[Cecil Stedman P.O.V.]
My stomach acids were actively burning a hole through my esophagus.
I crunched my thirteenth chalky antacid tablet between my teeth, staring at the main display in the center of the GDA command hub. The nightmare footage was playing on a loop, showing the elderly butler flaoting in the air, his glowing hand resting over Anissa's stomach.
The audio pickup from the stealth drone was crystal clear.
"Tell your Grand Regent that the Great Betrayer, and the legacy of the betrayed, are here on Earth. Tell him to either leave this planet alone in fear... or I will personally clear away his Empire like dust from a mantelpiece."
I rubbed my temples, feeling a migraine pulse behind my eyes.
I didn't need a psychic to know what was coming. I knew exactly how this played out. I had spent years analyzing Nolan's psychology, added on top of the information I've gathered from Thula, and by extension, the psychology of his entire species. Viltrumites were egomaniacs. They were apex predators who conquered galaxies because they genuinely believed the universe belonged to them by right of superiority.
If you broke one of their scouts and sent her home with a warning, they might pause.
But if you crippled an executioner, looked her in the eye, and told her you were harboring their exiled royalty while threatening to personally wipe out their Emperor? Well, congratulations, you just bought a genocidal crusade. Viltrumites are scary, yes, but pretty predictable. Now I had to prepare for an army of these superhumans.
"Director," Donald's voice broke my focus. He stood by the holotable, his demeanor characteristically unflappable despite the DEFCON 1 alerts flashing across the room. "The encrypted line to Chaos Corp is secure and their CEO Neel, is waiting."
"Put him through," I ordered, leaning over the console.
The screen shifted as we saw Neel sitting in a high-backed leather chair, wearing a bespoke suit and swirling an amber drink in a crystal tumbler. He looked like a man whose biggest concern was quarterly profits, not an impending alien holocaust.
"Cecil," Neel greeted, offering the ever-famous corporate smile. "If this is about more pills for your people, my legal team already told your people—"
"Cut the crap, Neel," I interrupted. "Your boss's butler just kicked over a galactic hornet's nest. He had Anissa dead to rights! And instead of finishing the job, he provoked an all-or-nothing invasion. Do you outsiders even have any concept of what the Viltrumite Empire will do to MY Earth when they arrive? There won't be anything left! They'll fly straight through the crust and turn the core into a fucking bowling ball!"
Neel took a slow sip of his drink without so much as a crease on his forehead.
"I highly suggest you manage your blood pressure, Cecil," Neel said smoothly. "And fire your intelligence division. Your data is obsolete, my firend."
"Enlighten me," I growled.
Neel leaned forward, placing the tumbler on his mahogany desk. "There is no 'empire'. According to the Chairman, there are fewer than forty pure-blooded Viltrumites left in existence."
The command room went dead silent after hearing those words; even the analysts typing at their stations stopped to look at the screen.
My brain stalled. "Forty?"
"Give or take," Neel nodded. "They were purged by a biological weapon called the Scourge Virus. That unstoppable empire of billions of Viltrumites you're having a panic attack about, is a bluff. They conquer planets to find compatible species to breed with, I believe Chairman had shared that with you? They are trying to rebuild their numbers before their enemies realise they are running on fumes."
I sank back into my chair, my mind crushing every worst-case scenario I'd cooked up.
Forty.
That was still forty Omnimen. Forty beings capable of levelling continents. But it wasn't billions… just forty.
'But can I believe Neel? Can I believe John?'
"Why didn't John share this intel immediately?" I demanded, the relief from this good news instantly mutating into irritation.
"The Boss doesn't report to the Global Defense Agency," Neel countered, his voice losing the polite veneer as the corporate shark surfaced back. "And frankly, Cecil I think it was from the fear of a potential leak. If you knew the Viltrumites were an endangered species, you would have deployed some half-baked preemptive strike and provoked them into wiping out Chicago just to test a weapon. Chaos Corp handles its own messes."
"You operate on MY planet," I fired back. "If John's butler brings a war here, I will invoke the Emergency Powers Act. I'll seize your distribution networks, commandeer every single one of your assets and your energy grid to fund the planetary defense."
Neel finally chuckled in amusement.
"Cecil, try to understand your position," Neel smiled, gesturing to his office. "We supply sixty percent of the world's clean energy through our tech. Our Cola heroes handle half of global disasters, and our Chairman has contracts with every country worth its salt. If you try to seize my assets, I won't hire lawyers and play civil. I will simply turn off the power and plunge the US into darkness and watch your patron's approval ratings tank before the aliens even breach the atmosphere."
Before I could counter him, his demeanour changed again "How about we call a truce for war scenarios? And to make the deal sweeter, how about I let you own the Project Scale that we let you borrow?"
He let the threat and offer both hang in the air before cutting off the call.
The screen blinked black.
I sat there, the migraine still pulsing behind my temples, but the panic attack was coming down to a manageable level.
He was right, Chaos Corp had outgrown governments. They were a sovereign superpower operating out of a boardroom.
"Donald," I said, standing up and straightening my tie. "Draft the evacuation protocols for all major metropolitan areas. I want the bunkers stocked and ready to open on my mark."
"Sir, are we declaring a global emergency?" Donald asked.
"Not overtly," I replied, walking toward the elevator. "If the public finds out an army madeup of omnimen are coming, they'll tear the cities apart themselves. Keep it quiet for now. And Donald?"
"Yes, Director?"
"Draft a new Law framework to wrestle infrastructure control from Chaos Corp," I ordered. "John and his people are powerful, but they are unpredictable. If they fail, the GDA needs to be holding the reins. We need to be ready to clean up his clusterfuck."
The elevator doors shut, taking me deep into the bedrock beneath the Pentagon.
Sub-Level Four smelled of chemicals and a musty odour. This was where morality took a backseat to survival.
I swiped my clearance card and walked into the primary surgical bay. D.A. Sinclair stood over a reinforced operating table, wearing rubber gloves and magnifying goggles.
Lying on the metal slabs were corpses.
On the table held the remains of Lucan and Kradd, bagged and shipped directly from the fights.
"Tell me you have results, Sinclair," I said, stopping at the edge of the surgical light.
Sinclair scoffed as he manipulated a robotic arm, lowering a cybernetic plate into the open chest cavity of Lucan.
"Results are already guaranteed with the V-Animen, Director," Sinclair buzzed, his voice carrying that arrogant edge. "The structural integrity of these specimens is fascinating. Standard lasers barely scratch the epidermis, so I had to use their bones, serrated again and again just to crack the sternum."
"I appreciate the science talk as well as the next guy but now's not the time, Sinclair," I snapped. "When can I expect Super Reanimen to be operational?"
Sinclair smiled as he patted the lifeless shoulder of the Kradd. "I am replacing their damaged neurological pathways with my control chips by using the same pathways Vidor's visor used. Once the integration completes, you will have subservient soldiers with the physical output of Omni-Man. Even the fresh specimen—" he gestured to Lucan and Kragg "— are yielding excellent biological data for the grafting process."
"Be careful," I warned, stepping closer. "If those control chips fail and these things go out of control, they will rip this facility apart. And you'll be the first one they pull in half."
"My tech does not fail, Cecil," Sinclair replied defensively.
"We'll see, kid. Oh and before I forget, I got you an Early Christmas present" I chided.
Sinclare looked up this time in Bafflement. "You... you mean project scales?"
I nodded, "Yes. We finally own full rights over Project scale and its products."
Months ago, John had dumped half a dozen gargantuan reptilian monsters into GDA custody, saying they were the key to taking the Animen to the next level.
Sinclair sighed, his excitement deflating. "That's great, but Director, their biology is irrational. It defies evolutionary science, even compared to Viltrumite standards. There are traces of an unknown gene woven into their DNA. Grafting cybernetics onto them is taking significantly longer, since even in death their bodies actively reject the changes."
"Figure it out," I ordered, turning toward the exit. "Pump them full of mutagen, rewrite their DNA, get a priest for all I care. I want an army of obedient super-Animen before the week."
"I am an engineer, not a miracle worker," Sinclair complained.
"You should call that priest then, that way you both can pray for a miracle," I shot back, letting the doors hiss shut behind me.
[A/N]:
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