It was a universal truth that old men loved to talk about the past—but even so, John didn't often bring up his war stories. When he did, it usually meant he was in an especially good mood.
He never told those stories expecting a response. Didn't want validation. Didn't need feedback.
He was used to talking into silence. Years of living alone had made conversation a one-man show.
Sometimes he'd talk about the heroes he fought beside—how many fascists they took down...
2025-06-08 09:47:24 +0000 UTC
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"I'm back," Henry called as he pushed open the bar's side door.
"Yeah, I see that," came the dry reply.
No emotional reunion. No tearful hugs. Just two men acknowledging each other in the most unceremonious, perfectly normal way.
They hadn't known each other long maybe a couple of months and neither of them was the sentimental type. They weren't going to start sobbing over a fishing trip.
Behind the bar, John didn't even glance up as he wiped down a glass.<...
2025-06-08 09:46:52 +0000 UTC
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Henry slid the stack of cash across the desk again.
"If you think there are any other documents I might need," he said plainly, "go ahead and get them done. License too, obviously. I'll need to drive."
He wasn't pretending to know how things worked around here. Hell, even before waking up in this world, he hadn't known much about America beyond pop culture and what made the news. This wasn't the time to play smart best to trust the local fixer.
Tom scooped up the ...
2025-06-08 09:46:25 +0000 UTC
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Back at the office, the older receptionist was still at her desk, typing away like nothing had happened.
Tom led Henry inside and motioned for him to take a seat. He rummaged through a battered old backpack, dumped out some papers and who-knew-what-else, and pushed it across the desk toward him.
"Put your cash in this. The bag's yours now."
Henry frowned. "Why switch bags?"
Tom leaned back in his chair. "That bank? Any time someone walks out with cash and n...
2025-06-08 09:45:28 +0000 UTC
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Old Tom had no idea he'd just dodged a bullet. After snapping a few ID-style photos of Henry against a blank white wall click click he escorted him straight to the local bank.
First National Bank of Alaska. One of the most recognizable banks in the state, and a five-star-rated institution nationwide. Solid, reputable, boring in all the best ways.
It was founded back in 1922 by a guy named Winfield Ervin Sr., riding the railroad boom through Alaska's frontier days. Since ...
2025-06-08 09:44:58 +0000 UTC
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To avoid melting someone else's bathroom, Henry had no choice but to keep experimenting on himself.
After some trial and error and a bit of low-stakes bodily harm he finally started to understand how it all worked. The secret wasn't just his supercharged Kryptonian cells. It was something... extra.
A field. A biofield.
If the sun altered his body, it didn't use all its energy just to make him strong and invulnerable. A chunk of that energy got stored throughout hi...
2025-06-08 09:44:27 +0000 UTC
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"Wait, you can actually do that?" Henry blinked, genuinely surprised.
He didn't know the full scope of how identity documents were forged or, in this case, "retroactively assembled" but one thing was obvious: he didn't have a legal identity. No birth certificate. No social security number. No driver's license. Hell, no last name. Getting official paperwork, even fake, felt like black magic.
Tom grinned, like he got this reaction a lot. "Kid, this is Alaska. As long as yo...
2025-06-08 09:43:51 +0000 UTC
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Captain George wasn't surprised in the slightest by Henry's question.
Some guys joined a crab boat for one trip and ran screaming back to land the moment they touched dry ground. Others? They stuck with it. Made a career out of it, even if just for a few years to stack some cash while they were young and unbreakable.
"Here's how it's gonna work," George said, rubbing the bridge of his nose like he was already thinking ahead to the next trip. "Once I'm home, my wife'll ha...
2025-06-08 09:43:21 +0000 UTC
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The kid who'd nearly lost his arm still trembling as he clutched the stainless steel cup of whiskey wasn't exactly your average deckhand.
He was a mutant.
Not one of the flashy, headline-making types with laser eyes or metal wings. No, this one had discreet gills along the sides of his neck like a shark. Made him useful for underwater recon, especially when it came to spotting king crab migrations.
Useful... in theory.
But like most mutations, there were dr...
2025-06-08 09:42:47 +0000 UTC
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Rough seas weren't just an inconvenience they were the number one cause of accidents aboard a crab boat.
It didn't matter how experienced the crew was. On the Bering Sea, all it took was one rogue wave to throw everything and everyone off balance. Even with Captain George at the helm, even with every deckhand running at full alert, chaos had a way of crashing in without warning.
Out here, you looked out for your crewmates. That wasn't a suggestion it was survival.
2025-06-08 09:42:05 +0000 UTC
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On the Annie II, nobody called him Henry.
From day one, the crew followed Captain George's lead and gave him a new name—Greenie.
Short for greenhorn. New guy. Rookie.
Or in plainer terms: the guy who knows nothing and has to earn everything.
There's an old saying:
Old hands give orders, mid-timers wait their turn, greenhorns shut up and survive.
And on this boat, Henry was the greenest of them all.
The other men? Even the "least experienced" ...
2025-06-08 09:41:31 +0000 UTC
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Technically, Henry's little town had a dock—but that was mostly for tiny freight boats hauling in supplies. If you wanted real ships, real work? You had to head south, to the next town down the coast. That's where the crab boats launched.
Fortunately, the two towns weren't strangers. Everyone knew everyone—or knew someone who did.
So when Henry said he was serious about getting on a crab boat, the local old-timers made a few calls. Put in a word. Passed his name alon...
2025-06-08 09:40:54 +0000 UTC
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One of the reasons there weren't many young people in town was simple:
The old folks wanted them gone.
Not out of spite. Out of hope.
They knew this place had no future. It wasn't a town—it was a waiting room for the grave.
No jobs. No opportunities. No purpose.
This was a place to retire, not start over.
So when Henry showed up—young, strong, and clearly not from around here—they welcomed him without question… but also assumed he wouldn't...
2025-06-08 09:40:19 +0000 UTC
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"You really like old movies, huh?"
The question came from behind the bar, where Old John was polishing a glass more out of habit than necessity. His eyes were on Henry, not the TV.
They hadn't known each other that long, but John had seen enough to get a feel for the kid.
Maybe Henry had secrets. Maybe he wasn't… normal.
But John didn't care.
He was an old-school kind of man. You lend a hand to the next generation, sure—but what they do with that hel...
2025-06-08 09:39:34 +0000 UTC
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John's bar wasn't exactly a booming business.
Not because it was bad—just because the town itself was dying.
Most of the young people had left for the cities long ago. Those who remained were gray-haired, stiff-jointed, and one missed snowfall away from calling it quits.
Which meant the bar had a very specific clientele:
Locals. Regulars. Familiar faces.
Everyone knew each other by name, by voice, and often by the sound of their boots coming up the por...
2025-06-08 09:38:48 +0000 UTC
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Old John's bar wasn't exactly a hotspot. On most days, one man behind the counter was more than enough.
Still, he kept Henry around. Let him crash on the old couch in the back and put him to work bussing tables, sweeping floors, taking out the trash—whatever needed doing.
In return, Henry got three square meals a day.
Which… surprised even him.
He'd always known he had an appetite. But this? This was next-level.
Most folks measured steak in ounce...
2025-06-08 09:38:13 +0000 UTC
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Henry eyed the empty plate beside him. Next to it sat a glass of water.
This time, he was careful. He lifted the glass slowly, steady hands cradling it like it was made of glass—because, well, it was—and downed the whole thing in one go.
The water wasn't exactly clean. Tasted weird, like iron and something floral. But it was cold, and wet, and his body craved it more than reason.
The old man finally spoke again.
"Name's John Brown," he said. "You got a ...
2025-06-08 09:37:32 +0000 UTC
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What does it feel like to wake up from hunger?
Like someone clamped a wrench onto your gut and twisted. Over. And over. Until it felt like your insides were being wrung dry. The kind of pain that makes you curl up like a boiled shrimp, teeth clenched, fists buried in your stomach.
He didn't think he was lucky to be alive.
He didn't think anything, really—except that everything hurt, and he was definitely not dead.
New bedding. New air. A ceiling that wasn't m...
2025-06-08 09:36:40 +0000 UTC
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Somewhere deep in his cells—buried within strands of DNA that defied human understanding—a dormant sequence flickered to life.
Bathed in the golden light of Earth's yellow sun, that mysterious genetic code began to work.
It didn't just revive him. It set him on fire—from the inside out.
Imagine pouring ice water into boiling oil. The explosion, the chaos, the agony. That's what his body went through as the solar radiation was absorbed, converted, and redistr...
2025-06-08 09:36:10 +0000 UTC
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Summer in Siberia could hit over thirty degrees Celsius—if you were lucky enough to be in the southern parts. But up in the Arctic Circle? It was still cold enough to require winter gear just to walk outside without freezing your teeth off.
Still, for locals used to it, a long-sleeved shirt and jeans were enough.
A group of young men, home from the city, were trekking through the ruins of a recently abandoned research base—one buried deep in the northern frost.
2025-06-08 09:35:45 +0000 UTC
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Top Secret – Research Site 40120191, Siberia
Director: Piotr Roslov
---
1970.4.20
Several days ago, a meteor was reported crashing deep in the Siberian wilderness. Upon investigation by the local military garrison, the object was confirmed not to be a natural meteorite—but an artificial construct. A spacecraft. Of no known Soviet or American design.
Inside it? A child. An infant.
Orders from Moscow were clear. A containment and research facili...
2025-06-08 09:35:12 +0000 UTC
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Q: Do aliens have human rights?
A: When they show up in warships, parked in orbit with cannons aimed at Earth? Oh, hell yeah. You bet they do. We'd be talking peace treaties and diplomatic immunity real fast.
But if it's just one alien, alone? No backup?
Human rights? Nah. Lab rat rights, at best.
That's how the one they dubbed NLO Odin—НЛО Один, "UFO One"—ended up where he was now.
A sealed, windowless room buried somewhere deep beneath the Siberian perm...
2025-06-08 09:33:13 +0000 UTC
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"We're just ordinary folks, caught up in this crazy world.
Rushing through life, not a moment to breathe.
We're no saints, so stray thoughts are inevitable.
Morals? Set those aside—let's talk profit instead."
The off-key singing echoed inside a beat-up electric scooter. Not exactly musical, but not bad enough to scare off dogs, either. The driver bobbed his head to his own tune, cruising along under the pale glow of a flickering streetlamp.
Ever seen the city ...
2025-06-08 09:32:37 +0000 UTC
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Since this was a matter concerning the vampire clans and had nothing to do with mutants, Alex didn’t bring anyone else along. He left the mutant base accompanied only by Selene.
“Supreme One.”
Outside the base, a sleek convoy of vehicles was already waiting. Selene personally led Alex to a black Cadillac—third in line—holding the door open for him.
It was the full royal treatment. This… this was how it felt to move like a boss.
As the convoy set...
2025-06-07 19:13:40 +0000 UTC
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“Liz, you’re leaving?”
At the mutant base, Raven looked at Liz in disbelief. She rushed forward and grabbed her hand. “Why? I thought you liked it here—with us!”
After several days of rest, Liz had mostly recovered. At least now, she could move around like a normal person without issue.
Of course, considering the severity of her injuries, a full recovery wasn’t realistic. If she weren’t a mutant with enhanced resilience, she’d still be bedridden. Whi...
2025-06-07 19:12:59 +0000 UTC
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> “Sovereign, she’s awake.”
While Alex was still discussing matters with the others, Selena approached him with an update.
> “Well, our new comrade finally woke up?” Raven arched a brow, clearly intrigued.
“I’ve been dying to meet her.”
The others shared her interest.
> “Alright then,” Alex clapped his hands and stood.
“Let’s go say hello.”
The group followed Selena through the base cor...
2025-06-06 16:52:24 +0000 UTC
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Liz’s surgery lasted four full hours.
Throughout that time, no one dared disturb Alex again.
Not a single ambush. No backup team. No helicopters this time.
It was almost as if that mysterious “Master” had really let her go—just like he said.
But Alex wasn’t so naïve.
He didn’t trust the man’s words, not even for a second.
His super hearing had been on high alert the entire time, sweeping every corner of the surrounding blocks for th...
2025-06-06 16:51:51 +0000 UTC
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But instead of the reply Alex had been expecting, he was met with silence.
No response. No voice over the comms. No dramatic declaration of intent.
Instead—Hawkeye suddenly changed.
His body stiffened. His eyes went dull and glassy, like a puppet whose strings had just been pulled.
And then—he spoke:
> “I never imagined… that among my mutant brethren… someone like you could exist.”
“Your strength… it honestly shocked me.”
<...
2025-06-05 17:11:07 +0000 UTC
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Hawkeye: “…”
Are you kidding me right now?!
Polka Dot just sold me out?!
He felt a chill crawl up his spine, his gut twisting at the thought of facing that monster himself. For just a second, he pictured it—him standing face-to-face with Alex.
And instantly broke out in a cold sweat.
But what he didn’t expect—what nobody could’ve expected—was what happened next.
Alex didn’t even respond.
He didn’t interrogate.
He ...
2025-06-05 17:09:54 +0000 UTC
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Zzzap! Zzzap!
Two beams of blazing heat vision shot from Alex’s eyes—deadly, brilliant, cutting through the air with a beauty as dangerous as it was mesmerizing.
In a blink, they reached Polka Dot.
But instead of panicking or dodging, the man simply smiled—a cold, taunting grin playing at the corners of his mouth.
Like he was inviting it.
---
Whoosh!
At the last possible instant, a blur darted in front of him.
Jazz—hi...
2025-06-05 17:09:08 +0000 UTC
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