August 22, 2015 — Saturday — Guardians Headquarters — Utah, USA
The Guardians' central chamber looked like a futuristic temple carved into the mountain's ribs—raw stone seamlessly fused with sleek panels, embedded conduits, and towering screens that displayed global maps, energy readings, and live communication feeds. Above it all, a domed ceiling filtered daylight into something pale and clinical, as if even the sun needed clearance to enter.
One by one, they arrived.
The Immortal came first, arms folded, expression shut tight, scanning the room like he intended to identify the problem before anyone finished explaining it.
War Woman followed, her armor gleaming under the sterile lights, mace secured along her back, chin lifted with the quiet authority of a commander walking into a war room.
Green Ghost drifted in next, hovering an inch above the floor—relaxed posture, attentive eyes.
Martian Man took shape in stages, his translucent green form condensing into something human.
Red Rush appeared as a blur that stopped too abruptly, the tremor of his speed lingering in the air around him.
Aquarus came next.
They looked at each other in silence, waiting for an explanation...
That didn't come.
Finally, Darkwing slid in from the far corridor, emerging from shadow as if the darkness itself had opened a door for him.
Seven figures. Seven styles. Seven legends.
The Immortal broke the silence first.
"Darkwing," he said, turning toward the hooded vigilante. "Why did you call us in?"
Darkwing straightened, surprise visible even through the mask. His gaze swept the chamber, searching for the missing piece. "Me?" He looked from face to face. "Wasn't it Cosmic?"
The Immortal's brow furrowed, deep lines cutting across his forehead. "No. He went back to Africa."
War Woman had already stepped forward without realizing it. Her hand rose to her back, fingers closing around the mace's grip, drawing it partway free.
"None of us triggered the alert," she said, voice echoing through the circular chamber. "So who did?"
The question barely left her mouth.
Something red flashed through everyone's vision—an impossible blur, like a slash cut into reality.
Darkwing vanished from where he stood.
CRACK —
the impact landing a heartbeat behind the blur.
His body hit the inner stone wall hard enough to spiderweb it with fractures. For an instant, he hung there—twisted at an angle that didn't belong to anything living. Spine folded. One leg bent the wrong way. Ribs punched through the dark suit. His neck snapped into a grotesque rotation. His cape drifted down slowly, as if it needed an extra second to understand the man beneath it was no longer holding it.
Dead.
Everyone turned at once.
"No—Darkwing?!" War Woman shouted, shock tearing through her voice as she yanked the mace fully free.
"What the hell was that?!" The Immortal roared, taking a step forward, eyes blown wide.
Before anyone could truly move—
Red tore the air again.
Red Rush disappeared from his place, his silhouette vibrating for the briefest instant before he was gone.
He reappeared against the Immortal, palms open, shoving the team's leader with enough force to slam him into the far wall—dragging him out of the chamber's center, away from the line of fire.
It all happened in the span of a blink.
Then the red blur stopped—dead center, under the overhead light that showed everything.
Heavy boots kissed metal with a dry, final sound.
A man stood there, fully present.
White-and-red uniform, spotless. Emblem on his chest. A cape that nearly brushed the ground. Broad shoulders. Eyes like ice.
Omni-Man.
He stood in the heart of the Guardians' headquarters, breathing as if none of what had just happened required effort.
And in the same instant, every one of them understood—
The danger hadn't come from outside.
It was already among them.
Red Rush moved first.
"What the—Is this mind control?" The words came out like reflex, but his body was already in motion before an answer could exist.
Red streaks sliced the chamber in overlapping lines.
He hit Omni-Man from every direction—fists hammering Nolan's face, chest, ribs, each impact too fast for the eye to track. The sound became one continuous clatter, like stones raining on steel.
For a moment, it looked like Nolan could barely react.
Then he stopped trying to keep up.
His gaze narrowed, reading the rhythm. A half-step. A jawline tilt. A shoulder drop—tiny tells that meant everything.
Red Rush appeared exactly where Nolan expected him to be.
Nolan's hand was already there.
His fingers clamped around the speedster's forearm, locking him in place.
Red Rush fought to slip the grip—muscles buzzing, body already reaching for the next position in space.
He didn't get the chance.
Nolan's other hand rose and closed over the top of Red Rush's head.
And in less than two seconds, both hands began to squeeze.
The skull gave first.
Then everything else.
Red Rush's face collapsed between Omni-Man's palms like wet plaster—blood bursting from eyes, nose, mouth, ears, splattering the floor and walls in a violent red arc.
"NO!"
The scream came from multiple throats at once—War Woman, Aquarus, Green Ghost, even The Immortal lunged forward, too late.
Red Rush's body hit the ground limp—faceless, lifeless.
Whatever this was… mind control or not… it didn't matter anymore.
Aquarus, The Immortal, War Woman, and Martian Man surged in.
Aquarus lifted his hands—rings of water forming in his palms, pressure building. A second later, a concentrated jet blasted forward, thick as a concrete pillar, aimed straight for Nolan.
Green Ghost—still frozen, still staring at Darkwing's broken corpse and what remained of Red Rush—barely had time to react.
Omni-Man moved.
In a single step, he crossed the distance to her.
His hand drove through the back of her skull like a blade through paper—fingers punching through bone, brain, and out the front. His fingertips surfaced through her forehead, slick and red.
Then he turned her—
Efficiently, mercilessly—
Into a shield.
Aquarus's water jet struck Green Ghost full-force. Her body convulsed under the impact, limbs snapping and flinging as blood and water mixed into a grotesque spray.
When the jet ceased, what was left slid from Nolan's grasp and slumped to the floor like discarded cloth.
Martian Man had already stretched—his body elongating into living bands of green that wrapped around Nolan's torso, arms, and legs, coiling like ropes to restrain him.
Wrapped in Martian Man's coils, Nolan launched forward anyway.
He surged forward, dragging Martian Man with him, straight toward Aquarus.
War Woman charged alongside, mace raised, closing in to intercept.
She arrived almost simultaneously.
The mace came down in a perfect arc, heavy with intent, aimed at Nolan's ribs.
The impact boomed like thunder.
Nolan didn't go down, but the strike forced him to tilt, air hissing through clenched teeth. A single bead of blood flicked from the corner of his mouth.
He snarled.
His arms spread with brutal force. Martian Man's bands were torn apart, the green mass ripping free and slapping down across the floor like spilled paint.
Nolan's right hand snapped out and caught War Woman's mace halfway down the handle.
With a sharp twist, he ripped the weapon from her grip.
In the same motion, he stepped forward and brought the mace down once—
Aquarus's head collapsed under it.
The blow hit like a divine hammer. Skull caved. Bone, scale, and flesh burst outward. Eyes popped free. Aquarus sank to his knees and toppled sideways, dead before his body finished falling.
Only three remained moving now: The Immortal, War Woman, and Martian Man.
They didn't hesitate.
They attacked together.
Martian Man surged again, reshaping into a dense mass around Nolan's torso, trying to bind him tighter than before.
This time, Nolan grabbed him.
He seized a stretched portion—green matter forced into the shape of a limb—and yanked in opposite directions.
Martian Man split.
Nolan lunged forward in the same instant, grabbed the torn halves, and ripped again—then again—hurling pieces away with casual violence, flinging them against ceiling, walls, floor. Green splatter rained down like paint thrown in fury.
What remained hit the metal in shapeless heaps.
Still.
Dead.
The Immortal reached Nolan immediately after.
His punch sounded like air tearing.
Nolan's head snapped aside, neck grinding. He felt it, stumbling a half-step as blood traced the corner of his mouth.
He caught the next punch with one hand, fingers closing around The Immortal's wrist and stopping him cold.
War Woman was there a heartbeat later, driving a flurry of strikes into Nolan's stomach—fists and forearms slamming into his chest and abdomen, each hit deep enough to force a harsh grunt from his throat.
Nolan rotated his hips and threw a single punch.
It landed on War Woman's face.
She flew like a projectile—crossing half the chamber before smashing into the stone wall with a crash that ripped chunks of rock free. Blood left her lips before her body slid down.
Nolan turned back to The Immortal.
His free hand pulled back and drove forward like a battering ram.
His fist punched through The Immortal's abdomen and burst out his back in a wet, violent bloom.
The Immortal groaned, but he stayed upright—hands clamping around Nolan's buried arm as if refusing to fall by sheer will.
Nolan wrenched his arm free, preparing to finish it.
War Woman didn't stay down.
Even broken, she launched herself back into the fight—mace reclaimed, using the moment Nolan focused on The Immortal.
She came from above, aiming for the side of Nolan's head.
Nolan took one step back, letting the mace slice air.
His hand rose—fast, absolute—and closed over War Woman's entire head.
He twisted.
A dry, brutal snap echoed through the chamber as vertebrae shattered.
War Woman dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.
The floor was a grave now.
Darkwing. Red Rush. Green Ghost. Aquarus. War Woman. Martian Man—scattered in pieces.
Only The Immortal still breathed.
He sank to his knees, one hand pressing his torn abdomen, the other bracing against the floor. His gaze locked onto Omni-Man, hatred and disbelief welded together.
"Why?" The word rasped out of him, hoarse but clear.
Omni-Man walked to him.
His footsteps were steady, measured, echoing through the suddenly silent chamber. His face was stone—cold, unhurried, untouched by remorse.
He stopped within arm's reach.
The Immortal's eyes narrowed, something like grim understanding creeping in too late. "I never liked you," he said, spitting blood onto the metal.
Nolan's reply came flat.
"The feeling is mutual."
Then Nolan's arm moved.
His hand cut through the space between them like a blade—through flesh, muscle, and bone in one clean, fluid motion.
The Immortal's head separated from his body.
It hit the floor and rolled, coming to rest facing upward—eyes still open, as if refusing to close.
The body collapsed a beat later, heavy, soundless.
Silence.
Omni-Man stood in the center of the slaughter.
Mutilated bodies surrounded him, blood smeared across stone walls and pooled over the metal floor of the most fortified base on Earth.
His uniform was almost immaculate—except for the blood that wasn't his.
Only a thin line of blood at the corner of his mouth. A few scattered flecks across the fabric. Bruises hidden beneath the suit along his chest and abdomen—damage no one would ever see now.
He inhaled once.
Then, without looking back, he rose into the air and exited through the upper opening with surgical precision—no broken glass, no collateral, nothing unnecessary.
Omni-Man left the Guardians' headquarters as if nothing had happened.
As if it had been nothing more than another duty completed.
Four Hours Later — August 22, 2015 — Saturday — Guardians Headquarters — Utah, USA — 10:27 (UTC-6)
The sound of helicopters touching down outside the mountain facility shattered the silence of the surrounding peaks. The GDA arrived—soldiers and technical staff spilling into the corridors in a sharp V-formation.
When they stepped into the Guardians' central chamber, Cecil stopped. A cigarette sat at the corner of his mouth, his dark overcoat heavy on his shoulders.
Donald came right behind him, followed by a high-security team in agency vests—armed, alert, ready for anything.
Anything…
Except this.
The Guardians' central hall looked like a war scene stuck in slow motion. Cracked rock. Twisted metal. Blood smeared in patterns that were impossible to ignore. Bits of armor here, shredded cape fabric there. And in the middle of it all—bodies.
Or what was left of them.
One agent took three steps inside and froze, a hand rising to his mouth. He turned away, hunching over.
The sound of someone vomiting echoed through the chamber.
Another simply locked up—eyes wide, staring at what remained of Darkwing on the wall, breath trapped in his chest.
Donald went rigid.
His face didn't change, but his right hand clenched his clipboard so hard his knuckles turned white.
Cecil inhaled slowly through his mouth, drawing on the cigarette deeper than he should have.
"No response from the Guardians for four hours," Donald said, his voice too controlled. "Vital signs read zero on every communicator for at least two."
"Yeah," Cecil murmured, taking two more steps forward, his shoe grinding into something he'd rather not identify. "Now we know why."
Immortal's body lay on its knees—torso punctured through, throat split open. His head rested several meters away, tilted on its side, eyes still half-open, staring into nothing.
"Put him together," Cecil ordered, pulling the cigarette from his mouth without taking his eyes off the scene. "Head and body. Carefully."
Two agents swallowed hard, but obeyed—thick gloves, cautious movements, as if they feared the corpse might stand up at any second. They placed the head against the torso, then onto a stretcher prepared for superhuman transport.
"Get him to recovery," Cecil added. "Now."
Donald flicked a glance at him. "You still think—"
"He's come back from worse," Cecil cut in, flat. "I'm not wasting the only one who might be able to tell me what—or who—did this."
Three hours crawled by.
Drones combed every inch of the base. Teams collected samples, photographed angles, measured impacts, compared damage patterns—everything cataloged, everything recorded, everything still painfully inadequate.
When the dust finally settled, only a few people remained in the chamber: Cecil, Donald, two high-security technicians.
And one more.
Damien Darkblood.
The trench-coated figure stood near the center, his long coat nearly brushing the floor, red skin marked with faint runes beneath his collar. The air around him felt colder, laced with a subtle hint of sulfur—as if his presence dragged its own shadow along.
He moved slowly through the space, studying blood stains, cracks in the rock, the angles of broken bodies. Every step looked like a calculation.
"Interesting," Damien murmured, his voice rough, as though it came from somewhere much deeper than his throat.
Cecil watched him in silence for a few seconds.
"You gonna tell me you've seen something like this before?" Cecil asked—no irony this time.
Damien crouched where War Woman had fallen, passing his hand mere millimeters above the floor and the corpse without touching—like he was feeling the echo of what had happened there.
"Not like this," Damien said. "But… the pattern is clear." He lifted his gaze, that strange glow in his yellow eyes. "None of them had a real chance. Precise strikes. Brutal strength. Speed. Hand-to-hand experience."
He straightened.
"Could it be the same one who butchered those cartels?" Damien asked, as if he were only confirming a suspicion. "Or perhaps that Cosmic… or Omni-Man?"
Donald turned his head toward Cecil, waiting.
Cecil took the cigarette out, crushed it into a portable ashtray, and let the smoke leave him in a slow exhale.
"No," Cecil answered, without hesitation.
Damien fell quiet for a moment.
"Denying a possibility doesn't change facts," Damien said calmly.
"Denying the wrong suspect keeps us from losing allies in a war we can't win," Cecil shot back, clipped. "Cosmic doesn't do this kind of mess. And if Omni-Man wanted to kill the Guardians, he could've done it a long time ago." A beat. "And I've got nothing linking either of them to this. Yet."
Donald folded his arms, looking around once more—at the void where the most powerful team on Earth had stood.
"Then who did it?" Donald asked.
Cecil stared into the chamber.
It felt smaller now. Less sacred. Just an expensive grave.
"That's what eats at me," Cecil muttered. "If it was a known villain, they'd leave a signature. If it was an alien attack, there'd be an energy trace. If it was internal sabotage, we'd have teleport logs." He drew a slow breath. "What, in this world, can get in here, kill all of them, and walk out without anyone seeing?"
No one answered.
Not even Damien.
"About the Guardians' deaths," Cecil said, his voice now fully professional, each word chosen. "This cannot leak."
Donald nodded, grim.
"If the news gets out before we have replacements," Cecil continued, "the world panics. Governments lose their minds. Villains start lining up." He glanced up at the cracked dome. "The planet can't take another day like that. Not now."
Damien narrowed his eyes. "You're going to hide the truth."
"I'm going to prevent chaos until I know what I'm fighting," Cecil corrected. "After that, we decide who deserves to know what."
He slid another cigarette into the corner of his mouth—but didn't light it.
"Pull everyone back to the ground," Cecil ordered Donald. "We're going to need global defenses adjusted."
He turned toward the teleport ring.
"And send a message," Cecil added without looking back. "I want Cosmic here."
Donald paused. "Now?"
Cecil took a drag on an unlit cigarette, purely out of habit.
"Now," Cecil repeated. "If anyone on this planet can look at this and tell me whether we're more screwed than I already think… it's him."
Somewhere Else in the U.S. — August 22, 2015 — Saturday — Chicago — 12:47
Infinity and Invincible cut through the sky like two bright projectiles, flying side by side.
Mark glanced at his brother midair.
"Lucky you Art had an extra suit. Looks like Dad predicted you'd do something like that."
Kai turned slightly, wearing that lazy, mocking air. "Lucky for who? I almost got a day off."
Mark let out a breath with a half-smile. "Just try not to destroy this one."
Chicago's buildings rose around them—until they noticed something different: glass, steel, and concrete reflecting the metallic gleam of an android climbing up a building façade using thrusters, metal arms, and mounted weapons.
No pilot. Just red eyes, lights blinking in its chest, and a low hum vibrating out of its core.
Kai struck first.
He dropped in a diagonal dive, driving a kick into the machine's flank and redirecting its momentum across the street. The robot spun in midair, slammed into the asphalt, carved a long trench, then stood again like nothing had happened.
It's like the one I fought last year, Kai thought, veering aside as an energy shot carved a line through the building behind him. But it's stronger. This one can take more punishment.
Mark came right after—fists forward, cape snapping. He punched the robot square in the chest with an impact that echoed down the avenue. The android slid several meters, feet digging into the ground to keep from being ripped away.
"This thing is… tough!" Mark said, hovering back and shaking his hand like he'd punched something harder than solid concrete.
The robot answered with a barrage—micro-missiles launching from its back, smoke trails tearing through the air toward them in fractions of a second.
Kai climbed, drawing some of the fire. He wove between missiles like it was a training drill—shoulder tilt here, torso twist there. Every so often he snapped a kick or a jab into a missile and redirected it upward, where it detonated harmlessly.
Mark dropped.
He used the opening and took the rest of the barrage head-on—arms crossed, body braced. Explosions shoved him back several meters, his shoes leaving dark streaks on the asphalt.
Kai watched and held back the urge to end it immediately.
This is a good moment to let Mark handle it, he thought, drifting back in the air. Good time for him to learn.
He started attacking from the side—not to destroy, but to steer.
A punch clipped the robot's shoulder and turned it into Mark's line. A kick bit into its knee and forced it low.
Kai caught an arm, pulled just enough, then released at the perfect instant—opening the guard like a door for Invincible to crash through.
Mark used every gap.
Punch to the visor. Elbow to the mechanical neck. Knee into the chest, trying to cave the metal.
The android wouldn't retreat. With every hit, it deployed something new. A cannon from the left shoulder. A laser from the forearm. Rotating blades unfurling from its fingertips.
On one lunge, the robot grabbed Mark by the chest and hurled him into a glass building.
Mark rocketed backward, the reflection of the entire city trembling on the mirrored tower.
Before he could crash through the windows—
A translucent purple field appeared, sudden as a wall of invisible glass.
Mark hit the force field instead of the building. Waves of lilac energy rippled across the surface, absorbing the shock.
Below, the robot tried to follow, thrusters flaring from its feet as it shot up after Mark—aiming to crush him against the protected façade.
The same field wrapped both trajectories, holding them in place.
"Looks like things are already being handled around here."
The voice came from the side.
Cosmic hovered a few meters off the building—dark purple, speckled with star-like points, eyes carrying a faint violet glow as energy fields flickered around his hands.
Kai floated a short distance from him, watching the fight above—Mark already recovering and hammering the android inside the protective dome.
Kai turned his head. "What are you doing here?"
Cosmic kept one hand extended, maintaining the field as he spoke. "I got an urgent call from the GDA to head to the Guardians' base," he said, eyes flicking to the robot. "They flagged an android here too, so they had me pass through first."
Kai looked back at the fight, watching Mark rip a shoulder cannon off the robot and use it like a hammer against the metal face. "Looks like my brother's got it."
Cosmic studied Kai for a moment.
"So your choice was to go back to being a hero alongside your brother?"
Kai stayed silent for a few seconds, eyes still on the battle. Then he nodded slowly.
"I think so." He paused, exhaling. "I just… let myself slip into it. It happened."
Cosmic nodded, understanding. "If you want, I still have Grey's old suit stored away. In case you ever need it."
Kai turned and looked at him straight on.
"It's Infinity now. Mark doesn't know."
Cosmic raised his brows, mildly surprised. "Infinity." He tested the name, letting it settle. "That fits…" Then he glanced at Mark above. "Shouldn't we help him now?"
Kai's eyes softened for a heartbeat. "And steal my brother's fun? No way."
Cosmic gave a quiet shake of his head, both of them still watching the android.
"How's Elise?" Kai asked.
Cosmic relaxed his free hand, forming a small rotating circle of energy—ready to assist if needed. "She's doing well. In a few months she'll come to Chicago." He drew a steady breath. "The GDA's going to help with the delivery. Having a half-alien baby definitely won't match the standard hospital checklist."
Kai let out a faint snort. "I can imagine the intake form."
Cosmic gave a short laugh. "It was good seeing you again, Kai."
Up above, the force field dissolved.
Mark and the robot dropped together a few meters, but Mark had control now. He slipped behind the machine, grabbed its shoulders, and yanked.
The mechanical neck burst with a hiss of sparks.
Then he ripped off one arm. Then the other. Then split the torso in half with a kick, launching pieces to either side.
For a second, it looked finished.
Then the torn-off arms began to move on their own.
Tiny thrusters unfolded at the base of the severed shoulders—jets igniting. Each arm rose into the air independently, fingers spreading like mechanical claws, cannons arming in their palms.
Mark hovered in the middle of it, shouting down at the two below.
"Any chance I can get a little help here?" he yelled, dodging a beam that passed inches from his head.
Cosmic raised both hands.
Several smaller force fields formed around the flying arms, pinning some in the air and tipping them upward—aiming their weapons away from the city. One arm fired inside a field, the beam ricocheting until it dissipated.
Kai shot forward.
He tore through the first arm with a punch that crushed its core. The second he split in half with a lateral kick, pieces raining down as scrap. The third he grabbed by the wrist, spun once, and hurled straight up.
Mark surged after it, caught it mid-ascent, and crushed it between his hands like a soda can.
In seconds, the three-story android had become nothing but twisted metal and drifting smoke.
The three of them hovered for a moment—Mark slightly higher, still breathing hard; Kai at mid-level; Cosmic beside them, his fields fading away.
"That thing was stronger than it looked," Mark said, watching the debris fall. "I'm gonna ask Robot from the Teen Team to look into it—see if he can trace where it came from."
Cosmic looked west, his expression shifting—something heavier settling into his eyes.
"This is under control," he said at last. "I'm going to see what's happening at the GDA."
Kai nodded. "If they called you urgently… it's not going to be small."
Cosmic's features tightened. "When is it ever?"
Mark drifted closer to them. "Wait… why does it sound like you two already know each other?"
Cosmic gave a half-smile with no humor. "I met your brother on another occasion."
Mark's eyes moved between them, but Cosmic's departure cut through the moment.
A purple field wrapped around him completely, and in an instant he launched like a comet across the sky—leaving a luminous trail that thinned and vanished into the clouds.
Kai and Mark stayed hovering for a second, watching the point where their friend disappeared.
"Putting your friend aside…" Mark began. "Do you think Robot will find anything?"
Kai stared down at the android wreckage, sirens already converging. "If there's something to find… he'll find it. But if I remember right, I think I've seen something like this on TV before."
And the two of them descended together—ready to answer questions, hear sirens, and, if necessary, start all over again.
Because for them, it was just another day.
And something—out in Utah—was about to prove that a hero's routine would never stay simple.
Minutes Later — Back at Guardians Headquarters — Utah, USA
The air inside the base still reeked of ozone, blood, and freshly split stone.
Outside, a purple flare cut the sky. Cosmic landed on the facility roof with surgical precision—no boom, no tremor. Only the faint sound of boots meeting concrete.
He crossed the main entrance without hesitation, passing through already-open gates. His footsteps through the primary corridor were measured and steady. His star-speckled purple skin caught the flicker of damaged ceiling lights.
His eyes—marked by a subdued violet glow from the energy he carried—swept every detail as he moved. Stains on the walls. Debris scattered. Bodies lying where they fell. There was something on his face that wasn't horror, but wasn't indifference either—an old kind of grief, the look of someone who had watched entire worlds end before.
When he reached the central chamber, he paused at the threshold. He inclined his head slightly, as if offering a moment of silence while standing.
Cecil waited several meters ahead, near the wreckage of what had once been a control station. Dark overcoat. Hands in pockets. An unlit cigarette in the corner of his mouth. Donald stood one step behind him, clipboard under his arm, tense gaze moving from corpse to corpse.
"You got here fast," Cecil said, no preamble.
Cosmic stepped deeper into the room, still scanning the devastation. "Your message said 'urgent.' I don't argue with adjectives like that."
Cecil pulled the cigarette from his mouth, angling his body toward the massacre. "We don't know what happened." His tone was factual, almost clinical. "We lost contact, vitals went flat. When the team got in, it was already like this."
He tipped his chin toward the deep groove in the rock where Darkwing had been smashed, the blood fanned across the metal floor, the empty space where Immortal's body had been.
"We didn't move anything," Cecil continued. "Except Immortal—he was recovered intact and taken to the GDA complex—and Martian Man, who… well. Some pieces had to be removed for investigation and containment." A brief exhale. "The rest is exactly how we found it."
Cosmic walked a few steps, slow, watching without flinching. He passed the spot where War Woman had fallen, where the impact marks told the story without needing captions. He stopped where Red Rush's blood still painted the metal in a jagged, irregular circle.
"No record of hostile entry," Donald added, flipping through data on his clipboard. "No unauthorized teleport. No orbital approach alert. Just… vitals cut and silence."
His voice faltered at the very end—almost imperceptibly.
"When the Guardians were out of commission because of Russell," Donald continued, quieter, almost to himself, "it was bad enough. The world shook for weeks." He pressed his lips together. "Now they're… just dead."
A heavy silence settled over the three of them.
Not the kind that comes from a lack of sound—one made of absence. Seven presences that used to fill this chamber with laughter, bickering, tactical arguments. Now there was only empty space.
Cosmic took a breath—not because he needed it, but because he'd learned to do it among humans.
"So you still have no idea what could've done this," he said—more statement than question.
"If I had any idea," Cecil answered, rolling the cigarette between his fingers, "you'd have gotten a different kind of call."
Cosmic turned fully toward him.
"Maybe I can do something," Cosmic said slowly. "Recover their bodies… to before it happened."
Cecil's eyes narrowed. "You're suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"
Cosmic didn't smile, but his expression softened by a degree. "I'm going to try to find a way." His words were careful. "But for that, I'll need that."
Cecil held his gaze. "The Void Fragment…"
Donald straightened at the name, as if the air had grown heavier. Cecil stayed silent for a few seconds, weighing it.
"Before I pretend that's a great idea," Cecil said at last, "answer me one thing." He tucked the cigarette back into the corner of his mouth—still unlit. "You're not planning to sacrifice yourself or something using that thing, are you?"
Cosmic answered immediately, without hesitation. "No."
Cecil lifted a brow, demanding more.
"That's not how the Fragment works," Cosmic explained. "If I accepted it completely, yes—my existence would fuse with the Void, and that would be the end of this body and this consciousness as you know them." He raised his hand, slowly opening and closing his fingers—tiny sparks of purple energy dancing between them. "But that's not what I intend."
"Then what do you intend?" Donald asked.
"Use it partially." Cosmic looked around again, as if calculating something invisible. "If you release the Fragment under my control, I can channel a limited amount—enough to try rewinding only the immediate area around the bodies… once."
He stressed it. "Not the planet. Not the entire day. Not the whole event. Just this room. Minutes—maybe seconds before the attack."
"That won't… tear you in half?" Donald pressed.
Cosmic tilted his head slightly, thoughtful. "There will still be risk. Pain. Damage. But if I don't allow a full fusion with the Fragment, I can keep it from consuming me entirely."
Cecil pulled the cigarette from his mouth again, turning it between his fingers. His expression stayed hard, but there was something else in his eyes—a spark of calculation mixed with something that might've been hope, if he'd allow himself to name it.
"Maybe it won't be possible," Cosmic finished. "There are limits. The Void isn't a tool I control—it's an abyss you negotiate with. I can try to touch its edge and pull this room a few moments backward." He looked Cecil dead in the eye. "But I won't promise it works. I'll only promise I'll give everything I can without crossing the point of no return."
Silence returned for a moment.
This time it wasn't only grief.
It was decision.
Cecil slid the cigarette back into the corner of his mouth—still unlit.
"I trust you," Cecil said at last. The words came out simple, heavy. "And right now, you're the only chance the Guardians have of being anything close to 'alive.'"
Donald looked away—at the blood trails, at the emptiness where a team used to exist.
"Bring the Fragment here," Cecil ordered into the communicator on his lapel. "Maximum protocol. Restricted access."
He released the button, then turned back to Cosmic.
"If this works," Cecil murmured, "you'll have put the whole world in a debt it'll never be able to repay."
Cosmic only inclined his head.
"The debt was paid the day you took me in," Cosmic replied, calm.
And he waited.