"To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die" by Thomas Campbell
The memorial service for the Guardians of the Globe was held in the heart of the city, in a massive public square that had been transformed for the occasion.
Thousands gathered. Civilians. Military personnel. Government officials. News crews. People from all walks of life who had been saved by the Guardians at one point or another, who owed their lives to the fallen heroes.
Mark stood near the back with the Teen Team, all of them in Hero suit out of respect. Eve was beside Rex, her hand occasionally brushing against his. Mark and Dupli-Kate stood nearby, somber and quiet. Robot hovered at the edge of their group, his mechanical form drawing some curious looks, but no one dared comment.
The stage at the front was decorated with flowers and seven empty chairs—one for each fallen Guardian. Their symbols hung behind the chairs on massive banners that rippled in the breeze.
And standing at the podium, dressed in his full Omni-Man suit: Nolan Grayson.
Mark watched his father, studying his expression. Nolan looked composed, stoic, every inch the hero the world expected him to be. But Mark could see the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his hands gripped the podium just a bit too tightly.
Nolan began to speak; his voice amplified across the square by speakers.
"I have fought the unimaginable," Nolan said, his voice steady and strong. "I have faced threats that would break most people. Monsters. Aliens. Disasters that should have been impossible to survive. But through it all, I always knew one thing: I was not alone."
He paused, letting that sink in.
"The Guardians of the Globe were more than teammates. They were friends. Allies. People I trusted with my life, and who trusted me with theirs. Together, we protected this world from threats you never knew existed. Threats we made sure you would never have to face."
Nolan's voice grew heavier.
"We have lost many heroes. The world has lost its greatest defenders. But I want you to know something: Earth will still be defended. I will still defend it. And new heroes will rise to take their place. Heroes who will honor the legacy of those who fell."
He looked out at the crowd, his expression fierce and determined.
"Even in moments of doubt and fear, have faith. Look to the sky. Because we—the heroes of this world—will always be there watching over you."
And with that, Nolan lifted off the ground and flew straight up, disappearing into the clouds.
The crowd erupted in applause and cheers, but Mark just stood there, watching the spot where his father had vanished.
Nice speech, Dad, he thought bitterly. Real inspiring. Wonder how they'd feel if they knew you killed them.
The actual funeral—the private one—was held later that day by a cruise ship far out near the sea.
Mark had asked Cecil why they were doing it on a ship, and the answer had been grimly practical: "People would dig up their graves for souvenirs. Easier to bury them at sea."
The thought made Mark's stomach turn.
The attendees were few. Close friends and family of the Guardians. Mark and eve were there representing the Teen Team. Nolan was there, of course. Cecil and his people. A handful of others who had worked closely with the Guardians over the years.
Six caskets sat on the deck; each draped with a flag bearing the Guardian's symbol.
Where is the last casket? Probably Immortals. Mark thought
Nolan stepped forward to speak again, his voice quieter now, more personal.
"The people who died here were more than heroes," he said. "They were my friends. My mentors. People who taught me what it meant to protect this world, to put others before yourself."
He placed a hand on one of the caskets—Red Rush's.
"At least they'll rest together. All of them. As they lived. As they fought. Together."
Near the front, Olga—Red Rush's girlfriend—stood trembling. She was a curvaceous young woman with shoulder-length straight hair, wearing a black dress and clutching a photo of Josef to her chest.
"I couldn't even see him," she said, her voice breaking. "Even at the end. Even when he's finally still, finally not moving... I still can't see him."
She collapsed to her knees, sobbing.
Debbie immediately rushed to her side, kneeling beside her and pulling her into a hug. Mark watched his mother comfort the grieving woman, and something twisted in his chest.
Eve leaned over to him. "Are you okay?"
Mark didn't answer right away. He stared at the caskets, at his mother holding Olga, at his father standing stoic and composed.
"I don't know," he finally said. "It could have been my mom burying my dad. That's what everyone thinks almost happened."
But I know better.
"But he survived," Eve said softly. "He's here. He's okay."
Mark just nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
After the ceremony, as people began to disperse, Mark noticed someone standing at the edge of the deck.
Damien Darkblood. The demon detective.
He was impossible to miss—red skin, yellow eyes, gray hair with a geometric-patterned shaved section, wearing his trademark cream raincoat and russet fedora. His tail swished behind him as he surveyed the scene.
Nolan noticed him too and walked over, his expression hardening.
"This ceremony was private," Nolan said coldly.
Darkblood didn't look at him, just kept staring out at the ocean. "I never get invited to these things. But I always show up anyway."
"Then leave."
"Not yet. I'm looking for clues. Trying to catch killer." Darkblood finally turned to face Nolan, his yellow eyes gleaming. "Though I suppose I shouldn't pretend I'm doing it because I care about justice. Truth is, I just don't want to go home to Hell. Eternity of damnation and all that. Solving crimes keeps me top side."
"I've already told Cecil everything I know," Nolan said through gritted teeth.
"Yes, you have." Darkblood's voice was carefully neutral. "You told him you saw nothing. Heard nothing. Were left for dead by whoever did this."
"Are you insinuating something?"
"Me? No, no. I simply don't understand how to communicate like humans do. Demon, you know. Different cultural norms." Darkblood tipped his hat. "But I'll figure it out. I always do."
He disappeared, leaving Nolan standing there with clenched fists.
Mark had watched the entire exchange from a distance, his jaw tight.
Mark's phone buzzed. He pulled it out and saw Cecil's name.
"Excuse me," he said to Eve, stepping away to take the call.
"Mark," Cecil's voice was crisp and professional. "I assume Robot told you about my offer."
"The new Guardians. Yeah, he mentioned it."
"Good. I want to formalize your involvement. Can you meet me at GDA headquarters in an hour?"
"Actually, let's talk now. I've got conditions."
There was a pause. "Conditions?"
"Five of them. And they're non-negotiable."
Mark could practically hear Cecil's teeth grinding. "Alright. Let's hear them."
"One: If I'm busy with something important, you can't bother me. I'm not on call 24/7."
"Mark—"
"I'm not finished. Two: I get paid. Fair market rate for superhero work, whatever that is. Three: I'll answer to you, but you don't get any say in how the team is run day-to-day. That's Robot's job and mine."
"That's not how command structure works—"
"Four," Mark continued, ignoring him. "I know you want access to the Milano."
Cecil went quiet.
"The Flaxan ship," Mark clarified. "I'll share some of the technology. Some. But since everything on that ship is mine—I built it, I own it—you'll have to pay for anything you want to examine or replicate. And I maintain full ownership and control."
"Mark, that technology could be vital to Earth's defense—"
"Which is why I'm willing to share some of it. For a price. Take it or leave it."
Cecil was silent for a long moment. "And five?"
"If I'm unavailable for my classes, you'll find a way to make me present. Body double, agent impersonation, whatever spy stuff I know you can do. I'm not failing out of college because of Guardian work."
Another long pause. Mark could hear Cecil breathing, clearly working through the logistics and politics of what Mark was asking for.
Finally: "You've changed."
"Thirteen years will do that."
"Fine. All five conditions agreed. But Mark? Don't make me regret this."
"Wouldn't dream of it, Cecil." Mark smiled. "I'll be in touch about the Milano. Oh, and Cecil? Thanks for believing in me."
He hung up before Cecil could respond.
Mark pocketed his phone and walked back to where Eve was. Eve looked at him questioningly.
"Everything okay?"
"Yeah. Just finalizing some business." Mark glanced at his watch. "I should head back to campus. Got assignments piling up."
"You just got back from thirteen years in another dimension, and you're worried about homework?"
"Gotta maintain appearances," Mark said with a shrug. "Besides, I promised my mom I'd finish college."
Eve shook her head but smiled. "Alright. But call me later?"
"I will."
Mark said his goodbyes and made his way to the parking lot where his Corvette was waiting. The drive back to campus was quiet, giving him time to think.
GRAYSON HOUSEHOLD - LATER THAT EVENING
Debbie and Nolan arrived home just as the sun was setting. Debbie looked exhausted, emotionally drained from the day. Nolan looked... happy?
"Pizza?" Nolan asked as they walked inside. "I could fly to Naples and back before it gets cold."
Debbie stared at him. "Nolan, we just came from your friends' funeral. Can you please just let the delivery man handle it?"
"I'm just saying, I could be faster—"
"We just came from your friends' funeral," Debbie repeated, her voice rising slightly. "And you're talking about pizza?"
Nolan sat down on the couch and grabbed the remote, turning on the TV. Immediately, his own face appeared on screen—news coverage of his speech from earlier.
"—always knew I was not alone. The Guardians of the Globe were more than teammates—"
"Can you please turn that off?" Debbie asked.
Nolan changed the channel. Another news station, same footage.
"—new heroes will rise to take their place—"
He changed it again. And again. His speech was on every channel.
"Turn it off," Debbie said more firmly.
Nolan clicked off the TV and tossed the remote aside. "You know what? Forget the delivery guy. I'll go get the pizza. I'll be faster anyway—"
"Stop!" Debbie turned to face him, her expression a mix of frustration and concern. "Just stop, Nolan. We just came from your friends' funeral. Your co-workers," she added, hearing the word he always used. "And you're acting like nothing happened. Talking about pizza. Trying to avoid—"
"This is the life, Debbie," Nolan said, his voice harder than he probably intended. "This is what we do. What I do. People die. I keep going. That's how it works."
"What if Mark and I were burying you today?"
Nolan's expression softened slightly. "I'm not so easy to kill."
"Yeah, well, I'm sure that's what Red Rush told Olga."
Nolan stood up, running a hand through his hair. "Hey, he could run fast, okay? It's not exactly one of your premier superpowers."
Debbie's face fell, hurt flashing across her features.
Nolan immediately realized what he'd said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I just—" He took a breath. "Mark and I can do more good out there than sulking. That's all I meant."
Debbie looked down, her arms wrapped around herself. "I know. I just... I'm worried about you. Both of you."
Nolan moved to her and pulled her into a hug. "We'll be okay. I promise."
ACROSS THE STREET
Inside a nondescript house, Donald Ferguson sat surrounded by monitoring equipment, wearing headphones and watching multiple screens displaying audio waveforms.
"—can do more good out there than sulking in here," Nolan's voice came through crystal clear.
Donald made a note on his tablet and glanced at the other agents in the house. "Keep recording. Flag anything unusual."
"Sir, permission to ask a question?"
"Go ahead."
"What exactly are we listening for?"
Donald's expression was grim. "I wish I knew."
MARK'S DORM ROOM - UPSTATE UNIVERSITY
Mark sat at his desk, laptop open, working through assignments that had piled up over the past week since classes started.
Calculus. Economics. A paper on ethical philosophy that was deeply ironic given everything he knew was coming.
He was halfway through a problem set when his watch beeped—a soft green light pulsing on the display.
Incoming teleportation. Five seconds.
Mark didn't even look up from his work. "Three... two... one..."
A flash of blue static, and Cecil Stedman materialized in the middle of his dorm room.
"Didn't anyone teach you to use the door, Cecil?" Mark asked, still writing.
"Sorry. I like to make an entrance." Cecil looked around the small room with mild interest. "Nice place. Cozy."
"It's a dorm room. They're all the same." Mark finally looked up. "So what do you need? I'm guessing this isn't a social call."
Cecil pulled out a tablet and swiped through some files. "We picked this up near Mars about an hour ago." He held out the tablet, showing Mark a blurry image of something moving through space. "Moving fast. On a direct course for Earth."
Mark took the tablet, zooming in on the image. "Alien?"
"That's our assessment. And before you ask, yes, we've seen him before. About five years ago. Your father dealt with him then. Seemed to be some kind of... test? They fought, your dad won, the alien left. We're assuming he's back for round two."
"And you want me to handle it instead of my dad because..."
"Because your father just got out of the hospital a week ago," Cecil said bluntly. "And because, frankly, I want to see what you can do. I know you're strong, Mark. But I don't know how strong. This seems like a good opportunity to find out."
Mark looked at the image again, studying the trajectory. "Fifteen minutes until he's in Earth's atmosphere?"
"Sixteen, but close enough. Can you do it?"
Mark stood up and stretched. "Send him back into space? Yeah, I can do that. Sounds easy enough."
"Good." Cecil started to dematerialize. "Oh, and Mark? Try not to kill him. If he's been here before, he might be worth talking to."
"No promises," Mark said with a smirk.
Cecil vanished in another flash of blue.
Mark immediately activated his comm. "Milano, come to my location. Stealth approach."
He walked to his window and opened it, then stepped out into the night air. His civilian clothes immediately began to burn away as he accelerated upward, the friction stripping them off like tissue paper.
Underneath, his black and red suit gleamed in the moonlight—freshly repaired by Art, delivered just yesterday.
Mark pulled on his mask as he broke through the cloud layer, the Milano rising up beside him on silent engines.
He flew inside through the open bay door and grabbed the helmet he'd designed specifically for space operations. It was sleek, covering his entire head in a black shell with a HUD display—inspired by General Zod's helmet from Man of Steel, but more advanced thanks to Flaxan technology he'd integrated.
The helmet sealed around his neck with a soft hiss, and immediately Mark's HUD came alive with data—atmospheric composition, trajectory calculations, threat assessments, communication systems.
"Alright," Mark said to himself, his voice echoing slightly inside the helmet. "Let's see who our visitor is."
He flew out of the Milano, leaving it cloaked in Earth's orbit, and accelerated toward the incoming signature.
ABOVE EARTH'S ATMOSPHERE
Mark floated in the void of space, his HUD tracking the approaching object.
And then he saw him.
A humanoid figure, muscular and imposing, with bright orange skin that seemed to glow faintly in the sunlight. He had a large, singular eye on his face—white sclera with a tiny horizontal rectangle for a pupil. A thick, protruding brow shielded the eye. His face was square-shaped with a prominent chin, and he had diminutive pointed ears.
He wore a white leotard that extended to his wrists and ankles, covered by a fitted magenta jacket with an upward collar. Grey segmented wrist and ankle protectors. A dark grey utility belt with pouches.
And he was moving fast, directly toward Mark.
Mark's heart rate picked up—not from fear, but from excitement.
Allen the Alien. One of my favorite characters from the show. And I'm about to fight him.
Allen pulled back his fist as he approached, clearly intending to lead with a punch.
Mark raised his forearm to block.
CRACK.
The impact sent a shockwave rippling through space—visible as a distortion in the starlight. Mark barely budged, his arm absorbing the force easily.
But what surprised him was the voice that suddenly appeared in his mind—telepathic communication.
"Hey, you're early! And you shaved your mustache!"
Mark blinked, momentarily thrown by hearing someone speak directly into his thoughts. But he recovered quickly and responded the same way, projecting his thoughts toward Allen.
"You've got the wrong guy. That's my dad."
Allen pulled back his fist, hovering in place and studying Mark more carefully.
"Huh. You're not Omni-Man."
"Nope. I'm his son. Name's Invincible." Mark tilted his head. "Mind if I ask why you came here throwing punches? And who are you?"
"The name's Allen." The alien crossed his arms. "And I was told this planet had a defender. Figured I'd test him."
"Test him how? By trying to punch his face in?"
"More fighting, less talking," Allen said, and launched another punch.
Mark caught it.
Then he smiled behind his mask and thought: Alright. Let's see what I can really do.
He cocked back his other arm and threw a full-force punch—the first time since returning from the Flaxan dimension that he'd really cut loose.
Allen barely got his forearms up in a cross-block before Mark's fist connected.
BOOM.
The sound was like a cannon going off in vacuum—a pressure wave so intense it was almost audible. Allen was sent flying backward, tumbling end over end, covering miles in seconds before slamming into the surface of the Moon.
The impact created a crater visible from Earth.
Mark stared at his fist, flexing his fingers experimentally. Holy shit. I'm way stronger than I thought.
He flew toward the Moon, the Milano following at a distance, until he reached the crater where Allen had landed.
As he got closer, he heard a voice—slightly pained—calling out: "Time out! TIME OUT!"
Mark landed on the edge of the crater and looked down at Allen, who was lying in the center looking somewhat worse for wear. The spot where Mark had punched him was swelling badly, and the fabric of his suit had burned away from the sheer force.
Mark couldn't help but smirk. "I thought you said fight now, talk later?"
Allen groaned and sat up slowly. "We fought. You almost killed me with one punch. Now we definitely talk." He looked down at his swelling arm and winced. "Good lord, you punch almost as hard as a Viltrumite. And I've never even met one before."
Mark laughed at the irony—Allen didn't know how close to the truth he was.
"So," Mark said, floating down into the crater. "Care to tell me why you're here?"
Allen pulled himself over to a large rock and sat down heavily. "Checking on Urath's defenses. Making sure you guys can handle yourselves."
"I've got a better idea," Mark said, and activated his comm. The Milano decloaked above them, its bay door opening. "Why don't we talk somewhere more comfortable?"
Allen stared at the ship, his single eye widening. "Wait... you guys have spacecraft? With cloaking technology?"
"I made it myself," Mark said with more than a little pride. "Come on. I'll get you some first aid and we can talk properly."
Allen struggled to his feet, clearly impressed despite his injuries. "You built that? How advanced is this planet?"
"It's complicated," Mark replied. "Come on."
INSIDE THE MILANO
Allen sat in the small medical bay while Mark applied first aid—compression wraps for the swelling, ice packs, pain medication that he'd synthesized from Flaxan medical databases.
"This ship is incredible," Allen said, looking around at the interior. "The technology here is decades ahead of what I expected."
"Like I said, it's complicated." Mark handed him a bottle of water. "So, you're an evaluation officer?"
"For the Coalition of Planets, yeah. We monitor developing worlds; make sure they have adequate defenses against external threats. If a planet can't protect itself..." Allen trailed off.
"Then the Coalition writes them off?"
"Pretty much." Allen took a long drink. "But you guys? You passed with flying colors. That punch alone proved this planet—Urath—has a capable defender."
Mark paused in wrapping Allen's arm. "I'm sorry, what did you call this planet?"
"Urath. That's what's on my list."
Mark closed his eyes and sighed. "Allen... you've got the wrong planet. This is Earth. Not Urath."
Allen's eye went wide. "Oh no."
"Yeah."
"Oh no no no no no." Allen stood up abruptly, wincing at the pain. "I am in so much trouble. I've been testing the wrong planet! Do you have any idea how much paperwork I'm going to have to file? And I just got my ass kicked by the defender of a planet that wasn't even supposed to be evaluated yet!"
Despite the situation, Mark couldn't help but laugh. "Well, if it makes you feel better, I think Earth is probably better defended than Urath."
Allen slumped back down. "This is a disaster."
"Hey, look on the bright side—you met me. That's got to count for something."
Allen looked at him for a moment, then smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, it does. You're pretty impressive, Invincible. That technology you've got, that strength... Earth might not have been on my list, but I'm glad I came here."
Mark offered his hand. "It was nice to meet you, Allen."
Allen shook it carefully, mindful of his injuries. "You too. And hey, if you need to navigate space, I can give you the basics. Consider it thanks for the first aid."
"I'd appreciate that."
They spent the next twenty minutes with Allen explaining space navigation—star charts, hyper lane routes, Coalition outposts, and planets to avoid. Mark's HUD recorded everything, filing it away for future reference.
Finally, Allen stood and stretched. "Alright, I should head out. Fix this mess I made. But Invincible?"
"Yeah?"
"Watch yourself out there. The universe is a dangerous place. And if you're punching that hard already..." Allen grinned. "You're going to attract attention. Not all of it good."
"I'll keep that in mind."
Mark opened the bay door, and Allen floated out into space. He gave Mark one last wave, then shot off toward the stars, moving faster than any Earth spacecraft could hope to match.
Mark watched him go, then turned the Milano back toward Earth.
First contact, he thought. And it was Allen. That's... actually perfect.
The Coalition knows about Earth now. Or at least, Allen does. That could be useful down the line.
Mark guided the ship back through the atmosphere, re-engaging the cloak as he approached his campus to catch up on assignments.