The South Pacific
The ocean was a vast, undulating sheet of cobalt blue.
The wind whipped across the deck of the Black Shark, carrying the salt spray and the cry of gulls.
Ernst stood at the railing, watching a massive whale breach the surface in the distance.
Behind him, disguised by a holographic nanotech veil, stood Azazel.
To the crew, they looked like unremarkable, wealthy treasure hunters.
'Why am I here?' Ernst mused, gripping the cold steel.
He should have been in Berlin, watching the Third Reich crumble.
He had prepared a dossier of nuclear research, incomplete, but convincing, to trade with high-ranking Hydra officers once Hitler put a bullet in his own head.
He planned to buy their loyalty with the promise of the atom bomb, securing the remnants of the organization for himself.
But Kerry's report had changed everything.
Skull Island.
A survey ship had gone silent two days ago. Ernst had tasked the Red Queen to scan the coordinates from orbit.
The result was disturbing.
"Satellite imaging failed," the Red Queen had reported.
"A localized magnetic storm is scrambling the sensors. The interference pattern is biological. Something down there is generating the fog."
"A creature powerful enough to hide an island from alien sensors? That was worth investigating."
"Lunch is served, sir."
Ernst turned. Standing there was the ship's captain, a man in his forties with heavy eyeliner, a swaying gait, and an eccentric collection of beads woven into his hair.
"Thank you, Captain," Ernst said, fighting a twitch in his eye.
"Captain Jack," the man corrected with a flamboyant bow.
"Captain Jack Sparrow."
Ernst sighed internally.
'Of all the ships in the Pacific, I hired this one.'
"Captain Sparrow," Ernst corrected.
"How long until we hit the anomaly?"
"An hour, give or take the wind," Jack grinned, revealing a gold tooth.
"Though my crew says the fog eats ships. Superstitious lot."
"Superstition is just fear of the unknown," Ernst said dismissively. "We press on."
An hour later, the blue sky vanished.
A wall of grey, swirling mist rose from the ocean like a fortress.
The Black Shark plunged into it. Visibility dropped to zero. The compass spun wildly.
"We're blind!" the helmsman shouted.
"The reefs will tear us apart!"
"Maintain speed," Ernst ordered calmly.
He tapped the face of his wristwatch.
It wasn't a timepiece; it was a miniaturized sonar device linked to the Red Queen's orbital calculations.
"Five degrees starboard," Ernst commanded.
"There is a channel."
The crew looked at him with doubt, but Captain Sparrow shrugged.
"Do as the man says."
For two hours, Ernst guided them through a maze of razor-sharp rocks that should have been impossible to navigate.
He didn't use charts; he used sound waves and probability algorithms.
By the time the dark silhouette of the island appeared, the crew looked at Ernst not as a rich eccentric, but as a wizard.
"Drop anchor," Ernst said.
The island loomed ahead. It looked prehistoric.
Jagged mountains pierced the sky, and the jungle seemed to breathe with a heavy, primal menace.
Boats were lowered. Ernst and Azazel climbed in, followed by a squad of twenty heavily armed men.
Leading them was a giant of a man.
He stood six-foot-six, with short hair and sunglasses.
He checked his heavy machine gun with the tenderness of a mother holding a child.
"Arnold," Ernst nodded to him.
"Is the team ready?"
"Locked and loaded, Boss," Arnold rumbled, his voice like gravel.
Arnold, originally a nameless orphan trained by the Hellfire Club, was Ernst's masterpiece of biological engineering.
He wasn't a failed experiment like Red Skull.
Ernst had synthesized a specialized Super Soldier Serum for him, focusing purely on muscle density and reflex speed.
Arnold was nine times stronger than an average man.
He was a tank in human skin.
Ernst had named him after the Terminator because, frankly, the resemblance was uncanny.
"Be sharp," Ernst warned the squad as the boats hit the sand.
"This isn't a training exercise. The ecosystem here has been isolated for millions of years. Everything has evolved to kill."
The mercenaries nodded.
They were wearing kinetic-weave armor, prototypes Ernst had designed based on the nanotech data, and carrying high-caliber rounds.
They were the most lethal unit on Earth.
They stepped onto the beach.
The sand was black. The jungle was silent.
"We move inland," Ernst ordered, checking his wrist scanner.
"The distress beacon from the lost ship is three clicks north."
He looked at the towering wall of trees.
Kong is here, Ernst thought, a thrill of excitement running through him.
Let's see if the King is ready for visitors.
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