About You

More than two millennia ago, Hannibal Barca had crossed the Alps with his war elephants with a single objective: to end the power of Rome in the name of the fearsome Carthage. He had sworn to avenge his father's defeat and subdue the heirs of Mars until they were completely annihilated. However, an empire attacked from without always finds a way to rise again, a lesson Hannibal learned the hard way.

It was not Hannibal who defeated Rome. Almost seven hundred years would pass before his wishes were fulfilled when internal wars led the already weakened empire to break in two, being exterminated by time. What Ophelia watched now from the snowy window of HYDRA headquarters was nothing more than the fading echo of a Pyrrhic victory, as if the general's tormented spirit still wandered among the icy mountains, crying out for his revenge at last.

Ophelia knew the taste of revenge, but she was careful not to succumb completely to it, having already observed how unbridled rage clouded all reasoning and led to irreversible disasters. Schmidt had sunk into it, and now his face was a reminder of what not to do. For her, settling old grudges doesn't help change the past; her dead would remain underground, and her inner shortcomings would continue to bleed with the memory. Making others suffer gave her no pleasure; her actions always served a purpose, but to achieve her goals, she knew she often had to snatch them from the hands of others.

And if someone couldn't defend them, it was because they hadn't fought hard enough for them. Didn't those who truly appreciated their worth deserve them? The most ancient law was that of the strongest, even in the natural order. "Looks like Gazala is about to end in our favor," Franz said as he entered his office and placed an Italian-language newspaper on the table. The headline read: "One step closer to our victory." Ophelia raised an eyebrow and let out a sarcastic laugh before turning her gaze back toward the white, icy landscape. Inside the barracks, the winter winds were nonexistent, but the mere thought of snow brought that familiar chill down her spine, a memory of nights in Budapest where every dawn was a victory against freezing to death.

"No thanks to the Germans," she assured him through gritted teeth, her hand behind her back. Franz clicked his tongue and curled the newspaper in his hands as he leaned against the edge of the ebony desk, observing the woman's overly rigid posture.

"Give the Desert Fox some credit."

"I'm not saying Rommel made a bad move by attacking them by surprise," Ophelia clarified, turning with her hands open as she walked toward her desk, her lips twisted, her expression more thoughtful given the way she looked at her slightly wrinkled hands, trying to find the words she needed, "but trapped in those mines, it was the Italians who opened the supply lines."

"Mussolini had to be good for something," Zemo mocked in a sarcastic tone, curiously inspecting the work surface that had become HYDRA's administrative heart in the last three months. There were stacks of papers in varying order, overstuffed folders, and at least seven folded newspapers that were days overdue. "It seems you're better informed than I am."

"Someone has to be," she replied bluntly, pointing at the mountain of papers and envelopes bearing the Reichsadler seal in the corner. That stylized eagle with outstretched wings, perched on a wreath of oak leaves containing a swastika in the center, was the symbol of the Reich that was becoming increasingly a burden to her. "Herr Schmidt no longer even satisfies the correspondence from the Berlin cabinet."

She snorted, her boredom evident as she leaned her hands against the back of her chair.

"Well..." the blond man drew out the last vowel, looking up at the ceiling with his eyebrows raised, his tone devoid of surprise, "when we were sent to these mountains, we already knew your relationship was strained, but is it that bad?"

"If you want my opinion, Zemo, this separation is inevitable." Ophelia shrugged, taking one of the envelopes labeled in red letters: URGENT. As soon as she read that it came from the SS offices in the capital, she tossed it aside indifferently. The Sokovian seemed intrigued by the simplicity and calmness with which she handled a potential betrayal that would surely condemn them to death.

"HYDRA needs to grow outside the constraints of the Reich, but the real question for me is: What are you going to do?"

Ophelia's dark eyes narrowed as she leaned back in her seat. Zemo watched her cheekbones tighten from the clenched jaw. His almost black irises seemed to merge with his pupils, reminding her of a leopard seal: a predator that thrived in the demonic cold. Zemo suppressed a smile at the thought, knowing that if he voiced it, he would likely be kicked out of the office without a chance to explain the results of his recent travels.

Ophelia, impatient with the lack of answers, pressed on. Zola's experiments with the Tesseract were about to reach a new milestone, and the Red Skull had tasked her with verifying HYDRA's internal loyalties. Determining who would be sacrificed to usher in a new era was a task he couldn't leave to anyone else. The conversation with Zemo had been postponed for weeks, put off by the fact-finding missions he justified as crucial: the search for the Serpent Crown.

"I know your brother was officially appointed Reichskommissar of Sokovia... which makes him the most powerful man in the country with the monarchy gone," she added shrewdly, looking at him intently. She wanted him to fully understand her position, as well as the information they would have in the event of a defection attempt.

Of course, Ophelia would never let it go that far; there was a reason she'd kept a Luger P08 under the desk. It was for emergencies, but at least four such cases had occurred in the last week.

The blond finally nodded and shrugged before pointing the newspaper at her. "My brother Heinrich is a cunning, proud, and especially spiteful man."

"It doesn't sound like a good combination for a close brotherhood," Ophelia admitted. She'd never had siblings, but she knew well what a formula for creating competitiveness in people who live together looked like. "Do you miss being his shadow, Zemo?"

Franz licked his lips and chuckled quietly, revealing his small fangs as his shoulders heaved. "No, but it seems I'm doomed to be the black sheep of the family. I suppose our father knew that when he decided to pass the baronial title on to him."

Ophelia nodded slowly, a tight smile tense as she looked at her gloved hands. The green satiny fabric contrasted sharply with the usual pair she wore in the field, and they had a rougher feel due to the leather they were made of.

"You don't seem to be bothered by the idea that he and his wife and three children could be sent to a concentration camp," she commented, tilting her head, looking for an angle to carefully study his reaction. "Your mother is still alive too, isn't she? I've heard that the older ones are thrown straight into the gas chambers and... then turned into soap."

That comment finally seemed to unsettle him, as his lips twitched at the corner of his mouth as he clutched the blue leather folder he carried. He took a deep breath before shaking his head with an artificial smile, one that didn't reach his expressionless eyes and remained steadily raised in a way that Ophelia was sure must have made Franz's cheeks ache.

"As I told you, Sarkissian, Heinrich isn't clueless. He knows I'm unreliable," he admitted nonchalantly, not once flinching. He even seemed to gain confidence from the new way his broad shoulders squared, allowing him to rise to his full height. "He didn't earn the title of the Masked Devil just by being a good man. Hitler fears him, but he'd rather have him on his side to use against the Allies than risk ending up like the royal family." He raised an eyebrow, his gaze steady and stern. Then, with a snort, he tossed the question into the air. "Do you know what happened to them?"

Ophelia swiveled her chair to sit beside him, still facing him as she gestured vaguely with her hands in the air. "I've heard rumors: Viruses contracted in labs, eyes popping like balloons."

Heinrich Zemo had been working on a lethal weapon, according to the spies in his laboratory. He called it Virus X. His intention was to collapse the body's organs in seconds, but up to that point, he hadn't had the massive and effective success he'd hoped for.

Fortunately, Ophelia weighed in. There was something about biochemistry that fascinated her as much as it terrified her. The idea of ​​modifying bodies was an intriguing subject that, even if she didn't fully understand, she made an effort to listen to Armin Zola, who readily admitted that Baron Zemo was superior to him. However, when weapons escaped their creators' control, there was no guarantee that she wouldn't be one of their victims. Ophelia worked to never be on that side.

“Heinrich usually looks to the future to find the keys to his success, but I look to the past, and as far as I'm concerned, if HYDRA separates itself from the Nazis, I'll be delighted, Sarkissian.” Franz placed his folder on the desk and opened it, revealing two folders, as well as loose sheets of paper that looked old due to their almost brown color and brittle edges. Some were written in runes, while on others he could make out a couple of sentences in German, Norwegian, and what looked like some Slavic language. “If there's one thing I detest, it's idiots who burn books.”

Ophelia noticed a hint of sincerity in his tone. She lowered her guard enough to keep the Luger in place, but her suspicion remained. She needed to confirm his true nature. Perhaps designing a test, with discreet surveillance, would ensure he didn't escape with HYDRA's sensitive information. If he did, her head would be the one the Red Skull would claim in retaliation.

"What's all this, Zemo?"

"What you asked for," he pulled out a page from the folders and handed it to her. It was a black and white photograph of a stone with an engraving of the ouroboros-shaped crown, but this time held by a smiling figure wearing a twisted horned helmet, long hair, and a tunic, who seemed hunched over, almost laughing.

"Is this why you were in Novgorod?" Ophelia asked with interest, taking a magnifying glass out of her drawer to examine it in detail.

"Actually, I was first in a dusty abbey in Winchester where I was almost crushed by some beams," she clarified, crossing her arms. "Since we didn't have an exact place to start, and our Viking friends didn't really care to write, I had to turn to their fanatics: The monks."

"And that's why you snuck in under the British's noses?" Zemo nodded, and the green-haired woman flipped through the folders, noticing they had six sections, each marked with a different ribbon. "What does the color numbering mean?"

"Each of the places I traveled to these past few weeks. I'm sure you can write the reports, since these investigations are off the record," she commented, leaning her face against her hand as she watched Ophelia pause for a second to look at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Are you implying I'm withholding information?"

"I don't know, Sarkissian... Does the Red Skull know about it yet? When he left about three weeks ago, he still didn't know anything, too busy with Zola." The scientist's name was almost spat out as an insult, which amused Ophelia. Their bickering was cheap entertainment, but at least it added something interesting to the daily routine inside the barracks.

"Oh, don't get so grumpy, Franz... From what I see here, you've been working so hard that I'm sure when I mention this to Herr Schmidt, you'll be back in his good graces," the Hungarian assured, playfully touching his cheek before clicking her tongue and standing up with the blue folder in her hands. "Let's see, you've been to England, Sweden, Denmark... Berlin?"

Zemo nodded, scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably. "It was Himmler's looting that took a tapestry I needed to Berlin, so I had to go and study it."

"By studying it, I'm sure it was stolen," Ophelia replied reproachfully, noticing the Sokovian smiling cynically.

"Technically, I returned the piece. I left it in the basement."

One day, I swear, you'll have us arrested, and I'll turn you in, Zemo."

The blond ran a hand across his chin, shaking his head, not taking the threat seriously. He walked over to the stool where the minibar sat, taking out a bottle of brandy with a strong, sweet coffee scent. He poured it into two rocks glasses, leaving one near Ophelia, who accepted it cautiously until she saw Zemo drink his own.

"And who would do your dirty work, huh?" He hesitated, taking another sip with a grim look before pointing at the folder. "You can study it thoroughly, but I'll tell you the bottom line: I traveled through five countries, two at war with us, to track the holders of the Serpent Crown since it appeared in the hands of Hundi Two-Tongued over a thousand years ago, and so far, five owners have appeared. And do you know what they have in common?"

"Did they die?" Ophelia probed with some disappointment as she pursed her lips, thinking it might just be another fake relic, a twisted piece of metal.

"Yes, but they all died in ways... violent, so to speak."

"Murdered?"

She had to take a swallow to clear the bitter taste building on her tongue.

"Some, others drowned, poisoned, or in battle."

"So it's fake?" the green-haired woman questioned seriously as she closed the folder and set it aside. "Is all that stuff about reigning over time just hearsay?"

"What we found in Tønsberg said that whoever takes the crown will reign over time, but that their soul will never rest," Zemo recalled, staring at her, almost whispering, so Ophelia had to lean closer to hear better. I had to read a lot of pages in Old Saxon, which I'm terrible at, but... In the end, they talked about Loki and the legend of why he created that thing: They say it was revenge against his lover, a witch. He offered her the crown, swearing he loved her, and then stabbed her to seal her soul away. If you check, neither of them lived to old age.

"They died of unnatural causes," Ophelia realized with amazement when she was finally able to carefully analyze the story and piece it together with the bits of information the archaeologist had been sharing. "And the inscription talked about time... Maybe it refers to the body being able to overcome time, like... like it doesn't age."

Zemo nodded slowly. "Maybe."

Their conversation was interrupted when a hurried knock sounded on the door. They exchanged quick glances, detecting a note of impatience in the sound.

"Come in," Ophelia indicated in a neutral tone, sipping the remaining brandy in her glass, feeling irritated by the pause. She felt they were discovering something together, something that would have taken them longer to discover on their own.

It seemed they weren't such a bad team.

Lieutenant Dornwald entered quickly, looking urgently at the two of them, his expression returning to a nervous expression, his eyes unable to stay fixed on the two high-ranking officers who demanded to know the reason for his presence as they stared at him impassively. "The Obergruppenführer knows that Herr Zemo has returned and wants to see you both in Dr. Zola's laboratory, Fräulein Sarkissian."

Zemo placed his glass on the table with a deliberately slow movement, his lips curving into a sardonic smile as he studied the lieutenant as if he were an insect trapped under a microscope.

"What did the good doctor explode this time?" he murmured with obvious sarcasm, addressing Ophelia, but she didn't respond.

"Both of them?" Ophelia repeated, bewildered.

"Yes, Fräulein Sarkissian."

"Looks like today's your lucky day, Franz," Ophelia noted, adjusting her gloves as she walked toward the exit of her office with Zemo at her back; the blond didn't seem all that enthusiastic.

"Yes, or maybe Zola wants to use his experiment on me," he mocked sarcastically, although the crease between his brows indicated that his usual sharpness was being saved for the Swiss physicist, who didn't hesitate to defend his work when questioned.

"You'll be an invaluable guinea pig, no doubt."

"Are you ready, Dr. Zola? Our guests have arrived," Schmidt announced, watching Ophelia and Franz walk through the door. "Ah, Zemo! Good time to get back. I heard you had a stopover in the capital. How's Berlin?"

"Unbearable, too many people, and the traffic is horrible with so many military vehicles patrolling. It's a pleasure to see you again, Obergruppenführer," the Sokovian greeted, more cautious than the green-haired woman, as she had walked directly next to Red Skull, who was maneuvering the machine Zola had tried to assemble to channel the Tesseract's energy.

His last attempts hadn't gone well.

"They said you requested our presence, Herr Schmidt," Ophelia recalled, and Johann nodded with a low but deep laugh before placing his hand on her shoulder. The green-haired woman immediately noticed the heaviness in his movement. He usually measured his strength well, but it seemed that this afternoon he was too euphoric to think about anything else.

"That's right, Ophelia. I wanted both of you present for this historic event... One more step closer to success. Dr. Zola is certain he's hit the nail on the head to make the Tesseract a stable core for our weaponry," Schmidt explained, leading Ophelia right next to the small scientist, who quickly looked up from his notebook.

"My machine certainly requires a very delicate calibration," Zola clarified, adjusting his round glasses.

"That means it's not ready," Zemo crooned as he observed the snake-like details on the box where the Tesseract was still hidden. It was the same wooden container from the church, but ever since they had arrived in the Alps, Zola had been wary of who might touch it.

"Of course it is!" "Zola snapped, his voice higher than usual, as if he were trying to convince himself as much as the others. His trembling hand adjusted the round glasses that were slipping slightly down his sweaty nose. "If anything goes wrong, it will be because of your nefarious presence, Zemo. Evil desires like yours always interfere with true science."

For a moment, he seemed almost satisfied with his words, but noticing the inquisitive looks he received from Schmidt and Ophelia, he quickly returned his gaze to his notes, readjusting his glasses with a nervous gesture that didn't go unnoticed.

"Look who's talking, Doctor Precision."

"I certainly wouldn't want to explode 150 meters from the nearest land, Arnim," Ophelia clarified, arms crossed, trying to bring some peace between the men, or her next plan to include Zemo in her experiments would have no chance.

"Forgive me if I'm being too scrupulous."

Red Skull clenched his jaw and took a few sheets of paper before passing them to Ophelia for her to review Zola's designs. The Hungarian quickly noticed that there were ideas for tanks, guns, slingshot weapons, cannons in armor-like hand-held suits, more sophisticated aircraft, and even propellants for cars. Ophelia admitted they were innovative; some of them she had never seen before.

"Are you sure the drivers you have will be able to withstand the energy load required for the transfer, Doctor?" Schmidt asked seriously upon hearing his subordinates' doubts.

Zemo walked toward them, handing the Tesseract to Zola, who almost snatched it from his hands, but the Sokovian at least kept the photos of engravings and paintings in books he had sent to Schmidt months ago to support his search for the artifact.

"With this artifact, I'm not sure of anything. I'm afraid it won't even work," Zola admitted reluctantly.

Ophelia nibbled the inside of her cheek and placed the sketches on the nearby table, then looked up when she felt a pair of eyes on her. Zemo appeared at her side to whisper, "Didn't you say I was ready?"

"If Herr Schmidt says so, it's because he has an intuition," Ophelia assured with a hiss, and watched closely as the Red Skull took the metal transporter to load the Tesseract into the machine's designated storage space. Zola had recommended not touching it to avoid risks due to the irregular amount of energy emanating from its blue body.

Zemo watched her out of the corner of his eye, his sharp gaze capturing Ophelia's every small gesture. He noticed how her fingers curled and uncurled in an erratic rhythm, as if seeking to drown her nervousness in the emptiness between them. Her jaw seemed firmly closed, but the slight movements of her neck muscles betrayed her measured breathing. Though his face remained impassive, Zemo knew anxiety when he saw it, and Ophelia, despite everything, wasn't immune to Schmidt's impulsive decisions.

"Oh, you should put these on if you value your eyes," Zola warned with a flash of concern as he handed them round glasses with thick, black lenses.

When the Tesseract's flash returned, Ophelia was speechless. The small cube was mesmerizing and almost blinding. Even with her glasses, she had to raise her hand as the brightness intensified due to their proximity, but once in place, Zola began counting.

"Twenty percent," the scientist reported, watching the battery cells light up as they released more and more energy. "Forty. Sixty. Stabilizing at 70%.

"Looks like he's going to make it," Ophelia murmured to Zemo in amazement, for so far they were still alive and in one piece.

"Yes, it seems the mountain mouse is going to do it," he admitted, his mouth slightly ajar. If it weren't for the usual nickname, which Zola took as an outrageous insult, it would probably have been a genuine compliment.

Schmidt snorted impatiently, and Ophelia felt a pang of panic, getting in the way of trying to persuade the man to think harder about whatever he was going to do.

"Rushing this experiment could be dangerous for everyone, Herr," Ophelia urged firmly, but her eyes spoke with the anguish her tongue held. "We don't know the consequences of playing with that thing."

"And we won't discover them if we continue to leave fate in timid hands. Victory has always gone to the bold, Ophelia," Schmidt remarked, his tone concealing a barely veiled warning. His eyes lingered on her for a moment longer than necessary, just long enough to remind everyone who had the final say. "Time, my dear fräulein, is a luxury we no longer have."

The hint from that email she'd warned him about a few days ago, in which Himmler threatened to cut off their funding if they didn't present the promised weapons innovation within five months, made the green-haired woman back down, and all she could do was breathe deeply and trust in Zola's gifted genius.

"I didn't come this far out of caution, Doctor."

Pulling Zola away from the controls, Schmidt slammed the knob with a determined expression, unleashing the full power and filling the cells to their maximum capacity. A blue flash immediately shot through the room.

A blue flash filled the room, preceded by a hum so low and piercing that Ophelia felt it resonate in her ribcage. She gasped as a nearby wire sizzled, spewing tiny tongues of blue fire; Zemo jerked her away, barely in time. The current continued its chaotic course, illuminating each metallic device with an almost supernatural glow before a faint tremor ran through the floor and a wisp of smoke rose from the controls.

"What was that?" Arnim asked Schmidt fearfully.

"Thor's lightning, perhaps," Zemo quipped, clicking his tongue. "This has the capability of a remote explosive weapon. Something like a laser."

"I think the laser will be added to the list... The machine is back and is... Working," Ophelia murmured, her mouth ajar as she lifted her glasses, noticing that the Tesseract's glow had dimmed to the point of being visible, and the machines were now rebooting with blue energy.

"I must congratulate you, Arnim," Schmidt himself was astonished, turning Zola around so she could see for herself what he had achieved. "Your designs did not... disappoint us. Although they may require a slight reinforcement."

Zemo tapped the metal, creating an echo that caught their attention. "It's the metal; it needs a stronger, but lighter one. Did you use steel?"

"He did; it was the cheapest in the area," Ophelia responded quickly.

"Well, it will need replacing. Perhaps titanium will do."

"And since when have you been an engineer, Zemo?" As far as I know, your brother is the scientist," Zola questioned, scrutinizing the blond, who smiled a wolfish grin. Wide, but keeping his secrets between his teeth.

"Even if you doubt it, I've opened a book on modern science before."

"I think you should consider having an assistant, Arnim. Less heavy lifting for you and more risk for him," Ophelia suggested, receiving an offended look from Franz at the idea of ​​being under his rival's command.

"I'm not sure that..."

"No, no, Arnim. Ophelia is right. You should consider accepting Zemo's offer, since now the work is going to intensify. We'll need factories for your designs, and you," Schmidt pointed to Ophelia, "will be in charge of starting the modification projects at our weapons production plants."

Ophelia nodded slowly. It was certainly another job on the list, but the fact that the Red Skull was delegating more and more positions to her spoke volumes about the level of trust he held in her. He was still at the top of the organization and had no plans to go any lower.

"I'll take care of it, Herr Schmidt."

The HYDRA leader nodded approvingly.

"The exchange is stable. Amazing!" Ophelia turned to see how the scientist was still enthralled with his discovery. He had finally taken off those thick glasses to stare at his machine with the devotion of a believer. "The energy we just collected could fuel my designs. All of my designs."

"You've managed to change the war, Zola," Zemo acknowledged as he leaned against the back wall with his arms crossed over his chest.

"This will change... The world," the Red Skull declared.

The factory, located on the outskirts of Trento, roared with the deafening sound of newly installed machinery. Towers of dark smoke rose like columns of an ominous cathedral, witness to the forced progress Ophelia had masterminded over the past four months. She had crisscrossed Europe, refurbishing factories in France, Denmark, Croatia, Greece, and beyond. The pressure was constant, and the wear and tear evident. Yet what she saw before her was a masterpiece of efficiency, a facility fully adapted for the assembly of weapons powered by the Tesseract's inexhaustible energy.

The green-haired woman walked beside Johann Schmidt, whose eyes studied every detail of the place. His hard-featured face held an expression bordering on satisfaction and reproach that seemed undecided.

"The progress is evident, Fräulein Sarkissian," she declared, her deep voice barely carrying over the noise of the machines. Although I must admit I expected more resistance from the Italian workers.

Ophelia glanced at him, pinching the corner of her dry lips as she kept her steps in sync with his.

"Fear and the right incentives work wonders, Herr Schmidt. Here and in the factories of Zagreb or Crete, the message was clear: collaborate or disappear. It's a second chance that most don't hesitate to take, but the battles have already taken their toll." His tone was cold, but it also hid a hint of weariness.

Schmidt let out a light laugh that was barely audible over the noise.

"Efficient, as always, Ophelia. I wonder how much more you could accomplish if you weren't constantly acting as a mediator between Zola and Zemo."

Ophelia allowed a small smile as the memory of their frequent disputes came to mind. The clashes between the methodical and obsessive Dr. Zola and the ironic and questioning Franz Zemo were a spectacle in themselves. Yet somehow, they managed to deliver results.

"They're two forces of nature at opposite poles, Herr Schmidt. But strangely... it seems to work. Zemo has an undeniable talent for finding alternatives and solutions, and Zola always has a creative way of turning any idea into something tangible, even if they argue endlessly to get there."

Schmidt nodded, pausing to watch an assembly line transporting massive parts for one of his Landkreuzer tanks. The workers labored in silence, watched by armed guards. A shadow crossed his face as he changed the subject.

"The German government is putting more and more pressure on us. Berlin's expectations are... high, even if their foundations are beginning to crumble. We need results, Ophelia. Quickly."

"And we shall have them," she replied firmly, though the tension in her voice was barely perceptible. She lowered her gaze for a moment, calculating the right moment for what she was about to propose. Finally, she held out a file she had been carrying, a black folder with a scarlet ribbon. "Herr Schmidt, if I may, I have been working on something else, something that might exceed any expectation of the Reich. A chance... at immortality."

The mention of the word "immortality" stopped Schmidt in his tracks. He turned slowly toward her, his dark eyes shining with an interest he made no effort to hide.

"Speak," he ordered, his tone icy but full of curiosity as they ascended the stairs to a platform with a panoramic view of the site.

The Hungarian woman opened the folder and slid in front of him a series of documents and photographs, including reproductions of engravings depicting the Serpent Crown.

“For months now, I've sent Zemo to investigate the legend of this crown, which we first discovered in the church in Tønsberg. Stories indicate that it grants eternal life,” he explained quickly, clarifying the important point. “By analyzing the legend and the cases of its possessors, Zemo and I believe it prevents aging. However, no one who has ever worn it has died naturally... it's always been from violent causes.” He glanced at him, noting that, as he had expected, his warnings were of no concern to Schmidt. His leader already believed himself invincible, superior to any curse. “However, the benefits are undeniable. Imagine an immortal leader, Herr Schmidt. Imagine leading HYDRA through the centuries.”

Schmidt took the photographs in his hands, studying them intensely. A slow smile formed on his face, a smile that radiated ambition.

“And how close are we to confirming its existence?”

“Zemo has managed to recover records and has followed trails that lead us closer to its location. So far, everything indicates it’s real,” he commented confidently, inhaling deeply. “With your permission, I’d like to dedicate more resources to continue the search… and bring the crown to you.”

There was a tense silence as Schmidt processed the information. Finally, he nodded, though his tone took on a stern edge.

“You have my authorization, Ophelia. Find that crown and bring it to me. But don’t forget what’s truly vital to us.” He leaned over one of the railings and gestured toward the facility. “These factories, these weapons, are the key to our survival. HYDRA cannot thrive if our defenses aren’t ready for war,” she reminded him sternly.

“I know, Herr Schmidt. I will not neglect my responsibilities.” Ophelia bowed her head slightly, balancing deference and determination.

“Good.” Then this is under your command, as always." He placed his hands clasped behind his back. "I suppose... You'll need Zemo out of the lab, right?"

"He's proven he knows what he's doing and is trustworthy," he assured her, swallowing slightly. Saying those words put his neck on the line, but he'd kept an eye on Zemo for months without him giving her a single red flag.

"I suppose Zola won't miss him," he agreed with a snort and turned away. "Don't let me down, Sarkissian. HYDRA doesn't accept failure."

As Schmidt pressed on, inspecting the workers' work, Ophelia stayed behind for a few moments and took her place, gripping the railing, watching as the pieces of his ambitious plan began to fall into place. The burden was heavy, but the promise of success was irresistible.

Schmidt's victories assured her a safe passage, but deep down, she also wanted something of her own. He had grown up as a tool, shaped to pave the way and achieve results. He owed a lot to his mentor, but he didn't see how his constant effort couldn't benefit them both.