A few days later, Johnny sat on the edge of his bed, spinning the sleek black card between his fingers. The silver number caught the light every time it turned, flashing faintly like it was taunting him.
He hadn't called it. Not yet at least.
Part of him wanted to — to know who that weird trench coat guy really was, to find out what kind of "help" he meant. But another part of him, the stubborn part, told him he didn't need it. He could handle this on his own. He just needed more practice and more control over his powers.
Besides, it wasn't like Chicago needed more heroes.
He snorted softly at that thought. "More heroes. Yeah, right. I'd be lucky if they even call me a hero after the hydrant thing."
Johnny tossed the card onto his desk and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. His room was a mess — notebooks filled with half-baked flight calculations, burned gloves, and a couple of half-melted sneakers lying near the corner. His life had gone from dull routine to flaming chaos in less than a week.
He didn't regret it.
Then the sound of the TV from the living room caught his attention. He had left it on, and the newscaster's tone was bright, excited.
"…and reports are coming in about a new hero making headlines today!"
Johnny blinked, sitting up straight. "New hero?"
He stood and walked to the doorway, watching the TV as a blurry video played. The footage was shaky — clearly filmed by a bystander's phone — showing a young man in a yellow-and-blue suit darting through the sky, fast enough to blur the air around him. He punched a man with a battlesuit and a cannon arm like it was nothing, before waving to the crowd.
The camera zoomed in just long enough for Johnny to see the guy's confident grin and the symbol on his chest.
"The mysterious young man calls himself Invincible," the anchor continued. "Eyewitnesses describe him as incredibly fast, strong, and seemingly able to fly. No official statement has been made by authorities, but so far, the city's reaction has been overwhelmingly positive."
Johnny crossed his arms, watching closely. "Invincible, huh? Catchy name."
The footage showed Invincible rocketing upward again, disappearing into the clouds like a golden streak. The people below were cheering — actually cheering.
Johnny exhaled slowly, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Guess Chicago's already got its hero."
He turned back toward his desk, eyes drifting to the black card lying there. For a moment, he just stared at it, then picked it up again and rolled it between his fingers.
"Still…" he murmured, gazing out his window at the fading sunset, "maybe there's room for one more."
He flicked the card into the air, caught it again and left it on the table, and smirked.
"Guess, the city does need more superheroes. Training can wait."
---
The basement of Dr. Curt Connors' home had been transformed into a makeshift laboratory — cramped, dimly lit, and cluttered with salvaged Oscorp equipment that had "gone missing" when they'd fired him. Oscorp had cut him loose the moment the investigation began, eager to bury the project and erase every trace of what happened in that lab, specially after the feds showed up.
But Connors wasn't about to let them bury his work.
The hum of outdated machinery filled the air as he peered into a microscope, adjusting the focus with trembling fingers. Petri dishes, genetic charts, and vials of blood surrounded him — all labeled with a simple initial: J.S.
Johnny Storm.
Connors muttered to himself as he scribbled notes in a journal, his one good hand moving quickly across the page. "Cellular regeneration… accelerated metabolism… tissue resilience far beyond baseline human…"
He turned to the monitor beside him, where a digital display showed strands of DNA that twisted and unraveled in neon colors. There were mutations — unnatural ones — but they weren't chaotic. They were stable and even self-sustaining.
That shouldn't have been possible.
Connors leaned closer, his voice low. "By all biological logic, he should be dead."
He tapped a few keys, bringing up the diagnostic logs from the original project. The data was incomplete — Oscorp had purged most of it when they shut him down — but there was enough for him to piece together something disturbing.
"The radiation output…" he murmured, frowning. "That wasn't from a standard energy source. It wasn't gamma, or ultraviolet, or even anything within known ionizing spectra."
The display shifted to a waveform — jagged, pulsing irregularly. Connors' brow furrowed. "It's almost like…"
He hesitated, as he adjusted the filters again, and the energy pattern changed — its frequency stabilizing into a clean pulse that didn't match any known terrestrial radiation signature.
"…Cosmic," he whispered. "That's… that's cosmic radiation."
He stepped back, stunned. "But that can't be right. Cosmic radiation at that intensity should've torn apart every cell in his body… not rewritten them."
He turned to the blood sample under the microscope again. The cells glowed on a faintly soft, reddish-orange shimmer that flickered like embers.
Connors' throat went dry. "You should've died, Johnny," he murmured, gripping the edge of the table. "So why didn't you?"
He stared at the glowing cells, with his mind racing. "What changed? What did the radiation interact with?"
For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the soft hum of the machines and the faint scratching of Connors' pen. Then his gaze fell on an old photo on the corner of the desk — him standing beside a much younger version of himself at Oscorp, holding up a framed certificate of "Scientific Achievement."
He sighed, rubbing his temple. "Maybe… maybe I missed something in the sequencing."
But deep down, he knew he hadn't. Whatever had happened to Johnny Storm wasn't just an accident of science. It was something far greater — something that defied every rule he understood about genetics, radiation, and life itself.
Connors looked back at the glowing cells, his eyes reflected the faint orange light. "Whatever you are now, kid," he muttered softly, "you might be the key to everything."
He reached for another syringe, with a new idea forming in his head.
"Let's see… what happens when we push it further."
(The next day…)
Johnny was already outside school hours, flying above the city with his usual restless energy. The late afternoon sun painted the Chicago skyline gold, and a soft wind brushed against his face as he cruised between clouds. But for once, his thoughts weren't on the view — they were on her.
He hadn't seen Eve leave school today. Normally, they'd run into each other near the gates, walking out together — her teasing him, him pretending not to enjoy it. But today? Nothing. No texts, no wave, no sign of her at all.
"Maybe she's sick?" he muttered, his flame dimming slightly as he hovered midair. "Or maybe she's just avoiding me after the whole hydrant thing."
He chuckled nervously at the memory, rubbing the back of his neck. But before he could spiral any further, a thunderous BOOM ripped through the air.
He quickly realized it was an explosion that came from Downtown.
Johnny's eyes widened. "Shit."
Without hesitation, he kicked into high gear, his flames roaring to life as he accelerated past the clouds, leaving behind a streak of orange light. The sound barrier cracked faintly as he hit Mach speed, the wind tearing around him.
When he arrived, chaos was already spreading. Cars were overturned, alarms blaring, and a massive crater had split the street in two. People were running in every direction, screaming.
And standing at the center of it — or rather, burrowing up from it — was something straight out of a nightmare.
A short, pale man with oversized glasses, a hunched back, and sharp, rodent-like features stood atop a monstrous creature, green and hulking with jagged claws that could pierce concrete. The creature's armored hide gleamed like obsidian, and each step sent tremors through the street.
The man raised a small, metallic staff and bellowed, "Surface dwellers! Tremble and run! For I am your destruction! I am your downfall! I am the Moleman!"
Johnny hovered above, blinking. "…The Moleman? Seriously?"
The villain pointed at him with a crooked grin. "Ah! Another one of the surface dwellers' champions come to fall before my subterranean power!"
Johnny clenched his fists, flames flaring brighter. "Yeah, yeah, big talk, Shovel Nose. Let's see if you can handle a little heat!"
He shot downward, blasting a stream of fire at the monster's side. The flames struck the creature's skin with a thunderous WHOOSH—but when the smoke cleared, Johnny's eyes widened.
The creature's armor hadn't even scorched.
"What the—?" Johnny fired again, this time at full intensity. It didn't flinch. The fire just rolled off its body like water off stone.
Moleman laughed, his voice echoing through the chaos. "Foolish surface brat! You think mere flames can harm the protector of Subterranea? My beast's hide is forged by the Earth's deepest pressures—your fire is nothing!"
Johnny gritted his teeth, flying around the creature, looking for a weak spot. He tried the joints, the eyes, even the underbelly — nothing worked. Every hit just made the monster angrier. It swung a clawed arm at him, forcing him to swerve sharply to avoid being crushed.
"Okay, okay!" he shouted, dodging debris. "Note to self—fire bad, monster mad!"
The creature roared, and its claw smashed into the side of a bus, sending it tumbling. Johnny caught it midair, struggling to slow its fall. The bus's metal scorched from the heat of his hands, but he managed to set it down safely.
He looked back up, panting. "Alright, big guy… now I'm pissed."
But before he could attack again, a pink flash of energy streaked across the street, slamming into the monster's shoulder with a thunderous impact. The force knocked it back a few meters — the first time Johnny had seen it move from any attack.
A female voice called out: "You're gonna have to hit harder than that, fire boy!"
Johnny's heart skipped. He turned toward the voice — and saw her.
Eve.
She floated midair beside him, her hands glowing pink with energy constructs forming around them. But she wasn't alone. Behind her landed a small group — Teen Team.
Rex Splode cracked his knuckles, flashing a cocky grin. Dupli-Kate multiplied into a dozen identical versions of herself, circling the creature. Robot hovered above them, as he scanned with a calm, calculated tone.
Johnny blinked, stunned. "Eve…?"
She turned her head toward him, her red hair flowing behind her and a confident smirk on her face. "Hey, Johnny."
He stared. "You're—You're Atom Eve?!"
"Long story," she said quickly, eyes snapping back toward the monster. "You can freak out later — right now, help us keep that thing from tearing the city apart!"
Johnny blinked again, then grinned wide, fire igniting around him once more. "Heh. You got it."
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