Red Skull
In the skies above Area 12, a small Britannian military transport cut through the clouds. Inside, nobleman Bartley Asprius dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief, his hands trembling slightly. The imminent meeting with a member of the royal family filled him with dread, especially after Prince Clovis's assassination at the hands of the mysterious terrorist known as Zero.
"Arriving at Area 12 momentarily," the pilot's voice crackled through the intercom.
Bartley drew several deep breaths to steady himself as he gazed out the window. Below stretched what was once the Australian desert, now transformed into a sprawling military complex dedicated to testing experimental weaponry. As they approached the coastline, he could make out the prince's operational headquarters—a fortress-like structure dominating the landscape.
The aircraft touched down on a landing pad with a gentle jolt. When the doors slid open, Bartley was greeted by a row of soldiers standing at rigid attention and a solitary figure in a black tactical suit. The man's uniform bore the distinctive skull and tentacles emblem worn exclusively by the prince's elite forces—the HYDRA Unit.
"Mr. Asprius," the bodyguard stated coldly, his face impassive. "He is expecting you."
As they proceeded through the compound, Bartley's anxiety intensified. The prince's reputation preceded him—tales of calculated cruelty even toward his family members. Most notorious was the incident where he had executed an entire chamber of nobles who had questioned his methods. Whether truth or embellishment, such stories were enough to make Bartley's blood run cold.
Their path took them past training grounds where soldiers drilled with mechanical precision. Through reinforced windows, Bartley glimpsed testing chambers where condemned prisoners screamed for mercy before being obliterated by prototype weapons that resembled advanced rocket launchers. He averted his eyes but couldn't block out the sounds.
Finally, they reached an imposing set of double doors emblazoned with the skull and tentacles insignia. As the doors swung open, Bartley beheld Prince Klaus Britannia seated upon his throne. What struck Bartley most was the prince's appearance—his face a crimson, skull-like visage with hollow eyes that seemed to burn with cold intelligence. Though officially a prince, his men addressed him exclusively by his preferred title—Red Skull.
"Ah, Bartley Asprius," he said, his voice a precise, accented baritone that carried both aristocratic refinement and menacing authority. "You must be tired from such a long journey. Please, come and take a seat."
With a casual gesture of his gloved hand, a soldier rushed forward with a small chair, placing it directly before the throne. Bartley bowed deeply, his spine rigid with fear.
"T-thank you, my lord," he stammered, carefully lowering himself onto the chair.
Red Skull rose from his throne and began circling Bartley with calculated, methodical steps. His movements were those of a disciplined military commander, each step deliberate and purposeful. "Mr. Asprius, I'm curious about your thoughts on my father's recent speech." He produced a remote, pressing a button that caused a large screen to descend from the ceiling. "It was such a... moving day for my family. I've preserved this recording to ensure I never forget it."
The screen flickered to life, showing the Emperor's address following Clovis's death.
"What a stirring oration," Red Skull continued, his voice hardening with each word, his German-tinged accent becoming more pronounced with his rising anger. "Though curiously, he failed to mention my brother, whom you abandoned to die."
Before Bartley could form a response, Red Skull's boot connected with his chest, sending him sprawling to the floor. Towering over the prostrate nobleman, the crimson-faced prince snarled, "That fool knows nothing of inequality as he sits upon his throne, looking down on everyone!"
His rage mounting, Red Skull continued his tirade. "Because of this arrogance, our enemies grow stronger daily. Rather than understanding them, we reduce them to numbers and erase their culture. This ignorance has allowed the rise of adversaries like Zero." He loomed over Bartley, who remained paralyzed with fear on the cold floor. "Like you and my foolish brother, you both underestimated your opponents, blinded by delusions of superiority—and now Clovis has a bullet in his skull."
Red Skull returned to his throne, settling into it with clinical composure. "Now tell me, what was my brother doing in the Shinjuku Ghetto? And be warned—if you lie to me, I'll have your mangled corpse fed to the dogs," he said, his voice deceptively calm, articulating each syllable with scientific precision.
"Y-yes, my lord," Bartley stuttered. "Prince Clovis was conducting classified experiments on a test subject! She escaped, and he ordered the purge to cover it up."
"He claimed it was a poison gas leak," Red Skull concluded, rising with his hands clasped behind his back in a military stance. A sardonic smile stretched across his skeletal features. "That would explain much. Tell me, Bartley Asprius, do you have evidence of these experiments?"
Though still sprawled on the floor, Bartley fumbled in his pocket and produced several photographs. Red Skull snatched them, examining the images with the analytical intensity of a scientist studying a specimen.
"Where is the woman now?" he demanded, his tone brooking no evasion.
"My lord, I... I cannot say with certainty," Bartley admitted, sweat beading on his forehead. "We lost track of her in the Shinjuku Ghetto. But given time, I'm confident we can—"
His words terminated in a wet gurgle as Red Skull's blade slashed across his throat in one fluid motion. Bartley clutched at the wound, blood pouring between his fingers before he collapsed, twitching, upon the polished floor. Red Skull calmly sheathed his sword, the blood still glistening on its edge.
"Guards, dispose of this garbage," he ordered with cold detachment.
Later, in the control room
Red Skull strode into the command center, prompting his staff to leap to their feet with a synchronized shout: "Hail HYDRA!" He acknowledged them with a curt nod as he passed, his attention fixed on the massive monitor displaying footage from the Battle of Shinjuku Ghetto. The crimson-faced prince analyzed the carnage with clinical detachment, countless civilian casualties striking him as inefficient and wasteful.
"Commander, we've received word that Princess Euphemia has arrived in Area 11," reported an officer. "Intelligence indicates that her sister, Viceroy Cornelia, will be joining her shortly."
Red Skull sighed with undisguised irritation, his hollow eyes never leaving the footage of the massacre. Establish communication with both of them immediately. I wish to speak with my sisters."
After several minutes, the main screen flickered, revealing the faces of both princesses.
Euphemia's expression brightened instantly. "Klaus! It's wonderful to see you! I've been so worried—"
"Spare me your saccharine sentimentality," he cut in sharply, his precise, accented voice leaving no room for emotional appeals. "This is strictly business." The harsh dismissal visibly wounded Euphemia, who genuinely cherished her brother despite his coldness. Cornelia remained impassive, having anticipated his hostility.
"I intend to assume a role in governing Japan," he declared, his skeletal face impassive. "I am better suited to command than the rest of our incompetent family. The superior mind must lead."
Cornelia's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Mind your tongue, brother! Regardless of your divergent views, you remain Britannian royalty. And it's Area 11 now, not Japan."
"Yes, I'm painfully aware of my unfortunate connection to an empire built on outdated ideologies," he retorted, his voice carrying the conviction of scientific certainty. "I'll address territories as I see fit, without your correction." The intensity of his hollow-eyed glare was palpable as he and Cornelia locked eyes in a silent challenge.
"Please, both of you, stop this!" Euphemia intervened, distress evident in her voice. "Klaus, you must understand that what you're requesting requires careful consideration. I was assigned this responsibility for specific reasons." Her expression brightened as inspiration struck. "Perhaps you could collaborate with me? That way, we both achieve our objectives."
Red Skull paused, considering the proposal with the calculated assessment of a strategic genius before nodding reluctantly. "Very well, but I will implement my methods," he conceded, bringing a fleeting smile to Euphemia's face while Cornelia remained skeptical, searching for hidden motives in his acquiescence.
"But," he added ominously, "remember that this will operate as a HYDRA initiative. Should either of you interfere..."
"And I will kill you both."
The threat was delivered not with hot rage but with the cold certainty of a scientific conclusion—as if stating a simple law of nature.
Cornelia's face hardened at the threat, her fist clenching in barely contained fury. Glancing at Euphemia, however, her expression softened upon seeing the profound hurt in her younger sister's eyes. They both recognized that such menacing behavior had become characteristic of their brother—a transformation that had driven most of the royal family away from him and struck fear into the hearts of even the most powerful nobles.
"Red Skull out," he stated flatly, terminating the connection.
In her private chambers, Euphemia stood before an ornate family portrait—a relic from happier times when the royal siblings had been united. Her fingers traced the image of a younger Klaus, before his transformation, when his face still carried human features instead of the crimson skull that now marked him as much as his ruthless ideology.
She sighed deeply, tears welling in her violet eyes. "Why... why do you hate us so much, brother?"