Chapter Text
She knew she shouldn’t have sent that fanmail.
First off, it was idiotic. She always regretted doing anything after two seconds anyway. Telling a guy she’d marry him despite him being scary and powerful (metaphorically speaking), that his way with words and intense voice made her both weak in the knees and want to bang her head back and forth. And that she wouldn’t hold it against him if he wanted to meet her face to face.
Secondly, she should have checked the email better. Most of her confidence manifested around two a.m. every night, and perhaps the delirium from her sleep deprivation had helped her mistake the address. A simple ‘r’ was accidentally substituted with ‘o’. Turmio became Tuomio. Both meant ‘doom’. Fitting, really.
Thirdly, she shouldn’t have gone for that late night sandwich at Subway. Or maybe she should have stayed inside the place to eat at least.
~~~
Doctor Doom did not pace. He strategically exercised his already-perfect legs as he contemplated politics, new inventions and if it was true that Reed had really invented a wooden gun. Just the usual Tuesday, really.
A servant appeared on the doorway of his laboratory. Swallowed. Cautiously knocked on the already-open door to announce his presence. “Sire, we have received an… unusual electronic mail from abroad.”
Doom stopped, boot settling with a heavy thump on the stone floor. He did not even turn. “Another puny insect attempting to… ah, cancel Doom, is that correct?”
“No, not really, sire. Quite the opposite. It appears to be… a love letter, Your Excellency.”
A love letter. Bah. Such things were beneath Doom’s time. He already knew how his devoted subjects worshipped him, gave hurrays whenever his carriage went past their tiny homes and marketplaces, how his merchandise sold out amongst children - abroad as well as within his borders.
Just another pair of eyes to observe his magnificence? A welcome but regular occurrence. Nothing special.
The servant got no response, thus he cleared his throat. “The email, Your Excellency, was sent to the midwife department you established in Finland as part of your… attempts to coax them to agree to trade deals. We thought it to be an error, but alas, sire, the letter does seem to address -”
“Show it to me.”
The servant swallowed and briskly walked up to his lord. Doom was to never be kept waiting. A small tablet was shown to the sovereign of Latveria, screen flickering to show the message - Finnish switched to English.
Intense brown eyes showing from the slits of the metal mask lowered upon the device. He undid the translation of his program that he had created one afternoon between his duties. Truly ingenious, helpful to his minions, but ultimately worthless to him personally - being a master of over thirty languages did that to him.
‘Hey! I know this is probably hella odd and out-of-turn but, hell, you are kinda the same, right? You know who you are. I don’t need to say names, do I?
I won’t blabber too much and waste your time but, man, your way with words? Awesome. Epic. Stuff of legends. Like words of death coming out of the fiery mouth of a dragon, even when you rant about politics and money with way too many metaphors. I listen to you when I do my dishes. Or take the trash out. Or go for a walk. Or during anything really.
I know you got this kinda mysterious looking persona, your face is never bare it seems. Love the paint. Whoa. Not much to say about that - even if you were, uhh, hideous, I’d still wanna marry you for your voice and imagination. How you come up with that stuff you do, I don’t know. I love it.
Oh, and yeah. I wanna marry you. You could hold a speech at our wedding with your epic, deep voice. You could summon Satan with your chants alone and I’d invite him for a dance.
I won’t hold it against you if you take me out on a date sometime. I’m lonely. But please, I know how metal you are, but I can’t eat raw meat.
Best regards, Riina.
PS. Youtube keeps copyright claiming my personal archive of your content. I’m sorry! Please don’t strike me down.’
Doom never asks what he just read. He knows that well enough himself. But he did blink slowly. Not a mention of his rule over his own country? His mastery over both mysticism and science? The way he makes UN leaders secretly cry after public speeches?
But this… this woman. This Riina.
Apparently her approval of him borders on fanaticism. Just as it should be - Doom is a god. He had no idea what she meant when she mentioned the paint, though - his mask did not need any paint.
“Hm.”
The servant tensed at his lord’s hummed response. It was impossible to tell if it was more a dismissal or subtle approval.
“She thinks she can marry Doom? Just because she appreciates Doom’s words and his mind? Bah. She merely recognizes her superior, a simple ant gazing up at the one above gods, at me,” Doom ranted dramatically to both himself and the man still holding the tablet.
“Sire… What should we do?” the servant asked cautiously.
Doom turned his head slowly, eyes narrowing. “‘We’? We shall do nothing, minion. You, on the other hand, will send an order for this mail to be traced. I want everything about this woman traced and logged. The file should be brought to me within the hour.”
“Sire?”
“Am I being unclear, minion?” Doom growled now, stepping forward. Metal boot connected with stone with a loud thump. “Go, before Doom shall reassign you to sanitary duties.”
“Y-yes, Your Excellency!” the man squeaked and rushed away immediately.
Doom turned back towards his half-finished inventions. Between his thoughts of brooding, disgust of Reed and thoughts that no mortal should ever gaze upon, he simply wondered: how on Earth did this woman send her little ‘fan mail’ to his Finnish midwife department?
No one surely could be that stupid. Except Reed. Always Reed.
Somewhere behind the scenes, his intelligence division traced the sender’s location to Kittilä.
~~~
“That’d be twelve euros.”
“Twel- hey, wasn’t it eleven eighty last time?”
“Sorry, we have upped our prices.” The girl behind the cash register yawned and kept glancing at the clock in a very non-subtle way. A silent message for the customer to pay and fuck off so she can go home.
Riina sighed and beeped her card against the reader, paying for the meal. Offering a basic brief thanks as she took the crinkly paper bag containing her precious supper.
Twelve euros for a sub? She already saved money for the damn rent and basically cooked the same meals week after week. One time she decided to break this monotony of her usual routine, and Subway dares to up its prices? Really?
Everything in Finland was already expensive. Surprising that they did not force you to pay for the air you breathed.
She walked down the nightly sidewalk, clutching her sandwich that cost more than half of her regular store budget. There was no one outside and her stomach was growling like an angry cat so she unwrapped the paper slightly. Bit down at the end messily. A few reindeer walked around, not really caring about her. Nothing unusual there.
Up ahead were three figures beneath a streetlight. Facing her. In apparently green cloaks. Or blankets. Hell no.
She checked both ways before darting across the road to reach the opposite sidewalk. There were no crossings but hell, she was not going to get kidnapped tonight.
She stopped. The figures had crossed with her. Mirrored her movements.
“...Mitä vittua?” she muttered, lifting an eyebrow. Jehova’s Witnesses really caught up to her today, huh. (“...What the fuck?”)
She turned around. No way in hell was she going that way.
Footsteps. Synchronized. Heavy. Like cement bricks banging against the asphalt. She calculated the distance back to Subway and decided perhaps she could reach it. A few cucumber and tomato slices dropped out from her bread as she started running. Small sacrifices.
She wasn’t quick, but she wasn’t going to die either.
There was a loud whoosh sound above her like a fighter jet taking off. And then one of those bastards landed in front of her. Crouching. It rose to full height, Riina skidding to a screeching halt before a collision could happen.
“Jesus fuck!”
“Scanning in progress,” the thing intoned. Flat. Echoing. Like talking into a fan with a straight face.
“Mitä -?” (“What -?”)
The thing lifted its hood. Metallic face. Two eyes glowing light green. And then it shot a wide, transparent beam above her hair. It swept down her body before she could even attempt to rationalize what kind of sci-fi set she had ended up in.
She turned around mid-scan, only to see the other two creepy figures blocking her path. This close she could clearly see them glinting under the green cloaks. Like medieval knights dressed in nature lover Dracula’s cloaks.
Riina was so sure she was in some hidden camera show that was going to end up with thirty million people watching online. She could picture the comments already. Or not really - her brain was repeating “what the fuck?”, “I’m gonna die” and “my sub is getting cold” in a hurricane of panicked thoughts.
“Scan finished. Subject: Riina M. Rahikainen confirmed.”
'A robot? Ugh. And people still call ‘The Terminator’ a work of fiction.'
“Extending an invitation from Latveria’s benevolent autocrat, Doctor Victor von Doom. Please read the instructions carefully. Attendance is mandatory.”
“...Who? The what? What the hell is this?”
The robot must have printed a damn invitation from its chest because there is a whirring sound under the cloak, and then suddenly a metallic arm dips under it to retrieve a paper. Hands it out to her.
She stares. At the invitation. Up at the masked face of the bot. At the invitation again. Takes it and turns it in her hands.
Finally, she read the paper.
‘Greetings.
You are hereby invited to dine with Latveria’s sovereign Victor von Doom on the 1st of July. Attendance: mandatory. Dress code: formal wear. No need for belongings - Castle Doom will have everything to accommodate Doom’s guests.
Be sure to let Doombots know about possible food allergies.
Victor von Doom, ruler of Latveria.’
“Uhhuh… So, uhh, that’s tomorrow? And right now it’s,” Riina checked her watch, ‘’twelve past ten o’clock.”
“Invitation extended. Preparing to escort the subject,” another robot intoned. Doombots. Yes, Riina got it now. Whoever this Doom-guy was, he sure liked his own name. Maybe it was his brand? She hoped he did not own the DOOM series as well.
Wait, did that thing just say escort?
“No thanks, I can make it home by myself,” Riina quickly said, waving the paper. “I got the message, very cool. Yep. I’ll just…”
She turned towards the way to her apartment. Two Doombots still blocked her. She flashed a forced smile and sidestepped them - only for one of them to mirror her movements.
“Hey, can you move, please? I need to go to sleep and finish my sandwich.”
Which had already gotten cold and messy, the ingredients slowly spilling out due to her clutching it too hard.
“Subject attempting escape. Preparing to escort.”
“What? Escape? Dude.”
She tried again. The bot stepped in her path. Again.
“Listen. If I wanted an escort, I would have gone to Thaila- hey!”
Metallic fingers wrapped around her elbows. Her own fingers slacked momentarily, her sub falling onto the sidewalk. Spilling out. Tragic casualty. Her twelve euros? Gone with the wind.
The other two metalmen lifted her legs and waist.
She was shocked, then angry, then scared as she was quite literally carried off the sidewalk as the bots activated thrusters on their feet, keeping a firm hold of her. Even if someone did see the scene and called the police, there was no way anyone could have chased them through the air. Much less when a flying vessel appeared for the bots to land on with her.
The vessel closed its ramp and sped away through Finnish airspace.