Very quietly today, Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you Kapitel Vierzehn. Also known as, Chapter 14. Oh do I love me some irony. That moment when Mina assumes that she can see her uncle for who he really is, in his precious HYDRA, no mask to hide behind…
Lolz, yeah right!
Thank you to every single person that has read this fanfiction, and moreover, thank you to every single person who has given me and continues to give me the most touching, thought-provoking, and motivating feedback. Your reviews offer me the perfect amounts of criticism, helpful suggestions, and encouragement to keep this going. Special thanks to MusicWolf7, Zabuzasgirl, and Blackbird71. You guys are AMAZING. Thank you for your everlasting support!
And so, with my sincerest regards, I leave you to enjoy the fourteenth addition of Athena. May it live up to your expectations.
~ Jasper Quentin Blood
*Side Note: For those of you who were hoping for at least a cameo appearance by Cap – Here tis, and I hope you enjoy it
HYDRA Base – the Alps
1942
Chopin's Waltz No. 7 in C Sharp Minor echoed faintly across the empty laboratory, its coy and playful tune gnawing at him, mocking him like an incessant mosquito. The drumming of his gloved fingers against the desk thrummed in his ears and he closed his eyes, his head lolling from side to side as he pantomimed running his long fingers across the keys. How he longed for his piano, its sleek and smooth keys dancing wildly beneath his fingertips, the ecstasy of the music enthralling every sense, setting his nerves alight in a joyous euphoria.
His mind was a blank canvas, his brush lying dormant, the palate exploding with untouched colors. Whatever thoughts had previously graced his psych had decided to wither away to ash, leaving him hopelessly uninspired and painfully tormented. Every muscle in his body was tensed for action, a moment of sheer brilliance, an epiphany of any sort. His tongue thrashed against his gritted teeth, desperately biting back its agonized screams, its shrieks of damnation, its doleful pleas for Lord Odin's guidance.
Prove your worth to the gods of Asgard. What did it want, what did it expect of him?
He glared bitterly at the glowing containment device, the tesseract buried deep in its cage of metal. What was he supposed to do? What kind of a show did the tesseract want? Was it expecting some grand theatrical performance, some gallant act of chivalry that would somehow deem this snip of a girl to be worthy of its majesty?
Did it expect her to single-handedly stop the burning of Jews? To banish world hunger, or cure all the illnesses in the universe? Or perhaps, it expected her to save the proverbial bunny from the fox? Or the lamb from the slaughter house?
He clenched and unclenched a hand, the other probing vigorously at his jaw. Damnable. Utterly damnable. It was as if the gods were purposely mocking him, expecting him to be able to achieve the impossible.
How was he to pull such a thing off, exactly? The tesseract had stated, if his niece's reports were indeed truthful, that it wanted an act of self-worth, something to prove that Wilhelmina was indeed everything that it had bargained for in selecting her to be its bearer.
But of course, it would be unspeakable for the desires of an artifact once held by Norse gods to be self-explanatory. A vague, fragmented passage, sung like a hymn on the winds of a storm, tunneling through a funeral entourage. A few wisps of a command, and then gone, like a candle winking from existence. All manner of metaphors could be conjured to describe his predicament, but only the most basic of these was needed.
He was, indubitably, out of ideas.
Unless he could somehow find a way for dear Mina to save every homeless child and feed every hungry orphan and destroy every Jew-killing gas-chamber, it was utterly hopeless.
The only way for her to prove herself worthy of the gods of Asgard was to take the world by storm and create out of it a temple for the superior men, the men of HYDRA particularly.
And naturally, the only way she could achieve that was with the aid of the Tesseract's power.
He swore under his breath, brutally chastising the scientist in him for relying on a flimsy whim that maybe – just maybe – the Tesseract would suddenly become agreeable and give itself up to his control.
"Nothing is without a price." He muttered angrily, downing his seventh glass of Schnapps.
"Mein Herr," a faint wisp of a voice itched in his ears like the whining of an insect.
"Please Zola," he emphasized each word slowly, "Not now."
He watched as the shadow of the little scientist fidgeted near the entrance. "I do apologize for interrupting you, Herr Schmidt, but this is truly quite deserving of your attention."
Johann shut his eyes tightly, laying his head down into his outstretched palms.
"For your sake," he cooed softly into his gloves, "It had better be, Arnim."
He heard the little doctor's shuffling footsteps come to a halt. "Closer please, doctor. I prefer to address a face and not the darkness."
"My apologies, sir." Zola awkwardly crept out of the shadows, stepping into the dim lamplight of the laboratory's rear.
Johann raised himself up from his desk and sat back in his chair, his cigarette holder poised before his lips.
"Humor me doctor – whatever is it that is so terribly urgent?"
Zola shuffled about, as per usual. "Well sir, I merely wanted to inquire…"
"You wanted to inquire, ah I see." He raised an eyebrow in mock curiosity. "Please go on, or I might suddenly die of suspense about what it is about your inquiry that is so rivetingly crucial to me."
He repressed a satisfied smirk as the little man shrank away.
"Well I – I … are you quite certain that we should be carrying out tests in the new facility, sir?"
Johann raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Why ever not, Arnim? The place is empty, and until your little machine is finished, it cannot be used. I am merely giving it a purpose."
The vacant factory was situated a mere fifty kilometers from the base – a short distance if driven at top speed, which his vehicle was beyond capable of achieving.
"Speaking of your 'little machine', when is it to be finished?"
Zola's latest contraption was to be the main power source for the new facility – the tesseract's essence, in its concentrated form, would be contained within the confines of the machine, and would thus power every other machine – whether it be vehicle, weapon, etcetera – in the factory. A central source of power that would never need to be refueled or repaired or recharged, enabling 24-hour industrialization that would be vital to his cause. A factory that could run on its own forever, continuously producing vital weapons of mass-destruction would prevent him from ever having to reinforce his army. There would never be the nerve-wracking pause at which soldiers were frantically searching for power when there was none to be had.
His forces would be indestructible, a never-ending wave of man-power. Of course, he hoped that with a little more time and effort, there would be virtually no need to put his men's lives on the line. The opportunities for which the tesseract's power could be utilized were endless – and he intended to explore them all.
So engrossed in his thoughts was Johann that he hardly registered the little man speaking in a frantic blur.
"It will be finished within the week, I assure you, Mein Herr. But, in my professional opinion, that is the least of your worries at this moment."
Johann gave him a questioning look. "Pray tell why that is, Arnim? For, I truly believe you to be mistaken."
Zola fiddled with his bowtie absently, avoiding his superior's riveting gaze. "Sir, I agree that the facility, under different circumstances, would be the ideal setting for these tests you plan to run but – "
"But what, Zola?"
"Sir, the scouts have just recently returned with information that the level of American spy activity along the premises of the facility has reached its peak. They have not succeeded in discovering anything of significance, but still – don't you think it would be rather unwise to conduct such vital tests with the enemy lurking around the corner? What happens if they find out about your work – about our plans for your niece? They've already taken down one facility in Austria – what if that Captain decides to make an appearance? We've never been able to stop him; we come so close and he slips through our fingers. Really sir, I don't think it wise."
His superior tiredly massaged his temples. "Zola, I have long since ceased from giving a damn about what our foolish little star-spangled man does in his spare time. If he decides to come traipsing through our little shindig, then so be it. My men will be at the ready."
"But sir, he has beaten us every time. He has already succeeded to destroy three of our factories – the damage would be increased a thousand-fold if he were to discover what we were doing with your niece! It would be catastrophic if the Americans were to find out that we were in the process of harvesting the tesseract's power for human imbuement! They would hunt her down and kill her, and we would tragically be out of a pivotal weapon!"
"That's very thoughtful of you, Zola." Johann responded dryly.
Zola bristled, indignant. "This is an extraordinarily serious matter, Herr Schmidt. I would think that you, of all people, would be most concerned with it."
His superior took a long drag from his cigarette holder, blowing a large cloud of grey-blue smoke into the air.
"I have more pressing dilemmas to be concerned with at present, Dr. Zola. In order to appease the tesseract's desires for something to ensure that my niece was the correct choice, I am being forced to engineer some gallant act of bravery for her to present. And, given that I am currently uninspired, I have yet to produce anything. I would rather have the Americans tear down a factory than be forced to give up perhaps our most ingenious weapon design yet."
Zola chuckled bitterly. "Oh, she'll have to be plenty brave, alright. For when that damned Captain sets the whole building ablaze, she'll need every defense she can get."
In the midst of pouring his eighth glass of Schnapps, Johann paused abruptly, nearly sloshing the liquid all over his desk.
"Zola," he murmured softly. The little scientist glanced up at him, suddenly overtaken by fright at his superior's intense stare.
Instinctively, he shrank back. "My – my apologies sir… I – I overstepped my bounds; I – I should have held my tongue," he stammered nervously, but Johann held up a hand.
"I apologize, Zola. Clearly I have not given your intelligence enough credit."
Zola stared at him in dismay. "P – pardon, sir?"
Johann stood up, striding languidly to the huge, panoramic window. "You have just provided me with my 'act of bravery', Dr. Zola. You should be commended."
"I – I did, sir?"
His superior turned back to face him, his azure irises sparkling in the dim light of the laboratory. A wicked grin flared across his features.
"Oh that is truly genius," he cackled lightly, "such a delightful little twist in our on-going drama."
Zola stood in silent bewilderment.
Johann laughed again, almost manically. "Don't you see, Dr. Zola? That imbecile Rogers could be our way out of this conundrum! Damn, why didn't I think of it before?"
"Th – think of what, sir?"
"Zola, it's perfect. Naturally our good Captain would have to make an appearance at our little event – he will not be able to resist. But what if we strike back at him? What if we set the place alight with explosives – pull out all the stops, hurl every bit of ammunition we have at him? Make it clear that this time, we will destroy every angelic fiber of his being – only to have him survive at the gracious hand of our darling little Mina?"
He turned back to face the window. "What better act of bravery than to have her put her own life on the line to save another? The classic fairy-tale heroine brought to life. We won't even have to direct her. We'll set off all the explosives we can muster – it will be chaos, the factory will be blown to pieces. We'll annihilate his reinforcements, his beloved Howling Commandos. She'll become separated from us – caught in the aftermath of the explosion, all alone with our dear Captain. He'll struggle desperately, suffocating on the fumes, blinded by the shrapnel, helpless, unguarded. And Wilhelmina, always the good heart, will not be able to help herself. She will save him; she will protect him from our hungry fire. If nothing else than to infuriate our Red Skull, whom she holds such much contempt for."
He chuckled to himself. "Does that not sound gallant, Zola? Is that not the purest act of bravery, to betray your own to save another, someone innocent and vulnerable? Even an artifact as dynamic as the Tesseract would have to believe that."
He paused for a moment, relaxing his breathing which had suddenly grown rapid. As his heart slowed, he returned to face his assistant.
"So, Dr. Zola, what do you think?"
Zola stared at him, his mouth agape in a way that very closely resembled a dead fish.
Johann sat down before his desk, leaning back, his hands casually laced and resting in his lap.
Finally, Zola spoke, his voice a thin whisper. "I think you're mad to take such a risk." He answered.
His superior lifted an eyebrow. "Perhaps I am. But I have come too far in my work to give up now, and all because of one imbecile and his petty band of misfits."
"You will have no choice but to give up if you go through with this," Zola countered, reclaiming his voice, an angered spark in his magnified pupils. "We have never been successful in capturing Rogers – what makes you so confident that we will be able to this time? Perhaps it would be a different case if we were not to be preforming vital tests on what could be our most pivotal weapon yet, but we will have so much more to lose this time! It is not worth the risk!"
"Zola," Johann cut in sharply, his eyes narrowed. He stood up from his desk and walk around towards the little man. He was nearly toe to toe with him when he spoke, staring down at him coldly.
"This is our only opportunity, Zola. We cannot advance unless we have the entirety of the tesseract's power in our fingertips. As long as there are men like Steven Rogers skulking about this earth, we will never have the chance to carry out what we have always meant to do. He gives them hope, no matter how transient and useless it is, but that is what keeps them adamant to defeat us. The sooner that I can put Wilhelmina into action, the smoother our revolution will proceed. You must understand, Zola. This is the only chance we have – we must shake humanity to the core, we must show them that there is no hope, no chance of survival, unless they bow to us. And they will bow, Zola. But not unless we have every ounce of power behind us."
He inhaled deeply. "I would rather have Captain America alive and waltzing around Germany looking for factories to incinerate when I can rest peacefully with the knowledge that my niece will single-handedly destroy him and every simpleton who praises his name within mere months' time. However, if we do not successfully carry out the task of fully imbuing her with the tesseract's power, we might as well hand over our explosives to the dear Captain and let him have at it."
He turned his back to the scientist, staring out into the darkness. "So, the choice is yours Zola, whether or not you condone my strategy. But I will go through with it no matter what you decide. Call it insanity, desperation, call it whatever you like. But as of this moment, it is the only thing that I can formulate that might actually have a chance of success. Of course, you are welcome to offer your suggestions."
Several moments of silence followed, until the sound of Zola sighing deeply resounding behind his back.
"I would hope that some measure of preparation will be going into this gamble?"
Johann smiled icily. "Have all the flood-lights illuminated. I want it lit up like a Christmas tree – dripping with suspicious activity that even our crafty Captain will not be able to resist. We leave in exactly one hour. The sooner we can begin our little performance, the better."
XXX
American Army Base
30 Kilometers South of the Base of the Alps
Barracks of Colonel Chester Phillips
2315 Hours
The pitter-patter of snowflakes against the canvas roof echoed loudly in his ears, his senses alight even with his face buried in his crossed arms. The click-clacking of typewriter keys pounded like hailstones the size of baseballs, and no amount of whiskey seemed to dull the throbbing in his skull.
"Damn it, Corporal, get the hell back to your barracks. I'm not in the mood to be dictating progress reports when we haven't got any goddamned progress to report." He snapped bitterly, rubbing his temples in vexation.
The poor corporal – not but maybe twenty years – leapt from his seat and was out of the tent with only so much as a mumbled 'sir'.
Col. Phillips lowered his head once again, absorbing the quiet. He sighed heavily.
HYDRA was up to something, that much was obvious. The empty shell of a factory, a mere 50 kilometers from the base, was constantly swarming with HYDRA personnel, trucks loaded to their fullest capacity with machinery and weapons and armed soldiers. But God only knew whatever was taking place beyond the barbed-wired fences and blacked out windows of the ghost-like skeleton of the facility. He'd sent out five reconnaissance teams in the last month, each made up of at least five men, and not a single soul had come back.
Twenty-five men, gone just like that. He could have relied on the flimsy hope that they were merely imprisoned and being used for labor, but he sincerely doubted it. Schmidt had learned his lesson since his first encounter with Captain Rogers. There would be no more prisoners. Just bodies. Bodies that he was responsible for. Bodies that would be accompanied by personal effects and letters of grave solemnity, signed with his name.
Mothers, wives, children, siblings – people with no names or faces with which to identify them with. But that didn't make things any easier.
Chester Phillips had been in the army for over forty years – too damn long, perhaps, but so far he hadn't done anything so blindingly catastrophic to merit his dismissal.
And so, he was here, well past his planned retirement date, and with a great deal more concerns on his plate than he would have preferred.
The sound of rustling canvas awakened him from his daze. He glanced up tiredly to see the beaming face of Captain Steve Rogers, the proverbial poster-boy for American patriotism. However, he currently was not feeling very patriotic, and the sight of the gallant officer perturbed more than it uplifted him.
"You ordered for my presence, sir?" his voice was light-hearted and joking, the bright smile still painted on his face.
Phillips sighed deeply. "Wipe the grin of your face, Captain."
Rogers frowned. "Is everything alright, sir?" his tone was serious. "We've just had a major victory at the Hamburg factory. I would've thought you'd be a little more upbeat than this."
"Well I'm not, Rogers!" he snapped bitterly. "We've got more important things to be concerned with than to be celebrating over one damned factory! HYDRA is exactly as its name says it is – for every facility we burn, another six pop up out of nowhere."
"I'm guessing that means that another one has 'popped up out of nowhere'?"
Phillips massaged his temples vigorously. "50 kilometers from here." He pushed a map closer to the edge of his desk, inviting Rogers to look at it. "Everything's blacked out by night, but the place is swarming with HYDRA personnel. Whatever they're doing, they're being very quiet about it. They've got something damn powerful – I can feel it. Of course, my superiors think that I'm hallucinating, but I'm sure of it. Schmidt's got a ticking time-bomb, waiting for us to detonate it. For the past month, we've been able to walk into our every facility and take it practically without a single shot fired. He's got to have something much more important occupying his interests if that isn't bothering him."
Rogers traced a finger along the route to the new facility. "You want me and the Howlers' to take a look at it, sir?"
Phillips sighed again. "I would like nothing more than to send you and your men in, Rogers, but every recon mission I've sent in hasn't sent a word back in months. For all I know, they're good as dead. Whatever they're doing in that factory, Schmidt doesn't want any possible survivors. I don't particularly want to risk losing my best weapon, that being you."
Rogers was silent for a moment, his face contemplative. "Sir, something needs to be done. We can't just let them keep on destroying everything in their path – no matter how many men it takes. These men are glad to lay down their lives if it means stopping Schmidt. The world isn't worth living in with him in control of it. You know that as well as I do. Let me and the Howlers' do our jobs – we've stopped Schmidt before, we can do it again. Please, sir." Rogers' tone was sincere, but Phillips still felt a catch in his throat.
If he carried out a grand raid on the place and lost every man he sent in, aside from his career being done for, their fight against HYDRA would be finished. With this freakish new power source in his clutches, Schmidt would take a certain sadistic pleasure in killing each and every one of them in the most horrific way possible.
But, the Captain was indeed correct. Something needed to be done, and soon. But there was no logical way to do that without losing precious men and resources.
"Please sir," the Captain's voice echoed in the back of his mind, hopeful and confident.
Phillips sighed heavily, taking a swig from his flask of whiskey. "No, Rogers." He said finally. "It's a lost cause –"
"Sir," another, foreign voice echoed throughout the tent. The young corporal's head popped through the flap of the tent. "Sir, we've got an update on the HYDRA facility."
Phillips stood up immediately, Rogers at his heels. "What news, Corporal?"
"Sir, the place is lit up like a football stadium! Crawling with personnel! They've got the big guns there too! Zola and maybe even Schmidt! Something's brewing down there, Colonel! It's big!"
Phillips swore under his breath.
"This is too easy," Rogers answered. "Schmidt would never make such an obvious move. It's got to be a trap."
"I'm sure as hell it is, Rogers, but what are we supposed to do about it then? Just sit here? Schmidt's too smart to think he's got us fooled. He knows we won't take the bait right away." Phillips replied. "He'll sit an' wait like a hungry gator. Long as it takes for us to get impatient and start snooping around. We've got two choices – sit it out and hope it's all a ruse… or get our asses handed to us when we find out he's actually doing something noteworthy."
The Corporal waited expectantly for his superiors to make their decision, his eyes darting about like swivel cannons.
"Sir,"
Phillips bit his lip. "What do you say, Rogers?"
Rogers narrowed his eyes. "Maybe if we take the bait immediately, we can fool him. Throw up a barrage of men and ammunition at him, then fall back like we're retreating. We'll send our men in waves, coming and going, catching the soldiers off guard. Maybe if we counter his move with making ours as obvious as possible, he might take our bait."
"That's doubtful, Captain."
"Yes sir, but it's all we've got, isn't it?"
Phillips sighed heavily, glancing from the Captain to the Corporal.
"Oh hell," he snapped. "Let's move out men."
XXX
HYDRA Facility
2400 Hours
It did not take Wilhelmina very long to wake up from her fitful slumber, sprawled across the backseat of her uncle's car, his jacket haphazardly thrown across her body, Zola's briefcase serving as a pillow.
Slowly she sat up, exercising each stiff muscle one by one.
"Are you finally conscious, my dear?" Johann called, not caring to glance back, but she could hear the smirk in his voice. "Time to face the day, my flower."
"It's not day yet," she muttered darkly.
"Actually it is – " Zola started, but he was quickly silenced by her biting glare.
Johann offered his assistant a very amused, yet slightly apologetic smile. "Forgive her, Zola. She was never much of a morning person. Clearly my influence is lacking in some areas."
Tiredly, she stifled a yawn. "Why do we have to do this now, of all times? I thought you wanted to keep things discreet."
"All in due time, my sweet." He answered coyly. "We must not ruin all the fun for you."
Mina lay back in her seat, a sickening feeling tying her stomach in knots. She hated how he spoke about his plans – any of his plans. He sounded so cunning, so wicked, so… so excited, elated.
It sickened her to the core, but at the same time, it stimulated her intense curiosity. By playing into his plans, she was able to see a side of him she had never before been able to see.
There was so much complexity to him, yet in her presence, he was always a one-sided, static character. The strict, every perfecting, fiercely protective uncle. Always smartly sarcastic when she fumbled blatantly, but deeply caring when her emotions were wounded. He doted on her like all father-figures seemed to dote, bringing her clothing and trinkets or taking her riding or to the opera.
But back then, when she had been blissfully ignorant, he avoided contact desperately. He never spoke of his work ever, never revealed the hungry lust that gleamed in his eyes, never ventilated his murderous fantasies, his taste for power, for control.
Here, deep in the cavernous jaws of HYDRA, he was unguarded – no façade, no mask with which to hide behind. Completely vulnerable to her examination.
Of course, her examination was terribly limited. She knew there was still so much about him to be discovered – perhaps information that she would never want to discover.
But, there was one thing in particular that she desperately longed to find out. The tesseract's words rang in her ears like vibrant bells, tolling incessantly.
It had issued her with a task, and no matter the risk, she fervently desired to complete it.
Once HYDRA manipulated her newfound abilities, she would forever be a slave to an unknown source – this enigmatic Red Skull, who seemed uninterested in making an appearance at any of her 'showings'.
She found it rather curious – if she was so terribly important, why had he not confirmed that himself? If that soldier that had come to her cell had indeed been correct – if her uncle was merely 'a scientist of easy disposal', why would he hide behind him, pulling his strings like a puppeteer? If he was truly the mastermind behind HYDRA, would he not be very insistent to prove it? She was all too accustomed to her uncle's maddeningly egotistical mannerisms – would his superior not be the same, since Johann seemed to worship him like a god?
She felt the light drumming of gloved fingers on her shoulder.
"Dozing, hmm?" he purred into her ear, his fingers moving to lift her chin. His expression turned to one of mock disapproval. "Wake up now, you must pay attention."
Mina sighed heavily and nodded, exiting the vehicle in a fatigued stupor.
A few moments' walking and they were soon in the belly of the iron, beast-like structure, which was ironically, completely barren.
She blinked as the harsh light of fluorescent lamps flooded the vast expanse of space. Honeycomb tiling, much like her uncle's laboratory, bedecked the ceilings and walls, the floors of poured cement.
A few hollow structures, assumedly machines, were covered in white canvas, hidden from view. An empty control room near the top level, winding metal staircases creating an intricate web across the walls.
"I thought this place was supposed to be a factory," she mumbled, half to herself.
"It is," Johann answered her. "Simply not at this moment. We have yet to finish our central machinery that will be powering the facility's main assembly-lines. For that reason, we are using it for your testing, since it is currently not in commission."
"Oh," her voice was hollow. "What will the central machine be?"
Johann smiled, his teeth white against the almost gray color of his taut skin. "It will be a source of containment for the tesseract's essence, a never-ending supply of its power. This way, we won't have to deal with trouble of transporting the artifact from place to place or having to refuel our smaller containment devices, which are far more temporary."
He grasped her shoulder lightly, steering her to the center of the expanse. "Zola and I will be up in the observations deck when we begin. The outer perimeters of the factory will be enforced with guards – please do not toy with them. You will be left completely to your own devices this time. The tesseract's essence is within you, we merely need to draw it out of you, to its fullest extent. Take whatever course of action you think is best. You will not be restrained; you will be free of any control other than your own. I expect you to wield that control responsibly."
She nodded obediently.
"Are you nervous?" he inquired suddenly, his eyes looking down into hers.
Mina bit her lip. "Not nervous, I – I just don't think this will make any difference."
"What do you mean, my dear?"
She sighed heavily. "Every single test you've tried on me, I've failed. Nothing has worked. The tesseract said so itself, I need to prove my worth. How is running the same test going to change matters?"
At this, he grinned almost wickedly. "You've nothing to worry about, my dearest." He patted her cheek lightly. "Dr. Zola and I have taken care of all that."
She nodded shakily. "Ah. Then I suppose I should feel better."
Johann didn't seem to hear her, instead engrossing himself in the act of barking orders to idle guards.
She rubbed her temples, a deep and pulsating migraine blooming at the base of her skull.
Perhaps it was her lack of sleep, but her furiously beating heart seemed to think otherwise. Johann was hiding something – his smirking lips were devious, like a naughty schoolboy about to put a snake in the teacher's desk. He had something planned – this would be no normal test trial.
She closed her eyes, the faint humming of the tesseract's voice mumbling in the back of her head.
"Give me the strength," she whispered. "Get me out of here."
She looked up, scanning the throngs of soldiers and scientists, the buzz of harsh voices and the sting of cold lights. "Please," she whispered, her voice strained. "Please just let me do it. Give me the strength, the power, please." As if her fervent begging would somehow speak to the Gods of Asgard, as if her prayers would induce their pity. "Please, no more tests. Let this be it. Don't make it go on."
Rise up. Defeat these foolish mortals who dare abuse the power of Odin. Rise up, rise up, rise up, rise up, rise up …
The voice rang loudly now in her head, pounding and pulsating. Everything spun, her vision blurring, her stomach leaping into her throat, the dizziness and nausea overpowering her.
Her knees buckled beneath her and she felt her body crumble, her limbs like rubber.
Voices, real ones, echoed faintly.
Zola's rang across the room, his tone shaky. "Quickly, she's down!"
Johann's, firm and certain. "It is the tesseract. It has possessed her again."
"Stabilize her," the scientist snapped, "She could be prone to seizures."
Soldiers were around her, their eyes wide, hovering above her, their glove hands wrapping around her arms.
"Remove her," Johann was there, his face a mess of colliding emotions, warring with each other for dominance. Rage, annoyance, concern, protectiveness.
"No," she gasped, her voice deep and rasping. "No, I can do it. Please, let me try. I think I can do it this time."
Zola furrowed his brows, his eyes owlish behind the large specs. "Miss, you know that the tests are very strenuous – you could burn out if you apply to much stress. You need rest." He paused to shoot an angered glare at Johann, who returned the stare viciously.
"I can do it." She answered firmly. "This may be the only chance I get. I can feel it. Please just let me try once."
Johann's eyes gleamed with triumph and the little scientist sighed. "As you wish." He snapped bitterly, more to his superior than to her, it seemed. "Take the risk. That does seem to be the ongoing trend, after all."
The soldiers lifted her up by the arms, none too gently, setting her back on her feet. Her breaths were heavy, her heartbeat feverish.
Johann rested his gloved hands on her shoulders gently. "Wilhelmina, are you certain are alright, darling?"
She nodded shakily. "Yes, yes I'm fine. I just… I feel it… the tesseract wants to speak to me again, I can feel it. We have to begin immediately. It's such a weak connection – I fear I may not be able to grasp onto it if we put it off any longer." She looked up into his eyes. "I can't go through any more tests, Uncle. It's driving me mad, having to hear it, like it always inside my head."
Johann sighed sharply, the exhale quick, but deep. His eyes were an ice blue, tinged with silver, like mirrors looking into her. He looked away for a moment, and she could perceive the slightest hint of guilt written on his features. He sighed again and put his arms around her.
"I have confidence that this time, we shall be successful, Wilhelmina. After today, you will not ever have to endure this incessant strain. I promise."
She swallowed hard, her eyes lowered. "But what if it is not successful? Then what?"
At this, he grew silent.
She looked up at him once again, staring defiantly into his eyes. "Do not make promises to me that you know you cannot keep, Uncle." she glanced up at the observation decks, where Zola stood, an impatient frown twisting his face. "Shouldn't you be up there now?"
Johann's lips parted slightly, as if longing to speak, but unable to find the words. After a few moments, he nodded curtly and turned, striding stiffly across the expanse.
Several minutes passed until Zola's voice, amplified by a microphone, broke through the frozen silence. His tone was rather petulant.
"Proceed at your own will, Fraulein Hofstadter. As you've undoubtedly noticed, you are not restrained. You are free to move about as you like. Although, please notice that the outermost perimeters of the factory are securely guarded. Therefore, please do not feel tempted to make any brash decisions whilst under the tesseract's influence."
Mina sighed. "Because I really have a choice what I do whilst under its influence." She mumbled bitterly.
She looked up at the observation deck, meeting Johann's eyes. He nodded grimly, but after a few moments, he offered her a supportive smile.
Or at least, she chose to believe that it was supportive. Although it was probably meant to be much more malicious.
Clearing her throat, she lifted her head to face the ceiling, closing her eyes and breathing in deeply. She stretched her arms out before her, open palms aimed skyward.
A faint tingling began in her fingertips and silently, she called out.
Gods of Asgard, for what else was she to call them? My lord Odin, please answer my call. Her lips moved with a steady beat, as if soundlessly chanting. Although it hadn't been necessary before to speak in her thoughts, now, she felt a sort of obligation to ask of the Gods for a chance, a chance to prove herself. A chance to vow to them that she would keep the promise issued to her.
Rise up. Defeat these foolish mortals who dare abuse the power of Odin.
She mouthed the words. Lord Odin, please, answer my call. Even through closed eyes she could picture the hungry grin gracing her Uncle's face, the unquenchable thirst for blood that had been ingrained on his tongue. The gnarled face of his beloved superior. Her breath caught in her throat as the mingling voices grew louder in her head, chanting, singing, screaming, weeping.
Lord Odin. You have chosen me to bear this sacred artifact, yet I do not understand why. What have I to offer you? The foolish mortals that you speak of, you speak of the men of HYDRA. This Red Skull. They speak of madness and death and destruction, they have brainwashed my uncle into believing that it is just. But how am I to stop this, I am just one girl. And a rather poor excuse of one. You ask me to prove my worth, but how? How? How can I rise up when I am powerless?
She waited, her breath sucked in, her heart beating slowly and methodically. Her eyes were wet beneath her closed lids and she wanted to scream. Please. Please, please, please. Answer me, Lord Odin. Tell me, show me, please.
She could feel the heat on her hands, spreading up her arms, the fire catching, spreading. The voices swirled in her head, their sing-song voices grew jumbled and unrecognizable, but louder and louder, pulsating and throbbing, their noise deafening.
The fire burned almost painfully, but she willed it to keep on, fervently begging for just a single voice to shine through the cacophony.
A rich and ethereal voice sheered through the explosion of sound, all voices except this one, withering and dying into a silent abyss.
The voice was deafeningly loud, clearly male, but layered, a dark bass and a rich tenor simultaneously.
Open your eyes, girl.
Her eyes snapped open immediately, as if on their own accord. A wall of blinding blue light, swirling in an impossibly fast vortex imprisoned her, blocking out everyone and everything that surrounded her. She was completely alone and unable to be observed.
A wave of terror hurtled through her, a scream threatening to tear out of her vocal cords. But the voice resumed its speech.
Child, you do not call upon the gods of Asgard as if we are your slaves.
"My – my apologies, my lord. I – I did not mean to insult you so." She whispered meekly.
The voice emitted a thunderous laughter, causing the floor to quake and shift beneath her feet.
Still, you are humble. You do not seek to steal my power and use it to your own devices. You ask permission, unlike your captors. You are unfortunate; you are imprisoned in their iron grip.
"Yes," she whispered.
But you are not like them, are you little child? No, you do not wish to destroy the world that the gods created and gave to their people. You do not wish to spite our generosity, as these selfish mortals do. Tell me child, why then do you call upon me?
"I – I would like to know – why you have chosen me, my lord. Why am I the chosen one? I am not a hero."
Again, a deep and rumbling chuckle.
You were chosen because you are the voice of reason, child. It is a rare honor for such to be so. You are one among many self-proclaimed philosophers, but you are the only to see that they are attempting to mock the gods. They are forcing you to conduct this trial now, as we are speaking, because they wish to manipulate me and force my hand. They believe that if they engineer an act of self-worth for you to gallantly carry out, that they will have obligated me to grant you the entire essence of my jewel.
"But you will not," she answered softly.
But I will. Men are complex, greedy and desperate in nature. These men will do whatever is necessary to take control of my creation and my people – they will not wait for me to give them their ultimate weapon. They will utilize the shred of power they have managed to manifest from my jewel, and they will see to it that their goals are surpassed.
Mina felt a prickling chill at the base of her spine. Shred of power. The weapons that HYDRA had created from the tesseract already – they vaporized men in seconds, their bodies vanishing from thin air. If that was to be considered miniscule – how powerful would she be, if the gods granted her uncle's wish?
Little child, indeed you would far surpass your foolish mortal men's petty weapons. They cannot even begin to comprehend the Armageddon they could begin.
"But – you will – you will allow me to fully imbue myself with the tesseract's powers? With the knowledge that these men will use it to destroy everything in sight?"
Not it, little child. You. They will use you. That is why you have been chosen.
"I don't understand."
You are drowning in a sea of ignorant fools. You do not overstep your bounds so grievously as these men do. You take care not to upset us, whilst they disregard our existence entirely. They pretend to worship us, but they truly worship themselves. You are young, yes, but you think that you are powerless when you are not. I will give you the power of my jewel, little child. I know that you will use it wisely. And if you do not, that power can just as easily be extinguished.
A sound like paper ripping in half tore through her mind, and Odin and the blinding walls of light, were gone.
XXX
The blinding white of fluorescent lights pierced through her closed eyelids and the sound of frantic voices sounded like a foghorn in her tender eardrums. Zola's high-pitched chattering, yelling at soldiers to move aside; Johann's firm voice slightly shaky as he barked orders – something having to do with a medic.
Moments later, she felt strong arms hoisting her up, cradling her ever so gently.
"Wilhelmina, Mina darling, wake up, please." His voice was soft and melodic in her ear, but it was laced with worry. Her body felt as if huge weights had been thrown on top of her, and it was almost painful for her to pry her eyelids open.
"Uncle," she whispered softly.
Johann smoothed her hair back with a gloved hand. "I'm here, my sweet. It is over now, darling."
Her eyes snapped open and her heart lurched in her chest. "No it isn't. It has only just begun."
Johann appeared quizzical. "What are you talking about, my princess?"
XXX
Steve Rogers lay crouched behind a grassy embankment, the enemy factory before him, ablaze with light, every guard frantically swarming inside. It was obvious that something had happened, but now, he intended for an even bigger event.
He glanced back at his Howlers, tensed and ready for sudden movement.
"Let's move out, boys. We've got a party to crash."
He smiled at their riotous whoops. "Show time."
XXX
"Can you walk, my dear?" Johann's tone was one of concern, although something else lingered there – an impatient excitement.
Weakly, Mina nodded. He set her down, keeping a hand on the small of her back to guide her.
"Come," he said steadily, "We must get you to a medic. You are clearly unwell."
"I am fine, Uncle." She answered softly, but the strain in her voice was obvious.
"Don't be nonsensical; I will not risk any further damage to your health."
She opened her mouth to reply, but the floor began to quake violently, the cacophonic booming of explosions in the distance. Gun-shots followed, bullets being deflected off of the outer walls with a metallic ringing that pounded in her ears. Her eyes darted to Johann, her heart leaping into her throat, but her uncle stood, perfectly calm, his face a mask of unwavering placidity.
"Uncle," she felt her hands begin to tremble – had Odin come back to taunt her? – "Uncle, what's happening?"
She felt a sharp sensation of ice-cold prickle down her spine as she watched a wicked half-grin slice across his emotionless features.
"It would seem that the Americans have arrived just in time, my dearest." His eyes glinted with a devious amusement. "Do you think that you are up for a bit of excitement?"
"You just said that you weren't going to risk any more damage to my health," her pitch broke halfway through, lending an exasperated tone to her voice.
Johann merely smiled. "Yes well… admittedly, I might have lied out of sympathy for you. Of course now, it would also be terribly impractical of me to send you to a medic in the midst of what could be a small battle against our Americans friends. That would be rather dangerous as well."
"Friends?"
"Metaphorically speaking, of course."
Another explosion resounded throughout the facility and they watched as one of the far metal walls began to tear itself in half. Mina felt Johann's gloved fingers dig harder into her back.
"Let us not dawdle any further, hmm?"
He darted up the flights of spiraling steps, dragging her haphazardly along behind him. The heat of fire spread across the room, the staircase lurching violently above the quaking floor-tiles. Brown-clad soldiers poured into the gaping hole in the far wall, one of them bearing an almost comical-looking shield, with the American flag painted upon it.
"Quickly, Wilhelmina!" Johann snapped. "Do not gawk, move!"
Frantically, she upped her pace, her uncle several long strides ahead of her now. The stairs continued to lurch and quake unstably, as if they might topple over in any second.
Dazedly, she threw a quick glance over shoulder to catch a glimpse of blazing blue fire flying too and fro from HYDRA rifles, the clanging of ricocheting American bullets louder than ever now.
"Wilhelmina!" Johann's voice had risen to an almost frantic shout, "What are you doing? Do not stand there, you will be caught in the fires!"
But everything had seemingly come to a stand-still, the huge brawl before her slowing to a snail's pace.
Odin's words echoed in her mind hauntingly - They believe that if they engineer an act of self-worth for you to gallantly carry out, that they will have obligated me to grant you the entire essence of my jewel.
This was it then, the act of self-worth. Throw her into the middle of battle; see what she can do, how she'll defend herself.
It was brilliant, if not cunningly deceitful on the part of her uncle.
A wave of rage suddenly pulsated through her. Johann had wanted this – for the Americans to attack. That was why he had wanted these tests at such a strange hour; she was to be the poster-girl of suspicious activity. He wanted to hurl her into the middle of something that might kill her, just to see if the gods would listen to her pleas for help and spare her life in the nick of time.
Naturally. A perfectly engineered act of bravery and self-sacrifice that was sure to sway the picky artifact.
"Bastard," she gasped, as if the breath had suddenly been sucked out of her.
An explosion tore across the vast expanse, twisting and gnarling the metal before her, the next flight of stairs torn in half in front of her eyes. A funnel of hot air threw her backward, slamming her into the railings. Through dust and smoke, she managed to get a view upwards – Johann had thrown himself onto the uppermost platform, in one piece, but completely separated from her. She could hear his angered screams through the sound of detonating grenades, outraged curses coupled with almost agonized cries of her name.
But at that point, she hardly cared. As another explosion rattled the severed staircase, she swung herself over the railings and the jumped down, desperately hoping her training would aid in her a softer landing.
She landed hard on the metal floors, her palms painfully breaking the fall. Dust and hot smoke poured into her lungs and eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks, her rib-cage lurching as she wretched.
Hauling herself onto her feet, her eyes darted about the smoke and fire-filled facility, the main floor raging with HYDRA and enemy soldiers. She looked up at the ceiling frantically, to see even more HYDRA soldiers, her uncle somewhere among them, barraging the Americans with volley upon volley of blinding blue explosions, splashing the grey smoke and orange flames with intense color.
Breaking into a sprint, she dashed across the far wall, taking cover beneath the various parapets above her. Finding protection from the raging battle-field was her only concern at this point, until a stray body lay across the center of her path sent her sprawling.
XXX
Steve Rogers' Perspective
It hadn't taken long for the offensive to start – the Howlers were a swiftly moving force. But of course, he knew that HYDRA was also murderously efficient. Their men were like droids, completely inhuman and terrifyingly quick. Another downfall – it was Steve Rogers and his 150 or so men, against at least a thousand assembled and well-reinforced HYDRA platoons.
Although he was usually very confident his boys' efficiency, tonight he had the feeling that he had badly miscalculated. He knew that Schmidt was no fool – he wouldn't have the entire factory illuminated like a billboard if he hadn't been aiming to lure them in; but still, he'd hoped they would have at least caught them off guard.
Schmidt was nowhere to be seen as the stormed into the facility; only wave after wave of black-clad soldiers.
Rage boiled in his blood. "That Nazi snake," he muttered. The bastard was damnably cunning – nothing surprised him, whilst everything he threw at the good Captain always delivered an impressive shockwave.
Rogers had fisted his way through the masses, but they were severely outnumbered. Even if this was meant to be a surveillance mission, he was hoping to get in and out quick. The volleys of explosives were merely show, but HYDRA seemed to have taken it personally. And their rifles were decimating his men by the tens with every minute passed.
As he'd delivered his shield into the face of one officer, he was almost simultaneously hurled across the room by another, his knees buckling beneath him as he crashed to the floor.
The metal was cold against his skin, but it reeked of sweat and gunpowder and blood. He tried to haul himself to his knees, but he collapsed, the force of the previous blow having sucked all traces of air out of him.
He bided his time for a few moments before attempting to get up again, only to have a heavy, foreign form fall on top of him.
At first, he'd thought it was a corpse, but as his eyes darted to his side, he saw instead a frail-looking young woman, clad in black leather gear, sprawled across him, desperately scrambling to get up. It seemed as if his progress had halted her.
As she pulled herself up to her feet, she nearly tripped again, but he was quick and rose up to hold her steady.
Her head whipped around as his arms held her body upright, her eyes wide with fear.
"Get away!" she screamed, her voice shaky. "Let me go!"
"Who are you?" he shouted, trying to keep his voice level.
She shook her head frantically. "The enemy,"
He loosened his grip on her. "You're with HYDRA?"
Her eyes were pleading. "Not willingly," her voice was a cold growl. "Now, get out of here before they kill us both! They don't give a damn if I'm dressed in their clothes."
She moved to run, but he held her fast, his curiosity getting the better of him. "You mean HYDRA's employing females, kids at that? What the hell are they doing?"
She sucked in her breath, eyes darting about frantically. "No, I'm the only one. Now please go,"
"Listen," he pressed, "Let me help you, let me get you out of here."
She let out a raspy laugh. She shook her head almost mournfully. "No you can't. No one can help me. He'll come and find me." She glanced up at the ceiling. "He'll find me and kill you and all of your men. Trust me."
"Who, Skull?"
"I suppose that's who."
Rogers felt his heart lurch. His head was screaming at him to get the hell out, to leave this kid he didn't even know. But his heart was pleading for him to save her – she looked so innocent, how could she be a tool to Skull?
"Please come with me, you don't deserve this type of fate."
"And neither do you," she snapped.
He opened his mouth to protest, but the sound of HYDRA rifle revving echoed before them. They both whirled as an officer equipped with a monstrous flame thrower took aim.
Rogers moved to push himself and the girl down, but he was too slow – the heat of flames leaped at them, licking at them with a fury. The passage they were crammed into was too small – there was nowhere to duck. They'd be charbroiled.
He closed his eyes, expecting death.
XXX
Mina's Perspective
Everything seemed to dissolve into slow motion at that moment, each movement blurry and out of focus, achingly slow. As the angry flames shot out, her hands flew up, blue fire erupting from them in sheets. The voices swirled in her head like a grandiose choir, chanting, singing, screaming, crying, all in perfect unison. Her head fell back as the blinding blue light shot forward and side to side, enveloping her and the American soldier in a sphere of blinding light. It closed around them, the flames from the HYDRA man's weapon striking the barrier and dissolving almost immediately into sizzling smoke.
On his knees beside her, the American soldier's eyes were wide with a mixture of horror and fascination, but she paid him no mind, arms still outstretched, palms opened.
"Stop this," she ordered, her voice commanding and firm. "Stop of all of this."
The American's expression was one of question, but she wasn't addressing him. She stared straight at the HYDRA soldier, her eyes riveting into the glass eyes of his leather mask. He began to back away, his steps staggering, and she could almost feel the look of fear etched into his features. She looked back down at the American soldier.
"Go now," she lowered her hands. "Leave here, and please don't be tempted to come back. I can take care of myself. Go. Please." She almost pleaded for him to leave. He didn't deserve to die, he didn't deserve to suffer at the hand of HYDRA. Odin had almost spelt it out for her – this was her mission, her burden to carry. No one could save her. The only one who could was Johann, and she knew in her heart that it would be far too late for him to do so when he finally saw sense.
Mystified, he nodded, and gently, she let the barriers down. With a final sweep of her hands, the blue light extinguished immediately.
As he stood up, she looked at him one last time. "Please, I don't want to ever see you again. You cannot come back here. You'll die if you do. Now get out of here. Take your men. Quickly."
He did as she told him – he bolted, screaming to his men to retreat.
Sucking in her breath sharply, she followed him out of the shadows in into the fire. As she did so, blue sparks tingled on her fingertips, and she lifted her head to the heavens.
My Lord Odin, have I proved myself to you yet?
She lifted her palms skyward, letting a torrent of blue fire shoot from them. The voices were louder and louder and louder, pounding in her head, racing through her blood, lighting her adrenaline up like a firework. She walked forward, slowly, each step deliberate.
Blue light poured like water down her arms and legs, cascading across her, flowing into the masses of brawling soldiers. Within moments, the light was everywhere, destroying enemies and allies alike. She was in the center of the facility now, surrounded by flowing light, static curling off her hair and body in long, spidery tendrils. Bodies were hurled to and fro before her, the dying screams of men the faintest whispers of echoes in the back of her mind. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply.
Everything was so slow, everything from her movements down to her breaths, her heartbeat. Quiet, calm, concentrated.
My lord Odin, have I met your desires? Have I satisfied you? Please, so that I may halt this wreckage. Please…
A deep chuckling resounded in her ears, like thunder. You have much to learn, little child. But I look forward to seeing how you will exercise my gifts. I trust you will use them wisely.
Within moments, all came to a sudden, deadening silence.
Not a word or scream was uttered, not a sound of exploding bullets or grenades. Nothing. Absolutely quiet, as if she had somehow vanished from the battlefield and lost herself in a bottomless abyss.
She opened her eyes slowly, taking in the carnage, the littering of bodies across the floor, blood staining the floor tiles, dust and smoke raining down from above.
Bile rose in her throat. Suddenly, she felt so weak, as if all the energy had drained from her. Like that night in the laboratory, when she'd first laid eyes on the tesseract, when all of this had first begun.
His clapping broke the silence.
She looked up slowly to see Johann, standing at the edge of the observation deck, completely flawless despite the events that had just taken place. He was clapping his gloved hands together, as if applauding her work.
Her stomach twisted itself into knots as she took in his expression. He was grinning, his face so wicked and cunning and terrible – it turned her blood to ice.
He smiled down at her, chuckling lightly.
"Bravo, my darling." He called down to her, his voice laced with amusement and mocking pride. "Bravo. You have done splendidly."
She returned his gaze with one of horror, for what else could she feel? She had just slaughtered close to half of his army, and how many more Americans?
Johann descended the stairs, followed by a volley of scientists and soldiers, still grinning broadly.
Within a few moments, he stood before her, his face a sickening mask of sadistic pleasure. He looked her up and down, as if inspecting her for wounds, before pulling her into his arms in an embrace.
"My beautiful girl," he purred, his voice deviously delighted. "My little goddess. You have done it, my love. You have mastered the mystery of the tesseract. Its powers are yours now, forever, my dearest." He lifted her chin with a gloved hand. "How does it feel, my princess, to be the pinnacle of power?"
She swallowed the rising bile; she felt sick. "Horrible." She gasped. "It feels horrible."
Johann's face seemed to dissolve into a hard, emotionless mask, the unbridled joy in his features seeping away like chalk mixed with water. When he spoke, his voice was no longer dripping with sweetness – it was forced and cold.
"How could you say such a thing, my sweet? This is what you – what we have wanted, what we have strived for. Within a few months, HYDRA will be master of the world and all because of you. Isn't that wonderful, aren't you at all happy? Think of it, Wilhelmina. Anything in the world that you could possibly want will be yours. You will rule everything and everyone."
She lowered her eyes to the ground. "No, Uncle. You will rule everything. You and that Red Skull. The world will belong to you, and it will crumble as you better it and revolutionize it. I will simply be thrown back in my cell. A slave to your cause."
"Wilhelmina, what are you saying?" he held her face in his hands, his grip like iron. "Darling, you know that all I have ever wanted is your happiness. You will change the world with me; we will create a new superior world, both of us, together. You will never have to suffer ever."
She looked up at him, staring into his ice-blue eyes defiantly. "If you really meant that," she whispered, "You would not have made me do what I just did."
