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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Dayspire" data-source="post: 2702428" data-attributes="member: 35765">The Professional - [sblock]Your gaze flickers over each man standing near you, and without even knowing it you memorize them.  All of them.  The cadence of their speech, the way they walk, stand, sigh, and everything else.  You measure yourself against them, using the scale that worked so well in your school.Kaiju.  You'd rate him a 4 on agility, and perhaps a 4.5 on fighting ability.  Not much defensively, perhaps a 2.1 or so.Verdant. Solid 4's across the board.  Fracture.  Nice.  You could work with someone like this. Hell, you could probably learn a thing from him.  Quite a few 9's or 10's.  He has the look of a predator.  That's okay, you've never been prey to anyone.  You realize that you've been unconsciously standing like him, mimicking his stance.  He has good balance, so it's not a bad stance to mimic.Whirlwind.  Low-level fighter.  Three's, maybe even a 2.5 on defensive capability.  Still better than the average shlub off the street.Mr. Clark. Whoah.  What's going on here?  Very odd.  Mr. Clark's stance is tough to read.  It keeps... changing.  And his body language is almost random, too.  Very odd.  You've never seen anything like it before.[/sblock]Mr. Clark listens to the introductions, nodding to each of you in turn.  He smiles at Kaiju when he asks Whirlwind for his autograph."Now it is my turn, yes?" he says.  "To begin with, my name is not 'Heinrich Clark'.  I found it vital to create that identity to secure certain... trusts.  Now the time for disguises is past.  Here is the truth."Reaching around his neck, you see 'Clark' grab a bit of skin around his neck and pull.  Suddenly, his face seems to stretch and twist as he pulls it off the top of his head!  What he holds in his hand - the face that you've known briefly as Heinrich Clark - appears to be nothing more than a thin piece of fleshy cellophane. The face below is quite different from the mask.  It is a mass of scar tissue, pink and twisted.  You see a recognizable mouth, and two eyes - but everything else has been presumably burned off long ago.  Small tufts of withered hair stick out in various places on his scalp. "Not so good, ja?  I know... it is difficult to look at."  Quickly, he grabs something from his belt and then dons a scarlet mask with a golden diadem near the forehead. "Ah, that is much better.  Now you have seen my true face, and you should know my true name.  I am... Baron Helmut Zemo."  He gives an almost royal nod of the head. Baron Zemo.  The name is familiar even to those who know little of World War II.  The original, Heinrich Zemo, was a brilliant scientist who offered his services to the Nazi party.  He invented many weapons for Germany during this period, and this brought him into constant conflict with both the US and Captain America.  During their last confrontation, Heinrich was seemingly killed in a landslide. His son was never heard of until three years ago - just after Captain America's triumphant return from being encased in a block of ice for forty years.  As it was related by Captain America on the Today Show, the new Baron Zemo - the originals' son, Helmut - blamed the Captain for the death of his father.  Using his own skills and technological genius, Helmut captured him and was preparing to dip him into a vat of experimental chemicals. But Captain America was not so easily murdered.  He managed to free himself at the last moment, and overcame Baron Zemo.  Alas - as the Captain told the story - the new Baron Zemo fell into the vat himself, and perished.Apparently not."Ja, I see that look on your faces.  Disbelief.  Horror.  But other than my name and face, I have been truthful with you." Zemo sits down in his leather chair, throwing the the flexible face of "Clark" on a nearby console.  He steeples his fingers and sighs.  "When I pulled myself from the vat I had fallen into, I saw a reflection of my face in a mirror.  Those chemicals disfigured me.  I was... I am... hideous.  And after some time, I saw that my actions were as well.  Your Captain America did nothing wrong.  It was my father!  And me, for believing so blindly.  By almost dying, I saw that I needn't let my father's sins blacken my own soul.  I could... instead... redeem the name of Zemo."  He reaches over at a console, and hits a button.  The screens go black, and then begin playing scenes of horror from the past two years.  The Hulk, randomly grabbing a pedestrian and ripping off his arm.  The alien race known as the Chitari, killing over 20,000 soldiers during their attack.  The so-called Sinister Six attacking the White House.  Hundreds of images of various horrors flicker on the screen behind Zemo as he watches you. "Horrible, no?  I know that these events horrify me.  But most of these are preventable.  All it takes is the desire to fix these things, and - of course - the power.  Power which we have!  The Ultimates have it.  But they must do as their leash-holder Fury commands them to.  The 'Fantastic Four' that have been in the papers?  Bah.  They have power, but they have their own keepers." Zemo stands and hits a button, and the screens go black."We will be beholden to no man, no group, and no country.  We will only seek to redeem ourselves by our actions."  Zemo begins to pace back and forth, gesturing. "Yes, it will be under new identities.  Many of us have a past that would jaundice the public eye far too much.  And it is this very same public eye that we must depend upon.  The media shall be a tool of ours, yes?  For we must always prepare for the worst case... that of our true names becoming known.  So, in essence... it is a race, to do more good than any evil we have done before."  Zemo stops and gestures at the warehouse. "This?  You must wonder about my chosen site for our meeting.  Ahh, it is simple mein freunds.  We must appear humble to the public, unlike these other groups.  This site is perfect.  And from this wreckage, we shall rebuild."  Zemo stops and places a hand over his face, lowering his head.  His voice comes out as barely a whisper.  "And for some... perhaps they can rebuild the wreckage of their soul."</blockquote>

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