HYDRA HEADQUARTERS - ALPS, OCCUPIED AUSTRIA
The fortress carved into the mountainside stood as a testament to Johann Schmidt's vision—a structure that rejected the ornate aesthetics of the Third Reich in favor of brutal functionality. No swastika banners hung from these walls; instead, the stylized octopus-skull of HYDRA dominated every corridor and doorway, a silent declaration of allegiance to something beyond Hitler's Reich.
Through these austere hallways strode three men in immaculate Nazi uniforms, their medals and insignia marking them as high-ranking officials from Berlin. Colonel Schneider led the procession, his aristocratic features set in a mask of barely concealed distaste. Behind him, General Roeder's bulky frame radiated the confidence of a man accustomed to unquestioned authority. Major Hutter brought up the rear, his eyes darting nervously at the HYDRA guards lining the corridor—men whose uniforms incorporated elements of both traditional military garb and something more advanced, almost futuristic in design.
The officers were following Johann Schmidt, who moved with purposeful strides several paces ahead, never slowing, never acknowledging their presence any more than absolutely necessary. His tailored black uniform bore neither Nazi insignia nor conventional military markings—only the HYDRA emblem over his heart.
"The Führer is not accustomed to being ignored, Herr Schmidt," Roeder called out, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "He funds your research because you promised him weapons."
Schmidt continued walking, his back straight, his gait unhurried. The only indication he had heard was a subtle tightening of his gloved hands.
Schneider quickened his pace slightly to draw even with Schmidt. "You serve at his pleasure," he reminded him with the condescension of nobility addressing a commoner. "He gave you this facility as a reward for your... injuries."
At this, Schmidt finally slowed his pace, though he did not stop entirely. "Reward?" he replied, the word dripping with venom. "Call it what it is, Colonel. Exile." A bitter smile twisted his lips. "I no longer reflect his image of Aryan perfection."
The officers exchanged glances at Schmidt's brazen insubordination, but Hutter pressed on, determined to deliver Berlin's message.
"You think this is about appearances?" he demanded incredulously. "Your HYDRA division has failed to deliver so much as a rifle in over a year. And we have learned through local intelligence that you mounted a full-scale incursion into Norway."
They passed a particularly imposing set of HYDRA troopers whose faceless masks revealed nothing of the men beneath. The officers instinctively gave them a wider berth.
"The Führer feels," Schneider continued, selecting his words with precision, "how does he put it? 'The Red Skull has been indulged long enough!'"
At the mention of his deformity, Schmidt finally halted, turning slowly to face his unwelcome visitors. Though his face remained composed, something dangerous flickered in his eyes—a glimpse of the calculating intelligence that made him both valuable and feared within the Reich.
"Gentlemen," he said, his voice deceptively pleasant, "you have come to see the results of our work." He gestured toward a nearby door marked "ANGEWANDTE IDEE MECHANIK" (Applied Concept Mechanics). "Let me show you."
Two massive guards flanked the entrance, their weaponry unlike anything in the conventional German arsenal. They stood at attention as Schmidt approached, saluting with the distinctive two-armed HYDRA gesture.
As they entered the laboratory, Schmidt continued, "Hitler speaks of a thousand-year Reich, but he cannot feed his armies for a month. His troops spill their blood across every field in Europe, but still he is no closer to achieving his goals."
The laboratory beyond was a marvel of scientific advancement. Dr. Arnim Zola supervised a team of technicians working on an apparatus surrounding a device that pulsed with ethereal blue energy—the same cosmic power Schmidt had extracted from the Tesseract. The machinery hummed with barely contained power, making the very air vibrate with potential.
Roeder sneered at the display, unimpressed by what he perceived as theatrical scientific posturing. "And I suppose you still aim to win this war through magic?" he scoffed.
"Science," Schmidt corrected with cold precision. "But I understand your confusion. Great power has always baffled primitive men." He moved deeper into the laboratory, gesturing toward the complex array of equipment. "HYDRA is assembling an arsenal to destroy my enemies in one stroke, wherever they are, regardless of how many forces they possess, all in a matter of hours."
Schneider caught the pronoun choice immediately. "Your enemies?" he echoed, a dangerous edge to his voice.
Schmidt's lips curled into a smile that never reached his eyes. He indicated a large wall map marked with dozens of red pins scattered across every continent. "My weapons contain enough destructive power to decimate every hostile capital on Earth," he stated without inflection, as though discussing nothing more significant than the weather. "Quite simply, gentlemen, I have harnessed the power of the gods."
The three officers exchanged glances, their expressions shifting from skepticism to concern as they began to understand the true extent of Schmidt's ambition—and his madness.
"Thank you, Schmidt," Schneider said finally, his voice carefully neutral.
"For what?" Schmidt asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.
"For making it clear how obviously mad you are." The colonel no longer bothered to disguise his contempt.
Hutter, meanwhile, had moved closer to the map, studying the locations marked for destruction. His face paled as he noticed one particular pin. "Berlin is on this map!" he exclaimed, turning to face Schmidt with mounting horror.
Schmidt regarded him impassively. "So it is."
The simplicity of the confirmation hung in the air for a moment before Schmidt calmly pushed a switch on the central console. With mechanical precision, a cannon-like apparatus rose from the machinery, its chamber glowing with the now-familiar blue energy of the Tesseract.
Oblivious to the immediate danger, Hutter puffed himself up with the righteous indignation of a loyal Nazi. "You will be punished for your insolence!" he declared, stepping forward with finger pointed accusingly. "You will be brought before the Führer himself—"
The sentence remained forever unfinished as the cannon discharged. A beam of concentrated blue energy struck Hutter directly in the chest, and in an instant, he simply ceased to exist—not torn apart, not burned, but utterly disintegrated into fine particles that briefly shimmered in the air before dissipating entirely.
In the shocked silence that followed, Schneider and Roeder reacted with trained military reflexes. Schneider dove to one side as the cannon realigned, barely avoiding the second blast that scorched the wall behind him. Scrambling to his feet, he slipped on the polished floor, providing the weapon the moment it needed to recalibrate. The second discharge found its mark, and Colonel Schneider joined Major Hutter in oblivion.
General Roeder backed toward the wall, eyes wide with the terrible understanding that he was witnessing not just treason, but the birth of something far more dangerous.
"Schmidt!" he managed to gasp before the cannon fired a third time. Like his colleagues, Roeder vanished without so much as a scream, leaving nothing behind to indicate he had ever existed at all.
For a long moment, the laboratory was silent save for the hum of the machinery cooling down. Schmidt gazed dispassionately at the spots where Hitler's representatives had stood moments before, then turned to address Zola and the HYDRA technicians who had witnessed the execution with expressions ranging from shock to awe.
"My apologies, Doctor," Schmidt said to Zola, his tone conversational, "but we both knew HYDRA could grow no further in Hitler's shadow." He paused, his gaze sweeping across the assembled personnel. "Hail HYDRA."
The technicians stepped forward as one, raising both arms in the HYDRA salute. "Hail HYDRA!" they chorused. "Hail HYDRA!"
Zola remained where he stood, studying Schmidt with calculating eyes. The Swiss scientist was no fool—he understood that he had just witnessed a point of no return, a moment that would reshape the future of both HYDRA and the war itself. With measured deliberation, he finally raised his arms in the salute.
"Hail HYDRA," he echoed, his voice lacking the fervor of the others but carrying the weight of a scientist who had made his choice.
Schmidt nodded, satisfied with Zola's acquiescence. "Secure the facility," he instructed the senior technicians. "Initiate Protocol Leviathan. As of this moment, we are at war with the world."
As the technicians dispersed to carry out their orders, a strange phenomenon began to manifest in the darkest corners of the laboratory. The shadows deepened, taking on substance and dimension beyond mere absence of light. The temperature in the room plummeted, frost forming along the edges of the equipment despite the heat generated by the machinery.
Zola shivered, suddenly aware that something had changed in the atmosphere. "Herr Schmidt?" he questioned, his scientific mind struggling to categorize what his senses were detecting.
Schmidt seemed unsurprised by the supernatural manifestation. "They're here," he said simply. "Right on schedule."
"Who is here?" Zola asked, his voice barely above a whisper as the shadows continued to coalesce.
From the darkness stepped a figure that defied scientific explanation—tall and elegantly dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit that seemed to absorb rather than reflect the laboratory lights. His features were handsome in a predatory way, with eyes that gleamed with ancient intelligence and barely contained malice.
"You've taken your first step, Johann," the figure said, his voice cultured and pleasant yet somehow carrying undertones that made Zola's skin crawl. "The severing of old allegiances to forge new ones."
Zola stumbled backward, knocking over a small table of instruments. "What is this?" he demanded, his scientific worldview crumbling in the face of something that should not—could not—exist.
Schmidt turned to him with a patronizing smile. "Doctor Zola, permit me to introduce you to one of HYDRA's most valuable allies." He gestured toward the newcomer with formal courtesy. "This is Mephisto, a being of considerable power and influence in realms beyond our own."
"A pleasure to meet Arnim Zola in the flesh," Mephisto said with a slight bow that somehow managed to be both respectful and mocking simultaneously. "Your brilliance is recognized even in my domain, Doctor."
Before Zola could respond, the air on the opposite side of the laboratory began to shimmer with heat, creating rippling distortions like those seen over desert sand. From this thermal mirage emerged a second figure—broader than Mephisto, clad in what appeared to be ancient armor partially concealed beneath a modern military greatcoat. His features were harsh and battle-worn, his eyes burning with the reflected fires of a thousand conflicts.
"Ares," Schmidt acknowledged with a respectful inclination of his head. "Your guidance regarding the weapon's capabilities has proven most accurate."
The God of War surveyed the laboratory with the calculating gaze of a general assessing a battlefield. "The disintegration was complete," he observed, moving to where Hutter had stood moments before. "No trace remains. Not even ash." He nodded in approval. "This is warfare elevated to art, Schmidt. This is conflict in its purest form."
Zola's face had drained of all color as he struggled to process what he was witnessing. "This cannot be real," he muttered, adjusting his glasses as though they might somehow correct what he was seeing. "These are hallucinations, perhaps side effects from radiation exposure during our experiments with the cube."
Mephisto laughed, the sound like crystal shattering. "Always the scientist, even when faced with the supernatural." He approached Zola, who instinctively backed away. "We are quite real, Doctor. As real as the cosmic cube you've been studying, though considerably older and, I might add, more complex in our nature."
"What are they?" Zola whispered to Schmidt, unable to tear his gaze from the two entities.
"Not what, Doctor. Who," Schmidt corrected. "They are beings who understand power in ways that transcend human comprehension. Mephisto represents forces beyond death itself, while Ares embodies the eternal nature of conflict and war." He gestured toward the Tesseract-powered device. "They have guided our work with the cube, providing insights no human mind could have conceived."
"In exchange for what?" Zola demanded, his scientific skepticism reasserting itself despite his fear. "Such beings—if they are indeed real—would not offer assistance without expecting something in return."
"Perceptive," Ares acknowledged with a nod of respect. "We each seek something beyond the mortal scope of this war. I desire the restoration of what was taken from me—dominion over divine conflict itself."
"You must understand, Doctor Zola," Mephisto elaborated, moving to the map with its condemning pins, "this world exists within a much larger cosmic framework. There are realms beyond the physical—dimensions of power where beings like ourselves operate according to ancient rules and hierarchies."
Zola adjusted his glasses again, a nervous habit that betrayed his discomfort. "And what are these hierarchies you speak of?"
Ares's expression darkened. "Once, the gods of Olympus reigned supreme over this region of Earth. Zeus, my father, ruled with the other Olympians, and we were worshipped by the greatest civilizations of the ancient world." His armored fist clenched at the memory. "But when Rome embraced the one called Christ, when Constantine rejected the old ways, Zeus forbade me from punishing humanity for their betrayal."
"A dispute arose," Schmidt explained to Zola with clinical detachment. "One that ended with Ares taking... decisive action against his divine family."
"I eliminated those who stood against me," Ares stated without remorse. "Even Hera and Aphrodite were not spared from my wrath"
Ares then continued his explanation. "The remaining Olympians fled to Omnipotence City—a realm where gods of all pantheons gather under the protection of the Skyfather. There, they hide from me, believing themselves safe from my wrath."
"And with the power of the Tesseract weapons," Schmidt added, "Ares will have the means to breach even that divine sanctuary and claim his rightful place as the supreme god of war."
Zola turned to Mephisto, scientific curiosity momentarily overcoming his fear. "And what do you seek from this arrangement?"
Mephisto's smile was razor-thin. "Hell has been without proper leadership since Lucifer abandoned his throne. In his absence, a triumvirate of lesser demons maintains an uneasy balance of power, ruling in his name but lacking his... vision." He straightened his already immaculate cuff links with an affected casualness. "The souls harvested from this war—particularly those taken by the Tesseract weapons—will provide me with the power base necessary to overcome my rivals and claim the vacant throne."
"Your rivals?" Zola asked, unable to help himself despite the madness of the conversation.
"Marduk Kurios, Azazel, Trigon," Mephisto enumerated with evident distaste. "Blackheart—my own son, if you can believe such filial betrayal. Neron, Dormammu... entities of considerable power, all circling the throne of Hell like vultures." His expression hardened. "But none with my patience or strategic vision."
"And what does Schmidt receive in this arrangement?" Zola pressed, turning back to his superior. "What do you gain from allying HYDRA with... with gods and demons?"
Schmidt's eyes gleamed with ambition. "Immortality, Doctor. Not the limited kind sought by lesser men—not mere extension of a human lifespan—but true transcendence beyond death itself." He unconsciously touched his face, the face that had once been handsome before Erskine's imperfect serum had stripped away the mask of humanity. "I will rule this world as a god, reshaping it according to HYDRA's vision of order, free from the constraints of mortality or human limitation."
"A new world order," Ares confirmed with approval. "Built upon the ashes of the old ways."
Zola's scientific mind rebelled against everything he was hearing, yet the evidence stood before him—two beings that defied rational explanation, paired with weapons of impossible power derived from an artifact of cosmic origin.
"This is madness," he murmured.
"This is evolution," Schmidt corrected. "The natural progression from one state of existence to another, superior state. You of all people should appreciate that, Doctor."
Mephisto approached the Tesseract device, careful not to touch it directly. "Now that you've made your break with Hitler, there is no turning back. The next phase must begin immediately." He turned to Schmidt. "The other HYDRA leaders must be informed of your new autonomy—and of the power you now wield."
Schmidt nodded in agreement. "Communications are already being prepared for Baron Zemo, Baron von Strucker, and the Ultra-Humanite. They will recognize the opportunity this represents."
"And if they do not?" Ares inquired, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.
"Then they will join our former Nazi colleagues in oblivion," Schmidt replied without hesitation. "HYDRA cannot afford division in its ranks, not at this crucial juncture."
The fortress suddenly trembled, the vibration subtle but unmistakable. Zola steadied himself against a console as dust drifted down from the ceiling.
"The mountain artillery," Schmidt explained. "Our outer defenses are being activated—not against external threats, but to ensure no one leaves to alert Berlin of what has transpired here today." His expression was coldly pragmatic. "By the time Hitler learns of our defection, the first Tesseract weapons will already be deployed against Allied targets."
"Demonstrating your power to both sides simultaneously," Mephisto observed with approval. "Efficient."
"The Americans have had their own breakthrough today," Ares revealed, surprising both Schmidt and Zola. "Erskine's super-soldier formula has produced its first success."
Schmidt's expression darkened with genuine anger—the first real emotion he had displayed. "Impossible. My operative was instructed to eliminate Erskine before the procedure could be completed."
"Your operative succeeded in killing Erskine," Mephisto confirmed, "but not before the formula was administered to the test subject—a soldier named Rogers."
"Rogers," Schmidt repeated, committing the name to memory. "Is he like me?"
"No," Ares said, studying Schmidt's reaction carefully. "Erskine refined the formula. This 'Captain Rogers' appears to have gained the enhanced abilities without the... side effects you experienced."
Schmidt's hands clenched into fists. "A perfect specimen," he said bitterly. "The American ideal to counter the Red Skull."
"A minor complication at most," Mephisto dismissed with a wave of his elegant hand. "One enhanced soldier cannot stand against the arsenal you are building. Besides, he is currently being relegated to a propaganda role, from what our intelligence suggests—too valuable as a symbol to risk in actual combat."
"The only symbol that will matter soon is HYDRA's," Schmidt declared, regaining his composure. "The Americans and Germans alike will watch their cities vanish in blue fire. Then they will understand the new world order that is emerging from the ashes of their failed systems."
Zola had remained silent during this exchange, his brilliant mind processing the implications of everything he had witnessed. Finally, he spoke.
"If what you say is true—if these entities are indeed what they claim to be—then we are tampering with forces far beyond our understanding," he cautioned. "The Tesseract alone represents technology so advanced it might as well be magic to our current scientific framework. To combine that with literal supernatural forces..."
"Your concern is noted, Doctor," Schmidt replied, not unkindly. "But remember—to primitive cultures, all advanced technology appears as magic. We are simply crossing the threshold that separates the science of today from the science of tomorrow."
Mephisto smiled at this rationalization. "An admirable perspective," he commented. "Though not entirely accurate."
Before Zola could inquire further, a HYDRA communications officer entered the laboratory, saluting crisply.
"Herr Schmidt, secure transmissions have been established with Baron Zemo in Bavaria, Baron von Strucker in Greece, and the Ultra-Humanite in Poland. They await your address."
Schmidt nodded. "Excellent. Prepare the broadcast chamber." He turned to Zola. "Doctor, you will join me. The scientific division must understand what we have achieved here—and what is expected of them in the days ahead."
Zola hesitated, looking from Schmidt to the two supernatural entities and back again. Then, recognizing that his path was already irrevocably linked to Schmidt's, he nodded in acquiescence.
"Of course, Herr Schmidt."
As they prepared to leave the laboratory, Mephisto called after them. "Remember, Johann—we each have our territories in this arrangement. You claim the Earth. Ares claims Omnipotence City. I claim Hell." His pleasant expression did nothing to soften the implied threat in his next words. "Should any of us overreach into another's domain, our alliance would need to be... reconsidered."
Schmidt paused at the doorway. "Perfectly understood," he replied smoothly. "We each play our assigned roles. For now."
The unspoken challenge hung in the air as Schmidt and Zola departed, leaving the two cosmic entities alone in the laboratory among the humming Tesseract machinery.
"He intends to betray us both when the opportunity presents itself," Ares observed without particular concern.
"Of course he does," Mephisto agreed. "Just as you plan to eliminate me once you've secured Omnipotence City, and I intend to ensure neither of you becomes powerful enough to threaten my eventual dominion over Hell."
Ares laughed, a sound like distant thunder. "Honesty among conspirators. How refreshing."
"The most enduring alliances are those where all parties recognize the inevitability of betrayal," Mephisto replied with a philosophical shrug. "It establishes clear expectations."
The God of War moved to examine the map with its condemning pins. "The mortal Schmidt dreams too small," he observed. "Earth is but one realm among millions. Once I control Omnipotence City, countless worlds will fall under my influence."
"And once I rule Hell, the souls of the damned across all dimensions will be mine to command," Mephisto added. "Schmidt's ambition to rule one planet seems almost quaint by comparison."
"Yet for now, we need him," Ares acknowledged. "His understanding of the Tesseract exceeds that of any other mortal. And his willingness to embrace conflict on an unprecedented scale serves our purposes."
Mephisto nodded in agreement. "So we maintain our trinity of ambition, each using the others to advance our individual goals." His perfect smile revealed teeth that momentarily appeared too sharp, too numerous. "A perfect arrangement—until it isn't."
In the corridor outside, Schmidt led Zola toward the communication center, their footsteps echoing in perfect synchronization on the stone floor.
"You realize they intend to betray us," Zola said quietly, careful that his words carried no further than Schmidt's ears.
"From the moment we formed our alliance," Schmidt confirmed. "Just as they know I plan to betray them when the time is right."
Zola glanced sideways at his superior. "And how does one betray a god and a demon?"
Schmidt's lips curved in a cold smile. "The same way one overthrows a dictator, Doctor. By understanding their weaknesses better than they understand their own strengths." He paused outside the door to the communications center. "The Tesseract is teaching me secrets about the nature of reality that even Mephisto and Ares do not fully comprehend. In time, I will transcend them both."
Before entering to address the other HYDRA leaders, Schmidt adjusted his uniform with meticulous precision. "Today, we declare our independence from Nazi Germany," he said. "Tomorrow, we demonstrate our power to both the Axis and the Allies. And when the new world order emerges from the ashes of this war, HYDRA will stand not as conquerors, but as gods among men."
With those words, he pushed open the door, ready to launch HYDRA into its new era of autonomy and terrible purpose—the first step on a path that would forever change the course of the war and, perhaps, the very nature of power itself.
Behind them, unseen by either man, the shadows in the corridor deepened momentarily, carrying the silent laughter of entities far older than human civilization, who recognized the exquisite irony of mortals believing they could outmaneuver the divine..