In the same dimly lit room, Dr. Abraham Erskine continues his conversation with Steve Rogers, his voice steady as he emphasizes the importance of character.

“Of strength. And knows compassion,” he says, his gaze fixed on Steve, conveying the weight of the responsibility that lies ahead.

Steve, his thin frame barely filling the chair, offers a small, uncertain smile. “Thanks. …I think,” he replies, his tone a mix of gratitude and nervousness as he processes Erskine’s faith in him.

Erskine reaches for a bottle of Augsburg liquor as Steve picks up a pair of glasses from the table. Pouring two drinks, Erskine’s expression softens but remains serious.

“Whatever happens tomorrow, you must promise me one thing. That you will stay who you are. Not a perfect soldier, but a good man,” he says, his words a quiet plea, urging Steve to hold fast to his core.

Steve raises his glass, a spark of resolve in his eyes. “To the little guys,” he declares, proposing a toast to those often overlooked, his voice carrying a hint of defiance.

Erskine pauses, then chuckles, shaking his head. “No, no. Wait, wait. What I am doing? No, you have procedure tomorrow. No fluids,” he says.

Steve, unfazed, sets his glass down with a nod.

“All right. We’ll drink it after,” he says, his tone light but firm, accepting the delay with good humor.

Erskine grins, taking Steve’s glass and pouring its contents into his own. “No, I don’t have procedure tomorrow. Drink it after? I drink it now,” he says, downing the entire glass in one swift motion.

The scene shifts abruptly to the cold, sterile confines of Dr. Zola’s laboratory, where a darker atmosphere looms.