SuperSoldier (SI-OC/MCU) 48: New Variant

48: New Variant

"I can’t believe you did this again," Raven grumbled, her face flushed and brow furrowed, arms crossed in front of her chest as she looked at him with disapproval.

John couldn’t help but feel a slight touch of amusement at her indignation. Wiping the table one last time with the damp cloth in his hand, he turned to her and pointed at the mop beside her.

"Come on, stop complaining and help me. The floor’s still wet," he said, making her sigh.

"I don’t get paid enough for this," she muttered, but despite her apparent complaint, she still grabbed the mop and started running it across the floor—although much more roughly than she should have, causing a few droplets of liquid to splash onto John.

"Hey!" he growled, prompting her to smile mischievously.

“What’s the matter? Does it bother you to have a little pee on you? Well… Maybe next time you’ll think about getting a damn room!"

It was always interesting for John to see Raven lose her composure; these days it was increasingly difficult to find things that could make her react. She almost seemed to have gained a kind of supernatural serenity in the way she spoke and acted. For a while, John feared she might end up turning into some sort of emotionless robot—it was good to see that, in reality, she had just gotten quite good at pretending.

He wondered where she’d picked that up…

"It’s not pee," He said, making Raven snort.

Narrowed his eyes, a spark of mischief lighting in them—and before Raven could react, John whipped the damp cloth in his hands in her direction with force.

Feeling the liquid hit her face, Raven stumbled back in disbelief, barely able to process what had just happened.

“Y-You!—You! You! You!” she stammered, as if her brain had short-circuited, repeating the same word for several more seconds.

John rolled his eyes at her reaction. He’d seen this girl covered in more blood and viscera than any normal person could ever imagine. A bit of ‘water’ shouldn’t be that big a deal.

Raven trembled slightly, took several deep breaths until the deep red on her cheeks faded into a pale pink, her eyes locked onto John’s like daggers.

Her finger pointed at him, her mouth opening and closing as if trying to speak but unable to find the words.

John laughed. “What’s the matter? Does it bother you to have a little pee on you?” he said, throwing her own words back at her.

In response, she smacked him in the face with the mop.

"Alright, I deserved that," he admitted without the slightest bit of annoyance—at least he hadn't showered yet.

Raven snorted again and decided to act like he didn’t exist. She continued mopping the floor while muttering a series of nearly incomprehensible words under her breath.

Of course, to John it was as if she had said them out loud, and he couldn’t help but wonder where she had learned so many insults. Surely not from him… right?

The sun had yet to rise, and soon they both finished cleaning the meeting room. Raven had returned to her usual calm as if nothing had happened, but this time her mask wasn’t as convincing, and John could still see the faint frown on her face.

Grabbing a still-clean and dry cloth, he approached her and helped her wipe her face.

"Sorry," he said suddenly, causing her to raise an eyebrow and look at him in surprise.

Letting John dry her off, Raven simply shrugged. She wasn’t actually that upset—her sense of disgust had long since dulled thanks to the things she’d witnessed during the war. So even if it had bothered her at first, it only took her a moment to get over it.

"Instead of apologizing, I’d rather you make it up to me," she said, making John pause before nodding.

"Come on, Raven, you know you're my favorite girl. Whatever you need, just say the word." And he meant it—out of all the people John knew, Raven was the one he’d truly take risks for to give her whatever she wanted.

After all, she was more than just his right hand.

She considered it in silence for a few seconds, puffing out her cheeks slightly and pursing her lips in an expression that was surprisingly adorable—one that contrasted with the serene maturity of her usual ‘disguised’ face.

"I have an idea," she said, but didn't explain further causing John to be left wondering.

Taking the cloth from his hands, Raven began to walk toward the door.

"You should go take a shower. You stink," she said before walking out with a light laugh.

"How mysterious," John muttered, rubbing his chin and squinting an eye before shrugging. He was never good at solving mysteries, so he didn’t even bother trying. Whatever Raven wanted, he’d just wait for her to tell him.

Now that he was alone, John approached the large board in front of the meeting table. On it was a large map with several points marked, along with notes about different locations—many of them bases that John and his group had already raided, and a few that they still had left to visit.

"But you won’t be in any of those," he said, looking at the marked points before shifting his gaze toward Germany.

In their crusade, they had already destroyed much of Hydra’s forces in Poland. It could be said their objective in the country was largely fulfilled, even if it had been interrupted near the end.

According to the intel they’d managed to gather, Red Skull and Doctor Zola should have returned to Germany once they realized staying in Poland had become too dangerous.

Clea had been quite helpful in confirming this. While something was preventing them from tracking Red Skull precisely through sorcery, that didn’t mean he left no trace. In the words of the sorceress, the use of the Tesseract to open portals to other dimensions and summon malevolent entities had saturated all of German territory with a dark aura.

An aura that, she claimed, had undoubtedly tainted the soul of Hydra’s leader—and no matter where he went, it would always follow him.

Thanks to that, even if they couldn’t pinpoint his exact location, they could get a general idea of where he was. As long as he set foot outside the country, Clea would know—and so far, that hadn’t happened.

Now the only question was where to start looking. German territory, while not the largest in the world, was certainly vast. If they did the same thing they had done in Poland, it might take far too long to reach Red Skull—time the man could use to carry out any number of sinister plans.

Fortunately, they now had a nearly instant means of transport. With Clea, they could move from place to place in seconds, skipping the need for vehicles and making any future infiltration far easier.

'And with Cassandra and Charles working together, finding Red Skull will be child's play.' Thinking of the Xavier siblings reminded him that he still needed to have a talk with the boy— find out if he was in a condition to keep going, or if he'd choose to stay behind instead.

Although John wanted to bring them both along, if Charles truly wasn’t willing, he wouldn’t force him. So far, he had done more than enough and fulfilled his role beyond perfection. With Cassandra awakening her own telepathic abilities, the truth was that Charles was no longer strictly necessary—though that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be good to have him around.

Another important matter to address was the team’s formal introduction. The world already knew that John had a group of “super soldiers” fighting by his side—there were too many witnesses and war correspondents for it not to have become common knowledge around the globe.

People were talking about them everywhere,  but up to this point nothing concrete had been revealed to the masses. With the war about to end, John decided it would soon be time to make an official announcement and present this world with its first team of 'superheroes.'

'The future looks promising,' he thought before turning around and walking to the door, ready to head back to his room and take a shower.

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Cassandra was in a bad mood. Charles had seen her in bad moods many times before, but this time she seemed far more irritable than usual. The redness in her eyes was the clearest sign—had she been unable to sleep?

He wouldn’t know, since he had passed out the moment he hit the bed, his mind going completely blank. And not because he had nothing to think about—Charles had too many things to think about, and if he were a regular person, he had no doubt his dreams would have been filled with horrific nightmares.

Fortunately, he had his powers. And while it might not have been the healthiest thing mentally, Charles had made sure his subconscious mind could no longer torment him.

Maybe he’d never dream again, but he was okay with that. He didn’t want to dream—not if it meant seeing Angelo’s face consumed by flames again, or hearing once more the horror-filled screams of all those souls devoured by fire.

Just thinking about it darkened his expression. It was unfortunate, but not even he could stop the memories from returning while he was awake. They were bothersome, irritating—they made him want to slam his head against a wall until he passed out.

Trying to distract himself, he lowered his gaze to the freshly served plate in front of him. He had only woken up a few minutes ago and had gone to the base cafeteria to get some lunch. That’s where he found Cassandra, who already had her own plate set on the table.

Neither of them said a word. Charles simply sat down across from her and watched as she idly poked at her food with her spoon for several minutes. Once again, he found himself wondering what was wrong. Although she hadn't been particularly Pleased after forcibly extracting him from his mental prison, she certainly hadn’t seemed as shaken as she did now.

'Well, she’s always grumpy when she’s not in a fight. Maybe she just misses ripping people’s hearts out while laughing at them.' That thought, morbid as it was, managed to curl the corner of his lips into a faint smile.

Cassandra must have noticed, because he felt her bloodshot eyes stabbing into his face.

“What are you smiling at?” she asked through gritted teeth.

Charles shrugged, returning to his lifeless expression.

At any other time in the past, he probably would’ve asked her what was wrong, maybe even insisted on trying to help. But right now, Charles didn’t have that kind of energy. All he could offer at the moment was barely tolerable company—and if she wanted to talk, he’d be willing to listen. Though he doubted she would say anything.

Seeing him stay quiet, Cassandra clicked her tongue and looked back down at her plate.

“What’s wrong? The food doesn’t taste good?” The familiar voice made the girl shudder, her back straightening instantly.

Turning his head, Charles saw John approaching their table with his own lunch in hand.

John casually took a seat beside Cassandra. He took a bite of his food, savored it for a few seconds, then frowned.

“It’s not that bad,” he said, glancing at the plates they had barely touched.

“I’m not very hungry,” Charles answered, catching the unspoken question in his eyes. As for Cassandra, she turned her face toward the wall without saying a word, as if trying to avoid looking at John for some unknown reason.

John, of course, noticed. His eyebrow lifted in doubt before deciding he would figure it out another day—right now he wasn't here to talk to her,. Shifting his focus back to Charles, he paused briefly to consider his words before speaking.

"How are you holding up?"

Charles thought about it. How was he? Well, if he had to be honest...

“Like shit,” he said, letting out a long sigh.

“Of course.” John chuckled without humor. Heart-to-heart talks had never really been his thing. Deciding not to beat around the bush, his expression turned serious as he continued.

“As you know, we’ll be launching our counterattack soon. I hope the whole team can participate when the time comes, but I won’t force anyone to. If you decide you’d rather not join in, that’s okay. I think you’ve already done more than enough in this war.”

He told him, and when Charles heard it, he froze.

Stay behind? The thought spun through his mind with tempting weight. Just… leave the war behind. No more fighting. No more death. Go back to what his life used to be—home, with his parents, preparing for his studies.

He could almost see it. Almost feel himself there again.

But then, Angelo’s screams echoed in his ears, and the illusion shattered instantly.

“No. I haven’t done enough yet,” he said gravely, looking at John with an intensity that caught him off guard.

"I understand..." John’s brow furrowed slightly. "I won't mention it again."

Charles nodded, his tense shoulders finally easing a little.

The three of them continued eating in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, until more people began arriving at the cafeteria and the place gradually grew livelier.

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Far from the United States, hidden deep in the German mountain range known as the Black Forest, stood Hydra’s last and most important base: a towering and ancient fortress of dark stone, known as Krake Castle.

In one of its large training halls, a dozen men, grouped in pairs, grunted and panted as they faced each other in fierce combat, moving with ferocity and fighting with methodical and ruthless violence, the echo of their blows reverberating powerfully against the stone walls.

Every movement was fluid and precise, but above all, lethal—an impeccable demonstration of the extreme training they had undergone throughout their years as Hydra’s elite agents.

From an elevated booth, behind a wide glass window, two figures observed the scene beneath their feet, with very different expressions.

“As you can see, the experiment has been a complete success. Their physical capabilities have far surpassed my initial estimates,” explained Doctor Arnim Zola, the enthusiasm in his voice barely contained, pride shining in his eyes.

However, his excitement was soon tempered as he felt a cold wind brush his back, the man beside him remaining in heavy silence.

Feeling nerves begin to rise within him, Zola cleared his throat before continuing.

“O-of course, they are not as strong as you, sir. Unfortunately, the derivative of Doctor Erskine’s serum created from your blood is still a defective product... Even so! Thanks to it, I was able to find the key to amplifying the effects of the infinite formula, granting them extraordinary recovery abilities.”

And as if to prove it, one of the soldiers delivered a precise blow with his elbow to his opponent’s face, causing blood to splatter as a chilling crunch echoed through the air. The injured man fell to the ground with his nose completely broken and disfigured.

He seemed to have lost consciousness, but only for a moment, for the next instant his clouded eyes regained focus, and with the visceral sound of flesh and bone twisting, the nose—previously crushed—began to reconstruct itself.

It wasn’t instantaneous, but it was surprisingly fast: in barely thirty seconds, the only visible sign of the injury was the traces of blood on his face.

Then, he stood up and continued fighting.

Although still far from the regenerative capabilities of the ‘Primary Donor,’ Zola had achieved what once seemed impossible—successfully transferring the unique ‘factor,’ or at least part of it, to other individuals permanently and without adverse side effects. Of course, many tests still remained to be done, but without a doubt, before them stood a true group of super soldiers.

Had it been in the past, had this happened before 'He' appeared, Johann Schmidt might have allowed a wide smile to form on his face, reveling in the prospect of finally having his long-desired, unbeatable army in his hands.

Today, he did not smile—his deformed face remained neutral, almost impassive, observing that group of lethal soldiers with a mixture of indifference and disappointment… feelings that, little by little, gave way to anger.

“More cannon fodder… After everything I’ve invested in you, all you’ve given me is another pile of cannon fodder!” he growled, turning toward Zola with a flash of coldness in his eyes, the shorter man stepping back under the intensity of his gaze.

What use were these paper soldiers, when not even monsters a thousand times stronger, with infinitely superior regenerative abilities, had been able to do anything against Captain America?

Of course, there were many areas in which they would undoubtedly be extremely useful. If this were still a war between men, Johann had no doubt that, in one or two years, the world would be in his hands.

The problem was that this was no longer a war between men. And no matter how useful these soldiers might be in any other circumstance—everything would become meaningless when the time came and that damned Captain America appeared at his gates. They wouldn’t even be a pebble in his path. He would crush them like one crushes a line of ants.

Johann even doubted he would notice they were “super soldiers” in the first place.

Letting out a sigh, he tried to remain calm and asked another question.

“How many more of these soldiers can you produce?” It was said that with enough numbers even an elephant could be brought down; if he could place at least ten thousand or more of these ‘super soldiers’ in his ranks, surely even Captain America couldn’t ignore them, right?

He tried to be somewhat optimistic, but the words Zola spoke next shattered that brief fantasy.

“Well… the process is somewhat complex. As I said before, it was only thanks to the derivative of Doctor Erskine’s serum that I managed to stabilize the infinite formula and amplify its properties. If I want to produce more of this new variant… I’ll need many more samples of your blood, sir.”

And unlike the immortal prisoner Zola was milking like a cow to create his formula, the amount of blood Johann could provide for the serum derivative was barely a drop in the ocean.

Thus, any expectation of obtaining at least a hundred of these super soldiers in the short term vanished into nothing.

Seeing how Johann’s face grew increasingly grim, Zola had to resist the urge to swallow hard and shrink back. He knew his answer would earn his displeasure, but it was the only one he had.

The process to create the new enhanced variant of the infinite formula was still far too experimental to offer precise figures—or even to think about mass production.

“I understand…” said the Red Skull at last, his voice barely containing the fury boiling inside him. Only he knew how hard it was not to give in to the impulse to lash out at the scientist beside him. In a corner of his mind, sinister voices continued whispering to him, like annoying mosquitoes gnawing at his psyche.

“I can accept that you’ve spent part of our resources and time on this little project,” he continued coldly, “but you’d better bring me better news regarding Compound V, or you’ll be in serious trouble, doctor.” The harshness in his voice made it clear to Zola that Hydra’s leader was giving him an ultimatum without saying it outright.

Fortunately, this time the scientist had better news.

“O-of course! I would never dare neglect such an important task, sir. You’ll be pleased to know that thanks to the new infinite formula, I’ve managed to almost completely stabilize Compound V. If my calculations are correct, I’ll soon be able to create the perfect serum for you!” he said quickly.

So all this hadn’t been for nothing, Johann thought, unclenching the fists he had kept tight until then.

“You should have started with that,” he growled, feeling irritation return—but after a few seconds, he managed to compose himself.

“I’ll give you more samples of my blood. Stop wasting time creating expendable soldiers and focus on what matters... I have a feeling it won’t be long before the Captain comes for us,” he said gravely, giving the doctor one last glance before turning and walking toward the doors of the booth.

Even after seeing that he had left the place, Zola remained tense where he stood, only beginning to relax once the sound of his footsteps could no longer be heard nearby.

The scientist didn’t know why, but recently his leader’s presence had become much heavier, as if a dark and cold aura followed him with every step, soaking every room he entered with a tangible malice. Zola even thought he had seen the color of his pupils fading, turning darker and darker with each passing day.

Shaking his head, he decided not to keep thinking about such sinister things. He didn’t know what the Red Skull was doing in secret, but something told him that trying to investigate would be far too dangerous—and Zola was not the type who liked to tempt fate.

Turning his gaze toward the men still fighting in the large hall, he couldn’t stop a sigh of discouragement from escaping his lips.

“Such an extraordinary achievement, discarded so easily…” he murmured to himself.

Zola didn’t leave immediately. He stayed watching the soldiers for a few more minutes before deciding it was enough and dismissing them. Once the last one had left, he too departed, heading to his laboratory.

The metal doors shut behind him as he entered, and the automatic lights turned on, illuminating the place.

His tired eyes scanned the room until they settled on his main work table, where a small refrigeration device held six aligned vials, each filled with a dark red liquid, almost resembling blood.

In addition to the twelve men who had been injected with the new variant of the Infinite Formula, Zola had reserved these six vials for a more... personal use.

It didn’t take a genius to know things weren’t going well for the Third Reich—and consequently, not for Hydra either.

Zola understood this better than anyone, given his position. And though he firmly believed in the ideals of his organization, he wasn’t foolish enough to simply wait to die. If the Red Skull failed to defeat Captain America, then he would have no choice but to flee and rescue what remained of Hydra on his own.

‘But I’ll need more than this to do it,’ he thought, before turning toward a thick, reinforced door at the far end of the room. Behind it was the personal prison of the man who had given him the key to achieving the impossible.

Maybe the time had come to get his own hunting dog.

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Note:

Hi! I know it’s been a long wait—honestly, it wasn’t my intention. Somehow, every time I tried to write this chapter, my mind went blank. Even though I knew what I wanted to do, it was like I simply couldn’t do it.

I think it was a bit of writer’s block that hit me out of nowhere, but like all my problems in life, I’ve finally overcome it.

So here is the new chapter—I hope you enjoy it. With that said, I’ll take my leave for now. Hopefully I’ll bring the next chapter of Still Defiant soon.