German-occupied territory.
A peaceful little town called Bella.
A few days ago, it had been an ordinary mark on Allied scouts' maps.
Now it had become synonymous with hell.
A roll of film scouts had risked their lives to bring back from the front, and a hysterical oral report, had silenced the entire Allied frontline command.
Colonel Phillips slammed several freshly developed black-and-white photographs onto the table.
The photographs were not very clear; some were even blurry.
But what they showed was enough to turn the stomach of every battle-hardened officer.
The town square was filled with "people."
They held all sorts of eerie, rigid poses.
Some stood in a circle, holding hands and smiling.
Others sat on benches, their heads twisted toward the sky at strange angles.
"At first, the scouts thought it was some kind of German camouflage. Then one of them accidentally knocked over a 'person.'"
"The thing fell to the ground, and its arm broke off. There was no blood, only some wood shavings and stuffing that spilled out of its sleeve."
"But the most terrifying thing was that the 'person' got back up on its own and reattached the broken arm."
"They... they're alive."
"According to intercepted Hydra internal communications, they call this town Puppet Town."
Another intelligence officer added, his face deathly pale.
"This weapon can utterly destroy a soldier's will. The town's residents, and a platoon from our missing 79th Infantry Regiment, I'm afraid they all..."
He could not go on.
He could not bear to imagine that his once-living comrades had become these horrifying "artworks," displayed in the square for people to look at.
"If we send conventional troops in, this kind of mental contamination will only drive them mad."
Phillips slammed his fist on the table, his eyes bloodshot.
"We need a monster... to deal with another monster."
The man who had smashed a Tiger tank into scrap came to everyone's mind.
Soldier Boy.
But the thought that the man had nearly twisted the colonel's head off yesterday left them all feeling helpless.
That "god" was furious now and would not listen to any orders.
"Sir."
An adjutant steeled himself and spoke.
"Mr. Lynn Morris's reply has arrived."
As though grasping a lifeline, Phillips snatched the telegram.
Lynn swirled the whiskey in his glass as he looked out at the bustling city at night.
His secretary respectfully placed the detailed report Phillips had sent about "Puppet Town" before him.
Lynn skimmed the chilling descriptions at a glance, his expression unchanged.
Professor Pyg.
The virus-covered scalpel he had casually tossed into Hydra's camp had finally completed his proudest "work."
Good.
Very good.
The value of an artwork often depended on how it was displayed and the backdrop that set it off.
And Professor Pyg's horrors were the perfect backdrop to raise the value of another artwork.
He picked up a pen, wrote a line on a note, and handed it to his secretary.
"Reply to Colonel Phillips. Tell him to read these words to our god of war, without changing a single one."
Soldier Boy's temporary quarters.
They had originally belonged to a German major general, but now he had claimed them all for himself.
Two blondes sent from the rear were trembling as they massaged his shoulders, hardly daring to breathe.
Soldier Boy had his eyes closed. The nameless anger Captain America had ignited in his chest had yet to subside.
He felt like a lion locked in a cage.
In the cage next door, a monkey was winning everyone's applause for doing somersaults.
It was an unbearable humiliation.
"Get out."
He spoke coldly.
As if granted a pardon, the two women scrambled out.
Just then, the door to the quarters opened and Colonel Phillips walked in.
"If you're here to tell me how many more war bonds that tights-wearing pansy sold, I'll shove your head up your ass right now."
Soldier Boy's voice was full of undisguised menace.
Phillips recalled what Lynn had instructed him to say in the telegram.
That reporter could see into the heart of the monster before him from across the Atlantic Ocean.
"Lynn asked me to pass something on to you."
Phillips deliberately slowed his speech, making sure every word reached Soldier Boy's ears clearly.
At the name "Lynn," Soldier Boy's eyelids twitched, and he regarded Phillips with a scrutinizing look.
"He said, 'Captain America?'"
Phillips imitated Lynn's slightly contemptuous tone.
"'He's just an idol the people back home need, a mascot whose job is to look good. He exists to make housewives and factory workers willingly part with their money.'"
"'The real hard fights, the ones truly worthy of your "epic oil painting," have never been in the spotlight.'"
Phillips's voice grew grave.
He laid the photographs of "Puppet Town" on the table before Soldier Boy, one by one.
"Hydra has created real 'demons' in a small town in northern France."
Soldier Boy's gaze fell on the eerie photographs.
He saw the stiff "puppets" with their eerie smiles.
"What the hell are these things?"
He frowned.
"Artworks."
Phillips's voice trembled, both from fear and because he was following the lines in Lynn's script.
"A Hydra madman who calls himself Professor Pyg turned our people into his collectibles."
"Conventional troops are no use anymore. Their minds would completely collapse the first second they set foot in the town."
Phillips raised his head, looked Soldier Boy straight in the eye, and delivered the final and most crucial line.
"Lynn says the whole world is watching."
"Watching to see who is the 'god' capable of ending this nightmare."
"The idol performing onstage, or you... the one who can truly trample demons underfoot."
His voice fell silent.
A long silence settled over the quarters.
Soldier Boy said nothing.
He simply reached out and picked up a photograph.
The rage in his chest, which had had nowhere to go, had found the perfect outlet.
Vanity, anger, the humiliation of being slighted...
All his negative emotions turned into a dark excitement.
An idol?
A mascot?
No.
He was the god.
A true god needed the awe of his followers and... offerings worthy of being sacrificed on his altar.
These things before him, these so-called "demons," these damned "artworks," were the perfect offerings!
"Heh..."
A low chuckle of uncertain meaning came from Soldier Boy's throat.
He stood and picked up the shield in the corner, battered by countless blows yet still gleaming like new.
"Tell Lynn."
Soldier Boy turned around, a cruel, fanatical smile on his face.
"I'll paint this picture myself."
"Have your people get their cameras ready."
The next second, he smashed through the wall of the quarters and disappeared into the deep night.
He left behind only Colonel Phillips, who had survived the ordeal, and a room full of rubble.
A ferocious beast whose desire to kill had been fully awakened was racing toward that hellish town.