[June 1940 - Sterling Enterprises Executive Floor]
The map of Norway spread across Alexander's desk like a promise of violence, red pins marking German positions with the precision of a surgeon planning where to cut. Vincent "Vinnie" Russo sat across from him, studying the terrain with eyes that had planned a hundred bootlegging runs through federal blockades.
"Tønsberg," Alexander tapped the coastal town. "Small church, built over older foundations. What you're looking for is in the wall behind the altar."
"In the wall?" Vinnie's Brooklyn accent made the words sound like a complaint. "What am I, a goddamn archaeologist?"
"For what I'm paying you? You're whatever I need you to be." Alexander slid a photograph across—an ornate carving of Yggdrasil, the World Tree. "Look for this symbol. The wall behind it is hollow. Inside, you'll find a wooden box containing something that looks like a cube made of blue ice."
"Looks like?"
"Don't touch it directly. Don't look at it too long. Don't even breathe on it wrong." Alexander's voice carried an edge that made Vinnie straighten. "This isn't bootleg whiskey, Vinnie. This is a power source that makes the atom look like a firecracker."
"And it's just sitting in some Norwegian church?"
"Hidden by people who understood that some things are too dangerous to use." Alexander pulled out another folder—forged papers, Norwegian resistance contacts, extraction routes. "The Germans don't know it's there. Yet. But Schmidt's people are sniffing around sites like this all over Europe."
"Schmidt." Vinnie tested the name. "The crazy Kraut you're always worrying about?"
"The crazy Kraut who's trying to build an army of super soldiers. The last thing he needs is unlimited power to fuel his experiments." Alexander stood, moving to the window. Europe was crumbling, each headline another country falling. Time was a luxury they couldn't afford. "Six men. Your best. In and out, no traces, no witnesses who matter."
"Define 'matter.'"
"Anyone who'll be missed by morning. Norway's occupied, Vinnie. The locals hate the Germans more than they'll hate you."
Vinnie gathered the materials with hands that had once counted Al Capone's money. "Equipment?"
"Being loaded as we speak. Including some toys from our special projects division." Alexander smiled coldly. "Vibranium-enhanced body armor. Should stop anything short of artillery."
"Should?"
"Would you prefer 'might'? Or we could go with 'hopefully.'"
"I prefer 'will definitely,' but I'll take what I can get." Vinnie stood. "When?"
"Tonight. Ship leaves at midnight. You'll hit Tønsberg in four days."
"Jesus, Alex. Little notice?"
"Schmidt's accelerating his timeline. That means we accelerate ours." Alexander returned to his desk. "Oh, and Vinnie? If HYDRA shows up—"
"HYDRA?"
"Schmidt's special projects division. Black uniforms, death's head insignia, tendency to shout about racial superiority before shooting."
"Charming."
"If they show up, you run. No heroics. The package is more important than pride."
Vinnie nodded, understanding. In their world, survival always trumped ego. "What about payment?"
"Hundred grand on completion. Plus medical for anyone who gets hurt. Funeral expenses if things go really wrong."
"Generous."
"I pay for results, not efforts." Alexander's smile had teeth. "Don't let the Nazis throw you a parade, Vinnie."
"Wouldn't dream of it. Parades are for people who want to get shot." Vinnie headed for the door, then paused. "This cube thing. What happens if Schmidt gets it?"
Alexander thought of the Red Skull wielding Tesseract-powered weapons, of HYDRA growing beyond even the Reich's control, of a timeline spiraling into chaos. "Then my foresight becomes worthless, and we all learn Norwegian the hard way."
"Right. No pressure."
After Vinnie left, Alexander stared at the map. In the original timeline, Schmidt found the Tesseract himself. But that was a luxury Alexander couldn't afford. Not with the accelerated pace, not with the variables already changing.
Sorry, Schmidt, he thought. But I'm stealing your biggest toy before you even know it exists.
The intercom buzzed. "Dr. Sterling? They're ready for you in Lab Seven."
Time for the next gamble. Human trials.
Because grave robbing in Norway isn't enough excitement for one day.
[Lab Seven - Sterling Enterprises Medical Division]
The volunteer looked like he'd stepped out of a recruiting poster—tall, strong, with the kind of jaw that sold war bonds. Private First Class Clinton McIntyre had volunteered with the enthusiasm of someone who thought dying for science was better than dying in a trench.
"You understand the risks?" Alexander asked for the third time, watching Erskine prepare the serum with hands that shook slightly. The good doctor's conscience was eating him alive, one trial at a time.
"Sir, yes sir!" McIntyre's voice bounced off the reinforced walls. "Ready to serve my country!"
You're ready to serve my timeline, Alexander thought but didn't say. "This will hurt. Possibly kill you. Definitely change you if it works."
"Better than what the Krauts got planned for us, right?"
"That remains to be seen." Alexander nodded to Howard, who was making final adjustments to the Vita-Ray chamber. The thing looked like a metal coffin fucked a telephone booth and produced something that belonged in a Frankenstein movie.
"Calibrations are... close enough," Howard announced, which wasn't exactly reassuring. "The vibranium resonance should stabilize at sixty percent power."
"Should," Erskine muttered. "Such confidence-inspiring language."
"Would you prefer 'hopefully'?" Alexander asked. "Or we could go with 'theoretically.'"
"I would prefer more time!"
"Time's the one thing we don't have." Alexander checked the monitoring equipment. Peggy Carter stood in the observation room, watching with the intensity of someone memorizing every detail for a report that would damn them all. "Proceed."
They strapped McIntyre into the chamber, needles sliding into position like metallic prayers. The serum was a brilliant blue, almost luminescent, like liquid potential waiting to be unleashed.
"Beginning injection," Erskine announced. His hand hesitated over the switch. "Clinton, if you feel—"
"Doc, just do it. Talking ain't gonna make it easier."
Erskine pushed the plunger. McIntyre's eyes widened as the serum hit his bloodstream, cold fire racing through his veins.
"Vita-Rays charging," Howard called out. "Sixty percent in three... two... one..."
The chamber flooded with light that made the air taste like copper and ozone. McIntyre's scream started human and ended... elsewhere.
"Vitals spiking!" A technician's voice cracked. "Heart rate two hundred and climbing!"
"Cellular cohesion?" Alexander kept his voice level.
"Holding... no, wait—" Erskine's face went pale. "Cascade failure in the liver! Kidneys showing stress fractures at the cellular level!"
"Shut it down," Alexander ordered.
"But—"
"Now!"
Howard killed the power. The chamber opened with a hiss of steam and regret. McIntyre sprawled out, muscles bulging in ways that suggested his skeleton hadn't gotten the enhancement memo. His eyes rolled back, showing whites shot through with burst blood vessels.
"Get him to medical!" Alexander barked. "Full life support!"
They wheeled McIntyre out on a gurney that groaned under his new mass. He'd gained fifty pounds of muscle in two minutes. His body had burned through itself trying to maintain it.
Time of enhancement: two minutes, seventeen seconds. Time until organ failure: two minutes, eighteen seconds.
"Progress," Alexander said into the silence that followed.
"Progress?" Erskine rounded on him. "That man is dying!"
"That man lasted longer than any previous subject. His enhancement held for over two minutes. We're learning."
"Learning? We're killing them!"
"We're killing them with purpose instead of letting them die pointlessly in trenches." Alexander faced the furious scientist. "Every failure teaches us something. McIntyre's sacrifice—"
"Sacrifice implies nobility. This is slaughter!"
"This is war!" Alexander's voice cracked like a whip. "And in war, people die. The only question is whether their deaths mean something. McIntyre just gave us data that might save a thousand lives. Maybe a million. Would you rather he died taking a beach for a few yards of sand?"
Erskine looked away. In the observation room, Peggy was writing notes with mechanical precision.
"We need to stabilize the metabolic cascade," Howard said quietly, trying to defuse the tension. "Maybe if we—"
"Already on it," Alexander cut him off, mind racing through calculations. "The serum enhances everything, including the body's energy consumption. We need subjects with slower base metabolisms. More efficient systems."
"Or," a new voice suggested, "you could try enhancing someone whose body is already used to stress."
They turned to find a young Black soldier standing in the doorway, eyes steady despite what he'd just witnessed. Isaiah Bradley, Alexander recognized. Right on schedule.
"Private Bradley," the duty sergeant stammered. "You're not authorized—"
"I volunteer," Isaiah said simply. "Saw what happened to McIntyre. Still volunteer."
"You saw a man die horribly and you volunteer?" Erskine asked.
"I saw a man get strong enough to tear through steel before his body gave out," Isaiah corrected. "Back home, I seen plenty of folks die for nothing. At least this is for something."
Alexander studied him. In the original timeline, Isaiah had been experimented on without consent, turned into a weapon and then abandoned by his country. This was different. This was choice.
"You understand the risks?"
"Sir, I understand that if this war goes bad, being Black in a world run by Nazis ain't gonna be no picnic." Isaiah's jaw set. "I'll take my chances with your science."
"Doctor?" Alexander turned to Erskine.
The German scientist looked between them, conscience warring with pragmatism. "We would need to adjust the formula. Run more simulations..."
"How long?"
"A week. Perhaps two."
"You have three days." Alexander turned back to Isaiah. "Report for preliminary testing tomorrow. Full physical workup, psychological evaluation, the works. If you're going to die for science, we're going to make damn sure we learn everything possible from it."
"Yes, sir." Isaiah saluted and left.
Howard lit another cigarette with shaking hands. "You know Phillips is going to push for more volunteers. Lots more."
"Phillips can push all he wants. We control the pace." Alexander gathered the data from McIntyre's trial. "One subject at a time until we get it right."
"And if we don't get it right?" Erskine asked.
"Then we'll have the best-documented failures in scientific history." Alexander headed for the door. "Keep working on the metabolic stabilizers. I want options by tomorrow."
He found Peggy waiting in the hallway, her expression unreadable.
"Agent Carter. Enjoying the show?"
"A man just died in your laboratory."
"A soldier volunteered for an experimental procedure with full knowledge of the risks." Alexander kept walking, forcing her to match his pace. "Would you prefer we test on prisoners like Schmidt?"
"I'd prefer you show some remorse."
"Remorse is a luxury I can't afford. Not with Schmidt breathing down our necks." He stopped at the elevator. "McIntyre knew what he was signing up for. So does Bradley. So will every volunteer who follows. That's the difference between us and HYDRA."
"The only difference?"
"The only one that matters." The elevator arrived. "Going up?"
She stepped in beside him, studying his profile.
The elevator rose smoothly. "Speaking of which, how's your investigation going? Found all my dark secrets yet?"
"Working on it."
"Let me know if you need help. I'm very good at finding things that don't want to be found."
"I'll keep that in mind."
They rode in silence to the executive floor. As the doors opened, Alexander's secretary rushed forward.
"Dr. Sterling! Urgent message from Mr. Russo's team."
Alexander took the encrypted telegram, scanning quickly. A single line in code: "Package secured."
The Tesseract is mine.
"Good news?" Peggy asked, watching his reaction.
"The best kind. The kind that arrives on schedule." He pocketed the message. "If you'll excuse me, Agent Carter, I have a delivery to arrange."
[Four Days Later - Secure Warehouse, Brooklyn Docks]
The crate sat in the center of the empty warehouse like a promise wrapped in lead and prayers. Vinnie looked like he'd aged five years in four days, his suit torn and stained with what might have been blood or motor oil.
"Lost two men," he reported without preamble. "Germans were thicker than expected. And there was a HYDRA patrol. We avoided them, but barely."
"The families will be taken care of," Alexander assured him. "Full benefits, plus extra for the sacrifice."
"Already handled. The boys knew the risks." Vinnie gestured at the crate. "Your magic cube is in there. Damn thing hummed the whole way back. Like it was alive."
"Not alive. Just alien to everything we understand about physics." Alexander approached the crate carefully. Even through lead shielding and vibranium reinforcement, he could feel it—power that predated human civilization, waiting to be used or abused.
"What now?" Vinnie asked.
"Now you take your money and take a vacation. Somewhere warm. Somewhere the Germans can't reach."
"What about you?"
"I'm going to lock this away where Schmidt will never find it." Alexander smiled coldly. "Let him dig in every church and castle in Europe. The prize is already mine."
Vinnie left with his payment and the haunted look of a man who'd touched something beyond his understanding. Alexander remained with the Tesseract, calculating. In the original timeline, Schmidt used it to power weapons that could vaporize men. In this timeline...
In this timeline, I control when and how it's used.
The smart play was to lock it away forever. The smarter play was to study it carefully, understand it, prepare for when others like it appeared. Because they would appear. The universe had a way of escalating.
"Sir?" One of his security team approached. "Transport's ready."
"Good. Maximum security to Site Seven. No documentation. No witnesses. This never happened."
"Understood."
As they loaded the crate, Alexander thought about power. Not the kind measured in watts or weapons, but the kind that bent reality to your will. The Tesseract was power incarnate. In the wrong hands, it was doomsday. In the right hands...
There are no right hands. Only careful ones.
[Sterling Enterprises - Executive Floor, Late Evening]
Alexander had just finished securing the Tesseract's documentation—burning some, encrypting others, ensuring no trail led back to Norway—when Phillips arrived. The Colonel looked like he'd been chewing nails and washing them down with battery acid.
"We need to talk," Phillips announced, closing the door with unnecessary force.
"Colonel. How refreshing. Do come in. Make yourself comfortable. Can I offer you some coffee? Or perhaps some manners?"
"Cut the smart mouth, Sterling. We've got a problem."
"We've got several. You'll need to be more specific."
Phillips pulled out a report. "Intelligence from Berlin. Schmidt's program just produced a survivor. Killed twelve guards before they put him down, but he survived the enhancement for over an hour."
Alexander's mind raced. Even with the timeline changes, Schmidt was adapting. "Serum?"
"Unknown. But our sources say he's using some kind of occult artifacts. Ancient symbols, ritual components. Mixing science with mysticism."
Of course he is. Because regular mad science wasn't enough.
"Then we need to accelerate," Alexander said. "Bradley's trials—"
"That's what I want to talk about." Phillips leaned forward. "Your volunteer program is too slow. One subject every few days? We need mass production."
"Mass production of corpses isn't helpful, Colonel."
"Then stop being so careful. We have volunteers. Use them."
"You mean use them up." Alexander's voice hardened. "Throw bodies at the problem until something sticks?"
"I mean do whatever it takes to beat Schmidt." Phillips stood. "The brass is breathing down my neck. They want results. I don't care how you get them."
"You don't care. How refreshing. And when the press finds out we're killing soldiers in experiments? When the history books paint us as monsters?"
"History is written by the winners. You want to worry about your reputation or you want to win this war?"
Alexander was quiet for a moment, feeling the weight of the choice. In his first life, he'd read about programs like this. Tuskegee. Unit 731. The ends justifying any means. Now he stood at the same crossroads.
"I'll accelerate the timeline," he said finally. "But we do it my way. Full disclosure to volunteers. Medical support for failures. No conscripts, no prisoners, no one who doesn't choose this."
"Fine. But I want results within the month. Or I'll find someone who's less concerned with ethics."
"Good luck with that. Erskine won't work for anyone else, and Howard's too drunk to notice a change in management." Alexander moved to the door, opening it pointedly. "Now if you'll excuse me, Colonel, I have soldiers to enhance and a conscience to ignore."
Phillips left with a grunt that might have been approval or disdain. Alexander closed the door and leaned against it, suddenly exhausted.
How far will I bend to win this war?
The answer, he knew, was as far as necessary. But not one inch further. The line between pragmatism and evil was thin enough already. Cross it, and he'd be no better than Schmidt.
Although, a dark voice whispered, at least he'd be a living monster rather than a noble corpse.
"Sir?" His secretary's voice through the intercom. "Dr. Erskine is requesting your presence in Lab Seven. He says it's urgent."
"On my way."
Alexander straightened his tie, put on his mask of confidence, and headed back to the lab. Whatever Erskine had found, it would be another step forward or another body to bury. In this game, those were often the same thing.
The Tesseract hummed in its hidden vault three floors below, power waiting to be unleashed. Schmidt raged in Berlin, unaware his prize was already lost. And somewhere in Brooklyn, Steve Rogers was probably getting into another fight he couldn't win.
Soon, Alexander thought. Soon all the pieces will be in place. Then we'll see who history remembers as the monster.