Plains Walking (Open)

Participants: Shanna O'Hara / Open
Open/Closed: Open
Location(s): African plains
Time of Day: Twilight
Weather: Warm, with a slight evening breeze
Summary: Shanna O'Hara is hunting poachers who have stolen creatures from the Savage Land. On her hunt, she crosses the path of another...

She crouched among the foliage, eyes narrowed against the glare of the setting sun. From her position, perched upon a thick tree branch at the jungle's edge, she had a near unimpeded view of the landscape beyod – rolling plains that stretched out to the horizon. There, where land met sky, the warmth of the day blurred their usual division, and as the sun continued its hazy descent, it appeared as if it was sinking into the earth itself. It was beautiful to behold, a sight to which no picture or recording could give justice – but Shanna was too focused elsewhere to spend long revelling in nature's splendour. There would be time to observe the sunsets of her African homeland once her work was done.

Somewhere, out there, in that open expanse, her prey walked free, dragging captive creatures from the Savage Land behind them.

Shanna had always hated poachers; those that killed, hunted or stole animals to sell on illegal markets or maim for sport and profit. She had spent the early part of her life in direct conflict with such individuals, protecting the wildlife of the Dahomey Reserve from those seeking to gain from the pain of wild beasts. But for so long, living in the Savage Lands, such issues had seemed a world away: few knew the Antarctic preserve existed, and fewer still dared venture there. Her efforts had been directed toward protecting her new home, on managing the many tribes of Pangea and supporting the life that flourished there.

Until her past caught up with her.

But a week before, the entire Savage Land had been cast into turmoil, the jungle crying out as animals were torn from packs and mothers from cubs. Invading hunters, originating from the lands outside Shanna's realm had come, and they had taken whatever they pleased. An entire eco-system had been left reeling, and though she, Ka-Zar and Zabu had done their utmost to react, the outsiders' appearance had been unexpected, and it had caught the Land's protectors totally off guard. The hunters had fled the Antarctic almost as suddenly as they had arrived, on boats headed for Africa, leaving chaos in their wake.

But in that chaos, painful memories had focused Shanna and steeled her resolve. Leaving Ka-Zar to preside over the Savage Land, she had given chase, a tireless huntress stalking her prey over land and sea. They had not been easy to track, but the She-Devil refused to relent. With each passing day, she felt as though she were closer to her target – and looking out over Africa's plains, she knew they were close, a gut instinct that she trusted unflinchingly.

As the light began to dim, twilight drawing nearer, she leapt from her vantage point, landing neatly on the short, white grass below. Night was coming, and at night, the poachers would need to rest or slow their pace – it would give the She-Devil all the time she needed to gain on them.

Baron Zemo swirled his Chardonnay in his glass absentmindedly as he sat back in his private quarters. 

Pagliacci was playing on the old gramophone he had set up in the corner of the room. The newly operational Hydra Island floated gently among the clouds as smoothly as the needle moved along the grooves of the one hundred year old record. This particular recording came from the 1890s, older than him he had joked to himself. Hydra Island was state of the art, well-equipped with cutting edge technology and machinery and yet Zemo preferred the soft crackles and pops that came from listening to century old devices. Both the gramophone and record had belonged to his father and, despite loathing the reality of the man, Zemo still held a lot of admiration towards the genius mid and inventor that shared his name. Pagliacci is the story of a fool who plays a clown. At the climax of the opera, Pagliacci sings to himself, sobbing that the love of his life has betrayed him for another man, as he paints his face in preparation to perform for his wife’s new lover. Perhaps if Pagliacci was a true man, he would have gone through with the performance if only to set the new lovers up for his revenge later on? He goes out, sings his songs and does his dances while they believe they’ve gotten away with their tryst only for Pagliacci to stab them both in the back when they least expect it. 

A coward is a man who rolls over and accepts the fate that has been given to him. A fool is a man who allows his emotions to best him and acts foolishly. It was important to keep calm, keep composed, and keep thinking. 

The world believed that they had finished off Hydra as they often do. The common man or woman review the newspaper, watch the evening news, see the Avengers save the day, and go about the rest of their small lives with the false security that everything is fine. The truth was more terrifying than most wanted to believe in. Hydra was everywhere. Their elected officials, their teachers, their religious leaders, their police officers, their newscasters, and every other facet of life. They were far reaching. All of this going on as they sleep comfortably in their beds. That was fine, of course, not all conquests had to be soaked in blood and the viscera of your enemies. The many failures of their organizations came from such small-minded plans. What was important, however, was still having the influence, assets, and wealth to continue on with their enterprise. “Sir, we’re receiving communications from the Antarctic away team.” 

Zemo looked up at the intercom that had been built in to the ceiling of his chambers. As Hydra had been looking for a few new, permanent base of operations Zemo had ordered out small squads of Hydra soldiers for scouting and reconnaissance to remote locations on the planet. Hydra Island, the massive floating citadel that was blocked from all known radars and psychic sensors known to man or alien alike, was fine and all... but Zemo had been born and raised in a castle. He would prefer having a bed that stayed on the ground to sleep in. Zemo placed his drink down. “Good. What news do they have?” 

There was a moment of hesitation on the other end that he didn’t like. “Well, sir, they reported in earlier about specimens they had discovered... prehistoric ones.” Zemo’s eyebrows furrowed underneath his mask. There was something about this that he really didn’t like now. The world was a strange place full of many spectacular marvels. The fact that something unusual was found didn’t bother him but the word specimen did. He clenched his fist, avoiding letting his anger consume him. “Solder, I don’t recall being notified of an earlier transmission, especially one involving prehistoric specimens.” The hesitation was still there on the soldier’s voice. He knew that the young man had been stuck in a hard place but his duty was to serve Zemo. “I apologize, sir, but their original message had been intercepted by Dr. Arnim Zola.”

Zemo chuckled under his mask. He wasn’t amused by the fact that Arnim Zola had skirted the chain of command and attempted to do something without his knowledge. No, he was furious about that. What he was amused by was just how quickly he had assumed correctly that his head of science had gone into business for himself again. He didn’t fault him though. The second some unusual, living creature was discord was coincidentally the same second that Zola wanted to cut it up to see what made it work. “Well, soldier, what is their message?” 

“They have captured a few specimens per Dr. Zola’s orders and are currently in Africa awaiting pick-up.” Zemo moved to the gramophone and lifted the needle from the record. He would need to have a lengthy discussion with Dr. Zola once more about the chain of command in Hydra. The Red Skull had allowed Arnim Zola free rein with all of his hobbies and interests but that was not how things were going to work anymore. He wouldn’t allow his vision to be endangered by a man whose entire existence could be placed on a floppy disc and snapped in half. “Well, soldier, it sounds like we need to plot a course to their location then, don’t we?” 

The comm went dead and Zemo sighed to himself as he moved to his trophy cabinet which he unlocked with a small silver key. Once opened, Zemo reached and took an old broadsword by the hilt and held it up to the light. The sword had belonged to his ancestor and fifth Baron Zemo - Helmuth Zemo. Helmuth was a man of science... as well as a violent, stiff ruler. If anyone needed to have a chat with the good Dr. Arnim Zola he figured it would help to bring something that used to belong to a man he could identify with.


On the plains...


Jakob Kroeber didn’t really know what he wanted out of life until his joined Hydra. He had no future, no aspirations, and would have likely ended up dead or in prison if he hadn’t stumbled into it. Hydra gave him structure though. It gave him a place to belong and be a part of something. He hated authority growing up but now pledged himself fully to the Hydra cause. In return for his loyalty, he was given the title of field commander and was given a small squad of ten to lead on a recon mission.

When they were briefed, they were told that they were going to the freezing Antarctic. They had prepped for frigid, freezing temperatures and it started that way. Then, without warning, they were lost in a massive, hot, humid jungle. What made it worse was all of the dinosaurs and other monsters they kept stumbling into. It was crazy to just say out loud. Dinosaurs. For days they kept a low profile, scouting out the opportunities they could find, but exiting out where they could find radio signal to reach headquarters. After their initial reports were logged, Dr. Arnim Zola quickly took control of the transmission and ordered that they return to the next drop off point with as many of these prehistoric creatures that they could wrangle. It took a lot of time and they lost a man or two in the process, but the electric containment nets had the creatures in a forceful nap every time they attempted to move.

Jakob got off the comm with headquarters and they sounded tense. Regardless, they’d be coming for them soon. Jakob returned to the group and got their attention. “Alright, men. Headquarters will be in route to do a pick-up. We’re going to settle in for the night. I need two of you to gather fire materials and the rest to set up camp. Understood?” 

With that, he watched his team disperse. 


Shanna O'Hara


 

The poachers were used to hunting, used to tracking their prey but they were not used to being hunted. They forgot to cover their tracks and took safety in their numbers. It was these errors the She-Devil capitalised upon. Trekking with purpose across the plains, short white grass dry beneath her bare feet, she headed in the direction she knew her quarry lay. Small tell-tale signs of their passing guided her: crushed vegetation, clouds of disturbed dust, the odd tyre mark or foot step – each one drew her closer to those who’d stolen beasts not meant to be bound. All the while fury bubbled beneath her skin, as tireless as her resolve.

When she found them, Shanna would make them understand why she was known as the ‘She-Devil.’

It was hours before she encountered another human life. The sun had set, and only the light of the moon illuminated the African expanse – the moon, and their torches. The beams of their electric lights shone out across the plains like a beacon – brilliant white in the gloom. The moment she saw them brighten her surroundings, she skidded to a halt and dropped into a low, hunched crouch. On all fours, akin to a hunting lioness, she kept her chest and hips close to the floor – blue eyes examining the source of light.

Military-grade torches were strapped to heavy firearms and two black-suited men shone them about themselves, muttering to each other in accented English. Upon seeing them, she knew they were not of this land, and recognised their attires as those the poachers had worn in the Savage Lands. Shanna’s lips curled into a snarl. Only two there were, meaning the others were elsewhere with the stolen prehistoric beasts. A scouting party? Guard duty? Either was possible – but their lack of greater numbers favoured Shanna immensely, as did their self-confidence, evident in the way they stood. Carrying what looked to be modern assault rifles, they were sure they could overcome anything the African wilds could throw at them.

They were sorely mistaken.

She crept forward toward them, remaining low, utilising the odd bush weed or dip in the landscape for cover. Occasionally, a sparse tree gave her pause, something to shelter behind and alter her course. With every passing minute, she closed in on her prey, and they remained totally unaware.

Shanna engaged when she was but feet away, when she could smell their sweat and overhear their mutterings about ‘fire wood.’ Barely making a sound, she bolted from her crouched position into a flying dive, catching both men in a powerful tackle. They crashed to the ground together, the element of surprise giving the She-Devil an unfair edge as they rolled across dry earth. With them both beneath her, she rapidly adjusted her position, kneeling above them – her knee and weight pressing firmly on the windpipe of one, starving him of air, while she drew a sharpened flint knife and pressed it to the juglar of the other – in clear view.

Beyond putting up a brief initial struggle, neither had been prepared enough to offer much in the way of resistance, and bar the trapped individual pawing pathetically at her thigh, hoping to prise her leg away from his neck, there was little either could do. They both knew if they moved suddenly, or tried to reach for their weapons that lay close by, she’d kill them before they got close.
“Where are the others?”
It was a simple question – one she was sure they’d answer, given the predicament they found themselves in.

Helmut Zemo

Jeremy Allred and Johann Wright were seasoned veterans in their roles with Hydra though this was their first time serving together in the same team under Kroeber. Hydra was greater than an army. Their members came from all across the world with a unified vision of what the future should be. The world was diseased and its governments had failed. It was why two people from entirely different walks of life could unify under the same banner. Allred was from Cleveland, Ohio while Johann had grown up in Dresden. Their backgrounds couldn't be anymore different. 

This mission had been longer than they wanted it to be. This was supposed to be a recon mission to scout out a potential new base, instead they found an exotic jungle full of dinosaurs. If it weren't for the fact that Dr. Arnim Zola was obsessed with biological oddities they would have returned sooner. Now they were out in the wilderness, scouting firewood like a family of campers. Johann held his weapon close to his chest as Jeremy watched the ground. There was no telling what was out here and he wasn't in the mood to be dinner for some wild beast. 

Suddenly he felt all of the wind driven from his lungs as something collided hard into his lower back. He hit the ground in a roll and his weapon went flying in the brush. He attempted to crawl towards it but he was turned and a knee was pressed against his throat. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see it was a beautiful woman who had pinned him to the ground. He could feel something was beside him and turned to see Jeremy similarly pinned. 

Johann clawed at the woman's thighs, struggling to breathe from the weight applied directly to his throat. "Don't... say... a word!" Loyalty was important above all else in Hydra. They were conditioned for it. After joining the organization and moving up the ranks, each soldier was put through a series of tests to prove their worth. The most intense, of course, was the loyalty test. To advance to the stage Allred and Wright were at, they had to completely abandon their previous lives... friends... family... all of it. Hydra was the most important thing in their lives. Hydra was their lives. Johann could see the fear in Jeremy's face as this woman pressed her crude weapon against his throat. Sweat rolled down Jeremy's face as the fear was fully rooted in and Johann could see him starting to break. "Our camp is southeast from here! Not very far at all!" Johann was enraged. His face turning just as red from the anger of betrayal as the lack of blood flow. "Trai...tor!" 


Shanna O'Hara

"Don't... say... a word!"

The man desperately trying to pull Shanna’s leg from his throat had strength and perseverance, she’d give him that at least. Despite choking and struggling for air, he was loyal to his fellow poachers, refusing to give them up even when his life was at stake. Shanna leant a little more firmly to his side, shifting her weight so as to apply further pressure to his neck. It wasn’t likely to cause his stoicism to ebb – he wasn’t going to be of any use to her. But it might shut him up for long enough for his friend to talk, one who displayed rather more fear than his stubborn ally. Sweat had begun to pool upon his forehead, and his eyes were wide and full of fear.

Shanna leant forward a little more, locking her steely blue gaze to his, tapping the underside of his chin with her crude blade. It was a reminder of how sharp the flint-forged weapon actually was, and how easy it would be for her to adjust its position. “Where are the others?” she asked again, voice steely and unwavering. “I won’t ask again.”

Another tap, and her captive fell to pieces. Blubbering a little, he blurted out, "Our camp is southeast from here! Not very far at all!" Shanna nodded, looking between the pair, the stubborn one immediately accusing his friend of being a traitor. For a long moment, she remained still, contemplating her next move, before quickly and unexpectedly driving the blunted hilt of her knife into the traitor’s temple, knocking him out cleanly. The other, she simply continued to starve of oxygen – not so as to suffocate him, but ensure he passed out. Once he had, she removed herself from both, took their weapons from where they lay next to their prone forms, and hurled them as far as she could into the distance.

Unlike many heroes, the She-Devil had few qualms with taking life should it be necessary to protect the wider world: she was an emissary of the wild, and if someone positioned themselves against her, showed themselves willing to hurt the animals she loved, her friends or family, she would exact upon them the law and punishment of the Savage Lands. However, she wasn’t a cold-blooded killer. The two males she’d trapped didn’t need to die: they had provided what information they could and posed no further threat – so they were left alive. Unarmed. To fend for themselves in the African wilderness.

Rising slowly, she looked in a south-easterly direction, and without a backward glance at Johann and Jeremy, she made toward her destination. It wouldn’t be long before their camp realised they were missing – the confusion that would sow, and the support they’d send out to look for them – it’d lessen the numbers guarding the beasts she had come to save. If she could free them, their prehistoric wrath would a great and terrible thing to behold: the poachers would pay the price of stealing from the Pangea.

Helmut Zemo

Helmut Zemo was not in the first incarnation of HYDRA nor had he ever been responsible for their symbolism and mythology. Frankly, it would have been a waste of his talents and upbringing to decide on such trivial things. The skulls were silly as were the tentacles, but he did admit that as a symbol they were accurate. HYDRA was far reaching in every sense of the word. Every continent, every government, every civilization had their people inside acting on their behalf. To be at the center meant to be the God of change as HYDRA continued with their goal to alter the face of the world.

The sound of sparks and crackling fire followed Zemo out of Dr. Arnim Zola's laboratory. Inside he could hear the mechanical groans and labored breathing of Zola and he smiled from underneath his mask as the door shut behind him. He would have a crew come assist the good doctor in cleaning up the mess and repairing anything that wasn't too terribly damaged. Fighting an unprepared, unarmed Zola was child's play. If it wasn't for the fact that he knew the shame and embarrassment the Dr. was experiencing Zemo would have called it a waste of his talents. Dr. Arnim Zola is a monster; a relic from the second world War who was a near unrecognizable being who sold his humanity in exchange for science. While it made him effectively immortal, Zemo was amused by how steadfast Zola had become in his arrogance. Yes, Dr. Arnim Zola did not have blood to spill or muscle to stab but it did not mean that pain was something he was immune from. A soldier is a man who knows how to fight, a strategist is one who knows how to inflict pain - and Helmut Zemo is a master in the art of pain. 

Quite frankly, Dr. Arnim Zola needed to be punished for his transgressions. He needed to be reminded once again that the Red Skull or his pitiful daughter were not the people in charge of HYDRA any longer. The Red Skull had been too sloppy with Zola and spoiled him. Men like Zola needed to be put on a leash. They let their genius carry them off into fits of fancy and they overstep their boundaries. Intercepting communications from his scouting parties and giving them orders was one such boundary that Zola saw fit to step over. The story of the Red Skull and his hubris was legendary, however. It was little wonder why HYDRA failed time and time again to accomplish their objectives with that fool at the helm. Zemo wiped the blade of his broadsword clean before slipping it back into its sheath. "Baron Zemo, we are approaching the scout team's co-ordinates." Zemo looked up absentmindedly towards his communicator that was strapped to his gun holsters. This trip to Africa was moving quicker than he had anticipated. 

A crew that had set out to explore Arctic had apparently reported encountering a mysterious land full of strange creatures. Zola had instructed the team to capture as many samples as possible and to expect a pick-up. Zemo was amused. The doctor loved his genetic monstrosities that made a mockery of God. He may as well follow through and get an eye on these beasts. Who knows? Perhaps the Doctor had a good idea? "Notify me once we prepare to land." 

 

---

Jakob stared around the base, scanning the faces of his men and, most importantly, keeping his eyes on the creatures that were still restrained in their cages. The men were restless, stripping off their boots and allowing their tired, sore feet to breathe and preparing their rations. The only thing missing was a suitable campfire to cook what little food they had remaining. The pair of men he had sent out should be returning with that. The mission had gone on way longer and covered more ground than originally covered in their original briefing. He hadn't been in command of a team before and, assuredly, success in this area could mean more opportunities to lead more were in his future. All that had to be done was to keep still, keep the creatures restrained, and await pick-up. 

With his finger still resting near the trigger of his semi-automatic machine gun, Jakob approached the slumbering beats with a sense of hesitation. Even now, under a bright full moon, he had to admit that what he was looking at was a sabretooth tiger and her cub. It was unbelievable. These things had to have been extinct for thousands and thousands of years and yet here was one and their baby slumbering. They had thought they were just delirious at first when the freezing cold grew hotter and more humid. One of the signs of hypothermia is heat flashes after all. Yet, the further they marched towards the warmth, the hotter it was until the snow gave way to lush, jungle green. They had all assumed they had died. 

The tiger cub growled in it's sleep, causing him to point his weapon at it as a precaution. He had to admit that it was cute but he also had seen it's father maul three of his men to death before they were able to put enough bullets in it to drop him. They would have wasted the entire family if it weren't for Dr. Zola demanding they bring live samples of the local animal life. Capturing them was difficult enough,  but transporting them still alive from the jungle, through the snow, and then back across the ocean was another difficult task. There were times where he had to keep the men from trying to kill and eat the cub as their food supply dwindled further. 

It was fine now, though, they were in the clear... 

The journey south east was not a taxing one. Unforgiving as the African plains could be, they were nothing compared to Pangea – lands named for their savagery. Shanna had spent years traversing dense jungle, fetid swamp, barren desert and frozen tundra, her hidden continent home to some of the most averse conditions on the planet. Even the wildlife she risked encountering paled in comparison: what was a hungry pack of lionesses when one had to contend with starving raptors?

It took less than an hour for her to come across the camp her captives had mentioned. She saw the floodlights first – harsh, white rays shining out against the night sky, beams pointed at a wall of cages – some of the smaller ones stacked, while others were large enough to stand alone. Beyond that, makeshift shelters had been erected, tents dotted around in an awkward semi-circle. The lighting there was much dimmer, poachers not wishing to be dazzled and dazed by the floodlamps’ unforgiving glare.

Dropping into a crouch, pressing herself low to the ground, Shanna crept forward. Like a hunting tigress, she stalked between dry bush and rocky outcrop, stealthing ever closer, kept hidden behind what little cover she could find. Every few meters she stopped, reassessing her approach, listening out for footsteps or voices, searching for the shadows and silhouettes of patrolling guards.

For a camp of well-armed poachers, they were woefully lax in their preparedness. As the She-Devil came closer to the site, she noted grunts and groans thick on the air – the sounds of tired, aching travellers already at rest. Only a few shapes moved about their precious, stolen cargo, one or two bodies circling the area. Perhaps they thought, so far into their journey, they were safe from outside interference, that the beasts within their cages were the only direct threat. Perhaps, out in the African wilderness, they thought there was nothing that would trouble them beyond sun burn and stinging insects.

They were terribly wrong.

Shanna struck when one of the meandering guardsmen had his back turned to her, staring into one of the cages, rifle pointed at the creatures within. She bounded forward and wrapped her arms about his neck in a vicious hold, covering his mouth and dragging him back from the sleeping sabretooths. With her immense strength, his struggles were of little bother – his airflow was impeded, breaths cut off: it wasn’t long before he blacked out, falling limp in her grip. Once he had, she let his body slump to the floor, before crouching at his side and patting at his clothing, searching for keys – or anything that might open the cages ahead.

Helmut Zemo

Arnold Hatcher was another man who joined HYDRA, not out of a desire for the change that they were promised but simply because he had no other prospects in life. He came from a middle class home in the suburbs, his grades in school were neither terrible or remarkable, and he was neither the homecoming king nor the school's outcast. Arnold Hatcher was remarkably average... another face in the crowd. He pursued a business administration degree in colleague because he didn't have any particular desire or interests in any other field. Businessmen make money and he needed money to live - so it made sense. It wasn't until he was invited to a fraternity meeting that he met his recruiter. From the second Arnold spoke to the man in green, he realized that his life was always going to be plain, boring, and average unless he dared to be bold and to be different - unless he dared to change the world in the name of HYDRA. So that's what he did. 

The remarkably average stigma stuck with Arnold however in his ranks. He was a competent soldier, a competent spy, and a competent assassin - but only competent. He had was originally not assigned to this scouting party but volunteered - namely to see if there was a way he could stand out amongst his fellow soldiers and be recognized for the asset that he was. His father had tried to give him advice, "always do the work that no one else wants to do - that's how you'll get recognized." Thus, he opted to volunteer for the longest of the guard shifts. It seemed easy enough. He would stay up with some coffee, chase off any curious animals, and in the morning he'd catch up on his sleep in the comfort of his own bed. His commanding officer, Jakob, should have been wrapping up his shift as he moved to where the animals were caged. These specimens... the odd land they had found themselves in... it was all wild at first. Yet his training and experience in HYDRA made him recognize that there was a level of meta-activity and high-strangeness in this role. 

Arnold unholstered his weapon and approached the animals. Jakob should be there waiting for him. Perhaps he just had to relieve himself and wanted privacy? Arnold kept his finger on the trigger regardless as he began scanning the perimeter. Either he would catch his commanding officer in a compromising position or he would stumble upon something that would need to be put down quickly. 

---

"Baron Zemo, we are making preparation to land." Zemo looked up from his book of poetry towards the intercom above him and sighed. While he appreciated the soldier following his orders, he also wished that his reading hadn't been interrupted. Part of his education as a boy included the study and appreciation of classical works of arts. He was trained to sculpt, to paint, and to compose music to understand the heart and passion needed to produce art. Zemo's favorite poets were the romantics. The passion and intensity of the words always stirred his heart. When people think of the strategist, they think of a cold blooded, calculating demeanor... however it is the arts that bring life to the soul. While it may take great thought and preparation to maneuver your enemies into a trap, one needed the heat and passion of life to drive the blade into their hearts for the killing blow. "Good. Alert the scouting team of my arrival. I would like to get a good look at these specimens the good doctor asked them to collect without my knowledge." "Yes, sir." 

Arnim Zola was recovering nicely from what he understood but he had specifically ordered that any attempts to ease his pain would be met with a violent punishment. Zola needed to learn his lesson. He was not the benevolent leader that the Red Skull was. He would not allow his men to do as they pleased without first notifying him; that was how insurrections were caused. Regardless, the idea of strange specimens from an odd location was interesting. He had experimented with magic and technology many times. It was part of the reason why he wore a crown over his mask - to keep prying eyes away from his thoughts. Who knew? Perhaps these specimens were going to be so spectacular and unique that he would owe Zola an apology - thought there was little chance he would actually receive one. 

---

"This is Hydra Island to the Antarctic Scout Team. Come in, Antarctic Scout Team." Arnold practically leapt out of his skin when his communication device went off. Jakob was the team leader, though. Why would Hydra Island be reaching out to him. Arnold scanned the edges of camp once more, finger on the trigger, but he couldn't see anything. "Sorry for the delay, Hydra Island. This is the Antarctic Scout Team." 

"We are approaching your pick-up point. Please prepare yourselves for the arrival of Baron Zemo." Arnold swallowed hard. Baron Zemo was coming to the camp? HYDRA was always in a state of leadership upheavals. Though it seemed their guiding principles never changed or evolved. Whether it was the Red Skull, Baron Von Strucker, or Baron Zemo the mission never changed - they were going to change the world for the better regardless of how it had to be done. Still, though, Arnold had never been in the presence of Zemo. He swallowed hard again. "Antarctic Scout Team to Hydra Island, understood. Over and out." 

Shanna O'Hara

Shanna found what she was looking for in the third place she searched – a small, leather pouch attached to the unconscious man’s belt. Within was a key card, chained to a literal key, and a quick assessment of the animals’ cages suggested both parts would be necessary to open their holds. Leaving the downed guard behind a small, sparse shrub, his form hidden from passing glances, she stealthed toward the captive animals native to her homeland, slowly perusing their cages, noting any obvious signs of distress or injury. Many bore wounds – small burn marks or two-pronged cuts, while some were simply terrified, hidden in the darkest corners of their cages.

She frowned, the anger and determination she’d harboured throughout her hunt intensifying.

Footsteps nearby caused her to drop into a low crouch, and Shanna darted silently about the hold she examined, putting the cage between her and whomever drew in on her position. A long shadow fell across the dusted earth, its head reaching almost to where she’d had been previously stood. The She-Devil drew air quietly into her lungs, and then held her breath, listening. At first, all she heard were heavy boots scuffing against the ground: few paces here, a few there, most clipped and even – those of a soldier.

Then, a voice – muted, distant and warbling, as if coming through an old radio – a communication via some sort of portable transponder. It announced the coming of a Baron Zemo and spoke of a ‘pick-up’ point, no doubt for the captive creatures. The poachers’ journey was finished, their cargo soon to be taken over by others.

Shanna was running out of time.

Nimbly, she leapt atop the cage shed used for cover, and then jumped between two more, heading back toward one she’d inspected prior. Once on upon it, she leant down, and utilised the key card and key liberated from the guard to open the confined container. With a creek, the tight, barred door swung open, and two bright, hungry eyes turned toward the now unbarred exit. Shanna made a clicking sound, letting the tip of her tongue trill against the back of her teeth.

It was a near perfect imitation of a raptor’s call, urging the sleek, scaled predator from its pen. With a hiss, it emerged, lurching toward the guard who had only just received word of Zemo’s approach. If she were able to open a few more cages, unleashing the apex hunters within, the fight she was about to enter into - one which pitted her bone daggers and primitive spears against guards armed with firearms - would be swayed in her favour.

Helmut Zemo

Arnold's mind was racing as he holstered his communicator. Baron Zemo... THE Baron Zemo... was going to be touching down on their camp at any moment. He had been a loyal soldier in HYDRA for years now and he'd never come close to anyone in a leadership role within the organization. Once he had been tasked to escort a prisoner to the laboratory of Dr. Arnim Zola but even then that was only a brief glimpse at the thing that once was man - not that he'd want more than a glimpse anyway. To be frank, Zola and his fascination with monstrosities and horrors terrified him beyond belief. He heard a hiss and reached back down for his communicator. 

Duh. He had been so distracted and overwhelmed by the news of Zemo's arrival that he forgot to turn off his communicator. It was just as well. He needed to radio the others to inform them of their visitor. Arnold looked up his communicator though and it had already been switched off. Arnold holstered his weapon and smacked the back of the communicator to see if something was damaged with it. No. Nothing seemed out of place. He heard the hiss again but it wasn't coming from the communicator. Arnold turned around to see a creature... one of the monsters that they had captured from that weird jungle bearing down on him. In a panic he reached for his weapon and choked out a loud, "The cages! They're escaping from their cages!" before the raptor was on him. 

---

"Your transport is ready, Baron." Zemo closed his book and gently placed it on the desk in his quarters. The balance of a good leader is between a firm hand that holds the rod yet gentle enough to point the way. Zemo tried to carry that ideology through all aspects of life. No better illustration was putting down his book of love poems and picking up a pistol and broadsword in return. He sheathed the sword and holstered his pistol before turning to the HYDRA soldier who was standing in the doorway of his quarters. "Wonderful. Shall we be off, soldier?" The soldier responded with a nod of the head before spinning on his heels out of the room. 

As Zemo followed the man down to the shuttle bay, he took the time to admire the advancements that had occurred on HYDRA Island under his supervision. All armories, research facilities, and control rooms were in the process of being transferred to large, floating aircraft carriers that were on the cutting edge of technology. Soon HYDRA would not be bound to the ground in hidden lairs or secret home bases. They would be fully mobile, able to disappear from enemy radar and cloak themselves against all threats they couldn't simply shoot out of the sky with their highly evolved weapons systems. The Red Skull was far too driven by hate and Von Strucker was blinded by old grudges to fully see HYDRA rise to it's full potential. For men who saw themselves as great leaders, they had no idea of the concept let alone how to be effective as one.  

With a turn down a corridor, Zemo followed the solder to a shuttlecraft that was primed and ready to go for their short commute to the land below. From what the briefings told him, they were in the middle of an uninhabited part of the world which should make an easy pick-up. First of all, of course, he had to determine just how quality these specimen were. Zola wanted them but Zola wanted anything with a pulse that he could experiment with. Zemo would be damned if they brought sickly or harmful specimens aboard one of his vessels. After taking his seat on the back of the shuttle, the pilot primed the engines and took off from HYDRA Island's docking bay. 


Shanna O'Hara

As the raptor approached the guard, Shanna wasted no time in finding more cages to unlock, releasing the Savage Land’s predators into the poachers’ camp. Two more raptors darted from their holds, drawn to the hissing of their kin, while soon after, a hulking sabretooth stalked from the shadows of his enclosure, sniffing at the air. A cry went up from the guard on duty, forewarning his allies if the creature’s escape, but the cry was cut short.

Turning toward the heart of the encampment, the She-Devil looked down upon the chaos the guard’s shout had caused. Those that had overheard his desperate announcement had rushed about for armaments, but did so in a disorganised manner. Most had begun settling down for the night, hoping to take the weight off their now bare feet. They had not expected interruption – especially not one that could turn out to be quite so deadly.

As the first of the poachers made their way about the outermost corner of the transported pens, Shanna imitated the raptor’s clicking once more. The bipedal, clawed beasts hunted as a pack, and it was rare they would allow others to join their insular family, almost impossible for a creature from a different species. The She-Devil knew that, in the wilds of the Savage Lands, they were as likely to hunt her as the men that had captured them, and even with her knowledge of their calls, she doubted she would be able to stay claw and fang for long.

But they were not in the Savage Lands.

On alien plains, torn from their home, the raptors were lost and uneasy – they listened more than they might to certain, commanding calls, for their displacement had sapped their confidence. So, when they heard Shanna’s trill, they spun toward her, turning just in time to catch sight of the armed men dashing into view, weapon’s raised.

Fast though the trained poachers may have been, they could not compete with the speed and ferocity of a raptor.

Helmut Zemo