THE CHILDREN OF ABRAHAM
"There were giants in the earth in those days; and also after that, when the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bare children to them."- Genesis 6:4
Buenos Aires, Argentina 1955
The Palacio Duhau had seen better days. The building's beautiful exterior was plastered over with anti-Peronist posters, decrying the hotel itself as one of that dictator's luxuries. The only guests were uneasy foreigners- diplomats, businessmen, expatriate artists... and Captain America.
Steve Rogers sipped his Roosevelt martini without much of a worry about being recognized. Suit-and-tie types were usually the last to recognize him, and the last to make a point of it if they did. No, it was usually the sauced-up guy in a Knicks shirt eating a vendor hot dog who called attention to him while he was out on the street. And there wasn't a Knicks shirt in sight.
The anti-Peronists who made everyone in the hotel a bit uneasy weren't much more helpful to SHIELD than the Peronists before them and the caudillos before them. They still hid Nazis and Fascists and even some AIM operatives. But during the coup, someone had finally leaked the location of an individual very important to Rogers and SHIELD- Abraham Erskine, the head of Operation Rebirth and a traitor to the United States.
So here he was, sipping Roosevelt martinis and waiting for a good lead. Erskine had some friends in high places here in Argentina, and some of them were sitting in this very bar. One of them was supposed to be meeting him. Rogers certainly wasn't here for the martinis. Alcohol didn't do anything for him and the taste wasn't quite up to snuff. Some things just had to be made in America.
From the Journals of Abraham Erskine
December 25, 1940
Subject B05 is inspiring in a manner. I was restrained from telling these men the risks, or their true purpose. They believe they are testing a new vaccine.
I went to visit them in their quarters, for the purposes of the experiment. The ones who can remain conscious know they are the last handful of survivors. They know it and the thought lingers like some pale shadow over the room. Subject B05 is different. B05 talked to me for a while, in his feverish state. He is... what is the American phrase? Soldiering on. He talked, about happy things, in a calm tone despite the torture his body must be going through. If anyone deserves to survive Operation Rebirth it is him.
I think he is developing brain lesions. I noticed a number of tics that didn't seem connected to his shivering from fever.
Marienburg Castle, Danzig1939
Who would have thought that a lowly Bavarian like Johann Schmidt would someday walk the halls of a grand castle such as this? And not as some slack-jawed sightseer or groundskeeper, but as a lord and master?
He looked out in the Nogat River and breathed in the fresh scent of the air. The woods of northern Europe, carried across the cold Baltic Sea. He imagined just what adventure lay ahead of him... what rich rewards lay under the flag of Germany. And he tried to glimpse the endless Baltic Sea, only a few miles to the north.
And then he felt the sharp cold tang of blood on his upper lip. Schmidt had tasted blood before. He enjoyed it, even, but not when it was his own. He reached up to wipe the blood from his lip and felt his skin slide off with that little amount of pressure. The tingling pain from exposure to the cold air left him stunned for a second. Blood stained his lips and teeth.
He didn't feel the normal tightening of his healing factor begin to replace the lost flesh. He compulsively rubbed elsewhere on his face, only to feel the skin slide off with the same sickening tingle. He left the balcony to find his personal quarters in the castle. He felt the skin on his thighs peeling off in the same way as the skin on his face, worn loose by the friction of his black SS slacks.
He made his way to his quarters, angrily, desperately finding some sanctuary there. He took a swig of confiscated vodka, only to feel the burn of alcohol on his raw lips. He tilted his head back to pour it over himself, feeling the burn of each little rivulet across his failing flesh.
"Damn you, Dr. Koch! Damn you!" he screamed into silence. And as he stared into the grand antique mirror of his quarters, he saw only the Red Skull staring back.