Ben Grimm sits in the corner, curled into a ball as he munches slowly on the iced shoulder of the sheep. He holds the entire appendage in one massive gnarled hand. His teeth crush the bone and tear the flesh. Blood from his broken gums drools down the scar tissue on his chin. He shifts slightly and plants a huge foot, down on the floor, bracing himself against the wall. Muscle cramps run down his leg and he moans, the sound growing from a low rumble into a howling, savage roar. He slams his fists into the wall, massive arms covered with plates of stony bone and patches of dirty fur powering them against the stone.

Tears well in the tiny, sunken eyes and Ben Grimm begins to cry. What has he done to deserve this fate?

Superbowl Preview, Tampa, Florida, Seven years ago

“This is Matt Olsen for the CBS Superbowl Preview and I am joined by the hottest rookie of this season, Big Ben Grimm. Its great to have you here Ben.”

“Its great to be here Matt.” Ben smiles to the camera. Standing at six feet and five inches and a hefty three hundred pounds, Ben Grimm is an all-American hero. Rugged good looks, a media-perfect sense of humour and a poor boy made good life story which has taken him from the poorest districts of New York to being the number one draft pick for the New York Giants and virtually single-handedly running them through to the Superbowl. Ben Grimm was the Next Big Thing.

“Ben, this has been an amazing season for you. When you joined the Giants did you ever suspect that you would be the MVP-elect coming into the Superbowl?”

“I grew up on Yancy Street on the Lower East Side, Matt. When I was a kid the most I could expect was to work on the building sites, just like my old man. Everything that’s happened to me in the last couple of years has been beyond my wildest dreams.”

“That’s exceptionally modest of you Ben, but you are only 102 yards off breaking Eric Dickerson’s 1983 record for a rookie running back in a season.”

“I just take things one day at a time, Matt. I know there’s been a lot of talk about me but you have to remember this is a team game. I couldn’t do what I do without the rest of the guys all giving everything.”

“You’ve even made an impact on popular culture too. The fans have taken you to their heart. How do you feel when you see all of those ‘Clobberin’ Time’ t-shirts?”

“I’m a pretty physical kinda guy Matt and I don’t like to over work those big guys in front of me, so occasionally, yeah, I have to make my own space.” Ben laughs and slaps Matt on the back. The interviewer stumbles forward slightly and offers a forced chuckle in response.

“And finally Ben, will there be anyone special in the stadium on Sunday night, watching the game? Rumour has it that a certain American Idol winner might be here to cheer you on?”

Ben smiles and blushes slightly. “No comment…”

Superbowl, Tampa, Florida. Seven years ago

“It’s deep into the fourth quarter and the Giants are second down and twelve on the Raven’s thirty yard line. Somehow, they are trailing the wild card team 34 to 38 despite another amazing game from Big Ben Grimm. He’s plundered the Raven’s defence for over 200 yards and all four of the Giant’s touchdowns.”

“If only the Giant’s defence could come close to Grimm. Do you reckon they could get him to double up as a linebacker?”

High in one of the skyboxes, five men in exceptionally tailored suits sit and watch the game. Young women in slender black silk dresses drape themselves around them, bringing champagne and making banal small talk. One of the women brings a telephone and hands it to one of the men. He is a slender, dusky skinned man with a youthful face but ancient, mournful eyes. A trimmed black goatee frames his mouth as he speaks to the voice on the end of the line.

“Yes, yes, the asset is doing well. We have endorsements lined up from three of our targets and I have a call-waiting from the fourth. By the end of the game, we should be better off to the tune of in excess of $100 million.” The voice speaks again and the man nods. “ Yes, yes … I assure you Mr Shaw, nothing will change without my supervision. Am I not Dr Anton Diablo?” The phone goes dead and Diablo hands it back to the woman who brought it, looking her up and down disdainfully.

On the pitch, Ben Grimm lines up behind his quarterback. He glances left and right at the crowd, screaming and shouting. Even through his helmet he can hear them shouting ‘Clobberin’ Time!” This is his moment. He is going to win that Superbowl ring. All he has to do is run through, that’s all.

The receiver goes in motion, the defence shuffles slightly and the quarterback takes the snap. The noise in the stadium is blocked out by Ben’s concentration. Everything seems to run in slow motion. The quarterback fakes to the right and then ducks to the left, handing him the ball. He tucks it inside his elbow and drops his shoulder, setting his massive, piledriver legs in motion. He runs through one of the opposition, palms off another and breaks through the line. Twenty yards between him and immortality. His legs pump hard. He can see the linebacker closing in on him. He swerves to the left and cuts to the right. He’s through! He’s….

Tampa General Hospital, Florida, Seven Years Ago

Dr. Anton Diablo stands with his arms crossed, staring intently from the observation deck down onto the operating theatre where a team of surgeons fight to save Ben Grimm’s life.

Diablo had watched as the linebacker had impacted on Grimm. It was a sick hit, impacting the giant man just under the chin. His head had rocked back and instead of powering through the air he stopped dead in his tracks and rocked backwards, before falling to the ground. The muscle-bound imbeciles didn’t realise that had happened and Grimm was buried under a mound of desperate sportsmen. His already broken neck was jolted left and right in the melee.

Diablo will never forget the silence that fell around the stadium when Grimm didn’t stand up or the screams of horror in the Sky Box when they realised what had happened. He couldn’t believe how long it had taken those imbeciles to reach Grimm and secure him and take him off the field! The minutes they wasted could mean the difference between the sponsors backing the world’s most valuable sports commodity and the sponsors invoking their cancellation clause due to that commodity being a damned vegetable!

Diablo stabs his finger onto an illuminated red button and opens the intercom to the operating theatre. “I would appreciate your prognosis. How is Mr Grimm.”?

The surgeon nods to his assistant who takes over the procedure. He then steps away and drops his face mask. “His neck is broken in four places. His spinal cord has been severed and battered. It’s a miracle that he’s still alive but in the end all that we can do is keep him alive on life support.”

Diablo nods grimly. He had suspected as much and naturally, he had made contingencies. “I don’t think there’s anything more you can do for him here then, Doctor. As I mentioned prior to the surgery, Mr Grimm will be transferred to private facilities as soon as possible.”

“Sir, I don’t think you understand the severity of the situation. There’s no medical procedure on this Earth that can help Mr Grimm now.”

Anton Diablo curls his lip at the surgeon. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

Shaw Industries Medical Facilities, The Alps, Six Years Ago

“So there you have it, Mr Richards. Benjamin Grimm did not die on the operating table. We have kept him here at our state-of-the-art facilities hoping for a chance that someone would come up with a procedure that could enhance his lifestyle. We believe you are that man, Mr Richards.” Anton Diablo steeples his fingers together and smiles at Reed Richards. He knew, of course, about Richards’ amazing research and his breakthroughs as well as his failing independent laboratory and his massive debts.

“Doctor Richards, if you please, Mr Diablo.”

“Doctor Diablo, but I take your point, Dr Richards.”

“I’m unsure how I can help you, Dr Diablo. I have no expertise in surgery or the sort of microsurgery that you might require to rebuild Mr Grimm’s spinal functions.”

“No, Dr Richards, but you are an expert in genetic manipulation and cybernetics, as well as the transformational properties of gamma and cosmic radiation. We don’t want you to mend Mr Grimm, Dr Richards – we want you to rebuild him!”

“And Mr Grimm has given his consent to this?”

“Of course he has, Dr Richards. Of course he has…”

Shaw Industries Medical Facilities, The Alps, Six Years Ago

Richards Journal, Entry 56: The subject continues to show good responses to the cell regeneration therapy we have been using. Faster recovery will help when we have to operate later.

Richards Journal, Entry 62: Dr Diablo has secured a fully functional cosmic ray generator. I can only imagine the cost of such a piece of equipment. I intend to begin the cosmic ray therapy as soon as we have embedded the new spinal structure onto the subject.

Richards Journal, Entry 69: The procedure to fit the subject with his new spinal structure was a complete success. The new spine is based on some of the work I started at MIT but the materials I have available here are far beyond my expectations. I have been able to lace the spine with organic adamantium. I never thought I would have the chance to work with it. If the subject reacts to the cosmic rays as I suspect, the expansion properties of the adamantium will be paramount.

Richards Journal, Entry 73: Cosmic ray procedure has begun. The subject is reacting as expected. Cellular growth has accelerated. Muscular power has increased by 3%.

Richards Journal, Entry 78: Cosmic ray procedure nears completion. Subject has been fully exposed and transformed. We have seen a manifest increase in size, endurance and physical strength. Cell regeneration is operating at extreme levels making incisions into the epidermis difficult. Subject requires constant heavy sedation.

Richards Journal, Entry 81: I am concerned that the subject appears to have limited, if any, higher brain function. It appears that has we have accelerated his physical development, his mental capabilities have retarded to almost bestial levels. Testosterone measurements are higher than I have ever observed. Ever.

Richards Journal, Entry 82: Emergency situation. We have had to create a chemically induced coma in the subject. Something has gone terribly wrong. My analysis indicates that some alien substance has entered the process. I have identified a mixture of externally introduced DNA and pure representations of base elements. The subject appears to be reacting badly to these additions. Unplanned transformations have begun.

Richards Journal, Entry 84: The subject has started growing at an incredible rate. New injections of organic adamantium have been required to balance his spinal implant. His appearance is becoming more grotesque. His coma is becoming more difficult to maintain, as his pain level are extremely high. Additionally, I suspect Dr Diablo is trying to attach blame for this failure on me.

Richards Journal, Entry 85: The subject overcame our sedation and broke free of the compound today. The facility has been damaged and three of my assistants were killed. Six people were injured. The subject succumbed to his own pain before we could stop him. He is grotesque. I cannot take responsibility for this travesty. Someone has interfered with my experiments. Dr Diablo has recommended that the facility be closed down.

Richards Journal, Entry 88: I have been dismissed. My payments for this job have been rescinded. I am broke. I wonder what has become of Mr Grimm? I need a new laboratory.

Four Years Ago, Shaw Industries Holding Facility

Where am I? What the hell is that smell? Where’s the light? How long have I been asleep? The pain… oh dear Christ, the pain! Arrghh! Make it stop! Arghhhh…

One Year Ago, Shaw Industries Holding Facility

“Doctor Diablo, we weren’t expecting you to come to the facility today?” The pale faced technician glances left and right, checking that she hasn’t left any evidence of something that could raise Diablo’s legendary anger.

“I prefer to visit unannounced, Miss…”

“Wallace.”

“Miss Wallace. It means that those that do not share my hunger for perfection will not forewarned. I’m content to see that you run a tight ship. How, tell me, how is the subject?” Diablo runs a finger over the translucent green window that opens up into the holding cell for Ben Grimm. Diablo runs his eyes over the gargantuan, twisted figure sleeping quietly in the corner. His forearms are wider than most people’s waists, his legs rippling with muscle. His shoulders must be at least six feet wider. His skin is a warped mosaic of rock and bone fragments, wounds that open and close with each heaving breath, tufts of matted fur and calloused skin. A metal implant runs down his spine, its shape changing with the breaths and another metal plate is attached to the right side of his face, linked to a cocktail of medicines being fed directly to his brain.

“Grimm is stable. The chemically induced coma manages his rages. We monitor his deeper brain functions and they are also stable, if a little erratic.”

“Ah yes. I read the reports. Grimm’s human brain functions are still operational but they are suppressed in the same way that a normal human’s animal functions are suppressed. Its an interesting case, is it not?”

“It is groundbreaking, Dr Diablo. I have never se….” Miss Wallace slumps to the floor as Dr Diablo removes the syringe from her neck. Calmly he slips a small metallic device from his suit jacket pocket and places it next to the computer terminal in the viewing room. He presses a yellow button and waits for five seconds.

Every camera in the Shaw Industries Holding Facility ceases recording. Every piece of computer data has been downloaded to the box. Every computer in the facility stops, its innards reduced to solid-state slag.

Reed Richards turns off his image inducer. The illusion of Anton Diablo shimmers and disappears. He steps over Miss Wallace and presses a code into the massive secure downward that leads to Grimm’s cell. Triple dense reinforced doors slide open and Richards walks into the cell. The stench is unbelievable. Richards bends down and rests a hand on the metal plate on Grimm’s head. He whispers.

“What have they done to you… what did we do to you? I swear Ben, I will find a way to turn you back.”

Richards stands and looks around one more time. Finally he nods to himself and brings the small metallic box to his lips.

“Richards. Baxter. Rio. Two.”

Richards and Grimm disappear.

Now, Deep beneath Paris.

A claxon sounds around Reed Richard’s complex. The piercing sound jolts Richards from a particularly complex piece of mental calculation. His eyes narrow, running through the possible reasons for the noise.

And then the lights in the complex begin to explode, one by one. Glass showers down onto his equipment as Reed runs for cover. Power surge. It has to be a power surge. Not again. Just like the base under Tel Aviv! Years of work, millions of dollars of investment trashed in moments. The Hellfire Club had found him! They must have – it must have been some sort of displacement attack, disrupting the subatomic potential engine he used for his power! They could be here any moment now!

Eyes wide with panic, Reed leaps across the room, ready to scuttle his systems and leave when he hears a massive booming explosion from deep in his base. The sound is like nothing he has ever heard before. Stone being ripped apart like cardboard. Metal twisting like straw. It sounds like a microcosm of a planet being torn apart. The power is compromised … Ben Grimm is lose!

Reed runs. Runs as fast as he can, as his base begins to tear itself apart. He can hear the roar of the monster coming from below. Reed fumbles with a drawer, desperate to open it. He pulls it and the entire fitting comes off, spilling the contents of the drawer across the room. Reed falls to his knees, desperate to find something. The sound is getting louder and louder. Reed grabs his quarry. It looks like a modified taser.

And then the room explodes and Grimm erupts from the floor. Stone blocks fly everywhere, smashing screens and sending carefully calibrated equipment falling into pieces. Grimm clambers out of the hole and roars with anger. Huge fangs frame his gaping maw. His eyes are filled with bestial fury as he looks around the room for someone, something to destroy. They fall upon Reed Richards, who is scuttling backwards across the floor like a crab.

Grimm smashes two fists into the ground and the entire room quakes. Reed protects his face from the shards of stone that spray at him, lacerating his skin. His hand holds up the taser in a futile gesture.

“Ssssh….”

The room falls silent, except for the popping expiration of computer systems. Grimm, breathing heavily stops his rampage and looks around, his twisted face puzzled and confused. Reed is simply amazed. His mouth opens and closes like a landed fish.

“Sssh there, everything will be fine…”

The voice is not in this room. It sounds like something you misheard, in a packed room. Not quite audible and from no discernable source. Grimm feels a hand run across his face, the first non-medical human contact he can remember. The tiny hand runs over the scar tissue, feeling every twisted piece of flesh. Grimm shudders under the touch and drops to his knees, tears falling from his eyes.

Reed raises himself to his feet and looks on, amazed at the change in Grimm’s mood. He notices the fur on his face moving, he can still hear that disembodied whisper. He cannot see anything however. No-one could have found their way into the base without him knowing. Surely? He had worked on invisibility in the past but it had been mechanical invisibility – light bending – if someone was here, it must be something different.

“Look, I don’t know if you can hear me, but whoever you are, we have to leave. Now!”

Grimm’s head snaps around and he snarls, as if warning Richards to be silent.

A shape begins to form in front of Reed. It shimmers. The light hazes and twists as if it had suddenly been heated and then the opaque form of a woman appears. She is wearing normal, everyday clothes – sweats and denims – and she has her blonde hair pulled back into a knot. Reed’s eyes fall onto the left side of her face, a mass of scars. He stares a moment too long and she snaps her face away.

“You… you’re Sue Storm?” Another explosion rocks the chamber and Reed recognises the electrostatic discharge of the Hellfire Club’s teleportation technology. “Look, I really don’t have time for this at the moment. We need to get out of here. NOW!”. Reed vaults over a broken table and slaps a panel on the wall. He leaps back and stands next to the beguiled monster Grimm and the faded image of Sue Storm.

“Richards. Emergency. Baxter …. New York. Three”

The three figures disappear and deep beneath Paris and explosion destroys his base, his technology and his dreams.

Next Issue: Beauty has tamed the Beast, but how did Sue Storm cease to exist? We tell the story of the woman who is truly invisible and the fall from grace that removed her from reality.

Author’s Notes

And now we know about Ben Grimm. Just as Reed is no elastic bodied Mr Fantastic, Ben Grimm is not a brick-skinned, wisecracking, cigar-smoking strongman. In my Fantastic Four, I considered what makes The Thing an interesting character and I settled on the fact that he is totally conflicted. The story of the mainstream Grimm is constantly peppered with attempts by him to not be the monster he has become. So my Ben Grimm will absolutely not want to be a monster. He is more of a conscious Frankenstein’s monster, a brutally powerful force with the tortured soul of a man hidden deep beneath pain driven animal instincts.

You also saw a quite literal glimpse of the non-existent Sue Storm in this issue and keen-eyed readers will notice that Reed recognised her. Next issue we will focus on Sue, why Reed knows of her and how she ceased to exist. After that, we get onto Johnny although he too has already appeared in the title.

--Neil