"Do not judge me by my success, judge me by how many times I fell down and got back up again." – Nelson Mandela.
GDA HEADQUARTERS - MAIN CORRIDOR
Mark walked alongside Cecil through the sterile hallways of the GDA headquarters, his new nano-suit gleaming under the fluorescent lights. The midnight blue and silver design drew eyes from every agent they passed—some curious, some wary, all respectful. It had been a month since anyone had seen Invincible in person, and his return was generating significant attention.
The suit felt like a second skin now. Mark had spent the last few days testing it extensively, running through combat scenarios in his basement, pushing the nano-machines through every possible configuration. The weight of the disk against his chest when stored was barely noticeable, but deployed, the suit gave him confidence he hadn't felt since before the fight with Nolan.
Cecil walked with his usual measured pace, hands clasped behind his back, his single functional eye scanning their surroundings out of habit. Despite his calm exterior, Mark could sense the tension in the man. The past month had been difficult for everyone, and Cecil had shouldered the burden of keeping Earth safe while his strongest asset recovered in isolation.
"You look good," Cecil said finally, breaking the silence. His tone was neutral, professional, but there was an undercurrent of genuine relief. "The suit's impressive. Art's work?"
"Partially," Mark replied, his voice slightly modulated by the suit's integrated systems. "He taught me the fundamentals. The rest is... my own design. A lot of trial and error."
Cecil nodded slowly, his eye taking in every detail of the suit. "Weapons systems?"
"Integrated. Blades, shields, projectile launchers, grappling systems. All deployable on command through a neural interface." Mark raised his hand and a small blade extended from his palm—just a demonstration—before retracting seamlessly. "Versatility was the goal. I won't be caught unprepared again."
"Good," Cecil said, and there was approval in his voice. "We need you ready. The world needs you ready."
They turned a corner, heading deeper into the facility. The corridors here were less traveled, more secure. Mark recognized the route—they were heading toward one of the GDA's restricted areas.
"How are you, Mark?" Cecil asked, and this time his tone was less professional, more personal. "Really. Not the rehearsed answer you've been giving everyone. How are you handling everything?"
Mark considered the question carefully. Cecil deserved honesty—or at least, as much honesty as Mark could give without revealing the truth about his reincarnation.
"I'm... managing," Mark said finally. "The fight with Nolan was brutal. Watching him choose Viltrum over us, over Mom, over me... that hurt more than any punch he threw. But I'm dealing with it. The work helps. Building the suit, training, preparing for what comes next—it gives me focus."
"And your mother?"
"She's strong," Mark replied. "Stronger than anyone gives her credit for. She's going back to work, trying to reclaim her life. It'll take time, but she'll get there."
Cecil nodded, seeming satisfied with the answer. They walked in silence for another moment before Cecil spoke again.
"I needed to gauge whether you're still capable of being Invincible," he said bluntly. "A month of isolation after a traumatic event like that... it raises questions. Questions from my superiors, from the government, from people who want to know if Earth's strongest defender is still functional."
Mark felt a flash of irritation but suppressed it. Cecil was just doing his job, asking the questions that needed to be asked.
"I'm fine," Mark said firmly. "The month wasn't about running away or hiding. It was about preparation. Building better tools, training harder, making sure I'm ready for whatever comes next. I'm still Invincible, Cecil. I'm just... better equipped now."
"I believe you," Cecil said, and there was sincerity in his voice. "But I needed to hear you say it."
They stopped in front of a nondescript door—no markings, no signs, nothing to indicate what lay beyond. Cecil placed his hand on a biometric scanner, and the door hissed open, revealing what appeared to be a completely empty white room.
Mark stared at the blank space, his memories from his past life telling him exactly what this was, but he needed to play along.
"What is this?" he asked, stepping inside cautiously.
Cecil followed him in, the door sealing behind them with a pneumatic hiss. "One of our most classified facilities," he said, his voice echoing slightly in the empty space. "What you're seeing—or rather, not seeing—is the result of some creative chemistry and physics."
He pulled out a small device from his pocket and pressed a button.
Instantly, the room transformed.
Equipment materialized around them—or rather, became visible. Workstations filled with advanced technology, containment units holding various artifacts and specimens, scientists in hazmat suits working on projects that shouldn't exist according to public scientific understanding.
Mark's eyes widened, playing his part perfectly despite having known about this.
"The water America drinks so conveniently from their taps," Cecil explained, his voice matter-of-fact, "is laced with a chemical that inhibits the ability to see certain frequencies of light. It's been in the supply for decades—a precaution against civilians stumbling onto classified projects or seeing things they shouldn't. The chemical is harmless, metabolizes completely, but it creates a blind spot in human vision that we can exploit."
"You're drugging the entire population," Mark said, not quite managing to keep the judgment out of his voice.
"We're protecting them," Cecil corrected. "From knowledge that would cause panic, from technologies they're not ready for, from threats they can't comprehend. Sometimes ignorance really is bliss."
Mark wanted to argue, but he couldn't. Not when he'd seen—in another life—what happened when people learned too much about the dangers lurking just beyond their perception. The panic after Nolan's revelation had been bad enough—imagine if they knew about half the things the GDA dealt with on a daily basis.
He looked around the now-visible laboratory. Scientists were dissecting what appeared to be a Martian head—the grotesque green flesh and oversized cranium unmistakable. Nearby, weapons were being tested against various materials, energy beams and exotic projectiles hitting targets and producing results that defied conventional physics.
And in the far corner, behind reinforced glass, Mark saw something that made his breath catch even though he'd been expecting it.
The Immortal.
The hero's body lay on an advanced medical table, surrounded by machinery that hummed with power. But he wasn't in pieces anymore. The GDA's scientists had reassembled him, reconnecting tissues, mending bones, using technology that bordered on the miraculous. The Immortal's chest rose and fell slightly—shallow breaths, but breaths, nonetheless.
"He's alive," Mark said, letting appropriate shock color his voice.
"Barely," Cecil replied, walking over to stand beside the observation window. "Viltrumites are hard to kill, but other enhanced beings can be equally resilient. The Immortal's regenerative capabilities are extraordinary—we just needed to give them a jumpstart. He'll be back in action soon. Maybe another week or two before he's fully conscious and combat-ready."
Mark stared at the reconstructed hero, a mixture of emotions swirling in his chest. Relief that the Immortal would survive. Guilt that Nolan had killed him in the first place. Apprehension about how the Immortal would react to seeing Nolan's son walking around as Earth's primary defender.
"We've been monitoring your father's trajectory," Cecil said, pulling up a holographic display that showed a representation of the solar system. A red line traced Nolan's path—out past Mars, past Jupiter and Saturn, past Neptune, and then continuing into the vast emptiness beyond. "He's flown far past the solar system. Current whereabouts are unknown. The signal we had on him went dark once he got far enough out."
"I know," Mark said. "I put a tracker on him right before he left. should have been able to track him across the galaxy." He paused, considering how much to reveal. "But I've got no signal either. He must have found it and destroyed it."
It was a lie, but a necessary one. Mark's tracker was still functioning perfectly, transmitting data to the Milano continuously. But Cecil didn't need to know that. Some advantages were best kept secret.
Cecil studied Mark's face for a moment, and Mark got the distinct impression the man knew he wasn't getting the full truth. But Cecil was pragmatic—he'd take what information he could get and file away his suspicions for later.
"I'm asking you to return to active duty as Invincible," Cecil said formally. "Earth needs its defender back. The Guardians are doing excellent work, but they're not you. They can't handle Viltrumite-level threats. We need you operational."
Mark gave Cecil a look—eyebrows raised, expression clearly saying really? —and gestured to his suit. "Did the new combat armor not make my intentions clear? I'm back, Cecil. That's why I'm here."
Cecil's lips twitched in what might have been a smile. "Just making it official."
"When's the Immortal coming back into service?" Mark asked, looking back at the regenerating hero.
"Soon," Cecil replied. "We'll need to brief him on everything that's happened—carefully. He'll need to understand that you're not your father, that you fought Nolan and won, that you're Earth's defender now. Otherwise, the first thing he'll do when he wakes up is try to kill you for being Omni-Man's son."
Mark nodded. That made sense. The Immortal had been Nolan's friend for decades. Learning about the betrayal, about the Guardians' deaths, about everything, it would be a lot to process.
"There's something else you should know," Cecil said, his tone becoming more serious. "The conversation between you and Nolan got leaked online. Audio from the drone that was recording your fight. We don't know how—our security should have been airtight—but someone got access and released it to the internet."
Mark's blood ran cold
"How much?" he asked.
"Most of the initial confrontation," Cecil replied. "Nolan's revelation about Viltrum, his mission, his opinions on humanity. Your argument with him. The fight itself was too chaotic for clear audio, but the conversation beforehand is out there. It's gone viral—billions of views, translated into every language, analyzed by every conspiracy theorist and news outlet on the planet."
"Fuck," Mark muttered. "What about Mom? My identity?"
"You're lucky," Cecil said. "Nolan barely mentioned Debbie—referred to humans as pets but didn't name her specifically. And he only called you 'Mark' a few times. There are billions of Marks in the world. Without more context, no one can connect you to the conversation. Your civilian identity is safe for now."
"For now," Mark repeated, not liking the qualifier even though he knew how this would play out.
"We're working to make sure it doesn't happen again," Cecil continued. "Enhanced security protocols, new encryption standards, complete audit of everyone who had access to that footage. Someone leaked it deliberately—we just need to figure out who and why."
Cecil pulled up another document on his holographic display. "Officially, Nolan Grayson died in a gas explosion at the house across from yours. Tragic accident. The cover story is holding. His travel books always sold well, but sales are seeing a significant spike after his 'death.' You and Debbie will be financially secure—royalties alone should cover everything for years."
"Can you get me copies of his books?" Mark asked suddenly. "All of them. I want them at the house."
Cecil looked at him curiously, probably assuming Mark wanted some connection to his father, some sentimental reminder of better times. He didn't question it.
"I'll have copies delivered to on your way out," Cecil said. "Full collection, every edition."
"Thanks," Mark replied. He needed those books—needed to analyze them with his knowledge of what Nolan had really been doing. There might be coded information in them, clues about Viltrumite operations or strategies. Information that could help him prepare for what was coming.
"The Guardians miss you," Cecil said as they walked back toward the exit. The invisible laboratory faded from view as they left its field, returning to a simple white room. "They've been asking about you constantly. When you're coming back. If you're okay. You should visit them."
"Already planning on it," Mark said. "That's my next stop."
They stepped out of the white room and back into the corridor. Cecil offered his hand, and Mark shook it.
"Welcome back, Invincible," Cecil said. "Don't be a stranger. And Mark—if you need anything, anything at all, you let me know. You saved the world. That earns you more than just my respect."
"I'll keep that in mind," Mark replied.
He took a few steps toward the exit, where a gda agent gave him a flash drive with the copies of the book. He then lifted off the ground, flying smoothly through the corridors of the GDA headquarters. He could feel Cecil watching him go, could sense the weight of expectation settling onto his shoulders.
GUARDIANS OF THE GLOBE HEADQUARTERS - MAIN HALL
Mark flew through the entrance of the Guardians' headquarters, his nano-suit gleaming in the afternoon light streaming through the massive windows. He'd been to this building before—had trained here, had meetings here—but it had been a month since he'd last walked through these doors.
It felt longer. Much longer, if you counted the lifetime of memories he carried from before.
The main hall was impressive as always—a massive open space with training areas, meeting rooms, and tactical displays showing various crisis points around the world. The new Guardians had really made the place their own in his absence. Personal touches were everywhere: Eve's artwork on one wall, Rex's collection of energy drink cans in the break room (visible through the glass), Monster Girl's oversized beanbag chair in the lounge area.
It looked lived-in. Like a home.
The moment Mark landed, the team descended on him.
"MARK!" Eve's voice rang out first, and then she was there, throwing her arms around him in a hug that would have crushed a normal person. Her pink energy flared slightly with her excitement. "Oh my god, we've been so worried! You just disappeared for a whole month!"
"Easy, Eve," Mark laughed, returning the hug carefully. "I'm fine. Just needed some time."
Bulletproof landed next to them, his suit gleaming. "Good to see you back, man. We were starting to think you'd gone full hermit mode."
"Almost did," Mark admitted. "But I missed you guys too much."
Throwbolt walked over, electricity crackling around her fingers. "Nice suit! Is that new tech? It looks incredible!"
"Built it myself," Mark said proudly. "Well, with some help from Art Rosenbaum. It's got some tricks you haven't seen yet."
Blue Rush vibrated to a stop in front of him, grinning widely. "Comrade! Is good to see you! We have been keeping city safe, but is not same without Invincible!"
Black Samson approached more sedately, his enhanced strength evident in every measured movement. "Welcome back, Mark. How are you holding up? Really?"
"Better," Mark said honestly. "It was rough, but I'm dealing with it. The work helped."
Rex flew over on his hover disc, his staff crackling with explosive energy. "About time you showed up. This place was getting boring without you around to show off."
"Says the guy who literally explodes things for fun," Kate called out, several duplicates of her appearing simultaneously around the room.
Powerplex walked over, his ability to absorb and redirect energy making his movements smooth and confident. "Seriously though, Mark. Good to have you back. We've been handling things, but there's been some weird stuff happening that could use your input."
Shrinking Rae flew up to eye level—currently about six inches tall—perched on Monster Girl's shoulder. "We missed you!" she said in her tiny voice.
Monster Girl nodded in agreement. She was in her human form, wearing her belt proudly. "Yeah. It wasn't the same without you. You're kind of the heart of this team, you know?"
Rudy emerged from his Robot suit—he'd gotten more comfortable doing that in front of the team over the past month. He stretched, his teenage frame looking slightly awkward next to the mechanical body that followed him like a loyal dog.
"From a tactical standpoint," Rudy said, "your absence created operational challenges. We managed, but we're more effective with you on the roster. The data supports that conclusion."
"I missed you too, Robot," Mark said with a slight smirk.
The team spent the next few minutes catching up—rapid-fire questions about where he'd been, what he'd been doing, whether he was okay, if the suit had any cool features they could see. Mark answered what he could, demonstrated a few of the suit's capabilities (the blade generation got appreciative whistles), and slowly felt himself relaxing in a way he hadn't for a month.
These were his friends. His team. The people he'd bled alongside with, fought beside, saved the world with.
It felt good to be back.
Then Mark's eyes caught something on the wall—a dark red stain that hadn't quite been cleaned away completely. He knew what it was. Knew whose blood had painted that wall.
His expression sobered.
"Blue Rush," Mark said quietly, and the speedster was instantly at attention. "Get a bucket and cloth. We're cleaning that."
Blue Rush followed Mark's gaze to the bloodstain—the Immortal's blood, from when Nolan had killed him—and nodded solemnly. "Da. Is right thing to do."
As Blue Rush sped away to get cleaning supplies, Mark looked at the rest of the team.
"You've all earned your place as the new Guardians of the Globe," he said seriously. "What happened to the original team was a tragedy. But you've honored their memory by stepping up, by protecting this world, by being heroes. I'm proud to serve alongside you."
The moment hung in the air, heavy with significance.
Then Cecil teleported in.
The shimmer of his arrival was accompanied by two figures—one that Mark recognized immediately from his past life, and one he didn't.
The Immortal stood there, looking exactly as Mark remembered from both security footage and personal memory—tall, powerful, with an ageless quality that spoke to his centuries of life. He wore his costume, a blue jumpsuit that bears his face. Those eyes were currently locked on Mark with an intensity that was hard to read but Mark knew all too well.
The other figure was a man in a blue and orange suit with a geometric S-symbol on his chest. He wore a blue domino mask and had an oddly cheerful demeanor despite the tension in the room.
"Guardians," Cecil announced, "I'd like to introduce two additions to your roster. First, the Immortal—an original member of the Guardians of the Globe, recently recovered from... an incident. And second, your new teammate: Shapesmith."
Rex immediately groaned. "Great, the place is getting crowded. Soon we'll need to start doing time-shares on the conference room."
Mark barely heard him. He was too focused on the Immortal, whose frown was poorly hidden behind a facade of professional neutrality. The man looked at Mark like he was trying to solve a complex equation—or decide whether to attack him.
"Everyone, be nice and have fun," Cecil said with forced cheerfulness. Then his expression became more serious as he looked at Mark. "Invincible, I need to talk to you. Privately."
As Cecil and Mark pulled off to the side, Shapesmith stepped forward with an oddly enthusiastic energy.
"Hello!" he said, and his accent was thick German—which Mark knew from his past life was completely fake. "I am Shapesmith! It is wonderful to meet you all!"
Atom Eve, ever the diplomatic one, smiled politely. "Hi, Shapesmith. Welcome to the team. What exactly can you do?"
"Oh, many things!" Shapesmith replied cheerfully. He proceeded to demonstrate by stretching his body like rubber, then shifting his form entirely—becoming a perfect duplicate of Eve, then Rex, then Black Samson in rapid succession before returning to his original form. "I can be anyone, anything! Very useful for infiltration and espionage, yes?"
The team looked impressed despite themselves.
Robot—the mechanical suit walking autonomously while Rudy stood beside it—approached the Immortal. "It's an honor to work with you, sir. I've studied your combat history extensively. Your tactical decisions during the—"
The Immortal ignored him completely, his eyes still locked on Mark, who was deep in conversation with Cecil across the room.
Cecil noticed the Immortal's intense stare and walked over to him as Mark lifted off, flying toward the exit.
"I know how you feel about him," Cecil said quietly, making sure only the Immortal could hear. "But he is not his father. Mark fought Nolan, beat him, drove him off Earth. He's Earth's defender now. He's one of the good guys."
The Immortal's jaw clenched. "He's Omni-Man's son."
"Yes," Cecil agreed. "But he chose humanity over his father's mission. He chose to be a hero. That should count for something."
The Immortal didn't respond, but his eyes tracked Mark's flight path out of the building.
Cecil sighed and teleported away, leaving the Guardians to integrate their new members.
EARTH'S UPPER ATMOSPHERE
Mark flew high above the planet, his suit's environmental systems keeping him comfortable despite the thin air. Behind him, cloaked and invisible to all sensors, the Milano followed like a silent guardian.
Cecil's voice crackled through the communication system integrated into Mark's helmet. "Someone's flying toward Earth from deep space. We're still trying to figure out who it is, but we're detecting a significant energy signature. ETA approximately two minutes."
Mark smiled slightly, memories from his past life confirming what he already knew. "I have a pretty good idea who it is."
He continued ascending, breaking through Earth's atmosphere and into the vacuum of space. His suit's helmet sealed completely, creating an airtight environment and recycling his air supply. No more need to take deep breaths and hold them—the nano-suit had solved that particular limitation.
The Milano adjusted its position, matching Mark's trajectory perfectly. Through the ship's sensors, Mark could see the approaching energy signature—moving fast, but slowing as it neared Earth.
Mark crossed his arms, floating in the void, and waited.
A blur of motion resolved into a familiar orange and blue figure—Allen the Alien, his massive frame still impressive even after Mark had seen it in his previous lifetime. The alien cyclops came to a stop directly in front of Mark, his single eye wide with urgency.
"Oh, thank heavens!" Allen gasped, slightly out of breath from his rapid flight. "I-I thought I was too late! I have to warn you!"
Mark raised an eyebrow beneath his helmet, playing out the scene he remembered. "Warn me?"
"When I returned to the Coalition of Planets to tell them I'd been going to Earth instead of Urath, they lost their minds!" Allen explained rapidly. "Earth is off limits! There's a Viltrumite living on your planet!"
Mark paused for dramatic effect. "Oh. That."
Allen blinked his massive eye. "Wait... What? You already know?"
"Uh... yeah."
"I don't understand."
Mark gestured toward the Milano, which decloaked and opened its main air lock. "Grab a seat. This may take a while."
MILANO - MAIN CABIN
Allen sat in one of the ship's passenger seats—designed for beings of unusual size, thankfully—while Mark leaned against the control console. He'd retracted his helmet, letting the ship's life support handle atmosphere.
The explanation took about twenty minutes. Mark laid out everything—his Viltrumite heritage, Nolan's mission, the fight, the aftermath. He edited out the parts about reincarnation and his foreknowledge, but otherwise gave Allen the full story.
When he finished, Allen sat in stunned silence for a moment.
"So... you're a Viltrumite?" Allen said finally, processing. "But you don't work for them? And your dad tried to take over the planet but then left? He just... left?"
"That's nuts, man."
"Yeah," Mark agreed.
"As far as we can tell, my dad is just gone after we fought. He fled into deep space, and we haven't been able to track him beyond the solar system."
Allen shook his head in disbelief. "That is super weird for a Viltrumite. They don't just give up. They're relentless. They destroyed my world when my people rebelled against them. They blew up our planet rather than lose it."
"I'm sorry," Mark said sincerely, the weight of multiple lifetimes making the sentiment even more genuine.
"Don't be," Allen replied. "From the sounds of it, I'm the one who should be apologizing. If I'd checked my orders properly, I would've seen that Earth was flagged for Viltrumite takeover. I could have warned you."
"And then what?" Mark asked. "I don't think I was exactly equipped at the time to drive him away. It took everything I had just to survive that fight."
Allen nodded slowly, his massive eye studying Mark with new respect. "The Coalition of Planets will want to hear about this. A power struggle's brewing in the farthest reaches of space, and this... this changes things."
"What kind of power struggle?" Mark asked, though he already knew the answer from his previous life.
"The Coalition is trying to unite enough worlds to stop the Viltrumite Empire," Allen explained. "The thing is... no one's even heard of a Viltrumite abandoning their post. It's insane. It just doesn't happen. This could be the advantage we've been looking for. Proof that Viltrumites can be turned, can be reasoned with, can choose something other than conquest."
Mark considered this carefully. Then he reached into a storage compartment and pulled out a data pod—a small, crystalline device capable of storing massive amounts of information.
"Here," Mark said, handing it to Allen. "Before you go, I think my dad made books on how to stop the Viltrumites. They're worded vaguely—travel guides about various planets—but I think there's coded information in them. Strategic weaknesses, cultural insights, maybe even tactical data. I scanned all of them into this pod."
Allen took the pod carefully, his expression grateful. "This could be huge. If there's anything in here the Coalition can use..."
"Just be careful with it," Mark warned. "And don't tell them where you got it. I don't need the Coalition thinking Earth is some kind of intelligence asset."
"Understood," Allen said. He stood, the ship's ceiling forcing him to hunch slightly. "What are you going to do?"
"Keep the planet safe," Mark replied simply. "That's the job."
Allen nodded, respect clear in his expression. "You're a good one, Mark. Not like the other Viltrumites I've encountered. Don't lose that."
"I'll try not to."
They exited the Milano back into space. Allen prepared to depart, his powerful legs coiling for the jump back into faster-than-light travel.
"I'll be back to check on you," Allen said. "And I'll let the Coalition know about your situation. You might be hearing from them eventually."
"Looking forward to it," Mark said, meaning it this time.
Allen shot off into space, a pink-and-orange streak that quickly disappeared into the cosmic distance.
Mark floated there for a moment, alone in the void with memories from two lifetimes swirling in his mind, before heading back toward Earth.
One conversation down. One major deviation from the original timeline prevented—Allen now had information that could help the Coalition earlier than before.
Small changes. Better outcomes.
That was the plan.
MAXIMUM SECURITY PRISON - BASEMENT LEVEL
The Mauler Twins sat in their separate cells, exactly as they had for the past month. The facilities were designed specifically for enhanced individuals—reinforced walls, power dampeners, constant surveillance. Escape should have been impossible.
Should have been.
The alarm began blaring—a harsh, repeating klaxon that echoed through the corridors. The lights shifted to emergency red, bathing everything in crimson.
The twins looked up simultaneously, years of shared experience allowing them to communicate with just a glance.
Something's happening.
Footsteps approached—but not the heavy boots of guards. These were lighter, more confident.
A young Chinese man appeared outside their cells. He had short black hair, gray eyes that seemed to calculate a dozen things at once, and wore a gray and black suit with a geometric number emblem on the chest.
"You should follow me," he said, his voice calm despite the chaos erupting around them.
One of the twins—they'd stopped trying to figure out which was which—looked at him skeptically. "And what's in it for us?"
The young man smiled slightly. "A place where you can do your work without scrambling for parts. Where your brilliance can shine. Where your genius will be appreciated and utilized. Where you'll have resources beyond anything you've imagined."
"Last chance," he added, glancing toward the security door where the sounds of guards trying to break through were getting louder.
The twins exchanged another look. A whole conversation happened in that glance—risk assessment, opportunity analysis, the calculation of what they had to lose versus what they might gain.
As one, they nodded.
"We're in."
The cell doors opened—electronic locks overridden by some external system. The twins stepped out just as the ceiling above them exploded inward.
A massive hand—easily the size of a car—reached down through the hole. Attached to that hand was a giant of a man, easily four stories tall, wearing a red and black suit. His face was hidden behind a mask, but his size was unmistakable.
"Multiplex," the giant rumbled, his voice like distant thunder. "It's time to go."
The young man—Multiplex—gestured to the twins. "Shall we?"
Without hesitation, Multiplex and the twins jumped onto the giant's cupped hand. The massive being closed his fingers gently around them, protecting them like precious cargo.
Then he jumped.
The giant launched himself upward with tremendous force, his enhanced strength carrying him and his passengers through the hole in the ceiling, through the prison levels above, up and up until they burst out onto the roof.
A green portal opened in the air before them—swirling energy that seemed to bend space itself.
The giant jumped through it without hesitation.
The security door to the cell block finally burst open. Guards rushed in, weapons drawn, only to find empty cells and a massive hole in the ceiling.
Alarms continued to blare uselessly.
GUARDIANS OF THE GLOBE JET - EN ROUTE
Robot's mechanical voice crackled over the communication system. "Cecil, we're arriving at the prison now. Launching pursuit protocols."
The team's jet descended toward the maximum-security facility, its sensors already sweeping for the escaped prisoners.
Rudy, piloting the Robot suit remotely while his human body sat in the co-pilot seat, analyzed the data flooding in. "This doesn't make sense. The Mauler Twins had no way to coordinate an escape. They were in separate cells with no communication access."
"Someone broke them out," Eve said, looking at the massive hole in the prison's roof. "Someone with serious power."
The jet landed in the prison courtyard. The team disembarked quickly, weapons ready, powers active.
Black Samson examined the destruction. "Whatever did this was strong. Really strong. That ceiling was reinforced concrete and steel."
"And they teleported," Rudy added, his Robot suit's sensors detecting residual dimensional energy. "Advanced technology. Possibly alien in origin, though the signature doesn't match anything in our database."
Cecil's voice came through their communications. "Track them. Find out where they went."
Donald Ferguson—somehow alive and well despite having exploded during the Omni-Man incident, though no one had explained how yet—worked frantically at a portable console. "Sir, they just... vanished. Teleported out of thin air. No residual energy trail, no destination coordinates. It's like they stepped into another dimension."
Cecil stood in the GDA command center, watching multiple screens showing different angles of the prison breakout. His expression was grim.
"Keep looking," he ordered. "The Mauler Twins are brilliant but unstable. Whoever broke them out has resources and a plan. I want to know who they're working for and what they're planning before they can execute it."
The Guardians continued their search, but the trail had gone completely cold.
Cecil's mind was already working through possibilities. Enhanced individuals. Teleportation technology. Coordinated prison break with military precision.
Someone was building a team. Someone with resources, technology, and ambition.
But who?