***
A young woman in a light dress, tailored to the current fashion, was waiting for us at the airport. It was none other than Captain Romanova herself, a figure I was becoming quite familiar with.
"Comrade Creed, Comrade Lee, welco to the Soviet Union," she greeted us in English, confident that we both spoke it. Which we did, both Bruce and I.
Chinese would have been nice too, but I suspected she had so trouble with that language herself.
Suo had told right from the start that she had no intention of wasting ti flying in "those chanical monstrosities." She said that once I was settled in my new place, she would find herself.
If she wanted to do it herself, fine. I wasn't about to argue over such nonsense. I just shrugged and went to see Bruce Lee. I had promised to take him on as a student if he ca with to the Soviet Union. I hadn't even managed to explain anything else before he agreed. And so, here we were in Russia. Or rather, the Soviet Union.
"Bruce, this is Natasha Romanova. Natasha, Bruce Lee," I formally introduced the two of them.
"It is a pleasure to et you, Ms. Romanova," Bruce said, offering her a polite bow. "Judging by your movents and your hands, one could assu you are a serious practitioner of so martial art. If it's not a secret, which one?"
"Combat Sambo and Army Hand-to-Hand Combat," I answered for her. "Natasha is a state security officer. She is every bit as physically strong as Steve."
"Oh!" Bruce exclaid in admiration. "Would you allow to take a few lessons from you, in that case? I would very much like to see these styles in action."
"You'll have plenty of ti for that. You'll see more than enough," I chuckled. "Do you have a car, or do we need to grab a taxi?"
"I have a car," she nodded. "Where to? The tropol?"
"Just into Moscow for starters. Let's take a look at the city, see the sights," I replied.
"Please, follow ," she said with a nod.
In the car, Bruce tried to draw Romanova into conversation for a while, but she remained quite stiff. My presence was clearly weighing on her. That was no surprise, considering my massive size, my overall feral appearance, and her lack of a clear understanding of what exactly to expect from . I suspected she had been given a file on to read before this assignnt, and the guy in those pages was definitely no Pink Pony prattling about friendship and pooping rainbows. I had committed more than enough atrocities behind German lines during the war, especially when I had to witness the Nazis' "entertainnt" with the populations of the occupied territories. Besides, during that period of my life, I was essentially in a permanent state of unhinged madness.
And the comrades from intelligence and the NKVD had surely managed to docunt and file away at least a third of my bloody artwork.
As we were driving through the city proper, I spotted a woman and her son standing on the sidewalk. An ordinary woman and an ordinary-looking boy of about ten. They were standing near a sparkling water vending machine, quenching their thirst.
"Pull over here," I said, tapping the driver on the shoulder. Natasha was sitting in the front passenger seat next to the silent, unintroduced driver, while Bruce and I were in the back. The driver obeyed the request without question. "Natasha, do you have your papers on you?" I asked her in Russian.
"Papers?" she asked, surprised by the slang.
"'Papers,' 'ID,' 'credentials,' 'badge'?" I patiently listed off synonyms, hoping at least one of them would register with her. "Sothing to calm down an agitated and frightened civilian?"
"Will a KGB Captain's ID do?" she asked, pulling out a small burgundy rectangle—a classic Soviet official ID—and showing it to .
"It should," I shrugged and got out of the car. I walked straight up to the boy, stopped a pace away, and crouched down.
"Hey there, kid," I said to him. "Is the soda good?"
The boy blinked at in confusion and slight fear. But his fear was nothing compared to his mother's. I completely understood her reaction: a black, official-looking Volga pulls up right next to her in broad daylight, a two-ter-tall, feral-looking foreigner built like a brick outhouse climbs out—judging by my clothes, anyway—and starts harassing her son with weird questions. A nightmare! And as luck would have it, there wasn't a single militiaman in sight.
Romanova quickly realized my previous questions hadn't been idle chatter, so she jogged around the car and hurried over to us. Reaching the woman, she discreetly flashed her open ID and quickly whispered sothing in her ear. The boy looked up at his pale mother, who gave him an encouraging nod and forced a strained smile.
"It's good," he answered. "Do you want so?" He held the glass out to .
"Thank you," I smiled at him affectionately. "You drink it yourself. I'll buy a full glass for myself later. See how big I am? I need a lot. You don't have enough. What's your na?"
He was a brave kid. My smile was sothing else these days, definitely not for the faint of heart.
"Fedya," he replied.
"And I'm Victor. How old are you, Fyodor?"
"I'll be eleven in the fall," he answered with a touch of pride.
"So big already," I clicked my tongue. "Do you go to the movies, Fedya?"
"I do," he replied.
"Well, that's great!" I bead. "Have you seen any movies with Bruce Lee? I hope they aren't banned here?" I turned to Natasha.
"No. There was a Central Committee decision to that effect for a while, but Joseph Vissarionovich personally overturned it three months ago. So they are surging in popularity right now," she explained in detail, playing the part of a genuine tour guide for an important foreigner perfectly.
Fedya nodded in agreent.
"They're good movies," he stated with authority.
"Want to et the real, live Bruce Lee?" I winked at the kid.
"Of course I do!" the boy's eyes lit up.
Relief began to wash over his mother's eyes. They were just giving a famous foreign actor a tour of Moscow, and he had decided to chat with a random passerby. He could have a whim like that, couldn't he? And that explained the KGB captain. The hulking brute was probably his translator. It was just a normal everyday occurrence, nothing dangerous. She could finally relax and even offer a timid smile.
"Bruce, co over here!" I waved my hand and called out to him loudly in English.
He didn't make us wait. He climbed out of the car and walked over. Fedya stared in absolute awe at the movie hero standing before us in the flesh.
"Bruce, this is Fedya. He's seen your movies and wanted to et you."
"It's a great pleasure," the Chinese man offered a polite bow to the boy and his mother. "Are my movies actually shown in the Soviet Union?" he looked at in slight surprise.
"They are," I gave him an affirmative nod without going into details, then turned back to the boy and switched to Russian.
"Fedya, do you like how Bruce fights in those movies?"
"Yeah! He's so cool! And the way he kicked that guy, with a spinning jump kick..."
"Can you do a spinning kick like that yourself?" I asked him with a sly smile.
"Well, not exactly like him, but I can," the boy hesitated slightly.
"Will you show Master Bruce? Just imagine, you'll be able to tell everyone at school that you not only saw Bruce Lee in person, but you even fought him!"
Overwheld with emotion, the kid couldn't find the words and simply nodded in agreent. Man, I was almost jealous. I would have killed for a eting like that when I was a kid! Unfortunately, by the ti I was born "back there," Bruce had already been dead for years.
"Bruce," I addressed the Chinese man in English. "Fedya here has seen your movies and is a big fan. He's been practicing your spinning kick and would like to show it to you. Try to block it, but take him seriously. Don't insult the kid by brushing him off. He might be small, but he's a warrior!"
"Alright, Victor. I will be serious," Bruce nodded and dropped into a fighting stance.
"Alright, Fedya, show him your best kick! But do it full strength. You don't want to embarrass yourself, right?" I told the boy.
He furrowed his brows and gave a solemn nod. Then he stepped up opposite Bruce and nodded again. He assud a fighting stance... well, his understanding of one, anyway. Then he let out a loud shout, imitating Bruce himself from the movies, leaped more than a ter straight up into the air from a standstill, and slamd a spinning kick right into the Chinese man's rigid block.
Bruce kept his footing, but he was forced to slide and step back three paces to bleed off the energy of the impact. That's how powerful it was. I lowered the cara I had readied in advance.
Bruce offered Fedya a deep, highly respectful—genuinely respectful—bow, executing a formal Kung Fu salute. The boy hesitated for a second before returning the gesture as best he could, putting a lot of effort into it.
I snapped another photo. Then Bruce signed an autograph on his airline ticket, since we didn't have anything else handy. I took a few more pictures of them, both alone and with Fedya's mom. Then the eting wrapped up. The boy and the woman went on their way, and I happily enjoyed so of the famous Soviet sparkling water, both with and without syrup, using the kopecks Natasha had graciously provided.
"Master!" Bruce bowed to with a Kung Fu salute once the three of us were left alone by the vending machine. "Thank you for another invaluable lesson. If not for your warning to take him seriously, that incredible little warrior could have broken my arm or shattered several of my ribs with that kick. I understand now that no matter how physically weak an opponent may appear, one must treat the fight with the utmost seriousness... But how? How is that even possible? Who is that boy? Do you know him?"
"No," I shrugged. "Natasha, did you take down their information, by the way?"
"I didn't. But they will definitely be checked out," she didn't bother hiding the fact.
"I hope so," I nodded. "After all, we'll absolutely need to send him the photos. How else is he going to brag at school?"
"Understood," Romanova nodded, making a ntal note.
"You see, Bruce," I gave a crooked smile. "That was just a completely random boy. I wanted to show you firsthand—aside from the lesson you already took away from it—exactly what we'll be working with. Every single child in this country between the ages of three and eleven possesses that level of strength. And you and I are here to teach them Jeet Kune Do! That is our mission."
"Incredible..." he breathed, trying to wrap his head around the sheer scale of what I had just said.
"We are going to build a Martial Arts Federation from scratch in this country, with the full backing and support of the state. Millions of people will learn your style, Bruce. That's what you dread of, isn't it?"
"Yes..." he said, simultaneously inspired and overwheld by the prospect. "But didn't you promise to take as your student?"
"I promised, and I will keep that promise. Long-livers have a thing about promises," I said, recalling En Sabah Nur's words and smiling to myself. It seed I was now counting myself among the "long-livers" too. "One doesn't exclude the other. But I am rely a user of other people's styles, which I spent many decades learning, while you are the founder of your own. And I will help you develop it, polish it, and pass it on to others."
"Thank you, Master," he bowed again with a formal Kung Fu salute.
"But on top of that, you'll have to make movies, make public appearances, and do everything you can to popularize martial arts. So get settled in, and bring your family over. Invite all your students and colleagues who are willing to co. It wouldn't be a bad idea to send an invitation to your Teacher in China as well. We are going to need assistants. A lot of assistants. There will be enough work for everyone."
"I can confirm Comrade Creed's words. You will have our full cooperation. You can pass your thoughts and requests to the state leadership through . I have been assigned as your handler," Romanova stated.
"Don't get too relaxed," I snorted. "You'll be working like a dog for . You won't have ti to worry about trivial everyday things... Oh, right. Invite your colleagues from the movie business, too. Chuck, for example," I added, putting a slight emphasis on that na.
***
That evening in the hotel room, I dropped from the ceiling right behind Bruce and caught him in a chokehold. I laid him out on the bed and began administering injections in the correct order and the necessary spots. I wasn't going to let this Master die such a stupid death. Especially since humanity as a whole was beginning to crawl toward a new stage of its evolution. Soon enough, Cap's level of strength wouldn't be surprising anyone anymore. And I needed assistants capable of working with these super-kids on equal footing like I needed air to breathe. So why should I hold back on the ans to get them?
As for the serum... In the ti since that conversation, I had set up its synthesis in Kamar-Taj, since I was going to have to boost the "physical stats" of quite a few people.
Its secret was no longer all that important, just like I had told Nicole. Even if it got stolen, it wouldn't cause a massive catastrophe anymore. But let them try to steal it from the Sorcerer Supre of the Earth Dinsion first. And then try to hide from a tracking Sabretooth. A very, very angry Sabretooth who could instantly teleport any distance, to any point on Earth...
***
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