Frank cursed every bit of his luck right then and there. It was less than half an hour until his shift ended at midnight when another bored and weary colleague would swing by to acknowledge its end, and so he'd holed himself up at the camera desk to make it all the more easier for them to do so; as had happened every work day for the past four years. It was monotonous, tiring and had crap pay, but it was the only job he could get to support his mother with.
Unfortunately, being at the cameras meant you had no excuse when an intruder strolled blatantly into view on them.
Chicago had several port areas that ranged in size and activity, including where the city hosted two bustling terminals surrounded by warehouses and storage facilities such as the large liquid storage at the Lake Calumet terminal. But it also included many smaller boat and ship outcroppings, whether it be slotted parking slots along the Chicago canals or the small boat hubs all along the Chicago coastline. Frank was currently the guard on duty for an even smaller hub than average, being given only a little hut for the camera desk and a table with a coffee machine on top, all to watch over twenty differing pretentious yachts for middle class snobs slightly richer than most.
Complaints aside, it was still his job, and he liked being paid more than not. Stepping through the door and into the biting air of a city only starting to emerge from winter in March, not helped by the guts of seaside air that caused Frank to tighten his coat as he clicked on his torch. Sweeping its beam down the wooden walkways the boats, were tied to, he sighed as he saw the soaking wet individual turn to look at him.
"Alright fella, you're trespassing now. I don't know why you swam all the way round the bay just to climb up into a load of boats with not much in them, but I don't care." He spoke in as strong a firm tone as he could muster then, which was quite pronounced, but its delivery was weakened by the evident tiredness in it. "Just come along whilst we wait for the cops, and I'm sure I can spare a towel and a coffee..."
Frank had trailed off as the figure that had previously been twenty metres away and illuminated by his torch light, was now only half a metre from him. It might as well have been teleportation to the man, given that his eyes literally strained around the edges of the man that had appeared before his eyes had even fully brought him back into focus. With a surprised yelp, Frank simultaneously tried to adopt an expression of surprise and slight horror, grab his gun from its holster with his free hand and back-peddle away from the man.
He succeeded at none, as his eyes bugged out a bit when the man's hand was still faster as it swiped his gun before he could even touch it, with the man's other hand landing on his shoulder to keep him in place. At this point with mounting horror, Frank would have tried to desperately run and place his hope in the fact that the man's reason for being there was not him; which was of great likelihood but unfortunately he was not allowed. Instead, his brain fed him a piece of information that caused him to whimper slightly, before hastily shutting himself up as the man before him turned the gun around his hand.
It would have been less frightening had it not been for the fact that the man had ripped away half the holster and its strappings, making it sting violently in Frank's leg for more than a few moments.
"Rather fascinating, it has been a few decades since I last saw a piece of ballistic weaponry from a less technologically developed society." The man spoke, completely at odds with the man panicking in his clutch with how he sounded. His voice was seemingly smoothed and deliberated, delivered in a steady, unhurried pace that was resonant with a calming enunciation that was almost too-perfect. As if to complement its delivery, the man paused before lowering the metal pistol from a closer inspection to show Frank it again. "This is a ballistic weapon, correct? Utilising some form of propellant and metallic projectile, much unlike the energy weapon I encountered not a short while ago that I had assumed your species incapable of making? I do not wish to be hasty in my assumptions again, you see."
The cobalt blue swirled with the steel-grey within the pupils of the narrowed, intense gaze looking down at the shivering night guard from the firm taller man, despite the latter being completely soaked in the cold gusts sent across them both. A cropped style of hair kept it orderly and well-kept, with the straight and sleek silver-white hair mixed with sharp, angular cheekbones set in an expression of analytical regard that seemed to look through Frank. The other man seemed to hold him as no threat whatsoever, merely a fleeting curiosity of the moment as despite the lean build of the man; the incredibly dense musculature of the Viltrumite species would both prevent harm coming to him and allow him to deal more out in one punch than Frank could ever do in his whole life.
A trimmed moustache might have been a symbol of the Viltrumite people, but Vigil differed from the vast majority in one simple fact - not a single battle scar mired his form. It did state his preference to not engage in combat when necessary, but the round Viltrumite symbol on the chest of his people's clothing did still demonstrate his loyalty to the cause. He just served it better in other ways.
"F-fuck, you're one of those supers, aren't you?" Frank choked out, as his shaking became slightly worse from it.
Vigil raised an eyebrow slightly at the clear dismissal of his question not out of rudeness, but of the emotional instability of the shaking human before him. Giving a hum, he responded then. "If that is a colloquial term for the fact that I am stronger than you, then yes, I am." The Viltrumite spoke with the same musing tone, before crushing the pistol in one hand that clenched its fingers together before then dropping it into Frank's hand. "And I'll take you up on that offer of a towel, though I am unsure what a coffee is. If it is a piece of Earthen food, I would be delighted to make it my first sampling of such."
Twisted metal was now clutched in the clutch of the night guard, with grooves embedded so deep in the metal in the shape of finger marks that it was as if it had always been produced and machined like that. Looking up from the deformed barrel of the pistol, Frank knew he didn't really have much of a chance - or choice.
BOAT HUB HUT
"Er- what do you want man?" Frank blurted out, having finally had enough. The past few minutes had broken his stress to a breaking point now, and he was tired of feeling like he was going to be killed any moment to the extent that summoning the courage to speak up might just hurry it up. "Are you going to kill me or not?"
Frank looked over the rim of the polystyrene cup holding the liquid he'd been fascinated with in that moment, before then setting it on the table before him and standing up; completely ignoring the first question. "Well, my good man, you are alive for three reasons currently. The first being of course, that I need you alive for my questions. The second being that simply you will not meet the right people who would believe you, as I am confident of the fact that the average human would not just take your word of a late-night regale to explain a robbery. And the third being, your death would attract more attention than any broken bones." Vigil summarised in a manner that contained a hint of pride at how succinct he'd made it, before a hand then flourished back in the direction of Frank. "Broken bones that may appear if the location of stored currency on site of this docking facility is not made apparent."
Frank jumped in his chair from the first blatant threat from the man, fear that had trickled back into his veins to become the literal fear of undercurrents of dread fast roaring back to the surface as trembling. "Shit- yes, just give me a second!" Frank yelped out as he dived out of the chair without thinking about anything but complying, yanking open a drawer on the CCTV desk and pulling out a small metal box. A lockbox painted orange, he then slowed in a hesitant step towards the table - and closer to Vigil - before then gently shoving it onto the surface of it.
He hastily took a step back as Vigil's hand reached out and scooped up the lockbox by its handle, turning it over to see the flimsy looking plated lock on it. "Ah, a secured container for currency in order to stop acts of theft, though its degraded quality does speak of its woeful regard to do so; and its according low count of currency likely in it." The scientist spoke, before then glancing to Frank with a side-eye look. "What is your currency called?"
"D-dollars." Frank stammered out in haste, slightly unravelling his tight posture as Vigil's eyes returned to the metal box.
He got only a hum in response, as Vigil merely then positioned his fingers at the keyhole to the lockbox and flicked it - completely caving it in and allowing the lid to be easily lifted up. Plucking out two stacks of green bills wrapped together by elastic bands, he eyed them as he spoke again. "If we assume based upon the visible denominations of your dollar currency, that there is roughly a thousand dollars to each bundle, how much would that be worth?"
The night guard would have been either mystified or annoyed by the seeming cluelessness of the person before him, from the questions of guns, coffee and money at this point; if he wasn't still quivering slightly. "That depends... - there's a-a lot of things all with prices!" Frank had begun to trail off as he completely didn't know how to answer that, before hastily adding more as Vigil's eyes flicked briefly to him before they turned back to counting the money. "I-I mean, that's just more than I get in a month."
"This is a month's worth of spending value for the average human, left in a flimsy metal box?" Vigil mused aloud in a clearly unimpressed tone, before merely humming again and tucking both stacks into the pouch he wore on his belt. "Never mind, if it lasts me a month too then that is all I require." Ceasing voicing his thoughts aloud, he turned back to face the night guard - much to their dread. "Undoubtedly for a place of keeping transport parked, you have some form of monitoring devices, correct?"
"Y-yeah, the desk behind you." Frank responded hastily, pointing to it with his hand that had its elbow still tucked closer to his chest as if he dared not to over-extend. "That's where the cameras are."
"Cameras, of course. We use more than that, but I suppose it is cheaper on scale to use a singular form of reliable image capture." Vigil stated as he turned round to see the wooden desk, which had atop it two monitors displaying the feeds of the CCTV dotted around the boat hub. "And does it relay its transmissions to anywhere offsite of this docking facility?"
"Er- no." Frank responded simply, blinking a bit as he watched the terrifying presence before him turn back into a curious-bound figure who strode right up to the desk. "It's all stored in the USB drive on the computer."
Bending lower to watch the feeds and getting to observe his first glimpse of human technology that was actually up-close to him without shooting at him from the ranges of many kilometres, Vigil roamed his eyes over the monitors and wires. He didn't get his hopes too high from this particular setup though, if the prior lockbox had been any indication of the equipment at this location. "I take it this USB drive is the storage component of this setup?" He inquired as he continued to try and ascertain human technology.
Viltrumites had no need for wires, so it really was interesting to see their usage.
"Yeah, the stick on the laptop." Was his response.
"Laptop?"
"The-" Frank paused as he scratched his head slightly, feeling a bit stumped now in an ironic twist at how to explain to someone who had no clue themselves. "The foldable computer with the lid?"
"Oh, that is another name for a computer? But portable?" Vigil began talking aloud again, as he plucked up the black laptop from next to the two monitors plugged into it by wires, before he then tugged out all the cable connections. He had reasoned that one of them had to be the aforementioned storage device, but what he didn't expect was for all of the wires to stay attached - but for pieces of the laptop to become dislodged with them including green pieces of circuit boards. "I had not expected human machinery to be that fragile. I will have to mind that."
Looking to the mess he held in his hands, Vigil then shrugged before slamming both hands and items in them into the desk and monitors. If it worked casually the unexpected time, then an actual attempt had reduced the desk to a cascade of splintered pieces of wood and solid debris as the monitors shattered and sent shards of plastic onto the floor. Frank watched the scene with his fear going up another notch, and resolved doubly so not to tell the terrifying man that he had missed the USB stick on the left side of the laptop when he pulled the wires out from the right.
Especially when half that stick ended up close to his foot on the floor.
"No matter." Vigil stated, before then turning round and striding over to the door, where he paused briefly only to look to Frank. "Good day, guardsman. Please feel free to contact those you would for assistance, but if I were you, keep the description to that of a normal human robbery attempt."
The opening of the door in which the scientist stepped through and quickly out of sight had Frank's breath pick up slightly faster for a few moments as he tried to now calm himself with the disappearance of the man. Though, with the tone the last sentence was said in, he couldn't tell if it were a threat or simple advice. Either way, the job had just become more than it was worth in the last twenty minutes alone, and he still had ten minutes to go before his replacement - and it would be far longer before he would successfully calm himself.
It would take even longer for him to care about being fired from that job.
TEN MINUTES LATER
That had provided Vigil with a very good idea, though.
After having politely asked a passer-by on the street who had at first tried to ignore him, Vigil quickly learnt that the enforcement of documents within the country of the USA was handled by a department of state, as it were. Whilst he had been somewhat intrigued by the existence of two differing government systems between a country and the regional state, it had provided the necessary information he needed. He may not be well versed in Earth's customs and his search for information was proving it, but knowing the language was enough to inquire about a map at a late-night store.
So, there he stood in front of the three-storey building for the Department of State with a contemplative expression, as he figured more upon what identity he would take up than the next few steps of actions. The plan was rather simple, being that ground floor entry points were often alarmed, but the simple solution of flight would bypass that along with any cameras around the entrances. His Core computer would then be able to link up with any printing devices necessary for the documentation, given its wide array of decryption and signal integration protocols. He'd purpose built it for discovery and data gathering foremost, and it was certainly a boon the few times it was needed for hacking and other such purposes.
Personally, he felt that choices that affected his character rather than work or interests were things that he struggled with harder. There was a method to everything scientific and even all the way down to hobbies, but personal choices? That depended purely on preference, and Vigil hated taking such a stance sometimes just from the fact that his mind seemed slower on providing the answer than anything analytical.
Floating up less than a metre from the wall in a corner spot of the building that he had noted was a blind spot in the surveillance devices of the building, he paused at a third storey window that he hovered aside. By the time his fingers had sunk into the plastic casing housing the glass and had tugged out the whole window frame, he had just decided to utilise his current name even if it were likely foreign to most nations on Earth. Reasons were easier to generate than undercover aliases that he had no experience in using, as there was always a reason to why a phenomenon occurred.
CORNER CAFE
It had also been a boon to take with him a freshly new smartphone from the government building, having discovered it in the aptly named Information Technology department which he had been delighted to learn of. Even if from his time spent in the building that he had begun to learn that the society - or at least government - loved to use acronyms which had rankled him more than it should have, given that he had always been able to name most things with but a word; the find that Earth took its technology much more seriously than other worlds was certainly pleasing. A new communications device to study would simultaneously grant him the means to update his Core device to be able to harness the full breadth of the planet's technological infrastructure, as well as a means to use a device as such in the open visibility of human society.
He doubted wielding a holographic display above his wrist in their open spaces was pursuant to staying hidden, given Earth still relied on tapping rectangles of plastic.
Vigil was at that very moment, having pulled apart the casing of the smartphone to observe its innards and scan against with his Core's range of scanners would allow him to build up a blueprint of the communications device. Which much like his wrist mounted device, had quickly revealed itself to be more than for communications as it could be used for searching information, video games and much more. He had been a little impressed at such, in seeing a society with such freeing allowance of its citizens to have access to worldwide data; given he had personally seen more than one world with dictatorial restrictions to keep such devices to communication only.
The very notion of a 'search engine' had frankly excited him a little, and made his mission many times easier. Having easily grasped the concept of entering a query into a search bar given it was a literal universal principle; it had been then navigating the platform he now knew to be called the internet that had proved tricker. The idea of using a computer mouse had actually needed the help of the smartphone on his person, as he could tap information on a screen much like through a holographic display.
But a little, fragile plastic tool that zoomed his cursor across the screen much faster than a finger could was both fascinating and frankly odd. It had required an online tutorial video through a platform called 'YouTube' to explain it to him, but after ten minutes of wriggling and just entering in differing queries just to click the mouse buttons; he realised he had gotten a bit carried away. Still, a brand-new concept of how to utilise technology was among his interests, and so had stolen an identical mouse device from a neighbouring computer station to him to stuff into his pouch, for later dissection as well.
The corner café he had come across once he had the necessary documentation to back up being a human, or citizen of the country he was in as he was learning to say, was perfect for his needs. Not only had it provided the necessary wireless signal technology to access the internet platform, but also rentable computer stations for a more convenient time of using the search functions of the internet. It had been the cups of coffee that had interested him a lot as well, as backed up by another internet search, he had learnt also of the wide availability of drugs of all kinds on the planet too.
So far it was all proving very peculiar, right down to the names they gave everything, whether it be an acronym or colloquial terms apparently known as 'slang' for informal terms. Even the act of asking for a coffee sweeter than Frank's earlier bitter concoction had landed him something called a 'mocha'. Differing types of food and drink was of course not a new concept, but the extent to which it was taken on Earth had surpassed all non-existent previous estimations he had; given even their artificial and chemical additions to it all.
Even having been only on the planet for a few hours now, three of which had been spent in this coffee shop specialised for the night-time period of their daylight cycle, Vigil would have to say that the most surprising thing so far would just be the range of it all. Whether it be the sheer range of choices available, news coming from online sources or activities available to any individual; it was vastly different to Viltrumite methodology. Given every individual had duties and responsibilities, the concept of free time being built into the individual day for hours off was a novel concept that apparently most of the planet enjoyed on Earth, even in more authoritarian countries.
The sheer range of data was what would be his crowning interest during his stay for the mission, and if he had to delay his reports to squeeze in more research - it wouldn't be the first time he had done that.
Right now, he had taken a break in both surveying the flavour and contents of the drink in his hand, as well as using it as an excuse to dart his eyes around the coffee shop. Even if his current self would draw a bit more attention than he would generally prefer given his mannerisms and speech pattern would not be that of the societal norm, there would always be more excuses for a phenomenon occurring than the actual reason. Even if it was harder to explain given he wore a cleaner's overalls that he stole from the government building to put over his Viltrumite clothing to hide, he was confident that this wouldn't even be questioned given another universal concept of the average person not wanting to make a mundane point their business.
Looking round granted him observations in its own right, from the differing social classes in society to the mannerisms employed, even the occasional order to the lonesome and tired barista was useful. From all indications, the current vendor shop he was in was a favourite for students from an evident nearby educational facility given the mixture of youth with books and laptops, but there were other people there too. It was busier than even an alien like himself would expect for a period of the daylight cycle meant for resting the body.
It would take another four coffees, and being asked out the coffee shop at closing time of 6AM that he was still unsatisfied with having a glimpse of how Earth functioned. Even if he did take his research back to a hotel where he would be able to use his Core device with its optimised search functions and much more powerful processor, Vigil knew he never be able to learn all he wanted to even if the mission lasted another three months. But, a few days of non-stop research, his good enough knowledge of the English language, application of universal concepts and knowledge of other primitive societies would allow him to blend in completely as just another human.
CHICAGO UNIVERSITY, THIRD LECTURE HALL
This was his small test of re-appearing in public to assess his newly gained knowledge of human society and culture, so that he could see if his according skills in using it would also be good enough. As a scientist with a practical side too, he also liked to apply what he studied before he could call any such experiment or test a success, although he would have liked to continue studying the theory. Staying in a hotel for three days and pretty much pausing only to eat at the restaurant within it had granted Vigil knowledge of many differing aspects, but like everything there was still much that was left unexplored.
Alas, that would not be conducive to his overall interests or his assigned mission though.
Having gone to a store on the second day after finding out how transactions worked on Earth, Vigil had made a mental note that documents would not be sufficient enough for a longer stay on Earth and would also need necessities such as an email address, bank account and phone contract. But for now on this specific societal time cycle known as a week, confusingly and literally oddly done on a seven-day rotation basis, 'cash' would be enough to get him everything he needed.
Newer clothes than a cleaner's overalls had been in order, with Vigil emerging from the store with several multipacks of basic clothing like the T-shirts and trousers, but the scientist had been pleased to find that there was something practical to be had from the trip too. A basic utility jacket would prove in actual terms more useful than his Viltrumite clothing even if the latter was designed for extremes such as atmospheric entry, but he didn't plan to do any of that whilst still here. A minimalist look on the outside with a dark blue, waterproof exterior that would allow him to blend in, but an interior with quite a few inner pockets for storage, it suited his needs.
Combined with the still utilised belt pouch, his smaller equipment like a few surveying or scientific tools could be kept on his person.
But for this situation, it was unneeded. He was currently sitting on a commonplace chair with a foldable function, amid an array of gathered people attending the open talk within the university auditorium. Undoubtedly many in the room would be students attending to hear one of the professor's speak on a subject bound to be in their curriculum, but the causal entrants to the event would also allow him to see if he could blend in amongst a normal crowd.
Tonight's talk had been specifically chosen by Vigil for the fact that a respected professor in the biological field at the university would lead a seminar portion within it upon the intricacies of biological adaptation and evolution. Though he had done some research within the scientific fields and understanding of Earth, he certainly could not challenge anything with a few hours' assimilation of knowledge. It would be the few months of attending talks like these and reading discussion forums and study papers that would give him the outline of Earth's progression level, and so he had observed quietly from the back of the hall for the duration of the seminar portion.
It had been a fascinating talk, even if a primitive by Viltrumite standards, but still ultimately informative for another concept of looking at genetics and their role in adaptation - even if he could run rings round many theories of Earth from the multitudes of data within his archives. But it would be interesting to add another theory to them, as Dr Vasquez had explained the idea of natural selection and the according environmental pressures and the slow, generational process of adaptation. Incorrect to some streams of data Vigil could recall from memory, but interestingly still correct and applicable to what he had seen so far on Earth - which was sensible given it was based on their environment.
His time to test himself truly that session on his mannerisms would be to speak up, as the question allocation time of the seminar was announced at the end of Vasquez's talk. Mainly students had lined up or risen their hands to pick up a microphone to announce their question, asking inquiries to topics Vigil still listened to such as that of genetic drift, mutations and the effects artificial selection had. It took a small while because of that, but his chance came.
Having waited patiently, he stood in a polite posture as he asked his question in a measured, calm voice. "Dr Vasquez, you spoke at length about how organisms adapt over generations. But what if an organism could adapt to all environments? Not gradually, but innately - designed to thrive in any condition without external aid? Would that not be the pinnacle of evolution?"
A murmur rippled through the audience at the rather unusual question, with the professor herself chuckling lightly at the concept. "Well, that is an interesting hypothetical, but as it stands that belongs more in the realm of science fiction than biology." She answered, pausing slightly to select the right words to back up her point. "Evolution works through incremental changes - there is no single 'ultimate' form. An organism that is perfect for all environments as you state, is simply impossible given that each unique species has traits adapted to its natural habitat, unsuited to a complete change in variations such as temperature or drought."
That caused Vigil to minutely lift his eyebrow at the stout refusal to his inquiry, even if his fingers tightened slightly round the microphone he held. "Is it impossible?" He asked, face neutral even if his tone inflected an investigative element. "Or merely beyond human comprehension?"
Vanquez raised a full eyebrow this time, before speaking. "You no doubt refer to the existence of superheroes on our world, which have little research done upon them given government secrecy or any number of reasons. But that too, fulfils the theory of evolution in that there is obvious technological or outside aid for many, and even those whose powers are natural can be explained likely through that of arising mutations and such." She responded fully to the question, accentuating her point with a rephrased statement. "Evolution is a process, not a goal as no species or organism can escape biological constraints and needing to meet its necessary uptakes from its environment. To be clear, even if such a perfect organism were to exist, it would then still face trade-offs - energy expenditure, genetic stagnation, environmental dependencies to name a few."
Vigil's expression smoothed as he suppressed a small smile, having personally experienced the resilience against thousands of planetary conditions and how their genetics became the dominant expressing factor, no matter the cell. But instead of arguing, he simply nodded. "I see. Thank you, doctor." He replied before handing back his microphone and returned to his seat to blend once more into the crowd. His curiosity had certainly peaked during that public seminar, and has thoughts continued to muse upon what he had heard - if he were to judge then, it would seem that whilst humanity had a lot of good ideas to fit their level of understanding; they had a lot more to learn simply from the fact of there was a lot more to experience.
CORNER CAFE
The night café had fast become Vigil's favourite place, not just for his own chance to move about and get used to the culture of ordering food and drink, but to also get into a static environment that still changed by the day. It was quite a place to observe the comings and goings of people, and he had taken to arriving at different hours of the night from when it opened at 8PM for those wanting a late dinner, all the way up to an hour before closing to see who truly would still be out. Whilst it would be more productive to make use of the infinitely available resource of the internet, it was more his own interest in wanting to personally observe that had him return each night.
He had never before had access to so much societal data, and simply seeing how the humans even interacted was adding to it each time.
What had captured his interest this time though, was chess.
"Excuse me." He spoke then to inject himself into the conversation of two older people gathered around a wooden board set up with white and black coloured squares, his normal voice that carried its slight resonant edge containing a tone of interest. The two before him looked to him with a mixture of curiosity by one and slight rudeness at being interrupted by a stranger by the other. "I could not help but see you are partaking in an activity I have seen before but never actually known of, can I please ask what you are playing?"
The expressions disappeared and changed to a bit of amusement and disbelief, before the wife of the two spoke up. "You've never played chess before?"
"Chess, is that what the board game is called?" Vigil expressed, as his curiosity grew of seeing a new game start before the elderly couple sitting at the table with the pieces returning to both ends of the board. Having seen the intensity of their focus on the board, it had been clear to him that they had been playing this for much of their lives - but what had intrigued him was the recognition of seemingly being in a battle yet there being no such physical confrontation. "May I ask what it is?"
Having been sipping his chocolate-laced coffee as it had been in the end and becoming intrigued as the previous chess match had gone on, he had watched the elderly couple for longer than usual. The variety of movements to the obviously experienced players had denoted the importance of positioning and some types of strategies at play, aided when a hand smoothly transferred to a piece on the beginning of their turn or changed on the fly with the slight pause of the hand as it hovered over their pieces. Given his personality and his want to try all he could from this planet he'd so far only spent a week within, it fascinated him.
"Well, I'll do you better than that, kid." The husband spoke up then, shifting the board as it went from facing between the elderly couple so it now pointed between him and Vigil, who refrained from voicing the thought of how he had lived in multiples of their lives and looked to him. "How about I show you son, and you can have your first game."
Allowing a deliberate upturn of his lips to simulate a smile, he gave a nod. "I'd like that." He responded.
Though his high intelligence and penchant for strategy had given him the ability to predict moves which were explained to him, the fact that he was still being taught as the game went on and his ultimate lack of experience meant he still fell for the subtle traps and even a few basic ones. Despite losing in the end, found the game deeply fascinating in its concept of being bound to an 8c8 square board yet filled with many differing strategies that many players still came up with anew despite the centuries it had apparently been going for.
After their game, the elderly couple had taken their leave, but Vigil had expressed the first sincere thanks since he'd arrived on Earth to them as they did so. It had been the focus of that evening and even into the early hours of buying a new pocket-size chess set from a small convenience shop and then researching the rules, strategies and even watching recorded grandmaster games online. Simulating scenarios in his mind and trying to think on the fly at high speed had become a riveting fascination for those few hours, as he saw it as more than a game of strategy and winning.
He now saw it as the test of intelligence, control and adaptability that few would see it as. His pride would simply demand he master this new obsession of his.
GDA HEADQUARTERS - BRIEFING ROOM
The briefing room that had been chosen was of a standard size alike the three other briefing rooms on site, a small room compared to the much larger war room. In contrast to its larger model, only a singular long table sat in the centre of it that three others were sat at, with a projector on the end of the table shining onto the wall that cast the lower half of the room in a white hue. With the light off, only that and the cool, bluer light from the screens of the two security analyst's laptops and Donald's tablet was the only illumination in it.
At the back of the room stood Cecil Stedman, arms crossed with his face in its usual regarding expression and his ever-present earpiece occasionally buzzing with updates he mostly ignored. Across from him, Donald looked up as his hand pressed into the metal table between them, the look in his own eyes betraying the flicker of unease even if his face was set neutrally. The sheer fact he'd taken off his sunglasses was testament to his seriousness as Cecil's glancing stare was enough to alert the man to the fact that he had his attention.
"This isn't something we can ignore, sir." Donald spoke, shaping his concern into the professional information delivery that had made him Cecil's assistant in the first place. Mark Grayson's GDA file slid onto the projector screen then, complete with a frowning photo next to it. "Mark's behaviour has been changing for months - he's gotten stronger, more expressive with his powers. He wasn't quite right with them before Nolan's defection, but now, it's as if he's stuck on some semantic ever since. It's not just the escalations or aggression of the fights since, but his very thinking has changed... more calculated."
For a second, the man was just staring at Mark Grayson's photo as if it would reveal some truth, before rubbing his temple and exhaling. "I know, Donald, and I appreciate the concern. I really do get the fact that we've got a hero here who's gone through some traumatic shit and is now becoming troublesome, but frankly we've got bigger issues on our plate." Gesturing to the projector canvas, it changed as Cecil continued as he explained. "Between the rogue Mauler clones, lizard league constantly poking around, alien slavery from Mars blowing up in our faces and whatever the fuck Titan is doing in the underworld; we currently don't have the resources to obsess over what-if scenarios."
The chair sliding back a bit as Donald rose up in it, fully looking to his boss as if he wanted to impress his seriousness onto his boss. "With all due respect, sir, this isn't a what-if." His tone had risen audibly enough, making Cecil raise an eyebrow - given Donald's expertise in gathering the information for him, his assistant had acclimatised to a lot of awful things. To rattle him was no small feat. "We've run the analytics - Mark's engagements have been getting shorter, more decisive. He barely talks to anyone anymore, no jokes and yet no hesitation. The way he put that last villain down? That wasn't hero work-"
Donald cut himself off as Cecil sighed, closing his eyes for a moment before flicking back to the projector, then his assistant. The slackening of his expression combined with the way he leaned back against the wall, combined with the darkened edge to his gaze showed that he was not underestimating it. He knew alright. But he hadn't been in the game this long just to stop preparing for the storm in front of him because a hurricane was in the background. Stopping what was in front of him always bought time, and that had always worked for one simple fact - no matter if he defeated every villain on their target list today, there'd still be a new one tomorrow.
"Believe me Donald, I get it." Cecil stressed as the hands in his pockets clenched visibly within them. "And I'm not ignoring it. But the matter of fact is that he is still our greatest asset and the only confirmed thing we have that can stand up to a Viltrumite. We need him more than ever, and unfortunately what we are going to have ignore is that a young adult with the strongest superpowers on Earth didn't outgrow throwing teenage tantrums." Clicking his tongue against his teeth for a couple of seconds to run over the run-down of solutions he had become adept at creating, he then looked back to Donald. "Let's try the softer side first. After this meeting, head over to the boys with the psychology degrees and have them run it down, treatments included."
"But like I said, we don't have the active resources right now..." Cecil trailed off, before then sighing as he gave his final order, turning to one of the two analysts in the room as he did ignore Donald's nod. "You. You're excused from the meeting. I want you to re-run all our contingency plans and scenarios against Viltrumites, but this time simulate them with all our current data on Mark Grayson. Go."
The short, bulleted sentences of Cecil's tone had the GDA employee through the door faster than ever before, their boss's eyes trailing them out before looking back to Donald. "Sir, if that's all on that then, what is the current issue?" His assistant questioned.
"I need you all focused on something else right now." Cecil spoke in a tone that invited no questions, gruff and to the point as he gestured to the projector
"This guy seems to have bypassed everything." He continued, with the GDA director's frown increasing at the situation he was describing. "We've got no reports of superpowered activity matching a Viltrumite who doesn't wear a costume, nothing useful on their identity from their time of breach a week ago, no trace of technology or ship to follow given these Viltrumites can fuckin' fly and there's no goddamn face to put into our records." Folding one arm and rubbing his temple with the other hand, he let out the first sigh of the meeting. "Whoever this is, they didn't arrive in style as we've previously seen and I'm beginning to hate how clever they seem."
"Then what do we do, sir?" Donald asked, having put back on his glasses which Cecil might have taken as a sign of getting ready to go back to work.
"What we do is we congratulate them on winning the first step in eluding us, and now we throw them in the deep end." Cecil spoke with resolution, taking his hand away from his temple as he kicked off the wall, his tone filling with resolution as it did whenever he presented his solutions. "Release to the relevant authorities and news stations of a new superpowered villain out there that the public should be wary of, Donald." He ordered, his tone smooth as he allowed his thoughts to accordingly flow. "Don't mention they're a Viltrumite, just give them enough of a description to what we have. Who we actually tell of the Viltrumite is the superhero teams, so they're at least prepared and looking too. We'll continue looking too of course, but a week of nothing is too long - I can't let them keep hiding. We need to flush them out with pressure now, find where they are and bring the big guns when we do. We can't afford to let them have time."
Donald had written it down hastily as his boss rattled it off, but he did look back up with concern. "But sir, what if we do find them, and they target a city like Nolan did with Chicago?"
"They could do that at anytime, anywhere right now Donald, and at least we'd have assets in place to stand whatever the hell of a chance we could if we did provoke them. It's better than nothing." Cecil countered with a sure tone, making Donald nod again as his boss just frowned. "The thing is we don't know what they're like. Nolan was annoyed at it all, but focused on Mark and that allowed us to buy time. This Viltrumite has been nothing like Noland or anything he described of their empire. No public show of force, no usage of powers or superiority, not even trying to contact Mark even if he wasn't dealing with Martian aliens right now. They're blending in and keeping their head down." Staring to the display on the projector, he sighed again for the second and last time that meeting. "And that scares the hell out of me more than Mark does."
MINIMARKET
Hacking was ridiculously easy when you had technology much more advanced than that being subjected to the hack, especially with a more powerful processor with decryption and bypass software that had been tested on many different alien technologies before Earth's. Human computers would not be the last, and Vigil knew the trick by now of just where to pry to reduce his footprint as such. Hacking was delicate where needs be, and even if there were no identifying leads back to the perpetrator at all, sometimes the very notion that a file had been accessed at all was enough to tip off an enemy. Looking for your information in more obscure or differing areas than even the main repository with the guaranteed deposit of data you needed, was a sure-fire way to avoid letting the other side know you even had that data if their database was never even touched.
In this case, already knowing the names of the Grayson's helped tremendously as he hacked the postal services of Chicago - getting the relevant address within minutes. Strolling up to the front door was equally unwise if the United States government knew of Invincible's true identity, which was very likely given that he worked for them, and it was a point he made to find out who did coalesce all the superhero activity. Somebody had to pull the strings and gather the intel, as he refused to believe that independent teams of five to ten superheroes at a time kept managing to arrive at the scenes of action as often as they did based off their own intuitions.
But as for Mark Grayson and his family, he wanted to get just a sense of what he was dealing with before going straight to his main target. It was easy to get the news, look up social media posts and profiles based upon Omni-man and Invincible which were invaluable in their own right from gathering data on visited locations and how fast they were; but it would never answer the why. It would not give him the reason as to why Nolan defected, and it would not give him the run-down on whether Mark Grayson could be convinced of his Viltrumite heritage.
Those two things would require time. Time to access the records of whoever had been pulling the strings and undoubtedly worked with Nolan, and to make up a profile on Mark Grayson.
He would make the initial move to scout out both at once, and then to focus more of his efforts of gathering data on Invincible, who was still here and ultimately available for contact. Finding out about Nolan would require more subtlety, in finding out even what organisation he needed to snoop on and then accordingly snatch the data from. Even 'hearing it from the horse's mouth', as the humans would say it seemed, could only happen once he had convinced Mark Grayson.
But the initial move was utilising the person in the middle - Debbie Grayson.
Spying was easier if you were a local neighbour, but still risky. He'd conducted several trips round the street to get a sense of it and personally see where Mark's mother went, but hacking was a much more risk-free approach. Operating cheaply bought drones from online with a camera duct-taped to it, tapping into local cameras and watching Debbie's smartphone location were all better options to placing himself near there. Placing his own monitoring devices would have been even better, but keeping his face hidden was more important than attempting the delicate removal of government devices and re-installation of his own. Not to mention the tip-off that would give the US government if their devices stopped working if he wanted to show his own face.
No, this way it could all be done from a hotel room. Not cheap either it seemed as he was beginning to learn the value of Earth currencies, but money was always available if you had superpowers.
The local 'Minimart' was his location of choice for his first interaction with a Grayson, an independent large store which she had already attended one day that work week for buying fresher food. From her smartphone data on her account, it had showed she visited it twice a week with every Saturday being the established part of the trend. Suffice to say, all he needed that day was to view when she stepped out alone with the shopping bags.
That chance certainly arose like basic behaviour patterns said it would.
Having already mapped out the store on several visits across three days he had been there, detailing the locations of sections he could utilise as excuses or interactions so as to heighten the chances of it feeling as natural as possible. If all went well, and he was meticulous enough, he would only ever have to speak with Debbie Grayson once.
As it turned out, she had appeared at ten to eleven. He himself had arrived fifteen minutes before that, running through the motions of observed human routine as he had memorised the rhythm of what thought to be shopping. Picking up a basket and walking down aisles neatly packed with fresh produce or imported goods, glancing at price tags, feigning indecision or even just idly adjusting the weight of an apple in his hand - it made his appearance there all the more concrete. All to do make it more natural when he approached the lady in question.
Standing near the dairy section, Debbie was scanning rows of milk cartons with a distant expression that he recognised as belonging to the category of being tired. Weary, in a way that went beyond sleepless nights. Vigil had read about grief, even studied its biochemical effects and the psychological toll, and knew that it was likely she was struggling alone. Anomalous given that she had a son, but he had no time as he approached causally - ensuring his posture and gait remained unremarkable.
"Excuse me." He voiced then, startling Debbie somewhat as she turned to see Vigil gesture to the fridges. "You wouldn't happen to know which brand tastes the least like cardboard would you?" He prevented the reflexive rolling of his tongue in his mouth from describing a fluid with a mulched material that absorbed fluid, and was not related to it at all.
Debbie blinked at the question which had pulled her from her thoughts, eliciting a forced chuckle as she failed to wipe the exhaustion still present in her eyes. "That obvious from their packaging, huh?" She questioned rhetorically. "Yeah, most taste awful." Waggling the carton she still carried in her hand, she then slid it into her own basked as she spoke again. "But that one is the closest to real milk."
Nodding, Vigil picked up the recommended carton and stuffed it into his own basket. "Good to know. I'm still getting used to things here."
An eyebrow was arched from Debbie as she regarded the man before her. "Not from around here." She asked.
"No, only recently." Vigil responded smoothly, having already expected it as he had supplied the information after all - using it to lead on the conversation. "I only moved here recently for work. Still learning my way around - like for instance, pizza." He paused as he manually inserted the right amount of awkwardness into his tone. "People keep saying Chicago is the place in America for deep dish, but I keep striking out. Do you have any recommendations?"
A tired but genuine smile came from Debbie from the friendly chatter. "Lou Malnati's." She replied. "One of your best bets from the amount of their restaurants here. Be prepared to wait for quality though, the original restaurant is always packed compared to the others."
"Appreciate it." Vigil spoke as he stored that away for his own conversation usage. "You seem like you know the city well."
A shrug was his response. "As would anyone who lived here long enough." Debbie stated.
Giving a nod, Vigil feigned consideration as he lowered his tone just enough to sound personal, but not invasive. "That makes sense. You seem... grounded. Like someone who's been through a lot, but still stands tall."
Her smile faltered for a second, as Debbie's eyes shifted for a second with the faintest tension entering her shoulders. The scientist before her could tell how guarded she was becoming. "Yeah, well." She said after a moment. "Life throws its punches."
Gesturing slightly with a small, knowing smile that he crafted, Vigil related. "I get that. People change. Sometimes in ways we never expect."
It was Debbie's turn to study him for a second, as if trying to determine whether this was small talk or something deeper. "You have someone like that?" She asked, hesitation in her tone.
The moment had come for Vigil to get his answer, the short build-up of the conversation to deflect into the direction he wanted and then giving enough rope to lead her down the path. A carefully calculated pause was given, as he responded. "I did. Once." Another pause was given, as he let his gaze deliberately drift as if losing himself to the thoughts he was voicing. "Someone I thought I understood. I was wrong."
A simple exhale from the woman beside him. "Yeah, I know the feeling." Debbie agreed with a nod, and in that one gesture had given him exactly what he had theorised.
Debbie and Mark Grayson had not been prior to the answers before Nolan's defection either, and whatever manner he had done so in had left behind a family suffering the consequences. They may or may not have the full set of answers now, but he would leave it there now. Trying to meet again and question a grieving partner would not only arouse their suspicion, but was also the riskiest of the two Grayson's left actually.
Mark Grayson, as a student and younger person, would have all the more reason to leave the house. His mission continued with his secondary objective.
Utilising the crafted personal atmosphere as an excuse to leave, he looked back to Debbie. "I do apologise, ma'am. I didn't mean to suddenly get personal - I need to leave now anyway." He declared with a tone of regret.
"Oh." Debbie was pulled back to the present again, before glancing to Vigil too as her tone perked up to assure the man before her. "It's no problem." She stated. "It was nice meeting you."
A smile was what she got. "Thank you." Was all Vigil said before he headed straight to the tills at the exit, his main task that day now complete. Now, his attention could be turned to Mark Grayson with a bit more added to his profile. That may not have been much to get for hours of research, but every piece of knowledge may prove handy eventually. Surprising a potential enemy was worth every advantage, and if Mark was emotionally sensitive on the topic of his father as he was very likely to be, then that sliver of knowledge was useful no matter what.
HOTEL
Sitting in the dim glow of his hotel room, Vigil was committing two simultaneous activities as he used one hand to scroll through data outputs of his Core device as the hand with his wrist-mounted computer rested on a small police radio scanner. It was a crude piece of technology compared to Viltrumite standards, but for now it served its purpose of not having another piece of background processing on his Core device to slow it down - as imperceptible as that insignificant task would be. Its purpose in this case being to spew its noise into the silence of the room, Vigil having modified it slightly to increase its range and filter through unnecessary chatter to pinpoint emergency calls.
Static crackled once again at the channel he was currently listening to, slowing his scrolling finger by a low amount as more of his attention became dedicated to the incoming message. "Officer Reynolds here, more backup is required at Randolph and Michigan intersection! Earlier reported enhanced suspect has arrived on scene, engaging in heavy property damage-"
Another voice quickly juxtaposed itself over the request for aid. "Invincible has just arrived on scene!"
Vigil's eyes fully sharpened as his ears caught that, giving a hum at the perfect opportunity he'd been waiting for to arise in Chicago given its statistical likelihood of it; being his home city and the place he'd been spotted most before. Within a second, he was on the move through the window he'd left open the whole time.
CHICAGO STREETS
When Vigil arrived, he had already mapped the terrain in his mind to that with the geography he was now familiar enough with. Downtown streets and high-rise buildings past his vision as he flew at a steady and silent pace over it all, hugging the tops of the buildings as he soared past. S Nearing the open intersection which had fast become a battle zone, he took note of the shattered lumps of concrete and tarmac from dug out chunks of infrastructure scattered across it with the example of upturned cars littering their glass and metal across the roads.
Wanting a closer observation standpoint, he took a position on a neighbouring rooftop as he perched within the shadow of a billboard. Remaining perfectly still, his breathing measured and not allowing himself to fall into any light, he blended seamlessly into the shadows of the structure that would draw no attention given its unremarkable nature.
Not when something far more interesting was happening below.
Mark Grayson was hovering over the ruins of an armoured truck, the vehicle now lying on its side heavily dented with its rear door completely missing and having been evidently torn off. Vigil was sure that if he were to follow the tyre tracks the hundred metres from where they had been burnt into the tarmac further North he'd probably find it, but the vehicle had also obviously been thrown from its rear end. It fitted the online philosophies and description of the villain Mark was facing, a hulking brute bigger than any other human by the name of Brutalon; with grafted metallic plating all across his body that he used mostly to rob banks. Likely a shield against conventional ballistic weaponry for some amount of time, but against a Viltrumite?
Vigil already knew the outcome. He was just here to study the process.
Invincible himself blended with the night time setting, as a large portion of his outer torso, legs and arms were swathed in a deep black that absorbed the light, framed around a solid yellow chest emblem that joined with the mask covering his face to form a yellow 'I'. In the dim, wavering light of the streetlights still left standing from those not knocked down by Brutalon so far, it held a darker, almost golden hue in the darkness that was sharp around the coloured section edges like a warning being given off than the symbol of hope many thought the man to be.
Other sections of his suit held yellow splashes of colour including the gloves and boots that Vigil could already make out to be of a second type of material, a rubberised polymer evidently that stayed on and gave a better grip. The shoulders and forearms, combined with leg bracers held reinforced sections from the material looks as the expertise the scientific Viltrumite had accumulated over centuries leapt to the forefront of his mind to assist him. The seams were almost invisible, allowing the suit to look like one continuous piece, combined with the coloured collar setting a high, angular neckline for a more imposing and streamlined figure.
But what got Vigil's attention most of all was the goggles. Eye lenses set in the face mask that were a smooth and reinforced see-through plasticised material of some description, jet black like the framed edges of his suit - but it was familiar. The way the dim light bounced and reflected off the curved lenses gave a slight crimson glow in the dark, and reminded Vigil far too much of General Kregg. A man locked up in his own ambitions.
Brutalon charged then, the ground trembling slightly from the initial kick-off from his back foot as it cracked the tarmac and formed a small spider-web look from the impact, as the brute raised his metal coated arms. Rearing back one for an all-out decisive blow, it gleamed in that same streetlight as he thrust it forth with all his might at an enemy who had done nothing but dodge and frustrate him greatly for the past few minutes. So determined was he to counter the arrogance that he was sure was aimed at him, that he thought of nothing else as the villain snarled loudly as he released his haymaker upon Invincible.
Mark did not dodge, but instead took the hit.
Small shockwaves were generated from the impact, the hulking villain granted superstrength having expended a lot of power into that blow to generate a force which sent debris and chips of road and discarded concrete flying through the air. The armoured truck that had become the next designation point in their battle groaned loudly from the force, metal rendering as Brutalon's foot slammed into it and what little glass the vehicle still had blowing outwards from the impact. But Mark remained unmoved.
Invincible's face mask turned slowly back to Brutalon then, his gaze settling back on the villain before him as his expression remained eerily neutral. Not a single bruise or affliction marked his face, but instead only his hair had been jostled by the buffeting winds as Invincible continued to stare.
"Is that it?" Came the question finally asked, a voice so calm it seemed to be devoid of all emotion. The scientist observing the fight wished he could hear some inflection of the normal tone for later recognition, but it was as if it were frozen on command and only a smooth flow of words had appeared like utterly rolling off a tongue that could separate tones at will.
Brutalon had no time at all to react before Mark moved. No unnecessary motion was made, nor energy expended as Vigil looked at the speed of a Viltrumite with satisfying recognition. A blur of speed shot faster than a bullet, with the figure of Mark already laying his hand on the villain before the blur had caught up to him or any human eye could readjust to focus on him. So fast had his speed been despite evolution having granted human eyesight adjustments the time of milliseconds.
The hulking brute howled with outrage as Mark's fingers had closed round his wrist that he had been withdrawing, only discovering that after the movement had occurred. It stayed for a moment, before the gap closed - and what was a small squeeze to a Viltrumite had Brutalon now howling in agony and pain. Searing heat blistered from his wrist and hand, pulsating electricity running rampant up the nerves of his arm as metal and bone were irreparably joined and crushed together. It would never come apart as armour and skeleton cut deep and split apart tissue and skin like nothing under the unrelenting force it was subjected to.
Vigil's eyes didn't miss the slight shift in Mark's expression. Not one of satisfaction or even anger, some synonymy of scale of whether it pleased or annoyed him, but rather like it was just recognition of the fact - calculation of what to do next.
Swinging wildly with his other arm in a roar of rage to desperately try and free his mangled limb, Brutalon lashed out with a closed fist rocketing side-on and seeking to impact the target-zone of Invincible's skull. It was met with the exact same speed as before, becoming tightly gripped less than halfway through its swing - except this time there was no delay, no pause to the next action. Mark simply instantly followed through with violently twisting the villain's arm with his own, spinning his elbow in a fluid motion that leveraged Brutalon's arm into an even bigger motion.
A grotesque snap rang out, echoing through the street as Invincible's enemy no longer had the strength to loudly shout, roar or lash out with his voice. Instead, a cry sounded out from Brutalon, pain built on top of an already searing net of nerves as he found his brain overloading from such experiences he'd never had before of merely stealing from banks and being met with police. Unfortunately, he had faced Invincible now, who was not done with him in the slightest as a kick slammed into his torso.
A rather unremarkable kick to the only other Viltrumite there who recognised Mark had held back so massively it 'only' sent his opponent skidding back across twenty feet of tarmac and slamming into concrete pavement. Lying in a deformed heap that writhed with pain and heaving lungs trying to rake in air they'd suddenly been deprived of from the blow, both arms bent at unnatural angles that sent waves of fresh agony pulsing down his nerves with each little tremor of movement upon them. Unfortunately for the villain, that contended with his need to breathe following the last blow.
Another blur beyond human comprehension delivered Mark back to his enemy, pausing momentarily as if to engrain the image to memory, before a small exhalation of air seemed to sound almost deliberately as Mark's mouth upturned in a small smirk. The dark lenses hid the expression of his eyes, but from the mouth movement and upturn of cheek muscle, Vigil could tell a new idea had occurred to the subject of his observation. It was quickly employed, though with far less speed than Mark was capable of - he was planning to draw this part out.
His fist slammed into Brutalon's stomach, getting another wail of pain that was swiftly and utterly ignored as it was followed by his other fist. None of them at full force either, but enough to send him just a bit deeper into the concrete each time from the now unceasing cries that pitched and wavered from each new blow to the villain's torso; the cracks in the concrete slowly growing as it occurred. The second hit had quickly been followed by a third, then again, and again, transforming into an uninterrupted stream of punches taking full advantage of his target's tougher physiology than any other human.
The observing police and few brave onlookers would have called it many things, from cruelty to crippling a superpowered villain in another deed only done by Invincible who kept the villains permanently off the streets; but Vigil saw another layer as his eyes narrowed. It was too controlled, each punch pulled and thought of enough to draw out the act even if his fists dashed forth at quick speed to human comprehension. Chuckling lowly, Vigil recognised it alight as his initial surprise at the sight then set into a regarding expression as Mark's profile swerved in a whole new direction in his mind.
This wasn't just a fight, but now an experimentation of Mark's creation. He was measuring Brutalon's pain tolerance, how long his tissue and body could hold after each blow as it was carefully calculated in the moment to last as long as possible. But still, it was in actual time fifteen seconds later that Brutalon stopped emitting noise at all as his lungs collapsed, and that seemed to be the signal Mark had waited for as his right hand changed course from coming down again.
A final strike slammed into the hulking brute's neck, a full-on palm strike that flattened the villain's throat through the skin and crushed the windpipe flat amidst all the other internal damage. If Brutalon did not die from blood less, infection or his torso having been egregiously opened up, he would do so from the lack of oxygen shorter than the next minute. No human doctor would save him in that time.
Exhaling deliberately and then inhaling in a quiet motion Vigil only heard through his more advanced hearing, Invincible completely ignored the reactions of the humans standing around the edges of the battle zone as he rose. He ignored the frightened murmuring drifting through the air, cameras recording his every movement or the police who radioed for protocol procedures to such an event, most having their hands not far from their holstered guns for all the good it would do. He ignored all that happened around him.
Mark Grayson just stood over his most recently defeated enemy, breathing evenly as he regarded the sight beneath him. The little amounts of obvious adrenaline that looked mostly gathered from his own act of violently punching apart Brutalon were evidently fast wearing off as his body stood stock still, no exhilaration or apprehension noted in his frame. It was all noted in Vigil's Core device, but even he could tell the superhero was deep in thought of something.
It was a few seconds later that he moved again, only to move his hands as he brushed a bit of Brutalon's blood off of them that had not yet dried and caked them. It was splattered all over his suited uniform as well, giving the shades of yellow and black a muddied crimson addition that just occasionally reflected ominously in the streetlight. A faint look of disappointment was all that could be seen from the mouth expression, the only part of his face left uncovered by his mask as it was set thin in that emotion.
Further sirens in the distance signalling the arrival of more law enforcement did capture Mark's attention that time, long before any policeman or woman there heard it as his head turned a bit to the road they came down; before startling everyone there with the sheer speed he took off into the sky. Blurring fast and out of sight even before the rip in the air that opened up and allowed the noise to echo across the area, Mark disappeared into the night without a word.
Vigil remained in that shadow a little while longer, observing the crowd's reactions and police enacting their crime scene detections and clean-up. It gave him time to enter all his notes into his wrist-mounted computer, but also to ponder from all of what he had just witnessed. One would be forgiven for thinking that Mark was unlike his father in many ways, having remained on Earth whilst the latter fled after a fight between the two of them; but the sequence of events tonight had just proven and disproven that very notion.
Nolan had never treated his enemies that way, always ending them when he could as if it were business in his duties to the Viltrum empire. But that had been very unlike his son's actions in just the last five minutes as it turned out, who had prolonged the fight, experimented and played with his enemy and smirked whilst doing so.
Mark Grayson was alike his father in only two ways from that night's events, in both evidently not caring for the reactions of those around; and perhaps in how powerful he was given the way he had held back. But Vigil knew that given that he was still training in the powers he'd have only gotten from earliest just before his teenage years, that his potential was ever still developing and growing too. Given his body would finish developing in a year or so according to his age and a rough comparison between Viltrumite and human biology, he would enter the peak of his strength and powers that would last the next few thousand years of his life at least; perhaps more if he proved to be more resilient than most.
More data was needed on Mark Grayson, but it was completely fair to say that his potential was even greater than his father - and that only made him all the more dangerous.