The Nine Tailed Foxx
Chapter 5
((A/N: No, I haven't forgotten about my other stories. Just waiting on one muse to step back and let others have some time.
A wonderful thanks to my friend Lady Moonhawke, who is also my co-writer, co-conspirator, Idea tester, plot hole finder, monkey wrench thrower, and ghost editor.))
A really bad day
Early January, One Day later…
The FBI Helos hadn't even had the chance to reach the detainment center, let alone for any of the Agents to start processing Johnny when the pair of Doombots showed up and forcefully removed him from their custody. He was fairly sure he would have hand shaped bruises on his upper arms at best, dislocated shoulders at worst, from where his seat restraints had been ripped off before he was hauled out of said seat then thrown out the side door of the helos. He was not ashamed at the fact that, it honestly scared the hell out of him. Hell he probably passed out since he doesn't remember much past the few moments of freefall.
The stinging slap of a hand against Johnny's cheek finally woke him again. He was so cold his teeth were chattering and he thought he might have windburn on his hands as well as his face. He tried to get his feet under him fully but his left knee decided to simply refuse to assist in keeping him upright. After being pulled back to his feet, he limped-staggered forward like a drunk. His hands were still cuffed behind his back, meant he was forced to rely on the Doombots to stay upright.
Johnny didn't know why he had been targeted and he wasn't looking forward to finding out either. All he wanted to do right now was find a nice cold, dark place to curl up and pass out in for a few hours before his head exploded from the migraine he had developed due to the concussion. He didn't even want to think about having to deal with the aftermath of the night's events. About how much information that HYDRA had collected on him and Mirela, that was now in FBI's hands. Let alone how much the Avenger's now knew too.
The hood of Johnny's voluminous great-coat had fallen low over his face, giving him a great view of the carpet, floors, baseboards, other assorted low furniture and legs from the knees down but nothing else. It also provided a shadowed dimness for his overly light sensitive eyes. If only he had been left alone, to be processed through as a prisoner of FBI, he might just now be bunking down on an uncomfortable cot in a tiny room, under total surveillance after a (maybe) brief stop in medical. He wondered if their interrogation methods were different from those that SHIELD had used.
Several corridors and turns later, he reached the end of his travels. Someone knocked on the heavily reinforced, yet highly ornate doors before him. At some unheard signal, the doors opened and he was escorted (frog marched) in front of desk. His arms were let go, and of course, his knee gave out again, causing said knee to come into a very painful contact with the marble floor. The flare of white hot pain faded to a constant dull throb which created its own tempo, completely out of synch with his migraine. But hey, at least he hadn't face planted due to the inability to use his hands to help balance.
A deep chuckle as the person stood from behind the desk, moving around to stand in front of it. "Young Johnnathan Nykademus LeFleaur, you have grown since last Doom saw you."
'Fuck.. my… life...' Dark gray metallic boots with a backdrop of forest green material entered Johnny's view. He licked his lips then swallowed. To speak or to hold his silence until spoke to… he was screwed either way. He deepened his kneeling stance, bowing at the waist. Actually he wanted to bang his head against the floor but that wouldn't look too good right now. "Lord Doom…I am honored to be allowed into your presence," he said in Doom's first language, Latverian Romani.
"As it should be," Doom replied in the same language. "Once before, many years ago, you served Doom." This time he spoke in English.
It took Johnny a few moments to dredge up the correct memory. The one year he managed to slip his guardian's leash and attend a school which specialized in dealing with gifted people. It was during one of the many 'crisis' which occur much too frequently in New York and the surrounding areas. A brutal, unnatural winter storm caused massive outages along with a host of other problems. He was one of the few people who willingly assisted those at the Latverian Embassy, thus somehow earning favor from the man himself, Dr. Doom (or maybe it was because he was Rom, from a rather young North American clan). It also had the effect of drawing unwanted attention to himself from other alphabet agencies. Then the Friends of Humanity decide the school was a perfect target. He, along with another classmate had inadvertently killed one of the FOH while helping protect the school. One thing let to another and SHIELD got called in and the school was closed down. Yeah, not a good year. But in his defense he was a stupid fuck-up of a teenager with all the common sense god gave a wet noodle. With his head still bowed, he kept his voice subservient and respectful without sounding like a fawning sycophant. "I did, My Lord."
"Doom requires your service once more Johnnathan."
Johnny was hauled once more to his feet, this time though he was braced upright between two bots. A pair of metal clad hands slid under the hood to lift up and over his head. He still had not lifted his head, keeping his eyes down cast. One hand cupped his chin while the other brushed his hair out of his face before coming to rest on his forehead. He noted that, for being metal, they were as warm as flesh and blood hands. A slight pressure, one that promised pain should he refuse, had him lifting his head to look up into the armored visage of Dr. Doom. He had seen eye colors of all ranges in his life, but never had brown eyes looked so deadly as the did this very moment. The pressure in his head felt like it was increasing with every beat of his heart, yet he could not look away. Fire ignited under his skin as ice flowed through his veins. His knees buckled yet he was held fast, standing tall. He breathed yet he suffocated, screamed but was silent. It was but a moment in time but felt like an eternity. Everything and nothing all at the same time.
Johnny did the only thing a man in his position could do. His eyes rolled back as he succumbed to unconsciousness with nary a fight.
Doom calmly spoke in a language that only a sorcerer would understand as he traced symbols upon the young man's forehead then around his throat and lastly over his heart. He stepped back and spoke a final word. The symbols flared in an unearthly light before fading away. He examined his work from all angles. All the illusions the young man once hid behind had been stripped away. The energy that once fed the illusions now feeding what he replaced them with. He clasped his hands behind his back and once more examined the young man before him. Hair, once a dark auburn was now white that shaded into electric blue. Skin that had been sun kissed was now the color of mist and moonlight. He stepped close, turning the unconscious young man's face towards him and peeling back both eyelids. What he saw now was a green so pale and faded it may as well have been called white. He felt as if something or someone stared back at him though Johnny's eyes as silver and arctic blue flickered and swirled. He laughed softly as he watched silver bleed into the left eye while the right was overtaken with the arctic blue. "Try as much as you wish, to break the spells. You will only do harm to young Johnnathan," Doom said. "To harm one's host is to bring harm threefold to one's self." He turned and walked back around the desk to sit. "Make sure he is prepared for delivery," he ordered before picking up one of the sheets of paper that sat neatly in a pile.
The Doombots made no sound as they turned, dragging Johnny out with them. A human servant bowed and followed to do as ordered.
Johnny was taken to another part of the building. There he was stripped of all but the great coat due to the cuffs still securing his arms. The servants bathed him, tended to his injuries then reclothed him in what was seen as proper clothes for his new station. In lieu of a shirt, a doe skin leather vest that was laced at the sides and shoulders was used. The pants were also made of doe skin leather. The boots were low heeled, high quality workmanship. The clothes included knife sheaths, hidden pockets for lock picks, coils of diamond wire, and other assorted items he may have need of. Everything was dyed a deep green and black with tiny accents of blood red. The national colors of Latveria.
A set of five large steamer trunks were packed.
One trunk contained everything that might be needed for an infant. From onesies to sleepers, blankets and burp cloths, bibs, socks and washcloths. Homeopathic baby soap and diaper rash cream. Toys and teethers, bottles and utensils. Anything and everything. All Doom! themed of course.
The second trunk contained general household items. While the third and fourth were clothes for Johnny. Formal to casual and everything in between. Latveria colors of course.
The last steamer trunk was left empty save for the thick goose down comforter that padded the bottom. When the time was right, the trunk would be filled and sent along with the rest.