Multiverse: Deathstroke

Chapter 181: Ch.180 Arranged

Chapter 181: Ch.180 Arranged

Dr. Erskine smiled. This young man was just as he had imagined—a person of integrity, with a kind heart.

"Alright, this war has plenty of big guys involved already. I think, maybe now, we could use a little guy," the doctor said in a calm tone, even making a small joke. "I can give you a chance, but it's just a chance."

He turned, pulling aside the curtain and gesturing for Steve to follow him.

Steve quickly grabbed his clothes, answering eagerly, "I'll take it."

"Good." In the examination hall outside, the doctor walked over to the physician's desk, picking through the stamps available. The dim lighting of the old lamp gave everything a hazy atmosphere. "So, Mr. Steve Rogers, where exactly are you from?"

Steve felt a little embarrassed, glancing away as he answered softly, "Brooklyn."

Dr. Erskine nodded, letting out a small "hmm," but made no comment. He flipped to the page with Brooklyn written on it, then firmly stamped the file and handed it to Steve.

"Congratulations, soldier. You're in."

Steve could no longer hide his joy. His dream had finally come true. Soon, he would be wearing a uniform, heading to the frontlines, doing his part to end the unjust war.

The stamp on the file read "1A," the highest rating in the U.S. Army enlistment evaluation, meaning he was eligible for any branch, including paratroopers and pilots, which had strict requirements.

Dr. Erskine smiled as he walked away. Someone would notify Rogers where to report, though it wouldn't be the pilot or submariner role he imagined.

"Doctor, wait a moment!" Steve called, closing the file and gripping it tightly. He still had a question.

"Hmm?" Dr. Erskine stopped, turning back to look at Steve with a confused expression. Surely, the young man wouldn't be so righteous as to question the privilege Erskine had just extended, would he?

Steve was righteous, but not rigid. He wasn't joining the army to cause trouble. Bucky often told him he needed to learn to adapt.

For a good cause and result, the process didn't matter so much. Still, Steve wanted to know if Mr. Wilson had pulled some strings. After all, he stood out too much, and he feared he might be reported, which could cause trouble for Mr. Wilson.

"Do you know Mr. Wilson? The one from Wilson Enterprises?"

Dr. Erskine tilted his head thoughtfully, a strange expression crossing his face.

"My shampoo and toothpaste are both from Wilson Enterprises. I suppose I'm a loyal customer. The mint flavor is very refreshing. But personally? No, I don't know him," Erskine chuckled, smoothing down what little hair he had left before giving Steve a confident smile and walking away, leaving Steve standing there, confused.

Weird. Didn't Mr. Wilson say everything was arranged? So Dr. Erskine wasn't his friend?

Steve scratched his head, looking around the bustling examination hall. People hurried by, not paying any attention to the small man.

Suddenly, he felt eyes on him. It was the MP from earlier, still there, smiling at him from a distance with the same kind of smile Gin had. Then, the MP disappeared into the crowd.

Steve understood instantly. The MP was the person Mr. Wilson had arranged.

The MP was fake, probably an employee from the distillery. How else could Dr. Erskine have conveniently bumped into Steve?

As Steve made his way to the recruitment center, the fake MP had likely approached Dr. Erskine, who was visiting another part of the exhibition, and informed him that someone in the recruitment area had repeatedly falsified their identity. The MP mentioned that this person might have a unique genetic condition.

As a biologist and anthropologist, Dr. Erskine's interest was piqued. Believing the MP to be from the recruitment center, he followed him and coincidentally encountered Steve walking slowly through the hallway.

The staff at the recruitment center assumed the MP was with Dr. Erskine, as his authority was high enough to command anyone. So, the fake MP had walked right in without raising suspicion.

Since MPs are military police responsible for handling soldiers, no one questioned him. Su Ming had played both sides perfectly, orchestrating the meeting between Steve and Dr. Erskine.

Afterward, Dr. Erskine fetched the file, while the fake MP kept an eye on Steve, creating the illusion that if Erskine didn't take him, they'd arrest him.

Hearing Steve's determination and being moved by his resolve to enlist, Dr. Erskine was never going to let him be taken away.

So, when the doctor entered the examination room, he even thanked the MP for notifying him, grateful that such talent wouldn't go to waste.

"Thank you!"

Even after learning the truth, Steve was still in shock over the intricate operation Su Ming had pulled off. Falsifying recruitment documents was already a crime, but the distillery staff had gone so far as to impersonate an MP—during wartime, no less. If they had been caught, it would have been over.

The boldness of the plan, the ideal outcome—everything had been perfectly arranged.

Steve was deeply moved by how far Mr. Wilson had gone for him.

In reality, Su Ming's guts were far bigger than Steve imagined. Unlike his team of incompetent scientists, his distillery enforcers were all top-notch—talented, smooth talkers.

Making a fake MP appear out of thin air in a chaotic place like this was a simple task for them. Steve should find a seat quickly, cover his mouth, and resist shouting "666!" in amazement.

Soon, a real soldier approached, handing Steve a piece of paper. It had an address and a reporting date.

"Camp Lehigh?" Steve had never heard of it. The unit summoning him wasn't the Air Force or Navy, but the Strategic Scientific Reserve that Dr. Erskine had mentioned. The paper was signed with the letters "SSR" (Strategic Scientific Reserve).

Holding the note and his file, Steve returned to the Wilson Enterprises exhibition booth to thank Su Ming for his help, but by the time he arrived, Su Ming, Bucky, and the others had left. Only Joss, who had been presenting the products earlier, remained at the table.

He looked like he had eaten too much, rubbing his stomach and muttering to himself.

"Hey, Mr. Joss."

Steve greeted him while scanning the area, hoping to spot Bucky.

Like Gin, the man in the tight sweater wasn't really named Joss. That was just a code name. Apparently, the boss had wanted to name him "Joss Not Ripped," but then worried about backlash from fruit fans, so they settled on "Joss," with the internal codename "Master John" (MJ for short).

Joss had no special abilities, but his greatest talent was being persuasive, and everything he said sounded incredibly believable. Wilson Enterprises had grown large, and Su Ming had put Joss in charge of external relations and product launches.

He had risen to the position purely because he bore a striking resemblance to the real Steve Jobs.

"Hey, Steve. Did everything go well?"

"Yes, I wanted to thank Mr. Wilson. Where did he go?"

Apart from the people still savoring various foods around the booth, Steve didn't see anyone he knew.

"The boss just got back from overseas last night. He's gone home to rest now," Joss replied with a friendly smile, pulling a train ticket from his jeans pocket. "This is for you—tonight's train ticket to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Camp Lehigh is about 70 miles north of Philly. The army will pick you up at the station."

"How did he know?" Steve asked, shocked. He hadn't mentioned anything yet, and Mr. Wilson already had a train ticket ready for him?

This wasn't just careful planning—it was like a miracle.

"Our boss always plans ahead," Joss said with a tone of admiration. He had worked at Wilson Enterprises for several years now. Although he hadn't been there as long as Gin, he had joined during the major hiring wave of 1929, making him an old hand in the company. He was well used to the boss's genius.

Steve didn't stand on ceremony and accepted the ticket. He owed enough favors already. He just hoped that he'd make it back from the war to fulfill his promise of becoming Wilson Enterprises' spokesperson.

If he returned from the battlefield missing a limb, he wasn't sure if Mr. Wilson would still want a disabled spokesperson. It wouldn't do much for brand image, especially since society at the time was still heavily prejudiced against people with disabilities.

Steve shook his head, pushing those thoughts away. They were too pessimistic. "What about my friend, Bucky?"

Joss gave him a knowing look, raising his eyebrows mysteriously. "The boss booked him the presidential suite at the Waldorf Astoria for his farewell. Bucky and his lady friend are currently... 'enjoying presidential-level room service.' You get the idea."

Alright, Steve understood. It seemed he wouldn't need to say goodbye to Bucky tonight after all. He just hoped Bucky would make it to the ship on time tomorrow.

"Okay, I guess I should head home and pack. Goodbye, Mr. Joss."

"Stay safe out there."

Joss waved, smiling. It was the only appropriate thing to say to someone heading to war.

Under the starry sky, Steve returned to his home with a spring in his step. He packed his belongings with excitement and eagerly headed for the train station.