"Scientists investigate that which already is; Engineers create that which has never been." - Albert Einstein
UPSTATE UNIVERSITY - BIOLOGY CLASS
The lecture hall was packed with students, their laptops open, pens ready. At the front, Professor Morrison clicked through a presentation showing cross-sections of the human heart.
"It may look the same from the outside," the professor said, gesturing to the images, "but the chance of heart failure doubles with each decade of life. What can we do about that? Eat better, sure. Exercise helps. Drugs, hmm. But fundamentally our parts wear out. Our focus is therefore on extending quality of life, even if we can't extend life itself..."
"Oh, please."
The interruption came from the middle of the room. Every head turned.
D.A. Sinclair sat with his arms crossed, that familiar look of intellectual superiority on his face.
Professor Morrison sighed. "Ah, Mr. Sinclair. Once again, it seems you have an opinion to share?"
"I have the truth to share," Sinclair said, standing up.
William leaned toward Rick, whispering, "Who's the dick?"
"D.A. Sinclair," Rick whispered back. "He's here on a genius grant, and makes sure everyone knows it."
Sinclair walked down the steps toward the front of the class, commanding attention. "When you want to travel quickly, you don't run, you get in a car. When you need to fly to another country, you don't flap your arms, you get on a plane."
"We're all aware how travel works, Mr. Sinclair," Professor Morrison said dryly. A few students laughed. "Your point?"
Sinclair turned to face the class, his grey-blue eyes gleaming with conviction. "All human failings are simply engineering challenges crying out to be solved. We're machines, and the sooner we recognize that, the sooner we'll reach our true potential."
"Dramatic much?" Amber said from her seat.
Sinclair's head snapped toward her. "I'm sorry?"
"I'm not," Amber replied, meeting his gaze. "You're being a jerk. What's your problem, Sinclair?"
"My problem?" Sinclair's voice rose. "My problem is this school of idiots." He gestured around the room. "MIT courted me. Yale offered me a lab..."
"You should take it," Rick called out.
Muffled giggles rippled through the class.
Sinclair's expression shifted, his eyes focusing on Rick with sudden intensity. He walked closer, studying Rick like a specimen. "You're impressive, Rick. Muscular. Assertive. Classic alpha male."
"Hey!" William stood up defensively. "Don't say those... compliments to him."
Mark, sitting in the back row, watched the interaction carefully. His hand drifted to his watch, already calculating response times if this escalated.
"Mr. Sinclair," Professor Morrison said firmly, "you can return when you're ready to learn."
Sinclair smiled—cold and calculating. "Then I'll see you at exams."
He walked out, and the tension in the room dissipated like a released breath.
UPSTATE UNIVERSITY - CAMPUS - AFTER CLASS
They walked across the quad in the afternoon sun, still processing what had just happened.
"That guy was checking you out," William said to Rick, his voice a mixture of protectiveness and jealousy.
Rick shrugged. "He's just weird. Probably needs friends."
"Are you okay?" Amber asked Mark, noticing his distant expression.
Mark snapped back to attention. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking. Hey, I need to head back to my dorm to grab something. You guys should explore campus."
"We could split up," Rick suggested. "Cover more ground. William and I can check out the athletic facilities. You two—" he gestured to Eve and Amber "—can look at the student center and library?"
"Sounds good," Eve said. "Meet back here in an hour?"
They separated, each pair heading in different directions.
Mark didn't go to his dorm. Instead, he found a secluded spot behind the science building and activated his communicator.
"Cecil, it's Mark. We have a problem. D.A. Sinclair—genius grant student at Upstate. I think he's the one behind the cyborg attacks. The missing student, Doug Cheston. I need you to start monitoring him."
Cecil's voice came through immediately. "Already on it. What makes you certain it's him?"
"Just trust me. And Cecil? He's dangerous. More dangerous than he looks."
"Understood. We'll keep eyes on him. You focus on being a college student."
Mark ended the call and headed back toward the meeting point.
CAMPUS QUAD - THIRTY MINUTES LATER
Eve and Amber walked through the student center, looking at bulletin boards advertising clubs and activities.
"I really like it here," Eve said, her eyes bright. "I think I want to go to school here."
"It's nice," Amber agreed. "Good programs, not too far from home but far enough to feel independent."
"Plus Mark's here," Eve added with a small smile. "It's good to have friends around."
Before Amber could respond, William and Rick appeared, walking toward them with excited expressions.
"You guys have to see the gym," William said. "It's incredible. Olympic-sized pool, full weight room—"
BOOM.
The explosion came from the direction of the science building. A massive fireball erupted into the sky, followed immediately by screaming.
People ran in all directions. Through the smoke and chaos, a figure emerged.
A cyborg—humanoid but wrong. Half its face was mechanical, exposed wires and circuits visible beneath synthetic skin. It stumbled forward, holding its head, making inhuman sounds of distress.
Then it saw Rick.
It charged.
"Rick, move!" William shouted.
But Rick was frozen, staring at the thing rushing toward him.
The cyborg grabbed Rick by the throat and lifted him off the ground.
"No!" William grabbed the closest thing he could find—soda cans from a nearby vending machine—and started throwing them at the cyborg. "Let him go! Let him go!"
The cyborg turned its attention to William. It dropped Rick and lunged at William instead, grabbing him by the throat with mechanical strength.
William's feet kicked uselessly as he was lifted into the air. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't scream. The cyborg's grip tightened, its other fist pulling back for a killing blow.
"Eve!" Amber shouted, looking around desperately. "We need to—"
Eve was already moving, but not toward William. She was ushering other students away, trying not to reveal her powers in public. Come on, Mark. Where are you?
The cyborg's fist came down toward William's head.
CRACK.
A hand caught the fist inches from William's face.
Invincible hovered there, his black and red suit pristine, his expression calm.
"That's enough," Mark said.
He twisted, throwing the cyborg away from William, who dropped to the ground gasping for air.
The cyborg crashed into a brick wall hard enough to crack it. It pushed itself up, sparks flying from damaged circuits, and charged at Invincible again.
Mark didn't move. He waited until the last second, then sidestepped, letting the cyborg's momentum carry it past him. He grabbed its arm as it went by and redirected it into the ground.
This isn't a fight, Mark thought as the cyborg stood up again. This is crowd control. Keep it focused on me until everyone's clear.
The cyborg was strong—enhanced strength from the mechanical components grafted onto its body. But it was clumsy, uncoordinated. Mark could see the human inside fighting the programming, the confusion and terror in its remaining organic eye.
He led it away from the crowd, drawing it toward the campus lake. The cyborg followed, driven by whatever commands Sinclair had programmed into it.
"Run!" Mark shouted to the remaining students. "Get clear!"
William looked up from where he'd fallen, his vision clearing. He saw Invincible—really saw him for the first time. The black and red suit. The way he moved with perfect control. The calm determination in his stance.
"Go," Invincible said, looking directly at William. "Get to safety."
William scrambled to his feet and ran.
Once the area was clear, Mark changed tactics. The cyborg charged again, and this time Mark met it head-on. He caught both its arms and held it in place.
"I'm sorry," Mark said quietly. "I'm so sorry this happened to you."
The cyborg struggled, trying to break free. Mark held firm, forcing it to look down at the lake.
With one swift movement, Mark ripped off the cyborg's mask.
The creature made a sound—half mechanical screech, half human scream. It saw its reflection in the lake water. Saw what it had become.
The horror in that remaining human eye was unbearable to see.
The cyborg threw Mark off with desperate strength with mark letting it throw him away and ran—not toward people, but away. Toward the large statue in the center of the campus lake.
Mark realized what it was going to do.
The cyborg jumped, deliberately impaling itself on the statue's outstretched arm. The metal pierced through its chest, and the creature went still.
Mark flew over, checking for any sign of life. Nothing. The human inside had chosen death over continuing as Sinclair's monster.
He heard sobbing behind him. William was sitting on the ground, Rick and Amber beside him, holding him. William was shaking, tears streaming down his face.
Mark landed near them. "Are you hurt?"
William looked up at him with wide eyes. "You... you saved my life."
"You're safe now. That's what matters." Mark looked at the other students. "Is anyone else injured?"
Several people had minor cuts and bruises from the panic, but nothing serious. Mark helped where he could, his enhanced strength making it easy to move debris and assist the wounded.
Sirens wailed in the distance, getting closer.
"I have to go," Mark said. "The authorities will take care of things from here."
He shot into the sky and disappeared.
Rick walked up to William, who was still shaking. "Hey. Hey, you okay?"
"I thought I was going to die," William whispered. "I thought—"
Rick pulled him into a hug. "You saved me. You threw those cans at that thing to get its attention. You saved my life."
William melted into the embrace, his shaking slowly subsiding.
Mark appeared moments later—as himself, in civilian clothes, slightly out of breath like he'd been running.
"What happened?" he asked, looking around at the destruction. "I heard an explosion from my dorm. I saw Invincible fighting something. Are you guys okay?"
"We're fine," Amber said, though her voice shook slightly. "There was... some kind of cyborg. It attacked Rick and William. "Invincible stopped it."
"Thank god," Mark said. "I called the police. They should be here any minute."
He caught Eve's eye. She gave him a subtle nod. Good timing.
"I'm just glad you're okay," Amber said to Mark. "When that thing exploded, I thought..."
"I'm fine," Mark assured her. "I wasn't anywhere near it."
The police arrived, followed by GDA agents in unmarked vehicles. They began cordoning off the area and taking statements.
Mark stood with his friends, playing the role of concerned civilian, while his mind was already moving forward.
Sinclair. This was Sinclair. And if he's bold enough to attack on campus in broad daylight, he's escalating.
SINCLAIR'S LABORATORY - SAME TIME
D.A. Sinclair stared at the monitor showing campus security footage. His creation—his masterpiece—had failed. Worse, it had destroyed itself.
"Damn it!" He slammed his fist on the desk. "That will be the last time I leave anybody's frontal lobe intact."
He pulled up different camera angles, analyzing what had gone wrong. Then he saw him.
Invincible. The hero who'd interfered. Who'd shown his creation what it had become and driven it to suicide.
Sinclair's jaw clenched. Another subject ruined by sentiment. By the weakness of the human psyche refusing to accept improvement.
He switched camera feeds, looking at footage from earlier in the day. The biology class. There.
Rick Sheridan. Perfect specimen. Athletic. Strong. Healthy. He would make an excellent test subject for the next iteration.
And there, sitting in the back of the class. Sinclair zoomed in.
Mark Grayson.
Sinclair's eyes narrowed. The physique. The way he carried himself. The muscle definition visible even through his clothes.
"Interesting," Sinclair murmured. "Very interesting."
He pulled up Mark's student file. Genius-level intellect. Advanced placement in multiple subjects. Multiple scholarships. And that body.
Sinclair smiled.
"Let me try that specimen first," he said to himself, "before the main course."
He began planning. Mark Grayson would be a challenge—clearly intelligent, probably cautious. But everyone had vulnerabilities. Everyone had moments when their guard was down.
Sinclair pulled up Mark's class schedule, his dorm location, his routine.
Soon. Very soon.
ART ROSENBAUM'S TAILOR SHOP - EVENING
Debbie stood in the back room of Art's shop, the black bag containing Nolan's suit sitting on the work table between them.
"The news is not good," Art said, his expression grave.
He spread the suit out carefully, his practiced eyes examining every tear, every stain. He pulled out a magnifying glass and studied specific areas more closely.
"See here?" Art pointed to slashes across the chest. "War Woman's mace. Distinctive pattern. And these—" he indicated puncture marks "—those are from Aquarius's water shots. Very specific signature."
Debbie's hand covered her mouth.
"These friction burns," Art continued, moving to the sleeves, "match Red Rush's speed trails. And these claw marks? Darwing's projectiles."
"But that only proves they fought," Debbie said desperately. "Maybe they attacked him first. Maybe he was defending himself. Maybe—"
"Debbie." Art's voice was gentle but firm. He pointed to the wrist area of the suit. "Blood begins to oxidize when exposed to air. The rate of oxidation tells us how old the blood is. See this stain here, on the wrist? It's the oldest blood on the suit. And it's not Nolan's."
Debbie stared at the stain.
"He struck first, Debbie. Whoever's blood this is—and given the location, I'd guess it was Red Rush—they were attacked first. By Nolan."
The room was silent except for the ticking of the old clock on the wall.
"Please," Debbie whispered, tears streaming down her face. "Please don't tell anybody."
Art looked at her—at this woman he'd known for years, who'd brought him costume repairs and stories about her son's first flight. Who'd always been so proud of her family.
"I'm too scared to do it anyway," Art said quietly. "If Omni-Man finds out I know..."
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
Debbie hugged him, crying silently. "Thank you. Thank you for helping me."
Outside the shop, hidden in the shadows of the alley across the street, Nolan floated silently. He'd followed Debbie when she'd left the house with that bag.
He'd seen her enter Art's shop. Seen her bring out Nolan's suit.
Now he watched through the window as Art examined the evidence. As his wife learned the truth.
Nolan's hands clenched into fists. His jaw tightened..
His eyes fixed on the shop with cold calculation.
MAULER TWINS' LABORATORY - NIGHT
Robot's mechanical form stood in the center of the lab, watching as the Mauler Twins worked at their stations. Tanks of bubbling liquid surrounded them, each containing growing tissue samples.
"Your work is good," Robot said, his synthesized voice carrying approval. "The cells are growing quickly. Faster than I anticipated."
"Of course it's good," one twin said without looking up. "We're geniuses."
"Whose DNA is this anyway?" the other twin asked, examining a sample under a microscope. "These cells are fascinating. The regeneration rate is incredible."
"That information is not relevant to your work," Robot replied.
"We want payment," the first twin said, turning to face Robot. "Half now, half when we're done. That's the deal."
"You will be paid when the work is finished," Robot said. "Not before. That was our agreement."
"We don't trust you," the second twin said. "You're too secretive. Too careful. What's to stop you from killing us when we're done?"
"I am not a murderer."
"Sure you're not." The twins looked at each other, having one of their silent communications. "We need insurance."
After Robot left, the twins turned to each other.
"We need leverage," one said.
"Something he doesn't know we have," the other agreed.
"What about that job from last week? The grave robbery commission?"
"The Immortals cemetery?"
They smiled identical smiles.
"Go grab a shovel," one twin said to the other.
"Why do I always have to grab the shovel?"
"Because I'm the original."
"No, I'm the original!"
Still arguing, they headed out into the night.
MARK'S DORM ROOM - LATE EVENING
Mark sat at his desk, his laptop open, multiple windows displaying technical schematics. He'd been working on this project for weeks, but recent events had made it a priority.
Drones. Surveillance drones, specifically. Small, fast, equipped with advanced sensors. Something to help him monitor threats before they escalated.
His watch beeped—an alert from the Milano's sensor array that he'd repurposed for personal security.
OBJECT DETECTED. HIGH SPEED APPROACH. ETA: 30 SECONDS.
Mark was moving before he consciously processed the warning. His gravity belt—currently set to sixty times Earth's gravity, increased since the Battle Beast fight—made every movement feel like pushing through water. But the constant resistance had made him stronger, faster when the belt was off.
He switched to his Invincible suit with practiced speed and then His window exploded inward.
A Reanimen—more sophisticated than the one from earlier—crashed into his room. It looked around, its mechanical eye scanning for targets.
Mark wasn't there.
He'd moved to the ceiling the instant before impact, clinging to it with precise control of his flight.
The Reanimen's head swiveled, searching. Then it turned and left through the window, heading in a new direction.
Toward the dorms on the east side of the campus. Toward Rick.
"Oh no you don't," Mark muttered.
He was on it in a blur of motion. The Reanimen never saw him coming.
Mark's hand moved in a precise slicing motion— The Reanimen's head separated from its body cleanly.
Both pieces fell. Mark caught them before they could hit the ground and alert anyone below.
He pulled out his omni-scanner from his belt and scanned the Reanimen's head, tracing its trajectory backwards, following the signal to its source.
The sewers. Of course.
"Sinclair," Mark said. "Time to end this."
He flew down toward the campus drainage system, carrying the Reanimen's remains with him. He'd dispose of them properly later. First, he needed to stop Sinclair before anyone else got hurt.
ART ROSENBAUM'S TAILOR SHOP
Art was about to close up shop when he heard footsteps behind him. He spun with a gasp.
Omni-Man stood there, holding a six-pack of beer and smiling.
"Nolan!" Art clutched his chest. "You scared me half to death."
"Sorry, Art. Thought we could catch up. Been a while since we had a beer together."
Art's heart was still racing, but he forced a smile. "Sure. Sure, that sounds good."
They climbed to the roof—something they'd done countless times over the years. The city sprawled below them, lights twinkling in the darkness.
Nolan handed Art a beer. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment.
"Remember when Mark first got his powers?" Nolan asked. "How excited he was?"
"I remember," Art said, his voice careful. "You were pretty excited too."
"Things were simpler then," Nolan said, taking a drink. "Easier."
They reminisced about old times. Costume repairs. Close calls. Victories celebrated and losses mourned.
But Art was nervous. He couldn't help it. Every time Nolan looked at him, he wondered if Nolan knew. If this friendly visit was actually something else.
"You seem a little nervous, Art," Nolan said casually. "Everything okay?"
"I'm just tired," Art said quickly. "Long day. Getting old."
"I understand," Nolan said, his voice sympathetic. "Things can change from one day to another. Everything you thought you knew can be different in an instant."
He handed Art another beer.
"Thanks for the company, Art. It's good to have friends you can trust."
Nolan stood up and flew away, leaving Art alone on the roof, gripping his beer and wondering if that had been a warning.
GRAYSON HOUSEHOLD - LATE NIGHT
Nolan made it home to find Debbie in the kitchen, drinking wine. She'd been crying—her eyes were red, her mascara smeared.
"Why did you do it, Nolan?" she asked, her voice slurred slightly. "Why did you kill the Guardians?"
"Debbie, you're drunk."
"Answer the question!"
"I didn't kill them. You know I didn't. We've been through this—"
Debbie threw her wine bottle at him. It shattered against the wall beside his head, red liquid splashing across the white paint.
"Fuck you," she said, each word precise and cold. "Fuck you, Nolan."
She walked upstairs, swaying slightly.
Nolan stood in the kitchen, wine dripping down the wall. He looked at the broken bottle, the spilled wine that looked so much like blood.
Then he punched the wall. His fist went through easily, leaving a hole straight through to the other side.
He walked to the living room and sat down in the darkness. Alone. Silent.
Thinking about Art. About Debbie. About how everything was falling apart.
SEWERS BENEATH UPSTATE UNIVERSITY
Mark descended into the darkness, his night vision easily piercing the gloom. The smell was horrific—human waste and rot and something chemical.
He followed the signal from his scanner, moving deeper into the tunnel system.
A Reanimen attacked from the shadows.
Mark caught its arm and twisted, using its own momentum to throw it into the wall. Concrete cracked.
Two more emerged from side tunnels.
The gravity belt made every movement harder, but Mark had trained for this. He ducked under a wild swing, drove his fist into the first Reanimen's chest—hard enough to dent the mechanical components but not to kill—and spun to kick the second one away.
These ones were stronger than the campus attacker. Better made. Sinclair was learning, iterating.
That makes this even more important, Mark thought. Stop him now before he perfects the process.
The three Reanimen coordinated their attacks, showing more intelligence than the previous models. They were learning to work together.
Mark fought defensively, redirecting attacks, using their strength against them. The confined space of the sewer actually helped—they couldn't surround him effectively.
He found an opening and moved with blinding speed, his hand cutting through the first Reanimen's neck like a blade.
"I'm sorry," he whispered to the body as it fell.
The other two hesitated—a programmed response to seeing one of their own destroyed. Mark used the moment to disable them both with precise strikes.
Three bodies now. Three people who'd been kidnapped and mutilated. Three people he couldn't save.
Mark's jaw clenched. He kept moving forward.
He found the lab in an old maintenance room. The space had been expanded, the walls knocked out to create a larger area. Surgical equipment. Computers. Tanks of bubbling chemicals.
And in the center, strapped to a table, was a student. Unconscious but alive. Sinclair hadn't started working on this one yet.
Sinclair himself was at a computer, his back to the entrance.
Then a Reanimen—larger than the others, more heavily modified—stepped out from behind a tank and punched Mark.
The blow sent him flying across the room. Mark crashed into equipment, sparks flying.
Strong, Mark thought, getting to his feet. A lot stronger than the others.
The Reanimen advanced. Sinclair turned from his computer, his expression triumphant.
"Invincible! How wonderful. I've been hoping to meet you. Your interference today was... illuminating."
"You're experimenting on people," Mark said, his voice cold. "Kidnapping them. Mutilating them."
"I'm fixing humanity's weaknesses!" Sinclair's eyes blazed with fervor. "Don't you see? We're fragile. Weak. But we don't have to be. I can make us better. Stronger. Perfect!"
"They don't want to be 'better.' You're taking away their humanity."
"I've removed their emotions," Sinclair said proudly, gesturing to his Reanimen. "No more fear. No more doubt. They're pure. Efficient."
The large Reanimen attacked again. Mark dodged, but the confined space made it difficult. He didn't want to damage the unconscious student or the equipment too much—they'd need evidence.
"They're slaves," Mark said. "You've turned them into slaves."
"They're the future!"
Mark ducked under another punch and whispered, "I'm sorry."
His hand became a blade. One swift motion. The Reanimen's head fell.
Another person who'd been kidnapped. Another person Mark couldn't save.
Sinclair's face contorted with rage. "Do you have any idea how long it took to create that?"
"Shut up."
Mark crossed the distance between them in an instant and hit Sinclair with just enough force to knock him unconscious. The scientist crumpled.
Mark immediately went to the student on the table and started unhooking them. Still alive. Unmodified. He'd gotten here in time for this one, at least.
He activated his communicator. "Cecil. I found Sinclair's lab. Sending coordinates now. I need a medical team for one survivor and... cleanup for five Reanimen."
Cecil's voice came through immediately. "Already dispatching teams. Good work, Mark."
"It's not good work. Four people were taken. I only saved one."
"You saved one," Cecil said firmly. "That's more than we had before. Don't discount that."
Blue static crackled in the lab as Cecil appeared with a full GDA tactical team.
"Sorry for the late call," Mark said.
"You got him. That's what matters." Cecil looked around the lab, his expression grim. "We'll lock Sinclair up somewhere he can't hurt anyone else. And we'll do our best for the humans who were experimented on."
The ones still alive, Mark thought but didn't say.
He flew out of the sewer, leaving Cecil and his team to clean up the aftermath.
GUARDIAN CEMETERY - SAME NIGHT
Two teenagers stood in front of the Immortal's grave, shovels in hand.
"My stepdad could lose his job at the White House if anyone finds out we're here," Matt said nervously.
"Don't be a wuss," his friend replied, already digging. "We're the ones who'll be calling the shots after this."
"This is crazy. You really think drinking from the Immortal's skull will give us his powers?"
"That's what the dark web said. Ancient ritual. Worth a shot, right?"
Matt started digging too, though his hands shook. "What if it's just a rumor?"
"Then we'll know for sure, won't we?"
They dug for twenty minutes, dirt flying. Finally, Matt's shovel hit something solid.
"I got something!"
They cleared away more dirt, revealing the top of a coffin.
"Holy shit, this is really happening," Matt said.
"Don't believe everything you hear," a voice said from behind them.
They spun around to see two identical men—massive, identical men—standing there. The Mauler Twins.
"What—" Matt started.
One twin punched him. Matt dropped like a stone.
"Hey!" the friend said, trying to run.
The other twin clotheslined him. He went down hard.
"Idiots," one twin said, looking at the dead teenagers. "Drinking from skulls. The internet was a mistake."
"Help me with the coffin," the other twin said.
They pulled the Immortal's coffin from the ground with ease and loaded it onto a truck they'd parked nearby.
"You think Robot knows what we're really up to?" one asked.
"He's smart, but he doesn't know everything," the other replied. "This is our insurance policy. If he tries anything, we've got the Immortal. That's worth something."
They drove away, leaving the two teenagers bleeding out in the dirt and the grave empty except for darkness.