From: tiffer003@aol.com (TIFFER003)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.comics.creative
Subject: LNH: Dial "M" For MPLass # 2 (a/b)
Date: 2 May 1999 14:27:56 GMT

Multiple Personality Lass, or MPLass, are several dozen heroes in one body, her
personality and powers able to change with the turning of her M dial!  Together
with her girlfriend, Mary Winters, she fights the evils that plague Dearborn,
Michigan!

|\ | /_\ |
|/ |/    \|_
|\/| FOR 
|  | MPLASS
 
	Issue Number Two
	May 1999
	"Hey, Come Back With My Couch!"

   Mary reached for the knob to their door and fetching the key from her
pocket.  With a casual twist, the door flew open, before the key was even in
her hand.  She stepped back, perhaps a bit shocked, as the door slowly swung,
the knob hitting the outside wall.  Her fingers to her mouth, she crept in thru
the side door, the only door that she and Multiple Personality Lass used, and
peered in carefully.  It was dark in her house, the lights turned out.  The
silence itself was deafening.
   Her agile fingers grasped the light switch, flipping it up, and allowing
light to poor upon the landing overlooking the stairway to the basement.  Mary
climbed up the three steps from the landing to the main floor, turning on the
kitchen light and she let loose an unearthly shriek at the sight of what lay
out before her.

   Multiple Personality Lass had finished her nightly patrol at nearly
midnight, busting up a gang of would-be thugs trying to deface the local park. 
Satisfied at the job well done, she nimbly grasped the cold iron of the fence
before her, pressing weight downwards against it to lift herself in the air, as
she tossed herself over it, landing on both feet on the dirt of Mary's garden
below.  Mary wouldn't be too happy, but Mary could hang for all she cared: she
was the hunter, the fierce uncaged tiger preparing to strike at all those who
would dare to break the laws in her jungle.
   She ran across the wet May grass, sprinting, letting a bit of moisture from
the night air stick to her feet as grasshoppers chirped, their noise magnified
in her ears, not because of any heightened senses, but because the thrill of
the hunt still filled her lungs, and with out any lions in this urban jungle to
obstruct her path or to roar ominously in the distance, these grasshoppers
would have to do.  She got to the deck/ patio of their house, wooden and left
by the previous owner, and slowed down her assault against the wind, having
covered the length of the backyard in a matter of seconds.  
   She was taken back by the light peering from out of the blinds of their
bathroom that face the backyard; Mary was always careful to turn off these
lights.  The big glass door to Mary's bedroom was creaked open and there were
two circles of broken glass, not unlike the kind of effect a pebble has on
water; rippling outwards and disrupting for quite a while.  While this dreaded
hunter could hunt with the best of them, and could deduce where a nearby animal
might be, she had trouble recognizing these signs of trouble and computing them
together, and so reached down to her belt, upon which hung a dial.  Turning the
M-Dial, she felt her body quiver and her eyes roll over as she was transformed
from one personality to the next, a new set of powers along with a new outlook.

   With a mere bit of concentration, her state was no longer solid; nor liquid
nor gas nor plasma, but something in-between, something intangible to the touch
and visible to the sight.  She had to use much more concentration to keep her
gravity to the degree that she wouldn't sink thru all solid matter or fly into
the air.  Passing thru one of the white-shingled walls, in-between the
shattered glass door and the lighted bathroom window, she walked thru
definently solid matter until she reached a dark lack of that; the closet, she
decided upon investigation of the neatly folded pants on hangers and shirts on
hooks.  Gaining her bearings, she stepped thru the closet door, thru the mirror
in the door, and peered towards the bedroom.  Nothing.  
   With a confident bold step, this personality, brimming with thought and
curiosity, walked into the wall  that ran parallel with the wall she had
stepped thru outside.  On the other side of this wall was a staircase leading
up to MPLass's bedroom; except on nights in which Tom was in charge.  When that
happened, they slept in Mary's bedroom, though sleep might not be the
appropriate word.  Carefully altering her gravity as she rose up, since her
out-of-phase body was stuck smack in the center of a few stair-steps, she then
descended, one by one, the stair-steps until she reached the spot she was
looking for.
   The entire reason WHY she had taken such a round about way of going behind
the entertainment center in the living room in the front of the house, is
because someone might have been in that living room; an uninvited guest,
perhaps.  She saw, instead, only Mary and two policemen.  The policemen were
looking around the home, jotting down notes, as they walked around the place. 
Mary looked apprehensive, almost, and both Mary and MPLass heard the M Dial
slowly begin to click.  Since she was still part of the wall, she quickly slid
back onto the staircase as her eyes glazed over and that change in personality
happened again.  As one left, along with her matter-phasing powers, another
took the steering wheel, so to speak, but this one was a couple lessons short
of a license.
   Mary turned towards the officers, whose attention was diverted to a shredded
couch cushion.  She crept out of the living room, peering into her bedroom and
spotting, out of the corner of her eye, MPLass besides her.  She whispered. 
"MPLass?"
   MPLass began nodding.
   "Stay in my bedroom . . . the police will probably be gone in a moment." 
Vigilantism was not well looked upon by the Dearborn cops, or any cops in these
cities that were, regrettably, without heroes.  MPLass continued to nod, but
she hadn't stopped from the original nod.  She was nodding, in fact, with
increasing rapidity.
   Mary tried her best to dismiss it and quickly ushered the nodding redhead
into her bedroom, shutting the door with a final warning to keep still and
quiet.  Having secured the door, she turned around and re-entered the living
room, to see the two officers finishing their investigation.  "Well, I don't
see anything else in here," remarked one of them.  "And you weren't insured?"
   Mary stumbled and choked at those words.  "No, we weren't."
   "We?  I thought you said no one else lived here."
   "I meant, I meant I," Mary corrected herself with a bit of nervousness
climbing into her voice and clinging there, "I weren't . . . wasn't.  I
wasn't."
   "You know," the other officer-this one skinnier than the first-said to the
other, "we didn't check the bedroom for anything stolen."  The way he said it
irritated Mary: he was clearly saying it to the his fellow officer, in such a
way as if to act like she wasn't present in the room, while he was staring her
square in the eye.  It was quite frustrating and infuriating at the same time .
. . and she didn't like that.
   Quickly, she thought of the extremely positive MPLass behind the bedroom
door and quickly stuttered, "Oh, no, there's nothing there.  Nothing in there,
I mean."  She paused, seeing a degree of both accusation and disbelief in their
eyes, and she muttered pathetically, "Nothing."
   "But we should look in there," said one.
   "It's procedure," the other nodded.
   "Oh, no, no, no," Mary said.  "It really is getting kind of late, and I must
get some rest, you know . . ."
   "Really, ma'am," said the other officer, "I insist that we investigate your
bedroom . . . the entire house . . . to try and find any clues."
   "But I . . ." She sighed, giving up, and walked towards the door, defeated,
and began to open it.  There, she spotted, in the darkness, the form of MPLass,
no longer nodding, if only vaguely.  
   "Warrant," the honey-sweet voice inside cracked.
   "What?" asked one officer, the larger one.
   "Who's in there?" asked the other.
   They were behind Mary, but couldn't get even a glimpse in the door.  The
voice cracked again, stating simply, "Warrant.  You need a search warrant,
don't you?"
   "Well . . ."
   "Otherwise you'd be breaking the law," said MPLass.  "Improper of you. 
Might lose your jobs."
   "Who the hell is that?" demanded the officer.
   "Oh, she, she's just, she's . . ." Mary stumbled to find the right words.
   "Girlfriend," said MPLass.
   "Yes," Mary said with a nod.  "That's right.  My girlfriend."
   The officers exchanged looks.  One of them whispered something to the other.
 The other nodded.  "All right," said the first one after a while, "you're
right, you probably are very tired.  If you hear anything, drop by the station,
won't you?  And bring her along too."
   The officers left and Mary was satisfied to hear the door shut.  She reached
in and flipped on the light switch to her bedroom.  Sitting on the bed was
MPLass, her mask hanging by her neck like a hood.  Lines formed by sweat and
spandex were streaked along the mask; she rarely removed it even in the house. 
"Thanks," Mary said.  
   "No problem," said MPLass.  "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."
   "Huh?"  Mary was confused if only for a second before it dawned on her. 
MPLass had several personalities . . . chances were she hadn't met this one
just yet.  "Oh.  Yes."
   "I used to be a prosecutor, in New York," said MPLass, "before I became the
victim of the . . . circumstances . . . that brought me here."  She said this
in a matter-of-factual manner.  "I know the sort of holes a good defense finds
and do my best to prevent them when I have the chance.  So, now . . . if you'd
mind explaining to me . . . to us . . . what has happened here?"
   "All right," said Mary, "I can do that.  I was at the local specialty shop,
picking up some things for Tom . . . Tom's not listening now, is he?"
   "He probably is," warned MPLass.  "Here, I'll have someone else take over .
. . might be more effective in screening some of this information."  She turned
the dial on her belt gracefully, and with that satisfying click her eyes became
translucent, the pupils hidden, before a new personality took over the body.
   "Go on," said MPLass, in a friendly manner reminiscent of young girl, "tell
me what happened."
   "Well, I got some things for Tom . . . comic books, mostly, but also that
new Batgirl statuette he's been wanting . . ."
   "Uh-huh," said the girl.
   "And when I came back, the house was ransacked, torn apart.  You didn't see
much of it . . . They broke a lamp in here but I think that was about it.  But
over in the kitchen, all the silverware and such is missing . . ."
   "Uh-huh," said the girl.
   "And our stereo system, the new one we just got, was gone too.  We got
robbed . . . they even tried to take the couch, but it wouldn't fit thru the
front door.  They broke that open.  The cops appeared almost minutes after I
called them . . . and then those snooty cops were whispering something before
they left . . . something nasty, I bet . . ."
   "Uh-huh," said the girl.  MPLass shrugged her shoulders.  "What are we going
to do?"
   "I haven't the slightest," said Mary.  She yawned as she glanced at the
electronic, digital clock in her room.  "I just want to go to sleep and worry
about this tomorrow."
   "Okay," MPLass said with a yawn to accompany Mary's.  "I'm tired too . . .
it's past my bedtime."  She hopped off the bed and began to hobble her way up
the stairs when she stepped on something.  Something hard.  She examined it and
picked it up.  "You dropped your bleeper." 
   "Huh?" said Mary.  MPLass was all ready half-way up the stairs as Mary
examined the pager that MPLass had found.  "But I don't have a pager . . ."

   Dearborn's Police Headquarters was adjacent the Centennial Library, named
after Henry Ford, who was born in the small town.  It was the main library in
Dearborn, the one that was superior to the smaller branch libraries: Esper,
Snow, and Bryant, the latter of which had been named Mason over the first
Governor of Michigan.  Steven T. Mason, the Boy Governor of Michigan, they
called him: and he wasn't more than twenty or so when he took office.  The
reason why he had been elected was that he could actually read, unlike most of
the residents: and as Mary and MPLass approached the police officer at the
front desk, they wondered from the look of him and the experience that followed
if he could even do that.
   MPLass was dressed in knee-high soccer socks, tennis shoes, a backward hat
with a bent rim, along with a mini-skirt and shirt.  The mini-skirt was
polka-dotted and went from her waist to barely past that, while the shirt was a
huge white sweatshirt with Amelia Earheart's visage plastered upon it, with the
words, "Fly Girl" printed underneath.  If there was one thing Mary could count
on, despite which personality was in charge, it was for MPLass to have a horrid
sense of fashion.  Of course, it was Mary's clothing that MPLass had been using
in the first place, but that was farthest from her mind at the moment.
   "We're here to see two officers," Mary said, unfolding a sheet of paper upon
which was printed, nearly illegibly, their names.  The clerk nodded quickly and
went to the back to fetch two officers.
   They were not whom Mary was expecting.
   "Oh, no, no, no," Mary said.  "We want the two officers who are on the sheet
of paper."
   The clerk nodded and tried again.  MPLass turned to Mary.  "Hey, Mary?"
   "Yeah, MPL-hey!"
   "What?"
   "We need to find you a different name," said Mary.  "I can't just call you
MPLass all thru the thing."
   "What thing?"
   "You know, talking to the police," Mary said, tapping her foot impatiently. 
"What can we call you?"
   MPLass looked at her shirt and blurted out quickly, "Amelia."
   "You've got to be kidding me."
   The dial on MPLass's belt turned by itself, as it was oft to do if one
personality was in charge for too long.  The belt and the dial still stuck out
pretty sorely, as they had whenever MPLass tried to conceal her identity.  But
hey, at least she had the sense this time to take off her mask and costume,
instead of pulling clothing over it.
   "Me kidding be to got you've."
   "What the hell--?"
   "?-hell the what?"
   Mary frowned as she saw the two police officers, the right two, quickly
approaching.  "Quick, turn the dial," she whispered.
   "Dial the turn, quick!"
   Mary reached over impulsively, grabbing the bright yellow dial on the bright
yellow belt.  She turned it as quickly as she could; though it was awkward
reaching over like that and it took a few seconds to get the thing to turn
properly.  She would have to bring this up with the belt's designer, one of
MPLass's friends in the windy city, when next the two of them met.
   "Ahem," said the skinnier officer, clearing his throat.  "Is there something
we can do for you?"
   "Yes," said Mary.
   "No," said MPLass.
   Mary frowned.  "Yes, we found-"
   "No," said MPLass.
   "What are you talking about?" Mary said, turning to MPLass and forgetting
the officers.  This was getting increasingly silly.  She ignored her.  "We
found a beeper after you left," said Mary, handing it to the heavy officer.
   "No we didn't," said Multiple Personality Lass, adamantly.
   "Well, thank you," said the heavy officer.  "I'll look into this.  In the
meantime . . ."
   "Yes?"
   "No."
   The skinny officer ignored MPLass as well, turning to Mary.  "If you'll
follow me, we have some theories on the robbery."
   Mary and MPLass followed him quickly to a small room.  They sat down, and he
poured three glasses from a pitcher of water.  "We noticed how some of the
items in your household were untouched," said the officer, Officer Simons being
his name.  "The television set, which was worth much more than the stereo,
though that was a significant amount of money from your account.  Again, this
equipment wasn't insured, though.  You reported a small amount of jewelry being
stolen, but a massive collection of over 800 comic books, unlocked and left in
the open, were undisturbed.  A few CDs were left behind . . . music that you
reported you didn't really care for."
   "What are you driving at, officer?" asked Mary, wanting clarification.
   "Let me finish," he said, gurgling down some of the water.  "Your . . .
girlfriend, here, was noticeably absent during the robbery, and didn't show up
until just before we were leaving.  All these facts, coupled together, leads us
to believe that this might have been an inside job."  
   "An inside job?" said Mary.  "That's preposterous!" 
   "No it isn't," said MPLass.
   "It's impossible!"
   "It's entirely possible," MPLass replied.
   "If you're implying that my girlfriend was somehow responsible for this . .
."
   "Ma'am, please calm down, it's just a theory . . ."
   "Well, you're wrong!  She would never do anything like that!"
   "Yes I would."
   "She's completely innocent."
   "No I'm not."
   "She didn't do it!"
   "Yes I did."
   "Was that a confession?" asked the man.
   "No, it wasn't," said Mary quickly.
   "Yes, it was."
   "All right," said Officer Simons.  "You are under arrest . . ."

   Mary was noticeably upset as she approached the cell in which Multiple
Personality Lass was being held captive.  MPLass sat there on the bed, made of
a thin hard mattress and some scant sheets, staring out into the open space of
the cell that stretched before her.  Mary sighed after a very long time of just
standing there, looking in thru the metal bars, and began to speak.  "Why?"
   "Why what?" asked MPLass.  She didn't move from her spot on the bed.
   "Why the hell did you confess to helping burglarize our house?" Mary said,
angrily.  "We both know you didn't do it."
   "I didn't confess to anything," said MPLass under her breath.  "It was one
of the others."
   "Yes, it probably was, I know that," said Mary.  "But why did she do that?"
   "I don't know," answered MPLass.  She frowned for a moment and stood up,
placing one hand gracefully and thoughtfully to the wall of her cell that faced
outside.  "Not a very strong wall."
   "What's that got to do with anything?" Mary asked, annoyed.  
   "Shouldn't be too difficult to break this wall over, with a couple
well-placed blows to the right places," she mused, almost as if she was
ignoring Mary.
   "I don't know why I put up with you," Mary said, "but no, you're not going
to escape from prison.  I've posted bail."
   "Really?  Then we're free to go, aren't we?"
   "Not quite," Mary said.  "I mean, the idea of you in court sincerely
frightens me."
   "I didn't know you cared," said MPLass.
   "The idea of you changing personalities every few moments in front of a
crowd of people would certaintly be a case lost immediately.  What you'll have
to do is jump bail."
   "What?"
   "I know it's rather illegal," Mary said, "but they arrested Amelia, or
whatever she decided to call herself.  They didn't arrest MPLass, now, did
they?  So we'll say Amelia skipped town, and if we encounter them, then you are
her twin sister."
   "Do you think they'll buy that?" asked MPLass.
   "I don't know," said Mary.  "Now, let me get an officer to get you out of
here."

   It was some hours later that Mary found herself, once again, at the police
headquarters.  And, once again, it took some roundabout to get the two
officers, the two correct officers, and once again she spoke first to the
fatter one of the two.
   "I'd like to see the beeper," Mary said.  "You know, the pager we brought
in?"
   "Can't.  It's evidence."
   Mary frowned.  "Confession aside, how do you know it was my girlfriend that
did it?" she asked.
   "Just the confession, and the evidence of an inside job," the smaller
officer said.  "It fits, doesn't it?"
   "Then where does the beeper fit into all this?" Mary asked.
   "We're not sure yet."
   "Why don't you get a listing of the calls to the pager?" Mary suggested.
   "We can't do that," the skinny one said.
   Mary was getting rather impatient with both of them.  All she really wanted
was some sort of straight answer.  "Now, it's not that difficult, is it?"
   "Invasion of privacy," the officer answered.
   "Look, maybe I don't understand this," said Mary.  "Maybe I've got this
confused.  You can't give me the pager because you're detaining it as evidence,
even though you have no idea what evidence it might be used for.  You can't
find out who's been calling it, so there's no practical use for it.  And yet
it's being detained as evidence?"
   "Right," nodded the other officer.  Mary could tell he wasn't nearly as
bright as the skinnier one.
   "Fine," said Mary, frustrated.  A hand went behind her back and a thumbs-up
sign was given to someone behind her.  Seeing the sign out of the corner of her
eye, MPLass, in costume this time turned her dial.  It clicked, her eyes glazed
over, as they had before, and she found herself quickly fading from sight.  It
was very seldom that the powers she received were quite this convient.
   She walked, invisible to sight, from the entrance of the police
Headquarters, up to the front desk where Mary, admiral follower of plans that
she was, was distracting the officers which a rather mean denouncement of the
inefficiency of the police.  And this was the plan: if Mary couldn't get the
beeper, she'd distract the officers while MPLass got it.  
   As she walked past the officers, one of those strange urges one gets when
breaking into Police Headquarters and stealing evidence hit her: and she
decided it would be rather fun to make faces at the officers.  She stood in
front of Mary, between her and the two boys in blue, then proceeded to stick
out her tongue and pry open the sides of her mouth with her fingers, while
making a noise rather like that of the raspberry.  After a few minutes of this
it got rather tiring and she decided it might be best to carry on with her
goal: get the beeper.
   As she went into the evidence locker, she found that it was closed, locked
tight, and she was without a key.  Some officer probably had a copy of it, but
her invisibility began to fade away as she heard the dial clicking by itself. 
She was once again in sight, and lucky for her there was not an officer to see
her.  MPLass now had a slightly more difficult goal: open the evidence locker,
find the beeper, and get out without being seen.
   It would take bravery and guts to pull this off: unfortunately, this
personality had neither.  She was a coward, plain and simple, and while any
reader and any self-respecting author detested such direct characterization,
the fact remained that it was quite true.  She WAS a coward; right down to her
power, a defensive force field that surrounded about a foot from her body.  It
was a barely visible, eerie green, and she had no idea how she might even reach
a key.  She didn't really want to reach a key, either, if she could find one. 
This entire business was rather frightening, to say the least.
   She angrily banged her hand towards the grated locker, angry with her own
cowardice, and she saw that the green bent to fit the shape of the grates.  An
idea struck her, and a rather novel one at that.  She thrust her force field
towards the keyhole, it bending to form the shape of the key, and moved her
body until it twisted properly, giving her some satisfaction of having a job
well done.  Of course, her force field wouldn't do much good when it came to
picking up a beeper, and so she, with a few moments of try and try again, until
she got it right, managed to use her force field to turn the dial.
   With the turn she found herself pushed up into the air.  The sudden jolt of
it was quite frightening, but the personality in charge recognized her flying
abilities and greeted them with quite a smile as she floated to the floor
gently.  Now just to find the beeper . . .
   The beeper was in a white envelope; the sort of kind one would use with
regular papers without folding them, and tied with string.  She undid it
carefully, grabbing the beeper and placing it between her belt and her costume,
and sighed, leaning against the grate to catch her breath.  She went thru the
whole thing without a catch.  As she leaned against the wall of the evidence
locker, it tripped up the blaring loud alarm, sending vibrating chills thru out
MPLass.  As she heard several footsteps approaching, she realized she was in
trouble.  
   It was not difficult to fly over the heads of the officers, who didn't
bother to look up.  She continued to fly until she reached the front desk, and
noticed that the officers had disappeared with the rest of the herd, fleeing
towards the evidence locker.  With a self-satisfied smile she tossed the beeper
down to Mary.  "Mission accomplished," Mary smirked.
   "We had better get home before they get here," MPLass said.  Then something
occurred to her.  "Say, if they took all our stuff, then what did you post bail
with.  I know we don't have much money . . ."
   "Oh, I used Tom's comic book collection."
   "But . . ." MPLass stuttered.  "If 'Amelia' skipped town, than . . . than .
. ."
   "Oh, shoot," Mary said, it finally dawning on her.  "Tom's going to kill
me."

   The night soon came that day, and Mary found herself sitting on the couch
quietly next to MPLass when they heard a sound that was very unfamiliar in this
house.  As their ears picked up the very distinct BLEEP-BLEEP-BLEEP of the
pager, Mary fumbled for it.  
   "Quick, MPLass, write this down," Mary said.  "313-555-6677."
   She did as she was told to, writing down the number on a piece of paper. 
Then, after a few moments, she turned to Mary and said: "Why are we doing this
again?"
   "Real simple," Mary said.  "We're going to see who calls tonight, and use
that information to find them.  That person will hopefully lead us to the real
culprits."
   Another call came that night from the same number, about thirty minutes
later.  It was followed, close to midnight, by another call.  "311?" asked
Mary.  "What's that supposed to mean?"
   MPLass scratched her chin.  "I don't know, but I think I can find out."

   In the weeks that had followed since their original meeting, MPLass had
found that Justin Scarymann was more eager with each visit to give her plenty
of information, without her having to resort to violence as a form of
intimidation.  Being the good-natured stoolie that he was, MPLass recalled
their last meeting, a few days before the burglary of the house, that he, upon
seeing her, blurted out several different underworld happenings before she even
asked for any information upon a specific topic.  Hopefully this time he would
be more cooperative, she thought, though as the dial turned again, the new
personality really wished he would resist so she could inflict some delightful
pain and vent some built-up frustrations.
   He spotted her as she turned the corner, and he jumped, nearly wetting
himself, emitting a rather girlish screech.  She landed gracefully on the
ground from a mid-air leap and spin that she had started around the corner. 
Her eyes burnt with the sort of rage that sadists feel, and he could tell this
personality wasn't very friendly.  Her gruff manner confirmed it.  "All right,
slime . . . I want information and I want it now."
   "Ah . . . a . . . about?" he said, nearly gulping.
   "What does 311 mean?" she asked of him.
   Justin Scarymann nearly burst into laughter.  Her scowl convinced him that
now was not the time.  "It's street lingo," he said quickly, shrinking despite
his bulk, "for 'you're capped.'"
   MPLass nodded.  "Is it used by gangs?"
   "Pretty much," Scarymann said, trying to keep his distance.  "Though the
gangs are few and far between in Dearborn.  You've got your Latin Counts, and
that's about it."
   "You're being too cryptic!" she said, punching him in the gut. 
"Who-would-use-IT?"
   He gasped for air.  "Pushers, maybe."
   "Pushers?  Like . . ."
   "Drug-dealers," gasped Scarymann.  
   The M-Dial clicked slowly, her eyes glazing back, and she nodded to
Scarymann graciously.  "Thank-you," she said with another nod, "you've been
most helpful."
   Scarymann muttered something under his breath, but MPLass didn't hear it as
she left.


---------------------
Tom Russell, Jnr. (Russ-Man)

"Norse mythology always turned me on. . . Thor, God of Thunder, would be
perfect for the job."
   --Stan Lee, 'Origins Of Marvel Comics'
