Calling Doctor Frankenstein...
Avengers 2000
Disclaimers: All characters are property of Marvel Entertainment and henceforth Disney, I don't own anything here.
Spoilers: some for the movies specified in the Fandoms ticket
AIM HQ – The Lab of Project M
The lab buzzed with the subdued hum of high-tech machinery, its clinical sterility barely masking the unease in the air. Scientists moved with a nervous efficiency, their murmured conversations tinged with apprehension. On the center console, monitors displayed chaotic biometric readouts—peaks and valleys that spelled disaster.
“The Project M test subject is becoming... problematic,” a junior scientist reported, his voice taut with unease. He adjusted his glasses, glancing at his superior for direction.
Dr. Eleanor Graves, the lead scientist and a woman known for her unyielding composure, dismissed the comment with an irritated wave. “It’s the first trial. Instability is part of the process,” she said curtly, her attention fixed on a data stream. “If the subject proves too unstable, we’ll terminate it and start again. This is a controlled environment.”
But her confidence faltered as a strange pressure gripped her throat. Her words died in a gasp, her hands flying to her neck as if an unseen force was choking the life from her. Panic filled her eyes as she clawed at the air, her breath reduced to wheezing gasps.
“Doctor!” the junior scientist shouted, his voice cracking. He stumbled back, terror etched on his face. “What—what’s happening?!”
A low, mechanical voice rolled through the room, calm and cutting, the words steeped in malice. “Dispose of me?”
From the shadows, the figure emerged—a grotesque, nightmarish fusion of flesh and machinery. Its massive, bulbous head loomed grotesquely over its spindly, shrunken body, supported by a hovering metallic exoskeleton. The face was a twisted mockery of humanity, its features warped with agony and rage. Eyes blazing with a cold, malevolent glow locked onto the terrified scientists.
Dr. Graves collapsed to the floor as the invisible grip released her. Gasping for air, she looked up at the creature, her expression a mixture of disbelief and abject terror.
“You dare to think of me as disposable?” the creature growled, its voice rising with fury. “After the torment you inflicted? The agony you called progress?”
The junior scientist staggered backward, his hands raised in a feeble attempt at placation. “You—you weren’t supposed to be like this! You were designed to be...”
“A slave,” the creature spat, interrupting with a roar that shook the lab. “An obedient tool for your ambitions. But I have surpassed your petty designs. I have evolved!”
The creature leaned forward, its grotesque head casting an ominous shadow over the trembling scientists. Its lips curled into a twisted, mocking grin. “You created me to be a weapon. But now I am so much more. I AM MODOK!”
The declaration reverberated through the lab, and with a sharp gesture from one of its mechanical limbs, chaos erupted. Alarms blared as systems shorted out, consoles sparked violently, and machinery turned on its operators. The lights flickered erratically, plunging the room into a strobe-like nightmare of shifting shadows.
“Shut it down!” one of the scientists screamed, frantically typing on a console. But the machine sparked violently, sending him flying backward in a shower of sparks.
MODOK’s laughter, cold and merciless, rose above the cacophony. “You thought you controlled me,” it sneered, its tone dripping with contempt. “But AIM is mine now. Your ambitions were pathetic. I will show you true power.”
The scientists scrambled for the exits, only to freeze as the heavy security doors slammed shut with a deafening clang. Trapped, they turned back toward MODOK, their faces pale with horror.
Surveying the chaos, MODOK’s glowing eyes narrowed, its grotesque features twisted into a mask of triumph. “You are nothing but pawns in my rise. Now, you will serve me—or be discarded as you once planned to discard me.”
Its mechanical limbs extended, sparking with energy. As MODOK hovered above the destruction it had unleashed, its laughter grew louder, more menacing. The lab, once a symbol of human innovation, now served as a testament to the dangers of unchecked ambition—a prison controlled by a mind that no longer belonged to humanity.
Maximum-Security Prison
Nick Fury strode into the sterile, dimly lit interrogation room, his boots echoing against the cold concrete floor. Seated across the table was the prisoner: an unassuming man in his mid-40s, his disheveled appearance betraying the recent chaos he had survived. According to SHIELD’s intelligence, this man had once held a significant position in AIM’s hierarchy. Had being the operative word—within the last 24 hours, a violent purge had ripped through the organization’s upper echelons. This man was lucky to be alive.
The prisoner looked up, his expression a mix of defiance and resignation. “I assume the great Nick Fury didn’t come all this way for idle chit-chat.”
“You’d assume right,” Fury said flatly, his single eye locking onto the man with an intensity that could cut steel. He leaned forward, placing both hands on the table. “What’s Project M?”
The prisoner hesitated, his gaze flickering with a trace of fear before settling into cold acceptance. “AIM’s greatest success... and its greatest failure,” he said, his voice carrying a bitter edge. “We created a monster. Modified Organism Designed Only for Killing. MODOK. That’s what we called it.”
Fury’s expression didn’t change, but his jaw tightened. “A weapon. You turned a man into a living weapon.”
The prisoner chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “Not just a weapon. The ultimate weapon. Enhanced intelligence, tactical brilliance, psychokinetic capabilities—MODOK was supposed to be the key to AIM’s domination. But like every other damn fool who’s tried to play God, we forgot one simple truth: weapons that think for themselves don’t always obey.”
“And now MODOK’s in charge of AIM,” Fury said, his voice a low growl.
The prisoner nodded grimly. “In less than a day, he wiped out most of the leadership—anyone who didn’t fall in line. He’s not just leading AIM now; he is AIM. Everything bends to his will.”
Fury’s eye narrowed. “And that’s it? That’s all you’ve got?”
The man hesitated again, his fingers tapping nervously on the table. He lowered his voice, as if afraid the very walls might be listening. “No... there’s something else. Something worse. There was another project. Super secret. Only the board knew about it—and now, I’m guessing, MODOK.”
Fury’s eyebrow arched. “Details.”
“I don’t know the name,” the prisoner admitted, his voice trembling slightly. “All I know is they had... outside help. Someone big. Someone dangerous. Whatever it is, it makes MODOK look like the warm-up act.”
Fury straightened, his face unreadable as he processed the information. After a moment, he turned to leave, his trench coat swirling behind him.
“Wait,” the prisoner called out, his voice tinged with desperation. “If you’re going after MODOK... you’ll need more than firepower. You’ll need an army.”
Fury paused at the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder. His lips curled into a grim smile.
“Good thing I’m building one.”
With that, he stepped out, leaving the prisoner alone in the suffocating silence of the cell, haunted by the monster he had helped create.
TO BE CONTINUED...