Chapter 8
"What are you doing?!" exclaimed Steve and rushed towards me, in an attempt to take the gun. Naive Chukchi... Boston kid. It's not enough to get power; you also have to know how to use it. A simple evasion and pain control. The result—I now have a human shield against two submachine gunners who burst into the room at the sound of the shots. And what did you expect? The examination of the future Cap wasn't held just anywhere, but in the middle of a military base.
"Stop!" Phillips, lying on the floor, threw up his hand.
"You came to me. I didn't come to you. And now you're 'informing' me?" My rage began to slowly break out of control. But for now, it was just a trickle. "I'm going to get genuinely offended right now, and I'll slaughter your entire base, down to the last man. And then everyone who participated in the project. And then everyone who has even a remote connection to the SSR!"
"Stop, Creed! It's a misunderstanding! Just a misunderstanding!" I was always amazed at how much more polite, understanding, and quick-witted people become when a loaded gun is pointed in their face. Especially if you've already shot something beforehand.
Maybe I should write a dissertation on the topic: "Study of the stimulation of brain activity through the introduction of lead objects into non-vital organs"... No. I won't become a great joker even in my thoughts. Tongue-tiedness in all its glory. I can't even come up with a dissertation topic normally.
"Then explain exactly what I misunderstood in the words 'we can't let you go'? Just keep in mind, I might be a fool, but I'm a fool with a gun."
"I..." he started, but somehow couldn't find the words. I understand him perfectly. That happens to me too. And in such cases, I just keep quiet, because: "if you can't shit, don't torture your ass."
The colonel hadn't suffered from tongue-tiedness before this, or so it seemed to me.
"What 'I'?" I hurried him, before the rage broke out completely. Because if I couldn't hold it back, there would be one less base in America.
Paradoxically, throughout my life in this world, the stronger I became, the more I trained, practiced, and meditated, the stronger the flashes of rage became. Control also grew, but animalistic rage grew proportionally with it. So, it would seem that after so many years of practice, I should now be the embodiment of Buddha on earth, but, in fact, this is not the case at all.
Maybe developing internal energy channels through the Qigong system was a mistake? But then, I am so stupid that I wasted seventy years on this mistake.
And right now, only iron, literally steel self-control allows me to not yet rush to tear to shreds everyone who happens to be in my perception zone. And it is even larger than my field of vision.
"I wasn't threatening!" the colonel finally found his words. "I only said that you know a lot. That we can offer you a place in the SSR. A place to your liking, where you will be interested!" I didn't put the gun away. I said nothing. Just tilted my head to the side.
"Let Steve go, Victor, let's talk!"
"Talk," my rage didn't even think about subsiding. On the contrary. The fact that they were going to buy me, since they couldn't intimidate me, angered the animalistic essence even more than the attempt at intimidation itself. Or it wasn't about the Beast. And it was me myself starting to get worked up.
"I'm not for sale," I hissed. The finger on the trigger slowly went back, taking up the slack.
"Stop, Victor! No one is going to hold you by force! You can leave whenever you want! But think, where will you go?" the finger stopped. I thought. My head tilted to the other shoulder.
"To the war," I answered shortly.
"To what war?" asked Phillips.
"The World War. The Second World War. In Europe, it has already begun."
"We are sending soldiers there too!"
"You are cowardly merchants. You are fighting?! Your fucking government invests money in Hitler and sells food to the allied countries for gold. And you yourselves send your soldiers to the slaughter for the sake of saving 'face'! How many of them are there, your volunteers? A few thousand? And millions are dying there!"
"That's exactly what I joined the army for!" Steve chimed into the conversation. "To win, to save lives!"
"Study some history, boy," I started to cool down a little. I couldn't be mad at this guy who forged documents nine times just to get to the war, for the sake of people completely unknown to him. "So come with me. I'll show you where the war is really happening," I growled and tossed the future Cap a couple of steps away from me.
"Where?"
"To Europe. Or to Africa. Or to Russia. Wherever we can reach by sea, it's hot everywhere. Will you go?"
"Rogers! Don't you dare! You are a soldier of the United States Armed Forces!" Phillips flared up.
"Stay out of it, Colonel," I growled in his direction. "You've already had your say. Will you go? Won't chicken out?" I returned to Steve.