I AM THE WATCHER. For eons uncountable, I have dwelt upon the Earth's sole moon. For longer still, I have recorded its history-- its triumphs, its tragedies, and everything in-between. I know all that has been, all that will be, and all that may have been. Whatever fate has planned for this planet, I am purview to it all... and sworn never to interfere.Though my duty is to study planet Earth and its inhabitants alone, exactly which Earth I observe remains of my own choosing. There exist innumerable iterations of every planet, typified by Earth's citizens with a series of numbers, and they allow me to peer through uncountable windows into the realm of endless possibility. For instance, a great many of these parallel timelines place the birth of Earth's heroes approximately XV years ago, in the distant year of MMXI. However, there exist worlds in which such an age is a fixed point in time. The year MCMLXI dominates a great majority, but I am far more interested in the more anomalistic among these worlds-- those beginning in the years MDCII, MDCCCLXXII, and others have already been well-documented, but one remains... almost entirely untouched.This mysterious Earth places the beginning of Earth's Age of Marvels in the year MMXVI. A tumultuous one, in most realities, and greatly changed from those. The world itself seems largely familiar, even X years distant from its greatest divergence, but history seems to have taken a different course in enacting it. As we speak, my curiosity towards its events only grows, and-- We seem to have intruded upon this reality at quite the important juncture. My words will do you no good here. Instead, allow me to show you...>...the small Balkan Kingdom of Latveria, beset by a dark and stormy night.>...one of Nassau County's smaller homes, currently populated by a happy family and its friends.
>...the small Balkan Kingdom of Latveria, beset by a dark and stormy night.If you give me a choice between Latveria and New York, I'm always going to choose Latveria...
>>6482617>...one of Nassau County's smaller homes, currently populated by a happy family and its friendsWhere nothing bad ever happens.
>>6482617>...the small Balkan Kingdom of Latveria, beset by a dark and stormy night.
>>6482617>...the small Balkan Kingdom of Latveria, beset by a dark and stormy night.All my homies hate New York
>>6482617>...the small Balkan Kingdom of Latveria, beset by a dark and stormy night.Glory to DOOM
>>6482617>>...the small Balkan Kingdom of Latveria, beset by a dark and stormy night.
>>6482617>...the small Balkan Kingdom of Latveria, beset by a dark and stormy night.It is an insult to DOOM to start anywhere else.
>>6482617>>...the small Balkan Kingdom of Latveria, beset by a dark and stormy night.DOOM
9:1 in favor of Latveria. Got it. Writing now.Bear with me: my schedule is busy and I haven't written in a while. Updates to this quest will be sporadic; mostly whenever I have free time.
vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvKK-THRRROOMRolling thunder blankets the capital city of Doomstadt. Though its causes are entirely natural, the kingdom's ruler is shaken enough to think otherwise. His hair stands on end, brushing lightly against the suit of armor it calls home, bringing to mind a recent tragedy. Little else has occupied his mind, as of late, and the younger man opposite his throne does nothing to ease his tension.There was always a streak of rebellion about him-- the metal-clad monarch was certain, even now. He had, to the best of his superior capabilities, taught this child how futile such a thing would be in his court... yet, as he meets the blue eyes he'd hidden beneath a mask of his own making, Doctor Doom is not certain that he has succeeded. Bitter wounds of war bite at his mind, urging the sorcerous gypsy to re-check the doors he's locked; suspecting that the ancient brick walls neatly stacked about him are far too thin; demanding that this ritual be ended in case of further betrayal. He quiets such demands with little more than a mental command for silence. These worries are for lesser men, among whom Doom does not count himself, and the Latverian leader has no choice other than to trust the company he has. "Is this truly necessary?" A voice escapes the chrome-plated cot Doom has been staring at this entire time. Above it hangs a littany of devices-- some seemingly useless, with little more than flat surfaces and scrawled patterns hanging above the subject-- some only recognizable as proprietary technology of Doom's own making. Of these devices, only one connects with the man in the cot: a helmet, perfectly fit to the patient, engulfing a large portion of the child's upper head. "Do you not trust me?" Doom replies, unmoving. The king's titanium jawline quietly emerges from his verdant hood, clanking shut and coming to rest on a pair of intertwined metal palms, mirroring the younger man's own. "I trust you, father," the younger man replies, though his voice betrays a hint of hesitation. "I simply believed the process to be over. Yet, my mind remains my own..." "Impatience," Doom barks, "will bring you nothing but failure. Lay down. Rest. Think not of what has happened, but what will happen. You must not disappoint me-- all of Latveria relies on your obedience." The ersatz doctor arises, wondering if, perhaps, he should have been harsher, saying nothing as he adjusts an impenetrable series of settings upon the cot. Clicks and whirrs fill the otherwise-empty room, echoing off of the domed ceiling and growing muffled beneath the hoods of the two inhabitants.
KRRRA-KOOMA louder strike prompts the king's breath to shake just slightly. Reminiscence threatens to overtake his action, but the Latverian ruler does not permit such a thing. He once more looks into the eyes of his heir, half-expecting them to squint or shirk from his stare, huffing contentedly when he is met with a perfectly neutral look back. A series of lights flash to life along the cot's sides. The helmet begins to tighten, much to the youth inside's dismay, and follows suit with the cot. For just a moment, the monarch suspects a shadow in the sky, far above the ground, shaped almost like a pill-- then relaxes once a second observation yields nothing in its place. His attention returns to the heir."Now," Doom growls, "you are not to speak until you are freed. Your last words shall be spoken in response to this instruction, and they shall be short. Choose them carefully."kkkrrrrrrrmbbbl"Yes, father," the heir decides. There is a weakness in his voice-- one that his father abhors. A font of rage swells in Doom-- a fist is clenched, almost raised, and-- released, by his side... as he simply nods his approval. For all the child's failures as a successor, he has at least chosen to remain loyal. That is enough comfort.The next few minutes are quiet. Total silence remains absent as the machine-cot works its magic, clicking and glowing and humming while it does so, tricking Dr. Doom into thinking it the only source of noise in the room and doing so with great ease. The cracking of bricks escapes the monarch's notice-- the castle is old, after all, and an excess of dust may simply indicate a lack of cleaning. Such a thing is common, nowadays, with Boris absent, and it is of far greater import to ensure that this process goes smoothly...KAAA-BOOMSuch a thing quickly becomes a flight of fancy. Pieces of century-old brick explode into the room. Rain blankets the stone floor in an unwelcome torrent, sweeping into the small cracks and crevasses that have built up over centuries of use, splashing against Doom's metal-clad boots and threatening to freeze them to the floor.An orange foot stomps through the new hole in the wall, prompting even more rainwater to assault the paranoid patriarch, and heralds the arrival of an all-too-familiar face.
"Fer the luvva..." The Thing gapes, briefly, before being (quite literally) overshadowed by a far more incensed figure."Victor!! Have you no humanity??" An enraged man of Fantastic proportions stretches over the Thing's right shoulder, his arm lunging forward as he does so, his furious eyes focused entirely on his long-time rival as he slams an enlarged palm straight into Doctor Doom's chest. "Reed! He's not alone!" A column of flame flies into the room, vaguely in the shape of a man, and quickly pivots towards the mechanical cot. "There's someone in here!" "Whoever it is, get them out of here!" The elongated man calls back, unflinching. "The fewer people near Doom, the better!" The heir, still within the cot, tosses and turns-- though trapped within his helmet, the sudden onslaught of the elements is enough to return his body to sanity. His mind is between two worlds, trapped within itself, and it pleads for help-- for shelter from the rain, shelter from the wind, shelter from the great heat flying above him. It is an embarrassing display, he hears his future self comment, and he should be ashamed of it. Yet, some primal part of his humanity speaks louder than his present and future both: the same part that now thrashes to set him free."It's okay, honey, it's okay--" A yet-unseen woman approaches the cot, carefully, with shields raised. A fist flies towards her waist-- one that she dodges with practiced ease. "Whoever you are, you're safe with us.">Despite the woman's reassurances, the heir does not believe her.>The appearance of this stranger is the shelter he's been seeking. The heir calms down...
>>6482917>Despite the woman's reassurances, the heir does not believe her.We are loyal to DOOM.
>>6482917>Despite the woman's reassurances, the heir does not believe her.Invisible women do not strike me as trustworthy, just saying.
idungeddit
>>6482917>Despite the woman's reassurances, the heir does not believe her.
>>6482925We're in an alternate timeline
>>6483151alternate for whatare we likedoom's son??
4:0 in favor of disbelief, wow! Writing.
>>6483170DOOM SAYS TRUST NO BITCH!
>>6483152>are we like>doom's son??So it would seem, anon.>>6483170I await in rapt attention.Whether or not the child shall remain loyal to Doom and despite seeking shelter, I cannot imagine there is anything in his history that would compel him to trust a stranger.
The woman's words do nothing to ease the mind of the trapped youth. He continues to thrash, now directing his movements more accurately towards his supposed savior. Memories of a cry for help dance around his mind, urging him to trust these strangers, but his brain knows better than his heart. These strangers have broken into his home, assaulted his-- his father, and dared to proclaim themselves his salvation? Such arrogance befit only one man..."Where is Kristoff?" The elongated stranger demands, his voice as stern as his furrowed brow. His lengthened palm pins Doom against the wall, its fingers seeping into growing cracks for stability, while the rest of him remains a healthy distance from the green-robed sovereign. Doom's response is swift and harsh. An electric shock courses through his rival, loosening his restraints just enough to allow for Doom to strike his hated enemy's elbow with a still-electrified gauntlet. The buzz of such an attack prompts gasps from the three remaining assailants-- yet, before they can do anything, Dr. Doom speaks."Kristoff? KRISTOFF?? You've come-- for Kristoff?? Your insolence truly knows no bounds, Richards!!" The monarch roars, continuing to strike Richards as he does so. His words are nearly drowned in the pouring rain now swallowing the distant edge of the room, but the doctor crows loudly enough to overcome even nature itself. "You'll find no such traitors here, Richards-- only your own demise!!" K-K-KRRRRA-KA-BOOMAs if to punctuate the proud declaration, another thunderbolt strikes... and finds itself attracted to the mechanical cot, now fully exposed to the raging elements. A zzzap and a hiss soon follow, joined by-- a scream!The heir cries out, his head still fastened to the cot's helmet, as electricity courses through both his body and the machine it's bound to. A flood of panic drowns the room: the Human Torch burns away the large tube connecting the helmet to the cot, the Thing pries the heir from the machine, the Invisible Woman creates a force-field to plug what remains of the hole in the wall...
"Ouroboros! Ouroboros!!" The mad monarch shouts, almost losing his voice in the intensity of his declaration, scrambling to overcome his flexible rival in a futile attempt to reach his malfunctioning creation. He is held back, just barely, by the hated Richards' successful recovery. Not long after, the pair are pushed into another room by Richards' continued attack!"Suzie! How's the field holdin'?" The Thing shouts, cradling the heir in his arms. His thoughts are scattered-- he wants, badly, to help his old friend keep Dr. Doom away from this kid. The kid's safety comes first, though, so he's left to simply scan the room for a safe place to keep him."J-just barely, Ben! I don't know how much longer I can keep it up for!" His teammate responds, her fields straining against the strength of the storm. Though she once shared its name, she worries there won't be much she can do to keep it from destroying the Fantasticar they brought here. And if they end up stranded... what then?The Human Torch, having dodged what he can of the rain, takes it upon himself to do what the rest of his teammates haven't bothered with. He rockets over to his rocky friend and, with a precision honed over the course of ten long years, carefully removes the heir's helmet... ...revealing a young man with a clear mind and troubled soul. His face remains hidden beneath Doom's own mask, same as the rest of him remains concealed in barely-functional armor, but his true character emerges-- with a fist to the Thing's face!"Fools!! You dare assault Latveria in such a vulnerable state? Have you no honor?" He raves, not unlike his own father, before a brief moment of recollection flashes before his eyes. Perturbed, he expects retaliation... which never comes.Instead, the Torch and the Thing simply stare... before the Invisible Woman speaks. "Alberic... it's Alberic!" KKRRRR-BOOM
The Invisible Woman's shield bursts, welcoming an increasing onslaught of rain into the crumbling castle. She quickly finds herself drenched, but thanks whichever God there might be up there that she escapes falling away with the crumbling floor beneath her. "You're jokin'!" The Thing cries, already making his way towards the same entranceway his college friend had recently fled through. "He wuzn't satisfied with jus' turnin' one kid into a fancy Doombot? He hadda take his chances with two?""That's what we came here to stop, you big lug!" The Human Torch follows suit, already having flamed on, burning down the wooden doorframe keeping the Thing from properly exiting the crumbling room. "Yeah, but I figgered there was a good chance Reed wuz jus' bein' paranoid!" A loud BAM follows the Thing's statement, and what remained of the room's easternmost wall falls to pieces. Before he can go any further, however, the great golem turns back... and is greeted with a terrible sight!As the room continues to cave in, the heir stands at a point northwest of the Thing. In his arms lays an unconscious Invisible Woman, battered by debris but still breathing. Despite the apparent danger to himself, the heir seems supremely confident-- enough to brag."If you intend to bring me down with this castle, you'll have to do better than that!" he proclaims to the world, his voice clearly sore. There's something wrong with him, the Thing knows it-- and not just because the crazy kid's ranting and raving near the edge of a new balcony! The ginger golem looks left, looks right-- there isn't enough floor left for him to make it to his teammate and her captor. Only one man has a chance..."Reed!! Reed, can ya hear me??" The Thing turns back, already having lost sight of his remaining companions. A distant flash of blue gives Ben his answer, and he continues: "Reed, Suzie's still here!! She's stuck onna side that's fallin' apart, with the kid!!" Before anything more can be said, that flash of blue races towards the Thing! It shoots over his shoulder, past the near-nonexistent stone floor, and straight towards Alberic! Though the heir resists, he can't help being roped up by the extended appendage-- and brought, at great speed, into another part of the castle!"Richards, what have you done?!" The moment Doom sees his heir's face, he becomes incensed. He moves to strike his son, but he's stopped by yet another blue flash!"I've done nothing but my job, Victor! You have no right to play with the lives of your country's orphans like they're toys!" Richards replies, placing his wife and Doom's son away from harm while he does so.
"Who are you to dictate what Doom does with his subjects?" The Latverian monarch retorts, readying a laser blast. His mind was elsewhere, not occupied with thoughts of rescuing orphans, but he feels it best to keep Richards misdirected if possible. "You speak these words on Latverian ground, to its rightful ruler, and you expect agreement?" "I expect you to keep your experiments away from children, Victor! What you've done to Kristoff--" Reed hesitates, then continues-- "--to Alberic-- is inhuman!" "No less inhuman than the results of your own spaceflight, Richards!" Doctor Doom deflects, his attention now turning towards his distant heir. "Was Johnny Storm not sixteen years old when you forced unto him power beyond reckoning-- spotlight beyond his wildest dreams?" Johnny Storm, the Human Torch, follows his line of sight. His attempts at burning Doom's armor haven't done much, anyways, and he has a feeling that Doom is hiding something from him. It comes as no surprise, then, when he's greeted with-- too late!Alberic, seemingly still in the thralls of Doom, throws a pair of dislodged bricks Johnny's way. By the time the Human Torch dodges them, another pair are flung towards Reed. One weighs down the arm holding Alberic still, prompting a yell, while another flies straight and true-- towards the stretching man's head! Such a sight is shock enough-- the Human Torch hardly notices the third brick, let alone dodges it.A distant pitter-patter of rainy footsteps grows closer, gaining weight with each step, and arrives... too late. The Thing is greeted with a trio of taken-down teammates, a triumphant Doom, and a laser blast to the face. Such an attack is hardly enough to put down the ever-lovin' blue-eyed Thing, of course, and he soon retaliates with a punch-- that is met, shocked, and thrown aside. "Surrender, Grimm. It will do you more good than attempting some pathetic resistance on your lonesome." There is bile in Victor von Doom's voice-- an uncharacteristic hatred, spawned seemingly from nothing, previously reserved for only one man. He raises a gauntlet, charged to near-maximum with some of the strongest concussive energies known to science, and runs multiple backup plans through his racing mind."You know me better'n that, Doomy," replies the rocky rebel. He is exhausted-- he scans the room, half-expecting the floor to give out from under him, trying to make certain that the kid they'd come here to save was at least safe'n sound. When he finds Alberic unharmed, up and about... he realizes, too late, that the kid's found himself a control panel.
ZZZZZZ-TTTA cage of electricity drops onto the Thing, electrocuting the water beneath him, sapping him of what little energy he has left. What remains is a hissing husk-- an unconscious orange monster whom, Doom believes, deserves the darkest cage possible in his dungeons. What will be done with him later-- that is for future Doom to decide.Present Doom preoccupies himself with other matters. He calls for his Doombots to escort his new prisoners to their cells, deactivates his humming gauntlets, and... recalls the nineteen year-old boy to his left. Alberic von Doom stands, weary, above the unconscious Invisible Woman. His face is hidden beneath Doom's own visage, much to the monarch's chagrin, but even still... the eyes peeking out from underneath it make the boy's exhaustion clear. He is long out of practice-- before today, he had spent the month preceding it trapped in a single room with no practice targets to speak of. That hadn't stopped him-- he had practiced his combat skills plenty on the walls, but... well, the results of such an endeavor are a five-minute's walk away, assuming the rain hasn't already buried them.He meets his master-- his father-- his impostor?'s-- eyes, unsure of what to say to them, and thinks only of punishment. The ornate carpet connecting them both is soaked, electrocuted, covered in dirt..."Alberic," the monarch asks, ice forming underneath his every word, "how did the Fantastic Four know to target your room?">The heir responds with deceit. "Pure chance, master. It is adjacent to the throne room, after all, and not very well-protected.">The heir responds with honesty. "A call for help, master. When my grounding began, I received a telepathic call... to my later regret, I answered it. My loyalties remain strictly with you."
>>6483218>The heir responds with honesty. "A call for help, master. When my grounding began, I received a telepathic call... to my later regret, I answered it. My loyalties remain strictly with you."
>>6483218>The heir responds with honesty. "A call for help, master. When my grounding began, I received a telepathic call... to my later regret, I answered it. My loyalties remain strictly with you."The punishment shall be severe no matter what, but I imagine Doom would appreciate the honesty.
>>6483218>The heir responds with deceit. "Pure chance, master. It is adjacent to the throne room, after all, and not very well-protected."There's such a thing as self preservation man...
>>6483218>>The heir responds with honesty. "A call for help, master. When my grounding began, I received a telepathic call... to my later regret, I answered it. My loyalties remain strictly with you.">>6483297>There's such a thing as self preservation man...I agree and I would definitely go with the side of deceit here. But I don't think Doom would buy that story for a second. And I don't think our boy is going to come up with a more clever one on the spot in his condition.
4:1 for honesty, gotcha. Writing
The boy kneels before his master, his eyes forced unto the mess he's made of his father's most cherished room, and awaits retaliation.CLLL-ANGThe back of a titanium hand meets the cheek of a metal mask. Alberic stumbles backwards, unsteady, until his back meets the old stone floor. Doom, opposite him, roars. "A telepathic call for help?? You dared endanger Doom's position-- Doom's entire KINGDOM-- over your own inconveniences??""A-as I said, sire, my loyalties have yet to change. It was simply a moment of weakness--" Alberic's sentence was never to end."One moment too many! Every second your name remains upon my lips is tantamount to a curse on my tongue!! You betray me almost as readily as does Kristoff-- childish, pathetic, failures, the both of you--" Doctor Doom paces around the hall, his eyes darting between every hole in the wall (covered and not, intentional or not), otherwise glaring unendingly at his dust-ridden heir. No, heir is too kind a moniker-- his last resort, chosen poorly and with ill results. The true successor to the throne, Doom reckons, would hardly have been given up willingly by his parents. He would have to find his by force. The thought of taking more from a country-- his country-- that has already lost so much... pains Victor, briefly, but hardly makes him reconsider this new course of action. Instead, his mind turns to greater punishments. An entire month in one room was, clearly, not enough.krrrrrr-bmThunder continues to crackle, distantly, as the monarch spends almost an entire half-hour denigrating the fool he once called his son. He interrogates every minor detail of his story-- motivation, frequency, communication. There was only ever one call; it was prompted by nothing; it spoke to Alberic, the child insisted, only once. Its voice was unfamiliar, unlike any of the Four, and dissimilar to any of the various other malintents his begrudging father had warned him against. "Bah! I waste my time with you," Doom finally relents, releasing his long-held grip on the youth's metal-plated chest. "Not even I could concoct a suitable punishment for this measure of treason. If Doom were to be merciful, he should have you flain atop the castle ramparts... but Doom feels no mercy, and there is little more you can do to please him."
Another procession of Doombots marches into the throne room. Each row carries different palettes of construction material: brick, mortar-- more, that Alberic cannot name (much to his chagrin). Little time passes between their arrival and their beginning to work on the destroyed left wing of the room. Soft rains punctuate their progress, growing quieter with each brick lain, and the brief blanket of silence from their arrival is soon torn away by their master."Go. Follow the Mark Is," Dr. Doom declares. His back is turned, but his finger gives Alberic direction. "I have nowhere to send you but Castle Doom's dungeons. Be thankful you still draw breath, nuisance, as-- from this day onward-- you may lose such a privilege at any moment I choose." The indignity weighs upon Doom's heir. His father's words chafe against his fractured mind-- for just a moment, he almost believes them to be directed towards another man-- but he has no choice other than to obey, and does so without further delay. As Alberic's footsteps disappear into the depths of Castle Doom with increasingly distant clanks, his ruler is left alone in a desecrated throne room. He stands, his mind distant, staring at the seat of his power. A thought occurs to him... and he wastes no time in beginning preparations.KRRRAK--DOOOOMKSHHHHHHHThe torrents that'd buffeted the Fantastic Four during their fight had followed them into Castle Doom's dungeons.A throng of unthinking Doombots patrol their cramped and soaking halls. In the doctor's haste, he'd simply tossed his greatest enemies into the nearest quartet of empty cells. These cells were meant for ordinary men, lesser men-- political prisoners, enemies of the state. Not like those that occupy them now. It falls to Alberic-- and whichever Doombots will heed his call-- to move them to their proper places.Such a process is slow, tedious-- almost impossible, had the heir not had help. The continued lack of consciousness each member displays is the only thing keeping them from escaping on multiple occasions, Alberic notes, and he grows discontented with his own design as he... no. Not his design-- his father's. He grows discontented with his father's designs as he works to properly contain their greatest enemies.
clickHardly half an hour later, Alberic fastens a final manacle about the Thing's arm, then tosses a Doombot the key. Which one catches it is of little importance-- the satisfying krnch that comes with the key's destruction is the only requirement Alberic needs to confirm he's done his job. The Thing hangs suspended in a titanium circle, each and every joint of his kept straight with some kind of chain or restraint, stretched just enough to prevent him from shifting his weight one way or another.The troubled teenager admires his work, but finds no joy in it. His mind is elsewhere. He had been honest to his father in the throne room-- to an extent. His loyalties remain with Doom only out of obligation-- out of comfort in the known. Less than half a year has passed since the end of the Impostor War, and Latveria has yet to recover. After today, Alberic was to guide it into a new and prosperous age... under a different name, in a mind not his own. But fate, it seems, had other plans.A small part of the boy relishes in the hardship this mishap has caused his father. After years of mistreatment-- almost two decades of being ground underneath the monarch's boot-- finally, finally, he has found catharsis. Yet... it is bittersweet. He wished ill upon his father, yes, and has no love for his enemies... but Alberic only wanted to free himself from Doom's crushing grip, not trap more people within it. Not only has his escape failed, but he has lost the throne he was promised-- a throne he rightfully deserved."Kid?"Alberic blinks, not expecting to hear voices among the robotic footsteps and heavy rains occupying the narrow hallway. The strangeness of his own thoughts drives his curiosity further: he holds very still, his mind reaching out with what little might it holds, trawling the room's shallows in the hopes of..."Kid!" The Thing repeats himself, bewildered. He hangs in front of Alberic, exhausted, only having just returned to consciousness. "Al-brick, wuz it?" The heir does not answer. He knows better than to loose his tongue in front of his enemies. Through the mask, his eyes narrow... "Izzat right? Do ya still know it? Then-- mebbe sumthin' might'a gone wrong!" To Alberic's surprise, this news pleases his nemesis. There's a noticeably happy tilt to his voice-- a smile on his face. Is the orange man mad?
"You... you do not fear imprisonment?" The heir asks, unable to make sense of this. He knows he's making a mistake-- he can almost hear his father's voice reaffirming as much, proclaiming such diplomacy a vain folly-- yet he proceeds anyways."Nah. I's not fun, but i's just part'a the job. A big ol' lug like me can take it. Doom'll get his panties untwisted in a day're two, or Reed'll figger out some gadget t' get us out, an' then it'll be alright," the Thing nods. There's a casual ease with which he speaks that confuses Alberic further. How many times have the Fantastic Four found themselves here? The heir can only recall two... that he knows of. "S'long as New York izn't bein' run over by demons 'gain, I figger there's plenny to be happy about. Heck, I ain't even out there in this awful rain..." ...as the Thing goes on to speak of broken cars and lengthy storms, Alberic's mind continues to wander. He can feel the Thing's aura, after a few minutes, suspended before him... and, soon, another hint of life comes to his attention in a distant wing of the Four's dedicated floor. The heir recalls his old floor plans, drafted when the castle was unmade and his sons were young-- this southwestern quadrant held Grimm, but the presence he felt lay in..."Richards." Alberic clenches a fist, begrudging his own curiosity. He gives one last glance to the orange golem, wanting to keep an eye on him-- but knowing his priorities lay elsewhere, and following suit without hesitation. As he goes, the man named Grimm suddenly lives up to his surname. His brief bout of eloquence is replaced, overturned by a single sorry statement: "Uh-oh." kkKKKSSSHHHHHRichards' quadrant is closer to the rain than any other member's. It hangs above the castle moat, finds itself neighbor to an artificial waterfall, and floods with its rapids-- at random intervals-- for minutes at a time. Alberic arrives immediately following one of those intervals: the floors in his enemy's cell are still wet, their slippery qualities bolstered by the variety of nonstick surfaces comprising its uneven bottom, and the hated Richards hangs from floor to ceiling. He is exerting himself-- just barely finding his bearings by stretching himself from the cracks in one wall to the holes in the next-- and seems even less awake than Grimm was. A reinforced sheet of glass separates Alberic from his suspected anomaly."It has hardly been an hour since your defeat-- how are you already awake?" The heir's fists clench, but only for a moment. Not a second later, he wonders why he was even so irritated in the first place-- really, if anything, he should have been thanking the strange man.Alberic's answer comes late; the stretching stranger seems engrossed in something the heir is not privy to, and the mere thought of that slightly enrages the future monarch. Before he can act on it, though, Richards speaks.
"...the lightning strike. Alberic-- are you there?" Another note of joy creeps into the stranger's voice. His is more tired than Grimm's, certainly-- but has about it a thrilled quality that the golem lacked. Still, the very sound of it grates against the heir's ears-- irritates his skin like sandpaper, blinds his eyes with anger-- "SILENCE," the teenager roars. "You have yet to answer me. Do so, immediately, or..." ...face the wrath of Doom?The boy's heart skips a beat. It was just a mechanical failure. Doom had saved him. His mind was his own-- his own! Why..?Reed Richards looks upon the nineteen year-old boy with a mixture of curiosity and pity. He mourns the failure of his hypothesis-- the small hope that, perhaps, some part of Victor's ward had survived his harrowing electrocution. He finds himself unwilling to discard this hope entirely, the longer he watches the boy pace about the room and glare at him, but... circumstances excepting, he must assume that this armored young man is simply another Victor, and treat him appropriately. The thought of another battle wears on him. His limbs are tired, unsteady. This cell, no matter its familiarity, serves its purpose well. Not a single part of it allows for traction, for stability-- there must have been adjustments made since last time, as even the small crevasse he once relied on for anchorage is now absent. Were Doom to breach the barrier and attempt a physical altercation, Reed approximates that he would find himself, once again, defeated.The rational part of him yearns for sleep-- for enough recuperation to formulate a method of escape; or, maybe, a plan of defense. The irrational, however... insists he wait for more."Well, Richards? SPEAK! Divulge, unto your superior, the methods of your revival!" A metal-clad finger presses onto the glass sheet separating one from Four, applying enough pressure to crack any normal barrier, only avoiding digging itself into stretchy blue-swathed skin by the benevolence of Doom's own engineering. "There are no methods, Victor," comes the long-awaited reply. "It's a simple fact of my altered biology. If you hadn't caught me off-guard, your bricks would have done nothing to hurt me."
"Lies," Alberic waves a hand, "spoken as easily as you breathe. I never should have bothered to ask," the heir stops himself again. He has been pacing, now, for many minutes. He's not certain as to why. Did his father truly hate him this much?kkkkksssshhhhHHHHHHThe cell begins to flood again. Reed Richards, stretched across its entirety, withstands the onslaught of water as best he can. Great waves buffet his face and shoulders-- threatening to pull him under-- weighing on what folds still remain within his clothing-- slamming his air-filled lungs with enough force to nearly empty them. Alberic, gripped by a fierce hatred that commands his every action, lashes out with his feeble mind at almost the same time. He sends forth a weak psionic blast-- hoping to strike Richards down, hoping to finally be rid of him once and for all... and feels his assault melt before it ever meets its target.sssshhhhh...As the roof repairs itself, and what remains of the flood begins to blanket the floor, Reed gasps for air. The taste of fresh oxygen brings him a renewed sense of faith in himself, and the sight of Victor's ward remaining frozen in place only helps strengthen that second wind. Against all logic, he's certain that the real Victor von Doom would already be upon him-- forcing the roof open a while longer, or maybe activating some kind of trap Reed had yet to identify. It warms the prisoner's heart to see Victor's ward attempt none of that.
"...then, my fears have been realized." A voice speaks from nowhere, right in front of Reed. "A reinforced telepathic barrier... he's found some way to strengthen it on incredibly short notice." The ghostly image of a familiar man reveals itself to him, its finger on its chin and a furrow in its brow. The man's attention is briefly captured by the cell he finds himself in-- so briefly that, by the time Reed blinks, his attention is once more on the captive scientist-- but he seems unfettered by its laws, unchained to its structure. He floats above the ground like it isn't even there, extending a cerulean hand to the stretching man... which is soon taken, gladly, with a smile. "I must apologize for the delay, Dr. Richards. I am rather unfamiliar with Castle Doom's layout," the apparition admits. As he takes Richards' hand in his own, he makes sure it does not fall through his fingers. The leader of the Fantastic Four seems in good health, given the circumstances, so his imprisonment must have been recent..."Consider that a good thing," Reed smiles back. His relief at his ally's arrival is indescribable; though its methods escape him, their results deserve celebration. He tries to lighten the mood. "I know this place better than the back of my hand. If it weren't for these shields..."Alberic blinks. He can't quite believe what he is witnessing. He was aware, vaguely, of his father's sorcery-- of what exactly that entailed. He knew the spirits of the dead could be talkative, and that very little could make them quiet... yet, with a certainty not his own, he is confident that the man Reed now converses with is very much alive. In fact, he almost... recognizes him."...excuse me a moment," the apparition interjects. He has been eyeing the third party in the room for some time now, and grows more certain with each passing moment that something is wrong. He isn't meant to be seen in this state, yet... The spirit appears before Alberic quicker than the boy understands to be feasible. He stands taller than the heir, even in the air, and wears a face framed by white temples and a high collar. Upon his tunic is a symbol, unfamiliar to the child but known to his father, which frames an amulet upon the man's chest. There is no mistaking his image. "Von Doom, do you recognize me?">Alberic shakes his head. >The heir recognizes the spirit, and says as much without reservation.>Unwilling to disclose anything specific, the heir simply bows his head in respect.
>>6483661>Alberic shakes his head.
>Alberic shakes his head.
>>6483661>>Alberic shakes his head.
>>6483661>The heir recognizes the spirit, and says as much without reservation.
4:1 for shaking heads. Writing!Next vote will be very quick. Likely open for only 1-2 hours. Just giving you a heads-up in advance
The boy attempts to bluff. He is too disoriented to consider how he might do such a thing, so he simply shakes his head and hopes his answer will suffice.To his dismay, the spirit only seems more interested in him after his answer. A flurry of expressions flash across the vaguely-familiar face: first, joy-- then, concern-- finally, the same thoughtful caution the spirit had worn upon its initial appearance. It all changes so fast, Alberic isn't sure whether it even happened by the time it's over. Richards seems entirely unperturbed-- even interested-- and such a thing only causes the heir more concern. If his enemies were any sort of smart, it was likely that they were setting up some sort of trap for him to fall into... and he was walking straight into it, throughout this entire conversation, without even noticing."Was the lightning he was struck by abnormal in any noticeable way?" The spirit reappears besides Richards, who simply shakes his head and begins to return to a more human shape. "How could you--" Alberic is stopped short by an intrusion into his mind-- unstoppable, unfamiliar, and... benevolent? A light brush against the surface, a single poke into further depths-- nothing more. Not like the sort of psychic onslaught the heir had been taught to expect. Nevertheless, an intrusion was still an intrusion..."I mean you no harm," the spirit almost seems to warn Alberic. Is he, then, the cause of this invasion? "I only want to make certain that you aren't..." CR-SHHK"FOOL!" The heir's iron fist flies forward-- into blank glass, where the spirit used to be. "Who are you to invade the sanctity of Doom's mind?? What gives you the right??" The once-crown prince swivels around, expecting to see the spirit behind him... and finding nothing. It's only when he looks back and sees the crack he's made in Richards' containment chamber that he realizes what he's been lured into.
"You-- you tricked me!" Alberic shouts, both afraid and enraged. He doesn't question how the crack came about-- a flaw in his father's engineering, perhaps? But-- no. Doom's engineering talents are unparalleled. Richards must have fashioned some device...!"Hardly! Calm down, son, I only want to help--" Richards, already slipping on the uneven floors in his disgusting human form, approaches his opponent against the glass like the rube he is. "More lies!!" The heir's fist flies against the glass once more, (to his relief) landing someplace other than the crack he accidentally made. "You have nothing to gain from assisting Doom! You simply desire freedom, and have the gall to manipulate me to your ends!! Had I not unraveled your scheme, you would have already shattered this defective cell and escaped by now!" Before anything more can be said, the heir snaps his metallic fingers and draws himself to his full, nearly six-foot height. "ROBOTS!" To Alberic's surprise, the small swarm of Doombots occupying the distant parts of this lengthy hallway immediately stop whatever it is they're doing. Most of them-- thirty, forty, possibly more-- seize up and turn his way, standing at attention in ways every competent general only wishes his soldiers could imitate, their programming hanging on his every word. All save for one.It's a level of power the boy has never before received. He's controlled one or two Doombots on special occasions-- specific dummies designated by his father, four or five Mark Is at a time, the smaller posse of older bots he'd used to restrain the Four just half an hour ago... but never this many. Never all at once. Never with just one word.Such a feeling is more intoxicating than anything the child has known. He is overwhelmed by a flood of possibilities, crashing into his mind, quickly engulfing the unstable rage that once occupied it-- driving him to ACTION!>"Attack Richards!!" the heir orders, pointing his finger directly above the captured man's cell.>"Restrain me!!" Alberic shouts, wanting to hear his prisoner out.>"Seek out the true Doom upstairs-- bring him to me!!" Alberic declares. >"Destroy those of you who will not obey!!" the heir cries. [ROLL 1D100]
VOTING WILL ONLY BE OPEN UNTIL THIS COUNTDOWN FINISHES!! Go go go!!https://www.timeanddate.com/countdown/to?iso=20261109T1830&p0=%3A&msg=Time+until+vote+closes&font=cursive
uhm uhhh i dunno what does "destroy those of you who will not obey" even mean
>>6483823Pay attention to the last sentence in the Doombot activation section.
>>6483821Apparently, I formatted the countdown incorrectly. It's supposed to count down to 2 hours and 40 minutes from that post, but it seems to have begun 2 hours and 40 minutes before it. Oh well. Vote's open until 6:30pm EDT, in case it wasn't clear.
Rolled 18 (1d100)>>6483820>"Destroy those of you who will not obey!!" the heir cries. [ROLL 1D100]TO ME, MY ALBERBOTS
Rolled 34 (1d100)>>6483820>"Destroy those of you who will not obey!!" the heir cries. [ROLL 1D100]Alright, I'll try to roll too
VOTE CLOSED! 2:0 in favor of destroying errant Doombots... writing!
Action that he cannot risk failing! One Doombot is not responding appropriately-- that is one Doombot too many."Destroy anyone among you who will not obey my orders!! There exists at least one-- assure that there remain none!" Alberic booms, confident in his command. The rush this amount of control instills in him forces his arm forward, prompting him to point towards the end of the hall-- as if he needs to give them extra directions, he chuckles-- while he speaks.This single action, prompted by nothing more than the excitement of a neglected mind being given all the attention his world has ever offered him, causes total chaos.A small fraction of the Doombots obey the original orders without question. Four of the robots swarm the single disobeying model, tackling it to the ground and restraining it as best they can.The rest... vary in response.Some of the Doombots simply do nothing. They remain, at attention, acting as if Alberic had never spoken at all.Some of the Mark Is believe other fully-functioning Doombots are the usurpers Alberic speaks of, either due to their own malfunctioning or simply a lack of immediate action on the part of the other bots. They fill the narrow halls with a flurry of robotic fists, laser beams, and canned exclamations: "TRAITOR!," "YOU HAVE ANGERED DOOM!," and "FALL TO YOUR SUPERIOR!" being the most-favored constants of such cacophony. More, still, turn on Alberic! A small-- if not insignificant-- amount of them completely disobey! They turn on the young heir, eyes shifting red, and begin to threaten him the same way their comrades threaten each other! Caught off-guard, the young heir backs up into the glass separating him from his prisoner. "Halt! HALT!" He repeats, hoping to quell the carnage he's caused. To his dismay, the statement falls on deaf ears. The approaching Doombots stomp ever-closer, growing silent, palms raised, concussive blasters at the ready--kkkrrrrkkzkzzzzA gathering crackle of electricity breaks through the endless noise! Above even that, spoken in the robotic voice of a younger Dr. Doom, only one sound can be heard: Bolts of Balthaak, give me grace; scatter, ye robots, far away from this place!
Not a moment later--KKKKRRAKA-BOOMA stampede of electric shocks pounces from Doombot to Doombot, from entrance to end, from roof to ceiling-- the entire corridor is consumed in a gigantic burst of blinding light for almost an entire minute! Alberic is completely blinded, his hands raised before his face, his mind lagging behind his body, still expecting to have been forced backwards by the rogue Doombots' laser beams... BEE-WEEEEOOOP One beam does, indeed, make it through... but it doesn't belong to any of the rogue Doombots threatening Alberic. No-- it belongs to the sole survivor of them all: the same Doombot Alberic had commanded the rest destroy! It stands amongst a river of robotic corpses, all of them hissing and most of them broken into parts, completely unfazed.Its renegade beam flies past Alberic's right shoulder, straight and true, and right into-- the crack in the barrier! It looks to have been fired with enough concussive force to blow a man's head off his spine, and sure enough--KKKKRRRRASSHHHA shower of glass shards collapses behind the befuddled boy, freeing Richards and barely scratching Alberic. Before the heir can make any sense of the past few minutes, Richards already attempts to crow of his triumph by sucking up to his savior. His voice, however, is drowned out by the same Doombot from before!"Hurry! You'll only have so long before Doom notices us! He's already made his way out of the control room!" Even through the aging speakers of the Mark I, such a statement is paired with an unnervingly calm delivery. There is a hint-- only a hint-- of genuine pressure in that statement... and an almost detached dourness to the rest of it."Then-- you go after Johnny! I'll find Sue! Once we're reunited, you'll know where to find me!" Without another word, Reed Richards explodes out of his human shell and covers the entire hallway's length in under a minute. Before Alberic can utter a single word to stop him, he's already slipped out of sight-- and out of mind.
Once every trace of the Fantastic Four's first-in-command evaporates from the buzzing and ruined hallway, the heir experiences a clarity of mind that he hasn't had since being reprimanded by his damnable father. This newfound sanity, when paired with having been so lost for so long, pushes Alberic to act once more.The sole remaining Doombot has already begun to flee towards the exit-- though, being much slower than the former resident of this dampened hallway, he's yet to leave-- and, if his words rung true, the real Doom was likely on his way here...>Alberic commands the renegade Doombot to halt. Whatever power it's just harnessed is the kind that Alberic needs-- if he can keep the Doombot from fleeing, he can both slow down the Four and interrogate their mysterious aide.>The boy runs after Richards. He's faster than the stupid robots, he knows these halls better than his enemies do-- if he just pushes himself to his limits, he might be able to confront their leader before he can break the rest of the team out.>Alberic runs back to the Thing's prison, intending to warn him of Doom's coming. The Thing is easily the strongest of the Four-- if Alberic can get him on his side, then he might manage to overpower both his father and the Thing's accursed teammates. >The heir runs upstairs. Their escape won't mean a thing if Doom confronts them first. Alberic wants nothing more than to watch his father fall to his "lessers," but if it's a choice between Doom and the four people Alberic has been raised to hate...
>>6483935>Alberic commands the renegade Doombot to halt. Whatever power it's just harnessed is the kind that Alberic needs-- if he can keep the Doombot from fleeing, he can both slow down the Four and interrogate their mysterious aide.This Doombot being subverted implies a dissident with enough know-how to hack it, or worse, access to Doom's network. The Fantastic Four getting away is small peanuts compared to a security breach like this.
>>6483935>Alberic commands the renegade Doombot to halt. Whatever power it's just harnessed is the kind that Alberic needs-- if he can keep the Doombot from fleeing, he can both slow down the Four and interrogate their mysterious aide.
3:0 for HALT! Writing.
Alberic's mind is still aflood with possibility. He thinks to chase his father-- no, that won't do him much good if he's already coming here. Perhaps he could find some way to chase down and re-capture the Four--? An even worse idea, in his current state. His mind is still reeling, still composing itself, still aflame with the idea of power.Power-- yes! That's what he needs-- some way to take control of this situation; get himself out of here, everyone else be damned. As luck would have it, he was staring right at something with that kind of power..."Halt!" Alberic shouts, stumbling over both his words and himself. The Doombot ignores him at first-- not unlike the rest had, to the heir's great frustration. Nevertheless, he continues: "Stop! Robot! You there!!"As the boy continues spouting synonyms for "stay still," his anger only building, the robot he's addressing seems not to hear him at all... until, halfway through Alberic's fifth attempt, it suddenly seizes up. Unaware of the difference, and fed up with being ignored, the boy runs to block the bot's path as if it were still walking. "Stand at attention!! I--" He composes himself, only just having realized that he looks not unlike a wild carnivore being denied a fresh carcass to clean-- "I demand you forfeit whatever power your sabotager has instilled within you!! You have no right to wield such energies-- they are for Doom, and Doom alone! You-- you are nothing more than a disobedient counterfeit, piloted by some traitorous villain who seeks only Latveria's downfall!" As if to punctuate his assertion, Alberic points a confident finger directly at the Doombot's chest-- --and soon finds himself entirely overshadowed by the emergence of a specter he'd thought lost. Unable to contain his shock, the prince blurts out: "T-the spirit!"
Looming over him, nearly twice the size it once was, the ghostly image of a man soon shrinks to its appropriate height. Alberic's heart skips a beat-- of all the things he's said, every word warrants greater punishment than the last. Fear is replaced by rage-- this is the same man who dared invade his mind, dared intrude upon the sanctity of Latveria itself by so endangering its heir!-- replaced by caution, cowardice, and a quiet shrinking away from the frozen Doombot."Dr. Strange will do nicely," the spirit spoke lightly. His tone was almost joking-- like Alberic's threats were so meaningless as to not even matter! The implication rattles the boy, tempting him with the idea of pushing the spirit's patience further, but he cannot yet be certain that his assumption of amnesty isn't just another trick. His tormentor speaks once more, his voice both echoing about the hallway and remaining entirely unaffected by its acoustics: "To hide sorcery from a son of Doom is a fool's errand, but I do not grant you such a privilege lightly. You clearly have much to learn.""I will learn nothing! I require your power, immediately, and haven't the time to take no for an answer!" Alberic fights back, offended. He regrets the action before the final words leave his lips-- not due to any inflicted consequence, but his own common sense. What was an ex-heir to a broken kingdom when compared with a man who felled small armies in seconds?"I'm afraid it's the only one you'll get," the spirit speaks matter-of-factly. His attention is briefly drawn past the boy, into the perpendicular hallway-- then returns to Alberic. "Your adoptive father is approaching this room with alarming speed. I have no time to teach you.""Teach?! What makes you think--" Alberic shuts himself up, refusing to make eye contact with the ghastly form disappearing in front of him. Heavy footsteps briefly pass him by overhead, strong enough to scatter dust from the rocky ceiling above, lending credence to the deceiver's claims. The heir's hair stands on end-- he seizes up, alarmed. The Doombot has suddenly returned to function; its robotic hand upon his shoulder, its speakers once more crackling with speech from a long-gone time."Alberic, I only want to help you. No matter what you try, attempting to wrest my methods from me in this manner will only cause you to fail. Please take me at my word when I say that standing aside, and allowing me to finish my work, will be best for us both."
The robot speaks with soft sincerity, but grasps Alberic's shoulder with an iron grip. He distrusts this thing heavily-- but, he cannot deny, it has done almost nothing to harm him. Even its psychic attack, which Alberic was certain could have killed him if properly executed, did little more than lightly tickle his neural centers. And, if he tolerates its trickery for long enough, there's every chance he might begin tomorrow outside of this dark and dingy castle...>Alberic doesn't move. If Doom really is going to his dungeons, the last thing the heir needs to be seen doing is aiding the enemy.>Alberic steps aside. The Fantastic Four are the only chance he has at keeping Doom's retribution from locking him up in their cells.>Alberic has an idea. If this spirit can possess a Doombot, and grant it qualities that it does not usually have... and, if the spirit is sincere about its wish to help him...
>>6484103>>Alberic has an idea. If this spirit can possess a Doombot, and grant it qualities that it does not usually have... and, if the spirit is sincere about its wish to help him...Surely the ex-heir to Latveria's throne has a little more horsepower than an ancient Doombot, right?
>>6484103>Alberic steps aside. The Fantastic Four are the only chance he has at keeping Doom's retribution from locking him up in their cells.I wanna do the mystery box vote, but I feel this is more neutral to see how we can escape alive.
>>6484103>Alberic has an idea. If this spirit can possess a Doombot, and grant it qualities that it does not usually have... and, if the spirit is sincere about its wish to help him...
>Alberic has an idea. If this spirit can possess a Doombot, and grant it qualities that it does not usually have... and, if the spirit is sincere about its wish to help him...
>>6484103>>Alberic has an idea. If this spirit can possess a Doombot, and grant it qualities that it does not usually have... and, if the spirit is sincere about its wish to help him...
>>6484101Supporting a fellow Marvel quest>>Alberic has an idea. If this spirit can possess a Doombot, and grant it qualities that it does not usually have... and, if the spirit is sincere about its wish to help him...
5:1 to the third option, wow! Writing.>>6484116I'm surprised it came off as a mystery box. That most certainly was not intentional. >>6484373Oh, are you ArtemisQM? Hello! Glad to have you here.Heads-up: next vote will be another quick one, though I'm not sure it'll be as quick as the last quick vote. Probably closer to 2-3 hours than 1-2.
That tiny chance is enough to spur the former prince to recklessness. "You only want to help me?" Alberic doesn't budge. "Why choose such an inefficient vessel, if so?" The Doombot's grip loosens. There is a moment-- just one moment, fleeting and uncertain-- in which it almost seems to squint at the boy. Its occupant seems hesitant to connect the dots of Alberic's implications, so the heir sees fit to do it for him."As you yourself have acknowledged, I am in direct relation to a rather accomplished sorcerer," Alberic speaks through gritted teeth. His own distaste for never having been taught the ways of his adoptive father simmers-- though his mild telepathy has served him well, he can't help convincing himself that even the slightest magical power might have served him much better. "Would I not serve you far better than this aging bag of bolts?" Grave silence hangs over the hallway for what feels like hours. The Doombot releases its grip entirely, its posture stiff, its occupant evidently taken aback. Metal footsteps grow closer in the background-- time is wasting. But the mere thought...!"You don't know what you're suggesting," the robot warns. "I know full well," Alberic boasts. "I understand my father far better than you do. He will not take your intrusion lightly. When he sees that I am mingling with his nemeses, he will not hesitate to eliminate the common denominator between their imprisonment and their escape. You have no time to teach me, yet you seek to help-- then, no matter the price, take me. My involvement is nonnegotiable regardless."
CLANK, CLANK"And be quick about it!" the boy suddenly adds. "We only have so much time!" The Doombot finds itself ruminating in much the same way the spirit had, with a finger on its chin and a bowed head implying a furrowed brow, but takes heed of Alberic and doesn't remain that way for long. A touch of amusement is the last thing it knows-- if only, it thinks with finality, he truly knew how much longer they had. "Very well," Doctor Strange relents from above. The amulet upon his ghostly chest rises to his transparent brow-- Alberic, fascinated, wants nothing more than to look away as it sinks into the spirit's forehead. Before long, the boy is trapped in a pillar of unearthly light. He feels his every extremity paralyzed, analyzed-- and, then, released. "I will require complete cooperation from you. You must do your best to pretend you're sleeping, or brain-dead, and not make a single movement towards autonomy. Is that understood?" The man speaks with utmost gravity-- there is an edge to his voice that could cut concrete. And, though it goes against all he's been taught, Alberic admits to himself that he is scared... but nods, unerringly, more allured by the thought of triumphing over his tormentor than any possible consequences this could bring him. Another part of him stirs-- frustrated by the lack of control, but similarly intoxicated with the thought-- and waits, patiently.
CLANG, CLANG.Heavy footsteps descend the dungeon steps. They belong to a man beyond frustration, beyond rage-- who has, nonetheless, succumbed to such primitive emotions with all the resistance of a sleeping baby. The intricate railing he had built for this staircase crumbles underneath his oversized metal glove, coating the steep stairway with bits of gold dust and silver detailing, its destruction serving as a futile outlet for the fuming king. The moment metal meets marble and the monarch's descent is ended, he roars a challenge. "RICHARDS, MY PATIENCE GROWS EVER-SHORTER!! I know you are behind this infernal escapade!! HAVE YOU ANY HONOR, you WILL MEET ME-- here and now-- AND BRING THE BOY!!"His words echo throughout the carefully-designed quarter-split halls, seeping their way into every vaulted quadrant, reaching the ears of Doom's opponents without error. Richards grows perplexed-- by now, he should have been joined by one of his two other teammates, neither of whom accompany him. Yet, as his wife leans on his shoulder and only just begins to recover, he doesn't dare abandon her. Wherever Dr. Strange is, he concludes, he'll have to face Doom alone.This does not deter the sorcerer one bit.He guides Alberic's body, carefully, into the circular chamber that connects the Fantastic Four's cages. Its extravagance almost makes it unfit for battle: an etching of the team's symbol is carved into the floor, shattered into pieces by mosaic art, and mirrored onto the ceiling above. Trophies of previous battles lie scattered across white-brick walls and old cabinets. Portraits of Doom trouncing each and every member hang next to their respective hallways, with a gratuitously flattering victory over the entire team indicating the dungeon exit... and contrasting rather poorly with the man beneath it.Dressed in a makeshift carapace cobbled together from the modified shells of his Killer Robots, Dr. Doom blocks the exit with crossed arms and a manic eye. He stands nearly ten feet tall, his human form almost entirely invisible beneath its armors, and it takes the boy's speaking for his father to notice his opponent."I'm afraid Dr. Richards has no part in this," Alberic's body speaks, "and I'd advise against involving him in combat. It will do you no good to outnumber yourself any more than you already have."
KK-RASHThe moment the ex-heir comes into view, Doom lunges forward with a mechanized punch. Alberic's body dodges left on impulse-- one that the boy himself is surprised by, let alone his cohabitant-- leading splinters to fly and leaving Doom's green gauntlet trapped in a broken cabinet. This occupies it for just long enough to prompt more crowing from its owner: "Cease your nonsensical babbling!! Doom will triumph over any who come his way, no matter their numbers, and you shall do nothing to stop him!"Only when Alberic's body is already preparing a counterattack does Doom realize what his son has just said to him.>Attempt to loose the Bolts of Balthaak upon Doom from behind. [ROLL 1D100]>Use the Flames of the Faltine to set the broken cabinet alight. [ROLL 1D100]>Rely on the ever-dependable Images of Ikkon to confuse Doom; create duplicates of Alberic and scatter them about the room. [ROLL 1D100]>Reach out to Reed Richards, telepathically, and make sure that he's safe. [ROLL 1D100]>Write-in. [ROLL 1D100]
Voting will be open until 6pm EDT!
Rolled 26 (1d100)>>6484416>Rely on the ever-dependable Images of Ikkon to confuse Doom; create duplicates of Alberic and scatter them about the room. [ROLL 1D100]unless the roll gets fucked up, we should be able to make some time with the duplicates.
Rolled 77 (1d100)>>6484416>Rely on the ever-dependable Images of Ikkon to confuse Doom; create duplicates of Alberic and scatter them about the room. [ROLL 1D100]
VOTE CLOSED! 2:0 in favor of the Images of Ikkon! Thank >>6484466 for coming in at the eleventh hour; that could've gone horribly wrong...
Even as his son splits into dozens of copies of himself, the words don't entirely register to Dr. Doom. Once he finally frees his gauntlet from the faulty cabinet and spins around, he's greeted with dozens more Alberics all speaking in chorus."If you are so certain you can overcome these numbers just by yourself, I dare you to prove it!" they all chant at once. Finally, something clicks in Doom's brain-- and, not long after, between his fingers."FOOL you are, then! To have fallen right into such a trap-- even Richards' foul-tongued friend would have seen it coming!" Doom gloats, the makings of a smile only visible in his voice. "ROBOTS-- ATTEND ME!" ...silence reigns. The Doombot carcasses scattered about Reed's hallway briefly hiss, their parts still steaming... but never amounting to anything. Doom's fingers hang high in the air, their snapping the only sound left to echo across his elaborate halls... and his blind rage, finally, begins to give way to seething caution. He knows not who he faces. He has inklings-- unpleasant suspicions, one nearing certainty-- but it will do him no good to speculate. All he can be certain of is that this is not his son alone... which gives him a delightfully grim second wind. Mere moments after the Mark Is fail to materialize, Doom sweeps the entire room with a laser beam from his gauntlet. Forty-two copies vanish from that single action-- as do several of the portraits his younger self so proudly installed in this aging room. Another pair of punches eliminates only two more, and the mad monarch begins formulating plan after plan while his body flails about attacking copies.He's unusually rash, Doctor Strange notes. He speaks to Alberic through their shared mind-- though, really, he's more talking to himself. Your loss must be affecting him poorly. Twisted as his actions may be, could he have truly grown attached to you...?The mere implication infuriates Alberic enough to force his unrest unto the sorcerer's very spirit. He is not alone-- within him, there remains a similarly profuse disagreement, in loftier terms, that actually distracts Dr. Strange with its own force. Both attempts to excise the spirit are near-immediately overwhelmed-- followed by Strange's apology, a wave of soothing sentiment, and a return to the... battlefield.
"Only SECONDS have been spent distracted-- yet, to all save Doom, such an error is long enough to prove fatal!"GGGKRRRRRRRRDoom stands, smiling, nearest the painting of Richards' defeat. His green-gloved finger lies upon a large red button, firmly pressed, while his boots remain noticeably astride from the mosaic-made symbol of the Four...CCCCKKKRRRAAASSHHHHHThe symbol explodes into a shower of shards! Glass, stone, and ceramic all form a cage of crystalline columns-- and a gigantic hole in the floor! Before Alberic knows it, he is falling ten-- twenty-- thirty feet-- and, against his will, he is screaming!!Do not despair! You're safe-- I'll make sure of it! The voice in his head seems to shout, absolute determination permeating every word. Forty feet, sixty-- there's still a ways to go, and Doctor Strange does good on his word. Alberic never reaches the end of his fall.Winds of Watoomb, hear my command: guide this body aloft with a steady hand!FWWWOOOOSHA gale seems to appear from nowhere, right underneath Alberic, and-- before the boy knows it-- he flies upward, back into the room! Once he meets Doom's eye level, the winds about him suddenly pass through his position-- as if he isn't even there-- and blow the endless shards of the broken mosaic right at his father's concealed face! Alberic's psyche retreats once again-- his hands form unfamiliar symbols, his mouth words spells he's never known, his body floats with levitation not his own..."By Hoggoth and Oshtur, continue this attack-- while I conjure the Crimson Crystals of Cyttorak!!"The hurricane of glass and stone already assaulting Victor von Doom is soon joined by a frenzy of small red crystals, unbreakable and brilliant in their makeup, which begin to dent the ruler's supposedly invincible armor. Quickly, before he can get his bearings, the crystals grow in size-- within a minute of Alberic returning to the dungeons, Dr. Doom finds himself pelted by a small meteor shower of sharp and sturdy debris!There can be no doubt-- Doom is certain of his opponent! Only one mage still on Earth can wield such power-- only one mage on Earth would dare try in Doom's own domain!"STRANGE!!" he thunders. "What sense does it make to involve yourself in this?? What business do you have with this boy?" "A favor to a friend! I take it you're familiar with the concept?" Alberic's body roars back, his voice somehow overcoming the pained howls of wind buffeting his father. Victor von Doom is not granted the same mercy, and so his cursing of Richards goes unnoticed-- but what follows most certainly does not.
VWEE--KRRRBOOMAll six-hundred pounds of the ten-foot monarch throw themselves at his forsaken son in a rocket-powered, full-body tackle! The winds and crystals about the pair stop as Doom's hands find their way to his son's throat-- and, by the time a minute has passed, Alberic is mere inches from cold hard rock. Within the span of a blink, his possessor teleports them both away-- leaving Doom to crash into the floor of an enormous mountain cave on his lonesome, into an impact crater almost five inches deep. His landing prompts a cloud of dust to form and dissipate, causes small rocks to fall from the ceiling, and encourages the distant screeching of bats."What in all the hells are you doing??" Strange shouts, suspending Alberic's body nearby a large stalagmite. "You're going to cripple Alberic and your castle both!""You underestimate Doom's engineering," the furious Latverian retorts. "Castle Doom was built to withstand the collapse of this entire mountain." "And the child?" Alberic's own voice cracks, begging for respite-- alarmed as he is, Strange can give him none."What care you or I for a foreign nation's disruptive castaway? All the vermin has brought me is betrayal and incompetence--" the greener doctor motions towards Alberic-- "what right has he to breathe Doom's air?" Even with both knowing the extent to which Doom dislikes the ex-heir, his words cut through the child and his host both. The heir, against his better judgement, had almost hoped for some reconciliation-- fool that he was, he figured there was a chance-- just a chance-- that this encounter would have changed Doom's mind; would have granted Alberic the father that Kristoff knew so well. Through all the misery, all the neglect, he could have reasoned that all of it was simply a test-- all just the first stages of molding Alberic into a better heir, a better son. That, once this was all over, Doom would build him a new room... give him a gentle smile... tell him he'd passed, he'd made it, and all was forgiven. He'd just wanted to strengthen Alberic through hardship, as Doom had done to himself, and now his real life could begin-- as ruler of Latveria, as son to its benevolent father, as the pride of his world's most feared monarch...Alberic wasn't sure what was more embarrassing: that he thought this at all, or that it took this long for him to realize such a thing was never going to happen.
A laser beam forces the boy's body to be on guard before his host can accept what he's heard. He dodges it, narrowly, remaining aloft as he does so-- only for another laser to come his way not a second later."Shield of the Seraphim, strengthen me--"A pink-tinted circle of glass protects only the boy's front, but the gesture proves useless regardless. Doom's laugh echoes across the expansive cavern, only slowed in its reverb by the dripping of water from stalactites above, as more and more lasers soar past Strange. Slowly realizing what exactly the monarch is doing, he forces Alberic's ailing body forward, towards the ground, landing safely-- and fleeing, as best he can, towards the westernmost wall. Richards! Are you and the rest of your family well? Strange sends out a psychic message, doing his best to dodge Doom's lasers while he does so. Reed's response is rapid--Hardly! Half of them are still locked up; I've been waiting-- where are you? And the sorcerer ducks, another stalagmite taking a beam that was meant for his head--Devote every inch of yourself to making it out of this castle with them! Take your mind off the thought of mine-- I won't be returning! He regrets the words as he thinks them, but he has no choice-- another rock falls, rolling towards him, blowing up into smithereens after a rush of pure mystic force billows forth from Alberic's clasped palms--"Victor! Please! See reason! You can't truly mean to--" "You dare assume Doom lies??" Victor cuts the sorcerer off, approaching his enemies and firing lasers all the while. Venom drips from his every word. "Reason is what brought me here-- reason is what opened my eyes to this entire mistake! That I may correct it so late is the only error Doom can ever admit to-- the only failure I could ever make! Such a stain upon his name cannot stand, Strange."BEE-WEEEOOOPA final laser bursts forth from the green suit's palms, darting across an almost mile-long distance, embedding itself into a low-hanging ceiling above Alberic."Be thankful that you may still live once he has died."
RRRRR-R-KKKRRUMBLEA worn pillar, almost directly in front of Alberic and Strange, begins to give way. In the heat of battle, neither had noticed just how many lasers had hit it as strays-- as the ceiling caves in around them, a litany of curses are loosed from Alberic's lips as certainly as a flurry of spells. A mystic sphere braces them both as half a mountain collapses around them-- boulders break to bits as they meet magical energy, stalactites do their best to pierce the veil-- and find themselves met by bolt after bolt, spell after spell-- shattering to pieces before they can ever reach the ex-heir. A wall of dust begins to cloud their vision, fill the boy's lungs-- it takes all of Strange's attention not to lose him, to the dust or the boulders or the rocks or the shock, and, in the end......he succeeds, just barely.The dust clears. A gap in the Latverian mountainside stretches nearly forty feet wide. Rocks crumble around its edges, still finding their footing (or lack thereof), as the Kingdom of Latveria bears itself to the formerly secluded room.The formerly idyllic nation-state lays in tatters. Even now, late at night, ongoing construction work can be seen in the distance-- disparate crews of weary people, all united under one banner, work together to restore what remains of the backwards Balkan state. These ruins are not recent, nor are they exacerbated by the night's events, yet they remain disturbing all the same. Entire satellite communities lay flattened, their charred grounds populated by makeshift tents and poorly-tilled land. Forests grow ever-smaller, fields ever-farther... and Strange cannot help but recall the recent, almost rose-tinted memory of what it once was. Suddenly, he realizes something else: among it all, Doom cannot be found.The boy swivels backwards. The cave is empty-- collapsed. The castle remains untouched, as was Doom's word, but its monarch is entirely absent. Immediately after this is noticed, Alberic collapses.
Before he goes, the boy finds himself desiring nothing but...>Revenge. Alberic wants nothing more than revenge. His father has escaped-- that is far too kind a fate for him, and he won't stand for it. By whatever means it takes, Alberic wants to reflect the same pain he felt onto the man that caused it in the first place.>Escape. There is nothing keeping Alberic here anymore. His father is gone and Latveria's ruler wants him dead. To stay in the one place he's been trapped in his entire life... it's insane, and he wants nothing of it. Better he rebuild somewhere else, no matter how foreign, and forget this life entirely.>Power. What he just saw will be imprinted in his mind forever. With power like that, Alberic can go anywhere-- do anything. He could build a life for himself, help rescue others-- he could devote himself to saving people from what he had to experience, and do it without breaking a sweat. He would give anything to truly wield even a fraction of what he just felt.>Love. Nothing more matters to him. All other goals are secondary, all futures in question. He does not want to live an empty life filled only with harsh memories and broken dreams. He craves a family, either of his own making or a place in one made with true sincerity, and now knows for sure that he won't find one here.
>>6484552>Power. What he just saw will be imprinted in his mind forever. With power like that, Alberic can go anywhere-- do anything. He could build a life for himself, help rescue others-- he could devote himself to saving people from what he had to experience, and do it without breaking a sweat. He would give anything to truly wield even a fraction of what he just felt.Who's to say where such motivations could lead us?
>>6484552Revenge
>Power. What he just saw will be imprinted in his mind forever. With power like that, Alberic can go anywhere-- do anything. He could build a life for himself, help rescue others-- he could devote himself to saving people from what he had to experience, and do it without breaking a sweat. He would give anything to truly wield even a fraction of what he just felt.>Backwards Balkan stateFinally a REALISTIC quest
>>6484552>>Power. What he just saw will be imprinted in his mind forever. With power like that, Alberic can go anywhere-- do anything. He could build a life for himself, help rescue others-- he could devote himself to saving people from what he had to experience, and do it without breaking a sweat. He would give anything to truly wield even a fraction of what he just felt.I wanna pick the love option but this seems like a more entertaining narrative
>>6484552>Love. Nothing more matters to him. All other goals are secondary, all futures in question. He does not want to live an empty life filled only with harsh memories and broken dreams. He craves a family, either of his own making or a place in one made with true sincerity, and now knows for sure that he won't find one here.Alberic craves love, and he knows it exist because he's full of it!And you need to be strong to protect those that you love :)
3:1:1 for Power, Revenge, and Love respectively! Writing!
>>6484552>>6484859Damn, should've voted for Escape to get 3:1:1:1
Power. Power enough to prevent this ever occurring again-- power enough to put down tyrants, power enough to defend the innocents they hurt...An eternity passes between Doom's disappearance and Alberic's collapse. Every ache and sore his body has endured in just the past hour comes home to roost. The nest they find themselves in is far larger than it once was-- subsequently, even Alberic's past experience with similar physical exhaustion help him naught. A distant voice echoes in his head, surprised and sorrowful, speaking words Alberic can no longer understand, devolving to... noise... distant, incomprehensible, noise...
...shhfAlberic turns over in his sleep.He is... he's floating on clouds. He must be. His mind's eye sees nothing, yet his every extremity feels absolutely certain that he has died and gone to heaven. Shoulder-length hair sinks into a surface so soft, so comfortable... he doesn't even want to move. An address echoes in his mind-- not in Latveria, is it? The street name is wholly unfamiliar-- and the thought of the voice that speaks it prompts surprise-- eventually, a smile.........smile. He hasn't got his mask on. He hasn't got his mask on!Alberic jolts forward, heart racing, clutching-- sheets? Sheets, softer than ones he's ever known, in pure white and truly perplexing fabric, atop-- atop...The boy is greeted with a window spanning an entire wall's length. It overlooks... a city... entirely unfamiliar to him. Small pits of half-built construction sites are haphazardly dotted about the skyline, as if entirely random properties had been wiped off the map not long ago, but to be seem very rare. Curved skyscrapers-- though few in number-- pierce the heavens. They find themselves scattered amongst dirty brownstones, aging grey boxes, pillars of glass, and construction cranes-- significantly more advanced than any he'd ever seen in Latveria-- all of which are dappled, lightly, with fresh snow. Their uneven dominance over the earth is absolute: not a single patch of natural ground can be seen, even after Alberic returns to his aching legs and ambles over to the glass. He looks down-- he must be... the mere idea of this height disconcerts him-- hundreds or thousands of feet high, taller than even Castle Doom's highest point.The Latverian takes a step back from the lengthy window, almost stumbling over the unfamiliar sheets he's wrapped in, searching for a certain pair of buildings that might confirm his suspicions. The morning sun shines so brightly that he almost misses one-- to his left, only two streets over, partly blocked by some kind of floating vehicle... stands a cerulean-tipped marker, dripping with symmetrical windows, just barely aglow with light... of Empire.Though it is most certainly a city in transition, not much like the mythical heartland of marvels his father raised him to always watch from a side-eye... there is no doubting New York City.
Alberic turns around. The bed he'd been lying in sits, unmoving, atop a polished wooden floor. There is a nighttable beside it, carved of some kind of metal, carrying a small lamp and a glass of water. Alberic's mask lies beside it-- the boy wastes no time in rushing forth and re-equipping it.His disgusting, abhorrent face-- it must be hidden. Not even his enemies should be subjected to such a sight, he tells himself, recalling the scar upon his... his nose, right? Not his cheek, his nose. He remains uncertain, for just a second... before fastening the mask's metal clamps behind his ears and adjusting it to properly cover his face. The boy briefly checks the nighttable's two drawers, hoping against hope that his head sock and armor lay within either one, cursing under his breath when he finds himself left with only the verdant tunic and cape his father had forced onto him the week before last night. Or-- what he thinks was last night. He realizes, suddenly, that he doesn't know how long he's been asleep for. He doesn't know where he is, either-- he has an idea, as his racing heart is willing to testify, but he hopes against all hope that it proves untrue. He dons the tunic without issue, almost grateful for its return, but... when it comes to wear the hood and robe, Alberic finds himself hesitating. His father is a hated outlaw here-- that, he knows for sure. Already, this mask might make him suspicious... but, no, that is not negotiable. He will not remove the mask no matter how obvious it makes him look. He reasons, then, that this cape... his cape, he is briefly certain... will act only as a boon. A way to hide that mask, if need be, from curious passers-by. The heir snaps its golden clasps shut, briefly testing that they remain attached to the tunic, before giving his bed one more glance.A portrait hangs above it, small and well-framed, of a couple and a robot. A picture of a building is suspended next to it, nearly twice the portrait's height, of a façade Alberic recognizes. Destroyed, he learned through celebration, a little over two years ago. Above the portrait, to the right of the picture, a small family gathering...Alberic's dream swiftly becomes a nightmare. The façade, the faces in the pictures, the hints of advanced technology dotting the walls of this unnaturally quiet room-- there can be no doubt about what has transpired.He's been captured... by the Fantastic Four!!
Hello, and welcome to Four Freedoms Plaza! A distant voice sounds, its mechanical affectation somehow dripping with honey. I am Roberta, and it is currently EIGHT-O-NINE O'CLOCK. You have been designated a GUEST of the Fantastic Four, and my capabilities have been extended to allow you to feel as comfortable as possible. In approximately nineteen minutes, breakfast will be served downstairs and to your right. Until then, please make plentiful use of the facilities provided to you in this room, which include-- but are not limited to......the robot, with its speakers seemingly embedded in these very walls, goes on to list a wide variety of adjacent rooms. Most of them are hidden behind chrome doors, opening at Roberta's command as she names them, and all of them indulge in luxuries Doom could never grant his son. An expansive bathroom (with an adjustable shower!), a closet as wide as a tractor and as long as a giraffe's neck, a small safe all his own... bah. Materialist pleasures, he tells himself. Excesses meant to puff up the enormous ego Richards so proudly boasts. But... they are nice, aren't they?Alberic treads carefully into the bathroom. His feet briefly sting from cold-- the floor is marble, he realizes, and not heated. He tries to find some way to fashion his sheets into makeshift snowshoes, attempting first to tie them around his bare knees-- CLANG--once his mask meets the ground, he tries his feet instead. No use-- more tripping ensues. Immediately upon his second recovery, Alberic scans the walls-- he darts from corner to corner, niche to niche. There seem to be no cameras-- none that he can recognize, anyways, though he realizes he is most familiar with his father's craft above all else. There is every chance, he convinces himself, that he simply has yet to notice Richards' cameras.Still, they would surely have no need to film him brushing his teeth. Unless the brush is trapped-- which... it is not, he confirms. Nor is the toothpaste poisoned, nor is the mirror recording his image...
...throughout the tense minutes that follow, Alberic can only think of... plans. Plans to escape.>Pretend to be amicable to the Four. Attend their breakfast-- act cordial. Though part of him despises the thought, Alberic must admit that they have been nothing but tolerant of him... and, his tired soul suggests, being polite might allow him to simply leave through the door.>Attempt to break the glass surrounding his room. It's a steep drop, if he isn't careful, but Alberic can see grooves on the nearby exterior and might be able to climb the wall. [ROLL 1D100]>Break into one of Richards' laboratories and use his equipment to escape. This robot seems amicable and knowledgeable enough-- he can use her to locate the best possible room. Alberic resists the thought of stealing-- hopes that maybe, somehow, he can convince the robot to steal for him. >Maybe the robot is right. Maybe he really is a guest. Maybe, just maybe... he doesn't really need to escape...>Write-in.
>>6484915>Pretend to be amicable to the Four. Attend their breakfast-- act cordial. Though part of him despises the thought, Alberic must admit that they have been nothing but tolerant of him... and, his tired soul suggests, being polite might allow him to simply leave through the door.For all we know, Richards might be trying to butter us up before an interrogation. If that isn't the case, all we lose is the luxury of letting our guard down for a few hours more.
>>6484915>>6484919 +1Besides we need some food, who knows when we'll be able to eat after our escape
>>6484937Food's the least of it. We need cash, a road map, and a phone that isn't loaded with spyware.
>>6484915>>Pretend to be amicable to the Four. Attend their breakfast-- act cordial. Though part of him despises the thought, Alberic must admit that they have been nothing but tolerant of him... and, his tired soul suggests, being polite might allow him to simply leave through the door.Gotta stay in character even though we already know they're nice people
>>6484915>>Write-in.>Bow and request training from the Fantastic Four. You know too little of the lands outside Latveria. Machines aside, even procuring food will be a trial without basic assistance.....and a guarantor. They can hardly treat you worse than Father, and if you refuse it'll be easier to argue for freedom later.
3:1 be cordial vs. request training! Writing.
A number of effective solutions flood Alberic's brain. He could break through the windows-- hitch a ride on one of the flying automobiles hovering about this district, maybe. Or-- he glances briefly at the bathroom walls, suddenly very aware that they share the same appearance as those within his bedroom-- the robot, 'Roberta,' could inform him of how exactly to reach one of Richards' many laboratories. He almost revels in the act, a small part of him buzzing and whirring like a machine with idea after idea to get back at his damnable captor... jailer......host. Alberic stumbles upon an ingenious plan. If the robot insisted that he remain a guest, why not play into it? Feign amicability-- attend this "breakfast," avoid the food, be... polite.Already, this wears on him. Not the thought of executing this plan-- the strain with which it must be done. There is a part of him screaming against it-- declaring it an indignity, beneath him, appealing to Richards in ways ill-befitting one such as DOOM. Doom, after all, is all he should aspire to be-- all he should strive for, all he shall BECOME! Alberic thinks as if he still lies within the cot-- still hopes to take Latveria's throne, still serves no purpose other than to succeed his father as second-choice. He fights against the mere thought of the Four as if they are anathema to his very existence... and, once the ex-prince finishes rinsing his mouth and drying his spit, he mumbles under his breath words that he hopes nobody else can hear."Does this please you, father? Do you live on just to torment me?" He expects no answer-- and, indeed, his ears hear nothing. His mind, however, objects to the very thought. You speak of Doom as if you are not one in the same; he understands, as if you have somehow escaped yourself. Know, well, that you speak in error-- that, despite your pathetic thoughts and lying eyes, the throne of Latveria waits for you without rest. Your people suffer without your rule-- to deny your true purpose and title is sacrilege. To do so under the guise of appealing to Richards-- unthinkable!Alberic's fists slowly clench. He realizes, perhaps too late, that a simple code word was no match for the whims of mother nature. The cot had served its purpose, no matter how incomplete, and that seemed reason enough for his father not to bother cleaning up its mess. And now, of course, he had to deal with the consequences... alone!
Breakfast will be served in only five minutes! Are you planning on attending, ALBERIC VON DOOM? Roberta whistles, her tone unperturbed by Alberic's angst. Hearing a robot speak his full name in deference prompts a small swell of pride in the boy-- no matter its owner, he'd dreamed of hearing such things since he was small. He'd gotten a taste of it, back at the castle, and had to admit that he quite liked it. It's good, then, that he's made up his mind..."Yes," he nods, "I'll be in attendance."I'm glad to hear it~! Roberta sings. So far, only three other members of the FANTASTIC FOUR have confirmed that they'll be attending. Do you want me to let them know that you'll be there?The thought piques Alberic's interest. Only three? Then-- maybe Reed (Richards!) wouldn't be there. On one hand, he's relieved-- it will be much easier to talk with the other three, for sure; on the other, he has a creeping suspicion that only Reed (Richards!!) will be able to provide him with a sustainable exit. But-- why would he need help from his worst enemy? He could take care of himself-- build his own way out, with his own expertise! The very same with which he built his Doombots! What was stopping him? Who would dare??"...no," Alberic raises his voice. "Do not inform any of the others. I... will arrive shortly." Roberta whistles its approval... and a pleasant song begins to play in anticipation.
clink-clank click. Shhhh...As Alberic von Doom descends the shallow steps leading from his room to the kitchen, he can't help but overhear the sound of dishes being washed by mechanical hands. Cutlery softly clinks against ceramic and metal both, gliding across a lengthy sink built into the flower-printed wall on his right, moving dirty dishes from soapy water onto a pop-out dishrack with inhuman ease. Such a thing seems strange to the Latverian-- it would be much more efficient to simply hire a dishwasher, he figures, to better punish errors and avoid destruction of kitchen utensils. Of course, Richards was hardly the type to consider the superiority of human labor over groveling machines..."Ayyy! Ol' gal-pal Al's awake!" A grizzly voice sounds from Alberic's left-- he turns to see the Thing, arms in the air, smiling wide. He seems significantly too large for the dining table he's sat at, much to the ex-heir's amusement, but nonetheless content with his situation. On his wrists and ankles hang remnants of the night before... adamantium shackles, free of their chains, still stuck to the behemoth's rocky hide. "C'mere-- we've been hearin' aboutcha for almost a week. Suzie was sure you were gonna wake up yesterday-- she baked a whole apology cake'n everythin'." Having not entirely digested everything else he's heard, Alberic tries his best to smile back (however forced) and focus on the least important of the Thing's statements. "Is a 'gal pal' not a woman, Grimm? I take it you don't intend to insult me--""Aaahh, lighten up," the orange monster chuckles and slaps Alberic on the back-- very gently, the boy estimates, but still hard enough to knock the wind out of the ex-prince. "It's a turn've phrase. Yer not a wom'n, but I can bet yer popular with Latverian ladies. Whole country's devoted t' yer father, ain't it?" "Y-yes," Alberic coughs back. There was a Latveria before Doom, he'd been told, but it was hardly recognizable. Not that Grimm needed to know, of course... "Y-your behavior... you flatter me. What purpose--?"The Thing looks him over, his uncharacteristic joy already seeming tempered by the question. "Kid, d'you really not know what a celebration looks like? You've been in a coma for seven'n a half days. I'm tryna cheer you up, like any decent man'd do." Seven and a half...?
Before Alberic can answer again, a softer voice speaks from Grimm's left. It comes from a small woman (at least, in comparison to Grimm): blank-eyed and blonde-haired, a black headband parting her curled bob in two, with delicate hands softly caressing the Thing's own. She sits nearby the same window-wall Alberic saw in his bedroom-- it had extended across his left-hand side, down the staircase, into this kitchen. With how the morning sun was positioned, its transparency almost made it look like the woman's head was shining... "...Benjamin, please, he must have only woken up recently. Go easy on him.""I wuzn't--" The brute sighs, seemingly defeated by just two sentences...! "Alright... I'll let up. Wuz jes' tryin' to be nice." "Thank you, honey," his woman(?) replies. She never looks at Alberic-- never looks at the Thing, either. Her hands just keep tracing his, eventually bringing her head to rest upon an adamantium-clasped fist... "In other news: today, just hours ago, an unknown accident occurred in Flushing, Queens. Witnesses reported smoke and loud noises coming from Stark Industries' Corporate Headquarters starting at approximately 6:16am, lasting until 7:06..." A television flashes to life above the fridge, seemingly apropos of nothing. "Local rumors speculate that the Mandarin may be at fault, but such rumors are unsubstantiated and shouldn't be treated as fact. All indications point to an internal error, which may spell bad news for the stock market...""Aw, Reed, couldja wait any longer t' turn that blamed thing on?" Grimm throws up his hands, prompting Alberic to duck. The golem is looking behind him-- where, much to the boy's deep displeasure, one Mr. Fantastic can be found entering the room."Sorry, Ben. Sue just wanted to see what was on, even from her bed, and..." He trails off, his eyes settling on Alberic's-- and being met with a harsh glare, as he deserves, through the boy's mask. "Alberic! You're awake!"Richards bursts forth. Alberic attempts to dodge, but he's caught-- dancing around his tunic, inspecting his every limb, the thrilled scientist wastes no time in assailing Alberic with questions! "I haven't made any changes to procedure in days. Are you doing well? Have you been able to keep down any food? Is your breathing unhindered? Is this mask--?""UNHAND ME!!" Alberic roars, grabbing Richards' arm and throwing it against the wall. "You dare lay a single finger on--??"
clnk-clank click. Shhh.... click-clink clank...The robot continues to wash its dishes, unfazed, while the rest of the room stares in silence...Richards clears his throat. Alberic's attack hasn't hurt him-- he's withstood far worse. But... he hadn't expected it. It's delightful news-- Alberic had scored a 3 on the Glasgow scale, and the state he'd arrived at the Plaza in made recovery seem unlikely. But this-- this motion-- was almost miraculous! He was moving, breathing, even fighting-- not half an hour after he'd awoken. (Roberta had informed him, of course.) More questions couldn't hurt. "Your voice-- is your windpipe damaged at all?""Sil--" Alberic clenches a fist, then shakes his head. "I... my throat is fine." He sounds every bit as spiteful as his father. He might not be Victor, Reed decides, but there are clearly still... artifacts. It would make sense that Doom would teach his children, adoptive and not, to hate him... but, if so, why were Alberic's words so stilted? He'd seen this before-- in the dungeons. He'd thought Alberic was simply overwritten, then, but..."Stretcho. You're starin' again," Ben comments, motioning towards Alberic. The kid seems shaken-- he walks over to the farthest end of the table, covering his head with his hood, taking a seat across from Alicia and looking at the food on display like he's never eaten in his life. Bagels with lox for Ben and Alicia, an open-faced ham sandwich for Reed, and a few appetizers: a small charcuterie board with crackers, pastrami, and various slices of cheese; a well-arranged platter of vegetables, forming a small sun, with sliced carrots for sun-rays and a stack of tomatoes in the middle; a stack of waffles, still warm, with syrup and strawberries off to the side."You've caught me again, Ben." The stretching man shrugs his loose shoulders, tries to smile, and thinks on what to do next. Brainwave scans would be a given, just as a precautionary procedure. If those fail, maybe Stephen...
"...construction continues on Fifth Avenue, despite recent delays, with temporary housing due to open December third..."As the TV continues its ramblings in the background, Alberic hesitates to take any part of this feast for himself. There is no telling what could have been added to the foods closest to him, but he knows American etiquette demands you do not rob other people of their plates. Still, he hungers..."Take anything you want," Richards offers. He takes the seat next to Alberic's, much to the boy's indignation. He wants nothing more than to leave, but-- he must remain cordial. Already, he is doing a bad job. His attack-- however involuntary-- will surely invite some sort of punishment that Richards simply hasn't thought of yet, and it'd do Alberic poorly to be seen making eye contact before it is issued. His thoughts begin to spiral on this specific topic, further convincing himself that his plan is already failing, causing the boy to simply continue staring at everything in front of him... >Take one of the checkered cakes. They are made of ingredients that would expose any machines Richards might try to add to the batter. If he just avoids the fruits and sauce, he might avoid compromising himself...>Take something from the charcuterie board. Meats and dairy are filling, and these slices are small enough that any poison instilled within them won't do Alberic much harm.>Take some vegetables. They alone won't be enough to energize Alberic, but he knows greens are particularly emphasized in this country's cuisine and he might be able to curry favor by starting with some.>Take nothing. Richards has certainly poisoned all of this. Grimm mentioned his wife's superstition that he would wake up yesterday-- the leader of the Four would have trusted her word, and had a day to prepare various different ways to compromise all of this. >Write-in.
>>6485142>>Take something from the charcuterie board. Meats and dairy are filling, and these slices are small enough that any poison instilled within them won't do Alberic much harm.>>Take some vegetables. They alone won't be enough to energize Alberic, but he knows greens are particularly emphasized in this country's cuisine and he might be able to curry favor by starting with some.If they wanted to stuff him full of machines, a week is more than enough time.>No, if there's any trap, it would be in the food itself. Luxuries and pleasure, as powerful as any artificial drug. But you will resist! Your body is a temple, build upon nourishment and tempered with exercise! Such sweet temptations.....NO!
>>6485142>Take one of the checkered cakes. They are made of ingredients that would expose any machines Richards might try to add to the batter. If he just avoids the fruits and sauce, he might avoid compromising himself...>Swallow your pride and ask your "host" for fresh coffee, prepared in the Latverian manner, to accompany your meal. The bitter warmth of the brew should offset the overbearing sweetness you've been told is characteristic to American cuisine.If Reed sends a robot to get us Starbucks or make some Folgers real quick, I'm gonna vote to burn this building down next.
>>6485142>Take something from the charcuterie board. Meats and dairy are filling, and these slices are small enough that any poison instilled within them won't do Alberic much harm.>Take some vegetables. They alone won't be enough to energize Alberic, but he knows greens are particularly emphasized in this country's cuisine and he might be able to curry favor by starting with some.It'll be funnier when Alberic immediately has second thoughts about leaving right as he eats desserts >>6485183Are Latverians a coffee people or a tea people?
>>6485251>Are Latverians a coffee people or a tea people?Honestly? I have no idea. I just read "Balkans" and made an assumption based on the coffee culture out there, but even then I'm not sure if coffee supersedes tea in popularity there.
