Days blend into weeks, and the cycle of torment repeats itself relentlessly. Dr. Zola's insatiable thirst for power knows no bounds, and I am the unwilling vessel from which he draws his strength. Each day begins and ends in the darkness of my cell, where I am left to languish in solitude and despair.
The memories of the initial extraction of my powers linger like a festering wound, a constant reminder of the agony I endured. But as time wears on, the pain becomes a dull ache, overshadowed by the numbness that settles over me like a heavy fog.
They come for me less frequently now, their visits sparse and fleeting as they drain me of what little energy remains. I am a shell of my former self, stripped of vitality and left to wither away in the darkness. The days blur together, a monotonous cycle of suffering and degradation.
But it has been a long time since they last brought me up from the cellar, and the silence that now envelops me is both a blessing and a curse. Perhaps they have grown tired of their experiments, or perhaps they have found a new source of power to exploit. Whatever the reason, I am left alone in my solitude, the emptiness of my cell a stark reflection of the emptiness within.
As the heavy metal door creaks open, flooding my dimly lit cell with harsh light, a sense of dread washes over me. The guards, their faces obscured by grim masks, beckon me forward, their presence a silent reminder of my captivity. Reluctantly, I comply, allowing them to lead me up the familiar corridors to Schmidt's office.
The journey feels like a surreal echo of past encounters, the same path traversed countless times before. We reach the imposing door of Schmidt's office, and I am ushered inside, the weight of anticipation hanging heavy in the air.
The room is unchanged, the same austere furnishings and cold atmosphere that I have come to know all too well. But as I am strapped into the familiar chair, the same restraints biting into my flesh, I sense a subtle shift in the air.
There is an undercurrent of tension, a palpable sense of anticipation that hangs between us like a taut wire. Dr. Zolas gaze is fixed upon me, his eyes sends a chill down my spine.
As the door swings open, Schmidt strides into the room with an air of authority, his presence commanding attention. Behind him, three men dressed in sharp uniforms follow closely, their expressions stern and unreadable. The sight of them sends a shiver down my spine, an ominous foreboding settling over the room like a dark cloud.
Schmidt's gaze sweeps over me, his eyes cold and calculating as he takes in my restrained form. There's a predatory gleam in his eyes, a hunger for power that seems to pulse beneath the surface. The men behind him remain silent, their posture rigid and disciplined as they observe the scene unfolding before them.
As Schmidt and the three men enter the laboratory, an air of tension hangs heavy in the air, thick with the weight of unspoken agendas and hidden intentions. Schmidt's voice cuts through the silence, his words dripping with disdain as he begins to speak.
"Hitler speaks of a 1,000-Year Reich, but he cannot feed his armies for a month," Schmidt declares, his voice laced with contempt. "His troops spill their blood across every field in Europe, but still he is no closer to achieving his goals."
His words reverberate off the walls of the laboratory, each syllable laden with the bitter truth of their failed ambitions. As he speaks, Schmidt strides purposefully toward the weapon, his movements deliberate and calculated. With a swift motion, he uncovers the device, revealing it in all its ominous glory.
The machine they used with my powers yesterday sits nearby, a silent witness to the horrors that unfolded within these walls. Memories of the draining sensation, the agonizing pain, flood my mind, and I shudder at the mere sight of it.
The three men regard me with a mixture of disbelief and arrogance, their expressions betraying their ignorance of what lies beneath the surface. "And I suppose you still aim to win this war through magic?" one of them scoffs, his tone dripping with contempt.
"Science," Schmidt corrects him with a dismissive wave of his hand. "But I understand your confusion. Great power has always baffled primitive men."
With a sense of dread, I watch as Schmidt picks up cables, preparing to stick the needles into my neck and arms once more. The memory of the pain lingers like a shadow, a constant reminder of the torment that awaits me at his hands.
"Hydra is 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," Schmidt continues, his voice dripping with malevolent intent
The man in the grey suit clears his throat, drawing the attention of his companions. As the other man, dressed in black, speaks up, a sense of incredulity colors his tone. "Thank you, Schmidt."
Schmidt responds with annoyance, his patience wearing thin. "For what?" he retorts sharply.
"For making it clear how obviously mad you are," the man in black replies, his words dripping with scorn.
Unnoticed by the others, the third man, dressed in a nondescript suit, interjects, pointing to a marked location on the map spread out before them. "Berlin is on this map!" he exclaims, his voice filled with urgency.
Schmidt acknowledges the observation with a casual nod. "So it is," he replies, seemingly unfazed. With a chilling nonchalance, he raises the large weapon, aiming it directly at the man.
My nerves begin to fray as I watch the scene unfold before me. The tension in the room is palpable, thick with the anticipation of impending violence. The man's protests fall on deaf ears as Schmidt prepares to fire, the weapon humming with deadly intent.
"You will be punished for your insolence!" the man cries out defiantly. "You will be brought before the Führer himself!"
Before I can process what's happening, the power in my body drains rapidly, leaving me feeling weak and helpless. With a flash of blue sparks, the man vanishes from the room, leaving behind a sense of shock and disbelief.
The other two men, realizing the danger they're in, turn to flee, but Schmidt's aim is true. With deadly precision, he fires the weapon, the air crackling with energy as it seeks out its targets. One by one, the men fall, their bodies crumpling to the ground in a heap.
As the chaos unfolds around me, Schmidt takes slow, deliberate steps toward me, his gaze unwavering. He brushes the hair from my face, a twisted smile playing on his lips. "My apologies, Doctor, but we both know HYDRA could grow no further in Hitler's shadow. Hail HYDRA," he declares, his words a chilling reminder of the darkness that lurks within him.
With a final salute from the others in the room, Schmidt departs, leaving me alone in the aftermath of the chaos. My vision blurs, darkness creeping in at the edges as unconsciousness claims me once more. And as I slip into oblivion, I can't shake the feeling that the nightmare is far from over.
ВЫ ЧИТАЕТЕ
The Strongest Avenger
Фанфик"You know my name, not my story. You have seen what I've done, but not what I have been though ." - James Buchanan Barnes "One day we will meet again. But only when the time is right. When you step out of the darkness. I will be standing in the lig...
