2. The admission of any such state to membership in the United Nations will be effected by a decision of the General Assembly upon the recommendation of the Security Council.
—United Nations Charter, Chapter 2, Article 4
An uncharted island in the South Pacific
It would be a day for the history books. Harvey Rupert Elders, more widely known as the malevolent Mole Man, straightened his tie…which was ten years out of fashion…in the rough gleam of the enormous diamond that served as his mirror. His servant helped him into his coat…also long out of fashion…and brushed mold from its lapels with a slice of his thick palm.
“Are you sure about this, sir?”
“Of course! There will be a party to welcome me to their esteemed ranks, you know, and I must look my best. I will dance with exotic women, drink foreign wines, hob-nob with fellow monarchs! Just like on that delightful East Wing show!”
“West,” his servant said, not unkindly. He was a large brute, hulking and slate colored. Intricate tattoos of Deviant design curled across his skin, illustrating a life lived hard. He straightened the Mole-Man’s collar with a careful precision.
“Eh?”
“West Wing, sir.”
“Oh? Oh! Yes. Musn’t make those mistakes, eh Hadal? That would be quite awkward.” The Mole Man ran a trembling hand over his thinning hair. “Yes, quite awkward.”
Hadopelagic Kalam Elder, Hadal for short, sighed quietly. Bred of Deviant stock, he was a short giant, built broad and with an evident massive, coiled strength; as different as night was to day from his small, round master.
If Elder gave any note to his servant’s worry, he showed no sign. He was far too excited. He twirled his best green cloak about his thick, muscular shoulders, his stubby fingers moving nimbly across a brass clasp to cinch it in place. As his blue visor brought the stone of the room around him into stark focus, he sighed happily. No more wreaking havoc. No more senseless fights with costumed clowns looking to hurt his more playful subjects.
“It’s a day for the history book, Hadal,” he said.
The Mole Man grinned. Vindication after all these years. In just a few minutes, he would take his place among his fellow movers and shakers of geo-political events.
“A day for history,” he said again.
Monster Isle was about to join the United Nations.
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The Mole Who Roared, Part One:
“Where Monsters Prowl!”
Or not.
Due to the unique nature of the claimant, an emergency session of the General Assembly had been called. To say that that august body was unhappy about it would be an oversimplification. And they made no bones about making that unhappiness felt.
“Mr. Elder, you can’t be serious,” the Belgian representative said, leaning forward into his microphone.
“Please, you horrid little man...this is not a place for jokes,” the Italian representative chuckled uncomfortably.
“Sorry Elder, but hell no,” the American representative gestured.
Murmurs, mutters and, indeed, shouts of assent filled the meeting hall of the United Nations. On the floor, standing on a hastily provided box to reach the microphone, the Mole.Man looked up at the assembled dignitaries incredulously.
“W-what a-are you SAYING? W-why? Surely, the esteemed nations of this world recognize my sovereignty? My petition-”
“Sovereignty? You live on an island full of GIANT MONSTERS! It’s not like you were elected...as far as we know, you’re the only intelligent creature on that hunk of rock,” a delegate shouted via his translator.
“B-but my petition! I want to join t-t-the UN...M-Monster Isle must enter the twenty-f-first century...” The Mole Man fumbled with his speech, scattering the smudged and smeared index cards in his haste. A silence that was worse than laughter burned his ears as the cards fluttered to the floor.
“Mr. Elder, this is not a club. We are a serious political body. When you have something serious to say, we might be inclined to listen. We gave you this meeting out of charity. The Security Council felt that you should at least be heard, given your recent-ah-good conduct. But for now, please leave. Your... presence is causing some of our members discomfort,” the French representative said, albeit gently.
At the podium, the little figure trembled softly. They weren’t taking him seriously! They thought he was a joke! And a bad one at that...he had been fooling himself. All these years, all these hard, cruel years. Nothing had changed in the world. He was still just a mole to these men. A pathetic, blind mole, who would neither be heard nor felt.
But moles can bite.
And moles can roar.
Their scattered laughter still stinging him, he shrugged back his cloak and lifted his staff into the air over his flat head. With a calloused thumb, he jabbed the button at the tip of the staff.
On Monster Isle, Hadal grunted and clutched his head. He rose to his feet, jaw set. There was a transmitter embedded in his skull, keyed to a single frequency, one emitted in natural circumstances only by a certain subterranean insect known as a Nightclick.
He knew what that signal meant and that these were far from natural circumstances.
“I told him,” he rumbled, pulling on a bell-cord to summon the Moloids, the Mole-Man’s yellow-skinned servants. A patter of bare feet sounded as they scrambled towards him. “I told him.”
The Moloids didn’t answer, but then, they never did. Hadal barked several terse instructions then went to the far wall of his apartments where his war-harness hung. Crafted by Deviant engineers from the shells of abyss-level mollusks, it would protect him from anything short of the Celestials themselves. At least that was the intent.
He slid the harness on and tightened the straps. A strange eagerness filled him. Hadal had never been to war, though it was what his people were bred for. His master had kept him from danger all his life.
But no longer.
The sword was forged from a fang of one of the great beasts that roamed the island. Hadal took it down and swung it experimentally. Then, with a flourish, he slid it into the sheath on his back.
Beneath his feet, the stones trembled. The Moloids had roused the monsters, even as he asked.
Time to go to war.
Back in New York, the delegates who made up the General Assembly watched in consternation as the Mole Man ranted. “So...you deny my petition? Fine, then, I’m used to rejection. But I’ll change your minds yet...like a civilized little country should do!” he grated into the microphone, tears of humiliation and rage blinding him.
The floor buckled suddenly, as something huge rose from beneath the UN Building. A trio of ugly faces, balanced on the same number of serpentine necks, rose through the floor as the delegates screamed and tried to flee. Seconds later, a gout of flame blocked the doors.
“Ladies and gentlemen, my most faithful retainer, the mighty TRICEPHALOUS!” the Mole Man bellowed, brandishing his staff. He brought the staff thudding down on the podium. “As of right now...consider yourselves political prisoners.”
The Baxter Building
Home to the world famous Fantastic Four…only two of which were currently at home.
“Who did what to the which now?” Johnny Storm yelped into the phone, his features going slack in shock. His eyes flashed towards the kitchen window and widened as he saw the giant lizard ambling down the street towards the Baxter Building, a hot-dog stand clutched playfully between serrated teeth as long as spears.
As he watched, it shook its head, like a dog with a bone and squatted down to gnaw open the cart. “Oh man, looks like the new year is starting with a bang.” With a flash of super-heated air, the Human Torch slapped the alarm system built into the countertop and flew out of the kitchen towards the roof.
“Whoa, matchstick! What’s the rush?” the Thing grated as he came into the kitchen in response to the alarm and narrowly ducked under the Torch’s flaming form. Johnny turned his head back as he continued on.
“Mole Man. UN. Big, Big, BIG monsters. You know, the usual, rocks-for-brains! You coming?”
“Yeah, yeah. I ain’t hit nothin’ in a few hours. Wait up!” The Thing turned, his massive shoulders scraping the doorframe as he ambled after his teammate.
As the two headed for the roof, Johnny turned towards Ben. “You think we should tell Reed and Sue?”
Ben shook his head. “Naw. Let ‘em have a little peace an quiet. I’ll just beep ‘em, let ‘em know we got it covered. Now shaddup an’ help me find the rocket pack doo-hickey Stretch was workin’ on yesterday-”
“You mean the one that set fire to the roof?”
“Yes, I mean the one that set fire to th’-hunh.” The Thing blinked. “Good point. I’ll take th’ auto gyro.”
“What is it Reed?” Susan Richards, better known as the Invisible Woman, looked askance at her husband as he pulled a strange device out of his coat pocket and tapped at it curiously. The two of them were sitting at the back of a school bus crammed to the vents with children and chaperones, including themselves and their own offspring, Franklin and Valeria.
“Hmmm?” Reed Richards replied without looking up.
“The thingamabob, Reed. What is it?” She sighed and leaned into his face, breaking his concentration as she sat Valeria in his lap.
“Beeper, dear.”
“And, dare I ask, what is it doing?”
“Why...beeping, Sue. What else would it do?” Reed looked at her quizzically, patting Valeria’s head. Sue smiled and shook her head in exasperation.
“Knowing you, probably a lot more than it should. You know, I recall buying you a nice, tiny, normal looking, low-tech, ten years out of date beeper for Christmas, Mister Richards, on the assumption that you wouldn’t bother tinkering with it.”
“Um, yes. This is it right here. I just improved it.” Reed eyed her warily.
“Reed, remember what I asked you to not do after that little debacle when you ‘improved’ Ben’s mini-fridge.”
“Not to open spatial distortions in the bedroom?”
“After that.”
“Not to invite alternate reality versions of myself over to discuss theorems at three o clock in the morning?”
“Never mind dear. Oh look, we’re at the zoo.” Sue rubbed the bridge of her nose. “By the way, who beeped you?”
“I’m not sure. I still have some kinks to knock out. So far I’ve narrowed it to either the Shi’ar Empress, or Ben.”
“You gave the Empress our beeper number?”
“Not that I recall. Hmmm. It must be Ben.”
“Oh, yes. It must. Reed, put the toy away and let’s go to the zoo.”
“Yes dear.”
As usual, Franklin was one of the first off the bus and away, racing with a horde of fourth graders towards the gates of the Bronx zoo.
“With nary a backwards glance for his poor, elderly parents,” Reed said as Sue snagged their oldest child with a deftly tossed force-field. As Sue began going over her list of ‘mom-rules’ with an embarrassed Franklin, Reed pulled the beeper back out of his pocket. He called up the message Ben had left,
-STRETCH. MOLEY. MONSTERS. UN. EVERYTHING’S COOL.-
“Susan. Would you give me your opinion on something?”
“Yes, Reed?” Sue looked up from where she was dabbing at Franklin’s face with the hem of her coat. Reed tossed her the beeper. “Oh God, I take it we’re not going to get to see the tigers?”
“Not unless Mole Man brought one with him. But I’m sure Ben and Johnny will have handled it by the time we get there...”
“Like when they rewrote the entire time-space continuum after an argument over the Deadliest Warrior results led to them hijacking your time machine?”
“Well, to be fair...”
“Or when they started a war in that city-in-a-bottle you were safekeeping for that friend of yours from another dimension...what was his name?”
“Clark. But still...”
“Nope. Much as I love them, they’ll get into trouble. Let’s go,” Sue said, her voice brooking no dissent. She bent down and hugged Franklin. “Frankie, you think you can stay out of trouble while Mommy and Daddy drop off Valeria with Roberta and go pull Uncle Johnny and Uncle Ben’s fat out of the fire?”
“Of course, Mom, I’m not a baby.”
“True, but just humor your mother for my sake, Frank.” Reed grinned. “Sorry about the zoo champ, but I’ll make it up to you.”
Franklin scuffed at the ground with one battered tennis shoe as he watched his parents rise into the air aboard one of his mother’s invisible fields.
“Sure you will,” he muttered before trudging back towards his class. “Story of my life.”
“SWEET MOTHER OF GOD!” Ben roared as the giant armadillo slapped his auto gyro out of the air. “THAT IS A FREAKIN’ HUGE RAT!”
“ARMADILLO, BENJY, IT’S AN ARMADILLO!” Johnny yelled back, darting like an enraged firefly into the creature’s wrinkled snout and letting loose with a tightly controlled burst of super-heated air. The beast reared away with a puzzled snort.
“Armadillo, rat, platypus, whatever it is I’ll teach it ta slap me outta the sky!” the Thing growled as he vaulted from the tumbling auto-gyro and clambered up the creature’s head, fists pounding into the monster’s skull with every step.
The Horrordillo (or so the Mole Man had named it) staggered and crumpled to its belly, stunned by the blows being rained upon its cranium with almost mechanical precision. As it unconsciously curled into a ball, Ben scrambled to the street and dusted his hands with an air of satisfaction. “Yo, Bic-boy...time?”
“Minute and a half, Rocky. Best time yet.” The Torch grinned, landing beside the Thing. “So how many of these lugs does that make total?”
“Counting the one you two knocked on top of that Starbucks two blocks back?” the Invisible Woman commented as she and Mister Fantastic appeared above the two. “Two.”
“Hey, big sis, no need for you and Reed to break with the quality time with my nephew; me and the eight hundred pound orange gorilla got it covered.” The Torch leaned against the Thing’s shoulder, almost falling when Grimm shifted slightly to brush him off.
“Butane the Movie here is right, Suzie-Q. Everything is under control.”
“Ben, have you even gotten to the UN building yet?” Reed asked.
“Ummm, well, ya see...”
“Well, we thought we should, you know...” Johnny began, looking at the Thing for encouragement.
“Play around? Or maybe you were warming up? Ben, you know better. And Johnny-” Sue said, glaring at her brother.
“What?”
“Well, at least you haven’t melted any landmarks.”
“Hey!” Johnny said.
“Look Stretch, it’s just Moley. He’s just a poor sap dressed like an evil garden gnome. He’s no threat,” Ben said confidently, crossing his massive arms.
“Kill him,” the Mole Man said flatly, pointing with a stubby finger.
The monster was the same green-fleshed gargantuan that he had used on his assault on New York years ago. It was one of his most loyal subjects…and one of the most terrifying. It reached through the hole in the roof and groped for the screaming delegate he had indicated.
“WAIT!” a voice barked out. The Mole Man held up a hand, halting the beast’s fingers inches from their target. Two figures stood, calm and poised, in the back of the auditorium. One was dressed in a skin tight outfit made of black sharkskin and adorned with golden bracelets and a belt of sea-worn brass. Upon the other, a cloak of darkest green covered a suit of the most advanced battle armor ever to be worn by a human. The former warlord-turned diplomat known as Krang floated towards the podium, his blue flesh gleaming.
It had sent shockwaves through the political community when the new Atlantean representative had arrived. Krang had been, up until recently, persona non grata in most civilized areas of the world. But now?
“Call off your brutes, Elder. There are more civilized ways of achieving your ends.”
“Funny words from you, Krang,” the Mole Man grinned nastily.
“Indeed. Funny, but true in this case,” the other grated harshly. “We have much to discuss.”
“I don’t discuss anything with machines!”
The thing that looked like Doctor Doom cocked its head. “I speak with the voice of Doom, Elder. That is enough for most men.”
Krang glanced at the Doombot and smirked. “I agree. Even if you do smell like metal shavings caught in a lightning storm.”
“You dare--?” The android spun, cloak flaring. It was the last of the first batch of such devices and bore the tentative distinction of possessing a ‘name’ - AlphaOne. It had been the first to believe itself to be its creator and the first to contemplate a coup during the brief, unlamented reign of Kristoff Vernard. For reasons known only to himself, the one true Doom had spared its electronic soul from the oblivion which had claimed its fellows. Now, it served as the Latverian representative to the General Assembly, for who but Doom could be trusted with Doom’s affairs?
Krang bared his teeth at the machine. “I have faced your creator before! If you think I fear such a pale copy-”
“Both of you settle down!” The floor, or what remained of it, rippled and a column of earth separated the two. The lithe form of the Genoshan ambassador stepped onto the floor and lowered her arms. Crystal Amaquelin-Maximoff bestowed her best royal glare on each of them in turn before turning her attention to the Mole-Man.
“Well, Mr. Elder. You certainly do know how to make an impression.”
“I-” the Mole Man began, tongue-tied.
Crystal smiled. “But your idea of playing politics is sorely lacking in subtlety…”
To Be Continued...
Next Issue: In Fantastic Four #2: The United Nations is held to ransom as the Mole Man gets a lesson in geo-politics! The Thing battles the terrible Tricephalous! And what part does Shanna the She-Devil play in all of this? Be here in thirty for ‘WHERE CREATURES ROAM’!
Previous Issue | Next Issue
Due to the unique nature of the claimant, an emergency session of the General Assembly had been called. To say that that august body was unhappy about it would be an oversimplification. And they made no bones about making that unhappiness felt.
“Mr. Elder, you can’t be serious,” the Belgian representative said, leaning forward into his microphone.
“Please, you horrid little man...this is not a place for jokes,” the Italian representative chuckled uncomfortably.
“Sorry Elder, but hell no,” the American representative gestured.
Murmurs, mutters and, indeed, shouts of assent filled the meeting hall of the United Nations. On the floor, standing on a hastily provided box to reach the microphone, the Mole.Man looked up at the assembled dignitaries incredulously.
“W-what a-are you SAYING? W-why? Surely, the esteemed nations of this world recognize my sovereignty? My petition-”
“Sovereignty? You live on an island full of GIANT MONSTERS! It’s not like you were elected...as far as we know, you’re the only intelligent creature on that hunk of rock,” a delegate shouted via his translator.
“B-but my petition! I want to join t-t-the UN...M-Monster Isle must enter the twenty-f-first century...” The Mole Man fumbled with his speech, scattering the smudged and smeared index cards in his haste. A silence that was worse than laughter burned his ears as the cards fluttered to the floor.
“Mr. Elder, this is not a club. We are a serious political body. When you have something serious to say, we might be inclined to listen. We gave you this meeting out of charity. The Security Council felt that you should at least be heard, given your recent-ah-good conduct. But for now, please leave. Your... presence is causing some of our members discomfort,” the French representative said, albeit gently.
At the podium, the little figure trembled softly. They weren’t taking him seriously! They thought he was a joke! And a bad one at that...he had been fooling himself. All these years, all these hard, cruel years. Nothing had changed in the world. He was still just a mole to these men. A pathetic, blind mole, who would neither be heard nor felt.
But moles can bite.
And moles can roar.
Their scattered laughter still stinging him, he shrugged back his cloak and lifted his staff into the air over his flat head. With a calloused thumb, he jabbed the button at the tip of the staff.
On Monster Isle, Hadal grunted and clutched his head. He rose to his feet, jaw set. There was a transmitter embedded in his skull, keyed to a single frequency, one emitted in natural circumstances only by a certain subterranean insect known as a Nightclick.
He knew what that signal meant and that these were far from natural circumstances.
“I told him,” he rumbled, pulling on a bell-cord to summon the Moloids, the Mole-Man’s yellow-skinned servants. A patter of bare feet sounded as they scrambled towards him. “I told him.”
The Moloids didn’t answer, but then, they never did. Hadal barked several terse instructions then went to the far wall of his apartments where his war-harness hung. Crafted by Deviant engineers from the shells of abyss-level mollusks, it would protect him from anything short of the Celestials themselves. At least that was the intent.
He slid the harness on and tightened the straps. A strange eagerness filled him. Hadal had never been to war, though it was what his people were bred for. His master had kept him from danger all his life.
But no longer.
The sword was forged from a fang of one of the great beasts that roamed the island. Hadal took it down and swung it experimentally. Then, with a flourish, he slid it into the sheath on his back.
Beneath his feet, the stones trembled. The Moloids had roused the monsters, even as he asked.
Time to go to war.
Back in New York, the delegates who made up the General Assembly watched in consternation as the Mole Man ranted. “So...you deny my petition? Fine, then, I’m used to rejection. But I’ll change your minds yet...like a civilized little country should do!” he grated into the microphone, tears of humiliation and rage blinding him.
The floor buckled suddenly, as something huge rose from beneath the UN Building. A trio of ugly faces, balanced on the same number of serpentine necks, rose through the floor as the delegates screamed and tried to flee. Seconds later, a gout of flame blocked the doors.
“Ladies and gentlemen, my most faithful retainer, the mighty TRICEPHALOUS!” the Mole Man bellowed, brandishing his staff. He brought the staff thudding down on the podium. “As of right now...consider yourselves political prisoners.”
The Baxter Building
Home to the world famous Fantastic Four…only two of which were currently at home.
“Who did what to the which now?” Johnny Storm yelped into the phone, his features going slack in shock. His eyes flashed towards the kitchen window and widened as he saw the giant lizard ambling down the street towards the Baxter Building, a hot-dog stand clutched playfully between serrated teeth as long as spears.
As he watched, it shook its head, like a dog with a bone and squatted down to gnaw open the cart. “Oh man, looks like the new year is starting with a bang.” With a flash of super-heated air, the Human Torch slapped the alarm system built into the countertop and flew out of the kitchen towards the roof.
“Whoa, matchstick! What’s the rush?” the Thing grated as he came into the kitchen in response to the alarm and narrowly ducked under the Torch’s flaming form. Johnny turned his head back as he continued on.
“Mole Man. UN. Big, Big, BIG monsters. You know, the usual, rocks-for-brains! You coming?”
“Yeah, yeah. I ain’t hit nothin’ in a few hours. Wait up!” The Thing turned, his massive shoulders scraping the doorframe as he ambled after his teammate.
As the two headed for the roof, Johnny turned towards Ben. “You think we should tell Reed and Sue?”
Ben shook his head. “Naw. Let ‘em have a little peace an quiet. I’ll just beep ‘em, let ‘em know we got it covered. Now shaddup an’ help me find the rocket pack doo-hickey Stretch was workin’ on yesterday-”
“You mean the one that set fire to the roof?”
“Yes, I mean the one that set fire to th’-hunh.” The Thing blinked. “Good point. I’ll take th’ auto gyro.”
“What is it Reed?” Susan Richards, better known as the Invisible Woman, looked askance at her husband as he pulled a strange device out of his coat pocket and tapped at it curiously. The two of them were sitting at the back of a school bus crammed to the vents with children and chaperones, including themselves and their own offspring, Franklin and Valeria.
“Hmmm?” Reed Richards replied without looking up.
“The thingamabob, Reed. What is it?” She sighed and leaned into his face, breaking his concentration as she sat Valeria in his lap.
“Beeper, dear.”
“And, dare I ask, what is it doing?”
“Why...beeping, Sue. What else would it do?” Reed looked at her quizzically, patting Valeria’s head. Sue smiled and shook her head in exasperation.
“Knowing you, probably a lot more than it should. You know, I recall buying you a nice, tiny, normal looking, low-tech, ten years out of date beeper for Christmas, Mister Richards, on the assumption that you wouldn’t bother tinkering with it.”
“Um, yes. This is it right here. I just improved it.” Reed eyed her warily.
“Reed, remember what I asked you to not do after that little debacle when you ‘improved’ Ben’s mini-fridge.”
“Not to open spatial distortions in the bedroom?”
“After that.”
“Not to invite alternate reality versions of myself over to discuss theorems at three o clock in the morning?”
“Never mind dear. Oh look, we’re at the zoo.” Sue rubbed the bridge of her nose. “By the way, who beeped you?”
“I’m not sure. I still have some kinks to knock out. So far I’ve narrowed it to either the Shi’ar Empress, or Ben.”
“You gave the Empress our beeper number?”
“Not that I recall. Hmmm. It must be Ben.”
“Oh, yes. It must. Reed, put the toy away and let’s go to the zoo.”
“Yes dear.”
As usual, Franklin was one of the first off the bus and away, racing with a horde of fourth graders towards the gates of the Bronx zoo.
“With nary a backwards glance for his poor, elderly parents,” Reed said as Sue snagged their oldest child with a deftly tossed force-field. As Sue began going over her list of ‘mom-rules’ with an embarrassed Franklin, Reed pulled the beeper back out of his pocket. He called up the message Ben had left,
-STRETCH. MOLEY. MONSTERS. UN. EVERYTHING’S COOL.-
“Susan. Would you give me your opinion on something?”
“Yes, Reed?” Sue looked up from where she was dabbing at Franklin’s face with the hem of her coat. Reed tossed her the beeper. “Oh God, I take it we’re not going to get to see the tigers?”
“Not unless Mole Man brought one with him. But I’m sure Ben and Johnny will have handled it by the time we get there...”
“Like when they rewrote the entire time-space continuum after an argument over the Deadliest Warrior results led to them hijacking your time machine?”
“Well, to be fair...”
“Or when they started a war in that city-in-a-bottle you were safekeeping for that friend of yours from another dimension...what was his name?”
“Clark. But still...”
“Nope. Much as I love them, they’ll get into trouble. Let’s go,” Sue said, her voice brooking no dissent. She bent down and hugged Franklin. “Frankie, you think you can stay out of trouble while Mommy and Daddy drop off Valeria with Roberta and go pull Uncle Johnny and Uncle Ben’s fat out of the fire?”
“Of course, Mom, I’m not a baby.”
“True, but just humor your mother for my sake, Frank.” Reed grinned. “Sorry about the zoo champ, but I’ll make it up to you.”
Franklin scuffed at the ground with one battered tennis shoe as he watched his parents rise into the air aboard one of his mother’s invisible fields.
“Sure you will,” he muttered before trudging back towards his class. “Story of my life.”
“SWEET MOTHER OF GOD!” Ben roared as the giant armadillo slapped his auto gyro out of the air. “THAT IS A FREAKIN’ HUGE RAT!”
“ARMADILLO, BENJY, IT’S AN ARMADILLO!” Johnny yelled back, darting like an enraged firefly into the creature’s wrinkled snout and letting loose with a tightly controlled burst of super-heated air. The beast reared away with a puzzled snort.
“Armadillo, rat, platypus, whatever it is I’ll teach it ta slap me outta the sky!” the Thing growled as he vaulted from the tumbling auto-gyro and clambered up the creature’s head, fists pounding into the monster’s skull with every step.
The Horrordillo (or so the Mole Man had named it) staggered and crumpled to its belly, stunned by the blows being rained upon its cranium with almost mechanical precision. As it unconsciously curled into a ball, Ben scrambled to the street and dusted his hands with an air of satisfaction. “Yo, Bic-boy...time?”
“Minute and a half, Rocky. Best time yet.” The Torch grinned, landing beside the Thing. “So how many of these lugs does that make total?”
“Counting the one you two knocked on top of that Starbucks two blocks back?” the Invisible Woman commented as she and Mister Fantastic appeared above the two. “Two.”
“Hey, big sis, no need for you and Reed to break with the quality time with my nephew; me and the eight hundred pound orange gorilla got it covered.” The Torch leaned against the Thing’s shoulder, almost falling when Grimm shifted slightly to brush him off.
“Butane the Movie here is right, Suzie-Q. Everything is under control.”
“Ben, have you even gotten to the UN building yet?” Reed asked.
“Ummm, well, ya see...”
“Well, we thought we should, you know...” Johnny began, looking at the Thing for encouragement.
“Play around? Or maybe you were warming up? Ben, you know better. And Johnny-” Sue said, glaring at her brother.
“What?”
“Well, at least you haven’t melted any landmarks.”
“Hey!” Johnny said.
“Look Stretch, it’s just Moley. He’s just a poor sap dressed like an evil garden gnome. He’s no threat,” Ben said confidently, crossing his massive arms.
“Kill him,” the Mole Man said flatly, pointing with a stubby finger.
The monster was the same green-fleshed gargantuan that he had used on his assault on New York years ago. It was one of his most loyal subjects…and one of the most terrifying. It reached through the hole in the roof and groped for the screaming delegate he had indicated.
“WAIT!” a voice barked out. The Mole Man held up a hand, halting the beast’s fingers inches from their target. Two figures stood, calm and poised, in the back of the auditorium. One was dressed in a skin tight outfit made of black sharkskin and adorned with golden bracelets and a belt of sea-worn brass. Upon the other, a cloak of darkest green covered a suit of the most advanced battle armor ever to be worn by a human. The former warlord-turned diplomat known as Krang floated towards the podium, his blue flesh gleaming.
It had sent shockwaves through the political community when the new Atlantean representative had arrived. Krang had been, up until recently, persona non grata in most civilized areas of the world. But now?
“Call off your brutes, Elder. There are more civilized ways of achieving your ends.”
“Funny words from you, Krang,” the Mole Man grinned nastily.
“Indeed. Funny, but true in this case,” the other grated harshly. “We have much to discuss.”
“I don’t discuss anything with machines!”
The thing that looked like Doctor Doom cocked its head. “I speak with the voice of Doom, Elder. That is enough for most men.”
Krang glanced at the Doombot and smirked. “I agree. Even if you do smell like metal shavings caught in a lightning storm.”
“You dare--?” The android spun, cloak flaring. It was the last of the first batch of such devices and bore the tentative distinction of possessing a ‘name’ - AlphaOne. It had been the first to believe itself to be its creator and the first to contemplate a coup during the brief, unlamented reign of Kristoff Vernard. For reasons known only to himself, the one true Doom had spared its electronic soul from the oblivion which had claimed its fellows. Now, it served as the Latverian representative to the General Assembly, for who but Doom could be trusted with Doom’s affairs?
Krang bared his teeth at the machine. “I have faced your creator before! If you think I fear such a pale copy-”
“Both of you settle down!” The floor, or what remained of it, rippled and a column of earth separated the two. The lithe form of the Genoshan ambassador stepped onto the floor and lowered her arms. Crystal Amaquelin-Maximoff bestowed her best royal glare on each of them in turn before turning her attention to the Mole-Man.
“Well, Mr. Elder. You certainly do know how to make an impression.”
“I-” the Mole Man began, tongue-tied.
Crystal smiled. “But your idea of playing politics is sorely lacking in subtlety…”
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To Be Continued...
Next Issue: In Fantastic Four #2: The United Nations is held to ransom as the Mole Man gets a lesson in geo-politics! The Thing battles the terrible Tricephalous! And what part does Shanna the She-Devil play in all of this? Be here in thirty for ‘WHERE CREATURES ROAM’!
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