Berlin, Germany- 1942

Rain clattered against the windows, the Hydra flags attached to the hood snapping in the harsh wind like gnashing serpents. In the closed-off backseat, he couldn't help but fidget, folding and unfolding his hands, fussing with his uniform, uncertain whether or not to cross his legs or keep them uncrossed. It was as if something was itching terribly beneath his skin, and he was unable to claw at it.

He longed desperately for the feeling of the steering wheel beneath his fingertips, the glistening chrome shell, the adoringly loud thrum of the engines of his own car. But alas, naturally the Fuhrer would stress that he be chauffeured to the Reichstag. Lest he want to be assassinated or some other wildly out-of-proportion web that Hitler's obsessive paranoia had woven.

Zola watched his superior with a growing sense of worry. The man was fidgeting like a child waiting for the schoolmaster to decide his punishment. He lowered his eyes to the floor.

"Herr Schmidt,"

He watched as the azure orbs cast a cursory glance his way, an irritated glint to them that sent shivers down the little scientist's spine.

"Ja, Dr. Zola?" he answered roughly, his red-rimmed eyes closed for a moment.

"I – I don't mean to pry, Mein Herr, but –"

"If you do not mean to pry, Dr. Zola, why would you bother asking, since you have now made it obvious that you intend to pry?"

For a moment, Zola was merely taken aback. He pushed his specs back nervously and instinctively lowered his head, as if meaning to redeem himself. He heard Schmidt sigh quietly.

"Go on." He answered simply, removing a packed of cigarettes from his breast pocket.

"Well I – I merely deduced that you were unsettled by something, sir."

At this, Johann let out a hoarse laugh, nearly causing Zola to leap out of his seat.

Grinning slyly, he replied, "I have not been unsettled by anything since I joined the Schutzstaffel, Dr. Zola."

Zola choked a laugh, his eyes darting about nervously. The almost amused tone of his superior greatly unsettled him, though any real show of emotion from Schmidt was enough to put him into shock.

So rarely did the man ever speak above a monotone, or so it seemed. Nothing could cause the voice to quaver; not a dead man or a piano-wire noose. He laughed at the face of death.

Zola shuddered beneath his heavy coat. For God's sake, the man was the face of death.

"We have arrived, Dr. Zola." His voice rang in his ears.

"Ah – so we have."

XXX

The room he was ushered into – or rather, the network of rooms, divided by rather useless partitions, made him scowl distastefully. Rows of metal desks, banged up and dented in places loomed in the center of the room, the cinder-block walls of the bunker-like structure filthy and cold. Dusty light bulbs hung from a web of electrical cords strung across the beams in the ceiling, their light giving off a faint glow. A young officer, no more than at most, twenty-five, dressed in civilian SS attire, sat down at one of the metal desks and gestured for Schmidt to sit opposite him.

"Please sit down, Herr Schmidt. We've much to discuss." The man said quietly, amiably, although he could detect that sort of boyish cockishness that he had once possessed. Johann eyed the cracked upholstering of the chair, his nose wrinkling with disgust. Vaguely, he remembered how grand his office had been, when he had headed up SS espionage and sabotage. A large ebony desk from Egypt, fine draperies imported from Paris and a library that rivaled even the most seasoned collectors. A far cry from this drafty basement.

"I do hope you'll excuse the condition our office-space is in." the man said, as if reading his mind. He fought off a twinge of annoyance at being so easily perceived and sat down, almost thankful for the thick leather material of his coat, keeping his expensive uniform clean.

"Typical of Hitler to hold a meeting in an underground hellhole with little to no communication, resources, or technology." He retorted. "How silly of me to expect state-of-the-art facilities. And here I thought the SS was the pinnacle of sophistication."

The officer's expression darkened considerably, his thin lips twisting into an indignant scowl.

"Yes well," he started curtly, "We do what we can in the circumstances."

"Naturally." He almost smiled as he said it, causing the man's scowl to deepen.

"You do realize there is a war going on, don't you Herr Schmidt? Do you not take into account that not all of us can afford to lounge about in lavish facilities all over the country, with only the top technology and the top scientists to tend to our every whim? Some of us actually have to work for our victories." He said curtly, his glassy-blue eyes narrowed.

Johann chuckled quietly whilst retrieving a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket. As he lit one, he replied smartly, "Hmm, interesting that. The Shutzstaffel has always been so well funded – and, here, almost all of my organization's activities are funded by myself, with only minimal government financing.

"But, perhaps I've simply been absent too long. Or the Führer is simply a cheap bastard." The last words were muttered under his breath. He blew a cloud of smoke into the air, his cigarette held loosely in his gloved hand. He took great care in giving off a pompous aura before the young officer; if the Fuhrer was going to continuously poke his nose into his business, he had every intention of giving his rat-bastards of officers a piece of his mind.

The officer eyed him levelly, and he could tell from the way his jaw moved slowly from side to side that he was grating his teeth, as if only that could keep him from lashing out. Johann smiled slightly; the boy was to be commended for at least knowing when to keep his mouth shut.

"But, I assume you have summoned me here for some other matter than to discuss the Reich's financial state."

"Indeed. The Führer requests a detailed progress-report on your weapons industry. Hydra has been in production for over five years and only the most mundane weapons have been produced. You promised us highly technological devices, Herr Schmidt. Anyone can make a rifle. The only reason the Führer has not sacked you completely is because he still believes that your understanding of scientifically enhanced weaponry surpasses all others. The rest of us, unfortunately for you, are no longer so confident in your abilities."

"Ah, such an assurance, that I have such supportive subordinates."

The officer sat back in his chair. "I have no need for your sarcasm, Herr Schmidt. I have much more pressing matters to be taking care of at present and you are the least of my worries."

"Then why do you bother with me at all?"

"Because I am a military man, and I follow orders."

Johann stood up and straightened his jacket, placing his hat delicately onto his head. He eyed the man levelly. "You are a boy, with visions of triumph and glory. And, you would do well to accept the fact that those visions are merely propaganda, devices created to corrupt and corrode you until you are little more than a wind-up toy reserved for the Führer's amusement. I might not keep close watch on the SS' activities, acquiesce to their actions, but I possess far more intelligence on the matter than you could ever perceive. And I can promise you, you will not last long in their world."

He turned to leave, but the officer's voice called out.

"Herr Schmidt,"

Johann bit his lip, his eye twitching with fierce irritation. He turned to glare at the man.

The young officer smiled. "I expect that report in by Monday."

XXX

His office in Berlin was no less lavish than his expansive laboratory in the Alps. A roaring fire crackled in the huge marble hearth, oil paintings and tapestries depicting Norse gods such as Thor and Odin decorating nearly every inch of the damask-papered walls. Heavy velvet curtains blocked out the glaring headlights of passing cars, and the strains of Mozart echoed from the old phonograph.

A peaceful evening, alone to study his books, the thought of work pushed out of his mind for a little while. Just a leisurely Friday evening, in the solitary quiet of his home. Mina had vacated to her room, a blessing to him. He enjoyed her company, but the girl asked too many questions, and prattled on far too excessively for his liking. He almost smiled. Quite the charismatic chatterbox. He pondered taking her riding in the morning, and perhaps lunch at one of the cafes. Or maybe a play, or an opera.

Perhaps a weekend to do nothing but dabble in leisure activities would do him some good.

The soft padding of slippered feet sounded quietly from the hall, and a wet, brunette head popped into the doorway, her grey eyes peering out innocently from beneath a damp mess or curls. He cast a cursory glance at her, taking note at how adorably childish she looked, as if she were still that innocent and naive little girl, with silly little notions filling her head. At the age of sixteen now, he couldn't afford to say such things aloud.

She'd only be terribly insulted and then grow sour, storming off making fiery proclamations of how she absolutely abhorred him and how she wished so fervently to have someone else for an uncle.

Apparently tonight though, she wasn't sour-pussed, for the slight inclination of his head had somehow granted her permission to enter, and now her head rest against his shoulder and she stared at her slippers silently.

"Was ist es, meine schatz?"

"Nothing."

"Then why ever are you pestering me, as such?"

She raised her head and rolled her eyes, preparing to stalk off, but he grasped her arm lightly. He gazed up into her eyes for a moment, taking note of their soft grey tones.

"Don't be so bitter." He said quietly. "It hardly becomes you."

She crossed her arms. "So if I don't roll my eyes or pout, I will suddenly become pretty?"

He chuckled softly. "There is so much more too beauty than simply looks, my love. Clearly I haven't taken you to enough art museums."

In response, she childishly stuck her tongue out. He sighed and shook his head.

"Oh it's such a shame your mother didn't culture you."

She couldn't help but smile as she threw herself down into one of the large wing-backed chairs, tucking her wet curls back behind her ears.

"Marta invited me to go shopping tomorrow." She said, half to herself. "I was thinking about going."

By now, his eyes had lowered, immersing themselves in an old Norse Mythology Encyclopedia, busying himself with research. "Oh?" he answered almost tonelessly. "Pity. I was going to take you riding."

She perked up at this, and he allowed himself a small smirk. He stood up and headed for the entry. "Or perhaps an opera, but I suppose that would be too boring for you."

"Only staring at Rembrandt bores me, Uncle. You know my taste for my music."

He smiled slightly and crossed into the entry, running a gloved hand through his dark hair.

"True." He glanced at his watch. Nearly eleven. "Wilhelmina,"

"Yes,"

"Is it not well past your bedtime?"

She sighed exasperatedly, rolling her eyes. She opened her mouth to reply but he cut off her with a wave of his hand.

"You are not eighteen yet, my little adult. Savor your childhood while you can, you'll find my world is much harsher than yours."

She sighed and moved to walk past him, but he wrapped his arms around her upper half, pulling her towards him into a bear hug before allowing her to quietly vacate to her room.

She was only halfway up the stairs when the metallic ring of the telephone echoed.

Johann sighed and took the call, slightly irritated, as he'd expressly ordered his men not to disturb him. Or was it simply that haughty Gestapo officer asking for his report.

"Schmidt." He answered dryly, pouring himself a glass of schnapps from the crystal decanter. "Update? Of what kind? We have already excavated every cathedral in Tønsberg, Zola. How could it possibly have popped up?"

He paused.

"Dr. Zola, we have exhausted every possibility. Is it not obvious that what we seek does not lie in Norway?"

Another pause. "What do you mean by… it is not in the cathedral? Nonsense Arnim, we've scoured every inch of the catacombs as well. There is no burial ground in Norway that my men have not inspected."

More silence. "Only because I am hanging on the last thread of my patience, will I cease my hiatus, Zola. But for your sake, you had better have something to show me when I arrive. Believe me when I tell you good doctor, I will not hesitate to put a bullet into your brain when your usefulness has run its course."

A click sounded as he hung up the phone, sighing heavily.

"Uncle," Mina called down from the top of the stairs. "Where are you going?"

"I have been called back to Norway. I will be leaving in roughly a half hour's time, as I expect the train ride to be more than several hours." He reached for his heavy leather coat, pulling it on and lightly placing his cap onto his dark hair.

"But you've hardly been a home a day. Can't you stay a little longer?" the sadness in her eyes made his heart ache with guilt. Hurriedly, he shoved it out of his mind. What if this truly was a revolutionary discovery? What if they had finally done it? With the tesseract in his power, he could finally take that which he had craved for his entire life.

Complete and utter control. Of everything.

"I am afraid not, my dear. I'll take you riding some other time. And look at it this way. You'll be able to go shopping with your friend, though God only knows what you wish to buy."

The look of distress still glinted in her eyes and he put his arm around her lightly, pulling her into an embrace. She buried her face in his coat, mumbling as tears began to trickle down her cheeks.

"You said you'd stay home longer this time."

"Wilhelmina,"

"You promised!" she cried, gazing up at him in anguish. He sighed, licking his lips, which had suddenly gone dry.

"Wilhelmina, I have a job to do. There is work to be done and my men need me to tell them what to do. Now, don't look so forlorn. My cause is for Germany, aren't you at least happy about that?" He held back a muttered scoff. The Americans could blow the living hell out of Germany, for all he cared. It wasn't as if they were doing him any favors. At least, the socialists were not.

"I don't care if it's for Germany." She said quietly, straightening up. "You're never home. It's almost as if you don't care about me or anything here. Only your work."

He raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Certainly even you would be smart enough to know that not a word of that is true."

She turned to head up the stairs. "Really?" she asked. "Prove it. Let me come with you."

At this, he could not hide his shock. "Absolutely not,"

"Why not?"

"My work is dangerous, Mina. Too dangerous for a little girl like you."

"Uncle, I'm sixteen! I'm not a child anymore, you can trust me!"

"Can I now?"

"Of course." She shook her head in disbelief. "Why ever would you not?"

"And you would swear to me allegiance till your dying day; that no one but me would ever sway you into a decision."

"Well… I suppose so."

He nodded once and adjusted his tie. "Then until you can reply with a solid answer, I cannot trust you fully. Therefore, you cannot be privy to the contents of my work."

He watched as she scowled bitterly and stormed off to her room, her choked sobs still audible as she turned the corner of the upper corridor.

Johann sighed and collected his things. He wouldn't need much in the line of necessities. He'd most likely be going straight to the laboratory anyhow.

"Christ, if Zola's telling to me a falsity, I might just have to shoot him."

XXX

She watched from her window as a convoy of army trucks lined up along the street, the monstrosity of a vehicle that her Uncle adored like his own child, bringing up the rear. She almost smiled, briefly recollecting the few driving lessons she'd had in that thing. Hulking in size with about bazillion odd little gadgets, it had taken her nearly an hour simply to turn the key in the ignition.

The loud thrum of the multiple engines roared over the clattering of raindrops. Mournfully she turned back to ready herself for bed, resigning herself to the fact that Johann would never entrust in her any part of his work.

Everything was so peculiarly secretive, so… enigmatic. And yet every inch of decorum in the house was somehow adorned with his beloved 'HYDRA' insignia. The car-keys, the silk napkins, the champagne flutes, the letter seals, the china plates and cutlery – he'd even given her a pewter pin in the shape of the odd, skull-headed octopus for her birthday. Not exactly something she'd fancied, but at the time the design had intrigued her. Yet, whenever she inquired as to its meaning, his response was always something akin to 'When you're older, you'll understand."

Only on rare occasions did he ever speak openly with her of the organization, merely to say that when she had finished growing, when she was a wise and proper adult with a prosperous career, that then, when the world was a much finer place to be, she would have power over all that he had created. He used to tell her stories, of how someday the world would belong only to the two of them, with all the possibilities in the world open for them. How she could have everything, anything in the world. How she would be the princess of his awesome dominion.

Naturally, at the time, she'd thought nothing of it. But now… surely it had been simply his irrational daydreaming. Mother had always talked of how dramatic he could be. But…

She stared down at the guards rushing to and fro, making last-minute preparations. Their leather uniforms and masks, hiding their faces, their bodies black as night when covered in the dark, thick material. One of the men, perhaps a bit taller than her, and skinny, a young boy.

She didn't exactly think about what she was doing, but her legs were already propelling toward the door.

XXX

Crouched behind the stone wall, just beside the hulking wrought-iron gate, she poised herself for a quick attack. The young boy darted back and forth, his breath being released from the mask in thick puffs. He was about her height, perhaps five foot six, lanky in form. If she could just get up behind him and knock him out –

Silently she thanked God for not endowing her with curves; hopefully the uniform would fit her rather shapeless figure perfectly. With luck it would be a little bit bigger, so her bust would easily be concealed.

The boy stopped at the end of one of the trucks, rain pouring off the shoulder pads of his uniform. Silently, Mina stood and slunk along the shadows, keeping out of the high beams of the trucks. With a swift maneuver, she brought her fist around into boy's jugular, knocking him unconscious. The truck was facing in towards the property, and the guards were swarming about on the other side facing the main road. Quickly she dragged him back behind the wall and hurriedly fumbled with the zippers on the uniform, pulling on the heavy leather jumpsuit.

Her curls were pulled back with a hairband, and clumsily she shoved them high onto her head and pulled the mask on over her face. Next, the boots. She was used to the rather strenuous task of pulling on jackboots and made fairly quick work of them.

The trucks revved up and the first row began to move.

Hurriedly she leapt out from behind the wall and got in line with several others, her heart pounding in her ears. Silently she filed into the truck, about seventeen other masks staring back at her, the emotions on their faces hidden by the alien-like uniforms.

Whatever was to happen now, she had no control over. All she could do was wait and see.

And hopefully not get killed.