"Intelligence without ambition is a bird without wings." – Salvador Dali
UNKNOWN LOCATION
The night sky tore apart with violence as Invincible and the Immortal clashed among the clouds. Each impact sent shockwaves rippling through the air, scattering the storm clouds like smoke. They'd been fighting for what felt like hours—a brutal, exhausting dance of fists and fury that left streaks of blood trailing through the darkness.
The Immortal was relentless. Centuries of combat experience guided every move, every counter. He ducked under one of Mark's haymakers and drove his fist into the young Viltrumites ribs with enough force to crack concrete. Mark gasped, the air driven from his lungs, but caught himself mid-tumble and rocketed back with his own attack.
They collided again, grappling in midair. The Immortal's hands found Mark's throat, and suddenly they were plummeting, spinning through the sky as the ancient warrior's grip tightened like a vise.
"I've been hit harder before," Mark choked out, trying to pry the fingers loose. "Like way harder."
"So arrogant!" The Immortal's voice was raw with rage as they crashed through a cloud bank. "Just like your father!"
Mark's vision started to blur at the edges, dark spots dancing in his peripheral vision. The Immortal's face was inches from his own, twisted with centuries of accumulated fury and betrayal.
"I'm trying to save lives here!" Mark gasped, still struggling. "Why can't you just trust me?"
The Immortal's laugh was bitter and broken. "After what Omni-Man did? After what you did to this world?" His grip tightened further, and Mark felt something in his throat start to give. "You helped him enslave the entire planet!"
Mark's hands scrabbled at the Immortal's wrists, his Viltrumite strength barely making a dent. They were falling now, locked together, the ground rushing up to meet them. The Immortal shifted his position, clearly planning to drive Mark into the earth like a missile.
Then, in a blur of motion almost too fast to see, the Immortal's eyes went wide. His grip on Mark's throat loosened. He looked down at his arm—or rather, where his arm had been. It ended in a clean slice just below the elbow, blood spraying in an arc across the night sky.
"Yep," said a familiar voice.
Nolan appeared behind the Immortal like a nightmare made flesh. Before the ancient warrior could react, Omni-Man's fist crashed into his face with a sickening crunch. Then another. Then a third blow that sent teeth flying. The Immortal tried to raise his remaining arm to defend himself, but Nolan was already moving, his hand slicing through the air in a brutal chop that separated the Immortal's head from his shoulders.
Mark caught himself in midair, hovering as he watched the Immortal's body and head tumble separately toward the ground below. He dove after them, intercepting the head before it could fall too far. His fingers wrapped around it, feeling the skull beneath the skin and hair. The Immortal's eyes were still open, still aware for just a moment longer.
Mark's hand closed. The skull collapsed inward with a wet crunch, gray matter and bone fragments squeezing out between his fingers like overripe fruit.
"Immortal your way out of that one," Mark said, letting the crushed remains fall.
He turned to find his father floating nearby, not even breathing hard. "Dad?"
Nolan watched the body complete its fall, a dark speck against the darker ground. "The Immortal lived for thousands of years trying to make this planet better for all its people. I actually thought he'd understand what we're building here... like you did."
Mark wiped his hand on his suit, leaving a dark smear. "I think he was trying to lead us away from something."
Nolan's eyes narrowed. "Then we must be close."
Down below, in what remained of Chicago—or maybe it was Detroit, the cities all looked the same now after the destruction—a hooded figure moved through the shadows like a ghost. The downtown area was nothing but rubble and twisted steel, monuments to human resistance and Viltrumite superiority. Fires still burned in some places, days or weeks old, with no one left to put them out.
A massive screen flickered to life on the side of a half-collapsed skyscraper, and the figure—Angstrom Levy—stopped to watch. He'd seen this broadcast a hundred times, but it never got easier.
Mark Grayson's face filled the screen, larger than life. He looked so normal. So human. That was the worst part.
"People of Earth," the recorded Mark began, his voice carrying across the dead city with eerie clarity. "We know you all feel like we're the bad guys because my dad and I took over your planet. But you're going to be part of the Viltrum Empire now. That means no one goes hungry, no one dies from cancer, and no one ever messes with Earth again."
Angstrom's hands clenched into fists so tight his nails drew blood from his palms.
"Look, I didn't get it at first either," screen-Mark continued, his expression earnest, almost sympathetic. It was sickening. "But I came around, and you will too. And in the long run, you'll thank us. But you need to remember—the more you resist, the worse this gets."
The screen cut to footage of burning cities, of bodies in the streets, of orbital bombardments that had vaporized entire neighborhoods.
"We didn't destroy your cities," Mark's voice continued over the carnage. "You destroyed them by fighting back. Your new Viltrumite rulers are on the way, and it's time to join us in welcoming them."
The camera returned to Mark's face, and now his smile had an edge to it. Something predatory lurked behind those familiar features.
"And if you still think you can stop us, don't forget—I'm Invincible."
The screen went dark, and the broadcast started over. It always started over. Angstrom had heard it loop at least fifty times in the past three days alone. A constant reminder of their new reality.
A shadow passed overhead, and Angstrom's blood went cold. He pressed himself against a chunk of concrete, barely breathing. The distinctive sound of someone flying—the rush of displaced air, the supersonic crack—passed directly over his hiding spot.
Invincible. Patrol route. Angstrom had memorized the patterns over weeks of careful observation. Mark passed over this sector every four hours like clockwork, looking for any signs of resistance activity. Looking for people like him.
Angstrom counted to sixty after the sound faded, then to sixty again. Only when he was certain did he move, sprinting across the open ground toward his target—an old city bus, burned and abandoned, half-buried in rubble at the edge of the destruction zone.
He scrambled inside through a broken window, his hands shaking with adrenaline. The interior was gutted, seats torn out, floor scorched black. But Angstrom knew what to look for. He moved to the back, found the hidden panel beneath the layers of ash and debris, and pried it open.
The elevator shaft beneath was dark and narrow. Angstrom dropped through without hesitation, and the mechanism activated automatically, carrying him down into the earth. Down into what remained of humanity's hope.
The underground base had seen better days. Hell, it had seen better weeks. The walls were cracked from the constant vibrations of destruction above, water dripped from damaged pipes, and the lighting flickered like it might give out any second. But it was home. It was safe.
For now.
Robot looked up from his workstation as Angstrom emerged from the elevator, breathless and covered in dust. The mechanical being's optical sensors focused with a soft whir.
"Angstrom. Were you followed?"
"The Immortal led them away," Angstrom panted, doubling over to catch his breath. "We're safe."
"Yeah." The voice came from the corner, cold and bitter. Eve stood there, her once-long hair now cropped short and ragged, like she'd cut it herself with a knife. Probably had. Her costume was torn and stained, and her eyes held the kind of exhaustion that sleep couldn't fix. "That's what Rex thought too."
The name hung in the air like a ghost. Rex. Monster Girl. Shrinking Ray. Dupli-Kate. All the others who'd thought they were safe. Who'd died believing they had a chance.
Robot's mechanical voice cut through the tension. "Did you retrieve the null energy?"
Angstrom pulled a cylindrical container from his pack, handling it with extreme care. The device inside pulsed with a sickly green light, humming with barely contained power. "If this doesn't give Omni-Man a bad day, nothing will."
The words were barely out of his mouth when the entire base shook. Dust rained from the ceiling. Someone screamed.
Then the ceiling exploded inward.
Concrete and steel and earth erupted like a volcano, and through the dust and debris descended two figures, backlit by the moonlight streaming through the massive hole they'd created. Nolan and Mark, father and son, floating there like angels of death.
"Told you we were close," Nolan said, brushing dust off his shoulder.
The resistance members scattered, but there was nowhere to run. The base had three exits, and Nolan was already moving toward two of them, his speed making him almost invisible. Bodies dropped before they could even scream, crushed or torn apart with casual efficiency.
Mark landed in the center of the chaos, his eyes scanning the room with practiced ease. They found Eve immediately.
She stood her ground, her hands already glowing pink with molecular manipulation energy. Around her, the floor began to shift, transforming into barriers and weapons, anything she could use.
"Hey, Eve." Mark's smile was wrong—too warm, too familiar, like they were meeting for coffee instead of a massacre. "You look good."
Eve's response was a blast of energy that would have vaporized a normal person. The pink beam hit Mark square in the chest and exploded, filling the room with light and heat and the smell of ozone.
When the smoke cleared, Mark was standing in a crater, his suit scorched but his smile unchanged. "Eve!"
Across the room, Robot frantically assembled the null energy weapon, his mechanical hands moving in a blur. Components clicked together with desperate precision as Nolan cut through another group of resistance fighters like they were paper.
"Get back!" Robot shouted, raising the completed weapon. It looked cobbled together, jury-rigged, but the energy reading from its core was off the charts.
He fired.
The beam that emerged was darkness given form—a void that seemed to consume light itself. It hit Nolan square in the chest and actually stopped him mid-flight. For a moment, just a moment, surprise flickered across the Viltrumites face.
Then he looked down at the scorch mark on his suit and back up at Robot.
"Someday," Robot said, his voice shaking with static and what might have been fear, "you too will die."
Nolan's smile was colder than space. "Sure. But you should have died at birth."
He moved. One moment he was twenty feet away, the next his fist was buried in Robot's chest cavity, crushing circuits and processors and whatever passed for Robot's vital organs. Sparks flew. Oil sprayed across Nolan's arm in a black arc. The mechanical body crumpled like a tin can, and the light went out of Robot's optical sensors.
Nolan let the body drop and turned to help his son.
Mark had Eve by the throat now, lifting her off the ground. She clawed at his wrist, her powers flickering weakly, trying to transmute his skin into something softer, something breakable. But Viltrumite biology was too resilient, too alien. Nothing was happening.
"Stop this," Mark said, his voice tight with emotion she couldn't identify. "Or I stop you."
Eve's response was to spit in his face.
Mark didn't even flinch. "Please, Eve. I'd rather not do this."
"I'd rather die," she choked out, her face turning purple.
Something human flickered across Mark's expression—hurt, maybe, or regret. "What? Eve... I would never kill you. But I can't let you hurt anyone else."
His grip shifted, his other hand moving to her spine. He knew exactly where to apply pressure, exactly how much force to use. He'd been practicing.
The crack of her vertebrae sounded like breaking branches. Eve's scream cut off mid-breath as everything below her neck went dead and cold. Her powers winked out like a candle. Her arms fell limp at her sides.
Mark lowered her paralyzed body to the ground almost gently, his hand lingering on her shoulder. "She's not dead. Just paralyzed."
Nolan landed beside him, glancing down at Eve's broken form. "I'm sorry you had to do that, Mark. She didn't leave you a choice."
"Yeah." Mark's voice was distant. He stared down at Eve, his hand still touching her shoulder. Her eyes were wide, terrified, tears streaming down her face as she struggled to breathe with her compromised nervous system. "I've got some people who'll take care of her. So I can visit. Check on her."
"Huh." Nolan sounded genuinely impressed. "So that's what you were practicing on those protesters last week in Seattle. I couldn't figure out what you were doing. Thought you were just experimenting."
"Took a while to get the pressure right," Mark admitted. "But yeah."
The remaining resistance members—maybe fifteen of them—huddled against the far wall like animals in a trap. Some were crying. Others just stared with empty eyes, already dead inside.
Nolan turned to face them, his expression almost pleasant. "Hi. Since you were all part of the resistance, we need to kill you. Policy. You understand."
Angstrom Levy pushed through the crowd; his face flushed with fury that overrode his terror. "Murderers! You're nothing but murderers!"
"Ah." Nolan smiled. "A volunteer to go first. How convenient."
"Don't touch me!" Angstrom backed away, but there was nowhere to go.
Mark stepped forward, cutting off his retreat. "Hey buddy, you sentenced yourself to death when you joined Club Resistance. Should've thought about that before you started playing hero."
Angstrom's voice rose, desperate and defiant and doomed. "Justice will come for you! For all the friends we've lost to your senseless cruelty, for all the families you've torn apart, for every innocent life you've destroyed—you will reap what you—"
"Let's do this, Mark," Nolan interrupted, checking his wrist like he was wearing a watch. "I missed lunch because of that riot in Bangkok. Those protesters just wouldn't stop throwing themselves at me. Very inconsiderate."
"Yep." Mark was already moving toward Angstrom. "Way ahead of you."
But before either of them could reach him, a woman in the crowd gasped. A sound like tearing reality filled the base, and a swirling green portal suddenly opened directly beneath Angstrom's feet. He dropped through with a scream that cut off as abruptly as it began, the portal sealing behind him like it had never existed.
Mark stopped, blinking at the empty space. "What the hell was that? A portal or something?"
Nolan stared at the spot for a moment, then shrugged. "Eh. Who cares? Some kind of last-resort escape plan, probably. Let's finish this off. I'm starving."
The screaming started then. The remaining resistance members tried to run, tried to fight, tried to do anything that might save them. It didn't matter. It never mattered.
Mark and Nolan moved through them like a storm, efficient and merciless. When it was over, the silence was deafening. Blood pooled on the cracked concrete floor. Eve's paralyzed form lay in the center of it all, still conscious, forced to witness everything.
"Better call your people to pick her up," Nolan said, already heading for the exit. "Don't want her to bleed out down here."
"Already on it," Mark replied, pulling out a communicator. He knelt beside Eve one more time, his hand gentle on her cheek. She couldn't move away. Couldn't do anything but stare at him with hatred and horror. "Don't worry. I'll take good care of you. I promise."
Then they were gone, launching up through the hole in the ceiling and disappearing into the night sky.
Eve lay there in the darkness and the blood and the bodies, trapped in her own unmoving flesh, and wept silently.
PRESENT UNIVERSE-UNKNOWN LOCATION
The chamber was ostentatious in a way that screamed power and poor taste in equal measure. Purple and gold plating covered every surface, from the vaulted ceiling to the ornate pillars that lined the walls. Crystal chandeliers hung like frozen explosions of light, casting prismatic reflections across the room. Everything about it was designed to intimidate, to remind anyone who entered that they were in the presence of wealth and influence that most people couldn't even imagine.
Around the circular table sat the most dangerous collection of criminals on Earth—The Order. Each one controlled their own empire, ruled their own underworld kingdom, commanded armies of killers and thieves and worse. Together, they were unstoppable. Separately, they could barely stand to be in the same room.
Machine Head stood near his seat, his mechanical cranium gleaming under the chandelier light. Isotope lingered at his shoulder like a loyal attack dog, his jaw clenched so tight it looked painful.
At the head of the table sat Mister Liu, and if Machine Head was ostentatious, Liu was terrifying in his simplicity. The elderly Chinese man was bald, his skull reflecting the light almost as much as Machine Head's did. But it was his eyes that drew attention—piercing brown orbs that seemed to catalog every weakness, every vulnerability, every angle of attack. His lower jaw, mouth, and tongue were all cybernetic replacements, gleaming chrome and titanium that clicked softly when he spoke, adding a mechanical undertone to his words.
"Machine Head," Liu said, his voice carrying that distinctive metallic rasp. "I'm so glad to see you've recovered from your... unfortunate encounter with the new Guardians of the Globe."
The sarcasm dripped like acid. Several members around the table smirked.
Machine Head remained silent, but his optical sensors flickered—a tell. Isotope's hands balled into fists at his sides.
I can't wait to see this man's head on a platter, Machine Head thought, though his voice maintained its usual sing-song quality when he finally spoke. "The reports of my demise were greatly exaggerated, Liu. I'm touched by your concern, truly."
Liu's cybernetic jaw clicked as he smiled—a cold, mechanical expression. "Oh, I wasn't concerned. Merely... curious how someone of your supposed genius could be so thoroughly humiliated."
"You want to test that theory?" Machine Head's voice lost some of its musical quality, taking on an edge. "Come on then. Let's see how your fancy jaw holds up."
Liu actually stood, his chair scraping back. For a moment, the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
"Looks like The Order has become a playground again."
The voice was calm, measured, almost bored. It came from a man sitting three seats down from Liu—older, distinguished, with gray hair at his temples and eyes that glowed a dull red in the dim light. He didn't look up from examining his nails as he spoke.
Liu's attention snapped to him. "What do you mean, Construct?"
Before Construct could answer, another voice cut in—female, sharp as a knife and twice as cold.
"What he means," the woman said, giving Machine Head a withering side-glance, "is that The Order has become both a playground and a hospital for people who aren't competent enough to handle their own territories."
Machine Head's head swiveled to face her, his optical displays flickering with barely suppressed rage. "Ahhhh, Embrace. Your unique brand of insufferable condescension. How I've missed it."
Embrace sat with perfect posture, her sleek red suit leaving her shoulders bare, gold accents scattered across the fabric like drops of molten metal. Gold earrings dangled from her ears, and various other golden accessories adorned her wrists and fingers. Everything about her screamed calculated elegance. Her dark hair was pulled back severely, emphasizing the sharp angles of her face and the cruel intelligence in her eyes.
"After all," she continued, ignoring his jab entirely, "Machine Head couldn't even handle the new Guardians, despite all his talk about being so smart, about his quantum computing giving him every advantage." She smiled, showing teeth. "Makes one wonder if perhaps the Order needs... higher standards for membership."
"Funny," Machine Head shot back, his sing-song voice dripping with venom. "I was just thinking the same thing. Tell me, Embrace, how many of your operations have the Guardians shut down this month? Three? Four? Or have you lost count?"
"This is becoming a waste of time."
The declaration came with the sound of a massive fist slamming onto the table, making glasses jump and liquid slosh. The speaker was enormous—or rather, his battlesuit was. Slaying Mantis wore armor that made him look like a nightmare insect come to life, all dark green and white plating, sharp angles and blade-like protrusions. The suit's design mimicked a praying mantis down to disturbing detail, and his deep voice rumbled from within it like distant thunder.
"Let's get this over with," Mantis growled. "Some of us have actual business to attend to. Profitable business."
Machine Head couldn't resist. "What are you going to do, Mantis? Die while fucking one of your hoes? Because I've run the calculations, and statistically speaking, that's your most likely cause of death."
Several people around the table burst out laughing. Even Construct cracked a smile. Mantis's suit whirred as he turned to face Machine Head, the mechanical joints hissing with pneumatic pressure.
"Careful, Machine Head," Mantis said, his voice low and dangerous. "Keep talking and I'll show you what these claws can do to that oversized light bulb you call a head."
"Enough!"
Liu's voice cut through the tension like a cleaver through bone. His cybernetic jaw clicked rapidly—a sign of agitation that everyone in the room recognized. "Regardless of how we feel about each other—and believe me, I'm well aware most of you would happily kill each other given the chance—we are here because we have a common problem. A problem that threatens all of our operations, all of our territories, all of our power."
The room quieted. Even Mantis settled back in his chair.
Liu continued, his mechanical voice taking on a more serious tone. "The new Guardians of the Globe, and more specifically, their leader—Invincible."
The name hung in the air like a curse. Every person at the table sat up a little straighter. The atmosphere shifted from barely controlled hostility to genuine attention.
"With the help of the GDA," Liu went on, pacing now around the table, "they have been systematically dismantling our operations. Taking our territories. Arresting our people. Just last week, they completely demolished our hold on Chicago—"
"My hold," Machine Head cut in, his voice tight. "Chicago was mine. I built that network from nothing."
Liu's jaw clenched—literally, the cybernetics grinding together with an audible click. He took a breath—unnecessary for someone with his enhancements, but old habits died hard. "Regardless of who claimed what territory, the point stands. They have become a problem we can no longer afford to ignore."
He stopped pacing, placing both hands on the table and leaning forward. "And there's another complication. Omni-Man's recent attempt to destroy the planet—"
"Wait," War Woman II interrupted. She was an imposing figure, broad-shouldered and muscular, with fair skin, sharp green eyes, and thick red hair cut in a short, severe bob. Her Amazonian armor gleamed in the chandelier light, the deep neckline and flowing yellow cape giving her a regal, warrior-queen appearance. "Are we seriously calling that psychotic breakdown an 'attempt'? He nearly succeeded. If Invincible hadn't stopped him—"
"Which is precisely my point," Liu said, his red eyes flashing. "We need a plan. A comprehensive strategy. Because if beings like Omni-Man exist, and if they can turn on humanity that quickly, we need to be prepared."
"If I may be so bold..."
The voice came from a figure that looked like he'd walked out of a noir film by way of a horror movie. Insomniac wore a grey trench coat over a red full-body suit, but it was his helmet that drew the eye—red and yellow, with pins literally holding his eyelids open. His eyes pointed in different directions due to strabismus, giving him a permanently unsettling gaze.
"I have recent footage from my sources within the GDA," Insomniac continued, his voice carrying the raspy quality of someone who genuinely never slept. "Regarding why Invincible and Omni-Man fought. It's... illuminating."
"Well?" Embrace leaned forward. "Don't keep us in suspense, darling. Some of us don't have all night."
Insomniac pulled out a small projector and activated it. Holographic footage sprang to life above the table—Nolan Grayson, beaten and bloodied, facing down his son. The audio was tinny but clear enough.
"Apparently," Insomniac narrated, "Omni-Man is part of an alien race called Viltrumites. A race of conquerors. Warriors. He was sent here to weaken Earth for an invasion."
Machine Head's head literally lit up, his optical displays flashing with agitation. "That's the same shit that Invincible told that fucking washed-up cat before he walked away with that red-suited fucker! I was there!"
Everyone turned to stare at him.
"What do you mean?" Embrace's voice was sharp, all pretense of casual disinterest gone.
Machine Head's voice rose, taking on the rapid-fire quality of someone who'd been holding this in for too long. "I mean I calculated everything perfectly. I accounted for every variable. I paid good money—excellent money—to have Invincible get absolutely washed by that cat. Battle Beast was supposed to tear him apart, give me the leverage I needed, the investment I'd planned for. But I didn't account for Invincible being so fucking smooth with his words!"
He stood now, gesticulating wildly with his mechanical hands. "That fucking pussy heard the word 'Viltrumite' and got a hard-on! And if what Insomniac said is true—and it clearly fucking is—then Omni-Man has a whole goddamn race of those monsters on their way here! Because Invinci-fuck convinced Battle Beast to leave by promising him an entire warrior race to fight against!"
The implications of that settled over the room like a funeral shroud.
Construct spoke first, his glowing red eyes intensifying. "So you're telling us that not only do we have an increasingly powerful and competent Guardians team to deal with, but we potentially have an alien invasion on the horizon?"
"Fuck me," Mantis muttered. "This is bad. This is really bad."
"We need to establish a plan," Liu said, his voice cutting through the rising panic. "We need to eliminate Invincible and the new Guardians of the Globe before this situation gets even further out of control."
He turned to Machine Head, his cybernetic jaw clicking thoughtfully. "Machine Head. This Battle Beast you mentioned—how did you get in contact with him in the first place?"
Machine Head's head dimmed slightly as he processed the memory. "I didn't, exactly. He hacked the system I'd set up—the whole 'come fight for money' thing I was running. And the money didn't even entice the fucker. He just wanted to fight. The strongest opponent he could find."
"And he left with Invincible because...?"
"Because that fucker offered him something better than money," Machine Head said, his sing-song voice returning but edged with bitterness. "An entire race of warriors to test himself against. We definitely can't bet our cards on Battle Beast helping us. He's a lost cause."
Machine Head paused, his optical displays flickering in a pattern that suggested deep calculation. "Although... I do have a plan in mind."
Liu leaned forward, interested despite himself. "Go on."
"For this plan to work," Machine Head said slowly, "we need to bring the Mauler twins into our fold."
The room exploded with objections.
"Absolutely not!" War Woman II slammed her fist on the table. "That pair of brain-sharing good-for-nothings are not worth the trouble they cause! Every time they've been involved with one of our operations, it's ended in disaster!"
"They're unstable," Embrace added, her voice cold. "Unpredictable. They turn on their employers as often as they work for them."
"They're also brilliant," Machine Head countered. "And more importantly, they're the best geneticists and cloners on the planet. Better than any government lab, better than any legitimate research facility."
He activated his own holographic display, showing an image that made everyone lean closer. It was a tuft of hair—ordinary looking, except for the faint iridescence in certain light.
"When I first met Battle Beast," Machine Head continued, "I managed to collect a sample. Just a few hairs, some skin cells. Barely anything. But it's enough."
Liu's eyes narrowed. "Enough for what?"
Machine Head's voice took on an almost manic quality. "If we can grow our own Battle Beast and bring him under our control—condition him from birth, program his loyalty—then we will have a weapon unlike any the world has ever seen. Something that can match Invincible. Maybe even kill him."
The room went silent as everyone considered the implications.
Slaying Mantis broke the silence, his deep voice rumbling. "That sounds like a swell plan, except for one tiny problem. Didn't the Maulers just get captured by the GDA? Again?"
Several people groaned. The Mauler twins had a habit of getting caught with alarming frequency.
Machine Head turned to Liu, his optical displays flickering knowingly. "Yes, but from the look on our distinguished Chinese colleague's face, I can already see he has a plan to break them out. Don't you, Liu?"
All eyes turned to Mister Liu, who had been staring at the holographic image of Battle Beast with an intensity that bordered on obsessive.
Liu's cybernetic jaw clicked several times before he spoke. "I'll send Multi-Paul to break them out and bring them in. The Maulers are only as useful as their... usefulness. And for your sake, Machine Head, I hope this plan actually works. Because if it doesn't, if you've wasted our time and resources..."
He didn't finish the threat. He didn't need to.
Liu stood, straightening his suit. "This meeting is adjourned. We'll reconvene once the Maulers are secured and we have concrete progress to report. Until then, maintain your operations and stay under the Guardians' radar. The last thing we need is to give them an excuse to focus all their attention on us."
He walked toward the exit, his footsteps echoing in the suddenly quiet room. One by one, the other members of The Order began to leave, each disappearing through different exits, returning to their various criminal empires.
Machine Head waited until only he and Isotope remained. Then he nodded to his lieutenant.
Isotope's hands began to glow with that familiar teleportation energy. The air around them warped and twisted, reality bending like heated glass. In an instant, they were elsewhere—one of Machine Head's many hidden safehouses scattered throughout the city.
This one was smaller than his usual lairs, more intimate. Italian marble floors stretched across the space, and a massive table dominated the center of the room—real wood, antique, probably worth more than most people's houses. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city below, thousands of lights twinkling like fallen stars.
"Was it good telling them that plan, boss?" Isotope asked, his voice uncertain. He'd worked for Machine Head long enough to know when his employer was holding something back.
Machine Head walked to the window, his mechanical hands clasped behind his back. His head's optical displays cast a faint glow on the glass, creating a ghostly reflection.
"Oh ye of little faith, Iso," Machine Head said, his sing-song voice returning in full force. "Do you really think I would lay all my cards out bare on the table? With that collection of backstabbing, power-hungry psychopaths?"
He turned, and even though his mechanical face couldn't smile, somehow his voice conveyed amusement. "When I first met Battle Beast, he was carrying a trophy. The severed head of some creature he called a Rugnar. Apparently, it was one of the few things in the universe that had actually managed to hurt him. Strong enough to cut through that impenetrable hide of his, fast enough to land a hit as fast as he could react."
Isotope's eyes widened. "Boss, you didn't..."
"Oh, but I did." Machine Head's voice was practically gleeful now. "While everyone was focused on the Battle Beast hairs I showed them, I neglected to mention that yours truly also acquired samples from that Ragnar head. Blood. Tissue. DNA. Everything we need."
He began pacing now, his movements animated, excited. "Don't you see, Iso? The Maulers will work on cloning Battle Beast, thinking that's our master plan. They'll pour all their genius into creating one super weapon. And we'll learn everything we need to know from watching them work."
"And then?" Isotope prompted, though he was starting to understand.
"And then," Machine Head said, his voice dropping to something almost sinister, "we take what we've learned and apply it to the Ragnar DNA. We won't create one controllable super weapon. We'll create an army of them. Creatures bred from birth to follow my commands, strong enough to tear through anything in their path."
He stopped at the window again, looking out over the city with what could only be described as proprietary satisfaction.
"And then we kill Invincible," Machine Head continued, his sing-song voice building like a crescendo. "We take over The Order, eliminate anyone who stands in our way. Embrace, Liu, that insufferable Mantis—all of them. Gone."
His voice dropped lower, taking on a quality that made even Isotope uncomfortable. "And then... then I'll take special care to kill Titan. That sanctimonious piece of shit. I'll kill his fucking wife. I'll kill that peasant child of his. I'll make him watch as everything he loves burns, and then—only then—will I end his miserable existence."
The silence that followed was heavy with the weight of Machine Head's ambition and barely controlled rage.
Isotope shifted uncomfortably. "Boss, that's... that's a lot. Are you sure we can pull all that off?"
Machine Head turned from the window, his optical displays flickering in a pattern that somehow conveyed absolute certainty. "Iso, my dear friend, I don't deal in uncertainty. I deal in calculations, in probabilities, in quantum-level predictions of every possible outcome."
He walked over to his lieutenant and placed one mechanical hand on Isotope's shoulder. "And I've calculated that we're going to win. Not because we're the strongest—we're not. Not because we're the most ruthless—though we're certainly in the running. But because everyone else is playing checkers while I'm playing five-dimensional chess."
"The Order thinks they understand the game," Machine Head continued, returning to his pacing. "Liu thinks he's the mastermind, Embrace thinks she's the smartest person in the room, Mantis thinks raw power is all that matters. They're all wrong. They're all thinking too fucking small."
He stopped, his head tilting in that distinctly mechanical way. "While they're fighting over territories and drug routes and protection rackets, I'm building something bigger. Something that will reshape the entire criminal underworld. Something that will make The Order obsolete."
"And Invincible?" Isotope asked. "He's not going to just let this happen."
"Invincible," Machine Head said, and for the first time there was genuine respect in his voice, "is the only one who concerns me. Not because he's the strongest—there are beings more powerful. Not because he's the smartest—he's actually quite naive in many ways. But because he has something the rest of them lack."
"What's that?"
"Conviction," Machine Head said simply. "True, genuine, unshakeable conviction. He believes he's doing the right thing. And that makes him dangerous in ways raw power never could."
He turned back to the window one last time, his reflection staring back at him in the glass. "But even conviction has its limits. Everyone has a breaking point. Everyone has something they value more than their principles. And when I find Invincible's breaking point—and I will find it—he'll fall just like all the others."
Outside, the city continued its endless dance of light and shadow, millions of people going about their lives, completely unaware of the machinations happening in the towers above them.
Machine Head stood in his marble sanctuary, looking down on it all, already calculating his next move.
"Get some rest, Iso," he said quietly. "We have a lot of work ahead of us. And when the Maulers are freed and brought in, we'll need to be ready to move fast."
Isotope nodded and teleported away, leaving Machine Head alone with his thoughts and his ambitions.