September 3rd, 1989
Reed Richards stood at the entrance to MIT with his single duffel bag and a cardboard box containing his most precious possessions, feeling smaller than he had since those first terrifying days at Springfield Elementary. The campus stretched before him like an alien landscape: red brick buildings that seemed to pulse with centuries of accumulated knowledge, students striding confidently along pathways that formed a maze he couldn't begin to navigate, and everywhere the sound of intellectual conversation that he desperately wanted to join but had no idea how to approach.
At sixteen, Reed was easily the youngest person visible in the sea of new students moving through orientation. While his classmates looked like the young adults they were (eighteen, nineteen, some even older), Reed still carried the lanky awkwardness of adolescence. His growth spurt had left him tall but gangly, all elbows and knees, with dark hair that refused to cooperate no matter how much he tried to tame it that morning in his tiny hotel room.
"Excuse me," Reed said to a passing student carrying what appeared to be engineering textbooks. "Could you tell me where Burton-Conner House is?"
The student (a junior by his confident bearing) looked Reed up and down with barely concealed amusement. "Freshman orientation doesn't start until tomorrow, kid. You sure you're not looking for the high school across town?"
Reed's cheeks burned with embarrassment as the student walked away chuckling. He pulled out the crumpled map that had come with his acceptance packet and tried to make sense of the building numbers, but the campus seemed designed by someone who enjoyed torturing people with poor spatial navigation skills.
The familiar anxiety that had plagued Reed throughout his childhood began creeping back. What if he didn't belong here? What if all those professors who had praised his theoretical work realized he was just a sixteen-year-old kid who got lucky? What if he spent the next four years as isolated and miserable as he'd been in Springfield?
"Lost already?" came a voice behind him, tinged with what sounded like Eastern European accent but carrying unmistakable condescension.
Reed turned to find himself facing a young man who couldn't have been much older than him but carried himself with the bearing of someone much more experienced. The stranger was impeccably dressed despite the warm September weather: a perfectly pressed shirt, slacks that looked expensive, and shoes that had never seen a scuff mark. His dark hair was slicked back with mathematical precision, and his green eyes held an intensity that made Reed feel like he was being evaluated by some kind of human computer.
"I'm looking for Burton-Conner House," Reed said, hoping his voice sounded more confident than he felt. "I'm Reed Richards. Today's move-in day for freshman, right?"
"Victor Von Doom," the young man replied, making no move to shake hands or engage in any of the social pleasantries Reed had been preparing for. "And yes, today is move-in day for those who require such... assistance in finding their way around."
There was something in Victor's tone that suggested he had never required assistance with anything in his life. Reed noticed that Victor carried no bags, no boxes, no visible possessions at all. Either he had already moved in or he traveled remarkably light for someone starting college.
"Are you a freshman too?" Reed asked, genuinely curious. Victor seemed far too self-assured to be starting his first semester.
"I am beginning my studies here, yes," Victor replied carefully. "Though I suspect our academic experiences will differ significantly. I am here on a very specific mission—to absorb what useful knowledge this institution possesses while avoiding the... distractions that consume most American students."
Reed blinked at the casual arrogance in Victor's statement. "What's your major?"
"I am pursuing advanced studies in theoretical physics with a focus on interdimensional mechanics and astral projection," Victor said, as if discussing the weather. "And you? Engineering, I assume? Most Americans seem drawn to practical applications rather than pure theory."
"Actually, I'm double-majoring in theoretical physics and mechanical engineering," Reed replied, feeling a small spark of competitiveness ignite. "I'm particularly interested in electromagnetic field theory and its applications to space travel."
For the first time, Victor's expression showed something other than polite dismissal. His green eyes narrowed slightly as he reassessed Reed with the calculating look of someone discovering an unexpected challenger.
"Interesting," Victor said slowly. "And you are how old?"
"Sixteen," Reed admitted, bracing for the usual reaction.
But Victor's response surprised him. Instead of amazement or dismissal, he simply nodded as if this confirmed something he had already suspected. "Child prodigies are not uncommon in Latveria. Though we generally ensure proper guidance to prevent... wasted potential."
Reed felt a flash of irritation at the implication that his potential was somehow being wasted. "I've been working independently on electromagnetic field applications since I was twelve. My theoretical framework for sustainable warp field generation has been reviewed by professors at three universities."
"Has it?" Victor's tone remained neutral, but Reed caught a flicker of what might have been interest in his eyes. "And have any of these professors suggested practical applications for your... theoretical framework?"
"Well, not exactly practical applications yet," Reed admitted. "The energy requirements would be enormous, and the exotic matter needed for field generation doesn't currently exist in sufficient quantities. But the mathematical foundation is sound."
"Mathematics," Victor said dismissively, and Reed felt his earlier interest evaporate. "Any competent student can manipulate equations. True genius lies in seeing beyond what mathematics can demonstrate—in understanding forces that cannot be quantified by mundane calculation."
Reed frowned. "But mathematics is the language of the universe. How can you study physics without mathematical foundation?"
"Because some aspects of reality transcend what your limited scientific method can measure," Victor replied with growing condescension. "But I would not expect an American to understand such concepts. Your educational system favors mechanical thinking over true insight."
The casual insult stung more than Reed cared to admit. Here he was, trying to make his first friend at MIT, and this Victor Von Doom character was dismissing him as intellectually inferior based on his nationality.
"Just because something can't be measured doesn't mean it's real," Reed said, his voice sharper than he intended. "Claims about interdimensional mechanics should be backed up by experimental evidence, not just theoretical speculation."
Victor's green eyes flashed with what looked like genuine anger. "Evidence? You speak of evidence while pursuing fantasies about space travel? At least my research addresses forces that actually exist, even if they lie beyond your crude instruments' ability to detect them."
"Space travel isn't fantasy," Reed protested. "We put men on the Moon twenty years ago. The principles I'm working on could take us to Mars, to the outer planets, maybe even to other star systems."
"Could," Victor repeated mockingly. "Might. Perhaps. You speak in hypotheticals about technology that may never exist while dismissing research into phenomena that mystics have documented for centuries."
Reed felt his face growing hot with embarrassment and frustration. This conversation was going completely wrong. He had hoped to find someone who shared his passion for pushing the boundaries of scientific knowledge, but Victor seemed more interested in showing off his intellectual superiority than engaging in genuine discussion.
"Look," Reed said, trying to salvage something from their encounter, "maybe we got off on the wrong foot. We're both here to study advanced physics. Maybe we could—"
"I think not," Victor interrupted coolly. "I have no interest in collaborating with someone whose thinking is so... limited. Perhaps you will find more suitable companions among the engineering students. They seem more comfortable with practical limitations."
With that dismissal, Victor turned and walked away, leaving Reed standing alone with his map and his wounded pride. Reed watched him go, noting the confident way Victor navigated the campus without consulting any directions, as if he had memorized the entire layout in advance.
Reed eventually found Burton-Conner House after asking three more students for directions and enduring two more comments about his apparent youth. The dormitory was a tall brick building that housed several hundred students, and Reed's room assignment put him on the seventh floor in what the housing paperwork described as a "double occupancy room with Eastern European exchange student placement."
Reed's heart sank as he realized what this meant. After climbing seven flights of stairs with his luggage—the elevator was broken, according to a hand-written sign—Reed arrived at Room 714 to find the door already open and classical music playing inside.
Victor Von Doom sat at one of the two desks, reading what appeared to be a leather-bound book written in a language Reed didn't recognize. Victor's side of the room was already perfectly organized, with books arranged by size on the shelves, clothes hung in the closet with military precision, and several unusual objects placed carefully around the desk area.
Reed hesitated in the doorway, uncertain whether to enter or flee to the housing office to request a room change.
"You might as well come in," Victor said without looking up from his book. "The housing assignment is quite final, I'm assured."
Reed entered carefully, setting his bag down on the bare mattress that was apparently his bed. His side of the room looked pathetically sparse compared to Victor's elaborate setup.
"So we're roommates," Reed said, trying to inject some friendliness into his voice.
"Apparently," Victor replied, still not looking up.
Reed unpacked his few belongings in awkward silence, hyperaware of Victor's presence just a few feet away. He placed his parents' research journals on his desk, hung his few clothes in the closet, and set up the small framed photo of his family on his nightstand. The room felt tense in ways Reed couldn't quite define.
"That is your family?" Victor asked, and Reed was surprised to hear something that might have been genuine curiosity in his voice.
"My parents," Reed confirmed. "They both died when I was young. My father was a theoretical physicist; my mother was a biologist."
Victor finally looked up from his book, and for a moment his expression softened slightly. "I am... sorry for your loss. Death of parents is difficult at any age."
"Thanks," Reed said, encouraged by what seemed like the first human moment in their interaction. "Are your parents back in Latveria?"
Victor's expression hardened again, and Reed immediately regretted the question. Something dark and furious flickered across Victor's features before he regained his composure.
"Both my parents are dead," Victor said, his voice flat and controlled. "My father was executed by the current regime. My mother... died trying to save our people from tyranny."
Reed felt a chill at the casual way Victor mentioned execution. "I'm sorry. That's... that's terrible."
"Werner Von Doom was a brilliant man," Victor continued, his voice taking on a reverent tone. "A healer who served the Zefiro people with honor and skill. But King Vladislaus saw him as a threat—a leader who commanded too much respect among those the crown preferred to keep oppressed."
The bitterness in Victor's voice was unmistakable now, and Reed could see his roommate's hands clenching into fists as he spoke.
"My mother, Cynthia, possessed knowledge that could have freed our people from centuries of subjugation," Victor said. "She studied the old ways, the mystical arts that could have given the Zefiro power to resist their oppressors. But her research... it came at a terrible cost."
Victor's expression grew distant, haunted. "She made a bargain with forces beyond this realm, seeking power to protect our people. The ritual went wrong, and her soul was claimed as payment. She died in agony while I watched, helpless to save her."
Reed felt his throat tighten with sympathy. "Victor, I'm so sorry—"
"Do not pity me," Victor snapped, his composure cracking slightly. "Pity accomplishes nothing. I am here because King Vladislaus decreed that the son of Werner Von Doom represented too great a threat to remain in Latveria. I was given a choice—exile or execution."
"So you came to America."
"I came to acquire the knowledge and resources necessary to return home," Victor corrected sharply. "I will not spend my life in comfortable exile while my people suffer under a corrupt regime. The Zefiro deserve better than the scraps the crown allows them."
Reed could hear the passionate conviction in Victor's voice, the kind of burning purpose that reminded him uncomfortably of his own father's obsessions. "And you think mystical knowledge will help you liberate Latveria?"
"I think any knowledge that grants power can be used for liberation," Victor replied. "My mother's research, despite its tragic conclusion, revealed forces that exist beyond the physical realm. If I can master what she began, if I can succeed where she failed, then I will possess capabilities that no earthly army can match."
Victor gestured to the ancient texts spread across his desk. "These books contain centuries of accumulated wisdom about manipulating mystical forces—energy patterns that exist beyond the electromagnetic spectrum, dimensional barriers that can be breached through proper technique, astral projection that allows consciousness to travel between planes of existence."
Reed tried to keep the skepticism out of his voice. "Mystical forces?"
"Forces that your Western science dismisses as fantasy," Victor said, his tone growing defensive. "But my mother proved they were real, even if she paid the ultimate price for that proof. I will not make her mistakes."
Reed found himself in the uncomfortable position of not wanting to offend his roommate while also not wanting to pretend he believed in what sounded like fantasy. "That's... interesting. Are you planning to approach these concepts scientifically? Like, with experimental methodology and peer review?"
Victor's green eyes flashed with irritation. "Peer review? You would subject forces beyond mundane comprehension to the judgment of academics who cannot see past their limited instruments? Some knowledge cannot be quantified by your crude scientific method."
"But how do you know if something is real if you can't measure it?" Reed pressed, genuinely curious despite Victor's obvious hostility. "How do you distinguish between genuine phenomena and wishful thinking?"
"Through direct experience," Victor said coldly. "Through disciplines that require years of study and mental preparation that most Western minds are incapable of achieving. But I would not expect someone raised in your materialistic culture to understand."
Reed felt his temper flaring again. "My culture? You don't know anything about my culture. And just because something requires study doesn't make it real. People studied alchemy for centuries before chemistry showed them a better way."
"Alchemy," Victor repeated with a humorless smile. "You use the word as if it represents failure. Tell me, Reed Richards, how much do you know about the actual achievements of alchemical research?"
"I know it was based on false assumptions about the nature of matter," Reed replied. "Medieval superstition replaced by actual scientific understanding."
"Medieval superstition," Victor mused. "Yes, that is what they teach in your American schools. But perhaps your education has been... incomplete."
Reed could see this conversation heading toward dangerous territory, but he pressed on anyway, driven by genuine concern for his roommate's mental state. "Victor, look, I understand you're trying to honor your mother's memory. But maybe there are better ways to help your people than chasing after... well, magic."
Victor went very still. "Better ways?"
"I mean, you're obviously brilliant. You could study engineering, economics, political science—real disciplines that could actually help you build the resources and knowledge to make a difference in Latveria. Why spend your time on mystical research that might not even—"
"Might not even work?" Victor's voice was dangerously quiet. "You think my mother wasted her life pursuing worthless fantasies?"
Reed realized too late that he had stepped into a minefield. "That's not what I meant. I just think maybe focusing on proven scientific methods—"
"Proven?" Victor stood up slowly, his entire posture radiating cold fury. "My mother died proving that these forces exist. Her sacrifice demonstrated powers beyond your limited understanding. And you sit there, a child who has never faced real loss, never witnessed real power, and dare to suggest that her life's work was meaningless?"
"I'm not saying it was meaningless," Reed said quickly, trying to backtrack. "I'm saying maybe there are healthier ways to process grief than—"
"Healthier?" Victor's voice cracked like a whip. "You think I need therapy? You think this is some kind of psychological breakdown that requires your amateur counseling?"
Reed felt his face burning with embarrassment. He had been trying to help, trying to offer a perspective that might ease Victor's obvious pain. But instead he had managed to insult both Victor and his dead mother in one clumsy attempt at compassion.
"Victor, I didn't mean—"
"You meant exactly what you said," Victor snarled. "You think I am a deluded fool chasing fantasies because I cannot accept reality. You think my mother was a primitive superstitious woman who died for nothing. You think the suffering of my people is less important than conforming to your narrow scientific orthodoxy."
Reed tried to find words that might salvage the situation, but Victor's fury was building like a storm, and everything Reed might say seemed likely to make things worse.
"You presume to lecture me about healthy grief?" Victor continued, his voice rising. "You, a sixteen-year-old child who knows nothing of loss, nothing of true power, nothing of the forces that shape reality beyond your pathetic equations?"
Reed felt his own anger rising. "I know plenty about loss. I watched my mother die of cancer when I was eight. I saw my father disappear trying to build a time machine because he couldn't accept that she was gone. So don't lecture me about pain or grief or looking for impossible solutions to problems that can't be fixed."
For a moment, Victor's expression flickered with something that might have been surprise or recognition. But it was quickly replaced by cold amusement.
"Ah, so that's where this comes from," Victor said with a cruel smile. "Your father was as delusional as you think I am. A time machine? How wonderfully American—throw enough technology at death and perhaps it will simply go away."
Reed's hands clenched into fists. "Don't talk about my father like that."
"Why not?" Victor's voice dripped with condescension. "He sounds like a perfect example of Western arrogance—a man so convinced of his own brilliance that he built a fantasy machine rather than accept the reality of loss. At least my mother died pursuing genuine power. Your father died chasing a children's fairy tale."
"Shut up," Reed said, his voice low and dangerous.
"Did he really think he could simply travel backward in time and undo death itself?" Victor continued, clearly enjoying Reed's distress. "How pathetically naive. No wonder he failed—he understood neither the forces he was attempting to manipulate nor the laws that govern life and death."
Reed went very still, his voice dropping to a whisper that was somehow more menacing than any shout. "I am going to punch you now."
Victor's eyebrows rose with aristocratic disdain. "Oh, are you?"
Reed's fist connected with Victor's nose with a wet crunch that surprised them both. Blood immediately began flowing down Victor's face, and for a moment both young men stared at each other in shock, Reed because he had never hit anyone in his life, Victor because no one had ever dared strike him.
"You fucking peasant!" Victor snarled, touching his bleeding nose with disbelief. "You actually—"
"Shut your goddamn mouth about my father!" Reed shouted, his usual mild demeanor completely shattered.
Victor lunged forward with a roar of rage, tackling Reed around the waist and driving him backward into his desk. "I'll kill you for this, you worthless American piece of shit!"
They crashed to the floor in a tangle of limbs, trading wild punches and curses. Reed had height and reach, but Victor fought like someone who had learned to survive on the streets. They rolled across the floor, smashing into furniture and sending books flying.
"Get off me, you psychotic asshole!" Reed grunted, trying to get his elbow free to throw another punch.
"I'll break every bone in your body!" Victor spat back, blood from his nose spattering across both their faces as they grappled.
Reed managed to land another solid hit to Victor's ribs, but Victor retaliated by driving his knee up into Reed's stomach, causing him to double over with a pained gasp. They were both bleeding now, Reed from a split lip where Victor had caught him with a wild swing, Victor from his broken nose and a cut above his eye where Reed's knuckles had connected.
"You think you can insult my mother and then attack me?" Victor snarled, grabbing Reed's shirt and trying to slam his head against the floor.
"You started this, you arrogant piece of shit!" Reed shot back, managing to roll them over so he was on top. "Don't dish it out if you can't fucking take it!"
The room looked like a hurricane had hit it, chairs overturned, Victor's mystical instruments smashed, books scattered everywhere, and both young men covered in blood and bruises as they continued their vicious struggle.
"Hey! HEY!" The door burst open and Jake Morrison, their floor's Resident Advisor, rushed in to separate them. "What the hell is going on in here?"
Jake was a senior built like a linebacker, and he easily pulled the two freshmen apart, holding them at arm's length while they glared at each other with murderous intent. Both were breathing hard, disheveled, and still clearly wanting to continue the fight.
"Nothing," Reed said quickly, realizing how much trouble they could be in for fighting in the dorms. He was shocked by the violence he'd just unleashed—he had never even raised his voice to anyone before today, let alone thrown punches. "Just... a disagreement about study methods."
"Study methods?" Jake looked skeptical as he surveyed the destroyed room—overturned chairs, scattered books, and what looked like several of Victor's mystical instruments broken on the floor. Victor was still bleeding from his nose, and Reed's lip was swelling rapidly.
"Academic differences," Victor said smoothly, somehow managing to maintain his dignity despite the blood on his face and his torn shirt. "Reed was helping me reorganize my research materials when we had a minor disagreement about organizational methodology."
Jake looked between them, clearly not buying their story but apparently deciding it wasn't worth the paperwork to pursue. "Well, keep your 'organizational methodology' discussions quieter. People are trying to study. And clean this mess up. And get some ice on those faces before someone calls security."
After Jake left, Reed and Victor stood on opposite sides of the room, breathing hard and avoiding eye contact. Reed's ribs ached where Victor had hit him, his knuckles were raw from punching, and he could taste blood from his split lip. He had never felt anything like the rage that had consumed him—it was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.
"This arrangement is not going to work," Victor said finally, his voice cold and controlled despite the tissue he was holding to his bleeding nose.
"No kidding," Reed replied, wiping blood from his split lip and wondering what the hell had just happened to him.
Victor began collecting his scattered books with methodical precision, checking each one for damage. "I propose a simple solution. You stay on your side of the room; I stay on mine. You do not speak to me unless absolutely necessary. You do not comment on my research, my methods, or my family. In return, I will pretend you do not exist."
Reed wanted to argue, wanted to point out that they still had to live together for the rest of the year. But the alternative—continuing this toxic dynamic—seemed even worse.
"Fine by me," Reed said, though his voice lacked conviction.
"Excellent," Victor replied with icy satisfaction. "I suggest you find other accommodations for your social needs. I have no interest in playing roommate with someone so... limited in his understanding of the world."
Reed turned away and began cleaning up his own belongings, feeling a mixture of anger and regret. He had genuinely wanted to help Victor, but somehow everything had gone catastrophically wrong. Now they were stuck sharing a room while actively hating each other.
As Reed straightened his desk, he caught sight of the framed photo of his parents and felt a fresh wave of anger at Victor's cruel words about his father. Nathaniel Richards had been a brilliant man driven by love and desperation, not delusion. The fact that his time machine had failed didn't make his attempt any less noble or meaningful.
But looking at Victor's injured face as his roommate carefully examined his damaged mystical instruments, Reed had to admit that maybe he hadn't approached their differences with much understanding either. Victor was clearly in genuine pain about his mother's death and his exile from Latveria. Reed's attempt to offer "helpful" advice had probably felt like a devastating attack on everything Victor held sacred.
Still, that didn't excuse Victor's vicious mockery of Nathaniel's final experiment. Some lines shouldn't be crossed, regardless of who started the fight.
"We should probably establish some ground rules," Reed said finally, trying to inject some civility back into their interaction.
Victor didn't look up from his books. "I believe I already made the rules quite clear. Stay away from me, and I will forget you exist."
Reed spent the next few hours setting up his small laboratory space on his desk, arranging his textbooks and research materials. He had brought several ongoing projects with him—designs for improved electromagnetic field generators, calculations for theoretical warp drive configurations, and notes about sustainable energy applications.
Victor worked at his own desk, apparently translating passages from his foreign-language books into English. Reed caught glimpses of diagrams that looked like circuit schematics mixed with mystical symbols, mathematical equations that seemed to incorporate concepts from medieval alchemy.
As evening approached, Reed decided to explore the campus and find the dining hall. He had eaten very little during his journey to MIT, too nervous to keep much food down, and his stomach was starting to demand attention.
"I'm going to get dinner," Reed announced to Victor. "Do you want to come?"
Victor looked up from his books. "I do not require company for meals."
"I wasn't offering company," Reed said, feeling irritated again. "I was offering information about where to find food."
"I am quite capable of locating nutritional resources independently," Victor replied coldly.
Reed left the room shaking his head. Living with Victor Von Doom was going to be even more challenging than he had initially feared. His roommate seemed determined to reject any gesture of friendliness or cooperation.
The dining hall was a massive space filled with hundreds of students, and Reed stood in the entrance feeling overwhelmed by the noise and chaos. He had never been comfortable in large social settings, and the combination of unfamiliar faces and overwhelming sensory input made his anxiety spike.
Reed grabbed a tray and moved through the food line, selecting items that looked reasonably safe and sitting at a small table near the windows. He ate in silence, watching other students laugh and talk with their friends while he tried to figure out how he was going to survive four years of this kind of isolation.
"Excuse me," said a voice beside his table. "Are you Reed Richards?"
Reed looked up to find a middle-aged man with graying hair and kind eyes, wearing a MIT faculty identification badge. "Yes, sir. I'm Reed."
"Professor Williams, Physics Department," the man said with a warm smile. "I worked with your father back in the seventies. Nathaniel was a brilliant colleague and a good friend. I was so sorry to hear about his death."
Reed felt a complex mixture of emotions at meeting someone who had known his father. "Professor Williams. I remember my father mentioning you. You worked together on electromagnetic field theory?"
"Among other things," Professor Williams confirmed. "Your father was always pushing the boundaries of what we thought was possible. Some of his theoretical work was decades ahead of its time."
Reed nodded, uncertain how to respond. His father's final experiments had been so far beyond accepted physics that most of his former colleagues probably considered them the work of a man who had lost his grip on reality.
"I've been following your academic progress," Professor Williams continued. "Your application essays on warp field theory were remarkable. Very reminiscent of your father's approach to theoretical problems."
"Thank you, sir," Reed said quietly.
"I hope you'll consider joining my research group once you've settled in," Professor Williams said. "We're working on some projects that I think would interest you. Advanced electromagnetic applications, theoretical propulsion systems, that sort of thing."
Reed felt a surge of excitement at the possibility of real research work. "I'd like that very much."
"Excellent," Professor Williams said. "Stop by my office next week and we'll discuss what might be a good fit. Your father would be proud, Reed. You're carrying on his legacy in the best possible way."