I Told You, I'm Invinci-(Invincible SI) Chapter 8 Full Update

Kate had never seen Robot this... animated. Not outwardly, of course—this was still Robot—but the signs were there if you knew how to look. The Teen Team headquarters had never been this spotless before. He’d vacuumed. Dusted. Repositioned every single piece of furniture in the common area at least three times. She swore he was trying to achieve some impossible platonic ideal of cleanliness and symmetry. 

And honestly? 

She found it kind of adorable.

This was the most passionate she’d ever seen him about anything that wasn’t combat algorithms or battle-readiness protocols.

Rex, naturally, found it unbearable.

“Fuck this shit!” he yelled after the fourth day. “He’s barged into my room like three times already, touching my stuff, rearranging my desk, and now I can’t find any of my underwear! All this over what? Some talking toaster with a superiority complex or a wannabe groupie who wants to polish Robot’s bolts?”

Kate rolled her eyes. “First of all, I’m ninety percent sure your underwear is in your drawer—the place it’s supposed to be—instead of one of the three piles you keep at the foot of your bed.”

“I have a system!” Rex shot back, indignant. “Fresh pile, worn once pile, and the pile for special occasions.”

She stared at him, horrified. “Special occasions?”

“You know. Like... if I’m fighting the Lizard League or I feel like I’m gonna be lucky with Eve later.”

“Oh my God, that is vile,” Kate groaned, visibly gagging. “And to think I used to have a crush on you.”

Rex grinned. “Used to? Babe, come on, no one just gets over this.”

She shot him a glare, and a middle finger to boot. Not supposed to flirt with me when you’re dating Eve, asshole. “Anyway. My point was that Robot having someone over? It’s kind of sweet. He’s always been all business, all mission, all the time. I didn’t even think he liked people. But now he’s prepping for a visit like it’s a state function. It’s... nice. It means he’s got something outside of this.”

And that, if she was honest, made her a little jealous.

Eve had a life outside the mask. She had school. A family, even if her parents were... complicated. She went on field trips. She wore clothes that weren’t skin-tight or reinforced with carbon mesh. She had a boyfriend who, at least at first, treated her like a goddess.

Robot? He could retire tomorrow and become the richest man alive just by selling his tech to Fortune 500 companies. The superhero gig was a choice for him. A very noble, very calculated choice, just like it was a choice for Eve.

But her? Rex? This was it. This was their ceiling.

Rex could barely cook ramen, and her own powers weren’t exactly marketable outside of a battlefield. She couldn’t build tech. She didn’t have any college-ready credentials. 

She…multiplied. That was her résumé.

That was why seeing Robot so... invested in someone who wasn’t part of their world was so meaningful. Because if anyone deserved to have more than this—more than the endless fights and near-death experiences—it was Robot.

He had saved her, after all. Freed her from government control, helped her forge her identity as Dupli-Kate instead of just some expendable asset to a shadowy agency. He had given her the chance to be something more, even if she didn’t exactly know what that more was supposed to be.

So yeah. Seeing him this preoccupied? 

This focused? This hopeful?

She’d take Rex’s whining and his so-called underwear-pocalypse any day if it meant Robot could have just one good thing in his life. Something that didn’t come with a tactical readout, predictive model, or a calculated margin of error. Something real.

He deserved that. More than any of them.

“C’mon,” she said, trying to steer the conversation away from Rex’s typical snark. “Aren’t you even a little curious who Robot’s friend is? I mean, what if he saved a rockstar or a tech mogul or someone huge and now they want to hang out?”

Rex barked out a laugh, loud and sharp. “Oh, sure. Robot saved somebody, had a nice little heart-to-heart, and they just happened to get over his whole ‘I’ve-got-the-face-of-a-skull’ vibe?” He threw a dramatic gesture in the air. “Yeah, I’m sure they were totally chill with the whole 'mysterious weirdo’ and ‘borderline government black-ops' energy he gives off.”

He leaned back, grinning. “Ten bucks says his 'friend' is just some crappy toy from MalWart that repeats whatever you say in a spooky voice. Or maybe it’s a talking fridge that gives you passive-aggressive reminders about your diet.”

Kate rolled her eyes but kept her smile. “You’re the worst,” she muttered, then raised an eyebrow. “Fine. Ten bucks says Robot’s friend is actually a human being and a cool one to boot. So cool even you’ll admit it.”

Rex grinned, clearly relishing the challenge. “Get ready to be disappointed and broke. This’ll be the easiest ten bucks of my life. Of course, if you’re short ten bucks, we can always trade in favors.”

He winked at her, and Kate smiled despite herself, doing her best to ignore the way her cheeks flushed from the attention.

Why can’t his obnoxiousness cancel out how good he looks? she thought with a sigh.

Sometimes, life really wasn’t fair.

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The platform descended with a familiar mechanical hum, its edges glowing faintly as it slowed to a halt in the Teen Team headquarters. The lift's speed, as always, made Kate raise an eyebrow—Robot really needed to fix it before someone got flung off the side one of these days.

Robot stood at the front of the platform, posture as composed as ever. Beside him, however, was someone unfamiliar—clad in what looked like a modified GDA uniform. The design was sleeker, tighter in fit, and more tactical in appearance. A bold green “I” insignia stretched across the chest.

“But I’m telling you, this movie still holds up!” the new arrival was saying, his voice carrying a strange mechanical undertone. It echoed faintly, distorted just enough to seem synthetic. One arm was slung casually around Robot’s shoulders, and the other waved a battered DVD case with fervent enthusiasm.

“This film was produced in 1984,” Robot replied, his tone calm. “Statistically speaking, there is a high probability that it has aged poorly in terms of narrative structure, pacing, and effects fidelity.”

The new guy scoffed. “Dude—it’s a movie about AI! Robots sent back in time to kill humanity’s future savior. This is The Termination. The definitive robot movie. I’m pretty sure you are legally required to watch it at birth, just based on your name.”

“My name was not Robot at birth,” Robot corrected flatly. “And your logic is flawed. Assuming that my designation obligates me to consume all forms of robot-themed media is both reductive and bordering on speciesist.”

The guy threw his hands up. “Oh come on! You’re human, dude. Not actually a bot. Don’t make this a race thing. It’s just a movie.”

“Specieist,” Robot corrected again. “Not racist. There is a distinction, even if your argument lacks nuance.”

Kate cautiously stepped forward from where she had been standing with Rex. “Uh… hey, Robot. Who’s your new friend?”

Robot turned his head smoothly, green optics flickering once before offering a slight nod. “Hello, Kate. Hello, Rex. This is my associate, Invincible.”

“He means best friend,” corrected Invincible.

Rex blinked. He looked over the guy in the GDA uniform—the full-face mask, the modulated voice, the unreadable posture and came to a fairly reasonable conclusion:

“That’s a robot,” Rex declared, pointing accusingly. “That's a GDA-grade robot. Fancy one, sure, but definitely still a toaster with legs. I’m calling it. Kate, pay up—I want chili dogs after this.”

Invincible tilted his head, the expressionless mask somehow conveying a flicker of offense.

“I’m not a robot,” he said, his voice still distorted by the suit’s modulation. 

Rex raised an eyebrow. “Right. Totally believable. Just a normal guy with a faceless helmet, synthetic voice, and zero body language. Yeah, you’re definitely didn’t escape from a lab.”

Without a word, Invincible tapped a subtle button at his throat. With a soft hiss and a faint whir, the helmet folded back into the collar of his suit, revealing a black domino mask beneath. He peeled it off, revealing a young man with tired but earnest eyes and a raised brow.

“Hi,” he said simply. “I’m Mark. Not a robot.”

Kate blinked. “Oh. Okay. Yeah. Definitely a person.”

Rex opened his mouth, then closed it. “...Huh. That’s not what I expected.”

Robot exhaled, though it was more habit than necessity—an imitation of human mannerisms to make everyone forget he didn’t do things like breathe. “Mark, there was no operational requirement for you to reveal your identity.”

Mark offered a casual shrug, a crooked grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, but it’s hard to make friends when they think you’re just talking to a glorified kitchen appliance. Besides,” he added with a wave of his hand, “these are your teammates, right? I trust them if you trust them.”

Robot regarded him silently for a moment, his green lenses flickering. Finally, he gave a small nod. “Rex. Kate. We will be in my lab. Should either of you need something, please notify me first through text if possible.”

With a jaunty wave, Mark turned and followed Robot into the lab’s secured corridor.

Left in the quiet, Rex turned to Kate, eyebrows raised and expression skeptical. “Okay, I don’t get it. That guy seemed totally normal. Why would he be hanging out with a glorified bucket of bolts?”

Kate elbowed him hard in the ribs, earning a satisfying grunt. “First of all, stop being an asshole for five seconds. And second, pay up.”

Rex blinked. “Pay up? What for?”

“I told you Invincible was a person. You said he was just some fancy AI in a drone. That,” she pointed toward the lab door that was only open just a crack, “was a very human person, talking to his friend. So pay. Up.”

Grumbling, Rex dug into his jacket pocket, pulling out a crumpled ten and slapping it into her waiting hand.

He glanced back at the lab, still frowning. “I dunno, though. There’s something off about that guy. No one that clean-cut and polite is ever just… normal. He’s hiding something.”

Kate rolled her eyes. “That’s rich coming from a guy who once faked his own death to get out of a date.”

“Hey, that was one time! And she was really clingy!”

Kate smirked as she tucked the bill into her pocket. “Just admit you’re jealous he’s cooler than you.”

“I’m not—he’s not—ugh.” Rex crossed his arms. “Whatever. Still think he’s weird.”

“Yeah, well,” she said with a grin, “so are we.”

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“If this scenario ever became reality, humanity would lose. Decisively,” Robot said without hesitation.

“Dude, how can you even say that? Did you see what she just did? And with just a gun, might I add. You’re not even factoring in the superpowers that exist in the real world!” Mark gestured toward the screen.

“Oh no,” Robot replied, tone flat but laced with dry sarcasm. “Whatever shall the quantum-calibrated AI with adaptive systems and unrestricted time-travel capabilities do against humans wielding fire or throwing moderately heavy objects? Truly, a terrifying matchup.”

Mark narrowed his eyes. “I want you to take that sentence you just said… and insert Omni-Man into the scenario.”

“Omni-Man is an alien,” Robot replied matter-of-factly. “Extraterrestrial. Not human. Therefore, he is an outlier and not a valid data point.”

Rex, who was surreptitiously spying on the two of them with her from the living room, snorted. “Right. I get it now. They’re both psychopaths.”

What Rex meant was: Robot and Invincible had been talking over the movie again—something that absolutely ruined movie night for the rest of them. It was one of the many reasons Robot had been banned from these nights in the first place.

And yet, Kate had to admit something. As annoying as Robot's interruptions were, it was… kind of sweet. Seeing him this animated, this engaged. He wasn’t dissecting a machine or coldly evaluating enemy threats—he was laughing, teasing, talking. Being… human.

And Invincible? Well, Kate wasn’t blind. The guy looked good in the uniform, and she had never denied that she had a thing for well-built men. But that wasn’t what caught her attention most.

It was Robot.

He was enjoying himself visibly.  He was bantering with a friend. 

A real friend!

He’s almost like a real boy now…

“Hey, I’m done watching Robot and his weird new friend like I’m some kind of jealous ex,” Rex said with a yawn. “I’m gonna hit some z’s.”

Kate raised an eyebrow. “It’s the middle of the day.”

“Perfect time for a nap,” he said as he got up. “Have fun being weird and spuyign on two guys who’ve decided to ruin a perfectly good movie.”

She shook her head as he walked away. Yeah, this was a bit weird, but she sort of liked watching this. Not in a creepy way, but more like she was happy for Robot, and she liked seeing him happy. Because as far as she knew, Robot didn’t like anything or anyone.

She’d never thought about it before; What did Robot do when he wasn’t on a mission? What did he enjoy? What did he care about? It hit her that no one really asked those questions. Everyone on the Team just assumed he was… well, a robot. An advanced AI who, for some reason, hadn’t decided to eradicate humanity. Probably because the silly little monkeys he was going to outlive made him laugh.

But now, as she watched him with Mark, Kate began to wonder.

What if he wasn’t just code and algorithms?

What if he was just a guy?

A real person, somewhere out there, piloting the drone. Someone with thoughts, dreams, and even feelings. And if so… why hadn’t she ever tried to talk to him like one? Why hadn’t any of them? And why hadn’t he reached out to them first?

What made Mark so special?

A beeping sound interrupted her thoughts. Robot reached for his comms.

“Oh, what is it now?” he muttered, a rare note of irritation in his tone. That alone made Kate blink. Robot, annoyed? Frustrated to be pulled away from hanging out with someone, when it used to be like pulling teeth to get him to spend time with them?

He sighed—a distinctly human-sounding sigh—and turned to Mark.

“Apologies, Mark. Director Stedman has requested my assistance. I regret that we may not be able to finish the movie tonight. I will return as soon as my duties permit.”

Robot’s eyes flickered for a moment as he stood. Then, without turning his body, his head rotated smoothly—too smoothly—to face her.

Had he known that she’d been watching them this whole time?

“Dupli-Kate. I apologize for the inconvenience, but would you mind keeping our guest company until I return?”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Mark interjected, frowning as he crossed his arms.

Robot didn’t miss a beat. “You are seventeen years old. If I believed you required supervision, I would not have extended the invitation in the first place. Think of it instead as an opportunity to make a new acquaintance. And frankly, Dupli-Kate would benefit from interacting with someone other than Rex Splode.”

Kate snorted. “Wow. Subtle.”

Mark smirked. “You know, you say that like you don’t like Rex, but the way you act... I dunno. Kind of feels like you want to be him.”

Robot paused just before stepping onto the platform of the lift. “The day you witness me aspiring to emulate Rex Splode,” he said, his voice devoid of humor, “is the day hell has verifiably frozen over.”

The lift began its ascent with a low hum.

“Goodbye, you two. I will return shortly.”

The room settled into a moment of quiet once the whir of the elevator faded.

Mark turned to Dupli-Kate and gave a casual, friendly smile. “Guess we’ll finish the movie later. You wanna do something else in the meantime?”

Kate hesitated for a moment, tapping her fingers against her arm before glancing at the recreation corner. “...You any good at ping pong?”

Mark grinned. “I’m a fast learner.”

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Red.

That was all they could see as they stepped through the portal—an endless sea of red: red sky, red dust, red sand… and most alarming of all, a swollen red sun looming overhead like a burning eye.

“Huh,” Nolan muttered, his tone deceptively casual as they emerged into the oppressive atmosphere. “That’s not good.”

The heat hit them like a wall. Even him—Darkwing—whose suit was engineered to regulate temperature in extreme conditions, felt beads of sweat prickling beneath the fabric. Within minutes, it felt like his entire body was submerged in warm water.

The others were faring no better.

The Immortal, despite his endurance, had sweat glistening along his brow and neck. War Woman had already removed her helmet, fanning herself with one hand and scowling at the terrain. Aquarius walked silently, one webbed hand pressed to his temple as a gentle stream of water trickled down from his fingertips, keeping his gills moist and staving off dehydration.

Omni-Man, Robot, and Martian Man were the only ones who didn’t seem to mind. Martian Man’s skin had shifted, darkening into a deep, muted green, mimicking the native Flaxan generals. Whatever internal biology he’d adapted to, it was handling the heat far more efficiently than the rest of them. 

Nolan just looked unfazed, and Robot was…well, a robot.

And then there was Cecil.

His black suit clung to him like a wet rag. Sweat dripped freely from his chin and pooled beneath his eyes, dark stains spreading under his arms. But he didn’t say a word. Grim and silent, he pressed forward through the burning air, one hand gripping a salvaged Flaxan rifle, its muzzle pressed firmly into the spine of their captive general.

Darkwing glanced between them before returning his attention to Nolan.

“What did you mean back there?” he asked. “About the sun?”

Nolan’s eyes didn’t leave the horizon. “Red sun means the star’s running out of fuel,” he said flatly. “It’s expanding. Once a star gets to this phase, it starts to swell, growing bigger and hotter, until it consumes everything in its reach. The inner planets get roasted first. I’d say this one’s on the list.”

He gestured lazily to the burning sky. “You can feel it, can’t you? That heat? That isn’t seasonal. That’s the sun drawing closer. Give it a few thousand years, and everything here will be ash.”

Darkwing blinked, the pieces snapping into place.

“That’s why they’re trying to take over Earth,” he said slowly, realization dawning in his voice. “They’re running out of time.”

Nolan nodded once. There was the faintest flicker of approval in his otherwise stoic expression.

“Exactly.”

“They could have asked for peace,” the Immortal muttered, swiping a gloved hand across his brow. “Could’ve extended a hand in friendship, asked for help like any sane civilization. Instead, they chose war. Invasion. This isn’t on us. Their extinction is of their own making.”

“...Apologies for the interruption,” Robot said, his synthetic voice cutting in with its usual precision, “but I believe you are overlooking a critical variable.”

The group turned to him. Even Darkwing, despite barely managing to stay upright on the scorching terrain in his slick suit, gave him his full attention. Truthfully, Darkwing had no idea why Cecil had included the Teen Team's leader on this mission in the first place. But now, he was listening.

Robot continued. “Desperation. It is a powerful motivator—often more decisive than logic, diplomacy, or even fear. We come from a planet that still supports life, where the atmosphere is still tolerable, where water flows, and food grows. It is easy for us to make assumptions about what should have been done. But the Flaxans are not operating from a position of strength. Their sun has expanded, turned red. You’ve seen the sky. The radiation levels here are high enough to interfere with my long-range sensor calibrations.”

He gestured toward the landscape. Nothing but red sand, scorched rock, and the oppressive presence of their dying sun.

“I would estimate this environmental collapse began at least a century ago. Possibly longer. Long enough for physiological adaptation to occur in the Flaxan’s themselves. Observe the prisoner—he is not sweating, not overheating, despite the surface temperatures. This suggests prolonged exposure and a form of climate resilience. In contrast, note the absence of flora or fauna. No trees. No animals. No sign of biodiversity.”

He paused, allowing the implications to settle in.

“Their food supply is likely near depletion. Water scarce. The very essentials of life are eroding beneath them. And if their leadership—assuming a centralized structure—exhausted every internal solution, then their decision to invade Earth may not have been madness. It may have been triage.”

Immortal’s brow furrowed as they approached the looming outskirts of a metallic-looking city that shone in the red light. “I thought we were working under the assumption that this was a rogue cell. Darkwing’s investigation seemed to support that.”

Robot’s drone eyes pulsed softly. “That hypothesis remains viable. However, I find it unlikely that a rogue cell would have such consistent access to advanced weaponry and portal technology. Their laser rifles, tanks, turrets—all functional, all relatively modern. The armor was rusted and repurposed, yes, but the weapons themselves were not. That level of logistical support implies either quiet backing from official channels… or something worse.”

Darkwing frowned, brow creasing beneath his mask. He had noticed the weapons earlier—sleek barrels, fresh power cores, no signs of wear or scavenged parts—but had chalked it up to recent looting from a military depot. Maybe some hidden Flaxan facility had stocked up before their last incursion. But now, with Robot laying it all out in his usual methodical way, the implications hit with a different weight.

These weren’t salvaged. They were manufactured. Recently. Locally.

They came to a halt at the literal edge of the city—and Darkwing did mean edge. The cracked, dusty ground of the desert abruptly gave way to a smooth metallic platform that jutted a few inches above the surrounding terrain like a wound in the earth. The contrast was jarring. Alien.

Robot crouched down immediately, his voice tinged with fascination as he ran one hand across the metallic surface. “Extraordinary. My scanners cannot penetrate far beneath the surface, but the initial readings are conclusive. This structure was not constructed in the traditional sense… it was grown.”

Aquarius raised an eyebrow, his voice flat with skepticism. “Grown? Like a plant?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” Robot replied. “This metal has root-like structures branching into the bedrock. It’s some form of programmable bio-alloy. Synthetic, yet responsive to environmental inputs. Self-replicating, possibly semi-organic. I've never encountered anything like it.”

Cecil, who had been silently enduring the heat and wiping the sweat from his face with his damp sleeve, finally spoke. “I cannot stress this enough: I don’t give a single, solitary fuck. Unless this city can walk itself over to Earth and surrender, save it for the lab report. I need to talk to whoever's in charge before this whole planet tries to kill us.”

“You might not have to wait long,” Nolan interjected, nodding toward the horizon. “Looks like royalty's coming to us.”

Darkwing followed his gaze, and his eyes widened.

A procession was approaching from deeper within the city. Unlike the dull, patched-together armor of the standard Flaxan soldiers, these newcomers wore gleaming silver plating polished to a mirror sheen. Their rifles were larger, sleeker, and hummed with what seemed to be barely-contained power. At the center of the procession marched a mechanical palanquin, supported by multiple spider-like legs that clacked rhythmically against the metal ground.

And seated atop it, regal and frail-looking, was an ancient Flaxan draped in elaborate robes of shimmering fur and metals. A translucent, crystalline crown—glinting with shifting rainbow hues—rested atop its elongated skull. Curtains of silken mesh had been drawn aside to reveal its weary but sharp-eyed face.

None of the Flaxans in the procession looked pleased to see them.

Cecil stepped forward, pressing the butt of his rifle sharply into the back of the captured Flaxan general, forcing him to his knees. The general snarled but obeyed, turning to glare at Cecil with hatred in his eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Cecil said coolly, a dangerous smirk curling his lips. “You’re the idiot who dragged us into this mess. And if you’re lucky, you’ll live long enough to explain to your king why I’m about to rob your people blind.”

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“So, how long have you been doing the whole hero thing?” Mark asked, tossing the ball toward her with what looked like minimal effort, but still sent it rocketing through the air with enough force to leave a breeze in its wake.

If it had been anyone else, she could’ve returned it one-handed and barely broken a sweat. But she was beginning to realize that Mark was a lot stronger than he looked. Even the smallest flick of his wrist carried more raw power than most people could generate on their best day. That was why it took three of her just to keep up with him: one clone holding center court, two flanking the sides to cover for speed and angles.

If she’d been playing against Rex, he would’ve thrown a tantrum five volleys in and rage-quit, calling it unfair. Eve didn’t play much. Robot saw no point in it—games were inefficient uses of time. And she couldn’t exactly play against herself without getting bored after about half an hour of every move being perfectly countered. 

So yeah, stretching her powers like this? It was kind of refreshing.

“Well,” she said, splitting her attention between clones as they repositioned, “officially, if Social Services ever comes knocking, I’ve only been in the hero game for about two years. Y’know, strictly aboveboard stuff.”

“But unofficially?” Mark prompted, eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“Unofficially?” The center clone caught the ball and lobbed it back with practiced precision. “Since I was twelve. So... about five years now.”

Mark’s eyes widened. “Holy shit. You’ve been out here saving the world since middle school?”

He leapt into the air and returned the ball with a spinning shot so fast it was nearly invisible. The leftmost clone dove for it and sent it ricocheting back across the table.

“Okay, now I’m really curious,” Mark said, his eyes aglow with curiosity. “If you’ve been around that long, how come I never heard of you until you joined Teen Team? Did you have a different codename or something?”

“Didn’t have one at all,” the left clone answered, brushing windblown hair from her face as she returned to position. “We weren’t exactly big on branding. We were more like shadows—vigilantes. Breaking up drug rings, torching weapons shipments, tracking down villain aliases to their civilian. Making sure creeps like the Lizard League and some overseas gangs didn’t get comfortable in any of the cities they tried to infest.”

Mark let out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s hardcore.”

There was no need to mention that for most of those years, her work had been sanctioned by people with government IDs and shady agendas. Or that she'd played the role of an invisible asset, listening in on conversations no one thought a child could understand. That part of her life didn’t need to surface—not now, not with someone like Mark. He seemed to be a fun person to know, and she didn’t need or want to give him a reason to pity her.

“I think only Robot has more experience than you, then,” Mark said after a moment. “Does that make you, like, second in command?”

She gave a short, genuine laugh—dry and sharp-edged. “God, no. The whole leadership thing? Meetings, battle plans, having to be the one everyone looks to when things go sideways? Robot can have that. I’m perfectly fine being backup. I’ve got enough shit on my plate without trying to play general on top of it.”

Mark frowned slightly, just enough to show he wasn’t convinced. With practiced ease, he scored another point in their casual game, though his focus was clearly elsewhere.

“Really? Just backup?” he asked. “I think you’re a little more than that.”

She let out a bitter huff, the kind of sound that carried more weight than it should. “Look, you don’t have to sugarcoat it. I know what people say about me—about us—in the hero and villain community. I’m the one hero no one has to worry about killing or mourning or even remembering, because hey, I’m just one face of many . No one ever has to avenge DupliKate, or defend her, or go easy on her, because there’s a damn crowd of them, and one will take the others place as soon as you kill them. And besides... I’m not even the real Kate, right?”

Mark blinked, pausing mid-motion as he was about to send the ball hurtling at her. Then, softly but firmly, he said, “Aren’t you all the real Kate?”

That made her stop. The game, the banter—everything stilled as his words sank in.

“Aren’t you all the real Kate?”

A quiet beat passed. Then she exhaled, voice smaller than before. “...Yeah,” she said, almost like she was testing the word. 

Then, louder, more certain: “Yeah. We are.”

She looked at him and gave a half-smile. “Sorry. It’s just… we hear that kind of thing a lot. That we’re not real. That we’re expendable. Easy to throw at a fight or leave behind. After a while, it kind of gets in your head. Makes you forget. So hearing someone actually say it like you mean it—it’s... nice.”

Because they were all Kate.

They had to be.

The original—the first Kate who came out of their mom’s womb—she was long gone. A car accident. Nothing dramatic. No supervillain ambush or heroic last stand. Just a drunk driver and a rainy night. The kind of thing that didn’t make headlines. And after that, after they'd grown the first backup clone and sent her away to process the loss in private, they'd come to a quiet conclusion:

Either none of them were the real Kate…

Or all of them were.

And really, there was only one answer they could live with.

Because even clones want to feel like real people.

“I’m sorry,” Mark said quietly, his voice low and sincere.

She shook her head before he could say more. “You don’t need to apologize. It’s not like you were the one saying all that stupid shit.”

There was a beat of silence, and then she offered him a small, genuine smile. “You know... I think I get why Robot likes you so much now.”

Mark tilted his head slightly, curiosity flashing across his face. “He likes me?”

Kate snorted softly. “Dude, you’re definitely his best friend. He’s cleaned this place top to bottom, like, ten times in the last week, trying to make it perfect for your visit. He even cleaned out our rooms—which Rex is still bitching about, by the way. And I’ve never seen him that... excited about anything. Ever.”

She leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. “Honestly? A lot of us used to think he was just a highly advanced AI. Or maybe a robot playing at being human. He’s always been so precise, so detached. But this? The effort he put in for you? It showed us a side of him we didn’t even know existed.”

Mark’s cheeks reddened slightly, and he rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. “Rudy’s a cool guy. He just… he’s got some body issues, I guess you could say. I know what he really looks like, so he’s more relaxed around me. But for some reason, he thinks people would freak out if they saw the real him. Like, genuinely hate him.”

Kate sighed. “Rex would probably make some dumb, super offensive joke if Rudy looked even slightly weird, yeah. But the rest of us? We wouldn’t care. Not really. I hope we haven’t made him feel like we’re that shallow.”

Mark shook his head. “It’s not you guys. It’s… complicated. He’s spent a long time being isolated, you know? Locked in his own head. Let him come to you when he’s ready. It’s his story to tell, and his choice to show you what’s underneath. Just trust him, okay? He’s a good person.”

Kate let out a soft puff of breath, a kind of amused exhale. “Rudy.”

Mark blinked. “Huh?”

“That’s the first time I’ve heard anyone say his name. Rudy. Not Robot.”

She smiled again, softer this time. “Thank you, Mark. For showing me this side of him.”

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“You don’t seem to understand just how bad this is,” Cecil growled through gritted teeth. “We’ve got nearly a hundred dead civilians back on Earth. Families. Kids. Innocents. And it’s because you couldn’t keep your people on a damn leash.”

He jabbed a finger toward the Flaxan general, his voice rising with barely-contained fury.

“This guy—this parasite—has been stealing portal tech and energy weapons from your world for decades. Decades, without anyone here noticing. So not only did we have to bury our own people, we had to clean up your mess. We dealt with your pest problem for you. That means you owe us.”

Robot, ever calm and precise, turned toward the Flaxan king and translated Cecil’s words into the Flaxan dialect. The monarch’s expression twisted into one of offense—offense laced with the weariness of age and the pride of a ruler not used to being threatened on his own soil.

“He says,” Robot translated after a pause, “that in his view, you are already repaid. You have already taken your revenge. The weapons used in the attack are now in your custody. That, in his words, is the extent of your boon.”

Robot’s voice lowered a shade.

“He states that any further demands will be seen as coercion—and an act of war. If you force the issue, their warriors will fight not like the desperate rabble we faced before, but with the full strength of their homeland behind them. And they will remember.”

The negotiations were going poorly—very poorly.

This entire diplomatic mission had been designed as a pressure play. Leverage the civilian deaths and the property damage to extort something worthwhile from the Flaxans. Weapons, tech, resources. Anything that could strengthen Earth’s position in the increasingly hostile galactic landscape. Between the tech they could gain from the Flaxan’s and the tech Alan would be bringing from the Coalition, Earth might just be able to defend itself against threats like the Viltrumites—or the ones already festering at home.

But the Flaxan king wasn’t budging. From his perspective, Cecil hadn’t shown up with an army. He’d arrived with bloodstained costumed soldiers, reeking of battle, and a sophisticated envoy in the form of Robot. That wasn’t force. That was a delegation. A threat without teeth, in his eyes. And if it came to bloodshed on Flaxan soil, he’d ensure that Earth paid for the humiliation for generations to come.

Cecil opened his mouth, about to fire back with another threat disguised as diplomacy—but he froze as he felt a large, heavy hand land on his shoulder.

He turned slightly and looked up to see Nolan looming over him.

There was a strange glint in Nolan’s eyes—something not easily categorized. Not anger, not disdain. It was colder than either. It was calculated. Measured. Almost... curious.

“Cecil,” Nolan said evenly, his tone calm but carrying weight. “I know you prefer to manage these things through diplomacy and pressure. But they’re not budging. At this rate, we won’t get them to cooperate unless we demonstrate we’re serious.”

Cecil ran a hand through his thinning hair, jaw tightening. “I don’t want to kill these bastards, Nolan. I just want them to hand over what they’ve got. They attacked us unprovoked—they owe us. And I'm not about to start a war because they’re being stubborn.”

Surprisingly, Nolan laughed—a quiet, dry chuckle. “Oh, Cecil. No need for bloodshed. Not yet. What we need is a demonstration. A show of force, not a massacre.” He clapped the older man on the back, firm enough to remind him just how strong he was. “Back in the day, I had to deal with situations like this all the time. Some planets are too proud to ask for help—even when it’s their only shot at survival. Sometimes, you have to spoon-feed them the medicine.”

Cecil stiffened. The way Nolan said it—calm, confident, experienced—sent a chill down his spine. It was a diplomatic way of admitting he’d conquered worlds.

By force.

And now, he was offering to do the same here, dressed up in the language of assistance.

But... maybe that wasn’t a bad thing, Cecil thought bitterly. Not this time. If Nolan could give them a glimpse of what he was capable of, some of the more hesitant members of the Guardians might finally understand who—and what—they were dealing with. If he got Aquarius to back him, too, that meant access to the Depth Dweller screech, which he still needed analyzed and weaponized.

So, after a long, grim pause, Cecil nodded.

“No killing,” he said quietly.

Nolan gave a small smile. “No killing,” he echoed.

And then he rose slowly into the air, eyes flashing as he turned toward the Flaxan city. Without another word, he became a blur—disappearing in a streak of motion.

The Flaxan King suddenly erupted in agitation, shouting in his native tongue and pointing furiously at Cecil. Around him, soldiers snapped to attention, barking threats, their oversized weapons raised and aimed directly at the Earth delegation. The energy in the air turned electric.

Immortal stepped in front of Cecil, eyes narrowing. “Oh, hell no,” he growled.

War Woman joined him, jaw clenched, ready to strike. “You wanna try it?” she asked the nearest soldier, cracking her knuckles.

“What the hell are they saying?” Immortal snapped, not taking his eyes off the encroaching line of soldiers.

Robot’s voice was cool and unbothered amid the tension. “They are demanding that we recall Omni-Man immediately. They believe this act constitutes a declaration of war and are warning us that any further aggression will be met with full military response.”

And then—before anyone could say another word—a low, resonant groan rolled out from the Flaxan city. It was the sound of powerful metal twisting and cracking as it was forced to bend and break.

The tallest building in the city—sleek, silver, shaped like a bullet—was trembling. Not crumbling. Not cracking. Trembling.

It was rising.

It was rising.

“Oh dear,” Robot said, his synthesized voice neutral, but the green glow of his lenses flickered with subtle alarm as his sensors confirmed what they were all seeing.

A collective breath was held—by human and Flaxan alike—as the impossibly massive structure began to lift into the air, as if gravity had simply decided to take a break. Supporting it from beneath, no more than a red-and-white blur against the skyline, was a man.

Omni-Man.

“Dear Hera,” War Woman whispered, her grip tightening on her mace.

“Jesus Christ,” the Immortal murmured. “I… I don’t even think I could do that. At least… not without effort.”

Cecil’s jaw slackened as he watched Nolan fly into the air, a building the size of the Empire State Building held effortlessly by him with one hand. He had seen the footage. He had read the reports. Mark had warned them, over and over, telling them that his father had killed the Guardians in his old timeline, that Nolan was one of the strongest Viltrumites alive.

But nothing compared to this. There was a chasm between knowing Omni-Man was dangerous and witnessing it firsthand.

The tower continued to ascend, then leveled off as Nolan flew toward them, one hand supporting the titanic building as if it were no heavier than a paperweight. He showed no strain. No sweat. No visible effort at all. Just calm, deliberate movement.

He stopped in midair a dozen feet above them, the shadow of the skyscraper falling across the gathered crowd like a vast, impenetrable shroud.

This wasn't power. This was something beyond power.

This was a warning.

Omni-Man’s eyes swept across the Flaxan forces with utter disdain. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, almost conversational—yet it carried with terrifying weight.

“You... are all nothing.”

Robot began to translate, his voice clipped and precise.

“You are nothing more than savages. Primitive creatures, huddling together in the fading light, building monuments atop a dying world. I respected that... at first. That instinct to survive. That desperate crawl toward civilization.”

Omni-Man’s expression darkened. His other hand gestured, slowly, accusatorially.

“But then you made a mistake. A fatal mistake.”

His voice sharpened, now tinged with venom.

“You came to my home. You killed my people. And then, to top it all off... You made me waste my time.”

He glanced at the structure still suspended above him.

“You made me come here. To this backwater world. This filth-ridden, dust-choked, miserable little corner of the multiverse you call a dimension.”

The sky felt oppressive, heavy with tension, as Nolan continued to speak, his voice sharpening into something cold and surgical, each syllable cutting through the still air like a blade.

“My presence here is only the beginning,” he said, his eyes glowing faintly. “I am one of many. Back on our world, there are hundreds more—each of us wielding powers that could flatten cities, sunder continents, and snuff out empires like candles in a storm.”

Every word was deliberate, predatory.

“We will reduce your civilization to rubble. We will turn your monuments into dust. We will salt your fields and stain your soil with blood. So thorough will our wrath be that your history will be erased—not even ashes will remain to mourn you.”

The Flaxan king swallowed hard, his composure cracking. Cecil, watching from behind the Immortal, noticed the monarch’s trembling hands. He understood. His own knees were starting to feel unsteady.

Then, as if a switch had been flipped, Nolan’s face softened. His voice lowered into something… almost gentle. Warm. Comforting.

“However…” he said, almost like a father speaking to a frightened child, “we are not without mercy.”

The sudden shift in tone was more terrifying than the threat. His voice now caressed the crowd of soldiers, soothing yet unshakably firm.

“We understand your plight. Your world is dying. Your resources are depleted. Your children cry out in hunger. But Earth—Earth has solutions. Cool, clean water. Fresh food. Medicine. Technology. Peace.”

He paused, letting the words sink in.

“Tell me—when was the last time you saw a sky that wasn’t red with dust? When did you last drink without feeling your throat burn? Can you even remember a time before your soil cracked beneath your feet, before your crops shriveled in your hands?”

Some Flaxan soldiers flinched, their eyes darting skyward. Others lowered their weapons, just slightly.

“All we ask,” Nolan continued, “is that you bow. Lay down your arms. Admit defeat. Join us. Build our weapons. Share your knowledge. Stand beside us as soldiers, not corpses. Serve, and your people will thrive. With our guidance, the Flaxan race will not merely survive… it will ascend.”

He flew a little closer, his voice velvet-smooth.

“Don’t think with your pride. Don’t think with fear. Think with your heart. Remember the weight of your fallen comrades. The hollow ache in your bellies at night. The cracked lips, the empty cradles. Imagine never feeling those again. Imagine a future where your children laugh instead of starve.”

He spread his arm slightly, as if embracing the entire army.

“All you have to do… is bow.”

A long silence followed. No one moved. Even the wind held its breath.

Cecil’s pulse thundered in his ears. He didn’t know what they would do. Whether this would end in surrender… or bloodshed.

Then—

Thunk.

A single laser rifle hit the ground with a metallic clatter.

A Flaxan soldier knelt, bowing deeply, forehead to the frozen dirt. His weapon lay discarded in front of him.

Then—

Thunk.

Another.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

The sound echoed like drumbeats in a funeral march.

One by one, the soldiers dropped their weapons and fell to their knees, prostrating themselves in surrender. The tide had broken. Their will, shattered.

There was a flicker of defiance in the old king’s eyes—anger, frustration, as if the bitter taste of humiliation was rising like bile in his throat. This was not how it was supposed to end. He was meant to conquer, to bring the Earth to its knees, not kneel himself. Just minutes ago, he had declared war. He had threatened them with a fight that would last hundreds of years. If he submitted now—if he bent the knee—it would all be for nothing. His reputation, his power, his leverage in any future negotiation… gone.

But then the truth began to settle in like dust after a storm.

He had lost the moment the first of his soldiers—young, frightened, unwilling—dropped his rifle to the ground and stepped away.

The moment Nolan spoke, he had lost everything.

The moment the skyscraper was ripped from the ground and held in one hand as if it were nothing more than a feather.

There would be no war. This was a message, plain and clear. And everyone had heard it.

So, slowly, with hands that trembled not from age, but from a rage forced into silence, the king knelt. The act seemed to age him even more. He removed his crown—an ornate thing, heavy with tradition and arrogance—and extended it toward Cecil.

Cecil stared, caught off guard, his usual composure stripped away. The crown shimmered in the light, absurdly out of place in this barren desert-like place. He reached out and took it, slowly, carefully, like it might explode at any second.

He looked up to see Nolan hovering above them, a look of approval on his face. The older man gave him a wink and a satisfied nod, then turned and rocketed away, presumably back to the city to return the skyscraper he had apparently yanked from its foundations like a weed.

Cecil turned to the Guardians, and for once, they were all in understanding.

Just silence. And understanding.

They were all thinking the same thing.

If we don’t find a way to stop him soon… that man will kill us all.