//------------------------------// // Chapter 21 - The Little Red Book // Story: This War of Ours // by JDPrime22 //------------------------------// Berlin, Germany 9:33 a.m. “Homecoming…” Zemo rested on the bedside, the sunlight slipping through the drapes lining his window. To his left, the television remained on a singular channel, a channel Zemo had been watching all morning long and refused to change. Just a simple news station reporting the events following the UN bombing. He leaned forward and studied the little red book, the light cascading across its pages. “One… One…” Such language barriers meant little to Zemo. He had taught himself over seven different languages, including Russian. The Russian wasn’t the problem. The language was actually quite easy. The problem that arose was the meaning for each word. How were they connected? What did they stand for? All Zemo had read was that it was a trigger of some kind. A trigger. “Freight car…” “There remains no word today on the state of the Princess of Friendship, Twilight Sparkle. Witness reports say she, her student, and the famous Black Widow were spotted entering a military vehicle and leaving the crime scene.” Zemo lowered his book. Cautiously, he turned his attention to the television and saw still frame images and camera feed of the Princess of Friendship entering an unknown, unmarked vehicle. With her was her student, Starlight Glimmer, the unicorn responsible for the devastation in Lagos. And of course, entering last was Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow. Zemo didn’t see much of the alien ambassadors. Of course, he kept a close eye on them, hearing their speeches, grabbing every single piece of news article written about them. Twilight Sparkle, Starlight Glimmer, they were close to the Avengers. Allies, friends. It was never his intention to harm them, but now, now that he had come so close, sometimes certain sacrifices would have to made. He was surprised, to say the least. They had survived the bombing, and even managed to save most of the world leaders in attendance. Impressive. However, they would have never saved everyone, and the king was just one of the many who would have to die in order for everything to fall in place. The ponies were of no use to him at this point. But if they played their part, if they followed suit, then maybe they could prove useful in the destruction of the Avengers. In a sad, sick twist of irony, Zemo might have actually considered thanking Black Widow. Without her contributions, without her leaking those HYDRA files to the world, he would never have come as close as he had now. He would probably still be living in Sokovia, in some forgotten home by himself for the remainder of his days. And every day he would be dreaming of the single opportunity, the one he would never be able to achieve because he didn’t have the means, the power, or the pieces needed to accomplish it. He would still be alive, him only, with the thought that the Avengers and their weapons of genocide had destroyed his home. Taken everything from him. His world. Everything. But she did release those files. And the Widow would suffer, they all would, just as much as he had. A single frame remained behind the news reporter, the one of James Buchanan Barnes on the scene of the bombing. Or so they thought. The world was caught on a wild goose chase, searching for the ghost. They would find him. They would find the Soldier. But by then they would already be lost on the wrong path. If everything would follow suit, if everything fell into place—and it would—then Zemo believed his vengeance would finally come. Their vengeance would finally come. There was a sharp knock on door. Maybe it was sharp. The television had very little audio. Zemo spun around and stared at the blank face of the door. He closed his book, remembered what page he was on, and stood up. He placed the book in a nearby drawer. Approaching the door and standing right in front of the solid white oak, Zemo reached behind him, gripped his pistol, and reached for the handle. “I have your breakfast,” a young, feminine voice called from the other side in clear German. Zemo instantly let his guard down, the voice soothing his nerves. Smiling, he opened the door and sighed. “I could smell it before I opened the door.” The young waitress smiled back, turning her eyes to the large platter in her hands. “Side of bacon and black coffee. Again. I can make you something different, if you like.” Zemo only smiled. “This is wonderful,” he complimented, earning a small blush from the young waitress. Her gaze fell from him, almost if she was embarrassed. Zemo asked, “Have you seen the news lately? It is simply tragic.” Just like that, her gaze rose again, meeting his. She nodded, a sigh escaping her. “Oh, yes, of course. I cannot believe that nobody noticed that monster earlier. I do pray that they find him.” “Yes, I do, as well,” Zemo agreed, nodding. “To allow such a… monster into the world could cause great devastation, more so than people would hope to realize. Hopefully the Avengers can find him.” “The Avengers will do all that they can, I’m sure,” she said, offering a tiny, hopeful smile. “They are our protectors, after all.” Zemo smiled. “Amen to that.” Smiling back, the young waitress began to step forward. She said, “I will just put this on your…” And just like that, Zemo flinched and stopped her, his left palm gripping the door, halting her progress. The young waitress stared at him, unsure at first, then slowly fell back into his calming smile. “It’s okay, I can manage,” he told her, hands reaching out to grab the platter. The alluring and mysterious smile he offered calmed her nerves, letting her smile back. “Very well. You have a nice rest of your day, sir.” “And you, as well.” Closing the door, Zemo’s smile instantly fell. He let the humanity left within him fall back to where it belonged, leaving just him as he was. It was a shell he often used, the same kind he did to lure the doctor. Zemo paused, his eyes slowly shifting to the large machine resting in the room near the start of the hall. For later. Not much longer now. He returned to his little red book, practicing over and over again. “Longing… Rusted… Seventeen…” He thought back to those ponies. He thought to the Princess of Friendship, thought to her decision on the Accords. He thought to the rainbow Pegasus, thought back to her and the Captain on their way to Romania at that very moment. They didn’t know yet. None of them will. But soon… they’ll learn. They’ll see the Avengers for who they really are when they’re broken. Savages. Monsters. Killers. And when they see that… that’s when he would truly win.