AN: Sorry long time no update (understatement) but I had sever writer's block. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Author is not associated with Fantastic Four franchise
Chapter 2
There is a middle-aged to elderly man sitting in the living room. He is slumped over as if he is sleeping. And he is.
Except for the fact that a dart is sticking out of his neck.
The girl lowers the gun and removes her one-eyed mask. She shakes out her long ink-black curls and answers the ringing phone. "Hello."
"You got him?"
"3 down, 1 to go."
"Good. Report back for the name of the last one.
"Yes, sir."
"And destroy the phone after the call ends."
"Why don't you just use a cellular phone?"
"Cellular phones are traceable."
"Oh, yes. Of course." He hung up. She sighed, and then spoke into the microphone around her neck. "Stalwart down. Come and pick him up."
…
Her boots padded softly across the marble floor of the Von Doom mansion-turned-evil-lair. It was, legitimately, a throne room. With the raised platform and carpeted steps and iron-cast dark-wood throne. Of course, Doom sat in that throne, swirling a stirrer in a glass of some sort of alcoholic beverage. He was preoccupied, staring into a test tube of a silver-like energy that he held up to the light. He handed it to the drone at his side. "Send this to the lab for testing." The drone nodded and rolled away. "Ah. You're here for your assignment?"
"Lemme guess. Someone important enough to demand high ransom and an immediate search, yet not important enough for any major press coverage." So far, she had captured a 21-year-old heiress socialite, the genius 12-year-old son of the president of a software company, and Stalwart, the old man, the ex-vice president of a paper goods manufacturer. Von Doom looked at her grimly.
"No. If we're going to lure the Fantastic Four, we need something else." God. What was this guy's obsession with them?
"What do we need?" He smiled.
"Bait."
…
It was quite common for Johnny Storm to wake up with pounding headaches. In fact, it was sort of his area of expertise. Between bar fights, brawls, and simply becoming too drunk to stand, this was nothing. It was, however, rather strange for him to wake up handcuffed with three people staring at him. He rubbed the bump on his head and sat up gingerly, feeling a sudden nausea. "Where am I?"
"In prison," sniffed a blonde girl in a cocktail dress and sunglasses tilting up her nose.
"We actually don't exactly know where we are," added an old man in a bathrobe and slippers.
"However, judging from our attire and the respective times that we arrived here, we may be able to figure out what times we were abducted at," a boy in thick glasses and pajamas piped up.
"That would be a great idea kid, except I'm retired. I always dress like this," the old man pointed out.
"Thanks, genius," sunglasses girl muttered. The kid looked rather hurt that his suggestion hadn't worked, and turned away from the group. Johnny took this silence as a chance to take in his surroundings. It was a completely white room, with four cots, including his own, crammed into a corner. He was the only one wearing handcuffs, which reminded him of something.
"I can bust us out of here." Quickly, he tried to "flame on," but nothing happened. Again he tried, and still nothing. "This is not happening to me," he muttered.
"The cuffs neutralize your DNA," a voice behind him boomed. "Your powers are useless to you now."