It must be said, due to the exhibition, this recruitment center is more entertaining than the ones Steve had visited before. Not only were there advanced displays in the corridors playing propaganda films, but there were also many things for entertainment and taking pictures.
For example, those large photos where the protagonist's head was a cut-out hole allowing you to replace it with your own face for a photo souvenir.
But Steve was too short. He saw others standing in front of the photos having fun, and he tried it too, but unfortunately, only the tip of his head showed through the hole.
Steve shook his head helplessly. He could only pull himself together and continue to the formal recruitment examination area inside.
"Countless people have sacrificed their lives for this, I have no right to do less than others, I just need a chance to prove myself..."
His eyes were determined, as if he were encouraging himself, the thought of defeating Fascism in his heart only grew stronger, it would not extinguish.
Mr. Wilson said that as long as he stays true to himself, he can definitely do it.
He moved through the crowd in the corridor; his frail body was like a lone raft on the ocean, yet he was exceedingly calm.
Unbeknownst to him, not far away, an old man with balding hair and glasses heard his words, and secretly observed him, sizing him up with a gritty gaze as if he was very satisfied with what he saw...
A few minutes later, he sat in the examination room, having taken off his shoes and coat, nervously waiting for the military doctor to examine him.
At this time, a nurse walked into the cubicle, whispered a few words in the doctor's ear.
The doctor nodded, put down what he was holding, and walked out: "Wait here."
"What? Did something happen?" Steve asked, puzzled.
"Just wait."
The doctor left the examination room expressionless, the heavy curtain once again isolating Steve from the outside world.
Steve began to panic a little, he noticed on the wall behind him a poster saying—Falsifying enlistment information is illegal.
Was he discovered?
He remembered Baki's warning to stop enlisting with a fake identity, saying that in prison, there are big tattooed tough guys who like his type, fair and small, treating him as their Green Pool, doing this... and that...
He shivered, he almost foresaw himself being treated like a doll by a group of toughs in a dark place with no daylight.
He immediately got up from the examination bed to find his shoes, if it didn't work out, he would run away, in short, he couldn't go inside, he couldn't become someone else's Green Pool...
However, just as he was tidying up to escape, the partition curtain was lifted, and in came a tall strong soldier wearing a white helmet, with an armband marked MP in black letters.
That's the military police, handling illegal conduct in the army, and upon entering, he stared at Steve expressionlessly.
Steve shrank into a ball, feeling his end had come.
Goodbye, Baki, goodbye, Mr. Wilson, goodbye, my pure life...
As he was wildly thinking, the curtain was lifted again, and in came an old man with glasses, wearing a brown suit over a slightly faded red sweater.
"Thank you."
He spoke to the military policeman with a smile, then the military policeman who had caused Steve psychological shadow left without a word, making Steve breathe a sigh of relief.
But the elderly man's gaze was very strange, as if he was looking at a Treasure.
He kept his hands behind his back, smiling at Steve.
"So then..." He pulled out Steve's recruitment file from behind, glancing casually through it: "You want to go abroad and kill some Nazis?"
Steve was a little bewildered, though the departure of the military policeman was good, the old man was bizarre.
"Sorry, I don't quite understand what that means."
The old man closed the document folder, walked towards Steve, and extended his hand.
"I am Abraham Erskine, Dr. Erskine, from the Strategic Science Corps."
"Steven Rogers," Steve shook hands politely with him, speculating his intention, but at least he could be sure it wasn't to send him to jail.
Dr. Erskine nodded, took a few steps to the side, and opened Steve's file on a small table, asking casually.
"Where are you from?" As if worried he wouldn't understand, the doctor adjusted his glasses again and added: "I live in Queens, at the intersection of 73rd and Utopia Street, before that, I lived in Germany, does that bother you?"
"No, not at all."
"So where do you live, Mr. Rogers? New Haven? Paramos? You've taken five separate exams in five different cities..."
"This information may not be correct," Steve instantly responded, his desire to survive overwhelmingly strong.
Dr. Erskine casually closed the file, knowing the information was accurate since the Strategic Science Corps' intelligence has always been precise.
The long list of diseases on the file was real, and this patient indeed had tried many times even today, risking being caught and jailed.
"No, I'm not concerned with exam reports, I'm just intrigued by the number of attempts, five times, you tried five times, why?"
"...."
Steve was speechless, they had brought out all his previous fake files, this was undeniable evidence.
Dr. Erskine once again walked in front of him, looking into his eyes, noticing the young man's eyes were devoid of Hate, but what was driving his desire to go to war?
"You still haven't answered my question, do you want to kill Nazis?"
Steve frowned: "Is that a test?"
"....Yes." The doctor nodded, observing Steve's face, under the slightly yellow light, he still looked pallid.
Steve pondered for a moment, logically, he should answer—yes, I want to kill the enemy.
Admiral Halsey in the Pacific also said: 'Kill the Little Japan, kill the Little Japan, kill more Little Japan!', 'In the future, let Japanese be heard only in Hell.' Words like these.
Such words were most favored by the military, soldiers existed to kill their enemies.
But such impassioned words weren't his own answers, his heart didn't think that way.
He wanted to stop the pain war brought to people, to End the War, he might kill, but it's for a better future.
So he shook his head, organized his words, looked Dr. Erskine in the eye, and spoke his answer.
"I don't like killing, nor do I like bullets, I don't even care where they come from."
Dr. Erskine pressed his lips together, raising his eyebrows, making a relaxed expression, but Steve couldn't discern what it meant.