"A body in motion tends to stay in motion unless acted on by an outside force." – Isaac Newton
ABANDONED WAREHOUSE - UNDISCLOSED LOCATION
The giant man crashed through the green portal headfirst, his massive form plummeting toward the warehouse floor with the force of a meteor. At the last second, he twisted his body, cradling Multiplex and the Mauler Twins protectively in his arms as he took the full impact of the landing.
BOOM.
The concrete floor cracked beneath him, spider-web fractures spreading out from the impact point. Dust billowed up in clouds, and the sound echoed through the empty warehouse like thunder.
"Ugh," groaned one of the twins, disentangling himself from the giant's grip.
"Could you maybe work on the landing next time?" complained the other twin, rubbing his head. "I think my brain just bounced off my skull."
Multiplex hopped down gracefully, apparently unaffected by the rough arrival. "Take it up with my boss," he said casually, brushing dust off his gray and black suit. "I just coordinate. I don't pilot."
The giant man began to shrink—his four-story height reducing rapidly until he was merely human-sized, maybe six and a half feet tall. He rubbed his head in pain, grimacing as he stood up and walked over to stand beside Multiplex, both of them facing the wall while Multiplex faced the twins.
The now normal-sized man looked over at Multiplex with concern in his voice. "Do you think it was wise? Bringing them here?"
Multiplex shrugged, his expression unreadable. "I'm not the one that wanted them here." He raised his voice slightly. "Isn't that right, Isotope?"
A green portal materialized against the far wall, its swirling energy casting eerie shadows across the warehouse. Two figures stepped through.
The first was a man in a sleek costume with green accents—Isotope, the teleporter. He had a smug expression on his face, the kind of look that suggested he was very pleased with himself.
The second figure made the Mauler Twins stop their complaining immediately.
Machine Head walked through the portal like he owned the place—which, given the circumstances, he probably did. His appearance was exactly as grotesque as his name suggested: a man whose head had been replaced with an intricate mechanical construct, a cyborg brain case that whirred and clicked with calculations. LED displays flickered across the surface, showing readouts and data streams. His body was normal enough—expensive suit, confident posture—but that head was pure nightmare fuel.
Isotope smirked and gestured toward his boss. "Well, it was the boss's plan, and it worked."
Machine Head walked up to the twins, who were staring at him with undisguised fascination and horror.
"Is that a man whose head is made of parts?" asked the first twin, tilting his head.
The second twin leaned in closer, his scientific mind already analyzing. "With the way it looks, I'd say he's more cyborg than machine. His brain's been replaced—or enhanced—for pure calculation capacity. The neural interfaces alone would require—"
"Wow," Machine Head interrupted, his synthesized voice dripping with sarcasm. "You twin fuckers are really fucking good at being smart. Wish it got you out of jail, though."
The first twin's face reddened with anger. "Why you—!" He lunged forward, fists raised.
The second twin grabbed his arm, pulling him back. "Stop it! He's baiting you, and you would know that if you were the original."
"I am the original!" the first twin shot back.
"Well, glad we have one with actual sense," Machine Head said, his voice carrying an odd sing-song quality that was deeply unsettling. "Now we can move on to better things." He clasped his mechanical hands together, servos whirring. "We need your expertise on DNA growth and clone fabrication."
The second twin crossed his arms, suspicion clear on his face. "And what's in it for us? Because the last time we lent someone our help—"
"—they took us straight to jail," the first twin finished. "What's to say you won't throw us back in a cell after we're done being useful?"
Machine Head looked at Multiplex with what might have been amusement—hard to tell with a mechanical head. "Didn't you already offer them the shit that made them come with you in the first place?"
Multiplex nodded. "Resources, facilities, freedom to work without interference—"
"Well, regardless," Machine Head interrupted, waving a mechanical hand dismissively, "what about revenge on Robot and the Guardians of the Globe?"
Both twins perked up at that. The first one leaned forward. "And how exactly do you plan on doing that?"
"Isotope," Machine Head said simply.
The teleporter opened his hand, and two small green portals appeared in his palm. From them, he withdrew a specialized containment cylinder—clear polymer with reinforced seals, holding what appeared to be orange and black fur.
The man who'd been a giant moments ago stepped forward, holding the container carefully. "This is the key to beating the Guardians," he said, his voice serious.
The first twin squinted at it. "That looks like cat fur. Also, who the hell are you?"
"Who he is does not fucking matter," Machine Head said, his mechanical voice taking on an edge of irritation. "What matters is the cat it belongs to."
He began pacing, his movements fluid despite his grotesque appearance. "A few months ago, a giant kitty and Invincible fought. Laid Invincible out cold, left him bleeding on the street. Damn thing was powerful enough to give Earth's strongest hero a run for his money."
Machine Head was carefully leaving out details—like how he'd hired Battle Beast, how everything had gone catastrophically wrong when the creature suddenly went with mark, how he'd barely escaped with his life. The twins didn't need to know about his failures. Only his plans.
"With a mind control chip based on the Order's design," Machine Head continued, "your cloning expertise, and accelerated body growth technology, we'll be able to build an army of fucking super-powered cats to take out the new Guardians of the Globe."
The twins looked at each other. A silent conversation passed between them—the kind only they could have, born from being perfect copies of one another.
Then they turned back to Machine Head in unison.
"We're in," said the first twin.
"When do we start?" asked the second.
Machine Head's mechanical head whirred with what might have been satisfaction. "Immediately. Isotope, show them to the lab. Get them everything they need. Money is no object. Time, however, is."
As the twins followed Isotope through another portal, Machine Head turned to Multiplex and the giant.
"Phase one is complete," he said. "Now we build our army. And when we're ready, we'll show the world—and especially those fucking Guardians—what real power looks like."
SOMEWHERE IN THE WILDERNESS - CAVE SYSTEM
Doctor Seismic cackled as he limped through the darkness, blood trickling down his forehead from where a GDA agent's lucky shot had grazed him during the prison break.
"Those pesky GDA agents," he muttered, his voice echoing off the cave walls. "I'll show them. I'll show them all the might of Doctor Seismic!"
The prison break had been chaos—alarms blaring, guards scrambling, enhanced prisoners making their escape attempts. Doctor Seismic had seized his opportunity, slipping away in the confusion while everyone focused on the more obviously dangerous escapees.
He'd been running for hours now, staying off roads, avoiding detection. Without his seismic bracelets—confiscated when he'd been arrested—his powers should have been useless. The technology in those bracelets had been what allowed him to control and amplify seismic waves, to create earthquakes with a thought.
But something had changed during his time in prison.
Months of solitary confinement. Months of meditation, forced or otherwise. Months of feeling the earth beneath him, sensing its rhythms, its movements, its ancient power.
He'd developed a connection. A deep, primal bond with the geological forces that shaped the world. His bracelets had been a crutch, he realized now. A technological shortcut to power that had always been there, waiting for him to truly understand it.
Now, even without his equipment, he could feel the earth. Could sense the fault lines, the pressure points, the places where tectonic forces waited to be unleashed.
It was weaker without the bracelets, yes. Less precise. But it was real. And it was growing stronger with every moment he spent in contact with the stone.
The cave system had been perfect. Remote, deep, with natural geological formations he could manipulate. A base of operations waiting to be claimed.
Doctor Seismic stumbled deeper into the darkness, one hand against the cave wall for support. His other hand clutched his side where a cracked rib screamed with every breath. But beneath his palm, he could feel the stone pulse with ancient power.
Then he saw it.
A faint glow deeper in the cave system. Orange and red, pulsing like a heartbeat.
"What the—"
He rounded a corner and stopped dead.
A pool of magma bubbled in a natural depression in the cave floor. The heat was intense but not unbearable—the cave's ventilation must have been exceptional. But that wasn't what made Doctor Seismic eyes widen.
A small creature crawled out of the magma pool.
It was roughly the size of a large dog, with a body that seemed to be made of living lava and volcanic rock. Its eyes glowed like embers, and when it moved, molten stone dripped from its form and sizzled on the cave floor.
"A magma elemental," Doctor Seismic breathed, his scientific mind racing even as his body protested the movement. "I thought they were theoretical. Something from the Earth's mantle, never proven to exist on the surface..."
The creature tilted its head, studying him with alien intelligence.
Doctor Seismic felt it through his connection to the earth—the creature's bond with the geological forces, the way it existed as a living embodiment of the planet's molten core. It was beautiful. Pure. Powerful.
And it recognized him. Recognized his connection to the same forces it embodied.
Doctor Seismic smiled, blood staining his teeth. "Hello there, little one. How would you like to help me teach the world a lesson about respecting geological sciences?"
The magma creature chirped—a sound like rocks grinding together—and moved closer.
Doctor Seismic reached out slowly, his newfound powers allowing him to sense the creature's connection to the earth, to communicate through the shared bond they had with the planet itself.
"Welcome to the team," Doctor Seismic said, laughing despite the pain. "Let's shake this world to its foundations."
DEEP SPACE - ALIEN PRISON SHIP
Two purple-skinned guards walked the corridor of their ship with the casual boredom of beings who'd done this patrol a thousand times before.
"I'm telling you," the first guard said, his voice carrying the universal tone of someone complaining about work, "the new shift rotations are ridiculous. Eighteen hours on, six hours off? That's not sustainable."
"File a complaint with the captain," the second guard replied, equally disinterested. "Not that it'll do any good. We're just security. We don't matter to command."
"That's the problem with this whole operation. No respect for the—"
A low growl echoed from the shadows ahead.
Both guards stopped walking, hands immediately going to their weapons.
"Who's there?" the first guard called out, his voice suddenly sharp with alertness. "Identify yourself!"
The growl came again, deeper this time. Hungrier.
"Prisoner escape?" the second guard whispered, his weapon—an energy rifle—humming to life.
"Impossible. The cells are—"
A massive shape exploded from the darkness.
Battle Beast hit the first guard like a meteor, claws extended, teeth bared. The guard barely had time to scream before those claws—each one sharp enough to cut through reinforced hull plating—tore through his armor like tissue paper.
Blood sprayed across the corridor walls in arterial spurts. Purple viscera splattered against the pristine metal surfaces, painting abstract patterns of violence.
The second guard fired his energy rifle, panic making his aim wild. The shots went wide, hitting the walls and ceiling, scorching metal but missing the predator entirely.
Battle Beast didn't even slow down.
He turned on the second guard with the kind of focused intensity that separated apex predators from prey. One massive paw swatted the energy rifle away, sending it clattering down the corridor. The other paw grabbed the guard by the throat, claws digging into purple flesh.
"Please—" the guard choked out, his face already turning darker from lack of oxygen.
Battle Beast's eyes—cold, calculating, filled with the joy of a true hunter—met the guard's terrified gaze.
"You are not worthy prey," Battle Beast growled, his voice like grinding stone. "But you are practice."
The guard's neck snapped with a sound like breaking wood. Battle Beast held the body for a moment longer, then tossed it aside carelessly, letting it crumple against the wall.
He looked down at himself. Purple blood stained his white fur, dripped from his claws, matted the mane around his neck.
He smiled, showing all his teeth.
This had been almost too easy. He'd allowed himself to be captured weeks ago—deliberately surrendering to this prison ship's crew, letting them think their tranquilizers and restraints had subdued him. It had been simple: find a ship, stage a "rampage," let them think they'd won when they finally brought him down.
All so he could be here. In this exact place. At this exact time.
Battle Beast had learned patience over his long years as a warrior. Sometimes, the best hunts required preparation. Sometimes, you had to position yourself exactly where you needed to be, even if it meant temporary imprisonment.
The escape had been simple. Wait for a shift change. Feign unconsciousness. Strike when the opportunity presented itself. Standard predator tactics, really.
Now the ship was his. The crew would be eliminated systematically—not because they posed a threat, but because it was good practice. Keeping his skills sharp. Maintaining his edge.
Battle Beast walked deeper into the ship, leaving a trail of bodies and blood behind him. His claws clicked on the metal floor with each step, a steady rhythm that matched his heartbeat.
He stopped at a particular cell—the one they'd held him in. Empty now, but it would serve a purpose.
Battle Beast walked inside and sat down against the far wall, settling into a meditative pose. Blood still dripped from his fur, pooling on the floor around him.
"Invincible," he said, his voice echoing in the empty cell. "I shall await your call for the fight."
He closed his eyes, but his smile remained.
This was strategic. Calculated. He would let himself be "recaptured"—let the prison ship's distress signal bring reinforcements, let them think they'd subdued the dangerous prisoner once more. He would wait. Bide his time. Prepare.
Because somewhere out there, the boy was growing stronger. Learning. Adapting. Becoming the warrior he was meant to be.
And when the time was right—when Invincible had grown enough to provide a truly worthy challenge—Battle Beast would escape again. Would hunt him down. Would fight him without interference, without mind control, without anything but pure combat between warriors.
That fight would be glorious.
But first, he needed to wait. To prepare. To ensure that when they met again, it would be under the perfect conditions.
Battle Beast opened his eyes slightly, looking at the cell door.
Let them come. Let them think they'd won. Let them imprison him again.
A true hunter knew when to strike—and when to wait for the perfect moment.
ABANDONED APARTMENT - SOMEWHERE IN AMERICA
A green portal materialized in the middle of a dusty living room, its swirling energy casting eerie shadows across the forgotten furniture and peeling wallpaper.
A tall, slender African-American man stepped through. He wore a blue button-down shirt and black pants, both impeccably clean despite the portal travel. His black goatee was neatly trimmed, and his brown eyes scanned the apartment with calculating intelligence.
"Angstrom?" he called out, his voice echoing in the empty space. "Angstrom Levy?"
No response.
The man walked through the apartment methodically, checking each room. Bedroom: unmade bed, clothes scattered about, signs of someone who'd left in a hurry. Bathroom: toiletries still on the sink, shower slightly damp from recent use. Kitchen: dishes in the sink, coffee pot still plugged in but empty.
Someone had lived here. Recently. But they were gone now.
The man pulled out his phone—a sleek device that looked slightly more advanced than current Earth technology—and pulled up a search engine.
"Angstrom Levy," he typed.
The results loaded immediately. News articles. Obituaries. Memorial pages.
SCIENTIST AMONG CHICAGO CASUALTIES
BRILLIANT PHYSICIST KILLED IN OMNI-MAN ATTACK
DIMENSIONAL RESEARCHER DIES IN BUILDING COLLAPSE
The man's expression didn't change, but his eyes narrowed slightly as he read through the articles. He scrolled past the emotional tributes, the scientific community's statements of loss, the analysis of Levy's contributions to theoretical physics.
"Hmm," he said quietly. "That's a shame."
He switched to searching current events. The top stories were all about Invincible and Omni-Man's battle, the aftermath, the speculation about Earth's defenders.
One headline caught his attention:
INVINCIBLE DEFEATS OMNI-MAN IN EPIC BATTLE
The man clicked through, reading the details. His eyes widened slightly as he processed the information.
"Hmm," he said again, but this time there was interest in his voice. "Two universes where that happens. Now isn't that interesting."
He closed the articles and walked toward the window, looking out at the city below. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the buildings.
Two universes where Invincible defeated his father and sent him away. That was statistically unusual. In most realities the man had visited, Omni-Man either succeeded in conquering Earth or was killed by his son in a far more brutal confrontation.
But two universes where things ended relatively peacefully? Where Nolan fled rather than died? Where Mark was left alive and relatively intact?
That suggested something. A pattern. A variable he hadn't accounted for.
The man turned away from the window and walked toward the alley beside the apartment building. His fingers moved in a complex gesture, and another green portal materialized.
Before stepping through, he took one last look at the apartment—at the place where Angstrom Levy should have been, would have been in most universes, but wasn't in this one.
"Fascinating," the man murmured. "The timeline is shifting. Events are changing. Someone's interfering with the natural flow."
He smiled slightly—not a warm expression, but one of intellectual curiosity.
"I wonder, Invincible, if you know what you've done. What changes you've set in motion. What consequences are coming."
The man stepped through the portal, and it closed behind him with a shimmer of green energy.
The apartment fell silent once more.
Empty.
Waiting.