DC/Marvel: This Guy is Insane

"The Fourth Reich." Dr. Zola stated the name, then said no more.

Alan stared at the screen for a long time, then raised his right hand, clenched into a fist, and muttered to himself, "Righty, calm down. Impulsiveness is the devil. I really want to smash him, but I'm afraid of hurting your delicate skin. Let Lefty do it. After all, she's just a former acquaintance, and I don't interact with her much."

"Stop!" Dr. Zola explained helplessly, "It's not that I don't want to tell you, but when my consciousness was uploaded, the program was designed to prevent me from revealing the true information about the Fourth Reich."

"Holy cow, Zola, why did you set up the three laws of robotics for yourself?" Alan gave him a look of pity. Such immortality, he thought, was merely being a tool for others; the power of life and death was not in his own hands.

"What could I do? The power of the Fourth Reich is unimaginably terrifying. I can't even analyze how many domains they control," Dr. Zola could only reveal non-critical information. "The Fourth Reich is like a parasitic nation, hidden within various industries, implementing a terrifying goal."

"What goal?" Alan asked casually.

"This touches upon a privileged program. I cannot explain it. I can only say that all of humanity will pay a terrible price to achieve it." At this point, Dr. Zola's image on the screen flickered, like a distorted screen due to unstable circuitry. He said in a terrified voice, "Don't ask anymore. The reset program has issued a warning. I don't want to die."

"I could have guessed what the Fourth Reich is like with my butt," Alan pushed his nonexistent glasses up his nose with a knowing expression. "It must be a group of capitalist oligarchs plotting anti-human schemes in the shadows."

Dr. Zola remained silent, more or less agreeing with Alan's deduction. But what a normal person could guess was equivalent to saying nothing at all.

After a brief chat, Alan pulled the circuit breaker and left. Dr. Zola couldn't help him, at least not in Alan's current plan. And with that damn program, he couldn't reveal any core secrets.

The same security measures were in place for the various Hydra leaders. They had undergone special brainwashing; once a key piece of information was asked, it would trigger a hypnotic effect. It had to be said, Hydra was truly ruthless. Even the leaders couldn't escape the brainwashing process.

In a research base.

Red warning lights flashed in the hallway, and piercing alarms incessantly reminded soldiers to clear out the intruders.

Black Widow, a Soviet agent, was alone, searching for an escape route. Natasha moved fluidly, disarming soldiers around the corner as if everything was pre-planned. However, Natasha's delicate features were etched with grave concern. The situation at the research base was completely at odds with the intelligence she had received. She had been assigned to infiltrate the base and retrieve research results. The intel had explicitly stated that security was lax, so she shouldn't have been discovered so quickly.

Decades of espionage since World War II had honed her analytical and judgment skills to a terrifying degree. Natasha was so confident that she usually didn't carry firearms on missions; her entire body was a weapon. She casually removed a soldier's communicator from his ear and immediately learned their movements.

"Squad One, Sector A locked down."

"Squad Two, Sector B locked down."

"Squad Three, Sector C locked down."

"Squad Four, Sector D locked down."

"…"

With each report, Natasha turned and fled in another direction. Soon, she encountered a pursuing squad. Natasha rolled and leaped, quickly closing in and disarming the entire team with her grappling techniques. During this, several gunshots led to more squads rushing in. With nowhere to run, Natasha casually opened a door, intending to escape through a ventilation shaft.

"Search carefully. She can't have gone far."

"Don't let her escape! She's a Soviet spy."

"Tell them to seal off the base entrance. Not even a fly can escape."

Listening to the retreating footsteps of the soldier squad, Natasha breathed a sigh of relief. She decided that as soon as she escaped, she would find the contact person who gave her this mission and settle the score. There must be a traitor within the organization; otherwise, why would she be given a suicide mission?

Click!

Suddenly, the lights in the room illuminated. Natasha instinctively reached for her stun guns at her waist, her eyes fixed on the two figures in the room. One was a man in a wheelchair, wearing a blood-red suit with a skull-octopus emblem on his chest. Beside him stood a woman in a high-cut yoga suit with bunny ears on her head… "Legendary agent, Black Widow, Natasha Romanoff. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I, Captain Hydra, extend a sincere invitation."

Natasha scrutinized him, cautiously probing, "Alan?"

"Shit, how did you recognize me?" Alan ripped off his hood, glumly saying, "In the Marvel universe, everyone's supposed to be blind. Superman just puts on glasses, and no one recognizes him. But even with my face covered, you can still tell it's me."

"…" Natasha responded seriously, "Your aura gave you away."

"Aura!?" Alan preened, running a hand through his hair. "I didn't know I had such a thing. Only you, my dear Black Widow, can appreciate me." He then glanced at Psylocke, mocking, "Unlike some women with no taste."

Psylocke didn't bother to retort. She clearly meant his 'insane' aura.

"I need an explanation?" Natasha said gravely. She could see that Alan was behind all of this. Could there really be such a coincidence as meeting him in a research base?

"I'm currently the head of Hydra, serving as Captain Hydra. At the same time, I'm helping Boss Apocalypse establish a mutant empire, so I need manpower. And since we're so close, you're the first person I thought of. Aren't I considerate?" Alan fluttered his eyelashes, beaming.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "I wasn't asking about that."

"You're asking how we met here," Alan said proudly. "Hydra's specialty is infiltration. It's not unreasonable for the Soviet Union to have their own chess pieces and for them to intentionally assign you a mission here and wait for you."

Upon hearing this, Natasha felt a headache forming. She was shocked that Hydra still existed. Logically, Hydra should have been disbanded and suppressed after their defeat, yet they had secretly resurrected.

"I don't have time," Natasha said. She was eager to return to the Soviet Union and report this to her superiors.

"Heheheh…" Alan let out a chilling laugh, saying sinisterly, "Black Widow, I didn't ask you to refuse. I've already sent out word that you've defected."

"…" Natasha's expression instantly froze. During World War II, this guy had done something similar, framing a weapons expert who then defected to S.H.I.E.L.D. Now, the same thing was happening to her, and she felt both wronged and furious.

"Black Widow, just give in to me, heheheh…" Alan was no fool. He knew a legendary agent wouldn't be easily recruited with a few sweet words. He had to use extreme measures to force her compliance.

"Why me?" Natasha asked gravely.

Alan shyly turned his head away, feigning embarrassment. "I'm in a wheelchair, so it's not convenient. I want you to help me."

Is that a legitimate reason? He's just lusting after me! Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Who did this?"

"Oh, it's so touching! Black Widow, don't do anything foolish. I'm fine." Alan squeezed out a few fake tears, even pulling Psylocke's hand to wipe his eyes. Psylocke immediately pulled her hand away, saying with disgust, "Get lost."

"Who did it? I want to thank them," Natasha said directly.

"That hurts so much," Alan said. He then stood up from his wheelchair, proudly proclaiming, "My legs are fine. Disappointed, aren't you?" He then started dancing the Subject Three dance, showing off his flexible thighs.

In the end, Natasha was coerced into joining Hydra. Leaving the base, they immediately boarded a helicopter, then transferred to a long-range transport plane bound for the former Winter Soldier research base.

The Siberian ice fields. In winter, temperatures plummeted tens of degrees below zero. Vast plains were covered in white snow and ice. The base had been chosen for its remote location, ensuring that any escaped test subjects wouldn't get far. Captain America's serum, modified by Alan to include the Dionysus factor, allowed subjects to survive in extreme cold by entering a dormant state. However, there were still limits. Frozen for a century, they would likely be beyond saving. The Winter Soldier couldn't be cryogenically preserved without life support; their survival capabilities were far inferior to Captain America's.

However, in terms of combat ability, after multiple research iterations, the Winter Soldier program had likely caught up to Alan's version of the Super Soldier Serum. The Super Serum wasn't rare. When Red Skull acquired it, he immediately analyzed the samples. While he couldn't replicate the exact serum, he could improve upon it.

The transport plane made a rough landing, sliding a long distance on the snowy runway.

"Black Widow, you can fly a plane too? You keep surprising me," Alan said, his eyes sparkling with admiration.

Natasha sighed helplessly. "Take those golden stars off your eyes." Alan peeled the star stickers from his eyelids, grumbling, "I felt I couldn't express my admiration for you through mere facial expressions, so I used props. If you don't like it, I also have gold glitter spray." He pulled out a can of gold glitter spray and sprayed it into the cockpit. Instantly, golden powder filled the cabin. "See?" Alan boasted. "What an atmosphere! Cough, cough… it makes my throat itch."

Natasha ignored him, opening a box to retrieve warm clothing. Outside, it was fifty degrees below zero. Walking around in leather clothing would be suicidal. Psylocke, caring little for her sexy image, quickly donned a down jacket and pants, terrified of freezing to death.

"Put this on," Natasha said, offering Alan a warm jacket. Alan, however, arrogantly tilted his head, stubbornly proclaiming, "I'm a man of style, not warmth. There's no way I'm wearing long johns."

"Suit yourself." Natasha tossed the jacket back into the box and pulled open the aircraft door.

Whoosh!

A fierce wind howled in. The cold felt like an icy blade against their faces.

"Cold?" Natasha asked, a playful smirk on her face.

"No problem," Alan insisted, though his entire body, except for his hair, was trembling. What he had said was like spilled water. Alan maintained his last shred of defiance.

(End of Chapter)

***

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