Somewhere Over the Pacific - 35,000 Feet
Lightning crackled across storm clouds as the sleek obsidian jet sliced through turbulent skies like a predator through dark waters. Inside the luxurious cabin, crystal chandeliers swayed gently with each air pocket, casting dancing shadows across leather seats that cost more than most people's homes.
Julius—the Red Skull—reclined in his throne-like chair, the ambient lighting painting his crimson, skeletal visage in hellish hues. His bone-white fingers, adorned with rings bearing ancient occult symbols, wrapped around a crystal glass filled with blood-red wine from the private vineyards of a long-dead SS officer. Wagner's "Götterdämmerung" thundered through hidden speakers, the music's apocalyptic crescendos matching the storm raging outside.
"Magnificent, isn't it?" His voice was silk wrapped around a razor blade, each word dripping with cultured menace. "Flying above the sheep while gods decide their fate. Tell me, Brock—do you feel the poetry in this moment?"
Across from him, Crossbones sat like a caged beast in tactical gear that seemed to absorb light itself. His skull mask caught the cabin's glow as he tilted it back, pouring amber beer down his throat with mechanical precision. When he lowered the bottle, his eyes gleamed through the mask's sockets like twin coals.
"Poetry's not my thing, Boss," Crossbones growled, his voice a cement mixer full of gravel. "Give me some Metallica and I'm golden."
Red Skull's laughter was like ice cracking on a frozen lake. "Mein Gott, you are wonderfully primitive. But perhaps that is why you excel at what you do." His attention shifted to the photographs scattered across the mahogany table between them—surveillance images of Zero that seemed to burn with malevolent possibility. He studied each one with the intensity of a surgeon examining a tumor. "But enough philosophy. Our masked friend here appears to be approximately 178 centimeters of carefully controlled mystery."
Lightning illuminated the cabin as thunder rolled across the sky, punctuating his words with nature's own dramatic flair.
"Who cares about his measurements?" Crossbones snatched up a photograph, Zero's masked face staring back defiantly. "I'll measure him with a bullet." His combat knife materialized in his hand like a magic trick, the blade punching through Zero's image with surgical precision, pinning the photo to the table with a wet thunk.
Red Skull's skeletal grin widened until it seemed his face might crack like old parchment. "Ah, but you think like a soldier when you should think like a chess master. To destroy an enemy, you must first dissect their soul, understand their dreams, exploit their loves." He lifted another photograph—this one showing Zero's dramatic rescue of Suzaku Kururugi. The image seemed to pulse with hidden meaning. "Young Kururugi was condemned for murdering my brother. But the boy's hands were clean. Zero stepped from the shadows to claim the deed as his own."
Rising with fluid grace, Red Skull moved to the window where lightning painted his reflection in stark relief against the storm. Rain lashed the glass like tears of the damned as he gazed down at the churning ocean below. "Most would see this as simple propaganda—a terrorist seeking notoriety. But I see deeper currents. Hidden motivations." He turned back, his glowing eye sockets boring into Crossbones. "What do our files tell us about the Kururugi boy?"
Crossbones retrieved a thick dossier marked with Hydra's writhing octopus—the pages within seeming to whisper secrets as he opened them. "Suzaku Kururugi. Born when the new millennium was still young. Son of Genbu Kururugi, Japan's last Prime Minister before we crushed their dreams." His voice took on a mocking tone. "Daddy supposedly ate his gun rather than face defeat. Now the kid plays soldier for Britannia like a good little lapdog."
"Genbu Kururugi..." Red Skull's voice became distant, weighted with memory. "Ja, I remember intelligence briefings about him during my resurrection. A man of honor and steel—not the type to choose cowardice over death with dignity." He returned to his seat, steepling his fingers like a spider preparing to weave a web. "I want Hydra's best minds dissecting both father and son. Every secret, every weakness, every beautiful vulnerability." His grin became predatory. "Zero's rescue of Suzaku was not theater—it was love."
"Love?" Crossbones leaned forward, intrigued despite himself.
"The most exploitable emotion in the human arsenal. Zero could have let the boy die—imagine the propaganda value! 'Innocent Japanese Youth Executed by Britannian Oppressors!' But instead, he risked everything to save one life." Red Skull's laugh was like breaking glass. "This suggests a personal connection. A weakness we can turn into a dagger aimed at his heart."
The storm outside seemed to intensify, as if nature itself was responding to the malevolent planning taking place within the aircraft.
"And if they really are connected?"
Red Skull was silent for a heartbeat, his mind already racing through possibilities like a computer calculating destruction. "Then we make the boy our unwitting weapon. Perhaps he can even facilitate Operation Paperclip—our final solution to the resistance problem."
Both men raised their glasses as lightning split the sky, their faces illuminated like demons in hell's own light.
"HAIL HYDRA!"
Area 11 Capital - Imperial Landing Zone
The Hydra transport descended through sheets of rain like a mechanical vulture, its angular hull crackling with barely contained energy fields. Steam hissed from cooling systems as the craft touched down on the landing pad with predatory grace. Immediately, a formation of Hydra operatives emerged from the shadows—their movements synchronized like a deadly ballet, weapons gleaming in the artificial light.
Red Skull emerged from the transport's belly like a nightmare made flesh, his crimson skull catching the landing lights and throwing grotesque shadows across the rain-slicked tarmac. His black cape billowed behind him in the wind, making him appear larger than life—a figure of apocalyptic authority.
Crossbones flanked him like a loyal hound, his tactical gear bristling with enough weapons to level a city block. The Hydra operatives snapped to attention with military precision that would have made the SS proud.
"Wunderbar," Red Skull purred, his voice carrying over the storm. "My children demonstrate proper discipline. It warms what remains of my heart."
A Britannian officer sprinted toward them through the rain, his uniform already soaked and his face pale with barely concealed terror. He skidded to a halt and attempted a clumsy salute.
"Y-Your Imperial Highness! It's an honor to—"
"SILENCE." The word cracked like a whip, stopping the man mid-sentence. Red Skull's glowing eye sockets fixed on him with laser intensity. "I am the Red Skull. I have transcended your pathetic titles and embrace something far more... elemental." His voice dropped to a whisper that somehow carried over the storm. "Address me properly, or do not address me at all."
The officer nodded frantically, rainwater streaming down his face like tears. "Of course, Red Skull, sir! I apologize for the confusion!"
As they walked across the rain-swept tarmac toward the imperial complex, Red Skull's cape leaving a trail in the water like spilled blood, he inquired with deceptive casualness, "I find myself curious about my sisters' whereabouts. Surely they would wish to greet their beloved brother?"
"Well, sir, Princess Euphemia is... attending to charitable functions in the settlement districts, and Princess Cornelia has deployed her forces to suppress the rebellion in Saitama ghetto."
Red Skull stopped dead, his skeletal form suddenly radiating menace like heat from a furnace. The temperature around them seemed to drop ten degrees, and even the rain appeared to slow in its descent. "What... did you just say?" Each word dripped with the promise of unspeakable retribution.
The officer realized with dawning horror that he had just signed his own death warrant.
Saitama Ghetto - Hell on Earth
The ghetto burned like a vision of the apocalypse, smoke and flame reaching toward storm clouds that wept ash instead of rain. Buildings collapsed in thunderous roars while screams echoed through narrow alleys like the cries of the damned. Britannian forces moved through the chaos like angels of death, their weapons painting the night in muzzle flashes and tracer rounds.
In a rubble-strewn plaza, a squad of Britannian soldiers had cornered a group of civilians against a bullet-riddled wall—mothers clutching children, old men trying to shield their families with their bodies, all of them knowing they were about to die.
"Light them up!" The squad leader's voice was stripped of humanity, his finger tightening on the trigger. "Show these Elevens what happens when they harbor terrorists!"
A young mother pressed her son against her chest, whispering a prayer to gods who seemed to have abandoned this place. She closed her eyes and waited for the bullets to find their mark.
"FIRE!"
The night exploded in gunfire—but not the kind they expected. Instead of civilian screams, Britannian soldiers crumpled to the ground like broken dolls, their blood mixing with rainwater to form crimson rivers in the street. Standing over their corpses were figures in advanced tactical gear, their uniforms bearing the writhing octopus symbol of Hydra.
A female operative with platinum blonde hair and eyes like arctic ice approached the terrified civilians. Her weapon was lowered but ready, and when she extended her hand to the mother, it was with the controlled precision of a trained killer offering mercy.
"You are under Hydra's protection," she said, her voice carrying a slight accent that might have been German or Russian. "No one will harm you while we draw breath."
The children stared up at these dark angels with wide eyes, not understanding the organization's sinister reputation—only knowing that monsters had come to save them from other monsters.
"Who... who are you?" the mother stammered, accepting the hand and rising to her feet on shaking legs.
The operative's smile was sharp as a blade. "We are Hydra. Cut off one head..." She gestured to her fallen comrades who were already rising, apparently unhurt. "Two more shall take its place."
The Mechanical Slaughter
Six blocks away, a squadron of Sutherland knightmare frames thundered through the streets like mechanical titans, their pilots confident in their technological superiority—until the first one exploded in a ball of superheated plasma that turned the war machine into abstract art.
"What the hell was that?!" The lead pilot's voice cracked over the comm system as he spun his machine around, searching for threats. "Contact! Multiple unknown knightmares, advanced design!"
From the smoke and flames emerged Hydra's experimental knightmare frames—sleek predators that seemed to bend light around them. Arc reactors stolen from Stark Industries pulsed in their chests like mechanical hearts, powering weapon systems that made Britannian technology look like stone axes.
The battle was less a fight than an execution. Hydra's machines moved with inhuman precision, their pilots enhanced by serums that pushed human reflexes beyond normal limits. Plasma cannons carved through Sutherland armor like hot knives through butter while energy shields deflected return fire with casual ease.
"Mayday! Mayday! We're being slaughtered!" One pilot's transmission cut to static as his cockpit became a furnace of superheated metal and flesh.
On the ground, Britannian infantry found themselves facing an enemy that seemed to emerge from their worst nightmares. Hydra operatives moved through the chaos like ghosts, their enhanced reflexes allowing them to dodge bullets and their advanced weapons turning cover into vapor.
A experimental energy grenade—a miniature star contained in a metal sphere—eliminated an entire squad in a flash of light that briefly turned night into day.
Cornelia's Command Post - The Reckoning
Princess Cornelia li Britannia stood in her mobile command center like a general watching her empire crumble. The holographic displays around her painted a picture of absolute catastrophe—unit after unit going dark, casualty reports climbing into the hundreds, her perfectly planned operation turning into a nightmare of blood and failure.
"Delta Squadron completely eliminated!" An officer's voice cracked with panic. "No survivors!"
"Rhino Company is gone! They're not even responding to emergency frequencies!"
The reports kept coming like body blows, each one draining more color from Cornelia's face. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the command throne, her military bearing the only thing keeping her from screaming.
"Impossible!" She rose like an avenging angel, her sword rattling in its sheath. "Ready my personal Gloucester! I'll show these terrorists what happens when they—"
The lights dimmed as an incoming transmission overrode every screen in the command center, the signal so powerful it seemed to make the air itself vibrate. When the image cleared, it showed the Hydra symbol—a writhing octopus that seemed to pulse with malevolent life.
Then came the voice—cultured, precise, and carrying the promise of apocalypse:
"Attention, children of Britannia. You have thirty minutes to evacuate this operational zone. This is not a request—it is an inevitability. I am the Red Skull, and you are trespassing in my garden. Those who remain will discover why even death fears to cross me. Hail Hydra."
The transmission cut to static, leaving the command center in stunned silence broken only by the sound of distant explosions.
Cornelia felt ice water flood her veins as recognition dawned. "That monster," she whispered, her voice mixing terror with rage in equal measure.
The Arrival of the Crimson Death
The Hydra command ship descended through the storm like a mechanical leviathan, its hull crackling with energy fields that made the air itself scream. It was larger than any G-1 base, its angular design suggesting violence and its green octopus symbols glowing like radioactive poison.
The massive vessel touched down with earth-shaking force, creating a crater in the ruined street. Steam hissed from cooling systems while energy fields danced across its surface like captured lightning. For a long moment, nothing happened—then the boarding ramp lowered with mechanical precision, revealing a darkness that seemed to swallow light.
Red Skull emerged like a figure from humanity's darkest nightmares, his crimson skull-face catching the fires burning around them and reflecting them back like a mirror of hell. His black cape flowed behind him as if moved by winds from another dimension, and each step he took seemed to make the ground itself recoil.
Crossbones flanked him like a loyal demon, his weapons gleaming and his eyes burning with anticipation of violence. Behind them came a squad of Hydra operatives whose movements were too synchronized to be entirely human.
"WHAT IN GOD'S NAME DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!" Cornelia's voice cracked like a whip as she strode toward him, her hand on her sword and her eyes blazing with fury. "We were executing a legitimate military operation! You've sabotaged everything and murdered our own forces!"
Red Skull's response was swift and terrible. His enhanced strength sent Cornelia flying through the air with a backhand that sounded like a gunshot, her body hitting the ground and rolling across broken concrete. When she looked up, blood was streaming from her nose and her vision was swimming.
"Dumme Schlampe!" His voice was like ice cracking in hell. "I specifically informed you that Zero was to be MY prey! Your ham-fisted butchery has destroyed months of careful planning!" He moved toward her with predatory grace, each step echoing like a funeral bell. "My strategy required surgical precision—psychological warfare designed to turn their own people against them. Your massacre has made every Japanese citizen our enemy!"
Guilford and Darlton moved to protect their princess, but found themselves facing Crossbones, whose weapons seemed to materialize in his hands like magic tricks performed by a psychopath.
"I wouldn't," Crossbones rumbled, his voice promising creative violence. "The Boss doesn't like interruptions, and I haven't killed anyone today. Don't make me break my streak."
Cornelia struggled to her feet, her pride warring with her survival instincts as she faced the most dangerous man in the world. "Our strategy was tactically sound! We recreated the Shinjuku Incident to draw Zero into open combat where we could—"
"You remember what happened to our dear brother Clovis when he faced this enemy, ja?" Red Skull's skeletal grin was pure malevolence. "And yet you repeat his mistakes with even less subtlety. Tell me, sister—do you also wish to die screaming?"
The storm overhead seemed to respond to his words, lightning illuminating his terrifying visage as thunder rolled across the battlefield like the laughter of demons.
Hours Later - The Hydra Sanctum
Deep within the bowels of the Hydra command ship, Red Skull sat upon a throne that seemed carved from a single piece of obsidian, its surface inscribed with symbols that hurt to look at directly. Holographic displays surrounded him like floating windows into hell, showing Hydra operations across the globe—each one a small apocalypse in the making.
The soft hum of technology filled the air, punctuated by the distant sound of machinery that might have been breathing. Red Skull contemplated the day's events while sipping wine that seemed to glow with its own inner light.
"You were particularly... educational today," a voice spoke from the shadows, each word carefully chosen. "Think the Princess will attempt retaliation?"
Red Skull's laugh was like breaking glass in a cathedral. "She would not dare. Even if she found the courage, Hydra's technological superiority makes her forces as relevant as stone axes against nuclear weapons." He gestured toward the darkness where the voice originated. "Show yourself, Mystique. Your talents are impressive, but I always know when a predator shares my space."
The air seemed to ripple like water, and suddenly a blue-skinned woman stood where empty space had been moments before. Mystique moved with liquid grace, her golden eyes gleaming as she examined a specialized dart designed to deliver a payload that would make death seem like mercy.
"You know," she purred, her voice like silk wrapped around a razor, "I could end her tonight. Take her form, access her command codes, and systematically dismantle Britannian intelligence from within. By morning, they'd be shooting their own shadows."
Red Skull raised one skeletal hand, the gesture somehow managing to convey both appreciation and restraint. "An exquisite proposal, but premature. Cornelia still has a role to play in our grand performance." He rose from his throne, cape billowing dramatically as he moved toward a bank of monitors showing various global operations. "Are our special assets prepared for deployment?"
Unknown Location - The Mountain Sanctuary
High in the mountains of former Japan, hidden beneath layers of advanced stealth technology and protected by fields that bent light itself, stood a facility that officially did not exist. Inside its pristine white corridors, the sound of clashing metal echoed like a mechanical heartbeat.
In the main training chamber, a figure in white tactical gear sat in perfect meditation, his breathing so controlled it seemed he might not be alive at all. Before him lay a katana that seemed to drink light—its blade forged from vibranium and folded ten thousand times until it was sharper than thought itself.
Behind him, another figure moved through the shadows with supernatural grace, his own enhanced blade sliding from its sheath without making a sound. The attack came without warning—a strike that would have decapitated any normal human.
But these were not normal humans.
The meditating figure spun into motion like a clockwork dancer, his blade meeting the assassin's in a shower of sparks that revealed the impossible metallurgy of both weapons. What followed was not a fight but a deadly ballet—two enhanced operatives testing each other's limits with lethal precision.
They moved faster than human eyes could follow, their enhanced reflexes allowing them to see each other's strikes before they were even thrown. The shadow figure managed to score a hit across his opponent's arm, but received a deeper cut across his shoulder in return—both wounds healing with unnatural speed.
Finally, both warriors stepped back and bowed with military precision, their breathing barely elevated despite the superhuman display.
"Excellent work," the first figure said, his voice carrying the clipped precision of extensive conditioning. "I believe you're ready for operational deployment."
They nodded in perfect synchronization, their movements so coordinated they might have shared a single mind.
"Outstanding. Let us prepare for the mission."
The figure in white donned his full tactical suit—a masterpiece of Hydra engineering that incorporated vibranium threading, advanced targeting systems, and enough concealed weapons to level a city block. His twin katanas slid into their sheaths with whispers of contained violence, while his featureless white mask transformed him into something beyond human comprehension.
Both operatives faced each other one final time before heading toward the exit, their movements casting shadows that seemed to dance with malevolent life. They were brothers forged in Hydra's crucible—weapons designed to bring down empires and remake the world according to Red Skull's vision.
The Winter Soldier protocols had created perfect instruments of death, and now they stood ready to unleash chaos upon an unsuspecting world.
In the darkness of the Japanese mountains, Snake Eyes and Storm Shadow prepared for war—their enhanced hearts beating in perfect synchronization as they contemplated the beautiful destruction they were about to unleash.
The age of heroes was ending.
The age of Hydra had begun.