Two days had passed since the chaos at the shrine, and the world, in its usual stubborn way, had already begun pretending nothing unusual had ever happened.
Dexter lay back against the headboard of the hotel room, while the distant sound of waves drifted faintly through the window. Across from him, Ferb sat quietly on another bed, his leg secured in a cast and elevated slightly, a pair of crutches leaning against the wall within reach. Compared to everything they had faced, the injury felt almost mundane, though it did little to lessen the inconvenience.
They had all been discharged earlier that morning. No major injuries, nothing life-threatening. Just a strange incident no one could properly explain. Their parents, however, were far less willing to dismiss it.
The beach outing happening now was less of a vacation and more of a watchful guard, ensuring none of them wandered off again without supervision.
Dexter didn't mind.
Today, solitude was exactly what he needed. More importantly, he needed time.
He was working.
SCALE's interface glowed softly on his screen as he updated the massive database he had been building since the memories first flooded his mind. Line after line of text, diagrams, and threat assessments filled the holographic display only he could see. He was cataloging everything, every creature, every weapon, every anomaly he had witnessed in those fractured visions of other worlds.
His current focus was "Mama."
The sentient plant had been terrifying in the memory. In the cartoon he remembered from his past life, the plant only gained true sentience after devouring The Super Super Big Doctor. Here, the timeline had diverged violently. Mama had consumed something far greater: the will of the world itself, Gaia.
The plant had grown stronger, more aware, more hungry.
Its weakness in the original story had been simple: separate it from carbon dioxide by teleporting it far from Earth. But Earth was saturated with CO₂. Once the plant latched onto this atmosphere, it would balloon in size and power, making any relocation attempt exponentially more dangerous.
Dexter muttered under his breath, typing rapidly. "Note: atmospheric dependency confirmed. Teleportation countermeasures likely ineffective beyond initial exposure window. Potential escalation factor: exponential."
He leaned back, rubbing his eyes for a moment before diving into the next entry.
Doofenshmirtz.
The difference here was even more staggering. In the shows Dexter remembered, Doof had eventually become Professor Time, a bumbling but ultimately good-hearted inventor.
In the memory, there was no redemption arc.
Instead, he had become a warlord. A conqueror. Like Kang the Conqueror from the comics Dexter had read in his previous life, this version of Doofenshmirtz jumped between timelines, claiming them one after another.
Six timelines already under his control. The one from the memory made it seven and the number would only keep climbing.
Worse, Dexter had seen what the man was building.
The Omnitrix or rather, a dark mirror of it. In the series, Vilgax had dreamed of using the device to create an unstoppable army of hybridized alien soldiers. Here, Doofenshmirtz had actually done it. He was weaponizing the transformation technology on a multiversal scale, forging minions that could wield the combined powers of countless species. Galactic domination was no longer a cartoonish fantasy; it was a methodical campaign.
Dexter's fingers paused as he recalled the mutated beasts he had glimpsed in the vision. They reminded him strongly of the Evos from Generator Rex, creatures infused with nanites.
A theory had been forming in his mind for hours now, and it was starting to feel less like speculation and more like cold probability.
Doof had likely gotten his hands on a perfected version of Alpha.
In the crossover Dexter remembered, Alpha had been a rogue nanite intelligence created by Caesar Salazar. It could control nanites, possess hosts, shapeshift, and wield powerful technokinesis, the psychic ability to mentally manipulate and restructure any form of technology. Alpha had even copied the Ultimatrix and copy its power. If, in one of those conquered timelines, Doof had encountered a stable, non-rampaging Alpha and bent it to his will… then integrating Omnitrix-level transformation capabilities into an army of nanite-enhanced soldiers suddenly made perfect, horrifying sense.
And then there were the Infinity Stones.
Dexter still found that part difficult to accept.
He knew, from every piece of lore he had consumed in his old life, that the Stones only functioned properly within their native universe. Yet Doofenshmirtz had wielded them albeit in a weakened state. The power was diluted, but still devastating.
All of that, and now the man also possessed the Neurotomic Protocore.
The Neurotomic Protocore wasn't just powerful. It was adaptable. If calibrated correctly, it could elevate intelligence, enhance creation, and even reshape environments. If misused, it could destroy everything.
Dexter closed the current file and opened a new encrypted folder titled simply: Project: Protocore.
"I need that," he admitted to himself without hesitation.
He had seen the blueprints in the memory.
When he return home, that would become his immediate priority. He needed every advantage he could get. Protection not just for himself, but for this world. For his family. For everyone who had no idea what was coming.
He also learned that not all universes were created equal. For instance, the first timeline lacked the GDN, Metro Man, and Metro City entirely; franchises like the Powerpuff Girls were never integrated into that world.
Likewise, the second timeline had no trace of S.H.I.E.L.D. or Ultron's sentries, and there were no restrictions banning heroes from acting. This led him to one conclusion: every timeline possessed its own unique history, its own people, and its own sequence of events which may or may not happen to other timelines.
He turned back to the screen and continued typing.
Phase Two of his plan had been the public face, the company, the inventions, the gradual uplift of the world.
The true reason he had founded his company all those months ago wasn't just to build better technology or improve people's lives, though those were important. It had always been about three core pillars.
First: advance Earth's technology as rapidly and safely as possible.
Second: recruit the brightest minds across the globe, people who could help him face threats no one else even knew existed.
Third: money. Serious, sustained funding. Brilliant people needed resources.
Experiments required trials, errors, and more trials. Progress was expensive, and Dexter had no intention of letting profit motives or bureaucratic red tape slow humanity down when the stakes were this high.
"Progress always looks expensive before it looks inevitable," Dexter said quietly.
Now, a new phase was quietly sliding into motion.