Chapter 116: Allen Forces Black Widow
"The Fourth Reich."
Dr. Zola uttered the name and said no more.
Allen stared at the screen for a long moment, then raised his right hand, clenching it into a fist as he muttered to himself, "Easy, Righty. Impulsiveness is the devil. I really want to smash that screen, but I'm afraid of hurting your delicate skin. Let's leave this to Lefty. She's just an ex—I don't interact with her much anymore anyway."
"Stop!" Dr. Zola said helplessly, "It's not that I don't want to tell you. When I uploaded my consciousness, the program was designed to prevent me from revealing any real information about the Fourth Reich."
"Damn it, old Zola. You gave yourself the Three Laws of Robotics or something?"
Allen gave him a look of pity.
This kind of immortality essentially reduced him to a tool of others, with no control over life or death.
"What could I do? The Fourth Reich is terrifying beyond imagination. I can't even analyze how many sectors they control."
Dr. Zola could only reveal non-critical details. "The Fourth Reich is like a parasitic nation, embedded in numerous industries, pushing forward a horrifying objective."
"What objective?" Allen asked casually.
"That touches a permission barrier in the program—I can't say. All I can tell you is that humanity will pay a devastating price for it."
As he spoke, Zola's image on the screen began to flicker, as if the circuitry was unstable. He cried out in fear, "Stop asking. The reset protocol has triggered a warning—I don't want to die!"
"I could've guessed it with my ass. I bet the Fourth Reich is just a bunch of capitalist oligarchs scheming anti-human plots from the shadows."
Dr. Zola said nothing, which was essentially agreement.
But Allen's deduction was the kind any sane person could make—obvious, yet frustratingly vague.
After a few more words, Allen pulled the lever to cut the power and left.
Zola was of no use to his plan. With that damn program lock, he couldn't spill any critical secrets anyway.
The other Hydra leaders had similar safeguards—brainwashing and trigger hypnosis protocols in place for sensitive information.
You had to admit—Hydra was vicious. Even their top brass weren't spared the brainwashing process. No wonder they kept rising.
Of course, Allen wasn't interested in Hydra's conspiracies. Someone else would deal with that eventually.
…
In a research base.
Red warning lights flashed in the hallway, and a shrill alarm continuously directed soldiers to eliminate the intruder.
Black Widow, still serving Mother Russia, was alone and looking for an escape route.
Her movements were fluid as she silently took down a soldier at a corner. It was as if she knew the layout by heart.
But her refined features were tense.
The situation in the base was drastically different from the intel she'd received.
The mission had claimed the security was minimal—yet she'd barely entered before being detected.
Her decades-long career since WWII had honed her situational judgment to a frightening degree.
So confident was Natasha in her skills that she often went on missions without firearms—her body itself was a weapon.
She plucked a comm device from a fallen soldier's ear and immediately picked up on their team movements.
"Team One has locked down Sector A."
"Team Two has locked down Sector B."
"Team Three has locked down Sector C."
"Team Four has locked down Sector D."
"…"
As the reports came in, Natasha turned and fled in a new direction.
Soon, she ran into a pursuing squad.
With acrobatics and jiu-jitsu, she quickly floored the entire team.
But gunfire had already drawn more troops.
With no way out, she opened a nearby door and tried to escape through the ventilation system.
"Check every inch! She couldn't have gone far!"
"Don't let her escape—she's a Russian spy!"
"Seal the base entrances. Don't let even a fly out."
Listening to their retreating footsteps, Natasha breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
She had already decided—first chance she got, she'd find her handler and raise hell. There was clearly a traitor in the organization. This mission had been a death trap.
Click!
Suddenly, the lights in the room flicked on.
Instinctively, Natasha reached for her taser and stared warily at the two people inside.
A man in a blood-red combat suit sat in a wheelchair, a skull-octopus Hydra insignia on his chest. Beside him stood a woman in a high-slit yoga outfit with bunny-ear accessories.
"Legendary agent Natasha Romanoff—the Black Widow. It's an honor to meet you. As Hydra Captain, I formally extend an invitation."
Natasha studied him carefully and asked tentatively, "Allen?"
"Damn it! How'd you recognize me?" Allen ripped off his mask, annoyed. "In comic universes, people are blind as bats—Superman just puts on glasses and no one knows who he is. I fully cover my face and still get spotted."
"…"
Natasha replied seriously, "Your aura gave you away."
"My aura!?"
Allen flipped his hair proudly. "Didn't expect I'd have one of those. Only someone like you could appreciate me."
He turned to the woman beside him and sniped, "Unlike some women with no taste."
Psylocke couldn't be bothered to argue. Obviously, Natasha had meant he had unhinged energy.
"I want an explanation." Natasha said coldly.
She wasn't stupid. She knew this whole setup was Allen's doing.
There was no way this was some coincidental encounter in a research base.
"I'm currently Hydra's top dog, serving as Hydra Captain, and I'm also helping Apocalypse build a mutant empire. I need people, and since we know each other so well, I thought of you first. I'm a real bro, huh?" Allen winked flirtatiously.
Natasha rolled her eyes. "That's not what I asked."
"Oh, you mean how I found you here." Allen grinned smugly. "Hydra's specialty is infiltration. You really think Russia wouldn't have any Hydra agents? Your mission was deliberately arranged to get you here."
Her headache worsened.
She was shocked to realize Hydra still existed.
They were supposed to have been disbanded and destroyed after WWII—but here they were, reborn in the shadows.
"I'm not interested."
She was determined to report this to her superiors.
"Kehehe…"
Allen let out a creepy laugh and said sinisterly, "Natasha, I didn't give you the option to refuse. I've already spread word that you defected."
"…"
Natasha froze.
This wasn't the first time he'd done this. During WWII, he'd framed a weapons expert into defecting to S.H.I.E.L.D.
Now it was her turn.
She felt furious and humiliated.
"Come on, Natasha. Just say yes already. Kehehe…"
Allen wasn't stupid. He knew there was no way a legendary agent like her would join with just a few words. Extreme measures were necessary.
"Why me?" Natasha asked gravely.
Allen turned away, blushing. "I'm in a wheelchair and need help."
That's his reason?
So he just wanted my body!
Natasha's brow twitched. "Who did this to you?"
"So touching. Don't do anything rash, Natasha. I'm okay."
Allen squeezed out fake tears and even took Psylocke's hand to wipe his eyes.
She pulled away with a disgusted "Get lost."
"I want to thank whoever did it," Natasha said bluntly.
"That hurts."
Allen stood up from the wheelchair and grinned, "My legs are fine. Disappointed?"
He broke into a dance, showing off his very functional limbs.
In the end, Natasha was strong-armed into joining Hydra.
She boarded a helicopter with them, transferring to a long-range transport plane en route to the former Winter Soldier research base.
Siberian tundra.
Come winter, temperatures dropped to minus dozens of degrees.
The white snow blanketed the vast plains.
This location had been chosen to develop the Winter Soldier serum precisely because escaping it was impossible.
Hardly any animals could survive here, let alone humans.
Captain America's serum had been modified by Allen, incorporating Bachuss gene a purified Dionesium, allowing him to survive in stasis in extreme cold.
But even that had limits. A century of freezing and he'd probably be long dead.
Winter Soldiers couldn't be cryogenically frozen without life support—their survival couldn't compare to Cap's.
Combat-wise, though, after multiple iterations, they might be catching up to Allen's version of the serum.
Super serum wasn't rare anymore.
Once Red Skull got his hands on a sample, he began analyzing it. While they couldn't recreate the exact formula, they made plenty of improvements from its base.
The transport plane landed hard, skidding a long way on the snow-covered runway.
"You can fly too? Natasha, you keep getting cooler," Allen said, starry-eyed.
Natasha sighed, "Take those gold star stickers off your eyes."
Allen peeled them off sadly. "I felt my expressions weren't enough to show my admiration, so I brought props. If you don't like them, I've also got a gold glitter spray."
He pulled out a can and sprayed it in the cockpit.
Golden powder filled the air. "See? Great vibe—cough cough—tickles my throat."
Natasha ignored him and opened a crate to pull out thermal gear.
It was over minus fifty degrees outside. Anyone walking around in just leather was asking to die.
Even Psylocke ditched her sexy look and bundled up in down coat and pants, terrified of freezing to death.
"Put this on," Natasha offered Allen a warm jacket.
Allen turned his head proudly. "I'm a man of style, not comfort. Long johns? Never."
"Suit yourself."
She tossed the jacket back into the crate and yanked open the hatch.
Whoosh…
An icy gale blasted into the cabin.
It felt like razors slashing across the face.
"Cold?" Natasha asked, smirking.
"Nah, I'm chill," Allen lied, trembling all over—except for his hair.
He'd said it. No turning back. He had to preserve what little pride he had.