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Your first suspect is Johann Schmidt, the Red Skull. The old Kraut might be looking to settle some unfinished business from the war.
You toss the cigarette butt to the damp sidewalk and grind it under your heel. The neon signs flicker overhead, casting lurid reflections in the puddles at your feet. The city breathes around you, a living beast of concrete and vice. You know the Red Skull's last known haunt, a decrepit warehouse down by the docks, where the scent of saltwater mixes with the stench of corruption.
As you approach, the moon slips behind a cloud, plunging the world into darkness. The warehouse looms before you, an ancient titan with a thousand secrets. You slip through a side entrance, moving with the quiet grace of a ghost. Inside, the air is thick with the smell of oil and decay. Shadows dance in the corners, playing tricks on your weary mind.
You hear a low murmur, a guttural laugh. Your fingers tighten around the grip of your revolver, the cold metal a familiar comfort. You move deeper into the maze of crates and machinery, each step a calculated risk. You round a corner and there he is—Schmidt, the Red Skull, his ghastly visage lit by the flicker of a single bulb.
He sits at a makeshift desk, papers strewn about, a map pinned to the wall behind him. He looks up as you approach, a sneer twisting his lips. "Ah, Malone. I was wondering when you’d show up."
You keep your voice steady, a low growl in the darkness. "Cut the crap, Schmidt. What’s your angle this time?"
He leans back, the chair creaking under his weight. "Always so direct. I appreciate that about you, Malone. But you’re barking up the wrong tree. I have no interest in Rogers. The past is dead to me."
You don’t buy it. His kind never let go of the past. "Yeah? Then why all the cloak and dagger? What's with the map?"
He chuckles, a sound like broken glass. "Insurance. The world is changing, and I intend to be ahead of the curve. But Rogers...he's not my concern. Not anymore."
You study his face, searching for a crack in the façade. He’s a master of lies, but even the best slip up. "If not you, then who?"
He shrugs, an infuriatingly casual gesture. "There are forces at play, Malone, far beyond your understanding. Rogers is a pawn, just like the rest of us."
You narrow your eyes, the pieces slowly coming together. "You’re saying someone sodomized Rogers to send a message."
He nods, almost approvingly. "Precisely. But it's a game I'm not playing. You want answers, you need to look elsewhere."
You holster your revolver, the tension easing slightly. "I'll be back, Schmidt. Don't think you're off the hook."
He smirks, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. "I wouldn't expect anything less."
You turn and walk away, your mind racing. Schmidt might not be the mastermind, but he’s given you a lead. Someone out there wants to send a message, and they’re using Captain America to do it.
