Doom Industries bore its founder's signature in every detail.
Outside the headquarters stood a towering thirty-foot statue of Victor von Doom himself—imposing, deliberate, impossible to ignore. Anyone approaching the building would be reminded exactly who was in charge.
Inside, Victor sat behind his desk, fingers steepled, expression cold.
Across from him, Reed Richards looked stunned.
"I'm shutting the project down," Victor said. "Effective immediately. Funding is withdrawn. The private space station is being recalled."
Reed blinked.
"…What?"
"You heard me."
"Why?" Reed demanded, disbelief creeping into his voice. "We had an agreement. This was months of work—years, actually. You can't just pull the plug like this."
Victor didn't react.
"Tell me something first," he said calmly. "What's the purpose of your project?"
Reed frowned.
"To study cosmic storms," he said. "To isolate their components, understand their effects on the human body—extend lifespan, cure diseases—"
"And how is that any different from what's already happening?" Victor cut in.
He tapped the book on his desk.
Everyone Can Train.
"Internal energy is real," Victor continued. "It's measurable. It works. It's already curing diseases we couldn't touch before."
His tone sharpened.
"Why would I keep pouring money into a theory when I have a proven system sitting right in front of me?"
Reed opened his mouth—
Then stopped.
Victor pressed on.
"Every biotech and pharmaceutical company is pivoting right now," he said. "Stock prices are collapsing. Entire industries are about to disappear."
He leaned forward slightly.
"I'm not going down with them."
Reed's hands tightened at his sides.
"This project is my life's work," he said quietly. "You can't expect me to just walk away."
Victor regarded him for a moment.
"Then don't," he said. "Join me instead."
Reed looked up.
"Internal energy is just another form of energy," Victor continued. "With your help, we can be the first to develop storage systems, amplification methods—real applications."
He extended a hand.
"Work with me."
Reed didn't take it.
"…No," he said after a long pause.
Victor's expression didn't change.
"Then this conversation is over."
Reed stood there for a second, then turned and walked out without another word.
—
Outside, the cold air hit him hard.
Reed exhaled slowly, forcing himself to think.
There had to be another way to restart the project.
Another backer.
Another path.
"Dr. Richards?"
Reed turned.
A man in a black suit stood a few steps away, wearing a polite, almost disarming smile.
"I'm Reed," he said cautiously. "And you are?"
"Phil Coulson," the man replied, offering a handshake. "I'd like to talk to you about a project."
Reed didn't take it.
"Not interested," he said. "Not right now."
Coulson didn't seem bothered.
"Is that because your funding just got pulled?"
Reed stiffened.
"…How do you know that?"
Coulson smiled faintly.
"We've been following your work," he said. "You previously consulted on a classified program—Sentinel development."
Reed's eyes narrowed.
"You helped solve a major compatibility issue," Coulson continued. "Multiple abilities, one system. That kind of thinking is rare."
Reed didn't deny it.
"We'd like you back," Coulson said. "Temporarily."
Reed hesitated.
"And what do I get out of it?"
Coulson's answer came immediately.
"Time."
Reed frowned.
"The cosmic storm you're interested in—it's still weeks away," Coulson said. "Work with us until then. Finish what we need, and we'll help you get into space to study it."
Reed's expression shifted.
"You can actually do that?"
Coulson shrugged lightly.
"It's not Mars," he said. "We can manage a launch."
Reed considered it.
It wasn't ideal.
But it was a path forward.
"…Alright," he said finally. "I'm in."
Coulson nodded.
"Good. One condition."
Reed waited.
"This project is classified," Coulson said. "While you're involved, you cut all outside contact. No discussions. No leaks."
Reed exhaled.
"Fine."
"You'll have a day to prepare," Coulson added. "Need a ride home first?"
Reed shook his head.
"No. Let's go now."
The sooner he finished this, the sooner he could get back to his real work.
They got into the car.
Moments later, it pulled away and disappeared into traffic.
—
High above, in Doom's office—
Victor stared at his assistant, disbelief flashing across his face.
"…Say that again."
The assistant swallowed.
"Wilson Fisk called personally," she said. "Noah Vale will be visiting tomorrow."
Victor's expression sharpened.
"…And?"
"He specifically requested to see the cosmic storm project."
Silence.
Victor reached for his phone immediately, dialing Reed.
No answer.
He tried again.
Still nothing.
Again.
Voicemail.
Victor slowly lowered the phone.
"…No," he muttered.
That project—Reed's project—was the one Noah wanted to see.
And he had just shut it down.
"Damn it."
He dropped into his chair, the earlier composure gone.
If Noah left unimpressed—
This wasn't just a missed opportunity.
It could tank everything.
His assistant stepped forward cautiously.
"Sir… maybe he's just visiting. It doesn't necessarily mean—"
"You don't understand," Victor snapped.
He stood abruptly.
"Noah Vale showing up is the opportunity."
His voice hardened.
"If this goes well, the company's value doubles overnight."
A beat.
"If it goes badly… we're finished."
The room fell silent.
Victor closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again—focused, decisive.
"Get everyone from that project on the line," he ordered. "Now."
If Reed wasn't here—
They'd make do without him.
No matter what it took—
Tomorrow had to go perfectly.