Through his groggy vision, Lucas squinted at the heavy steel door in front of him. It had only a pitifully small inspection slot, just big enough for a pair of eyes to peer through. Across the room stood a narrow window barred with iron—no glass, only the naked metal grid. The icy wind howled through it, carrying flecks of snow that melted against the cold stone walls.
He sat on the creaking iron bed, head pounding as fragments of memory surfaced. The last thing he recalled was being shot full of tranquilizers. His veins still burned faintly.
Looking down, Lucas noticed two tiny puncture marks on his arm. Blood extraction. They were analyzing him—trying to figure out what he was, to see whether his power came from mutation.
"System, get your ass out here," he muttered.
[Ding~]
"They didn't find anything in my blood, right?"
[Ding~] "Of course not, Host. Your blood composition is identical to a normal human's. There's nothing unusual to detect."
"Good. Dismissed."
The system fell silent.
Lucas stood and walked to the window, taking deep breaths of the frigid air. Outside stretched a blinding white expanse of snow. He was inside a fortress-like structure, with high walls, guard towers, and soldiers patrolling below—every one of them armed to the teeth. Tanks with sleek, high-tech armor lined the courtyard like sleeping beasts.
So this is Hydra's nest, huh?
Suddenly, the viewing slot on the door slid open. A pair of eyes peered inside. Then came the sound of locks turning, and the door swung wide.
A squad of fully armed soldiers stood outside.
Lucas barely turned his head before—thwip thwip thwip!—a volley of tranquilizer darts hit him squarely in the chest.
"I—"
He didn't even get the rest out before collapsing.
When consciousness returned again, he was strapped to a chair in what looked like a laboratory. Every limb was secured with reinforced restraints threaded with metal wire and some kind of composite material—far stronger than nylon.
Across from him sat a man in a crisp military uniform, sipping coffee as if they were having a polite afternoon chat. A single monocle gleamed over one eye.
"Welcome, Mr. Lucas Norman."
The man's tone was calm, cultured—even courteous.
"Is this how you greet all your guests?" Lucas said dryly, testing the restraints. They barely budged.
"My apologies," the man said with a faint smile. "But you must understand—we could not risk bringing in someone of your… abilities unprepared. My men had no choice but to be cautious."
He rose, still holding the white porcelain cup gracefully.
Lucas narrowed his eyes. "Since when did Hydra start hiring gentlemen? Why don't you show some sincerity and untie me first?"
The man smiled again, but said nothing. Lucas studied him carefully. There was something familiar about that face, that air of European nobility… Then it clicked.
"Forgive me, Mr. Norman," the man said smoothly. "Your potential makes you dangerous. I can't release you. But I promise to keep our conversation brief—if you cooperate."
"Fine," Lucas said casually. "Ask away."
"Excellent. Thank you for your cooperation."
The man placed his cup on the counter and clasped his hands behind his back, stepping closer.
"Mr. Norman, your powers intrigue us. We've tested your blood—it's indistinguishable from that of an ordinary human. You're not a mutant, nor the result of any genetic engineering. So tell me—where does your power come from?"
He reached over and rolled up Lucas's sleeve. The puncture marks from the earlier blood draw were gone, his skin flawless.
"Fascinating," the man murmured. "Rapid regeneration, too. It seems my researchers missed that detail."
He picked up a scalpel from the table, the blade glinting coldly under the fluorescent light.
"Hey—careful with that thing," Lucas said, his tone half-joking but his eyes sharp. "You make a wrong move, and I'll plant you in the nearest wall like modern art."
And it wasn't an idle threat. The restraints were strong, yes—but one swing of the Divine Armament, and they wouldn't last a second.
The man merely smiled, idly twirling the scalpel in his hand. "Relax, Mr. Norman. As long as you cooperate, this little knife remains nothing more than a toy."
"Now then," he continued politely, "tell me the truth. How did you gain your power?"
Lucas thought for a moment. "I learned it," he said matter-of-factly. "What, did you think I was born with it?"
"Oh? Learned? And where, pray tell, did you study? Who was your teacher?"
"My teacher's name is Hydaelyn," Lucas said without missing a beat—the same story he'd once used to fool the Ancient One. "She taught me magic."
"And where is this Hydaelyn now?"
"No idea." Lucas shrugged.
The man's brow furrowed. "I see. So Mr. Norman doesn't wish to cooperate. In that case, I may need to… encourage your memory."
"Hold up." Lucas smirked. "You've been grilling me long enough. Mind if I ask you a couple of questions?"
The man paused, then nodded. "Go ahead."
"First, who the hell are you? And second, where is this place?"
He inclined his head slightly, every movement precise, aristocratic. "Forgive my manners. My name is Wolfgang von Strucker—you may call me Baron Strucker. And this, Mr. Norman, is Strucker Castle in Bavaria."
Lucas's eyebrows shot up. "Ah, so that's who you are—Baron Strucker himself. One of Hydra's big bosses. Well, well… what an honor."
So this was that Strucker—the same guy who got flattened by Captain America in Age of Ultron and later vaporized by Ultron himself. A short-lived villain if there ever was one.
"It seems you've heard of me," Strucker said, intrigued. "Few outside Hydra know that name."
"Of course," Lucas said lightly. "There aren't many who can stand alongside the Red Skull in infamy. You're quite the celebrity, Baron."
Strucker chuckled softly. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Norman. Now, my turn again."
He stepped closer, the scalpel's tip gleaming inches from Lucas's face.
"I require your power," he said, his voice now edged with steel. "You have two choices—join Hydra… or become my next experiment."
His sharp eyes glinted with fanaticism.
"Ohh… careful now, Baron," Lucas drawled. "That's a very ungentlemanly proposal. You might end up regretting it."
Strucker's smile faded. "My patience is limited. I'll give you one day to decide. I'd rather not resort to violence."
He dropped the scalpel into a tray and wiped his hands with a cloth.
"Take him back to his cell. Keep him restrained."
Two soldiers grabbed Lucas's chair and rolled him out of the lab.
Lucas didn't resist. He just smiled faintly to himself.
One day, huh?
You'll be lucky if you get one hour, Baron.
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