Chapter 1: The Death's Head Rising
The Britannian transport ship screamed through storm clouds, its hull shuddering against violent winds. Inside the passenger compartment, Bartley Asprius clawed at his collar, sweat streaming down his face like acid rain. Each turbulent jolt sent his heart hammering against his ribs—he was flying straight into the jaws of death itself.
The intercom crackled with static: "Descending into Area 12. God help us all."
Asprius pressed his face to the porthole, watching the Australian wasteland unfold below like a diseased organ. What had once been endless desert now festered with military installations—concrete tumors spreading across the landscape. Weapons testing ranges carved geometric scars into the earth, while massive fortress walls rose from the coastline like bone spurs breaking through skin.
The landing struck like a hammer blow. Asprius stumbled from the aircraft into blazing sunlight that felt like stepping into an oven. A phalanx of soldiers stood at attention, their black uniforms drinking in the heat. Among them, a figure in immaculate Hydra dress uniform stepped forward—the octopus skull emblem on his chest seeming to writhe in the desert shimmer.
"Herr Asprius," the agent said, his accent cutting through the air like a blade. "Der Totenkopf awaits."
The Death's Head. Asprius's bowels turned to water.
They marched through corridors that reeked of ozone and fear. Soldiers goose-stepped past reinforced windows where things that had once been human writhed in experimental chambers. The screams weren't quite human anymore—genetic tampering had changed even their vocal cords. Energy weapons discharged with sounds like reality tearing, followed by the wet splatter of vaporized flesh hitting containment walls.
The throne room doors bore Hydra's mark burned deep into steel. As they opened, the smell hit him first—antiseptic mixed with something rotting, something fundamentally wrong.
Then he saw it.
Prince Julius Britannia was dead. In his place sat a crimson nightmare—the Red Skull, its bone-white teeth gleaming in a perpetual rictus grin. The skull's surface wasn't smooth but textured like real bone, complete with hairline fractures that pulsed with each heartbeat. Empty sockets held eyes like burning coals, and when it spoke, the voice carried the authority of the grave.
"Bartley Asprius." The name rolled off that lipless mouth like a death sentence. "You appear... distressed. Sit."
A chair materialized—Asprius hadn't seen it moved, but suddenly it was there, positioned like an executioner's block.
The Red Skull rose with mechanical precision, each movement calculated for maximum psychological impact. He began circling Asprius like a shark sensing blood, his boots clicking against marble with metronomic inevitability.
"My father's speech about equality was... instructive," the Red Skull said, activating a holographic display with surgical precision. The Emperor's image flickered to life, mouth moving in silent platitudes. "Such beautiful lies about human worth. I preserve these recordings to study the pathology of weakness."
The skull turned toward Asprius, empty sockets somehow boring into his soul. "Though he failed to mention my brother—the genetic failure you allowed to be eliminated."
The kick came from nowhere. Asprius's world exploded into stars and agony as he crashed to the floor, ribs cracking like kindling. The Red Skull loomed over him, a vision from the deepest circles of hell.
"That fool preaches equality while sitting on a throne built from the bones of the superior!" The voice rose to a shriek that echoed off vaulted ceilings. "He makes us weak! Instead of culling the inferior, we coddle them! We give numbers to our lessers instead of graves! Now they have a leader—this 'Zero'—because we failed to practice proper genetic hygiene!"
The Red Skull's boot pressed against Asprius's throat, not quite crushing but promising to. "You and my defective brother—both specimens of genetic arrogance masquerading as superiority. Now Clovis feeds the worms, and you..." The pressure increased slightly. "You will provide answers."
Returning to his throne with predatory grace, the Red Skull settled back like a spider in its web. "Explain my brother's activities in the Shinjuku Ghetto. Choose your words carefully—Hydra has developed exquisite methods for extracting truth from dying neural tissue."
"G-genetic experiments!" Asprius gasped, tasting copper. "A test subject—she escaped! To maintain operational security, we—"
"Fabricated the poison gas cover story." The skull's grin widened impossibly. "Fascinating. This suggests my brother possessed more scientific acumen than his pathetic death implied. Documentation?"
Asprius's trembling hands produced a blood-stained folder. The Red Skull descended like a bird of prey, snatching the materials with inhuman speed. His burning gaze devoured each photograph, each data sheet, cataloging genetic markers and experimental parameters.
"The specimen's current location?" The question came with the finality of a closing coffin lid.
"Unknown, mein Herr! Lost in the Shinjuku chaos, but Hydra resources could—"
The energy blade materialized in the Red Skull's palm with a sound like reality screaming. It punched through Asprius's throat in one fluid motion, the superheated plasma instantly cauterizing tissue. No blood—just the acrid stench of cooked meat and the soft thud of a body hitting marble.
"Process him for genetic material," the Red Skull commanded, retracting the blade. "Extract whatever value remains from this failure."
Hydra Command Center
The Red Skull's entrance triggered an immediate response—dozens of agents snapping to attention, right arms thrust skyward in perfect synchronization.
"HAIL HYDRA!"
The salute thundered through the chamber like artillery fire. Banks of quantum computers hummed with malevolent purpose while holographic displays showed global operations—Hydra's tendrils spreading through the world's nervous system like a cancer.
The central screen displayed Shinjuku's aftermath: bodies piled like cordwood, genetic material wasted, superior specimens reduced to carrion. Such inefficiency offended every fiber of the Red Skull's being.
"Who inherits Japan?" His voice cut through the electronic symphony.
"Princess Euphemia, Herr Totenkopf. Cornelia provides military support."
The Red Skull's jaw clenched—an disturbing sight on a skull without flesh. "Establish quantum-encrypted communication. I require discussion with both specimens."
Minutes crawled by as Hydra's technology pierced dimensional barriers. Finally, two faces materialized in shimmering hologram—one bright with naive hope, the other hard with military pragmatism.
"Julius!" Euphemia's smile could have powered cities. "I've been so worried about your condition—"
"Spare me your emotional incontinence." The words struck like physical blows. "This concerns genetic destiny."
Euphemia recoiled as if slapped. Cornelia's face hardened into military stone, recognizing the monster their brother had become.
"I require operational control of Japan," the Red Skull continued with Germanic precision. "Hydra's scientific methodology surpasses your primitive administrative systems by several evolutionary grades."
Cornelia's famous temper detonated. "You forget your place, brother! Modified or not, you remain bound by imperial law! The territory is designated Area 11!"
"I am shackled to an empire that denies genetic reality," he replied with the patience of explaining arithmetic to ants. "Your bureaucratic labels cannot alter biological truth."
"ENOUGH!" Euphemia's scream shattered the tension. Tears carved rivers down her cheeks. "Julius, restructuring command requires delicate negotiation. Father entrusted me with this responsibility." Hope flickered in her eyes like a dying candle. "But perhaps... coordination? Hydra's resources combined with traditional governance might serve both our objectives?"
The Red Skull processed this with mechanical consideration. Calculations flickered behind those burning sockets—probability matrices, genetic assessments, strategic evaluations.
"Acceptable parameters," he concluded. "However, Hydra protocols supersede all primitive methodologies." Euphemia's relief was pathetically transparent. "Remember—this becomes a Hydra operation. Any interference with genetic improvement initiatives..."
His voice dropped to a whisper that somehow filled the chamber: "Will result in your immediate processing for scientific advancement."
Cornelia's fists clenched white. Euphemia's face crumpled like wet paper. Both sisters now stared into the abyss that had consumed their brother's humanity.
"Hail Hydra," the Red Skull intoned, severing the connection with surgical finality.
In her chambers, Euphemia collapsed before an old family portrait. It showed them as children—Julius still human, still her brother. Her tears fell like acid, each drop carrying the weight of love for something that no longer existed.
"Why couldn't you stay human?" she whispered to the painted ghost. "Why did you have to become... that?"
The portrait stared back with Julius's kind eyes—eyes that now burned like coals in a skull that grinned with eternal hunger. Somewhere in Area 12, the Red Skull was already planning humanity's genetic future, and God help them all, he had the power to make it reality.