Washington, D.C.
The sheer, suffocating weight of global grief had brought the capital of the free world to a dead halt. Outside the White House Memorial Garden, the public funeral for the Guardians of the Globe was underway. People had come in droves, filling the designated seats, the bleachers, and the sprawling lawns. Traffic was gridlocked across the entire district as millions flocked from all over the world just to witness the last rites of their fallen heroes.
[Image Here]
News helicopters circled overhead, their rotors adding to the noise. Every major network was broadcasting live. This was a global event after all.
Up on the podium, Black Samson stood before the microphones. He looked older today, his broad shoulders weighed down by the loss of his team and the bitter reality of his lost powers. With Omni-Man still under watch in a highly classified GDA med-bay, his feral, battered body still recovering from whatever hellish dimension John Kaisen had blasted him into, Samson was the last remaining bridge to the old guard.
"I have fought the unimaginable," Samson's voice boomed over the speakers, thick with raw emotion. "I have faced monsters, and gods, and disasters. I've bled on every continent. I've lost friends I'll never forget." His voice cracked on the word 'friends,' and he had to pause, composing himself. "But whenever the sky grew dark... I always knew I was not alone."
He looked out at the weeping crowd, his jaw tightening. "We have lost our greatest protectors today. But do not let despair take root. New heroes will rise to defend you. Even in your darkest moments of doubt and fear, have faith. Look to the sky. "Because they're still up there watching. And they expect us to be better."
He activated his suit's jet propulsors and flew away.
The Private Funeral
[Mark Grayson's POV]
'Ughhh,' my head was pounding. My eyes fluttered, squinting against the harsh rain pouring and bouncing off the polished marble headstones.
The downpour was so heavy I could barely see ten feet in front of me. Water ran into my eyes, down my neck, soaking through my black suit until the fabric stuck to my skin uncomfortably.
I had to lift a hand to shield my face. Even through the rain, one thing was clear: This sucked. Everything about this sucked.
"Do we seriously have to go through a whole funeral again?" I whispered, looking down at the pristine, empty plots of earth.
Eve stood next to me, dressed in black, her arms crossed tight over her chest. The poor girl was shivering.
"These are just ceremonial, Mark," she muttered quietly. "Cecil ordered the actual bodies to be buried at a classified blacksite. He didn't want crazed fans or supervillains digging them up for souvenirs later."
I felt my stomach twist at the thought.
'That made a horrible kind of sense in our line of work'
Up front, Cecil Stedman was giving the eulogy. His coat was soaked through, but he stood there anyway, rigid and formal, like the rain was the last thing on his mind. He didn't look like a spymaster today; he just looked like a tired, broken old man.
"These men and women weren't just heroes," Cecil said, his voice unusually raspy. "They were my friends and colleagues who faced the worst and best together. I recruited most of them personally. Watched them grow into the legends the world knew. And I failed to protect them when it mattered most." His hand clenched at his side as he kept his eyes on the muddy ground "At the very least, they have earned the right to rest together."
Suddenly, a guttural sob shattered the quiet atmosphere.
Olga, Red Rush's wife, threw herself onto the fresh dirt of his empty grave. Her knees hit the mud with a wet splat as the black dress was instantly filthy with wet, sticky mud.
It was the agonizing sound of heartbreak that made my breath catch in my throat.
"Josef is finally standing still, and I still can't see him!!"
Her accent was thick, the words barely comprehensible through the sobbing.
She couldn't even see his body, just weeping over an empty box.
Mom immediately rushed forward, dropping to her knees in the dirt to wrap her arms around Olga, holding the crying woman as she shook.
Mom's own dress was ruined now too, mud staining the fabric, but she didn't care. She just held Olga, rocking her gently, whispering things I couldn't hear over the rain.
"Mark... are you alright?" Eve asked gently, her hand clamping tight on my shoulder.
I looked at Olga crying in the dirt, and a wave of intense, sickening guilt washed over me. "I don't know how to feel, Eve," I confessed, my voice cracking. "That... that could have been my mom burying my dad today."
The words tasted like admitting something shameful. Because it was true. Dad had been there, he fought alongside them against Kaisen. And he'd survived when they hadn't.
Part of me, the selfish, horrible part, was grateful.
I squeezed my eyes shut as I felt a shameful, heavy knot of relief in my gut.
My dad was alive. He was injured, traumatised and looked like a feral caveman, but he had come back.
I was so incredibly relieved, but standing here in front of these graves... it felt wrong to be happy.
Desperate to change the subject before I broke down, I cleared my throat. "So... are you not going to the new Guardians try-outs?"
Eve looked away, rubbing her arm. "No. Rex and I... we've been having problems with boundaries lately. He accused me of having feelings for you." She said it fast. Like ripping off a band-aid. "We need some time apart, and trying out for the same team right now is a terrible idea."
My brain short-circuited. "He... wait, what? Feelings for... I mean, do you?" The words tumbled out before I could stop them.
'Smooth, Mark. Real smooth.'
Eve's face went red. "That's not the point! The point is he's being a jealous asshole and I don't have to explain myself to him OR you right now, okay?" She crossed her arms tighter, looking away. "Can we just... not talk about this? Please?"
I just nodded quickly, choosing to remain quiet because I honestly did not have the mental energy to unpack whatever the hell that confession meant or deal with the weird flutter in my chest.
[Cecil Stedman's POV]
My good eye was throbbing with a migraine that hadn't faded since John Kaisen dropped a mountain of bullshit on my desk after the Chernobyl incident.
'A paradise for Fruitarians', as he likes to call it. I'd doubled my painkiller dose and it hadn't even touched it.
I scanned the crowd of grieving families and immediately spotted a problem. Damien Darkblood was standing way too close to Debbie Grayson, his trench coat blowing in the wind despite the heavy shower.
[Image Here]
I marched right over and put myself between them. "Darkblood," I snapped. "This ceremony is private."
The demon detective turned his red face toward me, looking down and grumbling. "I never invited, Cecil," he growled. "Yet show up. Here to discover clues. To catch real killer."
"This isn't a damn crime scene, Demon, it's a funeral," I hissed. Keeping my voice low enough that Debbie wouldn't hear. The last thing she needed was to know we were discussing her husband as a suspect. "Let the woman rest. She needs it after what her family just went through. I know you just don't want to go back to whatever fiery hole you call home. Besides, we already identified the killer. You'd know if you ever figured out how to turn on the fucking TV"
Darkblood narrowed his eyes. "Kaisen past record nothing. He saved city from invasion. The character... it does not fit. Why attack Omni-Man?" He pulled out a small notepad, flipping through pages covered in his chicken-scratch handwriting. "John Kaisen. Name strange. Very strange."
Debbie looked up, her eyes puffy from consoling Olga. "Are you insinuating something?"
"I not understand how to lie like Humans," Darkblood deflected smoothly, tipping his fedora before melting back into the shadows.
After assuring Debbie everything was alright, I rubbed my temples dialling a secure line.
"Make sure the demon is far away from Nolan. And I mean FAR!"
I couldn't let that infernal find out the truth. Not yet. Not until I had a way to actually kill a Viltrumite.
I turned only to find the ma…thing I was looking for.
Robot was standing near the tree line, observing everything with his mechanical eyes.
'Creepy.'
"Robot," I said as I closed the distance between us. The ground squelched beneath my shoes and socks were soaked through. I was getting too old for this. "You run a mean superhero team."
"Thank you, Director," Robot's mechanical voice hummed in a flatter note than Donald.
"I'll cut to the chase," I said, watching the gravediggers finish their work. "I want to offer you a job at the GDA. I need you to build me a new Guardians of the Globe. One that answers directly to me."
There was a brief pause before Robot answered. "Would Omni-Man not be the logical choice to lead?"
I scoffed bitterly. "After a decade of trying to make him an official Guardian, he still refuses to take my orders. And after what he just went through in that dimension? The man needs a severe psychological evaluation, not a leadership role."
"I see," Robot replied. His mechanical eyes whirred, focusing and refocusing like a camera adjusting. "I will accept. However, in return, I require the current whereabouts of the Mauler Twins."
My eye twitched. 'Of course, he wanted them. Everyone wanted something from me. The Maulers were a hot commodity, apparently.'
"Why does everybody suddenly want those blue bastards? They're off the board, Robot. I handed them over to another party as part of a highly classified, GDA deal."
Robot hummed in what sounded like distinct mechanical disappointment. "Understood. I will begin the tryouts immediately."
Before he could fly away, I grabbed his chassis and held him there.
"Robot. You're smart. Smarter than anyone on this planet, probably. So I'm going to be straight with you." I leaned in close, making sure my words carried weight. "The world just lost its greatest defenders. People are scared and villains are getting bold. We need a team operational yesterday. I'm giving you carte blanche to recruit whoever you need, train them however you want, and run the team however you see fit. But in exchange?" I tightened my grip on the metal. "You answer to me. Not the President or UN. Me. Are we clear?"
Robot's eyes flickered. "Crystal, Director."
I let him go and watch him fly off into the rain.
'Now what to do about that ki…. Kaisen's latest stunt?'
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