Post by Deleted on Jul 15, 2014 4:29:26 GMT
Berlin, Germany
“This is a fool’s errand, child.”
Copper eyes shifted to glare at the face of Arnim Zola, currently located via a holographic projection on the torso of his own specially constructed body. His ESP Box sat where the head of the robotic body should be, halting its persistent swiveling to instead focus on the young woman before him as she zipped up her black suit, leaving not an inch of her body uncovered save for her head and hands. Her frame was slight, almost emaciated, and not extraordinarily tall. Pallid skin clung to her skeleton, contrasted by the dark circles beneath her eyes and the brown hair cut into a severe chin-length bob. She extracted a pair of gloves from her suit as she answered.
“I will not be lectured like a child.” Her voice was harsh, cold, lacking of any feeling but annoyance. Gloves were pulled on over her hands, covering up the dark scars running vertical along the back of her hands, leaving the woman wreathed in black. “My father’s effects hold the key to HYDRA’s last safehouse in the United States. Without them, we are lost.”
“No, we are not!” Zola insisted, his eyebrows furrowing. His hologram flickered with emotion as he continued. “I know where it is, I’ve been there dozens of times. If you just gave me more time, I can figure out a way to open it once more –”
“And if you’re wrong it will turn Manhattan into nothing more than a smoking crater.” Frances Schmidt turned on her guardian, her dark brows swooping downward like angry hawks in dive and her lips pressing into a thin white line. “We’ve already lost so much.” Each word was bitten off with ferocity. The last time she had been alive, she had killed a pretender to the mask of Captain America. He had set them back for years with his antics and sabotage. The time before that, her father was still alive, HYDRA was strong, and the world trembled at the very mention of their name. Now they were a joke, a ghost story, ancient history.
Not for long.
Frankie fixed her fierce gaze upon Zola's face. "They have Father's things in a museum, trophies to display to show that they defeated him -- defeated you, defeated us. Will you let them collect dust there as swine gape through thick glass and their disgusting children smudge it with their filthy fingertips? Will you let us lose one of the only assets we have left to us because of fear?" It was, after all, up to Frankie to restore HYDRA and bring order to this world plunged into chaos with the death of her father. It may not have been what she was born for, but this was the destiny for which she had been created.
Arnim's eyes closed for a moment before opening. "Then go." He insisted.
It wasn't hard to acquire armored vehicles. Any simpleton with enough money could afford one with intricate fallacies of precious items that needed to be guarded. Frankie and six HYDRA personnel piled into the nondescript vehicle -- Frankie sitting with four in the shell while two sat in the cab. Each of them were swathed completely in black. The mere mortals sported Kevlar vests to keep them from dying too quickly, should shots be fired, and each had a rolled up mask that would be paraded as a hat until the time came to act.
The armored truck dropped off Frankie and her five compatriots on the Zimmerstrasse a short distance away from the museum they were targeting. The Red Skull's earthly possessions were touring Europe with some vile tourist attraction designed to make money for corporate fat cats and "educate" the masses on the man who threatened the "freedom" of the people of Earth. The very thought of it twisted Frankie's stomach into knots. Her father was dead, and every person who bought admission to the exhibit were celebrating that fact. They relished their dull, meaningless lives and that their idols had brought the Red Skull and HYDRA to their knees. Frankie would just have to use that as fuel to the fire.
Admission was bought and Frankie entered the museum alone, joining in with the tourists and groups of students on school field trips. A volunteer handed her a pamphlet. On the cover was a juxtaposition of her father's face: half the Red Skull, half fleshy and "normal." She never recalled anything other than the scarlet bone of the Red Skull, never felt the press of her father's lips on her forehead or cheek or heard the warm congratulations of a job well done. I'll make him proud of me starting today.
The heart of the exhibit was a display carrying her father's Nazi uniform, his modified Luger, and several items of Hydra paraphernalia all sitting behind inches of bulletproof glass. Frankie patiently mingled with the press of people pushing against the velvet ropes erected before the cases in an effort to prevent them from touching. Nevertheless, Frankie noted with chagrin that there were smears from filthy fingers on the glass. She halted next to a a smaller display showcasing personal items of her father -- toothbrush, comb (back when he had a head of hair to use it), and a silver ring that, if Frankie recollected correctly, had been given to her father by Baron Zemo. It bore the skull of HYDRA with the tentacles wrapping around to form the band. The last time the woman had saw it had been on her father's finger, and now it stood here as a cheap attraction for paying customers to ogle and envy with their eyes. They didn't know that it served as a key to their destruction.
Silently, a white bone the shape of a rose thorn slid out of the back of Frankie's right hand. There was no grimace of pain, no flicker of discomfort though she felt the skin on the back of her hand split open as it had many times before. Reaching her left hand up, Frankie jerked her mask down over her hair and face before punching the glass with her right hand.
A explosion ripped through the museum, a cacophony of screams, shattering glass, and the crumble of drywall. Frankie did not notice. She broke out the rest of the glass and plucked the ring from its display, tenderly placing it in one of the many pockets of her suit as plaster dust and smoke began to permeate the air. Casually, she looked over her shoulder to find that the wall of the museum's front had been blown wide open, offering a perfect opening for the armored car to back up to. Two of her compatriots appeared, stepping over the bodies of wounded and dying patrons and pulling canvas bags from the inside of their clothing.
Methodically, Frankie continued to break the bulletproof glass in single punches, freeing her father's artifacts from their sterile prisons. Her cronies then bagged them up gently, leaving nothing behind. It took less than a minute to clear out the exhibit cases. By that time, the free three HYDRA personnel had spray-painted swastikas and pro-Nazi slogans over the remaining walls of the museum. Frankie would not allow the world to know that HYDRA was returning, not until they had already made their first move for domination. The press would herald this as neo-Nazi fanatics looking to expand their collection and idols. Such narrow-minded thinking suited Frankie perfectly.
A feeble security guard, bleeding from both ears, raised his gun at the five as they headed for the opening in the wall. Frankie easily decapitated him with a single swipe from her right hand, not even breaking her pace. The armored car materialized, the doors open as it backed up to the opening.
Frankie was the last one in, slamming the doors shut behind her. "Go." She commanded. The armored truck barreled forward, running into a first responder with the ease of an obese person crushing a soda can beneath their heel. "Let's ditch the truck at the rendezvous and head back home. We need to start packing for America."
OOC: If anyone would like to try and stop them, be my guest but don't expect too much success.
If there are no takers, consider this thread a closed one-shot.
“This is a fool’s errand, child.”
Copper eyes shifted to glare at the face of Arnim Zola, currently located via a holographic projection on the torso of his own specially constructed body. His ESP Box sat where the head of the robotic body should be, halting its persistent swiveling to instead focus on the young woman before him as she zipped up her black suit, leaving not an inch of her body uncovered save for her head and hands. Her frame was slight, almost emaciated, and not extraordinarily tall. Pallid skin clung to her skeleton, contrasted by the dark circles beneath her eyes and the brown hair cut into a severe chin-length bob. She extracted a pair of gloves from her suit as she answered.
“I will not be lectured like a child.” Her voice was harsh, cold, lacking of any feeling but annoyance. Gloves were pulled on over her hands, covering up the dark scars running vertical along the back of her hands, leaving the woman wreathed in black. “My father’s effects hold the key to HYDRA’s last safehouse in the United States. Without them, we are lost.”
“No, we are not!” Zola insisted, his eyebrows furrowing. His hologram flickered with emotion as he continued. “I know where it is, I’ve been there dozens of times. If you just gave me more time, I can figure out a way to open it once more –”
“And if you’re wrong it will turn Manhattan into nothing more than a smoking crater.” Frances Schmidt turned on her guardian, her dark brows swooping downward like angry hawks in dive and her lips pressing into a thin white line. “We’ve already lost so much.” Each word was bitten off with ferocity. The last time she had been alive, she had killed a pretender to the mask of Captain America. He had set them back for years with his antics and sabotage. The time before that, her father was still alive, HYDRA was strong, and the world trembled at the very mention of their name. Now they were a joke, a ghost story, ancient history.
Not for long.
Frankie fixed her fierce gaze upon Zola's face. "They have Father's things in a museum, trophies to display to show that they defeated him -- defeated you, defeated us. Will you let them collect dust there as swine gape through thick glass and their disgusting children smudge it with their filthy fingertips? Will you let us lose one of the only assets we have left to us because of fear?" It was, after all, up to Frankie to restore HYDRA and bring order to this world plunged into chaos with the death of her father. It may not have been what she was born for, but this was the destiny for which she had been created.
Arnim's eyes closed for a moment before opening. "Then go." He insisted.
It wasn't hard to acquire armored vehicles. Any simpleton with enough money could afford one with intricate fallacies of precious items that needed to be guarded. Frankie and six HYDRA personnel piled into the nondescript vehicle -- Frankie sitting with four in the shell while two sat in the cab. Each of them were swathed completely in black. The mere mortals sported Kevlar vests to keep them from dying too quickly, should shots be fired, and each had a rolled up mask that would be paraded as a hat until the time came to act.
The armored truck dropped off Frankie and her five compatriots on the Zimmerstrasse a short distance away from the museum they were targeting. The Red Skull's earthly possessions were touring Europe with some vile tourist attraction designed to make money for corporate fat cats and "educate" the masses on the man who threatened the "freedom" of the people of Earth. The very thought of it twisted Frankie's stomach into knots. Her father was dead, and every person who bought admission to the exhibit were celebrating that fact. They relished their dull, meaningless lives and that their idols had brought the Red Skull and HYDRA to their knees. Frankie would just have to use that as fuel to the fire.
Admission was bought and Frankie entered the museum alone, joining in with the tourists and groups of students on school field trips. A volunteer handed her a pamphlet. On the cover was a juxtaposition of her father's face: half the Red Skull, half fleshy and "normal." She never recalled anything other than the scarlet bone of the Red Skull, never felt the press of her father's lips on her forehead or cheek or heard the warm congratulations of a job well done. I'll make him proud of me starting today.
The heart of the exhibit was a display carrying her father's Nazi uniform, his modified Luger, and several items of Hydra paraphernalia all sitting behind inches of bulletproof glass. Frankie patiently mingled with the press of people pushing against the velvet ropes erected before the cases in an effort to prevent them from touching. Nevertheless, Frankie noted with chagrin that there were smears from filthy fingers on the glass. She halted next to a a smaller display showcasing personal items of her father -- toothbrush, comb (back when he had a head of hair to use it), and a silver ring that, if Frankie recollected correctly, had been given to her father by Baron Zemo. It bore the skull of HYDRA with the tentacles wrapping around to form the band. The last time the woman had saw it had been on her father's finger, and now it stood here as a cheap attraction for paying customers to ogle and envy with their eyes. They didn't know that it served as a key to their destruction.
Silently, a white bone the shape of a rose thorn slid out of the back of Frankie's right hand. There was no grimace of pain, no flicker of discomfort though she felt the skin on the back of her hand split open as it had many times before. Reaching her left hand up, Frankie jerked her mask down over her hair and face before punching the glass with her right hand.
A explosion ripped through the museum, a cacophony of screams, shattering glass, and the crumble of drywall. Frankie did not notice. She broke out the rest of the glass and plucked the ring from its display, tenderly placing it in one of the many pockets of her suit as plaster dust and smoke began to permeate the air. Casually, she looked over her shoulder to find that the wall of the museum's front had been blown wide open, offering a perfect opening for the armored car to back up to. Two of her compatriots appeared, stepping over the bodies of wounded and dying patrons and pulling canvas bags from the inside of their clothing.
Methodically, Frankie continued to break the bulletproof glass in single punches, freeing her father's artifacts from their sterile prisons. Her cronies then bagged them up gently, leaving nothing behind. It took less than a minute to clear out the exhibit cases. By that time, the free three HYDRA personnel had spray-painted swastikas and pro-Nazi slogans over the remaining walls of the museum. Frankie would not allow the world to know that HYDRA was returning, not until they had already made their first move for domination. The press would herald this as neo-Nazi fanatics looking to expand their collection and idols. Such narrow-minded thinking suited Frankie perfectly.
A feeble security guard, bleeding from both ears, raised his gun at the five as they headed for the opening in the wall. Frankie easily decapitated him with a single swipe from her right hand, not even breaking her pace. The armored car materialized, the doors open as it backed up to the opening.
Frankie was the last one in, slamming the doors shut behind her. "Go." She commanded. The armored truck barreled forward, running into a first responder with the ease of an obese person crushing a soda can beneath their heel. "Let's ditch the truck at the rendezvous and head back home. We need to start packing for America."
OOC: If anyone would like to try and stop them, be my guest but don't expect too much success.
If there are no takers, consider this thread a closed one-shot.