Dobré Ráno, Doktore
Dobré Ráno, Doktore
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Prince Viktor Markov Ambros Pietro Zahuba, known better in the West by his Americanized name, Victor von Doom, absolute ruler of Latveria, made is his habit of never showing panic, urgency, or fear in front of his lessers – which meant everyone else on Earth as far as he was concerned. This did not means he didn't feel these emotions. Just that he had carefully schooled himself to not put them on display for everyone to see.
With that in mind, the fact that he was walking calmly into the robotics lab in Latveria Castle didn't give away his emotions at the alarm that was currently sounding as he did so, or the fact that his emotions were peaking as he surveyed the utter destruction of every piece of machinery in the lab. All of the computer banks had been melted into slag. The robot assemblers were on fire. Even the chairs had been torn asunder. The guards and technicians who usually manned the laboratory were all unconscious or dead, stacked like cordwood against a far wall.
The largest collection of wreckage was the pile of destroyed Doombots in a slowly growing pile in the center of the lab's factory floor. Slowly growing, because as he watched, a women in blue tights and a red cape was swiftly adding to it. She would grab one of his robot decoys, disassemble it messily and more swiftly than should be possible, and toss the resulting pile of bent metal and plastic it on the pile before grabbing a new one. He could see there were only two of the robots still standing in the charging pods.
A loud crunch of metal. One left.
Doom touched a control on one gauntlet, turning up the volume on his armor's exterior speaker. “EXCUSE ME! JUST WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING? THIS IS PRIVATE PROPERTY AND THOSE ROBOTS BELONG TO THE GOVERNMENT OF LATVERIA. YOU HAVE NO RIGHT....” Before Doom could get another would out, the woman in blue had flown to him faster than he could react and had grabbed him by his armor's faceplate and gorget, right along his jaw line, and lifted him off his feet. He could feel the metal of his helmet crimping in on his face under the pressure of her fingers.
The women hissed at him. “Hush! Mommy's working,” was all she said before tossing him backward into the bricks of the lab wall hard enough to leave the imprint of his body in them. She turned her back on him... ON HIM! How dare this common whore give him her back and if she was his superior. She then destroyed his last robot duplicate.
He regained his feet just as she turned back to face him, and he gave her the full force of his displeasure in the form of his advanced repulsors, mounted in each gauntlet.
The woman didn't even flinch. “One of your robots got into a tussle with the Fantastic Four yesterday, in downtown New York City, Vic.” Underneath his armor, Doom seethed at her disrepect, and hit her again with the repulsors. She still didn't react, and advanced on him despite being hit with the kinetic force of a speeding locomotive. “During the fight, your robot collapsed a school building. With the students still inside.”
She was within arm's reach when he hit her with a blast of concentrated microwaves. By rights it should have cooked her from the inside, but for all he could see, she was totally unaffected. The woman shoved him against the wall. “Your robot killed four kids and has left another paralyzed below their shoulders. Poor kid's going to be breathing through a ventilator for the rest of her life and will never walk again, all because you and your petty little narcissistic dick-measuring contest with Reed Richards.”
“I am not responsible...” she slapped him across the face. The blow was hard enough to tear his mask off his helmet and break his jaw.
“No, Victor. You don't get to slip out of this. Not this. I know you have these robots lojacked and you know where they are at all times. And I refuse to accept thatr you don't have a way to power them down or just self-destruct if they go off the reservation without your approval. You did this, Victor. You're responsible.” She pulled Doom away from the wall, then slammed him into it again. He was leaving a dent.
He finally resorted to punching her. In his armor, he was easily as strong as Benjamin Grimm, yet she once again didn't even flinch. He tied to say something about diplomatic immunity, but it came out mangled due to his broken jaw.
“What was that, Vic? Are you trying to claim Diplomatic Immunity?” She laughed. “Got bad news for you, Vic. I'm not a nation, and to me, you're just a murderer, and I am sick of your shit.” With that, she hauled back one overly-muscled arm and punched him in the chest, right below the line of his pectorals. His chestplate caved in and he felt his ribs shatter. Everything below his shoulders went numb and he suddenly couldn't breathe.
“Don't worry, Vic... I'm going to leave you in good hands.” His vision began to darken as she picked him up in a fireman's carry and by the time she was moving, he was unconscious.
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Four Days Later
Prince Viktor Markov Ambros Pietro Zahuba, known better in the West by his Americanized name, Victor von Doom, absolute ruler of Latveria, climbed his way back to consciousness. The first thing he noticed was he wasn't in his armor. The second was that there was a machine breathing for him. Learning nothing from staring at ceiling tiles. he gently turned his head to the left and right, trying to not dislodge the oxygen tube that was connected to his throat.
“Oh good. Your Highness, I am Doctor Kirshner. You're at the Latverian Royal hospital. You were brought in four days ago by an American superhero.” The doctor was projecting calm, but Doom could see he was terrified of something. Doom opened his mouth to speak, but he could only croak pitiously.
“Your Highness, don't try to talk, please. Your on a permanent ventilator and you will need to relearn how to speak.” The doctor grimaced before continuing. The good news is, you are in no danger of dying. The bad news is that your spinal column was crushed and your spinal cord damaged. You are paralyzed from your shoulder down and can no longer breath on your own. You likely will also never walk again..."
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