Just Before The Ball

Nonstop red-eye flight to Latveria. Not to Doomstadt itself, but an international airport on the border. A luxury vehicle, old but immaculate, arrived to take her away. A Großer Mercedes, the kind of armored car preferred by East European dictators of an older age. The von Porkum château itself was on the outskirts of a small, quaint European town—well, no. The main straße was a carefully cultivated image of Old World urbanity, wooden ceilings and storefronts. Yet it had all the reality of Disneyworld. Behind the façade, she could see hints of brutalist concrete buildings, crumbling walls with strange non-English graffiti.

The château was more of the same. The Invisible Woman could almost feel the mix of old and new, layers on layers of it. The house had been expanded, rebuilt, redecorated. Parts of it might have been centuries old, other parts were made to look like what people thought a centuries-old European castle should look like. An aide, a young woman in a crisp black suit, guided her through a vast hall to richly carpeted corridor. The whole house was a bustle of energy, servants preparing for the event.

Her room looked like a little girl's dream of a princess' boudoir. A huge fireplace, a four-posted bed draped in silks and velvets, ancient, richly-polished wooden furniture, but incredibly modern amenities, including one of those high-tech Japanese toilets that required a remote control.

There was a dress laid out on the bed. Blue and white, silk and crepe, subtle 4s woven into it. With elbow-length white gloves, and three-inch heels. The blonde raised an eyebrow when she saw that the dress included silky white and blue lingerie.

"Alright," she said aloud, after the aide had left. "I'll wear the dress. But not the underwear!"

Sue ran one of Reed's scanners all over the room, to check for electronic bugs. There were none. She napped. She rose and went about her toilet. A hot shower. Adjusting her hair and applying her makeup, eyes and lips traced in blue and white. A version of her Fantastic Four uniform, one that simply covered her torso neck to crotch, with no arms or legs, in place of Porkum's provided lingerie. Then the dress. Sue hobbled for a few minutes in the unfamiliar heels before finding her balance.

The ancient grandfather clock struck the hour. It was almost time. There was a soft knock at the door.

The Invisible Woman didn't open it. She turned the door invisible, and saw on the other side—an unexpected figure. Like a massive, humanoid pig squeezed into a bespoke black-and-grey suit. The bristly pink jowls had been shaved, the bald pate shone brightly. Yet there was an undeniable snout on that face; small, floppy, triangular ears; and small, deeply-set dark eyes. The suit perfectly encapsulated his body, but could not hide the hige roll of fat on the back of his neck, or the bulge of what might have been a shotgun down the left leg of his pants. He had a small box in his hands, and bowed low, said something. Sound, however, did not penetrate the invisible door.

With a thought, Sue opened it, and the pig-man straightened.

"Mr. Porkum, I presume," she said, with a nod of her head. "How lovely to meet you. I'm Susan Storm, of the Fantastic Four."

Porkum smiled. It wasn't a pleasant smile.

"Miss Storm. So good to meet you," he said, his accent had a strange, nasal quality. Like someone raised in New Jersey trying to do a German accent, or vice versa. "I have a gift."

He extended his hand that held the box.