The Sterling Enterprises Medical Division hummed with the kind of nervous energy that preceded either miracles or disasters. Alexander Sterling stood at the prep station, arranging serum vials with practiced precision. Each blue cylinder represented months of failure, gallons of primate blood, and enough moral compromises to fill a congressional hearing.
"Christ," Howard muttered, peering through the observation window at the packed gallery. "Half the Pentagon's up there looking like they're waiting for the Second Coming."
"Or the second crash," Alexander replied, checking each vial's label with fingers that didn't shake only through force of will. "Phillips gave us three months. We're at two months, twenty-nine days, and seventeen hours."
"With one kid from Brooklyn as our last shot." Howard reached for his flask, thought better of it, then thought worse of it and took a swig anyway. "No pressure."
The failures haunted the room like expensive ghosts. McIntyre - two minutes of superhuman strength before his organs decided to file for divorce. Isaiah Bradley, currently sedated three floors down, strong enough to tear through steel but convinced his own shadow was plotting against him. Each failure had carved another line into Phillips' patience, another gray hair onto Erskine's head.
"Gentlemen?" The door opened and in walked Steve Rogers.
The kid looked like poverty and illness had taken turns beating him with the ugly stick, then come back for seconds just to be thorough. Ninety pounds if you included his shoes and the weight of his determination. Scarlet fever, rheumatic fever, asthma, heart palpitations - his medical file read like a medical textbook's index.
"Mr. Rogers," Erskine greeted warmly, though Alexander could see the tremor in the old man's hands. "How are we feeling?"
"Ready, sir." No hesitation in the kid's voice. He'd walk into hell if someone told him it was his duty. Hell, he'd probably volunteer to lead the charge.
Alexander's photographic memory kicked into overdrive, cataloguing every face in the gallery. Phillips scowling like this was a personal insult to his existence. Senator Brandt already composing speeches - probably had different versions for 'triumphant success' and 'horrific failure' tucked in his pocket. Various military brass radiating skepticism like a new cologne. And in the back, trying very hard to look like he belonged...
Heinz Kruger. Right on schedule.
The HYDRA operative was doing his best "harmless bureaucrat" impression, but Alexander's memory supplied helpful details: expert marksman, trained in three kinds of martial arts, currently carrying a Walther P38 and a cyanide capsule in a false tooth. In the original timeline, he'd shoot Erskine and make it exactly three blocks before becoming a traffic statistic courtesy of a taxi and Steve Rogers' newfound speed.
"Dr. Sterling?" Marcus from security approached - built like someone had decided a brick wall needed legs and a bad attitude. "Routine check before we begin."
"Actually," Alexander kept his voice low, casual, "gray suit in the back row. State Department credentials. Something about him..."
Marcus glanced up without being obvious about it. "Want me to verify?"
"Quietly. No scene. Just... thorough."
"On it."
Alexander returned to the serum vials, hands steady despite the magnitude of what he was about to do. Six perfect blue cylinders containing Erskine's formula - brilliant in theory, fatal in practice. The masterpiece that killed everything it touched.
Time for the switch.
No dramatics needed. As part of the core team, Alexander routinely handled final prep. He simply selected vials from a different case, one that had been sitting in plain sight all morning. Marked with a notation so subtle even Erskine wouldn't notice unless he was specifically looking for it.
"Beginning preparation," Erskine announced, voice carrying across the room like a prayer to whatever god watched over unethical medical experiments.
They strapped Steve into Howard's Vita-Ray chamber - the thing looked like a chrome coffin had mated with a telephone booth and produced something that belonged in a Frankenstein movie. The kid seemed even smaller surrounded by all that machinery, like they were about to sacrifice him to the gods of the military-industrial complex.
"That's a lot of equipment," Steve observed, trying for casual and landing somewhere around "quietly terrified but too stubborn to show it."
"Oh, this?" Howard gestured grandly. "This is just the warm-up. Wait until you see what happens when I really get creative."
"Howard's creativity usually involves explosions," Alexander added. "Fair warning."
Even Steve cracked a smile at that. Good. Relaxed test subjects had marginally better survival rates than tense ones. Marginally being the key word - their success rate was still technically zero.
"Beginning serum injection," Erskine announced.
The auto-injectors deployed with mechanical precision, driving the Herb Variant into Steve's bloodstream. His face contorted - that particular expression of someone discovering their veins were suddenly full of liquid lightning.
"Now, Mr. Stark."
Howard threw the switch with all the flair of a Vegas magician who'd been drinking since breakfast. "Vita-Rays charging. Ten percent... twenty..."
Light flooded the chamber. Through the small window, Steve's silhouette began to change. The herb extract doing what Erskine's formula alone never could - maintaining cellular cohesion while everything else went completely insane.
"Thirty... forty..."
"Vitals are..." The technician paused, double-checking his instruments. "Completely stable. Heart rate elevated but within acceptable parameters. No cellular degradation."
"Fifty... sixty..."
Marcus reappeared at Alexander's elbow, speaking low. "Sir, you were right. Credentials are fake. Found a Walther and what looks like a smoke grenade on him."
"Keep eyes on him. When this is over, we take him quietly."
"Seventy... eighty..."
Steve's breathing changed, became labored. The transformation was accelerating now, muscle and bone restructuring themselves according to the serum's impossible blueprint. He groaned - not quite pain, not quite pleasure, something beyond normal human experience.
"Ninety..."
A sound escaped Steve's throat that started human and ended somewhere else entirely. In the gallery, people pressed forward, sensing they were witnessing history.
"One hundred percent!"
The chamber powered down with a hiss that sounded like God clearing his throat. Steam rolled out in dramatic waves - Howard had definitely installed fog machines for the aesthetic, the theatrical bastard.
For a heartbeat, nobody moved. The entire room held its breath, waiting to see if they'd created a miracle or another corpse.
Then the doors opened.
"Dear God," Phillips breathed.
Steve Rogers emerged transformed. Six feet plus of All-American beef, looking like someone had ordered a supersoldier from a catalog and accidentally hit the "supreme" option on everything. He moved with the uncertain grace of someone who'd just inherited a body several sizes too large and wasn't quite sure where all the limbs went yet.
"We did it," Erskine whispered, tears streaming down his face. "It worked. It actually worked."
The room erupted. Congratulations flew, cameras flashed, even Phillips looked like he'd swallowed surprise and found it didn't taste like disappointment for once.
That's when Kruger made his move.
The HYDRA agent shoved past the celebrating brass, his Walther appearing in his hand like a magic trick gone wrong. "Für das Vaterland!"
The first shot cracked like thunder. Erskine cried out, clutching his shoulder as blood bloomed across his lab coat. Not a killing shot - Kruger was aiming for center mass when someone jostled him.
"Gun!" Alexander shouted, though it was rather redundant at that point.
Kruger grabbed the nearest person - Senator Brandt, because of course he did - using him as a shield while backing toward the door. His free hand went to his pocket, pulling out the smoke grenade Marcus had mentioned.
"Nobody move or the Senator - "
Alexander's hand found the clipboard he'd been using for notes. Oleg's voice echoed in his memory: "Distance irrelevant when target is distracted. Man holding hostage always watches hostage, not periphery."
He threw it with all the precision years of training had beaten into him. The clipboard caught Kruger in the temple with a satisfying thwack. The Nazi stumbled, his grip on Brandt loosening.
Steve moved. Even confused and newly transformed, his instincts were perfect. He crossed the room in two strides that covered impossible distance, one hand batting the gun aside while the other pulled Brandt to safety.
Kruger fumbled for the smoke grenade, but Steve was already on him. One punch - just one - and the HYDRA agent flew backward into a wall with enough force to leave a dent.
"Stay down," Steve said, and there was something in his voice that made everyone in the room stand a little straighter.
Kruger laughed, blood running from his nose. "You think you've won? Cut off one head..." He bit down hard on something in his mouth. Foam started frothing immediately. "Two more shall take its place. Hail... HYDRA..."
He convulsed once and went still.
"Classic Nazi exit strategy," Alexander said into the shocked silence.
"Erskine!" Steve rushed to the doctor, who was being tended by medics. The wound was bleeding but not arterial - painful but survivable.
"I'm alright," Erskine gasped. "The serum... it worked..."
"It worked perfectly," Alexander confirmed, kneeling beside him. "You did it, Doctor. You actually did it."
Phillips was already barking orders. "Lock down the building! Nobody in or out! I want every inch of this place searched!"
"Colonel," Alexander said quietly, "he was probably alone. HYDRA sent one man because they didn't expect us to succeed. They won't make that mistake again."
"Then we'd better be ready for them." Phillips looked at Steve, who was hovering protectively near Erskine. "Rogers! Stop mother-henning the doctor and let the medics work!"
"Sir, yes sir." Steve stepped back reluctantly, still moving like he wasn't quite sure where his feet were going to land.
The next hour blurred past in controlled chaos. Erskine was stabilized and sedated, the wound painful but not life-threatening. Tests confirmed what they could all see - Steve's enhancement was perfect. Strength, speed, reflexes, healing, everything dialed up to the maximum human potential and then a little past it for good measure.
"We need mass production!" Senator Brandt had found his voice after his close encounter with hostage-hood. "An army of these men! Think of what we could accomplish!"
"With respect, Senator," Alexander interjected before anyone else could respond, "we just saw what happens when our enemies know we've succeeded. HYDRA will come at us with everything they have. The formula, the process, the technology - it all needs to be secured before we even think about expansion."
"There's another problem," Phillips added grudgingly. "Erskine's the only one who knows the complete formula, and he's going to be out of commission for weeks."
All eyes turned to Alexander.
"Sterling," Phillips continued, "you've been working with him for months. The formula - "
"Was Erskine's domain, Colonel." Alexander spread his hands apologetically. "He kept the final serum composition compartmentalized. I handled delivery systems, Howard managed the Vita-Rays, but the actual formula?" He shook his head. "Erskine prepared the final mixture personally. Said after what happened in Germany, he couldn't risk the complete formula existing anywhere but in his own head."
"Nothing? No notes, no - "
"His notes are extensive but... incomplete. Deliberately so." Alexander glanced at the blood still staining the floor where Kruger had died. "Apparently his paranoia was justified."
Phillips looked ready to chew nails. "So we're stuck waiting for him to recover?"
"I'm afraid so. And Colonel..." Alexander paused, choosing his words carefully. "After today's breach, I have to think about the safety of my facilities. Sterling Enterprises has thousands of employees who didn't sign up to be HYDRA targets."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying perhaps it's time Project Rebirth found a more... secure home. Military facilities, government labs. Somewhere designed for this kind of threat." Alexander kept his tone neutral. "We've delivered what we promised - a successful enhancement. But housing continued operations here, after HYDRA's demonstrated they can infiltrate..."
He let the sentence hang, watching Phillips process the implications.
"You're washing your hands of this?" Phillips' jaw tightened.
"I'm acknowledging reality." Alexander gestured toward the blood still staining the floor. "HYDRA knows where we are now. My employees - thousands of them - didn't sign up to be targets. My board's already asking questions about the security breach."
"HYDRA will come after you regardless," Phillips countered.
"Perhaps. But there's a difference between being a potential target and painting a bullseye on my building by continuing operations here." Alexander paused, then added carefully, "As for Dr. Erskine, you've seen how this work weighs on him. Each failure, each test subject who didn't make it... he carries them all. And now with his injury, the trauma of today's attack..."
He shook his head. "I won't pressure him to continue. That's a conversation between him and his conscience - and you, Colonel, if you choose to have it. The man's the only one who truly understands the complete formula, and after what he's been through, any decision to pursue this further needs to be his alone."
Senator Brandt nodded slowly. "He has a point, Phillips. The safety concerns alone - "
"Besides," Alexander interjected, gesturing to Steve, who was currently bench-pressing what looked like a small car while medics took notes, "one perfect soldier may be worth more than a rushed army. Look at him. That's not just enhanced muscle and bone. That's Captain America."
Brandt's political mind latched onto the phrase like a drowning man finding driftwood. "Captain America... the symbol of our strength..."
"Exactly. One perfect soldier. Unique. Irreplaceable. The walking embodiment of American potential." Alexander could see the propaganda forming in Brandt's mind. "Try to mass produce that and you dilute the impact. Keep it unique, and you have a legend."
"Fine," Phillips growled. "We'll relocate. But I want all research materials transferred. Everything."
"Of course. My people will coordinate with yours." Alexander was already mentally cataloging what to transfer and what to 'accidentally' misplace.
Alexander slipped away during Steve's testing, returning to the prep station. The original serum vials needed to disappear. No evidence of the switch, no trail leading back to his private greenhouse three floors down.
He was just finishing the disposal when footsteps clicked behind him. He didn't need to turn to know who it was - those heels had a very specific rhythm.
"Efficient as always," Peggy Carter observed.
"Just cleaning up. Big day, lots of mess."
"Indeed." She entered, each step measured. "Quick thinking with that clipboard."
"I was aiming for his gun hand. Hit his head instead. Lucky accident."
"You seem to have a lot of lucky accidents, Dr. Sterling." She stopped just close enough to be uncomfortable. "Almost like you knew he was going to make a move."
"I always assume someone's going to make a move. Pessimism disguised as preparation."
"Is that what you call it?" She studied him with those eyes that missed nothing. "Isaiah Bradley's asking for you, by the way. His condition's stabilized, but his mind..."
"Still fighting a war that isn't there." Alexander felt the familiar weight settle on his shoulders.
"You carry guilt well for someone who claims to be amoral."
"Guilt's overhead. I factor it into my costs." He sealed the last container. "How is he really?"
"Physically perfect. Mentally..." She shook her head. "Dr. Wilkins thinks with time and therapy, but the trauma runs deep. He keeps talking about burning trees."
Alexander closed his eyes. The diluted herb extract he had administered later had stabilized Isaiah's body, but couldn't fix a mind broken by amplified trauma.
"I'll see him tonight."
After she left, Alexander stood alone for a moment, surrounded by the remnants of the day's miracle, before his phone buzzed.
Torrio - reliable as taxes, and twice as inevitable.
"Yeah?"
"Boss, we got a situation. Gloucester's people are sniffing around our Portuguese operations. Real interested in why we're mapping old sites near Chaves."
Alexander's mind raced. "How interested are we talking?"
"They've got teams asking questions in Lisbon. Discrete, but not that discrete. Won't be long before they connect our archaeological surveys to something specific."
"Double security on all sites. Hire locals, make it look like standard dig security. And Johnny? Start preparing contingencies. The Council's getting too curious about our side projects."
"Already on it. Also, your parents still expecting you Sunday? Your ma's making brisket."
Despite everything - the successful experiment, the foiled assassination, the looming threat of powers that would make even Captain America look quaint - Alexander found himself smiling.
"Tell them I'll be there. Six sharp."
"Will do. Oh, and boss? Congratulations on the science thing. Radio's already going crazy about some kind of breakthrough."
"The breakthrough was Steve Rogers. Everything else was just window dressing."
He hung up and took one last look around the lab. Tomorrow, the world would wake up to news of America's super soldier. The war effort would shift. History would pivot on this moment.
But tonight, he had a damaged soldier to visit and a family dinner to attend. Because that was the thing about playing the long game - you had to remember what you were playing for.