Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

His mouth tasted funny. Dry, metallic, like he’d been sucking on a battery. His tongue felt too thick, and his lips cracked as he exhaled. The air was wrong- too sterile, too still. It carried a faint hum, something mechanical, vibrating his bones. Distantly, he could hear a soft, rhythmic whir, like the idle of a plane engine.

His fingers twitched against something smooth and soft. A blanket? His eyelids felt heavy, but he forced them open. He tried to flex his hand but found it sluggish, as if his muscles had forgotten how to work. A slow pulse of light flickered behind his closed eyelids, and he forced them open. The world swam in unfocused white⎯too bright, too clean, edged with shifting shadows.

His breath stuttered, sharp and unfamiliar in his own lungs. What happened? His thoughts were scrambled, memories slipping faster than he could grab them. He remembered something⎯pain? No, that's not right. His fathers voice. Shouting. Blood.

A sudden rush of panic shot through him, and he choked. He lurched forward, the movement sending a spike of pain to his skull. His limbs felt light and heavy at the same time, like gravity itself had shifted in his absence.

A chill swept through the air, causing a shiver to run down his spine. He straightened up, taking in his surroundings for the first time since he woke up. He was lying in a bed, for sure, but it wasn’t his. He had the suspicion that he was in the GDA medical wing, but that was quickly squashed as soon as he noticed the soft purple lighting, and the expensive sheets that Mark knew damn well Cecil wouldn’t pay for.

Where was he? Mark eased himself off the bed, his legs unsteady beneath him as he rose. He swayed for a moment before finding his footing. His eyes flickered around the pristine room, and immediately something caught his eye.

The window.

Marks’ breath hitched as he turned towards it, his pulse hammering in his ears. Beyond the glass stretched and endless void, a sea of stars. But it wasn’t just space⎯below him, a massive planet loomed, its swirling colors unfamiliar, alien.

His chest tightened. This wasn’t Earth.

A cold dread settled over him as he took a shaky step closer, pressing a hand to the glass. The vastness of it all threatened to swallow him whole. He had been to space before⎯twice, in fact, but nothing compared to this. He didn’t recognize a single constellation.

“Holy shit.”

He managed to pry his eyes away from the window, locating the door. He rushed over, tripping over a…bra? He didn’t have time to worry about that right now. He made it to the door, praying it wasn’t locked. 

The door hissed open, and Mark stepped out into the hallway. The walls were sleek and curved, a smooth metal that shimmered faintly under strips of violet light. The air smelled almost too clean, like it had been filtered a thousand times over.

He forced himself forward, moving cautiously down the corridor. The ceiling arched above him, making him feel small. The hall stretched long and empty, the occasional doorway breaking up the endless metal. His fingers brushed against one as he passed, and it slid open instantly. 

Immediately, he saw her.

She sat in front of a mirror, carefully applying makeup with a brush in steady, practiced strokes. The soft glow of the room cast shadows over her face—no, not just shadows. Lines. She was older. Her auburn hair was longer, and her features were sharper, more refined. She looked to be in her thirties. Mark felt his stomach twist, his breath catching in his throat. 

She didn’t move, didn’t even look up as she spoke, “Hey Mark, you’re up early. Go ahead and get dressed, we have to be down in about an hour.”

Mark’s throat went dry. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a strangled breath. His pulse thundered in his ears.

“Eve…?” His voice cracked, barely above a whisper. His hands trembled at his sides.

She froze.

Slowly, as if afraid of what she might see, Eve turned to face him. The brush slipped from her fingers, clattering against the vanity. Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she just stared, her mouth parting in silent shock. Mark saw it then—the way her chest rose sharply, the way her fingers twitched like she wasn’t sure if she should reach for him or recoil.

“What?” Her voice was barely audible. She pushed herself to her feet, taking a slow, hesitant step toward him. “Mark?”

He swallowed hard, nodding stiffly. “Um, yeah.” he croaked.

Eve’s face paled. She scanned him—his shorter frame, his unscarred skin, the way his clothes hung loosely on his body. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she lightly brushed his cheek. Mark found himself leaning towards the touch.

“Oh, Mark,” she whispered. “You shouldn’t be here.”

He laughed, but it came out strangled—raw. He knew that. He knew since the moment he woke up. Nothing made sense, and trying to make sense of it made less sense.

But this was Eve. The only familiarity he had at the moment, even if she was older than he remembered. 

He knew he had been quiet for too long, but he didn’t care. He closed the gap between them, and hugged her as tight as he could. She didn’t seem surprised, and rested her arms around him, letting Mark relish in her warmth for a moment.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

Mark opened his mouth, but the words stuck in his throat. He broke the hug, concentrating. His mind felt like a scrambled mess, it was exhausting. He shook his head, exhaling sharply. “I-I don’t know-” His brows furrowed, his pulse hammering as flashes of red flickered in his mind. 

It slammed into him all at once.

The weight of his father’s fists, the sharp crack of his ribs breaking like dry twigs. The way the air had been ripped from his lungs when he hit the mountain, the jagged rock biting into his skin. His father’s voice—cold and unforgiving.

“What’s seventeen more years?”

Mark’s breath hitched. His vision blurred as he staggered back, gripping his head as if he could physically stop the memories from crashing over him.

“I can always start again. Make another kid.”

The pain in his head sharpened, a piercing, electric pressure that made his vision swim. His legs gave out beneath him.

“Mark!”

Eve was there in an instant. Strong hands caught him before he hit the floor, steadying him as he trembled.

“I’m sorry—I have to get back.” He stammered, eyes wide and unfocused. Earth, his friends, his mom—his mom. “He could still be there, I can’t- I can’t let him do it.”

Eve nodded, but said nothing. 

“Where-where am I?”

Eve’s grip on his hands tightened, her expression unreadable. For a long moment, she didn’t answer. She just watched him, like she was trying to figure out how to break something gently—something that couldn’t be broken gently.

Finally, she exhaled. “Mark…” Her voice was softer now, careful. “You’re not on Earth.”

“I know that,” he snapped, frustration bubbling beneath his panic. “But where? And how—how did I even get here?” His breath came too fast, his chest rising and falling in uneven bursts. “I was just—” His throat closed up.

“What year is it?”

“Mark.”

“What year is it?”

She pursed her lips, before answering, “we don’t have an exact date here that you would understand⎯but on Earth it is 2521.”

Mark thought he would feel more shocked by that answer, but he wasn’t. A cold acceptance washed over him, and he sat down on the chair in front of the mirror. “Okay. Okay.” It made sense, it really did.

If Eve was here, away from Earth, it must mean something happened. Did he fail? Was Earth gone? Did his dad⎯did the others⎯did they win?

Wait, what was Eve doing 500 years in the future?

“This is so fucked up.”

Eve smirked, eyes crinkling with age. A strange sense of guilt overcame Mark, and he averted his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Eve’s smirk softened, but there was something sad behind it. Like she wanted to say more but knew it wouldn’t help. Instead, she straightened and nodded towards the door. “Come on,” she said. “We’ll go down to the surface. The Coalition might have a way to get you home.”

Mark blinked. “Wait, seriously?” He sat up a little, the weight in his chest lifting just enough to actually breathe. He had no idea what the ‘Coalition’ was, but it sounded hopeful. “You think they can actually send me back?”

Eve hesitated. “Maybe. I don’t know how you got here, but you⎯my Mark, has dealt with something like this before. If anybody has answers, it’s them.”

It wasn’t a promise, but it was enough. Mark pushed himself up, his legs still unsteady, but there was something else now⎯excitement. He’d been to space before, sure, but an alien planet? One that wasn’t just a lifeless rock with a bunch of mind invading brain matter? His heart kicked up, the smallest bit of curiosity cutting through the panic.

“Alright,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

“Hey, I don’t mean to be like⎯alien racist, or something? But you look really familiar, have we met before?”

They were in an office, or the alien equivalent of one. Which, to Mark’s surprise, looked a lot like an Earth office⎯desk, chairs, strange little motivational posters with indecipherable text. Mark figured some things just didn’t change, even across the galaxy. 

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, looking over at Eve, who had her hands politely resting in her lap. He cleared his throat, and looked back at the alien behind the desk, who stared, dumbfounded.

He looked nearly identical to the orange cyclops he had fought for Cecil. He was just older, and scalier.

The alien blinked⎯his one, giant eye slowly narrowing in disbelief. He leaned forward over the desk, scanning Mark, who tensed.

“Holy crap,” he said, voice deep and gravelly, but unmistakably his. “Mark?”

Mark let out a relieved breath, thanking the lord that he didn’t confuse him with somebody else, that would have been embarrassing. He had caught his name when they met⎯Allen? Yeah, that’s it.

Eve cleared her throat, her tone dipping into something more formal. “He’s been transported here by something, but we aren’t sure what. He’s 500 years younger, and he doesn’t remember anything from the past five centuries.”

Allen leaned back in his chair, letting out a long whistle. “Okay. Well. That explains the baby face.”

Mark huffed, but didn’t say anything.

Eve leaned forward slightly. “I’m only coming to you for help because you’ve dealt with this before, remember? Mark went missing for five years, he said he was in the past.”

Allen sighed, “I can send a team to investigate the planet again, but he will have to stay here on Talescria for the time being, we can’t risk any more complications. Understand?”

Mark nodded, even though his stomach sank a little. Stay here. Right. Like being stranded five centuries in the future on an alien planet wasn’t complicated enough.

Eve looked at him, her expression softening. “We’ll take care of it, Mark. I’ll drop you off at  the market for now. It’ll give you a chance to look around and familiarize yourself.”

Mark furrowed his brow. “The market?” he asked, unable to hide his confusion. “Why can’t I stay and listen? I’m not some tourist, I can⎯”

“Because,” Eve interrupted with a firm, yet apologetic tone, “you’re still… you. And our version of you…” She trailed off, glancing at Allen.

Allen’s giant eye narrowed again. “Our Mark has left quite an impression on this universe. And besides, you don’t know how long until you make it back to your time⎯if you even do.”

Mark didn’t think his stomach could sink any lower. Eve glowered at Allen, crossing her arms, and he backtracked, sheepish. “I’m sure you will, just give us some time⎯these things are tricky.”

The market was everything and nothing like Mark had expected—alien vendors shouting in languages he couldn’t understand, holographic signs flashing prices that meant nothing to him, and strange creatures of different shapes and sizes weaving between stalls, adjusting their merchandise. The air smelled like sweet fruit and something vaguely metallic. Mark shuffled through the crowd, trying not to look as overwhelmed as he felt.

Eve had told him to stay within the market, which didn’t make much sense to him. He would rather be anywhere but here. He would rather be finding a way home. He wanted to see his mother—not go window shopping on some far off planet.

 He wasn’t sure how long he needed to stay there, anyways. Eve had mentioned in passing how she would send somebody to get him when they finished talking, but that didn’t sound too reassuring.

He pushed past a towering, moss-covered creature bartering over a crate of glowing roots and ducked under the fluttering wings of something that looked like a bird. The farther he walked, the thinner the crowd became, until the noise dulled to a background hum and the market opened into a quieter side alley lined with smaller stalls and fewer eyes.

A raspy voice broke his thoughts. “Hey, kid! You look like a collector—got something special for ya!”

Mark turned, blinking as a wiry alien with too many arms waved him over. Its skin shimmered like oil slicks, reflecting the purple glow, and its four hands clutched various trinkets; shiny baubles, holographic discs, and what looked like a tiny statue. The alien grinned, revealing a row of jagged teeth, and thrust the statue toward him.

“Behold!” it crowed. “A rare piece—Viltrum’s finest! The Emperor himself, carved from Trellian crystal. Limited stock, kid, you won’t find this anywhere else on Talescria!”

Mark froze. The statue was small but unmistakable; a chiseled figure in a uniform, long cloth flowing dramatically, chest puffed out in a pose of unshakable authority—it was a perfect likeness of a Viltrumite. Not just any Viltrumite. It could’ve been his father. But he couldn’t tell, not with how absolutely awful the carve-job was.

His stomach churned, his fathers words hung still in the air.

“But I’m loyal to Viltrum. Not this…pathetic excuse for a civilization.”

The Viltrum Empire wasn’t some noble legacy. It was horrific. And this thing… this merchandise—was celebrating it. Did they not know?

“No thanks,” Mark muttered, taking a step back. His voice came out tighter than he meant it to.

The alien didn’t take the hint. It scuttled closer, its extra arms waving the statue insistently. “Oh, come on! You don’t know what you’re missing! Viltrum’s the backbone of our society. Heroes, warriors, the best of the best! This here’s a symbol of strength. You look like you could use some of that, eh?”

Mark’s jaw tightened. “I said no.” His tone was sharp now, edged with something raw. He could feel his pulse hammering, the heat rising in his chest. The alien’s enthusiasm grated against every nerve he had left.

The vendor paused, its grin faltering as it finally seemed to register his reaction. “What’s your problem, kid? You got something against the Emperor?”

“I’ve got something against the whole damn empire,” Mark snapped before he could stop himself. He took another step back, his hands trembling slightly. “Keep your statue. I don’t want anything to do with it.”

The alien blinked, then let out a low, raspy chuckle, clearly unbothered. “Suit yourself.” It turned away, muttering something about “tourists” as it shuffled back to its stall.

Mark stood there for a moment, breathing hard, trying to shake the image of that statue from his mind. He shuddered, the chill of the alley sinking into his bones.

He needed to get out of here. Not just the alley, not just the market—all of it. Five hundred years in the future or not, he couldn’t stand being surrounded by a galaxy that still glorified the Viltrumites like they were gods. He turned on his heel, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets, and started walking back toward the busier part of the market. Eve had said someone would come for him, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t ready when they did. He had to get home. 

God, was this why Eve was being so cryptic? Was she ashamed of him for his failure on Earth? 

Oh god. Was there even an Earth to go back to?

Mark’s mind spun as he shoved his way back into the thicker crowd, the noise of the market swelling around him like a tidal wave. His chest felt tight, his breaths shallow and ragged. Five hundred years. The Viltrum Empire is still standing. Eve’s words looped in his head, “You shouldn’t be here.” Was that it? Had he failed so spectacularly that Earth was gone, swallowed by his father’s legacy? Had he let everyone down—his mom, his friends, the whole damn planet?

The crowd pressed in, a blur of scales, feathers, and glowing eyes. Someone jostled him—a hulking figure with too many elbows—and he stumbled, his shoulder slamming into something hard. A signpost. He grunted, stepping back to steady himself, his hand instinctively gripping the smooth metal pole for balance. His vision swam for a moment, the world tilting as he fought to catch his breath.

Then he looked up.

Plastered across the sign was a face—his face. Older, harder, with lines etched into the skin and a jaw set like stone. The same dark hair, the same sharp eyes. He wore a regal uniform, the blue, white, and gold stretched across a broad chest. Next to the image, alien script glowed in sharp, angular lines, but beneath it, in smaller text he could actually read, were the words: “Face of Viltrum.”

His stomach dropped. The air rushed out of him like he’d been punched. He staggered back another step, his hand slipping off the pole, his knees threatening to buckle. Face of Viltrum? No. No, that couldn’t be right. He’d fought against it—bled for it—nearly died to stop his father. He wasn’t one of them. He couldn’t be.

But the face staring back at him was undeniable. Older, sure, but it was him. The market’s noise faded to a dull roar in his ears, drowned out by the pounding of his own heartbeat. His hands shook as he reached up, half-expecting to feel that older face under his fingertips instead of his own smooth skin. What the hell had happened? Had he given in?

Someone bumped into him again, harder this time, and he lurched forward, catching himself before he hit the ground. The contact snapped him out of his daze, and he whipped around, eyes wild, scanning the crowd. No one seemed to notice him—no one stared, no one pointed at the kid who looked like the Viltrumite poster boy. Maybe they didn’t recognize him. Maybe this older Mark was so far removed from the scrawny, panicked teenager standing here now that no one made the connection.

Mark’s hands scraped against the rough concrete as he sank lower, his fingers clawing at the ground like it could anchor him. His chest heaved, each breath a jagged gasp that didn’t seem to fill his lungs. The sign loomed in his mind—Viltrum—the word searing itself into his thoughts, twisting everything he knew about himself into something unrecognizable. His vision blurred, the edges darkening as the market’s colors and sounds smeared into a chaotic mess. His heart slammed against his ribs, too fast, too loud, drowning out everything else. He couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t—

“—Mark!”

A voice cut through the haze, sharp and urgent, but it barely registered. Hands gripped his shoulders, shaking him hard enough to rattle his teeth. He flinched, his head jerking up, but his eyes wouldn’t focus. All he saw was a flash of yellow and blue, a smear of color against the dim alley light. The hands tightened, pulling him up from where he’d slumped against the signpost.

“Mark, hey—look at me!” The voice was firm, insistent, but he couldn’t place it. His ears rang, a high-pitched whine that swallowed the words. He tried to speak, to say something—anything—but his throat locked up, his tongue heavy and useless.

The figure yanked him forward, dragging him away from the crowd. His legs stumbled beneath him, barely keeping up as the blur guided him into a quieter corner of the alley. The noise of the market dulled to a distant hum, the air cooler, less suffocating. The hands pushed him gently against a wall, steadying him as he slid down to sit on the ground.

“Breathe,” the voice said, softer now, closer. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. Come on, you can do it.”

Mark’s chest shuddered as he tried to follow the instructions. His breaths came in short, frantic bursts at first, but the voice kept talking, low and calm. “That’s it. You’re good, you’re chill.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, then forced them open again, blinking rapidly as the world started to sharpen.

“There you go,” she said, her tone easing as his breathing slowed. “Feel better?”

Mark nodded weakly, his head still spinning but no longer spiraling out of control. He leaned back against the wall, the cool metal grounding him as he dragged a shaky hand across his face. “I—I’m sorry,” he rasped, his voice raw. “I don’t… I don’t know what happened.”

“Hey, don’t sweat it,” she said, her voice steady. She crouched in front of him, her hands resting casually on her knees now, giving him space but close enough to catch him if he slipped again. “It happens. Just take it easy for a minute.”

Mark exhaled shakily, his gaze finally lifting to actually see her. She was young, maybe in her twenties, with short black hair that framed her face in a slight bob. Her eyes were soft and brown⎯familiar, but he didn’t recognize them.

And then he noticed it: the yellow and blue wasn’t just some random outfit. It was his hero costume⎯Invincible’s suit⎯hugging her frame like it belonged there, the design unmistakable even if it was tweaked a little bit. 

He blinked, his brain tripping over itself for what felt like the fiftieth time that day. “Wait⎯why are you wearing my costume?” The question slipped out, clumsy and half-formed, his voice still rough around the edges.

She straightened up slightly, eyebrows quirking up in amusement. “Oh, this? Yeah, i’d tell you the story, but…” She gestured vaguely towards him. “You seem like you’ve had enough shock for one day.”

Mark frowned, his hands balling into loose fists against the ground. “That’s not⎯come on, you can’t just wear that and not tell me why.” He leaned forward a little, his curiosity cutting through the lingering fog of panic. “Who are you?”

She stood fully, brushing off her bare knees with a casual flick of her hands. “M-Eve sent me to grab you. Said you’d probably be freaking out by now⎯which, congrats, you nailed it.” She smiled teasingly, “I’m just here to help.”

“Help with what?” he pressed, pushing himself up to stand. His legs still felt like jelly, but he forced them to hold him. “And that doesn’t explain the suit. That’s mine.”

She crossed her arms, giving him a long, appraising look. “Maybe it was 500 years ago, but as you can see⎯things have changed.” She turned, motioning for him to follow. “Come on, she’s waiting.”

“It’s my suit…” he muttered under his breath, stumbling after her anyways.

Mark trailed after her as she wove back into the bustling crowd, her slim figure slipping through the chaos with an ease he couldn’t match. He forced himself to keep up. The markets noise roared back to life around him⎯shouts, hums, and the clatter of machinery⎯but he kept his eyes locked on her, determined not to lose her in the mess.

She glanced back over her shoulder, her short hair swinging with the swiftness of it as she caught his eye. “Hey,” she called, her voice cutting through the din. “You can fly, right?”

Mark blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, yeah,” he said, nodding. “I can fly.”

“Good.” She grinned, a quick flash of teeth, and without another word, she kicked off the ground. She launched straight into the air faster than Mark could comprehend, and paused halfway above the crowd. Mark stared for a split second, his brain still lagging, before shaking himself out of it. He crouched slightly, then pushed off, his own flight kicking in with a familiar rush.

The air above the market was cooler, the chaos below shrinking into a colorful blur as they rose. She flew ahead, sharp and confident, while Mark trailed behind, his flight a little shakier than he’d like. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of embarrassment⎯he was supposed to be good at this⎯but he couldn’t focus, not with everything that was going on.

Mark steadied himself midair, the wind tugging at his hair as he fought to match her pace. The city sprawled beneath them, a dizzying maze of sleek towers and glowing lights, but he kept his eyes on her—the suit an outlier against the alien horizon.

Mark’s flight steadied as he pushed himself to keep up with her, the wind whipping past his face, sharp and cool against his skin. His muscles ached faintly, like they were still waking up from whatever had brought him here, but the act of flying felt grounding—familiar in lieu of his situation. Below, Talescria’s skyline glittered with similar shapes to that of Earth buildings. It was beautiful, sure, but it only deepened the knot in his chest. This wasn’t home. 

He didn’t even want to think about the implications of that sign anymore. But the more he tried not to think about it, the more he thought about it—strange.

He realized that he was lagging far behind, and he quickly adjusted himself, matching his pace to hers.

She glanced back, her short black hair whipping in the wind as she arched an eyebrow. For a moment, he thought she’d leave him behind—but instead, she slowed down.

He suddenly felt very embarrassed despite himself. God, he thought, I never asked for her name.

He stalled slightly before opening his mouth, raising his voice against the wind, “Um—I never got your name? Sorry.”

She tilted her head, her soft smile returning as she hovered briefly to let him catch up. The wind tugged at her short black hair. “No need to apologize,” she called back, her voice carrying a teasing edge. “It’s Terra.”

“Terra,” Mark echoed, the name settling into his mind like a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit yet. He steadied his flight, pulling alongside her as they soared over the city. “Thanks. I, uh… I’m kinda out of it.”

“No kidding,” Terra said, shooting him a sidelong glance. Her brown eyes flickered with amusement, but there was something softer there too—fond. “You’re doing alright, though. Considering.”

“So, you’re the one Eve sent to fetch me?”

“Yup.” She said, popping the p.

Mark furrowed his brows, gazing at the scenery below, “This may be a weird question, but like—how is she alive? It’s been 500 years, it doesn’t make sense.”

She snorted, swerving in front of him and catching him off guard. He yelped, jolting back midair.

“Woah! Easy there.” Terra pulled him upright as he regained his balance, “just wanted to answer your question without the wind getting in the way.”

Mark steadied himself, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment as he adjusted his position in the air. “Yeah, okay, warn me next time,” he muttered, brushing off the moment with a half-hearted glare.

“So, about Eve,” she said, face scrunched in thought. “It’s not that weird when you think about it. She’s got her powers, right? Atoms, molecular structure—all that stuff. Plus, you know, she’s got a mental block that can be overridden during death, she’s not immortal, but she can stretch her life span.” She shrugged, like it was no big deal, but her eyes flicked over him, watching for his reaction.

Mark frowned, processing her words. Mental block? “Okay, but… five hundred years? That’s not just ‘stretching it.’ That’s—” He gestured vaguely, struggling to find the right word. “—insane. And she looks, what, thirty? Thirty-five?”

Terra laughed, a short, bright sound that cut through the wind. “Yeah, well, she’s always been good at defying expectations. Let’s just say she’s had a lot of time to figure things out.” She tilted her head, her smirk softening. “You’ll get the full story from her. I’m not the best at explaining the sci-fi stuff.”

Mark opened his mouth to ask more—because of course he had more questions—but Terra was already moving again, banking sharply to the right. “Come on, we’re almost there,” she called over her shoulder, diving toward a massive building that loomed ahead. Streams of flying vehicles zipped around it, and the landing platforms buzzed with activity—figures moving, lights flashing, a whole world Mark couldn’t begin to understand.

He followed, his flight a little steadier now, though his mind was anything but. Eve being alive after five hundred years made sense in a twisted, comic-book-logic kind of way, but it only raised more questions. If she’d survived this long, what about everyone else? His mom? His friends?

“Hey, Terra,” he said, catching up as they neared the landing platform. “You’re not gonna dodge every question, right? Like, you’re wearing my suit. What’s the deal?”

She didn’t look back this time, but he caught the slight tension in her shoulders. “I’m not dodging questions, I’m protecting our future!” she shouted back, a playful edge to her voice. “You’ll get your answers, Invincible. Just not all at once. Eve’s got a better handle on this than I do. Trust me, you don’t want me screwing up the details.”

Mark groaned, but he didn’t push. The platform was close now, and Terra was already slowing down, her boots touching down with a grace he couldn’t hope to match. He landed beside her, stumbling slightly but catching himself before he ate pavement.

 The gravity must be different here, he thought, I’m not usually this uncoordinated. 

The doors ahead hissed open, revealing a hallway that gleamed with the same sleek, futuristic vibe he’d seen everywhere else.

Mark straightened up, brushing off his clumsy landing as Terra shot him a look. The hallway stretched before them, its polished walls reflecting the soft violet glow of overhead lights, making everything feel both alien and oddly welcoming. 

He took a deep breath, matching Terra’s pace. Standing still wasn’t an option, thinking about this future wasn’t an option—he just had to figure out how to get home.

“Allen and Eve should be in the council room…do you need a minute?”

She must’ve noticed how tense he looked. Mark shook his head, though his stomach twisted. “No, uh—I’m good,” he stuttered, wincing at how unsure he sounded. He forced his legs to move, keeping step with Terra as they walked down the hallway. The air was cool, sterile. He glanced at Terra, her suit a constant reminder of how much he didn’t know. Answers were close now, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted them or dreaded them more.

This sucked.