Doctor Doom Detects Reed Richards' Return

A sensor pinged.

Doctor Doom tapped a control, and a holographic screen lit up. Behind his mask, the Latverian monarch's scarred lips twisted into a smile. A dimensional rip. Not unusual for an X-Men compound. But the psionic signature matched Franklin Richards—and as his satellites zoomed in on the supposedly protected compound, easily piercing the X-Men's protective arrays, he saw the outline of the ship—and the figures that emerged from it.

"Finally," Doom's voice echoed through the hollow halls of Doomstadt. "Odysseus has returned to Ithaca. Now his suffering can truly begin...for there is no loyal wife waiting for him."

"Franklin?" Reed Richards said, his eyes open. "Son? Is it really you?"

The angry young man's answer was a hard left that would have done his unarmed combat instructor's proud. Reed Richards took it standing, his **** deforming as it absorbed the blow. He didn't even flinch. Eyes filled with tears. His arms stretched out.

Franklin pummeled. He punched at that rubbery body. At the face that he had come to hate over long years of watching his mother become a constantly-pregnant slut, his family life a travesty. His father's face deformed under the **** of those punches.

Hot tears poured down his face. The tears he had saved up over years of agonizing embarrassment and resentment. All the emotions he had capped and kept inside of him.

Until at last the arms wrapped around him, and he buried his face into his father's shoulder and sobbed.

Great stony arms wrapped around them both. Then Uncle Johnny came into the group hug too. They held each other, as a family, for the first time since Porkum had come into this dimension.

"You don't know," Franklin said. "What happened. When you left us here!"

"Tell me," Reed Richards said, and his eyes were older and sadder than they had been a minute ago. Based on his son's reactions—on what he already knew—Mister Fantastic already guessed a part of the tragedy that was about to unfold.

On a yacht in the Mediterranean, Sue Storm lay sprawled on the bed. Hot jizz oozed out of her cunt, which was red and sore, though still tight after so many years and births. The words PORKUM'S PRIZE BREEDING SOW were branded onto the stomach above her cunny, along with a tally of the piglets she had birthed. Stomach already swollen with the next batch. Six pregnancies in six years. Twins every time. Twelve children, most of them back at the Baxter Building, much of which had been converted into a nursery managed by the H.E.R.B.I.E.s. Two of them were sucking at her teats as she napped, the youngest twins feasted hungrily as she napped.

Porkum was in the yacht's communication center, his jovial mood soured as Doom's visage filled the screen.

"Richards has returned," he said, voice filled with quiet triumph. "Soon, he will come for her—and you should be there to greet him. You and your entire brood."

Porkum grunted. The years had added some grey to his muzzle. Dissipation and **** had added pounds to his already hefty frame. The idea of going back to the Baxter Building with ten screaming brats...

"You sure about this Doomsy? I don't feel like throwing down with the entire Fantastic Four. Not exactly at my fighting weight, y'know?"

He could not see Doom's smile. But he could hear it in his voice.

"Worry not. The sight of his wife will break him. You will make it so."

"Yeah, I got it," Porkum said and cut the transmission.

He stomped back into the bedroom. He kicked the bed, hard enough to jostle Sue Storm awake.

"Pack the kids. Your deadbeat husband is here," Porkum said, his dark eyes intense. "And we're going to give him a show."