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Your mind went blank as the room was blanketed in Doom’s overbearing aura. For the first time in a while, you were looking at someone that you didn't have a single chance of beating. Not even a little bit. If he wanted to, he could crush you and your brother like the bugs that you dressed up as.
You'd have to fall back. At least, for now. Maybe once the X-Men or the Avengers could mobilize on him, you'll have another shot.
You backed up quickly, jabbing a thumb over your shoulder.
<span class="mu-r">"I was just leaving."</span>
You started to walk away, and Doom’s stride relaxed slightly. But he didn't stop, and that gave you the motivation you needed to jump back out the window.
All the while, you never turned your back on Doom, feeling like an herbivore that had to struggle not to display any signs of weakness in front of a hungry predator.
For a long moment, Doom held your gaze, even as you were falling. His cape billowed in the wind, and you could practically feel his disdain, even at this distance.
It was a physical effort for you to peel your eyes off of him and focus on the matter at hand. Abe wasn't too far below you, but he looked to be swinging to the other side of the building.
His voice was lost to the wind, but from the way that he pointed at the falling form of the psychic, you got the message, loud and clear.
You tightened up your posture, squeezed your legs together and pressed your arms flat against your sides in order to make yourself more aerodynamic. And as soon as you were within range, you shot a webline at the psychic's chest and reeled them in. Their limbs were flopping around as if they were made of flimsy rubber, but you were careful not to move them too quickly or stop them too abruptly. They hadn't reacted in any way. So you could only assume that they were unconscious.
You couldn't blame them, either. The shock of having your arms and legs crushed would make anyone pass out.
When they were within arms reach, you wrapped your arms around their lower back and the back of their neck for support. Immediately, you felt that something was <span class="mu-i">very</span> wrong.
Their back—no-–their entire body felt extremely rigid and cold. It was as if they were made from stone, metal, or some other inorganic material. You weren’t a doctor like Rich, but you were certain that Rigor Mortis didn't kick in <span class="mu-i">that</span> fast.
Feeling curious, you tore off their mask, only to see a blank, featureless staring back at you. It was smooth, like that of a mannequin.
Actually, upon closer inspection, it really was a mannequin! There was nothing high-tech or inherently special about it. You just risked your neck to save a dummy, and it made you feel just as stupid for going to such lengths for someone—no—<span class="mu-i">something</span> that had tried to turn you and your brother into a smear on the pavement.
(Cont.)
