APPEARANCES!

An Otherverse Dr. Doom Story

By Jason Gasper

 

Chapter 2

 

For the first time in at least a century Washington DC burned from the fires of invaders. A handful of people, no political ideologists only rabid metas led by Superman himself, had finally laid the nation's capitol low. The White House was a burning heap of ruble. The congressional building was under siege. People were panicking in the streets, oblivious to the largely political targets of the assault. The city burned unchecked as every effort by public servants met with retaliatory death.

 

The Library of Congress, national storehouse for copies of every book or magazine published or sold in the United States throughout its' history, stood yet unscathed. Director Keller, head librarian and curator, knew it wouldn't last. The building was directly in the path of the fire and if that didn't get it he was sure the metas would. He heaved a sigh, realizing that without a miracle this national treasure would be lost. It seemed only a matter of time.

 

A strange hum caught his attention as he looked out on the mess. It drew his attention from the destruction outside the front doors. He turned away and stumbled his way into the book stacks. Stepping into the foyer he gasped in amazement! Stepping out of a golden rectangle of solid light strode a figure encased in gray iron and green silk. Carrying a small device in one hand, Dr. Doom surveyed the books around him!

 

“No, no, no," Cried Keller, "Not you! Not on top of everything else!"

 

"Calm yourself," Rumbled the bass voice from the towering form, "for Doom is here to save not destroy."

 

"And why should I trust you?" The Director yelled.

 

What choice do you have?" Scoffed Doom, "Trust in the word of Doom or wait for destruction at the hands of others. Decide!"

 

Angrily the Director stared at Doom. Their eyes locked as the two weighed each other. Director Keller found himself wanting as he broke first. He muttered, "Whatever it takes to save the books..."

 

Doom continued to gaze at him levelly, no emotion betrayed by his iron mask. He held out the device he had been carrying. Looking like a space age camcorder on a pistol grip, the device's sliver exterior had no obvious markings. Taking it, the Director looked it over before glancing a question at Doom.

 

"It is a transport device." Doom answered the unspoken question, "Based on anther’s cruder design, it transports anything caught in it's beam to my secure facilities. Once you have passed it over everything here you may turn it on yourself if you wish. The robots that will be cataloging the items are programmed to respond to you if you appear. Either way, once you are done with it the device will self destruct."

 

Leaving Director Keller to his task and moral dilemma, Doom stepped back through the shining curtain; from the Buildings darkness...

 

 

... To the brightness of the Southwestern Sun!

 

The mountains in the South Western United States have been home to legends and treasures for ages. It was about to become the storehouse for a new treasure, perhaps to birth a new legend. The land was already rich with such, being the originator of Hollywood's mythic cowboy. The desert and mountains seemed to sometimes be inseparable, as sandstone hoodoos competed with cacti for open space.

 

In an obscure gully, well away from any trails but those of nature, Doom worked in the scant shade. Back against the far wall of the partial cave was a man sized container, looking like a bizarre mix of upright casket and insectoid chrysalis. To each side sat a small box, each identical to the other in matching blandness. Doom had set up a series of such chambers across the U.S. Each was a nanotech/ biochemical womb designed to produce a warrior to fight the madness and rogue metas, and the gear such would need. Each location had been carefully chosen, from Metropolis to Seattle and at least a dozen in between, and this was the final one to be placed.

 

Each was to be a birth chamber for a hero to be sacrificed on the altar of humanity's survival. The fires of redemption would burn bright in these flawed souls, while they lasted. Each would be equipped with a unique combination of scavenged gear designed to give the recipient a fighting chance against a mad world. But it would only give a chance. It would be up to the recipient to make the most of the gifts given.

 

Doom knew that these simple pawns would have the potential to become a more important piece, but the reality he acknowledged was that most would die before ever realizing such potential. Yet each would take at least a few enemies down along side them. That made the sacrifice worth it. Such was the cost for a better chance for the greater number of people. Such was fate.

 

Doom put the finishing touches on the defense systems. While nature would be able to move freely as always, nobody but that right somebody would pass into this area. Each such hero-womb was protected in similar fashion. The cloaking system, which caused the equipment to fade into the background unseen, would keep out unintended visitors and the passive systems would ensure revelation to the right person.

 

Doom was satisfied. Leaving fate to its assisted path, Doom stepped through the golden doorway, from the semidarkness of the gully cave...

 

 

...To the complete darkness of an underground cavern!

 

The Batcave was a collection of caverns linked and lighted to suit its owner's unique needs. One of these was an impromptu infirmary, amazingly well stocked, where a mature man in butler's garb was attempting triage. It was not the first time he had to bind this man's wounds but it was one of the most severe, multiple bruises, breaks, cuts and abrasions covering most of the otherwise perfectly conditioned body.

 

"Really, sir," Muttered Alfred, "You must stop this. These insane metas are worse than your usual targets. You can't keep this up!"

 

Bruce Wayne, the Batman, mearly grunted as he struggled out of the remains of his costume. His ears pricked at a sound never heard before in his caves, the strange sound of metal-shod feet echoing off of stone floors. He lurched to his feet, grabbing for his utility belt.

 

"Who's there?" Batman's bass voice bellowed, as he pulled out his weapons.

 

"You are a difficult man to locate," spoke a synthesized voice from the green cowled form. The glint of light off metal preceded Doom striding into the room. "But it was just a matter of time and effort. You have the respect of Doom for what you have done and how well you successful you have been. But we both know that you are reaching your limits. Your toys have allowed you to survive but better will be need to win. I have come offering the power you need, the tools you desire."

 

Doom stretched out his gauntleted hand. "Decide now, for Doom does not tarry."

 

Bruce looked at Doom long and hard, struggling to make one of the toughest decisions of his life. He knew the implications behind the offer and he weighed both sides carefully. This was a decision that would have far reaching consequences for himself and the world, whichever way he decided. Finally he made the Batman made his decision.

 

A brief exchange later, Doom left the way he came. He stepped through the glimmering curtain from the haunted darkness...

 

 

... Into the rainy darkness of a Tokyo rainstorm!

 

The rain streamed down, pulsing in sorrowful sobs. Splashing through the rising water, people collected on the asphalt outside a public bathhouse. They lined up like sheep, massing into the large group showers. None seemed to notice the strange smell or the pipes leading elsewhere than the water supply. Nobody but the one misshapen man standing apart, watching.

 

It was toward this scene that Doom strode. The figure turned at Doom's approach. His body was wrinkled, bloated, as if waterlogged. The eyes blazed with a red malevolence and around his throat hung a fist-sized talisman. It drew the eyes to it, in form like the shadow of a fallen angel condensed into reality.

 

"What is the purpose of this travesty, demon?" The electronic voice of Doom rolled like metal thunder across the distance.

 

"While you are not whom I expected, you know why I am here, sorcerer. And what that means." His voice was in oddly tinted English, not just from the oriental accent but it also echoed in a strange fashion. As if it came not from ha throat but from a tomb or deep well.

 

The creature's hand twisted in an oddly jointless fashion, as if disdaining the normal limits of body movement, gesturing at the people packing into the showers. "These people have given in to the sorrow of this world's recent events. Theirs will be the bonfire to light the return of the Ancients! We ruled worlds before you poor ape spawn had learned language to worship us! And we will rule again, starting with this unprotected, undefended world!"

 

The creature cackled to the crash of lighting, his speech not diminished by the thunder. "Quiver to your soul, for no sorcerer supreme, no Lords of Order guard this plane! Here we shall rise again!"

 

"NO!" Cried Doom, a gesture throwing globes of plasma from his gauntlets halting the creatures cacophonic laughter. With a grunt, the creature collapsed burning to the ground. The noise of the attack was lost to the thunder.

 

For a moment the corpse lay there, steam mixing with the rain, but then it got up! Not climbing to its feet, but simply _flowing_ to an upright state. The smell of charred flesh, as it continued to burn, was not muted by the rain at all. As he rose the placid figures in the shower lifted up their arms and a multitude of lighters flickered aglow. The voice cackled on, unhindered by physical damage. "How will you stop us, good sorcerer? You lack talismans a multitude of galaxies away! You are missing items of power from distant coherent dimentions! Nothing here is close to stopping us! Not Close!"

 

Lighting flashed from the sky at his scream, crashing into Doom and sending him to his knees. Telltales flashed in his mask as his armor tried to compensate. Struggling to rise Doom gritted "You can be bound or defeated, demon!"

 

"True, true," giggled the characiture of a man, "But only by black sorcery - bloody sacrifice - horrible magic of the foulest sort can bind those whom I foreshadow... and none of your white magic will stay the tide! The path of purity does not allow for the destruction needed to bind those who will free me to join the plunder of this world!"

 

A short distance away apathetic hands turned nobs, pressurizing the shower system with substances other than water.

 

Doom Stood shaking in anger, mentally searching reserves, cataloging options for a way to stop this. Something, anything to be effective!

 

"Come, come, sorcerer! We both know that there is nothing you can or will do! These people will burn as in times past, and this world will suffer. Just like this host of mine. This little bag of water thought to have the power to control me once I wandered into his posession. Instead he is but a conduit for my power. When he lost, he began to scream as I took over, just as this world will! He is still screaming, you know... and soon these people will join him. For to stop me you must destroy him completely! It will start with these people here, then spread through the island, then the world will join our symphony of suffering and domination!"

 

"No." Spoke Doom, more calmly, "You have made an error." With a waive, a cone of energy coruscated from his gauntlet. The man's body was caught fully in the blast. For a moment he was highlighted in the energy but within seconds his form had dissipated to nothing. The only thing left was the winged talisman, hanging in the air as if still around an unseen neck.

 

Doom stepped forward and grasped the talisman. "You have mistaken Doom for one of those moralistic do-gooders that roam the universes. But morals, purity; these are things for lesser men. Doom does what is required of him, what is needed, not what is right as others reckon it."

 

The talisman struggled in Doom's iron grasp. Sweat poured down the inside of his armor as Doom struggled on l