Chapter 175: Ch.174 Movie Theater

Chapter 175: Ch.174 Movie Theater

"War continues to ravage Europe, but reinforcements have already set off from the United States! Every able-bodied young man is ready to protect his country!"

A passionate voice echoed from the speakers beside the large movie screen as footage of soldiers enlisting played.

Steve had returned to New York, back to Brooklyn. The frustration in his heart made it hard to breathe. He walked into a movie theater to clear his mind. Playing was the new zombie movie produced by Su Ming's company.

He still remembered how, as a child, he and Bucky had coined the term zombies. Mr. Wilson had brought it to the big screen.

These flesh-eating zombies resembled the people Steve had once seen in the subway station, only dirtier. The film perfectly recreated the fear they had felt back then. Technically, someone like Steve, with his heart condition, shouldn't be watching such a film. But to reminisce about his childhood, he bought a ticket anyway.

The audience consisted mostly of women and older men—few strong young men were around since most had gone to war.

With the country under a wartime economy, going to the movies was one of the more affordable forms of entertainment. As a result, even during the day, the theater was decently filled. However, the law required the insertion of recruitment ads at the start, middle, and end of the film to promote the draft and stir patriotic fervor.

One moment, the heroine was facing off with a zombie dog in a narrow hallway, and the next, the screen switched to footage of American soldiers marching into boot camp.

A collective sigh of disappointment echoed throughout the theater.

Just as the action was reaching its peak, the mood was killed by a recruitment ad. The audience silently grumbled, frustrated by the interruption—"I took off my necklace for this?" they thought.

Steve, however, looked longingly at the soldiers on the screen. He envied them—the chance to join the army, to serve their country. His eyes sparkled with admiration as he imagined himself walking among them.

Then, the screen changed again, showing a six- or seven-year-old boy in a scout cap, sorting through a pile of scrap metal. The narrator's voice came back, praising the boy: "Even little Timmy is doing his part, collecting scrap metal to help the war effort. Well done, Timmy!"

Steve suddenly felt countless eyes on him. The women around him subtly glanced at him with the corners of their eyes, their expressions seemingly saying:

"Why are you sitting here watching a movie?"

"Go to the battlefield, man! Tsk, tsk!"

"Why don't you learn from little Timmy and pick up some trash? Oh, wait, maybe you are the trash!"

"Shame on you. Boo!"

But these looks quickly shifted when the women saw him clearly in the dim light. This man was frailer than they were—pale and skeletal, as if he might not survive long. They couldn't expect a sick person to march off to die.

Their gazes turned to sympathy and regret. The thought was the same across their minds—"Poor thing."

Steve shrugged lightly. He had grown used to these looks over the years. Well-meaning people always seemed to take care of him. Even the pickiest grocer would give him extra vegetables and tell him to see a doctor because certain illnesses couldn't be ignored.

It was because of these kind people that Steve couldn't let the war reach their doorstep. He wanted to enlist more than ever—to stop the war before it hurt anyone else.

As those thoughts swirled in his mind, they remained distant dreams. He sighed and refocused on the "Iron Wall" tank on the screen.

This tank was another creation of Su Ming's company. However, its design didn't resemble anything typical of American industry. With its two massive, menacing cannons, flat body, and thick armor, it looked more like something from the other side of the Pacific.

He recalled Mr. Wilson once mentioning the tank's code name, "Apocalypse," during casual conversations. But for some reason, the name had been changed when it was put into service.

Perhaps it was to fit with the company's other military products, Steve guessed.

A random farmer on a donkey cart sped past them on the side of the road, fleeting across the screen.

Steve frowned. That donkey cart was moving way too fast—talk about ignoring traffic safety.

But the soldiers on the tank didn't even blink. Clearly, they were used to it. Steve smiled, interpreting it as a sign of American military discipline. The tank was yielding to the donkey cart, after all. No harm was done.

The soldiers were also holding cans of a new carbonated drink, orange-flavored, which was said to be packed with nutrients. It was called Big Power.

Mr. Wilson preferred calling it Da Li in Chinese and often said something odd about how "great strength produces miracles." It was another new product from his company, issued as military supplies alongside ration biscuits.

Steve had once tried following the instructions on a military ration package. He ate a biscuit and washed it down with a bottle of Big Power. Moments later, his stomach was so bloated that he threw up, much to Bucky's amusement.

Despite Wilson Enterprises growing into an industrial behemoth, Steve had never considered using Mr. Wilson's connections to get himself onto the battlefield.

If strangers like the doctors prevented him from enlisting, there was no way someone as familiar with his health as Mr. Wilson would allow it. Based on his personality, if Steve told him he wanted to enlist, Mr. Wilson would probably go out of his way to pull strings and place him in some cushy office job in Washington—far from any battlefield, rich in perks, and devoid of any meaningful combat.

Steve didn't want that. If he couldn't fight for his country on the front lines, then enlisting would be pointless.

Just as Steve was lost in these thoughts, a disturbance broke out in the theater.

A man in the rows ahead of him began yelling.

"Boring! Just play the movie already!"

The surrounding audience members shot him disapproving looks, though most kept their dissatisfaction to themselves. After all, it was extremely rude to shout in a movie theater.

But Steve couldn't tolerate it. To him, serving the country was an honor. They were watching this movie in peace only because soldiers on the front lines were sacrificing their lives.

So, he spoke up.

"Hey, can you show some respect?"

The man didn't respond. The screen had shifted from tanks to infantry. Wounded soldiers were being carried on stretchers to makeshift hospitals.

"Our boys on the front lines are giving the Axis hell. But remember, freedom is never free..."

But the narrator's voice was drowned out by the man in front shouting again. He wasn't here for some propaganda; he wanted to see zombies.

"C'mon! Start the movie already! I want to see Alice fight zombies! Let's go!"

Steve couldn't take it any longer. He leaned forward and raised his voice.

"Hey! I said, can you shut up?!"

The man did shut up—so much so that he stood up.

A massive figure blocked the small, frail Steve. The shadow made Steve press against the back of his seat.

The man stepped over a few rows of seats, grabbed Steve like a ragdoll, and dragged him toward the back door of the theater.