechanism with a blinking red light. After activating it, he magnetically attached it to the underside of a chair and moved toward the exit.
Dr. Erskine, in the midst of explaining some aspect of the procedure to Brandt, happened to glance up. His eyes met Clemson's through the glass, and a flicker of recognition passed across his face. "Please, do not smoke in here—" he began, before freezing mid-sentence.
In that terrible moment of clarity, Erskine recognized the man not as Fred Clemson, but as Heinz Kruger a HYDRA operative he'd encountered in his past life in Germany.
"No..." Erskine whispered, but it was already too late.
The observation booth erupted in a violent explosion, showering the laboratory with glass and debris. The blast wave knocked everyone to the ground, overturning equipment and shattering monitors. Colonel Phillips instinctively shoved Senator Brandt out of harm's way as flames engulfed the booth.
In the chaos that followed, Kruger emerged from the smoke, making a direct line for the remaining vial of serum. Erskine, seeing this, scrambled to his feet and lunged to intercept him.
Alan Scott reacted with astonishing speed. He thrust out his left hand, and his ring—the one Steve had glimpsed glowing green during training—flared to life. A translucent emerald barrier materialized between the blast and the civilians, shielding many from the worst of the explosion.
"Everyone down!" Scott commanded, his voice carrying an authority that transcended his military rank.
Amid the confusion, Jay Garrick was thrown against the chemical storage racks. Glass vials shattered around him, dousing him with a volatile mixture of compounds. He collapsed unconscious near the damaged Vita-Ray equipment, which sparked and hummed with residual energy, bathing his prone form in fluctuating rays.
Kruger, seemingly unfazed by Scott's inexplicable green shield, drew a pistol and fired twice. The first bullet struck Erskine squarely in the chest. The second shot went wide, hitting Dr. Horton, who had moved to protect his creation.
"Father!" Jim Hammond cried out, his synthetic features contorting with a grief that shouldn't have been possible for an artificial being. He rushed to Horton's side as the scientist collapsed.
"No!" Steve shouted, lunging toward Erskine even as the doctor crumpled to the floor.
Kruger snatched the vial of serum and bolted for the exit, firing wildly behind him to cover his escape. Colonel Phillips drew his service weapon and managed a shot that grazed Kruger's arm, but failed to stop him.
Steve reached Erskine's side, cradling the dying scientist. Blood blossomed across the doctor's white lab coat, his breathing already labored and shallow.
"Doc! Stay with me!" Steve urged, pressing his hand against the wound in a futile attempt to stem the bleeding.
Erskine looked up at him, his eyes already growing distant behind shattered glasses. Despite his pain, a faint smile touched his lips as he regarded his crowning achievement—not just the physical transformation of Steve Rogers, but the preservation of the good man inside the enhanced body.
With trembling fingers, Erskine reached up and tapped Steve's chest, directly over his heart—a silent reminder of their conversation the night before.Not a perfect soldier...but a good man.
Then the light faded from his eyes, and his hand fell away.
Nearby, Phineas Horton clutched his wounded side, Jim Hammond kneeling beside him. Unlike Erskine, his wound wasn't immediately fatal, but the elderly scientist knew his chances were poor.
"Jim," Horton gasped, blood staining his lips. "You must...continue. Show them...what you can become."
"Don't talk," Hammond pleaded, his synthetic features twisted with an anguish that belied his artificial nature. "Save your strength."
Horton shook his head weakly. "My son," he whispered, the line between Hammond and his long-dead biological child blurring in his fading consciousness. "Make me proud."
As medical personnel rushed to attend to the wounded, Steve gently laid Erskine's body down. A cold rage built within him, unlike anything he'd ever experienced. With his new strength came new responsibility—and his first duty was clear.
"He's headed for the street," Peggy announced, already moving toward the exit with her pistol drawn. "We can't let him escape with that serum!"
Steve nodded grimly and sprinted after her, his new body responding with a speed and power that still felt foreign. Behind him, Jim Hammond's skin began to glow with an inner heat, his synthetic biology responding to the emotional trauma of watching his creator fall.
"Let him burn," Hammond said, his voice eerily calm as the temperature around him rose dramatically. He stood, his body now radiating visible waves of heat. "I will make him burn."
Alan Scott grabbed Hammond's arm, his ring pulsing with emerald energy. "Control yourself," he ordered. "There are injured people here who need help. Your vengeance won't bring Horton back."
Hammond's glow subsided slightly, the logic in Scott's words penetrating his emotional response. "Then go," he said. "Help Rogers. I'll stay with my father."
Scott nodded and raced after Steve and Peggy, his ring illuminating his path through the smoke-filled corridor.
In the antique storefront that served as the facility's cover, Kruger burst through the rear door, gun at the ready. The elderly shopkeeper, recognizing the threat, reached for the hidden submachine gun beneath her counter. Kruger fired first, cutting her down without hesitation. He grabbed her weapon and continued toward the street.
Outside, two men in suits—SSR agents disguised as civilians—moved to intercept him. Kruger called out in German to men waiting nearby, who had been posing as vagrants. They exchanged fire with the SSR agents, creating enough chaos for Kruger to reach a waiting car.
Peggy emerged from the shop just as Kruger's vehicle peeled away from the curb. Taking careful aim with her service pistol, she fired several shots after the fleeing automobile.
"Peggy!" Steve called, bursting onto the street behind her. He was dressed incongruously in his original clothes, now stretched tight across his enhanced physique. Barefoot and disheveled, he nonetheless projected an imposing presence.
Kruger, seeing his pursuers in the rearview mirror, activated the device in his cigarette case. The SSR vehicles parked nearby exploded in a devastating chain reaction, engulfing the street in flames and shrapnel.
Peggy stood her ground, continuing to fire at Kruger's retreating vehicle. As the explosions cascaded toward her, Steve acted on instinct, tackling her out of harm's way just as a blast would have caught her in its radius.
They tumbled to the pavement, Steve's enhanced body absorbing most of the impact. For a fleeting moment, they remained entangled, their faces inches apart, before Peggy shoved him off with surprising strength for their now very differing sizes.
"I had him!" she shouted, frustration evident in her voice.
"Sorry!" Steve replied, scrambling to his feet. He was still adjusting to his new proportions, his movements occasionally awkward as his mind caught up with his body's capabilities.
Without waiting for a response, he took off after Kruger's vehicle, his bare feet pounding the concrete. "I'm sorry!" he called back to Peggy, already accelerating to a pace that would have been impossible for him just hours ago.
A few blocks away, Kruger's car collided with a parked vehicle, the impact killing his driver. As Kruger struggled to extract himself from the wreckage, a taxi pulled up nearby. The concerned driver approached the crash site.
"What are you doin'?" the taxi driver called. "Buddy, are you all right?" Upon seeing the blood, he shouted to bystanders, "Hey, this guy's been shot!"
Seizing the opportunity, Kruger shot the taxi driver and commandeered his vehicle. As he peeled away from the curb, Peggy arrived in a requisitioned car, continuing her pursuit.
Kruger spotted her in his rearview mirror and made a split-second decision, yanking the wheel and aiming the taxi directly at Peggy. She stood her ground, firing methodically at the oncoming vehicle, but it kept coming.
In that moment, Steve arrived on the scene, once again tackling Peggy out of the vehicle's path. The taxi swerved around them and continued its escape.
Steve stumbled to his feet, the enhanced muscles of his new body still unfamiliar. He took a moment to find his balance, then launched into pursuit again, his powerful strides quickly accelerating to an astonishing speed.
Behind him, the air shimmered with heat as Jim Hammond soared above the street, his synthetic body having finally accessed its most extraordinary capability—flight through superheating the air beneath him. His skin glowed like molten metal, leaving a trail of scorched air in his wake.
Further back, Alan Scott followed, a platform of green energy materializing beneath his feet, carrying him forward at incredible speed. His ring projected a beam of emerald light that illuminated the path ahead, casting everything in an otherworldly glow.
The three pursuers converged on Kruger's stolen taxi from different directions—Steve on the ground, Hammond in the air, and Scott along a construct of his own creation. Their paths formed a triangle with Kruger at its center, the assassin unaware of the unprecedented forces closing in on him.
Steve, finding a narrow alley that would serve as a shortcut, veered off the main street. His enhanced senses and reflexes allowed him to navigate the cluttered passageway at full speed, leaping over obstacles and sliding under barriers without losing momentum.
As he emerged from the alley, he caught sight of Kruger's taxi racing past the intersection ahead. Pushing himself harder, Steve accelerated to a sprint that would have left Olympic athletes in awe.
His new body, however, still presented challenges—particularly in terms of controlling his momentum. As he attempted to change direction at high speed, he found himself careening toward a shop window, unable to stop in time.
Crashing through the glass with a tremendous sound, Steve tumbled into the startled shop, sending merchandise flying in all directions. The shopkeeper and customers stared in shock as this muscular man in too-small clothes scrambled to his feet amidst the destruction.
"Sorry about the mess!" Steve called out as he dashed through the door and back onto the street, rejoining the pursuit.
Ahead, Kruger swerved erratically through traffic, the taxi's tires squealing as he took corners at dangerous speeds. Above, Hammond tracked the vehicle's movement, his synthetic vision allowing him to maintain visual contact despite the chaotic scene below.
Scott, meanwhile, used his ring to create barriers at strategic intersections, forcing Kruger down a predictable path and preventing civilian vehicles from entering the danger zone.
Steve raced between lanes of traffic, his bare feet somehow finding purchase on the pavement as he pushed his new body to its limits. Kruger, spotting him in the side mirror, veered onto the sidewalk, sending pedestrians diving for cover. The taxi clipped a fire hydrant, sending a geyser of water erupting into the air.
Undeterred, Steve maintained his pursuit, closing the gap with each powerful stride. An elderly driver, distracted by the commotion, stopped his car in the middle of the street. Without breaking stride, Steve used the vehicle as a springboard, running up its hood and vaulting off its roof in a single fluid motion.
The extraordinary leap carried him directly onto the roof of Kruger's taxi. The impact dented the metal beneath his weight, and Kruger responded immediately by drawing his pistol and firing upward through the roof.
Steve rolled to one side, narrowly avoiding the bullets that punched through the metal inches from his position. Clinging to the wildly swerving vehicle, he searched for a way to bring the chase to an end.
In the distance, a large delivery truck pulled into the intersection, its driver unaware of the approaching danger. Kruger spotted it too late, yanking the wheel in a desperate attempt to avoid collision.
The taxi went into an uncontrolled skid, then began to roll. Steve, still atop the vehicle, found himself riding a tumbling metal projectile. Using his enhanced reflexes, he somehow maintained his position through the first revolution, then pushed off as the taxi completed its second roll.
The vehicle came to rest on its roof, steam hissing from its ruined engine. A group of children playing baseball nearby watched in amazement as Steve landed on his feet with unexpected grace, immediately taking a defensive stance as he approached the wreckage.
For a moment, everything was still. Then Kruger kicked out the remains of the windshield and crawled from the taxi, bloodied but still dangerous. In his hand, he clutched not only his pistol but also the precious vial of serum.
As Steve advanced cautiously, Kruger's gaze darted to the side. With lightning speed, he lunged toward the nearest child, grabbing the boy and pressing the gun to his head.
"Stay back!" Kruger shouted, the gun pressed firmly against the boy's temple. "Or I will kill the boy!"
The child's eyes were wide with terror, his small body trembling against Kruger's grip. Nearby, a woman screamed in anguish.
"No! No! Not my son!" she cried, held back by bystanders as she struggled to reach her child. "Stop it! Don't hurt him!"
A man nearby tried to calm her. "Get back! You'll make it worse!"
The boy squirmed in Kruger's grasp. "Let me go!" he demanded with more courage than his small frame suggested.
His mother continued pleading, her voice breaking with desperation. "Let go of my son! Don't hurt him!"
Steve froze, assessing the situation with newfound clarity. His enhanced senses took in every detail—the sweat beading on Kruger's forehead, the trembling of his hand, the vial of serum clutched in his other fist. More importantly, he registered the terror in the boy's eyes, so reminiscent of his own childhood fear when confronted by bullies.
"Wait, don't!" Steve called, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "Don't do this. He's just a kid."
From above, a blazing figure descended like a comet. Jim Hammond hovered twenty feet above the scene, his synthetic body radiating heat that distorted the air around him. Pedestrians gasped and pointed, many backing away from the supernatural sight.
"Release the child," Hammond demanded, his voice eerily calm despite the fury evident in his glowing form. "Or I will incinerate you where you stand."
Kruger's eyes widened at the sight of the flying man wreathed in flame. His grip on the boy momentarily slackened from shock before tightening again. "What manner of devil—?" he began, before cutting himself off. "Stay back! All of you!"
A green light materialized at the far end of the street as Alan Scott arrived, standing atop a translucent emerald platform that dissolved as his feet touched the ground. The ring on his finger pulsed with power, casting an otherworldly glow across his determined features.
"You're surrounded, Kruger," Scott called out, his ring projecting a subtle barrier around the perimeter, preventing bystanders from wandering into danger. "There's nowhere to run."
The crowd that had gathered to watch the chase now found themselves witnessing something beyond comprehension—a man who burned but wasn't consumed, another who wielded green light like a physical force, and between them, the impossibly muscular Steve Rogers, who just minutes ago had been racing through traffic with superhuman speed.
"What the hell is happening?" someone in the crowd muttered. "Are these guys human?"
Kruger, sensing the mounting threat from three directions, began edging backward toward the pier behind him, dragging the boy along. "I will kill him!" he threatened again, though his voice now carried an edge of desperation. "I swear I will!"
"Don't!" Steve implored, taking a careful step forward. "Let's talk about this."
Kruger continued retreating, the water of the harbor now just yards behind him. The gathered crowd had transformed into an audience, watching the standoff with a mixture of horror and fascination. Some had even pulled out cameras, the distinctive clicks and flashes capturing this extraordinary moment.
Hammond drifted closer, the temperature around him rising to uncomfortable levels. "I can strike him before he pulls the trigger," he said quietly to Steve. "But it would be... messy."
"No," Steve replied, his eyes never leaving Kruger. "No killing. Not with the boy so close."
Scott moved to Steve's right, completing their triangulation of Kruger. "I could create a barrier between the gun and the boy's head," he suggested. "But I'd need a distraction."
Steve nodded almost imperceptibly. "On my signal."
He took another step toward Kruger, his hands still raised. "Look, you're trapped. There's no way out of this. Let the kid go, and maybe we can work something out."
Kruger's eyes darted between the three men, calculating his odds. Then, with sudden decision, he flung the boy toward the water. "No! Don't!" Steve shouted, lunging forward.
As the child hit the water with a splash, Kruger turned and ran toward a small structure at the end of the pier. Steve sprinted after him, his powerful legs covering the distance in seconds. Behind him, he heard the boy surface, gasping for air.
"Go get him!" the boy called, surprisingly composed as he treaded water. "I can swim!"
Steve hesitated just long enough to ensure the child was truly safe before continuing his pursuit. Hammond soared overhead, his fiery form reflected in the harbor water, creating an otherworldly tableau against the blue sky.
Kruger reached the end of the pier and pressed a device in his hand. The water bubbled and churned as a small, one-man submarine surfaced—a piece of technology far beyond conventional military capabilities.
"HYDRA's engineering division continues to impress," Scott observed grimly as he caught up to Steve, his ring pulsing with energy.
"Not for long," Hammond replied, diving toward the submarine as Kruger scrambled to open its hatch.
Kruger managed to slip inside just as Hammond's flaming form reached him. The synthetic man's hand left scorching metal as he tried to pry the hatch open, but the mechanism had already sealed. The submarine began to sink beneath the surface, its propellers churning the water into froth.
Steve didn't hesitate. "I'm going after him," he announced, and before either of his companions could object, he sprinted the length of the dock and executed a perfect dive into the harbor.
The cold water enveloped him, but his enhanced body barely registered the shock. With powerful strokes, he descended toward the retreating submarine, which was now maneuvering beneath the hull of a large cargo ship.
Inside the vessel, Kruger smiled in satisfaction, believing he had escaped. The smile vanished when a tremendous impact rocked the submarine. Looking through the rear view port, he saw Steve Rogers—impossibly—clinging to the tail fin, his face set in grim determination.
Panicking, Kruger pushed the control stick forward, sending the craft into a steep dive. Steve held on, the pressure and lack of oxygen already beginning to affect him despite his enhanced physiology. He knew he had only moments to act.
With all his new strength, Steve began hammering at the cockpit glass. Each blow sent shock waves through the small vessel, causing it to veer off course. Kruger struggled to maintain control, his eyes widening in disbelief as the supposedly unbreakable glass began to show signs of stress.
Above the water, Hammond and Scott watched the drama unfold through the disturbed surface of the harbor.
"He'll drown," Hammond said, his synthetic features showing genuine concern.
Scott nodded, his ring already glowing with purpose. "Not if I can help it." He extended his hand, and a beam of green energy shot into the water, seeking the submarine.
Beneath the surface, Steve delivered one final, devastating punch. The cockpit glass spiderwebbed around his fist, water immediately beginning to spray through the cracks. Kruger screamed in rage as his vessel began to fill.
In desperation, Steve reached for the emergency hatch release, yanking it with all his strength. The mechanism gave way, and the cockpit opened fully to the sea. Water rushed in as Steve grabbed Kruger by his shirt collar and kicked hard for the surface, dragging the struggling HYDRA agent with him.
As they ascended, Steve noticed a strange green glow surrounding them, somehow making their rise faster and easier than it should have been. Scott's energy had found them, creating a column of accelerated movement through the water.
They broke the surface with a splash, Steve gasping for air as he maintained his grip on Kruger. With powerful strokes, he swam back to the pier where Hammond and Scott waited, the crowd of onlookers now having swelled to dozens.
"I've got him!" Steve called, approaching the dock.
Scott extended a hand, helping Steve haul himself and his captive onto the wooden planks. Hammond stood ready, his temperature elevated just enough to serve as a warning should Kruger attempt anything.
Soaking wet and furious, Kruger suddenly whirled around, a knife appearing in his hand from some hidden sheath. Steve reacted with newfound reflexes, his foot connecting with Kruger's wrist in a perfect kick that sent both the knife and the vial of serum flying.
Time seemed to slow as the precious vial arced through the air, glinting in the sunlight before smashing on the wooden dock. The blue liquid—Erskine's life's work—dripped between the planks and into the harbor below.
Kruger stared in horror as the serum disappeared, his mission only partially complete—he had killed Erskine, but failed to secure his formula. With a growl of rage, he lunged at Steve, who easily subdued him, forcing him to the ground with a knee pressed firmly to his chest.
"Who the hell are you?" Steve demanded, his voice steady despite the exertion of the chase.
Kruger's lips twisted into a defiant smile. "The first of many," he answered with chilling certainty. "Cut off one head, two more shall take its place."
Before anyone could react, Kruger pressed his tongue against something in his mouth—a false tooth containing a hidden capsule. He bit down hard, a faint cracking sound barely audible.
"Hail HYDRA," he whispered, his eyes already glazing over as the poison took effect. His body convulsed once, then went still.
"Cyanide," Hammond observed clinically. "A dedicated operative."
Steve released his hold on the now-dead man, standing slowly as the reality of what had happened began to sink in. "HYDRA," he repeated. "Erskine mentioned them. Said they were a Nazi deep science division."
"They're more than that," Scott said grimly, his ring now dormant though still faintly pulsing with energy. "Much more, from what intelligence has gathered."
The crowd that had witnessed the entire confrontation remained at a cautious distance, their expressions a mixture of awe, fear, and confusion. Many had cameras out, documenting this unprecedented event—three men with abilities that defied explanation, operating in broad daylight on the streets of New York.
"What happens now?" Steve asked, suddenly aware of how exposed they were. He looked down at himself—his clothes torn and soaked, barely containing his transformed physique. "Erskine is dead. The serum is gone."
Before either Hammond or Scott could answer, the sound of screeching tires announced the arrival of reinforcements. Peggy Carter pulled up in a commandeered sedan, leaping out with her pistol drawn. Behind her, several military vehicles filled with MPs followed suit.
"Rogers!" she called, holstering her weapon as she approached. Her professional demeanor slipped momentarily as she took in the scene—the dead HYDRA agent, the gathered crowd, and the three extraordinary men at the center of it all.
"The serum?" she asked, her eyes scanning the dock.
Steve shook his head. "Destroyed."
Peggy's expression tightened, but she maintained her composure. "And Erskine's killer?"
"Dead," Hammond answered, his synthetic skin now cooled to a more normal appearance, though still unusual enough to draw stares. "By his own hand."
Peggy nodded grimly, then turned to address the military police who had formed a perimeter. "Secure the area. No civilians leave until they've been properly debriefed. And someone find blankets for these men."
As the MPs moved to carry out her orders, Peggy turned back to Steve. For a moment, her professional facade softened slightly. "Are you all right?"
Steve looked down at his hands—larger, stronger, yet still his own. "I don't know," he admitted. "Everything happened so fast. Erskine... he tapped my chest right before..." He couldn't finish the sentence.
Peggy's eyes showed understanding. "A reminder," she said softly. "Of what matters."
Steve nodded, grateful for her perception. "Yeah."
The moment was interrupted as Colonel Phillips arrived, surveying the scene with his characteristic scowl. "Well," he said dryly, "this is one hell of a mess." His gaze settled on Steve, then moved to Hammond and Scott. "And you three just put on quite a show for half of New York."
"Sir," Scott began, "the situation required—"
Phillips raised a hand, cutting him off. "Save it for the debrief, Lieutenant. Right now, my concern is damage control." He gestured to the crowd being held back by the MPs, many still snapping photographs. "The cat's out of the bag, gentlemen. The world just got its first look at what's possible."
Steve looked around at the gathered onlookers, suddenly understanding the implications. Until today, men with extraordinary abilities were the stuff of pulp magazines and comic books. Now, three such men had openly demonstrated powers beyond normal human capacity on the streets of New York City.
"What do we do now, sir?" he asked.