Fantastic Four: Doomsday Part 19

Nineteen
You Can Read the Previous Chapters HERE!

Reed Richards was running for his life. He heard the sulfuric acid roaring along behind him. The corridor came to an end. What do I do now? he asked himself. I’ve got to remember the pattern. He had seen the intricate maze for only a moment before the ceiling forced him downward, but a moment was all he needed. His photographic memory would do the rest.

If he had time to think, which he hadn’t. And if he could see the maze, which he couldn’t.

He stretched his hands out, as far as they could go. One hand took the right tunnel, the other the left. The left met resistance fifty feet up. He ran toward the right.

The acid gushed toward him, filling up the left-hand chamber and flowing through the right. If he had taken the wrong turn, he would be dead at this moment.

He kept the fear from gnawing at him. Just concentrate. Think before you take any step. Sort out all the confusion and just plunge on.

The tunnel continued, but there was another tunnel branching off to the left. He stretched his hands out again. The left tunnel branched into two more tunnels. There was no way to know if they continued on or met dead ends. The right tunnel circled a bit, then veered sharply to the left. Reed couldn’t stretch his hand any farther. And he was unable to remember the twisted route. Whatever he did, it had to be by instinct.

Two tunnels to the left, one straight ahead. How would Doom construct the maze? He heard the acid gushing toward him, slapping against the corridor walls. The right tunnel circled around. All three tunnels were longer than Reed could stretch. He made a decision.

He headed toward the corridor on the right. With all his speed he ran, his hands feeling the path before him. Doom would round one tunnel to make it seem it was coming back on itself. But Reed, in his anxiety, was able to stretch farther than Doom had expected. He had felt the tunnel veer sharply toward the door at the far end of the maze. This had to be the correct way. If he were wrong, he wouldn’t suffer long.

His pulse rate increased; he felt his heart pounding. Reed Richards was not a young man any longer. Perhaps Johnny could keep running at top speed, but Reed would soon slow down, and the acid would soon engulf him.

Reed thought of his son Franklin, born just five years before. He might never seen him again.

Once more the tunnel branched off into two. The right corridor was blocked fifty feet up. He had to take the left. Reed ran, puffing, his heart tripping. Pain cut through his lungs. He found it hard to breathe. But he continued. Step after step after step.

Then he remembered. He turned back and ran toward the right-hand cutoff. He could see the maze clearly in his mind. Halfway down the corridor he felt a small opening on the left. He had seen it when he had stretched over the maze. The tunnel opening was two feet off the ground, and a hole only one foot wide. He hadn’t felt it when he checked this tunnel because his hand stretched toward the end, down the center. It didn’t snake along the sides.

Like a snake, he slithered though the hole and found another corridor. He paused for a moment. It would take a few minutes for the acid to fill the tunnel he had just run through. A few minutes before it would reach the hole and seep on through.

He desperately needed those few minutes to calm his heart, to slow down his hurried breathing. At last he heard the wave of acid crash down the tunnel behind him. He had to begin running again.

Three more tunnels appeared before him. One, he knew would lead to the exit door. The other two would bring him closer to death. The corridors were too long to stretch forth his arms. Once more a decision had to be made. Which corridor? Which?

No way to decide. He anchored his legs at the wall and stretched down the left corridor as swiftly as he could. It circled to the right, then the left. It cut back on itself. Reed snapped his elongated body back to the starting point.

The wave of acid crashed down the corridor. He didn’t have time to try testing the next tunnel. He had to make his decision. He ran down the center tunnel. He veered first to the right, then the left.

Then, for the first time, his face contorted in horror.

Before him was a blank wall. He had made the wrong decision.

Sue Richards felt her force shield fading. It could last only a few moments longer. The laser beams flashed by her, picked up speed, richocheted off walls. They glanced off her force bubble, arced up toward the ceiling, bounced back and skidded off the table.

“The table?” Sue was astonished. “How in the world did I miss the obvious?”

She ran toward the table and ducked under it. She allowed her force shield to fade, and slipped a smaller one over the candle. She could maintain control over that force bubble with ease.

A laser ray hit the wall and flashed toward her. She fell back and pulled the table on its side. The ray hit it and glanced off. Doom had made the table impervious to lasers. Sue could use it as a shield.

She backed herself into a corner. Can’t let a ray hit me from behind.

In the center of the room she saw the candle on the floor, still burning within the bubble of energy. “Got to snuff that damned thing out. Don’t want to waste any energy.”

The force bubble contracted. It slipped under the wick and cut it. The flame sputtered for a moment, then died out. Sue breathed easier. “Now what do I do?” she asked, uncertain.

For a few minutes she rested, the overturned table reflecting dozens of laser blasts. “Could try to blast my way out of here with a massive force bolt at the door, but if it’s not strong enough, I’ll be trapped. I couldn’t budge the door when I tried earlier, but then—” She remembered. The candle had made her drowsy. It’s possible that she was unable to use her full power.

But she was still weak. It still seemed so hopeless.

She saw Franklin playing in the field outside their country home. He was such a bright boy, so eager, so filled with joy. She wanted to be with him now, she wanted to hug him, to smother him with a mother’s kisses.

Agatha Harkness came into view. The tall, thin, gray-haired old woman with the craggy features and harsh eyes was actually a warm, loving housekeeper. She saw Franklin running toward the cliffs. How many times had Sue warned him away from there? He ran; then he tripped and he fell.

Below him, Sue could see a long mountainside and a river flowing past its base; rocks lined the river. Franklin’s body would be dashed on those rocks. He’d die.

Then she saw Agatha standing by the cliff. She waved her hands above her head, and twin bolts appeared which flared out and formed a circle of light around Franklin’s falling body. The boy hovered for a moment in the lights; then he rose in the air, and the light brought him to safety. He came to rest in Agatha’s scrawny arms.

Sue winced. She should’ve been there. She should have stayed with her child. It was her duty. Why did she abandon Franklin to run around the world? How could she show him the love he needed? She should be at her son’s side.

But how could she be? She had been given these powers. They made her different. Long ago, when the four of them learned how the cosmic rays had affected them, they had sworn to use their powers to benefit mankind. To not use them would be to waste them.

They had been given abilities that made them more than human, but to use them properly meant they had to make certain sacrifices others were never called upon to make.

More than human and less than human. That’s what they were, and that knowledge bothered Sue. She wanted to be with her son, but she was unable to abandon her duty.

Yet, Franklin was happy. He was astonishingly intelligent, ready to help, willing to do anything. He read voraciously; his imagination was limitless. Perhaps Sue hadn’t failed him. When they were together, they had a more intense relationship than any other family. They could pack more into those hours and days than other families could accomplish in weeks.

Was it the time one spent, or the quality? Sue didn’t know, but she understood that the question demanded answers. When they returned home. If they returned home.

She felt her powers increasing again. She was almost at full capacity. Just a few minutes more . . . all she had to do was hold on tight. A few minutes . . . that’s all.

The time dragged on inexorably. Sue’s forehead was slick with sweat. She bit her lip waiting. She wondered what had happened to Reed and the others. Was Johnny all right? Did Doom get Ben?

Not knowing hurt her more than she could realize. The Fantastic Four was a family unit. They lived together. They battled together. If one of them died, what would happen to the others?

She fought to control her breathing, to calm herself down. Behind the table she would be safe.

Now she was ready. Sue steadied herself, pressed her back firmly to the wall to brace herself. She would have to use every ounce of willpower she could possibly muster. She would have to use her energy powers as she never had before. She counted backwards from ten . . . nine . . . eight . . . seven . . . Sue felt her veins tighten, her body grow tense. Six . . . Her head pounded. Five . . . four . . . three . . . What would happen if she failed? she wondered. Would there be time for a second chance? No way. One try. Blow out the door. Run. Find the others. Two . . . She prayed. She had never been religious, but she prayed now. ONE!

She fell back against the wall, her eyes wide, unfocused. An almost invisible ball of pure energy grew from her temple. It moved slowly at first in the direction of the door. It grew larger, it picked up speed, larger, faster, larger, larger, larger . . . faster, faster—

IMPACT!

A moment of silence, then the door shuddered and creaked and groaned, then blew apart into so many atoms. The wall now held a gaping hole.

Sue was momentarily dazed. It took several seconds for her eyes to focus, to realize where she was, what she had just done. She felt the blood drain from her. She was weak, yet she forced herself to stand, lifting the table above her, and she ran.

Toward the gaping hole she ran as if her life depended on it.

She ran because her life did depend on it.

She dived through the hole and sat in the long corridor, and was terribly, terribly weak. And then she allowed herself to cry.

“Awright, ya two-bit tin yahoos. Ya may not have known it before, but right now it’s CLOBBERIN’ TIME!” Ben leaped toward the horse and rider. He didn’t seem to care as his body shuddered with electricity. He was The Thing. He could fight the pain.

“C’mon, baby, let’s see what ya can do.” He was taunting the knight, knowing it was only a machine, incapable of reacting to Ben’s sarcasm, but it made the burly ex-football player feel just a bit better.

He tossed the robot knight from the horse, then threw it at the other robots slowly marching toward him. “Lemme see, strike or spare?” Two knights blew apart under the impact. There were still eight more. “Not bad. Not good, but not bad.”

He leaped over one knight, his monstrous body incredibly agile. He glanced upward and grinned. “All right, ya bozos, this is where we separate the monsters from the robots. Ya ready, tin-heads?”

The second horse and rider lunged at him. The lance struck Ben’s shoulder, and he collapsed in pain. “Blazes, ya think ya’d give some sorta rallyin’ cry before ya struck. Ain’tcha got no manners?”

Can the jokes, gruesome. This ain’t no game. They’re after me. They got the power ta cut me inta little orange ribbons. Play it safe.

The Thing forced himself to stand. The horse was rearing. It would charge again. To his side, on the wall, he saw a fancy tapestry. Doom had said it was worth more than thirty thousand dollars. Tough!

The horse charged, and Ben ripped the tapestry from the wall. “Ya look cold, tinny. Mebbe ya better cover yerself with a blanket.” He heaved the tapestry over the two, and the horse thrashed blindly. The knight ripped at the tapestry; he tried to pull it away from his sensors. But Ben was already atop him, pummeling him with his massive orange fists.

“Ya ain’t gettin’ outta this, creepo. There ain’t nothin’ the ever-lovin’ blue-eyed Thing can’t clobber if he’s got a mind ta.”

Ben saw the other knights approaching him. He’d have to leap from the horse, get to cover. But first—

He swung his right hand back behind him. His blue eyes glowed brightly in the dim-lit arena. His wide, brutish mouth was turned in a sneer.

Then, in a wide, powerful arc, his hand flashed forward. His fist rammed into the robot knight. There was a loud mechanical explosion, and Ben fell off the horse as the rider found himself blown into useless rubbish.

“Yer not doin’ too bad, blue-eyes. Keep this up an’ somebody’ll probably pin a medal on ya, providin’ they can find a place ta do the pinnin’.”

Like a human dreadnaught, Ben smashed his way through the robots. Their lances smashed against his brickish skin, but he submerged the pain. Ain’t good for a monster ta cry. Ain’t no good fer my rep.

He felt his back explode with fire. Two knights were behind him, their lances still embedded in his rocky hide. God, can’t take the pain; it’s rippin’ me apart. Tearin’ me up. Gotta fight it. Gotta fight it.

Gotta pull the blasted lance outta me. Can’t cry . . . there, got it. But it’s burnin’ up my hand. Burnin’ me up real bad. Gotta hold on . . . gotta keep strugglin’. Keep on fightin’. Can’t fall. Sue an’ Reed an’ even the kid may be in trouble. Gotta help ’em. They’ll need me. Gotta help.

He staggered forward, the electrified lances still in his hand. His vision was blurred, his legs weak. He could barely think, yet there was only one thing he could do.

He fell back to the wall and saw the remaining knights marching toward him, their lances firm in their armored hands. He tilted his head upward and he said, “It ain’t gonna be easy, but I don’t do anythin’ the easy way, do I?”

With incredible power, he heaved the burning lance. It cut through the chain high overhead. The chandelier swayed for a moment, uncertain whether to fall or not. Then it made up its mind and plunged downward atop the marching knights.

Electricity sputtered wildly; sparks flew everywhere. There was a single corruscating squeal, and then silence.

Ben fell back, breathed heavily, and just stared. “Brush my buns. It worked. I don’t believe it, but it worked.”

With powerful hands, he ripped the heavy steel door from its hinges and tossed it aside. Now ta find the others.

To Be Continued...Tomorrow at Atomic Kommie Comics

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Fifteen
You Can Read the Previous Chapter HERE!

The Americans waited for the buses that would take them to the airport. The room was buzzing with excitement. Their trip had been everything Doom had promised and even more. They would have stories to tell their children and their grandchildren. Latveria may be a small country, but it was virtually a paradise.

Dean Collins felt humbled by everything he saw. Doom had used his genius to help his people. His castle was a veritable museum, a treasure-house of art. Perhaps, he wondered, had he been wrong about Doom all along? The man had been conceited once, but he was much younger then. Perhaps he had outgrown his earlier attitudes. After all, his deeds seemed to prove he had.

He glanced around, then saw Doom standing in the doorway. “Where are Reed Richards and the others?” he asked, worried.

Doom nodded. “My friends have decided to stay here a while longer. Dr. Richards wished to work in my laboratory. He decided to work with me on some personal projects.”

Collins was suspicious. That didn’t sound like Reed, not the Reed Richards he knew. “I’d like to say good-bye to him, if you don’t mind.” Something was wrong, Collins felt.

Doom bowed. “Dr. Richards asked not to be disturbed; however, I am sure he will not mind if you speak to him.” His hand pressed a button beneath a television screen. “This should buzz in the laboratory.”

The TV screen flicked on. Reed Richards’s face appeared. He smiled. “What is it?”

Doom gestured toward Collins. “Move closer to the screen. Otherwise, the camera cannot pick you up.” Collins moved in and felt relieved. Reed seemed to be all right.

“I wanted to say good-bye, Reed. Doom said you were lagging behind?”

Reed smiled. “His laboratory fascinates me, Dean Collins. He has several devices here that I’ve never seen before. I can’t leave yet, not until he shows me how they’re used. Ben, Sue, and Johnny are staying here with me. By the way, how’d you and Mrs. Collins enjoy the tour?”

Collins returned Reed’s smile. “We loved it. I’d stay behind myself if I could. But duty calls. Tomorrow I’ve got to be back on the golf green. Ah, retirement.”

“Enjoy your trip, Dean Collins. I’ve got to go. Good-bye.” The television screen flickered for a moment, then went gray.

Dean Collins turned to the others and said, “All right, what are we waiting for?” He put his arm around his wife and led her toward the first of the buses.

He hummed. He had misjudged Doom. A tiger can change its stripes.

Doom wrung his heavy iron-bound hands in satisfaction. The contemptible fool had bought it all.

In another room of the castle, technicians removed the Reed Richards rubber face mask from the faceless robot programmed to mimic Reed’s voice and mannerisms. It had functioned as perfectly as designed. But then, Dr. Doom had built the robot, and Doom never failed.

Sixteen

“Are you leaving now, sire?” Boris asked. The old man was seated in a chair next to Doom’s throne. Doom activated four viewscreens mounted to the wall of his private chambers. On the first he saw Johnny Storm, still unconscious, in a specially designed room which would prevent the youngster from using his accursed flame. When Storm revived, he would have a surprise in store for him.

The second screen revealed Sue Richards crouched in a corner of the catacomb, the lasers cutting a destructive path in every direction. Her energy powers would soon fade, and she would either be cut down by the death rays, or by the fumes from the poisonous candle.

Reed Richards’s plight was more amusing. He rushed blindly through the darkened maze, a torrent of acid about to engulf him at any moment. It would not be long before Doom’s longtime foe was little more than a burned-up cinder.

The final screen revealed Ben Grimm battling one of Doom’s robot knights. The monstrous Thing grabbed an electrified lance and tossed it aside, his hands burning with pain. The mounted knights chased him across the long courtyard. He wouldn’t escape. He couldn’t. Even if Grimm defeated his robots, as unlikely as that might seem, there were dozens more. Each one he destroyed would be instantly replaced. They would never tire, but already Grimm’s massive hands rose slower than they had before. His punches were less effective than they had previously been.

Doom flicked off the screens. His foes would be dead very soon. No need to linger. “Yes, I will be leaving, Boris,” he answered finally. “Is my private jet prepared for my trip to America?”

His old servant nodded slowly. “It is, sire. All is in readiness.”

Doom rose and left the room, and Boris hobbled after him. Doom was surely after something terrible, Boris thought. His actions these past several days had been carefully planned for months. But what was it Doom wanted? Not even his faithful servant Boris knew the answer. Doom wouldn’t reveal his plan, only that he was going to America, and that what he wanted was somewhere in the Baxter Building—the headquarters of the Fantastic Four.

And that is why he spent millions in luring the fabled foursome to his country under the guise of a tour for his old classmates. That is why he spent millions more preparing very special traps designed to capture and destroy his old foes.

But what Doom’s final objective was, only Doom knew.

Boris glanced at the calendar on the wall. Doom had said he wanted success on Walpurgis night—his birthday. That was tomorrow night.

Whatever it was Doom had planned would occur tomorrow, May 1.

Boris shuddered in horror. He intimately knew the details of Doom’s origin. He was able to guess at Doom’s secret. If it was what Boris suspected, even the heavens would roar in horror.

Doom turned toward his old friend. “You will look after the castle for me, Boris? Only you can I trust.”

Boris bowed reverently. “I will look after everything, sire. To serve you is my only desire.”

Doom left and Boris waited until the dull thud of metal boots striking stone steps finally faded. Then, when he could no longer hear anything save the crickets, he closed his eyes and fervently prayed.

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Fantastic Four: Doomsday Part 14

Fourteen

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He hadn’t heard them flying up behind him until the first missile streaked past him. He dived and arced back. Three interceptor jets were on his tail, even as a second set of missiles was launched at him.

Johnny Storm flew downward, and the missiles instantly changed their course. Heat seekers. He strained to speed up, to fly faster. He had to evade the missiles, no matter what.

Doom was attacking him. That meant he had probably done the same with the others. They may have been captured or killed by now. He flew in a tight circle and sent a concentrated blast of heat toward the first of the three missiles. It made contact and the explosion knocked him back for a moment.

Two missiles closed in on him as he arced upward toward the jets. The missiles were on his tail, closing in now. He was incapable of increasing his speed. He couldn’t spare the time to fire another blast at them. He’d get one, but the final missile would surely find its target.

Abruptly, he dived again as a plan was formulated. He watched the missiles spin. There was a several-seconds delay between his actions and theirs. Good enough.

He formed a wide circle and saw the missiles closing the gap between them. It would only be a matter of seconds now.

Straining with all his power, he streaked toward the jet closest to him. The missiles closed in. They were less than thirty feet behind him. In ten seconds they would hit and he’d be blown out of the sky. He pushed on, strained as he had never strained before. He had to pull ahead, just briefly, just for a moment.

The jet was directly above him now, the missiles directly below. Inside the fighter, the pilot saw a blue-red bolt of flame heading directly toward his fuselage. For a moment he panicked; then he remembered—Doom had outfitted the jets with a new flame-resistant asbestos.

Johnny was mere feet from the fighter. Then, suddenly, he arced up and back, flying as far as he possibly could. The missiles began their turn. But they were a moment too slow.

The jet incinerated on contact, destroyed by the very missile it had fired.

Two more jets pursued the Human Torch. They had seen what Johnny had done. They wouldn’t fire their heat seekers until they had him dead in their sights.

Bullets exploded from their mounted guns. Johnny heard them rushing toward him and he extended his heat field. It would slow him down a bit, but the wide heat pattern would melt the deadly lead long before it could hit him.

How to get rid of two fighter jets was the only thought running through the Human Torch’s mind. Deliberately, he flew up and wide, circling the jets and coming down behind them. He fired a concentrated heat blast at them. The jets were sprayed with fire, but they rocketed on undisturbed. Doom had obviously protected them. He expected a battle. Everything to date had been planned.

But what did Doom want? Why did he lure the Fantastic Four to his kingdom? What was he after? Johnny didn’t know, and at that moment he didn’t much care.

Leaving a long stream of flame behind him, Johnny headed toward the mountains. If he kept low and flew between the peaks, he’d lose the fighters. They weren’t as agile as he, couldn’t maneuver as well, and certainly couldn’t land as quickly.

Determined to evade the fighters, Johnny pressed on. The high peaks were several miles off. He could make it and then rest a bit. His flame wouldn’t stay ignited for much longer, not with all the energy he’d expended. He’d flame out in ten minutes and would then have to rest almost half an hour to be at peak capacity again. If he could survive that long.

The mountains were topped with snow. That wouldn’t help him. The cold would make it take that much longer for him to be able to flame on again. But he had no choice. His time was running out.

He flew low over the peaks and cut between two jutting rocks. One jet veered off; the other stayed on his trail. Johnny landed for a moment, caught his breath, then flamed on again. They aren’t going to leave me alone, are they?

There was a deep canyon on the other side of the twin peaks. He dived low. The jet followed him and fired a volley of bullets at its flaming target. If only one got through the burning red glow that surrounded the Human Torch, that would be enough.

Suddenly, Johnny turned right and came up behind the fighter. He matched the jet’s speed and caught onto its tail. It took all his strength to resist the winds which mercilessly battered him. He had to hold on, just a few minutes more.

The twin turbos were directly to his side. The jet may be flameproof, but if he could get in one good shot at the turbos, that would be all he needed.

The jet jerked to the left, and Johnny was almost thrown from it. His hands grabbed the tail wing and he held fast. He braced his back against the wing and with all his power he aimed one full heat blast into the left turbo.

Instantly, he flew up and off as the plane exploded in a massive purple and black cloud of smoke.

Johnny tumbled back from the impact and he saw the final jet circle toward him. He was dead, he told himself. No way to survive this one. His flame was almost exhausted. He had only enough power to land and keep himself warm. There was nothing he could do to attack.

He let his flame fizzle out and he fell groundward. Conserve all his energy, free-fall until the last moment, then flame on again and land safely. It was his only hope. If he could hide himself in the caves, he might make it. Unless the cold killed him first.

He tumbled downward, spread his arms and legs wide, as would a parachutist. He began to glide along the wind currents; he felt the cold breeze invigorate him. He felt alive and fresh and momentarily distracted. Up here he was a different man; nothing could bother him. Nothing could disturb him.

The ground seemed to take its time moving up to meet him. The expanse of whiteness made it difficult to judge distances, but Johnny didn’t care. He would float and float until there were only feet left to fall.

The bitter wind stung his face, and cold froze his open mouth. His eyes began to water and tear, the world became blurry, and all he could hear was his body rushing headlong toward the ground.

How much longer before flaming on? he wondered. He couldn’t see through the tears, he couldn’t make any judgment, yet the thrill of free-fall still clung to him.

Then there was softness and he was no longer falling. He hadn’t flamed on. He hadn’t landed. Where was he? With his hands he cleared the water from his eyes. There was whiteness everywhere he looked. Reality gripped him; then terror overtook reality.

Where was he?

His arms jutted out and felt a plastic softness all around him. He was encased in something, but what?

He tried to flame on, but found he couldn’t. There was some sort of gas in here, something that made it impossible to use his power.

What the hell was going on? What?

He felt tired, his eyes smarted from the gas, his head became thick and cloudy. He struggled to keep open his eyes but found them closing against his will.

He jerked back and forth, trying to rip through the softness that held him prisoner, but he was unable to lift his arms. They fell heavily to his sides as his legs crumpled under him.

He fell to his knees as his eyes shut totally.

And in a moment he was asleep, quiet as a babe, and just as helpless.

The pilot glanced at the monitor to his side. The camera mounted beneath the jet fighter showed part of the cable that hung from the bomb-bay door and the white plastic bubble that was attached to the cable. He could imagine his prisoner asleep inside the bubble.

Dr. Doom had been right. The fool would waste his power battling two fighters, but the third would hang back until he was tired and weak. And then they would have their fourth and final prisoner.

The pilot pressed a button next to the monitor.

Doom paused before the great iron door. Behind him, the Americans waited anxiously. This had been a tour they would long remember. “My friends, I am about to show you my collection of art. No Westerner has ever before seen its magnificence. I do hope you find it as pleasing as do I.”

His iron glove glanced over the electric eye and the door creaked open. Doom stood on the side as his visitors entered. He could hear them gasping with delight. What beauty! What wonders!

Above the door a red light flickered for a moment. No one but Doom saw the faint glow. Beneath his great mask Doom allowed himself a rare smile.

The last of the Fantastic Four was now his captive. And soon, they would all be dead.

Doom entered the expansive gallery and watched the American fools moving from one painting to the next, their eyes wide in appreciation. This was all booty the Nazis had stolen during World War II. Treasures Doom had stolen from them in turn. There were Rembrandts, Goyas, Cézannes, Michelangelos, Da Vincis, Monets, Manets, Picassos, and dozens more. His collection was worth in the tens of millions, and it genuinely pleased him that the Americans appreciated its value.

Tomorrow he would return the Americans to New York. For years they would talk about their journey here, how magnanimous Doom had been, how wonderful was his great castle, how much the people of Latveria loved their Monarch. The time and expense were worth it, Doom felt. Let the world believe I am a merciful ruler. It will only buy me time.

The time I need to garner the power I must have, if I am to accomplish my true objective.

No one heard the soft, sinister chuckle that echoed through the gallery.

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Fantastic Four: Doomsday Part 12

Twelve
You Can Read the Previous Chapter HERE!

Johnny Storm yawned as he circled the Latverian village. Borrrring! He had come with the others, hoping to get into action. He wanted to do something, anything, to forget about Frankie Raye. But he couldn’t shove her beautiful face from his thoughts. She haunted him every moment. Wherever he looked, he saw her.

Below him, he could see the Latverian farmers staring up in horror. Was he a demon? One of Doom’s treacherous devices come to spy on them? They turned from their flaming visitor and returned to their work. If he was with Doom, he would see them working hard. That would please their iron-clad master.

What I need, Johnny concluded, is to find someone my own age. Not everyone here is old. Or are they?

He flew lower over the small huts and saw a teen-ager tending a small private garden. The boy felt the heat on his back and turned to see Johnny Storm standing behind him. “Who are you?” He stared at Johnny questioningly. Latveria was a small country. No one was permitted entrance; no one was allowed to leave. Soon you learned who everyone was. This blond stranger was not one of them.

“Who are you?” he repeated. “How did you get in here? The gate was locked.”

Johnny flashed a smile. “My name’s Johnny Storm. From America. I was, uh, brought here by your leader.” The boy stared at Johnny. Then his eyes grew narrow.

“Go away. Leave me alone. I do my work. I do not want to be bothered.” He turned and ignored the stranger. If he came here with Doom, he belonged to Doom. It was best not to consort with Doom’s men. You could die that way.

But Johnny was persistent. “C’mon. I’m not with Dr. Doom. You don’t have to fear me.”

The youth turned again and studied Johnny. He was not like Doom’s men. He had an easy smile; his eyes showed no signs of evil. Perhaps he had been too hasty.

“I am Erich.”

Johnny extended a hand, but when Erich failed to take it, he let it drop to his side. “Erich, you wouldn’t happen to know where I could find any girls around here. My age?”

The Latverian youth smiled. His fears vanished. With a nod, he bid Johnny to follow him.

Doom continued: “. . . and this is my royal chamber. The bed has been created especially for me. The linens are sewn here in Latveria by my handmaidens. The women among you will appreciate the finely spun cloth and the expertise of the seamstresses. Please, all of you, as you return home accept from me a sample of their work. I insist on it.”

Reed hung back, Ben at his side. “All appears to be normal, Ben. Too normal.”

The Thing nodded in agreement. “Hey, Susie ain’t come back yet. Ya think somethin’ happened?”

Reed suppressed a grimace. “Let me try to raise her on the belt radio.” His fingers fumbled with the switch as he moved from one frequency to the next. He clenched his teeth as worry overtook him. “She’s not answering, Ben. I don’t like this. None of this.”

Ben was ready to move. “That tears it, Stretch. I’m gonna squeeze that tin-can’s neck till he talks.”

“No, Ben. Doom won’t miss us if we split off from the crowd. Let’s check this out first. If we don’t find Sue, then we’ll confront him . . . and we’ll do it away from the others. I don’t want anyone hurt.” He saw Ben was grumbling The big man would love to tear Doom apart for any number of reasons. “Do you understand that, Ben?”

Ben hissed his answer. “I understand it, Mister. I just don’t have ta like it. That crumbbum an’ me go together like salt an’ a wound. Whenever I see ’im, I just wanna clobber ’im but good.”

“If we don’t find Sue, you’ll get your chance. I promise you that. Now, come on, we’ve got work to do.”

They ran through the corridor to where Sue had left them. Reed glanced down the hallway and said, “She could’ve taken either of those doors. We’ll split up. First one to find her, contact the other—immediately. And that means no fighting, Ben. I want the three of us together before we decide what to do.”

“Sure, sure. No scrappin’. I gotcha, Reed.” ’Course, if I just happen ta knock a few heads together ’fore I give ya the signal, what the heck, right?

The door Ben opened took him into a wide courtyard made of stone. Suits of armor stood in the wide archways. Long spears were at their sides. At the far end of the court, there were two mounted knights on stone horses.

Above him was a wide balcony, and a carved stone fence ran the whole distance around it. Directly over him a crystal chandelier hung in place.

To his back was the door he had just entered, and across the courtyard was the door he headed for.

“Blasted place looks like a blamed museum. How can that tin-plated tyrant live here? Ya can’t put yer feet up on a table when the blamed table’s prob’ly worth more’n you are.”

He heard a creaking sound come from behind him. He whirled in time to see a steel door slide in front of the wooden door he had come through. Another steel door slid in front of the door at the far end of the courtyard.

“So, we wuz right, Doom, wuzn’t we? Yer playin’ games with us? Well, yer crazy if ya think a little piece o’ tin’s gonna stop the ever-lovin’, blue-eyed Thing.”

Ben lumbered toward the far door. No use going back. As he reached the center of the court, he heard the squeak of steel grinding against steel. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw what was making the sound.

“Kiss my fanny. It ain’t possible.” The suit of armor closest to him creaked off its pedestal, its lance in its hand. “I ain’t asleep, and this certainly ain’t no knightmare.”

Stiffly, the armored form plodded toward the orange behemoth, its limbs moving more smoothly with every step it took. A second suit of armor leaped off its pedestal and lifted its lance for an attack.

Ben saw three more such suits move and approach him, slowly at first, but as each became more accustomed to movement, it speeded up, stepped more naturally.

“Awright, ya bozos!” Ben shouted at no one in particular. “Lemme see what yer made of.”

With astonishing speed, he grabbed the first suit. His powerful fingers closed vise-like on its arm. Silently, the living armament thrust its lance into Ben’s stomach. The steel crackled with raw energy. One thousand painful volts of electricity jolted their way through the Thing’s massive hand.

Instinctively, he fell back and dropped to the floor, grabbing his burning hand with his other. “Blasted thing’s hot-wired. Now what’ll I do?”

Ben heard the footstep behind him and he whirled as two lances smashed into him. His rocky hide sizzled and he yelped in pain.

Scrambling, he made his way to the far end of the courtyard. His deep blue eyes grew wide and horrified; ten suits of armor marched toward him, their lances ready for attack, their expressionless faces seeming to leer in ghoulish delight.

They paused and turned their armored heads toward the two corners of the room. At once, the two massive suits poised atop their stone steeds came to life. The horses reared, their legs clawed the air, and then they leaped from their pedestals and galloped toward the Thing.

That was the signal to begin.

They moved in.

And Ben felt the stone wall press against his back.

The door Reed Richards opened revealed a large, seemingly endless series of corridors that crisscrossed each other, came to abrupt dead ends, led back to their starting point, and proved to be nothing less than an intricate maze.

Reed stretched above the maze and saw at the far end an open door beyond which was a one-way mirror. Through the mirror Reed could see Sue. She darted in terror from flashing red lights that appeared for a moment, then vanished, only to reappear from another direction. He saw a beam flash across Sue’s forehead. She grabbed her head painfully. Blood oozed through her gloved fingertips.

“Don’t worry, Sue, I’ll help you. I swear I will.” Reed was frantic. Those lights were undoubtedly lasers. Doom was attacking her, but nothing could keep Reed from reaching his wife’s side.

Instantly, the ceiling buzzed with an electronic hum. Reed saw it lowering. He ducked back into his corridor and the ceiling came to rest atop the maze walls.

This was a game, then. A test. Doom had allowed Reed to see his wife facing almost imminent death. Reed would be anxious now, frightened for his wife’s safety—mad, perhaps to the point of throwing all caution to the wind. He wanted Reed’s veneer of scientific logic stripped away. He wanted Reed Richards dead, but he wanted him to die crawling like the peasant Doom thought him to be.

Reed Richards the scientist was now a trapped rat in a maze. His wife’s safety was his incentive to reach the end of the maze.

And now, to add some impetus to his efforts.

A gurgling sound like water rushing through pipes came from behind Reed. He saw a small grating in the wall of the maze about ten feet up from ground level. Then the water came gushing out.

Only it wasn’t water. Reed recognized the heavy overpowering stench, and it flowed slowly, viscously.

There was no doubt about it.

The liquid that came gushing toward him was—sulfuric acid!

He stretched instantly toward the far end of the corridor and followed its turn to the left.

Three corridors branched off before him. He remembered seeing them from above. One turned back upon itself. A second was a dead end. The third continued to another corridor and another and another. But, which was which?

Then the maze was plunged into darkness.

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Ten
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To anyone who looked, Latveria was a “picture-postcard” kingdom. A great golden castle sat proudly atop a high mountain peak. Small clusters of gaily colored wooden homes dotted the mountainside. Each small home had a pocket-sized garden for growing fruits and vegetables. At the base of the mountain there were several open-air markets where fresh produce and meats were sold.

There were no museums, no theaters, no sports arenas, and no churches, the latter being the only oddity that separated Latveria from the other vest-pocket countries that existed throughout southern Europe.

The humble Latverians were mostly farmers, tilling the great farm that bordered the golden castle. Wheat, corn, and barley were its principal products. Fifty percent of their gains were turned over to the castle’s lord; the other fifty percent they could sell in the marketplace.

To all intents, Latveria was just another nation, neither doing particularly well, nor starving, either. The people seemed contented, though they rarely smiled, the lot of the hard-working farmer, perhaps.

Those men over the age of twenty who were not working the farms were conscripted into the Latverian Army, where they would serve no less than a five-year term. At one other point in their lives, every Latverian male would serve at least four years. Their country was a small one; it could be gobbled up by any of the major powers at any time, or so their monarch had told them.

In truth, however, Latveria was better armed than any other European nation, as well armed as both the United States and the Soviet Union. Hidden within the mountain were missile launching sites. The great golden dome that perched atop the castle housed a massive laser cannon which could be controlled by satellites orbiting far above the Earth.

Patrolling the border were strange, silent guards. They were an army of grim, unforgiving, merciless robots who, when given a command, could turn a human body to pulp in less time than an ordinary man could eliminate a crawling ant.

The Monarch of Latveria was Dr. Doom, the cold tyrant who would brook no revolt, permit no freedoms, encourage no hopes. Yet, the Latverians, save a few rebels whom Doom would quickly eliminate as soon as their existence was discovered, didn’t hate Doom. Surprisingly few ever thought of revolution. After all, their standards of living had sharply risen once Doom took power. They now had food enough for their family, freedom enough for their paltry needs, and unless they raised their voices in protest, Doom left them pretty much alone. What more could these people want? Their last ruler gave them none of Doom’s benefits, and had kept their lives in constant fear.

Keep in line, be humble, do not complain. Things could be worse. These were the key words for a long life in Latveria, and most of the nation zealously observed those rules without complaint.

Old Boris greeted Doom at the small airfield to the south of the castle. “All is in readiness, sire. Living quarters have been provided for your guests.” Doom nodded, pleased to see the old one.

“You are well, Boris? The medicines I left for you have cured your cold?”

“Yes, sire, they have. I no longer ache. I thank you, sire.”

“Good.” Doom turned toward the men and women scrambling out of the massive jets. “This is my homeland. It will be totally open for your pleasure. Feel free to go anywhere. Ask my people whatever you wish. You will learn that Doom is benevolent to his subjects. But, first, you may wish to freshen up. Follow me to the castle.”

Several of the older men groaned as they saw the castle high above them. God, do we have to walk up there? But Doom stepped onto a slick, rubbery roadway and indicated for his guests to do the same. “We have many conveniences here in Latveria, some of which even you Americans have never seen. Observe!”

Doom touched a ring on his metallic glove, and a light flashed from the gemmed surface, striking a steel plate that was half-buried alongside the road. The rubbery surface vibrated for a moment, then began to move. “This is a mobile road. Within minutes it will whisk us up to my castle, without any expenditure of energy to you. Man was meant to spend his time in thought and contemplation, not in the needless waste of energy.”

Reed Richards was impressed but kept silent. An incredible people-mover, but the work force it took to build this must have been equally incredible. And for what? The people here were not permitted to leave the country. Doom had probably forced them to build this extravagance for his own private use.

As if sensing Reed’s thought, Doom spoke again. “It may interest you to know that my robot constructs built this roadway for me. My people are too valuable to have me waste their time. I do not demand their service to me, though I am their official Monarch.”

The crowd was buzzing with surprise. They had always heard Doom was a despot, that his reign in Latveria was tyrannical. Could all the news reports have been wrong?

The mobile road took them into the center of town, where vendors paused in their duties to salute their Monarch. “Welcome, sire. It is good to have you home again.”

A woman with a small child approached Von Doom. “Sire, I beg you to help me, to aid my son. His leg was crippled when our cart overturned. I—I cannot afford a doctor. Is there anything you can do for him, sire?”

The road slowed to a halt and Doom stepped off it. He lifted a heavy metal arm and placed it on the child’s chest. “Surely you know all medical treatments are free to the poor. Take him to my castle; demand to see my private physician. He will make your son whole once again. Doom promises that.”

The woman bowed and kissed Doom’s hand. Tears welled in her eyes. “Oh, thank you, sire. You are as good and kind as I have always heard. I will never forget this, sire. Thank you.”

The roadway moved on again, and the Americans saw Doom differently now from the way they had before. Perhaps he wore his frightening armor, but he seemed to be more of a man than they had ever suspected. He seemed to care for his people. What else mattered?

As they turned out of sight, the woman saw one of Doom’s personal guards approach. “Did I do well? I did as you demanded.” She was frightened as the guard raised his hand and struck her swiftly across the face.

“Silence, you stupid female. Now return to your hovel. We will release your husband from prison. Be happy Doom has granted you your wish. If you did not cooperate fully, your husband would now be dead. Go, and never speak of this to anyone. Do you understand?”

The frightened woman nodded and said nothing about her crippled son. I have been given my life, she thought. I dare not ask for anything more.

To anyone who looked, Latveria was a “picture-postcard” kingdom. The people seemed contented, though they rarely smiled.

There was a reason why.

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Nine
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Johnny landed before the double doors to the Baxter Building and saw O’Hoolihan react instantly. The heavyset doorman opened the door and bowed. “Top o’ the eve, Mr. S. I sure do hope ye be feelin’ good.”

Johnny grinned. “Not as well as I’d like to, O’Hoolihan, but I’ll make it through the night, I guess.”

Inside the massive lobby, people hurriedly rushed in all directions. Johnny Storm moved away from the flow heading toward the elevators and stood in front of a single door set aside from all the others. His hand touched his belt, and an invisible light flashed from the buckle, striking a metal plate to the side of the door.

Instantly, the door slid open to reveal a private elevator. Johnny entered and pressed the bottommost button. The first floor that housed the headquarters of the Fantastic Four contained their bedrooms, dining room, visitors’ reception area, kitchen facilities, and day-to-day living space. These were all kept separate from the other four floors, which housed the F.F.’s intricate science labs, vehicle hangars, and observatory.

All five floors, the tower of the Baxter Building, were owned by the Fantastic Four and paid for by the money Reed Richards earned from the patents on his incredible inventions.

He entered his private bedroom, removed his clothes, and took a shower. Perhaps, he thought, it was time to move out. Get his own apartment. After all, Reed and Sue had their own place, though they spent most of their time in the Baxter Building and still had bedroom facilities there, along with a second room for Franklin.

And Ben had another apartment across town, a three-room bachelor pad he could call his own. Only Johnny Storm lived full-time in their skyscraper headquarters. Yeah, perhaps its time to move on.

He stepped out of the shower and ignited himself. His flames could dry him off faster than any towel. Within moments he was dry and dressed for action. Reed had said he wanted to speak to Johnny about something that had come up. He told him to be ready for travel if he agreed to come with them.

He sauntered down the hall and knocked on their bedroom door. Inside, he could hear the shower running as Reed opened the door, his hair still wet. “Come on in, Johnny. Sue will be right out. We’ve got a problem.”

Johnny was interested. “Lay it on me, leader-man. What’s up?”

It took less than a minute to explain the situation, and Johnny listened quietly, attentively. At long last he let loose with a long whistle. “Whew! Dr. Doom. Doesn’t sound good, Reed. Any idea what he’s up to?”

Reed shook his head. “None. That’s what bothers me. I know Doom too well. Yet he’s given his promise to the others. He guaranteed their safety, that nothing would happen to them, and that he’d have them all back by Sunday night. I know this sounds strange, Johnny. But Doom doesn’t lie. He’s too proud, too sure of himself. If he says the people will not be harmed, despite all his evil, despite everything he has ever done to us in the past, I know he’s telling the truth.

“But the problem is, I also know he would never do anything unless he means to gain something by it. I just can’t analyze this situation. I can’t figure out what he wants.”

Johnny arched his brow. “Maybe he’s telling the truth when he says he’s changed his ways. Maybe he’s reforming? It’s happened before.”

“What’s happened before?” They turned to see Sue dressed in her bright blue action garb, her long blonde hair flowing free to her shoulders. “You said it happened before. What?”

“Johnny thinks Doom may have changed his spots. But like the proverbial leopard, I doubt it. No, he’s up to something, and frankly, I think it’s best that we go along to figure out just what it may be.”

Sue combed out her hair as she spoke. “I agree with Reed, Johnny. You had to be there to understand, but Doom hasn’t changed—not one whit. I sensed he relished it when Ben attacked him. I think he may have provoked the fight.”

Johnny laughed. “I can see it now. My blue-eyed buddy winding up and letting go with a one-two punch, and there goes Doom’s head. It must’ve freaked out that poor orange slob.

“I just wish I could’ve been there. I wouldn’t’ve stopped laughing till tomorrow.”

“Oh, I think you woulda stopped, junior . . . When I laid one o’ my knuckle sandwiches on ya.” Ben Grimm stood behind Johnny. “ ’Sides, you woulda done the same, unless you let that robot punch you out.”

Johnny spun, ready for a verbal battle. “Yeah? Listen, big shot, at least I can tell the difference between a man and a robot. Then, again, looking the way you do, I’m surprised you didn’t start a fight with the cappuccino machine. You know how nasty those little buggers can look.”

Ben thrust his head closer to Johnny’s face. “Says you, matchstick. All yer good fer is settin’ off fire extinguishers. Or don’t ya remember what happened at that movie ya went ta last week? Ya almost caused a panic.”

Johnny pushed even closer to Ben, their noses virtually touching. “I wouldn’t talk if I were you, Quasimodo. One look and half the folks ran out of the picture before it began. And they were playing The Monster That Ate Trenton!”

Reed’s voice broke the string of verbal abuse. “That’s enough out of the both of you. I asked you here, Johnny, to find out if you’ll come with us. I won’t force you. I know you may have other things on your mind, but—”

Johnny interrupted. “Reed, we’re a team, aren’t we? When we were first formed, we agreed to stay together through thick and thin, and, face it, if I could put up with Ben’s ugly face peering over the morning paper before he’s had his first mug of coffee, I guess I can stand trekking over to Latveria to make sure Doc Doom is on the up and up. I’m going with you, Reed. There’s nothing else to say, right?”

Sue spoke first. “That’s better. We’ve got a job to do and we do it. Doom said his jets will be taking off in the morning, that we’re supposed to meet him at Kennedy Airport. I think it may be safer to get a good night’s sleep now. That way we’ll be ready if anything out of the ordinary does happen. Any disagreements? Ben?”

“Don’t look at me, Susie. I’m the sweet one o’ the group.”

“I agree, Sis. I’ll see you in the morning. G’night, Reed. You, too, gruesome”

“Aw, shuddup. I’m too tired ta think of a comeback.”

“That must explain you all the time. You’re always so tired you never think.”

Johnny leaped from the room and ran down the corridor screaming. Ben Grimm was close on his tail, hurling a pillow at the fleeing figure.

Sue turned to Reed and rested her head on his shoulder. “What do you think, Reed? You’ve been unusually quiet.”

Reed grimaced before talking, and when he did, his words were slow, deliberate. “I think we may be in for trouble. I think whatever it is Doom has prepared is so diabolical, he isn’t even worried that we, his greatest foes, will be right beside him all the time.

“I think we’ve got to watch him very carefully, and what’s more, I think we’re going to have to be prepared . . . for anything!

“Sue, I won’t be coming to bed tonight. I’ve got to go up to the lab and do some work. I’ll sleep on the plane tomorrow.”

Sue’s face mirrored her worry. “It’s that bad, Reed? Are you certain?”

Reed answered quietly. “With Doom you can’t be certain about anything. But I know one thing, Sue. If I don’t take the time to plan something tonight, we may not live beyond tomorrow.”

Sue shuddered as Reed left their bedroom, heading to his electronics lab two floors above. It wasn’t like him to be so pensive. He must have some idea as to what was going to happen to them. He has to know. And he has to be very, very worried.

She removed her costume and slipped into her night clothing. She threw off the bedspread and used only a thin sheet. The lights were turned off and Sue closed her eyes.

But it was many hours before sleep would come.

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Fantastic Four: Doomsday Part 7

Seven

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Ben was the first to react. His powerful fingers ripped off his shirt and jacket, leaving them tattered rags upon the polished wooden floor. His pants split along their seams and became more useless rags. Now Ben was clad only in the blue shorts that were his action dress. He felt comfortable this way. Comfortable, and free to move.

He shouted; his voice boomed like cannon fire. “Ya lousy, slimy tin can! How dare ya smash yer way in here?” With powerful leaps, the brutish Thing was at Doom’s side in an instant, and his massive hands grabbed Doom’s iron armor, but the Latverian leader stood stiff and still.

“Take your monstrous hands off me, you oafish clod. How dare you defile a true Monarch with your disgusting touch?”

Ben’s temper exploded, his right arm whirled back, and he formed a massive fist. “Ya tin-plated creep, I’m gonna make ya regret comin’ here!”

Suddenly, through the crowd, Reed Richards stretched his snake-like body, his arms elongating, his fingers curling around Ben’s fist. “No, Ben, don’t. He hasn’t started any fight. You can’t strike him.”

But nothing could stop Ben Grimm now. His fist flashed forward and pummeled the still-unmoving figure. “Monster, am I? Lemme show ya what kinda monster I am, tin-head!”

Ben clamped both hands together and whirled at Doom. The stiff figure rattled, and then his head jerked loose from his shoulders and flew across the suddenly silent crowd. “Whaa? I knocked off his blamed head. I don’t believe it.”

Ben stopped; his hands dropped like anchors to his side. His face took on a shocked expression. “I don’t believe it. I didn’t clobber ’im that hard. I know I didn’t.”

“Of course you didn’t, you stupid, senescient fool. Do you truly believe Victor Doom would allow himself to be so easily defeated by a monster with the mind of an infant?” Doom stood in the doorway of the gym and lifted the robot body that Ben had crushed from the floor. “I knew my appearance here would cause such a brainless display of violence. And Victor Von Doom abhors such mindles reactions. Perhaps now that you have vented your brutish anger, you can go sulk like a whimpering pup in the corner.”

“I clobbered a robot? That’s what I smashed?” Ben was still amazed, although he knew Von Doom’s evil genius could easily create an automaton far more elaborate than the one he had brought here.

Dean Collins stepped forward, pushing past Ben Grimm. “And you are still as arrogant as ever, Von Doom. I told you many years ago you were never to return here. That still has not changed.”

Von Doom tilted his head quizzically at the small man. With but a minor display of power, he could incinerate this fool. But this was not the time and certainly not the place. He had achieved a minor victory by forcing the brutish Thing to react. Now it was his time to act . . . but with kindness.

Vengeance would come later.

“Dean Collins, I was once a student here, and it is my wish to attend this reunion. Please believe me, I have no wish to create trouble. I merely anticipated my presence here would create violence. My robot was designed to let it harmlessly pass, and then to continue celebrating the festivities.”

Dean Collins fumed. “Doom, I don’t like you. I never have, and I do not care if you did attend this school. I don’t wish you to be here now. Leave, or I’ll call for the police.”

Doom laughed and saw Reed Richards standing behind the crowd, his arm around his wife’s waist. “Richards, tell the man that would be a wasted gesture. As Monarch of a foreign nation, I have certain immunities from your law officials. Besides which, I have done nothing but attend a party open to all my fellow classmates.”

Reed was grim. Doom was right. Even if they could have him removed, which was doubtful, he could not be prosecuted. He enjoyed diplomatic immunity, and Doom used that immunity with pleasure.

“I’m sorry, Dean Collins, but we can’t do anything—not unless he attacks us first.”

Collins let out a low curse. “Damn it, Doom, so help me, if you try anything . . .” He sputtered, not being able to think of anything he could do to the younger, vastly more powerful man who stood arrogantly before him.

Ben stared at Alicia. “He’s playin’ some sorta game, babe. It ain’t like him ta play party.”

Alicia tightened her grip on Ben’s arm, and she spoke softly. “He is an evil man, Ben . . . his voice is harsh and wicked, and he talks with an arrogant attitude. He feels himself better than any man here. Please, Ben, don’t antagonize him. There is no depth to which he will not sink to destroy an enemy.”

With long strides, Doom stepped to the center of the room. Still nobody spoke. The utterly contemptible fools. Look at them, struck silent at my mere appearance.

“I have come here,” he announced, “to offer forgiveness to this university for its rash treatment of me. I understand my actions had caused them some minor grief. Indeed, it destroyed the face beneath this iron mask, so I, too, have suffered for my, ah, sins. But I am here in the presence of my former friends to end the bitterness that stands between us all. I offer a gift few men have ever been given. My castle and all its wonders and glories are yours. I propose that this celebration be moved to my home in Latveria, where you common people will be permitted entrance into the grandest of all the European empires. You will be personally escorted on a tour of my home, and you will be safely returned here Sunday night.

“There is no trick in what I offer. I guarantee your safety—and more, I guarantee you will all be well rewarded for your journey. You will see sights no American has ever seen before. You will witness the wonders of Latveria, and its proud people, who serve me so zealously.

“I offer this all to you, my friends, as a tribute to this university. Without my brief time spent here, I would not be a ruler among rulers today.

“To assure everything I say is true, I invite Reed Richards and his friends to join us. Surely their great power will guarantee that I mean you no harm.

“I have a fleet of my royal jets awaiting us at the airport. We will arrive in Latveria before noon. Tomorrow and Sunday are yours, a gift from your humble fellow student. What say you, my friends?”

Doom’s impassioned speech brought stunned silence. How to answer? Voices murmured in whispers between husbands and wives. A European trip, free? But what if he attacks us? But Reed Richards will be there. He wouldn’t dare do anything. How can we say no? Think of it: we’ll never be offered a personal tour of a royal palace again. Please, say yes. I want to go.

Ben Grimm stood firm. “I don’t know what yer up ta, Doom, but I don’t like it. Count me out.”

Reed Richards shook his head. “I agree, Doom. You’ve never made any effort toward benevolence before. What are you up to?”

Doom was waiting for this; indeed, he had prepared for this very speech. “Up to? My dear colleague, I invite you to join us. Would I do that if I were up to something? Bring along your wife and friend. I want to make amends for our previous encounters.

“I see you do not believe me, Reed Richards. Very well, tell me what I must do to prove I have changed my ways. I no longer wish to expand my power. Indeed, I have decided that little Latveria is enough for any one man to rule.

“I merely wish to benefit mankind from this day forth. If you come with me, I will throw open the door to my many scientific secrets. They will be made available for all mankind to study.

“What else do you want from me, sir? I capitulate, I offer no resistance, should you wish to battle and destroy me now. I have no weapons on me or hidden in my invincible armor. Search me if you wish. You will see I speak the truth.”

“Don’t do it, Stretcho,” Ben said. “He’s up ta somethin’ stinkin’. I can smell it.”

Yet Reed was unsure. Doom’s science was magnificent. To have it revealed to mankind would prove a terrific boon. “I will come with you, Doom, to safeguard these people and to see if what you say is true. But I won’t force Ben or Sue to join us, and if anyone else decides not to come, I want them to be able to leave here now, unharmed. Is that clear?”

“It is clear, my friend. Very clear.” Doom spoke without emotion, but he felt elation. The fools believed me. How easy it is to offer peace. How quickly they grasp at any straws of hope. And how devastating they will find it when they are instantly and ignobly destroyed.

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