1944
Steve Rogers slipped on the cowl, now unfamiliar with its feel and fabric. The cotton texture was a welcome relief to the original wool variant, and allowed for much more sweat intake. He turned, in uncomfortable surroundings, to his friend Bucky.
"You really think this is a good idea?"
"Well, I'm not the kind of guy dresses up for Hallowe'en. Besides, no one'll care."
"It's fancy dress. I can't just go in as skinny Steve. I gotta have zamoose. Y'know? Originality."
Bucky sighed, then chuckled. Steve was dressed up like some kind of bat guy, and at 23 years old should've really known better. Steve was a scrawny guy, the kind of person you knew would fail at gym due to lack of everything. Yet Bucky felt like he had to protect him, like he was a big brother to the weak little Steve.
"Listen, don't...y'know. Don't be drastic. Don't go looking for trouble, you understand?"
"Yes mother."
"I'm not that...oh never mind. Just go, would ya?"
Present Day
Nick Fury sighed.
"This Zemo, he ain't the original. Or at least we think. He popped onto our radar six months ago, held a delegate from Latveria hostage before slitting her throat. We don't know where he came from, but we know he isn't docile."
"Why me? Why not some of your guys?"
"You know the Zemo fighting style. Plus, after that much time in the ice you must need some kinda stimulation."
Steve sighed. Just when he thought he was out of it.
1944
He felt blood pour down his face from his nose as he continued to fight on against the three bullies. Finding them beating a small kid senseless in an alleyway, he'd felt the need to protect. Needless to say they'd turned on him, but were shooed away by a small man in glasses.
"That bravery...where did you find the idea? Of being stupid enough to fight these men?"
He had an European accent. Steve looked into his eyes.
"I...uh...I just want to beat down the bullies of the world."
"Hmm...yes, yes. Tell me, do you want to serve your country?"
"Yeah."
"Well, I have something for you. How would you like to work for the president?"
"I'd need proof."
"Of course. Hold on."
He came back ten minutes later, and gobsmacked Steve. Next to him walked the president of the United States of America, along with a bodyguard.
"Good afternoon son. I understand you stood up for a child just now."
"Ye-yes sir."
"Well, that's fantastic son. As Dr Erskine may have explained to you, we've got a plan to beat the Germans. It's a painful experience, but you'll gain the physique of Atlas."
"Sign me up, sir."
Present
In the middle east of nowhere lay the cave of Well Known Truths. Why it was known as this, Baron Zemo did not know.
Henry Zemo. Not a name, but a rank. And a rank this Zemo had earned. His face was hidden beneath the tight cloth mask, never revealed to anyone. He had taken up residence in the caves to keep his mind clear and pure, to keep his blade skills sharp. He'd slipped up before, with the delegate. A sloppy murder worthy only of a madman. He wasn't mad. He was sane.
He heard the dispersal of sand outside, and creeping to the entrance of the cave he found three men armed and dressed in black. Another man stepped out with them, with a white cape, white combat boots and chalky facepaints. He had a hood raised over his head.
"You Henry Zemo?"
"Who's asking?"
"The name's Taskmaster. We were sent to help you."
"With?"
"The trip to the US. You said to us before that you had a legacy or somethin'."
"That was the last Zemo. However, it's true. So, when do we begin? When do we leave?"
"Now. Like, right now. We gotta blow the cave up though."
The cave of Well Known Truths turned into a fireball as he said this.
"I act prepared." Zemo replied, heading towards a distant jeep.
