Chapter Text
The sky was gray, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves like whispered secrets. Nega Ben lounged on a picnic table, black boots propped on the bench, sipping on an off-brand energy drink that tasted vaguely like expired metal. Next to him, Nega Rex sat cross-legged on the tabletop, chewing on a day-old cinnamon roll like it was the only sustenance the world had left to offer.
Their conversations were the usual: existential rants about why ducks are always angry, ranking dead philosophers by edginess, and making fun of the awkward families waddling by.
It was almost peaceful.
Almost.
Then—sharp shouting. The unmistakable clack-clack of tactical boots on pavement. They both turned, squinting through the trees lining the path. Two figures in sleek, white-and-black armor sprinted into the park, weapons at the ready.
Between them was a man in a sharp green suit and dark green sunglasses, hands casually folded behind his back as if he wasn’t being escorted by two heavily armed operatives.
The moment Rex saw him, he stiffened.
Ben glanced at him. “Uh oh. You’re doing the face thing.”
“That’s Agent Six,” Rex muttered, voice lower than usual.
“Who?”
“Providence.” Rex’s tone was clipped now, wary. “He was supposed to be my handler. My ‘mentor.’ That is… if I’d stayed.”
Ben arched a brow. “You ran from a government job? That’s kind of punk rock.”
“Yeah, well, it was more like getting chained to a lab table and told I was a weapon,” Rex replied, bitterly. “I bounced before they could lock the collar.”
Ben hummed. “So… do we run or fight?”
Rex shook his head slowly. “Neither. Yet.”
Agent Six paused nearby, head tilting slightly toward them—but it wasn’t clear if he saw them or not. The soldiers flanking him scanned the area with quiet professionalism, their visors glowing faintly.
Then, as if it were nothing, Agent Six turned his head directly toward Rex.
“Rex,” he said simply. Not a shout. Not a threat. Just a name. Calm. Cold. Certain.
Ben leaned toward his friend. “Okay, I hate how he knows your name like that. Creepy.”
Rex didn’t respond. His eyes were narrowed, shoulders tense. The circuitry in his arms was already flickering—just faintly.
“Providence has been watching you,” Agent Six continued. “This isn’t a confrontation. It’s a request.”
Ben scoffed. “Great. Creepy men in suits always say it’s not a confrontation right before the guns come out.”
Six ignored him. “We need you back, Rex. You’ve seen the rise in EVO outbreaks. You’ve seen what’s coming.”
Rex clenched his fists. “I’m not your property.”
“You’re not. But you are the only known cure.”
Six adjusted his shades, his expression unreadable said green lenses. “You’ve come a long way. I’ve been watching.”
Rex’s jaw tensed, but not with anger this time—more like conflict. “Figures.”
Six didn’t press. He just spoke plainly. “For someone mostly self-taught, you’re handling your nanites better than expected. You’ve mastered stabilization protocols I didn’t think were possible without lab guidance.”
Ben gave Rex a side glance, clearly impressed, but said nothing.
Six continued, “You’ve helped people. Quietly. Effectively. Even with limited resources. But you’re still limiting yourself. There’s more you could do—with proper backup, training, equipment. You don’t have to carry it all on your own.”
Rex looked away for a moment, arms lowering slightly. For the first time in the conversation, his sharp edge dulled. He exhaled slowly.
“…You’re not wrong.”
Six didn’t move, letting the words hang.
Rex finally turned back to face him, voice quieter now. “You found me. Back then. You got me out of that wreckage when I was barely conscious, a kid with little to no memory other than his name. You were one of the few people at Providence that treated me like a kid instead of a monster or a potential weapon in the making. You saved me when they tried to dissect me. I remember that.”
Six blinked. “I was doing my job.”
“No,” Rex said, firmer. “You chose to help. You could’ve walked away like everyone else. I respect you for that.”
There was something unspoken in the space between them. Years of complicated, half-healed history. Ben shifted uncomfortably but didn’t interrupt.
“But this isn’t about you,” Rex added, softly. “My problem’s not with you, Six. It’s with Providence.”
A long pause.
Six tilted his head, almost imperceptibly. “Then come back and help change it.”
Rex shook his head. “You know it doesn’t work like that.”
Six’s expression didn’t change. He took a step back. “Then we’ll keep watching.”
He glanced at Ben briefly—calculating, curious, maybe even warning—before giving Rex a final nod. “Take care of yourself.”
With that, he turned, walking away in measured steps, his escort flanking him. The last echoes of bootsteps had long faded. The breeze had returned to its slow shuffle through the trees, brushing over the park like nothing had happened.
Rex sat on the bench again, elbows on his knees, fingers absentmindedly tapping against each other. Ben settled beside him, slow and quiet, arms folded and gaze distant—less defensive than usual.
For a while, neither said a word.
Then Ben spoke, voice low but steady. “You really looked up to him, huh?”
Rex sat back down on the bench, leaning forward on his knees. “Yeah.”
“You still do.”
“Yeah.”
Ben sat next to him, not saying anything for a while.
Then, he muttered, “For what it’s worth… I think you made the right call. Staying out of that place.”
Rex didn’t respond. But after a few seconds, he bumped Ben’s shoulder with his own.
“…Thanks.”
“…My grandpa was in a group like Providence once. Kind of.”
Rex looked over, curious.
“They called themselves the Plumbers, ” Ben went on, eyes still on the horizon. “Intergalactic police, basically. They handled aliens, smuggling rings, extradimensional threats. A bunch of old sci-fi nonsense most people still think is fake.”
“Let me guess,” Rex said. “He wore coveralls and carried a laser wrench?”
Ben almost smiled. “Nah. He wore Hawaiian shirts and kicked the crap out of space warlords with nothing but a badge and a grudge.”
Rex gave a dry chuckle. “Okay, that does sound cool.”
Ben’s expression softened, just slightly. “He wasn’t just cool. He was… the best. Everyone says so. He was the Magister of Earth—like the highest-ranking Plumber on the whole planet. Trained agents, made peace with empires, took on threats I can't even pronounce.”
“Sounds like a legend,” Rex murmured.
Ben nodded. “He was. Is. Even Gwen talks about him like he was some kind of anchor for the whole family.”
Rex looked at him sideways. “Did he help raise you?”
Ben went quiet.
A beat passed.
Then, barely audible: “No. He died before I ever got the chance.”
Rex blinked.
Ben didn’t look at him. His voice was steady, but it carried a weight he didn’t usually let show.
“I would’ve liked to meet him. I think… maybe things would've been different. If he’d been around when I got the Negatrix.” He scoffed lightly, bitter. “Maybe I wouldn’t have turned into some moody cautionary tale.”
Rex frowned. “You’re not a cautionary tale.”
Ben looked at him then—just a glance—and it was the most honest he'd looked all day. “You don’t know that.”
The breeze had chilled slightly. The world continued around them—dogs barking, car horns in the distance—but for Ben and Rex, it felt like they were sitting inside a bubble where nothing else mattered.
Ben leaned back, legs stretched out, eyes staring into nothing in particular.
“You know,” he muttered, “I do admire him. Max.”
Rex looked up at him, curious but not pushing.
“He was brave. Smart. Always a step ahead of the universe. I get why people looked up to him.” Ben scoffed quietly. “Hell, I even get why they expected me to follow in his footsteps.”
Rex raised an eyebrow. “But…?”
Ben’s mouth twitched—somewhere between a smirk and a sneer. “But the moment I made it clear I didn’t want to be some galactic boy scout, suddenly everyone treated me like I was defective.”
“Plumbers?”
Ben nodded. “Yeah. Bunch of old agents came sniffing around after I got the Negatrix. Thought I’d be the second coming of Max Tennyson. Even offered to fast-track me into the Corps.”
“And you told them to screw off?”
Ben let out a dry laugh. “I told them I wanted nothing to do with it. I didn’t ask for the watch. I didn’t ask to carry on anyone’s legacy . ”
He leaned forward now, eyes darkening. “And just like that, they flipped. Started saying I was wasting the tech. That I was a disgrace to Max. A disappointment. One guy even called me a blemish on his bloodline.”
Rex’s expression tightened. “That’s—”
“—Not surprising,” Ben finished bitterly. “Because it was never about me. It was about what I could be for them.”
A long pause.
Then Rex nodded, slow and solemn. “Yeah. I get that.”
Ben glanced at him. “Yeah?”
“I wasn’t born with powers. The nanites were an accident. Providence didn’t see a kid who needed help—they saw a resource. Something they could mold, control, weaponize.” He looked away. “And when I said no? Suddenly I was a threat.”
Ben smiled—crooked, tired, a little bitter. “We really are a pair of state-sponsored failures, huh?”
Rex chuckled, short and low. “Nah. We’re rejects . Sounds cooler.”
Ben snorted. “Fine. Rebranded disappointment squad.”
“Now with extra apathy,” Rex added dryly.
They both fell quiet again, but this time the silence was charged with something stronger than sadness. Solidarity.
Then Ben muttered, “I swear, if one more Plumber calls me ‘Max’s legacy’ again, I’m turning into Ripjaws and hurling myself into the nearest sewer.”
Rex just offered him the last bite of the stale cinnamon roll.
Ben blinked, then smirked and took it.