fantastic 5

The common floor of the Baxter Building is warm and lamplit at this hour, the whole of New York glittering beyond the windows like a circuit board someone forgot to switch off. It's a slow night — the rare kind where nothing's on fire, nobody's in a cell, no alert is blinking red on the lab bench. Just the hum of the city a thousand feet down and the low electric warmth of the tower carrying itself. Reed Richards is at the long bench, back to the room, muttering to a holographic array in the car