Three
You Can Read the Previous Chapter HERE! “Von Doom, you are hereby sentenced to death for crimes against our people. Have you any last words?” The wide man stared at the tall figure of Victor Von Doom. Damned Gypsy thief, he thought, you deserve this death and more for what you have done.
Von Doom laughed and said nothing.
“Very well, then,” the heavy soldier continued. “Guards! Take your aim . . . fire!”
Seven bullets slammed into the tall, proud figure. Seven bullets cut through yielding flesh. Yet, when the smoke cleared, Von Doom still stood. And, more—he spoke. “You shall all live to regret this. Victor Von Doom swears you all shall suffer.”
One of the guards who had fired at Doom recoiled in horror. “I shot him. I know I did. How can he still live?”
Fearfully, they stepped closer to Doom, and it was then that the world first learned of Doom’s awesome talents. The man they had shot was not a man at all, but a finely constructed robot whose intricate circuitry was far beyond the science of any other living man.
Doom was an absolute genius. Using his mother’s sorcery, he had mastered science. And for years he plied his science toward trickery and deceit. He had become an outlaw, wanted by the Latverian Army, and then, when they thought they had finally captured the willy Gypsy, he turned out to be a lifelike mannequin.
His evil genius continued to grow. He launched a private war on the Baron and his soldiers, and when the Baron at last fell dead at Von Doom’s feet, a truce was called. Victor Von Doom was no longer a hunted man.
He was twenty when the American came. “Master,” Old Boris said, “a stranger wishes to see you.”
Doom’s brow furrowed. “A stranger? Very well, show him in.”
The American smiled, hiding his nervousness. So, Doom silently chuckled to himself, even a foreigner can sense my ultimate power. Good. Very good. “What is it, man? I am busy.”
The stranger was short, wearing a checked suit and tie, and thick horn-rimmed glasses. “Von Doom,” he said, “I’m the Dean of science at Empire State University. We’ve heard some very interesting things about you. And, frankly, after seeing some of your work here, I, uh, I think my trip may have well been worth it.”
“To the point, man. My time is important.” Doom’s eyes glared contemptuously at the stranger. He had heard Americans were weak-kneed fools. Were they all like this simpleton?
The American was stammering now, nervous before this demon-eyed youth. “I . . . I’m prepared to offer you a scholarship to my university. I’m sure you’re interested, and we can—”
But Doom cut him off sharply. “Your laboratory has the latest equipment? I demand nothing but the best.”
“It has.”
Doom ignored him and turned toward Boris. “You will stay here with the others until I return.” Then, turning back to the American, Doom added, “Let us go now. I wish to begin my work.”
Empire State University was a large, sprawling campus with more than ten thousand students. But they didn’t interest Doom; all he wanted were the laboratories.
One by one, he examined the many labs: biology, physics, geology, chemistry. They would do. He glanced at his hand-written notes and thought aloud, “It could work. It could very well work.”
“Anything in particular, friend?” Doom turned toward the tall smiling youth leaning in the doorway of the lab. “I asked, does anything in particular work, or are you just thinking aloud?” The youth was Doom’s age, and he had short-cut brown hair which was already graying at the temples. Another mindless American dolt.
“Uh, it’s just that it looks like someone else is as anxious to use the labs as I am. My name’s Richards. Reed Richards.” He extended a hand.
Doom picked up a slide and placed it under the microscope. “That is of no concern to me. Leave me alone.”
Richards let out a long, low whistle. “Look, I don’t know why you’ve got this king-sized chip on your shoulder, but being we’re both here on scholarship, how about us rooming together?”
“I have no wish to share a room with anyone,” Doom said, his voice sharp and final. “I demand privacy! Good-bye.”
Reed Richards shook his head, smiling, though exasperated. “Well, it’s none of my business, but aren’t you carrying this ‘mad scientist’ bit a little too far? I only offered friendship.”
Shoving the microscope aside, Doom stood up. “Men always think their superiors are mad. Now leave—this moment. I have no wish for further conversation—now or at any other time.”
“Whatever you want, pal. It’s fine with me.” Richards was almost pleased he had been rebuffed. There was something ominous about Doom.
Leaving the Latverian, Reed roomed with another man, a big, burly football hero named Benjamin Grimm. As they became fast friends, Doom stayed alone, hidden in his laboratory.
Months flew by; classes were cut. But nothing mattered to Doom save his experiments. Not even Dean Collins could speak to the Latverian student with the delusions of grandeur. “See here, Doom,” Collins had told him, “you’re a student. I have no use for foul-tempered children. You will conform to university regulations, or . . .”—he let his voice drop for effect—“. . . or you will leave. Is that understood?”
Doom said nothing. For the moment, he needed the university and its equipment. And if it meant mollycoddling this base inferior, so be it. With an arrogant gesture, he spun and strutted out of the office and returned to his laboratory. He would have to speed up his work and then get out.
The door to his lab was ajar. Inside, a small desk lamp silhouetted the tall figure of Reed Richards hunched over an open ledger. Doom’s temper flared. “What are you doing here, cretin?”
Calmly, Richards turned. “Just wanted to say hello and see how you’re doing. You’re into some heavy material, Doom. Matter transmutation and dimensional warping. Interested in working with a partner? I’ve got my own theories on Negative space that—”
Doom cut him off. “I told you before, lout, Victor Von Doom works alone. Now, get out of here, or next time I see you I shall make you regret having come here.”
“Just trying to be friendly. By the way, you’d better double-check some of these equations. You’re a few decimal points off.”
Doom’s voice cut like thunder in the night. “Give me that! Now, get out! Get out this instant!”
Reed handed Doom his ledger and left, shutting the door behind him. No use in trying to befriend that maniac.
The reconstructed laboratory was behind his room; the newly built machinery was humming as usual. In the center of the darkened room sat a heavy steel-gray chair, wires and metal tubing lining its sides. Von Doom smiled. What could that fool know of equations? I am Victor Von Doom! I do not make mistakes!
“Von Doom?” The frail voice came from the shadows. The thin, blond-haired assistant stepped forward. “Von Doom, I fixed up your gadget the way you wanted, but I still don’t like it.”
“Yours is not to question me, dolt! Do as you are told!” Arrogantly, he strode toward the chair and sat heavily in its iron seat. He glanced toward the blond-haired man, who twitched fearfully as Doom stared at him.
“If the faculty staff ever learns that you’ve been conducting forbidden experiments, trying to contact the nether world—” He shook his head sadly.
“Those cretins will learn nothing, fool. By tomorrow my experiments will be done.” Doom gestured toward the red-painted lever on the computer console facing him as he lowered a clear plastic dome over his face. “You will throw that switch now. It is time! Now!”
“But—?”
“Now!”
Doom almost grinned, but he quickly clenched his jaws. My dreams will now become reality. His mind wandered to his mother: She dared to risk the infinite. She dared to challenge the universe. She—
A single corruscating moment almost ended all of Doom’s dreams forever. There was a flash of intense light, and a heart rending explosion. It tore through the laboratory walls and shattered glass everywhere throughout the campus.
The lab was a smoky ruin; chrome-steel computers were reduced to twisted lumps. Yet, somehow, miraculously, Doom still lived.
His bones were crushed, his face torn and mangled, yet he didn’t cry—not when he was dragged from his lab little less than dead, not when surgeons labored over him month after month refitting bone, grafting skin and tissue, applying new medicines never before used.
He lay helpless in bed for months longer, never speaking, never divulging what successes or failures his experiments had had.
Six months passed before he could move. And then his progress was astonishing. One day he was paralyzed; the next day he could walk. Doctors certified he would never again speak, that his vocal cords were frozen. Then, in a thick, heavy voice that sounded like roaring cannons, he’d order those same doctors to leave him alone.
Seven months to the day of the explosion, Dean Collins entered the darkened hospital room. The shades were drawn; only a small candle provided light.
“What do you want, Collins?” Doom demanded.
“To tell you that I am expelling you from school. You’re uncontrollable, Doom—a menace to us, and a menace to yourself. I’ll not put up with it any longer.”
For perhaps the first time in his long, grim life, Doom laughed. “There is nothing more you dolts can teach me, anyway. You had outlived your usefulness long before the accident occurred. Now, get out! If I ever see you again, I swear you shall feel my unending wrath!”
