Translations:

Yes, Miss? What may I do for you? – Dialogue with Sophie

Einsatzfahrzeuge – Operational Vehicles

Mach Schnell – Hurry

Dummkopf - idiot

Berlin, Germany – 1942

She gazed absently at the diamond-shaped rays of light that poured in through the leaded-glass windows of her room, the sunlight almost blinding, the dull throbbing in her head growing ever stronger.

Sophie, the scullery maid, hovered over her, a silver tray with a teapot visible resting in her hands.

"Frauline," her meek voice echoed ever so gently, but it was enough to send her head reeling. Immediately noticing her discomfort, the woman hastily set down the tray and called for Inga in her native slang German, something about fetching damp facecloths and peroxide for the welts in her back.

Come to think of it, her head truly wasn't the only thing throbbing.

"Sophie… Sophie?"

The maid turned back to her almost frantically, kneeling beside her bed. "Ja, meine Frauline? Was kann ich für Sie tun?"

"What…" she clutched at her aching head. "What happened? Where is my Uncle?"

"I am sorry, Miss. Your uncle left soon after he arrived here. He waited until you were well situated and departed. He said he had urgent business to take care of."

"But my head… what… how…"

The young woman sighed softly. "Herr Schmidt was very vague, Miss. He didn't give us too much detail – merely said that you'd gotten hit over the head or something and might have had a mild concussion."

"From getting hit over the head?"

"He said you struck the ground rather soundly."

She rested her head back against the pillow. "That was all he said? And then he just left?"

"Just about, ma'am. He seemed quite impatient."

Mina sighed, at the moment, too confused and fatigued to understand or think about any of it.

"Miss Mina," Sophie's voice was insistent.

"Yes, Sophie?"

"What were you doing in Norway with your Uncle? He's never taken you on any of his business trips before."

XXX

HYDRA Laboratory

The Alps - 1942

The gusty winds sent shards of ice spiraling into the bleak horizon; the landscape here constantly swirling and evolving and changing. He stared out into the white emptiness, taking in, with a deep sigh, the quiet serenity of his surroundings. His gloved hands clenched into fists at his side. Quietly and melodically, he began to hum, the deep and dark tones of Chopin's Funeral March ringing clearly in his ears. His long, slender fingers loosened, and he could almost feel the ebony and ivory keys beneath his fingertips, the sound of a summer downpour, the raindrops pattering against the windowsill.

He had never been able to quite fathom why it was that at seemingly climactic moments such as these, he so longed for his piano, for the deep serenity of being alone and at peace in his own home, going about quietly making music and absorbing the deep inspiration of art.

He sighed again, deeply, and probed at the edges of his mask, the silicon material tugging at his neck as he glanced over his shoulder at Zola. The little scientist, at present was fiddling with his machines as if they were building blocks, timidly perfecting the blemishes in his structure.

"How much longer must you have to prepare your machine, Arnim?" his voice quiet and delicate, an almost lilting quality to it. Perhaps the troops would have preferred it, over their commander's typical harsh rasp, but it startled Zola immensely.

"Perhaps fifteen minutes more, mein Herr."

Johann visibly fought back a harsher response, causing the scientist to shudder ever so slightly. "You could not have done this earlier? Surely you knew how much time would have to be devoted to merely setting your little contraption up." He instead spat bitterly.

Zola lowered his head, as if a puppy anticipating a whipping. "I – I am sorry, Herr Schmidt."

Johann's fists clenched and unclenched, as if only barely containing his irritation. His next words were said so quietly, they were almost inaudible.

"That, my dear doctor, is what every man will claim, no matter what the reason." He ran his tongue along his teeth, his blood slowly beginning to boil as it surged through his veins. "Did you know, Doctor?"

"Did I know what, sir?"

"That a son will break his mother's favorite vase today. He will cry profusely, and he will be forgiven." He inhaled deeply. "On this same day, next year, that son will break a window with his football. He will ramble on tirelessly of how it was all merely an accident, though he knows in his mind, and he cackles, knowing that at the end of the day, he will still go unpunished."

Zola swallowed hard, watching his superior's voice escalate, the fanaticism with which he spoke rising every moment, growing more vivid with fury.

"Every day of every year of his sad, pathetic life will go wasted, filled with innumerable lies, meaningless apologies, expecting immediate forgiveness. He will never know what punishment is; will never be forced to experience the pain and suffering that so often accompanies the moments where forgiveness, surprisingly, is not granted. He will live out the hollow extent of his being and depart without so much as a single tear of defeat, without so much as a fraction of a battle scar. He will never experience the fear, the remorse, the realization of every lie he's ever spun, of every 'I am sorry', he has so thoughtlessly blurted out. Not until the chilling tip of a dagger or the heavy weight of a gun's barrel rests against his throat, no feeling, no emotion, all lack of forgiveness. And, in the end, it will have been all too late for the son. Only those three useless little words will ever realize how truly meaningless they are, hanging suspended in the air, watching the blood spurt from his wounds, watching him die. Only then, will someone realize that it truly is better to ask permission than to beg forgiveness."

His fists clenched tighter at his sides, his breaths ragged, his heart raging within his chest, no regard for the fury pouring out of him, or the silent contemplation of his assistant. Slowly, he cast a cursory glance over his shoulder.

Zola stood stock-still, but as he spoke, his voice, surprisingly, was very steady.

"You did what was best for the girl –"

"She is not ready to witness the nature of my work." He answered quickly.

"But you could have done better."

Johann felt his heart contract; whether or not it was with anger or guilt, he could not identify.

"How so?"

Zola sighed. "Children are enigmas, mein Herr, so difficult to explain. At times, they can possess the maturity and intellect of a seasoned philosopher. At other times, they can be just as nonsensical and foolish. I know it has been a very long time since I was a child, sir, but I can tell you that, rarely if ever I became curious about something that didn't truly interest me."

He removed his glasses, wiping a gloved hand across his brow. "If your niece went through so much trouble, merely to disguise herself long enough to be privy to that which so intrigued you, who is to say that she is not ready to witness the nature of your work? Who is to say that she is not interested? I apologize, mein Herr – and with great meaning –but I must disagree with you. If the girl truly wants to grow and learn, then let her."

He placed his specs back onto the edge of his nose, toying once again with the dials for a few moments more.

Johann sighed deeply, staring out into the never-ending white, a sickening feeling that the scientist was right, welling in the pit of his stomach. He exhaled again, and turned on his heel, away from the monstrous panoramic window.

"Are you ready, Doctor Zola?"

The man ignored him for a moment, his normally bug-eyed pupils further magnified by the glass through which he stared intently. "Just a few moments now, sir. My machine requires the most delicate calibration. Forgive me if I seem – over- cautious."

Johann glanced over at his assistant, his blue irises skimming over an ornate illustration of Norse lore. A wood carving of two lanky males, both with expressions of awe as they stared deeply into a prism-like figure. "And you are certain that those conductors of yours can withstand the energy surge long enough for transference?"

Zola looked up at his superior tiredly. "With this artifact," he sighed, "I am certain of nothing." He glanced back down at the machine; his fingers brushing against various knobs and dials with a certain fondness. "I fear it may not work at all."

Johann's response was silence, instead gently lifting the ornately detailed wooden box and setting it down by the cold steel holder, specifically designed to maneuver the tesseract. Zola sucked in his breath, pausing for a split-second before hurriedly removing his specs, replacing them with dark shades in order to evade some of the blinding blue light. Naturally, Schmidt did not even flinch at the sheer divine power that emanated from the object.

With the utmost precision, he pushed the tesseract and its holder firmly into its nest deep within the coiling wires of Zola's machine, giving it a slight twist, locking it into place.

Almost feverishly, Zola twisted at the dials, his gloved hands visibly trembling. The machine rumbled as it slowly turned on, a metallic ringing echoing about the room, coupled with the tesseract's muffled hum.

"Twenty percent… forty…."

He glanced up at Schmidt, the man probing at his mask, his eyes glowing in the reflected light of the cube.

"Sixty…"

He glanced up again; the machine's loud humming growing ever slower.

"Stabilizing at seventy percent –"

The irritation was blatant in Schmidt's voice. Zola fought back a frightened gasp as he was shoved out of the way, his superior taking a firm hold of the dials.

"I have not come all this way for safety, Doctor." The machine's slow hum revved up as the full force of the mechanism drained into the tesseract.

Coiling threads of blinding blue sparked up, the sound of static and the scent of smoke, coupled with unearthly shrieks echoed throughout the laboratory. An ethereal light exploded from the tesseract, deep within the device, temporarily blinding the two men, the far-off shrieks and babbled languages and metallic whispers too overwhelming for the senses.

Johann, so confident only a few moments ago, felt every nerve in his body contract with something he hadn't felt in so long.

Fear.

Not fear for his own safety, but fear for the artifact itself. Surely this was not another failure – he no longer had the luxury of leisurely progress. With the Nazis breathing down his neck, he knew that sooner rather than later, the ties had to be severed. Another failed device, another botched plan. The Gestapo were no idiots. They would catch on sooner or later to the true focus of his plans.

Success was critical.

Suddenly, the machine roared with a last gasp of persistence, before backfiring, the entire system of parts shutting down, sending up thick plumes of smoke, shot through with leftover sparks.

He could hear Zola's breaths, shuddering and shallow.

"What was that?" the little scientist whispered like a child, staring up at him with huge eyes, as if looking – begging – for any sort of guidance.

Johann stared down at the small containment device, perched at the machine's edge. He exhaled sharply, his clenched fists loosening. He placed a gloved hand heavily upon Zola's shoulders, pivoting him about to look at his device.

"I must congratulate you, Arnim. Your designs do not disappoint."

He glanced about, surveying the smoking metal with a certain curiosity. "Though they might require some slight… reinforcement."

Zola's stared, bug-eyed as per usual, but emphasized with the deep childish excitement running through his veins.

"The exchange is stable. Amazing." He looked over at Schmidt, his hands wringing with delight. "The energy we have just collected – it could power my designs, all my designs." He chuckled ever so quietly, almost manically. "This could change the war."

"Dr. Zola, this could change the world."

XXX

The Schmidt Household

Berlin, Germany – 1942

Her head throbbed persistently, the 'organized chaos' of Johann's study furthering her migraine. Papers and books, weapons and prototypes; every surface was littered with useless… junk. Empty coffee mugs, brandy flukes, half-finished cigarettes, several full ash-trays.

If the man wasn't shut up in his laboratory somewhere far off in the mountains, he was spending many a sleepless night locked in his study, even the minutest interruption enough to set him boiling with fury.

So devoted to his work, although what his work was, she had no idea. But she regarded his strange obsessions as most definitely unhealthy.

"For all your attention to detail, clearly a career in housewifery is not your calling." She mumbled, sweeping aside a few loose papers, the sticky rims of past coffee mugs staining through them.

Amid the shambles, what was of any import to her, she had no real idea. Although… to begin with, she didn't know what she was looking for. Perhaps a random item, a date scribbled down onto paper, a time, something to give her motive.

Undeniably so, she felt a pang of anger course through her, at the thought of Johann so unceremoniously dropping her onto a bed and driving off to do God only knew what, without so much as a brief explanation.

At the same time though, she couldn't help but feel a slight sensation of guilt. Granted, she was no angel for running off in the middle of the night to dress up like a soldier-boy.

But the constant secrets, the ever so enigmatic behavior, it drove her mad. He'd vaguely reference a meeting or a discovery or some fancy expedition, but never more than a few mumbled words before quickly clearing out. It was almost as if he was taunting her, throwing riddles and puzzles at her, all to keep her from gaining that which she craved most.

His trust. To finally be privy to all his secrets, to finally know of the motives of his beloved HYDRA.

To be so continuously sheltered, not only from his work but from everything….

She sighed, cradling her head in her hands. Johann had always been so terribly protective of her – never allowing her to go to parties or sleepovers, never allowing her to see films with her friends.

She walked to school in the morning, walked home, did her homework, and awaited further instructions. Chores were always brutal – if her room wasn't spotless, an hour of rigorous fencing, whilst reciting ancient Norse. If the dishes were not shined to sparkling after dinner – the most horrific piano lessons. Chopin's Fantasy Impromptu whilst deciphering complicated algorithms.

So often she felt like Cinderella, never able to reach the ball. Only ever was she allowed to take part in any events if she achieved all of her lessons and chores in record time – and so rarely was that goal ever reached. He nit-picked at every little detail, from her posture to her marksmanship.

And all for no visible reason. Of course, he wasn't an abusive guardian. He cared for her when she was ill, bought her beautiful clothes from only the finest boutiques in Paris, took her riding in the Bavarian countryside, evenings at the opera. His somewhat unethical forms of education, he explained, were merely to stimulate her intellect, as the private schools so horrifically failed to achieve.

But why? What need did she have to be 'intellectually stimulated'? She received good marks, excelled in her classes. So often she'd passed it off for his obsession with perfection.

But what if it was more than that? What if, perhaps, he was preparing for something, some unknown destiny?

"But what?" she found herself whispering. "What good am I to the Reich?"

She knew she was different. Stronger, more agile than normal girls her age. Of course, several years prior she'd barely been able to lift her schoolbooks off the ground. She vaguely remembered when it had happened; the stinging sensation of a needle-sharp point penetrating her flesh – a deep fiery ache coupled with sheer adrenaline coursing through her body, setting her senses alight.

A mere few moments of agonizing pain and stretching and convulsing and then… nothing.

Surprisingly, she felt no different, though her physicians stood in awe of her miraculous improvement. She looked the same, felt the same. Normal. She wasn't ill or weak, but she didn't feel like superman either.

The training had grown worse since then, constantly having to devote her time to physical training, more and more studying, working and working and working and with seemingly no end and no goal.

She massaged her temples lightly. All she wanted was clarification, understanding. Was it truly such a crime to ask for such?

Her fingers brushed against something. She glanced down to see a small leather-bound booklet. Emblazoned into the cover was, 'HYDRA Einsatzfahrzeuge'.

She thumbed through the pages delicately. Arrivals, departures, locations, locations. A mundane train log, nothing more.

And yet, it was her ticket out.

She held it up into the light, staring at it in silence.

Train X2543

Arrival at Berlin Loading Docks – 5:30 PM

Departure – 7:45 PM

Destination: HYDRA Base

XXX

A thick layer of clouds slowly filtered through the sun-shot sky, a strong, chilling breeze slowly gaining speed as it funneled through the tightly packed city. The last commuter train was rumbling out of the Berlin Anholter Bahnhof, the tired workers shuffling about the platform, their heads bowed down against the wind. A few Gestapo stood about smoking and chatting amongst themselves, but didn't seem to notice her, quietly making her way toward the very last stop.

A hulking, long locomotive, black as the night, chugged slowly through the station, a white skull with octopus tentacles swirling out from beneath its jaw, gaping in a sort of agonized shock. As the train halted, squadrons of black-clad guards filed off, holding up gleaming metal rifles in port arms. Several Nazi officers crossed over to the men, inspecting them quickly before waving them on and moving to the next platoon.

She slouched lower, letting the collar of her coat partially cover her head. She glanced down at the leather log book in her hands, the pages fluttering in the wind.

5:30 PM arrival at Loading Docks

7:25 PM inspection by Gestapo Guards

7:30 PM Final sweep of the train for discrepancies

7:45 PM Departure for HYDRA Base

She frowned at the schedule. Her window of time was far too narrow for comfort. The Alps were more than five hours out of Berlin – staying unnoticed for so long would require not only an excellent disguise but prepared orders. The fifteen minutes between the final sweep and departure were enough for her to successfully knock out a guard and find someplace nondescript to leave behind the body. But this time she'd need more than a uniform – a log book, a schedule, identification… anything to keep her unnoticed.

And there was always the chance that the guard would wake up a little too early for her tastes.

Her fingers closed around a small bottle of sleeping capsules. One would sedate a man for roughly six hours. Two or three… or five….

She raised the bottle to her mouth, pressing it to her lips as if it were a crucifix. Yes, the soldier would sleep through the night and then some.

The train's operator shouted the beginning of the last inspection and the squadrons parted like frightened bees, scattering about, some going in, some scouting about the perimeter. Silently, she closed the book and rose, pulling her collar further over her head.

A young soldier, perhaps of eighteen or nineteen years and about her height, dressed in full HYDRA regalia glanced from side to side instinctively, before removing his mask, revealing a smooth white face, ragged blond hair pasted to his skull. With trembling gloved hands, he put a cigarette to his lips, breathing in the thick smoke.

He was the perfect target, obviously young and new on the job, for he lacked that certain inhumanness that other soldiers possessed. He fidgeted like an unsettled child. A little ad-libbing, a bit of innocence. A mundane request for directions.

"Guten Abend."

His eyes shot up as she approached, the cigarette falling from his fingers.

"What do you want?" his voice was shaky, high-pitched.

She bowed slightly. "I'm sorry sir. I have just arrived here from Rothenberg … are you a native of Berlin?"

He eyed her cautiously, his breaths shallow and rapid.

"I – I am not authorized to reveal such information."

"I'm sorry, how rude of me to intrude so abruptly. I just want to know where I can call a cab for the Alexanderplatz."

"Ask one of the guards."

"I did. They laughed at me and told me I was better off in the country. Very rude, you city-dwellers." The soldier's face remained expressionless.

"Could you please just point me in the right direction?"

The corner of his lip twitched slightly with irritation. He sighed quietly and nodded, before straightening and walking ahead. Instinctively she followed.

The young guard stopped at the last entrance toward the cab stops and nodded.

"Take this exit." He muttered and turned to leave.

His head snapped back as she delivered a swift blow to the back of his neck, following it with a roundhouse kick to the gut. The soldier barely was able to whimper before crashing to the ground, his heavy leather mask falling to his side.

Her hands shook as she pried his mouth open, dropping several of the capsules onto his tongue and tipping his chin back. A quick glance to see if the pills had gone down and she began the somewhat laborious task of dragging the body to a secure hiding place.

Hefting the soldier into a darkened alcove behind one of the numerous benches, she quickly removed his uniform, pulling on the heavy leather jumpsuit and jackboots.

Although she couldn't quite fathom why, for some reason, she felt not fear, but adrenaline as she intently disguised herself, a sort of deeply-rooted curiosity coursing through her veins.

It wasn't the excitement of doing something 'wrong' per say, but the excitement of discovery, of new horizons, of the unknown. Perhaps it was juvenile, to look at something so terrifyingly dangerous with a sort of lust.

And yet, somehow, she didn't stop what she was doing, didn't think about the consequences. She merely did it.

Exhaling sharply, she pulled on the heavy mask, the feeling of the material plastered against her skin no longer quite as alien as it had been.

She glanced up at the dusty clock, the flickering lights obscuring her vision.

7:42 PM.

Closing her eyes, she mumbled a prayer, and patted the heavy logbook that rested in the soldier's uniform.

There was no going back now. She had dug her grave. If fate chose for her to lie in it, then so be it.

XXX

Her spine ached with tension as she stood ramrod-straight, the only light in the cargo car flickering from the dusty fluorescent bulbs overhead. She glanced down at the soldier's logbook; she'd made a wise selection. The book identified him as an eighteen-year-old boy from Dusseldorf, hand-selected only two and a half months before, trained for seven weeks, and now completed the ever mundane task of guarding previously unsecured entrances.

Maintaining a motionless, silent stance, though requiring some effort and maximum patience, was decidedly to her liking. Half-heartedly, she straightened the leather overcoat, pausing for a moment to once again read over the pages. Quizzically, she raised an eyebrow, glancing at the 'expertise' segment of the short information page.

Apparently HYDRA recruited former Juvenile Detainees with intelligence quotients exceeding 160 and enjoyed dabbling in arson and bomb-manufacturing in their leisure time.

"I suppose I'll have to set the train on fire before I leave, if I really want to go with the act." She muttered to herself.

"What was that, Corporal?" The sharply-toned voice caused her to nearly jump out of her skin, never mind the HYDRA get-up.

"Reporting, sir!" she snapped, clamping her lips shut as the words escaped, her voice undeniably too high-pitched for a boy of eighteen.

The officer looked her up and down for a moment, before chuckling drily. "Excellent to see you progressing, Corporal. Herr Schmidt prefers his recruits be always on their toes."

The officer lit a cigarette, leaning up against the wall a mere few centimeters away from her. She shifted uneasily, clearing her throat.

"Thank you, sir." She mumbled, taking care to mimic the man she was impersonating.

Come on, finish your goddamn cigarette and leave!

None the less, the man continued to dawdle, as if the world was waiting for him. She took note of his peculiar dress – civilian clothes, rather than a military uniform. An immaculately pressed pin-striped suit and shined black loafers, his black hair slicked back, his face clean-shaven. The only sign of his involvement in the organization was a small silver pin attached to the lapel of his jacket, the gruesome skull-octopus creature mirroring the larger patch on her own uniform.

"Corporal,"

Her eyes snapped back onto the man. "Sir," she barked hoarsely.

The man dropped his cigarette to the floor of the car, snuffing it out with the toe of his boot. "When you are finished with your duties here upon our arrival, see to it that you make your way to the barracks. Herr Schmidt has ordered that all personnel remain on base for the night. Apparently they have made significant progress and all of us must remain to be notified."

"Jawohl, sir." She clicked her heels together and saluted awkwardly. The man nodded in approval and exited the car, at last.

Certain that he was gone; she let out a deep sigh of relief, leaning her head back against the hard steel wall.

A night on base – surely more than enough time to do some snooping….

XXX

The swirling, effervescent shards of white spiraled through the air like thousands of nymphs taking flight, hurling themselves into the bitter cold of the gusty wind. A harsh fluorescent light cascaded along the convulsing spine of the locomotive as it curled around the mountainsides, the lights within flickering ominously as the tunnel mouth slowly swallowed it up and it began its descent underground.

Acutely aware of the sudden sputtering movement of the train, Mina felt her heart contract within her chest, her muscles tensing for action.

They were here. A steady wave of fear began to slowly trickle through her veins, inching just beneath the surface of her skin. Her throat tightened and hastily with a gloved hand, she brushed at the mask, as if discouraging tears.

This night, she could die. The last time, she'd been fortunate. Tonight, she would be dealing with a far worse monster than little Arnim Zola and his watchdogs.

Tonight, she'd be reckoning with the entire fighting force of HYDRA, concentrated into a maximum security warehouse, filled to bursting with the most powerful and scientifically advanced weaponry in the Reich. She swallowed hard, glancing down at the soldier's logbook. The soldier would have reported immediately to the central hub of the underground fortress – a heavily fortified airfield, opening out into the vast icy terrain of the Alps. She knew her every movement must be executed with the utmost precision and purpose – she had to look like she knew what she was doing, that she had a reason to do it.

"Think like a soldier," she muttered under her breath. "Not a half-wit."

An overnight on base, though impeccably convenient, did pose as a slight disadvantage. She would leave on the cargo train at dawn, arrive back in Berlin just before the morning rush, return her soldier boy's clothes, and slip off into the crowds, rather than joining the HYDRA personnel on a convoy to the Bavarian location.

If she kept silent, her chances, although narrow, were decidedly better than nothing. She couldn't risk acting out a part she knew so little about. Luckily, it seemed as if none of the soldiers thought on their own – merely mirrored their superior's movements and otherwise remained in the woodwork.

A metallic rasping echoed throughout the car and the static of an intercom.

"Attention: All HYDRA personnel aboard the locomotive; report immediately to your barracks for report-in, and file to the airfield for further instructions. Over and out, officers, take charge of your squadrons."

The shuffling of heavy jack-boots almost simultaneously began to echo, shaking the cars as they filed out. Exhaling sharply, she followed, filing into line as they exited the train, her fists clenched at her sides, her heart racing.

A report-in… no, that will waste too much time. I need to get into the central laboratory – he keeps everything there.

Her eyes flickered from side to side, the metal structure above her growing taller and brighter, the strange honey-comb tiling reminiscent of some sort of cyborgish beehive.

The blinding cobalt light of the strange artifact at Norway flickered in her mind's eye; the way he had gazed at it with such awe, such triumph and glory. His sudden departure after arriving in Berlin – naturally he would have rushed back to his laboratory to inspect the artifact. The remanding of all soldiers to the base for notification – of course, news of a ground-breaking discovery. Everything slowly fell together, like pieces in a jigsaw puzzle.

Johann would undoubtedly be in the airfield, preparing to give his men a speech – leaving his laboratory vacated, save for a few guards that could easily be eliminated. Everyone else would be in the airfield, waiting for further instructions. Leaving almost every inch of the place empty. A few guards she could handle – but not an army.

And I won't have to.

It was brilliant. Either the gods were looking kindly in her favor, or perhaps she was being dealt the broadest stroke of luck in her life. It was so strategically perfect it was almost impossible to comprehend.

And yet, it all seemed to be falling into place on its own accord.

Her heart jumped as the line halted suddenly.

But of course, her uncle was no fool. There would be guards – she wasn't about to be getting a free ticket in and out.

She flexed her fingers in the heavy gloves. Six years of grueling training, finally to be paid off.

A loud alarm sounded once over the intercom system, and in throngs the soldiers broke off, scattering in opposite directions towards the barracks.

She opened up her logbook, glancing at the mock-up blueprint of the base. She traced a gloved fingertip along a winding passage. The laboratory was at the midsection of the facility, facing out towards the mountains.

Inhaling sharply, she silently made her way through the throngs of soldiers, winding ever deeper into the metal abyss.

The steel corridors were short and curved sharply, no single hallway straight or with a defined destination. She felt her stomach clench as she sub-consciously likened it to the twisting intestines of some sort of reptilian beast. Keeping to the shadows was impossible; hulking guards loomed in the alcoves, monstrous rifles slung across their chests, their heavy breathing audible even through the thick masks.

Several higher-ups marched past her, talking quietly amongst themselves, pausing only to cast deep scowls toward her.

Lowering her head, she shuffled on, her heartbeat eerily steady, given the circumstances.

Farther and farther deeper into the facility; the ever-twisting and turning halls creeping closer and closer in on her, the deep sense of claustrophobia almost overwhelming. Globules of sweat trickled along her brow, her breaths heavy.

Glancing down at the logbook, only a few more turns remained. None of the entrances were well-marked, all copies of the previous; large, curved metal frames, the broad doors secured by heavily secured locks, and each guarded by a pair of big masked soldiers.

The laboratory, like all the other chambers, lacked all clear definition; merely a slightly larger set of metal double-doors, securely locked and guarded.

Only, these guards did seem to look rather bigger. Instinctively, she lowered her head.

"Halt!"

She stopped dead, straightening to look at the men. She bit her lip, as if the sudden force would calm her breathing. Swallowing hard, she thrust her arms into the air, in awkward salute.

The soldiers brandished their guns, staring blankly at her. One stepped forward, lowering his rifle.

"All personnel have been remanded to the airfield, Corporal." The officer said curtly. "What business do you have in the North Wing?"

"I – I have orders from Herr Schmidt, sir."

"Do you have evidence of those orders?"

"Nein sir. Herr Schmidt merely sent me to fetch a flask of Schnapps."

Mentally, she smacked herself. A flask of Schnapps? Really? That's the best you can do? Do you want to die, girl? Well… it was realistic. The man drank like a fiend.

The officer eyed her quizzically for a moment.

"You are lying."

"About Herr Schmidt's drinking habits, sir?"

The officer inhaled sharply, as if offended by her response. "Papers."

She stared at him blankly. The officer rolled his eyes beneath the mask.

"Identification papers, Schnell, lest you want to be skinned alive for lateness. Herr Schmidt prefers punctuality."

Hastily she retrieved the logbook, the other soldier snatching it from her grasp. He flicked through it lazily.

"Helmut Braun is your name?"

"Jawohl."

"Convicted of arson twice in the last year?"

The other guard let out a raspy chuckle. "Herr Schmidt wanted experienced candidates for the flame-throwers."

The officer glanced at him briefly before handing back the book. "A flask of Schnapps, you say?"

"Jawohl."

His eyes darted from side to side. "I will get it for you."

"But then who will guard the door?"

The officer turned to look at her levelly. Instinctively, she shrugged beneath the heavy uniform.

"Herr Schmidt is waiting. Although I'd be happy to notify him that it is you who has delayed me in carrying out my orders, sir."

The officer's eyes narrowed beneath his mask, and she could almost guess that his face was twisting into a scowl. He turned toward the door, motioning for the other soldier to help him turn the lock. A heavy, grating sound emanated from the heavy steel door as it opened. Within, she could barely see the steel maw of what lay before her.

"Go. And hurry up." The officer snapped, before stepping back into position.

She nodded and stiffly entered the laboratory, the heavy door sliding closed behind her. Almost unconsciously, she collapsed against the closed entrance, sighing deeply with relief. She stood there a few moments, surveying her surroundings.

From the outside, the laboratory seemed small and one-dimensional, but once through the entrance, it opened up into a massive, cave-like chamber, with high, arched ceilings bedecked with maps and tapestries and blueprints. Several worktables, their surfaces littered with glittering metal prototypes and weather-beaten books and tools. At the corner of the room, an old turn-table, several vinyls neatly stacked beside it.

Slowly, she inched toward the center of the room, staring about in a sort of awed trance. To finally be at the very heart of her Uncle's work, to finally see the place where spent almost all of his time, working and studying and experimenting – it was almost overwhelming to the senses. To finally be privy to something, albeit merely a room, but something tangible and visible – it was almost impossible to comprehend.

And yet, her time there would be short.

Don't dawdle; get in and get out and stay unnoticed. Look around and leave – and don't forget the damned liquor.

Her breaths grew shallow and more ragged with every step she took, her mind aching to find something but what it wanted to find, she couldn't perceive.

The work area opened out into a spacious alcove, the back wall almost completely taken up by a monstrous panoramic window, giving way to a breath-taking view of the mountains and their never-ending white. A broad metal desk lay before it, a few books and folios, several randomly scattered paper-weights – and a small silver flask, emblazoned with the strange insignia.

Gingerly, she picked up the flask and slipped it into the large front pocket of the uniform, along with the logbook. A few more moments of looking around – then out.

A soft humming buzzed from the far right of the room, hidden in a shallow alcove. A large mass of coiling metal wires, cold and dark and lifeless. Yet, a soft, ethereal blue light seemed to radiate from it, pulsing in a sort of irregular heartbeat, mystical in its rhythm.

It was almost mesmerizing, teasing her with its flickering tones, beckoning her to come forth, absorbing every ounce of her focus.

Slowly, deliberately, she stepped forward; she reached a gloved hand to her face, gingerly peeling back the heavy leather mask, sweat-soaked curls pasted to her scalp. The humming seemed to grow louder now, the light shining brighter and more vibrant.

Without thinking, her hand grasped the latch of the machine, turning it until a loud click, followed by soft hissing noise echoed through the room. Pulling upward, she felt the mechanisms release, and the heavy metal holder slid free of its hulking prison.

The light was blinding now, the object within a blur, the edges hazy and undefined, the humming low and methodic, steady and unwavering. Coupled with the sound now, were whispers, fast and incoherent, like the waters of a bubbling creek, babbling languages of ancient lore and fragments of long ago forgotten prophecies. And all the while, the light pulsated brightly, threatening to consume her, begging her to lose herself in its blue abyss.

She could have stared into it forever, swallowed whole by its ethereal beauty and enigma.

Only the brash interruption of the officer's voice – the officer – the guards, they were still waiting.

And yet, she was so reluctant to let go.

"What's taking you so long, boy? Mach Schnell, son of a bitch! Herr Schmidt will shoot us all if he finds you dawdling!"

Her eyes never once moved from the light. "I cannot find the flask." Her voice was a hollow shell, eerily entranced.

"Well hurry up!" the officer's voice was swallowed by the humming and the monotonous voices; it was almost as if they were speaking to her, addressing her personally. Their ringing tones were garbled; the fragments of sentences blurring together.

"Touch – touch the cube – hold the Tesseract – few survive – only the chosen – the chosen one – only he – can bear its weight – child of Odin – prove your worth – behold the treasure."

It was a complete mess of vague nonsense, and yet, she felt compelled, as if by some higher authority, to give in to the voices, to touch the cube.

Slowly, she reached into the metal holder, the tips of her gloved fingers just barely grazing the glowing surface –

Light exploded into the room, temporarily blinding her, the force of the object's touch against her fingers throwing her across the room.

The cube still rested in her gloved palm, pulsating and humming irregularly, fast and slow, fast and slow. And amid the ever-present garble of voices, one sounded clearly in her mind, its tones rich and ethereal.

"Child of Odin,"

Shards of broken images – pictures, newsreels, visions and dreams of heroes long-forgotten, of people and memories and thoughts and deaths and pasts and lives – flew across her eyes, a mesh of color and movement and broken speech.

"Stand, bearer, for you have been chosen."

Automatically she stood, her movements stiff and jerky, as if forced. The images swirled about her now at rapid speed – ancient warriors of Norse lore – metal-clad soldiers wielding glowing blue blades and lightning bolts, seven-headed sea monsters and wolf-like gods.

"Why?" The word was barely audible, her eyes wide, her heart beating furiously within her chest. "Why me?"

A roaring cackle sounded, the images swirling faster, the light pulsating so brightly that white spots danced before her eyes, the blue light scampering across her arm, winding its thick tendrils about her fingers, working its way up, wrapping around her torso, climbing towards her neck –

The heavy grating of the metal door sliding open jarred her from her daze, the officer sticking his masked head around the door – but she didn't care – she didn't care if she died, for the power coursing within her – it was so rich and fulfilling and mesmerizing – she could bask in its light forever and be satiated.

"Hey – what are you doing? Get the hell out of here boy!" The guard advanced on her, his gun brandished, but she lashed out at him, her gloved fist, swallowed by the blue light, caught in his jaw, the blow sending him flying across the room, sparks dancing about his face, tiny bolts of lightning dancing across the material of his mask, his eyes wide beneath the lenses.

Her eyes darted to the door, the other guard standing in shock, his gun clattering to the floor. For a moment, he merely stared, dumbstruck, at his fallen comrade, before sprinting off in the opposite direction.

A few moments passed, the light never once dying, and the shrill metallic screeching of an alarm rang against the metal walls, red lights flashing in the outer corridors.

And yet, she did not run. She stared down at the cube in her palm, the deep blue light ebbing and flowing across her body, the broken voices whispering in her ears and seeping into every crevice of her brain, dancing across her eyes feverishly.

Somewhere, she knew, a part of her was screaming at her to run, to get the hell out and flee for her life. And yet, her feet stayed firmly planted, her body and brain disconnected from each other.

Never in her life had she experienced such an awesome feeling of power, of exhilaration.

She never wanted it to end.

XXX

Central Airfield – HYDRA BASE

He ran a gloved hand through his fabricated dark hair, blowing a cloud of smoke into the chill night air, seeping in through the open runway of the airfield. Zola stood beside him, feverishly wiping at his specs. He glared down at the little scientist, rolling his long, black cigarette holder between his lips.

"Must you fidget so, Dr. Zola?"

His assistant glanced up at him briefly before lowering his head, obediently placing his glasses back on to the bridge of his nose.

"My apologies, Mein Herr."

Schmidt nodded in approval, straightening out the lapels of his heavy leather overcoat, carefully brushing off the HYDRA patch that adorned his left shoulder. The mass of troops that stood before him was only just beginning to fill the airfield, still more soldiers filing into line, their rifles stiffly held at port arms, their faces cold and emotionless. Just as he liked them.

As far as the naked eye was concerned, these men could have been clones, identical in every aspect. And yet, he knew, without so much a second glance that beneath the black leather and glistening metal armor, every single one of these men possessed more intelligence, more finesse, more power and superiority than any perfect Aryan Hitler could conjure.

Before him stood an army like no other – prepared to decimate every hostile force on earth with merely a single order. Over a thousand troops at his disposal.

He blew a cloud of grayish-blue smoke, watching it hang suspended in the air. With the tesseract's power now successfully stabilized, the entire world was only mere inches away from his grasp.

So close he could almost taste it; the air pure and untainted by disgusting mundane kind.

As the last of the troops filed in, he flicked the cigarette butt to the ground, snuffing it out with the toe of his boot. Casting a cursory glance at Zola, he passed his cigarette holder to the little scientist, who dutifully slipped it into the pocket of his jacket, in turn holding a small portfolio of papers before his superior.

Schmidt glanced down at them – the precisely crafted speech he had dictated to Zola only mere hours before in preparation for the occasion. He glared down at it now, waving a gloved hand dismissively.

"That won't be necessary, Arnim." He said stiffly, probing at his jaw. Zola nodded quickly, hurriedly tucking the folder away. Mentally, he smacked himself. Schmidt was a gifted orator – how foolish of him to underestimate him so. He heard his superior clear his throat rather loudly, and instinctively, the little scientist lowered his head, the booming nature that Schmidt's normally placid, measured voice would soon take on, already frightening him into submission.

The squadron leaders called their platoons to attention, the soldier arms shooting up into the air in staunch salute, a thousand voices ringing in unison, "Hail HYDRA!"

Zola watched in silence as Schmidt stepped slowly toward his men, his eyes slowly scanning his intent audience, his gloved hands clasped firmly behind his back. He nodded very slightly, as if quite pleased with his regime. Inhaling sharply, Zola knew he was preparing to begin a very dramatic, gripping speech. He almost smiled; it never ceased to amaze him, how far Johann Schmidt had come, with or without the aid of the Führer. A man who had risen out of the dark depths of poverty, building himself up, creating a godly, awesome figure of extraordinary ability. Indeed, Hitler had selected the perfect man for his research division, a born leader.

Schmidt waited a few moments, as if allowing for the suspense to build. He cleared his throat quietly, looking out at his men stoically.

"Gentlemen,"

"Hail HYDRA!"

Schmidt smirked slightly at the response. Morale levels were indeed soaring – excellent. A prosperous army was a confident one.

He opened his mouth to speak again, his deep azure orbs drilling into every one of the soldiers, as if speaking to them personally. And yet… suddenly, he was cut off, the words not even allowed to escape his lips.

The shrill shrieking of an alarm; the blinding red lights – they echoed about the cavernous airfield, bouncing off the metal walls and setting even the hardest soldier into a nervous stance.

Schmidt's teeth grated together, his shoulders shaking with restrained anger as he turned slowly to look at the little scientist that stood beside him.

"Dr. Zola?" He asked through gritted teeth.

"I – I have no idea, sir." He murmured, his voice shaking with fear.

Schmidt stiffly reached a gloved hand to his jaw, probing at it methodically, as if all the strength in his body was slowly, laboriously being poured into this simple task.

Schmidt lowered his hand and straightened, stalking off of the platform upon which they stood, the sea of soldiers parting like the waves of the red sea, he the macabre portrayal of Moses, the fury radiating from every inch of his form.

Zola hurried to catch up, breaking into a nervous jog in order to compete with his superior's lengthy strides.

The alarms shrieked, the red lights flaring everywhere, frenzies of guards skittering out of the way, eager to avoid their master's ire.

Zola managed a few words, breathing heavily, the sudden exercise clearly too much for his rather plump physique.

"Herr – Herr Schmidt, what – what is going on, sir?"

"I could ask you the same, Arnim."

Zola wiped at his brow feverishly. "Mein Herr, every possible entrance into the facility, every chamber and laboratory was securely guarded – not one was left unmanned. This cannot possibly be a break-in; perhaps one of technicians set off the alarms by accident –"

"Herr Schmidt!" a stalky, masked guard rushed up to them, not even bothering to salute. "Sir, please, it is urgent!"

Schmidt cracked his jaw, resuming his methodic probing. "It would seem so, would it not, Lieutenant?" he answered, his voice peculiarly calm. But it soon took on a dry, sardonic tone. "After all, my men are specially trained to operate such state-of-the-art security systems, such as the ones installed in this facility."

The officer lowered his head grimly. Schmidt scowled, gritting his teeth.

"Speak."

"Mein Herr, my partner and I were assigned to guard the entrance of your main laboratory, assigned to guard the artifact you procured from Norway. Everything proceeded schedule until one of the younger officers requested clearance to enter – he said he was fetching something for you, said he had orders from you, yourself, sir." The man's breaths grew shaky. "My partner is superior to me; he cleared the boy and let him in – he was gone for a peculiarly long time. My partner went in to investigate and – and … there was an explosion of light and – the boy – he sent him flying across the room, knocked him unconscious. I – I tried to do away with him but – he seemed possessed – I – I had to sound the alarm!"

Schmidt eyed the man levelly, his breaths measured and slow.

"You have left the tesseract unguarded?"

The officer seemed confused. "The what, sir? I have no idea what it was – but I could not defend myself alone and someone had to sound the alarm."

"You could have defended yourself, Lieutenant. You merely feared for your life, and considered it to be of greater worth than the very artifact that will bring HYDRA to supreme rule. And, you have now left it in the hands of a rogue soldier."

Schmidt reached out with a gloved hand, forcefully gripping the officer's masked face.

"Do you think that what you have done was a gallant act of bravery, Lieutenant?"

"Sir I – what else could I have done?" the officer's voice rose an octave.

Schmidt almost smiled at him, and with a loud cracking noise, he twisted the officer's neck, suffocating him immediately.

He loosened his grip, letting the dead soldier fall to the floor. Wiping his gloved hands, he glanced down at the little scientist who stood a few steps behind him, his face blanched.

"Don't look so piqued, Arnim. Stupidity is what ended this man's life, not cruelty or inhumanness on my accord." He straightened, sighing slightly. "And as per usual, I am left to investigate myself; clearly I have not trained my men adequately enough to think for themselves."