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Industrious: Engineering Marvels III​

"We win, right?"

I blinked and looked to Bucky as we scouted ahead of the group of injured and sickly survivors while we moved away from the sounds of battle. It was a paradoxical choice given that combat indicated some kind of allied, or at least theoretically friendly, force being present. Part of me vaguely remembered that Steve Rogers should be on his way to our location, but... 'should' was a strong word when lives were at stake. In any case, though, dragging a bunch of people who were already in bad condition into a fire-fight was a recipe for disaster.

Our best hope was to get out of the base's perimeter in the confusion and wait for the dust to settle. Well, actually, the best case would be seizing a mode of transportation and getting all of these people as far away from the line of fire as reasonably possible.

I adjusted the zonked-out kid on my back and scanned our surroundings. The space was a mess of cramped alleyways that meandered between rows of block housing, likely for the soldiers. Every now and then, a group of men would pass by a few grids over, cutting off the light in quick flashes of shadow.

"What?" I asked, keeping my attention on the vectors of attack like I used to when-

I shook my head, banishing the faux memory.

"The war, we win. Right?" Bucky repeated, taking two sliding steps forward before nodding to himself and gesturing for our group to follow. "Hitler and the Japs? What happens?"

"Oh, yeah. War's over... let's see, December of '43, so... little less than two years? Germany folds in, fuck... what was it? I wanna' say late April, but it might be early May. I always remembered that because Hitler blows his own brains out like the coward he is a few days after I was born. Or, well, I was born fifty-plus years after that happened, but you get what I'm saying, right?" I muttered distractedly, the feeling of recalling my first life's love affair with amateur historian studies oddly warming.

"Pfft," Bucky sputtered with quiet laughter. "Ol' Adolf kills himself, really?" At my nod he chuckled darkly. "Always thought the guy was a fucking coward."

"Eh, the Soviets get to Berlin first, so it was probably the better decision," I shrugged. "By my day, it's actually an old joke. 'Hitler wasn't that bad of a guy. After all, he killed Hitler. That's gotta' count for something.'"

Bucky released a strangled and wheezing laugh that devolved into a coughing fit. "Fuck, that's a good one, kid!"

I chuckled, grinning. It was nice to be able to make relatable jokes again. "Ah, Japan... can't tell you much. There's this whole secret weapon program, but they surrender in... shit, I should know this. August of '45. I think. Late summer or early fall."

Bucky released an explosive breath. "Good. Good." He nodded, a faraway look passing over his face. He took a breath and released it as he seemed to come back to himself. "Glad these bastards are gonna' pay for what they've done."

I hummed in agreement, deciding that it wasn't the best time to broach complex topics like the infamous Catholic Church's 'Ratline Network' or the Korean War's knock-on effect of canceling Japanese war-crime trials. It was depressing shit, anyway.

"This way," I jerked my head. "I think I see some vehicles."

...and people, unfortunately.

As Bucky and I stuck our heads out to watch a group of soldiers yelling at each other around one of the large trucks bearing the HYDRA symbol. The hood was up and one of the men seemed to be frantically working underneath it even as another sat behind the wheel trying to get it started. A bunch of soldiers at a nearby loading dock were working to move crates into the back of the covered cargo compartment even as this was going on.

"That's the factory," Bucky whispered. "I was pulling shifts there until I collapsed and got dragged off to the lab."

My eyes flicked overed to him, running up and down his body in a brief scan. The fact that he was up and running like this was another point for my suspicion. I wish I could have been certain that he'd been given the super soldier serum, but it had been quite a while since I'd seen any of this shit on top of the fact that there might be some variance between what I 'knew' and what actually was in the here and now.

"Okay, we need that truck," I stated, my gaze looking back to the huddled group of survivors. "I'm going to set the kid down and sneak around the side. I see... about a dozen. I can take out at least three before they figure out I'm there. Once I start shooting, you can take pot-shots at whoever's vulnerable."

"Think that Nazi POS will run?" Bucky asked in reply, checking his ammunition and working the action on his rifle. "They seem to be having trouble."

I frowned for a moment, organizing my thoughts. "I should be able to get it running if the entire thing isn't borked." Tilting my head, I listened closely. "Good odds they just flooded the thing trying to rush."

Bucky nodded with a quick jerk of his head. "Alright. You say you can do this, I'll have your back. You sure, though?"

I chuckled darkly as I lowered the boy I suspected of being a young Magneto to the ground. "Watch and learn, my friend. Watch and learn."

…​

"Borked," he whispered to himself, shaking his head. "Weird fucking word."

Bucky had to admit, that was his life in a nutshell. It'd taken a turn for the worse, then the weird.

Being sentenced to that egg-head's lab after getting sick on the factory floor had been practically a death warrant. He'd been in the work camp long enough to know that no one ever came back from that section of the facility. Even many of the bastards forcing them to work until they dropped were unnerved by what went on back there.

He'd certainly learned why that was.

As he shouldered his rifle, crouched behind a large metal crate, Bucky made a mental note to get himself checked out by medical whenever he managed to get behind allied lines again. Sure he felt good, strangely good, even, but that kraut quack had shot him up with all sorts of weird shit and then zapped him with some kind of ray while he was strapped down on that table.

Part of him didn't want to know how many years he'd lost off his life going through that and didn't want to see what a doctor had to say on the subject either.

They might pull him from combat duty before he settled the score for all the brothers he'd lost when his unit had been captured, and he couldn't have that.

...maybe after the war's over. If I make it that long, hopefully they'll be able to cut out whatever rots away in the meantime.

The thought was a dark one, something that Steve would no doubt tear a strip out of his hide for even considering. For such a little guy, he could be a real mother hen when someone else got hurt.

Bucky blinked and shook himself, clearing his head as he sighted the rifle on... the guy working the truck, he decided. It was best to remove any possibility of sabotage if things went south. They were taking a chance, trusting that Ray could get the thing running, anyway.

Then again, he's from the future. Probably already have flying cars like that one from the Expo. He might be able to build one of these shit-wagons from scratch if I gave him enough time.

That wasn't even counting the whole magic-deal, which Bucky was man enough to admit he didn't understand a single lick of. There were a lot of questions he wanted to ask, too, especially about the whole, 'something took a bite out of my soul,' thing Ray had dropped so casually.

Maybe I died or fell into a coma after that shit in the lab? It'd certainly explain how weird things are getting...

The soldier controlled his breathing, pushing away the intrusive thoughts as he waited for the sign-

A flicker of motion off to the side caught his attention as he shifted to look at the far end of the loading dock. There had been a guy there, hadn't there? Just a few seconds ago, he was sure. Staring into the gloom of the night, Bucky focused on the railing and-there!

A flicker of white was his only clue as a fluid shape slid over the railing and rolled behind some of the boxes being loaded. If he hadn't been looking for it so intently, Bucky realized he would have completely missed it. The Hydra soldiers, on the other hand, distracted by their work, obviously hadn't taken that level of care.

An explosion off to the other side of the camp made Bucky flinch and instinctively turn his head even as he heard shouts of alarm and urgency from the men loading the truck. Quickly turning back to ensure he hadn't been seen, Bucky's scanning gaze failed to locate one of the men he swore had been-

Right, they'd been by the crates. The boxes Ray was hiding behind.

"You are one scary motherfucker, future boy," Bucky muttered, glaring at the scene as he tried to catch a glimpse of the young man.

Then the truck roared to life, and all hell broke loose.

In the momentary distraction of the good cheer at the vehicle's ignition, Bucky caught the glint of two hurled knives striking the backs of two soldier's heads, just under their helmets. They dropped instantly, as if a switch had been flipped and then Ray was moving.

The young man took two steps from his hiding place in the wake of his thrown weapons, moving quickly into the group of loaders as he hurled another set of knives, then another, quickly pulling more from his belt loops. Neck, neck, one right through those creepy red goggles the troopers wore, then another right through the chest of a man wearing a dress uniform.

Bucky's eyes returned to his target and, after a split-second to breath out a calming exhalation, he squeezed the trigger.

The technician who'd just gotten the truck running dropped.

Bucky moved his sight as Ray pulled out a pair of pistols and, still moving, fired on two men who'd been carrying a large box between them. That fact had delayed their pulling weapons, part of Bucky's mind realized. A fact that Ray had likely capitalized on as he saturated them with bullets.

Seven.

Another squeeze of the trigger and another man died, this one trying to take cover behind some of the unloaded material to hide from Ray and try to get a shot off.

Eight.

Ray dropped into a roll as three of the remaining soldiers managed to finally get their wits about themselves and raise their weapons. The guns Ray had been firing hurtled through the air, striking two of the men in the face as the third fired where the time traveler had been a moment before.

"He throws the fucking things better than he shoots them," Bucky muttered, taking aim at another man who was trying to regroup.

Nine.

Another pair of knives flashed out, both hitting the man who'd fired on him in the chest and sending him collapsing to the floor as he fired again into the sky. The other two men, trying to aim through the pain of being hit in the face with a block of metal, were now within striking range as Ray-

Bucky winced at the way his new friend dismantled the two men.

Limbs were not supposed to move like that, especially if the way their owners screamed in pain was any indication.

Eleven.

Bucky, meanwhile, scowled as the man leaning out the truck's cab began firing a pistol at Ray, who seemingly-effortlessly nudged one of his combatants into the line of fire to soak the bullets. Narrowing his gaze, Bucky chambered another round and breathed out one last time before taking aim at the man's extended shoulder and-

Bucky swore in dark satisfaction as his bullet struck the corner of the soldier's torso even as a hurled knife sank straight into the man's eye from the other direction.

Making one last scan of the area and hearing gunfire coming closer, he looked back to the group of huddled survivors and waved them forward even as he moved to grab the drugged kid Ray had been carrying. "Let's go! Come on!"

Bucky cursed as, halfway to the still-running truck, a group of running soldiers emerged from the factory, all carrying rifles as they shouted questions and orders in a cacophony of sound. One of them sighted on the group following him and drew the others' attention, their weapons coming up as-

Stupid, stupid, stupid! I should have thought of reinforcements! Fuck, I hope Ray at least-

Except, where was the time traveler?

As if summoned by the thought, Ray's figure flowed into the middle of the squad from somewhere and then-

It was simultaneously the most beautiful and terrifying fight Bucky had ever seen. He never even thought he'd ascribe the word 'beautiful' to a slug-fest before, but... this wasn't that. This wasn't some back-alley brawl between two pissed off thugs.

No, this was poetry in motion.

Ray's hands, empty of weapons, struck out to... strike? Grab? No, the motion was more like guiding the barrels of the weapons on either side of him as he leaned forward and poked one of the men with his foot, almost gently.

Six men opened fire. Two of them hit. Well, they hit their comrade. The man Ray had tapped with his foot had stumbled into the line of fire of two men, taking rifle rounds to the back as the guns Ray had moved with his hands discharged pointlessly off to the sides.

The extension of the young man's foot shifted into an almost ballet-like sweep that struck one of the men and sent him tumbling into three others. While that was happening, Ray dropped his body onto the gun he was still holding from the fourth man, meeting the concrete platform with the barrel's tip as he used the motion to leverage the man's body into a throw over his shoulder onto the pile of men trying to disentangle themselves from each other.

From there, it was all over save for the dying.

If you hit the ground in a fight, it was bad news. Especially if your opponent was still standing. If you were up against an opponent with a gun like that? You were fucked, plain and simple.

Even as much of a shit-shot as Ray was, he didn't miss that bad.

"Jesus Fuck, man," Bucky breathed as he approached with the group of survivors, directing them into the truck with a wave.

Ray had the gall to roll his eyes at the comment. "Let's just get out of here, okay?"

Bucky shook his head in quiet disbelief as he looked over the crates, then kicked the top off one. "One minute. I wanna' see what they were loading. I don't want to be sitting on bombs the whole ride."

Ray joined him in looking at the futuristic weapons revealed, portions of the exposed firearm glowing blue as they each stooped to pick one up. The time traveler grinned and snorted. "Heh, loot crate."

Bucky gave him an odd look, but shrugged. "Okay, now let's get out of here. I'll hand whatever these are to my superiors later."

Ray nodded as they pushed the crate into the last empty space in the truck before Bucky handed a few stolen rifles to the more able-bodied individuals among the group and positioned them at the back to fire on any pursuers.

Then, of course, the building behind them caught fire in a burst of energy and force and knocked the wind out of Bucky, even Ray having to visibly steady himself as the ground quaked from the force of the blast deep inside the factory. A shout of alarm and pain, complete with a curse, echoed over the din as Bucky and Ray exchanged a look.

"That didn't sound German," Bucky stated.

Ray grimaced and threw him the jacket tied around his waist. "Keep that safe, drive them out of here away from the fire. I'll get whoever's in there out. Do not wait. I'll find my own way out if I need to."

Bucky opened his mouth to object, but Ray shook his head. "Those people are depending on you. Go, now!"

Then Bucky cursed as Ray vanished into the smokey factory interior

Industrious: Engineering Marvels IV​

Running through a burning building isn't my idea of fun.

At this point, I was honestly just fucking done with all this bullshit. I really just wanted a few days to sit quietly, eat a few full meals, and let my soul heal to the point where I could use chakra without feeling like my entire being was tearing itself apart from the inside out.

That wasn't an option at the moment, though.

As I leaped over a pile of burning rubble, bouncing off a ruined fallen gantry that had me missing spikes of twisted metal by a hair's breadth, I saw my goal.

Stalking towards an extremely buff American soldier wearing a blue helmet with a warped red and white-stripped shield, was a man clad entirely in black leather with a face like a bloodstained skull.

"-do you not see, Captain? We are the true inheritors of the Earth! Erskine may have been a fool, but regardless of his flaws we are free to seek out our own destiny!" He paused, a sneer in the tone as he stepped over a broken block of cement. "Not merely costume ourselves with nationalistic pride like those simple sheep that fight the battles of fat politicians!"

Steve Rogers shook himself, obviously having landed badly from when the walkway they'd been fighting on collapsed. Even if he'd taken a few hits and a bad fall, though, he got back up with a firm expression on his face. "You keep talking like we're alike, but even with all the knocks I've taken I know a monster when I see one, Shmidt."

Pulling my last stolen pistol from my boot, I lined up the shot I needed even as I hung from more destroyed infrastructure.

"Then you are truly lost, if you cannot see beneath the mere superficiality of appearances," the Hydra commander stated, sounding genuinely melancholic for a moment. "A shame, I had thought to find a kindred spirit in you."

Then I finished aiming and pulled the trigger.

Dramatic monologues gave me more than enough time to-what the fuck?!

The Red Skull had spun at the last moment, a gloved hand closed in front of his face where I'd attempted to put a bullet through the back of his head. Poisonous yellow eyes flicked up from where the bullet was held up to where I was.

"I see we have a rat listening in on what I'd thought to be a private conversation," Shmidt scowled angrily as he threw the bullet to the ground.

"Assassin, not rat," I replied, digesting what I'd just seen. I mean, sure I could theoretically do something like that, but...

Supersoldier, right. Fuck.

"A failure of an assassin, then," Shmidt spat, drawing his own firearm from his side and leveling it at me before pulling the trigger. Fire and smoke filled the air, stinging my eyes as-

I flooded my system with as much adrenaline as I safely could, feeling the world slow. By the time he'd lined up the shot, I had already predicted the angle of his fire and was moving to dodge it before the bullet left the barrel. By an inch or a mile, it didn't matter, the shot still missed. Those same yellow eyes narrowed in consideration as I tucked away my gun and dropped to the ground. Behind him, Rogers was looking between the two of us in puzzlement.

Something in the far corner of the factory chose that moment to explode.

"Well, you have rather thoroughly ruined this operation. I believe it's time for me to bid you goodbye." He turned to the coiled Steve Rogers behind him, fists bared for a fight. "Goodbye, Captain. May we meet-"

I leaped.

Shmidt twisted and blocked my blow, a furious expression on his face as he struck out with his other hand straight at my head. "Rudeness-!" I ducked, dancing by the Red Skull's side as he lashed out again in an angry strike. "Will Not-!" This time I blocked, nudging the blow with an elbow and his follow-up with my wrist. "Be Tolerated!"

"Neither will genocide, you sick fuck!" I shouted in his face, as I flipped over a kick and hit him twice in the gut with two taps of my knuckles. Hertza Haeon!

Steve chose this moment to act, rushing forward with a more skilled and focused energy as he gave the German a one-two punch followed by a decisive uppercut that knocked the Red Skull back on his heels.

I hit the ground hand-first, bouncing off a clear spot of the damaged factory floor before righting myself with Steve Rogers at my back.

"You hit like children!" Shmidt shouted as he firmed his footing and flexed his fists.

"And you fight like an angry bull!" I spat in reply. "Besides, it's not how hard you hit, you fucking fascist piece of trash!"

The Red Skull frowned, "What are you-"

Then his arm exploded.

Which was an insult to my skill, because I'd tried to blow up his heart. God, I needed time to practice!

"AAAHHHHHH!" The Red Skull staggered back as I prepared to-

A piece of heavy machinery listed heavily, then fell as another explosion rocked the base. Instantly, I leaped backwards instead of forwards as I had been about to, my teeth grit as I looked for some way to cross the wall of fiery debris.

"You'll rue this day, assassin!" Red Skull cried out as he staggered away, shouting in fury. "Your days are numbered!"

"Same to you, asshole!" I shouted back, my head whipping around as another massive piece of machinery started to fall. "Now run away like the coward you are!"

The flames parted for a brief moment and I saw an emaciated crimson face as it leaned against the inside of an elevator, his eyes boring into me.

A moment passed, the sounds of destruction and flames all around us filling what would otherwise be silence. After that moment stretched, though, and I finished cursing myself for not being able to just finish the fucker off-

"Ah, h-hey, thanks for the help," Steve stated, clapping a hand on my shoulder with the classic Captain America smile.

"No problem, shit! I was this close," I shook my head and pinched the air. "This fucking close!"

"Hopefully he'll bleed out," Steve stated, squeezing my shoulder grimly.

I scoffed. "Like we're that lucky."

Then a piece of ceiling fell, nearly crushing us as Steve pulled me to him and away from the crash of rubble, pinning us between a giant piece of concrete and the flaming machine that had cut us off from. Both of us coughed viciously as a cloud of ash covered the soot that had already stained both of us.

"We need to get out of here!" Steve yelled.

"Yeah, we need to-" I stopped as I caught sight of something shining on the ground and grinned as I held aloft the keys. "Quick, Captain America! To the Nazi-mobile!"

The look on Steve's face was fucking priceless.

…​

"...and after that, Steve and I stole Shmidt's car and high-tailed it out the back gate to meet up with Bucky and the rest of the refugees," I finished up, spearing another piece of meat and depositing it in my mouth. "You've probably already debriefed Bucky and Steve about the rest of the trip back to friendly lines, though. Any other questions?"

General Chester Phillips leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms as an aide finished taking down my words. He sat, obviously contemplating my tale, as I ate my second plate of food. Regrettably, they hadn't had hamburgers, but the steak was pretty good. I was especially enjoying the sauce. I'd tried to get a few people hooked on a more American-style flavor of barbeque during my time in Konoha, but not many had really enjoyed it. Whatever the marinade was for this, they'd really done well with it, especially for an army kitchen.

"So… Ray Winston. You claim to be from the future." The drawl wasn't quite the same as I remembered from the movie, but it was remarkably close. "Say I don't believe you."

I shrugged and stabbed at a hunk of meat, then added a piece of potato to it. "Okay."

Phillips blinked. "Okay? That's it?"

I finished chewing and took a swallow from my third soda. "Goddamn it is good to have a coke again. Just nothing like it." I shook myself and looked back at the General. "Sorry about that. Anyway, if I'm being blunt, I don't care about your opinion. The worst thing you can do is send me to the crazy house and they don't have a hope in hell of holding me."

The older man snorted, nodding as he picked up a piece of paper and began to skim it with his eyes. "Rogers testified something to that effect. I'll be sure they send you somewhere more secure if we go that route." There was a certain amount of dark humor in the jab, so I let it slide. "Anyone who can blow up peoples' arms without any form of technology is plenty dangerous, I'll grant you that. How'd you do it, anyway?"

"It's supposed to blow up someone's heart or head when used correctly," I explained with a wave of my fork. "At least, when the practitioner isn't running on fumes with a chunk of their soul torn out, and barely able to perform the techniques properly. Honestly, I was lucky I didn't blow up my own arm pulling that stunt, but... a chance to kill Red Skull before he starts bombing US cities towards the end of next year was worth the risk."

The aide looked visibly alarmed while Phillips' eyes narrowed. "Bombing US cities? I'll need a bit more on that."

"Captain America and the Howling Commandos stopped him. I watched the movie, the special features, too. They even got Steve and Bucky to do commentary about how careful they had to be with the details to make sure it was accurate and respectful." I smiled enigmatically as I placed the last piece of meat in my mouth and turned more of my body to processing the fuel.

"The movie?" General Phillips asked, one eyebrow rising.

I nodded casually, an easy smirk on my face. "We call them biopics in the future. 'Biographical Pictures.' They're documentary films covering the story of a single person or group of peoples' lives. Don't worry, the guy they got to play you was pretty good. Very tough-as-nails."

His head bent backwards as if I'd slapped him, "Me?"

"General Chester Phillips, the man who oversaw Project Rebirth that ended up training the man who would become Captain America. You oversaw all of his active missions, too. Why wouldn't you be in the movie?" I asked, still wearing the same mischievous expression. "You're very by-the-book, but willing to bend the rules when necessary, like not throwing Steve in the brig."

The military man still looked as though my suggestion that, one day, someone would be playing him in a film about the events we were living through at that moment didn't quite fit with his worldview. After a long, thoughtful moment where I took another draw from my soda, he shook himself. "You told Sergeant Barnes we win the war."

I nodded. "They made a movie about Oppenheimer, too."

Phillips seemed to need a moment to digest that as well, even as the clatter of footfalls echoed down the hallway outside. Suddenly, the door opened, a man in high-class civilian clothes with a slick hair-style and a pencil-thin mustache. "Do I get a movie? If Oppy got one, I sure as hell better get one!"

Nice way to confirm they've got people listening in on things, at least.

I chuckled. "It's nice to meet you, too, Mr. Stark. Or do you prefer Doctor?"

"You can call me Betsy if you tell me they eventually make a movie about me," the genius said agreeably as he walked in, shutting the heavy door behind him. "So?"

I sighed and rolled my eyes. "You get two," I held up a pair of fingers as the man chambered a fist with a grin. "The first one is mainly about your life up until now and the shenanigans you and Captain Carter get up to fighting a resurgent Hydra and communist spies in post-war America. As an aside, maybe work on your security so virtually every invention you create doesn't get stolen by foreign agents before it gets destroyed for the greater good of humanity. The second one is your later life, your search for Captain America after he goes down fighting the Red Skull to stop his bombing run on New York, and your eventual death in the early nineties."

Howard's eyes gleamed as he rubbed at his chin. "Another fifty years, huh? How'd I bite it?"

"You'd just recreated an imperfect version of Erskine's formula and a branch of the Soviet secret operations group..." I frowned, cocking my head. I'd had a few days during the trek back to start pulling up relevant memories from my past life, but there were a few holes. I snapped my fingers as I searched for the name. "I always forget it... big snake thing. Ocean monster."

"Leviathan?" General Phillips asked intently.

I nodded, pointing a finger at him. "That! Yeah, Leviathan caught wind of it and sent their top assassin after you, The Winter Soldier. Killed you and your wife."

Howard's face sobered as he nodded. "My wife..."

"I only know her name was Maria, sorry," I shrugged. "I can't remember every single detail about all of the movies. Besides, your second movie was kind of sad. Melancholic. You never found Steve frozen in the arctic and you went pretty deep in the bottle. Ended up screwing up your relationship with your son, too. His movies were better, but that's just my opinion."

"Oh yeah, how many did he get?" Howard asked, crossing his arms.

I coughed and held up a trio of fingers, taking amusement in the way Howard's face warred between envy and pride.

"Do I get a movie?" The heretofore silent aide on the far side of the table from Howard asked, speaking up suddenly with an impish grin on his face.

"I have literally no idea who you are," I replied.

"Captain Archibald Ross," he stated, introducing himself with a deferential grin as he shook my hand.

I blinked, cocking my head. "Ross, no shit?"

"What about it?" He asked, interested.

"There was this guy named Bruce Banner. He was a failed attempt at recreating the supersoldier serum in the late nineties under an Air Force General named Thaddeus 'Thunderbolt' Ross. Dunno' if it's the same one, but... he'd probably be about the right age if you get married and have kids right after the war."

Phillips jerked slightly at the mention of an 'Air Force,' and I belatedly remembered that the institution wasn't around quite yet.

"A son of mine, as a flyboy? Must be someone else," Archibald snorted, but looked intrigued.

"Before you all go selling the rights to some director out in California, remember this is all a secret. Jesus, do they make movies of everything in the future?" General Phillips growled out, apparently finding his mental footing at last. "If we could get back to Captain Rogers fighting the Red Skull during a bombing run on New York? That sounds like vital information."

"They make movies of pretty much everything, yes. World War Two is a popular piece of subject material because, by the late nineties-early two-thousands, pretty much everything gets declassified. Also, even nearly a hundred years in the future, Nazis are pretty universally accepted as irredeemably evil." I considered my options as I responded idly, drumming my fingers on the table as I finished off the last of my soda and released a belch off to the side. "Alright, tell you what, you can keep all that Hydra science stuff I gave you on their supersoldier program, I'll tell you everything I know about the war, and give you a run down of what my fighting styles are capable of, but not how to replicate them. All of that, that's my patriotic duty as an American citizen, but I've got conditions for anything else."

"Anything else?" General Phillips asked. "Like what?"

"Technology, General," Howard Stark interjected as he finally pulled up a seat. "If this guy's from, what was it? Eighty years in the future? Then he knows all kinds of things about next-generation bombers and artillery at the very least. He could advance us nearly a century on the Soviets and that's not even touching on geopolitics."

"I might know a thing or two about which countries fall to communism in the near future," I added pointedly. "I could also draw you a simplified version of the first atomic bomb. You can tell Oppy to go with the implosion device, by the way."

Howard's eyes widened slightly, the interested gleam in them intensifying.

The General's eyes narrowed as he considered my offer. "Conditions."

"I'm on Roger's team, if he'll have me, when he goes to root out Hydra bases," I began.

"I can do that as long as you answer a whole butt-load of questions before we ship you off," Phillips nodded easily. "Might have to fight some OSS spooks if they get word of this, but I'll get it done. I'm sure Rogers will be happy to have the help."

"Second, I want a contract for my services. Hundred thousand a year, accounting for inflation, each year for the rest of my life." Both military men stood up straighter at that, even as Howard grinned devilishly. "That's the price to have me and my knowledge on call."

"That's-" He began, but I cut him off.

"You probably want to know about the shapeshifting aliens," I told him bluntly.

All three men stared at me blankly for a long moment before Phillips took off his army cap and ran a hand over his face. "I'm too damn sober for this shit." He heaved a deep sigh. "Fine. It'll have to go through some politicians first, but Rogers will be getting a medal for this, so President Roosevelt himself might sign off on it while you're in Washington. What's the third?"

I jerked my head. "That kid that came with us? American citizenship for him and me, and let him stay on base. I'll adopt him if I can't find someone else to do it."

General Phillips stared at me, frowning, as he mulled it over. Obviously, the older man sensed something deeper at play, but decided now wasn't the time to dig into it. "Alright."

Then we shook on it.

"So while the military's waiting to get their ducks in order, how about a sneak peak for a future movie star?" Howard asked intently, leaning over the corner to close in on me.

"I'll need a lawyer to look over the contract the General sends me and a one percent royalty on anything I give you," I offered.

Howard sucked air through his teeth and grimaced. "Point five."

"Point seven-five," I replied, caving a bit so I wasn't an asshole. Then, when he opened his mouth to argue. "Future knowledge, Stark."

His lips twitched, then he nodded. "Deal."