Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sewers had been my home for months now. Dark, damp, and reeking of decay—but down here, we were safe. Hidden beneath the ruins of what was once a thriving city, the underground tunnels served as the headquarters for our resistance. Our mission was simple in theory, impossible in practice: kill Omni-Man and his son, Invincible.
Even now, I couldn’t fully understand how Mark Grayson—born and raised on this planet—had chosen to stand beside the monster who wanted to conquer it. To erase everything and everyone that didn’t fall in line. To claim Earth as his own.
We all hated him for it. Invincible. A name once synonymous with hope, trust, and unshakable strength. He’d been our hero. Someone we looked up to. Believed in. And he betrayed everything. He betrayed us. Now, all we wanted was his death.

I sat alone on a rusted metal ramp, legs dangling above the sluggish, greenish water. My faint reflection trembled across the surface like a ghost I couldn’t recognize anymore. Most of the remaining heroes had joined our cause—Atom Eve, Robot, even a handful from the shattered Guardians of the Globe. We needed them. Without powers, those of us left—ordinary civilians—were little more than meat shields. We handled what we could: medics, scouts, strategists. Every one of us played a role. A concept completely foreign to the gods flying above.
Angstrom Levy had left hours ago, venturing into the wreckage in search of something—anything—that could give us a fighting chance against the Viltrumites. If he was caught, if he was followed back here, we were already dead.
I swung my legs absently. The stench didn’t bother me anymore.
If I had powers—hell, even a sliver of strength—I’d fight too. But I was just a normal girl with a weak body and low blood pressure. Physical stress could knock me out cold. So instead, I did what I could. I comforted the new arrivals. The broken, the scared, the angry. One by one, I helped hold them together. It wasn’t much. But it was mine to give.

“Y/N.”

I didn’t turn. I didn’t have to.
Eve’s voice was soft but tense as she stepped beside me. “The door. I heard the mechanism. Angstrom’s back.”
She extended a hand. I took it, letting her pull me up.
She had been one of the bravest among us. After everything she’d been through—fighting beside Invincible, loving him, trusting him—she was still here. Still fighting. Even now, he kept showing up, trying to talk to her like none of this mattered. Like she was the only thing that mattered. I felt for her. Because I knew what it was like to be haunted by someone who used to mean everything.

We moved quickly through the base, rallying others toward the center chamber. Moments later, Angstrom emerged from the tunnel entrance, looking like hell. His sweatshirt was coated in soot and ash, his signature backpack slung loosely over one shoulder.

“I found this,” he said, pulling a vial from his bag.

It glowed with a sickly violet light—thick, viscous, and humming with dangerous energy.
Robot approached, scanning the substance through the sensors in his mechanical body. His fingers were steady, but I noticed the slight tilt of his head—a pause just long enough to mean uncertainty.

“This might be enough,” Robot said at last. “To knock Omni-Man out”

Angstrom didn’t speak. He rarely did. But the look in his eyes told the story—of a man who’d lost everything. His wife. His son. His world. All because of them.

I stepped forward, unable to keep the desperation from my voice. “Will it work then?”

Robot’s twisted, half-human face was unreadable. He loaded the vial into a compartment on his arm—it locked in with a heavy, metallic click.

“I don’t know,” he said. “If we’re lucky? It might incapacitate him. For a few minutes… maybe just seconds.”

Seconds.
That wouldn’t be enough.
I felt my stomach sink as the implications hit. If it failed, this was it. No backup plan. No cavalry. Just us, and whatever time we could steal before the world ended all over again.

Then the ground trembled.
A boom—loud enough to rattle the bones in my chest. Screams. People shouting. Cracks spiderwebbed across the ceiling.

They had found us.

I barely had time to raise my arms before the explosion tore through the roof. Debris rained down. A massive chunk of concrete missed me by inches. Others weren’t so lucky.
Invincible and Omni-Man descended through the smoke and falling dust like gods of vengeance. Blood-stained and merciless.
Eve raised a shield to protect the fleeing civilians, but it wasn’t enough. It couldn’t be. Bodies fell. Screams echoed. I watched people I knew—people I’d spoken to just minutes ago—get buried beneath rubble, or sliced in half by shockwaves.
That sound—the one I heard the day my city was reduced to ash—was back. That high-pitched wail of chaos and despair. The sound of everything you love, dying at once.

And just like before, there was nothing I could do but survive.

Angstrom stepped forward, fearless.
He didn’t flinch, didn’t hide. He stood tall in front of us like a shield, ready to take whatever came next.

“Well, well…” Invincible sneered, hovering in the ruined opening above us. “Looks like Immortal was trying to protect this little hideout.”

His voice was pure venom—cocky, cruel, completely devoid of empathy. Once, he’d been a hero. Now he was just another monster with too much power. The sight of him made my stomach churn.

I wouldn’t die today. Not without fighting first.
My fingers slid under my oversized hoodie, finding the cold metal hidden against my ribs. My father’s gun. I’d kept it hidden for months. Just in case. Maybe, just maybe, a well-placed shot could slow him down. He was half-human, after all. A bullet to the head might buy us a few precious seconds.
Robot raised his arm and fired first.
A searing violet beam erupted from his gauntlet, slamming Omni-Man into the far wall. Stone and rebar crumbled around the impact like paper.
Invincible didn’t flinch. His gaze swept across the room—then locked on Eve.

And that’s when everything fell apart.

He lunged. One second she was standing beside me, the next she was crushed against the railing, his hand tight around her throat. She kicked and writhed, but he didn’t even blink.
Across the room, Omni-Man was already back on his feet, charging Robot like a battering ram.
Eve was going to die.
And if she died, we were all next.

I loaded the gun. My hands trembled. My heartbeat crashed in my ears.
I raised the barrel. Took aim at his head.

This was it.

Eve needed help. The resistance needed her. Without her, we were already dead.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Angstrom step closer. He didn’t stop me—just rested a hand on my arm. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes… his eyes screamed yes.

Do it.

For her. For all of us.

I pulled the trigger.

The gunshot cracked through the air. The bullet tore across the space between us and buried itself into Invincible’s skull.
He staggered.

That split second was all Eve needed to break free. She gasped, stumbled, then bolted down the corridor, yelling for survivors.

“Who dared—” Invincible’s voice boomed like thunder.

He turned, eyes locked on me.
He didn’t need to ask. I held up the gun so he’d know. So he’d see.
It was me.
I didn’t flinch.
I reloaded and fired again—too slow. He twisted midair, dodging the shot with terrifying grace. The bullet ricocheted off a rusted pipe, sending sparks raining down.

“You insolent little thing,” he growled.

Even behind his mask, I could feel the fury rolling off him. The blood from his temple had begun to drip into his goggle, and it only made him look more like the villain he truly was.
I was out of ammo.
He flew at me like a missile. Civilians scattered in all directions. I stood my ground—until he was inches away.
He raised a fist. I didn’t think. I just swung the gun with everything I had, cracking it against his temple again. He grunted, stumbling back just enough.

The gun slipped from my grip and hit the ground. I didn’t wait. I turned and sprinted toward the nearest tunnel, lungs burning, legs screaming.
He followed.

But not like someone hunting.

Like someone playing.

Floating behind me, fast enough to stay close, slow enough to watch me suffer.

And then—a portal blinked into existence in front of me.
Green. Shimmering. Alien.
No time to stop.
I fell in.
Tumbling headfirst into swirling energy, completely weightless, completely out of control. Behind me, Invincible stood at the edge, his face twisted in rage as the portal snapped shut between us.

I was gone.
No idea where I was going.
No idea who had pulled me in.
The trip only lasted seconds. But inside the vortex, time felt... wrong. My insides twisted like wet rope. My bones cracked and reset. Images that weren’t mine flickered behind my eyes—memories from lives I’d never lived.

By the time I was spat out the other side, I felt like someone else.
I hit the ground hard, flat on my back, staring up at a sky I didn’t recognize.
The portal sealed behind me with a sickening snap.
And just like that, I was alone—in another world.

Chapter Text

I shot up from the ground, lungs heaving as if I'd just surfaced from drowning. A wave of nausea curled in my gut, followed by a sharp, disorienting pulse of panic.

“No… no, no, no. What—what is this place?!”

My voice came out hoarse, cracking under the weight of terror. My hands flew to my head, clawing through tangled strands of hair as if that might somehow ground me. Sweat beaded along my forehead and slid down the sides of my face, mixing with the dust and grime. The world tilted slightly, colors swimming in and out of focus. I blinked hard, but it didn’t help. My stomach clenched violently—part hunger, part sheer anxiety.
This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

“Take me back,” I whispered at first, then screamed, “Please, take me back!”
My knees buckled beneath me, and I collapsed onto the blistering asphalt. The heat from the ground bit through my pants, but I barely registered it. I curled in on myself, sobs wracking my chest as I buried my face in my trembling hands.

I had left them. I had abandoned them.
Atom Eve, Robot, all of them… I had run away, and now Invincible would go back and wipe them out. There would be no one left. My sacrifice—everything I had done—it was all for nothing.
I was a coward.

The shame dug into my ribs like claws. I wanted to scream until my throat gave out, to disappear into the pavement and never be found again. I lay there, chest heaving, tears soaking my palms. Somewhere in the distance, the screech of tires broke through the noise in my head, followed by slamming car doors and hurried footsteps.
Someone was coming.
I didn’t move.

“Miss? Are you—are you alright?”
A woman’s voice. Soft, uncertain. She knelt beside me and hesitated before placing a gentle hand between my shoulder blades.
I flinched at the touch but didn’t lift my head.
“Hey… you’re in the middle of the road,” she said cautiously. “Are you hurt? Do you need help?”

My body shook uncontrollably. I could barely catch my breath, much less explain what had happened—or where I’d come from.
Was this a dream?
No. I knew the difference. What I’d lived through—the screams, the blood, the look in his eyes—was too vivid to be a trick of the mind. The terror still clung to me like damp clothes.

The woman tried to guide me to my feet, but I jerked away violently.
“Don’t touch me!” My voice cracked. “Just let me go home! I want to go home!”
My fingers latched onto her arms before I could stop myself. I wasn’t thinking—just pleading.
“Please,” I choked out, “open the portal. I know you can. You have to send me back.”

Her expression twisted with confusion. She pulled away, not harshly, but with firm insistence.
“What are you talking about?” she asked, standing. Her eyes were wide now. Unnerved. Suspicious.
I reached for her again, grabbing at her leg in desperation, but she stepped back out of reach.
“I don’t know what you’re on, but I’m calling the police,” she muttered, reaching into her pocket. “You need help—real help.”

I froze.
“No…” My voice was barely a whisper as she raised the phone to her ear.

“911? Yeah, hi—I’m on Sycamore and Fifth. There’s a girl sitting in the middle of the street. Her clothes are torn, she’s crying and… honestly? I think she might be homeless. Or on something.”
The words landed like a slap. I didn’t even hear the rest. Homeless. Crazy. That’s what she saw when she looked at me.

Not someone who had barely survived.

Not someone who had lost everything.

Just another broken girl on the street.

I broke down again, hands clutching at my hair, fingers tangled in the dirt and sweat matted strands. My chest rose and fell in uneven jerks, every breath like a betrayal. My ribs ached. My throat was raw. I wasn’t going to make it back. Wherever “back” even was.
This world—too clean, too calm—wasn’t mine.
I didn’t care how peaceful it looked, how neatly the skyline towered above me or how the air lacked the metallic bite of blood and smoke. I wanted to go home. I needed to go home. To them.

To fight beside them. To die with them, if it came to that.

The thought pierced deeper than anything else: why me? Why had I escaped when no one else had? Why was I the one who got out, while the others—friends, family, strangers I'd come to love—were swallowed whole by Invincible’s rampage?
I folded into myself, sitting with my back pressed against a grimy brick wall, barely noticing the woman returning to her car. I watched numbly as she climbed in, probably to wait for the cops she’d called on the crazy girl in the road.

Who could blame her?

Nothing I said would make sense to them. To anyone here. What would they do with me? Sedate me? Lock me up in some sterile psychiatric ward? Deport me back to a padded cell under fluorescent lights?
I prayed—begged—it wouldn’t get worse.
But of course, it did.

Sirens rose in the distance, their sound swelling until it vibrated through the pavement. A couple of drivers honked impatiently, and I stirred enough to drag myself from the road to the sidewalk. Every step felt like a betrayal to the people I’d left behind.
Once safely against the wall of a closed laundromat, I curled up again, arms looped tightly around my knees.

I hated it here.
I hated everything.
Invincible. Omni-Man. The destruction. The way they smiled while reducing cities to ash. If I ever returned, I’d find a way to make them pay. I’d burn the stars down if I had to.
My eyes—puffy and red from tears—burned with something else now. Anger. Rage. A gnawing fire inside that wanted to scream, to howl, to destroy—but I kept silent.
Not here.
Not now.

A hand rested gently on my shoulder.
I flinched, shrinking back like a wounded animal, and looked up through tear-glossed lashes. Two police officers stood above me, one slightly older with sharp eyes and a frown etched into his weathered features. The other younger, more unsure.
The older one crouched, eyeing me closely. He opened his mouth to speak—but then he stopped.
Our eyes locked.
His breath hitched. His pupils dilated.

“Y/N…?” he whispered.

Time stilled.

My heart dropped into the pit of my stomach “…Dad?”

We just stared for a second that felt like a lifetime. The younger officer froze too, eyes flicking between us with wide-eyed confusion.
And then—he pulled me into a hug.
I collapsed against his chest, the floodgates breaking open again. But this time, it wasn’t fear pouring out. It was relief. Bitter, aching relief. His arms were strong and solid around me, like they used to be when I was a kid. He held me like he never wanted to let go again.

“You’re alive,” he murmured, his voice cracking. “How… how is this even possible?”

Alive?

The word echoed strangely in my mind.

“I…” I hesitated, confused. “What do you mean?”

His expression shifted, like something inside him just clicked. “The girl who died in that explosion… that wasn’t you?” His hands cupped my face, eyes searching me like he couldn’t believe I was real. “You’re really here. You’re safe. You’re home.”

Home.
But that wasn’t possible.
This wasn’t my world.
My chest tightened.
He thought I had died. In this version of reality, I must’ve perished in whatever explosion I’d escaped from. To him, this was a miracle.
But to me… it was just another strange corner of a multiverse I didn’t belong to.

“What happened to you?” he asked, running his hands over my arms and shoulders, checking for wounds. He grimaced at the state of my clothes—torn, stained, reeking of sewer water and smoke. “Who did this?”

That answer was simple.
“Invincible,” I breathed, the name tasting like ash in my mouth.

He froze.
His entire body went rigid.
The younger officer looked sharply at me, then at him.
“Invincible did this to you?” my father growled, rising suddenly to his feet. “He faked your death? He kidnapped you, hurt you—this?” His voice rose, every word louder than the last.
I flinched again.
“I told you not to date him!” he snapped, throwing a hand through his hair.

My blood ran cold.
Date him?
I blinked, slowly processing what he’d said.
In this world… I had been dating him?
The same Invincible who tore my world to pieces? The same one whose hands were soaked in innocent blood?

“No. No, that can’t be right,” I said, stumbling to my feet. “He’s—he’s a monster! A killer!”
He didn’t seem to hear me. Or maybe he refused to believe it.

“I’m taking you home,” he said firmly, placing his hands on my shoulders again. “You need rest. We’ll get you cleaned up. And then… then I’m going to pay Invincible a little visit.”
That one sentence made my heart stop.

“NO!” I panicked.
He couldn’t go after him. He couldn’t start this. He didn’t know the truth—not about what Invincible was, not about what he would become.
“Please,” I begged. “Let me talk to him. Just… give me a chance. Don’t do anything yet.”

He didn’t respond. Just guided me into the back seat of the police car, silent and brooding. His partner shut the door gently behind me.
“You barely escaped,” he muttered under his breath as he climbed into the driver’s seat. “You’re lucky I don’t shoot him on sight.”
The key turned. The engine growled to life.
“It’s been two years,” he added, his voice softer now, but no less wounded. “You were seventeen when you disappeared. You just… vanished. And he told everyone you were dead.”

I stared at the passing buildings outside the window. I couldn’t bring myself to speak.
There was no explaining the truth to him. Not now. Not when he’d already built an entire narrative around the lie.
The real problem was still ahead.
Because sooner or later, Invincible would find out.
False accusations would only set him off.
And if that happened... my father wouldn’t walk away alive. Maybe neither would I.

“I’ll make sure he never touches you again,” my father muttered, voice shaking with quiet fury as the car pulled into motion. “Never hurts you again, sweetheart. Not while I’m still breathing.”
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. My throat felt raw, my thoughts a tangled mess of panic and exhaustion.

I leaned my head against the window, the cool glass a small comfort against my burning skin. My eyes fluttered shut, heavy with fatigue, but sleep refused to come. My body begged for rest, but my mind was a battlefield—chaotic and unforgiving.
Everything felt unreal.
I was in a world that wasn’t mine, sitting beside a man who should’ve been buried in rubble, listening to him talk about protecting me from a version of someone I hated more than anyone.
But here, I was supposed to have loved him.
That thought made my stomach twist.

How could I have ever been with him? What kind of person was the version of me that belonged to this world?
Was she… like him?
The thought made me feel sick.
Unless… this Invincible was different.
Unless he wasn’t the monster I knew.
But that couldn’t matter. Not really. He was still the son of the man who tore mine apart. The same alien who leveled cities without remorse. The same alien who treated human life like ants under a boot.
There was no world where I could’ve ever fallen in love with someone like that.

Right?

The silence in the car was broken only by the soft hum of the radio. It played some slow, forgettable tune until it abruptly cut to static—then news.
“Breaking news. Invincible is currently giving a live interview from Washington D.C. in honor of the two-year anniversary of the Omni-Man Incident. As many remember, the devastating attack on Chicago claimed thousands of lives. But today, the man once known as Invincible speaks out—live—for the first time in over a year.”
My father’s hand shot out to lower the volume, though not all the way. He thought I was asleep.
I wasn’t.

Then I heard him, that voice.
I went rigid.
Even through the filter of a cheap car speaker, I recognized it instantly. Familiar, but wrong. Calmer. Measured. Controlled.
It wasn’t the voice of the arrogant killer I remembered.
But it was still his.

“People of America,” he began, solemn and clear, “today marks two years since the tragedy that took place in Chicago. A day when Omni-Man—my father—revealed his true identity and nearly destroyed this planet.”
My heart stuttered.
He was condemning his father?
That didn’t sound like him at all.
“The man who raised me,” he continued, “was a Viltrumite soldier. A conqueror hiding behind a hero’s name. But for twenty years, he fought beside this world’s greatest defenders. He saved countless lives. And despite everything... I can’t ignore that part of him.”

And just like that, I knew.
Knew this wasn’t a version I could trust either.
He was doing it again—framing the narrative, twisting it to suit himself. Telling half-truths to keep the public on his side. This was damage control. Pure propaganda.
He sounded like he meant it.
But I knew better.

“Which is why,” he said, “from this day forward, I’m choosing a new name. One that honors the man I once admired—but improves on the legacy he failed to uphold. From now on, you can call me Omni-Invincible.”
The crowd, audible even through the radio, fell into a stunned hush.
My eyes widened.

What the hell?

“I don’t serve Viltrum,” he added. “I never did. I never will. Let me be the hero my father never could be. Let me protect this world the right way.”
Then—applause.

Applause.
I almost laughed. Bitter and sharp.

What was this place?

Were they seriously clapping for him? For the son of the man who turned Chicago into a crater? Did they forget so easily? Or did they just not care?
My father’s jaw clenched. He reached out and finally turned the radio off completely.
Silence fell again, heavy and strained.
He didn’t say anything for a while. Just drove, one hand white-knuckled on the steering wheel, the other resting tensely on his lap. His partner shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat.

“If I ever see that bastard again,” my dad muttered, not looking at anyone, “I won’t think twice. I’ll kill him.”
His voice was low. Steady. And dead serious.
Something inside me clenched.
I knew he meant it. Every word.
And he had no idea what he was walking into.
It wasn’t bravery. It was suicide.

“He’s scheduled to speak again downtown tonight,” the other officer offered, almost casually, like it wasn’t the most dangerous suggestion I’d ever heard. “There’s a memorial event. Some states are holding vigils for the anniversary.”

My dad didn’t respond.
But I could see it in his face—he was thinking about it. Considering it. Planning.
Panic bubbled up inside me, sharp and cold.
I had to stop him.
If they met—if my father faced him—there wouldn’t be time for misunderstandings. Invincible wouldn’t hesitate. He never did.
And I’d lose him again.

We pulled up to the house, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
It looked exactly like mine—same cracked sidewalk, same faded numbers on the mailbox, same climbing ivy reaching up toward the window of what used to be my bedroom. It was unsettling how precise the replica was.
I blinked hard, willing the lump in my throat to dissolve. At least I wouldn’t have to stumble around learning a new layout. Some small mercy.

The car came to a stop, and the officers got out first. I followed, fingers trembling as I opened the door and stepped out. My legs felt like they weren’t quite mine. Like they still belonged to that other version of me, the one who didn’t belong here.
Then he was there—my dad—already moving toward me with urgent, purposeful steps. His arm wrapped around my shoulders, grounding me. He guided me gently toward the front door, like I might shatter if he held me too tight.
“Just imagine your mom’s face when she sees you,” he said, trying for levity, though his voice cracked at the edges. I gave him the smallest smile I could manage. He meant well, but beneath the surface, I was terrified. Terrified of getting too comfortable. Terrified this was all temporary. Terrified of losing them again.

The door creaked open.
And then I saw her.

My mother’s expression twisted from confusion to disbelief to something wordless and primal—a mother recognizing her child. She stumbled forward like the ground had given out beneath her, arms outstretched. A sob tore from her throat as she pulled me into a fierce hug, holding me like she might never let go again.
She didn’t ask if I was really me. She didn’t question whether I was a clone, an imposter, a mistake. She knew. And in that moment, her acceptance made it harder not to cry.
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them away.

She led me inside with trembling hands, up the stairs, guiding me into what used to be my room. My breath hitched. It hadn’t changed. The bed was still made. The walls still bore my old posters. There was even a sweater draped over the chair like I’d just left it there a few hours ago. It was... haunting.
“Sit here, sweetheart,” she murmured, easing me down onto the bed. “Do you want anything? Water? Something sweet?”

I nodded weakly. “Water. Maybe some sugar, if we have any. I think my blood pressure’s tanking.”
She nodded and disappeared down the stairs, and I laid back, letting the familiar sheets cool the sweat at the back of my neck. I looked around, absorbing every detail—until my gaze landed on something that didn’t belong.

A photo.

On the dresser.

I sat up slowly, squinting.

It was me—at least, the version of me from this world—standing next to him. Invincible. His arm draped loosely around my shoulders, his expression neutral... while she smiled.
We looked happy.
The kind of happy you can’t fake.

A sick chill crept down my spine.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and I quickly turned my face away from the picture. Mom reappeared, glass in one hand, sugar cubes in the other. I downed them both in seconds, my body desperate for anything stable.
She didn’t comment on my appearance, didn’t flinch at how rough or broken I must’ve looked. She just touched my cheek with shaking fingers and whispered, “You’re home now.”
And then, quietly, “What happened to you, honey?”

I froze.

I couldn’t tell her the truth—not the whole truth. So I fell back on the version my dad and I had agreed on. Safer that way.
Before I could answer, his voice cut in from the doorway.
“I’ll tell you what happened,” he said, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “It was Invincible. He did this. He made us believe she was dead.”

My mother turned to him, eyes wide with shock, and then back to me.

“I told you he wasn’t right,” Dad went on, stepping into the room now, like he needed the space to contain his fury. “You remember what his father did. And you think he’s any different?”

I opened my mouth to agree, but my mother spoke first, her voice rising with disbelief.

“Invincible would never hurt her. He loved her. He—he killed Omni-Man! He saved people that day! Do you not remember how broken he was when she—when we thought she died?”
Killed Omni-Man?
That wasn’t possible. Not the version I knew. My Invincible had joined him. So why would this version go that far?
Had he snapped?

Dad scoffed. “You’ve always been too soft on him.”
Then he turned to me. “Tell her. Tell her the truth.”

Both of them stared at me. Waiting.

My mouth was dry. My pulse a hammering drumbeat.
“It was him,” I said quietly. “He... he took me. Kept me somewhere, I don’t know where. He told everyone I died, but I didn’t. I was just... gone.”
It hurt to say. Not because it was a lie, but because part of me wanted to believe the version in that photo had been real. That he’d meant something to me. That I’d meant something to him.

My mom sat beside me, hugging me close. “Did he... did he ever hurt you?”

I shook my head. “No. Not like that. Just... locked me away. Watched me. Like I was some kind of secret. I don’t know why.”

Dad’s face was red now, rage boiling beneath the surface. “He’s going to regret it.”
He crossed the room, grabbed the photo of me and Mark—and threw it to the ground. The frame shattered, glass skittering across the floor.
“Tonight,” he said through clenched teeth, “I’m going to find him. Look him in the eye. And make sure he never lays a hand on anyone again.”

My mother flinched, reaching for his arm. “Please, don’t. Think about what you’re saying.”

I was already up, heart in my throat. “Dad, no. You don’t understand—he’s not just some guy in a cape. He’s dangerous. He could kill you before you even move.”

“He hurt you,” my father spat, already moving toward the stairs. “You think I can just sit here and let that slide?”
A burst of static from his police radio interrupted us. An emergency. A summons.
And then he was gone.
I stood there for a moment, numb.

My mom touched my shoulder gently. “Sweetheart... why don’t you rest a little? You’ve been through so much.”

I nodded. “Yeah. I think I will. Just... wake me when dinner's ready?”

She smiled, still teary-eyed. “Of course.”

But as I lay back down, listening to the quiet hum of the house around me, I knew there’d be no real rest.

Forty minutes later, I was curled up on my unmade bed, knees tucked close to my chest, a slice of pizza balanced in one hand like it was the Holy Grail. I bit into it with the desperation of someone who hadn’t eaten in days—because I hadn’t, not really. Atom Eve’s food replacements had kept us alive underground, but they weren’t food. They didn’t have flavor, didn’t have warmth. Not like this.
This was real.
Greasy, cheesy, overcooked-on-the-edges pizza. Heaven in cardboard.
The TV on my wall buzzed softly in the background. I flipped through channels, hoping for a distraction. But every single station was locked in on one thing: Invincible’s speech in Washington, the upcoming press conference downtown, or some over-polished news anchor praising him like he hadn’t nearly helped end the world.

Same words.

Same narrative.

Same lies.

My gaze drifted to the small digital clock glowing on my nightstand.
8:40 PM.
Twenty minutes.

I swallowed a mouthful of crust that suddenly tasted like ash in my throat. I could only hope he wouldn’t hurt my dad tonight—not that hope meant anything anymore. The man on those screens, with his pristine white-and-red costume and heroic speeches, wasn’t the same boy who’d once called Earth home.
He wore a new suit now—eerily reminiscent of Omni-Man’s, just… twisted. A mirror image with an “I” replacing the “O.” As if that tiny change somehow made it better. As if it could erase what he’d done.

Didn’t anyone see it?

Didn’t they want to?

The world was so quick to forgive. A few public rescues, some staged interviews, and now he was their golden boy again. Not his father, they said. Not the same. But I saw through it. All of it.
How could they not hate him?

A breeze slipped through the wide-open window beside me, rustling the long white curtains like restless ghosts. Outside, the sky was a heavy curtain of black, the kind that swallowed everything.
I took another bite of pizza, chewing slowly this time, and reached for my glass of water. My eyes never left the screen. His face was everywhere.
Beneath the bed, the shattered photo frame still lay in pieces, the image inside cracked clean down the middle. I hadn’t bothered to clean it up. Somehow, the broken glass felt honest. Everything else felt like a lie.

8:51.
Nine minutes.

That was all the time I had left before the conference started.
Before the world watched him again.
Before my father either showed up… or didn’t.
My stomach twisted.

Then I heard it. A faint rustle from outside.
I paused, mid-chew, the slice hovering near my mouth. My instincts—honed by months of hiding, running, surviving—kicked in. My heart skipped a beat.
I slowly lowered the slice and set the box aside, pushing myself up from the bed on bare feet. My legs ached. My hair was still a mess from the last nap I’d forced myself into earlier. I moved silently, step by careful step, and slipped behind the curtain.

Outside: nothing.
Just wind. Just branches swaying.
I let out a quiet breath, shoulders easing.
Then I heard it again.
Closer.
I turned slowly, and that’s when I saw him.
Hovering just outside my window.
The red-and-white suit caught the moonlight like polished metal. The long cape billowed behind him. His arms were crossed, stance casual—but it didn’t fool me. It was the stance of someone dangerous who wanted to look harmless.

My knees buckled.
I stumbled backward, tripping over the edge of the bed and hitting the mattress before sliding onto the floor. My vision spun.
He floated down slightly, closing the distance, his boots inches above the ground. And then I saw his face—or rather, the lenses of his mask, black and empty.
I scrambled back, breath caught in my throat.

My palms burned against the floor as I searched for anything—anything—to throw. My hand closed around a shoe. I hurled it. Missed.
The second shoe met the same fate.
Desperate, I snatched the broken photo frame and launched it.
He caught it. Effortless. Calm. Like catching a leaf.

My voice broke.
“I won’t let you hurt my family, you monster!”
I was on my feet, adrenaline wiping away my fear for a moment. I grabbed anything I could reach—a vase, a lamp, a stack of books—and flung them one after another.
“I won’t let you hurt my people either!”

He dodged everything with insulting ease. When he stepped inside, I backed up and he stopped only inches away.
Even with the mask, I could feel his eyes on me.
“Is it you?” he asked, voice low, almost… lost.
He reached for my hair—messy, tangled, still damp with sweat. I flinched, a scream ripping from my throat.
He jerked back like I’d slapped him, confusion spreading across his face.
“You’re scared I might hurt you?” he said softly.

“Get out of my house, killer!”
I grabbed the pizza box and hurled it at him.
This time, it hit. Sauce and cheese splattered across his chest.
Red against red. Fitting.
“Don’t ever come back!”
I knew I couldn’t hurt him. But I wanted him to know—I wasn’t helpless.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. He looked down at the mess, unbothered. Then he stepped closer.
I had nothing left to throw.
He pressed me against the wall—not violently, but firmly. His body blocked out the light. I could feel his strength like a storm waiting behind a dam.
“I thought you were…” He hesitated. Reached out again, this time brushing a gloved hand against my cheek. “Dead.”

Then, slowly, he peeled the mask away.
And I saw his face.
I had never seen it before. Not in this world, not in mine. But something about it—hazel-green eyes, furrowed brow, that quiet ache just behind the cold—made me freeze.
“You can’t be her,” he whispered.

My breath hitched. I didn’t know what to say.
So I spit in his face.
He blinked, wiping it away slowly. His expression didn’t change, not much. But his silence stretched into something heavy.
“Monster,” I whispered.

“She’s dead,” he said, voice flat. “Even if she survived the explosion… she’d still be dead now.”

I frowned.
What did that mean?

“You’re just a copy,” he added. “A fake trying to steal her life.”

“That’s not—! You don’t understand—!”

Suddenly, the door flew open with a bang.
He turned instantly, mask snapping back into place.
My mom.
She stormed into the room like a bullet of fury, eyes blazing.
Without a word, she shoved him aside and threw her arms around me.
“Stay away from my daughter, you monster!”

He didn’t fight.
Didn’t even speak.
He looked at her. Then at me. Then turned and left.
No threats. No grand exit. Just… silence.
And somehow, that scared me more than if he’d screamed.

We were safe. For now.
But I had no idea how long that would last.

Chapter Text

Two Years Ago — Current Dimension

The school hall buzzed with morning chatter and scuffed sneakers, sunlight slanting through the windows in golden beams. I walked in with my friends, voices overlapping in excitement as we gushed about prom — the dresses, the dancing, the carefully curated playlists. Who was going with who. What kind of corsage they'd want. How it was finally happening, that picture-perfect teenage cliché we’d all seen in movies and swore we didn’t care about… until we did.

But unlike them, I didn’t have a date.

And the longer I walked with them, smiled with them, laughed along like everything was fine, the more the silence inside me grew. Like something hollow echoing in my chest.

I wasn’t brave enough to ask anyone out. And no one had asked me either.

Every time the topic came up, every time someone squealed about their boyfriend's plans or joked about slow dancing, I felt smaller. Invisible. My self-esteem was like a soap bubble in a thunderstorm — fragile and one bad look away from bursting.

My friends didn’t mean to make me feel that way. It just happened.

They all had someone. And even if someone had asked me, what would I have done? Said yes? Started panicking the minute they smiled at me? Let them get the wrong idea and then ghost them out of fear?

No. I probably would've found a way to sabotage it. That’s what I always did. People got too close, and I shut down.

Amber must’ve seen the shadow pass over my face because she slowed her step, brushing her arm against mine. “Don’t worry. Someone will ask you,” she said gently. “You’re a beautiful girl. People just… don’t get it. Or maybe they’re just scared you’ll say no.”

I let out a soft laugh, all sarcasm and practiced ease. “Do I really look that intimidating?”

It was easier to pretend I didn’t care.

She didn’t answer. Her hand found mine for a brief second before we were pulled into another topic — this time about Mark. Her boyfriend. The same Mark Grayson who’d humiliated Todd in front of the whole school when he caught him harassing her. It was kind of legendary. After that, they'd gotten close quickly. Too quickly, maybe. But now, it was like every time they tried to go out, something interrupted them. Amber pretended it didn’t bother her, but we all knew better.

“If it weren’t for my boyfriend,” Laura chimed in suddenly, dramatic as ever with her sleek ponytail and flawless eyeliner, “I’d totally go with you myself.”

I blinked at her. “You’re joking.”

“Nope.” She spun on her heel and faced me like we were in some old rom-com. “Actually…” Her purse flipped over her shoulder with a flourish. “Who says I can’t invite you anyway?”

She extended her hand with theatrical flair. “Y/N, would you do me the honor of being my date to prom?”

I laughed, flattered and embarrassed all at once. “You can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious. You’re adorable. And taken or not, who says I can’t handle two baddies at once?” her teasing smile softened the moment, but there was something real in her voice too — a quiet sincerity beneath the banter “Prom’s gotten too obsessed with romance,” she said. “It’s just a party. A final celebration before we all go our separate ways. This is about friendship first, then relationships. So screw tradition — if nobody else asks, you’re with us.”

I felt my throat tighten. Something about her words stuck deeper than I expected.

I didn’t want it to end — not the school year, not my time with them. Not my time, period.

But the bell rang, loud and final, snapping the moment in two. We split off into our classes, waving over our shoulders like it was just another day.

History felt like punishment. The teacher droned on, monotone and weightless, like the sound of rain against glass. I stared at the clock, watching each minute drag itself across the face like it hated being there.

The air felt thick. My head buzzed. My body was exhausted — not just from the boredom, but from the weight I carried every day. The weight of not knowing how many days I had left. The leukemia wasn’t getting better. The doctors had already told me, gently but firmly, that this year might be my last.

I slumped in my seat, willing the world to blur around me.

Then — a light tap on my shoulder. I turned, just in time to see a folded piece of paper land on my desk.
I opened it carefully.

[Did you find a date for prom yet?
Also... is Amber mad I didn’t show up this morning?]

Mark. Of course. Back of the classroom, pretending to be subtle.
Typical.

He didn’t care about prom. Not really. And he definitely didn’t care about my situation. He just wanted an excuse to ask about his girlfriend without making it obvious.
I scrawled two quick words.

[No. No.]

I passed it back without looking at him.

Then — it happened.

A low, shuddering boom. The building jolted like it had been punched from below.
Screams. Desks screeching. The air filled with chaos in a heartbeat.
Everyone ducked under their desks, panic crackling through the room like wildfire. My heart leapt into my throat. I looked back at Mark — he wasn’t afraid. His face was calm. Too calm.

Then he was gone. Out of his seat. Out the door.
Amber. He was going to find Amber.
The rest of the class stampeded after him, a chaotic blur of bodies and panic.

But I didn’t move.
The emergency protocol said to stay under your desk. Stay calm. Wait.
No one followed that. Not even the teacher.

I curled into myself, clutching my backpack like a lifeline.
This didn’t feel like an earthquake. Not here. Not now.
Something was wrong. Deeply wrong.

I peeked out. Students were gathering in the courtyard. Some were crying. Some were on their phones. All of them looked… okay.
I waited a few more seconds. Just enough time to bolt—

“Looks like you didn’t make it out in time.” A voice. Close. Too close.
A hand clamped down on my shoulder.

I froze.

Tried to scream — but a second hand slammed over my mouth before I could.
The man wore all black. Masked. Armed. Not a uniform. Not a cop. Something else entirely.
A gun hung heavy across his chest. Assault rifle. Maybe worse.
I thrashed, tried to break free, but he was stronger. Much stronger.

He dragged me into the hallway. There were more of them. All masked. All armed. All looking at me like I was something they’d been hoping to find.

“Well, well,” the first one muttered, jerking my arm like a puppet string. “Look what I found.”

“Holy shit,” another said, eyes widening. “That’s the cop’s kid” my blood ran cold.

“Bastard locked us up. Think he’ll trade her in if we fill her with bullets?”
They all laughed. Loud. Mean.
I stared at the floor, legs trembling. Maybe this was it. Maybe dying now was easier.

“Aww, what’s the matter?” one of them mocked, voice high and cruel. “Feeling a little scared, sweetheart?”

“She doesn’t look scared enough,” another growled. He dragged the edge of his metal bat along my cheek. “Maybe I should fix that.”

Before he could do anything, the man holding me lashed out, striking him across the face with the back of his hand.
“Idiot. Do you know what we have? This girl is leverage. Blackmail gold. Her life for whatever we want. That’s how we win.”
I was shaking. But part of me… was still alive. Still listening. Still thinking.
Still hoping.

Then — from the hallway behind us — more screaming.

Gunshots.

Crashing.

The men turned, weapons raised, then they all ran towards the noise, disappearing behind the wall.

They crashed through the one at the end of the hallway like it was made of paper—wood, brick, and plaster exploding outward in a rain of debris. They were probably dead.
I didn’t scream.
I couldn’t.
My breath caught mid-inhale, suspended in my throat like a shard of glass.
Someone was coming for me.

A shadow emerged from the smoke and dust—slow, deliberate, and utterly unshaken. Colors came into view: black, blue, and yellow. Blood spattered across the once-pristine suit. Fabric torn. Knuckles bruised. But nothing about him looked fragile.

“Invincible” we both said it at once—me and the man holding the gun to my head. Our voices overlapped like a bad echo.
Hope bloomed in my chest. The man’s grip around me tightened in response.
He yanked me backward like a ragdoll, pressing the cold barrel of his rifle against my temple. His other arm locked around me like a vice, crushing and immovable.
I couldn’t move. Could barely breathe.

Invincible didn’t rush. He turned slowly, like a force of nature—measured and deadly. His eyes found mine through the chaos.
And then something in the air shifted. The dust seemed to still. The entire room waited.

"One wrong move and her brains are toast!" the man snapped, jamming the gun harder against my skull. The chill of it seeped into my skin, sharp and nauseating.

Invincible didn’t blink. "That’s not going to happen." His voice was calm. Steady. The kind of calm that didn’t come from lack of fear, but from the certainty that he could end this.
I believed him. I really did.
But belief didn’t make me bulletproof.

My entire life now hung in the balance, swaying with each breath, every twitch of the man's finger on the trigger. One mistake, and I’d be a stain on the floor.
"Let the girl go," Invincible said, voice low and cold.

The man laughed—a bitter, ugly sound. "Do I look stupid to you? She’s my insurance. My way out. And don’t worry—I’m not interested in her like that if you are wondering. I’d rather shoot her than touch her."
My stomach turned. I wasn’t a person to him. Just leverage. Just meat with a heartbeat.

I saw something flicker across Invincible’s face. Disgust.
"She’s in high school, man..."
The gun dug deeper into my skin. It hurt. I bit down a whimper.
"Okay," Invincible said, hands still open at his sides. "Let’s talk. What do you want?"

At least he was trying. Buying me time. Keeping things from tipping over the edge.
The man hesitated. "Still thinking about it… but I’m leaning toward a big stack of cash. Oh—and immunity. Full pardon. Everything I’ve done. Everything I’m going to do. Wipe it clean."

There was a long pause. Invincible didn’t answer right away. His jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists at his sides.
"You know I can’t give you that."

The man didn’t flinch. "Then she dies."
And for a moment—I believed he would do it. Just for the satisfaction.
I didn’t beg. I didn’t cry. I stood frozen, every nerve buzzing like a live wire.
It wouldn’t matter if I died now or later. The doctors had been clear: chronic leukemia. The kind that didn’t respond to treatment. The kind that didn’t leave survivors.
This wasn’t how I thought it would end. But maybe it was better this way—fast. Final. A bullet instead of a slow fade.

Invincible’s posture shifted.
And then everything happened at once.

A blur of movement. A sickening crunch. The gun was gone from my temple.
I hit the ground hard, pain blooming in my ribs as I rolled onto my side. But I was free.
Invincible had him. One hand around the man's throat, lifting him off the ground like he weighed nothing.
The man choked, legs kicking, face turning a deep, unnatural purple.

"Wait!" I forced myself upright, coughing. "Don’t kill him!" he didn’t look at me. His eyes stayed on his target, unmoving "He deserves to stand trial. Let the law handle it," I pleaded, heart pounding.

Sirens wailed in the distance—closer now. Help was coming. This didn’t have to end in blood.
Invincible’s voice was low, colder than I’d ever heard it. "So he can escape again? Like he did today?"
My throat tightened.
"You almost died," he continued. "He would’ve killed every student in this building just to make a point."

The man’s eyes were rolling back. He was seconds from death.
I reached for the rifle—his rifle—lying abandoned on the floor.
I aimed it at the only person who could still change the outcome.
"Stop!"

But it was too late.
He let go only when the man went limp.
A slow death. Choking on his own breath. Not the kind of death he would’ve given me or any of the others.
Invincible stepped back, breathing hard. His hands dropped to his sides.

I lowered the rifle and stared at him. "Why… why did you do that? Every man deserves a chance to live."
He didn’t look at me right away. When he did, his gaze was heavy.

"Not every man."

His words hit harder than I expected. Not because they were wrong—but because they reminded me of something I hated.
Some people die young.
Some people die for no reason at all.
And no one can save them.

He reached a hand out to me. "Come on. Let’s get you out of here."
But I didn’t move. I looked down at the ground, folding in on myself.
He took a step back, reading the silence wrong. "You’re in shock. The police will take care of you now."
His voice had softened again. Warm. Comforting. The kind of voice superheroes used in comic books.

I sighed. My body moved before my brain could stop it. I stepped forward and hugged him.
"Thank you," I whispered into the fabric of his suit.
He froze—totally unprepared. His arms hovered awkwardly for a second before wrapping around me in a hesitant, almost gentle embrace.

Then he scooped me into his arms.
The wind tore past us as he took to the sky. His black hair whipped around his face, jaw tight as he focused on flying straight through the smoke and sirens.
I watched him from below, from where my head rested against his chest.
And then, almost without thinking, I spoke.

"Hey, Invincible… I have a weird question."
He glanced down, clearly surprised I was speaking again.
"Would you… maybe want to go to prom with me?"

His entire body flinched in the air. We dipped a little before he recovered.
He didn’t answer immediately.
I didn’t know who he really was. I didn’t know his name, or how old he was.
But I wanted to.
Before I died, I just wanted to feel normal—just once. To dance. To laugh. To pretend the world wasn’t ending.

"I don’t think they let outsiders into school events..." he muttered.

I gave him a crooked smile. "Seriously? That’s the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard. You’re Invincible. Trust me—they’ll roll out the red carpet for you."

He didn’t respond until we landed in the courtyard. A crowd had gathered—students, teachers, police officers. They erupted into cheers when they saw him.
He set me down gently.
"Maybe I’ll drop by," he said.

Then he was gone—soaring up into the sky, disappearing into the clouds like a comet.
I placed a hand on my chest. My heart was still racing—not just from fear or adrenaline.
Maybe from something else.

Officers rushed to my side, wrapping me in a thermal blanket, guiding me to a waiting police car. Their voices were kind, but distant.

Amber spotted me from across the courtyard and sprinted toward me like her life depended on it. The second she reached me, she threw her arms around my shoulders and pulled me in tight.

“You’re okay! Thank God—you’re okay.” Her voice cracked with relief. “Laura and I were looking everywhere—we couldn’t find you, we thought—” She didn’t finish. She didn’t need to.
I clung to her, my fingers digging into the back of her jacket. The chaos around us melted away, even if just for a second.

I had only done what we were told to do during drills—follow protocol, stay quiet, wait it out. But that decision had turned out to be the most dangerous thing I could’ve done.

Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder. Blue and red lights danced over the courtyard as an ambulance pulled up alongside a cluster of police cars. Forensics were already beginning to gather what was left of the terrorists Invincible had stopped. Blood on pavement. Scorch marks. The smell of burnt metal.

A paramedic approached and gently began checking me over for injuries. I blinked at him, still half-numb, only now starting to feel the pain blooming across my body.

He led me toward the ambulance, his hand light on my back as if I might shatter. “We need to do a full examination, okay? Just to make sure there’s no internal damage.”

Amber and Laura climbed in with me without hesitation, crowding into the cramped, sterile space. As the doors closed behind them, I slowly peeled off my shirt, left in just my bra. The medic examined my arms first—then my stomach, my chest. Every touch was clinical, but I still felt exposed. Vulnerable.

When he turned me gently and laid a hand on my back, I flinched.
A sharp inhale.
There it was: the bruise. Massive, deep purple, spreading like a stain under my skin.

“Jesus…” Laura whispered, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. “They really hurt you, huh?”
But that wasn’t what had caused it.
Not entirely.

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
They didn’t know.
They didn’t know the truth I’d kept buried for years. The truth that followed me into every room like a shadow.

Leukemia.
The one thing I never told them. The one thing I never wanted them to know.
I didn’t want pity. I didn’t want fear. I wanted to laugh with them over coffee, argue about stupid movies, plan for summers that I might never see. I wanted to feel normal—even if I wasn’t.

The doctor hesitated, his fingertips hovering near the bruise, his expression shifting from concern to something heavier.
“This wasn’t caused by blunt force trauma,” he murmured. “If she’d been slammed into the ground or hit, there’d be more impact points around the area.”
He pressed gently on the discoloration, studying it closely. “This kind of hematoma… It’s consistent with chronic leukemia.”

Silence. The kind that rings in your ears.
I didn’t turn around. I couldn’t look at Amber or Laura. My skin prickled, heart thudding like a warning bell.

“Leukemia?” Amber echoed. Her voice was barely a whisper. “That’s… serious, right?”

“She’s had it for a while apparently,” the doctor replied, his voice level, careful. “Chronic leukemia can be manageable with proper treatment. Some patients live with it for years. But it weakens the immune system significantly, which makes it dangerous—even life-threatening—if not treated regularly.”

I stared at the floor of the ambulance, biting the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood. I felt like I was unraveling.
The doctor handed back my shirt, and I slowly slid it over my shoulders before starting on my jeans. I didn’t care about modesty anymore.
When I pulled them down, my pale legs were covered in splotchy, violet marks—scattered like bruised petals blooming under my skin.

Laura gasped. “Y/N…” she sounded horrified. Like she was seeing me for the first time “It makes sense now,” she murmured. “Why you always got out of gym class… why you were always tired…”

Amber’s eyes brimmed with something between betrayal and heartbreak. “Why didn’t you tell us?” Her voice cracked. “You know how much I hate being kept in the dark. Was it really so hard to just… trust us?”
I wanted to answer her. I wanted to say something that would fix it. But the words tangled up in my throat like thorns.

The doctor spoke again, still focused on my legs. “These marks… they’re spreading. That’s not a good sign.” He looked me dead in the eyes. “You have been following your treatments, right?”
I nodded slowly, but I could tell he wasn’t convinced.

“Could you both wait outside for a minute?” I said, barely louder than a whisper. “Please. I’ll explain everything… after.”

Amber and Laura exchanged glances, but didn’t argue. They stepped out without another word, closing the doors softly behind them.
The quiet that followed felt suffocating.

The doctor turned to face me again, his expression grim “You don’t have much time left,” he said gently.
I nodded. I already knew.
“It’s terminal. With the rate of deterioration in your blood cells, I’d say you have a few months—maybe less. Have you been seeing specialists? Are you still on active treatment?”

“My parents know,” I murmured. “They’ve been trying everything since I was eight. I’ve been poked with more needles than I can count. We’ve been to every hospital, tried every protocol.”
He listened without interrupting, and I kept going, like if I stopped talking, I’d fall apart.
“The doctors warned me it would stop working eventually. That there’d come a point when…” I swallowed. “When it would be better to just live what little life I had left.”

He looked at me like he wanted to say something else, but I was already reaching for my clothes.
“I appreciate your concern,” I told him, voice steady now. “But I’ve made my peace. I know what’s coming” a few minutes later, I stepped out of the ambulance fully dressed.
I didn’t let the officers help me.

Around me, life was slowly resuming. Classes regrouped. Teachers tried to restore some sense of order. But everything felt distant. Like I was watching it all from behind glass.

I spotted my friends at the edge of the courtyard, clustered beneath the shadow of a half-dead tree. The wind stirred Amber’s jacket, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her back was to me, her fingers flying over her phone screen as she called and texted in rapid succession, jaw clenched. Even from this distance, I could tell she was furious.

I shoved my hands into the pockets of my hoodie and made my way toward them slowly, my eyes fixed on the pavement. Each step felt heavier than the last. I wasn’t ready for this. Not really. But I had to be.

“Are you still trying to reach him?” I heard Laura murmur as I got close.

Amber’s voice was sharp, trembling with barely-contained frustration. “Where the hell is he when stuff like this happens? I swear, this time he’s gone too far.”

Laura reached out, placing a calming hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Maybe he’s with his class. Or a teacher didn’t let him leave. Or he’s already on his way—”

Amber cut her off with a scoff. “He always has an excuse. It’s either school, or his dad, or some mysterious emergency. It’s the 21st century—he has a phone. He couldn’t send one damn message? Ask if I was okay?” Her voice cracked. “I’m so done. And if he tries to spin this again, I swear I’ll—”

Laura was the first to notice me. Her eyes found mine, and for a second, I froze. She didn’t look angry or disappointed. Just… worried. Deeply, genuinely worried.
“Y/N, you’re here!” she said, her expression softening. She closed the distance and wrapped her arms around me in a hug that almost knocked the breath from my lungs.

Amber finally turned around. Her face lit up when she saw me—but the fire behind her eyes hadn’t gone out. She locked her phone and shoved it into her back pocket, plastering on a smile that looked more like a mask.
I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out at first. My fingers twisted together, lips pressed tight. The silence pressed in on us like fog.
“I’m sorry,” I said finally, barely above a whisper. “I should’ve told you sooner.”

Laura blinked, confused. Amber narrowed her eyes, but stayed quiet, watching me intently.

“It’s... more complicated than it looks,” I added, swallowing hard. My throat burned. “I didn’t want to ruin everything. I didn’t want to be that friend. The one who drags everyone down.”
They didn’t say a word. Their silence gave me the courage to keep going.
“I’ve been fighting this disease since I was eight. Monthly checkups, treatments, hospitals. My parents… they’ve built their lives around trying to keep me alive. And I’ve made it so hard for them.” My voice trembled as the words spilled out.

Laura’s eyebrows shot up. “Don’t say that,” she said, shaking her head fiercely. “You didn’t choose this. You’re not a burden, Y/N. Not to them. Not to us.”

My attempt at a smile faltered. “You don’t know what it’s like. For almost ten years, they haven’t had a full night of sleep. They’ve spent every cent hoping someone could fix me. Especially now… now that it’s getting worse.”
A lump rose in my throat, threatening to choke me. But I had to keep going. I owed them that much.
“I didn’t tell you because... I wanted things to feel normal. With you two, I had that. Talking about school, complaining about teachers, laughing about boys…” I let out a shaky breath. “I didn’t want to give that up. You guys made me feel like I was just another girl, not some ticking time bomb.”

Amber’s jaw tensed. She tilted her head slightly, watching me like she was trying to piece it all together.
“Why do you sound like you’re saying goodbye?” she asked quietly, but the strain in her voice gave her away. “Y/N… what are you saying?”

I met her eyes. That was all it took.

Her lips parted. “Oh no…” she moved before I could react, arms wrapping around me tight. Laura joined her a second later, and suddenly I was sandwiched between them in a hug that was more desperate than comforting.

“Don’t panic,” I whispered, blinking back tears. “There’s still time. Maybe.”

Laura’s voice was muffled. “What do you mean, maybe?”

I hesitated. “The doctors say… a few months. Six, if I’m lucky.”

Amber pulled back just enough to look at me. “Six months?” Her voice cracked like glass. “And we were just supposed to not know? Were you really going to let us find out after you were—after you were gone?”
Her words hit harder than I expected. She looked away, blinking fast, as if trying to stop the flood behind her eyes.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” I murmured.

“You did anyway,” she said, voice flat. “We spent all that time with you without even really knowing you.”
Silence settled over us like a heavy blanket.
“But I get it actually, it's understandable” she said after a beat, rubbing at her temples. “Maybe I made you feel guilty now, I’m sorry. It's that…I’m still messed up over Mark, so... maybe I took it out on you.”

I placed a hand gently on her arm. “Don’t apologize. I understand, Amber. I just... wanted things to be good for a while. To be normal.”
I let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Guess that worked... until now.”

That’s when I remembered. “Mark,” I said, suddenly alert. “He was in my class right before the evacuation. He ran out first. I thought he was going to find you.”

Amber scoffed. “He wasn’t with the others. He didn’t even text. I’m starting to think I imagined the whole relationship.”
She paused, staring down at her shoes.
“Should I just break up with him?” she asked. Her voice was small.

It startled me. Amber never asked. She decided. But right now she looked like she didn’t even trust her own judgment.
Truth be told, I’d always liked Mark, at least at first. There was something magnetic about him. Quiet confidence. Kind eyes. But that version of him didn’t last long. He forgot dates, ignored texts, vanished without warning. I’d defended him before—but even I couldn’t explain his absence today.

Laura stepped in gently. “Maybe you should talk to him first. Just… figure out if there’s a reason behind it. A real one.”

Amber gave a bitter laugh. “We’ve talked. Fought. Rinse and repeat. Every time I tell him how much it hurts when he ghosts me, he comes up with some grand excuse. School. Helping his dad. Even volunteering, for all I know. I’m tired, you know?”

“Have you told him you’re tired?” I asked.

She nodded. “More than once.”

Laura sighed. “You still care about him. That’s obvious. But maybe he’s just… not the one.”

Amber looked away. “And what about Prom? I already got the dress. I imagined the photos. Now I don’t even know if I like him anymore.”
A beat passed.
“I’ll think about it,” she muttered. “Right now, I just need to be mad, to ‘overreact’ like I always do. Let me have that.”

I tilted my head “You’re not overreacting, Amber. Expecting someone to show they care about you... that’s not a crime.”

The sharp clang of the school bell shattered the moment like glass.
Around us, the chaos that had just barely settled began to stir again. Students picked up bags they had dropped in panic, rejoined classes that had been scattered by the emergency, and murmured anxiously about what had just happened as they moved toward the school entrance.

I stood there for a beat longer, reluctant to let go of the fragile safety of my friends' embrace. But duty called. My history teacher was waving our class forward, his eyes scanning for stragglers.

I pulled away gently from Laura and Amber, squeezing both of their hands with a promise I couldn’t say out loud. Then I turned and fell into step with the others. One foot in front of the other. Breathe in. Breathe out.

And then I saw him.

Mark Grayson.

Just... standing there. By the front doors, perfectly fine. Unbothered. Like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t completely disappeared during an emergency. Like he hadn’t left Amber spiraling, afraid, abandoned.

The sight of him twisted something hot and sharp in my chest. I didn’t even stop to think. My feet changed direction before my mind caught up. I walked toward him, hands curled into fists inside my sleeves.
He noticed me when I was already beside him, matching his pace as we fell into step heading inside.

“Where the hell were you?” The words came out before I could soften them. My voice was hard, maybe harder than I intended, but I didn’t care. Someone needed to say it.

Mark blinked, clearly caught off guard. “I was trying to find you girls. I couldn’t... I didn’t know where you went.”
His tone was quiet, almost defensive, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. Panic? Guilt? I couldn’t tell. He looked around like he was still expecting the floor to crack open beneath us or the ceiling to fall. “You okay?”

That question—his question—hit me wrong. His voice was softer now, gentler, and for a moment it almost sounded like he cared.
But he shouldn’t be asking me that. Not when Amber had been the one calling, texting, begging for a sign that he was okay. Not when she had been shaking with anger and heartbreak only minutes ago.
I felt something cold settle in my chest.

“You should be asking Amber that, not me,” I snapped. And just like that, I picked up my pace and started to walk ahead. I couldn’t stand to look at him anymore.

He didn’t stop me, but after a moment I heard his footsteps quicken. He jogged to catch up, falling back in step beside me.
“She’s mad at me, isn’t she?” he asked quietly.

I stopped walking.
I turned to look at him fully, really look at him. There it was again—that tone. Regret. But it rang hollow. Why did he only sound like this when it was me?
Why not when it mattered?

“Mad doesn’t even begin to cover it,” I said, my voice flat. “She’s been trying to find you since the lockdown started. She thought something happened to you. And you… you didn’t even check your phone.”

“I didn’t hear it,” he muttered, pulling it out of his pocket.
The lock screen lit up, and I saw the damage: dozens of missed calls, unread messages. All from Amber. All unanswered.
It was on silent. Of course it was.
Convenient. Predictable. Pathetic.

“That’s not an excuse,” I said, my voice cold. And it wasn’t. He had the time to pull it out now, didn’t he?

I turned away before he could say anything else. I didn’t want to hear more excuses. I didn’t want to know if he was going to lie or if he was going to tell the truth. Neither would make Amber feel better. Neither would change what he had—or hadn’t—done.

I made my way into the classroom, heart pounding. The room was untouched, eerily normal. My desk sat where I left it, and my textbook was still inside my bag, as if nothing had ever happened. I sat down, my hands trembling as I pulled it out and placed it on the desk like I was preparing for a regular history lecture.

But nothing felt regular anymore.

Mark walked in a few seconds later and slipped into his seat at the back of the room. He didn’t try to talk to me again. We didn’t exchange another word.

Not that day.
Not that week.

Not until Prom.

Chapter Text

Present Time - Current Dimension

I woke up that morning with a relentless pounding in my head. The dull ache settled deep behind my temples, like a stubborn reminder of the night before. My room was a mess, chaotic and scattered, a clear testament to the fight I'd had with Invincible just hours ago. The bed was a wreck, sheets twisted and tangled, pillows tossed aside like forgotten casualties. I hadn't even found the strength to shower as I'd intended. All I wanted was to close my eyes again, to slip back into the fragile peace of sleep, to rest.

A sudden pang of guilt hit me, sharp and unwelcome. Mom would probably be the one to clean this up. The thought was like a stone in my stomach.

Fragments of strange memories drifted hazily in my mind: blurred snapshots, like the remnants of a dream slipping through my fingers. None of it made sense. I struggled to hold on to what I was remembering, but the images refused to settle, refusing to form a clear picture. The one thing that played on an endless loop in my thoughts was the moment Invincible saved me in that school. That instant felt etched into my skin, impossible to erase.

Why had I been so... lost before that? It was as if I hadn't even wanted to be alive. And yet, after he appeared, something inside me shifted, subtly, but undeniably. The world around me seemed different. A new weight settled on my chest.

Soft morning light filtered through the blinds, slicing thin lines of gold across the cluttered room. I lay there on the mattress, one arm draped over my forehead, my gaze fixed on the peeling paint of the ceiling above. Maybe it was just my mind playing tricks. After all, I'd only met Invincible last night. And that photo I'd seen, the one with him in it, kept haunting me.

Right before he turned hostile, I thought I saw something flicker in his eyes. Like a ghost, a memory, or maybe even hope. Like he was seeing someone lost to him come back from the dead. And honestly? I think he was.

For a fleeting moment, I allowed myself to believe he might be... good. But the illusion shattered fast. The second my memory reminded me of what he and Omni Man had done to my dimension, that fragile warmth evaporated. I needed to get out. To find a way back. The only clue I had was the portal: a glowing, green circle, humming with power. Clearly, it was controlled by someone with extraordinary abilities. The problem was figuring out who.

I dragged myself out of the ruined bed, the mattress sagging under me as I stood. The stale smell of sweat and dust filled the air, making me wrinkle my nose. Hygiene hadn't exactly been my priority lately. Survival had taken all my focus these past months. But here, at least in this version of the world, I could afford to take a moment for myself. To breathe. To regain some strength.

I pulled up the blinds fully, flooding the room with sunlight. The wreckage became painfully obvious: broken pottery shards scattered across the floor, the shattered photo frame lying face up with Invincible and my alternate self frozen inside it, shoes kicked off in no particular order.

I'd clean it all up later. Maybe.

Opening my wardrobe, I was greeted by rows of neatly folded clothes and the faint, comforting scent of lavender. It lingered for a brief second before my own odor quickly overwhelmed it.
"Gross..." I muttered, scrunching my nose. Still, I told myself, it was nothing a good shower couldn't fix. I pulled out a fresh outfit. My body hadn't changed much over the past two years, so the clothes still fit, though a few pieces seemed shorter or tighter than I remembered. The style was close enough to what I liked, I could make it work.

Just as I stepped into the hallway, clothes in hand, I almost ran straight into my mom standing by my bedroom door.
"Oh! You're up," she said, clearly surprised. "It's already eleven. Did you sleep okay?" Her eyes flicked down to the clothes I was carrying. "Shower? That sounds like a good idea. You need it."

I looked away, a blush rising to my cheeks. "Yeah... um, about that. The bed's kind of a mess. Sorry if it's a problem-"

She laughed softly, waving me off with a shake of her head. "Sweetheart, you just got back from... who knows where. You needed to rest. That's all that matters." Her hands reached up to cup my cheeks gently, warm and steady. Her smile was full of love and understanding. "Don't worry about the bed. I'll take care of it."

But then, just as quickly, her expression shifted. Her eyes darkened with worry, and a shadow crossed her face. I knew what she was thinking about: Invincible's unexpected visit.
"Dad?" I asked before she could say anything else. The last I'd heard, he was supposed to meet the superhero during that conference, but there'd been no news since. I silently prayed he was safe. That he was still whole.

"He's fine," she said quietly. "Didn't even get a chance to talk to him. Or... should I say Omni-Invincible now? Apparently, he's changed his name." She frowned, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "The whole thing feels off. Like he's trying to honor his father's legacy. And that can't be good."

I wasn't surprised. No matter how much he hated his father, maybe Invincible was starting to think like him. Same blood, same instincts. You can't run from what's inside you forever.
Like father, like son. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

But I couldn't say any of this out loud. I couldn't tell her about my Invincible, the one from my dimension. It would terrify her. Or worse, she wouldn't believe me. So I kept it locked inside.
"Maybe... it's just strange. His dad was a monster. I don't understand why he'd want to honor that name," I whispered.
But deep down, I had a terrible feeling that I already knew the answer.

Mom stared at me, disbelief clear in her eyes. "Seeing him in that costume last night... it gave me chills. In some way, I saw Omni Man in him. I feared the worst-for you... that he might do something. Again." She placed her hands firmly on my shoulders and looked me straight in the eyes. "He wasn't like this when you were seeing him...what happened?"

The question hit me like a punch to the gut.
"I have no idea," I said, voice cracking. "He kidnapped me, kept me hidden from everyone, from everything. Apparently, he's been spreading lies about me. And I swear, I don't know what came over him that day."

I tried to sound convincing, though my heart felt shattered and raw. It was almost impossible. The person who'd broken me was now the one I hated most in the world. And yet... somehow, he could still act kind. Gentle. Protective. Seeing that side of him, that version, felt horribly wrong.

"Did you two fight?" her voice was soft, tentative, but the question hung heavily in the air.

For a long moment, silence settled between us. Honestly, I didn't even know how to begin answering. The truth was messy, tangled up in feelings I barely understood myself. And the more details I tried to gather, the harder it became to keep them straight. I wasn't ready to mess it up in front of her, not again.

"I'm sorry if I'm pressing," she said after a pause, her tone gentle but desperate. "I just... I really thought he was a good guy. I'd seen him on TV so many times, and you...well, you knew he wasn't like that, right? But something changed in him the day you disappeared. You could see it in his face...like he was hurting. Deeply."

That stung. The fact that my mother seemed more inclined to believe him than me.
He was good at pretending, at wearing whatever mask he needed to get what he wanted. Fake kindness, fake sorrow-it came so easily for him. People trusted the name he carried, the reputation he'd built. And somehow, he'd managed to weave himself into my parents' lives.
Meanwhile, I had been through hell. I'd been "gone" for two years.
And yet she wanted to believe him.
He was a liar. Even if, in this case, I was the one lying. But I had my reasons, good ones.

"He started hating his father after that day," she continued, stepping back as if trying to make space for her own thoughts. "I just hope... now that you're back, he doesn't start missing him. I can't handle another incident like what happened in Chicago...especially not if it's because of him."

I wanted to tell her it wouldn't happen. But that would've been a lie too.
Still, I needed to say something, anything, to ease the worry in her eyes. She looked so broken, so scared. But the words I found felt hollow, suspicious, empty. So I stayed silent.

"This afternoon, I managed to get an appointment with the doctor," she said, her voice softening, a fragile hope creeping in. "After everything that happened, they're going to do more than just a routine check-up. There'll be tests. They want to see how your illness is holding up..."
Her smile was tender, filled with pride and emotion. "You survived two years. That's... incredible, sweetheart."

But when she said illness, a cold wave of anxiety swept through me.

What illness?

I nodded, not wanting to seem clueless. But as far as I knew, I wasn't sick. Not in my body.
What if the tests showed something strange? Something that didn't fit? What if they discovered I wasn't from this dimension? A shiver crawled up my spine.
I moved toward the bathroom and closed the door behind me, leaning against it for a moment. My gaze fixed on the window across the room. The shower stood to my right-big, modern, with glass panels. A luxury I wasn't used to.

I laid the clean clothes beside the sink and began peeling off the sweaty ones, tossing them in the basket near the toilet.
When I was completely naked, I paused in front of the mirror: my skin looked flawless, except for a few fading bruises that would heal soon. No open wounds. I looked strong. Normal.
I had no idea what kind of disease my variant had been suffering from.

The only real health issue I ever had was low blood pressure. As a kid, I barely ate enough. My diet was unbalanced: missing essential vitamins, proteins, fats. I never had the strength to power through long, hot summer days. My body seemed to reject more food than it needed.
Honestly, I still didn't understand how I survived the chaos back in my own dimension.
Truth was, I was still weak. It might take weeks, maybe months, to regain the energy I'd lost...if I ever could.

I turned on the shower and waited for the water to warm.
Feeling clean, fresh water hit my skin for the first time in what felt like forever was almost like a rebirth. I stepped inside without hesitation.
The water crashed down, soothing, washing away more than just dirt. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, letting the warmth wrap around me before I started washing.

I began with my hair: several washes to strip away the grime and sweat. My scalp finally felt light and free. Then I moved on to my body.
But the moment I poured the body wash into my palm, a sudden flash hit me.
My vision blurred, blacking out for a second. A sharp, stabbing pain seared through my skull.
I reached out instinctively, pressing my hand against the cold tile wall for support. The chill on my bare skin made me flinch.

"What the hell was that?" I looked down at my hand, slick with soap. For a brief moment, I thought I saw something-deep purple bruises creeping up my arm.
Memories? Could those have been memories, leftover echoes from my dead variant?

Was that illness?
Or abuse?
I didn't know.
I wasn't trained in medicine. Just a few months of pre-law back home.

I needed answers. Maybe the hospital could give me some.
But what if they found out the truth about me?
I was stuck.
I had to decide-how to get the information I needed without raising suspicion with my parents.
"I could go alone," I thought as I resumed scrubbing. "Ask my mother to wait outside the clinic."

When I stepped out of the shower, warmth clinging to my skin like a second layer, I felt... lighter. Cleaner, somehow. Like I had shed more than just sweat and grime, I had washed off the weight of everything that had happened in the past months.
For a moment, I just stood there, wrapped in a soft robe, towel pressed against my damp hair. Steam curled behind me as I stepped into the cooler hallway. The contrast made me shiver, but it was almost pleasant. Familiar. Normal.

In silence, I padded to my room, careful to step around the shards of broken glass still glittering faintly on the floor. They caught the light from the window, little reminders of chaos I didn't yet have the strength to address. My eyes scanned the room, searching for the hairdryer.
Drawer. Nothing.
Desk. Nothing.
Wardrobe-

"Mom! Where's the-?"
I stopped.
Something had caught my eye.

Partially hidden beneath the edge of a folded sweater, a sliver of glossy paper peeked out, almost as if it had been placed there on purpose. My fingers hesitated for a second before tugging it free. It was thin and cool to the touch-familiar. A photo.
I turned it over first, heart ticking just a little faster.
On the back, ink flowed in elegant cursive: "To my hero."

I read the words aloud, voice soft in the stillness. They didn't stir anything in me. No wave of recognition. No jolt of emotion. Just... curiosity. It was probably one of the many photos meant for the shelf, maybe fallen and forgotten.

Still, I flipped it over.
Relief hit me like a wave.
Me and Dad. Just us.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
"For a second, I thought it might've been another photo of me and Invincible. Thank God I was wrong," I muttered to myself, voice laced with bitter humor.

Digging through the desk, I found a roll of tape and stuck the photo to the inside of my closet door, right side, the one that faced the light from the window.
"There we go," I murmured, hands on my hips as I admired my work. "You'll stay right here for now."
The moment didn't last. With a soft hiss, the tape gave way, and the photo drifted down, fluttering to the floor like a leaf in autumn. It landed between my bare feet.
I sighed. "Maybe I should've used more-"

That's when it hit me.
The silence.
Too still.
Something shifted in the air, like gravity itself had leaned in. My body froze. A drop of sweat slid down my temple. My heart thundered loud enough I was sure someone could hear it.

I could hear my mom moving around in the kitchen downstairs.
But up here?
I wasn't alone.

Every instinct screamed at me. Stay quiet. Stay still.
Then, with no warning, the closet door slammed shut.
My breath caught in my throat. I scrambled back in instinct, landing hard on the floor, the photo still clutched in my hand.
He stood in front of me, arms crossed, his eyes locked on my legs.

Invincible. His gaze was too sharp, too cold. It didn't just look: it assessed. Measured.

"You..." I whispered. My voice felt small, fragile.
He didn't speak at first. Just stared.

Then his eyes dragged over my legs again, slower this time, and it made my skin crawl.
"You don't have any bruises..." he said, voice low, almost to himself.

I swallowed hard, trying not to flinch.
"They healed. It's been two years," I replied, tone steady only because I forced it to be. "I still have a few left, though. They'll fade soon." It was a gamble. I had no idea what he remembered, what he was comparing me to. Maybe he meant the dark marks that had briefly surfaced in the shower, I thought the little bruises I had all over my body could trick him.

He didn't buy it.
I saw it in his eyes: the flicker of doubt, the hunger for confirmation. He needed more.
And he stepped closer.
Floating just above the floor, he moved without a sound, his shadow stretching toward me. From where I sat, he seemed even taller, more imposing.
"Is that so?" he murmured. Then, softly, chillingly "Then show me." He crouched. His hand reached for the collar of my robe.

"No." Panic surged through me. My hand snapped up, slamming into his. Flesh met glove, heat meeting cold. I looked him dead in the eyes. "Stop. Please."

He didn't speak, didn't blink. Just stared.
Then he saw it: a bruise, faint but visible, blooming along the curve of my arm.
He stopped. Let go.

I could see it in his face.
The calculation.
The shift.
If he had truly believed I was her, he wouldn't have needed to check.
But now he knew for sure. I wasn't her.

"Happy now?" I snapped, rising unsteadily to my feet, backing away until my spine pressed into the desk behind me. My hands shook, but my voice didn't.
"Get out of my house."

"This house isn't yours," he said, rising slowly to his full height. His silhouette cut sharply against the dim light filtering through the curtains. The curve of his lips twisted into a thin, razor-like smile. "I bet if I asked you a few personal questions, you wouldn't even know how to answer."
I let out a short laugh, tight, brittle. It cracked in the middle.
I was so, so screwed.
He noticed. Of course he noticed. His expression shifted, that smug smirk deepening, feeding off my nervousness like a predator who'd just cornered his prey "Funny, isn't it?" he murmured, head tilted.

"Let's not get carried away," I said, raising both hands in mock surrender, as if the gesture could diffuse the tension or distract him long enough for me to think.
But then, the amusement vanished from his face like someone had flipped a switch.

And I froze.

His eyes locked onto mine, cold and unreadable, yet burning with something deeper. Anger? Grief? I couldn't tell. "Give me one good reason," he said, voice suddenly low and venomous, "why I shouldn't kill you right here, slowly, for wearing her face like a mask and pretending you were someone I cared about."

My stomach twisted into a knot. He wasn't bluffing.
I had a split second to choose.

Option one: Tell the truth. Risk it all. Hope he had some shred of humanity left in him, and that maybe we could work out a temporary truce until I figured out how to get back to my dimension.
Option two: Lie. Keep the upper hand. Manipulate him before he manipulated me.

I didn't even hesitate.
Of course I chose the second. There was no way I was handing over control to him.

"How about I give you more than one reason?" I said carefully, eyes trained on him, voice steady even as my heart pounded against my ribs like it wanted out. "I look exactly like your dead ex, the one who disappeared two years ago. Everyone thought she died in that explosion..." I took a slow step closer, forcing calm into every inch of my body. Arms at my sides. Shoulders squared. Eyes locked on his like a dare.
"Her parents found me. A girl who looks just like their daughter. Practically a clone. They were grieving...shattered. And now they think the universe gave them a second chance..."

He raised an eyebrow. "Temporarily," he said, watching me like a hawk.

I nodded, letting the word echo in the air between us. "Exactly. I'm not here to stay. I'm here by accident, I'm gonna leave soon. But until then... you can't touch me."
I stopped in front of him and pressed a single finger to the center of his chest. His heartbeat was maddeningly steady beneath the fabric of his suit.
"Her parents believe I'm her," I whispered. "What do you think they'd do if Invincible suddenly killed their daughter? They already hate you. They think you're the reason she vanished. That you faked her death. Hid her away."

His jaw clenched hard enough to crack bone.
I had struck something: nerve or guilt, I wasn't sure. But it was something.
"You're already ruining my life," he said through gritted teeth. "And now you want to ruin my reputation too? Paint me as the villain in this story?"

Something in me snapped.
I stepped forward, heat flooding my voice "I ruined your life?" my hands curled into fists. My voice rose with every syllable, every memory I'd buried clawing its way to the surface.
"You ruined mine! You and your father murdered my family! You turned my world into rubble! You made us bow to Viltrum...slaughtered thousands like they were nothing! You killed everything I ever dreamed of becoming!" My breath came fast and shallow. My chest burned. My vision blurred with unshed tears, but I kept going.
"You took everything from me!" I shouted, the words ringing through the room like a slap.

Still, he didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. My fury washed over him like wind over stone.
"I hate you," I said, voice raw. "You say you're not like your father, but I see it in you. You want the same thing. Power. Control. You want to conquer." I stepped closer, lowering my voice to a knife-edge whisper. "But I won't let you."

That got to him. His brow furrowed, just barely. A muscle in his jaw twitched.
"Oooh I get it now," he said, slowly, the weight of his words dragging the air around us into silence. "You're not from here....you're from another dimension."
I didn't answer.
He stepped back, eyes scanning me with unsettling intensity. "A dimension where apparently I... turned on my people. Where I became a monster." His voice was low now, almost thoughtful. "I would never do that. I'm part human. What I'm doing... it's for humanity's future."

My blood ran cold.
I'd heard those exact words before.
They were lies then, and they were lies now.
"Liar!" I screamed, lunging at him with everything I had left.

But he was faster. So much faster. He caught my wrists mid-air, effortlessly pinning them with both hands. His grip was firm-but not painful.
A slow, deliberate smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. And in that moment, I knew.
He was no different from the monster who destroyed my world. No different at all.
"You're just another murderer," I said, my voice trembling with fury. "A genocidal maniac."

He didn't flinch "For your information," he replied coldly, "I don't want to wipe out innocent civilizations. I hate getting my hands dirty... but if I'm not given a choice, I will fight back."
He stepped closer, and the heat of his glare settled like fire on my skin.
"So don't do anything stupid," he added, his voice dipping into something darker, quieter, but no less threatening. "And don't badmouth me again... or I'll finish what my variant couldn't."
Then, finally, he let go.

I stumbled back, sucking in a breath, only now realizing how tightly he'd been gripping me. Red welts bloomed on my wrists where his fingers had dug into the skin. I met his gaze again, not bothering to hide the disgust in my eyes.

"You know," I said, adjusting the bathrobe that had slipped from my shoulder, "When I first got here, my mom didn't believe me. She couldn't picture you doing the things I told her about. I guess you fooled them too. Pulled the whole 'nice guy' act with them just like you did with her."
His lips twitched-like he wanted to argue. But whatever words formed behind his teeth, he swallowed them.
"I'm not afraid to bring her up," I pressed, taking a breath. "I don't care if it bothers you. We're talking about me. Maybe a different version, sure-but still me. And here's a newsflash for you: she doesn't belong to you. She's her own person."

His jaw tightened. "You don't even know her," he muttered, fists clenched so hard his knuckles blanched. "You're nothing like her."

I scoffed. "Did it ever cross your mind that maybe I come from a world where everything I cared about, everything I loved, was destroyed by the people we were supposed to trust? Heroes." I spat the word. "Every ounce of hope I had for you... every shred of trust... was obliterated the day I saw what you did. You destroyed my home. You took everything from me."
I pressed a hand to my chest, grounding myself in the rage and grief bubbling beneath the surface. "You lied to her from the beginning. Pretended to be good. Pretended to be human. But your plan? Your plan to conquer Earth? That started the moment you got your powers. I lived through the truth. That's why I hate you. She lived a lie. It's not the same."

He turned his back on me, cape swaying as he walked slowly to the window. It draped around him like armor-his silence sharper than any weapon.
"I wasn't lying," he said at last. "Not back then."
He paused, glancing over his shoulder. For a second, something flickered in his expression, regret, maybe. Or just the ghost of it.
"It happened much later." Another beat of silence. "But I'm not discussing her with someone who means nothing to me."

I froze.
I thought, maybe, he'd say something else. Maybe this was the moment he cracked. But instead, he simply pointed out where the hairdryer was... then vanished. Out the window. Just like that. The wind followed him, tugging at the curtains as if trying to pull him back.

He was gone.
And somehow, I was still alive.
But I didn't feel safe. Not even a little.
He had walked into my room like it was nothing-like my space didn't matter. And with powers like his-Viltrumite powers-he was a threat. A constant one.

Once I'd finished drying my hair and thrown on some clean clothes, I headed downstairs for lunch. The smell of food grounded me slightly, pulling me away from the storm in my chest.
It was just me and my mom at the table. Dad was out working. She didn't seem to notice anything had happened upstairs. When I'd called earlier asking for the hairdryer, she hadn't even heard me.

We ate mostly in silence, after we finished eating we got out the house and got in the car: the ride to the hospital should've lasted at least 30 minutes.

"Your dad's doing everything he can to sort out the paperwork and get your new documents ready," she said, eyes bright with hope. "It's tricky, of course, but he's got some good connections. They said they'd try to speed things up." Mom smiled, like things were finally falling into place.
"And you'll have to go back to school," she continued. "They might even let you skip ahead. Straight into college, maybe, because of what happened to you. Isn't that wonderful?"

"Isn't that kind of... illegal?" I raised a brow, voice quiet but steady as I leaned back in the passenger seat. The car vibrated faintly beneath me, the steady hum of the engine filling the silence between words. I gave a half-hearted shrug, eyes fixed on the blurred scenery slipping past the window. "Besides... I'm not even sure I want to go to college. I think I'd rather focus on getting my mental health back on track. Try to stand on my own two feet again."

The idea of college didn't completely repulse me. In fact, under different circumstances, it might've even sounded appealing. Structure. Distance. A reason to keep moving. And realistically, it was probably one of the safest places to hide. A campus full of strangers and deadlines wasn't exactly where Invincible would come looking for me. It was ideal, on paper.
But the thought of leaving my parents alone sent a cold shiver down my spine. If he wanted to hurt me, he could hurt them. It would be easy. Too easy.

"Oh, sweetheart..." My mom's voice softened instantly, her fingers tightening around the steering wheel. "After everything you've been through, it's perfectly natural to want to take care of yourself first. I'm sorry if I came off as pushy. That wasn't my intention."
A brief pause stretched between us, warm but weighted, like something neither of us wanted to put into words.

Still, the silence gave me space, just enough to push out the thought that had been quietly nagging at the back of my mind for days. I cleared my throat. "I've actually been thinking about studying law." My voice sounded tentative even to me. "There's this nearby college with a decent program... and they accept mid-year transfers."
It wasn't a lie. That same college existed in my original universe. I'd studied there, well, started to. Passed the entrance exams, sat through a few lectures, felt the shaky beginnings of a future taking root... before it had all gone to hell.

Mom blinked. "Law?" She looked genuinely surprised, her eyebrows knitting together. "I thought you wanted to go into medicine. You were so focused back then, so determined to find better treatments for your illness. You even volunteered at the lab that summer, remember?"
I swallowed hard, unable to meet her eyes. I wasn't her. Not really. But I just nodded faintly, choosing silence over explanation.
After a beat, she exhaled and smiled again, softer this time. "Well, if you've had a change of heart, I'll support you. Law's a solid career path. You'll find work easily, I'm sure of it."

Work. That word felt like a joke. I wasn't thinking that far ahead, couldn't. I wasn't going to college to build a future. I was going to stay hidden. To observe. To keep one step ahead of what was coming. This wasn't my home, and I didn't plan on staying long enough to worry about internships or job offers.

"Amber's going to a college nearby too," Mom said suddenly, glancing at me like the name should mean something. "Might even be the same one."
Amber. That name... it rang a distant bell, muffled and untraceable.
"You remember Amber, don't you?"

I gave her a tight smile, trying to mask the tension crawling up my spine. "Not really? I guess she was a friend of mine?"

Her eyes narrowed just slightly-curious, maybe even suspicious-but she didn't press.
"Amber Bennett," she clarified. "You two were close in high school. There was another girl too...Laura? But she moved out of state. Wanted a more prestigious school."
That bit of information wasn't just helpful: it was gold. I filed it away quietly, grateful she hadn't started digging deeper into my half-baked amnesia.
"Maybe you'll run into Amber on campus," Mom added after a moment. "Oh, and on the way back, we'll stop at the mall. You need a phone. That way we can stay in touch. I'll get the SIM card in my name since, well... no documents yet."

That offer actually made my chest loosen a little. A phone would change everything-access to the internet, tools to track anomalies, ways to contact people if something went wrong. It was a lifeline.
"Thanks, Mom. That's... super helpful, actually."

By then, we were pulling into the hospital parking lot. The place looked almost identical to the one I remembered: clinical, bland, sterile. We walked side by side into the diagnostics wing, my steps slower than usual, a small knot forming in my stomach.
I wasn't even sure how I was supposed to get treated without proper ID. But something told me Mom had already handled it-probably slipped some money into the right hands.

"Mrs. L/N, Miss L/N, welcome back," a man in a white coat greeted us as we entered the department. He looked to be in his fifties, professional but kind-eyed. He motioned for us to follow him down the corridor. "It's been two years since your last private check-up. I must say, you've improved remarkably."
His smile was genuine, warm even, but I couldn't shake the unsettling feeling crawling beneath my skin. If he only knew. If any of them knew.
"Your health is honestly surprising," he continued as we walked. "You have color in your face again. Your skin tone's returned to normal. How have the treatments been going?"

I glanced at my mom for help. Her expression was tight, almost pleading. She wanted me to lie to him.
"Pretty well, actually," I said, forcing a nervous laugh. "They've helped me a lot over the years. I mean... just look at me now, right?"

The doctor chuckled. "You're definitely more lively than I remember. Guess the college transition has done wonders." He gestured for us to enter a small office lined with medical posters and a sleek computer desk. Once we were all inside, he closed the door behind us. "So, you're here for the usual tests, yeah?"

I hesitated. "Actually... I have a request."
Both Mom and the doctor turned toward me in sync, expectant.
"Could my mom wait outside?" I asked, lowering my voice. "I just... I'd prefer some privacy."

My mom didn't even blink. "Of course, sweetheart. I'm so used to being in these appointments with you, I forgot you're nineteen now." She smiled as she dug into her oversized purse. "I'll wait outside, just like we did last time."
She handed the doctor a thick file-reports, prescriptions, lab results, all meticulously organized. The words chronic leukemia were stamped across several pages.

I picked one up. The date on the oldest report made my throat tighten, eleven years ago. That had been the beginning. Mild, manageable. But more recent entries told a darker story: fatigue, bruising, dangerously low white cell counts. The past few years had been rough. This girl, my variant, had been fading. If a simple flu didn't kill her, something else would.

Once my mom stepped out of the room, the doctor offered me a tight-lipped smile and gestured toward the exam table. "Go ahead and lie down," he said, already pulling out a tray of long, glinting needles that caught the overhead light a little too well. He moved with the kind of ease that only came from years of routine, setting up his tools like this was just another day.
"You know," he added conversationally, "in the last few years, our tech has come a long way. We get real-time results now-no more waiting for the lab to analyze vials. Just a few drops of blood, and we'll have your leukemia markers right here on the screen in minutes."

He uncapped a needle, and the moment I caught sight of the silver tip, I quickly turned my head and shut my eyes tight. Just hearing the tiny hiss of the cap being pulled off was enough to set my nerves on edge. "Needle-phobic now, Y/N?" His voice carried a teasing lilt. "That's new. What, two years away from hospitals and you've gone soft on me? You used to take this stuff like a champ." I didn't answer. My jaw was clenched too tight.

The sharp sting came next-swift and clinical. He pierced my vein with practiced precision, and I felt the warm rush of blood leave my body, fast and steady like a flood that had just found its way through a broken dam. He filled several vials before slipping them into a machine connected to his computer by a thick coil of wire.

I sat up slowly, pressing a cotton swab to the pinprick in my arm to stop the bleeding. The air was sterile, humming quietly with the whir of machines and distant hospital sounds-muffled footsteps, the soft beeping of a monitor in another room. I drifted toward the screen out of habit, curiosity nibbling at me. But the display was just a mess of percentages, color-coded bars, subcategories I didn't understand. It looked more like alien code than medical data.

Then I glanced at the doctor.
His face had gone pale.
He stared at the screen like it had slapped him across the face.
"What is it?" I asked, a chill creeping down my spine. "Something wrong?"

He didn't answer at first-just adjusted his glasses with a trembling hand, flicking his gaze between the screen and me, over and over again.
"This... this can't be," he whispered.

I straightened up. "What can't be?"

He looked like he was trying to convince himself of what he was seeing. "You're... you're cured."
Of course I was. I knew that. I hadn't really been sick in the first place. But seeing his face-his stunned disbelief, his complete unraveling-sent a cold shiver through me. This wasn't going to end well.

"Cured?" I tilted my head, schooling my expression into one of wide-eyed confusion. "Like... it's just regular leukemia now?"

He shook his head. "No, I mean cured. As in, there is no leukemia. Not a single trace. Your blood is... perfect. Like it was never there in the first place."
His voice had risen with every word, trembling with something between awe and unfiltered joy. "You beat it. You beat...the unbeatable. This is a miracle, Y/N. Whatever those treatments did, this could change everything. We may have found a cure!"

He was practically glowing, eyes wide and shining with excitement. It was kind of pathetic, honestly. The incurable...cured? There was a reason if it was called incurable, genius. Still, I had to admit: everyone in this dimension was so eager to believe in miracles. Everyone except my parents. They hated Invincible at least, which, in this moment, made them the only people I almost respected.

"Oh my God, that's... amazing!" I clapped my hands together, faking a breathless, joyful laugh. I could've won an Oscar. Inside, I felt nothing but a sinking dread. This was bad. Really bad. And it was only going to get worse.

I didn't have long to dwell on it. The doctor sprinted out of the room like a man possessed, nearly colliding with my mother in the hallway.
"Your daughter ma'am, she's the first person to ever recover from chronic leukemia!" he exclaimed breathlessly, gripping her shoulders with both hands. She looked past him at me, her expression unreadable. I gave her the smallest nod. Still, she didn't look surprised.
"The treatments worked!" he continued, voice rising. "Two years of therapy and she's completely, officially cured!"

"Oh my God," my mom whispered. Her hand flew to her chest as she stood, unsteady on her feet. "Is this really happening?"

Within moments, people began gathering. Doctors, nurses, even a few curious patients. They all looked at me like I had grown wings and floated off the table. So much for privacy during a check-up.

My mom quickly slipped into the room and shut the door behind her, blocking out the growing noise.
She turned to me, gripping my arms firmly. "Y/N," she said, staring into my eyes, "You haven't had a single check-up since the day you were taken."

"Yeah," I replied quietly. "I was kidnapped. Invincible didn't let me leave. Not for anything."

Her eyes narrowed. "But without your treatments... there's no way you could have survived this long. He must've helped you somehow, right?..."

I pulled back, sharply. "Why do you want to believe that? Why does it have to be him?" My voice cracked with the strain I'd been holding back. "I survived on my own. I got through it by myself. Mom, why are you still defending him?"

She flinched, just a little. "I'm not defending him. I just... Y/N, this doesn't make sense. You weren't supposed to last more than a few months without treatment. But you're alive. You're cured. How do you explain that?"
I couldn't.
She rubbed her forehead like she was trying to press the pieces of logic into place. "I believe you, okay? I do. But now the world thinks the therapies worked. They think there's a cure. What do we even tell them?"

I stepped closer, gently laying a hand on her shoulder. Her muscles were tense, her breath shaky.
"It's going to be okay," I whispered. "We'll tell them the truth. Just... not all of it. Not yet." I left the room. Outside, the doctor was still caught in a storm of questions and congratulations. I approached him, heart pounding.
"There's something I need to say," I told him, my voice clear. "I didn't follow the treatments. Not a single one. I haven't had any medical care since my last visit." I hesitated, the name Invincible teetering on the tip of my tongue. But if I said it, I knew it would spiral into something I couldn't control.

Before I could say more, a girl in a wheelchair rolled closer to me, her eyes wide and glassy with hope. "So... if you didn't follow your treatment... maybe I could stop mine too? And I'd get better?"

My heart sank. "I never said that-" I started, but the doctor stepped in quickly, holding up a hand.

"We'll need to run more tests before we say anything definitive," he said firmly, eyes shining. "But this... this could change the world." He turned to me, gripping my hands with almost childlike enthusiasm.
"You've reignited hope," he said. "You might be the key to curing leukemia. Y/N, you're going to be famous!"

Famous. For a lie. For something I didn't even do.
And somehow, in trying to avoid everything... I'd made it worse.
I wasn't going home anytime soon. And as for seeing Invincible again?
Well... I thought I wouldn't.

But I was wrong.

God, I really need to learn to keep my mouth shut.

Chapter Text

The doctors had arranged a private room for me. It was quiet, tucked away in a far wing of the hospital: sterile white walls, humming fluorescent lights, and the soft beeping of machines the only constant companions. I was told I’d be here for a few weeks, maybe longer. Officially, I was just another girl awaiting surgery, another name on a list no one would question. But that was a lie, carefully crafted to keep me hidden.

They didn’t want anyone to know I was here…not yet. Not until they were ready. Until they’d run enough tests. Until they had answers. Until they were certain I was what they hoped for.
They wanted to surprise the world with their so-called discovery.

But I wasn’t a discovery. I was a person.
And I hated everything about this situation.

I’d begged them to stop, pleaded for them to see me not as a miracle or a medical anomaly, but as a human being. I told them I didn’t want their wires, their questions, their needles. But no one listened. Not really. They were far too blinded by excitement, by ambition. Too enamored by what I might represent. My thoughts, my body, my consent…none of it mattered. Somewhere along the line, I’d stopped being a girl. I had become a subject, a project…an object.

Even my mother was only allowed to visit during designated hours, her presence rationed like medication. And when my father found out what they were doing, how they were isolating me, studying me, he exploded with rage. He demanded answers, threatened legal action, cornered the lead doctor in front of witnesses.
But all he got in return was a rehearsed speech, a monologue laced with grandeur and self-importance: something about “the fate of humanity” and “unprecedented potential.” As if that justified locking me up and dissecting me like I wasn’t even real.

All because I’d beaten leukemia. Or rather… because they thought I was more than just a survivor. Did they believe I could stop Invincible? That I could stand against a Viltrumite? Is this what they meant with “unprecedented potential” and “the fate of humanity”?
Ridiculous.
No, actually, that wasn’t fair. I shouldn’t sell myself short. I would stop him. But not because of anything these so-called scientists were doing to me right now, and of course not because of their discoveries.

It had been days since the tests began. Time was beginning to blur together, minutes bleeding into hours, hours into something heavier. I sat cross-legged on the hospital bed, cheek resting against my palm, eyes glazed over with boredom. There was a TV mounted on the wall across from me: a small mercy. I kept it on, not for entertainment, but as a surveillance tool: a way to keep tabs on him.

The media loved him, of course. He was everywhere. Every channel. Every headline. “Invincible saves the day!” “Invincible defeats kaiju threat in record time!” “Invincible: The Hero Earth Needs!”
I listened to it all. The praise. The admiration. The naive worship.

It reminded me of him…how, in my universe, Omni Man had been treated the same way before everything fell apart. The same blind faith. The same dangerous optimism. Here, Invincible wasn’t even part of the Guardians of the Globe. He didn’t take orders from the GDA. He operated alone, and still, people adored him. They thought he was untouchable. Noble. The ultimate protector.

Idiots.

“So easy to fool,” I muttered, flipping through the channels with the remote, lips twisting into something that wasn’t quite a smile. The same country that had held candlelight vigils after the Chicago disaster was now ready to move on, to forgive and forget. To fall for it all over again.
And if I did speak up, if I told them the truth, explained what I knew from my world, they’d laugh in my face. Brand me as a liar. A lunatic. A conspiracy theorist. That’s how it always worked. The truth didn’t matter when it contradicted the fantasy.

Besides, he’d already warned me. Threatened me, really: if I tried to expose him, there would be consequences. So I stayed quiet.

But it hurt. God, it hurt to watch people celebrate a monster. To see children wear his symbol on their backpacks, their shirts. To hear mothers say they slept easier at night knowing he was out there, watching over them. He was their hope. Their pride. Their shield. And one day, he’d destroy them.

I turned my head toward the window. Sunlight filtered in through the glass, casting soft patterns across the linoleum floor. Outside, the hospital’s courtyard looked almost idyllic. Green bushes in bloom. Trees swaying in the breeze. A few patients strolled slowly through the garden, arm in arm with nurses or family members. Some sat on benches, enjoying the warm weather.

It was peaceful…and unbearably sad. Because not everyone outside would survive. Some of them were here to die. And even those who lived…what future would they be stepping into? What was the point of surviving in a world that didn’t belong to you anymore? A world where one man, one guy, could crush continents if he felt like it? We were already prisoners. Even if he hadn't taken control yet, we were living under the shadow of inevitability.

I dug my fingers into my hair, pressing my palms against my face, trying to quiet the storm building inside me. I wanted to fight. I wanted to stop him. But how? How could one powerless girl stand against someone like him? I wasn’t even sure the world’s strongest heroes could.

And yet… maybe they could.
My thoughts drifted. To Robot. To Atom Eve. To the Guardians of the Globe. They weren’t like the heroes from my world, but they were strong. Smart. Determined. They hadn’t given up. Not yet.

In my universe, even with everything they’d done, even with all their efforts, we lost. There had been more Viltrumites back then, two of them to be exact. And still, people fought. They refused to surrender.
But here… here, there was only one.
One Viltrumite.
Just one.
Maybe, just maybe, this world still had a chance.

I dropped my hands slowly, heart pounding with something unfamiliar: hope.
“If I could reach them,” I whispered. “If I could contact Atom Eve, or Robot, or anyone who still believed in doing the right thing…” My breath caught in my throat. “…Maybe they could stop him.”

The real problem, of course, was how to contact them. Heroes like Atom Eve or the Guardians of the Globe didn’t just show up because someone asked nicely. They only responded to large-scale threats…things that shattered skylines, made the news, and left entire cities scrambling to recover.

And Atom Eve... well, she hadn’t been in the news for a while. That silence gnawed at me.
Was she just laying low? Had she retired? Or…god forbid…had something happened to her? Maybe she’d lost her powers? That would be a catastrophe. Her ability to manipulate matter at will was possibly the only advantage we had. If she hadn’t them in this version of the world, then...then maybe this dimension didn’t stand a chance either.

"It takes something really serious to get the Guardians of the Globe involved," I murmured under my breath, resting my chin on my palm. My fingers tapped lightly against my cheek as I stared blankly at the TV screen, my thoughts miles away.

Something big. Something dangerous. Something that would make them drop everything and come running….But not too dangerous. Not something that would actually hurt anyone. Especially not the patients in this hospital, people already clinging to life. I couldn’t be responsible for any more suffering, no matter how desperate I was.

Still... it was becoming painfully clear: if I wanted their attention, I’d have to play the villain. Just for a little while. Set the stage, create a believable threat, enough to make them come to me.
I swallowed hard, shame rising in my throat like bile.
A fire: maybe that would do it. A blaze in the east wing, spreading fast. A panicked evacuation. A girl at the center of it all. People screaming. Nurses running for safety….yeah, that would definitely make headlines. But people could die.
I shut my eyes and let out a long breath through my nose. “No. No way... That’s not an option.”

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, and buried my face in my hands. My brain was running in circles. There had to be another way…something believable, urgent, but safe. A bluff that looked just real enough to trigger the right response. Then something clicked.
“A bomb,” I whispered, eyes widening. “A bomb in the hospital basement...” It was just an idea. Just smoke and mirrors. But it might work.

I leapt to my feet and darted to the window. My breath fogged up the glass as I looked down into the courtyard. If I played it right, I could spark enough panic to clear the hospital. No real threat. Just the illusion of one: an anonymous tip, a suspicious device, a perfectly timed fire alarm. The Guardians would have no choice but to investigate. And when they arrived…I’d be there, waiting.
It was reckless. Stupid, even…but it might be the only chance I had.

My thoughts were still spinning when the door creaked open behind me. I turned sharply, heart leaping in my throat…but it was just my parents. My mom stepped inside first, holding a small plastic container: homemade cake. Behind her, my dad entered with a tired smile and settled into the plastic chair by the bed. The tension in my shoulders eased, but only slightly.

“What are you doing by the window, sweetheart?” my mom asked gently. “You should be resting after all those tests.”

“I just needed some air,” I replied, moving back to sit on the edge of the bed. “The view helps me think.”
She came closer, handing me the container without another word. I opened it slowly. Chocolate cake, her signature. It was sweet of her, I supposed…comforting, even. But that didn’t mean I could let my guard down. “Thanks…” I mumbled, taking a small bite.

My dad leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “How are the tests going? You feeling okay?”

I shrugged. “They said my results are... strange. Like I never had leukemia at all.” His eyebrows pulled together in concern, but he didn’t say anything. I continued, trying to sound casual. “They’re comparing everything: my old test results, the treatments I got over the years, how often, how intense… everything. They’re trying to figure out how this is even possible.”

“A long process, huh?” he said, glancing toward my mom. Her face was unreadable. She stood quietly beside the bed, smiling faintly…but there was something off, something in her eyes. She looked at me the way people look at a puzzle missing its final piece. Like she didn’t quite believe I was real. “They told us they’ll need at least a month before they discharge you,” she said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear as if I were five years old again.

A month? Panic flickered in my chest. That was too long. I didn’t have a month. Every second that passed was another second closer to disaster…and no one else could see it coming.

“In the meantime…” she dug into her purse and pulled out a small white box. “Remember what I promised you during your last check-up? I finally found one. I’ve been spending more time here…just in case something happened.”

I frowned. “But visiting hours are strict. You’re only allowed in for part of the day. Why were you here all the time? Why not go home? Get some sleep?”

She didn’t answer. She just handed me the box. I opened it slowly: inside was a sleek new phone. Brand new, high-tech, probably expensive.
My fingers hovered over the screen. Something about this felt... wrong. Still, I started setting it up. My parents watched me in silence, their presence suddenly feeling more like surveillance than support.

What did she mean, ‘in case something happened to me? The tests weren’t dangerous. At least, they weren’t supposed to be. Everything I was going through now had already happened…to the other version of me. The one from this world. Unless she was worried about something else. Unless she thought... he might come back.

My fingers froze on the screen.
What if she wasn’t just worried? What if she knew something I didn’t? What if she was on his side?
I forced myself to keep a neutral expression as my mind spiraled through worst-case scenarios. I couldn’t trust anyone…not completely, not anymore.

It was one of the newest models. Sleek, fast, expensive. I turned it over in my hands, letting my fingers trace the polished edge of the phone, pretending not to feel the quiet weight of suspicion settling in my chest. How the hell could they afford this?
I knew what my father did: police captain, respected, sure, but not exactly raking in luxury-level money. And my mother? She hadn’t worked a day since I’d known her. No job. No paycheck. Just home all day, doing chores, playing the devoted wife.

But those tests I’d undergone over the years weren’t cheap. Specialists, labs, machines that scanned your cells like they were pages in a book. Every visit, every overnight stay, every whispered conversation with a white coat... it all added up. Thousands, maybe tens of thousands of dollars. And yet their house still looked like it came straight out of a showroom. Every piece of furniture designer, every surface spotless.

It didn’t make sense, none of it did. “It’s really nice,” I said at last, forcing a grateful smile as I looked up. “I love it, thank you.”
They both relaxed a little, visibly reassured by my reaction. But my mind was already spiraling elsewhere. I needed out. “But I can’t stay here for a month,” I added quickly, clutching the phone just a little tighter. “I have to enroll in college. Midterms are right around the corner. Applications too. If I don’t show up in person... that’s it. I miss my window.”

They exchanged a glance. That kind of glance parents think you won’t notice: quiet, short, heavy with unspoken things.
“We know,” my dad said gently, his voice low and apologetic. “But there’s nothing we can do. I’ve talked to the staff…every single one of them. They’re firm about this, they won’t discharge you. Not yet…”

My breath caught in my throat. That couldn't be true. It shouldn’t be true. “This is illegal,” I snapped, fists clenched in my lap. “I’m not a minor anymore. I have rights. They can’t just keep me here against my will! I can decide for myself!”
I could feel the frustration bubbling up inside me, hot and sharp. It was suffocating. I couldn’t breathe in this place. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t move.

College wasn’t just some random goal: it was the only place I might be safe. Invincible might not think to look for me there. Or maybe he’d assume I wasn’t bold enough to show up. The hospital wasn’t a secret. If he really wanted to find me... this was the first place he’d check. What if he’d sat in these very halls, accompanied her during treatment? Watched the layout, memorized every exit? I wasn’t safe here. Not even close.

“We really tried everything, sweetheart,” my mom said, her voice soft, her hand sliding over mine. Her touch was warm, steady…comforting, in theory. “If we could’ve taken you home, we would’ve. I promise.”
Then she tilted her head, brows pulling slightly. “But... don’t you want to help people? People like you? These tests could lead to real change, real breakthroughs. That’s what you always said, isn’t it? That you wanted to make a difference?”

I hesitated. “I know, Mom, I remember.” My voice came out quieter. “But college can help me. I could learn something useful. Make new connections. Even run into Amber. I need...” I paused, then looked down. “I need a fresh start. Away from this.”

She didn’t answer. Just stared at me, like she wanted to believe me—but didn’t. The silence between us stretched like a tightrope.
My dad finally stepped in. “Amber! Hey, that’s your friend, right?” He smiled like he was trying to pull us out of the tension. “Have you reached out to her yet?”

I blinked at him. Really?
“I just got the phone today.”

“Riiight...” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

The rest of the visit passed in quiet waves. Small talk, forced laughter, the usual. No one mentioned the elephant in the room: the invisible cage I was being held in.

When they finally left, I waited. Fifteen minutes. Just enough time for the “guards”, nurses, doctors, whatever they were, to shift focus. I didn’t have another test scheduled for two hours. That gave me a small window. And I planned to use every second of it.
I slid on the oversized hospital hoodie and cracked my door open. The hallway was mostly clear. No staff, no visitors. Just pale lights and sterile silence.
I stepped out, closing the door quietly behind me, and moved fast.

The hospital was a maze…corridors that looked identical, walls plastered with confusing signage. I stopped at every intersection, squinting at arrows and names I didn’t recognize. “Seriously?” I muttered under my breath. “They stuck me in the most isolated room in the entire hospital?” It felt intentional. Like they’d wanted to keep me out of sight. Hide me. Like some kind of... experiment.

To get to the admissions area, I’d have to cross the courtyard. That’s where they did all the real stuff: surgeries, diagnostics, bloodwork. If I wanted to stage my little performance, I had to make it there first.
But then “Miss L/N?”
I froze.
The voice came from behind me. A nurse, maybe mid-thirties, holding several vials of blood samples. Her expression was surprised, more confused than angry. “What are you doing out of your room?”

My heart jumped into my throat. Time to bluff.
“I was just...” I turned around, trying to summon the most casual expression I could. “Heading to the café. In the other building, right? I thought I’d grab something warm.” I gave her a tight-lipped smile.

She blinked, then smiled in return. But it didn’t reach her eyes. “You know we can bring you anything you want, dear. You’re not allowed to leave the building. We’re here to take care of you-”
I ran. Didn’t wait for her to finish. Didn’t think. I just bolted. Her voice shouted behind me, echoing down the hall “Miss L/N!” but my legs were already moving, heart hammering against my ribs.

I pushed myself harder, lungs burning with every breath. I didn’t care where I was going, didn’t care what signs I passed. I just needed away.
Then, suddenly- doctors. Three of them stepped into the corridor ahead, blocking the exit. I didn’t slow down. I veered to the left and slammed my shoulder into a metal cart full of vials and syringes. It toppled with a crash, scattering samples across the floor.
Maybe some of them were mine, didn’t matter.

I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop.
“Stop her!” The shout echoed off the sterile white walls, followed by a thundering of footsteps.

I barely made it five more steps before two nurses lunged at me from opposite sides, grabbing my arms with practiced strength and dragging me to the floor. The cold linoleum pressed against my back as they pinned me down, their grips unrelenting. They had me.

But this wasn’t over. Not even close.
This was only the beginning.
I twisted in their hold, gasping like a frightened animal. “Please listen to me! You don’t understand!” I cried, forcing tears to gather at the corners of my eyes. My voice shook as I channeled every ounce of panic I could fake. “There’s a bomb in the hospital!”

Silence dropped like a stone. The nurses froze.
“A bomb?” one of them repeated, eyes wide with disbelief. The younger of the two loosened her grip instinctively, glancing at her colleague. “Did she just say-”

“Where is it?” another voice asked, urgent.
But not everyone was so easily rattled.

“Oh, come on. She’s clearly making this up.” Great. At least not all of them were gullible. I’d have to push harder.

“I swear…I swear on everything I love!” I shouted, breath hitching. “I saw a guy, he looked... off. He was running down my hallway just minutes ago! He had something in his hands! I think he planted it in the basement. You have to believe me, call the cops, evacuate the hospital, please! If we don’t act now, people are going to die!”

Another pause. The air crackled with tension.

One of the nurses looked at me, then at the others, visibly torn. “We have procedures for this. We can’t just ignore a threat like that.”

“Screw procedures,” said another, already dialing. “I’m calling 911.”

A second nurse jumped into action. “We’ll need backup, now.”

Voices rose around me like a tidal wave: shouting, frantic orders, radio static blaring. Everyone was moving, arguing, scrambling to respond. That was my moment. In the chaos, I slipped out of their grasp like water through cupped hands. No one noticed, too busy reacting, too overwhelmed by the lie I’d just planted.

I sprinted. The emergency exit sign glowed like salvation. “Finally!” I gasped as I shoved the heavy door open and stumbled into the courtyard. The cool air hit me like a slap, but I didn’t stop. People milled about the courtyard: nurses on break, visitors clutching coffee cups, a child playing with a balloon.

I didn’t hesitate. I raised my voice and screamed, “There’s a bomb in the hospital! Get out, get out now!” Heads turned, some blinked at me in confusion, a few laughed nervously, unsure if I was serious. But I didn’t stop. “I’m not kidding! You need to evacuate! Go! Run!” I kept shouting, again and again, as I ran toward the main building’s entrance.

It was like lighting a fuse.
Skepticism turned to fear, people scattered in every direction, pushing past one another, shoving chairs out of the way. Bags hit the ground. Screams erupted. Someone dropped their phone. Another tripped and had to be dragged up by a friend. It worked. Chaos bloomed around me like fire in dry grass. And I ran straight into the heart of it.

The lobby inside was enormous: full of echo and tension, it was packed shoulder to shoulder with patients, doctors, families. A kid was crying in the corner. A woman clutched a clipboard to her chest.
“There’s a bomb in the basement! You need to evacuate right now!” I screamed again, my voice hoarse.

Dozens of heads turned in my direction. I could feel their fear, their uncertainty. It hung in the air like thick fog. And then, right on cue, a sharp beep sounded overhead. The emergency speaker crackled to life.
“Code Black. Initiate evacuation protocol. Repeat: Code Black.”

That was it. Panic detonated.
People surged toward the doors like a wave crashing through a narrow canyon. I was jostled and thrown, caught in the tide of elbows and bodies. Someone’s bag hit me in the ribs, right where my bruises hadn’t healed. I winced, nearly lost my balance, but kept going. Pain didn't matter. Not now. I had to get to the basement.

I let myself be carried back out into the courtyard, where the chaos had fully spread. Dozens, maybe hundreds, were fleeing now, like ants from a kicked nest. I spun around, eyes scanning for any entrance that wasn’t being flooded with terrified civilians.
“Come on, come on...” There! A white maintenance door tucked beneath an overhang. No crowd. No cameras. Perfect.
I shoved my way against the current, muttering apologies I didn’t mean, forcing myself toward that door. It was locked. Of course. I cursed under my breath, eyes darting around until they landed on a jagged piece of metal near the bushes. Probably part of some construction debris. I grabbed it without thinking, jammed it into the door’s lock, and wrenched until it clicked.

The door swung open. Inside, the hallway was dark and humming with the low buzz of fluorescent lights. One of them flickered, casting everything in a sickly glow.
I pulled the door shut behind me and took off running, my footsteps echoing. The air was colder here, laced with disinfectant and something metallic.

Stairs. I found them at the end of the hall.
I didn’t hesitate, just started descending, two steps at a time, heart pounding like a drum in my chest.

Down.
Down.
Down.

Finally, I reached the bottom.
A massive yellow door stood before me, clearly marked with bold black letters:
STORAGE / RESTRICTED ACCESS.
This was it. The basement.
Behind this door were piles of waste bins, sterile disposal units, and a stockpile of medical resources that matched the size and importance of the facility. Enough to last through a siege. Or... enough to make something disappear quietly, without a trace.
I reached for the handle. This was where things would really begin. I flipped the switch.

For a moment, nothing happened, just a heavy silence pressing in on me like a second skin, then, with a sharp flicker, the overhead lights buzzed to life one by one, bathing the space in a sterile, flickering glow. My breath caught in my throat.

It was like stepping into some sort of forgotten cathedral, all steel and silence. Cold gray walls stretched out endlessly, lined with rows upon rows of industrial shelving. Each one was stacked high with cardboard boxes and sealed crates, hundreds of them…no… thousands. The entire basement stretched beneath the hospital like a hidden world. Tucked away. Unseen. Vast.

I craned my neck to look up at the ceiling, which seemed miles above me. My voice came out as a breathless whisper. “This place is… huge.”
But I didn’t have the luxury of standing around in awe.
I had a job to do and not much time to do it.

I needed to be found somewhere noticeable. Somewhere that couldn’t be ignored. Somewhere that would look suspicious enough to draw attention, but not so suspicious that they’d immediately realize I was bluffing. The center of the basement would work. It was far enough in to feel secretive, but visible enough to sell the story. If I stacked a few boxes to look like a hidden explosive… maybe that would be enough. Not perfect, just believable.

But then came the harder part.
What would I do when they showed up? How would I act? What would I say? If they found me alone in a place like this, would they immediately assume I was behind it all? Some unhinged lunatic who’d orchestrated the chaos? Would they take me down on sight, ask questions later? Or would they look at me and see someone scared and cornered? A victim. A civilian. A girl out of her depth.

I couldn’t predict that. I had to be prepared for all of it. I needed backup plans, alternate explanations, escape routes…anything that would keep me from freezing when the moment came. Swallowing hard, I forced myself to move.

The boxes weren’t light. I dug my fingers under one and tugged, grunting with the effort. My muscles strained. They barely budged. I gave up trying to look effortless and instead leaned my full weight into dragging them. Eventually, I managed to shift three into a rough cluster. It looked messy. Desperate. Almost convincing.

That was when I heard it.
A sound, barely audible over the hum of the lights, but unmistakable. A soft whoosh of movement. Controlled. Quick. Someone flying through the aisles, smooth as silk. My breath hitched.

They were here.

I dropped down beside the boxes, adrenaline surging through my veins. My mind raced. I still didn’t know what kind of expression to wear: terror, confidence, guilt, helplessness? I abandoned the idea of choosing and let instinct take the reins.
“Help!” I shouted, my voice breaking as I forced panic into my tone. “The bomb!”
The footsteps, no, the flight, slowed. Hovering. Searching for the source of the cry.

Had to be Atom Eve. Perfect.

“It was Invincible! He did it!” I figured I’d get ahead of the narrative. If I sounded afraid enough, if I looked helpless enough, maybe she’d buy it. Maybe she’d hesitate long enough for the rest to fall into place.
I stayed still, lowering myself to the ground with my hands clasped behind my back, as if I’d been tied up. I even let out a few shaky breaths, adding the illusion of a breakdown.
“Invincible planted the bomb! He wants to kill me…and everyone else!”

Then I heard it. A voice that made my entire body lock up: low, furious, familiar.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

I didn’t turn around. I couldn’t.
My heart dropped. No.
Not her. Him.
Why was he here? Why wasn’t it the Guardians? Why wasn’t it Eve?
What did this mean?

“Still trying to make me look like the bad guy?” he snarled, his voice cut like a blade. He was hovering behind me, the weight of his presence sinking into my spine like a loaded gun pointed at the back of my neck.

My breathing picked up, shallow and frantic. I could feel sweat sliding down the side of my face, my palms clammy, my chest tight with panic.
But I couldn’t shut down. Not now.
I forced my voice to work. I didn’t let it tremble. “I told you I wouldn’t let you kill my people,” I said, each word deliberate, measured. Despite the chaos inside me, my voice came out steady…stronger than I felt. “I can’t stop you on my own. But who said I have to do it alone?”

In a blink, he was in front of me.
He didn’t move like a person, more like a storm, his cape still floated weightlessly, suspended by some invisible force, even though he stood perfectly still, arms crossed. His dark goggles gleamed under the fluorescent light, hiding his eyes, his expression. It made him unreadable. Untouchable. My stomach twisted.

“What exactly were you trying to do?” he barked. “You caused mass panic. This hospital was thrown into chaos. People fled in terror. Terminal patients who couldn’t even be moved were put in danger because of you!” His words hit like gunfire. Sharp. Precise. Merciless. He said it like it was fact. Like he believed it. But how could I trust that he wasn’t twisting the truth? How could I know this wasn’t another tactic…another performance, to make me feel guilty?

I clenched my jaw “Don't act like you care about those people! This is all your fault, admit it!” I snapped. “Go on, say you’re planning to take over the planet in front of the whole world, and my debt will be paid!” I was locked so deep in the role I hadn’t even noticed I was still kneeling, hands behind me, legs stiff against the cold concrete.

“You wouldn’t stop there,” he muttered. His voice dropped to something more dangerous, quieter, but filled with venom. “You want me gone.”

And there it was. He finally understood.
“Of course I want you gone,” I spat. “You’re a threat to society!” My body jerked forward, fueled by instinct, by fury, by fear. I leaned toward him, like I wanted to scream in his face. But he didn’t flinch. He didn’t move. To him, I wasn’t a threat, I was just a bug. A bug he could crush at any moment. And he knew it.

“I’ve had enough of this.” His voice was low, lethal. Each syllable cut through the heavy silence like a blade. He dropped from the air with force, boots slamming against the concrete. The impact echoed through the vast basement, reverberating off metal walls and endless rows of crates. He stalked toward me, eyes hidden behind those dark lenses, but I could still feel the fury radiating off him.

I scrambled backward on instinct, palms scraping against the floor until my back collided with the cardboard boxes. My breath caught. Trapped. He didn’t stop. “If I kill you now,” he said, tone almost casual, like we were discussing the weather, “and blow up this hospital… your parents will think you died in the explosion. They’ll never know the bomb was fake.”

His words rolled off his tongue like they meant nothing. But to me, they hit like a sledgehammer. I knew that voice…that tone: detached, practical, cruel. It reminded me of something. Of a certain someone.
I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to meet his gaze, even if I couldn’t see his eyes. “Oh, so that’s your plan?” I snapped, venom lacing my words. “You’re going to kill me the same way you killed her? My variant?” I tilted my head slightly, keeping my voice razor-sharp. “Am I doomed to die the same interdimensional death? Help me out here…I’m just trying to understand.”

I wanted to get under his skin. To make him feel something. Guilt, remorse…anything. Especially after he’d spoken so callously of the other version of me. One he’d already erased from existence. But he didn’t flinch. Didn’t pause. Didn’t care. Killing me wouldn't weigh on him. If anything, it might ease whatever conscience he still had left.

His elbow rose.
His fist clenched.
He was going to do it.
And he would have…if something hadn’t stopped him.
A voice rang out from above. Metallic. Controlled. Unfazed. “Omni-Invincible.” The sound bounced through the basement like a gunshot. A blur of orange dropped from the steel beams high above, landing with a metallic thud that shook the floor. Dust kicked up around him. The figure straightened, the glow of polished orange armor reflecting the harsh overhead lights.

Robot.
For a split second, I couldn’t breathe. Relief, confusion, and terror mixed in my chest. If Robot was here, then…the Guardians were here too.
Invincible slowly lowered his arm. Not because he was afraid…but because he didn’t have to be afraid. He was confident, even with witnesses.

“I see you’ve found a civilian,” Robot said calmly, stepping forward. His voice was steady. Mechanical. Impossible to read, but not immediately accusatory. That gave me hope.

“Yeah, but she’s fine,” Invincible said, waving a dismissive hand in my direction. “There’s no bomb. She made the whole thing up.” He didn’t even look at me as he said it, just pointed, like I was some exhibit at a museum. A curiosity. A freak show.

Robot tilted his head slightly, green optics flickering. “Forgive me, but I don’t quite understand what you mean by that.” His voice was mild. Almost soothing in its neutrality. Unlike Invincible, Robot wasn’t here to make threats, he was here to gather information. And more importantly, he was no fool. Working with the GDA, he had seen things. He knew how dangerous Invincible could become. Knew better than to take him at his word.

“She’s trying to frame me,” Invincible muttered darkly.

That was it. I was done staying silent.
“I’m not framing anyone!” I shouted, my voice echoing off the cold walls. “I’m telling the truth!”
I pushed myself to my feet, fists clenched, heart pounding. “I’m trying to save the world! He’s the one who wants to destroy it! He’s going to follow in his father’s footsteps…murder thousands!”

I turned to Robot, looking him square in the eyes, or what passed for them. “Please. I’m not a hero. I’m not strong. But you are. You and the Guardians…you’re the only ones who can stop him.” Robot didn’t respond right away. Just stood there, as if processing every word. I could almost see the calculations running through his circuits.

But Invincible didn’t give him time. “Yeah, sounds like another Powerplex situation,” he said, his voice dripping with contempt. “Let me guess. Lost a family member, needs someone to blame… Am I right? Chicago? Two years ago?” He knew exactly what to say to break me. And he did.

My chest tightened. My fists shook. I saw red.
Before I could stop myself, I launched forward, screaming, hitting him with everything I had. Punch after punch rained down on his chest. They landed with dull, useless thuds, like fists striking concrete. He didn’t even try to defend himself. Maybe because he knew I couldn’t hurt him. Or maybe because he wanted to watch me try. “You bastard!” I shrieked. “You monster! You’re going to hand this planet over to Viltrum…I know it!”

I slapped him across the face. He didn’t move.
Robot still stood in silence. Observing.
“She’s unstable,” Invincible said. “A danger to others.”
He grabbed the front of my hoodie and yanked me back. My feet dragged along the floor as I fought him, teeth bared, clawing at his wrist. “Not a threat to us, obviously,” he added. “But to everyone else? Definitely.”

“I would never hurt innocent people!” I yelled, thrashing in his grip. “You’re the one who needs to disappear from this planet!” In desperation, I latched onto his gloved wrist with both hands and sank my teeth into the fabric, trying to pierce through to the skin. He didn’t even flinch. “What do you think, Robot?” he asked, voice bored now. “Let her go… or toss her in prison?”

Robot took a moment. Processing.
His lenses flicked toward me. Then toward Invincible.
Finally, he spoke. “Considering the circumstances, the damage to the hospital, the panic caused, the unnecessary involvement of law enforcement and Guardians alike…” His voice was flat. Icy. Mechanical “…prison seems the most appropriate option.”
There was no empathy. No emotion. Just calculated judgment. The kind that stung worse than any punch.

I wanted to scream. To beg. To explain more.
But I knew it wouldn’t matter. Invincible, on the other hand, looked oddly… disappointed. As if he’d expected a different verdict. As if he’d hoped Robot might be harsher. Or perhaps, deeper down, he hadn’t wanted me locked away at all. But none of that changed the outcome. I was alone. Powerless. And they had made their decision.

“Robot! Please… you have to believe me…at least you!” My voice cracked with desperation, barely holding back tears. “I lived through it. Invincible… and his father, they destroyed Earth. I know the truth, Robot. You have to listen!” My chest tightened, and a sting of tears blurred my vision. Was this really how it was going to end? Locked away, branded a criminal for trying to warn them? All I wanted was to build an alliance to stop him. The only chance we had left.

But Robot’s response was calm, almost clinical, as if my pain was irrelevant. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” he said quietly. “Omni Man was killed by Omni-Invincible before he could do any more damage. You must be confusing this with the Chicago incident. But at that time, Omni-Invincible was doing everything in his power to stop his father, despite the casualties.” He paused. His voice dropped to an almost final tone. “Omni-Invincible is entirely innocent. In fact, he’s been assisting us for the past two years.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Even Robot had fallen for his carefully constructed mask? “Omni-Man saved lives for years too,” I snapped bitterly, “and look how that turned out!”
Invincible finally released me. My feet hit the cold floor, solid and steady. I squared my shoulders and faced Robot directly.
“Robot,” I said, voice firm despite the exhaustion clawing at my throat, “if you care even a little about the survival of humanity, you have to find a way to stop him.”

Invincible let out a low chuckle, a smirk playing across his lips. “A way to stop me? That’s adorable. I don’t have any weaknesses.”

Robot stepped forward, extending a hand toward me in an almost courteous gesture. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we need to escort you out of the hospital.”
Invincible’s eyes never left the gesture, sharp and watchful as a hawk surveying its prey. “You’ll be taken to headquarters for questioning,” he added coolly.

But I refused his hand, crossing my arms stubbornly as if I were a child in protest. “Not a chance. I’m staying right here. I’m not throwing my life away in some damn prison.”

The two of them exchanged a brief, confused glance.
“You’ve already ruined the lives of several patients and their families with this pathetic stunt,” Invincible said with infuriating calm, as if that justified everything. “It’s clearly your fault.”

I clenched my fists, biting back a scream. That was exactly what he wanted: me broken, reduced to a hysterical wreck. Instead, I spat on the floor in front of him. “I hope you die soon, asshole.”
Before I could react, Robot’s metal arm was around me, lifting me over his shoulder with effortless strength. I struggled, but it was no use.
Dragging me toward the exit, I muttered bitterly, “You really disappoint me, Robot…” And no matter how much I fought, I was powerless to break free.