THIS IS FAMILIAR . he has heard this static before . he has heard it lull him to sleep , he has heard it tempt him to sink his hands deeper into dark matter , but it speaks in a voice that he does not recognize . its pauses to breathe are not its own . ( who / what are you ? )
what he feels grip his throat is not panic , but , rather , the realization that this is with purpose . this voice hums the same thoughts that cycle through his mind and before his eyes , it reflects the same image that he sees in puddles of water at his feet . viktor knows that this is prophetic .
the line cuts and the synapses of viktor’s mind begin to flare . his image warps and time bends for him to arrive back in latveria , quickly transferring the triangulation of the caller’s location from his phone to a computer . a handful of keystrokes and , somewhere , cctv cameras shift to a boy with disheveled hair standing at a payphone . viktor stares at the screen before him .
he does not turn. not yet. even as he feels doctor doom’s eyes on him from a million miles away, he does not turn.
instead, he tap, tap, taps a grey-brown finger against the receiver and the sound echoes. matted curls unfurl into pitch-black tendrils and inky veins begin to spread from his shoulder to his neck to his face.
“ DEATH IS SUCH AN EASY THING FOR YOU TO CONCEPTUALIZE. YOU HAVE SO MUCH EXPERIENCE WITH IT … BUT WHAT HAPPENS WHEN THE FATE IS WORSE THAN DEATH? ”
the line goes quiet. the veins spread further. he whispers in viktor’s ears:
“ WHAT IS YOUR WORST FEAR, VIKTOR VON DOOM? ”
static. silence. he is speaking -- but in some distant, unearthly tongue. a passerby shivers and tugs their coat tighter around their midsection.
“ WILL THIS BE -- YOUR -- PENANCE? ”
now -- he turns. his eyes are as black as his hair, as black as the veins crawling up, up, up towards his forehead. he stares into the cctv camera.
and then the feed goes dark.
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