The day of the experiment.
Inside an underground laboratory disguised as an antique shop in Brooklyn.
Lynn followed Dr. Erskine into the sanctuary that would soon witness a miracle or destruction, accompanying Steve Rogers, who still looked frail despite his brand-new military uniform.
Above the laboratory.
Behind a thick bulletproof observation window stood a crowd of suited senators and officers with stars on their shoulders.
Like gamblers waiting for the betting to open, they watched the casino below with bated breath.
Lynn did not crowd in with them. He had chosen to be down below, on the scene.
He noticed that, besides the military police standing rigidly in plain sight with their eyes fixed ahead, something was amiss in the shadows.
A janitor had wiped the same corner three times.
His gaze kept drifting, seemingly by chance, over the equipment Howard Stark had brought.
A young aide standing behind a general held a more proper posture than the general himself.
Yet his eyes were fixed on the little blue vials below.
These people were not Hydra.
They lacked Hydra's hysterical madness and instead carried the iron resolve and obedience peculiar to soldiers.
Someone within the military had also set their sights on this juicy prize.
Interesting.
He was not the only one looking to fish in troubled waters.
The discovery did not make him back down. Instead, it made his nerves tingle with excitement.
The murkier the waters, the better for fishing.
All Lynn wanted was to get his hands on the one thing he desired in that moment of utmost chaos.
At the center of the laboratory.
Steve Rogers lay on the operating table.
His frail body formed an absurd contrast with the massive, complex machinery around him.
Dr. Erskine walked over and bent down, offering him a final word of advice like a loving father.
"Steve, no matter what happens, remember to stay true to yourself. Be a good man."
Steve nodded.
He was nervous, but there was not a trace of hesitation in his eyes.
"Energy infusion, begin!"
Howard Stark.
The ever-flamboyant genius wore a look of concentration. After shouting the command, he threw the switch.
"Hummm-!"
The lights throughout the laboratory dimmed for an instant as countless currents converged into a blinding beam of white light and surged toward the Vita-Rays Amplifier at the center.
"Aaaaah-!"
Steve's scream pierced everyone's eardrums.
The senators behind the observation window cried out in alarm.
"The energy's overloading! Stark! Stop!"
Peggy Carter shouted anxiously into the communicator.
"No! I... I can take it! Keep going!"
Inside the chamber, Steve's ragged roar was filled with determination.
"Trust him! Trust Steve!"
Dr. Erskine's eyes were full of madness and faith.
With both of them saying so, Howard had no choice.
He gritted his teeth and watched the red readings on the dashboard climb wildly. In the end, he chose to trust his companions and continued increasing the energy infusion.
The energy readings soared toward their peak.
Just as everyone's heart was in their throat, they abruptly dropped to zero.
The machine stopped roaring.
The chamber door slowly opened.
Amid billowing white vapor, a figure rose to his feet.
He was no longer the frail Brooklyn kid who could barely stand up to a breeze.
He was tall and strong, every inch of muscle seemingly a masterpiece carved by Michelangelo himself.
He stared at his hands in bewilderment, feeling the new power coursing endlessly through his body.
Steve Rogers had been transformed.
The next second, thunderous applause and cheers erupted from behind the observation window.
The generals' faces flushed red with excitement, while the senators saw the first glimmer of victory in the war.
Tears filled Dr. Erskine's eyes.
He opened his arms with a tremble and walked toward his "child," the greatest masterpiece of his life.
This was the most glorious moment.
"BOOM!!!"
The unexpected explosion sent everyone scrambling for cover.
Immediately afterward, a muffled "pfft" rang out.
Dr. Erskine, who was walking toward Steve, halted.
He lowered his head and saw it on his white coat.
A crimson flower of blood was rapidly blooming over the left breast pocket where he usually kept his notebook.
The joy on his face turned to bewilderment and incomprehension.
He raised his head and took one last look at the new, perfect Steve. Then his body went limp, and he fell backward.
Chaos erupted!
"Assassin!"
"Protect the senators!"
Screams, roars, and the metallic scrape of guards drawing their guns mixed together like a pot of boiling water.
Peggy Carter reacted fastest. She had already spotted the Hydra spy fleeing through the crowd after firing the shot, and she immediately gave chase.
Steve.
The man who had just gained godlike power was stunned by his creator's fall.
For a moment, he stood rooted to the spot.
Lynn sprang into action at once.
He was not the first to spot the assassin, but he was the first to rush toward Erskine!
"Doctor!"
His cry was piercing, filled with grief and disbelief.
His acting was good enough to win an Academy Award.
In everyone's eyes, the young reporter who had always respected the doctor was rushing recklessly toward Erskine, who had been both a mentor and a friend to him.
He threw himself down beside Erskine, both knees hitting the floor hard.
It was as if he meant to shield him with his own flesh and blood from a possible second shot.
"A doctor! Get a doctor, quickly!"
He held the doctor and roared himself hoarse, veins bulging on his neck.
A flawless performance.
Under cover of his body, Lynn's right hand darted out silently.
Without the slightest tremor, his fingers slipped into the blood-soaked inner pocket over Erskine's left breast.
His fingertips touched warm, hard leather.
This was it.
He did not waste a moment.
He gripped the notebook between his middle and index fingers and, using the slight movement of his body as he "adjusted his position," tensed the muscles in his arm.
The priceless notebook, containing the finest wisdom of humankind, slid silently out of the pocket.
It traveled along his forearm and disappeared noiselessly deep into his roomy sleeve.
When he raised his head.
His hand was covered in Erskine's blood, and his face showed only the frantic anguish of a man overcome with grief.
He gently shook the old man in his arms, who no longer showed any signs of life. His voice was hoarse with despair.
"Doctor? Doctor, wake up... look at him... look at your masterpiece..."
His performance fooled everyone.
The newly born Captain America watched the "father" who had created him die in someone else's arms, his eyes filled with nothing but confusion and anger.
Lynn knelt on the floor, cradling the cooling corpse.
The notebook that would determine humanity's future lay pressed tightly against the skin of his arm, carrying the lingering warmth of the dead and the fresh smell of blood.
Dr. Erskine was dead.
The legend of an era had come to an end.
But the spark he had left behind had not gone out.
One part was inside Steve Rogers.
And the other, most primordial spark was in Lynn's sleeve.
Lynn raised his head, his bloodshot eyes turning to the super soldier standing helplessly in place.
A hero had been born.
And he himself had stolen the manual for making heroes.