Zola, standing beside the operating table, had Steve by the throat. Steve could only struggle desperately, but that mechanical arm was too strong, like an inescapable serpent of destiny, winding around and binding ideals and dreams.
"Give up, Steve!"
Zola's drill drew closer. The needle aimed at his heart carried an icy chill. Captain America screamed in agony as pain tore through his chest, unable even to resist.
But the Captain would not surrender. He shouted furiously at his opponent, "I can do this all day! As long as even one person still has hope in me, I will never give up!"
"Who? Who else still has hope in you?"
Under the surgical lamp, Zola looked like nothing more than a blurry black shadow. His voice was shrill and urgent, as though he were seeking an answer.
Like the scenes people saw flash before their eyes before death, countless memories flooded into Steve's mind. Not only that, but he felt strength returning to his powerless limbs.
A glowing figure appeared at the laboratory door. It was that person, his face still bearing that kindly smile.
That's right, it was him!
"Godfather!"
Steve cried out and woke from the nightmare at the same time. But before him was not the dead spirit from his memories, but the back of someone wearing black-and-yellow armor.
It was a small bedroom, cluttered with miscellaneous items and furniture besides the bed. Under the bright white lights, the figure stood with his back to Steve, busying himself at a table.
His hands and feet were not restrained, and his star-spangled shield leaned beside the bed. Steve breathed a sigh of relief, sat up, and rubbed his face. He clearly remembered Deathstroke saving him, so why had the Godfather's shadow appeared in his dream?
"Don't call me