The car slowly drove into an inconspicuous alleyway, a common sight in places like Brooklyn. The street was filled with hurried pedestrians, and some children were playing ball games on the road.
The surrounding buildings were not tall, exuding a classical charm. The old-fashioned windows had witnessed many changes in this city.
The street was a bit wet, indicating it had rained yesterday. Steve breathed in the familiar air and followed Carter out of the car.
They walked into a street-side shop called 'Brooklyn Antiques Shop.' The shop windows displayed some vases and lamps, covered in dust, but Steve couldn't be sure if they were truly antiques.
A few hat-wearing individuals loitered near the shop entrance reading newspapers, appearing like street idlers. But when they glanced at Carter and then looked away, it indicated they were also secret agents.
Carter led Steve straight through the door. Inside, there were no customers, and under dim lighting, only an elderly woman was tending the store. The walls were covered with a collection of old-fashioned clocks.
Her hair was completely white, but she was energetic, wearing a kindly smile. She adjusted her pink sweater and greeted the visitors in a standard British opening line.
"The weather is really nice this morning, isn't it?"
Carter replied with the code phrase, "Yes, but I always bring an umbrella when I go out."
The elderly woman chuckled, reached beneath the counter, feeling around until her aged hand skimmed over a Chicago typewriter, pressing a hidden button beside it.
Then the three exchanged no more words. Peggy directly led Steve behind a curtain into the inner room, where a row of bookshelves shifted aside to reveal a secret passage.
Numerous military personnel marked with military police emblems stood on guard. Several doctors and nurses in white coats hurriedly moved about.
Curious, Steve followed Peggy among them. Beyond the door at the corridor's end was a massive laboratory.
In the center stood a behemoth, resembling an iron coffin, stationed right under an entry platform. Various towering machines with incomprehensible instruments surrounded it, featuring dials and open slots for spitting out paper strips.
Steve spotted Dr. Erskine observing him from below. Not far away, he recognized a familiar face, Howard Stark, with his rare serious demeanor and busy adjusting equipment, oblivious to Steve's arrival.
Steve looked at Agent Carter beside him. Peggy sighed lightly; the experiment came with undefined risks, the biggest being Steve's ability to endure the immense pain.
She turned her head, unwilling to watch, but her duty as a soldier meant following orders.
Peggy led Steve down the stairs, his gaze fixed on the central equipment. From above, it resembled a coffin, but up close it looked more like an Indian canoe.
However, it was metal-made with many spiral-shaped light bulbs inside.
"Good morning," Dr. Erskine greeted Steve with a stern handshake. Suddenly, a blinding camera flash caught everyone off-guard, capturing the scene for military records, but the doctor was displeased: "Not now, please hold off on taking pictures."
Peggy hastily tidied her hair, wondering if in the flashing moment she'd been caught glancing at Steve's back. How embarrassing if recorded...
The doctor glanced at Steve again, looking out of place as a small figure amidst the cold steel room. His face bore an unsure expression.
"Are you ready?"
Steve eyed the machine again—its petal-like sides had opened, revealing an inner chamber designed to fit an adult man, obviously meant for him.
He nodded.
Dr. Erskine knew Steve had long awaited this chance: "Good, take off your hat, shirt, and tie, then lie down inside."
Steve turned to look at Carter, unsure what to say, knowing despite the experiment's huge risk, it was Steve's long-held dream.
He was willing to take the gamble, and Carter believed he would succeed. This man was the most likely on Earth to succeed.
Steve began undressing, handing his uniform to a nearby nurse. Success or not, he might not need this uniform again.
If successful, the outfit would become too small; if unsuccessful... there'd be no use for clothes for a pile of flesh.
Especially seeing the busy Howard nearby, remembering the car at the expo, it always felt a bit unreliable...
Colonel Philip was busy greeting his guests in the observation room above the lab, inviting the regiment's major sponsors to watch the transformation process. The regiment needed more funding, and these were the financiers.
Be it personal donations or federal grants, money was essential.
"Senator Brandt, welcome," he greeted one with warmth, full of smiles.
"Why have you brought me here?" the middle-aged man, appearing around fifty or sixty, brusquely shook hands, his expression arrogant.
Philip secretly spat but forced a smile, leaning closer to the senator: "We need access to the New York electrical grid. Of course, if you can get me that generator I applied for last time..."
The senator brutally cut him off: "Colonel, many departments are applying for funding now, for bombers, larger battleships, and tanks, things you can tangibly see."
He motioned a bespectacled young man over for an introduction to Philip: "This is..."
The young man warmly took over, introducing himself to the Colonel: "Fred Crimson, representing the Federal Government. If your plan succeeds, the federation will strongly support you."
As the Colonel and young man networked, the senator surveyed the lab, observing through the observation room's glass as Steve below undressed, revealing his emaciated frame.
So thin, like a skeleton wrapped in skin. The senator already knew the experiment's outcome, if successful this frail invalid would become a super muscular man.
Unintentionally, the senator invoked God's name: "My Jesus, this little guy hit the jackpot."
Unaware of the eyes above him, Steve lay on the test bed with firm resolve, comforted that the bedding was of thick leather instead of cold metal. Yet, despite this, his frail arms broke out in goosebumps.
Dr. Erskine approached, adjusting the straps on the test bed. The experiment required Steve to be restrained; the intense pain would make anyone inadvertently struggle violently.
"How are you feeling?"
Steve smiled, trying to ease his shoulders and rest his head on the pillow, gazing at the gray ceiling: "Alright, only this bed feels too big for me. Do you still have that wine from last time?"
The doctor chuckled, offering a reassuring look: "Sorry, there's only a little left, maybe not enough for the future you."
Steve laughed too: "Then next time. I know where to find plenty of wine in New York."