"No problem."
Homelander answered simply and neatly, without any hesitation, as if Steve just wanted to take time off to buy a sandwich.
Steve was stunned for a moment, and all the words he had prepared - about "personal grudges", "things that must be done", "but I promise not to harm Vought's interests", etc. - were all stuck in his throat.
"Anthony, why don't you ask me what I am going to do? Or... where to go?"
"That's not necessary."
Homelander stood up, walked to the wine cabinet and poured himself a glass of fresh milk, and also poured a glass for Steve.
"Do not trust those who employ, and do not trust those who doubt. This is an old saying from the great Eastern countries." He turned around and raised his cup to greet Steve, "You are Captain America, and your moral code is more stable than the foundation of this building. If you say this is something that must be done, then it must be right."
Steve looked at the man in front of him, the sun was dancing on his blond hair, and the exaggerated uniform no longer looked so commercial at this moment, but exuded a trustworthy warmth.
The feeling of being unconditionally trusted dispelled the haze in Steve's heart.
"Go ahead and do what you have to do."
"But remember one thing."
Homelander pointed at the V. G. D badge on Steve's chest.
"You are not just Steve·Rogers now, you are also Vought's S-class registered hero and the chief hero instructor."
"If you encounter trouble outside that cannot be solved..."
Homelander smiled, a little arrogantly.
"... Call Ashley at any time. Remember, Vought is your strongest trump card."
Steve looked at the milky white liquid swaying in the cup and was silent for a long time.
After he came to this era, it took him a long time to get used to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s relationship full of suspicion.
Nick Fury will always only speak three words, even to his so-called "Captain America".
But here, in this company that Fury criticized as "only showing off", he felt the same unconditional trust that he had in the trenches.
"Thank you, Anthony."
Steve drank the milk in the cup in one gulp and placed the empty cup heavily on the table.
"I'll be back as soon as possible."
"Don't worry, I think the students would be more willing to let Angela take them to do yoga these days instead of being forced to run ten kilometers by you." Homelander made a joke.
Steve smiled, turned around and strode out of the office.
"Harvest Special Popularity Points+10000! (from Steve·Rogers)"
Maryland, Potomac River upstream.
The cold wind blew the fallen leaves, beating against the safe house hidden deep in the dense forest.
There are infrared sensors and pressure-sensitive mines within 1,000 meters around here.
This is one of Brock·Rumlow's refuges and the embodiment of his caution.
There were no lights on in the house.
Rumlow was naked to the waist, sitting in the dim living room, using the moonlight coming in from the window, wiping the small wounds on his body with alcohol.
He picked up a bottle of whiskey and took a long sip. The spicy liquid burned his throat and slightly relieved his tense nerves.
Although Pierce's "Cleaner" operation temporarily stabilized the situation, he knew that this was just the calm before the storm.
There is already a volcano inside S.H.I.E.L.D. that is about to erupt, and he is also the person sitting in the crater.
"Click!"
There was a soft sound, and Rumlow's movements stopped instantly.
His instinct as a top agent made the hairs all over his body stand up.
That's an intuition developed over many years of licking blood from a knife's edge.
It's too quiet.
The sound of insects in the forest disappeared at some point.
Rumlow put down the wine bottle suddenly, pulled out Glock from his waist with his right hand like lightning, and picked up the tactical dagger on the table with his left hand.
He held his breath, like a vigilant cheetah, and slowly moved towards the window.
There are no alarms from peripheral sensors.
The pressure-sensitive mine did not detonate.
Everything on the surveillance screen is normal.
But the suffocating feeling of being targeted by an apex predator is getting stronger and stronger.
"Who's there?"
Rumlow shouted into the dark corridor.
No one answered.
There was only the whine of the wind blowing through the chimney.
"Click."
A slight crisp sound came from above the head.
Rumlow suddenly raised his head, raised his gun and shot!
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
Three bullets were fired through the ceiling in a zigzag pattern.
Sawdust flying.
The next second.
"Boom--!!!"
The entire ceiling collapsed.
A black shadow wrapped around broken wood and dust hit the floor heavily.
Rumlow reacted extremely quickly, rolled to his side to avoid the falling point, raised his hand and fired three more shots.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
Three bullets hit the target at close range, and sparks flashed away in the darkness.
With the faint firelight, Rumlow could clearly see the intruder.
At that moment, he felt his blood coagulated and his breathing stagnated.
That person...
Wearing the same tactical vest as him.
He has the same hairstyle as him.
Even the shallow scar on his face is exactly the same.
That is himself.
"What the hell is this?!"
Rumlow was horrified.
The "Rumlow" stared at him and slowly stood up straight, tilting his head. There was a strange smoothness in his stiff movements, as if he was performing some kind of calibration.
It spoke.
"What the hell is this?!"
The exact same voice. Even the frightened tone was imitated perfectly.
"Who the hell are you?!"
Rumlow took a step back and replaced the armor-piercing ammunition clip.
The "Rumlow" did not answer, but just looked down at the bullet hole on his chest with a slight trace of blood oozing from it.
There was no expression of pain on his face, and he even stretched out his fingers to dig out the Negasonic Teenage Warhead inside.
"What... are you?!" Rumlow asked again, with panic in his tone.
That "Rumlow" raised his head, with the same mocking smile on his lips as Rumlow usually did.
"I'm your Pro Max."
The voice, intonation, and even that unique nasal sound are all exactly the same.
"Fuck!"
Rumlow stopped talking nonsense, raised his gun and fired continuously.
But he discovered a horrifying fact.
The first time, the opponent just took it hard.
The second time, the opponent began to make minor tactical evasions.
The third time...
When Rumlow attempted a tactical roll to reach the shotgun under the bed.
The clone made exactly the same move!
The other party is learning!
And it's faster and more accurate than him!
"Bang!"
A big foot kicked Rumlow hard on the chest, and the sound of bone cracking was heard.
"Ah--!!"
Rumlow screamed, and the shotgun slid out.
The clone picked up the shotgun and loaded it skillfully with one hand, just like Rumlow had practiced countless times in the mirror.
"Ahem..." Rumlow spat out a mouthful of blood and looked at the other party in shock.
This kind of power reminded him of Steve·Rogers!
However, the replicant was not in a hurry to hit the target.
He just stood there and made a fighting stance.
That posture...
Rumlow's pupils shrank suddenly.
That is the Krav Maga starting position that he is best at, with the center of gravity lowered, his left hand protecting his head, and his right hand pretending to probe.
"Come." The replicant raised his finger at him.