So. The U.S. Army, in all their infinite wisdom, decided I was ready for field duty.
Not combat, mind you.
"A non-lethal scouting mission," they said.
"We just need recon, Benjamin. No violence," they said.
These are the same people who gave me a metal frisbee made of Adamantium, the unstable body of a walking microwave, and dropped me into Nazi-occupied Austria like I'm a door-to-door salesman trying to hand out justice. What did they think was gonna happen?
Spoiler alert: It wasn't reconnaissance.
It was Grand Theft Destruction V: World War Edition.
Drop Zone: 0300 Hours
Parachute? Nah. I jumped out of the plane like a Fortnite player dropping Tilted Towers.
I landed in the middle of a sleepy Nazi camp. You'd think the guards would scream or raise an alarm or something. But no — they just stood there. Staring.
I adjusted my helmet, dusted myself off, and gave them the ol' smile.
"Gentlemen," I said, raising my hands. "I come in peace. Unfortunately, peace didn't make the trip."
Then I sneezed.
And space. Folded.
No joke. A ripple of warped light shot out from me like someone yeeted a pebble into the fabric of the universe. One guard turned into spaghetti. Another reversed into his own pants.
"Bless me."
Enter: Proto-Winter Soldier
His name? Sergeant Luka Dragunov.
Long silver hair. Cold eyes. Robotic left arm that looked like it was designed by IKEA and Satan. Wearing a half-mask, long coat, and boots that made no noise, even when he drop-kicked me through a barn.
He didn't say much, but I could tell from his vibe: this dude was what happens when vodka and daddy issues fuse into a superweapon.
We fought.
By "fought" I mean he threw me through a tank, and I punched his metal arm until it sparked like a firework having a seizure.
Then I got serious.
I grabbed a nearby Nazi tank by the cannon.
"You ever hear of orbital strikes, Luka?"
He blinked.
I uppercut that tank so hard it broke the sound barrier, did a 360 spin in the air, and yeeted itself into the stratosphere like Elon Musk had a vendetta.
Somewhere in Berlin, Hitler probably shat himself and blamed Einstein.
Aftermath
The entire Nazi camp? Gone. Flattened. One big "oopsie" crater.
Luka? Still alive. Barely. He crawled out of the rubble, grinning. "Interesting."
"You say that like you're not half a kebab now."
He just laughed and vanished into the smoke. Like, poof gone. Batman-style.
Back at Camp Lazarus
The higher-ups were "concerned" about my performance.
"Benjamin, this was a scouting mission, not an apocalypse simulator."
"Yeah, well, I scouted the camp. It's gone. That counts, right?"
Howard Stark was the only one not mad. In fact, he was way too excited.
"You sneezed and bent reality. We need to run tests."
"I sneezed and vaporized a goat. I think I'm done testing for the day."
Late Night Thoughts:
My sneeze can now possibly rewrite geometry.
Luka might be the first true enemy who could keep up with me.
My ego is now legally classified as a WMD.
Oh, and I found a new catchphrase:
"Boom. Recon complete."
To Be Continued...
Chapter 6 Tease: Benjamin's sent to infiltrate a Hydra base disguised as a German radio host. He somehow becomes a propaganda icon, accidentally inspires a German rebellion, and discovers his blood might be the missing ingredient in the Super Soldier Serum... or a bomb and a new friend.