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Chapter 53: The Doom That Follows
🕑 Added 2025-08-23 14:29:25 +0000 UTCHours dragged on like a funeral procession. Emergency responders and SHIELD agents had packed up and left, abandoning the core group to their vigil around Jay's still form. Beast had insisted on hooking him up to every life support machine in the building, his scientific mind refusing to accept defeat.
"Artificial circulation keeps the tissues viable," he muttered, adjusting ventilator settings for the fourth time. Blue fur clung to his sweat-dampened forehead. "Slows cellular breakdown. If there's even a chance..."
Nobody had the heart to tell him that hope was fading fast.
Xavier rolled in around midnight with Jean and Scott, their faces grim as undertakers. Jean dropped to her knees beside the chamber immediately, eyes closing as she reached out with her telepathic abilities.
"Anything?" Reed asked. His arm was properly bandaged now, but he still held it like it might fall off.
Jean's brow furrowed deeper, sweat beading as she pushed harder. "Can't get through. His shields are still up—stronger than ever, actually. But Charles..." She looked up at Xavier, confused. "The shields are active. They're working."
Xavier's wheelchair creaked as he moved closer. "Mental shields require conscious effort to maintain. This suggests brain activity continues despite apparent physical shutdown."
"So he's..." Sue couldn't finish the sentence.
"Not dead," Xavier said firmly. "Not yet."
They worked through the night like grave robbers trying to raise the dead. Reed recalibrated every scanner in the building. Beast ran brain wave analyses that would've impressed the Mayo Clinic. Jean and Xavier tag-teamed telepathic attempts until Scott had to physically drag Jean away before she collapsed from exhaustion.
Nothing worked.
Then dawn crept through the broken windows, and every screen in the lab flickered to life. Every screen in the building. According to Beast's panicked monitoring, every screen in New York. America. The entire globe.
Doom's metal mask filled them all, the face plating more melded to his skull now, those burning eyes radiating cold satisfaction.
"Citizens of the world, I, Victor Von Doom, rightful ruler of Latveria, speak to reveal the truth your leaders have concealed!"
"Jesus Christ on a pogo stick," Beast swore, claws flying over his keyboards. "Television networks, internet feeds, emergency broadcasts—he's hijacked everything!"
Doom's image leaned forward conspiratorially, like he was sharing state secrets. "You have been told the Baxter Building houses heroes. That the Fantastic Four represent humanity's finest. But Doom brings you the truth they desperately wish buried!"
The screen switched to news footage—crystal clear shots of Jay in Central Park, hands glowing green as he knelt beside Frank Castle's family. But Doom's narration poisoned every gesture.
"Behold your supposed 'hero.' Witness his manipulation of public sympathy. But this touching performance is merely theater. Observe the truth of what this creature actually is!"
New images flashed worldwide—Power Broker in full face mask, leading disfigured mutants through underground tunnels. Footage from the Hellfire Club showed the same masked figure orchestrating attacks on wealthy patrons, his followers moving with military precision.
Rogue gasped. "That ain't Jay—"
"This man you call Jay is the terrorist known as Power Broker," Doom continued with theatrical gravity. "Leader of the murderous Morlocks. Orchestrator of violence against innocent humans. Observe the evidence of his victims!"
The screens filled with images that made hardened heroes look away—Hellfire Club members twisted beyond recognition, faces melted into grotesque masks of flesh.
"Sweet mother of Darwin, where did he get this footage?" Beast whispered, his scientific mind automatically cataloging the medical impossibilities.
"He infiltrated your beloved Fantastic Four under false pretenses," Doom pressed relentlessly. "Promising to cure Benjamin Grimm, then manipulating both the Fantastic Four and X-Men under the same lie—to enhance his own abilities using their expertise while recruiting mutant children for his underground army. Behold the child called Leech—before and after Power Broker's 'enhancements.'"
The most damning photos yet—a barely human child with scaly skin and dead eyes, then the same child looking completely normal. The implication was clear and completely backward from reality.
"If he possesses such power to normalize the child, why not simply cure Grimm and McCoy instead of this elaborate charade? Every heroic act was calculated deception. Every moment of trust was manipulation. Every rescue was reconnaissance for future attacks. And the final insult—" Doom's voice dropped to a deadly whisper. "This man has no evidence of legal existence before Anthony Stark revealed himself as Iron Man. Fabricated birth certificate. False school records. No childhood friends or witnesses. Only hastily forged government documentation to provide them with a controllable puppet hero!"
The lab fell silent as a tomb. Reed's face went white as laboratory paper. Sue covered her mouth with shaking hands. Even Rogue stepped back from Jay's body, her Southern accent thick with confusion.
"You have been deceived by your own government," Doom concluded with obvious satisfaction. "Your leaders created a false hero for propaganda purposes, and Doom has courageously exposed their lies. This creature you call 'Jay' is nothing but a terrorist weaponizing your compassion. A predator disguised as a savior."
The screens held on Doom's mask for one final moment, metal features somehow conveying smugness despite their rigidity.
"Doom has spoken. The truth stands revealed. I led the charge to expose this fraud, but your heroes and government tried to silence me. Even at the cost of my perfection, I completed this sacred duty and ended the false prophet Jay 'the doctor.' Let justice follow."
Every screen went dark simultaneously, leaving the heroes in pools of morning light streaming through shattered glass.
The silence that followed was suffocating. The evidence had seemed overwhelming. The logic appeared bulletproof. The photos and footage looked completely authentic.
And Jay couldn't defend himself because Jay might never wake up.
"This is complete bullshit," Tony finally said, but his voice lacked its usual conviction. "You guys know Jay."
"Do we?" Reed's analytical mind was already dissecting possibilities. "Victor's correct about one thing—Jay has no verifiable past before two months ago. No documentation, no records."
"Reed," Sue warned, but uncertainty crept into her voice.
"I ain't sayin' I believe that nutjob," Rogue said carefully, "but some of them photos looked mighty real. And we X-Men were there for most of what he's talkin' about."
Beast stared at the dark screens, his brilliant mind racing through scenarios. "The technological sophistication required to fabricate evidence this comprehensive would be considerable. But not impossible for someone of Doom's resources."
"So we're supposed to believe Jay's been secretly running the Morlocks as Power Broker this whole time?" Scott asked incredulously.
"I have seen stranger things have happen." Steve said quietly.
Doubt spread through the room like nerve gas—invisible but deadly. Each hero found themselves studying Jay's unconscious form with new questions, new suspicions. The man who'd risked everything to save them suddenly felt like a stranger.
Doom's broadcast had achieved exactly what he'd intended—turning the world against someone who couldn't speak for himself.
In that moment, Victor Von Doom claimed a victory more complete than any battlefield conquest. He hadn't just beaten their bodies with armor and energy blasts.
He'd made them doubt their own hearts.
Comments
Arsylvos
Doom, Marvel's biggest sore loser
Gemaxter
Apparently getting his face mangled wasnt enough.
