Yes; Doom Is Patient

In Doomstadt, an armored monarch let his fingers move through the familiar patterns above the pentagram. Black candles flickered through different colored flames. In the mirror was Johnny Storm, standing before the mirror in his own bedroom, dressed in the small bra and panties that Susan Storm had bought for him.

The Latverian tyrant could see the effects of the substances that Johnny's sister had dosed the Human Torch with, derived from Porkum's biochemistry. Antiandrogens that attacked and destroyed the young man's testosterone, mutant versions of estrogen and progesterone that made changes at accelerated rates. Other, more subtle substances. Already, Johnny was effectively sterile, Porkum's sperm having hunted down and killed the Human Torch's own. A chemical castration which would accelerate the changes as, on a genetic level, chromosomes shifted.

A process that would take months to fully change the gender of the Human Torch, but which was progressing satisfactorily.

As the candles flickered, Doctor Doom saw the colors of Johnny's aura play over his body. A pink tinge around the edges had turned the normally blue and masculine spiritual glow a deep purple. It spoke not to a shift in biological gender, but to the Human Torch's mental state. As Johnny Storm posed in front of the mirror, the fear and revulsion, the body dysmorphia, were already shifting to acceptance.

Doctor Doom had expected Johnny Storm's biological transformation. That was inevitable, a product of Doom's unassailable silence and Porkum's unique biochemical warfare. This was different. Unexpected.

Johnny Storm turned around and bent over the bed. The pert buttocks that were presented stirred something inside of him. A cold and long-dormant ember of desire.

Reed Richards' wife was compromised. His brother-in-law was becoming his sister-in-law. Unseen, the first cracks in the Fantastic Four were there, ready to break them apart.

Now, Doom asked himself: What would happen to Johnny Storm afterwards?

Possibilities mapped out in his mind. Without direction, the younger Storm would be lost, adrift, vulnerable. Porkum could claim the new woman, or someone else. The thought did not disturb Doom, but it did seem...potentially wasteful.

His eyes focused on Johnny's ass as he decided on his next move. Not to speed Johnny Storm's transformation, but to guide it toward its optimal end.