Temporary Control Center.
Due to the sudden emergency, the entire Strategic Scientific Reserve had been summoned, including its three founders—and, of course, Alvin.
They were Peggy Carter, head of the intelligence and secrecy departments; Howard Stark, sponsor and head of research and development; and Colonel Chester Phillips, responsible for political and military affairs.
The atmosphere in the conference room was as heavy as lead. No one said a word; only the low hum of the air purification system could be heard.
Before them, a massive projection screen played surveillance footage, showing the brutal scene that had unfolded in the corridor.
Alvin had appeared like a ghost, crushing the riot-leading sergeant into pulp from afar. Then, with a casual flick of his finger, he had smashed the fleeing soldiers to pieces. The entire corridor had been covered in thick red-and-white sludge. The footage finally froze on Alvin, who looked like a demon amid the sticky fragments of flesh, his gaze utterly calm, as though those who had just died were not people, but ants he could crush at will.
That utter disregard for life, that cold and emotionless contempt, sent chills down the spine of everyone present.
Smack!
Peggy Carter abruptly shut off the projection. Her chest rose and fell, and her usually composed face was covered in frost and suppressed fury. Her fingers gripped the edge of the table so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
Colonel Chester Phillips, seated to her left, wore a livid expression. His lips were pressed into a hard line, and veins bulged at his temples.
Even Howard, normally so carefree and unruly, had gone pale and begun trembling slightly after witnessing Alvin casually take two lives.
Alvin sat opposite them.
He had already changed into a different set of clothes. After all, he had