Negative Zone Fantastic Four: Frightul Origins

THE FANTASTIC FOUR: HEROES OF THE NEGATIVE ZONE!

BENTLEY WITTMAN — THE WIZARD

He’s the architect of chaos turned keeper of order. The mind that built a thousand weapons now builds myths. Clad in regal purple armor with a helm that gleams like a second face, Bentley Wittman commands not through strength — but through genius and fear. The Zone’s rulers call him Director. His team calls him Wizard. He calls them... necessary evils.

THE PUNISHER DROID

Cold. Relentless. Perfect. Once the herald of Galactus’ judgment, now reprogrammed and rebuilt as the Frightful Four’s enforcer. An obsidian tower of weaponized faith, its red optics burn with alien calculation.

It speaks rarely, obeys absolutely, and remembers everything. Some whisper it still dreams of annihilation. The Wizard keeps it close — just in case.

MAC GARGAN — IRON MAN

Once Scorpion. Once Venom. Now reborn as Iron Man of the Zone. Encased in the Virus Armor — a scarred, monstrous refit of War Machine tech and alien grafts —Gargan is chaos given form. He flies like a comet and fights like he’s got something to prove. The press calls him a hero.

The underworld calls him a nightmare. Sue calls him hers

SUSAN STORM — IRON MAIDEN

Former Invisible Woman. Current storm of temptation and destruction. Her armor mirrors his — sleek, violet, and wickedly feminine — but it’s her mind that cuts deepest. In a realm ruled by hunger and power, Sue has learned to weaponize both.

She fights beside Mac, sleeps beside him, and saves his life more often than she admits. Together, they’re the beating, burning heart of the Frightful Four — lovers forged in the distortion of the Zone

Heroes, villains, lovers, soldiers —

Bound by collars, contracts, and desire.

The Zone calls them saviors.

The Core Collective knows better.

They are the FANTASTIC FOUR OF THE ZONE!!

Issue #01 — FRIGHTFUL ORIGINS

It had been less than an hour since Sue Richards stepped into the Negative Zone. She was already kneeling, shackled at wrists and ankles, a suppressor collar digging coldly into the base of her skull. The cold floor pulsed beneath her—a bio-metallic platform laced with veins of luminous energy. The scent was sterile and stale, like machinery left running too long. Around her loomed the architecture of some penal cathedral—a holding structure owned not by any Earth government but by the so-called Core Collective of the Negative Zone.

And she was alone.

She cursed herself, silently and with increasing intensity. How stupid. How reckless. She had answered a distress signal from the planet Mantracora, arrogantly thinking she could manage it herself.

Reed’s off-world with Hank... Ben’s away with the Guardians... Johnny’s with Crystal, God knows where... Her analytical mind ticked through calculations—like Reed would’ve done. Every hour on Earth stretched into fourteen days here. Thirteen, if you were generous.

Reed wouldn’t be back for five Earth days. That was over two years here.

Ben? Not until Monday. It was only Friday morning.

Johnny... Maybe. Maybe he'd notice her absence. Maybe he’d get curious at breakfast and stroll past the portal room. But that was twenty-six hours. Twenty-seven.

Nearly a full year in the Zone.

"Three hundred sixty-four days," said a voice from the dark.

Her eyes lifted.

A figure emerged from the shadows, encased in shimmering alloy armor—sharp-lined, elegant in its menace. A silver faceplate reflected her own pale, chained form. "If you’re lucky," the man added.

Lockdown. Shadow City’s silent warden. Hero to the Zone, feared by its criminals.

“Plenty of time to carry out your sentence,” he intoned.

“S-Sentence?” she managed.

He listed the charges like bullets: trespassing into the Zone, unauthorized portal activation, environmental tampering, and instigation of conflict with the Tyannans, Arthrosians, Kestorans, and Baluurians. “Reed seeded Earth spores through the Distortion Areas,” he added. “Do you understand how deadly that is to this realm? That alone could have earned you a voiding. A painless death. Instead, you’ve been given a sentence. One standard Zone year. Serve it, and all charges vanish.”

Her fists clenched. “And who exactly will I be serving with?”

From the gloom behind Lockdown, another figure stepped forward.

Bentley Wittman...The Wingless Wizard.

“Welcome to the Zone, my dear,” he said with theatrical flair, his purple armor catching light in eerie gleams.

A step behind him—Mac Gargan. Virus. The ex-Scorpion. Ex-Venom. Now in pieced-together War Machine gear, painted black and green, his eyes gleaming with manic mischief. “Welcome to the team!” he grinned, baring teeth like a hyena.

Between them stood a steel tower—angular, skeletal, with red optics glowing in cold precision. A Punisher Droid. Once herald to Galactus.

Sue’s blood ran cold. “That’s a—”

“Reprogrammed,” said Wittman. “More or less. Don’t worry. He only follows my commands.”

Before she could argue, she was yanked to her feet. Shackles unlatched with a hiss. She rubbed her wrists, immediately scanning—guards, exits, and observation nodes. Her instincts sharpened. Her powers were gone, but her training remained.

Mac and Wittman wore collars too. Subtle. Seamless. But there. They were prisoners too.

The team was guided to a cold lab. Sleek armor suits lined the walls. Warped Iron Man designs: brutal, angular, and utilitarian. Sue’s eyes found her assigned unit—curved plating, violet accents. Feminine. Familiar.

“Your design,” she said bitterly to Wittman, eyeing the overly styled chest piece.

“I work with what I have,” he replied. “This is not the Baxter Building.”

“It’ll do,” Mac said, stripping off his jacket.

Sue’s eyebrow rose. He was cut. Muscles knotted and lean, scars crossing his shoulder blades like old fault lines. A man twice her age with the physique of a soldier. She looked too long—instinct, not thought.

He caught her gaze and smirked. “Enjoying the view?”

“Keep talking, Gargan. I’ll knock your teeth into the back of your throat—and then you’ll have to digest them just to smile.”

She turned, hair flipping like a whip, and strode to the changing alcove. The suit fit oddly. Tight in places.

A prickle-something jabbed her near the ribs.

She hissed. Needle? Implant? No time.

Outside, comms engaged. The heads-up display blinked to life. Target indicators. Probability readouts. Energy signature tracking.

Bentley’s voice crackled through her helmet. “Target is uploading. Morg.”

Sue blinked. No. No way. “Morg?” she snapped. “The Morg? Herald of Galactus? That's Morg? We’re not ready! He’s a monster—unstable, violent—”

“A simple stun job,” Lockdown interjected. “Sedate and return.”

“He’s not a dog, he’s a cosmic berserker!” Sue shouted. “We need strategy—training—”

But they were launched.

The four flew through the Zone’s poisoned atmosphere toward the decaying husk of Heteropteron—a gothic fortress once ruled by Catastrophus. Now cloaked in the energy signature of something worse.

They never reached it.

Morg intercepted them midway, an asteroid belt his killing ground. He came without warning—a screaming comet of fire and axe.

Virus went first—slammed across the sky by a backhand that cracked his faceplate.

The Punisher Droid moved in with automated precision, but Morg tore through him, peeling plating like fruit skin.

Bentley launched gravity bombs. They did nothing.

Sue barely dodged a cleaving swing that would have split her in half. Her suit screamed warnings—power integrity failing. She tried to blind Morg with flares and maneuvered beneath his guard. But he anticipated. Grabbed her. His axe slashed her chest plate, severing it in jagged strokes. A strip of armor flew off—her abdomen exposed, the edge of her cleavage flashing as coolant hissed from her frame.

She screamed.

Then, he lifted her.

Primitive. Animal. He slung her over his shoulder like a war prize. Her fists pounded against his back, but he was unmoved.

He flew away—toward Heteropteron.

Sue’s helmet sputtered. She heard Lockdown’s voice in her ear:

“Impulse and instinct... meet consequence.”

Not long after...

Lockdown's ship hovered near the jagged asteroid field, its hull cloaked in the shadow of Negative Zone suns. Onboard, the remnants of the so-called "Negative Zone Fantastic Four" had regrouped, but tension pulsed hotter than the surrounding ion storms.

"So... are we going in after her or what?" Mac Gargan grunted, his armored arms folded, leaning beside the viewport. His gravelly voice echoed through the metallic command chamber. "We're just going to leave Susie-Q with that axe-wielding psycho?"

"Not yet," Bentley Wittman—the so-called Wizard—replied coolly, already engrossed at a sprawling alien console beside a Tarsuuan bio-engineer, the creature’s limbs gnarled and tentacled, half-machine, half-flesh.

Mac squinted. The Wizard always acted like he knew more than everyone else. The silence thickened as Lockdown, tall and inscrutable in his polished dark-blue armor, stood with arms crossed, watching the screens like a surgeon waiting for a vital heartbeat.

The Punisher Droid stood by the wall, perfectly motionless, glowing eyes awaiting orders, its plasma rifle humming.

Mac’s agitation boiled. "Why the hell's

everyone so calm? Are you planning something, or have you all forgotten Sue’s out there, shackled to a damned monster?"

Above them, holographic vitals flickered into view—Morg’s and Susan’s—lines of alien code and pulses spiking across multicolored graphs.

Wizard didn’t look up. "Brain function, amygdala stimulation, anterior insula... heightened activity. She's scared."

"You think?" Mac snapped. "What is this, a science fair?"

Lockdown spoke finally, his voice modulated and deep. "It took us months just to get the biorhythm beacon on Morg. His skin—Caranerian alloy flesh, from your universe—is nearly impervious. The idea of stunning him with a dart was always folly."

Mac blinked. "So we were bait? She was bait?"

"Sue... is the delivery method," Lockdown corrected. "For lack of a better term."

Mac turned to the wizard, fists clenched.

"You drugged her?"

"Not quite," Wittman said, flicking through readings. "She was injected with a dual compound. One component—a sedative engineered for Caranerian physiology. The other, a protective counteragent. It immunizes Sue, but not Morg."

Mac’s jaw worked. "How the hell’s it supposed to get in him?"

Lockdown turned to the next screen, pointing at a magnified set of readings. "Morg has... impulses. Weaknesses. He’s susceptible to Chit. A neuro-narcotic refined from the venom of the Crystal Spiders of Kestorus. Crushed pheromones. Highly addictive. Highly arousing."

Down in the bug castle...

Morg chugged wine from his large cup. More like poured it down his large mouth.

Behind him, on the floor, Susan Storm stood covering her breasts and sex the best she could with her hands.

"Morg...listen, you don't have to do this!" She begged. The insane warlord monster had shredded her Iron Man suit like it was aluminum. Then tore her panties like paper. "We can fight Lockdown toge—" she gasped suddenly when Morg turned. His metal codpiece had been removed. Something huge strained against the crotch of his black pants.

Morg closed the distance between them, red dust in one hand. He shocked her by grabbing her ass, making her gasp. Dust poured into her open mouth, and she coughed. It hit her lungs, instinctually taking in a breath. The drug hit quick. Warming her body all over. Heat rose from her head to her loins.

Back up on the ship...

On screen, Sue's vitals showed an alarming shift. Her heart rate slowed. Blood pressure dropped. Fear-based signals in the hypothalamus and periaqueductal gray area faded.

"That’ll help with the pain," Lockdown murmured. "Morg doesn’t like resistance. When the subject is calm... he begins."

Mac was already trembling. "You planned this?"

"Observe," said Wizard, pointing again.

"New patterns—elevated dopamine, serotonin... and look—vasopressin, oxytocin..." The wizard nodded. "Hormones designed to excite. To enhance arousal."

Mac’s face twisted. "She's aroused?"

"Her brain is," Wizard corrected. "The cycle has begun."

Down in the castle...

Sue's hands had moved to cup her sex, and one tweaked her nipple. From covering herself to almost displaying herself. Her loins burned. Her eyes finally opened and adjusted, trying to make sense of her betraying body. She gulped in fear seeing a nude Morg before her...seeing IT! Between his legs...a monster.

He sipped more wine. Never even speaking and moved towards her. His hulking form was imposing.

Sue's eyes were on the huge, bat-sized, red, bulbous, veiny cock between his legs. "I can't do that, Morg...married...or not...it's...it's too big...not even Reed ever..."

But the huge Canerian alien lifted her by the waist like a doll and positioned her above the prick. "You're going to kill me!" She sighed, looking at him.

Morg smiled and finally spoke. "Maybe."

Up on the ship...

The screen began flashing with warning colors. Blood pressure spikes. Temperature climbs. Neurotransmitters flooding.

"She's peaking," Lockdown said quietly.

"What the hell is this? A snuff show?" Mac’s voice cracked. He looked at the readouts—Sue’s body signaling wave after wave of biochemical spikes. Morg’s own vitals began to echo the rhythm, slower but stronger.

Another spike.

Then another.

Then both charts lit up.

"A shared peak," Wizard whispered.

Down in the castle...

Sue was being moved up and down on the huge alien cock. She could literally see it pushing out from her stomach as he used her. Like a masturbation doll. 'You're nothing to him,' she thought. 'No heroine. No savior. Not the Invisible Woman...just a hole.' Her pussy was wet and slick from the drug. His hot cock filling her cunt had her body betraying her mind. 'Just a fuckhole...' she thought, and it added to her arousal. 'I'm just a warm fuckhole!' Her eyes crossed, and she came. "Oh god!" She cried out. Morg felt the tight pussy clench, and he exploded, pulling her down and impaling her.

Up on the ship...

The villains watched the screens.

"Dopamine, serotonin... oxytocin, vasopressin—simultaneous neurochemical bonding," Lockdown said, voice grave. "He's relaxed. Vulnerable."

Alarms screamed from Morg’s console. Heart rate crash. Pulse thready. Respiration is shallow.

"He’s out," said Wizard. "Deep sedation. Induced sleep."

Sue’s vitals still fluctuated, slower and softer.

Lockdown turned to them.

"Suit up. We retrieve Susan... and neutralize Morg."

Mac Gargan’s fist clenched. He didn’t like it. None of it. But he noted Sue's continued arousal. His own cock twitched, thinking about the beauty.