Mae Is Being Held Captive

The internet cafe was not far from Four Freedoms Plaza. In a hoodie, ballcap, sunglasses, facemask, and sneakers, Sue Storm looked like any other 30-something mom out to surf the web on something other than her smartphone. She was as invisible as yet another New Yorker as she ever was with her powers, and drew far less attention. A tall coffee with a shot of espresso helped seal her disguise, and the store took cash, which cut down on the electronic trail.

Not that Sue couldn't have explained to Reed why she was looking up her old friend Mae on the internet—but if she did that, she knew she'd have to either lie to him or confess about the photos. No, this was safer and more discreet. No need to drag her husband into this unless absolutely necessary.

Sue Storm hesitated, not sure where to begin. A simple DuckDuckGo search for Mae Milton would probably bring up thousands of hits. Perhaps the university's alumni page might have some information... The Invisible Woman moved the mouse cursor to the address bar and prepared to type—when someone else began to type for her.

Behind her sunglasses, the blonde's eyes widened as the address bar filled in with a string of numbers, ending with a .xxx domain.

The screen flashed. A new page loaded. Black, with no advertisements or obvious buttons. Almost crude, like something from an earlier iteration of the internet. A single video occupied a rectangle in the exact middle of the page. Below it, a black rectangle with a blinking white cursor. Some sort of chat program.

A naked redheaded woman bound to a chair.

It had been over a decade since Sue Storm had seen her friend Mae. They had both grown up, and out, no longer the young woman they were. Yet she recognized the grey eyes as they stared at the camera. In a glance, sue saw how Mae's breasts had grown bigger—no, they were obviously implants, too spherical, too high up on her chest, with no sag. Mae had kept fit too, hints of muscle obvious on her thighs and shoulders. The ropes that tied her to the chair dug into her freckled skin, and Sue noted that the knots were tied above and below the joint, to minimize movement but allow circulation. A red ball gag was strapped into Mae's mouth.

HELLO SUSAN. DID YOU LIKE THOSE PICTURES?

The words appeared in white against the black text box. Sue tapped into the keyboard.

What do you want?

I WANT TO PLAY A GAME. DO AS I SAY, AND YOUR FRIEND LIVES.

A man stepped into the frame of the camera. In a white biohazard suit, face and body entirely concealed. A wicked-looking knife in one hand pressed against Mae's throat.

CONTACT ANYONE ABOUT THIS, SHE DIES. DISOBEY ME, SHE DIES. TRY TO FIND US, SHE DIES.

Sue was stiff. Her coffee in its tall paper cup and plastic lid sat untouched next to her. A part of her wanted so much to reach for her communicator, to let Reed know. The Fantastic Four had resources this foe could barely conceive of. A part of her wanted to issue a retort...but she wouldn't type that. Instead she typed:

What do you want?

There was a moment's delay. Sue saw Mae barely breathe, the edge of the knife against her throat. All because of Sue.

DRINK YOUR COFFEE. ALL OF IT. PUT YOUR SMARTPHONE AND COMMUNICATOR IN THE CUP.

Sue stared at the coffee—and then she stared around the internet cafe. At the barista, the five or six other people on computers. Everyone ignored her, as if she was invisible.

Then they all stopped. Their heads turned and they looked at her. A dozen pairs of eyes fixed on her.

Sweat dripped down the barista's forehead. She was a young woman, in her twenties, tattoos peeked out from beneath her long black shirt.

"Please, do as they say," the barista said. "They have my daughter."

"My wife," the nearest man said, an older fellow with a greying beard, in a brown suit with leather patches on the elbows like a professor.

"My mom," a young man in a hoodie said, across from her. He was black, eyes bloodshot as if he had been crying.

Sue Storm swallowed. Yet what choice did she have?

The coffee was still hot. Sue imagined how bitter it must be. What strange aftertaste it might have. Yet she didn't taste it. Unseen to all, an invisible funnel filled her mouth as she poured the coffee in, a gulp at a time. To sit in an invisible sphere in her stomach. An uncomfortable solution—yet as Sue dropped her smartphone and Fantastic Four communicator in the paper cup, she knew at least that she wasn't going to be ****.

All right, she typed, as the young man in the hoodie fetched the cup. What now?

In his lair, Mysterio typed his next command.