The Captain America Who Wasn't Yet Captain America

"Hello, I'm Howard Stark, in charge of mechanical engineering."

"Hello, I'm Abraham Erskine, in charge of bio-genetic engineering."

"Hello, I'm Allen, in charge of cleaning."

Allen crossed his arms, holding Howard on his left and Dr. Erskine on his right.

The two men wore peculiar expressions. They had heard a crazy expert was coming, but they didn't expect him to be so out of sync from the very first word.

Wilson pointed to his head. "There's something wrong with him here."

The two men nodded in agreement.

The top minds in their respective fields spoke with genuine skill.

It was fine if a brilliant doctor was a bit eccentric; what mattered was having insights into the same problems so they could mutually benefit.

If they were all show and no substance, they would eventually be kicked out of S.H.I.E.L.D.

After all, S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't keep idlers.

"Dr. Allen, we're exploring a human limit enhancement project. Do you have any thoughts?" Dr. Erskine asked casually.

This disheveled old man was the person in charge of developing the Super Soldier Serum.

Howard, meanwhile, could only assist, helping to build an instrument capable of integrating the serum.

"Not enough strength, so we'll compensate with equipment. Rocket launcher in the left hand, Gatling gun in the right, shout 'Ura!', and you won't fear Thanos," Allen said with utmost seriousness.

"Sorry, I have things to do."

Dr. Erskine's expression changed, and he turned to head back to his workspace.

He wasn't just disheveled; he was also eccentric.

Howard comforted him, "Dr. Erskine only likes to interact with experts who share his way of thinking."

"It's just the Super Soldier Serum, like anyone can do it."

Allen scoffed, then wiggled his armpits, and a bold idea popped into his head.

"You also know how to develop serum?"

Howard's eyes lit up, thinking he'd probe Allen's background.

"Simmer it, stew it, I can cook a pot."

Didn't the Alchemist skill include alchemy?

Alchemy was just the foul-smelling thick soup that old witches brewed in a pot with spices.

That was Allen's understanding.

Howard frowned, wondering if the other man misunderstood. He kindly reminded him, "In a month, high-ranking military officials will visit. If you can show results, you'll receive significant funding."

"Then that's prepared specifically for me."

Allen said confidently, "I'll show them something amazing then."

After wrapping up their friendly chat, they moved to their respective workspaces.

Various tools were laid out, and anything needed could be brought over.

Wilson's eyes lit up as he looked at the precision micro-lathes.

"Allen, the precision lathes provided by S.H.I.E.L.D. are more than two levels above those in the Soviet Union."

Wilson stroked the machines, sighing with emotion, "No wonder America is technologically superior. The experts here not only possess theoretical knowledge but also practical capabilities."

However, Allen wasn't interested at all and slumped listlessly into a chair.

"Allen, what should we do first?"

Having confirmed Allen's true abilities, Wilson dared not show off and hoped to see more advanced inventions.

"Slack off."

"Slack off?"

Allen said earnestly, "If you don't slack off at work, is it really considered work?"

"..."

It made so much sense that Wilson was speechless.

Instantly, Wilson's enthusiasm for work was extinguished, and he slumped onto the sofa like Allen.

"Slacking off at work feels great, doesn't it?" Allen asked, baring his teeth.

"Yeah, it feels great."

Wilson readily admitted it. He hadn't enjoyed himself like this in years.

"Arsen, it's lunchtime. Let's check out the cafeteria food."

"Okay."

From that day on, S.H.I.E.L.D. had two more idle individuals.

Drinking coffee and arriving at work on time, lying on the sofa waiting for dinner.

When Howard asked, Allen replied he was conceptualizing a new weapon.

Wilson naturally stated, "I'm just an assistant, what can I do?"

Within three days, Colonel Chester Phillips, one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s founders, brought a short, thin young man.

"This is Steve Rogers, the super soldier candidate I've selected."

Presently, Carter, Howard, Erskine, Allen, Wilson, and others looked at the scrawny, shy future Captain America.

Someone immediately stepped forward to oppose Colonel Phillips' decision.

Dr. Erskine said sternly, "Colonel, you're gambling with his life. He's too thin and can't withstand the serum. His genes could collapse, and he could die."

He was an expert in the field of biology, and no one was qualified to second-guess him.

"I value Steve's personal character, his willingness to confront the powerful, and his readiness to sacrifice. He is the most suitable candidate," Colonel Phillips insisted.

Steve never gave up fighting when facing the tall ruffians.

Steve protected his teammates by shielding them from a grenade, willing to sacrifice himself.

On these two points alone, Colonel Phillips deemed him the future Captain America.

"Boss, I support you."

Allen walked up to Steve and shook his hand, saying, "Hello there, old man. Where's your Bucky?"

"..."

Steve was momentarily stunned before reacting, "You mean Bucky? He's undergoing training with the army."

"Never mind your Bucky, old man. I promise to make you a man with a great butt."

"..."

Steve's shy nature made him a bit flustered by Allen.

Everyone naturally ignored Allen. They were the founders of S.H.I.E.L.D. and had already decided to give him another month of observation, after which they would send him away if he was just freeloading.

The scene was heated.

Finally, Colonel Phillips used his authority to decide on the super soldier candidate.

Many things happened in these three days.

S.H.I.E.L.D. began making arrangements for the serum enhancement work.

Soviet Union and Hydra agents lurking in America had already secretly contacted Allen.

Allen, who was intent on being a triple agent, gladly accepted the invitation and brought back a small telegraph machine, which could transmit information to both factions.

Allen directly leaked the serum plan.

The unusually quiet Allen was brewing a bigger scheme.

Life is either about scheming, or preparing to scheme.

On the fourth day, before the super soldier experiment began.

"Old man, don't be afraid. Everyone has a first time."

Allen pointed at the instrument and comforted him, "You just lie in there, and in a moment, it'll malfunction and cremate you."

Steve's originally calm heart immediately became uneasy.

The instrument was like a pharaoh's sarcophagus, connected to numerous electrical wires. He truly worried about electric shock or fire, making escape impossible at that point.

Allen pointed at Howard, who was debugging and inspecting the equipment, saying, "Trust old Howie's craftsmanship. If something goes wrong, we'll bury both you and the machine, ensuring no witnesses."

"Can you say something more optimistic?"

Steve's face was filled with despair, and he even had thoughts of backing out.

Unfortunately, things had reached this point. Military brass and representatives from all walks of life were present to observe, leaving him no room to regret. Moreover, Colonel Phillips would definitely force him into the instrument.

"To put it optimistically, if the serum works, your left and right chest might be asymmetrical, or one side of your butt might be rounder than the other. These aren't big problems. I know Dr. Chelsea from the League of Assassins; a little silicone padding will make it undetectable."

"You're really good at comforting people."

Steve: o(╥﹏╥)o