***
Face front, True Believers! It's time for another pulse-pounding, senses-shattering issue of the World's Greatest Comic Fanfic! So sit back, recline that chair, and put your feet up. Heck, grab an ice-cold soda of your choice if you want to, 'cause this is going to be big! Bigger than big! Bigger than life and twice as unreal-- Marvel Volume 1 presents--
Issue 451
written by: "Awesome" Oz Bot
Branch di Editor: Adam di Stefano
And just how can we title this tale of pulse-pounding pursuits of our courageous quartet? Stand back, Readers, as . . .
"A STRANGER A-COMETH!"
***
GAZE upon one of the many laboratories of Reed Richards, MISTER FANTASTIC! What strange invention has led him to don the indescribable Electro-scopic Goggles? He doesn't say, as he uses his super-human ability to elongate his body to stretch out another hand-- thus working on two engine-like machines at the same time! He calls out behind him: "Ben! I don't need that just yet! Put it in the corner for now!"
WITNESS the might of Benjamin J. Grimm, THE THING! His orange, rock-like frame is no less imposing due to the humungous Kirby-tech* device he carries effortlessly above his head. But Ben has no time to reply to his best friend and compatriot! He balances the tonnage across his back while bellowing, "Hey, watch it, Matchstick! You want me to play dodge ball with this doohickey and your thick skull?"
WATCH the flaming trail that maps the flight path of Johnny Storm, THE HUMAN TORCH! Surrounded in his trademark flame, young Johnny zips around Ben to fly through his brother-in-law's lab. "Never mind that! Sue says it's dinner time! Or do you need to keep up that girlish figure?"
SEE the lovely Susan Storm-Richards, also know as THE INVISIBLE WOMAN, who has tried hard to keep up after her brother. "Reed, dear!" she calls out, "The good folks at Super Pizza® have arrived within 30 minutes, just like they guaranteed! Won't you come and have a slice?"
Wait-- what kind of rambunctious rambling is this? Where exactly does this splashy scene occur? Have you come to expect more from the oft-prosaic prose of our persnickety professionals here at MV1?
How right you are, oh astute reader! For what I have just described is nothing more than an interior page of the Fantastic Four's own fully-endorsed comic, published through exclusive licensing arrangements with Marvels Comics and the Invisible Woman's Storm Foundation!
But who is holding this comic that I described? Ah! Now that, I won't tell you! For you see, the comic is held by a stranger, enshrouded in shadows. Yes, the very same stranger from which the title of this fanfic derives! He stands, alone in the Fantastic Four's headquarters of Pier 4, and no one knows he is there! (Well, no one but you and I, of course!)
The stranger drops the comic onto a low coffee table adorned with similar comics and magazines. He was clearly not invited, as he stands in a darkened foyer. What's more, Pier 4, the current headquarters of the Fantastic Four, is clearly not designed for guests-- it's just laboratories and living quarters, and press conferences happen outside in the large covered patio/amphitheater. This foyer is but a formality for the rare occasion when a small audience is necessary. The stranger, undaunted, moves further inside. You see, he has a package to deliver. Oh, yes. A very special package indeed!
It is but a moment-- and the shadowed stranger sidles slowly aside the entrance of one of the many laboratories. The lights on the control panel indicate no one is inside, but the stranger's hand moves near the panel, opening the entrance anyway! Reed Richards is indeed absent. Where can our Science Hero be as this stranger brazenly intrudes his home?
***
Reed stood behind the lecture desk. The classroom was entirely too large for himself and his six hand-selected students. It made his voice echo distractingly, but it was the only room available. Both students and teacher, as well as faculty and facilities, were on a terribly flexible schedule to make this special Independent Study course work. The students, for their part, would jump through hoops if it would earn them a chance to study with the super hero distinguished as world's greatest scientific mind. After all, how good is THAT to pad a résumé? And how good is that when the next Empire State University alumni fundraiser is called?
Reed himself was blissfully ecstatic, although you couldn't tell from his face. Here, he could share knowledge as fast as the students could soak it up. He was building something he could never do in the lab-- he was building students' minds and futures! Reed could hardly present his favorite pet theories (complete with visual aids!) without getting excited about his next favorite pet project. As a matter of fact . . .
"Did anyone complete the extra credit?" Reed continued, "Take this barometer" (and he held up his 'teacher's copy,') "and using only this barometer, determine the height of the clock tower in front of Cohen Hall."
None of the students responded immediately. Patria Juarez, in particular, seethed in her seat. As a botany major, she felt the assignment wholly unfair.
Chang Xu, fed up with the lull in classroom momentum more than anything else, raised his hand. "150 feet, approximately." Prompted by Dr. Richards, Chang continued, "I dropped the barometer off the top and measured how long it took to hit the ground, then worked out the height using the laws of motion."
Most of the students groaned and gave the chem student sidelong glances. "What?" Chang laughed with them. "So I borrowed my roommate, the Physics major!"
"That's fine! Fine!" Reed called over the students' chatter. "Use all available resources in research. Excellent."
Cutting the camaraderie short, Xeban, raised his hand narcissistically. "151 and a half feet." After commanding everyone's attention, he continued. "The barometer is exactly two feet in length. I measured off a distance of 200 feet from the base of the tower, held the barometer on end, and laid on the ground. After marking where the line of sight from the top of the tower through the top of the barometer hit the ground, I then used the barometer to measure how far that point was from its foot. After that, it was a simple matter of similar triangles."
The class began ooh-ing and ah-ing again. Dr. Richards was ready to cut them off when Cade Rowton spoke up in his soft English accent. "154 feet, 7 inches."
The class fell silent.
"Exactly right," Reed commended, beaming. "And how did you discover that?"
Cade coughed politely. He started tremulously at first, and gained confidence as his story continued. "Well, there's this guy . . . Russell Levy. He's the head custodian. Turns out, he was employed when Cohen Hall was nearly demolished during a early skirmish between Spider-Man and Doctor Octopus. Mr. Levy worked closely with Damage Control Construction Agency when the Hall and the tower were rebuilt. I visited the Damage Control offices to investigate, and as payment for the information . . . I used a fine new barometer!"
His fellow students murmured and nodded approvingly among themselves, with notable exceptions such as Xeban (who crossed his arms and frowned) and Patria (who rolled her eyes and shrank in her seat).
"Wonderful, Cade!" Reed gushed, "Cade's thinking out of the box, to be sure!" Turning to the white board, Reed began writing as he continued, "Now Cade has pointed out an important lesson that we would be remiss in dismissing out of hand..."
Cade smiled half-heartedly and waved his hand in a mock-hello to his class-"mates." Dr. Richard's exited lecture became nothing more than a drone in the background as Cade could only focus on two things: 1) Why did Dr. Richards have to keep repeating his name right about now, and 2) Does anyone else notice how Chang and all the rest sit around each other, while Cade usually found himself sitting at least a couple seats removed?
***
Hey! Is this a comic about a classroom or a comic about a superhero team? Methinks someone got confused somewhere! Readers! Turn your attention instead back to New York's harbor, or have you forgot there is a shadowy figure invading the hallowed halls of Pier 4?!
Ah, there he is! He did not have to move far before finding the Fantastic Four's personal offices! Clearly, this space isn't the focus of the team, but they nevertheless devote a few small rooms for desks, filing cabinets, bookcases, and the like. Such a warm and inviting office, too! What better place to read and answer Fantastic Fan Mail and balance a checkbook or two! Surely this must be the hand of the matronly but enchanting Susan Richards, the Invisible Woman!
But why? Why is the stranger peering so intently into the offices? Why does the stranger sidle inside? Is Susan there, hiding in wait? No! Where-oh-where can the Invisible Woman be?!
***
"But the fourth quarter projections are surprisingly low. No real indicators are to blame, as this is likely the tail-end of the momentum the suffering the Storm Foundation and FF Inc. have endured since the Fantastic Four were believed dead at the hands of Onslaught."
"Give me a break, Johnson! This is clearly repercussions from the extravagant Storm Museum donated a few months ago! Hey, don't get me wrong-- great P.R. work. But forgive me an 'I told you so' because we should have waited for the quarterly."
"Stop," Sue held up her hand. It wasn't a command so much as a statement. "You're missing the point. My family's business isn't going bankrupt, and you know it, Bradley."
Sue sat at the head of the long mahogany table, facing the dozen or so men and women of the Board of Directors. Sue neglected to wear business attire this time, instead she chose the simple blue-and-white jumpsuit uniform of the Fantastic Four. Sometimes it helped serve to remind the board just what was the real force behind the whole company anyway-- and how heroic a company could be despite its business-nature.
She continued. "Quit looking at the results, and look at the trends. We are GAINING more momentum," she looked at Bradley squarely, "than we are losing. It may take a bit more time than you'd like, but we'll get there."
"I don't like it," Bradley Connell folded his hands around his slightly bulging middle. "If there's one thing my years of experience has taught me, it's that we need to be prepared. Believe it or not, Mrs. Richards, you are in a VERY risky profession, and this company cannot risk much at all. Not with these numbers."
A murmur of agreement swept over the board, and Sue frowned.
Connell waited for his audience to look back at him, "I say . . . we go public."
Sue sighed sharply. "No. We aren't going public. Never an option."
Sue looked at the reports and charts and manila folders organized in front of her. She tapped her pencil to the desk several times.
"Okay, announce that we will release the license for Reed's Biotic Nutri-Pump. It caused a stir when he donated it to Mongolia a few months back. We'll even throw in the offer to sell with it the Xenon-132 component directly, and AT COST. Even just that should bump numbers up a bit, don't you think?"
Looking to see she had no objections, Sue flipped to another report. " And on that note, how about we discuss charitable contributions?"
***
Oh, no! First a classroom, then a board meeting! I don't like those thing in real life-- why am I reading them here in the pages of my favorite fanfic?! In case you hadn't noticed, there's a STRANGER in the Fantastic Four's HOME!
See? He has made his way into the communications room! (How can one man remain slipping through shadows even with the bombastic light from dozens of video monitors casting a flickering light about the room? Can this insidious someone be . . . a mutant? Nah, it's just more suspenseful this way!)
The stranger pauses by the oversized chair used by the Thing. Ben often uses this room to watch multiple sporting events at once. (But fret not, Fantastic Fans, our hero always keeps several screens tuned to the latest breaking news on CNN and BBC World, just in case the world needs the might of the ever-lovin', blue-eyed Thing!)
But the Thing is curiously absent from this room. There's only a stranger, who silently slips past the muted monitors! Oh, if only the Thing were here to stop this man from further invasion! How far will the stranger go to fulfill his single-minded purpose?
***
Ben Grimm glided the Quadjet to a perfect vertical landing. He began switching the controls to initiate the power-down process, and grimaced, for it meant that Johnny Storm would have to put away his headset after his music faded away. And if anything this flight taught him, it was that Johnny wasn't about to be talked to this trip.
"So whadja want to talk about the other day?" Ben casually remarked to Johnny earlier, as the Quadjet flew to upstate New York on their private mission.
"Who says I wanted to talk to you?" Johnny sighed, looking at anything in the cabin except for Ben.
Ben shrugged his rocky shoulders. "You're the one who wanted to grab a burger or something. I'm just glad you didn't try caulking my seams again when I napped during the golf tourney."
"Whatever. Hey!" Johnny noticed something, "Tony Stark included local radio tuners, right?"
"Yup. I'm just glad he made the controls slightly oversized for dainty-petite hands such as mine. Something ol' Reed was always conscious of. Speaking of which, Flame-brain, do you think it's weird that Reed's not inventing stuff like the Quadjet anymore, but letting Starky do the honors?"
But it was too late. Johnny had donned the co-pilot headset, and his air-guitar solo required his eyes to be tightly shut.
And now they were at Whisper Hill. Behind them, the unassuming upstate town lay quiet in its verdant valley. Ahead of them, however, was a landscape from a Tim Burton film. The clouds seemed just that much darker; the trees that much more skeleton-bare, and the entire hill that much more in shadow. The muffled breeze seemed cold even through Ben's armored hide, with just a hint of moaning.
"C'mon, kid," Ben mustered his resolve. "Let's get this over with."
The two didn't have long to wait. As they approached the quaint Victorian home, the front door opened on its own, giving a long "cre-eeeeeeak," of course. Standing in the hallway was the old witch, Agatha Harkness, gently stroking her pet cat, Ebony, cradled in her arms.
"Welcome, Benjamin. Jonathan."
"What's brewin', Hazel," Ben grumbled but gently hugged Harkness with one mighty arm.
Harkness and Johnny nodded at each other: she seemed to know, as she always seemed to.
"Reed mentioned what it is you wanted. Let's get started," and she motioned them further into the house. "How is Franklin? As his former governess, I must know if he enjoying his new . . . eduaction?"
A frown flashed across Grimm's face in awkwardness. Reed and Sue's son had chosen to stay in Limbo with his grandfather, to learn more of his reality-altering powers. As his former guardian, Grimm couldn't help but think that Harkness may have felt somehow slighted that she wasn't considered. "Uh, yeah. Sue talks to him all the time still. I think it's as good as anything."
"It's just small talk, Ben," Harkness smiled. They arrived at her "workshop," a large room that seemed almost larger than the architecture would allow, as is often the case with magical workshops.
Harkness set Ebony aside, "Now Reed says that you're concerned about a being named 'Manticore,' that somehow this reality-spanning villain may lay waste to our dimension sooner or later."
"Yeah. I met the guy face-to-face only once, and even my ham-fisted roundhouse couldn't dent that smug smile o' his. I tried to get Rick to whip something up so we could track him across cross-time, but he passed the buck to you. He thought you wigglin' your fingers could be a bit more effective than his patent-pending shot-in-the-dark machine. Personally, I think he's passing the buck."
"With 'no offense to my wigglin' fingers,' of course," Harkness added. "I'll do my best. Stand opposite of me on the dodecagram on the floor. Johnny, don't cross into the symbols, as I'll be using Ben's memory of his encounter."
Johnny nodded like he knew that already, and didn't move from his arms-crossed leaning against the wall. As Harkness began her rhyming chant, Johnny looked at all the weird mystic bric-a-brac lining the shelves, bookcases, and even the floors. He wondered if a love potion might work for Akimba, but then thought a "forgetful potion" for himself would be better.
How long was Johnny lost in his thoughts? He was shaken out of his reverie of self-pity by a sharp cry from Agatha Harkness. "Behold!" she declared.
An indistinct figure had formed in the swirling mists suspended above the center of the dodecagram. "He is . . . wandering. A figure out of time and out of space," Harkness explained, "The problem for finding him is not to search for a specific dimension or reality, but at the crossroads and limbos between them. See? He is a strident figure, walking with no direction, for direction is meaningless in such non-space."
Ben pinched the space between his eyes, tired of peering into the lights and mist. "I guess that tracks with what we've heard so far. Maybe he's just some kind of engine of destruction? An embodiment of a concept like Galactus or something? Or maybe he's just a nutcase with a song in his head he can't get out-- like the Collector or Grandmaster."
"Hey, is that a woman in there, too?" Johnny stepped forward.
"No, Johnny!" Harkness warned. "Don't step into the 'gram!"
But it was too late, Johnny's toe brushed the rim of the painted symbol on the floor. The being in the mist turned in sudden surprise, his eyes flashing.
"So!" a voice boomed throughout the room, "Come to peek behind some bushes, like the frightened rabbits you are!"
His foot stepped through the mist, and Harkness screamed in pain. Multi-colored lights strobed and mist seeped throughout the room. Standing in the middle of the room was the tall and stately Manticore-- elaborately armored in green with swirls and designs confusing the eye, but fair of face with his hair waving from some unseen wind.
Harkness collapsed from the backlash. Ebony scampered to her side and softly meowed. "Magic?" Harkness asked feebly, "No! No, but powerful! So powerful!" Ebony guarded his master, transforming into a sleek black panther.
"I'll take care of this loser," Johnny shouted, "FLAME ON!" and fire coated his arms and jet forth from his hands.
The Manticore raised an arm as one who would shoo a fly. The flames dissipated harmlessly into the air.
"All right," Ben growled, taking a fighting stance, "what do you want, pretty boy? What's your game?"
"No game, little men," Manticore laughed, physically swatting Johnny to the ground as the hero attempted to fly by him. "Except for whatever you're playing."
"That's it!" Ben roared, "IT'S CLOBBERIN'... time?" Ben's fist pounded into Manticore's face, but all he did was make the villain temporarily look the other way.
The Manticore retaliated with a backhand to Ben, sending him flying and crashing into the other side of the wall. "Don't you remember from last time?"
"I don't remember you talkin' so much," Ben dug his fingers into the wooden floor, tearing a large piece of it forward, and making the Manticore stumble from the sudden loss of his footing. Johnny stood behind him, placing his hands on the villain's collar, and exuding phenomenal waves of heat and flames. The Manticore steadily stood to his feet, reaching behind and throwing Johnny into the wall next to Ben.
Ben rushed forward and traded more blows with the Manticore, "No one's ever accused me of bein' cliché before, but . . . this dimension ain't big enough for the two of us!"
The villain matched each pummel with his own hand. "You say that as if I care. The fact is I don't!"
The Manticore gave Ben another slap to stagger him against the wall once more. "I don't care about your world or anyone in it. I will follow my own whims, without need of interruption or surveillance from you. If we happen to cross paths again, we will, and you will be defeated. There is no question. " With a flash of light, the Manticore was gone.
"Yeah," Ben sighed, moving over to help Agatha Harkness to her feet. "We'll do lunch sometime."
***
All right! That's what I'm talking about! A slugfest of colossal proportions! A fight against impossible odds! Two titanic beings sparring toe-to-toe! But what's this? The heroes didn't win? Can that even be labeled "Approved by the Comics Code?!" It's not just wrong, it's downright un-American!
And what of the mysterious Stranger of Pier 4? Will this person make the Fantastic Four Oh-for-Two?
We're about to find out, effendi! For here comes both Mister Fantastic and the Invisible Woman! Yes, done with the daily duties described above, they have just now re-appeared on the scene!
The stranger is stopped in his tracks-- even in the dark! Some unseen force has snatched him up, and he cries out a short "Urk!"
"You're right, Reed," Sue calls out from somewhere in the darkness. "Someone has infiltrated Pier 4, but I've surrounded him in a force field."
"Lights on!" yells Reed, and the room suddenly fills with light. Mister Fantastic stands revealed-- or at least his upper body, having stretched from some other room. In an elongated hand he cradles his wife, seated as if in a couch.
The stranger turns . . . and Sue gasps!
"Willie Lumpkin?!"
A-ha! In a classic case of misdirection, the stranger is not a stranger at all! Merely the long-suffering and loveable letter carrier, Willie Lumpkin! Surprised, Marvel-phile? Whatever the look on your face, it can't compare to the flash of shock and surprise that passes over the old mailman!
"Uh... Mr. Richards... I, uh," he stammers.
Sue drops her force field, lowering Lumpkin to the ground. She gives him a gentle hug, causing him to blush.
"Sign here," the mailman offers a package and a clipboard to Reed. "It's a ... rushed special delivery."
Reed takes the package and brightens. "Indeed!" he croons, "I've been waiting for this! Thank you, Willie!"
Lumpkin shuffles his feet slightly, "I just thought it must have been important enough to hand deliver. But when I got here, Roberta wasn't working, and I tried to find someone . . ."
Sue nodded, "Yeah, sometimes a robotic secretary isn't everything it's cracked up to be. Pier 4 is really taxing the local power grid, and Roberta was designed for the Baxter Building originally. . ."
"Well," Lumpkin smiled, "'Neither rain, nor sleet, nor dead of night and all that!'"
As Sue leads Lumpkin back to the entry foyer, Reed takes his leave to adjourn to his lab. "I'll fix Roberta as soon as possible. I'm just glad I had the foresight to program Willie as one of the few people who may be recognized by the security devices!"
"S-- security devices?" Lumpkin feels a lump in his throat.
***
Ha-ha-ha! That silly Lumpkin!
Breathe a collective sigh, True Believers, for the adventure is over . . . for now!
***
THE END