Rebirth: I am the American leader

"no problem."

The man who spoke was a balding white man with a broad, Chinese character face, although he didn't look very smart.

But those eyes were astonishingly bright.

"Okay, you know the steps."

Steve slumped back, clearing the table.

The scholar from Princeton picked up the injection in front of him, dropped a drop on the slide, quickly took out the microscope and started observing.

Under the microscope, countless cells were dividing and regenerating very quickly, with no intention of stopping.

The bald white man exclaimed when he saw this. He had never seen such a sample in all his years of work.

"this?"

"What's wrong? There's something wrong with the sample."

Steve, leaning back in his chair, frowned. The atmosphere in the office became extremely tense with his action.

It's the kind of nervousness you feel when you're alone in a room with a serial murderer, and he frowns and doesn't speak, but you don't dare to laugh.

"No, no, no, I mean this specimen is so awesome, it seems like it keeps growing!"

Steve breathed a sigh of relief when he heard that, grabbed the injection on the table, aimed it at his arm and injected it.

"Thank you for your help. I won't send you away. Stark will settle the subsequent expenses for you. Now, please leave for a while."

Steve was still polite. The bald white man stared at Steve for a long time before he swallowed and spoke with some difficulty.

"Sorry, if you misunderstood, we had no other intentions."

"I know, so I'm asking you to leave, not staying."

Steve tilted his head and looked at them quietly.

An unspeakable sense of oppression burst out from his body, and these people all shuddered in their eyes, turned around and left.

Unlike the descriptions in fantasy novels, the super self-healing factor did not make him feel any terrible pain after entering his body.

Even the pinholes healed very quickly.

"What a wonderful world this is."

Steve sincerely praised this damn world.

Until now, he was somewhat satisfied with his situation.

Steve thought so, stood up from behind his desk and stretched.

"Start training!"

Steve couldn't wait to train.

But as the saying goes, there are unforeseen circumstances, and before his thoughts could stay in his mind for more than three seconds, the rapid ringing of the phone sounded like a reminder.

He was in a good mood now, so he picked up the call without looking at the phone number.

"Hi, Steve, I don't think the grudge between us needs to involve the people below. My little brother disappeared directly after going to your place. I want to know what happened."

"It's you, Luke. Your little brother made it out of our school safely, and you know I won't allow any of the shit from Hell's Kitchen to get in."

Especially, the vendetta of you gangsters. "

Steve's tone was calm, with no emotion on his face.

"Okay, I understand, although I don't know what Kingpin is thinking. But I have to tell you, this is a fake show."

Steve was silent for a while on the other end of the phone, then spoke apologetically.

"You have your own rules, and not everyone in Hell's Kitchen deserves redemption."

Steve hung up the phone after he finished speaking.

It's a pity that he doesn't know what the two brats in his school have done.

Otherwise, he will definitely take back what he just said.

In San Diego Middle School, Wayne and Carl were sitting in an empty classroom.

The blackboard in front of them was filled with various words. It was obvious that these two little guys had an immature plan.

"Then let's take action now? I have a gun in my hand, what do you need to prepare?"

Wayne thought for a moment.

"Solid carbon fiber baseball bat."

"Wow, this is hard to find. I'll go look for it for you. If not, you should probably have to use an aluminum baseball bat."

Carl comforted Wayne, who nodded.

While the two of them were talking, a bald man wearing a plaid shirt flashed outside the door.

The latter had already walked over, but he stepped back step by step in a very strange posture and leaned in from the door.

"Whoa whoa whoa, what is this? Plan A, Plan B, Plan C, are you planning on robbing a bank?"

Wade's tone was exaggerated, and Carl and Wayne looked at each other.

"Huh? I was just joking. Why do you two look like you are really planning to rob a bank?"

The look on Wade's face started to look weird.

"Can you keep a secret?"

Wayne stood up and looked directly at the other party.

The latter was stunned, "Hey, I'm an outstanding graduate of the Boy Scouts. Of course I can keep secrets!"

Wayne nodded to Karl, who stood in front of Wade with some frustration.

"Okay, Mr. Wade, here's the thing..."

Through Carl's narration, Wade kept exclaiming until he had finished narrating everything.

Wade was already shouting with righteous indignation, "Don't eat the sour radish! Damn it! These bastards are actually making money behind my back! Even if a steel penny drops from the sky in Hell's Kitchen, it must belong to our San Diego Middle School!"

"That's not the point, is it?"

Karl said helplessly.

Wade turned to stare at him, his face covered with burn scars filled with disbelief.

"You guys are really promising at a young age. When I was your age, I would never have thought of such a quick way to make money. Robbing a bank is not as quick as robbing these pickled carrots. Wait, I'll find you a rifle and then an AK. Let's start with Hell's Kitchen, then New York, Mexico, and Colombia.

Let the three of us make this business bigger and stronger! "

Wayne and Karl looked at each other, their eyes filled with unreliability.

Although things have begun to develop in an uncontrollable direction.

But neither Carl nor Wayne had any intention of giving up.

As far as they were concerned, Steve had it all under control.

As for whether he will encounter any danger.

Stop making trouble, their teacher is Captain America.

The living Captain America.

So soon they set off.

Before setting off, Wade "borrowed" some equipment from the Expendables.

Although none of them agreed, at least these guys didn't refuse.

"Damn it, who saw my concubine?"

The irritable Caesar was even more irritable today, and their group of mercenaries all had some unknown habits.

His hobby is sleeping with a gun in his hand.

What he called his concubine was a shotgun produced by the American Remington Company.

In movies and TV shows, this type of gun is also called a rifle.

"Who would touch your concubine, speaking of a Wade?"