"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the future world created by Stark Industries! Can you imagine a wave of new technology sweeping through the world? Perhaps just a few years from now, cars will no longer need to touch the ground!"
After taking the microphone, he dabbed his lips with a handkerchief. Then, Iron Man's father began his performance.
He seemed to relish the attention from the audience, enthusiastically promoting his company's latest technological innovation while signaling to a beautiful assistant to remove the four wheels from the red car.
Howard Stark, standing proudly on stage, looked less like a scientist and more like a magician well-versed in performance. He knew exactly how to capture the audience's attention.
"The latest anti-gravity technology developed by Stark Industries will make all this possible!"
With a charming smile, Howard flipped the power switch on the device.
The wheel-less car slowly levitated into the air.
The crowd collectively held its breath at the magical sight.
Luke's lips twitched. He wasn't the least bit impressed by Howard Stark's flashy display.
Although Stark was widely recognized as one of the world's greatest geniuses—just like his son, the future Iron Man, Tony Stark—they both shared a common flaw, perhaps a family trait:
They weren't easy to get along with.
Maybe it was just a typical quirk among geniuses.
Taking advantage of the distraction, Luke slipped away from the crowd, freeing himself from the entanglement of flirtatious young women.
That kind of youthful and lively affection was better suited for Bucky, who was soon heading off to England to serve his country.
As Luke turned his head casually, his gaze landed on the thin figure of Steve Rogers.
He watched Rogers quietly step away from the stage crowd and walk toward the nearby military recruiting station.
Luke took a deep breath.
So this is where Captain America's journey begins...
With his hands in his pockets, he stood there, lost in thought. He wasn't sure what to do next.
Sure, development was the "right path," but who could say when that metaphorical golden finger—the cheat code of all transmigrators—would finally kick in?
After all, he'd originally come to the Marvel world planning to live a peaceful, low-key life. But now that idea felt like a waste of his time-travel opportunity.
As these thoughts swirled in his mind, Luke spotted an older man in the crowd.
Graying hair, slightly balding, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose—
Abraham Erskine.
Luke recognized him immediately.
The developer of the super soldier serum. The brilliant German scientist who had helped create Hydra's Red Skull—before turning against them—was now walking into the recruiting station.
"Well, looks like there are still shadows lurking around..." Luke muttered, his expression suddenly turning serious.
Behind Dr. Erskine, several men in black suits and round hats followed closely. Their tense movements, furtive glances, and bulging waistlines gave away that they were armed.
They didn't look like tourists. And they definitely didn't look like standard bodyguards either.
Hydra?
The possibility struck Luke like lightning.
Erskine, as the mastermind behind the super soldier serum, would be Hydra's number one target. To the Red Skull, he was a threat that had to be eliminated.
If the Allies succeeded in mass-producing super soldiers, the outcome of the war would be certain. Hydra would lose.
As these rapid thoughts coursed through his mind, Luke followed Erskine into the recruitment station.
"Steve…"
Bucky snapped out of the daze brought on by Howard Stark's show and turned to look for his gloomy friend—only to realize Steve had vanished.
"Luke…"
He glanced around again, but Luke was gone too.
"What the hell? Where did they both run off to?"
Grumbling under his breath, Bucky was soon dragged toward another exhibit area by the girls still clinging to him.
At the draft station, Rogers was once again rejected.
The recruiting officer barely glanced at him. The moment he laid eyes on Rogers' frail frame, he didn't even bother looking at the completed application form.
"The battlefield's no place for you," the officer said flatly.
Though Rogers pleaded his case with sincere words and unwavering determination, the officer only shook his head.
In his eyes, sending someone like Steve into battle was no different from murder.
"There's plenty you can do without joining the army. We need laborers just as badly. You could work in a factory, build weapons for the front line, or find another job."
His tone turned impatient as he pushed the form back across the desk.
"War isn't just about fighting. You'd only drag your team down out there. It's better to stay behind where it's safe."
"You should feel lucky, kid. Most people would kill to avoid risking their lives on the front line."
Looking at Rogers, the officer simply couldn't understand why someone like him would want to enlist.
No danger, no gunfire, no trenches soaked with blood—what could be better than staying home?
Everyone knew how bad things were getting. The Allies and the Axis powers were locked in a brutal war, and the front lines were like meat grinders, chewing through soldiers every day.
No one even knew how many bodies filled those trenches anymore.
"Sir! I want to serve my country! I want to do something! I can do something…"
The officer avoided Rogers' determined gaze and shook his head once more.
Rules were rules. He couldn't accept a recruit who didn't meet the standards, no matter how noble his intentions.
The rising volume of their exchange drew the attention of Dr. Erskine, who turned his head.
Seeing the frustrated Rogers, he seemed to be reminded of something—perhaps the shadow of a young man he once knew.
"It's all unfolding exactly like history…"
Luke watched from nearby, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
But the moment was fleeting. His expression quickly turned grim.
Behind Dr. Erskine, the men in black were moving in.
Their eyes were cold and filled with murderous intent. Their right hands crept toward the bulges at their waists.
In the blink of an eye—
One of the men lifted his coat.
A pistol gleamed in his hand.
The muzzle aimed squarely at Dr. Erskine.
It looked like he would pull the trigger at any second.
Bang!
A gunshot shattered the tense atmosphere!
Panic erupted across the recruiting station. Screams pierced the air like steam hissing from a ruptured locomotive.
The untrained recruits, still in civilian clothes, scattered in all directions like panicked ants.
They had never seen combat. Most had never even held a weapon. In the chaos, they had no idea what to do.
The security officer stationed at the door collapsed into a pool of blood, a bullet hole in the center of his white cap.
Blood sprayed from the back of his head, his face frozen in a twisted grimace of terror.
"Move!"
Luke, hiding behind cover, lunged toward Dr. Erskine, who had fallen in shock.
He grabbed the scientist and dragged him toward the hallway, ducking into a side cubicle as more shots rang out.
Bullets slammed into the wall behind them, sending clouds of dust into the air.
Luke glanced over and spotted Rogers, huddled behind a filing cabinet with his head tucked in.
A strange thought crossed his mind.
If Captain America were to die here… what then?
Would someone else rise up to take his place?
Or would the Third Reich win the war, with Red Skull ruling the world?
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Gunfire snapped Luke out of his thoughts.
Dr. Erskine trembled beside him, clearly rattled.
Luke looked the scientist in the eye and whispered, "Stay here. Don't move around."
Outside the curtain of the cubicle, footsteps approached—sharp, rhythmic, and closing in fast.
A shadow fell across the wall.
The glint of a gun was visible in the reflection.
Luke reached behind his waist, fingers closing around the grip of his Colt M1911.
Taking a deep breath, he burst through the curtain partition—rushing straight into the fray.