Somewhere In Rural China, November 15th, 1963
"You're a difficult man to find, Herr. Lu. Surprisingly so for a man who kills with his very presence, is it not?"
Chen Lu, known to the world as The Radioactive Man, barely looked up from the book he was reading, giving a contemptous glance towards the man with the thick German accent approaching him through the ruins of what had once been a thriving village, now nothing but empty stone buildings and withered corpses. The unwelcome visitor was a strange sight, dressed in a purple military uniform with a fur-lined neck, with yellow gloves and boots, his face covered by a gaudy purple hood, adorned with a golden crown. Behind him, two white men in military fatigues holding rifles stood, nervously clutching their weapons.
"I have made myself difficult to find for a reason, German. You've made a grave mistake coming here."
The man seemed undisturbed "Ah, certainly, that reason wouldn't be to avoid the wrath of the Communist Party for your failure against the so-called God of Thunder, would it? I imagine this was quite a thriving village before you decided to make a sanctuary for yourself in it."
Lu shrugged "China is very big, and there are many isolated villages, the Party cannot search every last one of them. Still, no point in taking chances with a villager trying to alert them, so they had to go. It's a useful place to hide, without pesky witnesses around." He closed the book, setting it aside before standing up, muscles shifting under his sickly green skin "You won't be leaving either."
The armed men raised their weapons, but the masked man simply held up a hand, halting them "Oh, I'm afraid I must disagree, Herr. Lu. I intend to leave very shortly, and you will be coming with me. You see, you and I, we have a common enemy."
"What are you talking about, German? Who are you?!"
The masked man straightened up proudly "I am Dr. Heinrich Zemo, 12th Baron of Leipzig and loyal soldier of the Third Reich! As for what I'm talking about... I'm sure that even out in this wasteland, you have heard of the return of the verdammte Captain America, yes?"
Lu scoffed "I could have run away to the moon and still heard of it. So? If the American dogs have yet another costumed clown to parade around espousing their pathetic lies, what does that have to do with me?"
"Because, Herr. Lu, the Captain has allied himself with the Avengers, who's numbers include the very man who is at fault for your exile! And while I cannot speak for you, Herr. Lu, I cannot abide by the idea of a man who humiliated me, who ruined my dream, and forced me to hide in the godforsaken corners of the world, is free to live his life like his actions against me were for nothing!! So, you have a choice, Herr. Lu. You can spend the remainder of your life out here, in the middle of nowhere, hiding from your former masters while Thor turns your humilation into an ancedote to amuse his fellow "heroes" with, or you can join me, as we seek our righteous vengeance!!"
There was a pause as Lu considered the Germans words. But his answer was never really in doubt
"We will need more power than just you and myself, Zemo..."
Under his mask, Zemo smiled "I'm quite a bit ahead of you, Herr. Lu. Come with me and meet your new allies. There are already quite a few people who wish to destroy the Avengers..."
.....
Just Outside Laurel, Mississipi, November 16th, 1963
Samuel Bowers looked out through the gap in the curtains, out over the assembled crowd in the dimly lit basement. He grinned as he recognized several of the people waiting to hear the speech, friends from town, even a few of his cousins were there. He shouldn't have doubted them, he knew they were good, decent folk, they were just the kind of people they needed. A few of the people in the crowd were already dressed in the familiar white robes and hoods, the mask portion lifted up to reveal their faces, their faces shiny with sweat from the unseasonal November heat outside.
Bowers looked back towards the robed figure standing behind him, the mans black robes melding him with the shadows, a prominent "H" on his hood visible through the darkness "It's quite a crowd out there, sir. Standing room only, so to speak, heh..."
The hooded man chuckled, his voice tinted with a slight, unfamiliar accent Bowers had never quite been able to place. "Not surprising, Mr. Bowers. These are good men, honest men, who aren't willing to just stand by while their beloved country is... infested with sub-human garbage! They know our cause is just, they just haven't had anyone to show them the way yet, and that's why we're here. To unite these men into an army, soldiers to fight for the REAL America!"
Bowers nodded enthusiastically, a feeling of excitement and righteousness swelling inside him "I know these people, sir, I know they're going to see the truth in your words just like I did! They'll see that you're just the man we need to lead us against the fucking animals on our doorstep, and the lying fucking dirty commies in the government! We'll kill 'em all, every last one of them!"
"Patience, Bowers..." The hooded man said, holding up a hand "All in due time, first we must consilidate our power here, in the part of America where we are at our strongest, where the people still adhere to the values this nation was founded upon! We will strike against the corrupt pigs in Washington, their sub-human hordes and their Jew taskmasters soon enough, but not yet."
Bowers was about to speak, when something occurred to him. The hooded man seemed to notice his hesitation. "Yes, Mr. Bowers? Is something on your mind?"
"It's just..." Bowers looked around nervously "The thing in the news, about Captain America? That it's really him? It can't... I mean, he wouldn't-"
The hooded man sneered viciously "Don't be such a fool, Bowers. Captain America was a hero, a true symbol of America, someone willing to do what it took for this country! Someone who bled and killed for it! You really think he'd bend knee to the miserable, catholic wretch who stole the Presidency? It's a fake, just a monkey in a costume the corrupt pigs dressed up to steal his good name! Just another sin among countless others!"
Bowers nodded. It made perfect sense "Of course. Of course! You're right, sir! I'm sorry, I should never have doubted it."
"It's fine, always remember, the media is our enemy, like so many others, controlled by the Jews, peddling lies to keep the American people complacent and weak, to blind them from the filth that infects our society! They are the disease, and WE are the cure!"
"We are the cure, sir..."
The Hate-Monger nodded sternly before throwing open the curtain and stepping out into the light to adress the assembled crowd, familar words and long-rehearsed speeches prepared. He smiled under his hood. The country might be different, but the minds were the same, ready and willing to absorb his ideals.
And the Hate-Monger began again.
.....
Greyhound Bus Terminal, Laredo, Texas, November 17th, 1963
"One for Dallas, please."
The bus clerk looked up from his newspaper, giving a bore glance towards the man at the counter. He was young, early 20's at the most, and thin, almost skinny, with dark, stripy hair, dressed in an ill-fitting suit, and holding a ratty old suitcase with one hand.
"Name?"
The man cleared his throat. "L-Lee. H.O Lee..."
The clerk shrugged and reached for the tickets, quickly printing the name over it, and handed it over. The man tossed a few crumbled bills on the counter before taking the ticket and moving towards the waiting bus. The clerk didn't give him a second look.
Lee Harvey Oswald slumped down in the window seat, staring out at the darkening sky as he waited for the bus to leave.