Reporting Back In
Brock, his leg bandaged and his ability to walk compromised, was riding shotgun of their stolen jeep. They were deep in the Poconos mountains of Pennsylvania, heading for one of many, many boltholes that the Red Skull had set up when it came time for the glorious racial holy war to sweep over America like the tides.
"Should be just up this track here, baby." he said, pointing to the nearly-nonexistent scrub track heading deeper into the woods and off the already limited track they had been following. He had taken pains to look his best today - costume repaired and neat, mask on, everything precisely as it should be.
Today they were to hand the Red Skull a new weapon. One that would allow them to construct the next generation of uebermensch.
"Should be just up this track here, baby." he said, pointing to the nearly-nonexistent scrub track heading deeper into the woods and off the already limited track they had been following. He had taken pains to look his best today - costume repaired and neat, mask on, everything precisely as it should be.
Today they were to hand the Red Skull a new weapon. One that would allow them to construct the next generation of uebermensch.