Sue Gets An Offer To Model For A Magazine

The Skrulls made a M.O.D.O.K.

Not that the Fantastic Four knew that right away. It looked like a single Skrull the size of a ten-story building. Unleashing blasts of psionic ****. Then Ben Grimm leaped from the Fantasticar and punched it in the head—and what had been hundreds of individual Skrulls, psionically linked and controlled by the M.O.D.O.K., fell apart.

Which meant instead of one shapechanging foe, the Fantastic Four now had hundreds.

It was up to the Invisible Woman to set up a box and contain them. She stood on the street, fingers pressed against her temples as she sought to focus and maintain the invisible container as the Thing, Human Torch, and Mister Fantastic waded into the green melee. The non-M.O.D.O.K. Skrulls were almost mindless and zombie-like, but their sheer numbers were problematic. Sue strained to her utmost to concentrate, to hold the box against the repeated impacts...

...all while ignoring the comments of the people around her.

"Holy shit, look at that ass!"

"Quick, take my picture."

"God, I would eat that ass like the antidote is in it."

"She looks like a stripper!"

"Slut."

"Whore."

"Bitch is setting feminism back fifty years."

Sue Storm tried to drown it out. Not just the catcalls and whispered appreciation, but the jeers, the sheer noise of disapproval. Her family needed her, and she couldn't bother with the petty opinions of the weak, pathetic people who envied her perfect body and her obvious power. The pain of such extensive use of her power built and built in her skull, but it was working. She could see it, as fire flashed and Ben smashed and Reed tied himself around the swollen head of the Skrull M.O.D.O.K.

He must have done something vital, because all of a sudden all of the Skrulls collapsed, and Ben Grimm gave Sue Storm a thumb's up.

Gratefully, she released the invisible **** field box. There was a polite cheer from some of the New Yorkers. Most of the rest just moved on with their day. A few were still taking photos of the Invisible Woman's ass.

One of them walked up to her. A tall woman in a burgundy office jacket and skirt with matching heels, dark sunglasses, tattoos visible on the shaven sides of her head.

"Mrs. Richards?" She said. "I'm Dorothea Milani. Superheroines Illustrated. Have you ever thought about modeling? We'd love you on the cover."

Sue Storm turned and stared coldly at the woman. But there was something about her—a sincerity, a confidence, the obvious fitness of her body, that showed she was a gym rat, not just some skanky photographer. The Invisible Woman accepted her card.

"I'll think about it," she promised.