Anyone who saw this face would be startled, because it was not a face a normal person should have. In the Ministry of Internal Affairs, no one batted an eye at cyborg augmentation; bionic implants were routine for staff, and many lower-level employees were equipped with cognitive plug-ins to enhance logic and memory. Even so, the degree of modification on that face was excessive—the upper half of the original skin bore burn scars, with only a pair of deep green eyes intact. The lower half was covered in corpse-pale synthetic skin that didn't match her tone at all, and a custom alloy facial skeleton propped the face back into shape. Most of her hair had been shaved off, thin metallic modules were installed into the skull above her ears, and spinal implants extended down into her collar like a centipede reaching toward her waist. From neck to collarbone ran a series of metal-colored bionic implants still not covered by skin; along their edges lingered traces of antiseptic gel dried in place.
After the Sokovia incident, teams from the Undying City moved quickly to provide medical aid on the battlefield. But not everyone could be restored to health by simple field care. The medical technology of ordinary nation-states was helpless before many of the injuries, and most victims' finances couldn't bear the exorbitant costs. Even with Stark Industries footing the bill, many would be left permanently disabled. Many couldn't even state their identities before all the surgeries were complete, so at the Monarch's insistence, Stephanie had some of the severely wounded "John Does" transported back to the Undying City for treatment.
Long-term treatment is extraordinarily painful. Not everyone can survive round after round of bionic organ implantation and anti-rejection therapy, and fewer still can persist while replaying the sight of loved ones dying, night after night. At first, the Undying City had no experience with psychological counseling; only after certain people used gaps in supervision to commit suicide was a complete monitoring protocol established—one building had collapsed onto the Zemo family's residence outside the city. Mrs. Zemo's son died; her husband's father died protecting her and her boy; only her husband's whereabouts were unknown. Even after the bionic organ and prosthetic surgeries were complete and rejection had been reduced to negligible levels, the newly self-sufficient Mrs. Zemo remained depressed for a long time. Only after extended therapy improved her mental state did the Undying City learn her name and match it to Sokovia's registry.
After that, she joined the Undying City's internal affairs department as a copyist, working hard to pay off the medical and prosthetic costs, billed at cost. For a copyist, the extent of her bodily modifications was extraordinary, which meant she was destined to work for the Undying City for a very long time.
The side of her skull had been reconstructed, and part of her brain carried cognitive implants to compensate for missing function. Her spine had been surgically repaired; without a bionic spine, she'd never have taken another step. Her ribs, clavicles, and lungs had also been grievously damaged, and the Undying City's physicians simply replaced them with bionic materials. Worst of all was her face: her zygomatic arches and mandible were both shattered. When the Undying City found her, she had been lying on her side, shielding her son—this spared her from aspirating her own blood and bone fragments, and the Sisterhood managed to save her at death's door.
She underwent dozens of facial reconstruction surgeries, and before they were complete, she had to remain conscious through the pain; food and air both came only via external machines and tubes. Now she had lightweight alloy bones, a fully mechanical lower jaw, and a voice generator at her throat. But not everyone's psyche is as strong as hers. Of those successfully treated, only three-quarters still had the courage to live after seeing themselves in a mirror. Only Tita knew the Monarch had specifically ordered them to search a designated zone then; Mrs. Zemo was one of the survivors from that sector.
This was no coincidence.
"We have news about your husband."
Mrs. Zemo's expression didn't change, but her eyes showed joy—quickly followed by a confusion that forced her to speak. She didn't even touch the hot tea Diana handed her. "I don't understand, Ms. Stephanie," she said in a slightly unnatural synthetic voice. She had tried her best to tune the unit, but the model she used couldn't mimic a natural voice. In short, it wasn't a particularly high-end implant, and most people with facial prosthetics didn't care about that. "Why are you the one telling me this?"
"Because your husband is unknowingly working for the Monarch," Stephanie said, seated in the principal spot on the sofa, sipping red tea cut with sherry. It was the office's house special; the prohibition on drinking on duty was not particularly strict for someone of Stephanie's rank. "If you're willing, you'll be able to see him after Helmut Zemo completes his work," she said. "Of course, that depends entirely on you."
"Once your husband finishes that task, the payment will be enough to fund a comprehensive overhaul," Diana prompted gently when she saw Mrs. Zemo hesitate. "Aside from a few mechanical seams, you'll look little different from anyone else. At least with higher-grade facial implants, you'll have expressions again, and your voice will sound more natural."
A bad premonition rose in Mrs. Zemo's heart. She knew very well what her husband's line of work had been during the Sokovia incident, and whatever he was doing now had to be even more dangerous and difficult than before. After a while, she finally asked, "May I ask what kind of work Helmut is doing now?"
"I'm sorry, that's classified." Stephanie's body language conveyed impatience. In fact, there were better ways to leverage Helmut Zemo, because Solomon knew Helmut Zemo was courting death; a man who doesn't value his life can do many things. But Solomon's humanity did not permit him to use those methods. Telling Mrs. Zemo about Helmut was a decision he reached after careful thought.
So long as Helmut Zemo completed the mission, Solomon would allow their family to reunite and then withdraw completely from the world—no one would ever disturb them again.
Stephanie was moved by Solomon's compassion on the one hand and vexed by the potential expense of this sentimental gesture on the other. She knew her Monarch was gradually stripping away what mattered most to him and offering it up as the price of human progress, and she worried his rare, precious compassion would be squandered. The Undying City had already done enough for the Zemo family; Helmut Zemo ought to pay a considerable price in return.
She had not witnessed Helmut's conversation with Solomon and did not believe he would meekly follow the plan. So when she took over this task, she made a small change on her own initiative—Helmut Zemo would learn that his wife was alive, and during the mission, Mrs. Zemo would have only one chance to speak with her husband. Stephanie would attach updates on Mrs. Zemo's condition to the mission dossier and indicate that only with Undying City's technological support could she survive (anti-rejection drugs, implant maintenance, etc.), thereby stirring Helmut Zemo's sense of responsibility.
In other words, Stephanie would transmute his lust for vengeance into guilt toward his wife, make Helmut Zemo understand that he would have to pay with his life to give her a better one—and that only the Undying City could make that possible. For Helmut Zemo, the choice was already abundantly clear.
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