FANTASTIC FOUR

447 - February, Y4 - MV1

The Fantastic Four created by Stan Lee and Jack Kirby

ENTER, STAGE RIGHT

written by Mark Bousquet

Blastaar stood in front of what was clearly an abandoned factory. It looked like it would suit his purposes. Certainly, the building was bordering on ruin, but it was a massive facility, one of six in this small town.

As a good a place as any, Blastaar thought, to start building an empire. Earth owed this to him, he thought, after the Fantastic Four had failed to help him save his own planet from destruction.* He noted that the FF had found a way to escape with their own lives, leaving behind millions of Baluurians to die when the core of the planet exploded.

Those were Baluurians that Blastaar would never now get the chance to rule.

They would all pay, he knew. All of them. Annihilus, the Fantastic Four and most assuredly Thanos. Even that despicable slug, Dusk, would pay.* Revenge was all his mind understood.

Blastaar roared loudly into the night.

His time was coming.

Ben Grimm felt uncomfortable. It was the tie. Always the tie. Other than the tie, he had to admit he was feeling okay. Sure, this new play Susie had dragged the FF to was boring as all-heck, but it was thankfully over. And Alicia … Ben shook his head in the back hallway of the darkened theatre.

Perhaps the four members of the FF being here together was a sign that things were getting back to normal. At least, as normal as they could be without Franklin around.

Now, he and the rest of the Fantastic Four stood in the theatre’s show room, where the stars could mingle with the wealthy patrons that came and watched their performance. Ben, without really meaning to, had found himself standing alone at the edge of the room. Reed and Sue were busy laughing and chatting with the show’s producer and director, some guy Ben had never heard of. This was good for Susie, Ben thought. It was giving her something to do besides worry about Franklin. Even Johnny, who’d been moping constantly since he found out A’kimba was already engaged to be married to some Wakandan guy named Greykan was having a good time. He was trying not to, Ben noted, but the more women that flocked around him, the more Johnny’s face lighted up.

Ben was glad. He checked his watch and discovered that he’d been standing at this after-show party for twenty minutes. That was long enough. Time to go.

"Excuse me, Mr. Grimm, sir," a young man caught Ben’s attention.

"Yeah?"

"Have you seen Isadora?"

"Isadora? Who’s that?"

The young man looked like Ben had just told him that the world was flat. "Isadora Krachev. The star of the show?"

"This show?" Ben asked, vageuly remembering a dark-haired actress that seemed to be on stage more than anyone else. "No, I haven’t seen her. Should I have?"

"Well," the young man began, then stopped. He was thinking. "I shouldn’t be telling you this," he confided, "but she wanted desperately to meet the Human Torch. Her publicist, that woman over there," he pointed to an older woman who’d managed to work her way into Reed and Sue’s conversation, "Miss Roberts, has sent me to look for her."

"Did you try her dressing room, pal?" Ben asked, trying to be polite.

"Of course," the young man replied as if insulted, which he was.

"Look, I ain’t seen her," Ben answered, wanting the conversation over. "But if I see her, I’ll let her know you’re looking for her."

Without another word, Ben moved away, towards the door. He felt suddenly hot and miserable and wanted to be anywhere but here. Not bothering to weave his way through the room to the theatre’s main exit, Ben ducked down a small row that led to a doorway in the back. As he walked down the hallway that was really too small for him to move comfortably, he was forced to turn sideways. "Actors," he grumbled.

He exited into a back alley, taking comfort in it’s grime. They could clean up Broadway all they wanted to, but alleys everywhere looked the same, dirty. It was raining lightly, meaning Ben would ruin his tuxedo if he walked home. Cabs were out of the question, but he could call the Fantasti-Car to him with no trouble. A press of a button on a device in his pocket and he knew the Car was on it’s way.

Ben looked up at the rain and sighed. Alicia. He’d actually gone about an hour sometime today without thinking about her. They’d decided to go their separate ways, spend some time alone to sort things out after the long and hectic time they’d had recently. Ben still wasn’t sure exactly why he told Alicia that they should spend some time apart, but he was convinced, as much as it hurt, that it was the right thing to do. It wouldn’t have been fair of him to ask Alicia to marry him after all she’d been through.

They each needed to find themselves again before they could make a permanent place in their lives for the other.

So wrapped up was he in his thoughts that he almost failed to notice the sound of a young woman crying to the right of him. That way led deeper into the alley and Ben, without a second thought, went towards the sound of the sobbing, though he could make out only the slightest silhouette of a woman’s body.

"Hey, you okay, Miss?" Ben asked as he got close.

"Leave me alone!" the woman, whose face was buried in her hands, yelled.

"Fine," Ben stopped in his tracks. "Whatever. Just figured I could help."

He started to turn away when the young, raven-haired woman looked up. Her eyes, thick with tears, sparkled the minute they saw the Thing standing there. "Wait," she said adamantly. "I am sorry. So sorry. These tears are unprofessional of me."

Ben eyed her with caution. "You’re Isadora Krachev, right? The star of the show? Your publicist, Miss Roberts is looking for you."

Isadora did not reply at first as she wiped tears from her face and straightened her stance. She sniffled once, sharply, then stood before Ben proudly. Ben noticed, though he tried not to show it, that Isadora’s hip gently eased out to the side as her hand went to the hip, accentuating the tight curves of her body. "Miss Roberts is a dreadful woman," she said, her voice dropping an octave. "She wants me to date the Human Torch. She says it will be good for my career."

"Probably would," Ben answered back, noticing that Isadora’s legs looked much longer up close than they did on the stage.

"He is a boy," she waved her hand away. "Definitely," she looked up at Ben, blinking once, "not a man."

Ben was beginning to feel uncomfortable. "If there’s nothing else …" he said, turning to leave.

"No wait!" Isadora shrieked quickly, lunging at him, grabbing desperately at his large arms. "Do not go!"

"Why not?" Ben asked, trying to pull his arm free. It wasn’t working.

"Because if you go I will be killed."

"Alright," Ben replied, "that’s enough. I don’t know what your game is-"

"My game?" Isadora pleaded. "I do not consider my life to be a game!"

"Well, whatever-"

His reply was cut short by the sudden intrusion of automatic weapon fire. "Get down!" he yelled, positioning himself between Isadora and the bullets. The bullets pummeled him, destroying his tuxedo, but doing no lasting damage to the body underneath. Isadora fell to the ground, gladly accepting Ben’s protection and Ben noticed, somewhat surprisingly, that her face held no emotions at all.

After a minute, the bullets stopped and Ben turned around to face the unseen attackers. His tuxedo was almost completely gone, but the tie that had caused him so much consternation earlier somehow remained in place. Angrily, Ben reached up and yanked the tie away. "Awright!" he hollered, "Who the heck ruined my good suit?"

There was no one there. The alley was completely empty.

"Don’t that figure," he mumbled, turning back to Isadora. "Wanna tell me who they were?"

Isadora was only too willing to volunteer the information, "It’s not them I am worried about. It is the man behind them."

"Who?" Ben asked, angrily.

"His name is … Manticore."

"The clock is ticking, Franklin," Nathaniel said sternly to Franklin and Marcia. "You have one minute to find the puppy, or I shall set him loose in the wilds of Limbo that surround us."

Franklin and Marcia were panicking. For the past hour, since they woke up from their unwanted nap, they’d been scrambling around Fantastopolis, desperately searching for a puppy that Nathaniel had told them was loose and running around.*

"C’mon, where is he?" Franklin pleaded.

"It is not my place to tell," Nathaniel responded, no hint of emotion on his face. "If I told you the location, it wouldn’t be much of a test, would it?"

"Where’s Kristoff?" Marcia asked desperately.

"Looking elsewhere," Nathaniel lied. Kristoff knew that this was a test for Franklin, but not the kind of test Franklin thought it was. "Thirty seconds." In reality, there was no puppy. Nathaniel was testing his grandson to see if the boy would, in the moment of worry, create a puppy from his own thoughts. He was aware that Thanos had tested Franklin in a like manner,* but this was a smaller test. Nathaniel hoped to succeed where Thanos had failed.

Franklin was in a state of panic that surprised Nathaniel. In truth, it disappointed him. "Fifteen seconds, Franklin." He’d hoped Franklin wouldn’t be so childish about such things.

Franklin and Marcia desperately looked around, hoping that the dog would just come walking out from around a corner. At this point, that’s all that would save the puppy.

"Five, four, three, two-"

Franklin, without realizing what he was doing, shut his eyes tightly and then opened them. To his surprise, a puppy emerged from behind a building, trotting happily and energetically toward them.

"There he is!" Marcia yelled and Nathaniel stopped his countdown.

"Very good," Nathaniel nodded. "You were lucky to have found him."

The puppy, small, furry and brown, padded over to Franklin and the young boy and girl sat on the ground and began to play with him, a picture of youthful joy.

Nathaniel said nothing, knowing that Franklin must have created this puppy from his thoughts. He turned his eyes toward Castle Richards, where Kristoff stood in a window, watching the scene with decided interest. Nathaniel hoped the young Vernard had collected sufficient data for them to pour over later on, without Franklin and Marcia.

Ben’s mouth was dry. "Did you say Manticore?" he asked, looking sharply into Isadora’s eyes.

"I did," she nodded, her eyes never leaving Ben’s.

Ben turned his head, looking back down the alley where the gunshots had come from, half-expecting to see Manticore himself come strolling towards him. There was no one there, but somehow, Ben thought, that made it all the worse.

"How do you know him?" Ben asked, thinking the only way he knew Manticore was from the timestream surveillance that Nathaniel had showed them as Manticore single-handedly destroyed some future London.* He’d half paid attention to the destruction. Didn’t Nathaniel tell them that they never faced Manticore? Or was it just that Johnny had never faced him?

"He is … an admirer of mine," Isadora answered as the Fantasti-Car arrived, descending quieetly into the alley. "He has been following my career for some time, though it was only recently that he has started to pursue me."

Ben didn’t know what to say, or do, so he did what came naturally, "I’ve gotta go get Stretch."

"No!" Isadora started, jumping quickly to Ben and placing her delicate hands on his wide arms. "He told me that anything I did that brought attention to him would result in … in … death. I need help, but … but if the entire Fantastic Four were to show up …"

Ben eyed her cautiously, not being able to tell if he was being played or if Isadora was serious. He looked into her pleading eyes and decided it didn’t matter. He couldn’t resist a woman in trouble.

His heart longed for Alicia.

"Old-fashioned fool," Ben mumbled to himself. Then said, louder, to Isadora, "What do you want me to do?"

"He told me to meet him at a club, further down on Broadway, tucked into another alley, last night. If I didn’t show up, he would send men to bring me to him."

"What does he want?" Ben asked, thinking of the destruction that Nathaniel had shown them, wondering if he should go get the rest of the FF, afterall.

"He wants me to have dinner with him," Isadora said softly, hugging her lithe body to Ben’s.

"That’s it?" Ben asked doubtfully.

"That’s what he said," Isadora picked her head up, her eyes watering. "Please come with me. Please."

Ben sighed heavily. He didn’t really have a choice.

Johnny felt like he was watching himself from another body. He saw the group of women around him - all young, all attractive, all with eyes only for him - and he saw himself flirting back with them.

He couldn’t believe he was doing it. But he was. His mind had seemingly taken his heart and placed it on the other side of the room. If the heart wanted to pine over A’kimba, good riddance, the mind was lost in the attention that the women glowlingly bestowed on him.

The heart had dragged the mind to the Storm Museum,* looking for answers about how to get A’kimba out of her arranged marriage with Greykan, the Grey Lion, but had found nothing of use.

The mind decided, enough was enough, she was gone. Time to move on.

The heart disagreed.

Ben felt like he had stepped into the Fifties. Jimmy’s Joint was a club that appeared to exist out of time. It was smoky, smelled of alcohol, tobacco and cologne, all in excess. He wore a long, dark-grey trenchcoat that Isadora forced him to stop and buy. He couldn’t very well walk into Jimmy’s with nothing on, she had told him. Of course not, he had answered and bought the trenchcoat.

They entered the club and Ben felt Isadora instantly come alive beside him. He didn’t know what to think, except that this woman was unstable. One minute she was half in hysterics, the next she was almost beaming, but underneath it all Ben could feel that she didn’t want to see Manticore alone.

He didn’t really blame her, but he had no idea what a guy like Manticore would be doing here. Of course, he didn’t really know Manticore all that well, either.

They walked across the beer-stained floor, Ben’s appearance gaining no odd looks from the patrons. On the stage, a woman sang mournfully as a jazz band played slowly behind her. Ben wished he could sit back and just listen to the woman sing songs of lost loves as he drank himself away to thoughts of Alicia.

"Hello, Manticore," Isadora said defiantly, bringing Ben out of his memories. He turned to see a man who didn’t look old enough to even be in a place like this. "I have come, like you asked, on the threat of death if I refused."

Manticore coughed nervously, sipping his soda through a straw. Ben was convinced there was nothing more potent in the drink than caffeine. The boy’s blond hair and blue eyes seemed to darken at Isadora’s comment, "That’s not fair," he almost whined. "You know it was a joke."

So far, the boy hadn’t even looked at Ben. Isadora sought to correct this, "What about those men who tried to shoot and kill me?" She huffed for a moment, then continued, "This is my new bodyguard, theThing. Perhaps you’ve heard of the Fantastic Four?"

The boy - Ben had to remind himself this was Manticore - looked at Ben quickly then turned his eyes back to Isadora. Ben decided to speak and end this whole ordeal. Clearly, this wasn’t the Manticore that Nathaniel had showed them. "Hey, just leave the lady alone, will you?" he asked, trying to sound more gentle than rough. "And what was with those men-?"

"Isadora, I love you!" the young man blurted out. "You know we’re meant to be together! We both saw-"

Isadora took one step towards him, reached down across the table and slapped Manticore across the face as hard as she could, "Bite your tongue!" You are a boy! A boy! How old is this version of you? Eighteen? Nineteen? The Manticore that I love is ten years your elder! He is a strong man, a warrior! You are just a pale, pale substitute."

"Hey now," Ben interrupted, not liking where this was going at all. The woman and band on stage had stopped playing to watch. All eyes in Jimmy’s were on them and Ben hated the feeling. "That’s enough. I want some explanations, and I mean right now, about what the heck is going on here."

Manticore looked like he was going to cry. "I love you," he repeated again, weakly, and Ben couldn’t help but think that either Nathaniel must have been wrong, or Ben had some weaker, alternate version of Manticore before him.

"But I, I do not love you!" Isadora raged. "Only the man you will become! But until then-"

"I said enough!" Ben yelled, looking at both of them, but they ignored him.

"Do you think those automatons that you sent to ‘shoot’ me was going to impress me? Pathetic. I want a warrior, not a weakling." Isadora fumed. "Now I can see why your mother and father both abandoned you-"

"Don’t talk about my parents!" Manticore yelled, rising to his feet.

"Hah!" Isadora laughed. "You do not even know who they are! Your defense of people you don’t even know is sickening, sickening!"

Manticore grabbed his ears with his hands, "Stop it, Isadora! Stop it! I’m trying to do the right thing!"

Ben could only watch.

"The right thing?" Isadora scoffed. "The right thing? You are a brain-washed child, less of a man that the boy I knew once! A boy who revelled in his role as a Destroyer. Do you remember those days, Manticore! Do you remember the boy who called himself Manticore because he thought it a proper name for a Destroyer?"

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" Manticore screamed, upturning the table in his rage and taking a step towards Isadora, who held her ground.

"Are you going to hit me?" Isadora challenged, but Ben had seen more than enough.

"Stop it, the two of you," he said calmly, knowing that later he could figure all of this out.

An explosion behind them rocked Jimmy’s Joint. Glass exploded towards them, then, a moment later, another explosion and wood came flying. Ben was knocked from behind and thrown forward, crashing into an empty table on the other side of the room.

Shaking his head, more from disgust than because he needed to clear his head, Ben picked himself up and turned around. Smoke billowed across the room, clouding his vision. Unable to make anything out, Ben walked across the room to where he was standing a moment earlier. He could make out the vague outlines of two people standing close to one another. As he came within a few feet, he stopped and the smoke cleared.

Isadora was passionately kissing a man Ben instantly recognized as the Manticore from the nightmarish, destroyed London of some horriffic future.

The couple seemed to sense Ben and stopped their embrace. Manticore looked at Ben with a gleam of hatred in his eyes. "The Thing," he said, almost, Ben thought reverently. "It is an honor."

"Yeah, well, join my fan club. Who are you supposed to be?"

"I am Manticore."

"And who’s that?" Ben pointed to the young boy that was coughing up blood.

"A version of me that I reject!" Manticore yelled fiercely. "Just as you, Thing, would reject any of the versions of yourself that are sprinkled throughout the timesteam that take joy in the slaughter of innocents I reject the weakling, heroic versions of me!" Manticore looked to the young, alternate version of himself and shook his head.

Before Ben could act, Manticore took his hand from Isadora’s back, pointed it at the boy, and fired one shot of hot plasma, killing him instantly.

Ben swung with all his might at Manticore. Frustrations that had been building all night came loose with this one punch. He aimed for Manticore’s head and connected with full force.

It had no effect. Manticore didn’t even budge. He laughed.

"Stupid, stupid brute."

Manticore swung at Ben, who seemed rooted to the spot and unable to dodge the blow. Manticore connected with enough force to knock the Thing across the room for the second time in five minutes.

Again, Ben picked himself up, noted his trenchcoat was ruined and, more importantly, that Manticore and Isadora were nowhere to be seen. There was only one thing he could think to say …

"Wotta revoltin’ development."

END FF 447

FANTASTIC FORUM

comments c/o biscuit022@go.com

-- Mark Bousquet …

NORTHERN BEAR PRODUCTIONS

13 November 2000