The Mole Man Demands A Sexual Favor

Past (between Avengers #17 and Fantastic Four Annual #3)

Sue Storm frowned at the newspaper. MOLE MAN ATTACKS THE AVENGERS—AGAIN! the headline read.

"Oh, Harvey!" she muttered under her breath, and stuffed the newspaper into a nearby trashcan.

The Invisible Girl was incognito. Rain drizzled the streets, and she was not in her Fantastic Four costume, but in a navy peacoat, black skirt, and matching black umbrella. She looked like any other young woman in her twenties, fresh from university.

Not at all like a junkie looking to score.

The 91st Street Station was formally closed; the only official entrance was chained up. At a thought, Sue turned the lock invisible, and used a hairpin to work the tumblers. No one saw the young woman slip into the dark. She waited until the door was closed behind her before she pulled the small flashlight from her pocket.

The pink pills had run out. Harvey's message on where to find more had arrived, tied to the leg of a six-legged rat that had climbed through the Baxter Building's pipes. Sue had retrieved the small scroll before Johnny and Ben caught the poor beast, and then Reed began to talk of new, subterranean defenses for their superhero headquarters. Sue had rolled her eyes as the boys did their thing, and had feigned a headache.

Which led her here.

Her flashlight found the Mole Man on the edge of the subway gap. Staring into darkness. He looked up as her light played over him. Harvey looked...much the same as ever. Short. Stout. That huge hunker of a nose. The beady, sensitive eyes hidden behind his custom goggles.

"The Avengers, Harvey?" she said. "Again?"

"I sensed an opportunity. Without their most powerful members—" he shrugged. "It matters little. I escaped. How are you feeling, Susan?"

"Like a **** addict," she said, unable to hold bitterness out of her voice. "Those pills you gave me, Harvey. I can't stop taking them. And without them I—I get these cravings—nausea—loss of appetite. I can barely think—"

The Mole Man gave her a sad smile.

"That might be more than one thing, my dear," he said gently. "My pills are designed only to help regulate your moods. Improve your psychological health. The rest—what have you been getting up to with that husband of yours?

"Honestly, Harvey!" Sue said, putting her hands on her hips. "Reed and I aren't even married yet!"

"No?" he said. "So you haven't—"

"N-no—" Sue said, realizing what she had admitted.

The Mole Man grinned. His hands were already unbuckling the broad belt on his green uniform.

His pants dropped to his ankles, revealing thick-set, hairy legs—and something else.

Sue Storm did not scream. She only looked on in a kind of mute, fascinated horror. She had no idea what strange efforts the Mole Man had gone through over years of subterranean exploration. The devices he had designed to stretch and elongate. The mutative potions that caused erectile tissues to swell in unpredictable ways. The curious surgical alterations that embedded small spheres of precious metal beneath the skin.

All she know is that the lumpy thing that jutted out from between Harvey's legs was thicker than her wrist with a head as big as her girlish fist.

"Perhaps I can be of assistance to you in other ways than just providing you more pills," the Mole Man said. "I can initiate you to the arts of love to be a better wife to that future husband of yours."

"No," Sue said, but her voice was week, her stomach trembling. The Mole Man held up a bottle of pink pills and let them rattle. He shook one out and placed it atop the very tip of his monstrous prick.

"Come now, my dear," he said. "I insist."