Disclaimer: I do not own the Fantastic Four. They were created and are owned by Marvel Comics.
CHAPTER ONE
PRESSING CONCERN
"In other news, a shocking video has taken the world by storm; an expose on the leader of Latveria, coined by the rest of the world 'Doctor Doom.' Although the publisher of the video is currently a mystery, the contents have world leaders up in arms over revelations regarding foreign plots, theft of technology, and footage of attempts made on the lives of the Fantastic Four. Latveria's American embassy has no comment."
The ornate black television screen buzzed with the anchor into a darkly lit chamber, comprised of dark brick and fire. An almost inhuman atmosphere held its' hold over the place, made even more so by the dual rows of mechanical soldiers standing around. The only people besides them was a portly man dressed in rags and a cloaked figure on the black throne to the back of the room.
Doctor Doom was not one for subtlety. His green cape and metallic suit commanded respect. All the while his iron mask commanded fear from anyone who gazed on it. The Latverians around the castle has grown fond of its' familiarity, the Doombots recognized it as their master, but Doom? Doom used it as both a weapon and a reminder of who he was. He never forgot that aspect of his life.
He was starting to wonder if the rest of the world had, though.
"Do we know who sent the video to the masses? A defector, perhaps?" Doom commanded.
Boris could feel the acidic malice in his master's voice but refrained from mentioning that It made him uncomfortable. "No, Lord Doom. None of our experts know a thing."
Scoff. "That is…unfortunate."
Boris let his hands link up in worry. "Maybe we should consider your enemies, sire? There are several who might-
"Ttt. Irrelevant, at least for the moment," Doom scoffed. "Richards may protest he is smart as me, but he wouldn't be stupid enough to do this. The Atlanteans are in the midst of Namor's civil war, and the Wakandans busy fighting whatever Asgardian drama made it to Earth. Other threats…are beyond my purview. They can be concerning another time."
But there was pause for concern here. This wasn't some jab at Latveria's image, some idiotic power thinking it could surpass him. His diplomatic immunity was in clear and present danger thanks to this. He had to think!
Thinking. I have no options…unless…
"Boris," Doom commanded as he got up. "We need a solution to this problem."
The weathered old man looked down. "The outside world knows about your plans, my lord. I don't believe a simple statement will be of help here."
"Of course It won't," Doom elaborated, "but if we control how this story portrays us, then maybe Latveria stands a chance of surviving the consequences."
"What do you wish to be done?"
The ruler looked back at his subject, putting a gauntlet to his mask, and ruminated on the idea. Eventually, his thought process came to a halt and his face glanced away.
"We will need a specialist. Someone in…marketing."
Several continents away, in the confines of a messy Brooklyn apartment, Virginia "Virgie" Watts sighed exhaustedly. She stared at the several piles of paperwork and folders from her firm, then swerved to collapse from the mental strains onto her couch. A break was what she needed…sorely.
Virginia was one of the biggest marketing specialists in Brooklyn, helping to spearhead her firm's success from her very first days when a Stark Industries executive asked for a pitch. Thanks to her decidedness and willingness to try bold ideas, she'd gotten far into the world of advertising. People were soon calling her so much to help with their ideas. She was a household name in offices across the state.
But…somewhere in her career, she'd lost the passion. Helping a brand twist their product so it got sold wasn't entertaining. The colors were gone, replaced by a need to make sales rather than attract love. And working so much had gotten in the way of any semblance of a personal life. For that matter, when was the last time she'd called her mother?
All she needed…was a way to make it worthwhile again.
RING!
Virginia's head perked up from her couch, looking to the door. That was odd. She wasn't expecting anyone. Perhaps one of her neighbors?
She walked to the door, half expecting a girl scout, and then froze with her fingers on the doorknob. Was-was that a doombot?
"Greetings, Virginia Watts," its mechanical voice whined while standing at perfect attention. "Doctor Doom wishes to offer you… a position."
"…The Hell?"
A/N: Thank you so much reading! I'm getting back to resuming all of my fanfictions, and while it's a lot, I can promise that they and this one will be firing on all cylinders soon. I plan on making this a really good FF-focused Doom story. Twists, turns, cliffhangers, and a streamlined tale are in the works, so stay tuned!