The glow of the monitor bathed the room in blue.
Syndrome sat reclined in his chair, one hand propped against his cheek, eyes fixed on the television screen. The same news broadcast Dexter had watched now played before him, footage of Metro City Plaza in chaos, the statue of Metro Man crumbling under smoke and flame, robots and aliens clashing amid screaming civilians.
The anchor's voice was calm, professional… terrified.
"—and while authorities confirm that the GDN's automated defense system responded late, many are calling into question whether the Hero Law itself is sustainable in times of crisis—"
The feed ended, the anchor's voice fading out on that same haunting question:
"Is bringing back the heroes what we need?"
Syndrome's lips curled into a slow, satisfied grin.
"See that, Mirage?" he said softly, his voice laced with amusement. "We didn't even do anything, and the dominoes are already falling. The plan's moving on its own. Destiny, it seems, has a flair for timing."
Across the room, Mirage stood with her arms crossed, the pale light catching on her silver hair. Her expression was unreadable, but her tone carried quiet worry.
"Are you sure about this, Syndrome?" she asked quietly. "Manipulating public sentiment is one thing, but allying yourself with him?" Her tone darkened subtly. "You do know Megamind isn't exactly known for stability. You can't control him"
Syndrome chuckled, finally leaning back and folding his hands together.
"Oh, Mirage… control is such a limiting word." His eyes glinted with mischief. "You don't control someone like Megamind. You just… give him the right puzzle."
He turned his chair toward her, the blue light painting half his face in shadow.
"Besides, the offer I gave him is something he can't refuse," he said smoothly. "Information—truths buried deep in enemies archives. About his kind… about what's left of them."
Mirage's brow furrowed slightly. "His species?"
Syndrome nodded once. "The Branians. Extinct, or so the world thinks. But extinction is such a fragile concept, don't you think? A few cells here, a sliver of data there…" He smiled wider. "Life finds a way—especially when someone gives it a little… technological push."
Mirage studied him for a moment. "And in return, what did you ask from him?"
Syndrome's gaze shifted toward the frozen image on the TV, the four shadowed heroes standing amid the wreckage, the city burning around them.
"A symbol," he said softly. "A leader. Someone the people can rally behind. A hero made from the essence of many—perfect, powerful, adored."
His voice hardened slightly, the charm turning to steel.
"And then we break them."
He rose from his seat, walking toward the panoramic window overlooking the dark ocean outside the base. "You see, Mirage, people don't learn through reason. They learn through loss. We'll give them their heroes back, make them love them again… then show them what happens when power goes unchecked."
He turned his hand in the air, fingers closing as if crushing something invisible. "They'll beg for a savior. And I'll be right there, ready to give them one."
Mirage's eyes flicked toward a large terminal on the far wall, where a holographic model was projected— swirling strands of DNA interlaced with glowing energy signatures. Notes scrolled beside it in coded script, and in the center of the model was a pulsing core marked: SUBJECT T-01.
Mirage frowned. "So that's what this is for," she murmured. "Your… 'symbol'."
Syndrome smiled faintly, not looking at her. "The world loves a hero, Mirage. Especially one they can watch fall."
He paused, the smile twisting darker. "Megamind's contribution to this plan was... enlightening. His species has a gift for manipulation—of biology, of identity. Which can create something extraordinary."
He turned away from the window, walking toward the elevator. As the doors slid open, the light from inside cast his face in a faint red glow.
"Keep an eye on the development cycle," he said over his shoulder. "We're entering Phase Two."
"And what about Megamind?" Mirage asked quietly.
Syndrome paused at the threshold, his grin sharpening. "Oh, don't worry. He's busy enough playing god. He'll deliver what I need... Also keep an eye on Mr. Incredible and tell Evelyn that the plan is in motion."
The elevator doors slid shut with a hiss.
Mirage stood in silence for a moment, her reflection caught in the glass beside the pulsing hologram.
_______
Two days had passed since Dexter began experimenting with the nanites, and the lab had not slept once.
The air shimmered faintly with static from the holographic displays, and the faint hum of centrifuges blended with the low vibration of magnetic fields. Every surface gleamed with reflected blue light — monitors, glass tubes, metallic instruments all arranged in precise order, as if chaos itself feared to enter his domain.
At the center of it all, inside a sealed containment cylinder, a droplet of blood floated weightlessly. It pulsed with faint crimson light. Monkey's blood infused with thousands of microscopic machines.
Nanites.
Tiny, metallic organisms, each smaller than a red blood cell. Under magnification, they swam like schools of mechanical fish, weaving through plasma and protein strands with eerie coordination.
Through the holographic projection, their interaction unfolded, a slow dance of biology and technology.
The moment the nanites detected the supergene within Monkey's DNA, their behavior changed. They clustered around the double helix, latching onto its luminous structure. Attraction—not random, but purposeful. The nanites seemed drawn to the gene's electromagnetic frequency, reacting as if it were a signal meant for them.
At first, they bonded with the supergene, their energy signatures syncing. But soon, a secondary reaction emerged. The nanites began to emit neutralization pulses, low-frequency resonance waves that rippled through the molecular field.
Those waves disrupted the gene's bioelectrical current, silencing it. The once-luminous sequence dulled, its glow fading like a light slowly smothered.
And then, balance shifted. The supergene retaliated, counteracting the interference. Its regenerative properties overwhelmed the nanites, breaking them down molecule by molecule.
Both forces neutralized one another, the gene, dormant; the nanites, dead.
It was a scientific stalemate.
Yet within that failure, Dexter found potential. If he could isolate the reason for that initial attraction, the precise harmonic resonance that drew nanite to gene. He could replicate it, control it or reverse it.
With such mastery, a new frontier would open. Nanites could become both keys and locks, capable of activating hidden abilities in one subject, and disabling them from another. Rogue superhumans could be disarmed without violence. Powers could be switched off like a circuit.
It was control. Pure, perfect control through science alone.
Across the lab, Dexter moved in silence, fingers gliding across holographic panels. A cascade of equations scrolled past, filled with chemical signatures, and molecular resonance formulas.
The scene behind him buzzed with mechanical life.
On the far side of the lab, two figures stood suspended by repair arms — Midas and Bio-War.
The latter's frame was half-dismantled, its left arm stripped to the hydraulics, right shoulder reinforced with a new metal alloy. The asymmetry gave it a rugged, brutal appearance, a relic of the underground arenas now being reborn under a new master. Sparks rained from automated welding drones, filling the air with the tang of scorched steel.
Dexter approached the workstation beside it, where a small containment unit sat under a soft blue light. Inside, a circular core pulsed gently — an arc reactor, salvaged from the wreckage of government sentries.
The glow reflected off his glasses as he lifted it.
"This cheap copy is really garbage," he muttered, though his voice was more analytical than frustrated.
The reactor was an imitation of Stark's original crude, unstable, a shadow of the real technology. It produced only a fraction of the energy, reverse-engineered through stolen schematics and industrial espionage. A relic of Syndrome's mass-production initiative, the kind of power core given to his sentries.
"Still… with a few modifications, even flawed tech can become revolutionary."
Dexter slid open Bio-War's chest plate. The old core within it flickered weakly, orange light dim and sputtering. He detached it carefully and replaced it with the salvaged core. When the new one locked in, the lights across Bio-War's frame rippled alive.
The red glow of its optics flickered once, twice then stabilized. The entire room trembled as the arc reactor synchronized with the bot's internal systems.
[Power Core Stabilization: 93%. Energy Output: 78% Efficiency. AI Synchronization: Online.]
"Good," he murmured. "Let's proceed."
His focus shifted to another section of the holographic interface labeled "Shadow Mode Integration."
Thin threads of code cascaded down the projection, merging neural mimic algorithms into Bio-War's central AI. Originally designed for WRB pilots, the mode allowed a robot to mirror its operator's movements in real time. But here, Dexter had rewritten and refined it.
Once activated, Bio-War would no longer rely on simple mimicry. Its sensors were recalibrated, its servos tuned to respond with near-human fluidity. It could now read its pilot's stance, rhythm, and energy output with precision, replicating it flawlessly.
[Shadow Mode integrated,] the system confirmed.
Dexter leaned back slightly, watching the code stabilize and allowed himself a small, satisfied breath. "Good," he said under his breath, brushing dust from his gloves.
His lips curved into a faint smirk. "Everything is falling into place."
He turned back toward the console.
"Computer," he said, voice even. "Have the two pilots accepted the deal?"
A soft digital tone responded, followed by the neutral voice of his AI assistant.
[Affirmative. Both pilots have confirmed. They are en route to the designated meeting point.]
The screen shifted, displaying two profiles side by side:
[Charlie Kenton]
[Harold Cooplowski]
Dexter nodded slowly, his reflection glinting off the screen.