Chapter 205: Sokovia's Avengers
What he needed now was information.
Helmut Zemo had spent the previous week gathering it piece by piece.
Not merely intelligence about individual heroes, but information about the structures connecting them.
The internal disagreements within the Avengers.
The emerging relationship between the Avengers and the Justice League.
The organizational weaknesses of both groups.
The Winter Soldier.
HYDRA.
Captain America.
Bucky Barnes.
And, most importantly, the history connecting Steve Rogers to the man who had once been his closest friend.
Zemo understood something that ordinary assassins never did.
You did not need to defeat a superior enemy physically.
You only needed to understand what they valued.
Then...
You attacked that.
That was the lesson passed down through generations of the Zemo family.
Helmut himself was the thirteenth Baron Zemo, heir to a family with a long history of scientific brilliance, military strategy, and conflict with Captain America and the Avengers. He possessed no superhuman physiology comparable to the people he intended to destroy.
He did not need one.
His intelligence was enough.
He had already obtained the most valuable piece of information.
December 16, 1991.
The deaths of Howard and Maria Stark.
It had never been an ordinary automobile accident.
The assassin was the Winter Soldier.
Bucky Barnes.
The discovery gave Zemo something more valuable than a weapon.
It gave him a crack in the foundation.
He had made three copies of the evidence.
One was hidden in a private archive.
One was secured through an encrypted dead-drop.
The third remained with him.
He did not intend to release any of them yet.
Timing mattered.
The Avengers were already divided over the Sokovia Accords.
Their trust was already beginning to fracture.
All he needed...
Was the correct moment to apply pressure.
When a crack becomes wide enough...
You do not need to destroy the wall.
Gravity does the rest.
...
The same day.
Metropolis.
LexCorp headquarters.
Lex Luthor sat alone in his private office.
An encrypted communication channel occupied one of the monitors.
A message had been waiting there for almost twenty-four hours.
He had noticed it only three hours earlier.
The message contained almost no information.
Resources required.
Objective: internal destabilization of the Avengers.
Operational plan available.
Funding and logistical support required.
Luthor read it twice.
Then leaned back.
He did not know Helmut Zemo personally.
But he understood his type immediately.
An ordinary human who had suffered an extraordinary loss.
A man who understood that he could never defeat superhumans through physical force.
So he intended to attack something else.
Their relationships.
Their trust.
Their reputation.
Their sense of purpose.
Luthor's fingers tapped the desktop twice.
"Useful."
LexCorp had enormous resources, but Luthor was too experienced to leave fingerprints directly on an operation like this.
He established a chain through multiple shell companies and charitable foundations.
Funds originating from LexCorp-controlled accounts were routed through several intermediary corporations before eventually appearing as humanitarian aid.
The paperwork suggested legitimate refugee assistance.
No direct connection to Luthor.
He also supplied Zemo with forged identities, financial channels, procurement contacts, and selected intelligence concerning enhanced individuals.
Nothing unnecessarily comprehensive.
Only the information Zemo needed.
Luthor encrypted the package.
Before transmitting it, he added one final message.
Do not contact me again.
Do not report your progress.
This channel will terminate automatically.
He sent the files.
The monitor went dark.
Luthor leaned back.
Helmut Zemo was a tool.
Nothing more.
His real objective remained elsewhere.
Doomsday.
The developing situation surrounding the Avengers was simply useful noise.
As the heroes fought among themselves over international authority, the world's intelligence services would be looking in the wrong direction.
The military.
The media.
The United Nations.
Batman.
Superman.
The Avengers.
The more attention they paid to one another...
The more freedom Luthor gained elsewhere.
A faint smile appeared.
...
One week later.
Geneva.
United Nations Office at Geneva.
Lynn walked through the corridor wearing a dark gray suit.
His hair had been carefully arranged.
A temporary identification badge rested on his chest.
Dr. Lynn Chen
Special Medical Consultant — Enhanced-Individual Medical Affairs
The title was deliberately bureaucratic.
The credential itself, however, was authentic.
Tony Stark had complained bitterly while helping untangle the administrative paperwork.
Lynn ignored the complaints.
He stopped outside a medium-sized conference room.
A plaque beside the door read:
Superhuman Activities Oversight Committee
Medical Affairs Subcommittee
Lynn entered.
Seven people were already seated around the table.
Five diplomatic representatives.
One World Health Organization official.
One United Nations legal adviser.
A middle-aged British representative wearing glasses looked up first.
"Dr. Lynn Chen."
Her tone was formal.
"Please, take a seat."
Lynn sat in the designated chair.
A glass of water and an agenda had already been placed before him.
He opened his briefcase.
"I appreciate your time."
His English was fluent and precise.
"I'll proceed directly to the relevant matter."
He removed a document and placed it in the center of the table.
"This is medical data from the Sokovia battlefield."
The representatives opened the report.
The first page contained the summary.
Field medical operation: forty-eight hours.
Patients treated: thirty-seven.
Deaths among patients admitted to the field clinic: zero.
The British representative stopped.
She looked up.
"Zero mortality?"
"Correct."
"Thirty-seven seriously injured patients?"
"Correct."
"Several classified as immediately life-threatening?"
"Nine were considered critical upon arrival."
"And all survived?"
"All nine survived."
Lynn paused.
"Patients who died before reaching my clinic are not included in the calculation."
The room fell silent.
The WHO representative continued turning pages.
The documented cases included thoracic trauma, spinal fractures, severe plasma burns, multiple fractures, internal hemorrhage, and complex wounds caused by weapons that did not exist within ordinary military medical doctrine.
The listed treatment times were equally extraordinary.
Fifteen minutes.
Nine minutes.
Five minutes.
Three minutes.
The WHO representative adjusted his glasses.
"Doctor, according to conventional battlefield medicine, a burst fracture of the lumbar spine with neurological compromise would ordinarily receive spinal immobilization, stabilization, and evacuation."
"Correct."
"Definitive surgery would generally be performed later in a fully equipped medical facility."
"Correct."
He looked puzzled.
"So how were these cases treated in minutes?"
Lynn answered without hesitation.
"Because these were not conventional patients."
He turned to another section of the report.
"Superhuman physiology differs significantly from ordinary human physiology."
"Metabolic rates, connective-tissue properties, healing mechanisms, resistance to trauma, and in some cases entirely non-human biological structures create conditions conventional trauma medicine was never designed to handle."
"Applying ordinary medical protocols to enhanced patients produces unacceptable mortality rates."
He turned to page seven.
"This comparison should make the distinction clearer."
The representatives examined the next table.
On the left:
Conventional treatment outcomes for documented enhanced-individual trauma
On the right:
Miracle Clinic outcomes
The difference was substantial.
The conventional success rate was approximately twenty-eight percent.
The Miracle Clinic's documented survival rate was one hundred percent among admitted patients.
The legal adviser finally spoke.
He was a bald Frenchman named Jean-Pierre.
"Dr. Lynn."
He folded his hands.
"Your results are extraordinary."
"I want to clarify something."
"Why are you submitting these records to this committee?"
Lynn leaned back.
"I am proposing the creation of a neutral medical institution for enhanced individuals."
Jean-Pierre frowned.
"Define neutral."
"A medical organization operating independently of military command."
"No political allegiance."
"No combat role."
"No operational authority."
"The wounded arrive."
"I treat them."
"Afterward, they leave."
He counted on his fingers.
"Avengers."
"Justice League."
"Independent heroes."
"Vigilantes."
"Government personnel."
"It does not matter."
"They are patients."
Eileen Horton, the British representative, frowned.
"Dr. Lynn, that sounds remarkably similar to creating a legal sanctuary outside the Accords."
"It is a medical facility."
"Not a sanctuary."
Lynn's answer was immediate.
"Those are two different things."
She studied him.
"You've clearly examined the treaty."
"Of course."
Lynn opened another document.
His expression remained perfectly relaxed.
"Have you reviewed Chapter Twelve of the current draft?"
"The section concerning humanitarian assistance during enhanced-individual conflicts?"
The room became quiet.
Lynn looked directly at Horton.
"The provision is very clear about humanitarian protection."
"But it contains no meaningful definition for a neutral medical institution whose personnel possess extraordinary abilities."
He placed one finger against the relevant page.
"That omission..."
A faint smile appeared.
"...can be corrected."
Or exploited.
Lynn did not say which.
But everyone at the table understood the implication.
And Lynn remained perfectly unhurried.
"It's perfect."
"Ms. Horton, have you seen Chapter Twelve of the draft agreement? The clause on humanitarian aid in superhuman conflicts."
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