"Schmidt sent his men to seize my research product, and he injected himself with the drug called the Super Soldier Serum."
The doctor spoke with helplessness, feeling it was his mistake. Perhaps he shouldn't have invented it from the start, but now the die was cast, and all he could do was try to make amends.
Steve nodded slightly, unable to comprehend the principles behind it: "Did that thing really make him stronger?"
The doctor adjusted his glasses, hesitated for a few seconds, and nodded in acknowledgment: "Yes, but it also has side effects, the Serum formula was not perfect at the time, and most importantly, it's about the person receiving the injection."
"The person?"
"Yes, the Serum enhances every aspect of the human body, so it makes good people better and bad people... worse." The doctor scratched his bald head, explaining the principles of his research to Steve.
The Super Soldier Serum (SSS) not only affects the body but also the mind and brain, amplifying a person's ambition and nature, making them feel invincible once they possess power.
Steve roughly understood, but the doctor hadn't finished speaking. He waited quietly, and the two of them stared at each other in the quiet barracks, lost in thought.
"That's why you were chosen. If we chose a strong person, their familiarity with power might make them lose respect for it. A small person, on the other hand, can better appreciate the value of power and show... compassion once they have it."
The doctor pondered for a while and finally spoke the word. He wasn't sure if this was the correct English expression, but he knew Steve would understand what he meant.
Steve thought for a moment and then looked at the doctor with a determined gaze.
"Thank you, I think I understand."
Dr. Erskine smiled, pointed to the luggage over there, and motioned for Steve to bring the glasses over. He then opened the liquor he had brought and poured some into the two glasses.
The brown-red liquor clinked against the glasses, emitting a blood-like hue under the yellow barracks light.
The doctor took a glass, pointed to Steve's chest, and said: "Promise me, no matter what happens tomorrow, stay true to yourself. You don't have to be a good soldier, but you must be a good man."
Steve smiled. Yes, he wasn't sure he could become a qualified soldier, as he couldn't even properly lift a rifle.
But being a good man, he was confident. His father and Mr. Wilson had taught him to be an upright person, and that was what he wanted to be as well.
He raised his glass towards Dr. Erskine: "To the little guy and the weak."
Dr. Erskine understood that Steve was referring to himself, and he wouldn't forget his mindset when he was weak, nor would he change because he had power.
The doctor clinked glasses with him: "To the weak."
However, just as they were about to drink with smiles on their faces, the doctor suddenly took Steve's glass away.
"God, what am I doing? You have a physical tomorrow, you can't drink tonight."
Steve shrugged. He recognized that bottle; it was a product of Wilson Enterprises, a 1925 vintage from the Prohibition era.
He didn't think much of it. At that time, although he was young, his father drank, Uncle Tom next door drank, and many people bought alcohol privately.
Steve didn't blindly believe in the law. He had his own understanding and views, measuring everything by a simple moral and values perspective.
Selling and drinking alcohol weren't wrong; enjoying consumer goods should be a right everyone has. Prohibition laws that suppress human nature are what's truly wrong.
But since the doctor said there was another physical tomorrow, he wouldn't drink.
He shrugged, looking at the doctor with regret: "Alright, we'll drink together after everything's over."
"Why wait until later?" The doctor looked at him with confusion, pouring the glasses of liquor together, swirling the glass, and inhaling the aroma: "I don't have any plans for tomorrow, I want to drink now."
Drip, drip, drip...
Their doubts resolved, their conversation became more casual, and they chatted happily about the military corps and their past lives.
They didn't notice that not far outside the window, Nick Fury turned and left. His mission was to 'protect' Dr. Erskine. It was he and Reid who brought the doctor back from Germany, and given the doctor's previous service under Nazi rule, he still needed 'protection.'
This time he was specially deployed back from France for this mission.
..........
On the third day, Steve got into the military vehicle early in the morning, where Peggy Carter was waiting for him. They needed to return to New York for the transformation experiment.
The entire surgery required a large amount of electricity, and the power grid in Philadelphia was clearly inadequate.
The black car, though not as luxurious as Su Ming's, was much smoother than the truck Steve had ridden to the military camp.
Throughout the journey, Steve looked eagerly out the window, as if he were particularly curious about every tree and flower.
In reality, he was somewhat nervous. He had no idea what his fate would be, whether the unique Serum would turn him into a muscle-bound maniac.
Everything was unknown, so he focused on anything that could divert his attention.
Peggy watched him with a look of helplessness, feeling he was too earnest. All along the way, he kept talking about things outside the window, as if the people in the car weren't worth his attention.
The car returned to Brooklyn, where Steve had lived before and knew very well.
As the vehicle moved forward, he kept pointing at the glass and talking to Agent Carter beside him: "I got beaten up in that alley... and that parking lot... and the back door of that restaurant..."
Carter pursed her lips and awkwardly tried to lighten Steve's mood: "Do you have any way to stop yourself from running away?"
Steve didn't notice the odd atmosphere and shook his head, answering seriously: "Once you start running, they won't let you stop. You have to stand up and fight back."
Carter's beautiful lips curled into a smile: "I can understand that feeling; every door closes in front of you."
She had the same experience, as this era was filled with various forms of discrimination: racial, gender, and social class biases. A woman like her wasn't traditionally expected to be in the military.
Steve lowered his head and rubbed his fingers as if there was dirt on them.
"I just can't understand why you'd want to join the military?" he pondered, worried his words might be misleading, and he added: "You're a beautiful lady... woman, uh, a female agent isn't just a woman, uh, you're very pretty..."
The more he tried to correct himself, the worse it got. Peggy turned her head, stared at him sharply for a moment, then helplessly shook her head.
"You don't know how to talk to women, do you?"
Steve gave a bitter smile, scratching his head: "I think this is the longest conversation I've ever had."
A trace of joy flashed in Carter's eyes but she hid it well, turning slightly so Steve wouldn't see her smile.
In the camp, she'd seen many men, but none were quite like Steve. She had grown fond of his unique charm in just a few days.
How much a person can endure doesn't define strength, but rather how much they can bear to live with.
Having seen many ordinary faces hiding behind a facade of gentility in the United Kingdom, Carter wasn't interested in those men. Steve's fresh and understated nature, however, made her feel very comfortable.
Now, knowing he didn't have a girlfriend, she was quite delighted.
Steve still looked down, unaware of Carter's expression. He calmly recounted his past: "Girls don't exactly line up to dance with a sickly guy."
"You say that, but you must know how to dance," Carter said with a concerned look. Her words touched her heart slightly.
Steve chuckled, recognizing Peggy's concern from her tone: "Actually, I haven't thought much about it all these years. I've only been waiting."
"Waiting for what?" Peggy asked him curiously, her big eyes filled with tenderness.
"Waiting for the right dance partner." Steve looked at her, answering with perfect calmness.
Carter laughed; she liked that answer.