Baron Zemo's Lair. - Chapter Three

Baron Zemo's Lair

Chapter Three
Sunday, 04-Jul-1999 15:19:21
24.64.71.35 writes:

Chapter three- spiffy

The alley was empty. A single cardboard box lay on its side, its opening facing the wall. Thoroughly soaked, the soggy box had become flimsy and useless. It would have spent the rest of its days slowly losing its form and eventually disintegrating. It would have, had it not been crushed by a booted foot, belonging to a man running through the alley. This man was not alone. He was followed by a slim woman, her slimness hiding the massive strength within. They ran to the end of the alley, then stopped together at a point just before the wall. A second later, they sank into the ground, disappearing completely as another group, slightly larger, entered the alley. They surveyed the area for an instant before splitting into smaller groups and taking off in different directions. And the remains of the box were alone once more.
The original pair stood silently in the elevator. They were shrouded in darkness, for electricity was too precious to waste on a simple elevator. After several minutes, their descent finally stopped. The door opened to reveal a pair of guards with rifles aimed at the new arrivals. When they stepped out of the dark elevator into the well-lit room, however, the guards relaxed instantly. They resumed their posts as the duo continued walking, down a hallway, and to some well-reinforced doors. They were scanned by countless security devices before the doors swung open, revealing a room whose walls were covered with computers, each post manned by an agent of the Canadian Resistance. They received several nods from the agents, who then resumed their work. Still walking, the pair came to another set of doors. Again, they were scanned and approved. Behind the doors was the current leaders of the Resistance, Zip-150 and the Fleabot. Each was hard at work preparing the day’s activities. Each stopped to greet their guests.
“Jarvis, Lisa,” the Fleabot greeted them, “It is good to finally see you again.” The Fleabot had been a valued ally of the Lair Legion in years past. Since then, it had seen its share of battles, assuming many abilities of its namesake.
“Welcome,” Zip-150 said shortly. His once cheerful visage had long since been replaced with gloom. He was the first and possibly only successful Zip ever created, and had taken his name from his deceased creator, NTU-150.
The two former Legionnaires stood silently in the doorway for a moment, then Jarvis stepped forward. “Fleabot. Zip. It’s been years. Why are you just calling us now?”
They glanced at each other, seeming as uncertain as robots could, before responding. “No disrespect, Jarvis, but we’ve been in contact with you for months,” the Fleabot told him.
“I think we’d have noticed that,” Jarvis sneered.
“Enough, Jarvikins, we’re here for a reason,” Lisa chastised him, then turned to their hosts, “Speaking of which, what is the reason?”
“The plans of the Canadian Resistance are coming to fruition,” Zip-150 told them without hesitation, “We are in need of your aid.”
“The Resistance? What? We’re not getting involved with a bunch of badly-organised separatists!” Jarvis said hotly.
“Someone’s been listening to the rumours,” Zip said dryly.
“Don’t be too hard on them, Zip. Obviously the leader didn’t fill them in on the plans.”
“Rather a large oversight,” Zip began, before being interrupted by Lisa.
“Excuse me, boys? Plans? Leader? If you want our help, we have to know what’s going on.”
The Fleabot turned to face her for the first time. “I apologise, Lisa. Let us explain. Please follow us,” he said, making his way down yet another hallway. The foursome arrived in what seemed to be a conference room, and Lisa and Jarvis allowed themselves to be guided to their seats. They were facing an enormous video screen, with the Fleabot and Zip-150 placed in front of it. “This all began in 2003, with what is commonly known as The Incident. This term describes a series of events, including-”
“I know exactly what The Incident was,” Jarvis cut him off icily, “Begin in 2005.”
This time, the Fleabot seemed downright embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Jarvis, I’d forgotten…”
“Just get on with it.”
The Fleabot gave Lisa an apologetic glance before resuming the story. “All right, 2005, in the aftermath of The Incident. The heroes had won, but at an astounding cost. Fin Fang Foom, Banjooooo, Donar, the Shaper of Worlds, the Chronicler of Stories, Visionary, Cheryl, NTU-150, Roscoe, Markooooo, Elsqueevio, and Yo were all missing, presumed dead. The remaining Legionnaires went their separate ways. Phil returned to Banjooooo’s undersea realm. You two vanished, for obvious reasons. Starseed and Space Ghost were called to South America. And spiffy had returned to his home, Canada, along with Zip and myself. At this point, we lost contact with the others, so we don’t know how they’ve been, or even if they’re still alive.”
“We know all this already!” Jarvis cried, exasperated, “Get to the point!”
Lisa elbowed him. “He gets touchy when… well, always. Keep going.”
“Thank you, Lisa,” the Fleabot continued, “Canada was just as devastated as the rest of the world, but spiffy attempted to make things right. He assembled a new Legion to help the victims, and try to rebuild the society. They became what passed for the Canadian government. They assembled what was left of the population in what was once Ontario, and did an admirable job of reconstruction. By 2007, Canada was back, a shadow of its former self, but back. That same year, it all ended.”
“The Restructuring,” Lisa breathed.
“Yes,” the Fleabot confirmed grimly. The screen which had been displaying pleasant scenes of Ottawa and Toronto changed. It now showed soldiers advancing on the cities, arresting civilians and confiscating property. Another image caused Jarvis’ breath to catch in his throat. It was spiffy’s Legion, chained together and being led to a transport. The text on the side of the transport was obscured, but its significance was clear. They were being taken to the Camps. “The Restructuring,” the Fleabot continued, “The final significant act of President Hogan, and certainly of the United States of America. Hogan had had significantly less success than spiffy in the rebuilding of his country. He was in office less for popular opinion than for the lack of a competitor. The country was in shambles. The population at large was an unorganised rabble, driven mad with fear and taking what they needed to survive. Those who wished to gain an honest living were forced to work for the enormous businesses run by Hal Vanderbilt and Baron Zemo. These two and a handful of other entrepreneurs were the only successes in the remains of the United States. But their success was worthless with a population that could steal rather than earn. Hogan’s power was worthless when his people would not listen. So an alliance was proposed, and the Restructuring began.” The Fleabot paused, leaving room for Jarvis to hurry him along once more. It didn’t happen. Jarvis was watching the screen with a face screwed up in agony. Images of a broken civilisation, poor and hungry people, these were the representations of life after the Incident. Jarvis blamed himself for this.
Zip-150 took over the reins. “In 2006, Hogan realised that without help, he had no chance of restoring the country of old. He had no allies. All countries had been cut off from the others, by need or choice. So he turned to Zemo and Vanderbilt. And they made a plan. They decided that in order to end the violence, they had to eliminate the symbols of power and revolt. They had to eliminate the heroes. So began the Registration. The Camps. The End. All those with powers above those of the normal human were hunted, found, and taken. Soon the Camps were full, and still more came. Their powers were used to fuel the great industries. They were well-taken care of, but their liberty, their spirit, their very individuality was snuffed out. A year later, the project had been a success. Under the guidance of Zemo and Vanderbilt, Hogan had restored the United States of America. However, in doing so, he had lost the essence of his power. The United States were essentially controlled by the rich.
“And it wasn’t enough. They turned to Canada. They had humanitarian reasons, of course. They saw that we were nothing compared to our former glory. They wanted to restore Canada as they had the US. Unfortunately, they did not realise that we had already been restored. The Legion was the first to fall, with the exception of spiffy himself. His powers came not from himself, but from exterior influence. He was the last Canadian hero. And he went quite mad. He took to wearing the hated fern of his arch-nemesis, and fought the American soldiers fiercely. He even organised a small group of revolutionaries. But it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. By the end of 2007, there was no Canada. There were no United States. In their place was the United North America, under the rule of Vanderbilt.
“Then, after many initial failures, the Canadian Resistance was formed. It rose from the ashes of Canada like a phoenix. Its goal was to separate Canada from the UNA, seen as a corrupted, twisted version of the cherished past. But this was years later. 2012. Vanderbilt and Zemo had already strengthened their hold. The Resistance was in danger of being crushed before it had even begun. And it would have, were it not for the founder. He held the Resistance together, slowly gathering agents and preparing for the final battle.”
“And… spiffy was part of this? That’s why he tracked us down, helped us?” Lisa said, trying to piece together the events of the past two years.
The Fleabot and Zip-150 looked at her strangely and paused a minute before responding. “Yes, he was one of us,” the Fleabot confirmed. “And you were needed for the battle to come. We plan to force Hogan and Vanderbilt to liberate Canada and its citizens. We were happy as it was, not in this hellish place. But then spiffy was captured. That jeopardised our plans. It took us many extra months to find you again, and contact you. But those months gave us more time to prepare. And we’re ready now. Ready to fight for our freedom.”
“spiffy did all that?” Lisa asked incredulously, “But…. No, like Jarvis said, we can’t get involved in any…”
“No, Lisa,” Jarvis stopped her, in a suddenly firm voice, “Don’t you see? This is the way to make things right, after we’ve screwed them up so badly. They need us, and the world needs them.” He stopped to look at the Fleabot once more, “Just one thing… who was the leader?”
Fleabot smiled at this. “Haven’t you guessed yet? Our founder, our leader, the reason for all this, was…”

“spiffy??” Visionary cried, unbelieving. He was standing, stunned, in front of a table. Two people stood behind him, sympathetic. On the table was a prone body covered with a sheet. One corner of the sheet was held in Visionary’s hand. The body’s head was exposed. It was a familiar face to Visionary. The face of a friend. And he was dead. “spiffy,” he said in a whisper. He replaced the sheet, covering the body. He stood with his head hanging for several minutes before turning to his companions. “He… why… who did this? Who did this???”
“Jarvis and Lisa, after they disposed of you,” Moo said sadly, shaking her head. “He didn’t have a chance, without powers.”
“But spiffy does have powers,” Visionary said, confused.
“Jarvis stole them,” Moo continued, receiving an odd look from Hal. “His memory chips were severely damaged,” she explained.
“I see,” he said. “Now, Visionary, we’ve been working for years to bring you back. The world is a very different place now. We’ve managed to get Jarvis and Lisa into hiding, but they’re still a menace. Most of your friends are dead or missing. We need you to help us stop those two from corrupting the rest of the world.”
“They what? Jarvis… Lisa…? Um… okay. Things have changed. So what do I have to do?”
“Protect us, mainly. We have many enemies, and we can’t afford the time necessary to fight them all off. We need to concentrate on our goals. Can you do that for me?” Hal asked.
“I could try… I throw a good punch.”
“We’ve… ah… made some improvements,” Moo told him.
“What? Improv… I’m real, dammit!”
Moo sighed. “All right… concentrate on your left wrist.”
He did so, and several seconds later, a small energy weapon appeared. “What the…”
“Convinced?”
“… shut up. I need to do some adjusting, can I have a room?”
“Certainly,” Hal called for a maid, who came promptly. As Visionary was led out of the room, he thought of something.
“Wait, what happened to Cheryl?”
Hal closed the door. “How exactly are you going to break the news to him?”
“I could always take out a few more memory chips,” Moo pondered.
“Speaking of which, where are the memory chips that were removed?”
“Right here,” she said, handing him several computer chips.
“Ah, poor Visionary… he has no idea… but this is all for the good of the world. Sacrifices must be made.”
“Are we still monitoring everyone?”
“See for youself,” he said, leading her to another room. The walls were covered with television screens. Moo could see Zemo’s lab, the headquarters of the Canadian Resistance, the ruins of an undersea kingdom, and the royal chambers of United South America, Oceania, and Euroasia.
“Enjoy yourself, my dear. I have to get in contact with Herr Zemo,” Hal said, leaving the room. Almost as an afterthought, he crushed the chips in his hand and let their remains fall to the floor.
Moo was concentrating on one screen in particular, that of the Canadian Resistance. Pictured there was her sister, Lisa. “Don’t go far, dear sister,” she muttered, “I have plans for you.” Leaving the room, she failed to notice a dark figure standing near a window. A bolt of lightning shone of off his steel facemask, highlighting the menacing horns that grew out of it. He was not pleased.

Not pleased at all. The Departed had worked hard to gain entrance into the mountain fortress, only to find that his target was not as he remembered. NTU-150 had lost hope in the human race. He had decided that its only chance was complete restructuring. This made him harder to manipulate. Still, the Departed decided, he could easily adapt his plans. It was time to reveal himself.
NTU was hard at work at a computer console when the Departed dropped silently to the floor behind him. There was no noise, no shadow, nothing to give away his presence, yet NTU whirled just the same.
“Evil spiffy?” NTU cried in shock, before he found that he couldn’t speak at all, for a hand was closed around his exposed throat.
“That name is ancient history, as will you be if you continue using it. I am the Departed, understood?”
NTU gave a weak nod, and the Departed dropped him to the ground. “Ack… what… what do you want?” he said weakly.
“Me?” the Departed gave a short laugh, “I want many things. But those things are unimportant. What concerns you is how I can help you.”
“Help… me?” It was NTU’s turn to laugh. “I need no help! As we speak, my robotic armours are preparing my plans, for me to complete them. Ha! Help, indeed.”
“Yes, but your plans are flawed, friend.”
“I am NOT your friend. And how would you know?”
“How I know is not the issue. You plan to destroy each of the world leaders, thinking this will make the world better. This is true. However, you have done this without the proper preparations.”
“Proper preparations… get out of here! You’re babbling!”
“Tell me, who ARE the current world leaders?”
NTU opened his mouth to speak, but realised that he didn’t have an answer. Without speaking, he turned to his computer screen and called up the file concerning global affairs. It had the world leaders, all right. Those of 2003. He turned back to the Departed. “All right, you may have a point. So what do you plan to do about it?”
“Help you in any way I can, of course,” the Departed said simply.
“And the catch is…?”
“Nothing much, really. I just need a few of your inventions, a bit of scientific knowledge for my latest endeavour. And who better to help me than yourself, the real genius of the world?”
“Well, that’s true,” NTU said, immodestly. “All right, if you help me, I’ll help you.”
“Excellent. Let us begin with the major world powers. You have Hogan correct, at least. But you do of course realise that his power is mostly in his own head.”
“Um… yes, of course… and I suppose you think you know who’s in real power…”
“Hal Vanderbilt, of course. His business is a global enterprise, the only one of its kind remaining.”
“Yes, just what I though,” NTU muttered, typing frantically. “Now, let’s say, hypothetically, that I didn’t know the other world leaders…”
“Oceania is led by two women, whose identities are not public knowledge. Their base of operations, however, is. I would suggest attacking it, which should be simple enough, considering you are based here. Euroasia follows a king. His identity, too, is secret. Eastern Russia, Japan and China are little more than wastelands. United South America is led by… well… the beaver hordes. I would suggest an alliance with the rebels, particularly your two former allies. Speaking of alliances, the Canadian Resistance would meet your needs. Is that enough?”
“Plenty,” NTU muttered distractedly. The Departed chuckled and strolled over to NTU’s giant robot. He smiled, seeing the former Giant Robot Arm Zeke attached to one side of the torso. Yes, this creation would serve its purpose.

It would serve its purpose admirably. Zemo gazed with pride at his latest creation, one that would be crucial in his plans. Upon hearing the beep of the communicator, however, he stowed it away under a nearby table before answering. It was Hal Vanderbilt.
“Zemo, have you prepared your speech yet?”
“Eh? What speech?”
Hal sighed. “Your liberty speech on Wednesday. Where you provoke admiration and awe among the masses.”
“Again? Vanderbilt, I may be the peacekeeper in your miserable little nation, but I tire of these little propaganda presentations of yours. I would do my job better without all these public appearances.”
“That may well be true, Zemo, but you must remain a visible hero to the public. After all, you’re the last one. They need someone to look up to, someone to guide them. If they never saw you, there would be rumours that you didn’t exist, and chaos would erupt once more. We don’t want that, do we?”
“… no, we most certainly do not,” Zemo said through clenched teeth, “Is that the only reason you called?”
“You know me better than that, Zemo. There have been rumours that the Canadian Resistance is preparing its first gambit. Look into it. And Zemo? I realise that you keep an eye on things, but just remember: Who watches the watcher? That is all,” he finished, his image blinking out.
“Petty fool,” Zemo muttered, “A Zemo need not concern himself with the sheep that will soon fall under his command.” His manner did not betray the anxiety he felt, knowing that he was in a deadly race with several participants. He turned back to his work, and Hal Vanderbilt laughed.
“Zemo, Zemo… if you realised that I knew your plans… ah, well, there are more pressing matters to attend to,” he decided, standing. Little did he realise that his last words to Zemo applied to him as well. The horned man was watching.

He was watching carefully. High above the ruined streets, two figures hovered. One, a Makulan dragon, the other, a royal sea monkey. It was Banjooooo and Fin Fang Foom, recently released from their imprisonment. Fin Fang Foom was watching the streets below, carefully tracking a single walking figure. Finally, he dived, returning with a shoe sticking out of his mouth.
“I’m sure Jami would approve of that,” the sea monkey said mockingly.
“Oh, shut up. Now that we’re back, we have to take a side, you realise. The losing one might be more fun…”
“Sides?” Banjooooo sneered, “Choose all the sides you’d like, I’m going back to my kingdom! I left this world long before my exile to Limbo, and I don’t plan to come back now.”
“But…” the dragon started, but Banjooooo had already vanished. He made a few lazy circles in the air before heading in the direction of Canada.

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As the day faded, a messenger arrived at the royal palace in London, England. No guards stopped him, no doors barred him. For he had a message for the king, from the United North America. He ran at full speed through the well-decorated halls until he came to a pair of ornate doors, covered with gold-encrusted pictures of mythological figures, particularly one woman. The messenger paused there and pulled on a rope hanging from the ceiling. Moments later, the door opened slowly. There was a red rug leading to some stairs. At the top of these stairs was the throne of the great king. And there he sat royally, awaiting the news. The messenger went to kneel in respect, but the king motioned for him to stand. Instead, he walked forward to hand a paper to the king, and then left the room. The giant man held the paper in his hand for a moment, then bowed his head to read it. A moment later, it fell from his grip, slowly falling to the carpeted floor. The king sat motionless for a time, seconds, minutes, or hours. It didn’t matter. Finally, he stood, leaning heavily on a battered stick. He drew in a deep breath, let it out, then drew in another. He let this one out as well, but in an ear-shattering bellow.

“I say thee NAY!!!”

by spiffy