Montgomery, Alabama, 3 PM, 1964
"I got enough to deal with today, so hold my calls. If anyone shows up in person, tell 'em to come back tomorrow."
A harried-looking secretary nodded, adding meek "yes, sir" as Governor George Wallace stomped past her desk and into his office, slamming the door behind him, rattling the framed photos hanging on the walls.
Inside, Wallace dropped his suitcase on top of the chair in front of his own desk, before leaning back against the door, resting his head against the surface and taking a moment to enjoy the darkness of the room. His head was throbbing and his eyes hurt from the slightest bit of sunlight, the wages of sin he was paying for last nights New Years debauch. Really, if it was up to him, he'd be staying home for New Years Day, like most sane folks were doing, but he had more than enough to deal with than he could affort to let it lie any longer.
It had been a hell of a year, that was for sure, and frankly, he wasn't sure there had been much to celebrate, but his associates were expecting him to put in an appearance at their parties, so if he wanted to keep their support, which he very much did, George Wallace had to smile and drink and make merry like a mindless buffoon. And, he supposed '63 hadn't been a TOTAL loss. Yes, that damn communist squatting in the White House had forced through the school desegregation against all odds, but he'd made a lot of enemies in the process, even more than he already had. And the more people who hated John. F. Kennedy, the more people flocked to George Wallace's banner.
Captain America returning from the dead, THAT had thrown a real wrench into the plans, though. And having the man side with Kennedy hadn't been a high point either. Oh, had that ruffled some feathers among the southern voters, how could the great hero of World War 2 join up with the man who stood against everything they held dear? Well, not like Wallace hadn't had to spin the disillusionment of others into support for his own agenda before, but going against Captain America wasn't like running against a political rival. If he pushed too hard, he'd be seen as smearing a national icon, and there were some things even the people who voted for him wouldn't stand for. Probably.
The truth was, Wallace didn't believe half the crap he spouted at his speeches. He didn't particularly like negroes, but he didn't really like most white folks either. Oh, he didn't buy into that hogwash you heard from the socialists about how everyone was equal, that was just nonsense, but he didn't think the difference was as big as the people who bought into his rethoric did. In his view, most people were more or less the same, ; small, petty, stupid, self-absorbed, selfish. Early in his career, he'd tried to reason with the public, talking about how to build better schools, better infrastructure, appealed to a better future. And it had gotten him nowhere.
Then, he'd started talking about keeping the negroes in their place, and it was like he'd found a magic spell. So, he'd kept talking, and he kept winning, and he'd realized, why bother trying to build something better, when all the people wanted was to hear about how great they already were, and how all their problems was the fault of someone they already hated?
At this rate, it was going to carry him straight to the White House.
Wallace had been so caught up in his reminiscence, it wasn't until he opened his eyes, now adjusted to the darkness, that he realized someone was already sitting in his chair.
He blinked, trying to make out the shape "What in the hell- Who the hell are you?!"
The figure shifted, and Wallace realized the man was wearing some sort of robe. For a moment, he thought that a Klansman had somehow gotten into his office, but he quickly noticed that the robes were a deep red rather than white. "Rough night, Mr. Governor?" the man spoke.
"You can't just barge in here, who the hell do you think you are?! Didn't my staff catch you?"
"Oh, your staff just happened to be looking the other way when I came in. That's the problem these days, you just can't ever be quite sure who you're hiring, no matter how hard you look. Suffice to say, some of the people in your employ have more than one job..." The hooded figure stood up, and walked out from behind the desk. As he got closer, Wallace could see more details, what little there was. The red robes covered the man down to his feet, and a pair of red gloves covered his hands. He also saw that the hood covering the face had a black mark around the eyes for some odd reason, reminding Wallace bizzarely of a burglar's mask from a cartoon. It was only now, up close, that he noticed the robes had a patch stitched on, with the number "3" clearly marked on it.
"As for who I am" the man continued, ignoring Wallace's growing anger "I represent, shall we say, a syndicate of sorts, and me and my associate believe you may share certain vested interests-"
Wallace sneered "Oh, that's what this ridiculous show is all about? You're here for one of those crime families up? I don't care who sent you, the Italians or the Irish, and I don't care why you're wearing those stupid pajamas! You can scuttle right back to your bosses and tell them I ain't buying whatever they're trying to sell! Now get out before I throw you out myself!"
"Oh, don't be so unimaginative" the man almost sounded bored "What I'm part of is so much more than a mere collection of greaseball mobsters, a syndicate is simply the closest comparison. No, the reason I'm here is because me and my associates have been watching you over the past few years, and you possess something that is all too rare in these trying times; vision, and the will to make it come true, no matter what, rather than be bogged down by foolish ideology! You've taken the blind rage of the people, and shaped it for your own ends! That's a valuable skill, governor!"
Wallace paused. "...I serve the people of Alabama, I don't know what you're talking about. And what do you mean you've been watching me?!"
"We've had observers at every rally you held, every speech you made, every party you've gone to since you were elected, Mr. Wallace! We have eyes and ears everywhere, and we know the man you really are, the man hiding behind the flag of a group of traitors! Those performances you put on might fool your supporters, but it can't fool us."
Wallace began to feel a chill creep into his flesh. He knew blackmail when he heard it, and was torn between calling for security, or going for the gun he kept in his upper desk drawer. It was obvious self-defence, a masked man in the governors office, it'd barely be a controversy. Hell, it'd probably help him in the polls!
The man seemed to know what he had been considering "Now, before you try to do anything rash, at least let me finish my proposal, Mr. Governor. You're planning to try and run against President Kennedy this upcoming election, are you not?"
Wallace hesitated "...yes, yes I am. I've made no secret of that."
"No, that would be rather pointless, wouldn't it? But you're facing a daunting challenge, challenging a sitting President, but one that already technically holds the support of the Democratic Party! You'd not only have to overcome the President's popularity, but also convince the party to support your nomination, unless you were planning to switch, or try to run independently! Quite an uphill battle you're facing..."
"Look, if you have something to say, get on with it!"
"I'm saying the world is changing, governor! Wether we want it to or not! Sure, you have a lot of supporters here in the South, but the South is not America, no matter how much it might consider itself so, and in the rest of the nation, you're seen as backwards and ignorant at best, and racist, murderous lunatics at worst. And yes, some hold the same views as you do, but not nearly enough of them. Not enough for a successfull presidential campaign. Not on your own. But we have resources beyond anything you can access by yourself. And we can put you in the White House. If you join us."
Wallace didn't answer at first. He wasn't an idiot, he knew a sales pitch when he heard it, and when it's made by a man in a mask, that's an even bigger reason to worry. But to be offered his goals on a silver platter like this... "...who are you, exactly?"
"I am simply known as Number 3, and I represent the Secret Empire. And we can make you emperor, if you work with us." The man held out a gloved hand.
Wallace stared at it for what felt like hours.
Finally, he shook it.
"...I'm listening..."