Chapitre 20: Ch-20: Heist for Power
[June 4th, 1943]
The glass door of The Brooklyn Antiquities was flung open following the sharp report of gunfire. A man dressed in a three-piece gray suit, though now slightly disheveled, burst out of the door, clutching a Walther P38 pistol in one hand and an MP40 submachine gun in the other.
His eyes darted frantically, searching for the black 1936 Dodge Touring Sedan that was to be his escape vehicle.
For a second, he was baffled by the absence of Hydra agents except for the driver, a man wearing a paper boy cap that obscured half his face. This moment of confusion was cut short as gunfire erupted from behind him.
He ducked instinctively, spinning around and squeezing the trigger of his MP40, sending a burst of bullets toward the two agents in pursuit. Without wasting another moment, he lunged into the front seat of the waiting sedan.
The car sped away, the tires screeching against the pavement. Kruger, the man in the gray suit, fired another burst from his submachine gun, aiming at the agents who continued to fire at him.
However, his aim was interrupted by the sudden braking and acceleration of the limousine, throwing him off balance.
Gritting his teeth, Kruger pulled himself back into the car, glaring angrily at the driver. "What was that just now?" he demanded, his voice edged with fury.
The driver, eyes still on the road, muttered a hurried excuse. "Had to avoid some debris, sir. Didn't want to risk hitting anything that could slow us down."
Meanwhile, Agent Peggy Carter burst out of the antiquities store, her determination palpable. She stood firmly, taking careful aim at Kruger's retreating car with her pistol.
Kruger, seeing Carter aiming at him, reached into his pocket and pulled out a remote-like device. With a cold, calculated look, he pressed a button. Behind Carter, another car exploded in a fiery blast, the shockwave and debris momentarily disturbing her aim.
The explosion caused Carter to shield her face and stagger, but she quickly recovered, her resolve unshaken. She took aim again at the speeding limousine.
The driver glanced up at the rearview mirror, spotting Carter taking aim. Instinctively, he ducked just as a bullet whizzed through the windshield, leaving a jagged hole.
Seeing this, Kruger attempted to lean out of the window to return fire, but as he moved, he was abruptly elbowed in the face by the driver. The blow stunned him, and he fell back into the seat, blood streaming from his now broken nose.
Before he could comprehend what was happening or recover from the attack, the driver struck again. With precise accuracy, he delivered a karate chop to Kruger's carotid artery, the pressure point causing immediate loss of consciousness. Kruger's head lolled to the side, his body going limp against the leather seat.
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[Flashback]
[The Night Before]
Alfred Pennyworth adjusted his cufflinks, ensuring they were perfectly aligned before stepping out of the Dark green Lincoln Continental.
The night was brisk, a cool breeze flowing through the streets of Manhattan as he approached the grand entrance of the Metropolitan Club.
Tonight's gala was an exclusive affair, attended by the city's elite, including politicians, businessmen, and influential socialites.
Among them was Senator Brandt, a key figure in Alfred's plan.
Alfred's recent generous donation to Brandt's re-election campaign had secured him a private audience with the Senator.
The aim was simple: get Brandt drunk and make him reveal the location of Project Rebirth.
Entering the opulent ballroom, Alfred quickly scanned the crowd. The air was filled with the murmur of polite conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the soft strains of a string quartet playing in the corner.
Chandeliers cast a warm glow over the elegantly dressed guests. Spotting Senator Brandt near the bar, Alfred made his way over.
"Senator Brandt," Alfred greeted with a charming smile, extending his hand.
"Mr. Pennyworth! Good to see you," Brandt replied, shaking his hand enthusiastically. The Senator was a tall, portly man with a jovial demeanor and a penchant for fine whiskey. "I must thank you again for your generous contribution to the campaign."
"Think nothing of it, Senator. I'm simply investing in the future of this great nation," Alfred said smoothly. "Shall we have a drink?"
Brandt's eyes lit up. "Now you're speaking my language. Bartender, two glasses of your finest bourbon."
The bartender obliged, pouring the amber liquid into crystal glasses. Alfred took his, raising it in a toast. "To the future."
"To the future," Brandt echoed, clinking his glass against Alfred's before taking a hearty sip.
Alfred watched as the Senator downed the drink, barely savoring its rich flavor.
'This might be easier than I thought,' Alfred mused.
The two men found a quiet corner of the room, settling into plush armchairs. Alfred kept the conversation light, discussing politics, the war effort, and mutual acquaintances. With each topic, he made sure Brandt's glass was never empty.
"So, Senator," Alfred began after several drinks, leaning back in his chair. "I've been hearing whispers about a new military project. Something groundbreaking."
Brandt chuckled, his face flushed from the alcohol. "Oh, you wouldn't believe the things we're working on. Truly remarkable stuff."
"I'd love to hear more about it," Alfred said, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.
Brandt waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, it's all top secret, you know. Classified."
"Of course, of course," Alfred replied, nodding understandingly. "But you know how it is. A man gets curious, especially when investing in the future. Besides, a little knowledge never hurt anyone."
Brandt took another sip, his resolve weakening. "Well, there's this one project..."
Alfred leaned in, his interest piqued. "Go on."
"It's called Project Rebirth," Brandt whispered, looking around as if expecting someone to overhear. "Revolutionary stuff, really. But that's all I can say."
"I understand, Senator," Alfred said, his voice calm. "But surely you can tell me where it's taking place? Purely out of curiosity, of course."
Brandt hesitated, his drunken mind trying to cling to some semblance of caution. "I can't just go telling anyone about it, Pennyworth. It's sensitive information."
Alfred took a deep breath, offering a disarming smile. "Senator, think of it this way: knowing won't hurt anyone. In fact, it might even help me to further invest in the nation's future. I'm sure you can see the benefits of that."
Brandt's eyes narrowed slightly as he considered Alfred's words. "You've got a point there. But still, it's..."
Alfred leaned in closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Brandt, between us, I've heard whispers that some of these so-called 'classified' projects don't even exist. Just budget bloat, you know? You telling me where this one is wouldn't compromise anything—it'd just prove its legitimacy to a potential ally."
The Senator's face softened slightly, and he looked around the room again before taking another sip. "Well, I suppose..."
Alfred seized the opportunity, gently but firmly pressing. "Look, Senator, I'm not asking for the project's secrets. Just the location. So I know where my investments are going."
Brandt sighed, finally giving in. "Alright, alright. It's at Brooklyn Antiquities, 45 Dale Street, Brooklyn, NY. But keep that to yourself, Pennyworth."
"Your secret is safe with me," Alfred assured him, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.
Not willing to take any chances, Alfred made sure Brandt's glass was always full. "Another drink, Senator? To celebrate future successes."
Brandt laughed, a bit more boisterous now. "Why not! Another round!"
To ensure Brandt wouldn't remember their conversation, he'd kept the drinks flowing, leaving the Senator in a state where the details would be hazy at best by morning.
Alfred was confident that Brandt wouldn't suspect anything when things started happening at Brooklyn Antiquities.
[Flashback End]
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Alfred took off his cap, revealing a meticulously made-up face that looked strikingly different from his own. The disguise was flawless: a false mustache, a subtle wig, and carefully applied prosthetics that altered the contours of his face. Even the most observant would struggle to recognize him. His foot remained steady on the pedal as he rifled through Kruger's suit pockets, his gloved hands moving quickly and efficiently.
His fingers soon closed around a small vial filled with a translucent blue liquid, nestled in an inner pocket. Without missing a beat, Alfred replaced it with a similar-looking vial he had prepared beforehand. The real vial, with the Super Soldier serum, was safely tucked away in his own jacket.
Finding a secluded spot on the roadside, Alfred slowed the car and then quickly exited the sedan, moving with practiced precision into a nearby alley.
The alley was dimly lit, a perfect place for a quick change. He shed the suit jacket and tie, replacing them with a casual shirt and trousers pulled from a hidden compartment in his bag.
With swift, practiced movements, he peeled off the false mustache and wig and wiped away the makeup with a cloth.
Now dressed as an ordinary civilian, he exited the alley on the other side, seamlessly blending into the crowd of people on the bustling street.
Alfred glanced back once, ensuring no one had followed him, before disappearing into the throng.
A few moments later, Heinz Kruger woke from his stupor, a dull pain throbbing in his head. He searched for the serum in his pocket and sighed with relief when he found it.
But that relief quickly turned into a sea of questions: Who had attacked him? What was their motive?
His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the sight of a figure in the rearview mirror: the newly transformed super-soldier, Steve Rogers, sprinting towards him with alarming speed. Kruger wasted no time in taking the wheel and flooring the pedal.
Steve Rogers ran at jarring speeds, easily overtaking cars as he chased Kruger through the streets. The people he passed by were left stunned, seeing a blur of a man in a white vest moving faster than any human should. Cars honked and swerved, drivers shouting in confusion and fear.
Kruger maneuvered the black sedan with reckless abandon, narrowly avoiding collisions as he made his way towards the harbor. The sign "Brooklyn Piers" loomed above the entrance as he careened through the gates.
Abandoning the sedan, Kruger sprinted towards the spot where his submarine was docked. He fumbled with a remote control, pressing the button to surface the submarine.
But Steve had already caught up, thanks to his newly attained superhuman physique that surpassed mere humans.
Shots rang out as Kruger fired at Steve, who took cover behind a steel pillar. Steve's massive physique couldn't be completely shielded, and a bullet grazed his arm.
Unperturbed, he lunged out from cover, sprinting towards the submarine and leaping just as it began to submerge. With a single punch, he shattered the submarine's conning tower glass and tore it off with ease.
Kruger, inside the submarine, tried to fire at Steve, but the super-soldier swatted the pistol away effortlessly. Steve pulled Kruger out and threw him back onto the dock.
Kruger landed hard, the impact breaking the vial inside his pocket, the glass shards wounding him. Steve jumped back onto the harbor, and Kruger, desperate, lunged at him with a knife. Steve dodged and kneed him in the face, planting him to the ground.
Grabbing Kruger by the collar, Steve demanded, "Who the hell are you?"
Kruger, bloodied and defeated, replied, "The first of many. Cut off one head," he then bit down on a capsule fashioned like a tooth and pressed it, "two more shall take its place." Foam started appearing in Kruger's mouth as he uttered his final words with a grunt of effort, "Hail Hydra."
Steve let go of Kruger's collar, watching as the life drained from the spy's eyes. He stood there, breathing heavily, the weight of the past few hours bearing down on him. He had become a super-soldier, witnessed the death of his friend and mentor Abraham Erskine, and now faced a dead spy who had killed himself with a poison capsule. The world seemed to have changed in a day, and so had he…
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A/N: Hope this was a little fast paced than earlier chapters. Next chapter, Ethan joins the war.
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État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
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-- Power
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