Did someone said, "gojo being the main suspect would be funny…" well here it is…
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Before Cecil gave Robot the Information about Guardians of the Globe Massacre news, and robot told his team:
The scene inside the Guardians of the Globe headquarters was a nightmare frozen in time. The lights flickered ominously overhead, casting jagged shadows across the blood-slicked floor.
The air hung heavy, thick with the sharp, metallic tang of blood and the faint crackle of broken tech.
Cecil Stedman stepped through the entrance, his GDA team fanning out behind him, their boots stepping on someone's eye and blood puddle.
What greeted them wasn't just a crime scene—it was a massacre, a brutal end to Earth's mightiest protectors at that.
The bodies of the Guardians lay scattered in ruin, each one a testament to the sheer violence that had torn through the room.
The Immortal's headless corpse slumped against a wall, his neck a ragged stump, blood pooling beneath him.
War Woman's massive frame was crumpled nearby, her skull caved in, one arm twisted at an impossible angle. Red Rush, the speedster, was a smear of red and white across the floor—his body broken apart like he'd been hit mid-run by something unstoppable.
Darkwing dangled from the ceiling, his grappling line tangled around his snapped neck. Green Ghost's translucent form had solidified in death, her torso split open, guts spilling out.
Martian Man's tentacles lay severed around him, his bulbous head crushed flat like a paper. Aquarus, the aquatic hero, was a mangled heap, his trident snapped in two beside him, water mixing with blood in a grotesque puddle.
The room itself told a story of overwhelming force. The floor was smeared with crimson streaks, cracked in places where something—or someone—had hit with devastating power.
Deep fissures spiderwebbed up the walls, chunks of concrete hanging loose, and the reinforced steel beams overhead were bent like cheap wire.
At the center of it all lay Omni-Man, barely clinging to life. His Viltrumite body, usually a fortress of invulnerability, was a wreck—pushed past limits Cecil didn't think possible.
Fractured ribs jutted through his torn skin, sharp and jagged, glistening wetly under the flickering lights. Deep lacerations crisscrossed his torso, almost surgical in their precision, as if carved by something deliberate and unrelenting.
His left eye socket was a shattered mess, the swelling so severe his face barely looked human anymore, and his breaths came in shallow, rattling gasps—internal bleeding, no doubt.
Yet, despite the ruin of his form, he was alive, chest rising faintly while the others lay in pieces around him.
Cecil knelt beside Omni-Man, his mind racing as he studied the fallen hero. If someone else did this… who the hell's strong enough to nearly kill a Viltrumite? The question gnawed at him, but another followed fast: And why leave him—only him—alive? He waved over the emergency medics, barking, "Stabilize him, now—get him to the GDA facility. Move!" The team rushed in, hooking up portable machines, staunching the bleeding as best they could while Cecil stood, scanning the room again.
Something wasn't right. This wasn't a random slaughter—it was a fight, a brutal, calculated clash.
The destruction screamed multiple impacts—fists or bodies slamming into walls, floors buckling under force, blood sprayed in arcs like a battle had raged. Cecil's gut twisted. Omni-Man's wounds were too perfect, too severe for a lone survivor caught off guard.
'Was he fighting them? Or… something else?' He clenched his jaw, watching the medics hoist Omni-Man onto a stretcher, the Viltrumite's ragged breathing the only sound cutting through the silence.
Whatever had happened here, Cecil knew one thing: the truth was buried under this bloodbath, and he'd dig it out, no matter what it took.
His sharp eyes darting between the broken bodies and the flickering lights above.
The medics worked frantically to stabilize Omni-Man, their machines beeping in the heavy silence, but Cecil's mind was elsewhere—churning, piecing together fragments of a puzzle that didn't yet fit.
Something… someone… something unexpected, he thought, his fingers tightening around the edge of his comm device. And then, unbidden, a name surfaced in his head: Gojo Satoru.
Exactly 23 days ago, Gojo had appeared in the city like a ghost—no records, no background, just there. Cecil remembered the first report that crossed his desk, flagged as routine until now.
It was 23 days back—Gojo's debut, saving the Teen Team from a mutated villain tearing through downtown.
The thing was a grotesque bio-experiment—slimy, tentacled, a walking nightmare stitched together in some lab. Surveillance footage from that day had caught it all, though the details were… odd.
The villain had lunged at Gojo, all snarling rage and whipping limbs, only to freeze midair—an inch from his smirking face—like an invisible hand had snatched it back.
Then, with a casual wave, Gojo sent it rocketing upward, incapacitating it without so much as stepping forward and then when the mutated villain was falling he became like a magnet.
The containment team had hauled it away, but Gojo? He'd just grinned on his mouth, and shrugged it off.
That power—mysterious, effortless—stuck with Cecil now. Gojo's attitude had been just as striking: relaxed, almost playful, like a kid messing around instead of a hero facing a threat. Robot's initial assessment had flagged him as unpredictable, maybe even mentally unstable, but Cecil had brushed it off.
The world was full of weirdos with powers; Gojo wasn't special. After the fight, he'd casually agreed to help the Teen Team part-time, tossing out some vague line about something with no real backstory to back it up.
No ID, no history—just a white-haired guy with glowing eyes and a smirk. Cecil had let it slide—another superhuman in a sea of them.
But now, standing in the blood-soaked wreckage of the Guardians' HQ, Cecil's perspective shifted. The Guardians were dead—torn apart, crushed, obliterated—and Omni-Man lay half-dead, the only survivor.
It had been 23 days since Gojo's first stunt with the Teen Team, 23 days of him floating around the city, pulling his push-and-pull tricks with no clear origin. That timing gnawed at Cecil.
Too convenient, he thought, his jaw tightening. He'd ignored Gojo at first—another anomaly in a world full of them—but this massacre demanded fresh eyes. And Gojo? He wasn't just an oddity anymore; he was a suspect.
Cecil's mind raced back to that footage—the way Gojo stopped the villain cold, no effort, no strain. That kind of power could crack walls, snap bones, tear through a team like the Guardians if he wanted.
No one knew where he'd come from or what he was really capable of—just that he could do things no one else could, and he did it with a grin. 'If he's got that kind of strength…' Cecil's thoughts trailed off as he glanced at Omni-Man's broken form, ribs jutting out, face a swollen ruin.
'Could he take down a Viltrumite? Leave him alive to sell the story?' It didn't add up yet—not fully—but the pieces were there, taunting him.
Gojo wasn't just a part-time hero anymore; he was a wildcard, and Cecil didn't like wildcards in a game this bloody. He'd dig deeper—starting now.
Donald came and reported, "No surveillance footage to explain it, the feeds mysteriously cut off before this carnage began. No visuals, no witnesses, just the aftermath." Cecil's eyes narrowed as he took it in, "Shouldn't you start with some good news Donaled."
"There isn't any…!"
"What?"
"Good News!"
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A/N: Gojo is the main suspect without even him knowing hahahaha👾😅
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