Mr. Doom (Completed)

Name: Mr Doom

Gender: Male

Tier: Street

Affilation: Anti-Hero

Group: Hounds Of Justice



*Beep Beep* *Beep Beep*

The silence in the room was pierced by the alarm clock going off. A figure stumbled around in the bed, moaning.


"Eh. It's too early for this."


Kicking his legs over the edge of the bed, Marcus sat up. His body old and abused, hardened by years of war, was beginning to give up on him.
 Marcus let out a small laugh, stretching out his cramping leg.

"Guess this body's getting old...Well after almost a century of fighting, what could I ask for?"


 Muttering to himself about his legs, Marcus got up, and began getting dressed, turning off the alarm clock in the process.


"Time to head out." He muttered under his breath.
 

Heading towards the door, he stopped to look at the frames on his desk. A couple of pictures lined it, a black and white picture of him as a kid with his family. A grainy photo of him in his World War 2 Military outfit, hanging around with his division. Another one in his superhero costume, beaming brightly next to his old mentor, MicroMan. A newer photo, of him in his fatigues for the Vietnamese War. With a sigh, he teared his eyes off the old photographs and headed out the door, into the busy streets of Trenton, the wildest city of New Jersey.

Personality

A couple of blocks down from his apartment, Marcus walked quietly, glancing at all the stores, with their fancy lights and shimmering merchandise.


"How technology has evolved.."

He muttered to himself, looking at a 4K Television on display.

"Hell, it looks like a window to another world."


Laughing, he turned away from the tv and kept on walking, looking around. He had to get to the Doctor's Office at around three, so he still had some time to wander around and get some excerscise for the old body. He knew the city like the back of his hand, having been born here back in the 1920s. Lots of things have changed, obviously. Seems like just a year ago he was fighting for his country, fighting the Vietnamese. He was viewed as a hero back then, a original hero, back when people actually respected heroes. Now a days it's a dime a dozen. Hell, throw a coin and you'll probably hit a super powered person in the streets. All just puppets of the government. What's the point of being a hero if you have no free will?


Turning around the corner, he would finally arrive at the clinic, a rather small one painted a dingy yellow. He'd been coming here since he was seventy, so about twenty years or so. Walking in, Marcus nearly gagged on the smell of the bleach used to disinfect. Strong stuff very potent.


Walking up to the table he would greet the nurse, "Hello Doris, good day isn't it? Anyways, I'm here for my appointment with Dr. Richards?"


Doris the Nurse smiled and spoke back, "Yes, of course, the usual door Marcus."


"Thank you."


Excusing himself, Marcus walked past the closed door, down the corridor and into the second door on the right, Dr. Richards' office. Walking in, he took a seat on the bed, and waited for Richards to walk in. A minute or so later, a heavy-set man would walk into the door. Belly protruding through his medical robes, his signature white beard, Dr. Neil Richards.


"Marcus, there you are!" The jolly doctor would exclaim, quickly offering his hand for a shake.


Graciously taking it, Marcus shook his hand and spoke back. "Alright Doc, let's get this done with."


"Heh heh, always in a hurry aren't we?" Richards reached walked over to his desk and took a seat. Reaching into it, he would pull out a baseball sized ball of metal.


"Like always, let's test your strength, this is a ball of pure steel. Do your worst." With that, Richards would toss the ball towards Marcus, flying through the air. With ease, he snatched it out of the air, easily crumpling it into a little ball.


"Easy" He said, laughing.


"Ok then Marcus, onto the next test."



"Ok, so float for me a little bit for me, wont you?" The Doctor would order.


Concentrating, Marcus began to rise slowly, hovering a couple of inches above the bed.


"Alright, check." Richards made a check on his clip board. "Hey, um, when exactly did you develop that one? I know you never had it as Mr. America, was it a side effect or something?" He asked, with curiosty.


Still floating, Marcus would reply, "Ugh, don't get me started on my days as Mr.America. I was a damn government puppet, like today's so called heroes. Buncha pussies. Anyway, yeah I think it was just after the Vietnam war. Both of my legs were shattered and full of metal. I really wanted to grab something, don't remember what, so I concentrate really hard. Suddenly it's getting closer and closer. Now I think it's thanks to the medicine mixing with the syrum that was making me see things, but when I look down, I was like six feet in the air!"


Dr. Richards listened with care. "Uh huh, puppets, you guys at the Hounds have the right idea. About the flight, that's amazing, to think you just had that in you. Well onto the next test."


Richards stood up and began to place wooden targets on specific points on the walls in his office. One was placed in front of Marcus, one to his left, one behind him, and one directly behind of Richards.



"Alright Marcus, give me a taste of those optical blasts." Richards told him, taking a seat in his desk. "Now, there is one target behind you, one to your left, the one in front, and one directly behind my head. Today, we are testing your maneuverability, so please refrain from burning down my clinic. Just a soft shot today, alright?"


Marcus smiled, "Doc, don't worry about that. Back in the day I was able to get Germans with these eyes from a mile away. Hell, I'd beat any sniper just by following the trace of the bullets. These beams saved my, and my squad's ass on a daily basis!"


"Heh heh, enough with the old war stories, you tell me every time you come. You ever have any new ones?


Marcus rubbed his chin, thinking. "Sure, I got one I could tell you afterwards. It was classified, but all of the scientists that did it are dead, so no one could yell at me."


That caught interest from Richards. The jolly doctor had been Marcus' doctor for quite some time, and every time he was told a new story, something spectacular occurred.


"Well then, Marcus, shoot."


Almost on command, Marcus' eyes began to light up a deep crimson color. Bubbling red liquid rolled down his face, only to evaporate instantly, forming a sort of mist around his face. The air began to smell of burnt hair, and just like that, the first beam fired off. The first target was the one directly in front of him, too easy. Calculating the distance to be about twenty feet, he visualized the beams doing a loop in the air, before they finally hit the wooden target, disintegrating it. The beams, did what he visualized, spinning and looping in the air like they were ordered.


"Show off." Richards muttered under his breath.


The second and third laser shot out almost at the same time. The first bent over backwards, in the shape of an arch, shooting straight over Marcus' head, dipping, and hitting the target behind his back. The latter curved sharply to the left, hitting the target dead on in the centre. The last beam, flew straight to Richards' face, but the old doctor, used to this, did not budge. The beam barely angled to the right, and curved around Richards, effectively destroying the last target. The crimson in his eyes began to subside, and the mist dissapatated, signaling the end of the dangerous act.


"Well?" The old man as with a smile.


"Well, you pass, like always." Responded the doctor. "Now, then, lets here the new story."


Marcus got up, which made the doctor raise an eyebrow. "We got to do it outside," he explained, "Or else I'll blow up the whole clinic."

Richards knew he wasn't bluffing, so he followed Marcus to the roof of the clinic, where there was no danger of any attack hitting a random bystander.



When they finally arrived at the roof, Marcus turned to face Richards, and began to speak.


"Well Richards, I was instructed by my superiors to never let this out, since it was not public knowledge back then, even now the details that were released are still kind of etchy. It was in the 1944, near the end of the big war. Now, the US and the Brits needed something to take care of those Nazis so a bunch of scientists began to work on aa little project called Project Manhattan. You know, with the nukes? Now, I had this ability to absorb energy and redirect it as eye beams, I could tank granades, other blasts, beams, you name it, I could shoot it back at you." He stopped to take a breath, "So, that's when I was informed of my new duty. To stand at about one thousand yards away from the drop zone of one of the nukes. They were testing to see if these things could kill supers. I thought I could take it, I was a kid, I was stupid. So they drop this thing, and in barely seconds, I'm sent flying backwards. My body began to process energy, but there was so damn much. My eyes blew up with so much beams coming out, shooting straight up for hours. If I ever stopped, I would've died."


Richards stood there, taking it all in.


"When I finally stopped a day later, I was a disaster. All of my skin had melted off and I had shot my eyes out. I was almost dead. Thank God that Madame Medic was on the scene, or else I would've died. She healed me the best she could, restoring my eyes and all. I was still bed ridden for two years as all of my organs regrew, and my skin and muscles also regrew. I was, for the better part of the decade, one of the strongest Super around. Could you imagine what would happen if they used that as a weapon? So I asked them. I asked, I begged them to not use it as a weapon. I begged the government. They still did. Twice. Thousands of innocent lives were destroyed. That's why I left AEGIS, that's why I joined the Hounds. AEGIS, the government, everyone else are just villains in disguise."


Richards stared in amazement.


"Well that's enough talking. I reckon I've got to go." Marcus said, laughing.


The two shook hands, and Marcus began to leave.


"Be careful out there, Mr. America." Richards joked.


"No, it's not Mr.America. It's Mr. Doom."