On the Brooklyn dock, Steve Rogers stands motionless, his gaze fixed on his newly sculpted arms, the weight of his super-soldier transformation sinking in, his mind grappling with the power now coursing through him.

Far across the ocean, at Hydra Headquarters, disciplined Hydra troops march through a dimly lit hallway, their boots echoing in unison. Johann Schmidt strides purposefully toward his laboratory, flanked by two Wehrmacht officers and a stern Waffen-SS officer. Their faces are taut with impatience.

One Wehrmacht officer pauses, eyeing a Hydra guard in a sleek black uniform, his face obscured by a helmet and mask, the non-standard gear drawing a puzzled glance.

The Waffen-SS officer’s voice cuts sharply. “The Führer is not accustomed to being ignored, Herr Schmidt. He funds your research because you promised him weapons.”

The first Wehrmacht officer adds, his tone cold, “You serve at his pleasure. He gave you this facility as a reward for your injuries.”

Schmidt frowns. “Reward? Call it what it is. Exile. I no longer reflect his image of Aryan perfection.”

The second Wehrmacht officer steps closer, his voice rising. “You think this is about appearances? Your Hydra division has failed to deliver so much as a rifle in over a year. And we had learned through local intelligence you had mounted a full-scale incursion into Norway.”

The Waffen-SS officer’s eyes narrow. “The Führer feels, how does he put it? ‘The Red Skull has been indulged long enough!’”

Schmidt, unfazed, gestures toward the laboratory door. “Gentlemen, you have come to see the results of our work.”