Mark floated around the harbor where the battle had just taken place, looking at the hundreds of bullet holes caused by the insane lady with her minigun. He assumed that she was Jinx, and judging by the scene she left behind, it was not her first fight. Mark sat in front of where the pink-haired Firelight had fallen when Jinx shot her.
Regret was the loudest of the emotions swirling in his mind right now. "If I was faster, maybe I could've…" Mark muttered to himself, finishing the sentence with a sigh. Mark had to come to terms with it in his early days of superhero-ing- you couldn't always save everyone. Sometimes, the universe just doesn't let you. That doesn't mean you shouldn't try, but still, it got Mark down many times. He didn't know what those transporters did with her body nor any of the bodies Jinx left in her wake. Maybe they threw them overboard before they fled? He didn't know, but Mark figured he would check in the sea later, just in case.
Mark lazily stepped off the ledge overlooking the water below, getting up from his position. If he could let gravity do the work, he would be more than happy to. God knew his muscles needed a break. As Mark descended, the wind rushed past him, and he had a brief moment of peace before he landed with a satisfying sploosh into the water. Swimming wasn't easier than flying through the air, as some people thought. There was next to no resistance in the air, but in the water, the liquid slowed down all his movements. He pushed himself through the waves, kicking toward the area he figured might be the most likely spot for any discarded bodies, though the thought was enough to make him sick.
"How the hell can they care so little…" Mark pondered. Just like The face of her body and Angstrom's battered corpse, both flickering in his mental vision. "Could I have saved her?" He hated that his mind kept returning to that question. Mark attempted to stop that thought process by focusing on his search and the underwater environment around him. The murky water was heavy with debris from the battle, a mix of oil, splintered wood, and metal fragments. Schools of shimmering fish darted between clusters of coral and jagged rocks while strands of kelp swayed like ghostly tendrils.
What could've been hours passed, and Mark's lungs began to burn- he'd need to surface soon. Speeding up his search, he brushed past rocks and other metal scraps before he soon saw a hand in the distance, right on the edge of where the harbor entered the water. Mark didn't know whether to be scared or excited, so he stowed away his feelings and floated over. Indeed, it was the pink-haired Firelight, her face still frozen with a fearful expression even as she lay motionless beneath the waves. Mark scooped her up and began floating to the surface. "How am I gonna get her body back to them? Leave it in the tunnel?" Mark didn't know. He figured, in his new universe, there would be a lot of things he didn't know. So, he just kept swimming.
Mark burst through the water's surface and took a deep breath. Water was the third most common thing he flew in, only beaten by air and space. In the air, there was little resistance; in space, there was none; and in water, there was a bit more. While air offered a sense of freedom with currents gently caressing his body, water enveloped him like a thick embrace, and space felt eerily silent and weightless. Hovering in place momentarily, Mark looked at the Firelight's blank face, her pink hair now matted with seawater, muttering another apology. He floated onto a wooden dock just above the water line, fishing equipment sprawled all over for when someone wanted to take a boat out.
"Hope they got a good catch…" Mark said to himself. He was about to ruin whatever good day they might've had. Kneeling, Mark took great care as he positioned the girl's body in a way to try to make it respectful, shutting her eyes, closing her mouth, and clasping her hands together over her stomach. Mark saw something like this when the old Guardians died. He shoved a finger into the gray concrete wall just to the side of where her body was, taking a few moments to carve out a message for anyone who would see it. Return to Firelights. It stood stark against the weathered wall. Mark sighed, his broad shoulders slumping under the weight of the day. To start, he killed his first person, then got stuck in some steampunk dystopia, and now he just fished out a body he feels responsible for. He knew he had saved those two Firelights, but his mind always focused more on those he hadn't saved than on those he had.
Mark lifted his eyes to the sky. The atmosphere was now a bit yellow as the sun began to dip below the horizon. Mark loved the sky. It was hard not to when he spent so much time in it. He flew up quicker than usual, but his suit and hair, soaked in salty seawater, made him eager to be dry. Stopping suddenly, most of the water droplets flew off—something he remembered seeing Annisa do when they had fought that sea monster. As if watching them almost murder his father wasn't enough, Anissa assured him of it; he hated Viltrumites.
Soon, he emerged above the harbor, the blimp's infrastructure now visible through the charred inflatable. Mark saw movement near the ship's edge, so he quickly dove behind a large purple and gold box, not landing but remaining partly hidden. The people in the shipyard were wearing uniforms similar in color to that Cait girl he had seen earlier today: metal shoulder pads with blue shirts and brown pants, along with blue and gold hats on their heads. One was interviewing someone Mark presumed would have captained the ship had it taken off, another stood in the corner doing nothing, and two more crouched over two white sheets with gold trims. Mark could only assume that underneath were the bodies of those two Firelights that Jinx had killed in the basement. In response to the thought, he clenched his fists and felt his teeth grind against each other.
Mark's eyes drifted toward the boat, and his heart instantly thumped out of his chest as they suddenly stopped on the bridge. Someone had spotted him. By someone he'd already seen in this universe, no less. Cait's blue hair stuck out like a beacon. She was standing on the bridge, preparing to enter the ship, and staring at Mark with wide eyes and an incredulous expression. His breath hitched—caught between the instinct to flee and the need to confront the situation. In a panic to make a move, Mark looked to both sides before placing a finger over his mouth in a shushing motion. Cait responded with a confused shrug before looking back to the other police and motioning for Mark to join her, seeing they were still occupied.
"What?!" Mark forced the words to come out in his mind and not as speech. Deciding to take a chance, Mark floated out from behind the box and quietly made his way toward her, keeping low and out of the line of sight of the others in the shipyard. Circling underneath the ship and ducking through one of the holes in the blimp, Mark landed in front of her, still hovering an inch or so off the ground.
"You," she hissed, keeping her voice low, her hand hovering over a small cylinder device on her belt. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"
Mark responded in a similarly hushed tone, "Well, my name's Invincible, and you called me over here?"
"...Invincible?" she restated with a cocked eyebrow.
"Okay, is my name really that bad?" Mark genuinely and somewhat sadly asked. These people should've seen the names of some of the heroes Mark encountered. "Guy dresses like a bat, and that's the best he can come up with?"
Cait sighed, "Okay, never mind that. Come on, we don't have time." She began looking around the ship's interior, and figuring he wouldn't get anywhere, Mark did the same. Boxes had been reduced to splinters by Jinx's minigun. The floors were black with ash due to the fire, with a similar effect covering practically the entire blimp.
"So, what exactly are we looking for, and, more importantly, why did you call me over?"
"Just look for evidence." Cait looked between some boxes and saw something. Mark floated over as she took out a camera and snapped a photo. He leaned in to get a better look, and Mark felt his soul drop. It was the girl's mask, now covered in cracks and with a large burn. He unfortunately remembered pulling her damp corpse out of the ocean, her body now resting on the dock.
Mark reached out slowly to grab the mask, but Cait stopped the motion with a hand on his wrist, "What do you think you're doing?"
"I was going to take it," he said simply, his voice steady but tinged with sadness. "It's hers. It should go back to the Firelights."
Cait frowned, her grip tightening slightly. "This is evidence. We can't just—"
"I found her body," Mark stated blankly
Cait's eyes widened, "What…?"
"I was here during the fight. I saw her get shot, but when I came back, her body was gone. I spent a while trying to find her in the water, and I did… left her on the dock at the bottom of the harbor." Mark's fist clenched, his fingernails digging into the palm. "You can't get better evidence than that."
Cait sighed. "Listen, once we finish the investigation," she said, bent down to the floor, and picked up a clipboard. I'll see if I can send the mask to the Firelights, okay? I'll also try to send a team down there to fetch her body."
Mark gave a genuinely grateful smile, "Thank you."
Cait's nod was curt, her expression a mix of skepticism and understanding. "You're not from around here, are you?" she asked, her eyes scanning him up and down as she bent over one of the exploded barrels.
"No, actually, I just grew up down the road, as you can see by the numerous flying people around the city."
"Are you this sarcastic with everyone?"
"Yep," Mark watched as Cait stuck her finger into a burned shimmer stain on the side of a barrel, which had now transformed into a powdery liquid. Mark grimaced as she raised the stain to her nose. "Ugh, gross."
Mark thought he saw a smirk, but it was just the expression that said she regretted bringing him in on this: "Detective work is rarely a clean process.": "Detective work is rarely a clean process." Cait continued through the airship, taking pictures of a few pieces of evidence. A toppled-over barrel leaked Shimmer, another barrel with a weird-looking monkey, and some shell casings that had dropped from Jinx's insane minigun fire. Mark stood around, not sure what to look for, so he resolved to watch Cait's process.
She raised her index and middle finger, and Mark quickly deduced that she was following the bullet patterns of Jinx's bullets. Mark gave her some space as she turned around- he recognized that look in her eyes. It was how he looked anytime he was trying to save someone. Eventually, her fingers stopped and pointed at one of the shattered yellow crystals the Firelights had contained the 'crew' in. Small splatters of blood decorated parts of the gemstones as Cait leaned down and inspected a small chunk, the crystal jagged and sharp to her touch. Mark considered describing what he'd seen the Firelights do, but he held his tongue. He figured she knew much more about them than he did. Cait lifted a large piece of broken-off wood, revealing a large spot of crimson liquid and, more importantly, a trail of blood. The two of them both followed the small globs of red towards the hatch to below deck, the similar strange monkey design that had been on the shattered barrel painted on. She took another picture before they both descended, Mark, floating while Cait landed with a hardy thud.
The air below the deck was damp and heavy, filled with the stench of smoke, blood, and oil. Cait turned on a flashlight, scanning it around the room while Mark used his eyes. She landed on a grate embedded into the floor, shining into the openings. Mark looked in beside her, and inside was a large and burly man, wearing a tanktop and covered head to toe in black tattoos, clutching his stomach.
"You're from the Undercity," Cait stated, her voice sharp but calm. However, Mark wasn't shocked. Instead, he started to feel a strong sense of guilt weighing down on his shoulders. "Damn… this guy got shot and I didn't even notice."
The man groaned, his voice breaking. "I didn't do anything. She's crazy." he sputtered, his voice hoarse. Mark saw recognition in his dark eyes. The man remembered him. "You… you were there, you fought the Firelights."
Cait looked at him. "You fought the Firelights?" She asked, her voice low but Mark sensed a kind of hope in her tone.
"Okay, we'll get to that, alright? I can give a statement or whatever but can we focus on this guy?" Mark said that although he intended to make up for his mistake and get the man medical attention, it appeared that Cait believed he was trying to deflect as her scowl remained. The man winced as if the universe was trying to take the pressure off Mark.
Cait's scowl softened as the man's groan broke through the tension. She crouched closer to him, pressing a white rag to his wound, "Easy."
"She shot me." The man graveled out, seeming as if it took a substantial effort.
"Who shot you? Who were you working for?" She murmured her tone with an undertone of pleading.
The man shook his head frantically, his body trembling as he clutched his stomach tighter. "I can't. He'll kill me,"
Mark hovered closer to him, kneeling on the other side of him. "C'mon, man. If you help us out here, we can protect you. " Though neither Cait nor the tattooed man could see them, Mark's eyes softened. Suddenly, the man's eyes focused on something behind Mark and Cait.
"Caitlyn Kiramman," both of them spun around, and, walking toward them, Mark saw a tall man in his mid-thirties, wearing an outfit similar to the other officers and sporting a small mustache. Another officer walked forward on his left. "Why does that not surprise me? Interfering in an investigation again. You're supposed to be guarding your mother's tent." The officer, whom Mark assumed to be of higher rank than Cait, stared daggers at him.
Mark instinctively straightened up, but Cait spoke first, still kneeling next to the injured man. "I was, Sheriff, but she doesn't need it. And clearly, this takes priority." She pleaded, looking up at the sheriff.
He circled the opening the two of them were in before responding, "I realize you're used to getting your way, Kiramman, but we have a chain of command for a reason." The sheriff's eyes then zeroed in on Mark, "And you. Who are you? What are you doing in a restricted area?"
Cait responded for him, "This is…" she trailed off, looking like she was mentally kicking herself before continuing, "Invincible. He was just helping me look around- he was here during the fight."
The sheriff stared, his eyes not changing, yet Mark sensed an unbelieving demeanor underneath them. "Hmm. I've never heard of you. What's a vigilante like you doing interfering with an investigation?"
"Hey, man, I'm just trying to help. I mean, I was here during the fight when that guy was shot," Mark pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the injured man, "so, y'know, I figured I could pitch in a bit."
"You just happened to be here during a gang firefight?" the sheriff asked, though his tone suggested more of an accusation.
Mark huffed. God, did he hate working with the police. He appreciated them most of the time; they helped with many of the smaller crimes, and Mark certainly couldn't be everywhere. On the other hand, when they tried giving him the "vigilantism is wrong speech," he was never a fan. Sure, heroes were way more common in his universe than this one, but that doesn't mean there wasn't occasionally some do-gooder wanting things to be done by the book.
Mark's thoughts were interrupted as Cait said, "Sheriff, you must understand, there's more going on here than just the smuggling. If I could just question him, I could-"
"I'll take it from here." The sheriff dismissed, "Since you're looking for more work, you can take the graveyard shift tonight at the fair."
Mark saw how Cait looked down at the sheriff's feet and that only angered him more, "Yes, sir." She mumbled.
"I- Hey, she was just trying to help, man-"
The sheriff's gaze shifted to the other officer standing by during the conversation, "I want this one on a boat to Stillwater prison." He demanded carelessly, the other policeman robotically agreeing. Mark swore to god if he didn't get that guy to a hospital first…
"And you." The older man nodded in his direction, "Come with me. Now."
The sheriff's commanding tone left no room for argument, but Mark hesitated. Mark felt Cait's hand on his shoulder, "It's fine," she whispered, her voice carrying an edge of frustration. "Just go with him. Don't make this worse."
Mark looked back at her slightly and his jaw tightened. He hated this. All of it. But he nodded reluctantly and floated upward, following the sheriff out of the lower deck. Mark relished only a little the way the sheriff looked on in confusion and perhaps even a small amount of worry.