"You wanna die for this planet?! FINE!"

Thud.*

"What's seventeen more years?!"

Thud*

"I can always start again!"

Thud.*

"Make another kid!"

Thud.*

Thud.*

Thwack.*

Thwack.*

Thwack.*

Thud.*

Thud.*

Mark bolted upright on the Kiramman's guest bedroom mattress, a cold sweat coating his entire body. He gasped for air, his chest rising and falling rapidly from the nightmare. Mark's hands trembled as he wiped his face, the echoes of bones crunching and flesh tearing still echoing in his mind.

It took him a few moments to recall that he wasn't back in that blood-soaked crater on the side of Mount Everest. He wasn't drowning in suffocating dust, wasn't choking on his blood, and wasn't witnessing people being cut in half on that train. He wasn't fighting for his life against the one person supposed to love him unconditionally. He was in a bed, in a completely different universe—somewhere that wasn't tormented by what his dad had done.

Mark ran a trembling hand through his sweat-dampened hair, and his arms ached with phantom pain. The room was dimly lit, and the early morning sun began to seep through the elegant satin curtains, alongside the soft hum of the city outside. The room itself was far too lavish for someone like him. It wasn't home. It wasn't even his room. Just another place he was passing through, another unfamiliar space in a world that wasn't his.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart. Mark swallowed hard and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, resting his elbows on his knees as he buried his face in his hands. He rubbed his temples, pushing the images away. "Make another kid?" The words burned like acid. He knew (well, he didn't know per se, but he could figure) that he was trying to change, but the permanent bloodstains left on his chest wouldn't ever let him forget. His eyes slowly shifted to the window, to the sprawling city beyond the elegant curtains.

"Well," Mark said to himself, "I guess I should get moving." His joints cracked as he stood up from the bed. The sunlight streaming through the curtains felt too warm, too bright. Mark shielded his eyes. He exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders to shake off the lingering tension in his muscles.

Mark grabbed his shirt off a nearby chair, freshly pressed and washed. He needed to remember to thank whoever had done that for him. Mark's fingers lingered over his chest, tracing where bruises should have been and where many scars still remained.

He slowly walked down the hallway, pushing aside the thought of floating around the large mansion as he was accustomed to. The hall was quiet, except for the occasional creak of the wooden floors beneath his feet. The aroma of something warm and inviting wafted through the air. He hoped to savor whatever it was soon.

However, Mark soon got distracted. He approached an open window, pulling the curtain aside just enough to take in the view of Piltover's skyline. Tall, gleaming towers rose against the morning light, their golden tips catching the sun in a way that made them appear almost ethereal. Below, the streets were already bustling with people. Mark sighed, leaning against the windowsill. He could almost pretend, for a second, that things were normal. That he wasn't stranded in another universe.

"Invincible?"

Mark recognized the voice. He turned his head a little too quickly and saw Cait. Her face was covered with bandages, bruises, and scrapes, but she looked much better than Mark had anticipated. Wearing a purple nightdress and torn indigo shorts, she walked slowly toward him. Mark noticed one foot dragging behind the other, a clear limp from the injuries she'd sustained.

"Yeah, that's me. You can just call me Mark."

Caitlyn offered him a small, tired smile as she leaned against the opposite side of the window frame. "How did you sleep?"

Mark scoffed good-naturedly. "I should be the one asking you that. You were right next to the explosion."

"Well, you were in the explosion. You should have gotten off far worse than me."

Mark smirked. "What can I say? I'm invincible." He could see Caitlyn stifle a smirk.

"Well, regardless, come on. There's something I want to show you." Mark grinned slightly, curiosity already growing. He followed Cait through the house, down a series of winding hallways decorated with regal portraits and golden-trimmed furniture. It's not like Mark wasn't used to expensive-looking architecture- his dad's old job as a writer let them go to a lot of fancy hotels and parties at mansions. This was something more akin to what a heroic version of Machine Head would build for himself.

Eventually, Cait led Mark into a room. He did his best to take in the sight quickly. Many vases and bouquets were piled on top of a small table. A stick mannequin with a bright blue trench coat and top hat was in the corner near the bed.

What made Mark the most shocked was the man standing near the entrance, holding a dozen small white flowers in his hands. "Jayce?! I mean, it makes sense; they're friends, but… wait a minute, does he recognize me? Oh… shit-"

"Oh… hello. Your name's Mark, right?"

Mark blinked. "Uh, yeah, nice to see you."

Jayce nodded, then looked at Cait. "Cait, what's he doing here? No offense."

Cait looked at Mark briefly, seemingly asking permission to tell Jayce his identity. "Mark was at the fire last night and was one of the only bystanders who's unharmed enough to be giving us information."
Jayce slowly nodded as Caitlyn spoke. "But why is he in your parent's house?"

Mark watched Cait's face shift into one of pride, though he didn't know if it was genuine or forced. She walked backwards and placed a hand on his shoulder. "This man saved two enforcers from the explosion. Carried them out with his bare hands and dragged me to the hospital himself! My mother felt it fit to reward his actions as Markus had no place to stay."

Jayce looked at Mark with wide eyes before they slowly narrowed and his eyebrow raised, though he didn't comment further. "That's… impressive. Really impressive. Good job, Mark ."

"Thanks, but it's nothing."

"Not nothing if Mrs. Kiramman let you stay at her estate." Jayce good-naturedly stated.

"Anyway- anyway, the reason I needed Mark here for this is because I've had a break in the case."
Jayce glanced at Mark. "You agree with me, right, Mark? Shouldn't she be resting?"

"Yeah, you almost exploded. You might need more than a day's rest."

Cait scoffed. "While the trail is hot?" She asked incredulously. Caitlyn walked between Jayce and Mark, grabbing the flowers from the taller man's hands and chucking them under the table piled high with the other.

She grabbed both of them by the shoulders and led them forward. "Now, you know how I've suspected there's a single mind behind the undercity's violence?"

"Undercity?" The two gave Mark confused looks.

"You know, the undercity? Zaun? The city located beneath Piltover?" Caitlyn asked, her brow furrowed. She exchanged a glance with Jayce but chose not to push the topic further. "In any case, it's what Jayce refers to as the great conspiracy."

"Huh, like JFK," Mark said quietly.

The three of them stood in front of a large corkboard on Cait's bedroom floor. Words, photographs, and notes were pinned to the board with nails, all tied together with red string. "I think whoever attacked the square is our suspect. The same symbols appeared at the failed smuggling operation at the Hexgates."

"The Hexgates?"

"Keep up."

"I am so lost-"

"All this time, they've kept their dealings localized to the undercity. Low priority. The attack on the square changes things. They've overstepped. If I can figure who made this, it could lead me directly to whoever's behind it all."

Mark stared with a blank expression and a slack jaw. "Jesus, this feels like I'm watching a detective show…"

Cait backed up onto a stool, standing so that she was taller than Mark and Jayce. "The answer is here, staring me in the face. I can feel it."

"Huh…" Mark scratched his chin. "That's… this is all way too smart of a conversation for me." He chuckled.

"How do you intend to prove any of this?" Jayce asked with a glance.

"If I can just work this out, Marcus will have to listen."

"I don't know, he doesn't seem like a 'listen to others' kinda guy." Mark quipped.

Jayce nodded. "If there's one thing I've learned about the Council, it's that they need more than just theories."

"Council?" Jayce cocked an eyebrow at Mark's inquiry. "I'm, uh, new in town."

"Our government, the leading families of Piltover, but since when did you concern yourself with the Council's opinion?" Cait laughed as she said the last part of her sentence.

"Since I… became a Councilor."

Both Caitlyn and Mark looked at him.

"Huh, really?" Mark asked. Jayce nodded. "Hm, good for you."

"Wait, but- When? Why?" Cait crossed her legs as she stood. "Have they discovered how to govern with grease and a spanner?"

"Ha ha." Jayce laughed sarcastically. "I was actually hoping you might consider joining my staff."

Mark watched as he took a blue and gold tube from his back pocket and handed it to Caitlyn. She stared at him before unrolling it, revealing a scroll. At the top of the page, it had a red and yellow hammer emblem with the words 'House Talis Security' in big, bold letters.

"'House Talis Security?'" She read before letting her arms fall with a huff. "That's a ceremonial position. I'd live behind a desk." Mark may be an idiot, but he wasn't a fool. He could figure that Cait was the kind of person who wasn't satisfied unless she was risking her life three days a week.

"You almost died, Cait. You would've if that superhero guy hadn't carried you to the hospital when he did. I just... I just want you to be safe."

Caitlyn rolled it back up and shoved it into Jayce's chest as Mark shifted uncomfortably. She got down off of the stool and kneeled over her map, her voice laced with glibness. "Thanks, but I already have a job."

"No. You don't." He stared at the back of Caitlyn's head, not bothering to glance in Mark's direction. "After the attack, your parents spoke to the Sheriff. This is the best I could do."

Mark exchanged a look with Jayce when the older man finally looked up, unsure of how to even begin navigating the simmering tension between them.

Caitlyn finally spoke up. "I don't need charity, Councilor. Yours or my parents'.

"Cait-"

"Get out."

Jayce apparently didn't need to be told more than once because he quickly turned on his heel and left the room. Mark was torn between staying and comforting her or leaving to give her space but considering she just kicked out someone she likely had spent far more time with, Mark joined Jayce as the two men left her bedroom.

When the door closed behind the two of them, Mark looked at Jayce. His jaw was clenched, and he was staring at the ground in front of him. Mark was about to ask something but before he could, Jayce turned and left down the hall. He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a deep sigh.

Mark could've only been there, leaning up against the wall, for a few minutes before Caitlyn came bursting through her bedroom door.

"Mark! I've got an idea."

"Huh- what's up?"

"I think we need to take a look at a prisoner. They're incarcerated at Stillwater Hold." She told him before clarifying. "The prison in the ocean to the west."

"So you wanna go investigate some prisoner?"

Caitlyn nodded, her expression intense. "Yes, and I want you to come with me."

Mark cocked an eyebrow. "Why? You nervous?"

Cait rolled her eyes with a smirk. "Please, I trust myself enough to handle some thugs. However, I am not foolish enough to not ask the only superhuman I know for assistance because I may encounter things beyond me."

Mark grinned at her. "Alright, I'll go with you." Marcus' voice echoed in his brain - no secret missions unless he approved them - but the way his brain made the voice sound, it was more of a suggestion than a rule.

"Good. We'll be leaving in an hour, " she said, beginning to walk away. Come on, we need to get you changed."

"Excuse me." Though it was a question, his tone did not suggest that.

Caitlyn stopped, putting a hand on her hips and turning to face Mark with an all-too-amused expression. "You didn't seriously think you could walk around in that forever, did you?"

Mark blinked in disbelief, staring at Cait. "What's wrong with this shirt?" he asked, gesturing to his plain, slightly wrinkled tee.

Cait simply looked him up and down before continuing to walk. "Come on, I'm sure my father has some clothes in your size."

"You don't think he'll mind?"

"I'm sure of it."

Mark hesitated for a moment, glancing at his shirt again, before following Caitlyn down the hallway. A light, warm breeze wafted through the open windows. When they reached a small yet elegant room with a vast wardrobe against one wall, Caitlyn gestured for him to step inside.

Caitlyn opened the wardrobe and started pulling out clothes—some too formal, some too casual, but none quite what Mark had envisioned. Mark glanced around the room absentmindedly as she tossed clothes onto the floor.

"Here, try this one." She broke him out of his stupor, handing him a pile of clothes. Mark looked up at her, but Caitlyn's face left no room for more words. So Mark floated into the nearby bathroom, locking the door behind him.

~a few minutes later~

Mark walked out of the bathroom, floating off the ground. He now had on a long, cotton dress shirt beneath a soft maroon vest that hung just above his knees. A red tie hung around his neck and golden hooked onto the vest's buttons, wrapping around to attach to his back. Similarly, grape-colored pants fell over black boots, all covered by a grayish-tan trench coat.

Caitlyn was waiting just outside, wearing her Enforcer outfit minus the hat but now with a black coat, her arms crossed. She raised an eyebrow when she saw him. "Not bad, though I didn't expect you to clean up so well."

"I think I've only ever looked this fancy at funerals." Mark quipped melancholically. His joke made Cait concerned, so he quickly doubled down. "This is… so many layers.

Cait rolled her eyes but chuckled softly. "Let's get going, " she said, facing the door.

Mark followed, his boots clicking softly against the floor as they walked down the hallway. They reached the front door, where the fresh scent of the morning air met them. Mark stepped out first, squinting as the sun hit his face. Caitlyn followed him, locking the door behind them.

~eventually~

Mark floated up the massive flight of stairs leading to the prison entrance as Cait walked beside him. The massive door was cracked open slightly, letting a red light bleed outside.

"Hope you

Caitlyn stepped forward first, her boots clicking sharply against the cold stone. Without hesitation, she pressed a hand against the heavy metal door and pushed. The hinges groaned in protest, the red light spilling out further as the gap widened. A gust of stale, metallic-smelling air rushed past them, and Mark instinctively clenched his fists.

Mark started walking instead of floating—he didn't want to be burned at the stake for people thinking he was a witch. "Oh no, townspeople! I'm not a witch; I'm an alien, actually—wait, what are you doing with that pitchfork?" Mark was so lost in his thoughts that he almost didn't notice Caitlyn stop.

The two of them stood in front of a stone pedestal. Behind it sat a behemoth of a man- he had to be at least twelve feet tall, and this was when he was sitting. He was wearing a version of the enforcer uniform, illuminated by the orange lamps sitting on the pedestal.

"Hell do you want?" His voice was deep and echoey.

"I need to speak with one of the inmates."

The goliath shifted his weight. "Oh, folks in here aren't usually very talkative."

"This one was hit by friendly fire," Cait moved feverishly as she spoke, "He's got reason to talk. Must have been sent in today?"

"Oh." Huffed the man. "Inmate 2135. Yeah, I'm, uh… afraid that's not possible."

"Why not?" Mark felt something in his stomach turn.

"Uh, well, there's been… an incident."

"What kind of incident?"

"The… not so pretty kind." Mark's fist clenched.

"You don't understand, I have to talk to him."

"Oh, you'll be able to. As soon as he can move his jaw again." He chuckled. Mark ground his teeth.

"Is he okay?" Mark asked.

"Well, he's alive so…"

Caitlyn glanced at Mark before looking back at the behemoth of a man. "Who assaulted him?"

"I dunno- it's not like I care enough to know their names."

"Well," Mark could tell by Cait's tone that she was getting tired. "Can't you tell us what cell she's in?"

The man leaned back in his chair, and let out a deep sigh, before responding. "X516. Get on the elevator, go to level negative 40, end of the hall on the right."

Mark nodded once, sharply, his voice low but firm. "Thank you."

The elevator ride down was long, the walls of the prison seeming to close in around them as they descended into the depths. The atmosphere was heavy and thick with the scent of damp stone. The faint hum of the machinery was the only sound, the kind that reverberated in your bones and made the air feel heavier. Neither of them spoke a word.

When the doors finally opened with a soft metallic ding, Caitlyn stepped out first, boots clicking sharply against the stone floor. Mark followed her. The silence between them was broken only by their footsteps echoing off the stone walls and a strange, rhythmic thumping.

They both looked to the left, ending up at the cell labeled X516. They both could hear the thumping grow louder, coming from inside the cell. Mark shifted his weight onto his other foot and apparently, that triggered something as the thumping stopped.

From inside the cell Mark saw a woman with thick muscles, shorter than both Cait and himself, stop punching a wall. Her back was coated in a layer of tattoos, showing more ink than skin, and the most striking detail about her was her bright reddish-pink hair. Sweat poured down her back. She whipped around to face Mark and Cait.

"Who the hell are you?"