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( 001 ━ SUNDAY DINNER )

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THE EVENING LIGHT WAS FADING FAST, casting long shadows across the sidewalk as a group of children huddled together in front of a small electronics store, their faces pressed eagerly to the glass. It was nearly supper time for most of them, but it was the end of summer, and the kind of warm, drowsy hour where everything felt like it had slowed due to the lack of responsibilities. Despite this, no one made a move to run off and play or to hurry home before the street lights turned on. Their attention was sharp, focused entirely on the prize before them.

The store window was a showcase of the future, filled with the latest electronics: radios with sleek chrome dials, bulbous record players with stylized wood casing, and televisions of all sizes, some with knobs so big you'd think they belonged on a ship. But what held the children's rapt attention was a squat teal television set near the bottom, a small model that stood out among its larger counterparts.

On the screen, the familiar opening credits of The Flintstones played, the screen crackling slightly as Fred and Barney got into yet another ridiculous situation. The sound of the program was muffled through the thick glass, but it was clear that was not what the children were waiting for. Their wide eyes darted from the screen to the watches in their wrists, where the minute hand was slowly, glacially, ticking towards the end of the hour, signaling the show they had all come to see.

"We've already missed it," a young boy muttered, his voice tinged with frustration. His nose squashed as he pressed his face even harder against the glass.

The girl standing next to him, taller and with hands tucked into the pockets of her skirt, elbowed him sharply in the ribs. "No we haven't, so shut your mouth before I really make you miss it."

The boy winced but kept his eyes glued to the screen. He had barely a chance to complain again when a chorus of shushing sounds echoed from the group.

"Shh! It's coming on!" someone crowed excitedly from behind them.

As if on cue, the last moments of The Flintstones theme sputtered out, the screen flickering with static. The crowd of children leaned in closer, their breath clouding up the window, hearts thumping in anticipation. For a moment, there was nothing but the faint sound of excitement building in the crowd. And then—bam!—the screen erupted with music.

The dramatic score playing was muffled by the glass that separated the children from the TV, but the words The Fantastic Four splashed across the screen were bold and colorful. The children gasped as the newest episode began.

In the brief moment that followed, the familiar figures of the Fantastic Four filled the screen: The Thing, Invisible Woman, Human Torch, with the leader of the group, Mr. Fantastic, standing at the forefront. "You won't get away with this, Red Ghost!" Reed Richard's voice rang out among the four. It was clear from his tone that his words weren't a threat, but a promise:

"Not unless you can stop me, Mr. Fantastic!" came a mocking voice, distorted by the thick accent of the supervillain, his figure looming behind a group of oversized apes, who were howling and clawing at the air. "Soon, the entire city will know the power of the Red Ghost and his Super Apes!"

Johnny Storm, with flames already rising around him, smirked as he shot into the air, blazing jets of fire trailing behind him. "You and your monkeys don't scare me, Ghost!" he yelled. "I'm about to turn your whole operation into a barbecue."

But before anything could happen, the image cut out abruptly, leaving only the faint sound of the theme song playing once again. A short message flashed in bright letters:

"Join us next week for the newest episode of The Fantastic Four, only on MVBN!"

The kids groaned in unison, their collective excitement melting into disappointment. They slowly stepped back from the glass, muttering under their breaths.

"I can't believe we have to wait a whole week," the younger boy whined, kicking a small rock with a sour expression on his face.

The older girl cuffed him lightly over the head, a sharp thwap that echoed on the street. "Quit your whining. It's not like they're going anywhere."

Before he could respond, a new voice came from behind them, smooth and unmistakable, one that made all of the kids freeze.

"No, we are not."

The glass to the electronics store was now glowing, and as they turned, they caught the reflection of a tall figure behind them. A flame, brilliant and warm, lit the street, casting stark shadows and bathing everyone in an orange light nearly as bright as the sun setting in the sky.

Johnny Storm—the real Johnny Storm—stood before them, his lower body bursting in flames. They twisted around his legs and torso, licking at his clothes, but the fabric remained untouched by the fire, just as the skin beneath it. His grin

"Human Torch!" The boy shrieked, rushing forward before the older girl could stop him.

Johnny's fire flickered and dissipated just as the boy threw himself forward, narrowly avoiding the blazing heat. Soon, all that remained was the faint smell of smoke.

The rest of the kids snapped out of their dazed stupor at the sight of the hero standing right there before them. They swarmed forward with shrieks of excitement, all of them individually clamoring for the hero's attention. Johnny laughed, clearly delighted by their energy, as he gave each kid a quick high-five or hug, his smile never dimming.

"What are you doing here?" one of the older boys asked, hands on his hips, trying to act tough, but his voice wavered with awe.

Johnny shrugged, winking.

"Superhero stuff?" The boy clung to his waist, looking up at him with wide eyes as if he were hanging onto the very concept of his existence.

"Yeah, exactly. Hero stuff," Johnny said, grinning down at the boy.

The older girl, who had stood back, watching Johnny with a slightly skeptical expression, narrowed her eyes. "What kind of hero stuff?"

Johnny blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the question. For a split second, he looked as if he were about to say something, but then, just as quickly, a distant voice echoed down the street, calling out to the kids. Their heads turned in unison, some of them groaning while others perked up.

"Dinner!"

The boy groaned loudly in protest, his hands dropping from Johnny's waist as his shoulders slumped in disappointment. The older girl, too, looked crestfallen, but she tried to mask it.

Johnny chuckled and patted the boy on the back. "Hey, don't worry about it, pal. I have a dinner to catch, too. But you should run along before you're late like me, alright?"

The kids muttered complaints under their breath, but they slowly began to shuffle away. Some waved goodbye, still grinning, while others were too caught up in their own sour moods to notice Johnny.

The older girl gave Johnny a small wave before she gently untangled her brother from Johnny's side. "Come on, let's go," she said, tugging at his arm.

She started to drag him down the street, but boy pulled away they could reach their mother. "Mr. Torch?" He called.

Johnny raised an eyebrow, turning back to face him. "Yes?"

"Do you know how the new episode ends?"

Johnny laughed and shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't, pal." The boy's face fell, but Johnny simply smiled reassuringly. "It's a surprise for all of us."

The boy paused, his face scrunched up in thought, before he finally nodded, as if coming to terms with this. "Yeah. Guess we'll find out together."

His sister called again from further down the street. "Hurry up!"

"Bye, Mr. Torch!" The boy shouted over his shoulder as he turned to run toward his family, a big grin still plastered across his face.

Johnny waved back, watching as the family disappeared around the corner, a warm feeling in his chest. There had been a time when these little moments—moments of normalcy—had felt fleeting, too far apart. But now, they felt like the things he lived for.

As the last of the kids were swallowed up by the growing dusk, Johnny stood alone on the quiet street, the faint crackle of the evening news beginning inside the store.

He stared at the screen, where a newscaster had begun his segment, his voice smooth and professional as he dived into the next story.

"And now, a brief update on the recent actions of the Fantastic Four," the host said. "While their latest battle against the Red Ghost and his Super Apes may have been successful, questions continue to arise about the real cost of their superhero activities. Though their actions certainly save lives, the damages they cause in their wake leave some residents wondering whether the heroes are more of a danger than a help."

Johnny frowned as the host's voice continued. The newscaster gave statistics about how the recent destruction was losing the trust of the people, and then, without missing a beat, he followed up with the latest poll numbers, where a growing portion of the population expressed doubts about the necessity of the Fantastic Four.

"It's clear—the question the people want to know is: should the team of crime fighters be allowed to continue, or is it time we say farewell to the Fantastic Four?" The host questioned, his tone uncertain, as though he was raising doubts in his own mind.

Johnny stood still, still trying to process the weight of his words, but the host had already jumped ahead with another story, something completely unrelated, and Johnny quickly lost interest.

He exhaled sharply, shaking off the lingering feeling of unease. Thankfully, his wristwatch chimed loudly, snapping him out of his moment of hesitation.

Johnny glanced down at his wrist and sighed, realizing the time.

"You're late, Johnny Storm," he muttered to himself. "Sue's going to be so mad."

Without a second thought, fire erupted across his body and Johnny shot into the sky, leaving a scorching trail in his wake. The sun was a brilliant gold against the clouds now, curving a sluggish path towards the horizon. Johnny's fire lit up the dark parts of the city as he flew back to the Baxter Building. It was a calm night, but as he flew over the buildings and streets, the words of the news host lingered in the back of his mind, the uncertain question hanging in the air like a cloud that refused to dissipate.

Should we say farewell to the Fantastic Four?

The thought made his stomach churn. Becoming a superhero, despite it's challenges, had been one of the better experiences of his life, perhaps other than visiting space. And just like space, it wasn't something he was about to give up. A bunch of numbers on a screen couldn't change that...could it?

As Johnny neared the Baxter Building, the warm lights of penthouse greeted him. He couldn't see them now, but he could imagine Sue and Ben setting the table, Reed tinkering away at some project (that was certainly not new space-suits, Johnny had already asked), Herbie whirring around the kitchen...and without realizing it, Johnny's descent towards the building slowed. His attitude had been soured by the news broadcast and the short flight home had done little to blow off his steam.

Normally, he would land on the balcony and let himself in through the living room, but instead, he found himself on the street level in front of the main entrance. He figured a nice, slow elevator ride to the penthouse would give him enough time to shake off his frustration, even though he was already running behind. But he was already late, so what would five more minutes hurt?

The building would be closed and locked at this time of day or at least it should have been; Johnny was relieved to find that the large glass doors opened easily upon his arrival, and he let himself in. The lobby to the Baxter Building was desolate. Whereas during the day it was usually full of people—reporters, journalists, fans, or more important personnel—it was now completely empty, and dark in the areas where the lights had been turned off for the night. Typically, the doorman, Earl, would greet him at the entrance, but it seemed that he had already clocked out for the night, as his post by the door was empty. Johnny naturally assumed that meant that everyone else had also gone home for the evening. However, he was wrong.

As he was crossing to the elevator, entertained by the thought of retrieving new fan mail on his way, a chorus of voices, arguing, broke out across the lobby. He would have been more worried about the origin of the argument, had he not recognized the voice of Mary Ann, the receptionist. Mary Ann was an older woman with white hair and a no nonsense attitude who had gotten hired on not too long after the Fantastic Four had been made official. She had a natural ability to weed out the troublemakers and unwanted guests (generally anyone who was "Anti-Fantastic"), and put them on their place. She was just as much a security guard as she was a receptionist. So when Johnny heard her voice — clipped and commanding, tinged with that familiar thread of exasperation — he wasn't immediately alarmed.

"I am afraid that I cannot help you, my dear," Mary Ann said stiffly, to the young woman that stood across from her at the reception desk. Mary Ann looked halfway through packing up her belongings; it was clear that the woman had interrupted her closing tasks, which she was not too pleased about. The look of disdain on her face was plain.

"You don't understand," the younger woman was saying, her words sharp and urgent, "it is imperative that I see Dr. Richards."

Johnny paused mid-step, curiosity snagging him like a loose thread. The woman's voice was tight with desperation—not the kind that usually came from overzealous fans or reporters sniffing around for a quote. She sounded truly worried.

"As I've already explained," Mary Ann replied, her tone brisk. "Mr. Richards has retired for the night, and the building is closed. You can make an appointment tomorrow when we are open."

"I can't wait that long," the woman hissed through gritted teeth. Johnny edged closer, still out of view but close enough now to see the woman's back. Her clothes looked like they'd been thrown on without a second thought — a wrinkled coat over mismatched layers, one pant leg tucked awkwardly into a boot, the other loose over what looked like a sneaker. Her reddish-brown hair was a tangled mess, frizzed at the ends like it hadn't seen a brush in days.

"It's an emergency. I need to see him."

Mary Ann sighed. Johnny knew that sigh well — the prelude to a verbal takedown.

"My dear," she said with forced patience, fixing the woman with a look that aimed for comforting but landed somewhere closer to condescending. "There's no matter of science so emergent that I would intentionally interrupt Dr. Richards' family dinner. If it is, I urge you to contact NASA."

A strange feeling crept over Johnny then—a subtle prickle at the base of his neck, the way he sometimes felt right before a flare-up or during an oncoming storm. The temperature in the room hadn't changed, but the air seemed to shimmer faintly, vibrating with something he couldn't quite place. The woman's shoulders were visibly tense, her grip on the desk so tight her knuckles had gone pale. Still, Johnny chalked it up to nerves. Just another weirdo fan. They got plenty of those.

He caught Mary Ann's eye over the top of the woman's head and arched an eyebrow. Need help? he mouthed silently.

But Mary Ann only gave the barest shake of her head, a silent no, as if to say, I've got this.

"Now," she continued firmly, standing, "we resume business at 7:30 AM. If you still wish to make an appointment in the morning, I will see you then—and not a moment sooner."

The woman half-turned, just enough that Johnny caught the corner of her profile — pale skin glistening faintly with sweat under the dim lights. "But—" she began, her voice rising—

"—Not a moment sooner," Mary Ann repeated, cutting her off with a stern stare that begged to be defied. The woman did not.

Mary Ann stepped out from behind the desk and began gently but decisively herding the woman toward the door. "Off you go, now. Have a lovely evening..."

She guided her outside with a hand on her shoulder, like a patient aunt walking an unruly child out of a party. The door shut with a soft click behind her, sealing off the tension like a lid on a boiling pot.

Johnny glanced toward the glass, catching the briefest glimpse of the woman just before she disappeared—the tangled glint of red in her hair, her wild eyes casting a final, resentful glare at the building, lips pressed into a grim line as she spun on her heel and vanished into the night.

The strange energy—whatever it was—went with her.

Mary Ann exhaled heavily, returning to her post with a muttered, "These fans of yours..." She shook her head and looked up at Johnny with a tired but pleasant smile. "Can I help you with anything before I'm off, Mr. Storm? I normally don't see you this time of day. Something important?"

Johnny gave the door another glance before returning her smile. "No. No, I'm fine, Mary Ann," he said, his usual swagger returning to his voice. "Just here to get my fan mail."

"Alright, my dear. Good night then," Mary Ann said, picking up her purse. She waved him good-bye and departing from the lobby. There was a mechanical clink as the building's security systems activated and the entrance locked itself behind Mary Ann's retreating back.

"Good night..."

Johnny stood rooted to the spot for a minute longer than necessary, staring off into the space where neither Mary Ann or the odd woman stood—before remembering that he was no longer late, but in danger of losing his dinner table privileges. And with that, he made his way toward the elevator, though he couldn't help but cast one last glance toward the street outside.

Something about that woman didn't sit right. Between her and the disparaging news broadcast, Johnny was on edge. Not even the long elevator ride he'd been anticipating could iron the sullenness from his posture. 

However, the glare that Sue fixed him with when the doors opened had him wishing he could spend a few more minutes wallowing, if it meant he was able to avoid her wrath. 

"Damn, sorry—wrong floor," Johnny said, pressing the button to close the doors with fervency. Sue merely waved a hand, casting an invisible force field that drove the doors open.

"You're late," she said, frostily, folding her arms over her chest. "Fifteen minutes late, for Sunday dinner."

Johnny leaned against the open doorway, allowing a shocked expression to grace his features. "And here I thought it was Monday."

"Funny," Sue remarked dryly, though her tone suggested it was anything but. "Where were you?"

Johnny shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly. "Out, doing superhero stuff—y'know, kissing babies, saving cats from trees. Just a typical night," he said. Then he added. "Oh, and getting fan mail."

Sue glanced down at his hands, which were completely empty, and then back up to his face, unimpressed. Johnny rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Must have forgotten them downstairs..." he muttered.

Sue rolled her eyes. "You're late, Johnny," she repeated, walking off towards the kitchen. Johnny followed.

"I'm sorry, okay? I lost track of time. There were these kids and they were just so excited to see me, and then I was watching the news—which, by the way, is completely stupid and full of factually incorrect information—and there was this weird gal downstairs..." he trailed off, stopping in the threshold of the kitchen. "What the hell happened in here?"

The kitchen was a disaster. Pots, pans, and a mess of ingredients laid strewn across the countertops so not even a bit of space was visible, while Herbie darted frantically from place to place, emitting anxious twitters and chirps at the sight of the catastrophe. On the other side of the kitchen, Ben's large frame was fanning dark smoke away from the oven, where the charred remains of an over-cooked chicken sat, burnt nearly beyond recognition. The fire alarms screeched so loudly overhead that Johnny was unsure how he hadn't heard them upon arrival.

"Herbie got a little...carried away," Sue explained with a sigh. She went to open the doors to the balcony, a light breeze wafting across the room. "Reed hasn't quite figured out his cooking algorithm yet."

"No shit," Ben grumbled, using his bare hands to pluck the chicken, pan and all, out of the oven, possibly with the intention to pitch it. Before he could, the chicken spontaneously caught on fire with a loud whoosh, flames curling up toward the ceiling. The smoke detectors wailed in protest. "Uh, Johnny, a little help, maybe?"

"Hm? Oh yeah, no problem." Johnny held out a arm, which promptly burst into flames and sucked the fire clean off the chicken in a swirl of orange light, leaving behind only a trail of steam and a very, very crispy bird.

"Thanks," Ben said aridly, depositing the burnt dinner into the trash.

Herbie beeped sadly.

Johnny patted the robot on head in an attempt to comfort him. "Don't worry, buddy, I can't cook either."

Ben grunted, as if in agreement, as he surveyed the damage done and, more importantly, what was left over. "Well, at least the asparagus is still good. I could whip up some pasta, some sauce. Alfredo, maybe..." He turned towards the stove, the sound of stone against metal filling the kitchen.

Johnny shimmied past him to a row of cupboards, using his fingertips to trace along the underside until they found a button. When he pressed it, a rack descended, and from it, he selected a fresh box of Lucky Charms cereal.

"Hey, don't eat that!" Ben warned, pointing a thick finger at the cereal box in Johnny's hands. "You'll ruin your appetite."

Johnny shoved a handful of Lucky Charms in his mouth in defiance. "And when exactly will that be ready again?

Ben let out a low grumble, something halfway between a sigh and a growl. He turned toward the pantry with exaggerated reluctance. "Thanks for feeding us, Ben, we would starve without you...Oh, it's not a problem, I just live to serve..."

Herbie, ever eager to be helpful despite his earlier kitchen mishap, whirred quietly and followed on Ben's heels. The little robot offered a timid beep of encouragement.

Johnny watched them go, then turned his attention to Sue, who was elbow-deep in soapy water, scrubbing a pan like it had personally insulted her.

"Where's Reed?"

"Where he usually is," she replied without looking up. "In his lab."

Johnny leaned against the counter across from her, folding his arms with the cereal tucked against his chest. "So I can't be late for dinner, but he gets a free pass to stay holed up in his lab. Yeah, that tracks."

"He was here, Johnny. On time. He helped set the table, which is your job," Sue argued. "But I sent him back after the whole...chicken fiasco." She gestured towards the oven, which still vaguely smelt of smoke.

"Yeah, busy," Johnny echoed, morosely. "Too busy even for new space suits."

Sue sighed, heavily, and released the pan she was cleaning, long enough to send a __ glance towards her younger brother. "Yes, too busy for space suits," she said. Her voice dropped to a low whisper, so that Ben wasn't able to overhear. "We've talked about this, Johnny—it's just not feasible right now."

"If not now, then when?" Johnny demanded, leaning over the counter. "It's been two years and I'm starting to think we might never go back up."

"I don't know," Sue hissed, resuming her attack on the pan with such fervency that Johnny thought it might snap in half. "In a few months, a few years, maybe never. I just don't know. But what I do know is we're needed here, on this planet. Not up there."

Sue's words stung Johnny sharper than he expected. His jaw tightened as he straightened up, his posture turning defensive. He hugged the cereal box a little closer to his chest, eyes narrowing just slightly—not in anger, but something edging toward wounded pride.

With his attitude soured, he held his hands up in surrender, stepping back. "Whatever. Fine. Sorry for even bringing it up."

Grabbing his box of Lucky Charms, he started toward the door.

Ben, now stirring a pot with the handle of a ladle clearly too small for his hand, glanced up. "Where are you going? Aren't you going to help?"

Johnny didn't break stride. He turned around, walking backwards as he edged out of the room, popping a marshmallow in his mouth. "No, I'm kind of tired from all that superhero stuff. Y'know, saving babies, kissing cats..."

Ben blinked. "That's not even—"

But Johnny was already gone. With a frown ghosting across his face and cereal in hand, he turned the corner and disappeared down the hall toward his bedroom, the faint crunch of marshmallows trailing behind him. He expected Sue to follow him, possibly to coerce him into clearing the counters, but she didn't. Johnny couldn't tell if he was relieved or disappointed.

In the darkness of his room, he collapsed into a chair near the window and swiveled it to face the cityscape beyond the glass, which had quickly descended into dusk since arrived home. Only the faintest hint of pink sun remained on the horizon, and all across the city, lights were popping up in windows like fireflies dancing in the dark. But Johnny's gaze was on the stars. They weren't as visible as they should have been, crowded by the light radiating off the buildings below, but they shimmered stubbornly through the haze, refusing to be ignored.

Johnny sighed to himself and slouched further in his seat, shoving his hand into the box with renewed vengeance. Only a couple of years ago, he had been up there, among the stars, and now, here he was: battling...mole people, and eating marshmallow cereal for dinner. Not that he didn't appreciate every second of it, because he did, but...with these new powers, he could be up there again. Not here, where half the city's population wanted him gone.

The news segment from earlier that day still echoed in his mind, a smooth-talking anchor suggesting that the Fantastic Four were no longer necessary. Is it time to say farewell to the Fantastic Four? Every word stung like a slap. How was he supposed to protect a place that didn't even want him?

Johnny glanced at the clock on his bedside table. Had he been sitting here for hours, sulking in the silence of his own room? It felt like it, but no, it had only been less than a quarter of an hour. Then again, he couldn't even remember the last time he'd been able to sit still for more than a few minutes without feeling restless. A lot had changed since their last mission—too much, it seemed. The thrill was gone. The satisfaction of saving the day? Vanished.

And Sue's words earlier... we're needed here, on this planet...not up there.

The thought weighed heavy on his chest. Was she right? Was he just pretending, clinging to a past that didn't exist anymore? He rubbed his eyes, his pulse __. Whatever. He exhaled slowly, trying to push the thoughts away.

A voice called from the hallway.

"Johnny, dinner."

It was Sue's voice, calm and steady, and for a second, he debated ignoring her. Let her come find him, let her try to pull him out of his funk. But that felt... childish. So, he exhaled again, more reluctantly this time, and stood up from his chair.

Dragging his feet, Johnny walked toward the door.

But just before he could step out of the room, the earth itself shook beneath him.

At first, it was a low rumble, nothing more than a deep vibration in the floorboards. But within moments, the tremor grew into something far more intense—a blast from somewhere far off, rattling the windows in their frames. Johnny stumbled, his heart pounding, the metal of his watch screeching with a series of warning beeps. ALERT!! — DANGER DETECTED. The earth groaned beneath him again, stronger this time. His head snapped toward the window.

And what he saw was terrible.