Lynn carefully wiped the scalpel he had taken from Professor Pyg with a relatively clean rag before handing it back to the silent madman.
"Better ones, you need to earn for yourself."
Professor Pyg took the scalpel and, with fingertips clad in filthy gloves, stroked the blade with near-obsessive devotion.
The movement was as gentle as caressing a lover's cheek.
Handling this madman was much simpler than handling Soldier Boy.
Soldier Boy wanted fame, reverence, and satisfaction.
These were things of a spiritual nature, requiring Lynn to rack his brains to weave stories, to guide, and to PUA.
Professor Pyg only needed a stage where he could "create" to his heart's content and enough "raw materials."
The night was the best cover.
Lynn did not alert anyone, leading Professor Pyg silently through the perimeter of the camp and into the deeper darkness.
He drew a simple route from his memory and stuffed it into Professor Pyg's hand.
"Follow this river east and avoid the Allied Forces' patrols. In about thirty kilometers, you will find the German Army's forward outpost."
"From now on, remember your identity: ProfessorLazlo Valentin, a genius who could not stand the stupidity of the Allied Forces and has come to defect to HYDRA with valuable surgical skills and intelligence."
Professor Pyg took the item.
Under the sparse moonlight, that stitched pig-head mask appeared increasingly eerie and terrifying.
"Go."
Lynn took a step back to put some distance between himself and that nauseating stench.
"Go find your new stage and create to your heart's content. Do not disappoint me."
Professor Pyg turned around and, without a shred of reluctance, quickly merged into the darkness and jungle ahead.
Lynn stood in place, watching him leave.
The feeling of disposing of a high-risk pollutant made him feel a wave of relief.
...
When Lynn returned to the barracks, the door was not fully closed.
Through the crack in the door, he could see the firelight from the hearth, hear Soldier Boy's boisterous, alcohol-laced laughter, and the suppressed, coy protests of two women.
He did not go in to disturb the Beast who was currently enjoying his "spoils of war."
Lynn turned and returned to his own bedroom.
After the calmness and decisiveness of handling Professor Pyg faded, a deeper, grander idea began to grow wildly.
Soldier Boy was the "hero" he had pushed to the forefront.
He was a banner used to rally hearts and exchange for status and resources.
Professor Pyg was the "villain" he had thrown behind enemy lines.
Hero...
Villain...
[Superhero Interactive Entertainment Achievement System].
"Interactive Entertainment" meant interactive entertainment.
A show, a play.
Any brilliant drama cannot do without the confrontation between good and evil.
What if... the trump cards of both the good and evil sides of a war were held in his own hands?
Lynn could direct one "perfectly timed" crisis after another.
He could even clearly outline the future newspaper headlines in his mind—
"A HYDRA Demon! The German Army Creates a Stitched Monster, Frontline Soldiers Encounter a Living Nightmare!"
Let Professor Pyg create horrifying monsters within the HYDRA camp, causing panic.
When the panic spread to its peak, when the Allied Forces were helpless, and when despair engulfed the entire war zone...
"A God Descends! Soldier Boy Arrives in the Midst of Desperation, Personally Tearing Apart HYDRA's Profane Creation!"
A perfect heroic epic.
The hero's reputation would reach its peak because of this.
Phillips, and even the generals behind him, would become more dependent on him.
The villain's "illustrious reputation for evil" would also become Lynn's achievement.
He was the sole director and screenwriter of this grand war drama.
Playing both sides, profiting from both ends.
All sacrifices would be just numbers on the script, and all victories would be segments he had meticulously arranged.
He could harvest achievements and draw rewards to the maximum extent.
Minimizing risks and maximizing benefits.
This thought sent a shiver through Lynn; it was an excitement derived from being at the pinnacle of power, controlling everything.
He looked up at the night sky, stained gray-black by the smoke of war.
From today on, what he had to do was not just survive this damn war.
He had to... become the Master of this war.
The next morning.
The scent of a hangover and debauchery still lingered in the barracks.
Soldier Boy lay spread-eagled on the bed, and the two washerwomen who had been tormented all night were long gone.
Only the messy sheets and countless empty whiskey bottles remained as proof of last night's absurdity.
When Lynn pushed the door open, the mixed stench made him frown.
He ignored the "legend" sleeping like a dead pig and turned directly to leave this temporary nest.
The entire camp was in a state of high excitement.
Soldiers gathered in twos and threes, and what they discussed was no longer the casualties at the front or the fear of war, but entirely that godlike performance.
The name "Soldier Boy" had become a more effective stimulant than any slogan.
Lynn walked aimlessly through the camp, chewing on some bread.
He was observing, and also searching.
The line for Professor Pyg had been laid; now it needed time to ferment.
The card of Soldier Boy had gained fame, but its foundation remained unstable.
He needed more chips.
Just as he passed Colonel Phillips' command tent, a heated argument erupted from inside, catching his attention.
One of the voices was Phillips'.
And the other, speaking English with a thick German accent, sounded somewhat unfamiliar, yet equally agitated.
Lynn stopped, pretending to brush dirt off his shoes, and quietly crept closer to the gap in the canvas tent.
"I absolutely do not agree! Phillips! You are placing a grenade without a pin inside our own armory!"
A middle-aged man wearing glasses, who looked refined and scholarly, was waving his arms forcefully at Phillips with a flushed face.
"Calm down, Dr. Erskine."
Phillips bit down on his cigar, looking impatient.
"He is not a grenade; he is our trump card for winning the war! You saw it with your own eyes, Sainte-Mère-Église! One man, worth an entire heavy division!"
"That was not a victory; that was a massacre! It was a thug venting his violent desires!"
The man called Dr. Erskine became even more agitated.
"My research, my Super Soldier Serum, was to create a better man! A Guardian who could use his character to harness power! Not a more powerful bully!"
Super Soldier Serum?
Lynn's chewing motion stopped.
Dr. Erskine... German accent... Super Soldier Serum...
Dr. Erskine!
The soul of the Captain America project, the only inventor of the Super Soldier Serum!
Ecstasy surged in his heart.
He was still thinking about how to contact the upper echelons of the Allied Forces, yet the core figure had delivered himself to his doorstep!
This was simply a pie falling from the sky, and the biggest, most delicious one at that!
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