Zod stroked his beard as he pondered, seated restlessly at the head of the council chamber in the ruins of the Vozhnygrad parliament building. Two days had passed since the revolution that drove the Russian military out of the country, and he had gathered all of his new underlings together to discuss how to rebuild his new country.
"My brothers, the first step to creating a free Pokolistan is over. Now begins the most vital part: reconstruction. Among you today are this country's finest, its labor leaders, police officials, community leaders, and military commanders. Here we shall piece together the future of this once beleaguered land, and begin the journey toward piece and prosperity."
More rubbish, of course, but Zod was nothing if not gifted at saying what people wanted to hear. If he was to get anywhere on this wretched planet, he first needed an understanding of where he was and what he had at his disposal.
"Commander Volkoff," Zod addressed the stocky, unshaven man who was still wearing the same filthy olive-drab fatigues from three days earlier, "Report on our tactical situation. What is the current strength of our armed force, and is there any indication of a Russian counter-attack?"
"Well, *cough* sir," the slobbish alien began, seemingly shrinking in Zod's presence, "our overall situation is...difficult to tell. We took the worst losses here in Vozhnygrad, but here alone we still have about eighteen-hundred men able to fight. We've gotten in contact with the units in Dorugolij and Arnnstad, and combined they've got a good six thousand, mostly new recruits over the last few days. There's no word from Zeillinski or the countryside towns, but right now we're estimating over twelve thousand by week's end.
"And the Russians, well, they've all retreated across the border, but one of our cells in Ukraine reported them lining up a few columns of tanks to try to roll in again. I can deploy some of our operatives to sabotage the bridges and highways in the area, but that'll only slow them down until--"
"No need, Commander; I shall deal with the Russian tanks myself. It should keep me entertained for the afternoon," Zod said with a grin. "I want you to inform your subordinates to find all men in their units with proper military training, and have them begin drills, for recruits and otherwise. This army must be composed of soldiers, not petty guerillas."
"Now, Kommissar Borga, how go the diplomatic discussions? Have we managed to obtain any foreign support?"
"Y-y-yes, sir," said a scrawny man with thick glasses, who looked as if he were about to pass out from fear. "W-w-we've gotten a response from our allies in Chechnya and Bosnia pledging t-t-troops, a-and operatives in Uzbekistan have agreed to supply us with weapons. However, both Serbia and Georgia have refuse to give us aid, and we h-haven't heard from the diplomat sent to, errr....Latveria, s-s-sir. But that doesn't come as a surprise....sir."
"And why is that?"
"Well, errrmmm, because of D-D-Doctor Von Doom, sir. He's a powerful warlord, a-and they say he's got technology that's decades ahead of the rest of the world. I've heard rumors, sir, that he's even got magic p-p-powers. But that's o-only rumors, sir. B-but what's true is that n-no one gets in or out of Latveria unless he says so."
The meeting droned on and on, with the filthy Earth-Men bickering about restoring their economy and repairing irrigation routes and providing medical aid to the wounded and other nonsense of that nature. Zod paid no attention, however. He found himself very much intrigued by this "Doctor Doom." If what this vermin says is true, The General mused to himself, then this 'Doom' may very well be the key to returning me to Krypton. I must deal with gathering my forces now, but soon, I will have to see if the lord of Latveria really is the terror these insects claim...
Finally, the meeting ended, and the aliens began filing out of the room. Zod sat, contemplating to himself, plotting his next step.
"Excuse me, General Sir?"
One of the vermin dared to speak to him without being addressed. "I was wondering, sir," the pitiful being continued, "about the Z on your suit?"
Zod glanced at his black armored breastplate, and the red crest on it, one of his own design. He had formed it to display his defiance towards the house of Jor-El, taking their family crest and turning it backwards as a sign of contempt. He had also taken the weak curves of the symbol and straightened them to a powerful angular shape, to show the strength of his convictions. Apparently, it coincidentally resembled a letter of the aliens' alphabet.
...and what do you wish to know about the "Z" on my suit, then? he asked mockingly.
"Well, sir....the design, it....it means that you....you are a Kryptonian, yes?"
Zod sprang up from his chair, shocked and indignant. How could an inferior being like this possibly know about the glorious Mother World? How could such primitive creatures know of a world millions of light years away? Surely this was madness!
"How do you know about Krypton?! Earth-Man, you WILL answer me!!!!
The man was wide-eyed and still, though less out of fear than out of utter surprise. He looked at the General as if he had just been asked the simplest question in the world.
"Why, everyone knows about Krypton, sir. Haven't you heard of the American Superman?"
