"Is this car going to break down halfway there?"
By now, Di Wan and Karl were already driving toward Washington. The car was clean, but clearly old.
"Probably not. I checked it again just now—there's nothing wrong with it. It's just that after sitting unused for so long, some parts stiffened up. Once it's been running for a while, it should be fine."
The car was obviously from the 1990s, but Braden had maintained it well and hardly drove it, so there were no major issues. Even so, Karl felt it was outdated and couldn't help evaluating it from another perspective.
"Sigh, I kind of regret driving for over three hours. It would've been better if we had my business car."
Di Wan was referring to the commercial vehicle her company from the original world had given her. It was spacious, well-designed, and performed beautifully.
"If you don't feel like driving anymore, you can open a portal and send the car back. We can just teleport."
"No. Since we've already started driving, we shouldn't stop halfway. The scenery along the road should be enjoyed slowly like this."
Karl held the steering wheel with one hand and rested the other against the window. Di Wan was taking photos with her phone from time to time.
It was late May. New York had a humid subtropical climate, and today there was no rain. The windows were open, letting in the gentle breeze.
The car moved quickly. Karl used his bio-force field to block part of the wind so Di Wan's hair wouldn't be blown into chaos—otherwise by the time they reached Washington, it would be impossible to tell which way it was supposed to fall.
From time to time, Karl glanced at Di Wan as she hummed softly to herself. His mood lightened inexplicably. He was genuinely happy about her recovery.
Two years wasn't long, but it was more than seven hundred days. Karl could feel that Di Wan had gradually accepted this world. Yet he also knew she hadn't given up on finding a way home—she just wasn't as anxious about it anymore.
"Focus on driving. Why are you staring at me? Don't you know it's dangerous not to watch the road?"
Di Wan shot him a sideways glance and scolded him.
Karl smiled without replying, pretending to focus on the road—though his peripheral vision still drifted toward her.
The trip should have taken more than three hours, but thanks to good traffic and high speed, they arrived in Washington in about two and a half.
Washington, D.C. was as bustling as ever. They parked by the roadside and walked into a restaurant that looked decent.
"Where to after lunch?"
Western food felt a bit greasy to Di Wan. She liked it, but she didn't eat much. She ordered a beef salad, yet before finishing the beef, she was already full.
Setting down her fork, she glanced around at the restaurant. Some people were still in suits while eating. That was probably why many places in Washington required formal wear—people simply didn't have time to change after work.
"Boom!!"
Karl wiped his mouth with a napkin and was about to speak when he heard an explosion two kilometers away.
It was far enough that the diners only heard a faint sound. No one seemed alarmed.
Since learning magic and sharpening her senses, Di Wan also detected the disturbance.
They exchanged a look. Di Wan stood to pay the bill. She had always managed the money. Karl had never cared about it—he didn't need food, water, or sleep. Money meant nothing to him.
"Every time I come here, I feel like this country is dangerous. Last time Tony Stark was attacked by terrorists and his house was blown up. Who knows what it'll be this time?"
Sitting in the car, Di Wan complained while scanning the surroundings. There might already be a gunfight nearby. If she didn't stay alert, they could easily get caught in it.
Two kilometers in a straight line turned into five minutes of winding streets. Even before they arrived, they heard more explosions. The closer they got, the clearer the gunfire became.
"Rat-tat-tat—!!"
"Boom!!"
Under an overpass, a man wearing a green knit cap and carrying a backpack full of ammunition was firing a six-barreled Gatling gun at a bus stopped in the middle of a road junction. Three other armed men were also shooting at the bus.
"Bang!"
A figure burst from the back of the bus, shattering glass. He grabbed a shield from the ground and raised it to block the hail of bullets.
"Clang! Clang! Clang!"
The sound of bullets striking the shield rang sharply. Steve crouched behind it. When he saw one bullet ricochet off and drop to the ground, he lifted the shield and spun. The Gatling rounds deflected, killing two riflemen. Using the momentum, he hurled the shield at the man inside the vehicle with the Gatling gun, then executed a perfect over-the-shoulder throw to knock him down.
Karl and Di Wan had just arrived when a familiar figure sprinted past their car. They heard people shouting:
"Get out of here!! It's dangerous!! Move!!"
Natasha dashed behind their car for cover, catching her breath before cautiously preparing to assess the situation. But before she could, she noticed there were still people inside the vehicle.
Her eyes widened urgently. She gestured for them to drive away—then froze as recognition dawned. She remembered who the girl in the car was.
"Click."
The door opened. Di Wan and Karl stepped out.
"Long time no see, Natasha."
Karl raised his hand in greeting. Natasha stood stunned for a few seconds before snapping back.
"Now's not the time for greetings. You need to help us. HYDRA has something called the Zola Project. If it succeeds, at least tens of millions of people—"
"Boom!!"
An explosion cut her off.
Natasha reacted instantly, turning toward the blast. Karl, who had been in front of her, was now standing several meters away. Flames still burned on his clothes.
"Di Wu, go evacuate the civilians. Leave the rest to me."
Without turning back, Karl spoke. His charred clothing vanished, replaced by an indigo battle suit. A cape unfurled behind him.
Bucky stared at him in disbelief and raised his rifle, firing at close range.
"Clang!"
The sound was deeper than bullets hitting a shield—more like striking solid steel.
Karl didn't remain a stationary target. His figure vanished. When he reappeared beside Bucky, he seized him by the throat and lifted him before the man could react.
Choking, Bucky grabbed Karl's arm and clamped down with his metal prosthetic, trying to pry it loose. The mechanical arm sparked and overloaded—but Karl's grip didn't budge.
Realizing brute force wasn't working, Bucky swung his metal fist, punching Karl in the face again and again.
After several blows, Bucky discovered Karl's skin wasn't even scratched—while his own metal fist had begun to deform.
Karl wasn't trying to strangle him—just restrain him to prevent further damage.
At that moment, Captain Steve Rogers ran over with his shield. Seeing the greatest threat already subdued, he exhaled in relief.
Karl casually dropped Bucky to the ground. The pavement cracked, and Bucky lost consciousness.
Steve stepped forward, crouched down, and removed the mask.
The relief faded from his face as he stared at the revealed features—shock and disbelief flooding in.
"Bucky?"
"Mmm—"
A man with mechanical wings landed beside Steve. He looked at Karl, eyes wide.
"Superman? …Hi. I'm Sam Wilson."
Two years ago, Sam had watched footage of the Battle of New York. In his mind, the victory had belonged entirely to the man standing before him. He had seen how this so-called Superman slaughtered countless aliens and wiped out enemy forces behind the battlefield in one sweeping strike. Since then, Superman had become almost godlike in the eyes of New Yorkers.
Though Sam hadn't been in New York himself, that hadn't stopped him from admiring the invincible airborne hero who halted an alien invasion single-handedly.
"Hello."
Karl smiled faintly at Sam.
"Wooo—wooo—"
Over a dozen black armored vehicles screeched to a halt, sirens blaring as they surrounded Karl and the others.
"Drop your weapons!! Hands in the air!! On your knees!! Now!!"
Dozens of heavily armed agents poured out. At their head stood Rumlow, pistol raised, shouting at the three of them as the armed men slowly tightened their encirclement.
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