It was quiet throughout those near ten minutes. The tempo was at first off in its rhythm, with Mark having started indecisively - his fingers grazing the edge of a pawn as he studied the board, before deciding against it. Instead, a knight from the first row was clutched and moved over the second row, setting the first real play of the game.
Across from him, the man - Vigil, as he had called himself, had watched that move with a perceptive gaze to the slight hesitation, and then the selection of a bolder choice. The expression he bore was the same as before, even-touted in a way that couldn't quite be called blank, but deliberately schooled. The way his eyes had not just perceived how Mark moved his piece with his hand, but also then lifted to observe his facial expression made it clear he was not just watching, and focused upon, the match. But also Mark, as Vigil's own hand moved in a fast action to slide forth a pawn blocking the way to his bishop - an obvious setup for a longer-term strategy.
Mark took that in for a second, before simply sliding forward a pawn of his own, advancing forward, testing. Vigil did not move to counter, and instead seized the flank as the bishop moved into play. With the start of the game, did it progress as pieces on either side of the board were slid into action on the battlefield in the middle. It wasn't immediate, and it didn't seem easy.
But Mark knew enough - seeing the obvious tactics Vigil would employ, only to later question how something had occurred two moves later, that each piece had been thought upon. It just seemed inevitable when Vigil's queen slid across and pressed him into a checkmate, from how the man before him had been more subtly dominating the board. As if it were several strategies enrolled into a grander solution to win.
Exhaling through his nose a bit, Mark stared at the board, eyes darting round as he observed his loss. The face that had been hidden within the hood of his top, ever-so-slightly leaning forward more to peer down at it, before leaning back. An undertone of a current past through his head then, rankling him a bit as he looked at the defeat, but it was nothing compared to how he felt earlier.
"Again." Was all he said softly. If the man before him had any problem with the demand, he didn't voice it as instead only a small nod was given and the beginning of resetting the board.
This time, he settled into the tempo. He forgot about what had come before, as something within him did not let that loss go. Playing more naturally, he struck out to play without remembering why he needed to be distracted, as he played to win. He observed it all the more clearer.
His jaw tightened slightly at what he'd missed in the first game, the way each move aligned despite if the action was an offence, defence or the beginning of a trap. The hand that directed the pieces was held steady, confident, as it was all precise. Calculated. No wasted motion. There was somethingmethodicalwith how the man played, as even if Mark threw a deliberately unexpected move against logic; the hand just paused. A seconds' difference was the only difference in how Vigil played between an expected and unexpected move, as if it were a navigation system simply plotting a new route based on the same map that had always been used.
Mark, for his part, played the game instinctively. Bold, fast. He didn't hesitate to sacrifice lesser pieces if it meant pushing forward. But the restraint was noticeable too, especially as Vigil continued to observe him. It took longer intermittently, more than a seconds' difference in a transition between pieces that was less smooth than his own guiding hand. The way his eyes darted across the board when Vigil moved something, and his own pieces when it came to select one at the start of his turn before a snap decision was made and he charged on with it. As if he was trying to come up with his own strategies, different ways of thinking in his head of how he could get an advantage - as if he were still trying to figure out what player he was.
What kind of person Mark was.
Each move was an unspoken test from Vigil. Pressing forth the black-coloured pieces in differing methods, subtle ways as his eyes would then lift from the piece he'd moved to Mark's expression to see how he reacted. And not just to the game, but with each small nudge - the moments that required patience, the opportunities to retreat or advance, and even the setup for bigger strategies. Each move told their own story.
Vigil was sorely tempted to let Mark win, so that he could categorise his reaction to a victory, and one even earned after a comeback. But that would not do, for he needed Mark to come back.
Once more, Vigil's rook slid across the board to join its brethren in the next lane of the board, only to directly challenge Mark's king this time that could not move anywhere from where it was now wedged between two castles on the board. Withdrawing his hand, his gaze lifted for the last time that day to see Mark's uncompromising stare on the king piece in his colour; eventually reaching forth a hand to grip the piece. His fingers tightened round the top of it as the current zapped through his mind again, marginally stronger than before. It was then that he noticed the way the plastic had caved in under his thumb, indenting the piece with an imprint that he hastily allowed the piece to fall.
Instead, he leaned back into the seat, and started the conversation after twenty-five minutes had now passed of just chess. "You play a lot then?" Mark questioned aloud, his eyes then making contact with Vigil's own. "You're good."
The man before him paid no mind to the compliment, only giving a slight nod to the former. "It helps clears the mind." He replied, the smooth, ever-so-resonant tone being even and calm as it spoke - with Mark not sure if he should be surprised that someone twice in a row looked not even slightly happy for winning even twice. "Some people exercise, some people meditate. I prefer this." He gestured to the board for a second time that session, before copying Mark of settling back against the seat.
A small snort was Mark's own response to Vigil, as his voice contained some amount of disagreement. "Yeah, well, I do exercise - a lot. Doesn't always help."
Responding with a small hum, Vigil minutely arched an eyebrow in a curiosity that seemed as big as the little motion. "Doesn't?" He asked in a straightforward manner.
Mark's shoulders shrugged in their own small motion, almost to mirror Vigil's own as he tried not to think about the uncomfortable state of being that had brought him walking in the shop in the first place. "I guess some things stick in your head no matter how hard you hit something." He muttered.
"Then maybe it's not about force?" Vigil's question had flowed without pause after Mark had spoken, almost as if expecting it. "Maybe you need a different way to process things. A different strategy."
That sounded familiar, somewhat. A reminder of something, to a time in training when he'd been told he'd needed to focus on the strategy than just a wild punch; a reminder of someone. Mark pushed the thought away before it could fully form and refocused. "Yeah, well..." He repeated with a slight trail off, before shaking his head a bit. "Sometimes there's only one way to deal with a problem."
Amusement then swirled into Vigil's gaze, his face remaining as spotless in the way it was held but his eyes seemed to regard Mark a bit differently. "I grant you. Direct, powerful." Vigil spoke with a high tone of agreement, but then delivered the counter. "But risky. You don't think such a style might come back to bite you?"
That too, was recognisable - reminiscent of one of his mother's earlier questions as it had enough of an effect that he didn't give a response right away. But, the difference this time was that an answer did float into his mind, a ghost of a smirk straining his mouth from under the hood he wore. "Only if I let it." He replied with a musing tone, thoughtful as if it were a casual answer, but there was no humour in it.
Another brief pause. Something Vigil only gave small nod to. "Fair enough." He responded with a neutral tone, emotion withdrawn as if that concluded that topic.
A further minute passed as Vigil only picked up his drink to sip from again, and Mark looked once more out at the world. Hands slowly returning to the pocket on his hoodie as he comfortably adjusted his posture into the chair, face hidden as only a tuft of jet-black hair escaped the hood. There was no tension, but seemingly only the silence of two people content to just pause their conversation.
It would have felt more normal, if Mark hadn't known he wasn't normal.
Slowly exhaling through his nose, Mark adjusted his posture to be a bit closer to the edge of his seat as his voice heightened slightly in a tone that was used for departure. "Well, congratulations for winning Vigil." It sounded real to him, even if he had to keep the small, bitter edge out of it.
Vigil gave a slight tilt of his head, nodding minutely in thanks as he set his drink down and spoke simply. "For now." Was all he said.
Pausing in getting out of the seat, Mark glanced to him fully. "You think I'll get better."
"All the signs showed it." Vigil responded in a clear tone, his lips twitching slightly - not quite a smile. "Your second game shows you learn quickly."
Letting out a breath, Mark just shook his head as he looked away. "Great." He stated, not bothering to thank Vigil. "Now if only I could apply that to real life."
Vigil studied him for a moment. "Maybe this is real life." He spoke simply.
A frown passed over Mark's face, but he didn't turn back. "What?"
Tapping the board on the table, Vigil clarified. "Every decision matters on some level, even if just to you. In the same way that every move changes something." He spoke with his face now allowing the smile to show as he closed his eyes, and actually made his point. "You may think it's just a game, but really? It's a reflection of how you think. How you act. How you win."
Scoffing for a second time with this one a bit louder, but there was something thoughtful behind it. "Sometimes you don't get time to think." Mark responded, still not looking as his voice now carried the bitter edge as if speaking from personal experience. "Sometimes you just have to make a move and hope it's the right one."
No counter was made by Vigil as he just nodded. "That's true." He agreed.
Mark finally turned back round to face his chess opponent, even leaning in slightly as he made to express his thought. "And what happens if you make the wrong one?"
Another pause. This time it was different, as the short smile on Vigil's face slackened as if for the first time that session, he actually had to think. But the delay was minimal, barely over the difference if an unexpected move had happened during the chess matches as he reached forth and picked up the dented king piece Mark had dropped and rolled it in his fingers as he looked to it. "Then you make sure it's not your last." He replied with a tone that was far too light for the question that had been asked.
Staring at the man before him, Mark realised now why curiosity had crept in so easily to his mind - but he now saw something at least off. The airs of curiosity, also lending themselves a deep knowledge that he used for his own purposes. It was evident Vigil had him beat in being able to read the room, the power of perception; but as like earlier, Mark knew enough.
"Goodbye." Was the last thing he said in that conversation, as he stood up.
Vigil had picked up his coffee, and merely gave a small tilt with it in Mark's direction, for acknowledgement. "I actually spend most nights at the Corner Café when it opens at 8PM, if you ever wanted a rematch." He simply offered, no need for polite curtesy in repeating a signal of departure.
Mark saw no need to respond back at all as he just heard it, and then turned and left.
THE NEXT DAY
Life seemed not to be the same anymore.
For the second day in a row, he felt like he was doing achievable as he tried to stay true to his word and stop being Invincible for a short while. The problem was that in this period before he went to Upstate University and its start of an academic year, he had quite a lot more time on his hands. Which normally would not have been a problem, given he had a few 'friends' and hobbies, but it didn't feel the same right now. More than ever, he wished he could be Invincible just to do something and be out there, but apparently what he would do as Invincible was also the problem.
Mark's feelings had not changed on the matter, and in all honesty, the uncomfortable elements that came with his rationalisation of them had started to fade on the second day. It helped that he wasn't getting pushback on it, allowing him to be left alone on the subject which was relieving to a degree; but the tiptoeing was not. Conversations with his mother held an undercurrent of tension even if they were nowhere near the topic of Invincible, and that had been rare over the past two days. Despite staying home with her, dinners had been a silent affair as they sat there in silence more than talking. Neither knew what to say.
Normal activities did not hold appeal. TV was a waste of time, as it would be stating news events that held little relevance or he would watch the Guardians of the Globe rush in to deal with something he could have done on his own. Exercise in the conventional sense was a waste of time. He had gone back out to the city just to blend in once more, watching people go on with their lives. He didn't feel conflicted nor unpleasant, but it did feel unfair as he watched normal things continue as he was stuck. Stagnating.
Mark knew he could do better than this. He had the ability to do so, so why should he not? As he sat on the rooftop not blending in this time, just watching the streets and road beneath him crawl along it always did, it was the thought he reached. Until he went back to education and tried live out some façade of a normal life between being who he was actually meant to be, he could carry that on. Being Invincible was what he had wated for his entire life.
Getting his powers at the age of twelve had only confirmed it. He wasn't normal. He wasn't like the rest of the world. Slowly turning his head to the dirty roof he was sat upon, he plucked up a rock in one hand - bigger than his hand, enough so that even putting his other over it would still not envelope it. Yet, with just a flex of his fingers, it crumbled into dust and pebbles in a rain of powder chunks back onto that roof. So much strength had been brought upon it in an instant that it didn't split into two or three - but dust.
That was who he was meant to be.
Shaking his head, he stood up. He was honestly getting frustrated with feeling the need to ruminate, or to reflect. Mark may have felt stuck, but only by getting back out there was he ever going to progress. He was right, and he was also getting annoyed with being told he was wrong. If he didn't have the right to decide, then how did people less powerful than him have that right?
His mother had said it. Cecil had apparently said it. Every time he looked online, people were saying it. Everyone was saying it.
Enough. He couldn't say he was getting frustrated with it, then turn around and continue debating it further. With a burst of speed, he flew off to visit someone who he hadn't seen in a while, sure that it would be a welcome diversion at least.
CHICAGO SUBURBS
Eve's house was smaller than his own. It was unsurprising, given that Debbie Grayson worked at a higher-level position in the already lucrative market of real estate making more than both Eve's parents combined, but that wasn't the point. The point was that with two parents that apparently got on her nerves every day in a household that demanded a normal life, despite how she claimed to love them, perhaps she'd understand. Understand to let sleeping dogs lie and he could just talk normally with someone in a place that supposedly was full of it.
It even looked the part. A simple two storey, cubed house. Potted plants leading up to the white-painted front door. Red four door car sat on the drive. Touching down onto the path to the door reminded him of the different lives they led, normalcy that she apparently rebelled against; the atmosphere itself alike every other house on the street. A street filled with it unlike his own where his father had ravaged it, the house opposite it; and where he had lived.
When he knocked on the door, the hesitation in her voice upon seeing him was obvious. "Oh, Mark. I didn't expect you." Eve spoke as she had opened the door wide enough to look through properly, and scanned his face for something; though he wasn't sure what. Her green eyes looked to him, orange hair falling down causally over her shoulders in support of her statement of not anticipating visitors. But he could hear the uncertainty, his superpowered hearing picking up the way her heart had fluctuated in its rhythm when she had recognised him. The last time they had really talked - over a month and a bit ago since he'd been off-world for a while - had been different, easier. Now, there was a very weight between them and in her tone from just the two, short sentences she'd spoken on sight of him.
"Hey." Mark simply responded, deliberately keeping his voice neutral and his face schooled. It would appear that his hopes had been wrong. He didn't even regard her attempt to be more up-beat as particularly done with effort.
"Hey." Eve echoed, continuing to look at him for a second, before it seemed to occur to her as she stepped aside and opened the door further. "Come in?"
He did, stepping through as he withdrew a hand from his pocket and taking down the hood from his head as he looked round. It was just a hallway that branched to every other room with its wooden flooring, but despite the fact he'd been here before, it still felt smaller than it even had outside. Quieter.
Entering the kitchen and sitting down at the table with a cup of liquid he didn't touch once during their conversation passed an hour. For that while, they talked, about whatever they thought of in a wide array of topics; but still about nothing. Surface-level things, irrelevant, meaningless. Mark continued with it, and though part of him was just glad to be doing something, the other part did not care - did not care about how she was doing, what she'd been working on. None of it mattered when before it would have been two friends gossiping.
It occurred to him during that conversation that she never sought him out, that Eve had never gone to him in the time of over a week he'd been back on Earth. She had undoubtedly watched the news, and it had been two days since.
Mark could tell she was building up to it. The way her words slowed, or that she kept glancing to him. All as if she was waiting for the right moment. Eve found it five minutes later, and it was a lot more blunt than he'd expected in honesty.
"I saw what happened on the news." Eve stated suddenly, leaning forward a bit with a caring expression to her face. It was clear she was trying.
Shoulders stiffened slightly on Mark's body, silence now stretching between them. He could hear the fridge hum in the kitchen they sat in, the small crackle of electricity feeding to the light on above their head and the spluttering of the car engine passing outside. "Oh?" He finally just let out.
Her green eyes darted away quickly before looking back to him, sucking in air as if to summon strength. "Mark, we saw- you killed him." She then spoke, quickly speaking out the point to prevent herself from stumbling partway through.
He looked discernibly at her as Mark scanned her this time, taking note of the sadder look in Eve's eyes, the way her shoulder dipped in comparison to his and how she leaned forward a bit in a stance that showed how worried she was. Part of him didn't know what to do, a smaller part took note of how a friend of his was pretty-much officially signalling her worry and the smallest part of him was sickened by the pretence. "So what?" He questioned, voice flat and deliberately devoid of the emotions that he felt toward the situation.
Eve hesitated noticeably, her eyes widening a little as she was taken aback by his assertive stance to her words. "I just- are you okay?" She asked, her tone going softer as she once more almost stumbled in her words.
Mark looked to her then, regarding her before then just shaking his head in a slow and small motion, a bitter laugh arising from his lungs as if he didn't consciously call for it - or stop though. "You think I'm not okay because of one criminal?" He asked aloud, tone high enough that it seemed not to be directed at Eve, but at the room at large. As if it all made sense that it was all of them who thought he was suddenly crazy for one action.
Eve seemed to sense that too, as her expression downturned into a little frown. "That's not what I meant-" She began.
"Then what did you mean?" He interrupted her. His tone was sharp now, cutting right through his friend's sentence.
Her frown formed fully. "Mark, this isn't you." Eve stated with a firm tone, the same voice she used when something was wrong or awry, and she had her serious mindset on that was famous amongst the Guardians she often worked alongside for keeping a cool head.
The same could not be said for Mark, whose jaw tightened at that remark. There it was again. The same thing everyone kept saying - and the further this conversation went, the more he felt like the fool for believing that the one superhero friend he had would understand enough not to poke it. "Of course. I'm not me." He muttered to himself, but Eve still heard if her twitch was any indication. But it turned into her leaning back hastily as Mark's head whipped up at her, frustration boiling in his eyes as his gaze pierced through her. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"I know you." She shot back. Eve prided herself on her powers, her good grades that weren't natural intelligence but the result of hard work - and she prided herself on being able to stand up to whatever stood in her way without cowering. An alien hybrid sitting at her table was no different. "I know you wouldn't-"
"You knew me." He cut her off again. Voice neutral and flat once more. The words had come out harsher than he intended in his frustration, but he didn't take it back.
Eve's face fell from the frown and tighter complexion it had held, as if pained by the transformation in her friend beside her. "I just don't want you to do anything you'll regret!" She spoke up, refusing to allow her worry to go unheard. "For you to go and do things that just aren't things you can come back from!"
Mark stood abruptly, and his hand was balled into a fist as his frustration reached a new level as he now glared fully at the one person he believed would understand best. "You're just like the rest of them." He spoke lowly; voice having lowered now as it came out as a small snarl. "Not allowing my side to be told, fully believing that you're all so righteous as if Cecil doesn't kill on a regular basis. As if whatIsay no longer has merit because I changed."
Eve's eyes blinked then as she took in the face of her friend from where she sat, the one she thought she knew who now glared back at her with a scrunched up and angered visage. "Mark,please-" She begged out, tears actually pooling in her eyes as she watched her friend destroy himself.
"No."He stamped her voice out resolutely, firmly shutting down the attempt to reach to him as he locked himself back into his own feelings. A small sting of betrayal actually lodged in Mark, the prior unpleasantness that had coiled round his stomach two days before now writhing with hurt from the one person he thought would at least allow him a normal conversation. "I don't need a lecture."
"I'm not trying to lecture you!" She shouted out, snapping up as she stood too with her hands then flashing out and gripping the kitchen table. Eve's next sentence was said softer, but with no less conviction mixed with some desperation. "I'm just trying to talk to you."
"Yeah, well, I don't want to talk about it." He responded firmly, and he didn't care how childish it sounded then. The room felt smaller this time from the mistake he has made. He could see her eyes looking at him even as he turned away - felt them gaze at his back with concern and worry, as well as hesitation. His friend no longer knew how to talk to him then, and he no longer felt welcome. "I should go."
Mark was already heading for the door, hood pulling up and being tightened as he fully prepared to leave before she could say anything else. As he stepped outside, he heard Eve's scurrying footfalls, chasing after him to try and calm him down as she called out to him. "Wait, Mark! Please, we're still your friends, just talk to us-"
The loud render of the air being broken apart in his sudden flight interrupted her for the last time of their conversation.
GDA HEADQUARTERS
Another day had dawned, another night of having to endure the silence in the house despite his mother's wishes for him to remain there. Twice she had tried to talk to him - once he had allowed out of a chance that she may at least attempt to try something other than what had become so repetitive, but it had always looped back to that night. As Debbie had said, she couldn't just forget about it, but nor would he listen to the same argument that still didn't sound right to him anymore.
He knew what the real reason was. That he was now up and in the same page of the book as his father because of disposing of one criminal, versus the man who had betrayed everything and killed thousands of innocents. He didn't understand why Debbie didn't understand, but he could bare it no longer.
He'd had enough, and now he was getting out. Walking right into the Pentagon, past the stares of the agents that recognised him as Mark walked through in full regalia of his Invincible suit. They likely already knew why he was here, and he knew they'd all seen the footage; most likely having been briefed upon it as he could hear the unspoken thoughts in their silence. Maybe it was his mood, but the cold fluorescent lights of the GDA felt dimmer than usual, making the uniform halls of the complex darker as if it was he who could not see far with his superpowered senses.
Head kept forward. Shoulders tense. He kept walking. He wasn't in the mood.
When he stepped into Cecil's office, he found the older man already waiting. Unlike everyone else beneath him that he managed, he didn't make Mark wait - just looking up expectantly from the wooden desk he sat. Mouth set in a grim line with eyes that looked analytically over the yellow and black suit that hid Mark Grayson from the world. Two of the specialists consulted had theorised that the young adult before him had a form of social anxiety, unwilling to officially label it given the lack of consultation; but confident enough to state that Mark evidently didn't like to feel like his real face was being looked at. That he would not be able to have peace before anyone he wasn't comfortable with.
An insecurity that paled in comparison to the fear he was currently giving everyone else, but Cecil didn't mention that out loud. Instead, he just regarded Mark for a few seconds, taking note of the equally thin way his mouth was set. Then, he just swung the monitor of the computer round to face the superpowered being in his office, not saying a word as he tapped a button on the keyboard to begin playing the footage.
Cecil didn't react as he did not take his eyes off Mark, observing how his fists balled up ever so tighter, as the lips peeled back slightly in frustration. It was clear the camera footage was instantly recognisable, of the way the head dipped slightly to angle the goggled eyes lower against the monitor angled upwards; of how he'd obviously even seen that specific piece of footage online somewhere. Likely, of how he didn't need to see it again.
The camera had caught it all, of the way Brutalon had been reduced to the pavement in quicker succession each time. Of how the hand had come down, with the sound and how the head had fallen back, quivering in death throes that quickly fell lifeless. Of the contrast between the final moments of a clean and efficient kill jab, crushing the throat with absolute finality compared to the short while where he had been tearing apart the criminal's torso with his bare hands. Blood splattering across him, the criminal and the entire surrounding area.
"This isn't you, kid." Cecil diverted Mark's attention from the screen, to see the man's lips pursed in a manner that wrinkled the scar along the right side of his face, with eyes that showed the concern within them. Whether for him or outlying factors would be a bet some could confidently take, but his naturally deeper tone aided in conveying it.
Mark had folded his arms at this point, pivoting his weight onto the back foot as his chin raised up in a form of defiance, as an audible scoff was released from his mouth. "Yeah?" He replied in a tone that withered sarcasm itself. "Then who is it?"
He almost dared the GDA director to compare him to someone else.
Putting his hands together in a contemplating manner on his desk, with a face that hardened slightly in the manner which it portrayed to the strongest entity on the planet before him. "Let's cut the bullshit, Mark. I'm sure you'll appreciate that over any number of things you've read or conversations had over the past couple of days." Cecil cut straight to the point with a straightforward, loose tone, pulling Mark up as his stiffer posture slackened somewhat. "I don't care about the guy you killed."
That,had been unexpected as Mark blinked behind the black lenses of the goggles of his outfit that shielded them from the piercing gaze of Cecil. And, a refreshing tempo for a change over the past three days.
"I have killed people myself in service to this nation and global interests for some time now, kid, to the extent that a single kill is laughable." Cecil said in a tone that was otherwise devoid of the mentioned humour. Just serious, clipped and to the point like whenever he needed to get to business as if he were standing in the control centre. "The world is certainly better off without some scumbags, Mark. I'm not here to argue that."
Despite the small relief he had felt for the lecture not starting on that, he still heard its inevitability in Cecil's words. "Then what is your argument?" He asked bluntly, posture tightening a bit more again.
Cecil gave a small shrug of his shoulders to highlight his next point, but his manner remained otherwise entirely the same. "I think scaring the shit out of us is a valid one, Mark." He spoke, conviction filling his voice to reinforce what he'd just said. Better to say it that way than 'we've seen this before', which according to Debbie had not gone down well. "Most people don't just pull a 180 on us and just kill someone without warning, especially for someone like you in what should have been an otherwise really unremarkable fight for you, kid."
The GDA director had a rather good hunch that an eyebrow had been raised behind Mark's goggles, from the way his finger began tapping against his elbow. "That's it, you think I'm crazy?" Mark questioned to the director, his tone containing a hint of disbelief amidst its delivery. "That I need help? Like some shrink is going to 'fix' me?"
"No." Came Cecil's instant response. His eyes hardened now as he moved in with the proposition, despite Mark's insulting response. "Because all cards on the table kid, I can't force the strongest hero out there to do anything; especially as you don't actually report to me. But I can say that maybe talking to someone else who won't set you off will stop you from making your life worse than it already is."
The tapping stopped as Mark's hand instead clenched around the elbow. "I don't need help." He stated in an unwavering voice that held an icy chill, very clear in its refusal to comply.
Exhaling loudly, Cecil then rubbed the bridge of his nose as he broke eye contact with Mark. "Honestly Mark, that stubborn attitude of yours is the number one thing about you that pisses me off. The fact that you won't acknowledge that something is wrong here at all, not to do with the criminal but everything else; is the main problem here." He stated in an overworked tone, merely gesturing to the screen with the wave of one hand as if mark's stubbornness was draining the politeness from him. "You think this is about the life you took? Frankly, I don't give a shit about one criminal, Mark. I deal with the bigger picture." His voice hardened again as he looked back to Mark, his eyes just as unyielding now as the plasticised visors that looked back. "This is about the choice you made Mark, that single choice that has had more consequences in the past few days than I'd like. Not just to end a fight, but to decide - on your own - who gets to live and who doesn't. That's not just some goddamn line you can step over and then walk back."
Mark's mouth remained thing for a moment, obviously churning over what Cecil said before the lips upturned into a slight sneer. "You're just afraid. That this is the right call to make for so many more criminals that threaten everyone else." He spoke; his tone derisive with the expression he wore.
"Again, you hit the target but are so far off centre, kid." Cecil stated in what sounded should've been spoken softly, but was delivered with the bark that was outmatched by its bite. "Maybe you made the right call. Maybe you didn't. The point is, that next time, it'll be easier. And the time after that? Easier still. Until one day, you're not even thinking about it anymore, where the same solution can be applied to every problem. Then, it stops being about bad guys, and those who get in your way." His voice lowered as he shot his dilemma at the Viltrumite before him in the hope of reasoning with him. "It's not just your decision to make, kid. Society evolved this way for a reason."
For a second, it seemed he was reflecting on the director's words, before his lips peeled back fully and his voice raised in anger. His stance was abandoned completely as he drew himself up to counter fully, face tilting downward in both looking to Cecil's seated position, and his firm expression set in the taut contours his mouth was pulled back in. "And what about the thousands of people society fails every day because of those same processes, huh, Cecil?!" He almost shouted to the man. "What about the lives lost every single day when those same bad guys escape most of the heroes, or once again bust out of prison? I'm not, not-" He stumbled over his words, turning his head slightly in frustrated thought before snapping it back in Cecil's direction to spit out the found word. "I'm not some fuckin' psychopath who sees only people to be killed, but rather people to be stopped from making the world worse!"
"I know." Cecil spoke clearly, all in a level voice as he rose up from his chair to fully equalise himself with the frustrated superhero before him. "I know your no psycho, Mark, I've been trying to tell you that for the past five minutes. But what you are doing is refusing to acknowledge there's a reason why protocol exists, of why each operation has handlers so it's not just an operative's decision in the field every time." He stepped round the desk, fingers tracing along its surface as he was a couple of metres closer to Mark as if to force him to take in his words. "It's not just your decision to make. Your lone decision that night has set off an absolute bombshell I've been cleaning up to make sure you don't have repercussions, and whilst I don't expect thanks from you; I do expect you to realise that the idea that you yourself can clean up the world is ludicrous!"
His voice had risen toward the end, and Mark only scoffed in the face of it. "You're wasting your breath." He muttered loudly then in contrast now to the director's raised voice. "I don't regret it."
"And that's the problem, Mark!" Cecil now almost shouted as his tone raised again, his frustration now evident as the knuckles of his right hand rapped the desk he stood beside. "It was never just about some criminal, but nor is it just about you!" Taking a deeper breath, Cecil rubbed his head as he shook his head slightly. "Christ kid, I'm just trying to tell you that I've seen this before. Good people turned into shells of their former selves, who thought they were in control right up until they weren't. I should know." Another, smaller exhalation came from the director as he looked Mark square in the eyes then. "Let me ask you this, Mark. Where do you think this road leads?"
No answer came, though from the way Mark's jaw shifted and then clenched again, it was not from the lack of an answer in his mind or burning on the tip of his tongue.
Cecil studied him for a long moment, taking in the posture of the frustrated young adult before him who son far refused to take the easy route, and just nodded as if he had expected that. "You need to think about that." The director spoke in a firm tone, but simply put. "Because once you go far enough, there's no turning back."
The posture of the costumed hero shifted before him again, before it loosened, slackened with what Cecil knew was not of somebody giving in - but relieved at the end of something. "Just give me a fucking mission, Cecil." Mark stated tiredly then, a small sigh at the end of it. "I don't want to hear the same shit anymore."
"Yeah, fine, whatever." Cecil just sighed too but with resignation, shaking his head a bit as he then just leaned back onto the desk with crossed arms. "You want to get out there, I get that, there's nothing much I can do to stop you." He stated to which Mark said nothing, just staring at him. "There's just something I need to tell, warn you of really - there is an incredibly high likelihood there is another Viltrumite on Earth. Wanted you to know first so you couldn't accuse of being unfair."
That got Mark's attention. Cecil was unsurprised when the Viltrumite hybrid before him changed stance completely - shoulders going from carrying hints of tenseness to instead being drawn in as guarded now. Arms dropped and face tilted fully in the director's direction to pay maximum attention. "There's another one?" He let out softly, his question half-rhetorical in nature as he took a moment to go over thoughts in his head that Cecil was sure led back to the last encounter he had of a Viltrumite where he was tossed literally through Chicago. A small shake of his body had him refocused, and then frowning to the other man. "You make it sound like you don't know anything else."
The chuckle that came out of Cecil's mouth, short and only lasting two exhalations, was entirely devoid of humorous spirit as it sounded like he was forcing it. "You nailed it on the head, kid." He replied, hand coming up in a gesture of agreement. "All we have is them busting down the door to Earth and then disappearing. Whoever they are, we've got no name, face, idea of their abilities or whatever their intentions are. Your guess is as good as ours."
Giving a small nod, Mark didn't find himself too surprised as Cecil moved rapidly on to what was obviously his biggest problem instead. Though the man did a good job hiding it, the way the bottom crease on his forehead crinkled slightly unlike the rest showed the hidden stress or concern. "So, what do you want me to do?" He questioned bluntly, hiding his own apprehension but also the trepidation of such a strong opponent; but the way his tone her perked up back to more normal levels instead of its lower levels during their previous topic was more obvious.
"You? Nothing." Cecil instantly answered, shooting down any ideas Mark may have had as his expression turned serious again. "I'm only telling you so you can be as prepared as one can be when an unknown is hunting you, given you'll be one of your father's empire's main interests on this planet. What I need for you to be, is to be on standby for my call when something does arise." It obviously wasn't what Mark wanted to hear, as his mouth opened - but Cecil held up an opened hand. "Don't argue this one with me, Mark. I get that the last time you fought a Viltrumite, your ass ended up buried in a mountain, and now you want to even the score or take pre-emptive action, or whatever. But as I told Donald, it's absolutely no use deploying anything if we can't even find them. That's when I'll call you." The promise seemed to assuage him enough that the caped man before him closed his mouth, and then took a small step back with a nod. "Good. Because that mission you wanted will be all the better for you specifically anyway."
It was clear from how Mark's mouth pursed that he wasn't satisfied, but he let it drop. "Me, personally?" He instead questioned the different topic, and it was evident he was fishing most for the personal relatability to the mission.
"Yeah, personally. I figured you'd be more interested if it's happening in your own back yard." Cecil agreed. "Plus, I need you to give a message to your old pal, Titan."
"Titan?" Mark questioned, and now the confusion was evident in his voice as his head titled a little. "You're going to have to explain that one to me, I visited him only a week before I left Earth and things looked much better than before with Machine Head. Cleaner."
"I agree, Chicago crime rates are the lowest they've been in years." Cecil agreed once more, but it was him stepping round the desk that had Mark awaiting the 'but' in this point. "The problem with it now is that the consolidation is expanding too much. Normally we'd leave criminal gangs, even on a scale like this to the more conventional services; but I'm afraid that when they start recruiting supers is when we do take notice." Sitting back in his chair and typing into the keyboard, Cecil continued. "Look, you don't work for me officially Mark so I don't fill you in on every detail, but one thing we do is try to catalogue every super we come across. Call it their own protection, national security, I don't care. But there's a reason there's not too many supervillain leagues and teams out there, and that's because we try and stamp them out every time."
Mark just folded his arms again. "You've got a massive database for every power you've ever come across?" He seemed to muse, his tone only a little interested - though he hadn't thought of what the GDA did on a larger scale before, that being one thing they did made sense.
"Well, hundreds of staff have to earn their wages somehow." Cecil quipped back, before he just spun the monitor back round again so Mark could see. "Point is, we've always been watching from a distance and I've been tolerating two people with superpowers being criminals having such influence over Chicago for stability. But that does not extend to recruiting more superpowered friends into the fray." His monitor showed a scene at in a large room reminiscent of a storage depot, racking and boxes in rows around it whilst a group of people stood in casual clothes at its centre. "Especially when they're being armed. Each person in this video has been cross-referenced with profiles in that same database confirming they have minor powers. That's not better management, or whatever Titan likes to say - that's putting superpowers into the direct line of fire with crime."
A grunt came from the Viltrumite before him, before Mark just shrugged. "And why do you think he's creating a private army?" He asked in a plain tone.
"Honestly, not a clue. Nor do I care. Could be more of his idea of keeping the city in line, but this goes beyond Chicago. I can't have bigger players like the Order taking notice and deciding that he's a threat." Cecil explained, his voice now taking on a professional tone as his words flowed in his explanation; a clear indication that it was pretty serious to Mark if Cecil was explaining the facts than just giving the order. "That's where we come in. Since we want to limit superpowered fights in cities, that means stopping them from joining gangs in the first place - so Titan has to be told that people with powers in whatever grand strategy he has is a no go."
Dipping his head once, Mark then let out a 'tch' as his politer version of a scoff, which he'd been doing more of the past few days. "You wouldn't have told me all this if it was as simple as going to his tower condo and asking him to stop." Mark stated with sarcasm in his tone. "What do you really want done?"
"I want the supers arrested and a proper message sent to Titan that we're serious on this front. I let his idea of using you to knock off Machine Head go as a one-off in the category of inciting superpowered violence, but this is too far." Cecil told Mark, his tone equally as serious as the message he had mentioned. "If he doesn't show up to the warehouse, then you find and tell him. I don't want Titan or Isotope gone just yet given the lessening of headaches since they took over, but nor should he take that as an excuse to build up some grand vision of a city thatisn'this." Pausing, he then tossed Mark an earpiece. "Wear that. I'll tell you the address whilst you're on your way, and when you're done a couple of GDA squads will take care of the arrests and clean-up."
Having caught the earpiece between a couple of fingers given that it moved ridiculously slow to his senses, Mark just nodded. "Right." He responded to the instructions with finality as the bud was fluidly put into his left ear with the tip of one finger. With that said, he promptly turned and began striding away.
"And Mark, no deaths please." Mark had moved toward the door but Cecil's voice then stopped him in the doorway as he didn't look back to properly face him. "I don't expect you to agree with me right now, Mark." The director's voice carried out over his back, the last offer of help that day that Mark would remember more vividly than any other. "But when the time comes for when you do start questioning yourself? You know where to find me."
CHICAGO SOUTH
The Southern districts of Chicago had a couple of industrial areas, in which produce would move in and out of storage facilities in large amounts every day. To that end, a small single storey storage unit would be just another indistinguishable building amid the hundreds in the city; barely worthy of attention given only forklifts would move in and out intermittently. And that was what it was used for, most of time.
The rolling steel door that was the forklift entrance had only a thin sheet of according metal covering it during the night hours, with it being more a protection against the elements than thievery in the walled industrial compound. Suffice to say, it tore apart like paper Mache as Mark flew right through, thin steel tearing open at the mere contact with his body and rendering into a gaping hole as he then hovered there inside the warehouse. All eyes on him from the entrance.
"Shit, it's Invincible!" One of the gathered members shouted out, as there were approximately eight people stood around the central loading floor to the warehouse. Surrounded by racking and boxes that Mark would not have been surprised was used in some manner for the gang now consolidated under Titan's central hierarchy, he merely observed them for a moment before blurring in.
It was very hard to fight against an entity with the superpowers of flight and super-speeding a dual act make it look like greased lightning that appeared within their mist faster than they could perceive, let alone blink. Literally the lightning crashed down upon them in a blur of yellow, as the nigh-invulnerability did not help then either with how Mark began to toss them around like rag dolls. One second he had been over at the entrance, and in the next microsecond he'd already booted a person.
The criminal he'd kicked ever-so slowly began to lift off their feet as the act of being propelled was slower compared to the kinetic bombardment of energy to their torso caving in their ribcage from the point of impact. Bones shattered and crumbled in a continuous sound to Mark's hearing as he saw the force ripple across the person's very skin and clothes, before the time dilation by his senses reversed and he allowed the present to seep in.
Like a gunshot, the person he'd kicked was accelerated into the racking behind them at high velocity where their skull cracked open on a metal pole and had them collapse in a heap to the floor. Mark paid it absolutely no more attention as a simple swerve of his head to the right avoided the swipe of a clawed hand that would never have pierced anyway, as it was seized at the elbow by his hand shooting back and grabbing it. It was twisted enough to hear the snap of another broken bone ringing out before then his right hand pulled them over his left shoulder.
Whether the criminal stayed down or not from being thrown violently into a concrete floor at his feet was not Mark's concern, as the brief interest he took in the gnarled claws they had for digits as hands then disappeared as they left his eyesight. Instead, he simply sized hold of the next incoming criminal's weapon of a metal crowbar with one hand and backhanded the superpowered being away from him. He didn't care for what observation power lay in the woman's red eyes, and he didn't care where she ended up as he hadn't even looked in her direction. The pitiful attempt to hit him as his back was turned would never have worked given the speed he'd already shown, but he didn't exactly blame them.
Panic. That was all Mark saw in those few seconds. They'd had only time to identify him before he'd literally been upon them, shattering most bones in one person's skeleton, flooring another and then simply slapping the next. None of them had been able to touch him in those less than ten seconds, and it had only dragged on that long because he'd permitted it so. The idea of a team of powered humans had interested him enough, even if they were minor powers that couldn't match his own, but a spark of disappointment now crossed his mind.
Bullets rang out now, the panic being reinforced as he had just taken out three of their number in such short time. That time had only been enough to grab the pistols for those beings whose powers couldn't directly be used in combat, but Mark didn't flinch at the propelled fragments of iron swatting through the air in his general direction as he just stood his ground. Most missed him, swooping past him in distortions contorting the air in their flight paths and leaving only tinges of the acrid heat burnt off them, cordite and iron as seven bullets got within a metre of him. The other two that did hit him, impacting against his shin and then his left shoulder, did nothing to even alert his pain centres. Just the simple notification, the slight 'ping' of rebounding metal off his skin as the bullets themselves flattened and caved inwards more off of him into themselves; than the slight ripples they made in his skin from only the transfer of energy.
Mark then slowly looked to his left, black goggled lenses turning to face the four thugs who had begun to lower their guns. Lowered with varying expressions, as Mark saw the left-most criminal having dawning shock plastering all over their face like they'd never heard of his reputation, and was now only seeing it for the first time. Grimacing in the second, who was now bending their knees to sprint from the cover of racking they hid behind. The third just stiff in how utterly ineffective it had been, perhaps some horror. Shaking in panic in the fourth.
Bursts of heat slammed into Mark then, drawing his attention away as he glanced to the eighth member ninety degrees right of them. Their right hand was held aloft, left hand clutching its wrist with all its strength to keep the jostling arm steady at the energy being pushed along its length and forced out from the palm. Directed energy that sent waves of searing heat radiation in the direction emitted, working equally at the speed of such wavelengths of infra-red radiation and the contortions of air that visibly spurned out from it too; excited air molecules receiving high does of thermal energy that oscillated the air waves too.
It was meant to cook his skin, blister and burn it as the radiated warmth cooked his skin to temperatures exceeding two hundred degrees Celsius as definitely the most lethal member of that team there. It did nothing to Mark.
Quietly withdrawing his arm back behind him somewhat, it was then sent forward at even only a semi-fast swing for human perception as it then rotated back to its normal position by his side. What had been more impressive about that action was the force put behind it, the way two of the fingers put atop the others and interlaced to catch the air as the hand swung. In other words, Mark only dumped twice the energy into the air as he was being bombarded with from the preposterously slow swing of his arm; blasting apart the distortions of air and heat rays sent his way back. It cut right through it in a whirlwind of violently rippling air that accordingly ripped right through.
The crescendo of noise only got louder as it blasted apart the warehouse items and infrastructure, sending racking and boxes alike flying as it forced it all back into the rear wall of the warehouse. The superpowered being caught right in the middle of that was very likely not getting up anytime soon, given the wooden shards and discarded items everywhere. Turning his head back, Mark was unsurprised to see the remaining four running - having gotten roughly fifteen metres in the time that had elapsed.
Almost to the side door, as it were, with even the first in line reaching their arm out to grab the handle despite the several metres they still were from the door. All four were scrabbling to run, having obviously begun when the wreckage had started to pile up, with the last in line that had been shaking earlier almost stumbling to the floor as the force of wind generated impacted the racking with a loud clatter. But they righted themselves, and Mark knew it was fear in their hearts driving their desperate attempt to escape the recognised strongest being on the planet.
They would have succeeded better if he hadn't reached the door before them, the blur of yellow and black from his costume almost not visible from the speed he moved at being too quick to leave an afterimage. Simply taking a normal step forth with an outreached hand that shoved the man in front, the push with just enough strength behind it sent the criminal ungainly backwards as he were forced back into his compatriots. Shoved back like dominoes that collapsed to the floor in a line from where they'd almost then run into the man they'd fled from, Mark watched apathetically as he saw their limbs flail and fall.
"Leave the guns." He spoke aloud in a neutral tone then, containing enough of an edge of warning to command them only once, even as they were still writhing in the aftermath of being knocked to the floor and entangled. Turning away slightly and surveying the rest of the warehouse, his next intonation was lowered and muttered. "They're yours."
With that, he blasted off, flying clean straight up and out through the roof of the warehouse and out toward Chicago.
TITAN'S TOWER
Much akin to his entrance to warehouse only minutes before, Mark smashed straight through the high-rise windows to the apartment he knew Titan inhabited. The tall panes of glass had risen floor-to-ceiling over the two levels of the apartment atop the skyscraper from which Titan ruled the city's underbelly through his conglomerated empire of criminal gangs, and then two of them disappeared in an instant as Mark flew straight through them. Glass integrated and mostly fell back out the forty stories below.
A scream rang out from the other end of the apartment as Mark touched down within it, yellow cape falling to his ankles as it was no longer buffeted by winds. He stood in the office section of the apartment which had been situated near the windows, standing next to the expensively furnished desk that had once been the ruling throne of Machine Head. Invincible would know, as this had become the battleground for dominion of the Chicago criminal empire - as he looked to the other end of where the living room section of it. Where behind a sofa a young girl had bolted into the arms of her mother sat next to her, both with terrified expressions.
The heavy footfalls of Titan echoed round the luxury apartment then that was on the highest floor, the layer of stone that coated his being such like an egg-shell that covered and coated its interior. Only it was a matted grey, dense and compacted with only smoothed wrinkled edges unlike natural stone, and a formidable looking defence that probably held up even better than it looked. Its only obvious vulnerabilities were those that were necessary, eye holes and a mouth to breath through.
"You leave my daughter out of this, Invincible!" Titan shouted with boiling rage from within the stone armour, the rage very clear to all as his eyes pierced murder toward the superhero who had crashed into his apartment.
Mark only folded his arms, mouth still set neutrally from earlier as even his voice spoke apathetically in the face of the wrath projected toward him. "I wouldn't have had to if you hadn't pissed off the GDA, Titan." His tone was level-spoken, mouth barely moving as his stance was held slack. Arms folded as if to mock Titan with disinterested he seemed to be, as if it were all beneath him.
"I don't care who's toes I've stepped on." Titan's voice growled out, the gravelled fists clenched tightly in a professional style at his sides, spread wider as if to shield his family behind him of whom Mark could see only pieces of now from it - quivering movements. In contrast to the fixated stare the father was giving him, solid and unmoving in both stance and glare as he made it clear of his defensive yet aggressive pose. "Nobody threatens my family."
"Nobody is, really." Was the response given, Mark just then holding up a finger which he pointed to Titan. "I'm only here to tell you to stop, the only such warning you'll get. You'll know exactly what I mean when you hear of the fact that I beat the shit out of your gathered supers from the Southern storage areas, but I'll make myself clear in case. Don't escalate anymore. Do not bring any more superpowered bullshit into Chicago."
It was then that Titan's eyes widened slightly, his stance minutely taking a step back as Mark's finger slowly rose to his face - but it was the mouth that unnerved him. Equally as slowly as the finger that raised up beside it, the lips peeled back into a small smirk as the pointed finger now became a raised digit. "I just dealt with eight superpowered beings in less than a minute, literally." Mark spoke in a deliberate tone, still level yet with a bitten edge of cold. "What's one more?" The chill it imparted onto Titan was only exacerbated by the fact that the suit which totally hid the man that was Invincible from view seemed to change absolutely then in its aura from the only part of it that could show any emotion; doing so in an alarming manner.
Titan never responded as a flash of lime green next to him occurred, and he quickly whirled round to face his left to take full advantage of it. "Isotope, never mind me! Get my family out of here!" He barked out a demand to his assistant who had teleported into being next to him, the speed of which he quickly analysed the new addition next to him and then ordered him catching Isotope by surprise. Mark observed the man of whose mint green haircut extended to the back, slightly shocked face with an equally coloured thin goatee just give a snap nod to the serious situation he'd appeared in, no time for words as the man's hands just grabbed the two people behind Titan.
The ring of green, an expanse of rippling energy that swallowed the three people whole to teleport them elsewhere reduced the number of people in that apartment to lower than before as Titan now fully turned back to Invincible. Nothing else to worry about getting in his way.
"Or two, it would seem." Mark's voice mused out in the same tone, before his stance dropped completely in a quick turnaround where his hands returned fully to his side and mouth reset into a neutral expression. It was followed by him beginning to hover then, rising to two feet off the ground through the simple exertion of his powers that was easier than walking to a Viltrumite - natural, and meant to be. He stayed hovering, his cape fluttering in the wind of the open windows as he watched Titan tense further with a slight bend to his right knee beginning to form as if he would leap off to him.
"No." Titan's voice cracked out then, its tone now more dangerous than ever in its solid form, as low as the gravel which coated him in a protective armour. "It's just me and you now."
Mark's gaze held then at Titan for a few more seconds, the man evidently waiting for Invincible to make the first move as he lived up to his defensive look, but he needn't have bothered. Mark just gave a small shake of his head then, head tilting up to look down at Titan in a regarding look. "We both know how that would go. I'm not interested in beating you down now, it serves no more purpose than the eight I've already disposed of from your warehouse." He spoke out then, a tone of finality creeping into it as he began to move back out through the broken floor-to-ceiling windows in flight without facing it. "I'm done here."
"Wait!" Titan's voice stopped Mark from hurling himself upwards again that night in a blatant display of superpowered, speedy flight, as he now took to floating over forty stories off the ground. The bend in Titan's right leg was gone, arm hesitantly moving upwards a fraction as his voice contained the raw, angered emotion - tinged with frustration - that made him call out to Invincible. "At least tell me why the fuck it was you! You helped me before!"
A second passed, before Mark's head just tilted then to the side a bit, as his mouth just curled upwards at one side with amusement. "That's funny." Invincible spoke then, the fake humour in his tone actually making Titan tense further on guard than the colder voice from before. "I don't remember it being help so much as being manipulated into helping you settle a score with your abusive boss and take the seat of power. Something, if I recall, I actually could have died from." His head snapped quickly back upright and the frown overtook his mouth to show him quickly being serious once more. "The days of me being manipulated are over."
The sonic boom that rang out just as Titan realised Invincible had flown off happened after he had already left the ground far beneath him.
GDA CONTROL CENTRE
"He didn't even ask them to surrender before he leapt in and began breaking bones, sir." Donald informed Cecil then, lowering the tablet in his hand as he looked to the director. The concern in his tone made it clear why he was informing his boss of something he already knew. "He would have before."
"I know, Donald." Cecil responded, hands in pockets as he looked to the big screen on the wall instead of a tablet; which showed the GDA agents arresting the criminals at the warehouse where previously it had been a drone footage of Titan's tower. I consider it a success as I'm happy nobody died, Mark's at least happy for tonight, and Titan's not happy. Bones heal, him getting antsy is a much worse case scenario than a few minor supers we can leave in prison to rethink their lives before we employ those useable in some fashion." He surveyed the footage for another second before exhaling. "What I consider a failure was what just happened. Threatening his family pretty much? The glass that could have killed civilians below? That wasn't what I had in mind by message, more a talk. He really didn't care."
Donald looked to his director as his expression fully agreed with the last sentence. "Then what do we do, sir?" He asked in a quieter voice. "Can we really just continue letting him go out like this?"
A second passed as Cecil adjusted his tie slightly at its collar, his quirk for giving himself time to think. "What we did with Nolan, Donald." The GDA director spoke with resolution as he did not once turn away from watching the projected screen. "We buy ourselves time to figure out what to do. And if that means continuing to point him at the criminals to satiate him, then so be it."
HOTEL
Vigil looked away from his Core computer on his wrist, lowering the arm as he instead contemplated with a hum to himself. There was certainly a level of competency in Mark Grayson, confirmed across two fights now that he could easily deal with minor threats of powered entities; let alone then those without superpowers. Whether it would be worthy of being a Viltrumite was another matter, as more was expected of any single member of their empire than what he'd seen thus far.
A drone with a camera had once more been recording it all. Too risky to go in person, they'd spot him as soon as he left the super speed that would cloak him. Between satellites, drones of their own as well as the agents they would have had on sight, it was too early in his plans to reveal just how interested he was in Mark. They could suspect he was interested in Mark all they liked from a Viltrumite being on the planet, but giving them confirmed sightings of him would give them data. Data could be extrapolated into differing forms, with locations and times being used to build up a trend - something which could be used to guess his motives and goals.
No, it was still a bit too early.
The drone was fine. He didn't care if the miniature radars the GDA squads likely had returned its signature on their screens, there was too much plausibility in using Earth's own mass produced goods against themselves. A drone could be used by anyone, from any civilian user, to a journalist catching a fight in action, to other criminals or such. They could even suspect him all they wanted - again, there was less data to be had and all the more excuses from simply not being there in person.
Having unfortunately missed the confrontation at likely Titan's home given it had been his warehouse, Vigil was still pleased for the first-hand data he'd still managed to gather. Once was just an expression of data, but this second battle and confrontation was even more significant in that regard. Two points of data was the beginning of a pattern, a trend where the dots could start to be joined - even more as more data was gathered.
And before long, he would have all he needed for both his mission and personal interest. Then, it would be his judgement if Mark Grayson could be convinced to join the Viltrum empire. For now, he fully expected Mark to join him for a game of chess soon.