Showing posts with label Reading Room. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Reading Room. Show all posts

Thursday, July 10, 2025

Reading Room: FANTASTIC FOUR: DOOMSDAY Part 3


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!”

To Be Continued...Tomorrow at
Seduction of the Innocent!

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Fantastic Four: Doomsday
AudioBook
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Thursday, July 3, 2025

Patriotic Reading Room 1776: the Movie Conclusion

When Last We Left a Disfunctional Congress...

...no, not the one currently screwing up America!
The one screwing up the founding of America!
Specifically, conservatives, even then, "right-wingers".
Some called them Tories.
Some called them "traitors"!

How Thomas Jefferson was ...persuaded...to write the Declaration was abridged in the comic...but not in the movie!


To keep the horny Jefferson on-task, a little feminine assistance was imported from Virginia...

Sexually-satiated (in a tasteful, Comics Code-approved way), Jefferson pens the Declaration of Independence...

...and then the debating really began...


One matter the comic avoids, but the movie (and the play it's based on) doesn't is slavery and how it was addressed in this situation...

And now, back to the voting...
And thus was the "Great Experiment" Born!

Happy 249th Birthday, America!

I Hope and Pray We Reach the 250th!

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Tuesday, July 1, 2025

Patriotic Reading Room 1776: the Movie Part 1

Before Hamilton, There Was a Broadway Musical About the Creation of the USA!

But, unlike Hamilton, there was a comic book adaptation of it...when it was transformed into a movie!



As you can see, doing a musical as a comic book has a major drawback!
NO MUSICAL NUMBERS!
But we have a solution...Insert the songs back into the narrative!

Now, on with the comic...

Time for another song!

Again, back to the comic...




To Be Continued...Tomorrow...
at Secret Sanctum of Captain Video!
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Sunday, June 29, 2025

Atomic Reading Room TALES TO ASTONISH "Voice of Fate"

...but with some interesting variations!
This story by plotter Stan Lee, writer Larry Lieber, and artist Don Heck is from Atlas' Tales to Astonish #33 (1962) and is a retelling of "Mister Black", which appeared only a couple of months earlier in Atlas' Strange Tales #93 (1962).
You'll note the protaganist is now American...but still a draft dodger.
Of course, the story omits why the Japanese would even take him in (since he had nothing of value to the government), or how he even got to Japan in the middle of World War II...
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Thursday, June 26, 2025

Atomic Reading Room STRANGE TALES "Mister Black"

 Continuing our look at how American comics portrayed the bombing of Hiroshima...

...with a tale featuring a Japanese protagonist!
Was this story from Atlas' Strange Tales #93 (1962) an inventory tale from the 1950s?
Artist Bob Forgione lost his ongoing freelance work at Atlas when the company cut back in late 1956-early 1957 after losing their newsstand distributor.
When this story was finally published, Forgione was working steadily for DellACG, and DC.
It also appears to have been the last original tale by Bob that Atlas/Marvel published.
(All subsequent stories were reprints of earlier material.)
Also, could it have been reworked from an unpublished Witness tale?
Every comic company had a cloaked mystery man narrating stories about "everyday" people (and occasionally influencing them, as well).
Timely/Atlas' entrant in the Mysterious Traveler/Whistler/Phantom Stranger/Man in Black Called Fate competition was The Witness, who had his own one-shot comic and a number of stories scattered in other titles.
At any rate, an extremely-similar tale appeared only a couple of months later...by one of the now-revived and thriving Atlas/Marvel's hottest artists!
Be Here Sunday For the Final Horrific Hiroshima Tale!
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Tuesday, June 24, 2025

Atomic Reading Room STRANGE TALES "Eyes that Never Close"

With the 80th anniversary of the bombing of Hiroshima coming up...
...we're presenting several tales from the 1950s-60s relating to it.
This never-reprinted story from Atlas' Strange Tales #61 (1958) treats the bombing as just another disaster, but one the criminal won't escape from.
Illustrated effectively by Bernie Krigstein, who tells a story in only four pages that most artists today would need twenty pages for.
BTW, the writer is unknown.

Be Here Thursday For the Next Horrific Hiroshima Tale!
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Thursday, June 5, 2025

Reading Room DO YOU BELIEVE IN NIGHTMARES? "Man Who Crashed into Another Era"

Here's a short story featuring dinosaurs, illustrated by Steve Ditko...
...just before his stint on Charlton's Gorgo!
Ok, so it was the old "It's only a dream" scenario.
You got to admit, it's well-done!
From St John's Do You Believe in Nightmares? #1 (1957), a short-lived anthology produced just before St John went out of business.
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Tuesday, June 3, 2025

Reading Room STRANGE WORLDS "Abduction of Henry Twigg"

Here's a dream come true for all us fanboys and nerds (Yep, I'm one)...
...in this Joe Kubert-illustrated tale from Avon's Strange Worlds #8 (1952)...
Talk about politically-incorrect...from both sexes!
But it's still entertaining, and that's what counts, eh?
Note: we've run stories from two different series named "Strange Worlds".
This tale is from the first one, published by Avon Comics in the early 1950s.
By the late 1950s, Avon Publishing had abandoned comic books and concentrated on "traditional" publishing (hardcovers and paperbacks) in various genres (including sci-fi and horror).
Curiously, when comics became "hot' in the 1960s, Avon did not reprint their comic library in paperback format the way Ballantine Books did with EC ComicsSignet did with DC ComicsLancer did with Marvel. and Belmont did with Archie's super-heroes!
Considering they owned the material and didn't have to pay to reprint it like all the other publishers did, it seems like a lost opportunity for Avon to make some quick cash.
Note: We've re-presented several tales from the other Strange Worlds, published by Atlas Comics in the late 1950s, literally right before they became Marvel in 1961!
It's easy to tell which is which, since the Atlas/Marvel version features work by creatives like Jack Kirby, Don Heck, and Steve Ditko who would be the creative mainstays of the Marvel Age of Comics, while the Avon books have art by illustrators who would make their mark at DC, like Joe Kubert and John Forte!
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