Sometimes I feel so tired.
My father was a brilliant man, despite his flaws, and it was through him that I learned of our family's destiny. We have always been self-made men, rulers of all we survey, but there has also always been something that has stood in the way of claiming this birthright. In my father's case, his hubris was his downfall. He allowed himself to become blind to his own limitations, allowed himself to become embroiled in a fight that was not his, and allowed himself to lose his sanity bit by bit to an obsession.
My father hated, oh how he hated.
This hatred of a man he called enemy consumed him, burned him from the inside out, and eventually caused his death. How sad is it that he allowed himself to become hollow and dead inside while the man that was his antithesis became the most admired person on the planet? Is it any wonder that I grew up with the same hatred in my heart for this man? Is it any wonder that I very nearly caused my own death in the pursuit of vindicating my father's name? My nature dictated that I would rule, but nurture transformed me into someone that was ignorant of his true calling.
He still lives, this man that has plagued my family for so long, but I tell myself that this is what must be. I must deny myself the vengeance that screamed in my heart for most of my existence, because I know that when my destiny is realized all will bow before me. This man – this hated man – will be no exception.
I have hidden myself in plain sight and my plans are reaching fruition. All the struggles will soon be rewarded, and it will be written that I have earned everything I am to receive. No one else has had the brilliance to achieve the downfall of such a corrupt and witless society, despite the many attempts. Let me be categorized with the madmen of the world – the Magnetos, the Von Struckers, and the Victor Von Dooms – because I have destiny on my side.
And it can never be said that a Zemo shirks away from his destiny, no matter how sick and tired of the game he may become...
My father was a brilliant man, despite his flaws, and it was through him that I learned of our family's destiny. We have always been self-made men, rulers of all we survey, but there has also always been something that has stood in the way of claiming this birthright. In my father's case, his hubris was his downfall. He allowed himself to become blind to his own limitations, allowed himself to become embroiled in a fight that was not his, and allowed himself to lose his sanity bit by bit to an obsession.
My father hated, oh how he hated.
This hatred of a man he called enemy consumed him, burned him from the inside out, and eventually caused his death. How sad is it that he allowed himself to become hollow and dead inside while the man that was his antithesis became the most admired person on the planet? Is it any wonder that I grew up with the same hatred in my heart for this man? Is it any wonder that I very nearly caused my own death in the pursuit of vindicating my father's name? My nature dictated that I would rule, but nurture transformed me into someone that was ignorant of his true calling.
He still lives, this man that has plagued my family for so long, but I tell myself that this is what must be. I must deny myself the vengeance that screamed in my heart for most of my existence, because I know that when my destiny is realized all will bow before me. This man – this hated man – will be no exception.
I have hidden myself in plain sight and my plans are reaching fruition. All the struggles will soon be rewarded, and it will be written that I have earned everything I am to receive. No one else has had the brilliance to achieve the downfall of such a corrupt and witless society, despite the many attempts. Let me be categorized with the madmen of the world – the Magnetos, the Von Struckers, and the Victor Von Dooms – because I have destiny on my side.
And it can never be said that a Zemo shirks away from his destiny, no matter how sick and tired of the game he may become...
Back to GatefoldIssue #27 by Chris Munn
Man Made God |
“Will that be all, sir?” she asks, shrinking away from the desk in fear. This woman, my secretary, has seen much in her time of employment under Justin Hammer, and she is wisely afraid. I have long forgotten her name by the time I nod my head affirmatively, dismissing her with a wave of my hand.
I allow the holographic disguise surrounding me to fade and shimmer away, discarding the ruse that I have lived for far too long. I relish the few moments of solitude that I manage to wrestle from my schedule, the only time I am allowed to drop the false pretenses that I have wrapped around my life. If one lives every day as another man, could he fall prey to becoming the person he is pretending to be in more than just appearance? No one doubts the words of Justin Hammer now, not after all I have done in his name, but what of the word of Helmut Zemo?
But I have become accustomed to wearing masks, having had to hide my face for the better part of my adult life. Again, following in my father's footsteps in a more literal way that I intended. It would be so easy to blame the Captain for my disfigurement, and for a long time I did. But I have accepted that it was my own foolish fault, the first time that my desire for vengeance came back to strike against me. At times I can still the burning of the Adhesive X on my skin, even though I lost feeling in my face after the “accident”. For better or worse, my face serves as a reminder of the moment my life snapped into focus. No longer calling myself “the Phoenix” (a name I later learned was taken by a hero – one who met her own demise and returned, much as I had been transformed), I took upon the mantle of Baron in honor of my father.
Sadly, I don't believe Heinrich would take it as a compliment.
Despite my father's love – and he did love me, in his own warped way – I had a competitor for his attention. Captain America had long been believed dead when I was growing up in the South American jungle, but I don't think my father ever believed that his enemy was truly gone. He dismissed the pretenders to the hero's throne after World War II. “Never count your enemy dead until you run your corpse through with your own sword,” he would tell me. For possibly the only time in his life, my father's instincts proved correct.
Captain America , the man destined to become my nemesis. I hardly believe that he feels the same way about me, for no matter what attempts I made on his life I was always overshadowed by another grim specter of my father's Nazi heritage. Compared to the Red Skull, an undying evil that has proven his longevity, what matters my claim of lineage? Again I was second-best in someone's eyes, and the frustration was intolerable.
So I turned my attentions toward nature instead of nurture and took up the mantle of would-be world conqueror. The Thunderbolts were a genius plan, no matter the outcome of the initial plot. I came so close during those times, but I misjudged the people I had chosen as my “heroes”. I had assumed they would be content in the roles provided them, but again I was blinded by my heart and ambition. I failed to notice them turning against me, refusing to believe that they had the nerve to stand up and declare themselves more than the petty villains they had allowed themselves to become. Despite their betrayal, I have a begrudged sense of admiration toward them all...in a moment of weakness, I could almost call it envy. They chose to become more than they were, a luxury that is denied to me. I can no more choose my own path than a moth during metamorphosis.
I cannot fight predestination, no matter how hard I try.
But I can learn from my mistakes and refuse to fall prey to the events that led to my previous downfall. The Thunderbolts are my pawns once again, but this time I have left them without motivation to turn against me. I am allowing them to believe that they are becoming the heroes they strive so hard to be, unaware that they are following my every whim...puppets on the string, with no idea that the puppet master mingles among them. I am not Baron Helmut Zemo to them, but Justin Hammer – millionaire industrialist inspired by their heroic turn, simply wanting to atone for his sins and make the world a better place.
I chuckle softly beneath my mask at the thought. If they knew of my plan, they would call me mad; they would call me a villain. They have no idea that by achieving my goals I will become the greatest hero the world has ever known.
“Quantum,” I say into the communicator affixed to my wrist, “attend me.”
The alien warrior appears before me instantly, a flash of light demonstrating his prodigious teleportation ability. He hasn't spoken a word since I first enlisted him, and I have started to wonder if he even speaks a human language. Somehow he understands me, and now he serves me like a faithful dog. Years ago, the Avenger named Quasar had encountered Quantum and imprisoned him in the one space that would both hold him and leave him unharmed: the sun itself. How unsurprising that an Avenger would forget about his enemy after removing him from the board, foolishly thinking that they would never be seen again. It was through pure accident that Techno and I stumbled across him while studying energy wavelengths...this ally, at the least, has proven more loyal than the other that I enlisted during that period of time.
“Take me to London ,” I tell him as I reactivate the holographic appearance of Hammer, “I wish to speak with Mysterio.”
# # # # # # # # # #
“Greetings, Mr. Hammer,” Mysterio says as he takes my hand in his, shaking it firmly, “I didn't expect you to visit before the assignment was completed.”
“I like to know what my operatives are doing when I cannot see them, Mr. Beck,” I answer as I allow my gaze to wander around the broken-down warehouse that my little menagerie has appropriated as their own. Mysterio floats on a cloud, hovering backward to allow me an inspection of the quarters, and the repetitive rubbing of his hands gives away his nervousness. I dislike working with people whose faces I cannot see, and none so much than one whose globe-like helmet reflects my own false face back at me. “Where are the others?”
“Mentallo and Mesmero have been following the target for the past three days, staying in telepathic contact during their journeys. Mathemanic is, I believe, meditating on the roof at the moment.”
“How many has he killed since he arrived in the country?” I ask. Quantum crosses his arms as he moves to my back, ever-present as a good sentry should be.
“Three,” Mysterio replies as a clipboard floats from a table to his hand, “all very minor players. It appears that England is quite famished when it comes to credible professionals. I would like know, sir...when are we going to make our move? We've been watching for quite the period of time now.”
“I allowed the Scarecrow to settle a small personal vendetta,” I tell him as I scan through the information provided on the clipboard, “but he is here in London now. The operation can proceed at your discretion.”
“Excellent,” Mysterio says, floating a little higher on his cloud in excitement.
“Remember,” I continue, “he must be broken and dominated, Mysterio. I have extensive plans for our newest Scourge of the Underworld, and his participation hinges on your success.”
Mysterio nods in understanding, though he truly understands nothing. Only I am aware of the Scourge's true identity, that he was once the robotic Techno. P. Norbert Ebersol was one of my original Thunderbolts, and it was I that made him more than he had ever aspired to be in his former guise as the Fixer. He had become a true technological being, and for a time he was my most staunch aide. I almost regret that our partnership deteriorated in the way that it did, but he has become so much more useful in his current role as an assassin of supervillains.
It was he that had discovered the alien Quantum in his solar prison. It was he that discovered the being I would later christen Mr. White in the other-dimensional void in which he had become trapped. It was he that provided the catalyst for this, my plan to save the world from itself. And for all this, I abandoned Ebersol to his fate the day the rogue military men stormed our stronghold, led by the deranged Henry Peter Gyrich. The former government agent had taken the task of hunting superhumans into his own mad hands, and after an unsuccessful attempt at capturing my former Thunderbolts (an act that I had caused myself, ironically enough, by providing him their whereabouts), he turned his attentions on me. I had ignored the goings-on of the outside world during my time in hiding, and it was this mistake that allowed them to attack us so easily. Quantum and White secured my escape, and Techno was left behind as a sacrifice.
It was only after I had went into hiding from Gyrich, in the identity of Hammer, that I discovered just what had become of my former lackey. They had reprogrammed his computerized mind into the being dubbed “Scourge”, the name taken from a previous murderer of superhuman criminals. Gyrich transformed him into an unstoppable killing machine, denied the memory of his true identity, and then unleashed him onto the world. It does not matter that Gyrich was later captured by SHIELD and imprisoned – his legacy lives on with every executed villain that falls at Ebersol's feet.
But now Techno has regained his stolen memories, due to my intervention, and the time has come for him to once again come under my thrall. This time, however, he will have no choice in the matter...he will not be given the gift that I myself have been denied.
And in the end, he will thank me for it.
# # # # # # # # # #
There is nothing more exhilarating than declaring war on another country, and I can understand why the current President of the United States was so eager to do so himself. Choosing the nation of Genosha to attack without provocation simply came down to the fact that it was too easy a target to pass by, ruled by a genetic supremacist that brazenly declares himself as “homo superior”. Magneto, and all his mutant ilk, so remind me of the Jewish population that my father worked so hard to extinguish alongside his Nazi comrades in the great war all those years ago. I care not for the fact that they are a people that would be best served by a mass genocide (one that they should be asking for, considering the hatred and persecution that they receive on a daily basis), but they are perfect scapegoats for political hatred. The people of this nation need an enemy to rally around, one which can be vanquished without feelings of remorse, and Magneto's history of violence against humanity made him the perfect choice for my campaign.
Following the attack, I caught word of the Genoshans' attempt at addressing their concerns to the world body of the United Nations. What would Magneto and his cabinet of mongrels say if they knew the United Nations – the most powerful group of collective powers in the world – sanctioned my destructive assault on their capital city? They practically begged me to kill Magneto for them when I approached them with the idea of invasion, and though I was disappointingly unsuccessful in that endeavor, I still regained the certain favors promised me for my actions.
I was given the most dangerous weapon in his country: freedom. I have carte blanche to do whatever I like without fear of reprisal for one calendar year, diplomatic immunity for a nation of one. I knew the United States government would fight this, and fight they did – going so far as to send a group of murderers to my door to smack my snout with a rolled newspaper. Of all the nations of the world, only this one realizes that I am now the most dangerous man alive...and they do not know that the “diabolical and evil” Baron Zemo now walks among them with the ability to get away with every crime imaginable.
And that was merely phase one.
The man named Goldbug shimmers in the sun, his golden skin reflecting daylight even more greatly than the ocean that surrounds us. The massive sea vessel upon which we stand floats heavily in the water with the weight of its cargo, the material aspect of the second phase of my master plan. “How much have we retrieved?”
“About 65% is on board and ready to ship out,” Goldbug answers as he beckons me down into the cargo hold of the ship, “but we can't fit the rest onto the ship without risk of capsizing. So I've already called in a second freighter to meet us before we head back to port.”
“Excellent,” I say as I crane my neck to take in the majesty of what my newest employee has uncovered from the ocean floor. I have never been one for material wealth, as power itself shines so much more brightly in my eyes. But even I cannot deny the brilliance of what stands before me, if only because I know what it represents.
“Beautiful, isn't it?” Goldbug asks with a smile. “Thanks for the opportunity to look for it again.”
Many years ago, an omnipotent cosmic entity called the Beyonder came to Earth to learn about humanity and the mortal soul. During his time here, he contracted the skills of a pair of so-called “Heroes for Hire”, and upon completion of their task realized that he had no form of payment for them. So, in his godly wisdom, he transformed an entire skyscraper into solid gold. Fearing what such an immense base of unclaimed wealth would do to the economy of their country, America 's government had it removed and buried at the bottom of the ocean.
Now it is mine, by law of salvage and due to the tireless efforts of Goldbug, a man who had once been thwarted in an attempted retrieval of the golden building. One may wonder why I would have need of such money, due to my acquisition of Hammer's financial institutions. Money is fleeting, and even a millionaire industrialist can come short of funding...but he who owns a tower of gold need turn to no one for backing or sponsorship.
And my plan is slowly falling into place.
# # # # # # # # # #
“You cannot ignore me, Helmut. The Commission's attack on us has left us weakened, both physically and emotionally. We lost one Thunderbolt and another may not live much longer...I need to know that what we're doing is worth the possible sacrifice of my own life.”
She believes herself to be a master manipulator, capable of twisting any person or situation to her advantage. Dr. Karla Sofen, the brilliant and completely insane Moonstone, believes she can outmaneuver me. If she were not so dangerous, I could possibly fall in love with her.
“Nein, Karla,” I say to ease her emotions, “I cannot tell you more than I already have.”
She places her arms on her hips and thrusts her pelvis at me oh-so-subtly. She dominates with superior intelligence and a casual malaise about her own sexuality that leaves most men stunned on the floor, unable to do anything but comply to her will. A Zemo, however, is not “most men”...it amazes me at times that my father stopped his nefarious plots long enough to impregnate a female with his seed. In that aspect, at least, I am becoming more and more like my father with each passing day.
Moonstone thinks that I am unaware of her betrayal. I have known all along that she had been acting as a mole for the Commission on Superhuman Affairs, providing them information on my plans. Unfortunately for them, I have become accustomed to keeping my underlings in the dark when it comes to my true motives, and while they may have learned some things I am confident that they know nothing of the larger picture. Did she believe that I would not find it odd when she came to me, offering her assistance, after what had happened during my first attempt at domination with the Thunderbolts? She was present when my former lackeys were attacked by Gyrich, and she was one of two that did not escape capture. She bargained for her freedom the only way she knew how: by betraying someone more important than herself.
“I assembled these Thunderbolts for you, Baron,” she reminds me, “and I won't sit back and watch them be destroyed by you without knowing why.”
“You did gather most of them together, my dear doctor,” I say, rising from my desk to command as much menace as possible, “so I shouldn't have to remind you of the mental instability of the ones you chose. Gladiator and Plant-Man are completely psychotic, but perhaps that was your plan...after all, the mentally unbalanced are far more easy to manipulate, are they not? I remember well what happened to Blackout during the siege on Avengers Mansion ...”
“Blackout died because of you, Helmut,” she says as she turns to walk out of my office, “because you couldn't stand to relinquish control of everything for even a moment.”
She slams the door behind her, nearly breaking it from the hinges with her enhanced strength. It amuses me to allow Moonstone the belief of subterfuge, that her machinations are untouched by my hand. If only she knew of my plans for her, that I have promised her services to another without her knowledge.
I move the pawns across the chessboard, and nary once do I question the lives that are left shattered in my wake.
# # # # # # # # # #
Erik Josten and Melissa Gold are the two that I wanted to involve in my plan the most. Two of my original Thunderbolts, they were the ones who felt the call of heroism the most (along with Abner Jenkins, who died quite disappointingly during the assault on Genosha), much more so than Ebersol or Sofen. They were the legitimacy that my newest incarnation of the team needed, the roles that the public would look to for proof of redemption. They had shed their villainous ways, but through my manipulations they had become villains in deed if not in thought once again.
They were also the most difficult to find when I began my plan, and I was forced to contract outside assistance in their retrieval. Karl Malus provided the link I needed to bring the two to my side, and it was his brutal actions that bound them to my services in such a way that they could never in good conscious leave me as long as my subterfuge remains intact. Malus died by my hands as the reward for his success, for only a chosen few may know that it is Zemo that pulls their strings.
I watch Josten and Gold through the security monitors in Hammer's office, the two friends turning to one another for platonic companionship. Both have lost so much in their pursuit of heroism, and any sane mind would ask just why they put themselves through such turmoil for such a transparent goal. They hate themselves more so than any other, for why else would they seek to attain the unattainable? But it is their choice, and I will let them have their illusions for now.
The times of solitude are the moments I cherish the most, the brief seconds where I am allowed to discard all my masks and allow my naked face to breath the air. My ruined face, destroyed by hubris and pride, feels nothing in the stale air of the office, but it is a relief nonetheless. I close my eyes and recline back in Hammer's leather chair, contemplating what changes my master plan will bring upon its success. The world is eager, beckoning, for my hand to caress it to sleep. It is my destiny, I remind myself during yet another hesitant moment of doubt.
“Mr. Hammer,” she says as she walks in without knocking, coffee and message book in her hand, “I'm leaving for the day, is there...anything...else...?”
She drops the coffee at the sight of my melted and scarred face resting behind the desk, the steaming liquid burning deep into the skin of her feet and legs. Her mouth hangs open, words frozen in the air between us as she realizes that I am not who she believed to be. “Justin Hammer is dead,” I explain to her just before I pull the purple mask of Zemo back over my face, “I murdered him months ago. You have been employed by Baron Helmut Zemo...feel grateful.”
“Mr. Hammer...is dead?” she stammers out, rooted in place as the steam from the spilled coffee floats around her.
“Tell me your name,” I command, my hand reaching slowly, methodically, to a space beneath the desk. Her mouth quivers as she begins to speak, tears streaming down her face.
I raise the pistol quickly, but not so quickly that she does not recognize it for what it is. Her eyes close when I pull the trigger, and her face explodes in blood and bone. Her body recoils backward, colliding hard with the door, closing it with the force of her impact. I have already picked up the telephone by the time her corpse settles onto the floor.
The numbers dance under my fingertips, and as the line on the other end of the receiver rings and rings, I close my eyes and cement myself to my goals. There is no turning back after this, I decide, and it is pointless to fight destiny. I am a Zemo, and I will rule whether I truly want to or not.
“Yes, this is Justin Hammer...yes, yes, that is correct. Please connect me with your press manager and director of programming. I have an announcement I would like to have televised on your network. What is the intent of the announcement?”
I am a Zemo, the thirteenth Baron in our lineage. I am a man made God.
“I plan to run for President of the United States.”
# # # # # # # # # #
Next Issue: Mr. White betrayed the Thunderbolts to the CSA, and now they want revenge! But will the power of Boomerang, Blacklash, and Blizzard be enough to break into the Commission's prison and kill their target, or will White gain the upper hand?
# # # # # # # # # #
RAP SHEET
First off, I've decided to change the title of our humble letter's page here at T-BOLTS central. Why? Because I damn well wanted to (and, well, this one just sounds cooler to me, lol)! We also have a fan letter this month from Greg, who's recently come back to M2K as a reader:
Greetings, Mr. Munn,
I recently found Marvel 2000 again, after losing track of it for several years. I was quite pleased to find it again, in a large part, because of your work on Thunderbolts. I said it before in one of my previous e-mails: this ain't some candyass story about supervillains goin' legit: it's a mercenary world, with one sadistic bastard supplying the paychecks.
Good to hear from you again, Greg, and I'm glad to hear you've found your way back to Marvel 2000!
And some of the stuff you've done is really good. Revealing Techno to be the Scourge is one thing: but revealing Justin Hammer to be a cover for Baron Zemo? That was purely brilliant.
The Techno/Scourge and Hammer/Zemo revelations sure seemed to take a few people by surprise (except for Cory Wiegel and David Ingram, the only two to correctly guess Zemo's whereabouts before "Industrial Strength" debuted), and I'm just happy that I managed to keep those two plots from being too obvious, lol.
Plus, I love the cast of obscure supervillains. Swarm in particular, cuz...OK, I've never read any stories with him, but I bought his action figure when I was younger, cuz he looked really cool. Plus, the schizophrenic Gladiator, the insecure Blizzard, the mysterious Mr. Blackened White, and, of course, Plantman. Was that stuff about aliens causing his origin true, or did you come up with that?
As I've said many times before, obscure villains are my favorites. Why use Dr. Doom again when you can craft a story out of guys like Sauron and Goldbug? But now you've surprised me, because I had no idea there was a Swarm action figure! I may have to look into finding that and purchasing it, because that HAS to be one cool toy! As for Plant-Man's origin with the aliens, that was revealed during John Byrne's run on NAMOR in the early 90's...I've simply appropriated it for my own use.
And if you think Mr. Blackened White is "mysterious", just wait until next issue...I guarantee that the revelation of White's true identity will stun you just as much as the Techno/Scourge one did!
I sincerely hope you become a legitimate writer for Marvel some day, rewriting this very series in some kind of awesome limited series in an alternate universe.
Now that's a compliment, sir! I have to say that if I was able to choose one of my fanfiction titles to translate into an actual comic series, THUNDERBOLTS would most likely be the one I'd pick. It is, after all, my absolute favorite title to write. :-)
Thanks again.
Greg
Thank YOU, Greg, for taking the time to write me. I hope you continue to enjoy the series as I start to move into the current story's end-game...big things are on the horizon for this book, including a change in the status quo that will be a big shock to all the readers. This, I promise!
Chris Munn
10/03/05
BIBLIOGRAPHY
- Baron Zemo resurrected the Scarecrow and sent him after Scourge in Thunderbolts # 21.
- Henry Gyrich's attacks on Baron Zemo and the Thunderbolts occured in the gap between Thunderbolts # 12 and Thunderbolts # 13.
- Hammer's secretary (whose name was Harley) first appeared in Thunderbolts # 15.
- The death of Blackout that Moonstone mentions occured during the Masters of Evil's assault on Avengers Mansion in Avengers # 277.
- The Beyonder transformed the New York City building into solid gold in Power Man/Iron Fist # 121.
I allow the holographic disguise surrounding me to fade and shimmer away, discarding the ruse that I have lived for far too long. I relish the few moments of solitude that I manage to wrestle from my schedule, the only time I am allowed to drop the false pretenses that I have wrapped around my life. If one lives every day as another man, could he fall prey to becoming the person he is pretending to be in more than just appearance? No one doubts the words of Justin Hammer now, not after all I have done in his name, but what of the word of Helmut Zemo?
But I have become accustomed to wearing masks, having had to hide my face for the better part of my adult life. Again, following in my father's footsteps in a more literal way that I intended. It would be so easy to blame the Captain for my disfigurement, and for a long time I did. But I have accepted that it was my own foolish fault, the first time that my desire for vengeance came back to strike against me. At times I can still the burning of the Adhesive X on my skin, even though I lost feeling in my face after the “accident”. For better or worse, my face serves as a reminder of the moment my life snapped into focus. No longer calling myself “the Phoenix” (a name I later learned was taken by a hero – one who met her own demise and returned, much as I had been transformed), I took upon the mantle of Baron in honor of my father.
Sadly, I don't believe Heinrich would take it as a compliment.
Despite my father's love – and he did love me, in his own warped way – I had a competitor for his attention. Captain America had long been believed dead when I was growing up in the South American jungle, but I don't think my father ever believed that his enemy was truly gone. He dismissed the pretenders to the hero's throne after World War II. “Never count your enemy dead until you run your corpse through with your own sword,” he would tell me. For possibly the only time in his life, my father's instincts proved correct.
Captain America , the man destined to become my nemesis. I hardly believe that he feels the same way about me, for no matter what attempts I made on his life I was always overshadowed by another grim specter of my father's Nazi heritage. Compared to the Red Skull, an undying evil that has proven his longevity, what matters my claim of lineage? Again I was second-best in someone's eyes, and the frustration was intolerable.
So I turned my attentions toward nature instead of nurture and took up the mantle of would-be world conqueror. The Thunderbolts were a genius plan, no matter the outcome of the initial plot. I came so close during those times, but I misjudged the people I had chosen as my “heroes”. I had assumed they would be content in the roles provided them, but again I was blinded by my heart and ambition. I failed to notice them turning against me, refusing to believe that they had the nerve to stand up and declare themselves more than the petty villains they had allowed themselves to become. Despite their betrayal, I have a begrudged sense of admiration toward them all...in a moment of weakness, I could almost call it envy. They chose to become more than they were, a luxury that is denied to me. I can no more choose my own path than a moth during metamorphosis.
I cannot fight predestination, no matter how hard I try.
But I can learn from my mistakes and refuse to fall prey to the events that led to my previous downfall. The Thunderbolts are my pawns once again, but this time I have left them without motivation to turn against me. I am allowing them to believe that they are becoming the heroes they strive so hard to be, unaware that they are following my every whim...puppets on the string, with no idea that the puppet master mingles among them. I am not Baron Helmut Zemo to them, but Justin Hammer – millionaire industrialist inspired by their heroic turn, simply wanting to atone for his sins and make the world a better place.
I chuckle softly beneath my mask at the thought. If they knew of my plan, they would call me mad; they would call me a villain. They have no idea that by achieving my goals I will become the greatest hero the world has ever known.
“Quantum,” I say into the communicator affixed to my wrist, “attend me.”
The alien warrior appears before me instantly, a flash of light demonstrating his prodigious teleportation ability. He hasn't spoken a word since I first enlisted him, and I have started to wonder if he even speaks a human language. Somehow he understands me, and now he serves me like a faithful dog. Years ago, the Avenger named Quasar had encountered Quantum and imprisoned him in the one space that would both hold him and leave him unharmed: the sun itself. How unsurprising that an Avenger would forget about his enemy after removing him from the board, foolishly thinking that they would never be seen again. It was through pure accident that Techno and I stumbled across him while studying energy wavelengths...this ally, at the least, has proven more loyal than the other that I enlisted during that period of time.
“Take me to London ,” I tell him as I reactivate the holographic appearance of Hammer, “I wish to speak with Mysterio.”
# # # # # # # # # #
“Greetings, Mr. Hammer,” Mysterio says as he takes my hand in his, shaking it firmly, “I didn't expect you to visit before the assignment was completed.”
“I like to know what my operatives are doing when I cannot see them, Mr. Beck,” I answer as I allow my gaze to wander around the broken-down warehouse that my little menagerie has appropriated as their own. Mysterio floats on a cloud, hovering backward to allow me an inspection of the quarters, and the repetitive rubbing of his hands gives away his nervousness. I dislike working with people whose faces I cannot see, and none so much than one whose globe-like helmet reflects my own false face back at me. “Where are the others?”
“Mentallo and Mesmero have been following the target for the past three days, staying in telepathic contact during their journeys. Mathemanic is, I believe, meditating on the roof at the moment.”
“How many has he killed since he arrived in the country?” I ask. Quantum crosses his arms as he moves to my back, ever-present as a good sentry should be.
“Three,” Mysterio replies as a clipboard floats from a table to his hand, “all very minor players. It appears that England is quite famished when it comes to credible professionals. I would like know, sir...when are we going to make our move? We've been watching for quite the period of time now.”
“I allowed the Scarecrow to settle a small personal vendetta,” I tell him as I scan through the information provided on the clipboard, “but he is here in London now. The operation can proceed at your discretion.”
“Excellent,” Mysterio says, floating a little higher on his cloud in excitement.
“Remember,” I continue, “he must be broken and dominated, Mysterio. I have extensive plans for our newest Scourge of the Underworld, and his participation hinges on your success.”
Mysterio nods in understanding, though he truly understands nothing. Only I am aware of the Scourge's true identity, that he was once the robotic Techno. P. Norbert Ebersol was one of my original Thunderbolts, and it was I that made him more than he had ever aspired to be in his former guise as the Fixer. He had become a true technological being, and for a time he was my most staunch aide. I almost regret that our partnership deteriorated in the way that it did, but he has become so much more useful in his current role as an assassin of supervillains.
It was he that had discovered the alien Quantum in his solar prison. It was he that discovered the being I would later christen Mr. White in the other-dimensional void in which he had become trapped. It was he that provided the catalyst for this, my plan to save the world from itself. And for all this, I abandoned Ebersol to his fate the day the rogue military men stormed our stronghold, led by the deranged Henry Peter Gyrich. The former government agent had taken the task of hunting superhumans into his own mad hands, and after an unsuccessful attempt at capturing my former Thunderbolts (an act that I had caused myself, ironically enough, by providing him their whereabouts), he turned his attentions on me. I had ignored the goings-on of the outside world during my time in hiding, and it was this mistake that allowed them to attack us so easily. Quantum and White secured my escape, and Techno was left behind as a sacrifice.
It was only after I had went into hiding from Gyrich, in the identity of Hammer, that I discovered just what had become of my former lackey. They had reprogrammed his computerized mind into the being dubbed “Scourge”, the name taken from a previous murderer of superhuman criminals. Gyrich transformed him into an unstoppable killing machine, denied the memory of his true identity, and then unleashed him onto the world. It does not matter that Gyrich was later captured by SHIELD and imprisoned – his legacy lives on with every executed villain that falls at Ebersol's feet.
But now Techno has regained his stolen memories, due to my intervention, and the time has come for him to once again come under my thrall. This time, however, he will have no choice in the matter...he will not be given the gift that I myself have been denied.
And in the end, he will thank me for it.
# # # # # # # # # #
There is nothing more exhilarating than declaring war on another country, and I can understand why the current President of the United States was so eager to do so himself. Choosing the nation of Genosha to attack without provocation simply came down to the fact that it was too easy a target to pass by, ruled by a genetic supremacist that brazenly declares himself as “homo superior”. Magneto, and all his mutant ilk, so remind me of the Jewish population that my father worked so hard to extinguish alongside his Nazi comrades in the great war all those years ago. I care not for the fact that they are a people that would be best served by a mass genocide (one that they should be asking for, considering the hatred and persecution that they receive on a daily basis), but they are perfect scapegoats for political hatred. The people of this nation need an enemy to rally around, one which can be vanquished without feelings of remorse, and Magneto's history of violence against humanity made him the perfect choice for my campaign.
Following the attack, I caught word of the Genoshans' attempt at addressing their concerns to the world body of the United Nations. What would Magneto and his cabinet of mongrels say if they knew the United Nations – the most powerful group of collective powers in the world – sanctioned my destructive assault on their capital city? They practically begged me to kill Magneto for them when I approached them with the idea of invasion, and though I was disappointingly unsuccessful in that endeavor, I still regained the certain favors promised me for my actions.
I was given the most dangerous weapon in his country: freedom. I have carte blanche to do whatever I like without fear of reprisal for one calendar year, diplomatic immunity for a nation of one. I knew the United States government would fight this, and fight they did – going so far as to send a group of murderers to my door to smack my snout with a rolled newspaper. Of all the nations of the world, only this one realizes that I am now the most dangerous man alive...and they do not know that the “diabolical and evil” Baron Zemo now walks among them with the ability to get away with every crime imaginable.
And that was merely phase one.
The man named Goldbug shimmers in the sun, his golden skin reflecting daylight even more greatly than the ocean that surrounds us. The massive sea vessel upon which we stand floats heavily in the water with the weight of its cargo, the material aspect of the second phase of my master plan. “How much have we retrieved?”
“About 65% is on board and ready to ship out,” Goldbug answers as he beckons me down into the cargo hold of the ship, “but we can't fit the rest onto the ship without risk of capsizing. So I've already called in a second freighter to meet us before we head back to port.”
“Excellent,” I say as I crane my neck to take in the majesty of what my newest employee has uncovered from the ocean floor. I have never been one for material wealth, as power itself shines so much more brightly in my eyes. But even I cannot deny the brilliance of what stands before me, if only because I know what it represents.
“Beautiful, isn't it?” Goldbug asks with a smile. “Thanks for the opportunity to look for it again.”
Many years ago, an omnipotent cosmic entity called the Beyonder came to Earth to learn about humanity and the mortal soul. During his time here, he contracted the skills of a pair of so-called “Heroes for Hire”, and upon completion of their task realized that he had no form of payment for them. So, in his godly wisdom, he transformed an entire skyscraper into solid gold. Fearing what such an immense base of unclaimed wealth would do to the economy of their country, America 's government had it removed and buried at the bottom of the ocean.
Now it is mine, by law of salvage and due to the tireless efforts of Goldbug, a man who had once been thwarted in an attempted retrieval of the golden building. One may wonder why I would have need of such money, due to my acquisition of Hammer's financial institutions. Money is fleeting, and even a millionaire industrialist can come short of funding...but he who owns a tower of gold need turn to no one for backing or sponsorship.
And my plan is slowly falling into place.
# # # # # # # # # #
“You cannot ignore me, Helmut. The Commission's attack on us has left us weakened, both physically and emotionally. We lost one Thunderbolt and another may not live much longer...I need to know that what we're doing is worth the possible sacrifice of my own life.”
She believes herself to be a master manipulator, capable of twisting any person or situation to her advantage. Dr. Karla Sofen, the brilliant and completely insane Moonstone, believes she can outmaneuver me. If she were not so dangerous, I could possibly fall in love with her.
“Nein, Karla,” I say to ease her emotions, “I cannot tell you more than I already have.”
She places her arms on her hips and thrusts her pelvis at me oh-so-subtly. She dominates with superior intelligence and a casual malaise about her own sexuality that leaves most men stunned on the floor, unable to do anything but comply to her will. A Zemo, however, is not “most men”...it amazes me at times that my father stopped his nefarious plots long enough to impregnate a female with his seed. In that aspect, at least, I am becoming more and more like my father with each passing day.
Moonstone thinks that I am unaware of her betrayal. I have known all along that she had been acting as a mole for the Commission on Superhuman Affairs, providing them information on my plans. Unfortunately for them, I have become accustomed to keeping my underlings in the dark when it comes to my true motives, and while they may have learned some things I am confident that they know nothing of the larger picture. Did she believe that I would not find it odd when she came to me, offering her assistance, after what had happened during my first attempt at domination with the Thunderbolts? She was present when my former lackeys were attacked by Gyrich, and she was one of two that did not escape capture. She bargained for her freedom the only way she knew how: by betraying someone more important than herself.
“I assembled these Thunderbolts for you, Baron,” she reminds me, “and I won't sit back and watch them be destroyed by you without knowing why.”
“You did gather most of them together, my dear doctor,” I say, rising from my desk to command as much menace as possible, “so I shouldn't have to remind you of the mental instability of the ones you chose. Gladiator and Plant-Man are completely psychotic, but perhaps that was your plan...after all, the mentally unbalanced are far more easy to manipulate, are they not? I remember well what happened to Blackout during the siege on Avengers Mansion ...”
“Blackout died because of you, Helmut,” she says as she turns to walk out of my office, “because you couldn't stand to relinquish control of everything for even a moment.”
She slams the door behind her, nearly breaking it from the hinges with her enhanced strength. It amuses me to allow Moonstone the belief of subterfuge, that her machinations are untouched by my hand. If only she knew of my plans for her, that I have promised her services to another without her knowledge.
I move the pawns across the chessboard, and nary once do I question the lives that are left shattered in my wake.
# # # # # # # # # #
Erik Josten and Melissa Gold are the two that I wanted to involve in my plan the most. Two of my original Thunderbolts, they were the ones who felt the call of heroism the most (along with Abner Jenkins, who died quite disappointingly during the assault on Genosha), much more so than Ebersol or Sofen. They were the legitimacy that my newest incarnation of the team needed, the roles that the public would look to for proof of redemption. They had shed their villainous ways, but through my manipulations they had become villains in deed if not in thought once again.
They were also the most difficult to find when I began my plan, and I was forced to contract outside assistance in their retrieval. Karl Malus provided the link I needed to bring the two to my side, and it was his brutal actions that bound them to my services in such a way that they could never in good conscious leave me as long as my subterfuge remains intact. Malus died by my hands as the reward for his success, for only a chosen few may know that it is Zemo that pulls their strings.
I watch Josten and Gold through the security monitors in Hammer's office, the two friends turning to one another for platonic companionship. Both have lost so much in their pursuit of heroism, and any sane mind would ask just why they put themselves through such turmoil for such a transparent goal. They hate themselves more so than any other, for why else would they seek to attain the unattainable? But it is their choice, and I will let them have their illusions for now.
The times of solitude are the moments I cherish the most, the brief seconds where I am allowed to discard all my masks and allow my naked face to breath the air. My ruined face, destroyed by hubris and pride, feels nothing in the stale air of the office, but it is a relief nonetheless. I close my eyes and recline back in Hammer's leather chair, contemplating what changes my master plan will bring upon its success. The world is eager, beckoning, for my hand to caress it to sleep. It is my destiny, I remind myself during yet another hesitant moment of doubt.
“Mr. Hammer,” she says as she walks in without knocking, coffee and message book in her hand, “I'm leaving for the day, is there...anything...else...?”
She drops the coffee at the sight of my melted and scarred face resting behind the desk, the steaming liquid burning deep into the skin of her feet and legs. Her mouth hangs open, words frozen in the air between us as she realizes that I am not who she believed to be. “Justin Hammer is dead,” I explain to her just before I pull the purple mask of Zemo back over my face, “I murdered him months ago. You have been employed by Baron Helmut Zemo...feel grateful.”
“Mr. Hammer...is dead?” she stammers out, rooted in place as the steam from the spilled coffee floats around her.
“Tell me your name,” I command, my hand reaching slowly, methodically, to a space beneath the desk. Her mouth quivers as she begins to speak, tears streaming down her face.
I raise the pistol quickly, but not so quickly that she does not recognize it for what it is. Her eyes close when I pull the trigger, and her face explodes in blood and bone. Her body recoils backward, colliding hard with the door, closing it with the force of her impact. I have already picked up the telephone by the time her corpse settles onto the floor.
The numbers dance under my fingertips, and as the line on the other end of the receiver rings and rings, I close my eyes and cement myself to my goals. There is no turning back after this, I decide, and it is pointless to fight destiny. I am a Zemo, and I will rule whether I truly want to or not.
“Yes, this is Justin Hammer...yes, yes, that is correct. Please connect me with your press manager and director of programming. I have an announcement I would like to have televised on your network. What is the intent of the announcement?”
I am a Zemo, the thirteenth Baron in our lineage. I am a man made God.
“I plan to run for President of the United States.”
# # # # # # # # # #
Next Issue: Mr. White betrayed the Thunderbolts to the CSA, and now they want revenge! But will the power of Boomerang, Blacklash, and Blizzard be enough to break into the Commission's prison and kill their target, or will White gain the upper hand?
# # # # # # # # # #
RAP SHEET
First off, I've decided to change the title of our humble letter's page here at T-BOLTS central. Why? Because I damn well wanted to (and, well, this one just sounds cooler to me, lol)! We also have a fan letter this month from Greg, who's recently come back to M2K as a reader:
Greetings, Mr. Munn,
I recently found Marvel 2000 again, after losing track of it for several years. I was quite pleased to find it again, in a large part, because of your work on Thunderbolts. I said it before in one of my previous e-mails: this ain't some candyass story about supervillains goin' legit: it's a mercenary world, with one sadistic bastard supplying the paychecks.
Good to hear from you again, Greg, and I'm glad to hear you've found your way back to Marvel 2000!
And some of the stuff you've done is really good. Revealing Techno to be the Scourge is one thing: but revealing Justin Hammer to be a cover for Baron Zemo? That was purely brilliant.
The Techno/Scourge and Hammer/Zemo revelations sure seemed to take a few people by surprise (except for Cory Wiegel and David Ingram, the only two to correctly guess Zemo's whereabouts before "Industrial Strength" debuted), and I'm just happy that I managed to keep those two plots from being too obvious, lol.
Plus, I love the cast of obscure supervillains. Swarm in particular, cuz...OK, I've never read any stories with him, but I bought his action figure when I was younger, cuz he looked really cool. Plus, the schizophrenic Gladiator, the insecure Blizzard, the mysterious Mr. Blackened White, and, of course, Plantman. Was that stuff about aliens causing his origin true, or did you come up with that?
As I've said many times before, obscure villains are my favorites. Why use Dr. Doom again when you can craft a story out of guys like Sauron and Goldbug? But now you've surprised me, because I had no idea there was a Swarm action figure! I may have to look into finding that and purchasing it, because that HAS to be one cool toy! As for Plant-Man's origin with the aliens, that was revealed during John Byrne's run on NAMOR in the early 90's...I've simply appropriated it for my own use.
And if you think Mr. Blackened White is "mysterious", just wait until next issue...I guarantee that the revelation of White's true identity will stun you just as much as the Techno/Scourge one did!
I sincerely hope you become a legitimate writer for Marvel some day, rewriting this very series in some kind of awesome limited series in an alternate universe.
Now that's a compliment, sir! I have to say that if I was able to choose one of my fanfiction titles to translate into an actual comic series, THUNDERBOLTS would most likely be the one I'd pick. It is, after all, my absolute favorite title to write. :-)
Thanks again.
Greg
Thank YOU, Greg, for taking the time to write me. I hope you continue to enjoy the series as I start to move into the current story's end-game...big things are on the horizon for this book, including a change in the status quo that will be a big shock to all the readers. This, I promise!
Chris Munn
10/03/05
BIBLIOGRAPHY
- Baron Zemo resurrected the Scarecrow and sent him after Scourge in Thunderbolts # 21.
- Henry Gyrich's attacks on Baron Zemo and the Thunderbolts occured in the gap between Thunderbolts # 12 and Thunderbolts # 13.
- Hammer's secretary (whose name was Harley) first appeared in Thunderbolts # 15.
- The death of Blackout that Moonstone mentions occured during the Masters of Evil's assault on Avengers Mansion in Avengers # 277.
- The Beyonder transformed the New York City building into solid gold in Power Man/Iron Fist # 121.