While Nick and Peggy were talking, the German forces silently closed in on them. They had brought along those strange, bug-like mutated dogs that could run along walls. These dogs, now charging toward them on chains, were lethal—silent killers.
The sound of chains echoed in the sewer, and dogs that don't bark are always the most dangerous.
In the dark, it was nearly impossible to hit a moving target like those dogs with a gun. Even if they were shot a few tis, they could keep attacking. And even when dead, they would latch onto their prey with a death grip.
Nick and Peggy's hearts sank. They both knew that escaping this ti might be nearly impossible.
Peggy glanced at the unconscious Steve, who was still wearing his Captain Arica costu. The once-proud uniform was now tattered and full of holes, even missing pieces of internal armor.
His healing factor was slow, and the head injuries had left him in a deep coma. Hydra had been prepared; they had fallen into a well-laid trap.
"You take Steve and leave. The rest of us will stay and cover you."
Nick quickly revised his plan. While he wasn't the one officially in charge—being a Black man ant others often had higher authority—the original leader of this mission had been killed. Peggy, overwheld with worry for Steve, wasn't able to lead, so the responsibility had fallen to him.
Nick pushed forward, taking up a position behind the largest available cover. He knew this would buy them a few extra monts.
By standard operating procedure, when retreating wasn't possible, agents were supposed to destroy any valuable intel and resources. That would have ant ensuring Captain Arica's body was destroyed, maybe even blowing him into pieces to be flushed away by the sewer waters.
But Peggy would never allow that. As Agent 13, her clearance level was above Nick's, and she clearly had feelings for Steve. So, Nick didn't even bother ntioning it.
They could probably hold off the enemy for about three minutes. After that, if Peggy and Steve were still being chased, she'd know what to do.
Nick figured he'd die soon, so why not go out as a good guy this ti? No need to spoil the situation by bringing up the unpleasant details.
Nick refocused on the sewer, squinting to make out the shadows of the approaching enemy. Then he pulled the trigger, watching sothing in the distance drop.
But as he relaxed and ducked behind cover to reload, sothing suddenly lunged at his head from above.
It was one of those mutated dogs, using its suction-cup-like legs to run along the ceiling of the sewer. In the darkness, no one had noticed it approaching. Its chain had been hanging down, barely making a sound as it stalked them from above.
Nick's eyes widened in horror as he saw the rows of sharp teeth in the dog's mouth, closing in on his neck.
"To die by a dog's bite... what a tragic end."
Ti seed to freeze. Nick's life flashed before his eyes as he resigned himself to his fate, his hand inching toward the grenade strapped to his chest.
But just then, a golden sword spun through the air, slicing the dog clean in half.
The bisected dog twitched on the ground for a mont before finally going still. The golden sword, like a toothpick stabbed into a cake, embedded itself in the wall next to Nick.
Nick touched the top of his head. Not only had the mutant dog been split in two, but his beret and even his precious curls had been taken by the sword's slash, leaving him with a "bald spot" that resembled the shape of a diterranean coastline.
Despite his hair loss, Nick was just grateful to be alive. He peeked out from behind cover, looking toward the direction the sword had co from.
He could only make out a faint red glow, like ghostly fire, flickering in the distance.
The sewer was a maze, with sounds bouncing all over the place. Su Ming had only just managed to track them down.
Thankfully, his helt was equipped with night vision; otherwise, it would have been nearly impossible to spot Nick's dark face in the gloom.
Su Ming was grumbling to himself. The way things were going, this world was becoming too absurd. If he hadn't arrived in ti, Nick and Peggy would have died, and Captain Arica would've been captured. What would happen to the tiline then?
These mutant dogs were tough opponents. He had encountered them before on the surface, and bullets were mostly ineffective. That's why he had thrown his Godslayer sword.
As for the Owl Dagger, he wasn't about to recklessly toss it around in this filthy sewer. If so fool kicked it into the waste, that would be a disaster. No, the glowing Godslayer was a much better option here.
Nick watched the ghostly fire grow closer. Under the beams of the German searchlights, the black-and-yellow armor of Su Ming slowly ca into view. Nick couldn't help but feel conflicted.
It was the Deathstroke.
The last ti Nick had crossed paths with him, Su Ming had knocked him out cold. Nick had nightmares for nearly a month afterward.
In his dreams, Deathstroke was a towering figure, an unstoppable force clad in black and yellow, lifting Nick by the throat with just two fingers. He had toyed with Nick as if he were an insect.
Su Ming's presence was a reminder that Arica wasn't the only country with a super-soldier. But the real frustration was that Su Ming was an enigma—shrouded in mystery.
He was a rcenary, immune to any notion of national loyalty or morality. After Su Ming had handed out his business cards, SSR agents had managed to recover a few, but they had never been able to contact him.
A rcenary you couldn't even hire with money? Yes, that was Deathstroke for you—rcenary work was rely a hobby to him now.
After the embarrassnt caused by Su Ming's actions—snatching away a key scientist and the serum—the SSR's standing within the military plumted.
Steve had been reduced to performing in traveling shows, raising funds for the war effort.
But about a month ago, strange new technologies had begun appearing within the German forces. They infiltrated London and even the Arican mainland, conducting acts of sabotage. The military finally rembered Steve.
After all, they did have a super-soldier. Sure, they only had one, but it was ti to send him to the front. If he proved useful, the brass could pat themselves on the back for their foresight. If not, well, they could dispose of him as a failure. A win-win situation.
When Steve heard he could finally join the battlefield, he nodded eagerly, like a chicken pecking at grain. He hadn't thought it through and accepted the assignnt imdiately.
The military leaders, smirking behind their cigars, shipped him off to Britain.
anwhile, Captain Arica, who had been touring the country, was secretly replaced by an actor. After all, Captain Arica was a masked hero. To the public, the uniform was the real hero, not the man underneath.
Vodka, the person in charge of overseeing the performance contract, couldn't keep up with the traveling troupe, and with all the other business Wilson Enterprises had to manage, he hadn't noticed the military's switcheroo.
Eventually, the SSR built their tactical plans around Captain Arica, forming the Howling Commandos under his leadership to handle "supernatural" matters.
Their base of operations was in London, hidden in one of the city's many sewers.
Recently, the underground base had been shaking as if there was an earthquake, leaving Steve feeling uneasy.
Even though they were both in London, Steve couldn't contact his friend Bucky in the 107th because the SSR was a classified unit.
So, instead, he spent most of his ti with Peggy, which, to be honest, made him a bit happy. He was thrilled to fight alongside her every day—sothing he never would have imagined before the experint.
Just the other day, SSR received intelligence that Red Skull had appeared in Paris with a strange artifact.
Steve imdiately rembered what Dr. Erskine had once told him and decided he wanted to face Red Skull. He needed to prove that the weak could indeed defeat the strong, as the doctor had believed.
Peggy had her reservations, but the higher-ups were excited. What better way to compare the strengths of the two super-soldiers?
So, the military quietly smuggled the group into France via small boat. Peggy, who had previously been responsible for liaising with the French Resistance, accompanied the mission.
Initially, everything went smoothly. They made contact with the Resistance and disguised themselves to infiltrate Paris, but it was all a trap. Red Skull had been waiting, eager to see Dr. Erskine's other creation.
But the result disappointed him. He hadn't even needed to lift a finger, and Captain Arica was down for the count.
Steve's shield—far from being the iconic vibranium model—was a makeshift piece of tank armor, cut and shaped into a circle. It worked against regular bullets and could block tank shells if angled correctly, which was how Steve had been operating.
But this was Paris, not so backwoods skirmish. Hydra had been well-prepared, ard with energy weapons. Hundreds of troops opened fire in unison, and even Captain Arica couldn't dodge everything.
Steve had been turned into Swiss cheese. The fact that he wasn't dust was a testant to his superhuman durability.
Peggy and Nick had barely managed to retrieve him before starting their desperate escape.
Red Skull, unimpressed, hadn't even bothered to send out Hydra's elite guard. Instead, he had simply called the police. Now, the forces pursuing Steve's group were mostly local garrison troops and secret police.
Too weak, Red Skull had thought. He'd head north to investigate the explosion there—that seed more interesting.
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