Only Style Can't Be Lost

Dr. Erskine's funeral was attended by many from S.H.I.E.L.D. to pay their respects.

Allen offered a white envelope and asked Mrs. Erskine, "When do we eat?"

"..."

The old lady was completely confused.

Wilson explained, "Allen, Western funerals don't have a tradition of a celebratory meal."

"If there's no meal, why would I give a white envelope?"

Allen took back the white envelope and handed it to Wilson instead, saying, "I'll give the money back to you."

The act of snatching back what he had given created a very awkward scene.

Originally, Mrs. Erskine, who was overcome with grief, had almost not recovered and was about to faint on the spot.

Allen declared that a funeral without a meal lacked soul.

While he joked around at S.H.I.E.L.D. every day, Allen hadn't forgotten his primary mission.

Naturally, it was his life as a triple agent.

Beep... Beep beep... Beep...

Beep... Beep... Beep beep...

Beep beep... Beep... Beep...

The content was as follows:

'Respected Leader, your proletarian warrior sends you lofty greetings.

I have successfully infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D. The food standards here are very high, and everyone here is talented. They speak so nicely; it feels like coming home.

Of course, as a proletarian warrior, I never forget my mission and will never let the sugar-coated bullets of capitalism corrode my firm heart. They haven't tempted me with ten blonde, blue-eyed, long-legged, G-cup beauties in lace camisoles and white stockings yet.

It seems I have gained their initial trust.

No more small talk.

I need to report an important piece of information: S.H.I.E.L.D. is secretly working on a project that can control the world, but unfortunately, I haven't been able to get into the core inner circle.

Please rest assured, organization. I have found a breakthrough and require approval for operational funds.

Proletarian warrior, Allen.'

Far away in the Soviet Union, Karpov looked at the content on the telegram.

He felt much more at ease, knowing that Allen was at least helping the Soviet Union.

"What a remarkable person, to be able to establish himself within S.H.I.E.L.D."

Karpov was greatly curious. He picked up the landline and issued orders to the American agents, deciding to approve one hundred thousand US dollars in operational funds.

For the Soviet Union's KGB, one hundred thousand US dollars for a reliable informant was a worthwhile transaction.

If Allen couldn't provide new intelligence, there would be no second payment.

Beep... Beep beep... Beep...

Beep... Beep... Beep beep...

Beep beep... Beep... Beep...

The content was as follows:

'Great Hydra Leader, your Iron Curtain of the Empire sends you supreme respect.

After much hardship, I have successfully gone deep undercover within S.H.I.E.L.D., but I dare not slacken for a moment in fulfilling the organization's mission.

Through contact with Howard Stark, I have extracted information about a super metal being researched, called Adamantium.

Please rest assured, organization. I will definitely obtain the alloy formula.

At the same time, I have encountered a difficulty: without sufficient funds, I cannot carry out espionage work.

Please, Your Excellency, approve some seed funding.

Note: No pounds, only dollars.

Iron Curtain of the Empire, Allen.'

Schmidt read the telegram's content, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. "He truly is a surprise creator. He has already infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D."

"An unintentional decision that solves a persistent problem. He is Hydra's first step in infiltrating S.H.I.E.L.D.," Dr. Zola said with a fawning smile.

Hydra's infiltration of S.H.I.E.L.D. occurred after the end of World War II.

With the Axis powers defeated, Hydra had no cover to rely on and instead accepted amnesty, smoothly entering S.H.I.E.L.D.

"I have to admit, S.H.I.E.L.D. has many good things. Adamantium will surely be no less than the Super Soldier Serum."

Schmidt ordered, "Have someone allocate one hundred thousand US dollars to him."

The Super Soldier Serum was on its way back. As soon as it arrived, Vanguard Technologies would help research and crack it.

With that, Hydra would have an army of super soldiers.

In reality, the Super Soldier Serum couldn't be mass-produced cheaply either. Otherwise, the Axis powers wouldn't have been pushed back and lost the war.

Within three days.

Two sums of cash were delivered to Allen.

In the private apartment, two boxes of cash were laid out on the bed.

"Are they really that gullible? They believed that nonsense? I almost feel bad about it."

Allen didn't care about the money at all. He just made up some story, thinking, "Believe it or not, I believe it," and sent telegrams regularly.

It was purely to pass the time.

That night, Allen put on an eye mask with two holes cut out and a sheet tied around his neck as he slipped out to go incognito.

The ancient Eastern country, facing invasion from the Chrysanthemum Country, was in a time of crisis.

Chinese compatriots living overseas spontaneously formed the Save the Nation Chamber of Commerce to raise funds and save their country through indirect means.

Among them, the group led by the Chinese Merchants Guild was the most active.

Bang!

The window glass shattered, and a figure landed in front of a group of merchants dressed in long gowns.

"Who are you?"

Everyone drew their weapons, ready to face the intruder.

Their efforts to save the nation had naturally attracted assassins from the Chrysanthemum Country, so they paid special attention to personal security.

"Please say 'Prince, please respond'."

The crowd exchanged glances, considering whether to shoot on the spot.

Under American law, trespassing allowed for execution without question.

Allen unceremoniously placed two briefcases on the table and opened them, stating his intention: "I'll donate two hundred thousand."

"So, you're a patriotic benefactor. Everyone, put away your weapons."

The chairman quickly called for everyone to count the cash. Since he was here to donate money, he was one of them and deserved to be treated with respect.

"Sir, while we have the will to save our nation, we cannot accept ill-gotten gains."

Looking at the large sum of cash, the chairman worried that its origin might be questionable and could lead to unnecessary trouble.

"Just say you stole it, I won't care."

Allen grinned slyly and stated frankly, "I swindled it from the Soviet Union and the Axis powers. Aren't you surprised? Aren't you shocked?"

"..."

Why don't you say President Mei approved it for you?

"Sir, its origin is unknown, we cannot accept it." The chairman was firm.

"You don't believe the truth, so I'll make up a reason."

Allen stroked his chin and after a long pause said, "I have it. I exchanged my soul for it."

Could it get any more fake? If trampling on souls could earn that much money, everyone would likely be lining up to do it.

"If you don't believe me, help me burn it for King Yama, and write on the banknotes that everyone will start their next life in hell mode."

After speaking, Allen prepared to go home and sleep. Wandering around late at night wasn't for proper people.

"May I ask for your name, sir?"

The chairman, seeing Allen's intention, decided to accept it and hold onto it for a while. If there were no issues, it would be converted into material aid for the homeland.

"I am Bruce Horne. I never leave my name when doing good deeds."

Clang!

Allen kicked through another window, intending to jump out.

"Mr. Horne, please wait a moment."

The chairman looked at the two broken windows and said helplessly, "Next time you come, can you use the front door?"

"That won't do." Allen refused without hesitation. "I can abandon justice and my soul, but I will never abandon my style."

With a leap.

Allen disappeared into the vast night sky.