In the shadowy halls of Hydra Headquarters, Johann Schmidt leads the two Wehrmacht officers and the Waffen-SS officer into Dr. Zola’s laboratory.

“Let me show you,” Schmidt says, his voice laced with confidence. Dr. Zola, hunched over a workbench, glances up, his fingers twitching nervously over intricate instruments.

Schmidt sweeps a cloth tarp off a sleek, lethal-looking weapon, its surface glinting ominously. “Hitler speaks of a thousand-year Reich, but he cannot feed his armies for a month. His troops spill their blood across every field in Europe, but still he is no closer to achieving his goals.”

The second Wehrmacht officer scoffs, his tone sharp. “And I suppose you still aim to win this war through magic?”

“Science,” Schmidt corrects, his eyes gleaming as he presses buttons on a control panel. Zola’s face tightens with fear. “But I understand your confusion. Great power has always baffled primitive men. Hydra is assembling an arsenal to destroy my enemies in one stroke,” he continues, as the Waffen-SS officer and the second Wehrmacht officer exchange a wary glance, “wherever they are, regardless of how many forces they possess, all in a matter of hours.”

“Your enemies?” the second Wehrmacht officer asks, his voice edged with suspicion.

Nearby, the first Wehrmacht officer studies a map of Europe on a table, push pins marking strategic locations. Schmidt, ignoring the question, throws switches on the weapon’s side.

“My weapons contain enough destructive power to decimate every hostile capital on Earth. Quite simply, gentlemen,” he says, his gaze silently counting the three officers, “I have harnessed the power of the gods.”

The Waffen-SS officer steps forward, his expression hardening. “Thank you, Schmidt.”

“For what?” Schmidt asks, his tone deceptively calm.

“For making it clear how obviously mad you are,” the officer replies, his voice cold with disdain.