Empire State University's Chaykin Auditorium.
"What…what hit us?"
That would be Ben Urich, sitting slumped by one of the fire doors, fanning himself with what's left of his legal pad. His face is smeared with ash and dirt, his hair and clothes messy and blackened from the clouds of dirt and soot and steam. He breathes heavily and wipes beads of sweat from his brow.
"I don't know," I say. I flame on again and lift into the air. "Find a shady spot, Ben."
And I lift into the sky, not bothering to engage the approaching Doombots at point-blank range. Instead, I amp my power levels and shoot lines of fire at them. From either hand, the fire rips through their heads, vaporizing the CPUs. I do that to four of them—from at least a hundred yards off—before they're even in range of hitting me. Four down, eight left.
I look to my side, and see Iron Man in the air too. Shooting energy blasts of his own from his palms, following the through-the-head approach. He manages to get four of his own before the remaining ones pull away and regroup a hundred or so yards above us. I squint hard enough to see their LED-red eyes spark to life. IN a flash, twin bolts of red streak toward us, and I apply enough heat to counteract their laser-vision.
Sure it's probably not laser vision in the purest sense. But nuts to pure sense. After all, Doom did blow up an auditorium just to make himself feel better.
Iron Man knocks another Doombot out of commission, this one having given him slightly more trouble than the others—it actually got a hit in.
"Back off, Tony," I yell to him, just to make sure he hears me. He gives a thumbs-up and descends back to the auditorium. Before the remaining three Doombots can reconfigure to follow him, I fly a tight circle around them—herd 'em together—and switch the flame into fourth gear.
Supernova.
The purple-clad automatons almost flinch as the white-hot flame consumes them one by one. When one tries to escape, I shoot a line of fire and decapitate it.
I lower the flame's intensity and hover in the air for a moment. The lifeless hunks of Doombots fall to the earth silently. And as I return to the surface, I can't help but think this was too easy.
Tony lands and pulls off his helmet. He runs armored fingers through his hair and sighs, exhausted.
"Where did Doom get off to?" he asks.
Reed stares at the stage longingly for a second or two. His brow furrows and he sighs. "He's gone."
"Then we have to track him." Tony protests. "If we move quickly, we can get him before he gets back to Latveria."
"I'll go," Reed says thoughtfully. "Johnny, you stay here and help with clean-up. Tell the authorities whatever you know."
"Uh, we're just getting first reports in, ladies and gentlemen, from Empire State University's Chaykin Auditorium. Uhm…there's been…some kind of explosion. We're not sure what's happened or how many people are inside. But today is—or was supposed to be anyway—Commencement at the University. As is a usual custom, the University had decided to give an honorary degree to one of its distinguished alumni—in this case, Victor von Doom.
"Our viewing public might know him better as Doctor Doom, the ruler of Latveria in Eastern Europe, and I suppose he legitimately is now; the degree he was slated to receive would have qualified him as a Doctor of Philosophy. Again, there has been an explosion at Empire State University's Chaykin Auditorium. When more details become available we'll pass them along to you. This has been a News 5 alert."
Reed Richards. In the Fantasticar in the air over Nova Scotia.
"Peter? Are you reading me?"
"Loud and clear, Dr. Richards. Do you need something?"
"First of all, to thank you for going to the University—"
"No problem. I needed to get out of the house."
"And secondly, to ask your further assistance with something."
"Sure, what is it?"
"I need you to get down to the Bugle. I have a feeling this has gone far beyond Empire State, Peter. Jameson knows something. I'm certain of it, but he won't talk."
"Say no more, Reed. He'll talk to me. I'll be in touch."
The United Nations.
The Security Council, in special session.
"When was the last time you saw him?"
"As per your previous requests, I met Doom at the plaza just outside this building, and was soon joined by Iron Man. Doom himself landed in the Fantasticar, escorted by Reed Richards. Richards himself undertook a mission to attempt to dissuade Doom from coming here in the first place."
"His negotiations seem to have failed," says the Council Chairman. He's a Chinese man whom the papers and the rest of the Council simply call Lin.
"It is…hard to tell, Ambassador."
"Captain America, this man committed an act of willful terror on our own soil. People lost their lives because of him. Wanton property damage, reckless disregard for human life, and knowingly disobeying international statutes. These crimes do not befit a leader of any country. Period."
Silence.
Captain America leans forward in his chair and his eyes cast across the panel of Ambassadors. He forms his hands into fists and rests his chin on the third knuckle.
"What is it you want me to do, Ambassadors?"
"Pending further discussion with Washington, Captain, we wish to see the full weight of the Geneva Conventions brought to bear on Victor von Doom. Diplomatic immunity does not extend to murder. We are deputizing you, Captain America, to bring Doom to justice. Use whatever resources and personnel you require."
"Understood, Ambassador Lin. I only have two requests."
"Yes?"
"That Iron Man and the Fantastic Four aid me in this operation's success. The knowledge they possess will help me immensely. Secondly: leave me to do this on my own terms, Ambassadors. The law doesn't work to some timetable, as you well know. You will have Doom in custody soon enough. I only ask that you stay out of my way and await results you know I can deliver."
"Agreed." Lin doesn't even hesitate when he says it. Captain America stands, slings his shield over his shoulder, and glances at Lin briefly before leaving.
Something…in the way he carries himself, Cap notes. In his eyes…
The Daily Bugle.
"Jameson." I say his name quietly, purposefully. I don't want to scare him, or anger the sleeping beast. I just want answers, and I want them without him interrupting.
So, to that end, I lower myself from the roof on a single cable of webbing and push open the bay window behind his desk. He hears the creak in the wood and his chair shoots around in less than a second. So much for the sleeping beast.
"What? What the hell is this?"
I shoot a small net from my wrist and it wraps around Jameson tight. Keeping him in his chair, where he can't reach the phone to call his new secretary or Robbie or even the police.
"You run this paper," I say curtly. No time for funny-ha-ha, I remind myself. "Editorial decisions pass through you in one form or another. But you also get stories from the Associated Press."
"Who doesn't," Jameson says and leans back in his chair. The end of his cigar burns brightly for a moment as inhaled oxygen stokes the tobacco. "What's your point?"
"So someone gave you that story, and you ran with it. It didn't just happen along. What I want to know…is why? Who told you about the Doctorate in the first place?"
"You want answers, Spider-Man? Ask nicer." Say what you want about Jameson; the man demands respect wherever he goes. The minute he shows me respect, I'll take him seriously.
"Someone wanted you to know about it." I say it firmer this time. "Tell me why."
"You may not believe it, wall-crawler, but I have integrity."
Yeah right. "Lives are at stake, Jonah. Tell me who gave you the story."
"Why should I tell you? Dr. Doom blows up half of Central Park West, and the Fantastic Four and Iron Man don't do anything? I can't even leave my office when one of these supervillain freaks comes to town—how the hell am I supposed to trust you?"
"That's beside the point."
"No it's not!" Jameson's voice rises and he leans forward in the chair as far as the web net allows. "You and your masks and your secrets. You all have them, and people died because of it."
Part of me wonders at what point Jonah Jameson started caring about the world outside the Editorial Desk. I raise my wrist and fire a shot of webbing aimed at his mouth. It acts as a short-term gag--just enough to shut him up. I almost wish I could do it every day as a civvie, just so I don't have to hear Spider-bashing.
"Jonah." I say it bluntly and clearly. Clear enough to get his attention and his eyes squared on me. "You're of no use to me. Looks like I'm sadly forced to get my information the old-fashioned way."
I flip myself right-side-up and land on the carpet. I extend a leg and lightly kick Jameson's chair across the office. Underneath the webbing covering his mouth, he squeals and protests. And despite me really not wanting to do this…
I open each desk drawer one at a time, and paw through every piece of paper. And when that's done, I move onto his hard drive.
The skies over Latveria.
"You sure you're up for this, Suzie?"
"It'll be alright, Ben," she says and stares straight ahead. It was her idea in the first place to put the 'car in hover mode and simply wait for Ironbox to come rollin' in. Me, I'd rather hunt him down and give him a good right hook or three.
But ya take yer wins where you can.
Suzie hovers in the air, a few hundred feet above the hills of sunny Latveria. It's deceptively scenic. Peaceful. If there be a tourism bureau in this backwards little hamlet, Doom'd make a fortune.
Suzie's got 'er arms folded over her chest, and she's staring out at the horizon…disapprovingly. She lifts me out of the top hatch of the 'car on an invisible platform. She stands on one of her own, and for what seems like days we wait and stare at the horizon.
If there be a tourism bureau in this backwards little hamlet, Doom'd make a fortune.
And then I spot him. A small silver dot on the flatness of green hills miles below us and stretching for miles. He's using that damn rocket pack. He's also getting closer.
When he gets in range, I crack my knuckles and let out a small chuckle. This, boys and girls, is my cuppa tea.
He gets closer and a few yards from us he stops and goes vertical. Staring straight at us, with the engines in that rocket pack set to hover. He folds his arms over his chest, matching Suzie's pose.
"My my. A welcoming party." Patronizing piece of--
"We don't want to fight you, Victor."
"Oh but you do. Oh but you will."
"Lemme at 'im, Suzie. Drop the force-field." I crack my knuckles again for good measure. Get ready fer a workout, Lefty and Bob.
Doom says nothing. The engines in the rocket pack power off in a blink, and he plummets to the ground. Still vertical. Strange thing…most free-fallers I seen usually lose attitude control and tumble like a leaf in an breeze. I dive off Suzie's platform and do a plummet towards Doom myself. In a few hundred feet or so, I'll do a belly flop on a nice rough patch of grass. Below me, Doom's head angles upward at me. His arms are still folded over his chest.
After a few seconds of free-fall, I finally catch up with him.
I get in two good hits—a right hook, and a lefty—before he fights back. As we tumble to the earth—to a structure on the outskirts of Doomstadt I eventually make out as a house--Doom manages to grab my leg and flip me over. It's a temporary loss of direction, but it's also just enough for him to power up that electro-shock gauntlet and plant a haymaker on me.
I tumble some more. That last thing I see is Doom's rocket pack firing to life again and him fading into the midday sun. And then the world closes shop for awhile.
I wake up to the rough fibers of a corn broom raking across my face. The kind of broom that only Wicked Witches use. Whoever it is hitting me…they're doing their damndest to make sure I feel it.
My eyes switch open, and I find myself looking at a pretty huge hole in the roof above me. The broom hits me again. This time I sigh, and pull myself upright slowly. I rub my forehead, and the source of the broom-beating makes her known. A little lady no bigger than my hand wielding a broom the size of a pool cue. She keeps beating me over the head, and I make out a dark shape in front of me, obscuring the fireplace.
I groan like I've just woken up, an it occurs to me that it's Doom standing there watching me get accosted by this lady. The Broom Lady starts yelling something.
"Was tun Sie hier? Gehen Sie hinaus! Jetzt!"
When she tries to womp me with the broom, I grab it and snap it in three pieces with one hand. I drop the fragments to the floor, and Broom Lady runs terrified back to the kitchen. I turn to Doom, standing in front of me and looking thoroughly amused. Or pissed. Hard to tell.
"Whuzzat?" I ask and point a thumb behind me, indicating the Broom Lady.
"You invaded her home, Benjamin Grimm. She reacted naturally and within the limits of the law."
"What, does Latveria have gun control or something? Why didn't she shoot me?"
"It is essential to survival that one must ensure public knowledge. Everyone in this nation knows that a conventional bullet would have no effect on your…shall we say, augmented hide. For all either of us knows, she could have been killed by an unfortunate ricochet."
"Well, la-de-da."
"Do you see, Benjamin? There are those on this unforgiving plane of existence that honor me, and profess love of their Master. I am many things, Benjamin, but here I am King."
"Yeah right," I say. In a flash, I spring from my comfy seat on the floor and tackle Victor. We land on the floor, a few inches from the fireplace. I press my hands against his and force them into the brickwork around the wrought-iron screen protecting Doom's oh-so-handsome visage from the fire. "You gotta answer for what you did. For all those people."
Ben rears a fist in the air, gets ready to let it land square in Victor's armored face. As it reaches apogee, I finally step in.
"Ben." My voice is quiet and forceful. "Get off him."
"Reed?" he asks. He turns his head from Victor, to the front door and the small alcove surrounding it. Where I've been standing for the last three or so minutes. "How long you been watchin' us?"
"Long enough. Let him up."
He shoots Victor a dirty look and stands. Surprising even me, Ben extends a hand to help Victor to his feet, but Victor refuses it. As usual.
"Can you give us a moment, Ben?"
"Sure," he says apprehensively, and makes for the front door. A few seconds later, I hear him call Sue to open a deck of playing cards. I look back at Victor, and he locks eyes with me. I let him speak first.
"Richards. I would have thought you were saving the rabble from an unspeakable fate."
"I was. Johnny and the rest had it well in hand. I felt my efforts would be worth more here."
"In the lion's den," Doom says piquantly. "Commendable. You are one of the few who can do it convincingly."
"This isn't about convincing anyone. I came to talk…about us."
"Then speak."
"They're hunting you, Victor. The Security Council, Captain America. Probably even SHIELD. Because they're scared."
"Rightfully so."
"You want people to take you seriously!" My voice goes sharp suddenly. I catch it, and roll with it. "Start acting like it! I've had it with courtesy between us, Victor. I've spent years bending over backwards for you, and you show nothing in return. Nothing. You've got half of New York hunting you down with pitchforks and torches, Captain America and Iron Man leading the pack. And you're waiting for them! You're giving them an invitation, Victor, and you don't have to."
"Invitation to what, precisely?"
"To more humiliation. You don't want it, I know that much. Whether or not you deserve it is up for another day."
"I daresay you forget your place," Victor says tightly. His eyes narrow, spouting hatred.
"No, Victor, I'm tired of being humble to you. I'm tired of fooling myself into thinking I owe you something."
"Surely you don't. Nor I you."
"Oh I know that, but let's not kid each other Victor. We're both smart men—two sides of the same coin. Don't lie to me, especially when I can tell you're doing it. And tell me why you're not doing anything about this. I was there, I saw it all. The only thing you did was vaporize Thomas, and nobody will remember him in twenty years. But they'll remember you, and they'll remember how you almost killed the entire senior class of Empire State University. They'll remember Doom the murderer—the Hitler. Not Doom the statesman."
"Press these guilt trip antics of yours elsewhere, Richards, and state your point. If indeed you have one."
"You didn't blow that hole in the roof. You couldn't have. If you did, the remote you pressed on your armor would've immediately done the deed, but it didn't. So, the remote must have been for…what?"
"You know the answer."
"The Doombots," I say frankly. "That was an expected measure, Victor. Striking at me to avenge everyone but the right someone. The real question is…who blew the hole in the roof? It certainly wasn't you—you were too busy doling out veiled threats to enthralled graduates."
"The Atlantean, then, Richards," Victor replies curtly. "Who would you have me guess?"
"Anger won't help you now. But I can. Someone bigger than either of us is pulling our collective strings. I've got someone looking into it as we speak."
"So what do you propose? An apology, where I might prove my weakness yet again?"
"Not exactly," I rebuff. "The Doombots can be overlooked in the province of something far worse. I'm going to help you clear whatever name you have left, Victor. Whether you want me to or not."
Continued...