Area 11: Shipping Docks
The shipping docks lay shrouded in midnight darkness, illuminated only by sporadic floodlights that cast long, ominous shadows between the towering stacks of containers. Only overtime workers and a handful of security personnel remained, their voices carrying across the still night air.
One worker nudged his buddy as they heaved a crate into position. "So then I said to him, 'I don't know where your mommy is; maybe look in the rice field.'" Both men erupted in crude laughter, their breath forming small clouds in the cool night air.
"Man, I tell you, these 11s sure are—" The worker's words died in his throat as a metallic glint caught his eye. A throwing star embedded itself in the container beside him with a dull thunk, its razor edge glistening with fresh blood.
He turned to find his friend clutching his throat, eyes wide with shock. Blood pulsed between the man's fingers as he tried desperately to stem the flow. He collapsed to his knees, then face-down onto the concrete, his body convulsing as he choked on his blood.
"Oh my God! John, are you—" The second man never finished his sentence. A gloved hand clamped over his mouth from behind as another figure emerged from the shadows. With a precise, efficient motion, the attacker snapped his neck—the crack echoing sharply in the night, competing only with the gentle lapping of waves against the pier.
Across the yard, a security officer stood vigilant, rifle at the ready, as he methodically swept his gaze across the loading area. Unbeknownst to him, a small object arced through the air, landing with a soft clink at his feet.
The device erupted in a dense cloud of smoke that billowed upward, enveloping him in seconds. "What the hell?!" he sputtered, eyes burning as he struggled to breathe. Through the haze, he barely registered the silhouette approaching—until a burning sensation tore through his chest.
His eyes dropped to find a blade protruding from his sternum, blood already soaking his uniform. A hand clasped firmly over his mouth, silencing his scream as he was lowered gently to the ground.
The commotion drew another guard from the security booth. He emerged cautiously, rifle raised and flashlight beam cutting through the darkness. "Hey, what's going on? I heard something!" he called out, sweeping the light across the yard.
As he advanced, shadowy figures flickered at the edge of his vision, vanishing whenever he turned the beam directly toward them. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead despite the chill in the air.
"God, this place is playing tricks on my mind," he muttered, his voice trembling slightly. A soft scrape of metal on concrete sounded behind him. He whirled around, heart pounding—but saw nothing.
"What the fu—" The words caught in his throat as a metallic whisper sliced through the air. For a moment, he stood perfectly still, a thin crimson line appearing around his neck. Then, slowly, his head slid free from his shoulders, his eyes registering a final image: a figure dressed entirely in black tactical gear, face obscured by a mask, wielding a blade that seemed to drink in the darkness itself.
But what seared itself into his dying consciousness was the glint of a metal arm, catching the moonlight as it moved with inhuman precision.
Two figures emerged from the shadows, standing over the fallen guard. One was dressed in tactical black from head to toe, with a metal arm that gleamed in the half-light. The other wore a hooded outfit with gold accents, a mask covering the lower half of his face, and carried a katana still dripping with blood.
The Winter Soldier wiped his blade clean with a practiced flick and sheathed it. He exchanged a silent nod with Ronin, communicating in the wordless language of seasoned assassins. With a series of hand signals, he indicated their next move.
In perfect synchronization, they scaled the nearest stack of containers, then launched themselves onto the roof of a nearby warehouse. Their silhouettes flashed momentarily against the night sky before disappearing into the urban labyrinth, moving with the fluid grace of predators returning to the shadows.
Babel Tower
The Babel Tower Casino pulsed with light and sound, a monument to excess rising from the heart of the city. Inside, fortunes changed hands by the minute across poker tables, chess tournaments, and countless other games of chance. Some of the entertainment bordered on the barbaric, like the fighting tournaments featuring children barely eleven years old currently taking place in the lower levels.
At the high-stakes poker table sat a man whose very presence commanded attention. He wore a dark crimson trench coat with black accents, topped with an officer's cap that shadowed his eyes. But what truly distinguished him was his face—or rather, the lack of one. In its place was a crimson skull, its surface seeming to hover between flesh and bone.
This was the Red Skull, though when dealing with the criminal underworld, he operated under the alias "Herr Schmidt." Tonight, he sat among dubious associates, cards in hand, stakes higher than mere money.
As each player laid down their cards, Red Skull revealed his hand with theatrical precision: a straight flush. The cards fanned out before him like a pronouncement of destiny.
"So, Herr Schmidt, or whatever you prefer to be called," one of the men broke the tense silence, "I'm curious why you're so interested in accessing the underground slums that lead to the ghettos?"
"My reasons are my own," the Red Skull replied, his accented voice sending chills down the spines of those present. He tossed several blue chips onto the growing pile. "All you need to concern yourself with is that I am willing to pay handsomely for the privilege."
"Look, it's not that we won't grant your request," another man countered, matching the bet and raising it. "But if we provide access to those territories, how can we be certain this arrangement won't return to haunt us?" His eyes narrowed with suspicion.
"I assure you, gentlemen," Red Skull said, snapping his fingers with deliberate slowness. "This association will prove more beneficial than you can imagine." As he spoke, a figure approached from across the room, drawing every eye at the table.
A stunning woman glided toward them, her long black hair framing sharp features and intelligent eyes behind stylish glasses. She wore a form-fitting black dress with subtle red accents that matched her stiletto heels perfectly. Her presence commanded the room as effectively as any weapon.
She carried a sleek metal briefcase, which she placed beside Red Skull with elegant precision. "Your documents, darling," she murmured in a crisp European accent, brushing her lips against his cheek in a gesture both intimate and calculated.
As she departed, she cast a knowing glance back at the table, her ruby lips curving into a smile that promised both pleasure and danger, leaving the men transfixed in her wake.
"Gentlemen," Red Skull's voice cut through their distraction like a blade. "If you've finished admiring my associate, perhaps we can return to business." He opened the case with a theatrical flourish, revealing a small glass vial containing an iridescent blue liquid that seemed to pulse with its inner light.
"May I present to you..."
"Refrain."
The criminal bosses leaned forward, captivated as Red Skull described a highly addictive substance that allowed users to relive their happiest memories with perfect clarity. So powerful was its effect that a single dose created an instantaneous, desperate craving for more.
"What distinguishes this from the usual narcotics in our portfolio?" one skeptical boss asked, raising an eyebrow.
"While there have been many drugs throughout history," Red Skull explained, his voice taking on an almost hypnotic quality, "my scientists have created something truly revolutionary. You will have exclusive distribution rights to a substance that will render all other narcotics obsolete. Even when authorities inevitably outlaw it, you'll have established your supply chain and customer base."
The criminal bosses exchanged calculating glances. Their poker faces dissolved into expressions of naked greed as they folded their cards and focused entirely on Red Skull.
"Secure our Refrain supply, and the underground routes to the ghetto are yours," the lead boss declared, extending his hand.
"Then we have an accord," Red Skull replied, revealing his straight flush with a dramatic flourish that seemed to seal more than just the poker game.
After finalizing the details, he withdrew to a secluded alcove overlooking the gaming floor. Soon, the same raven-haired beauty approached him, now dressed in a tactical bodysuit emblazoned with a subtle HYDRA insignia.
"Madame HYDRA"
"As much as I enjoy watching men drool over me in that dress," she remarked with sardonic amusement, adjusting her gloves, "I much prefer attire suited to business."
She positioned herself beside him, both of them surveying the casino floor with predatory awareness. "Destler is in Europe, handling our governmental interests there," she said after a moment of silence.
"I need him monitoring the situation," Red Skull replied, his gaze never leaving the crowd below. "Besides, he knows you're more than capable of handling yourself, Ophelia."
As they observed the glittering façade of wealth and vice before them, Madame HYDRA turned to study his profile. "Why did you do it?" The question hung between them, heavy with implication. "You know how devastatingly addictive Refrain is, the irreparable neural damage it causes. Why deliver it to these degenerates who will distribute it among the already suffering Japanese population?"
A pregnant silence fell between them as Red Skull watched the casino patrons, their laughter and excitement a stark contrast to the gravity of their conversation.
"Some operations require unpleasant measures," he finally replied, his voice lowered to a near whisper. "When this substance floods the streets, first the Japanese will succumb, then the Britannians. As addiction rates soar and overdoses mount, public outcry will demand intervention. They will need a savior."
"And HYDRA will emerge with the cure, boosting our public image and driving recruitment," Madame HYDRA concluded, her eyes narrowing with understanding.
"Precisely," Red Skull confirmed with a slight nod.
"Understanding doesn't equate to approval," she frowned, placing a gloved hand on his arm. "Klaus... you know this crosses a line."
The utterance of his true name made him stiffen momentarily. "I take no pleasure in these methods," he admitted, meeting her gaze. "But in war, ethical luxuries are the first casualty."
Their conversation was interrupted by the approach of a contingent of armed men, led by a figure whose very stride exuded arrogance. The man positioned himself directly before Red Skull, his reputation as "the Black King" of the criminal underworld preceding him.
"Ah, Herr Schmidt, a pleasure as always," he greeted with a self-satisfied smirk.
"King," Red Skull acknowledged coolly. "I doubt this assembly constitutes a social call," he added, nodding toward the armed entourage.
King sighed theatrically, adjusting his immaculate suit. "Perceptive as ever. You see, I was expecting a delivery of... 'bunnies' from your organization, yet they never materialized."
Red Skull's gloved hands clenched at the memory of King's request for young women from the ghetto to be delivered as sex slaves in degrading rabbit costumes. He had feigned agreement solely to gain access to the casino, with no intention of fulfilling such a vile arrangement.
"Forget it," he said, voice hardening like steel. "I may deal in chemical substances, but not in human flesh." The words had barely left his mouth when the guards raised their weapons in unison.
"How disappointing," King lamented with mock sadness, drawing his pistol and aiming it directly at Red Skull's head. "After extending the hospitality of my establishment, you repay me with betrayal. In chess terms, my friend, this would be what we call 'checkmate.'"
Rather than showing fear, Red Skull emitted a chilling laugh that unsettled everyone except Madame HYDRA. "Amusing," he remarked, entirely unperturbed by the weapons trained on him. "It seems everyone I encounter harbors an obsession with chess—my former allies, my enemies, and now you. Yet I've never developed a taste for the game."
Without warning, the casino plunged into darkness as the power failed, cutting off both lights and music. Gasps of surprise echoed through the hall, but in the darkness, Red Skull remained perfectly visible to King, completely unfazed by the sudden blackout.
"I prefer dominoes," Red Skull continued conversationally, "especially the moment when one piece triggers the collapse of all others."
Outside
Beyond the casino's walls, confused patrons gathered on the street, speculating about the power failure. One noticed the tactical team that had systematically disabled the building's utilities, nor the shadows moving across adjacent rooftops.
Leading the rooftop infiltration team was Ronin, his mask and hood obscuring all but his eyes as he signaled his team forward. Upon reaching Babel Tower, they launched grappling hooks with pinpoint accuracy, securing anchors to the building's façade.
With practiced efficiency, they ascended the walls like phantoms, their movement barely disturbing the night air. Upon reaching their entry points, they sliced through the glass with specialized tools and slipped inside, drawing their weapons with deadly intent.
In the security center, panic had erupted among the staff. "Get headquarters on the line now! The power grid's down!" the security chief barked, unaware of the danger already present in the room.
The soft, deliberate sound of metal sliding against leather froze them in place. As one, they turned to find the Winter Soldier standing among them, twin combat knives already drawn, his metal arm gleaming in the emergency lighting.
The security team reached for their weapons. "We have an armed hostile!" one shouted, training his gun on the intruder.
The Winter Soldier's eyes narrowed with cold fury. "I'm not your enemy yet," he said softly. "But I will be in three seconds."
Before they could process his words, he unleashed a whirlwind of violence. The room filled with the sounds of gunfire, screams, and the wet impact of blades finding flesh. Then, abrupt silence fell.
Moments later, the door opened, and the Winter Soldier emerged, his knives dripping crimson trails onto the polished floor. His expression remained unchanged, as though he had merely completed another routine task.
Back with Red Skull
King shoved Red Skull against the wall, pressing his pistol to the crimson forehead with trembling rage. "You orchestrated this, you bastard!"
Completely unfazed, Red Skull chuckled. "Careful, King... push that barrel any closer, and you might lose the hand attached to it."
The words had barely left his mouth when a shot rang out, the bullet creating a perfect hole through King's palm. He screamed in agony, clutching his wounded hand as he staggered backward. His wild gaze found Madame HYDRA holding a smoking pistol, blowing him a mocking kiss.
"Kill them!" King shrieked, cradling his injured hand. "Kill them both now!"
His command was cut short as a throwing star severed his remaining hand at the wrist, sending it tumbling to the floor as he collapsed, howling in anguish. The guards swiveled in confusion, only to see Ronin dropping from the ceiling to land in a perfect crouch before Red Skull and Madame HYDRA.
Ronin rose slowly, drawing his katana with a metallic whisper that seemed to hang in the air. The guards froze, transfixed by the hooded figure's deadly poise.
The tableau held for one breathless moment—then shattered as a guard's finger twitched toward his trigger.
Ronin exploded into motion with devastating speed. He closed the distance to the first guard before the man could fire, his blade slicing across the chest in a spray of crimson. Without pausing, he leapt into the air, executing a spinning kick that snapped another guard's neck with a sickening crack. As he landed, his katana found the throat of a third attacker, severing the carotid artery in one fluid movement.
Sensing the three remaining guards aiming at his back, Ronin launched into a backflip that carried him over their heads. Landing behind them, he delivered a horizontal slash that opened one guard's back from shoulder to hip. In the same continuous motion, he pivoted, his blade tracing a glittering arc that opened the throats of the remaining two with surgical precision.
Throughout the casino, panicked civilians rushed toward exits, only to find each doorway blocked by HYDRA operatives in full tactical gear. The message was clear: no one would be leaving.
King attempted to crawl away, leaving a trail of blood from his severed hands. His escape was cut short as a shadow fell across his path. Looking up, he found himself staring into the cold, emotionless face of the Winter Soldier, who drove his knife through King's skull with mechanical efficiency.
With the immediate threats neutralized, both Ronin and the Winter Soldier approached Red Skull, who now stood tall, straightening his coat with calm satisfaction.
"Winter Soldier. Ronin. Excellence as always," he acknowledged with pride. Both assassins inclined their heads in respect.
"Hail HYDRA," the Winter Soldier intoned, his words causing a ripple of shocked recognition through the watching civilians, who suddenly realized the identity of the man in their midst.
As the four—Red Skull, Madame HYDRA, Ronin, and the Winter Soldier—prepared to depart, Red Skull turned to the Winter Soldier with a pointed look.
"Ensure there are no witnesses," he ordered, his voice clinical and detached. "The only individuals authorized to leave this establishment have already done so." His gaze swept across the room of terrified patrons without a flicker of emotion.
"Kill them all."
Acknowledging the command, the Winter Soldier raised his metal fist and closed it decisively, signaling the operatives. As one, they drew their weapons and descended upon the civilians.
The room erupted in screams as Red Skull's group calmly proceeded toward the exit. A blonde woman tried to flee, only to have an operative seize her by the hair and drive a blade through her throat in one fluid motion.
A man made a desperate dash for freedom but encountered an operative who opened his abdomen with a single slash. As he collapsed, clutching at his spilling entrails, the operative moved on to their next victim with mechanical efficiency.
Two women huddled beneath a poker table until it was violently overturned. They looked up to find three operatives standing over them, who plunged their blades downward in perfect unison.
Red Skull's entourage continued their unhurried exit, stepping over growing pools of blood. They paused briefly upon encountering a young Japanese woman in a provocative bunny costume, her right arm severed at the shoulder, her face contorted with pain and terror.
"W-why are you doing this?!" she sobbed, her remaining hand clutching at the bloody stump.
Red Skull regarded her dispassionately before drawing his sidearm and firing a single shot through her forehead, granting her the mercy of a quick death.
As he lowered his weapon, something like philosophical distance entered his voice. "The ends justify the means... if creating a perfect world requires atrocity, then so be it." He continued forward as the slaughter intensified behind him.
Five civilians begged for mercy on their knees, only to have their heads severed simultaneously by a coordinated blade attack. Operatives methodically hung corpses from the ceiling, arranging them with grotesque artistry.
A specialist tossed incendiary devices into a cluster of gaming machines, igniting a blaze that quickly consumed both furniture and bodies alike. The screams gradually diminished as the death toll mounted.
One operative, moving with artistic purpose, began painting the wall with blood, forming a symbol that would soon become infamous throughout the region.
Hours Later
The doors of Babel Tower burst open as elite military units stormed the building, led by Commander Cornelia, who suspected the handiwork of the terrorist known as Zero.
What she discovered transcended her worst expectations, causing her to stop in her tracks, eyes widening with horror and rage.
"Who the hell is responsible for this?!" she demanded, her voice shaking with barely contained fury.
Several soldiers removed their helmets to vomit on the spot. Before them lay a chamber of horrors—dozens of corpses in various states of dismemberment, some suspended from the ceiling like macabre decorations, others stacked in methodical piles. Burn victims reached out with charred limbs frozen in their final moments of agony.
Not a single soul had survived the massacre.
Dominating the far wall, rendered in dried blood, was the unmistakable symbol of HYDRA—a skull surrounded by writhing tentacles.
Shipping Docks
Back at the waterfront, crowds had already gathered to purchase the new street drug known as Refrain. Some early buyers were already experiencing its effects, their faces transformed by artificial ecstasy.
From a rooftop overlooking the scene, Red Skull—now in his full HYDRA regalia, complete with the distinctive skull mask—observed the operation with clinical detachment. Flanking him were the Winter Soldier and Madame HYDRA, all three watching as their plan unfolded.
"Operation Poison progresses precisely as I projected," Red Skull noted with satisfaction, the city lights reflecting off his crimson features.
Among the desperate crowd below stood a housemaid with long, dark brown hair, her shoulders slumped with resignation as she approached the dealers. She exchanged her hard-earned money for a vial of the glowing substance, shame evident in every line of her body as she turned away.
"I'm sorry, Kallen," she whispered to herself, leaning against a shipping container emblazoned with the HYDRA emblem. "I am a weak and pathetic woman." With trembling hands, she injected the Refrain into her arm.
Almost instantly, her features transformed as artificial joy flooded her system. The present faded away as she was transported to happier memories—days of dignity and purpose before the world had crushed her spirit.
She slumped against the HYDRA-marked container, lost in chemically induced bliss, unaware of being another pawn in Red Skull's grand design.
Above, watching the first phase of his plan take hold, Red Skull's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. The world would burn, and from its ashes, HYDRA would rise.