GUEST: Opera Soprano Gretchen Loda
In Dr. Zola’s laboratory, the strains of Ein Schwert verhieß mir der Vater echo faintly, filling the cold space with an ominous hum.
Johann Schmidt, the Red Skull, stands tall in shadow, his scarred face unreadable as he addresses Dr. Arnim Zola.
“Is there something in particular you need?” Schmidt asks, his voice sharp, cutting through the music. Zola, peering at him with cautious eyes, adjusts his glasses.
“I understand you found him,” he says, his tone probing, referring to Dr. Erskine.
Schmidt gestures toward a photograph of Erskine, his expression cold.
“See for yourself,” he says, noting Zola’s hesitation. “You disapprove.”
Zola shifts, uneasy. “I just don’t see why you need concern yourself. I can’t imagine he will succeed. again,” he replies, his voice tinged with skepticism.
Schmidt’s eyes narrow, his tone resolute. “His serum is the Allies’ only defense against this power we now possess. If we take it away from them, then our victory is assured,” he declares, his words heavy with ambition.
Zola nods, understanding the stakes. “Shall I give the order?” he asks, ready to act on Schmidt’s command.
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