H.E.R.B.I.E. Contacts Outside Help

Reed Richards had, in a particularly paranoid if farsighted moment, foreseen the possibility that Sue Storm might be home alone, afflicted by a biological agent or related trouble, and require outside assistance but be unwilling to seek it out herself. He knew, after all, that while his wife was an intelligent and rational woman, she was also stubborn as a mule and had once hosted a secondary personality that had nearly killed them all. So programming the list into H.E.R.B.I.E. was a mere precaution.

The first four numbers on the list went straight to voice mail. Manufactured crises had temporarily consumed the attention of the Avengers, X-Men, and various related heroes; Tony Stark, Hank Pym, and Hank McCoy were unavailable. Wong answered and said that Doctor Strange was currently dealing with an invasion from seven adjacent hell dimensions and would be busy until approximately the next full moon, three weeks away.

H.E.R.B.I.E. continued down the list.

Moira Mactaggart answered on the fifth ring.

"Aye?" the Scottish woman said. There was a strong mechanical buzzing noise in the background.

"Hello, Doctor Mactaggart. I am H.E.R.B.I.E., calling on behalf of the Fantastic Four," he said.

"Fecking robocall. We don't want any!" she said, agitated. "Ah'm in the middle of a clit-polishin' session ye damned—"

"Please do not hang up! Susan Storm-Richards has a medical crisis! She needs your expertise in mutant genetics!" H.E.R.B.I.E. said.

A pause on the end of the line.

"Aye, alright. Ah'm lissenin'," Mactaggart said.

H.E.R.B.I.E. explained the situation. Sue Storm's exposure to the mutagenic reproductive material. Her physical and mental symptoms. The size and shape of the sex toy he had sent. Dr. Mactaggart asked several questions about the latter, and finally requested a photo. There was a deep inhale on the other end of the line.

"Ah need tae see this meself. Ah'm comin' ovah. Make sure she doesn't have any contact with anythin' else from Porkum, but see if ye can keep her distracted," she said. Then, after a pause, added: "And make sure ye have a good supply of lube on hand."

With that, she hung up. H.E.R.B.I.E. considered. The robot had received a response, strange as it was. Help was on the way. The script was complete. No need to call anyone else.

In her room, Susan Storm moaned, invisible cylinders sliding in and out of her slit, moaning and sweating in the throes of withdrawal. Unaware that help, of a sort, was on the way.