Forever Is a Long Time Coming

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Chapter 11: Same Shit, Different Planet

1943 AD

HYDRA site "Babylon"

Terrorvolt

It's been about 20 days since I've properly booted up. Most of that time's been spent on more extensive system repairs and some extra power regulation. Nothing glamorous, and nothing of real significance yet.

I had grown somewhat used to my surroundings. My German captors were not just adorned with the standard Swastika but a fucking skull surrounded by tentacles as well. So yay. HYDRA got me. I admit that actually worried me for a bit. Those fuckers managed to harness the Tesseract's energy in record time… and while Cybertronian tech is nothing to scoff at, these fuckers had the likes of Arnim Zola on their side. If I recall, he was essentially a mad scientist specialising in everything from Biochemical enhancement to advanced robotics and synthetic life creation. Comic Book Zola has a level of genius possibly on par with Shockwave. If he or any of the other named HYDRA scientists got their hands on me, what could he create from me?

It was not all bad at least, the goons had me hooked up to an electricity source, which, I'll admit, was a nice touch. Not that I could do much with it. A few amps and volts were hardly enough to get me going again without the right equipment. It kinda reminded me of how things were when I initially arrived on the planet.

The issue was that any energon I was able to generate was immediately drained out by tubes currently lodged in my back. Not a very pleasant thing. But I've been rerouting most of the Energon to my ammo pack and leaving it in its pure state. I don't exactly have use for ammo right now, after all. I do let a little trickle form in the main tank, however, so the Germans aren't too suspicious.

They're probably confused by the sudden change… though; what the hell were they doing with my Energon anyway? As much as I hope they're only using it to make new guns, they are evil enough to have done worse.

But, of course, the Germans didn't stop there. The electricity was to try and see if they could activate me initially, I'm guessing, but now it's probably so I keep producing Energon. And obviously they had security measures in place. It seems that they saw my very obvious gun and thought, "Maybe that wouldn't be the best idea?"

They'd gone to the trouble of encasing most of my body in ice, keeping me locked in place with a steady stream of liquid nitrogen. Ironic really. Same thing the Americans did with Megatron in the movies, after all.

I wasn't completely trapped, though. Sure, I could try overclocking my joints, pushing the energy reserves to melt and break the ice, but that would barely leave me enough juice to crawl out of here. And knowing these HYDRA types, that would only send them scrambling for more security. No, a flashy escape wasn't the right move. Subtlety was the name of the game.

So I've been putting in some work on my holoform projector. Holomatter, as we call it back on Cybertron, is a nifty bit of tech. It lets us project a small shape or body made of Hardlight within a 400-mile radius that can fully perceive and interact with its surroundings. The catch? …well there is none. It's fairly efficient tech. Though, other Cybertronians can immediately detect it and destroy them if needed. Which is why it wasn't exactly used during the war. My main issue with it right now is just that it would burn through my energy like nobody's business.

Considering my current situation, some sacrifices had to be made. I scrapped the hard light capability, turning it into a simple hologram instead. Its range was cut down to a tenth of its original—40 miles, give or take—but for reconnaissance? Yeah, that's still valuable. And besides, my current plan was to continue reconfiguring my body so I could activate the hardlight projection in order to facilitate my escape.

This wasn't my first plan, of course. I initially attempted to contact my base in the Antarctic, Hoping my Terrorcons would "pick up the Phone". Instead, I got a whole lot of nothing once I got my transponder working….So something happened to my boys..and that really concerned me.

So I can't stick around here for long.

I focused, feeling the unfamiliar hum of my projector as it came to life. I've never actually used it before.

The hologram I created was nothing fancy, just a small, translucent sphere, almost like a wisp of light. But it should do. Carefully, I directed it out of the large chamber I was trapped in, its form slipping through ventilation shafts like a ghost.

As it floated down the sterile, well-lit corridors, I caught glimpses of my prison. Windows flashed by, revealing the world outside—a mountainside facility perched high in the crags. Not enough snow to be the Alps, but it is definitely mountainous. Southern Austria, maybe? Hard to say for sure, but it was a start.

Well then, it's time to see what the Krauts have been up to.

I directed my hologram further down the corridors, slipping through windows and keyholes with no issue. The place was a maze (mainly because I couldn't read the signs), but I've navigated worse. Honestly, considering I still understood English, getting a simple translation dictionary would allow me to learn the language in seconds, but I doubt they have one lying around. This facility seems to be a scientific one, after all, considering they have me locked up and everything. What need would they have for such books if they weren't reconnaissance or espionage?

After a few wrong turns and dead ends, I finally stumbled upon what looked like a lab. Tables were cluttered with equipment, and papers were strewn about. Jackpot. The scientists were very busy and weren't looking up. Hopefully, that stays the same for the time being.

The first thing I noticed was that most of the notes were in German, as expected. And also, as mentioned, I don't speak a lick of German, so most of it was just squiggles on paper for me. But as I floated around the room, something caught my optic—documents written in English.

I hovered over to the papers, skimming through the text. It looked like some kind of archaeological report. I picked out a few key phrases: "Tomb of Ereshkigal," "Germany's interest," and, oddly enough, a date that seemed to place all of this before the invasion of Poland.

Okay, that's weird. Why would they care about some ancient tomb before all the war business started?

But as much as I racked my processor, that didn't help me much in my current situation. I moved on, scanning the notes and diagrams scattered across the tables. That's when I found something that made me pause—a series of sketches and notes depicting… me.

The handwriting was in German again, so no dice on reading the fine print. But I didn't need a translator to notice the label they slapped on my image: "Ereshkigal."

Ereshkigal, huh? I wracked my memory banks. She was the goddess of the underworld in ancient Babylon or something, right? But what in the Allspark do I have to do with her? The Babylonian deities were made up by the Eternals, what connection do i have to them other than having blown their brains out? The humans have seriously mixed things up.

I kept looking through the notes, still floating as a ghostly orb. One sketch caught my interest—a disturbing image of a human, veins bulging grotesquely, with necrosis creeping across their flesh. It looked like something out of a nightmare, and my spark pulsed with unease.

I really hoped that wasn't connected to me, but something told me it was. I've been in this icebox for a while, and these HYDRA creeps have completely drained my internal energon reserves….and my Tank should have still had some Dark Energon as well.

The question was: what were they doing with it?

I had to know what they were up to. I left the lab behind, drifting through the compound's corridors, peeking into rooms as I went. The numerous Scientists were joined by HYDRA soldiers adorned in their full leather uniforms. I'm not an expert on how actual biologicals should arm themselves, but wearing a constricting gas mask and darkened lens just seemed like a bad idea in the long term.

I passed by a barracks filled with bunks, a mess hall with long tables, and even a storage room packed with crates. All the standard military setup. Nothing that explained what they were doing to me.

Then, I found something that made my circuits run cold—a chemical lab. Inside, a giant vat dominated the room, filled with a swirling, dark purple liquid. Dark Energon. That cursed stuff was dangerous, corrupted, and unpredictable, as I've personally ignored in the past to experiment with it anyway. But my ignorance of safety regulations and common sense can be excused. These people are Nazis…so fuck 'em.

Worse yet, I could see small streams of blue liquid—Energon—dripping into the vat from a set of tubes. They were using my reserves to make more of it. Wonderful.

So, who had Nazi Zombies on their Bingo card? If I see a guy called Richthofen, I'll be nuking this fucking place.

Might as well confirm it, then.

I drifted away from the chemical lab, leaving that disturbing vat of Dark Energon behind. I needed to know more, so I kept moving through the facility, passing through more corridors until I reached another section. The air seemed different here—colder, more oppressive. Probably just the lighting, as this form didn't have temperature sensors.

I noticed a series of reinforced doors lining the hallway, each one with a small reinforced window at eye level. Holding cells.

Peeking into the first one, I saw what I half-expected: zombies. The purple glow leaking from their eyes and wounds told me all I needed to know. Dark Energon had been used to make these. I give their looks a good old 7/10 in terms of Zombie Design. Not too bad, but man, they just look like Husks from Mass Effect, but just without any Cybernetics.

I sighed inwardly. It was a gruesome sight, sure, but I'd seen plenty of horrors in my time. This was just another entry in a long list.

Or so I thought.

I floated to the next cell, my hologram slipping through the narrow viewing slot. The sight inside stopped me cold. More zombies, but these were much smaller. Children.

My processor stuttered for a moment, trying to grasp the reality in front of me.

I was frozen for a moment, not because of the ice they'd encased me in, but because of the shock at what I was feeling. Horror, disgust, something else I couldn't quite name.

I forced myself to leave, slowly backing away from the cell. I had to keep moving, had to keep my focus. There was nothing I could do for them—other than put them out of their misery later.

God, I wasn't supposed to care about this stuff! I haven't been human longer than Intelligent life existed on this Planet!… Hell, I prevented Earth from being blown up by the Celestials in the future. I've fulfilled any possible obligations I had to this species.

But fuck… Seeing the tattooed numbers on their wrists really broke that conviction. Seeing such a blatant atrocity right in front of me… it was different. It was real. Too real. And it reminded me too much of how my new life started.

Maybe…no matter how advanced a civilisation, anyone can be capable of true evil. And that's what this was. I hadn't put much thought into it in the past when I first learned of WW2 in school. But it was a very different conflict from the ones that predated it.

The First World War was a conflict where one could argue for the merits of all factions and nations. All of them had a somewhat valid reason for their entry into the war, and no true Perpetrator could be assigned all the blame. Nor could any side truly be considered "Evil". They were the enemy, and you always painted them as evil. Such was the matter of war.

But it was different for the second one. Because the goals of the Nazis were very different. They didn't just want to win the war, maybe at first, but they wanted far more. Colonisation, extinction, control…and then total Destruction.

And even when they began losing. After Stalingrad and the loss of Africa. Instead of just utilising their prisoners as a slave force to enforce the War machine, they instead focused on exterminating them, wasting countless vital resources in the process.

How could one possibly rationalise that? That wasn't fighting for your fatherland or ensuring the interests of your country. It was just… Compulsive Destruction. It was one of the truest forms of Evil that ever occurred in History.

And being reminded of that, here and now…It would have left a very bitter taste in my mouth if I still had one. My initial plans were to escape this facility and Hunker down in Antarctica and to activate my SOS beacon if it hadn't been activated by my Terrorcons yet.

I considered it might already be on, but also knew I I probably wouldn't be able to recognize it. Reading a Decepticon SOS beacon required specific tools and decryption codes that i don't have on hand. I'll have to…

Right. That was my plan, wasn't it? But now, it felt a bit wrong…

I wanted to hurt these bastards…And I was justified. They locked me up and were essentially draining my blood in perpetuity. Reaction with lethal violence to such a cruel and unusual punishment is more than appropriate if you asked me.

First, I need to get out of here. So, I continued to explore.

Further down the corridor, I came across another block of cells. These were different. The prisoners inside were still alive, though just barely. Most of them were emaciated, looking like they hadn't seen a decent meal in weeks. What caught my attention was the fact that these cells weren't just filled with men—there were women and children here, too. The fuckers had their "Test subjects" on hand here.

As I drifted past the cells, one group in particular caught my optic. The corridor was empty except for a single cell with three inhabitants. They didn't look as beaten down as the others. Minor injuries, but they were still standing. Able-bodied men, clearly soldiers. Sneaking closer, I noticed something familiar about their uniforms. They were Americans.

I zoomed in, focusing on their faces. The first was a broad-shouldered man with a thick moustache and wild hair, even in these conditions. He had a gruff demeanour, but there was a spark of defiance in his eyes.

Next to him was a slightly shorter man with a sharp jawline and dark, tousled hair. The last of them looked to be of Asian descent. Odd, I thought the Americans treated them like shit during the war and didn't trust them.

"We can't just sit here, Barnes," the Asian was saying in a low voice. "It is a matter of time till they play Frankenstein with us as well. We can't rely on Cap knowing where we are."

"I'm fully aware, Jim," the newly named "Barnes" replied, his voice steady. "But we need to be smart about this. But I'm not really coming up with any ideas at the moment." He was looking at the different metal fixtures of their cell. Probably to see if they could either break them in some manner.

Dugan chimed in, his deep voice barely a rumble. "We'll have to make do with what we've got. If we can get to the armoury—"

"Hold up," Bucky cut him off, raising a hand. Oh…he was looking right at me. "You guys…seeing that?." he asked with an unsure tone.

I froze, pulling my hologram out of the cell and hiding outside of their field of vision…Though, it would probably be best if they didn't panic because they thought the Germans were listening in on them.

Might as well use the Holoform for its original purpose, then. The point of the technology was in case a Cybertronian needed to blend in among another civilization as a vehicle but needed to show that an actual driver was behind the wheel so to say.

So…a human form, then. Well, the Germans thought I was Ereshkigal… Might as well play into that. I quickly shaped the form I had in my memory. First impressionswere important after all.

Well then, here goes.

1943 AD

HYDRA site "Babylon"

James Buchanon Barnes

Bucky Barnes was not having a good time. Sitting in the cold, damp cell, his back against the rough stone wall, he couldn't help but think about how the Howling Commandos had come together and how this mission had gone so spectacularly wrong. It had only been half a year since the Commandos were officially formed—a ragtag group of soldiers, each with their own set of skills and a shared hatred for the Nazis. They'd pulled off some incredible missions in that time, but this one... this one was a mess.

It all started with intel about HYDRA. They'd been tracking HYDRA activity for weeks, following a trail that led to the mass production of something called Liquid Nitrogen. The eggheads stated that that wasn't unusual by itself, but the amounts were ridiculous, way more than you'd ever need for anything normal. Howard Stark, always the smart guy in the room, confirmed to them that there wasn't any practical use for that much of the stuff. So, naturally, whatever the Krauts were up to had to be bad news.

The plan? Well, it was half-baked, to put it kindly. Captain America and the rest of the Commandos were preoccupied with a different mission to destroy another HYDRA facility near Venice. That left Bucky to take Jim Morita and Dum Dum Dugan on a recon job. Simple, right? They were supposed to slip into Northern Italy, figure out what HYDRA was doing with all that Liquid Nitrogen, and report back. No big explosions, no daring rescues, just info gathering. That's what it was supposed to be.

But things rarely went according to plan, especially when HYDRA was involved.

As they approached the facility, something had immediately felt off. The sheer number of prisoners being transported in and out of the place was alarming. And these weren't just your run-of-the-mill POWs. There were kids. Kids. Bucky didn't need Steve's moral compass to know that children weren't criminals, no matter what kind of propaganda HYDRA was spewing. These were prisoners of a very different kind.

And then there was Dugan—stubborn as ever. Once Dugan saw those kids, he wasn't going to let it go. Bucky could've tried to talk him out of it, could've insisted they stick to the plan. But he didn't. Because deep down, he knew Dugan was right. They had to do something.

So they'd infiltrated the facility. The three of them slipped past the guards, moving like shadows through the cold, sterile halls. And that's when they found them—the monstrosities. The Nazis had been experimenting on the prisoners, doing things that turned Bucky's stomach. The sight of it was so horrifying that they were blindsided. HYDRA soldiers had come out of nowhere, and before they could react, Bucky, Morita, and Dugan were overpowered and dragged into the cells.

Now, here they were, prisoners themselves, with a front-row seat to the nightmare they had tried to stop. Bucky clenched his fists, the cold metal of the shackles biting into his skin. He looked across the dimly lit room at the other cells, where the prisoners they came to save were huddled together. Women and children, all of them looking beaten down but not broken. Not yet.

Morita and Dugan were nearby, trying to figure out a plan. They were murmuring quietly, heads bent together, but Bucky could hear the tension in their voices. This wasn't just about escaping now—it was about making sure HYDRA paid for what they'd done.

"We can't just sit here, Barnes," Morita was saying, his voice low but urgent. "They're doing something down the hall, something big. We have to make a move before it's too late."

"I'm fully aware, Jim," Bucky replied, trying to keep his own voice steady despite the anger boiling inside him. "But we need to be smart about this. But I'm not really coming up with any ideas at the moment."

Dugan leaned in, his tone as rough and determined as ever. "We'll have to make do with what we've got. If we can get to the armoury—"

"Hold up," Bucky said, his instincts flaring as he noticed something odd just below the ceiling—a small, swirling mass that looked like a… gas? It wasn't like anything he'd seen before, and he'd seen plenty.

"You guys… seeing that?" he asked, eyes narrowing as he tracked the strange phenomenon. Jim Morita and Dugan looked up, their expressions shifting from confusion to alarm as the glowing ball of gas suddenly zipped out of the cell and disappeared around the corner.

"What the hell was that?" Dugan muttered, already on edge.

Before any of them could react further, the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor. But these weren't ordinary footsteps. They were sharp, almost rhythmic, like the click of heels on wood, but the floor beneath them was grated metal. The dissonance sent a shiver down Bucky's spine.

A moment later, a female voice, smooth and almost playful, drifted from around the corner. "My, my, I didn't expect you to be so attentive. I guess I'll show myself to you then."

As the voice spoke, wisps of ethereal blue and purple lights began to swirl into view, preceding the figure who stepped around the corner. Bucky's breath caught as he took in the sight before him.

She was diminutive in stature, yet her presence was undeniably commanding, exuding an aura that was both otherworldly and menacing. Her hair, a cascade of golden blonde, tumbled down to her waist in soft, flowing waves. Two silver ribbons and a pitch-black tiara studded with gleaming golden crystals parted her lustrous locks, giving her an almost regal appearance. Her skin, pale and flawless, seemed to emit a subtle glow beneath the harsh lights of the prison, heightening her ethereal, almost ghostly presence.

Draped over her shoulders was a deep purple cloak, fastened by a sash across her chest, adding a touch of elegance to her otherwise dark ensemble. Beneath the cloak, she wore a form-fitting black garment that resembled a leotard, corset, and short skirt all in one, its sleek design accentuating her lithe figure. Her attire was further embellished with numerous pieces of intricate jewellery, which adorned her limbs and were intricately woven into her clothing, glinting faintly in the dim light. It distracted from the fact that she was showing a serious amount of skin, revealing her supple legs and revealing cleavage. The three soldiers hardly knew how to react to something like that.

But it was her eyes that truly captivated—violet irises that seemed to hold the weight of ancient knowledge and untold power. Framed by long, dark lashes, her gaze was both alluring and intimidating. A sly smirk curled at the corners of her lips, hinting at secrets only she knew. As she moved, the lights swirling around her intensified, their colours dancing in perfect harmony with her graceful movements. It was as if she were less a mortal being and more a mythic entity summoned from the depths of legend.

She stopped just in front of the trio's cell and offered a light bow, her smirk never faltering. "Greetings, humans. I am the one they called Ereshkigal. Goddess of Ancient Babylon and a prisoner of this facility just like you. A pleasure to make your acquaintance." she said, her voice dripping with an elegance that belied the grim surroundings.

The Trio simply stared at the off-woman, who most probably, and hopefully, wasn't a deluded Nazi. Funnily enough, it was Dugan who broke the silence that befell them.

"Aren't you cold, wearing just that?"

The supposed Goddess was actually surprised by the question before having a bit of a laugh, "Oh, I'm quite alright. I can't actually feel warmth…" her red eyes focused on them again, "But more importantly, I am a prisoner of this facility, just like you…and I believe we can aid each other."

Bucky exchanged glances with Morita and Dugan, their scepticism clear. "You're a prisoner?" Morita asked, his tone tinged with doubt. "You're freely walking around. And I don't see you in chains."

Ereshkigal straightened, her smirk growing as she approached the cell bars. Without hesitation, she stepped forward, and to the trio's amazement, she passed right through the solid metal as if it weren't there at all. The bars seemed to ripple like water as she moved through them, reforming once she was on the other side.

"My confinement to this place is a bit more... metaphysical," she explained, her voice calm, almost amused by their surprise. "The bars, the walls… they cannot hold me in the way they hold you. My prison is not one of steel and stone, but of….Ice, actually." she paused a moment, her mysterious tone seemingly vanishing for a moment.

"Simply put, HYDRA has my body restrained and frozen in ice. However, while my form is bound," she gestured elegantly to herself, her hands sweeping through the air like a dancer's, "my spirit is not."

"So… you're like a ghost tied to a mummy or something, then? And the Krauts got your body on ice. In the… Nit… Water Nitrogen or whatever?" Dugan asked, scratching his head as he tried to piece it together.

"How astute of you," she replied with a chuckle, the sound both amused and slightly condescending. "You are indeed correct… even if your analogy is somewhat… crude."

Bucky, his expression unreadable, leaned forward slightly. "So what do you want with us?"

The goddess' eyes glinted with something between mischief and determination. "Why, to help free you from this imprisonment and request your aid in my own escape. As far as I see it, we share the same enemy."

Bucky wasn't convinced just yet. "Right… before we do that… Those creatures, the ones the Krauts have been making with their prisoners. You know anything about that?"

Her face twisted into an unnatural sneer, and the ethereal lights that had been swirling around her turned a menacing shade of red. "That… it is a result achieved through my blood. I'd rather not go into the specifics, but I've been worshipped as a goddess of Death in the past. My domains entail that… as does my blood. HYDRA has been draining it from my body ever since they brought me here and seems to have been using it for their experiments."

As she spoke, her expression softened back to normal, and the lights faded to their usual bluish hue. "As you can imagine, I'm extremely displeased with what they've done. Any casualties on their side during our escape would be well appreciated."

Dugan grinned, rubbing his hands together. "Well, I certainly have no problem with that!" He glanced toward his two companions. "I don't know about you, but I'm liking what the lady's selling."

Bucky nodded, though his brow furrowed in thought. "I doubt any of us would be against that, Dugan, but she hasn't exactly explained how we're meant to help each other. After all, we can't exactly float through the cell like she can."

Ereshkigal huffed softly, almost in mock exasperation. "Why, of course, I've already come up with a plan." Another wisp of light materialised from the shadows of the corner. This one was different, however—duller and heavier, with a ring of keys dangling from it.

"I've been scouting this facility and took the liberty of nabbing these," she stated as the men looked at the keys with a mix of astonishment and renewed hope. "The only thing needed now is your word that you will help me escape as well."

Barnes stepped forward, holding her gaze steadily. "Miss… or lady Ereshkigal, we would've helped you out either way. You have our word," he said, a light smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Well, a night on the town with a dame like yourself would certainly seal the deal."

For a moment, she looked genuinely surprised, the lights circling her flickering in response. Then, she burst into laughter, the sound rich and melodic. "You, Mr "Barnes", are far too young for me. Besides, once you see my body, I doubt you'd be so willing." With a playful glint in her eye, she tossed him the keys.

Bucky caught them deftly, quickly working on the lock as he quipped, "Well, that wouldn't be very gentlemanly now, would it? Besides, I've seen plenty of girls without makeup; I doubt you're that bad." His remark drew another round of laughter from her, the sound echoing through the cold, dark corridor.

Surely she couldn't be that bad…?

He ignored the stray thought and replied to a previous remark she made, "And Mr Barnes is far too formal. The Dames call me James, and if we really like each other, I go by Bucky."

After a few tense moments, the lock finally clicked, and the door swung open. Dugan and Morita let out quiet exclamations of triumph, their spirits lifted by this small victory. Bucky, meanwhile, was looking at the supposed goddess and the strange expression instead.

"Something wrong?" He quickly asked.

Her expression slowly settled before she eventually asked, "I…You wouldn't be the bucky Barnes who's friends with a certain Steve Rogers, right?"

He gave her a quick smirk, "I guess even confined goddesses learned of the great Captain America then?"

She nods, "The howling Commandos as well, though I admit, I thought you'd be younger…and shorter as well."

Morita piped up before Barnes could reply, "As much as we can laugh about Barnes' being the "short man" of our unit, we have bigger concerns right now."

Bucky turned back to Ereshkigal, his eyes serious once more. "Right, you mentioned you scouted the place out? You think you could get us any weapons with the same trick?"

She shook her head, a slight weariness creeping into her ethereal form. "Bringing you the keys took more out of me than expected. I'll be able to direct you through the facility and perhaps distract some guards here and there, but not much else."

"Right," Bucky said, considering their options. "Do you have any targets in mind? Because we aren't winning any direct confrontations."

Ereshkigal's lips curled into a smile that sent a shiver down his spine. "Well, we can go to the armoury, but personally, I recommend the power plant first. That way, I might be able to help… in a more direct manner."

The tone of her voice left no doubt—whatever she had in mind, it wasn't going to be pretty. Bucky exchanged glances with Morita and Dugan, both of whom looked equally unsettled. But they didn't have the luxury of time or options. If they were going to survive this, they had to take the risk.

"Alright," Bucky said, his voice firm with resolve. "Let's do it."

1943 AD

HYDRA site "Babylon"

Dr. Marius Kirstein

Doctor Marius Kirstein stood before the observation window, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared into the massive chamber beyond. The air in the room was cold, a constant reminder of the extreme measures taken to keep the facility's primary subject in check. Facility Babylon, nestled deep within the mountains, was his domain. He was in charge here, responsible for the research, the experiments, and the horrifying discoveries that had taken place within these walls.

His mind drifted back to the beginning, to the discovery in Iraq that had set all of this into motion. They had unearthed a metal giant, a hulking behemoth presumed to be the divine Titan Ereshkigal, buried deep beneath the sands. The initial excitement had been palpable—the idea that they could reverse engineer aspects of this ancient being, harness its power for the glory of the Reich. But the Titan's armour plating, impossibly thick and resilient, had thwarted every attempt to penetrate it. No drill, no laser, and no amount of explosive force could breach that exterior. The avenue of research had become a dead end.

But then they found the substance. A viscous purple liquid oozed from the Titan's wounds. It was like nothing Kirstein had ever seen. The substance, quickly dubbed Ereshblut—Ereshkigal's blood—became the new focus of their studies. Initial tests revealed it was extremely flammable but not ideal for combustion. More disturbing were the lethal fumes it emitted when burned. But it was in the more controlled experiments where Ereshblut truly revealed its potential: it had restorative properties on the dead.

They brought back corpses, shambling, decayed husks animated by the purple fluid. Kirstein sneered at the memory. They were little more than cannon fodder, mindless drones, hardly the super soldiers they had hoped for. But then came the more delicate experiments—small doses administered to living subjects. Human subjects, of course. They were the only ones that mattered.

He flexed his fingers absently, remembering the surge of power he felt when he first injected himself with a diluted dose. Enhanced strength, a metabolism that worked with frightening efficiency, and reflexes that put him on par with the best of the Reich's soldiers. But there was a cost, a small price to pay—Ereshblut was addictive. He craved it more and more with each passing day. Not that supply was an issue, at least not for now.

Acquiring more of the substance had been an interesting challenge. The Titan, it seemed, had a different kind of lifeblood as well, a glowing blue fluid that had initially been overlooked. They called it Mardukblut, after the Babylonian god of war and creation. At first, Mardukblut seemed mundane—better suited for combustion and as a fuel source, but nothing extraordinary. That was until they discovered what happened when it was mixed with Ereshblut. The blue substance fully converted into its purple counterpart, creating more of the precious Ereshblut they needed. The titan merely needed a bit of current to produce the substance in its body. But that brought forth a very different issue.

The Titan's body was repairing itself, slowly but surely. It threatened to seal the wounds, cutting off their access to the Mardukblut. Kirstein had tried every method to stop the healing process, but nothing worked. The Titan's body resisted their attempts, the armour closing over the damaged sections with an alarming speed. That was, until one of his junior engineers—a bright young thing, though annoyingly full of questions—suggested freezing the Titan.

Liquid nitrogen in the amounts required was difficult to source, but with the Red Skull's approval, it had become a short-lived issue. -Much like the annoying little upstart who had been the first test subject for the substance before it was turned on the titan-

They had encased the Titan in ice, stopping the healing process cold. Literally. For a while, it seemed like they had won. The Mardukblut continued to flow, and Ereshblut production continued unabated.

But something had changed recently. Kirstein frowned, staring at the readouts on the screen. The temperature of the Titan was higher than it should be, despite the same levels of nitrogen being pumped into the chamber. It was subtle at first, a few degrees here and there, but now it was unmistakable. Something was warming the Titan from within.

Worse still, Kirstein's own blood felt different, as if it were bubbling just beneath the surface of his skin. He clenched his fists, feeling the unsettling churn of unease in his gut. For nearly a month now, this sense of dread had been growing, gnawing at the edges of his mind.

He had never been one to shy away from the darker side of science. In fact, he revelled in it and found a kind of twisted joy in pushing the boundaries of morality and human decency. Experimentation was his religion, the lab his sanctuary. He had performed countless unspeakable acts in the name of progress and power, each one more horrific than the last. But this... this was different. This wasn't the calculated danger of a well-planned experiment. This was something ancient, something beyond even his understanding, and that gnawing anxiety in the pit of his stomach was growing with every passing second.

As he stared at the windows, sweat beading on his brow, the lights in the facility abruptly shut off, plunging the room into darkness. For a moment, there was only silence, the kind that makes your skin crawl. Then the emergency lights flickered on, casting everything in an eerie red glow that seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat.

"What the hell is going on?!" Kirstein bellowed, his voice cracking with fear and frustration. He slammed his fist onto the control panel, demanding answers.

Before anyone could respond, the facility was rocked by a series of explosions that rattled the very foundations of the base. The floor trembled beneath his feet, and he had to grab the edge of the console to steady himself. Over the intercom, panicked voices erupted, a cacophony of chaos and confusion.

"Power's been cut! All systems are down!" one of the technicians screamed, his voice high-pitched and bordering on hysteria.

"We don't know what's happening!" another voice chimed in, equally frantic. "All the power just—"

"Get it back online!" Kirstein roared, his chest tightening with fear. "Get the nitrogen pumps working again!"

More explosions echoed through the halls, closer this time, shaking loose dust from the ceiling. Kirstein's heart pounded in his chest as he heard gunfire in the distance, followed by more screams. The armed guards had been ordered to sweep the facility and find any intruders, but Kirstein knew deep down that this was no ordinary attack. Something far worse was unfolding.

Then came the words that sent ice-cold terror shooting through his veins.

"Dr. Kirstein, the nitrogen pumps—they're not working! The power lines to the sprayers are inactive!"

"No, no, no…" Kirstein whispered, his mind racing. He had designed those systems himself. They were supposed to be foolproof, a failsafe to keep the Titan frozen. But now, the very thing that was meant to contain the ancient behemoth was failing. The technician who had approached the pump controls let out a blood-curdling scream as he was electrocuted on the spot, his body convulsing violently before collapsing into a smouldering heap. Kirstein's eyes widened in horror. The pumps were energised, alright—but not in the way they were supposed to be.

A terrible realisation dawned on him. Those pumps were directly connected to Ereshkigal. They were designed to supply the Titan with just enough power to maintain her containment, but now they were feeding her far more than intended. Much more.

Kirstein's fear began to manifest physically, cold sweat drenching his back as he watched the monitor helplessly. His worst nightmare was coming to life. The temperature readings in the Titan's chamber were climbing rapidly, and then, with a sickening crack, the ice around the Titan began to splinter and break.

"No…" Kirstein's voice was barely a whisper, his mind unable to fully grasp what was happening. He watched in paralysed terror as the giant's head, which resembled a massive turret or a sinister, single-lensed camera, began to glow with an ominous purple light. The whirring sound of machinery echoed through the chamber, emanating from the Titan's arm, the appendage they had long assumed to be a weapon.

That weapon was powering up, and Kirstein knew with chilling certainty that whatever was about to happen would be catastrophic.

Panic took over, overriding any sense of logic or duty. Kirstein did the only thing that came to mind—he ran. His enhanced body, fueled by the cursed Ereshblut, propelled him forward with speed that rivalled the fastest Olympic athletes. He bolted through the corridors, leaving his fellow scientists behind without a second thought. He didn't care about them, didn't care about anything except getting as far away as possible.

As he sprinted through the facility, the sounds of machinery and shattering ice followed him like the footsteps of death itself. And then, above the chaos, a voice first beginning as a loud metallic laugh before booming through the halls, a voice that made Kirstein's blood run cold.

"VOI PERKELE!"

The words reverberated through the facility. He expected a declaration of awakening, of vengeance…in ancient Sumerian at most,...BUT FUCKING FINNISH? The sheer absurdity of this situation broke the concentration of his sprint. And had him crash into a passing door frame. The impact sent him to the ground.

Kirstein's breathing was harder than he ever had to, driven by pure terror. Behind him, the sounds of weaponry he couldn't even begin to comprehend filled the air—deafening blasts, the whine of energy surging through ancient circuits, and the screams of men being cut down in an instant. The explosions rocked the facility, each one more devastating than the last, as the awakened Titan unleashed its fury.

Kirstein's breath came in ragged gasps, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest as he clambered to his feet . His mind was a blur of panic and self-preservation, but no matter how fast he ran, he couldn't escape the truth. He had awakened something far beyond his control, something that should have remained buried forever.

A purple blue flash appeared in his peripheral vision. He turned his head and saw the titan had already torn through the many walls of the compound and was now standing outside,...and it was looking right at him through one of the windows. His panic rose as he saw her weapon arm aimed right at him.

"You've been deceived, both by your hubris and the power you covet" Her metallic voice ground in english, once again surprising him..Did…Did it know what he had done to her? Had it been awake this entire time? Before he could even consider begging for his life, her weapon fired and his vision blurred.

The blast ripped through the room, sending debris and shrapnel in all directions. Kirstein was hurled across the space like a ragdoll, the force of the explosion tearing through him. He hit the far wall with a sickening thud, his ears ringing with the piercing screech of tinnitus. His vision was a blur of spinning lights and darkness, his senses overwhelmed by the sudden, violent onslaught.

For a few disorienting moments, all he could feel was pain—a searing, all-consuming agony that radiated from the center of his body. When his vision finally began to clear, he looked down and saw the horrifying truth. The blast had removed his legs completely. He had been bisected from the waist down, his lower half nothing more than a charred mess of blood and ruined flesh.

"No… no…" he gasped, the words barely escaping his lips as he tried to comprehend the extent of his injuries. His hands trembled as he reached out, trying to find some purchase, some way to pull himself away, but his body no longer responded. He was helpless.

The Titan moved closer, her massive form sending tremors through the ground with each step. Kirstein's terror only grew as it loomed over him, staring down at his mutilated form with a cold, calculating gaze. Her weapon arm began to reconfigure, the barrels retracting and being replaced by a series of nozzles that glinted menacingly in the dim light.

He barely had time to wonder what was coming before the answer revealed itself. Beams of fire erupted from the nozzles, but this was no ordinary fire—it was a plasma-like heat, so intense that the air around him seemed to shimmer and warp. The flames engulfed him in an instant, and his world became one of excruciating pain as his flesh began to vaporise.

Kirstein's final thoughts were jumbled and chaotic, but one idea pushed its way to the forefront. While his body was dying, his work would live on. Backups of his notes and samples of Ereshblut, the precious substance that gave him strength, had already been sent to Dr. Arnim Zola. Perhaps Zola would continue the research,

Yes, his life had not been in vain. He had done what was necessary for the Reich, for the superior race. Surely, God would accept him into His kingdom for the sacrifices he had made, for the work he had done in the name of progress and power.

The flames consumed him entirely, and his vision faded to black. But as the darkness claimed him, it was replaced by something else—something far worse.

He found himself in a different place, a realm twisted and nightmarish. The ground beneath him was cracked and scorched, the air thick with the stench of ozone and decay. But instead of the reddish inferno he had imagined, everything was bathed in a sickly purple hue. The sky above was an endless void of darkness, occasionally lit by flashes of violet lightning that tore through the black clouds.

Around him were shambling figures, their forms grotesque and twisted. They were like the Titan he had studied, but thinner, their bodies malformed and covered in jagged armor. Their eyes glowed with the same malevolent purple light as Ereshblut, and they moved with a disturbing, unnatural gait. Their presence filled him with a terror he had never known, a deep, primal fear that gnawed at his soul.

He stared in horror as the creatures dragged themselves toward him, their broken forms a mockery of life. There was no escape, no salvation here. This was his fate, his punishment for the sins he had committed in life. He had arrived in hell, but not the one mankind had been destined for.

This was a hell born of something far older, far more malevolent than any human god. As the creatures closed in, Kirstein finally understood the true cost of his hubris. And in that final, terrible moment, he realized that there would be no redemption, no salvation for him.

Only eternal suffering in the twisted, purple depths of this alien inferno. And the echo of deep laughter overhead.

Author's note: for those that don't get it, The Evil Nazi ended up in Transformers hell, also known as the Pit, or Inferno. Unicron usually isn't very connected with it, but Unicron and Primus are of greater cosmic significance in this crossover universe (replacing the entities of Order and Chaos as that is what they represent after all) so he's connected to a realm of his own. Unsure if I mentioned that already, but this is a reminder of it if I hadn't.

So yeah, Don't drink the Chaos kool-aid.

But yeah. I also have a Patreo n. Can't promise much there, but I do post early drafts and future scenes there. As well as all the Art for the stories I make will be posted there. Have a wonderful day!

Links to support me: Patreo n. com (slash) La_Pucelle_Altre