James Bond In WW2(MCU x DC Comics)

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(General P.O.V)

-5 Months later-

On the side of a cliff surrounded by snowy ranges, a tall man with a full beard and a slim muscular frame could be seen climbing.

(Bond's P.O.V)

The icy wind bit at my skin as I clung to the cliff face of Mont Blanc, each muscle screaming for relief.

Sweat froze against my bare torso, the cold slicing through me like a blade, but I didn't care.

There was something satisfying about testing the limits of my body—something freeing about the idea that one wrong move could send me plummeting to my death.

My Sniper Rifle, slung securely over my shoulder, swayed with my movements. My fingers, numb and bloodless, gripped the icy rock, pulling me higher and higher. The summit was close now.

Over the past five months, I had pushed myself to the brink of madness—or maybe beyond it.

Scaling cliffs without gear. Diving into icy rivers for hours to strengthen my lungs. Starving myself for days while still engaging in brutal, relentless training. And yet, I didn't break.

Sometimes I thought it might be better if I did.

Maybe I was looking for a way out. Maybe I wanted to fail. But I didn't.

My body refused to give up, abnormally adapting to whatever I threw at it. My spirit, however battered, refused to shatter completely.

As I reached the top of the cliff, the sharp whir of helicopter blades filled the air. I pulled myself over the edge, standing upright on the snow-covered peak. The icy expanse stretched out before me, but I ignored the beauty of it.

The helicopter touched down behind me, its blades whipping snow in every direction. The side door opened, and Commander Barlow stepped out, bracing himself against the wind.

"Bond," he called out over the noise, his voice firm. "Your country needs you."

I didn't reply. My boots crunched through the snow as I approached him, every step deliberate. When I reached him, I drew my fist back and slammed it into his face.

Barlow staggered, clutching his jaw. Blood trickled from his split lip, staining the white snow beneath us. He straightened, glaring at me, but I didn't flinch.

"That," I said coldly, "was for Evelyn."

Without waiting for a response, I climbed into the helicopter.

---

Inside the cabin, I slumped into a seat, closing my eyes and letting the rhythmic thrum of the rotors drown out my thoughts.

A woman sat across from me, her uniform crisp and her dark hair perfectly styled. She smiled, but I ignored her, focusing instead on slowing my breathing.

When Barlow entered the cabin, the woman raised an eyebrow at his torn lip.

"Don't ask," I muttered, eyes still closed. "He deserved it."

Barlow wiped the blood from his mouth but said nothing as he gave the command to take off. The helicopter lifted into the air, and the snowy peaks of Mont Blanc receded into the distance.

---

"This is Sergeant Bond," Barlow announced once we were airborne.

The woman raised an eyebrow.

"Sergeant? Not Private?" she said, her voice carrying a posh British accent, slightly thicker than my own. "Jumping two ranks is impressive. I see you come as advertised."

That was news to me. They must have promoted me during my leave of absence.

Barlow nodded toward her. "And this is Lieutenant Peggy Carter. She'll be overseeing your next mission. Bond, you're to be part of a special task force under her command."

Ah, one of those.

Carter extended a hand toward me. I didn't take it. No point, seeing as I would be out of the Task Force once she learned of my quote, unquote, volatile tendencies.

Instead, I glanced out the window, my reflection staring back at me in the glass. Evelyn's bloodied face flashed in my mind, and I gritted my teeth.

Carter pulled her hand back but kept her smile.

---

When we landed at the camp, the familiar sights and sounds of soldiers greeted me.

The barracks hadn't changed since I'd left.

As I stepped onto the snow-dusted field, a group of men I had shared the battlefield with approached, their faces lighting up with recognition.

"The Lion's back!" one of them shouted, and a cheer erupted.

They clapped me on the back, their smiles genuine, but their eyes held a flicker of something else-fear.

It coaxed a smile out of me.

"Ah, feels like home already."

(General P.O.V)

"They seem to venerate him." Carter observed from a distance, watching the soldiers welcoming Bond.

Barlow scoffed. "It's mixed with a bit of fear, too. He has the highest kill count on camp."

"Good," Carter said, her voice calm but firm. "Where we're going, a killer who can survive anywhere is exactly what I need."

(Bond's P.O.V)

Later, in my barracks, I stood in front of a cracked mirror, shaving for the first time in months. The familiar rhythm was calming, almost meditative.

The tent flap blew open, and Carter stepped inside. I didn't look away from the mirror.

"Do you always barge into men's quarters uninvited?" I asked, my voice dry.

She ignored the question, holding up a thick folder.

"I've been reading up on you, Sergeant Bond," she said. "Care to explain how a private has 1,421 confirmed Nazi kills, infiltrated multiple enemy holds, and procured intelligence that changed the war—all at the age of 14?"

I met her gaze through the mirror, my face expressionless.

"15." I corrected. My birthday passed a month ago.

Her lips curved into a small smile, but she didn't laugh.

"I read about your last mission before you requested a break." she continued. "You used intel from Château du Sangreal to track a chemical weapons convoy to a secret airfield. Then you led a strike team to prevent those weapons from being deployed over London. Sabotage, gunfights, hand-to-hand combat with one of Hitler's top generals... all without losing a single man. Sounds hard to believe. Something achievable by a soldier above elite soldiers. A super soldier."

I said nothing, continuing to shave in silence.

Carter moved closer, her tone shifting slightly. "My point Bond, is that it was terrifyingly impressive. Especially for someone with a history of insubordination. But you followed orders to the letter on that mission, didn't you? Was it because you wanted to avenge Evelyn?"

Her words hit a nerve. My jaw tightened, and I stopped shaving.

The glare I sent her way, warned not to press further.

Instead, she placed the folder on my bed. "I need you to put that same dedication into this mission, Bond. Because if we fail, the Nazis will have something far worse than chemical weapons. They'll have an actual super soldier. Now imagine a whole army of Bonds that are individually stronger than 10 men, can run faster than a locomotive and are under the command of the Third Reich. Everything you've done to fight them, everything you've sacrificed—it will all be for nothing."

Carter stepped back toward the door, pausing to look at me one last time. "We leave for Germany at 1800 hours. Read the file."

The tent flap swung behind her.

---

For a moment, I stood still, staring at my reflection in the mirror. The blade in my hand hovered over my skin, the sharp edge glinting under the dim light. Finally, I set it down and turned to the file on my bed.

I opened it, flipping past the mission brief and operational details. My eyes locked onto the first name on the personnel list:

Dr. Abraham Erskine.

The photo beneath the name showed a bespectacled man with kind eyes and a faint smile. According to the notes, he was a German scientist—a genius working under duress for the Nazis.

His research, codenamed *Projekt Übermensch*, was on the verge of creating a genetically enhanced super soldier.

The task was clear: extract Dr. Erskine alive and bring his research to the Allies before the Nazis could complete the project.

The biggest obstacle to the mission was HYDRA, a Scientific Advancement military branch of the Third Reich led by a very familiar name.

"Johann Shmidt."

I stared at the stone faced Nazi general. His frozen eyes carried a look I had only ever seen in myself. The eye's of a born killer.

"I hope we meet soon."

I snapped the file shut, my mind already racing with implications of what Super Soldiers would do to the balance of power.

All my scenarios were terrifying.

---

At 1800 hours sharp, I stood on the field with my back up and Sniper Rifle as the helicopter blades roared to life. Carter approached, dressed in her full Lietenant uniform, her presence as commanding as ever, and gave me a quick nod.

"Ready?" she asked.

I didn't answer. Instead, I climbed aboard, taking my seat near the rear of the cabin. Carter followed, sitting across from me. Barlow entered last, his torn lip still visible.

Carter raised an eyebrow at him as the helicopter lifted off. "You're looking...rough."

Barlow gave a humorless laugh. "He has a strong right hook."

I grunted. "I should have put more weight behind it."

Carter smirked, then turned serious. "Let's hope that strength serves us well in Germany."

The helicopter banked sharply, heading east. I stared out the window, the wind howling around us, and gripped my rifle tightly.

This mission wasn't about redemption. I had long given up on that. It was more about destruction and revenge. Anything that hurt the enemy was fair game.

And along the way, if I made sure no one else had to pay the price like Evelyn did, then I wouldn't complain.

The Nazis wanted a war, they had my full attention now.