The Grayson Household
Oliver was growing fast.
In just eight weeks, he had gone from an infant to a toddler who could walk, talk in broken sentences, and solve puzzles meant for five-year-old's. Thraxan biology was efficient, almost frighteningly so.
I watched from the kitchen doorway as his tutor—a retired linguist I'd hired through a high-end agency—went over flashcards with him. She had signed an NDA thick enough to stop a bullet, knowing only that the child had a "rare genetic accelerated growth condition."
"Blue," Oliver chirped, pointing at the card. "Ocean. Water."
"Good job, Oliver," the tutor smiled.
Debbie walked up beside me, sipping her coffee. She looked tired, but the hollow look in her eyes was gone. Having Oliver around gave her purpose again. A distraction from the empty space Nolan left behind.
"He asked about his dad yesterday," she whispered.
"Oh? What did you tell him?" I glanced over to her.
"That he's on a long trip," she said softly.
"Technically true," I muttered. "I have to run. I'll be back for dinner."
Over the last few months, I'd made sure to keep my connections on Earth stable.
I visited Rex Splode at the GDA medical wing. He was sitting up, staring out the window with a solemn look I'd never seen on him before. Losing a hand, a piece of his skull, and nearly dying had subdued a lot of his dickhead personality. He was turning his life around, actually reading strategy books instead of hitting on nurses. We talked a few times when he was awake, he's a cool enough guy.
I stopped by William's dorm in Upstate University. Rick Sheridan was finally back. The GDA had rebuilt his body—he was more machine than man under his clothes now. But he was alive, and William was helping him adjust to the new hardware. It was a heavy sight, but they were managing.
I had lunch with Amber on her campus. She was thriving like she always did—classes, soup kitchens, and protesting localized corruption. It was nice to have a conversation that didn't involve the end of the world, aliens, or impending doom.
And then there was Eve.
We met at a rooftop café in Chicago. She looked exhausted, stirring her iced tea like it held the secrets of the universe.
"I tried to stop a structural collapse in the lower district yesterday," she admitted, picking at her salad. "I tried to reinforce the beams with pink energy constructs... but I miscalculated the load-bearing stress. The west wall crumbled. People almost got hurt, Mark. I... I felt useless."
She looked down at her hands. "I want to make a difference. Not just punching bad guys, but really helping. But I feel like I'm flailing."
"You're trying to juggle the world with one hand," I said, leaning back. "You'll end up burning out like that."
"What else can I do?"
"Take some classes," I suggested. "Physics. Structural engineering. You have the powers of a god, Eve, but you're using them with human intuition. You understand the feeling of matter, but imagine if you understood the science of it."
She looked up, considering it.
"And when you're ready," I added, "Invincible Inc. has a spot for you. Paid. Insured. Directed. You want to help people? I have clients who need infrastructure rebuilt, disaster relief managed, supplies transported. You could do more good in a week on my payroll than a year of wandering around looking for muggers."
"I'll think about it. Thanks, Mark," she said, smiling genuinely.
Speaking of Invincible Inc., Business was, to put it mildly, booming.
In just two months, Invincible Inc. had generated more revenue than most Fortune 500 companies did in a fiscal year. The model was simple: I did things no one else could do, and I charged a premium for it:
Cargo Transport: I moved a prototype fusion reactor from a lab in Tokyo to a secure facility in New York in twenty minutes. It would have taken a week by boat and risked theft.
Fee: $2.5 million.
Asset Protection: I intercepted a villain team trying to kidnap a tech mogul's daughter in transit. I didn't even have to fight them; I just hovered in front of their convoy until they realized who I was and turned around.
Fee: $500,000.
Deep Sea Salvage: Recovering a sunken satellite from the Marianas Trench. The pressure would crush a submarine. For me, it was a Tuesday afternoon swim.
Fee: $4 million.
The money flowed into the Maulers' research, the warehouse upgrades, and secure off-shore accounts. Titan was handling the day-to-day operations with terrifying efficiency. We were untouchable.
But money was just a means to an end. The real currency was information.
One late morning, while I was running diagnostics on the suit's deep-space array, my sensors picked him up before he even broke the moon's orbit.
Allen was back, and he looked bigger. His single eye seemed sharper, and his orange skin looked like armored plating.
Oh yeah, they jumped his ass before coming to Thraxa, I thought. And now he's come back stronger. He's probably stronger than me at this point too, right? Or are we about the same strength level?
I met him in the vacuum of space, floating above the cloud layer.
"Mark!" Allen beamed, his telepathic voice booming in my head. "You look... well, the same. But I hear you've been busy."
"You look like you've been hitting the gym," I joked, drifting closer. I was holding a heavy, lead-lined container.
"Recovery coma," Allen shrugged. "One of the perks of my physiology. What is this?"
He gestured to the box.
"Everything," I said seriously, handing it to him. "Nolan's books. His journals. Everything he wrote about the Empire, their history, and potentially... their weaknesses."
Allen's eye widened as he took the container. "This is invaluable. The Coalition will—"
"I have a favor, Allen," I cut in.
"Name it."
"My old man's in a Viltrumite prison. I need you to break him out."
Allen blinked. "Break him... Mark, that's suicide. And why? He nearly killed you. He betrayed your world."
"He knows things," I said, my voice cold and pragmatic. "Things that aren't in the books. Weaknesses. Tactical data. Troop movements. If we want to win this war, we need him on our side. The Coalition needs him."
Allen looked at the container, then back at me. He weighed the options.
Allen nodded slowly. "I'll see what I can do. If he's willing to turn... he could be the key."
He pulled out a small device, scanning the container. The knowledge transferred in seconds.
"Good luck, Allen," I projected as he turned to leave.
Allen gave a two-finger salute.
Alright, that's that. Now back to training.
I didn't just fly down. I executed the regimen the Maulers had sent in the last encrypted packet.
Protocol 4: High-Velocity Smart Atom Stress Testing.
I held the container in one hand and nose-dived. Gravity took hold, but I added thrust. Pushing past my highest speeds.
I hit the atmosphere like a meteorite. The friction turned the air around me into a sheath of superheated plasma. Usually, I would slow down or create a buffer to disperse the heat.
But, the Mauler's notes said to let it burn. To force my cells to adapt to the thermal variance while maintaining structural rigidity.
Or whatever that means.
I gritted my teeth, feeling the heat seek out. I pushed harder, fighting the turbulence, forcing my body to remain an immovable object against the unstoppable force of reentry.
BOOM.
I broke the cloud layer over the Pacific, leveling out at the last second. My skin smoked, glowing red for a moment before fading back to normal.
[RECOVERY TIME: 4 SECONDS]
Not bad, I thought. But, not good enough.
I had integrated this specific drill into my routine a couple months ago, right after receiving data from the Maulers.
I remembered the day the data came in.I was sitting in a dark room in my Invincible Inc. warehouse. The blue light of a monitor reflecting in my eyes.
On the screen was a progress bar.
[DECRYPTING DATA PACKET: SOURCE_UNKNOWN]
[DOWNLOAD COMPLETE]
Angstrom and the Maulers had been sending me "care packages" of data they gathered. They left encrypted drives at specific dead drops like in the Himalayas.
I opened the folder labeled [COMBAT_SIMULATIONS_FINAL].
It was a dossier. A cold, hard breakdown of my survival chances based on the biometric data I'd gathered on Thraxa and my own suit's recordings.
I clicked the first file.
SUBJECT: GENERAL KREGG
Victory Probability: 25%
Analysis: Subject possesses superior durability and striking power. Simulation suggests a prolonged engagement favors Kregg due to experience. You have a speed advantage, but one critical error results in spinal trauma.
Recommended Strategy: Hit and run. Do not engage frequently at close quarters.
I clicked the next.
SUBJECT: ANISSA
Victory Probability: 35%
Analysis: Subject is faster than you. Simulation shows her overwhelming your defenses with high-pressure aerial combat. She would control the pace of the engagement.
You would lose the war of attrition.
SUBJECT: CONQUEST
Victory Probability: 5%
Analysis: Subject's durability exceeds current output capabilities. You could not inflict enough lethal damage before fatigue sets in. Subject would eventually secure an execution of you.
Survival unlikely.
SUBJECT: GRAND REGENT THRAGG
Victory Probability: 0%
Analysis: Instant fatality.
Do not engage.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the numbers.
Can't do anything but laugh honestly. I knew my chances were low if they fought me seriously, but I had higher expectations than the ones presented, holy fuck.
I had been feeling confident after Mars, feeling like a warlord, but these numbers hit me like a bucket of ice water.
I clicked the final file: [VIDEO_LOG_012.mp4].
The media player opened and Angstrom appeared on screen. He had a thicker beard and there were bags under his eyes.
"Mark," the recorded Angstrom said, his voice slightly distorted. "If you're seeing this, the simulations are done. The numbers are... not great. But we have a solution."
The camera panned. The Mauler Twins were in the background of a massive, high-tech lab. One of them stepped forward, holding a vial of glowing blue liquid.
"The serum is about ready," one Mauler said on the recording. "It's optimized for your specific DNA markers. It will increase the capabilities of your smart atoms, give you greater control over them, and increase your energy output. Just need to put some finishing touches."
"It won't get you to the level of Thragg overnight, but it will steadily bridge the gap quickly," the other Mauler stated. "With routine training of course."
The camera swung back to Angstrom.
"Everything is ready for your return," Angstrom said. "I also have data from a thousand worlds ready. But I need you here to help 'relieve' the world of those evil variants of not only yourself, but the Viltrumite empires and other threats that tie them down."
Angstrom leaned into the camera.
"We're ready when you are. Just signal the beacon. We'll open the door."
The video ended and the screen went black.
A slow smile spread across my face.
A week should be good enough, I thought. I'll need to clear up my schedule.
That was then, but now here I am cruising through the clouds, heading back to the States after a quick cargo drop-off in London. My mind, preoccupied with the logistics of my future trip to the Flaxan dimension.
When suddenly, my HUD flashed red, breaking my train of thought.
[ALERT: SEISMIC ACTIVITY DETECTED. CLASS 5 KAIJU SIGNATURE.]
[LOCATION: PACIFIC OCEAN. DISTANCE: 2,000 MILES.]
"Duty calls," I muttered.
I banked hard, pushing the thrusters. A sonic boom rippled behind me as I tore across the sky, closing the distance in seconds.
I dropped altitude as I reached the coordinates.
Below me, the ocean churned. A massive tentacle, the size of a skyscraper and covered in barnacles, burst from the water. It wrapped around a luxury cruise ship, tilting the massive vessel like a toy in a bathtub.
"Standard Tuesday," I sighed.
I dove, executing a precise, drill-like maneuver. Spinning with extreme efficiency.
I flew through the beast's tentacles at Mach 10, severing them instantly to free the ship. The severed limb crashed into the water, creating a tidal wave that rocked the vessel but didn't capsize it.
The monster roared, rising from the depths. It was a big blue mass of teeth and hate, looking like a cross between a kraken and a deep-sea anglerfish with crab-like appendages.
It's something new and ugly every single day, huh? I thought. But something about this seems familiar.
My HUD scanned its biology.
[TARGET: WEAK POINT LOCATED. BASE OF SKULL. CENTRAL NERVE CLUSTER.]
I accelerated and became a kinetic bullet.
SPLAT.
I flew straight through the Kaiju's head, entering just below the jaw and exiting out the back of its neck in a spray of blue blood and brain matter.
The monster went limp instantly, sinking back into the depths without a sound.
I hovered above the ship, wiping a speck of blue slime off my visor.
"Target neutralized," I muttered.
[ALERT: VILTRUMITE SIGNATURE DETECTED.]
Reaaally? I thought as I looked deeper at the situation. So this event's happening.
[PROXIMITY: 50 METERS. BEHIND YOU.]
I turned slowly, keeping my hands loose but ready to snap into a defensive guard.
Floating there, arms crossed, her white uniform pristine against the stormy grey sky, was Anissa.
She watched me, a smirk playing on her lips. She didn't attack me immediately, she just observed. She had seen the kill and the absolute lack of hesitation.
We stared at each other. The wind whipped her short hair around her face.
She looked at the sinking carcass of the monster, then back at me.
"Not bad," she finally spoke.
This could go many possible ways, I thought. Hopefully I make it out in one piece.