Cecil stepped into the GDA medical wing, the sterile air hitting him like a wall as the heavy doors hissed shut behind him.
The facility buzzed with controlled chaos—medics in white coats darted between stations, machines beeped rhythmically, and GDA agents stood watch, their rifles slung low but ready.
At the center of it all was a reinforced medical pod, its thick glass fogged slightly from the cold.
Inside lay Omni-Man, hooked up to a tangle of tubes and wires—pulse monitors blinking, high-grade healing equipment clamped to his hands, pumping regenerative fluids into his battered Viltrumite frame.
His wounds were knitting together, the deep lacerations and fractured ribs closing faster than any human could, but slower than a Viltrumite should.
The medics hovered nearby, muttering to each other, their faces creased with confusion at the sluggish recovery.
Cecil stood by the pod, arms crossed, his sharp eyes fixed on Omni-Man's swollen, bandaged face through the glass.
Donald, his right-hand man, lingered a step behind, clipboard in hand, silent but alert. The room hummed with tension, every beep of the machines amplifying the weight of the moment.
Cecil's mind churned, replaying the massacre at Guardians HQ—the blood-smeared floor, the cracked walls, the precision of the carnage. Omni-Man's survival gnawed at him.
Viltrumites were damn near invincible, yet here he was, broken but breathing, while the others were torn apart.
'Did he do this? Stage it?' Cecil wondered, his jaw tightening. 'Or did something—someone—outmatch him?' Gojo's name flickered in his thoughts again—that white-haired enigma who'd popped up a month ago, tossing around like it was a game. It didn't fit yet, but it lingered, an itch he couldn't ignore.
The doors banged open, and Mark stormed in, still clad in his Invincible suit—yellow and blue streaked with dust from a frantic flight across the city.
His fists were clenched, his jaw locked tight, barely holding back the storm inside him. Debbie trailed close behind, her face pale and drawn, clutching a small bag like it was all she had left to anchor her.
Her eyes found Omni-Man in the pod, relief crashing into dread as she took in his battered state—swollen face, bandages soaked with red, chest rising unevenly.
Mark didn't slow down. He went straight to the pod and clenched his dad hand, the impact rattling the frame. "Dad—what the hell happened?!" His voice cracked, raw with anger and fear, a kid facing something he couldn't punch away.
Debbie reached for him, her hand trembling as she grabbed his arm. "Mark, stop—he's hurt," she whispered, her voice soft but strained, pleading. Mark wasn't able to listen to her for some reason, his glare fixed on dad unconscious form, unable to come up with something boiling over.
Cecil watched the scene play out, his face a mask of calm—unreadable, steady, the way he always held it together. He cleared his throat, a sharp sound that cut through the tension, pulling Mark and Debbie's eyes to him.
"He's stable, Mark," he said, voice even and measured, the classic Cecil tone that promised control even when the world was falling apart. "We're doing everything we can." Mark's head snapped toward him, registering the older man for the first time.
Cecil stepped forward slightly, nodding. "Cecil Stedman, Director of GDA. I'm handling this." His introduction was curt, professional, but his gaze lingered on Mark, reading the kid's anger like an open book.
Mark stood by the medical pod, his hand still pressed against the glass, staring at Cecil with a mix of confusion and suspicion.
His Invincible suit was dusty, the yellow and blue smeared from his rush to get here, and his goggles hung loose around his neck.
"How do you know me?" he asked, voice sharp, cutting through the hum of the machines. "I'm in my costume—" His eyes narrowed, searching Cecil's face for an answer, his mind racing to figure out how this stranger had his number.
Cecil let out a low chuckle, a dry sound that didn't quite reach his eyes, and shifted his weight, hands still crossed over his chest. "Kid, I'm Cecil Stedman, director of the Global Defense Agency. If I can't keep tabs on a new superhero joining the Teen Team, then what's the point of me running this?" He tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Robot told me about you the day you signed up—said Gojo brought you in, and I greenlit it. Been keeping an eye on you since, Invincible. That's how I know who you are."
"Oh, so you showed up here in a costume—why, exactly? Because I know Nolan, I know Deborah, and I know you too. And then you come barging in, yelling 'Dad' like that… Did you really think I wouldn't know that?"
Mark blinked, the pieces clicking into place. He relaxed just a fraction, dropping his hand from the glass and extending it toward Cecil. "Oh… right, okay," he muttered, shaking Cecil's hand with a firm grip, though his mind was still spinning.
Debbie stepped forward, her face tight with worry and anger, clutching her bag like a shield. "You've got a lot of nerve—" she started, her voice trembling with emotion, ready to unload on Cecil for something. But before she could finish, Cecil raised a hand, his expression hardening as he cut her off.
"Hold that thought, Deborah," he said, his tone shifting to something heavier. "I've got news—bad news. Last night, someone murdered the Guardians of the Globe." He paused, letting the weight settle, then went on, voice steady but grim.
"They were torn apart—limb from limb, brutal as it gets. The Immortal, War Woman, Red Rush, all of them—ripped to pieces, barely recognizable. We tried everything to bring them back, but there was nothing left to save. Nolan's the only survivor, found half-dead in the middle of it. We don't know why he was at their headquarters—best guess is whoever did this lured him there, same as the others."
Mark's hand froze mid-shake, dropping limp to his side as his jaw slackened. Debbie's bag slipped an inch in her grip, her eyes widening in horror.
"What?" Mark choked out, his voice barely above a whisper. "How's that even possible?" He stumbled back a step, glancing at his dad's broken body in the pod—fractured ribs, swollen face, bandages soaked red—then back at Cecil.
"The Guardians… they're the strongest heroes on Earth. Who could do that? How could anyone—?" His words trailed off, disbelief crashing into anger.
Debbie clutched her bag tighter, her voice shaking as she echoed him. "How? They're… they're strong—Nolan's is the strongest. How does something like this happen?" Her eyes darted to Omni-Man, then to Cecil, searching for an answer that made sense, but the dread in her gut told her there wasn't one.
Cecil met their stares, his face unreadable, though his mind churned with the same questions—and suspicions he wouldn't voice yet.
'Gojo sudden appearance? Omni-Man being the only one alive? Something else? Something is wrong… definitely wrong.' He didn't know.
Cecil stood motionless for a moment, watching Mark and Debbie grapple with the bombshell he'd just dropped.
"Let's step out," Cecil said, his voice low but firm, cutting through the haze of Mark and Debbie's shock. "Give them some space with Nolan." He turned on his heel, the soles of his shoes clicking against the sterile floor as he headed for the exit, Donald falling in step behind him.
Mark didn't look up, his gaze locked on his father's swollen, bandaged face, while Debbie sank into a chair beside the pod, her breath hitching.
The doors slid shut behind Cecil and Donald with a soft hiss, sealing the family in their private storm.
Out in the corridor, the buzz of the medical wing faded to a muffled hum. Cecil stopped, hands slipping into his pockets as he stared down the hall, his sharp eyes narrowing.
Donald adjusted his clipboard, waiting for orders, his expression as stoic as ever. "Donald," Cecil started, his tone clipped, "get Gojo here. Call him direct if you can, or tell Robot to drag him to the GDA. I don't care how it happens—just make it fast. It's important." He paused, then added, "I've got some very important questions for that man, and he's not dodging me this time."
Donald nodded, already flipping open his comm device. "On it, sir. Robot's the quickest route—Gojo's been sticking close to the Teen Team. I'll relay the message." His fingers tapped out a quick command, sending the order through secure channels to Robot's system at the Teen Team base.