"The cause of most of man's unhappiness is sacrificing what he wants most for what he wants now," Unknown
SPACE - ABOVE EARTH'S ATMOSPHERE
Mark and Nolan floated in the void of space, facing each other across a few hundred meters of vacuum.
This was their first sparring session since Mark had returned from the Flaxan dimension, and both of them were holding their breath after all Viltrumites couldn't breathe in space.
Nolan made the first move.
He shot forward like a missile, closing the distance in a fraction of a second. His fist came at Mark's face with enough force to shatter a battleship.
Mark twisted to the side, the punch missing by inches. He grabbed his father's extended arm and used the momentum to swing himself around, driving his knee into Nolan's ribs.
The impact sent a shockwave rippling through space—visible as a distortion in the starlight.
Nolan grunted and broke free, spinning to face Mark again. His expression showed surprise—that had actually hurt.
They circled each other, bodies tense, waiting for an opening.
Mark struck first this time, feinting low then going high. Nolan read it and blocked, but Mark had anticipated that, his other fist already coming around in a hook that caught Nolan on the temple.
Nolan's head snapped to the side.
He recovered immediately, retaliating with a combination—left jab, right cross, left hook, right uppercut—each punch faster and harder than the last.
Mark blocked the first two, took the third on his shoulder, and ducked under the fourth. He countered with a straight punch to Nolan's solar plexus that doubled his father over.
When did he learn to do that? Nolan thought, backing off.
They flew apart, putting distance between them, then crashed together again.
This time it was pure technique—it looked like a dance with just raw power and speed.
Mark threw a punch. Nolan blocked and countered. Mark blocked and countered back. They traded blows so fast they became blurs, each impact creating miniature shockwaves that would have been deafening if there was air to carry the sound.
Nolan aimed for Mark's ribs. Mark twisted and took it on his side, the force sending him spinning. He used the spin to add power to his next strike—a backhand that caught Nolan across the jaw.
Nolan's head rocked back, and for a moment his vision blurred.
He's faster than before. Much faster. And stronger.
Nolan pressed the attack, not giving Mark time to recover. He came in with a flying knee that Mark barely avoided, following up with an elbow strike aimed at Mark's throat.
Mark caught the elbow with one hand, stopped it cold, then headbutted his father.
CRACK.
Both of them reeled back, seeing stars.
They paused for a moment, floating in space, breathing hard—or trying to, their lungs burning from lack of oxygen and exertion.
Then they went at it again.
Nolan grabbed Mark in a grapple, trying to use his superior experience to control the fight. He twisted Mark's arm behind his back, applying pressure to the shoulder joint.
Mark responded by slamming his head backward into Nolan's face, then spinning out of the hold and delivering a spinning backfist that sent Nolan tumbling through space.
Nolan corrected his trajectory and charged back, this time going for maximum impact. He pulled back his fist and put everything he had into a single punch.
Mark saw it coming. Instead of dodging, he met it head-on with his own punch.
Their fists collided.
The shockwave was enormous—a sphere of compressed space expanding outward from the impact point. If there had been any satellites nearby, they would have been destroyed.
Both of them were sent flying backward, tumbling end over end through the void.
Mark recovered first. He shot forward and caught Nolan with a kick to the chest that sent him spiraling toward Earth.
Nolan corrected his flight path and came back with a vengeance.
This time he wasn't holding back as much.
He came at Mark with a flurry of strikes—punches, kicks, elbows, knees—all delivered with the precision of someone who'd been fighting for centuries. Each strike was perfectly placed, targeting joints, pressure points, vulnerable areas.
Mark defended as best he could, blocking and dodging, but some strikes got through. A punch to his kidney. An elbow to his ribs. A knee to his thigh.
Each hit hurt. But less than they should have.
The pain serum, Mark realized, even as he fought. Now that I think about it, That thing should not have worked, I will have look into it later.
He endured the barrage, waiting for an opening.
There—Nolan overextended slightly on a right cross.
Mark slipped inside his father's guard and delivered a devastating uppercut to the chin that snapped Nolan's head back.
Nolan's eyes glazed for a moment—actual legitimate stunning.
Mark pressed his advantage, landing three more solid hits before Nolan recovered and created distance.
They stared at each other across the void.
Nolan's face showed something Mark had rarely seen genuine surprise. Not fear—Nolan was too experienced for that—but recognition that this wasn't a simple sparring session anymore.
His son had grown dangerously fast.
Nolan came at him again, but this time more cautiously. He probed Mark's defenses with quick jabs, testing his reactions, looking for patterns.
Mark adapted, changing his rhythm, mixing up his responses. He'd learned in the Flaxan dimension that predictability got you killed.
They traded blows again, neither gaining a clear advantage. Mark landed a solid hit to Nolan's ribs. Nolan retaliated with a punch to Mark's jaw that made his teeth rattle.
Mark swept Nolan's legs—or tried to. In space, there was no ground to sweep anyone to, so instead he grabbed Nolan's ankle mid-kick and used it to spin him like a hammer throw, building momentum before releasing him.
Nolan shot through space like a bullet, traveling miles before correcting his trajectory.
When he came back, his expression had shifted. He was taking this seriously now.
Good, Mark thought. Finally.
They crashed together again, and this time the intensity tripled.
Nolan moved like a demon, his centuries of experience showing in every motion. He chained attacks together seamlessly, each strike flowing into the next, creating combinations that would have overwhelmed most opponents.
But Mark kept up.
He blocked a punch aimed at his throat, countered with an elbow to Nolan's temple. Nolan twisted away and came back with a spinning kick. Mark caught the leg, tried to use it for a throw, but Nolan used the momentum to deliver a second kick with his other leg that caught Mark in the head.
Mark's vision blurred, but he held on, refusing to let go of Nolan's leg. He pulled his father toward him and delivered a headbutt square to Nolan's nose.
CRACK.
Blood floated in the vacuum—droplets that immediately froze into tiny red crystals.
Nolan broke free and backed off, touching his nose. It was bleeding—actually bleeding. He looked at the blood on his glove, then at Mark.
Something flickered in his eyes. Pride? Concern?
Mark couldn't tell.
They went at it again, both of them now showing signs of damage. Bruises forming. Cuts that were healing but not fast enough for Nolan. Their movements slightly slower, their reactions a fraction delayed.
But neither would quit.
Nolan feinted left, went right, and caught Mark with a brutal combination to the ribs—three quick punches followed by a knee strike that drove the air from Mark's lungs.
Mark gasped—or tried to—his chest burning from exertion and oxygen deprivation.
He responded with an overhand right that Nolan barely blocked, followed by a left hook that connected solidly with his father's ear.
Nolan's balance wavered for a moment—inner ear disruption.
Mark pressed the advantage, landing several more strikes before Nolan recovered and caught one of his punches, twisting Mark's arm and pulling him into a chokehold.
Mark struggled, his vision starting to darken—both from the lack of oxygen in space and the pressure on his carotid arteries.
He drove his elbow backward into Nolan's ribs once, twice, three times. The grip loosened slightly. Mark twisted free and delivered a spinning elbow that caught Nolan on the jaw.
They separated again—their bodies screaming for oxygen.
Nolan looked at Mark, really looked at him, and saw something that made him pause.
His son wasn't a child anymore. Wasn't even really a young adult.
Mark stood across from him in space, battered and bruised but unbowed, his eyes showing the experience of someone who'd fought and survived for a long time.
He's keeping up with me, Nolan realized. Not just keeping up—he's challenging me. I'm having to work for this. I'm having to try.
If I wasn't holding back...
But he was holding back. Maybe ten percent. Maybe fifteen. Not much—enough that Mark wouldn't notice—but enough that Nolan was still in control.
Still the stronger one. Still the teacher.
But for how much longer?
Nolan came at Mark one more time, testing him with a complicated combination—high, low, high, low, feint, strike, feint, grapple.
Mark defended against all of it, reading the patterns, adapting to the rhythm.
Then Nolan raised his hand, signaling a stop.
Mark pulled back immediately, his chest heaving as he tried to breathe vacuum, his body desperate for oxygen.
Nolan pointed down at Earth.
Mark nodded, grateful for the break, and they both descended toward the planet.
As they flew, Mark took stock of his body. Bruises on his ribs—definitely going to turn into some nasty colors. A cut on his cheek already healing. Pain in his shoulder where one of Nolan's strikes had landed particularly hard. His jaw ached. His knuckles were raw.
But overall? Less pain than he'd expected. Much less.
Thirteen years, Mark thought. Thirteen years of pain, of injuries, of pushing through. My tolerance has changed. Elevated.
I can take so much more now.
Meanwhile, Nolan flew beside him, his own thoughts churning.
He's gotten so strong. So fast. Thirteen years in that dimension...
I nearly lost that exchange. had to go to eighty, maybe ninety percent.
As soon as they crossed into the upper atmosphere where they could breathe again, both of them gasped, pulling in deep lungful's of air.
"First one to Mount Everest does the dishes for a month," Nolan said between breaths.
Mark was about to protest—I don't even live at that house anymore—but Nolan was already gone, streaking through the sky at maximum speed.
"Cheater!" Mark yelled, then shot after him.
They flew at speeds that would make fighter jets look like they were standing still, covering thousands of miles in seconds. Mark pushed himself harder than he had in months, his body screaming at him to slow down.
But he didn't.
He poured everything into the flight, closing the gap between himself and his father meter by meter.
The Himalayas appeared on the horizon. Mount Everest rose above them all, its peak piercing the clouds.
Nolan reached the summit first.
Mark arrived two seconds later, landing beside him on the snow-covered peak.
"You cheated," Mark accused, panting heavily. "You got a head start."
Nolan just smiled, breathing harder than Mark had seen in a while. His chest heaved, and there was actual sweat on his brow despite the freezing temperature. "All's fair in racing."
I nearly lost, Nolan thought, keeping his expression neutral. Two seconds. He was only two seconds behind me at full speed. When did he get that fast?
What happened to him in that dimension?
A hiker—bundled in heavy cold-weather gear, oxygen mask covering his face—crested the final ridge and froze when he saw them.
Two men in superhero suits, standing at the summit of Mount Everest without oxygen, without climbing gear, a little winded.
The hiker stared for a moment, then turned around and started climbing back down without a word.
Nolan chuckled. "Think we broke him?"
"Probably."
They stood there for a moment, looking out at the view. The Himalayas stretched out in every direction, peaks piercing the clouds, the curvature of the Earth visible from this height.
"Sometimes I forget how beautiful this planet can be," Nolan said quietly.
Mark looked at him, surprised by the genuine emotion in his father's voice.
"Viltrum was very different," Nolan continued. "We ended wars all over the universe. Brought peace to thousands of galaxies. Lifted alien races out of the mud." He paused. "But it was... sterile. Controlled. Nothing like this."
"I can't believe you left all that behind," Mark said. "Left everything you knew to come to a planet you'd never even seen."
Nolan's expression grew distant. "When your grandparents died, I felt lost for a long time. Earth was supposed to be just another assignment. Another world to prepare for the Empire." He smiled slightly. "But then I met your mother. And suddenly it wasn't a job anymore. It was a home."
Mark felt something twist in his chest.
"I don't know if I could do that," Mark admitted. "Leave everything behind like that."
"Being what we are requires sacrifice," Nolan said, his voice growing harder. "Remember that, Mark. Being a Viltrumite means putting duty first. Always."
Before Mark could respond, Nolan grinned. "Last one home takes out the garbage for a month." Launching himself into the sir as he finished his sentence midflight.
"Wait, that's not—" Mark shot after him. "You didn't even finish the sentence before we started!"
They raced across the sky, Nolan barely maintaining his lead. They touched down in the Grayson's backyard within milliseconds of each other.
"I win," Nolan declared.
"I don't even live here anymore, Dad," Mark pointed out. "So you're still taking out the garbage."
Nolan's expression froze. "...Damn. I forgot."
OLGA'S HOUSE – A FEW MINUTES BEFORE
Debbie sat across from Olga in the Russian woman's living room, trying to find the right words.
Olga looked terrible. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, her hands shook as she held her coffee cup, and she'd clearly lost weight. The house was a mess—boxes half-packed, photos scattered everywhere, empty wine bottles on the counter.
"Nobody cares about us," Olga said, her Russian accent thick. "Nobody cares about Josef. I know how governments work. They want us to forget. To move on."
"Olga, that's not true," Debbie said gently. "Cecil is looking for the killer. They're investigating—"
"They already know who killer is," Olga interrupted, her voice hard. "They just don't want to tell us. Probably someone important. Someone they protect."
Debbie wanted to argue, but the words died in her throat. Because part of her was starting to wonder the same thing.
"I'm moving back to Moscow," Olga announced. "Cannot stay here anymore. Too many memories. Too much pain." She looked at Debbie. "Will you sell my house? I trust you."
"Of course," Debbie said immediately. "Whatever you need."
Olga nodded, then asked quietly: "Did Nolan ever lie to you?"
The question caught Debbie off-guard. "I... what?"
"All heroes lie," Olga said. "Josef lied to me all the time. About danger. About missions. About how safe he was." Her eyes welled up with tears. "But I believed him once. When he told me everything would be fine." She laughed bitterly. "Only time I believed him, and it was biggest lie of all."
Debbie reached across and took her hand. "I'm so sorry."
They sat in silence for a while, two women who'd loved heroes, who'd built their lives around men who flew and fought and died.
GRAYSON HOUSEHOLD - AFTER
Debbie made it home, grabbed a bottle of wine from the cabinet, and settled in front of her laptop.
She opened a private browsing window—the kind that didn't save history—and typed: Damien Darkblood.
The results were... interesting.
Demon detective described as "freak who couldn't even save his own soul."
Known for solving impossible cases.
Escaped from Hell, now seeks redemption through justice.
Former NYPD consultant, fired for "unorthodox methods."
She read article after article, building a profile in her mind. Darkblood was legitimate. Weird, yes. Demonic, absolutely. But legitimate.
And he thought Nolan was hiding something.
The sound of the front door opening made her jump. She quickly closed all the tabs and switched to her real estate listings.
"—and I'm telling you, I don't live there anymore!" Mark's voice carried from the entryway.
"Doesn't matter. I still beat you," Nolan replied.
Debbie walked to the doorway. "What are you two arguing about?"
"Dad's taking out the trash for a month," Mark said, floating toward the stairs. "Don't worry about it."
"Not true!" Nolan called after him. "I beat you fair and square!"
"Doesn't count if I don't live here!" Mark's voice echoed from upstairs.
Debbie couldn't help but smile. "Boys."
A few minutes later, Mark came back downstairs wearing another Invincible suit—the black and red one, freshly repaired by Art.
"You staying for dinner, honey?" Debbie asked.
"Can't, sorry. Got to meet up with the Guardians." Mark kissed her forehead. "But I'll come by this weekend, okay?"
Nolan's expression darkened slightly at the mention of the Guardians, but he said nothing.
"Be careful," Debbie said, thinking of the original Guardians. Of what had happened to them.
"Always am." Mark gave her one more hug, waved to his dad, and flew out through the back door.
After he left, Nolan turned to Debbie. "You want to go out? Get some food?"
"I need to work on Olga's house listing," Debbie said. "She's moving back to Russia."
"Good," Nolan said. "Maybe she'll finally quit drinking."
The words were casual and dismissive.
And they made Debbie's blood run cold.
She looked at Nolan, studying his face. He didn't seem to notice her scrutiny, just walked to the kitchen to grab a beer.
Debbie turned back to her laptop, her mind racing.
No. No, I'm being paranoid.
IN FLIGHT - MARK
Mark flew through the sky, enjoying the sensation of flight without the pressure of combat. The wind rushed past him, cool and clean.
His phone rang—or rather, the communicator in his suit activated.
"Mark, it's Cecil."
"Hey. What's up?"
"Need to talk about the Flaxan weaponry you brought back. Specifically the handheld energy weapons—what you called plasma rifles."
Mark adjusted his trajectory, heading toward the Pentagon. "What about them?"
"We've done preliminary analysis. The technology is decades ahead of anything we have. Compact power sources directed energy projection, virtually no recoil. We'd like to purchase the schematics and manufacturing data."
"How much?"
"Five million for full access to the weapons technology. We'll handle production and distribution ourselves."
Mark considered it. The weapons were impressive, but not essential to his plans. And Five million dollars would be useful.
"Deal. I'll transfer the data when I get to headquarters."
The line went dead.
Mark smiled to himself. Five million dollars.
Not bad for a college student.
DARKBLOOD'S OFFICE - UNDISCLOSED LOCATION
The office was dark, lit only by a single desk lamp. Files covered every surface—crime scene photos, witness statements, forensic reports.
All related to the Guardians' massacre.
Darkblood sat at his desk, pouring himself a drink from a bottle of something that looked like it might dissolve the glass.
The door opened without a knock.
Omni-Man walked in.
"I wondered if you would come," Darkblood said, not looking up.
"You were in my house," Nolan said, his voice dangerously quiet. "You frightened my wife."
"You murdered seven people." Darkblood finally looked at him. "I frightened her with my presence. You frighten her with your lies."
"Perhaps it was me," Nolan said, stepping closer. "Perhaps I came here to finish what I started. You're a demon, after all. Who would question it?"
"Demons know evil when they see it." Darkblood's yellow eyes gleamed. "And I see it in you, Nolan Grayson."
"If you come to my house again, I won't have to do anything," Nolan said. "People will believe me over a demon. They'll believe you attacked my family. That I had no choice."
"I will not give up," Darkblood said firmly. "The truth cannot be hidden forever. Your wife already suspects. How long until your son does as well?"
Nolan's face twisted with rage. "Go fuck yourself."
He flew out through the window, shattering it.
Darkblood sat in the darkness, surrounded by broken glass, and poured himself another drink.
"Soon," he said to himself. "The truth will come soon."
ABANDONED WAREHOUSE - INDUSTRIAL DISTRICT
The Mauler Twin—the surviving one—opened the warehouse door and surveyed his new lab.
It wasn't much. Salvaged equipment. Stolen materials. But it would do.
He set up a drilling rig and secured his arm beneath it. The drill activated, boring into his flesh until it drew blood.
He collected the blood sample carefully, isolating a single cell.
The cell began to duplicate.
He placed it into a large pod—a cloning chamber he'd built from memory. The pod sealed with a hiss, and liquid began filling the interior.
"Hello, brother," he said to the forming shape inside. "You must be hungry. Don't worry. I'll feed you."
GUARDIANS OF THE GLOBE HEADQUARTERS – IN THE MOUNTAINS
Robot watched the surveillance footage of the Mauler Twin on one of his monitors, his mechanical mind processing the implications.
"Yo, Robot!"
Robot switched off the monitor and turned to see Rex walking in, grinning widely.
"Welcome to the new Guardians' new digs!" Rex said, gesturing around the rebuilt headquarters.
The facility was impressive. It had been the original Guardians' base, but Cecil had retrofitted it extensively. New equipment. Better security. And they'd cleaned most of it.
Most.
Mark walked in with a tablet, projecting a holographic layout of the base. "Alright, everyone listen up. The headquarters has several key features: reinforced walls that can withstand an explosion, a medical bay with equipment that can treat everything from broken bones to radiation poisoning, individual quarters for each team member, and a command center with direct links to GDA satellites and surveillance systems."
Black Samson looked around, a sad smile on his face. "Good to be home again."
Rex opened his mouth—probably to make some stupid comment about Samson not being there when the original Guardians died.
Mark's head snapped toward him, his eyes promising violence if Rex said what he was thinking.
Rex's mouth snapped shut.
Monster Girl—currently in her human form, looking young and nervous—approached Robot. "I'm nervous."
"As am I," Robot admitted.
The door opened and Cecil walked in.
"Don't be surprised," Cecil said. "This is your job now. Being nervous is natural. Terror is understandable. But this is what you signed up for."
Rex looked at one of the walls and pointed. "Hey, Cecil. You missed a spot. There's still blood."
Everyone turned to look. There was indeed a small bloodstain on the wall—dark and dried, but visible.
"I left it there on purpose," Cecil said quietly. "A reminder. That stain will be cleaned when you prove yourselves worthy of the heroes who came before you."
Mark stepped forward. "It'll be gone sooner than you think."
Cecil's comm crackled. He listened for a moment, then nodded. "Omni-Man wants to see me. I'll be in touch."
He teleported out in a flash of blue static.
Mark clapped his hands. "Alright, Guardians. Group photo time."
Everyone stared at him.
Even Robot looked surprised.
"What?" Mark said. "There's a time for everything. Right now it's time to make memories."
Eve smiled and used her powers to create a camera on a tripod, setting it up with a timer.
They gathered together—Mark in the center, Robot beside him, Eve on his other side. Rex, Kate, Monster Girl, Black Samson, Bulletproof, Blue Rush, Shrinking Rae, and Throwbolt all found their places.
Robot put his hand on Rex's shoulder.
"OW!" Rex yelped. "Can someone switch with me? Robot's bolts are stabbing me."
Blue Rush moved to take his place. "I vill stand here, comrade."
The camera flashed.
Their first official team photo.
The new Guardians of the Globe.
They spent the next hour just talking, celebrating, getting to know each other properly. Not as candidates or test subjects, but as teammates.
As friends.
GRAYSON HOUSEHOLD - 11:00 PM
Debbie worked on her laptop, reviewing Olga's house listing for the third time.
Nolan walked up behind her. "You coming to bed?"
"Not yet. Need to finish this."
"You know, being the wife of the most powerful man on Earth means you shouldn't have to deal with work."
Debbie's hands stilled on the keyboard. "I'm not just your wife, Nolan. I like working. I'm good at it."
"I know, but—"
"Be quiet," Nolan said suddenly, his whole body going tense.
Debbie was about to get angry at being told to be quiet, but then she saw his face.
He was looking at something behind her in the dark.
She turned slowly.
Nolan moved faster than thought, grabbing the unknown figure by the throat and slamming him against a bookshelf hard enough to crack the wood.
"Nolan!" Debbie screamed.
Nolan released him immediately. "What the hell are you doing in my house?"
Cecil coughed, rubbing his throat. "Meant to teleport to your front door. Ran into a technical problem. Apologies."
"You're lucky I didn't kill you," Nolan said. "I've been jumpy lately. For reasons you'd understand."
"Why are you here, Cecil?" Debbie demanded.
Cecil straightened his suit. "NASA's first manned mission to Mars launches in two weeks. We need someone to shadow the mission. Make sure nothing goes wrong."
"No," Nolan said immediately.
Cecil blinked. "No?"
"I need to train my son. And with the Guardians gone, Earth needs me here. The answer is no."
"Earth needs a win," Cecil argued. "The public is scared. A successful Mars mission would—"
"Nobody will care about Mars if there's an attack on Earth," Nolan interrupted. "And that excuse for a team you're building isn't ready. My priority is my family and this planet. In that order."
Cecil studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Understood. I'll find another solution."
He teleported out.
Nolan turned to Debbie. "Can you believe that guy?"
Debbie stared at him. "I can't believe you just turned down a chance to help. You never do that."
"It's for Earth's greater good that I stay," Nolan said, his voice firm. "Now come on, let's go to bed."
He walked upstairs without waiting for a response.
Debbie stood in the living room, feeling cold despite the warm temperature.
Something is wrong. Something is very wrong.
GUARDIANS HEADQUARTERS - 11:30 PM
Mark was drilling the team through combat exercises—coordinated attack patterns, defensive formations, emergency protocols.
Monster Girl sat on the sidelines, watching. Her powers made these kinds of drills complicated.
Blue static crackled, and Cecil appeared.
"Mark, I need you"
Mark told the team to take a break and walked over. "What's up?"
Cecil explained the situation—Omni-Man's refusal, the Mars mission, the need for someone powerful and reliable.
"I'm in," Mark said before Cecil could finish.
Cecil blinked. "You are?"
"I'm perfect for this. My ship can cloak and monitor from a distance. I can intervene if something goes wrong. And honestly?" Mark smiled. "I've always wanted to see Mars."
"It's a two-week mission."
"I know. Which is why I have one condition: the Guardians get a dedicated jet for quick response while I'm gone. Something fast, armed, and ready to deploy at a moment's notice."
Cecil considered it, then nodded. "Done. We'll have it delivered tomorrow."
"Then we have a deal."
Cecil teleported out.
Mark turned back to the team. "Alright, everyone. Got some news. I'm going to be shadowing a Mars mission for the next two weeks."
"Boss man is finally leaving!" Rex said, grinning. "Two whole weeks without you breathing down our necks!"
Several team members chuckled. Even Eve smiled slightly.
Mark put a hand over his heart in mock betrayal. "I'm hurt. Truly hurt." Then his expression grew serious. "While I'm gone, Robot and Black Samson are in charge. You listen to them like you'd listen to me. Understood?"
Nods all around.
At one point during their time together, even though on paper, Robot as their Leader, Marks charisma and strength had made them look at him for direction, making him their default leader that no one even questioned it.
"Good. I'm going to pack. Training resumes at 0600 tomorrow. Don't be late."
He flew out, heading back to his dorm.
GDA SURVEILLANCE HOUSE - ACROSS FROM GRAYSON RESIDENCE
Cecil teleported into the house being used to monitor the Grayson's. Donald was there with a team of analysts, all watching screens and recording data.
"How does sending Mark help us investigate Omni-Man?" Donald asked.
Cecil poured himself a coffee. "If Mark's heart is in the right place—if he truly wants to be a hero—then having him away from Nolan's influence for two weeks might give us clearer reads on both of them. We'll see how Nolan acts without his son watching. And we'll see if Mark reports anything unusual."
"And if his heart isn't in the right place?" Donald pressed. "If Mark is compromised?"
Cecil took a long drink of coffee.
"One apocalyptic thought at a time, please."