At Dr. Erskine's funeral, everyone from S.H.I.E.L.D. came to pay their respects.
Alan solemnly presented an envelope of money to Mrs. Erskine, then asked, "When will the dinner begin?"
"…"
The old lady was utterly bewildered.
Wilson stepped in to explain. "Alan, there is no custom of having a banquet at a Western funeral."
"If you don't want to eat, then why should I give you a free meal ticket?" Alan promptly took back the envelope, handed it to Wilson, and said, "Here, I'll give you the money back."
The act of snatching back the condolence money made the scene profoundly embarrassing. Originally, Mrs. Erskine had been so grief-stricken that she had almost fainted. Now, she was simply stunned. Alan, meanwhile, declared that a funeral without a banquet was completely soulless.
While making jokes at S.H.I.E.L.D. every day, Alan had not forgotten his real job. A career as a triple agent, naturally.
Drop…drop…drop…drop…
The contents of the first telegram were as follows:
'Dear Boss, your most devoted and down-on-his-luck fighter offers his highest regards. I have successfully infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D. The food standards here are very high. Moreover, everyone here is a talented person and speaks very nicely. It feels like home. Of course, as a fighter for our glorious cause, I always keep my mission in mind and will never let the sugar-coated bullets of capitalism corrode my firm heart. So far, they have not used ten blonde, blue-eyed, long-legged, G-cup beauties wearing lace suspenders and white stockings to seduce me. It seems I have gained initial trust. No more small talk. I want to report an important piece of information. S.H.I.E.L.D. is secretly carrying out a project that can control the world, but unfortunately, I am unable to enter the core. Please rest assured, I have found a breakthrough and need approval for some funds for the operation. Your devoted warrior, Alan.'
Karpov, far away in the Soviet Union, read the contents of the telegram. He felt a sense of relief; at least Alan was helping the cause. "What an amazing person. He can actually gain a foothold in S.H.I.E.L.D." Karpov was very curious. He picked up the landline and gave orders to his agents in America, deciding to approve one hundred thousand dollars in operational funds. For the KGB, paying that much for an informant who could provide a steady stream of intelligence was a good deal.
Drop…drop…drop…drop…
The second telegram read:
'Great Hydra Leader, the Iron Curtain pays you the highest respect. After going through many hardships, I have successfully infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D., but I dare not slack off on the organization's mission for a moment. Through contact with Howard Stark, I have obtained information about a super-metal called Adamantium that is being researched. Please rest assured that I will be able to obtain the alloy formula. At the same time, there is a problem: there are not enough funds to carry out my espionage work. Please, Chief, approve some start-up funds. Note: No pounds, only US dollars. Iron Curtain, Alan.'
Schmidt read the telegram and smiled with satisfaction. "He really is a guy who creates surprises. He has already infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D."
"An inadvertent decision that solves a troubling problem. He is the first step for Hydra to infiltrate S.H.I.E.L.D.," Dr. Zola said with a smile.
"I have to admit, S.H.I.E.L.D. has a lot of good stuff. Adamantium is definitely not inferior to the super-serum," Schmidt ordered. "Tell someone to give him one hundred thousand dollars."
Within three days, two sums of cash were delivered to Alan. In his private apartment, two boxes filled with money were placed on the bed.
"Are they so naive that they believe what a psychopath says?" Alan mused. "I feel a little embarrassed for them." He didn't care about the money at all. He had just made up some content and sent the telegrams with the philosophy that you can believe it or not, but I believe it anyway. It was just a way to kill time.
That night, Alan put on a blindfold with two holes cut in it, tied a sheet around his neck, and went out invisibly.
An Eastern country was in danger of invasion by a neighboring country. Local groups had spontaneously formed a chamber of commerce to raise funds to save the country indirectly.
Bang!
The window glass shattered, and a figure appeared in front of a group of merchants in long gowns.
"Who are you?" Everyone drew their weapons and looked at the strange intruder, on full alert. Naturally, their actions had led to assassination attempts by spies from the neighboring country, so they paid special attention to their personal safety.
"Please answer, Prince."
Everyone looked at each other, considering whether to shoot him on the spot.
Alan put the two suitcases on the table and opened them, then explained his intention. "I'm donating two hundred thousand dollars."
"It turns out he is a patriot. Everyone put away your weapons." The president hurriedly asked everyone to count the cash. Since he had come to donate money, he was family and had to be treated with courtesy.
"Sir, although we have the ambition to save our country, we cannot accept ill-gotten gains." The president looked at the large amount of cash and was worried it might have come from illegal sources and would cause unnecessary trouble.
"If you want to rob it, then rob it. I don't care." Alan grinned and said frankly, "I cheated it from the Soviet Union and the Axis Powers. Are you surprised? Are you shocked?"
"…" Why don't you just say it was the President of the United States who approved it for you?
"Sir, the source is unknown. We cannot accept it," the president said firmly.
"If you don't believe me when I tell you the truth, I'll make up a reason." Alan stroked his chin and said after a long while, "I got it. I earned it by trampling on souls."
Could it be any more fake? If trampling on souls could bring in so much money, I guess everyone would line up to trample on them together.
"If you don't believe me, then please burn it for me to the King of Hell, and write on the banknotes that everyone will be reborn in Hell Mode." After saying that, Alan prepared to go home and sleep.
"May I ask your name, Excellency?" The president saw his intention and decided to accept it for the time being. If there were no problems, he would exchange it for material aid to the country.
"I, Bruce Hearn, never leave my name behind when I do good deeds."
Bang!
Alan kicked another window and tried to jump out to escape.
"Wait a moment, Mr. Hearn." The president looked at the two broken windows and said helplessly, "Can you come through the main entrance next time?"
"That won't do," Alan refused without hesitation. "Justice and soul can be thrown away, but style cannot be lost."
With a leap, Alan disappeared into the night sky.
***
(End of Chapter)
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