Hydra Base - 30 Minutes After the Explosion
There was a frantic pounding on the door.
Ernst messed up his hair, splashed some water on his face to look sweaty, and threw open the door.
Johann Schmidt stood there, flanked by guards.
The Red Skull's mask was back in place, but his eyes were wild with fury.
"Dr. Ernst," Schmidt breathed, seeing him.
"You are alive."
"Alive?" Ernst snapped, feigning indignation.
"I was nearly assassinated! American commandos in the hallway, explosions... General, what is going on? My bodyguard barely held them off!"
"It was a coordinated strike," Schmidt admitted through gritted teeth.
"I underestimated Dr. Erskine. The coward didn't just defect; he led the Americans right to our doorstep. They extracted him."
"And the artifact?" Ernst asked, dread seeping into his voice (pure acting).
"The Phalanx?"
Schmidt looked away.
"Gone. The transport plane carrying it... destroyed mid-air. The artifact is likely at the bottom of the ocean, or vaporized."
"You... you fool!" Ernst roared, grabbing a glass beaker and smashing it on the floor for dramatic effect.
"That was the key! The Catalyst! Without it, the Gen-2 Serum is dead!"
Schmidt flinched. He needed Ernst now more than ever.
"Doctor, please," Schmidt said, his voice unusually conciliatory.
"Is there no other way? We still have the extracted samples. The reserves."
Ernst paced the room, rubbing his temples as if in deep calculation.
"The reserves are pure, but limited," Ernst lied.
"I can synthesize a batch, maybe two. But we will have to start from scratch on the stabilization matrix. It will take time. And I cannot work here, this base is compromised."
"Agreed," Schmidt nodded.
"Pack your equipment. We move at dawn."
New Hydra Base - The Austrian Alps
The flight took an hour.
When they landed, Ernst looked out the window and saw a fortress carved into the side of a mountain.
But what caught his eye was the hangar.
Inside the massive cavern sat a skeletal frame of steel and duralumin.
It was a flying wing of colossal proportions, the Valkyrie.
Waiting on the tarmac was a short, round man with thick glasses.
"Dr. Zola!" Ernst greeted him warmly as he stepped off the plane.
"Ah, Dr. Ernst!" Zola beamed, waddling over.
"Welcome to the future. Do you like her? The Valkyrie. She will carry the vengeance of the Reich to New York."
"She is magnificent," Ernst said, admiring the sheer scale of the engineering.
For the next five days, Ernst waited.
His lab was still being assembled.
He spent his time debating theoretical physics with Zola, establishing himself as the intellectual alpha of the base.
Then, Schmidt summoned him.
"Dr. Ernst," Schmidt said, standing up from his desk.
"You have been patient. I know the transition has been stressful."
"Stress is irrelevant. Lack of progress is what annoys me," Ernst replied curtly.
"You work too hard," Schmidt smiled thinly.
"A machine needs oil. A man needs... release. Come."
Schmidt led him through a heavy iron door into a luxuriously furnished lounge.
Standing in a line were a dozen young women.
They were beautiful, terrified, and dressed in silk gowns.
"Hand-picked," Schmidt said, gesturing to them like they were livestock.
"Clean. Healthy. Trained to obey. Consider this a signing bonus, Doctor. Pick one. Or pick them all."
Ernst adjusted his glasses, hiding his disgust. Schmidt thought he could buy loyalty with flesh.
Classic tyrant, Ernst thought.
'But I have to play the part.'
He walked down the line, inspecting them with the detached air of a buyer.
Then, he stopped.
Near the end of the line stood a girl, in her twenties.
She had dark red hair, but her bone structure was unmistakable.
High cheekbones.
Green eyes that looked submissive but held a spark of cold, calculated intelligence deep within.
Natalia Alianovna Romanova.
The Black Widow.
Ernst's mind raced. In the comics, she received a variation of the Super Soldier formula in the Red Room that slowed her aging.
In the MCU, she was born later.
But here, in this merged timeline, she was active in WWII.
A Soviet spy in a Hydra base, Ernst realized.
She must be deep cover.
Or Schmidt captured her and doesn't know what she is.
Ernst smiled, a predatory grin that matched the role he was playing.
"This one," Ernst said, tilting her chin up with a finger.
The girl trembled perfectly.
"P-please, sir."
"She has fire," Ernst lied.
"I like that."
Schmidt nodded approvingly.
"Natalia. A fine choice. She is young, but... pliable."
Schmidt stepped close to the girl, his red skull mask inches from her face.
"Listen to me, Liebchen," Schmidt whispered.
"You belong to Dr. Ernst now. You serve him. You please him. If he complains, even once, you will cease to exist. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Herr General," she whispered, tears leaking from her eyes.
Oscar-worthy performance, Ernst thought.
"Come, Natalia," Ernst said, offering his arm.
"I have a warm room and better food than the barracks."
She took his arm, looking at the floor.
"Thank you, General," Ernst called back.
"I will retire for the evening."
———
Chapter 22.5 - NSFW
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Author's Note:
Before anyone rushes to the comments with 'BuT sHe Was BoRn in 1984!', put the keyboards down.
In the comics, Natasha has been kicking around since WWII thanks to the Soviet version of the serum.
So yes, she is technically a grandma in the canon.