January, 2017

Crimea: a peninsula guarded almost entirely by the Black Sea and the Sea of Azov, its endlessly surrounding coast often still catching me by surprise. I’m surprised by its unspoken promise of shelter, its wailing wind-swept siren song of peace. Surprised by the silent force with which I’m made to wonder why I once remained so stubbornly tethered to my landlocked prison of Latveria. An anchor that chained me to my birthright, my culture, my harrowing history -- my homeland, if not my home; yet never have I known such an embracing sense of welcome as the sense that floods me here.

Here, in my meditations. Alone. With neither friend nor foe.

Is this an intimation of true freedom, I ask myself. Free for the first time to be -- be -- without the shackles of my own scorching judgement, too often mirrored by the eyes of strangers as if my scars were theirs to scorn. Perhaps this is the freedom of wearing no scars at all? Furthermore, of having no mantle of burdened armor to replace them.

How long might it last, if it’s meant to last at all? I am, as I am always... Doom. Victor von Doom. Would a legacy such as mine not dare to follow me even here? Here where I might finally learn to conquer peace...

August, 2016

I believe I’ve found one of those places they’re looking for -- an Untouchable Zone -- where the reach of their satellite inhibitors is least present, dimmed into cowardly corners and like a stripe of shadow cast over this wrist does nothing to penetrate my divined iron grasp on this reality. Even the unfortunate prisoner who has accompanied me, already weakened in both body and spirit from the unkind years of these experiments and much worse, has remained fully restored of his true identity since our landing on these shores.

It is, undoubtedly, an exciting discovery. I am now even more certain than before that I saw the excitement flicker alight in the subject’s eyes like an unprompted striking of a match, a direct reflection of my own, in that synchronous moment when reality greeted us together in her rude embrace.

After such an intimately shared experience, and despite him being no one I’m at all familiar with, it’s a shame that he shall need to be mindfully disposed of. This discovery must remain between just the two of us, for now. Until other options arise that I might choose from, options that aren’t already compromised by their militant records, this phenomenal peninsula will suit fine as a base for my operations. And as we know, the only way to ever keep a secret is to bear it on one’s own...

Nonetheless, it is a shame. Over the few months he’s been in my charge -- or, just weeks, in my charge -- he tells such curious tales of the world he hails from. Even so tormented by his current circumstances, he finds such pitiable solace in his past... I suppose, if I were to make it quick, or if I were to reveal to him at whose hands it truly is that he’s to be forsaken, what I must do shall also be a mercy, a privilege. A sacrifice for a greater purpose.

June, 2019

I have made a grave mistake. A haunting echo of my past... History repeating... I... I cannot at this moment find the words to comprehend my foolish impulse... The dreadful horror of seeing his body so brutally speared above those steps... His face unrecognizable to me in this place, but his armor... His... heroism. There is simply no disguise for that. I am convinced.

Again, the legacy of Iron Man on its own is enough to incur my folly. How could I have been so... So swept by my own emotion. So taken by the turn of events. So seduced by that display of selfless, pointless bravery... When that murderous stain of a creature twisted its tendrils through his chest, I... I felt my heart torn through, with his. I could only react as they all did, I’m sure. In my shock, and in my horror, and in my... Pain.

Yes. I have made a mistake, and I regret it. I regret that a squadron of toy soldiers was all I could unleash, in my scramble, to exact the justice that was deserved. I regret that I... I had stood by, cloaked in my vainglorious authority, believing their theater to be beneath my involvement, even once I’d known of the cretins that had gathered...

But I must gather my wits from these unruly trenches of nostalgia... My post here will need to be abandoned, very soon, much sooner than I had hoped. The heightened focus on the project has introduced more variables than I’m willing to gamble with. Not after all I’ve accomplished. Yet, I’m biding these last few minutes of my time here, almost as if despite all my planning, when now faced with the course I must take, I’m dreading to part with this husk of flesh and bone that has housed me so well and for so long.

So long, Hector. I hope my regrets bring you a measure of relief. Till we meet again.