Diana woke up slowly, and the first thing she saw was a man wearing a black helmet. Subconsciously, her hand went to the Sword of Vulcan at her side, ready for a fight.
"Your Highness, it is I, your consort."
Alan lifted his mask, revealing a smile that he clearly thought was devastatingly handsome but was, in fact, incredibly vulgar.
"It's you." Diana closed her eyes and let out a long, weary breath.
"Hey, hey, hey! Why do you look so disappointed? Am I not handsome enough?" Alan said indignantly.
"Mm," Diana responded softly, a non-answer that was an answer in itself.
"Ugh… my heart is shattered into a million pieces." Alan clutched his chest dramatically with one hand, while the other dug into his armpit. "Fine! I'll just have to put on some makeup and make myself even more handsome for you."
Diana watched quietly as Alan took out a pen and began to draw on his own face. After a moment, he put the pen away, stuffing it back under his armpit.
"There. Handsome." Alan frowned slightly, cast a straight look at her, pretending to be profound, then pointed to his face and explained, "Charming… forceful… stylish… deadly."
Suddenly, Diana felt her world tilt on its axis. He had really written the word "charming" all over his own face.
"Why was I unconscious?" she asked, her gaze sharp, already guessing it was related to him.
"You were poisoned, and I was the one who cured you," Alan said, his eyes darting away, his tone a little twisted.
"You poisoned me?"
"It was an accident." Faced with Diana's cold eyes, Alan remained remarkably calm.
"Why does my throat feel… sticky?" Diana rubbed her neck, trying to soothe the strange sensation.
"Maybe you drank some seawater. It's too salty, probably causing some excess saliva."
"Really?"
"Really." Alan tilted his head toward the sky, not daring to meet her gaze. He couldn't possibly tell her the truth: that he had cured her with a mouthful of his own saliva. After taking the antidote, antibodies are secreted in the body within a short period, so his saliva had a temporary detoxifying effect.
"Your Highness, did you run away from home because of me? I'm so touched," Alan said, shyly changing the subject.
"You think too much," Diana couldn't help but roll her eyes. "I want to defeat Ares and reclaim my glory."
"For a cell phone?"
"…"
In the two months Alan had been away, the war had taken a sharp turn. The Allied forces had initially crushed the enemy, but the Nazi army had launched a devastating counterattack. Not only were they equipped with epoch-making laser weapons, but their will to fight was extremely tenacious, causing them to erase all the gains the Allies had previously made. Now, the war had devolved into a brutal tug-of-war, with each war zone becoming a meat grinder as both sides constantly deployed troops to fight for important strategic locations.
As soon as Alan landed in Europe, he immediately found a military contact point. He boarded a military plane and headed straight for the battlefield where Steve was. After all, Alan's identity was extraordinary, and he was affiliated with S.H.I.E.L.D., so someone was quickly arranged to pick him up.
During this period, a very unfortunate incident had occurred. Bucky had died during a mission, and his body was never found.
"It seems he couldn't escape the fate of becoming the Winter Soldier after all." Alan realized that the timeline had a correction function; a pre-established destiny would eventually become what it was meant to be, no matter how much one interfered.
When he arrived at the camp, he saw many new faces in the commando team. It seemed that S.H.I.E.L.D. had discovered the value of mutants and had been recruiting talents from all over the world to form teams for special tasks.
"Hey, Captain." Alan glanced at Steve, who was sitting on the steps, lost in thought with a sad look on his face.
Hearing the familiar voice, Steve came back to his senses and looked at Alan, who was now clad in his strange armor. "Welcome back." There was no joy on Steve's face; he was still shrouded in the grief of losing his best friend.
Alan patted the steps, sat down beside him, and said, "Don't be so sad. Bucky isn't dead."
"Not dead?" Steve's expression became extremely serious. He could tolerate Alan's usual crazy talk, but he would never joke about Bucky's death.
"He may have fallen into the hands of Hydra. I don't know his exact location now, but you will meet him again in the future." Alan described seriously, "If you meet a man with a silver-white metal arm, medium-length hair, and a mask, that's Bucky. But he's been brainwashed and won't recognize you."
Of course. If you can't believe what a madman says, how can you make it any more outrageous? Steve let out a quiet sigh, not taking it to heart at all.
"I'll teach you how to calm down," Alan said seriously. "When you're in a bad mood, you should say some bad words. Repeat after me: the Red Skull is a coward."
At this, Steve frowned and stared for a long time without saying a word.
"Don't be shy. Just say it," Alan encouraged.
"…"
"Okay, okay, it was too difficult to start. Let's change it. The Red Skull is a coward who likes to wear a mask."
Looking at Alan's expectant eyes, Steve opened his mouth slightly, looking as if he wanted to say something but hesitated.
"Speak out."
"…"
Steve took a deep breath and said, "The Red Skull is a coward."
Alan waved his hands upward. "Louder."
"The Red Skull is a coward in a mask!" Steve said, and as he did, his tight brows relaxed a lot. The culprit behind Bucky's death was the Red Skull, and he really couldn't be polite at all.
"Very good. Now add some spice."
"The Red Skull is a cowardly fool in a mask!"
"A few more qualifiers."
"The Red Skull is a coward and a weakling!"
After repeated guidance from the professional, Alan, Steve successfully mastered the essence of swearing. He looked refreshed and could now unleash a torrent of curses without any further guidance.
"Red Skull, you bastard! You had no mother's love at one, no father's love at two, you were peeping at people taking baths at three, forcing others to watch you take baths at four… and you were still wetting the bed at eighteen!"
After greeting the Red Skull from the age of one to eighteen in a long, unbroken stream of insults, Steve seemed to be in high spirits and had entered a state of letting himself go completely.
At this time, Alan quietly walked away, all because the people in the camp were giving them very strange looks.
"Princess, this person is so uncultured. He's not as polite as your DC heroes. Marvel heroes are just a little bit worse." Alan looked as if he didn't know Steve at all, and his words were full of righteousness.
If Diana hadn't witnessed the whole thing, she might have actually believed this guy's lies. Look, she thought, he was a very upright person, immersed in grief, and you just took advantage of him and turned him into a foul-mouthed tyrant.
Achoo, achoo, achoo…
Far away in a Hydra bunker, Schmidt was formulating a careful plan to give America a heavy blow. Halfway through the discussion, he couldn't stop sneezing.
"Sorry, I may have caught a cold. I didn't sleep well last night," Schmidt explained to a gentle, middle-aged man next to him.
"Your Excellency, please take care of yourself. You are the future king of the world." A flash of scarlet appeared in the middle-aged man's eyes, and he continued the unfinished topic with a smile.
***
(End of Chapter)
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