Chapter 6: Brutes
The Wingless Wizard loves his wonderful widescreen. He does not require it—reaching a half-rod across the wall. However, Bentley Wittman is a rapacious man who revels in living like a robber baron, when not behind bars. His newly-acquired residence reflects his nouveau riche raison d'être. Dwyer Acres occupies an impressive, ample expanse of Adirondack earth. The acres are thirteen, to be exact. The large lot loops a lavish lodging in lush lawn and bucolic woods. Within the ring, the manor's main floor features fancy architecture fashionable in the late '70s and interior design updated over the decades, indicating the dollars to do so. Underneath the upstairs, an extensive engineering laboratory lies abutted by a scientific library, lockers of archived academic erudition, a larder (with dumb waiter), and (of course) a large laundry room beside a lovely loo.
As might be expected, model mad scientist Wizard has made some enhancements to the already state-of-the-art facilities. For example, he has installed a supercomputer unavailable to most Earth-616 occupants. It includes advanced AI, advanced LO tech (cloaking one's casa if called for), hyper-ultra high-speed internet, six petabytes of storage, and Bentley's big, big, big flatscreen.
From fourteen feet away, Trapster and his two companions can read the Daily Bugle on-line headline. It reads "Marvelous Mayhem in Minnesota" and reports the misadventure of a Master of Evil. Baron Zemo managed to get manhandled and caught by Captain America and two other Avengers in quaint Cass County, situated in the Gopher State's backcountry.
"Boy, we last saw Mayhem in New York, New York," comments Absorbing Man.
Mary looks bemused, "Carl, I can't say that we've ever met Mayhem in Manhattan, Minnesota, or anywhere else."
"Sometimes, I like reading crappy fanfiction," comments Crusher (see New York, New York).
Canting a cup of cognac, kept after claiming the house, Wittman, keen of wit, chuckles congenially (and conceitedly and cutely). Cordially, he considers his pal Pete Petruski staring from a stuffed chair that Trapster soundly set at Wizard's noon upon entering. A little ire etches Pete's puss, and his erect posture empirically signals a piqued person as well. However, Wizard remains cheery, for he is sure that two old cohorts can suss out any quibble. Besides, Bentley espies—in Pete's lap—a copy of the dossier for which Wizard dispatched Trapster, so the Frightful Four frontman feels cheery indeed.
Taking charge, the Frightfuls' leader swivels his captain's chair slightly so to take time at the computer. Trapster is a good partner-in-crime, but he can wait if here to confront his constant comrade. To Wizard, no one is more important in the room than Wizard. Thus, Crusher, Paste-Pot, and Skeeter can all wait while Wittman wields his rightful authority and exceptional ego. Indicating his station, his work station is a wide wall of desk dividing the Four's elite from his (unequal) allies.
Bentley clicks his tongue contemptuously. "Click bait," he comments scrolling the Yoohoo News screen, "I think that media companies want to cause mayhem, not just report upon it."
"Agreed," avers Absorbing Man, "I'm stupid. And, even I get that them internet headlines are huckster stuff. Yoohoo and the like are like the New York Post, National Enquirer, or a scandal sheet. They provoke ya to get ya to read whatever."
"Yeah," Titania adds, "I ain't the sharpest tool neither. And, I'm real thin-skinned—figuratively. But, even I know that web 'reporters'—many with political agendas—try pissing off people so that the whole country becomes The Jerry Springer Show in the comments section. Some of us are supposedly Masters of Evil. But, I look at American media in 2024, and I just don't know."
"Plus," Pete pipes-up, "look at the presidential election in thirteen days. TV's talking heads, the fourth estate, only exacerbate extant factionalism further. We get the tale about which we were warned an era back. Some sensationalist will direct us to open our Windows and declare 'I'm mad as Hell, and I'm not going to take it anymore'. Then, up and down the network, you will hear the harrowing hue and cry."
"Hmph," Wizard raises a glass to his aware colleagues who are woke to modern Angar the Screamer, whether the wing be the left or the right, "Fortunately, friends, we are felons a few times over. Thus, we won't be voting. F* the establishment and the Earth's actual supervillains."
The headman's current company concurs, and they feign clinking glasses with him. Then, Pete puts his soda aside. He insisted on ginger ale from the basement bar instead of alcohol. Skeeter and Crusher are staying sober also, although they have indefatigable livers.
Wizard looks sideways at Trapster again. Peripheral sight reexamines the purloined report resting in Pete's lap. Good buddy Petruski did not simply give Wittman the document upon arriving, and that inaction is impudently uncooperative. Smirking, smug Bentley stalls for more time. The Frightful Four Brahman thinks that he best artfully reestablish some control and a certain relationship.
"Do you like my new digs?" asks Wizard, "How do you like my newest secret hideout?"
"It's alright," Trapster cooly comments.
"Do you know whose house this was until recently?" Wittman asks, "Do you know who could afford a capacious upstate 'cabin' away from NYC?"
Surprisingly, Petruski knows, "Yeah, Douglas Dwyer. I indeed researched this address' deed before meeting here. Why not have the upper hand during our discussion?" Trapster raises his hands wide.
"And, the f* driveway signage still says 'Dwyer Acres'," notes Titania.
Trapster continues, "I remember dweeb Dougie Dwyer from way back before Bentley Wittman and Pete Petruski became supervillains. He was a genius scientist sharing our same professional and social circles."
"But," Bentley apprises, "he advanced in academia while you and I followed more unorthodox endeavors."
"Dean Dwyer's name appears in this report," Pete waves the pile of paper, "And, I deem myself damn disappointed in Dougie—and you. This document details the cover-up of a campus rape at Empire State."
"And, do you know how common such occurrences are?" Wizard coldly queries, "One in five undergraduate women are assaulted during their U.S. college careers. Advocate organizations call it an epidemic."
"An epidemic," Titania interjects, "that universities try to cover-up such as Empire State does in that revoltin' report. You see, federal law mandates that schools publish their crime statistics, and no institution wants to be so honest as to scare away potential students—potential revenue." Brute Skeeter is not the sharpest woman in the world, and even she knows the scholastic scam and the score.
Wizard clicks his tongue contemptuously. He crassly comments, "If it amuses you three, one in four American women are assaulted in their lifetimes, so U.S. campuses actually are safer environments, ironically. Also, 6.25%, of young men suffer sexual violence while studying, so there is that sliver of sexual equity and 'social justice' to salve concerns. One supposes." Witty, reprehensible Wittman simpers.
Trapster spits on the fine woolen rug, "Wizard, no sick spin doctoring—whether yours or Dean Dwyer's—can quell my rage. I'm f* pissed off!"
"But, Pete, pourquoi?" poses Bentley.
"I'll tell you why!" Trapster snarls, "First, I am a thief, terrorist, and consummate cutthroat. I am a distinguished crook, capable of incredible crimes, from besieging the Baxter Building to incessantly escaping incarceration. But, I am not a degenerate creep, and I will never associate with one."
"Oh," Bentley beams an odd smile. Somehow, Trapster forgets that Wizard once abducted, confined, (obviously objectified), and coercively inseminated Salamandra, a half-dragon damsel (see Fantastic Four #515), as though he were a mad Transian geneticist or something.
"Second!" Petruski continues, "I feel betrayed, Bentley, old buddy! We are partners. I trusted that the Minnesota trip was our usual undertaking: steal weird scientific secrets or filch schematics to a specialized facility. Certainly, I didn't foresee me fetching this b*!"
Wizard chuckles heartily at words "we are partners". The Intelligencia elitist has no equals—in his head. To a narcissistic sociopath, all compatriots are peons and monkey paws. Some "slaves" get to be the pooh-bah prig's advisors if they have the acumen, such as Paste-Pot. Some shlubs—such as son Bentley-23—even earn some affection (of the ASPD type). However, to the mad scientist, all sentient subordinates are simply practical implements.
Truth be told, Wittman cannot even wrap his mind around Reed Richards or Victor von Doom being genuinely greater geniuses than himself. A compartment of his considerable conscience kens the truth. But, Bentley Wittman, with big head and hubris, will never accept anyone, no matter how incredible, upstaging him. At his felonious career's start, the Wizard witnessed Human Torch wowing the masses more than the accomplished magician did, and he could not cotton it (see Strange Tales #102). Thus, he started a feud with Johnny Storm and then the Amazing Spider-Man and then the whole Fantastic Four, and things have just gone from there. There is no end to the challenge because there is no end to the insult because there is no end to an evil genius' id and ego.
"Alright, you may chuckle, chum" chippy Petruski chafes, "However, you owe me some explanation. Why the f* did you involve me in this?"
"How the f* did you get involved, mon ami?" answers Wittman, "Well, what f* business do you think we have been in for eras? How many f* kidnappings have we committed, of Sue Richards or Alicia Masters alone? How many beneficent bozos have we left in bondage in a booby trap? How many sorts—ordinary and super—has the Frightful Four terrorized, not out of an odd affection but as a display of brutal power? How often has the Frightful Four been an affront, that is to say 'frightful', to decency?
"Pete, we supervillains are always one step away from the outrage accounted in that ESU report. If you doubt that assessment, ask most any modern academic or other American far-left advocate. Such an ideologue and idiot will enthusiastically aver that Marvel Comics, representing reality with some poetic license, and other illustrated magazines, Depictions Creative, contribute to our country's rape culture and a contemporary seduction of the innocent. In their perfervid perspective, our stories sit on a slippery slope that sends small minds toward sexual violence. By the Bombshells and other Bolsheviks' belligerent bias, our sordid tales sit on a spectrum with all misogyny—from bawdy innuendo to ogling to outright assault. They equate everything with rape."
The Bombshells are "progressive" terrorists dedicated to absolute political correctness by any means "necessary". They congregate on college campuses, and the student protesters (rightly or wrongly) attack conservative voices to scare, censor, and silence them—supposedly for everyone's empowerment, sake, and freedom (see Captain America: Sam Wilson #17). Such is their skewed perspective. Like the Avengers or the Frightful Four, the Bombshells are the heroes of their own narrative. They are the valiant, valid, virtuous vigilantes and revolutionaries wisely—and violently—making a better world. And, it's not wrong when they do it, per them.
"If you doubt that assessment," Wizard adds to his statement, "examine the art from the film studio adapting Marvel Comics. It addresses and redacts a supposedly ubiquitous sexism in established illustrated fiction. Supposedly, past popular canon—comic books included—is all virtual obscene violation. It is systemic sexist objectification. By visuals, plot, and verbiage, it is the vicarious victimization of women by virile virgins for vegetable urges. The American vulgate is vitiating vice.
"So, Tinlaw Studios, headed by Edward Whelan, a.k.a. Vermin, support and spread 'woke' hysteria in cinemas, and their superlative box office receipts show their success. Shill Tinlaw sells seats to seemingly every U.S. citizen and then schools every observer in left-wing schemata and civics. Showhouse audiences study sublimated versions of venerated lore, reformed scripture that switches this and censors that while supplying shrill dialogue and subversive subtext that supposedly will save society.
"You see, enlightened, acceptable Americans are all 'woke' now. The 'woke'. They fix what was 'broke' before Gen Z and Tinlaw Studios arrived."
Trapster coughs to buy a sec of time. He concurs with much of what Wizard just sarcastically said. But, he is not going to bow before the supervillain sophist and scuzzy scallywag (i.e. traitor) who sent him to steal and suppress the dirty little secrets of Dean Douglas Dwyer. Paste-Pot cannot accept his position as a pawn, evident as it may be. And, as a proud professional, Trapster cannot tolerate prurient tasks as his purview. He has a better reputation than to be the fixer of a defilement.
Trapster speaks, "I concur with much of what you just sarcastically said. However, the left-wingers are wrong to equate our usual activities with the worst of actions. You see, slippery slope arguments are like that. Sometimes, one thing does lead to another lower, worst condition. But often, a slippery slope argument is a logical fallacy, for the supposedly inevitable issue can stop somewhere on the slope. For example, in the comics chronicling our activities, a kidnapping is only a kidnapping unless it slides into something further.
"And remember. Especially kids, comics' main audience, probably can't and won't see further down the slope. Plus, comics throughout history constantly combine good and bad messages about femininity. In the funny pages, women are always victims—except all the times that they are heroes. Or villains."
Smarmy Wittman smirks. "Certainly, you have studied some rhetoric, son. I did not know that you were such a polymath, Pete,"
"Sure, Chicago had some fine schools when I studied engineering there," Trapster tells. Petruski hails from Gary, Indiana.
"Indeed, the Windy City does," Wizard admits, "And, I can tell you that those 'fine' schools had the same sleazy business occurring at them as occurred at Empire State awhile back." The gang leader points to the dirty dossier on lackey's lap.
"And, I can tell you," Trapster points to Wizard, "that I never participated in such depravity. And, keep in mind, genius, that I went on to become one of America's worst supervillains."
Bentley Wittman must bite his lip lest he jocularly play-off the phrase "worst supervillain", for Paste-Pot Pete is considered one of the worst supervillains by both superheroes and fanboys alike. Perhaps unfairly. However, he is considered pathetic and antiquated with powers only scary and awesome in an earlier era. In fact, in Wizard's mind, he should be thanking Bentley for sending him on a mission that might make Pete more wicked in reputation.
"And, I can reiterate to you," Wizard replies, "that your assignment out-west was but business as usual."
"B*!" blurts Trapster, "You are simply trying to weasel out of answerability."
The incensed juts an accusing finger—that could fire a deadly device. In his glove, Trapster has his a "Reed whacker". The secreted weapon can shoot a wide web with similar properties to napalm. It sticks relentlessly and burns white-hot. If battling the FF, it would not eliminate Thing or Torch. But, it could quickly cremate Mr. Fantastic. Or, perhaps the Invisible Woman. Or, it could incinerate the Wingless Wizard right now. The armament is the ace up tricky and truculent Trapster's sleeve. He need only twitch his thumb a certain way.
Klaw and Equinox are quietly the aces up Wizard's sleeve. In a pickle, Electro could also arrive in the basement almost instantly. Ever sharp, Wittman also assembled two Frightful Four associates, Klaw and Electro, for this tense meeting. And, Equinox is a new guy unknown to most marvelous superhumans. So, Terry Sorenson, the Thermodynamic Man, should be a spiffy surprise attack if necessary.
Nearby, two miles hence, Project: Pegasus proudly sits atop Mt. Athena in the Adirondacks. The place studies alternate forms of energy. And, Equinox, Electro, and Klaw have been prisoners and lab rats there.
Trapster continues to have his sinister hand set like a finger gun. His oldest acquaintance astutely notices with some irritation.
Titania enters the conversation, "I don't f* follow much of you boys' blather, but I do have a question before deciding whether to demolish you, Wizard, or not."
In his comfortable highbacked seat, head honcho Wizard is duly amused with Trapster's muscle, who has been the Wizard's hired muscle too. In his opinion, Pete hubristically hijacked Mary and Carl from the Frightful Four foreman. They are his b, not anyone else's.
However, Bentley does not display any ire. Rather, he affably solicits Skeeter, "What is your question, madame? How may I sooth your concerns?" Such apparent amity encourages de-escalation.
"Yeah, who the f* is Douglas Dwyer, the dean dude who covered-up the campus crime?" Titania probes, "I recognize the victim and perpetrator's names. Anyone would. But, Dwyer? I don't know. Is he a fellow supervillain incognito? Is he a spineless coward? Is he a good guy doing nuttin'?"
Coyly curling his lip, the Frightful leader covers personal history, "Long ago, Dougie Dwyer and I attended Carson University together. At the time, the institution was known for a classicist who went crazy and collaborated with Nazis during WWII [see U.S.A. Comics #6]. Captain America and Bucky had to come and kill the crackpot.
"Wunderkinder Wittman and Dwyer came after such controversy and redeemed Carson's cachet a bit. Of course, Dougie did not seriously compete with me in the physics department. I was a childhood prodigy, playing championship chess at age eight, entering academia by fourteen, attending Carson grad school at sixteen. Surely, Dwyer had some little accomplishments that got him into CU too.
"Protective back then, Doug adopted a Long Island adolescent running loose on a possibly dangerous college campus. We became fast friends. Throughout our CU studies, Wittman and Dwyer were the von Doom and Richards of the Upper Midwest: roommates and collaborators. Victor and Reed advanced science out east. And, we did so in northern Michigan, often compensated by the Carson Copper Company [see Captain America Comics #48] of Keweenaw County. For Carson Copper, I composed cutting-edge calculus, designed a better mining car, created countless inventions, and composed a crisis enchiridion should Subterranean creatures ever be on the loose, as they were in tales to astonish from elsewhere. Dougie did some nicely innovative things with electricity.
"After our master's program, Massachusetts called me for several of my doctorates. Dwyer drifted to District University in D.C. [see Son of Satan series]. I had to leave Dougie behind because of my genius. After Michigan, he felt that he had to move on because of my 'concerning' morals. But, we kept in touch. Any academic community is only so big; there are only x number of prominent experts in any field. Plus, Dougie and I were sort of sentimental chums for each other.
"Then, we became less chummy when I openly became a criminal. Prof. Dwyer, at that point, worried over his reputation much. What would Grayburn College colleagues think if their noted teacher and researcher knew the Wingless Wizard? The stiffs might deny him tenure. Still, he secretly sent, under a pseudonym, scientific periodicals and supportive posts to his pen pal perpetually in the pen.
"Then, eventually, dear dweeb Douglas was Dean Dwyer at Empire State University. And, he was president of the place's foundation. That is to say that he oversaw the money, and he was more of a canny administrator than a conscientious educator. In his time, campus protests occurred opposing his being a skinflint and cheapskate. He nearly negated night classes needed by working class pupils, and he used New York's blue knights—with their nightsticks—to quell the cranky crowds. However, after some crimson had flowed, Spider-Man and White Tiger coaxed him to see the error of his ways [see Spectacular Spider-Man #9-10]. Thus, he finagled a deal with the student protesters that brought better press and benefited the foundation fiscally.
"However, as you now know, Dean Dwyer did things even more dubious during his decades at ESU. That dossier that you're holding, Pete, presents one such instant. Dozens more exist. But, Dwyer wanted to be rid of that particular one. Thus, he contacted me to do some dirty work."
Petruski wryly replies, "Probably, Ken Barthson's name has something to do with the weasel wanting this report retrieved after an anonymous somebody mailed it to Minnesota."
"Sure," Wizard replies, "I am a science nerd, and even I know that Ken Barthson and Bobby Steele are one the most dreaded defensive duos in American football. Particularly King Kong Barthson is a monster."
"So it would seem," retorts Trapster.
Wizard stares at the wall several silent seconds. Then, he scans Absorbing Man and Titania sitting side-by-side. They wait intently for some action. Pete simply has not signaled them yet. Finally, Bentley's burning gaze settles on his partner-in-crime. Their stares lock.
"So, are we going to fight?" queries Wizard, "I hate trashing the recently-acquired residence that I extorted from Dwyer in exchange for my services. However, we should lock horns if need be, Petey."
Surprisingly, Trapster says "In a minute, Bentley, old boy. I have a final question before any brawl."
Grinning, Wittman remarks, "I, a genius, cannot guess what it is."
Eyes piercing, Petruski probes, "Who else is involved who may not be named in this dirty report? I am going after them after reproving you."
Contemptuously amused, the other explicates, "Well, ESU Dean of Students Beatty certainly plays a part. Deans of students are like foundation presidents. They keep dollars flowing. Thus, in the case of date rape, they deny young women their rights and make dilemmas disappear. As explained earlier, all campus controversy must remain internal.
"Besides Beatty, New York socialite Deb Harris somehow knows of the filthy affair. She is the somebody who stole the file in the first place and sent it to her niece Glorianna O'Breen. In turn, you strongarm stole the file back—like the pseudo-feminist who you are."
"Oh" is all that Trapster says. Abruptly, a tension takes the air, and the Frightful fixtures enter a stand-off for some seconds. Like a wild frontier shootist, Paste-Pot points his finger gun, a real weapon, which Wizard realizes rests in his glove. Eyes narrowed, Wizard too resembles an Old West outlaw. His cupped palm hangs like Black Bart about to draw a Colt. Somewhere, perhaps, Ennio Morricone music plays.
Suddenly, a spark exits Wizard's Wonder Glove into the steel counter separating scoundrels. A refulgent circuit activates. With resounding crackle, sparkling, sizzling energy streams spit forth three transported shapes to stand between threatening Trapster and his target.
Promptly, Paste-Pot pops the "Reed whacker" and prepares (psychologically) to witness its powerful, perilous effects. The wide web shoots. But, simultaneously, Red Ghost semi-materializes before boss Bentley. And, unfortunately, the Frightful fellow serves as cannon fodder. Red Ghost is a wide cloud, his "red mist" form. In a split second, the issued adverse, adhesive seine splats the Soviet sap, and his spectral flesh swallows it. In the next instant, Kragoff—sadly—solidifies himself. At once, Ivan gets an awfully odd look on his visage.
Also arriving, Equinox appears in a scintillating fireball surrounding shimmering icy skin, for such is the terrific form of the Thermodynamic Man.
Beside Equinox, Klaw, the Mad Master of Sound, manifests from an infamous molybdenum steel sound converter camouflaged in Wizard's desk clutter.
Swiftly, Absorbing Man and Titania stand to scrimmage. However, more swiftly, Equinox executes an attack preplanned (with Wizard). Pulsating palms rise and project a plane of Plutonian algidity. Absolute zero overtakes Carl and his queen. Or, the fire-and-ice elemental unleashes ungodly low Kelvin at any rate. Abruptly, Absorbing Man can interact with nothing—even on a molecular level. And, Titania freezes cold as a witch's t*. Ipso facto, Wizard annuls Trapster's muscle just like that!
Peeved Paste-Pot plants his foot and springs erect to attack with his other arsenal. In the area, his incendiary paste plagues Red Ghost who ingested it. The incandescent crap cruelly cooks Kragoff like hellacious jalapeno—or a ghost pepper. He collapses and caterwauls.
Trapster aims his glue gun. Klaw assails impudent Pete with pounding sound waves. Rattled, impotent Petruski wobbles on rapidly weak legs. Klaw lunges to conk Trapster back into his overstuffed chair. Birdies chirp and circle.
While Pete's ears ring, Wizard mouths a muffled "relax, Mr. Petruski." The Frightful Four captain presses a button on his person, and the upholstery pukes forth pseudo Spidey web fluid. The chair had hidden pockets of the stuff all along. Wily Wittman could have incapacitated Trapster—with Paste Pete's own tactic—at anytime, for the Frightful Four's first mate had not outthought him.
Like a fiend, the Wingless swine ethereally floats over the table to his friend. On high, he addresses his adherent, "Pete, Pete, Pete, Pete. I won't repeat myself, so listen up. You have my word that we will work together again. However, heed this. We will never have this same conversation again. You will never challenge or chastise again. Otherwise, I will—with some ambivalence—annihilate you."
"Aw shad up!" the bound barks while woozy, "What we did was dishonorable—even for us!"
Wizard alights and grabs his chum's chin as one would a cheeky child. Klaw and Equinox stand at alert, ready to hurt rebellious Petruski further.
"What we did was dishonorable? What is it that the Frightful Four does, dummy?" wonders Wizard "What f* business do you think we're in?"
Trapster takes a breath. Then, he states, "We supervillains are in the business of knowing better than the so-called benevolent but never actually being the bad guys."
Wizard releases and takes a step back. Bentley offers, "Do you remember the Brute? He joined our merry men after the Fantastic Four saved him from Man-Beast when High Evolutionary's Counter-Earth almost got consumed by Galactus [see Fantastic Four #177]. Brute could morph into a monster resembling the Thing or shapeshift into someone perfectly impersonating Mr. Fantastic."
"Sure," says stuck Paste-Pot.
Wittman relates, "Well, you then remember how Brute bested the actual Reed Richards in battle, banished him to the Negative Zone, and infiltrated FF HQ, the Baxter Building. While beneath our nemeses' noses, he broke bread with Ben Grimm and befriended Johnny Storm. But, he also shared a bed with Sue Richards [see Fantastic Four #179]. And, what treacherous besetting do you suppose betrayed both Invisible Girl's trust and Brute's true identity?"
Trapster has been told by Thundra once how Sue detected that Reed's doppelganger was different. He retakes in the tart truth.
Wizard tells, "We all acted by proxy through the Brute. Don't you get it? We're all brutes: King Kong Barthson, King Kong, Dean Dwyer, the Frightful Four in all its forms, the Fantastic Four and all crusaders, the average comic book reader vicariously sampling violence, the frothy feminist protesting him, everyone. All American factions are about force and making their fantasies come true. They may be Ken Wind's rowdy populist rabble on the right or Rex Carpenter's reformist rioters and rebels."
"I will never believe such b.s." Trapster boldly declares, defiantly finding some good in his nature.
Abruptly, Bentley robs Peter's lap of the bothersome report. He knows that Trapster is certainly not naïve and that copies exist. However, Wizard would let his liege learn who's knight and who's king of their corrupt company.
Shaking the sheaf, the Frightful Four chief clarifies once more, "In my view, I have never done anything wrong, for it's not wrong when I do it." Such is how sociopaths see and then speak.
Smarmily snapping fingers, Wizard signals Equinox. In turn, Terry "Equinox" Sorenson encases Trapster in ice.
Clever Klaw commands the chimera, "Throw the three—Trapster, Absorbing Man, and Titania—onto Mt. Athena near Project: Pegasus from which we are newly freed. The place's mad scientists and superhero operatives can maybe take them from there."
Leader Wittman concurs. Ice chutes—like Bobby Drake's—deliver the three rebuffed boobs from the basement to Dwyer Acres' big yard. Sound bricolages catapult the couple and captivated Petruski three kilometers yon.
Poor wretch Red Ghost rests and retches until recovered.