As Peggy burst into the hotel room, she couldn't contain her anger towards Howard. With gritted teeth, she yelled at him, "You designed a goddamn poison gas, Howard?" Her voice echoed in the room, causing Howard to recoil in surprise.

Howard quickly tried to explain himself, "No! Well, not intentionally." His words trailed off as he saw the fury in Peggy's eyes. He knew he had to provide more context to the situation.

"The army wanted something that would keep soldiers awake for days at a time, but it failed," Howard continued. "It caused symptoms similar to sleep deprivation - anger, hallucinations, and psychosis. We never intended for it to be used as a weapon."

Peggy's frustration grew as she tried to make sense of the situation at hand. Just as she let out a sigh, the ringing of the telephone interrupted her thoughts. She picked it up, only to hear a series of clicking sounds on the other end. With a trained ear, Peggy recognized it as Morse code and quickly transcribed it onto a nearby piece of paper.

As the line went dead, Peggy stared at the paper, trying to decipher the cryptic message. Howard's curiosity got the best of him, and he approached her, asking what had happened. Peggy handed him the paper, her expression grim.

Howard's eyes widened in shock as he read the coordinates and the word 'Massacre' written beneath them. He cursed under his breath, realizing the severity of the situation.

"We need to act fast," Peggy said, her voice urgent. "We can't let innocent lives be lost."

Howard nodded in agreement, his mind racing with the possibilities of what lay ahead.

In an undisclosed location, Fenhoff sat on a comfortable chair, deep in conversation with his assistant, Dottie Underwood. Fenhoff's eyes gleamed with sinister energy as he spoke, "It has been in storage for far too long. We must test it."

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Dottie's eyes widened in alarm as she interjected, "But they know about us now! We can't afford to take any risks."

Fenhoff let out a dark chuckle, his lips twisting into a sly grin. "They will soon have bigger problems to worry about," he said, his voice laced with malice. "Our enemies will be far too occupied to concentrate on us."

Underwood carefully inspected the baby carriage, making sure that everything was in place. She took a deep breath, then turned to Fennhoff, asking him, "Do you think it will work?"

Fennhoff's face betrayed no emotion as he replied, "I have great faith in Mr. Stark's inventions." He knew that the stakes were high and that there was no room for error. If their plan failed, it would mean the end of everything they had worked towards.

Dottie slipped into the cinema theater, unnoticed by the moviegoers, who were engrossed in the film "The 'F' Stands for Freedom." As she closed the doors behind her, she could feel her heart racing with excitement and nerves. She knew that this was a crucial moment, and everything hinged on the success of her mission.

With a practiced hand, Dottie opened the gas canisters, her gloved fingers working quickly and efficiently. She donned her gas mask and made her escape, leaving behind the chaos in her wake.

As the people in the theater began to feel the effects of the Midnight Oil, panic set in. But Val was prepared. Sitting among the audience, he stood up, calmly donning his gas mask. He took out several small grenades filled with the cure and threw them in every direction.

* BOOOM *

* BOOOM *

* BOOOM *

The explosions echoed through the theater, and the gas began to spread. People screamed children, cried, and some tried to tackle Val, mistaking him for an attacker. But he evaded their grasp, his eyes focused on his mission.

When Val saw that none of the people in the theater were showing symptoms of the Midnight Oil, he breathed a sigh of relief. He knew that his actions had saved countless lives and prevented a tragedy.

As Val sprinted towards the blocked exits of the theater, he could hear the panicked cries of people trying to escape. He shouted at them to move aside as he barreled through, his heart pounding with adrenaline.

* CRASH *

With a mighty crash, Val broke open the exit and burst onto the street, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of danger. He saw several SSR and police cars racing towards the theater, their sirens blaring. He knew that he had to move quickly if he wanted to avoid getting caught.

Suddenly, he caught sight of a figure hurrying away with a fake baby carriage. It was Dottie, the woman he had been pursuing for months. He knew that he couldn't let her escape.

Val quickly calculated the trajectory of the bullet as he aimed and fired.

* BANG *

The gunshot echoed through the street as the bullet struck a metal pole, deflecting and piercing Dottie's waist. She stumbled, then fell to the ground, her body wracked with pain.

Dottie let out a guttural groan as she clutched her waist, blood oozing from the wound. She looked towards the direction of the metal pole, where Val had been standing moments before.

As she watched him run away in the opposite direction, Dottie cursed under her breath in Russian. She knew that she had to move quickly before the police and SSR arrived.

With a fierce determination, Dottie stumbled away from the scene of the crime, her hand pressed tightly against her wounded waist. She knew that her mission had failed, but she also knew that she had to keep moving if she wanted to avoid getting caught.