31 A Sublime Senate

"Thank you for registering this time, Mr. Parker," the woman behind the desk smiled at him. The clock that showed 6:00 p.m. was positioned right over her head, perhaps in an attempt to make the whole thing look symmetrical.

Peter merely nodded and turned around, holding back the urge to bitch-slap the woman to the moon. She had been acting as though he was a security risk due to not registering once.

'Can't let one person ruin a good day,' Peter thought to himself as he went through the routine security checks he'd gotten bored of. He'd managed to publish his papers with the help of Dr. Martha Connors, who made him painstakingly go through every single sentence he'd written in all of them.

Of course, even though all of them possessed no mistakes, much to Martha's surprise, it still took about four hours due to the complications of his registering in the submission system. He was still technically a minor, and the outlet had policies against it, which stalled the process for a few hours.

Eventually, Osborn himself came through, personally calling up the publication outlet and making them change the aforementioned policies within an hour.

'I want to hate him, but I've got to say, he's quite charismatic.,' Peter thought, as his bag was being scanned. ' I can see why people failed to suspect who he really was. The fact that he's practically Wilhem Dafoe doesn't help, whatsoever.'

He walked through the metal detector and T-posed for the guard who scanned him once more.

'But the fact that the WGCR is in Latveria...that may or may not be a good thing,' Peter mused, recalling the incredible prowess of the country's sole monarch, Victor Von Doom. He really didn't know how his own intellect compared to Doom, but it probably did not exceed him by much.

'An opportunity is an opportunity, I guess,' he mentally shrugged, choosing to take the fact that his first conference would be in Doom's territory in his stride.

The security blitzed through the rest of the checks as they were quite competent, and he walked out into the streets, away from the Oscorp Complex that looked nothing like what they did a few weeks back.

The roads were damaged, shops were broken, cars were cracked, and paint, signs, and signs littered the sidewalk. The riots had done a number on the city - especially the second wave, after the military intervened. Homeless people littered the place, setting up tents and even attempting to sell small pieces of garbage.

"The T-shirts here are for sale, you want one?" a deep voice asked him once he began walking down the littered sidewalk where city maintenance workers, sanitation workers, and garbage cleaners were endeavoring to put the city back together, piece by piece - hoping that it would one day have some degree of normalcy.

"Hm?" he turned around and spotted a very odd homeless man with an overgrown beard that was dirty but pure black. He wore tattered clothes and had bronze skin that had paled due to malnourishment. An odd, black ring with a blue stone fit snugly on his finger, but that wasn't the strangest part about him. His abyssal black eyes, which seemed to suck him in, stared unblinkingly into his own hazel ones.

'He is human... that's for sure,' he thought, clearly sensing the homeless man's mind. Other than the ring, and his oddly dark eyes, he seemed normal enough, but...there was just something off, as though he just didn't fit in.

An array of shirts sat before the man, with illustrations of a giant fist smashing down on figures resembling the Rhino and a picture of Killian - something the government was forced to release due to the riots.

It was poorly made, but the title of [ Humanity's Last Stand ] that was plastered at the top caught his attention.

'The beginning of a mini-revolution, uh,' he thought, remembering the radical group in the comics. 'Fascinating to see it evolve in person.'

"I think I'll pass, thank you," he said, reaching into a pocket in his backpack and pulling out a large protein bar before throwing it to the man. "Here, you look like you need it."

The man's hand shot out, grabbing it with surprising dexterity.

"Thank you. I appreciate your generosity. I wish you well on your journey," he grinned, showing unusually white teeth.

"Nobody talks like that," Peter said, amused.

"Hang around with enough ancient folks with a stick up their ass, and you'll start talking like me too," the man chuckled, unwrapping the chocolaty protein bar and taking a bite.

"Yeah, yeah, sure," Peter muttered before walking off.

"Good luck! You seem to be doing much better than me," the man called after him, in a slightly ominous tone which Peter frowned at.

'On second thought, I do look rich,' he thought, looking at his outfit that outlined his well-built body, before shaking his head. "I'll be rich soon enough.

RING! RING!

His phone in his pocket began to buzz.

6:10 pm

'SHIT! The dinner is at 7:30!', he began before frantically looking for a taxi.

'I need to get back to the house, quick!' he thought, butterflies prancing about in his stomach at what could transpire tonight.

***

The large, intricately designed doors of the Senate Chamber creaked open, revealing a well-dressed man whom two guards escorted with deep, navy-blue uniforms.

A pure black suit comfortably sat on his sturdy figure as black Oxfords covered his feet. He exuded an I'm-old-but-am-still-hot aura owing to his blessed looks and grey hair at his temples. His light brown irises scanned the room, lingering on the 'The Apotheosis of Washington' on the ceiling before landing on the rows of mahogany desks and chairs that were arranged in a semi-circular fashion.

Each individual senator desk was covered with leather, slightly curved and equipped with an electronic voting system. Nameplates rested on each one, displaying their state's names, but that wasn't what drew the attention of the people who first walked in.

Even the entire Chamber that was richly decorated with neoclassical architectural details, Corinthian columns, ornate molding - the walls covered in velvet curtains, American flags, and historical paintings couldn't grab the notice of the people as much as the presiding officer's desk did.

It sat on an elevated platform at the front of the chamber, made of carefully carved walnut, with intricately engraved designs. Above the desk was a grand, arched window that allowed natural light to bleed through, making the desk seem like it was reserved for someone holy. Ironically, it was the only desk whose nameplate had fallen forward, obscuring its name - the most important desk wasn't as perfect as it wanted to be.

"That's your seat, sir," the guard pointed at the Witness table that was elevated to allow the entire committee to easily see it. It too had a nameplate that read 'Dr. Reed Richards' and a microphone.

"Thank you," the man smiled and walked over, the creases in his forehead emphasizing his middle-aged countenance. He was a tad bit early, but due to the throngs of protestors still outside the building, he was escorted to the Chamber early, not that he needed the protection, either way.

He walked over, sinking into the comfortable chair at the table and looking at the practically empty Chamber, excluding the Capitol guards wearing the very same navy-blue uniforms.

'How on earth did I get here...', he mentally sighed to himself, as he reminisced about his past, especially the time when his life took a sharp turn for the better, or worse, depending on how you viewed it.

Inspired by America's successful landing on the moon in 1969, he, if he wasn't being modest, with his prodigious intellect had designed the starcraft 'Marvel-1' to study the cosmic rays around Earth's orbit, and to begin developing humanity's first defenses against extraterrestrial threats.

But he and his team were bombarded with a cosmic ray storm, changing their lives forever.

'Well, fighting mundane human crime isn't the most exciting,' Reed sighed to himself, his mind wandering back to the one and only time he'd met an extraterrestrial creature - one called Gormuu, and one he'd defeated by using a power ray he'd personally built.

'Those were the days...', he unconsciously smiled, but that quickly disappeared the moment he heard the doors behind him creak.

He immediately stood up and looked behind him, seeing numerous senators walk in with their security escorts.

"You're here early, Dr. Richards! Being punctual is always appreciated," the man at the forefront of the line spoke, as the Senators beelined to their desks, some giving Reed a curt nod. Unlike the other Senators who were well into their late years or at the end of their middle-ages, he was surprisingly young and spry.

He was short, compared to Richard's impressive 6'1'' figure, but the charisma that he oozed more than made up for it.

He walked over to Richard and extended his hand, which Reed quickly grasped.

"Anyone would be if they had the amount of time that I do," he smiled, shaking the man's hand, which had an unnaturally firm grip. "It's a pleasure meeting you, Mr....?"

"Oh, just call me John," the man waved Reed off, his neatly combed black hair and soft blue eyes giving him a calming look.

"John, pardon me for asking, but I know every Senator here, but...", Richard began, knowing something was off. The Vice-President was nowhere to be seen, thus another Senator should take their place, which John clearly was not.

"Ah, that. I'm the presiding officer for this session," John grinned, showing his teeth. "I'm really not known to the public as I take care of other....unsavory matters, but I assure you, I am fully qualified."

"But the President pro temp-"

"The Vice-President deemed me more fit for the current session," John smiled, the expression not reaching his eyes.

"I see," Richard said, his eyes still holding suspicion, dropping the topic as the Senators had all taken the seats and the clerk was ready. "I look forward to a satisfactory session, then."

"I would say the same," John smiled, before accepting the gavel from the security and ascending the dais before taking a seat, looking down on both Richard and the Senate alike.

The clerk, a figure of stoic demeanor, stood at the ready with a leather-bound ledger containing the names of every Senator. He cleared their throat and began, "The Senate will come to order. Will the Senators please respond to their names when called?"

Reed frowned as the Senators sat up straighter, 'Didn't I ask for the session to be public? Where's the audience?'

"Senator Maya Rodriguez."

"Here," came a swift reply.

The clerk continued, "Senator Jackson Whitman."

Senator Whitman's response was equally prompt, "Present."

With each name called, the chamber echoed with a chorus of "Here" and "Present." The Senators stood at their desks, almost lazily.

"Senator Robert Stern."

"Here," replied a piggy man who looked like he'd burst out of his suit any moment.

"Senator Isa-

"Excuse me!" Reed interrupted the clerk which made every head in the room snap toward him with flabbergasted expressions. This was perhaps the first time in history where the roll call was interrupted.

"Dr. Richards, although we have given you a lot of leeway given the considerable contributions to military defense, you do not have the authority to interrupt such an important ceremony," the clerk practically growled, a vein pulsing on his head. "We ho-

"I was told that this would be publicly broadcasted. Is it?" Richard asked, already knowing the answer. The devices he'd set up on his suit had already informed him of the answer.

"No," the clerk said, close to jumping down and whacking Reed on the side of the head. "The Presiding Officer decided that this would be a closed-session."

"Why is that?"

"Because I deemed it the best course of action," John intervened from the dais.

Reed's eyes narrowed further, looking at John with intense suspicion.

"Ah, this seems to have fallen..." John suddenly muttered to himself, tilting his nameplate back into position. "Much better."

Richard's eyes flicked to the object, hoping to catch the man's last name.

[ John Sublime ]

***