The seriously injured Steve was taken back to S.H.I.E.L.D. for treatment. During the initial serum test, doctors and nurses had been arranged to be on standby throughout the process. After cutting off his upper body clothing, three bloody holes from gunshot wounds were clearly visible.
"Tweezers."
The doctor took the medical tools handed over by the nurse and paused as he looked at the wound. The bullet hole was wriggling slowly, and soon a bullet was squeezed out. It was as if his body were having an immune response, the muscles expelling the foreign object bit by bit.
"What's going on?" The doctor didn't dare to operate casually, mainly because Steve's current identity was different. He was the only successful case of the serum so far. He told the nurse, "Please ask the people from S.H.I.E.L.D. to come over."
It didn't take long. In the operating room, everyone from S.H.I.E.L.D. arrived.
"What happened?" Carter asked worriedly. "Is Steve hopeless?"
Colonel Phillips waited grimly for the doctor's response. What had happened today was an unprecedented blow to S.H.I.E.L.D. Not only had Dr. Erskine died, but their only super-soldier had also died, which was tantamount to announcing that the research results of hundreds of millions of dollars invested over the years had gone to waste. In today's era, hundreds of millions of dollars were enough to arm an entire army division.
"No, he's fine." The doctor looked at Steve lying on the hospital bed and didn't know how to explain for a moment. While they were waiting, the wound had stopped bleeding and had formed a scab. According to his years of medical experience, a wound that could fit a finger would take at least two or three days to be covered with granulation tissue and scab, and the patient would be unable to get out of bed for ten days to half a month. But in Steve's current condition, he would probably be healed in a day.
"Thanks to you, doctor," Carter breathed a sigh of relief.
"I didn't do anything. He recovered on his own," the doctor said embarrassedly.
Self-healing? Wasn't that a bit of an exaggeration? If an ordinary person were shot three times, their entire village would be preparing for a funeral feast.
As the doctor lifted the gauze, the black, scabbed wound appeared in front of everyone.
"What are the results of the serum?" Colonel Phillips couldn't believe it. On the battlefield, being shot in the torso was basically a fatal injury. If all soldiers were serum soldiers, they would only need to wear a bulletproof helmet and charge forward.
"Impossible." Howard shook his head. "I've seen the serum data. It can improve physical fitness several times over. The healing ability is more than just several times, it's dozens of times. There must have been some kind of mutation." If the serum really had such a high healing ability, it would be priced at millions of dollars per dose, and capitalists would be willing to spend that money to buy it.
Wilson, who had come with them, couldn't help but look at Alan and ask tentatively, "Did you do it?"
"Wilson, the atmosphere isn't even right yet and you're already exposing me," Alan fumed. "It makes me look like a cheap back-alley hardware and software engineer."
"What did you do?" Colonel Phillips asked in shock. Originally, everyone thought Alan was a psychopath who just lived a lazy life, and no one had paid any attention to him. But now, he had actually created a surprise. It was a pleasant surprise to be able to take over the serum research and fill Dr. Erskine's vacancy.
"I didn't do anything. I just added a little bit of my own stuff." Alan said shyly, "Just a little bit of my… essence." It was a double entendre, but no one would imagine it as what it really was.
"This is terrible. If the serum falls into the hands of the Axis powers, they could crack the formula and create super-soldiers on a large scale," Howard said worriedly. Millions of super-soldiers who were immune to trauma would be a disaster for the Allies. Imagine several soldiers jumping onto a tank and dismantling the turret with their bare hands, or charging into enemy positions like a tide. This would no longer be a war, but an unequal massacre.
Alan picked his nose and said indifferently, "They can't research the same serum. I already processed the serum. There are eight types, A and B, which need to be injected together. One type alone has side effects, and it can't be copied. I won't say what I added." In fact, what Alan was referring to was urine, and the Dionysus factor was no secret. It could definitely be detected through samples, but it was very troublesome to find. The ordinary, impure Dionysus factors were all in the hands of the League of Assassins, and they were not willing to give them up. The pure Dionysus factor was in Gotham, and at this point in time, only Alan knew the secret.
"You're doing great. I hope you keep it up." At this moment, Colonel Phillips had recognized Alan's value. A little eccentric behavior was not a problem. The key was to value real talent and knowledge.
"Boss, give me three times the salary and I'll give you some good ideas."
"Are you short of money?" Colonel Phillips was puzzled by Alan's request. This guy didn't spend any money on food, clothing, or accommodation at S.H.I.E.L.D., and he didn't seem to spend any money outside. It was intriguing that he needed so much money.
"If you don't triple my salary, my ex and my current girlfriend will go on strike." Alan raised his hands to explain and couldn't help but say shyly, "Mainly, I want to buy them lace gloves to enhance their relationship and add some fun."
"…" Could your reason be a little more ridiculous?
"No problem, I'll arrange it for you." Colonel Phillips agreed immediately. With research funding of millions of dollars, tripling his salary was a trivial matter.
"Old Howard, I have money now. I want to buy your shares in Stark Industries." Alan looked proud as he looked at Howard. "You name a number. We are very arrogant now."
"What Stark Industries?" Howard was confused. He was just a worker. He couldn't even afford to open a factory, let alone an industry.
This time, it was Alan's turn to be confused. He immediately said with disdain, "Howard, you snake! I was trying to get close to you before, but now you are a poor bastard." It was really hurtful to be so direct in his disdain for the poor and love for the rich.
In less than a quarter of an hour, Colonel Phillips and Howard led everyone away to prepare for Dr. Erskine's funeral.
Carter remained by Steve's bedside. She touched the scab on his abdomen. With just a light touch, the scab fell off, revealing new, white, and tender skin. Her hand unconsciously wandered over the clear texture of his abdominal muscles. Her breathing seemed slightly rapid.
"Have you touched enough?"
"You didn't leave?" Carter looked at Alan, who was squatting in the corner. At first, she thought everyone had left.
Alan said solemnly, "I will not agree to your marriage with Big Chest. Please don't have any unreasonable thoughts."
"…" Carter laughed angrily and said calmly, "What qualifications do you have to interfere with Steve's feelings?"
"He is my masterpiece. As a new father, I naturally have to consider the eldest son." Alan glanced up and down at her and commented, "In addition to your good looks, good figure, good temperament, high knowledge, and integrity, you also have a decent job, a good income, and a wealthy family. You have nothing else to lose. I will never let my eldest son suffer because of you."
"…"
***
(End of Chapter)
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