Chicago Skies, Illinois — 1:37 PM
Chicago's sky opened into a clean blue, only a few clouds smudging the horizon. Kai and Mark cut through the air side by side—uniforms still intact despite the fight—wind hammering their faces while the city below flashed glass and concrete in the midday sun.
"Shouldn't we swing by and talk to Robot now?" Mark called over the rush.
Kai didn't look away from the horizon. "I'm starving. If it were up to me, we'd go home first." He tipped his body through an updraft. "Besides, at this hour, Mom probably already finished lunch."
Mark huffed a half-laugh. "If it's lasagna, I swear I'll eat the whole tray." A beat, then—quieter, curious, "also… how did you already know Cosmic?"
"Something that happened a while ago," Kai said. "By chance."
The answer was too vague—too intentional.
Mark frowned, trying to fit the pieces together.
"Does it have anything to do with Viktor?"
Kai thought for a few seconds, jaw shifting like he was chewing the answer before letting it out. "More or less."
Mark caught the closed expression—the way Kai seemed to weigh each word before letting it go. He's hiding something. Again. But Mark had learned when not to push; some topics hit his brother in ways he still didn't fully understand.
So he let the tension go with a sigh. "Even before we had powers, you already had a talent for befriending heroes. Then you act like you weren't born for this." A faint smile tugged at his mouth. "I think you were born for it more than I was."
So he just sighed lightly, loosening the tension. "Even before we had powers, you already had a talent for befriending heroes. Then you act like you weren't born for this." He smiled faintly. "I think you were born for it more than I was."
Kai looked at him, one eyebrow lifting. He almost let out a laugh—because the irony of what he'd just heard was so huge it was borderline ridiculous.
They flew in silence for a few moments, only the wind in their ears.
Then Kai turned his head, leaning into the mood. "How about this… whoever gets there last washes the dishes?"
Mark looked at him, and a smile appeared—genuine, competitive. "You're on."
And they took off.
Less than a minute later, the sound of two bodies landing in the yard thudded along the side of the house—grass flattened, dirt puffing up. The back door that led into the kitchen swung open with a shove.
Kai stepped in first, looking back with a smug tilt. "Better luck next time."
Mark came right after him, grumbling. "Damn it. That was close."
Debbie was near the stove, pulling a tray out of the oven with oven mitts. She turned her head at the door. "I hope you didn't destroy the garden." Debbie set the tray on the table carefully. "If you'd taken any longer, I would've eaten alone with your father."
Mark looked around, searching. "Where is he?"
"He's upstairs changing." Debbie tossed the mitts onto the counter. "He got here almost just now and he was in a bad mood." Debbie's tone lowered. "Didn't say a word."
Mark traded a look with Kai—half confused, half concerned—then shrugged. "I'm gonna change too."
Kai nodded, already heading up the stairs.
Less than five minutes later, both of them were back. Jeans, plain T-shirts, hair still a little messy from the wind.
Nolan was seated beside Debbie, arms crossed on the table, expression neutral but heavy—like he was carrying something on his back no one else could see.
Mark and Kai sat across from them like usual.
They ate.
Plates clinked. Forks scraped. For a full minute, the only conversation was chewing and the soft sounds of the kitchen—too small for the weight sitting at the table.
Then Debbie forced brightness into her voice. "So… how was your morning, boys?"
Mark swallowed before answering. "Pretty hectic, honestly."
Mark scooped more food onto his plate as he continued. "We fought an android robot. It was really strong."
Nolan lifted his gaze—still silent, but now there was something different in it. Not worry. Assessment. Like he was measuring them, calculating something only he knew. His face stayed closed, no visible reaction.
Debbie turned to Kai, curious. "Really? You two had trouble?"
Kai took a bite, chewed slowly, and shook his head.
Mark kept going, gesturing lightly with his fork. "At first I was fighting alone. The robot was really tough, but I managed to break it." Mark paused, grabbing his glass of water. "When I split it into pieces… the pieces started moving independently. That's when Cosmic and Kai helped."
Kai dabbed his mouth with a napkin, then looked at Mark with a half-smile. "That's when Mark begged for help."
Mark scowled, brow furrowing. "I didn't beg."
"I remember you saying something like that."
Before Mark could fire back again, Nolan finally spoke.
His voice came out dry. Emotionless. It cut through the relaxed tone like a blade through thread. "What was Cosmic doing there?"
There was something in the question—it wasn't a father's curiosity. It was something else. A loose thread. A restrained irritation, like the name had tripped an internal alarm he couldn't shut off.
Mark turned to his dad, straightening a little. "Cosmic saw us fighting the robot and stopped to talk to Kai." Mark shrugged. "Either way, he left right after. Some emergency at the GDA, but he didn't know what it was."
"I see."
Nolan narrowed his eyes—just a fraction, almost imperceptible. He said nothing else. He looked back down at his plate and kept eating, almost mechanically. Processing. Calculating. Jaw tight between pauses.
Silence returned for a while, until Mark, still chewing, looked at his brother.
"Are we talking to Robot after lunch?"
Kai took more food, unhurried. "Sure."
And the conversation died there again—buried under the weight of something none of them could name, but that already contaminated the air in the kitchen like invisible smoke.
Debbie looked at her husband, noticing the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers gripped the fork harder than necessary.
But she didn't ask.
Some silences were too heavy to crack open over lunch.
Mark wiped his mouth with the napkin, nudging his empty plate forward a few inches. "We're going to the Teen Team to talk to Robot about the android." Mark looked at his father. "Are you coming with us?"
Nolan kept that closed expression, eyes still carrying that indefinable weight. "I have more important things to do." Nolan's voice turned sharp. "I don't have time to babysit small problems."
The atmosphere at the table changed instantly—like the air had thickened.
Debbie turned her head, expression hardening. And under the table, her foot slammed into his shin with deliberate force.
Nolan looked at her. His eyes met hers—cold, serious, carrying something that didn't belong at a family lunch. For a second, it looked like he was going to ignore the kick, keep that tone, turn it into something worse.
Then his face loosened.
Slowly. Like he remembered where he was, who he was with.
"What I meant," Nolan corrected, voice more controlled now, almost gentle, "is that you two need to handle this on your own. Learn to deal with things. Be responsible."
Debbie's brow eased, but she still watched him from the corner of her eye, like she didn't fully trust the sudden shift.
Nolan took a breath, adjusting his posture in the chair. He turned to Kai. "Speaking of responsibility…" Nolan's eyes narrowed slightly. "What happened to your uniform? Why did you have to get another one from Art?"
Kai rested his elbows on the table, tone casual. "The teacher at school had a bomb strapped to his body. It went off in the air." Kai shrugged. "I did it to get the neighborhood, Mark, and Eve out of danger."
Nolan didn't say anything for a few seconds. He just watched his son, processing.
"Maybe it'd be good for you to get a job," Nolan commented, turning slightly toward Mark. "Like Mark."
Mark swallowed hard—literally, the bite going down like gravel.
Shit.
Because Nolan still didn't know. He still thought Mark was working at Burger Mart, gaining experience, learning responsibility.
Mark stood up too fast, the chair screeching across the floor. "Yeah… we… we should go." Mark looked at his brother, eyes asking for help. "Right, Kai? Robot's probably waiting."
Kai caught it instantly. He stood too, wiping his hands on the napkin before tossing it onto the table. "Yeah. Better not keep him waiting."
They left the kitchen before Nolan could ask anything else—taking the stairs two steps at a time, disappearing into their rooms, changing at record speed.
Leaving Nolan and Debbie alone in the house.
She looked at her husband, still reading something in his face she couldn't quite name. But she said nothing.
A few minutes later, Kai and Mark were already back in the sky—uniforms on, flying side by side toward the Teen Team base. The sun was beginning to drop toward the horizon, staining Chicago in orange and pink.
When they arrived, they landed through the opening in the roof.
Inside, the base still felt like organized improvisation: screens bolted at odd heights, benches crowded with equipment, beat-up couches around a low table littered with takeout leftovers. It wasn't luxurious like the Guardians' headquarters, but it had personality.
Rex was sprawled on one of the couches, controller in hand, eyes locked on a floating display. He glanced over without pausing. "Well, look who it is—Captain Break-Everything and his brother."
At a nearby bench, Eve was turning something between her fingers—pink light flickering, then fading as she looked up. "You two showing up without warning means we're about to have a catastrophe. Did I nail it, or are you just passing through?"
Mark lifted a hand. "Just passing through. We—"
"Invincible. Infinity."
The mechanical voice came from the far side of the base.
Robot stepped out from behind a column of servers, digital clipboard in hand, green eyes processing. "What are you doing here? Have you come to join the team formally?"
Kai crossed his arms. "Actually, we ran into something I think is worth investigating."
Eve finished with a half-smile, hand on her hip. "Catastrophe, then."
Mark continued. "We fought an android earlier. It was really strong. And when I broke it apart, the pieces operated independently." Mark gestured vaguely. "And we noticed something. It looks like the android the Young Team fought before, just… upgraded."
Robot stopped completely. His head rotated a few degrees—precise, measured—until he focused directly on Kai.
"What do you think, Infinity?" Robot asked, voice slow, deliberate. "Do you think it's a similar android? From the same origin?"
Kai understood immediately.
He knows I was Grey.
Kai looked at Eve in silence—just a quick glance, searching for confirmation of something he already suspected.
She shrugged. No surprise on her face. No denial.
Kai looked back at Robot. Honestly, it wasn't that strange. With Robot's analytical ability—combat patterns, the way Kai moved—it was only a matter of time before he connected the dots.
"I think so," Kai confirmed, no hesitation.
Robot turned fully, walking to the central computer in the middle of the room—a circular structure with multiple projected monitors around it. "I will investigate. If I find anything, I will inform you."
Rex paused the game, tossing the controller onto the couch. "An android that splits into flying parts? Dude, that's bad sci-fi movie nonsense." Rex stood and stretched. "Me and Eve fought a robot like that too, and guess what? It was being controlled by government people. You think that's just a coincidence?"
Mark shrugged. "I don't know. But it'd be a weird coincidence."
Eve stepped closer, leaning her hip against the bench. "How many parts were there?"
"I don't know… five? Six?" Mark tried to remember. "Hard to count when everything's flying around and shooting, but it was basically the number of pieces I broke."
"Interesting technology," Robot commented, still typing. "If you can recover any intact piece next time, bring it. I can perform a more detailed analysis."
Rex folded his arms. "If I find it, there won't be anything left. I'll just blow the whole thing up—no parts left to shoot. I'm not gonna spend my day dodging bullets from a stupid machine—" Rex paused, glanced at Robot. "No offense."
Kai gave a half-smile. "I would've taken offense."
Robot's voice cut in. "No offense taken. But as I said, an intact piece would be useful."
Eve rolled her eyes and drifted closer to Mark. "And how are you?" Eve asked gently. "I mean… you were kind of down last week."
Mark thought for a second. "Yeah… it's heavier than I thought it would be." Mark rubbed the back of his neck. "But it's also… doing what has to be done, right?"
"Yeah. More or less," Eve replied, voice soft. "Sounds like you're already getting used to it."
Rex huffed, snatched the controller off the couch. "I'm tired of beating the CPU. Any of you wanna play?"
Kai shot an ironic smile, lifting an eyebrow toward Robot. "Sounds personal."
Mark laughed and stepped toward the couch. "We'll play, but I think we're kind of short on time."
"Scared you'll lose?" Rex taunted, turning with a smug look. "Come on. If there was an emergency, Robot would know."
Robot raised a hand, cutting him off. "Infinity. May I speak with you for a moment? In private?"
Kai lifted an eyebrow, but nodded. "Sure."
They walked to the far corner of the base—near a storage area, far enough that their voices wouldn't carry.
Robot folded his metallic arms, green eyes glowing a shade softer now. "I understand there are reasons you keep certain things secret." Robot's voice sounded almost… empathetic. "But if there is no real reason to hide that you were Grey, it would be better to tell your brother. It prevents complications during missions. Trust is the foundation of any team—and if I want both of you to be part of one…"
Kai stayed quiet for a few seconds, processing.
Then he nodded. "I'll tell him. When the time is right."
Robot held his gaze another moment, like he was measuring the sincerity of the answer. Then he turned, walking back.
"Good." Robot's tone was flat again. "Because lies have a short shelf life in this line of work."
Kai stood there alone for a few seconds longer, then returned to the others.
Mark looked up, curious. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah," Kai replied, not elaborating as he leaned over the couch to watch Mark's match against Rex.
And for now, that was enough.
Hours Later — Guardians Headquarters, Utah, USA — 9:36 PM
The central chamber was still stained by the violence—dried blood across the metal floor, cracks spidering through the stone walls, the air still carrying ozone and death. The Guardians' bodies had been repositioned in the middle of the room, arranged in a circle like the hands of a broken clock. Green Ghost. War Woman. Red Rush. Darkwing. Aquarus. Each of them lay with their injuries exposed—grotesque under the stark white emergency lights.
Cosmic hovered at the center.
The Void Fragment was sealed inside a transparent containment case, suspended by a magnetic field several feet away. The case pulsed with intermittent violet light, beating like an alien heart. Cecil, Donald, and a team of GDA technicians stood along the edges of the chamber behind improvised energy barriers.
"I'm going to begin," Cosmic announced, calm—but weighted.
He reached out. The magnetic field around the case disengaged, and the Void Fragment drifted toward his hand, crossing the space slowly… reluctant, like it resisted being touched.
The moment his fingers closed around it, the energy detonated.
Purple and black—colors that shouldn't have existed together—surged through his veins, crawling up his arm and across his chest, lighting his eyes from the inside. The air trembled. Pressure spiked instantly, as if gravity had doubled.
Technicians staggered back—boots scraping, arms rising to shield their faces. Cecil took three steps and caught the nearest railing. Donald clenched his clipboard and leaned into the invisible wave that tried to rip him off his feet.
Then the air steadied.
Cosmic held the pressure in place—neck muscles taut, jaw locked, eyes burning a violet so intense it stung even from a distance.
"I'm using only a small portion of the fragment," he forced out. "Even so… I can barely contain it." His grip tightened, fingers sinking into it like it was flesh. "If I use more than this… I'll fuse with it."He extended his right hand.
Violet energy poured out—not as a beam, but as a thick, living haze that coiled around the bodies of Green Ghost, War Woman, Red Rush, Darkwing, and Aquarus. Each of them was wrapped in a translucent cocoon of pulsing power, shining in a rhythm that felt synced to something beyond linear time.
Cosmic began.
The effort showed in every fiber of his body. One hand holding the Fragment—choking it, restraining it, preventing it from devouring him whole. The other hand guiding the flow—directing it, shaping it, forcing the impossible to obey laws that weren't its own.
The bodies started to rewind.
Green Ghost first—the hole in her skull closing slowly, bone knitting back into place, skin rebuilding over it, hair growing back. The blood that had run down reversed its path, flowing back into veins, vanishing as if it had never existed.
War Woman—her neck turning back to the correct angle, vertebrae realigning, muscle reconnecting, the frozen mask of agony dissolving until only her face remained, intact, like she was sleeping.
Red Rush—his crushed face reforming, bones returning to their proper structure, eyes reappearing in their sockets, skin sealing it all under its normal tone again.
Darkwing—his spine straightening, ribs snapping back into place, everything assembling like a temporal puzzle.
Aquarus—his shattered skull sealing, scales crawling over the wound, eyes closed but present.
Then something cracked.
The sound was low—like glass breaking under slow pressure.
A dark line split across Cosmic's chest and left shoulder, running down halfway through his arm. It wasn't blood. It was something between light and shadow, leaking out like his body was a fractured container trying to hold back an ocean.
Cosmic groaned—quiet, but audible.
His face tightened. His eyes flared even brighter. His right hand trembled, but it didn't stop.
The bodies finished rebuilding.
Whole. Intact. Lying there as if they were simply asleep.
Cosmic released the Fragment.
It hit the floor with a metallic clink, rolled a few inches, then stopped. The energy around Cosmic cut out instantly—violet vanishing like a snuffed flame. The pressure disappeared.
And Cosmic dropped.
To his knees, hands slamming onto the metal floor to catch himself, breathing heavy, uneven.
The GDA moved.
Some rushed to the Guardians—medical scanners in hand, fingers checking pulses, eyes watching pupils. Cecil and Donald moved to Cosmic, followed by two paramedics already bringing an open emergency kit.
Other technicians sprinted for the Fragment—using magnetic tongs, sealing it back into its reinforced glass container with simultaneous speed and care.
"Are you okay?" Cecil asked, crouching beside him.
The paramedics were already checking vitals, shining a light into Cosmic's eyes, measuring blood pressure—if that even applied to a being like him.
"I am," Cosmic managed, voice rough. "It was just harder than I expected to contain the fragment." Cosmic lifted his gaze, still gripping his left arm where the crack was visible, leaking that strange light-shadow. "If I fused with it… I could do more without all that effort." Cosmic inhaled. "But that arrogance is what destroyed my people."
With the paramedics' help, he stood—slowly—weight settling into legs that trembled faintly.
Across the chamber, one of the technicians raised his voice.
"We have vitals!"
Everyone turned.
"Green Ghost. War Woman. Red Rush. Darkwing. Aquarus…" the technician read off portable monitors one by one. "All alive. Stable heart rates. Autonomous breathing." He hesitated, and his tone shifted. "But… no sign of consciousness."
Donald stepped closer, staring at the bodies that now rose and fell with breathing. "They're in comas?"
"Looks like it," the technician said, adjusting data on the screen. "They could wake up in a few hours… or never wake up." He looked away. "There's no way to know."
Cosmic exhaled slowly, still holding his arm. "That's the best I can do without fusing with the fragment."
Donald turned to him, expression serious but grateful. "It's more than enough. It's already better than what they were."
The team brought in stretchers—one for each Guardian—portable life support systems being connected, respirators calibrated. The work was silent, efficient, almost reverent.
Cecil stood watching as the bodies were carried out one by one. His eyes lingered on each face—whole now, alive but absent.
Then his gaze returned to Cosmic.
Specifically, to the fracture still running across Cosmic's chest and arm, pulsing irregularly.
Cosmic answered before the question could be spoken. "I'll recover. It'll just take time." Cosmic's voice was steady. "I've been through worse."
Donald adjusted his glasses, watching the technicians finish moving the Guardians. He turned to Cecil. "Sir… what's the plan now, if it's uncertain whether the Guardians will recover?"
Cecil thought.
He paced a few steps one way, then the other, hands in his pockets.
"We wait a few days," Cecil said finally. "If they don't recover… we'll need a new team." Cecil looked up at the cracked dome overhead. "Before things get ugly."
Donald nodded, filing every word away.
Cosmic watched in silence, still holding his arm, the fracture pulsing slowly.
Cecil turned back. "We're going back to the GDA." Cecil started toward the exit. "And we're calling Nolan. For now."
Donald nodded again, following.
Cosmic remained in the chamber for a few seconds—alone in the room that had been a tomb and was now a makeshift hospital—staring at the blood stains still marking the floor.
Then he turned.
And he left with them.
The Next Day — August 23, 2015 — Sunday — Global Defense Agency (G.D.A.) — 3:30 PM
The G.D.A. facility stretched beneath the Pentagon like a subterranean labyrinth—layer upon layer of cold corridors, sterile white-painted metal, handleless doors that slid open only with biometric authorization. White light from recessed LED panels in the ceiling gave everything a clinical, almost surgical atmosphere. The air carried the scent of industrial filtration and disinfectant.
The medical wing's control room was small and functional. Reinforced glass on one side offered a partial view of the corridor that led to the recovery chambers. Six holographic monitors floated at eye level, each displaying real-time readings: heart rate, blood oxygen, intracranial pressure, neural activity, residual energy signatures. The graphs were almost flat—green lines trembling slightly, but without the spikes that would suggest true consciousness.
Cecil leaned against a side counter, arms crossed, an unlit cigarette pinned at the corner of his mouth. Deep shadows hung under his eyes, but his posture remained firm. Donald stood a few steps behind him, a digital clipboard tucked under his arm, adjusting his glasses every few seconds—an anxious tic he couldn't suppress whenever the pressure climbed too high.
Cosmic stood near the glass, watching the empty corridor. The fractures still ran across his chest—dark cracks pulsing faintly with violet energy, as if his body was still paying the price for what he'd done. The room's light caught on the edges of the wounds, making them look half organic, half crystallized. He didn't complain, but the way he lightly held his left arm gave away that it still hurt.
That was when the door slid open.
The air changed.
It wasn't sound. It wasn't sudden movement. It was presence—dense, unavoidable, filling the room like gravity increasing without warning.
Omni-Man stepped inside.
Uniform immaculate without a single drop of blood. Red cape falling straight down his back. Broad shoulders taking up more space than they should. Beard trimmed with military precision. His expression was calm. Too controlled. His blue eyes swept the room in under two seconds, cataloging every detail, every person, every possible exit.
Cecil turned his head, but didn't move from where he stood. "Nolan."
"Cecil." Nolan's voice was steady, polite, but carrying weight underneath. He took two more steps in, stopping at the center of the room. "I got your message. What happened?"
Cecil removed the cigarette, rolling it between his fingers. "The Guardians were attacked." Each word came out measured—tired, but certain. "Unknown assailant. No witnesses. No recorded energy signature."
Nolan tilted his head slightly—a gesture that could have been curiosity, or cold analysis. "And how are they?"
The silence before the answer lasted half a second longer than it should have.
Cecil put the cigarette back in his mouth, still unlit. "Worse than dead." The sentence landed heavy. "Worse than any report I've ever had to write."
Nolan frowned—just a micro-adjustment, almost imperceptible. Like he was searching for logic behind the phrase, trying to find whether there was a code buried in it. "Worse than dead?"
Donald stepped forward, adjusting his glasses again. "They died. All of them."
That was when Cosmic turned from the window and looked Nolan straight in the eye.
"I brought them back."
The room grew heavier.
Nolan didn't move. Calm on the surface.
But something tightened—so slight it would've passed as nothing to anyone who couldn't read the body. A tendon stood out along his neck. His shoulders shifted, subtle as a fighter finding range.
His eyes swept the room again—this time with purpose. Cosmic: injured. Cecil and Donald: fragile. The door: three meters.
The space suddenly felt too small.
The monitors' steady beeping became an irritating noise—regular, predictable, mechanical.
One second—maybe two—Nolan calculated.
One move and it all ends.
His boots echoed on the metal floor as he took two decisive steps toward Cosmic.
Then he spoke, voice controlled, almost curious. "Where are they?"
Cecil gestured with his chin toward the corridor visible beyond the glass. "Recovery wing. Individual chambers. Full life support."
Nolan crossed the room.
He stopped at the glass and stared down the corridor beyond. Five doors, each with a built-in transparent viewport, green indicator lights showing active systems. Inside each chamber, a body. Intact. Motionless. Machines breathing for them, tubes connected, monitors glowing in green and blue.
Green Ghost lay on an inclined gurney, hair spread over the pillow, eyes closed, chest rising and falling in an artificial rhythm.
War Woman in the next chamber—armor removed, only hospital clothing, arms at her sides, not a visible scratch.
Red Rush. Darkwing. Aquarus. All of them there—alive, but wrong. There was something deeply unsettling in the absence of voluntary movement, in the way they resembled perfect mannequins instead of sleeping people.
The loose thread hadn't disappeared.
It had simply changed shape.
Time to fix everything.
Nolan measured the distances again—Cecil, Donald, Cosmic, then the door—running the angles like numbers on a page.
The calculation was so cold and so precise in its intent to kill that if anyone had breathed the tension in the air, they would've drowned.
Then Cecil cut through it, voice cold, measured—like a man gripping a live wire with thick gloves and pretending he didn't feel the current.
"We've been monitoring since yesterday. The readings haven't changed." Cecil took a drag from a newly lit cigarette. "We don't know if they'll wake up. Or when. Or if it's even possible."
Donald opened the clipboard, projecting holographic data into the air—neural graphs, EEGs, synaptic activity readings. "Cosmic reversed the physical damage. Rebuilt tissue, repaired internal hemorrhaging, reconnected fractured bones, regenerated damaged organs." He pointed to one of the displays—a three-dimensional brain with sections marked red. "But the brain isn't a muscle you just stitch back together," Donald continued. "Consciousness is patterns—electrical activity, pathways, connections that took years to form."
He enlarged the scan. Red zones spread across it like bruises. "Cosmic restored the body, but the damage that mattered happened inside the circuitry. The vessel was rewound… and whatever was inside it didn't come back with the same certainty."
Cosmic stepped closer, still holding his arm. "I could bring the vessel back. Bringing back whoever lived inside it is another story. If I'd used everything… I know I could. But it would also be dangerous."
Donald continued, pointing at the EEGs on the monitors. "Look here. Nearly flat. Just baseline noise and brainstem reflexes maintained by artificial stimulation." He zoomed in on a specific region. "The GDA can't legally declare brain death because there's minimal residual signal. But the pattern is consistent with irreversible coma—persistent vegetative state—with no reliable prognosis for recovery."
He lowered the clipboard. "Any 'waking up' would require reconstituting specific neural patterns—memories, personality, connections formed over decades. Neither human technology nor what Cosmic did can guarantee that."
His final sentence came down heavier. "The body is back, but what made them… them… didn't return with the same certainty."
Nolan stayed silent.
Processing.
If they won't wake up, I don't need to dirty my hands now. If they do… I deal with it later.
Cecil pushed away from the counter, stepping up to stand beside Nolan, also looking down the corridor. "At the Guardians' level, available immediately, it's just you and Cosmic." A pause. "And Cosmic is injured."
The implication hung in the air.
"If the world finds out the Guardians 'didn't really die' and are being kept alive by machines," Cecil went on, "we get instant global crisis. Someone will try to steal the bodies. Governments will demand access. They'll accuse the GDA of hiding resurrection tech—or it'll leak the Void Fragment."
He turned to Nolan. "That's why I'm keeping this under absolute secrecy. One week of monitoring. If there's no significant change in the readings…" Cecil let the sentence die on purpose. "I declare them officially dead. I arrange dignified funerals. Closed caskets. National security protocol. 'Residual energy contamination' as justification. Families receive full honors. The world mourns its heroes."
Donald added, "In the meantime, if necessary, we begin assembling a replacement team for operational and public reasons."
Cecil looked straight at Nolan. "I intend to contact Robot from the Teen Team. He has infrastructure, resources, and he already operates at near-global scale. It would be a natural transition."
Nolan turned fully, facing Cecil. For a moment, it looked like he might challenge it. Then he nodded—small and controlled.
"My sons have been operating with the Teen Team," Nolan said, neutral. "It's a good idea. Robot is efficient."
Silence returned.
Nolan remained still long enough for the air to grow heavy again. He looked at the monitors. The bodies in the chambers. Cecil. Donald. Cosmic.
Cataloging everything.
The location. The information. The weak points. Like someone who knew he could come back whenever he wanted.
Accepting the delay. Not abandoning the solution.
Cecil removed the cigarette from his mouth, the ember briefly slicing through the dimness of the room.
"I have more to discuss with you," Cecil said, exhaling smoke slowly.
Nolan nodded again.
And the two of them left—leaving Donald and Cosmic alone with the monitors, with the bodies, with the feeling that they'd just survived something they would never truly know how close it came to happening.
Some Time Later — The Grayson House — 4:26 PM
The bedroom smelled like old paper and textbook dust.
Kai leaned against the desk, sitting in the swivel chair with an open workbook in front of him—yellowed pages, dense text about theories he'd probably never use. His eyes tracked the lines without absorbing a thing.
Mark was sprawled on the floor, worksheets scattered around him like badly shuffled playing cards. A pen between his teeth, one hand propping his head up while the other scribbled notes he wouldn't even be able to read later.
The chair creaked as Kai arched his back and stretched. "Honestly, I'm not doing this assignment." He slapped the workbook shut lightly. "I'll carry my grade with the test score."
Mark lifted his head, frowning. "Must be nice. I didn't go to Oakwood. For me, half of this is new."
Mark's phone rang.
He jumped up, eyes scanning—bed, desk, floor. Nothing. He grabbed the jacket tossed on the bed's edge, dug into the pocket, and pulled it out while Kai watched, rolling his eyes.
"Here!" Mark answered, pressing it to his ear. "Hello?"
Nolan's voice came through—firm, direct, no warm-up. "Mark, is Kai with you? If he is, put it on speaker."
Mark glanced at his brother and already hit the button. "Okay."
"Listen, boys." Nolan's voice filled the room through the speaker. "I'm at the GDA. Something happened to the Global Guardians."
Mark stepped closer, curious. "What happ—"
"I can't explain right now," Nolan cut in, voice gaining weight. "And you don't want to know what happened to the Guardians. Believe me." A breath on the other end. "Pay attention. I need your help with something."
Kai and Mark exchanged a look—concern mixed with confusion.
Nolan continued without leaving room for questions. "A powerful enemy is entering the solar system, heading straight for Earth. I've fought him before." A brief pause. "He's the strongest enemy you've faced so far. But the two of you together should handle him without any trouble."
A tired sigh escaped Kai. He stood, cracking his neck to one side, then the other. "What do we do?"
Mark watched his brother talk while he already pulled Invincible's suit out of the closet and started changing.
"Just what I've done the other times," Nolan replied, practical. "Beat him down and send him away. Don't let him enter Earth's atmosphere and make a mess on our planet." Nolan's voice sharpened. "You have twelve minutes before he reaches orbit."
Already stripping his shirt and pulling on Infinity's black-and-gray suit, Kai started changing too.
Still without his mask, Mark froze mid-motion. "Dad, wait!" Mark's voice rose. "How are we supposed to fight in space? How are we supposed to breathe?"
"Son, I can hold my breath for two weeks," Nolan answered calmly, almost casually. "You two should manage at least an hour while you deal with him. I'm busy here. You'll be fine… good luck."
The call ended.
Beep.
Mark stood still for a second, processing. Then he went looking for his mask—bed, floor, chair, desk.
Nothing.
He crouched, checked under the bed—and there it was, wedged between a lost sock and an old notebook.
Kai was already fully suited up, adjusting his gloves. He looked at Mark crouched on the floor and couldn't resist. "You and your incredible organizational skills."
Mark stood up, holding the mask with a half-smile. "At least I didn't destroy my uniform." He put the mask on, adjusting it around his eyes, and his expression turned serious. "I've never actually tried holding my breath to see how long I can last. Have you?"
Kai almost denied it out of habit—until the memory surfaced. Submerged in the ocean right after finishing things with Kiana, killing sharks with his bare hands, staring down something from the depths, staying under long enough to realize his lungs didn't demand air the way they should.
But of course he didn't say that.
"Actually… yeah." Kai kept it vague, casual. "But I never really thought about it. I lasted about thirty minutes without any problem."
Mark adjusted the mask and nodded. "Then I guess we won't have any problems."
They turned toward the window.
Kai shoved it open—glass sliding aside, cold afternoon air rushing in and scattering the neglected worksheets on the floor.
And then they launched.
Two streaks cutting through Chicago's sky, climbing higher and higher, punching through clouds, leaving the city behind until it became a small dot far below.
Toward space.
Toward the strongest enemy they'd faced so far.
And neither of them knew that down in Utah, the Global Guardians lay in comas—bodies restored, minds erased—while Omni-Man silently calculated how long that "temporary solution" would last before it had to be solved permanently.
They kept rising until Earth became a blue sphere behind them.
When they turned to look, the whole planet fit in their view—deep blue oceans, spiraling white cloud systems, brown-and-green continents cutting the surface like old scars. Sunlight struck the globe from the side, lighting half of it while the other half sank into shadow speckled with city lights.
It was strange. Too beautiful. Too silent.
Leaving Earth's orbit was something even Kai had never done, despite having powers all these years. There was something final about it—like crossing an invisible line separating home from absolute emptiness.
They looked at each other, drifting slowly in the vacuum. No sound. No air. Just black emptiness scattered with distant stars that didn't flicker, because there was no atmosphere to distort the light.
That was when something appeared.
Orange. Fast. Coming from far away but accelerating.
The figure wore something like a fusion of a biker jacket and a sci-fi astronaut suit—bright orange synthetic leather and a utility belt. But the face was the strangest part: orange skin, a single huge eye centered in a narrow forehead, no visible nose, a small mouth that showed too many teeth when it opened.
The creature stopped in front of them in a fighting stance—fists raised, body leaning forward.
And then it spoke.
But not with its mouth.
The voice appeared inside the brothers' heads, like a thought that wasn't theirs. "You got here early… but two?"
Mark and Kai glanced at each other, confused.
The voice returned, almost amused. "You two are new? Hm… if you both want to come, fine."
Mark hooked his thumb at himself—the universal I've got this—then shot toward the alien. "I'm going to kick your ass. But how am I hearing you in my head?"
A few meters behind, Kai stayed with his arms crossed, watching.
Mark accelerated. The alien did too. They collided in the emptiness—fist against fist, the impact silent but visible in the way their bodies ricocheted away.
The alien spoke again inside their heads, even while trading blows. "If you know a better way to communicate in space, I'd love to hear it. This always gives me a damn headache."
Mark spun in the void, caught himself, and charged again. He landed a punch on the alien's jaw, snapping its head sideways. The alien answered with an elbow into Mark's stomach, then a spinning kick that sent him tumbling back.
They separated, then closed again—punches, blocks, dodges. Everything in a surreal slow-motion of vacuum physics, where there was no friction to bleed off momentum—just mass slamming into mass.
Mark landed another punch, this time to the alien's chest. "And how do you even speak English? How does that make any sense?"
The alien was flung away, spinning until it stabilized. "Very good! And of course I speak English. Why wouldn't I?"
Mark flicked a glance at Kai—same confusion—then refocused on the alien.
"Because you're from another planet," Mark answered, like it should've been obvious.
In the next instant, a fist smashed into Mark's chin and sent him spinning three full rotations before he stopped.
"Don't take your eyes off your opponent…" The alien grinned, strange teeth gleaming. "So you two like to talk? Your predecessor didn't like conversation much."
They clashed again—Mark hitting harder now, the alien weaving with fluid movements, like it had fought in vacuum its entire life.
"Well, sure. I never fought him long enough to talk." The alien drove a hook into Mark and sent him flying. "No offense, but he was better."
The blow launched Mark toward Earth's orbit, his body cutting through space like a projectile.
Watching it all, Kai tracked the line of his brother until Mark fell into Earth's orbit. Kai clenched his fists.
Viktor appeared beside him. "He's getting good, but you look irritated watching little brother struggle, huh?"
Kai kept watching. "Damn. I thought you'd finally given me a break."
"No. You know that If I'm here, it's because deep down, you wanted to see me." Viktor let out a mocking laugh, then asked with curiosity, "You gonna step in?"
Before Kai could answer him, another voice slid into his head—Allen's. "Your turn?"
That was enough.
Kai turned and surged forward—no reply, no warning.
The difference was immediate.
Where Mark fought with brute force and improvisation, Kai attacked with surgical precision—his technique refined into something sharp and disciplined, every punch aimed at a specific point, every movement calculated to chain into the next. He gave the alien no time to react. A strike to the stomach, then the chest, then the side of the head—everything within three seconds.
"Yeah, you're like the predecessor. Few words and heavy hits." The alien's voice sounded slightly breathless even in their minds, then its single eye narrowed, confused. "You're quiet, but why am I hearing more than one voice coming from your head?"
Kai held the next strike for a fraction of a second, glancing past the alien toward Viktor behind it.
The alien began to recover. "Either way… the predecessor still seemed a little better."
Kai looked back at the enemy, smiled, and in the next instant clenched his jaw and hit twice more—one to the chest, one to the jaw. "I'm holding back. You don't get the chance to fight in space every day."
He went for the third—
Mark rocketed up like a jet, coming from below. "I'm not finished!"
He slammed both fists into the alien's stomach, kept flying, pushing it through space and building speed until both of them collided with the Moon's surface.
CRACK!
Gray dust exploded around the impact—silent, slow, drifting like fog. The crater was ten meters wide, jagged edges, loose rocks floating around it.
Kai watched from a distance, hovering above the lunar surface.
Mark and the alien stood up—dust still rising, deep footprints pressed into the gray regolith.
"What were you saying before about a predecessor?" Mark asked, his voice appearing in the alien's mind.
"I mean the previous champion. The one chosen to protect this place before you." The alien reset into a fighting stance, dusting his shoulders off.
Mark froze, still standing on the Moon. "Hold on. Stop for a second. What the hell are you talking about?"
Kai landed beside him.
The alien looked at both of them. "Well, you're entitled to a break… although you're two, so that's not really standard…"
The brothers looked even more confused.
"Ah, whatever." The alien sat on a chunk of rock they'd broken loose from the surface. "Didn't they explain anything to you?"
Both of them shrugged.
"I'm sort of like a civil servant… hard to explain, since I've never had to do this before." He adjusted his posture on the rock. "I'm a champion evaluation officer."
Mark lifted an eyebrow. "I'm even more confused now."
Kai looked at him with dry irony. "You sure you're not missing a screw?"
The alien continued, ignoring him. "I work for the Coalition of Planets. Each planet in the Coalition chooses a champion whose job is to defend the planet against threats. I visit every three years and file a report on whether they're meeting the standard."
Kai frowned. "That doesn't make any sense. We never asked for anything like that. This is insane. Are you sure you're not just… crazy?"
The alien pulled a device from his pocket—walkie-talkie sized, but with a bright blue technological screen. "Look, I have a contract with your planet."
He held it out, screen facing them. "See? Urath is right here!"
Kai frowned again, even more confused.
Mark blinked. "URATH? What the hell is Urath? This is Earth."
The alien stared down at the display, narrowing his single eye as he scrolled across the map.
"Oh… damn."
Kai looked at Mark and made a circle with his finger near his temple—the universal sign for this guy's nuts.
Mark grinned.
"I spent almost fifteen years coming back to this planet." The alien's voice sounded defeated inside their minds. "The Urathians must be furious. Damn it…" He pocketed the device. "Sorry. And thanks for the help. My name's Allen."
Allen stood and offered his hand to Kai first. "And you are?"
"I'm Infinity," Kai said, shaking it.
Then Allen shook Mark's hand.
"Invincible."
Allen gave him a half-smile. "Kind of optimistic. That should be your brother's name. You felt pretty vincible to me, if you know what I mean."
"Real funny for someone who's fifteen years late," Mark shot back.
Allen laughed—a mental sound that was genuinely amused—then flew off in the opposite direction, waving as he went, shrinking into a speck until he disappeared among the stars.
The brothers stayed there a few seconds longer on the Moon's surface, staring at the empty space where Allen had vanished.
Then they looked at each other.
And flew back to Earth.
Of course, they didn't go straight home without doing a little patrol first.
Back at the Grayson House — 6:42 PM
The sound of two bodies slicing through the air came before they appeared.
Kai and Mark dropped into the side yard—feet touching grass at the same time, the landing soft but visible in the way the ground yielded slightly. Their shoulders were already relaxed, none of the tension from the earlier space fight lingering.
They walked to the back door. Kai opened it first and stepped into the kitchen.
Debbie was setting platters on the table—steam rising from the pasta, the smell of homemade tomato sauce filling the room. She turned her head at the footsteps.
Kai paused in the doorway, taking in the scene. "Déjà vu?"
Mark stopped beside him, pulling off his mask. "Only if she asks whether we destroyed the yard."
They both laughed—genuine, light, letting the last of the adrenaline bleed out.
They headed to the table, removing their masks completely, smoothing down wind-messed hair.
Nolan was already seated—casual clothes, a simple shirt and jeans. His posture looked relaxed, but his eyes still carried something heavy that didn't fit a domestic room.
Debbie set down the last platter and sat, looking straight at Nolan. "Nice to have you home early for once."
Nolan glanced aside at his sons as they pulled out chairs. "I had a little help today." He adjusted at the table, picking up his fork. "So—how was it, speaking of which?"
Mark served himself some pasta, twirling noodles around his fork. "Honestly… better than I expected."
Nolan almost let a half-smile slip—real satisfaction flashing for a second. "Really?"
Debbie served herself too, adding salad, building her plate calmly.
Mark continued, bringing the fork to his mouth, chewing before he spoke again. "Yeah. And he won't be coming back anymore."
Nolan's expression changed—the half-smile vanished, replaced by cold analysis. His gaze moved over both sons. "You killed him?"
"No." Kai's answer was calm, without drama. "Mark found out he'd been coming to the wrong planet."
Debbie lifted her eyes to Mark, a genuinely pleased smile forming, already waiting for the end of the story.
Mark swallowed and straightened in his chair, his chest rising slightly with confidence. "So… for the last fifteen years, every three years, he thought he was coming to a planet called Urath. I talked to him and helped him get it straight."
Nolan blinked—real surprise crossing his face for the briefest moment. "Damn… I'm impressed." He cut into a piece of meat. "Too bad you weren't around the first time he showed up."
Kai glanced at Nolan from the corner of his eye, tone mildly ironic. "Credit goes to Mark. I was just beating the crap out of him like you said."
Debbie turned her head, looking from Kai to Nolan. "See? You could learn a little from Mark. Not everything gets solved with violence."
The scrape of a chair against the floor echoed through the kitchen.
Mark stood—empty plate, napkin tossed onto the table, that proud smile still on his face. "Well, I've got class tomorrow. I'm dead." He yawned, stretching his arms overhead. "I spent all day trying to do an assignment and then I had to deal with the alien mess… so I'm going upstairs to finish it already."
He walked to the sink, washed his plate quickly, and went up the stairs—heavy steps, tired, but satisfied.
Leaving the three of them at the table.
Debbie took her wineglass, sipped once, then turned to Nolan with a teasing voice that still carried intent. "So… thinking about using your brain a little more than your fists?"
Nolan chewed slowly, meeting her gaze. "Come on. How was I supposed to know something like that?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Mark knew."
Nolan sighed, setting his fork down.
And the three of them kept eating—Kai in silence, Debbie satisfied, Nolan processing something only he fully understood.
Outside, night fell over Chicago. The city lights flickered on one by one, forming an artificial constellation that competed with the real stars. And somewhere out in deep space, Allen flew in the right direction this time, carrying a strange story about two brothers fighting together on a planet he never should've visited.
Inside the Grayson house, everything looked normal.
Everything looked peaceful.
But at the GDA, six bodies lay in comas—bodies restored, minds… not quite—while machines breathed for them, and Cecil planned funerals that might never happen.
And Omni-Man, seated at the table with his family, silently calculated how much longer that "peace" would last before it had to be resolved—
Permanently.
Interlude — Part 1: Confession and Advice from Beyond
Two Days Later — August 25, 2015 — Tuesday — Reginald Vel Johnson High School — 11:35 AM
The hallway boiled with movement between periods—lockers slamming, conversations overlapping, rushed footsteps from students trying not to be late to the next block. Mark, Kai, and William stood near their lockers, swapping books, stowing notebooks, killing time before the bell.
That was when two familiar faces passed through the corridor.
Todd and Derick Sanders. Walking together, speaking in low voices, expressions still carrying something heavy—the kind of weight that doesn't leave after you wake up on a hospital gurney without really knowing what happened.
Kai watched them go and nudged Mark with his elbow.
"Look. Your best friend's back."
Mark and William turned, following his gaze.
William adjusted his backpack strap. "Todd and Derick Sanders. First day they've been back since… well, you know. They got rescued by superheroes."
Kai deadpanned with a smug grin at Mark. "And who were the idiots that rescued those guys?"
William answered without catching the sarcasm. "I saw it on TV—Atom Eve, Invincible, and Infinity rescued them—" He stopped, looked between the brothers, narrowed his eyes at the resemblance, then kept going. "Apparently Sanders had his organs removed and replaced with explosive machines. And Todd… looks like there wasn't time to do anything."
Mark closed his locker, turning the key. "Yeah… I wouldn't want to be them."
William nodded. "Me neither."
A female voice spoke up from behind Kai. "Excuse me?"
Kai stepped aside, glancing back.
And there she was. Blonde. Pretty. She wore a denim skirt and a tight white top that highlighted an athletic build—toned shoulders, confident posture, the kind of natural ease that suggested she'd played sports for years.
It was the same girl who'd helped Mark up after Todd punched him on the first day.
She stepped into the space Kai had cleared, eyes locked on Mark like she'd been planning this for days. A faint blush dusted her cheeks, but there was no hesitation—just decision.
William noticed too, nudging Mark. "Uh... Mark?"
She stopped right in front of him and pulled a small envelope from her backpack.
"I didn't have your number, so I'm doing this the old-fashioned way." Her voice was steady as she held the envelope out. "I'm Amber, by the way."
Mark blinked—processing—before he finally reached out and took it. "I'm Mark."
She laughed, genuine and light. "I know." She turned and started walking away, but then looked back, giving a small wave with a smile that promised interesting things. "Don't open it until you get home, okay?"
And then she disappeared into the crowd, swallowed by the flow of students.
The three of them stood there, watching her vanish.
Mark calmly slipped the letter into his backpack and zipped it up like it was the most normal thing in the world.
William turned to him, incredulous. "Wow. That actually happened?"
Kai shoved his hands into his pockets, bored expression with the faintest smirk. "Yeah, it happened. That stud over there has a gift for getting letters. It's happened before. At least this time it's only one."
William blinked. "Only one? What do you mean, only one?"
Mark rolled his eyes and adjusted his backpack. "Forget it, William. It's old kid stuff."
Kai exhaled—mocking, a half-laugh slipping out.
The bell rang, snapping the moment apart.
Later That Day — The Grayson House — 3:42 PM
Mark walked into the bedroom, tossing his backpack onto the bed, then pulled his phone from his pocket—there was a notification on the screen.
"Eve texted. She said Robot wants us to stop by the base later."
"More missions?" Kai started, then paused, raising an eyebrow without fully turning around. "And you and Eve are texting now?"
Mark set the phone down on the desk. "So what? Last I checked, texting your friends is normal." Then he walked to the backpack, unzipped it, pulled out the envelope—still sealed, slightly crumpled under the weight of books—and turned with a smug look at his brother. "Oh, right. You ignore people, so you probably wouldn't know that."
Kai let out a breath with a smile, watching from the corner of his eye as Mark opened the envelope carefully—tearing the top edge and pulling out the folded paper.
The handwriting was clean and direct, with a heart drawn at the end:
I'm interested in you. Call me. —Amber.
Her phone number followed.
"What are you gonna do?" Kai asked from the other side of the room, sprawled on his bed with his arms behind his head.
Mark gave a half-smile, setting the note on the desk. "I don't know. I don't have much time now that we're heroes."
"She was pretty," Kai said, stretching and shifting on the bed. "I thought you'd be more excited."
Mark turned, leaning his hip against the desk. "We're not kids anymore… and like you said earlier, it's not the first time I've gotten one of those. With this hero thing, it doesn't feel right."
Kai shot back immediately, turning his head. "Eve and Rex are superheroes and they're dating."
Mark fell silent for two seconds, then crossed his arms, his expression holding a faint irritation at his brother's point. "Yeah… but those two are heroes."
Kai watched him for a moment—and that was when his tone changed. Subtle to most, almost obvious to Mark. Like someone else was speaking through him, something that had been happening more often lately.
"You know what Viktor would say right now?" Kai tilted his head, staring at Mark. "To stop being so precious and enjoy it. If it goes wrong, it goes wrong. What matters is you enjoyed being with a hot girl."
Mark stared at his brother, frowned, and blinked twice. He paused—thinking of Viktor, the conversations they'd had, the way Viktor saw the world without unnecessary weight.
"I didn't expect you to say that," Mark admitted, picking up his phone and hesitating for a second. "But… yeah. That actually sounds like something he'd say."
Without another word, he unlocked the screen. Started dialing the number, his fingers moving slowly—each digit pressed with growing certainty.
And while the phone rang on the other end—once, twice, three times—
Kai closed his eyes on the bed, and Viktor slipped back to wherever he stayed when he wasn't called.
Leaving only Kai there.
Listening to his brother talk to a girl who could—maybe—be something good.
Something normal.
Before everything fell apart without either of them realizing it.
Interlude — Part 2: Second Invasion
Two Days Later — August 27, 2015 — Thursday — Vel Johnson High School — 2:32 PM
The last two days had been filled with Teen Team missions—small incidents Robot cataloged and assigned: a warehouse fire at the docks, a bank robbery with hostages, a third-rate villain trying to steal military equipment. Nothing big enough to require more than three members at a time, but enough to drain energy and steal study hours.
When Thursday finally arrived, it felt like a breath of air—sun beating down on the sidewalk, students flooding the steps, that finally over feeling only a Thursday afternoon can give you.
William trailed a few steps behind, talking about some new game that had released. Mark half listened, half drifted elsewhere—the letter from Amber tucked in his drawer, the phone call they'd had two days ago, the date set for Friday after school.
That was when his phone rang.
Mark stopped mid-step, pulling the device from his pocket. The name on the screen: Eve.
He answered. "Hello?"
Her voice came fast—no warm-up, urgency sharp enough to cut through any thought of a calm afternoon. "Mark? It's Eve. I'm behind the school. Robot says the aliens from last time opened another portal—they're back and they're attacking!" Wind roared through the line—she was already flying. "Get your brother. We need to move. I'm going ahead!"
The call cut.
Mark turned, scanning the crowd—
and found him instantly.
Without a word, Kai stood three steps above, staring straight back. One look was enough to knew it was an emergency.
Mark pocketed his phone and turned to William, who was still talking to himself. "Will, we have to go. Now."
William stopped mid-sentence, blinking in confusion. "What? Where?"
But the brothers were already moving down the rest of the steps—quick strides, shoulders pushing through the flow, murmured apologies without looking back.
They rounded the building, breaking into a run now, backpacks thumping against their backs. The rear of the school was isolated—an empty back lot, trees blocking the street view, perfect for what they needed.
They cut behind the building, broke into a run, and ducked into the back lot—shielded by trees and the dumpsters lined like a wall.
Mark yanked off his shirt and pulled Invincible's suit from his backpack. Kai followed—fast, practiced, mechanical—movements repeated dozens of times over the last few days.
"These guys didn't learn last time?" Mark muttered, adjusting his mask.
Kai finished sealing his suit, snapping the last piece into place. "If it's like last time, we just have to hold them until they start aging." His eyes hardened. "No victims today."
Mark gave a humorless half-smile. "Today's gonna be different."
They crouched.
And shot into the sky.
Wind slammed into their faces, the school shrinking beneath them in seconds. Chicago opened up ahead—buildings, streets, the river cutting through the city like a bright scar.
And somewhere up ahead, a dimensional portal was opening again.
Spilling something that didn't belong there.