Chapter 14
Thawing out was unpleasant. Painful. Comparable to boiling in acid, which I had already been subjected to under similar circumstances. What especially added to the impressions was that no one cared about my comfort: the block of ice with me frozen inside was simply thrown into a deep iron tray and shoved into the chamber of a crematorium. A very large chamber. Of a very large crematorium.
When the chains, with me wrapped in them, broke free from the ice and gradually began to turn cherry-red, panic started to rise in me. The thought occurred to me that among the enemies who captured me, there was someone truly smart. And this smart guy decided to get rid of the dangerous animal to be on the safe side.
I had completely decided to use a Qi Explosion, disregarding any consequences, but then the flame went out. The metal wall slid down. A very thick chain to which the tray was attached tightened and dragged it towards the exit.
And I didn't like the welcoming committee at all. Twenty people. Specifically people. There were no vampires or werewolves.
Except the central places were occupied by two who completely captured my attention. Against their background, even the third one—the mage standing slightly to their left—faded away.
Steve Rogers, after Erskine's laboratory, looked exactly like on the TV screen in the Captain America movies from my world. I didn't mention this before, as there was enough to tell about without that. But the resemblance was striking.
So, right now, exactly at this moment, surrounded by guards armed with Hydra blasters, stood two supervillains from the Earth saga about the X-Men. The Red Skull, aka Johann Schmidt, and Sebastian Shaw, aka Dr. Klaus Schmidt. Damn, are they brothers or something? Schmidts everywhere! Although, having the surname Schmidt in Germany is like not having one at all.
But that doesn't make it any easier. Unlike the previous "ceremonial welcome," armed only with firearms, which, if they can harm me, then only with very bad luck, and even then temporarily, these ones had weapons capable of turning me into a handful of ashes with a single hit. And I don't have Captain America's shield. Nor an adamantium skeleton.
What the Zen! Out of the frying pan into the fire!
Meanwhile, under the muzzles of the blasters, two burly guys in heat-resistant aprons and gloves, deftly wielding long-handled metal shears, were freeing my over-frozen and under-roasted carcass from captivity, the slowly cooling chains.
And they did it quickly. Immediately, two more silent men rolled up an iron table on wheels with massive restraints for the arms, legs, waist, neck, and head. Standard. But to this standard, as far as I could see, restraints for the knees and elbows were also added. An unpleasant contraption. Apparently, they had been preparing for the meeting for a long time and thoroughly. I even wonder how long I slept?
The men with the shears hadn't even finished yet, when the mage standing to the left of the colorful pair of Schmidts had already cast a paralyzing spell on me.
The chains ended, the men, straining, dragged the body freed from the chains onto the table, carefully secured it there, and put an iron muzzle on my face. And only after that did the mage lift the spell.
For a couple of seconds, I thought over my line of behavior. Then I started to growl, snap my teeth, and thrash in the restraints, bulging my muscles, straining, and scratching my skin until it bled.
A half-animal is guarded less carefully and inventively than a sentient human capable of cunning. And a "half-animal" or "human" is evaluated by their reaction and behavior. A human would have started talking. A half-animal—thrashing and growling. I chose the second line of behavior for myself. There will be no one to refute it. After all, the mage will leave, and the Schmidts will stay.
And again, a laboratory. Intravenous feeding. Bathing with a fire hose. And research, research, research... Painful, inhuman, but predictable.
What turned out to be unpredictable was when Schmidt, the Johann one, spoke to me in English and called me by name. I was so taken aback that I even stopped growling. And that was a mistake.
"Well, well, Victor Creed, the chief assistant to Professor Erskine and Howard Stark," he smiled in anticipation. "Dr. Klaus Schmidt has finally satisfied his curiosity. And deemed you unpromising. The regeneration, of course, boggles the mind, but he hasn't found a way to take it from you. Transplants of your internal organs into test subjects yielded no results. Not only did the regeneration not pass to them, the organ simply kills the host. Apparently, it perceives them as a foreign element and tries to get rid of them until the organ's resource is exhausted. Transplanting several organs at once only accelerates the process. Bone marrow also failed to be transplanted. As for blood, upon injection, it acts as a potent poison. The conclusion is disappointing: your regeneration is yours alone and no one else's. Congratulations, Mr. Creed," he carefully watched my reaction throughout the speech. "I see this interests you, but doesn't surprise you? Very well. Then I will tell you something else: I know your secret, Mr. Creed."
I am not the most talented actor in the world. Playing a dumb half-animal for months was hard. Especially considering that the rage still wasn't bothering me after the incident with Urduliy.
No, the Beast hadn't left me, as I might have wished. No. It seems like it's satiated and sleeping.
Something like this had happened before, but differently: after killings, and the more there were and the greater the rage in which I committed them, the easier it was to control the Beast within me. But again, not for long.
But here, it was already the fourth month, and my head still remained cold.
Johann is a genius, albeit an immoral, inhumanly cruel one, but a genius. Naturally, he didn't take my reaction for the reaction of a beast.
"Well, I see I was right," he patted me with satisfaction on the arm chained to the table. "You are sentient, Mr. Creed. Moreover, you are smart. You don't have to answer, it doesn't matter anymore. And your main secret: the first one to test Erskine's formula in America was not the foolish boy Rogers, but you!" A crazy assumption on his part, but logical. After all, the mages didn't identify me (they didn't have time), and from the information that Johann could obtain through intelligence, such a conclusion simply suggested itself: after all, before working with Erskine, I hadn't shown up as a "super soldier," and afterward I went straight to the war, where I didn't hide much, more absorbed in dealing with my inner Beast, which literally tormented me with fits of rage and bloodlust, held back for almost a hundred years before that.
"And you are not the only one who knows this formula! I worked with Abraham. Before you. And the very first test subject overall was me," he walked over to the window and remained silent. Then he returned.
"And now, since such a lucky opportunity has presented itself, I will conduct the next experiment in the logical chain: I wonder what a second injection of the serum will do? Oh! I see you've caught my train of thought!" he burst out laughing, watching as I frantically thrashed in my shackles without any pretense. And as luck would have it, the rage didn't come. The Beast, as if mocking me, just "growled sleepily and rolled over to its other side."
Johann took out a syringe with a bluish liquid from behind his back, walked over, and, without wasting any time, injected it right into my heart through my chest.
"I don't have vita-rays," he smirked. "But I found a good replacement for them," he said and snapped his fingers theatrically. At his command, the doors to the laboratory swung open, and under the direction of a short man in glasses, burly youths rolled in some kind of apparatus with a glowing cube in the center, suspiciously familiar from the Cap movies.
And then there was light and PAIN...
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