UPSTATE UNIVERSITY CAMPUS
Three days had passed since the fight in Philadelphia, and the news was still full of it.
Time had passed slowly that day, with Mark being on the campus in a rare occasion of trying to do something else. It was just past noon, the spring sun cutting through the overcast sky in flickers and casting hazy light over the university central square. Students milled around in causal clusters during the typical lunch break, backpacks slung over one shoulder for many and having either a quiet chat or a loud conversation. For some, there were half-interested glances drifting toward a small gathering near the edge of the central square.
There, beneath a banner crudely painted with the words 'Heroes Are Not Above Us', was a handful of students stood around a portable speaker and a collapsible table. One of the organisers - short, wiry, with a flashy backpack and a denim jacket plastered with anti-corporate patches - was speaking with a raised voice from behind their table. It was both intriguing to a few and off-putting to most as there was a visible berth in the flowing students round it, but they were forced to listen to the microphone anyway that occasionally crackled with feedback.
Mark was watching from a distance from the science building, standing on its steps as he watched the protest with narrowed eyes. The distance was no hindrance for someone with his enhanced senses, listening as he leaned against a pillar with the hood up over his head and hands deep in his jacket pockets.
"We're not sayingallsupers are evil." The student speaker stated aloud through the cheap microphone into the electronic speaker on the floor, their tone measured but tight. "We're saying that they need to be held accountable. Invincible levelled entire streets in Philadelphia, killing thousands in pursuit of one target. It was supposedly to stop something worse, but who gave them the right to decide that? Who gets to play judge, jury and executioner just because they can punch a tank into space?"
Spoken with the professionalism of a student, loud and adamant as a few of the listeners nodded their heads to the words spoken. Most stayed silent however, a sceptical expression on a couple of faces - whether from disagreement or it happening in front of them - as they only listened in. One of them even held up a cardboard sign over the crowd, reading 'Collateral Justified' in bold pen.
His eyes slowly roamed over the scene, moving his gaze across those gathered with the expressions on their faces, their body posture in reaction to what was stated as Mark took it in. There were no news vans. No large crowd. Just a pocket of people trying to be heard - people who didn't know Invincible, not really. People who feared Invincible anyway.
Standing still in his position fifty metres away, he could hear every word from the mass-produced portable speaker as if he were stood among the crowd. The cadence of the speech rankled him. The words that always repeated no matter who had taken the microphone in the past while -Accountability, Collateral. Dangerous.
Murderer.
It reminded him of being back in the terminal. Mark hovering in the space of the baggage reclamation hall, staring solidly at his opponent who had held so many people hostage. These people hadn't been in the terminal, they didn't see the trigger in Paul's hand that had been dripping with sweat from the tightened grip the man had on it; all visible to Invincible's eye. They hadn't felt the way the very air itself shifted, changed when those bombs were about to go off. They wouldn't even lose sleep over what could've happened if the sole person put in that position, him, hadhesitated.
Pulling his hood lower, not because anyone would recognise him but because part of him wanted to be invisible more than ever, even if for a moment. Just a person on campus, listening to other classmates his age say that the world would be better off if people like him didn't exist. None of it surprised him anymore, even if the irony stung.
Mark crossed his arms. His jaw tightened. No one could understand. Not really.
They saw buildings fall; the lives lost with every battle. The damage done each time some lunatic got a new idea in their head, and every time a hero had to stand up to them in a world where such powers existed. In a world where supers were an integral fact to it, and needed them. A world, in which those like the ignorant students before him didn't see what would've fallen if hedidn'tact.
Anger and frustration were not new to him these days. But he wasn't becoming indignant as the new emotion, but rather what he was beginning to feel was more dangerous. Something quieter, colder. Distant. Mark watched one of the protestors shake with emotion, her cracking about 'unchecked powers' and 'who protects us from the protectors?' But all he heard in return, was the bio-mech's roar. Of the street caving in. Of the blood, screams, flame that had arisen in Philadelphia.
'I protected you.' Mark's thoughts whispered then in his head, almost as a second voice as he himself continued to watch. 'I've bled for every one of you.'
But that didn't matter. Not to them.
And maybe, deep down, he was starting to accept that it never would.
Looking round again, it was all still the same. No restraint, no authorities present. No heroes. Just students. Young, passionate, afraid. Loud, because they werepowerless.
"We want oversight! We want investigation!" The student organiser chanted then, their fist raising up in the air with each exclamation made. "And if those in power won't hold these so-called heroes accountable, then we need to be loud enough that they can't ignore us anymore!"
Only a smattering of light applause greeted them in response.
Exhaling slowly through his nose, Mark noted the swell of anger within him that had caused his fist to tighten in the pocket it hid in, watching the protest with darkened eyes beneath the hood. Banishing his feelings forcibly, he was left just feeling tired. His gaze lingered for another moment, as the current student speaker swapped out with another organiser. A tall guy with an 'Existence is Resistance' shirt took the mic next, clearing his throat nervously before Mark just tuned him out as he turned and walked away.
Not because he couldn't listen - but because he already had. And within his own mind, he just thought of how nothing he could even theoretically say would change their minds. Not today, maybe not ever, and he wouldn't even bother. Mark didn't feel the guilt associated with such aspects of being Invincible. Not anymore.
But something in him burned as he walked - slow, measured steps through a campus that no longer felt like a place he could retreat to for his own private space. Not with the unfair ingrates now confirmed to be there, just like every other place in his life. No guilt or regret had been spawned at the sight, but more like a weight that resembled a proverbial brick placed atop a wall that was slowly, steadily building.
MARK'S DORM ROOM
The knock came just after sundown. Sat on the edge of his bed, hoodie still on as Mark scrolled mindlessly through his phone as his eyes darted momentarily to the door, before then just drifting back to his phone. The lights were dim, having not been turned on since he came back, and he was in no mood to deal with anything. He allowed the silence to remain.
But the second knock did not allow it, this one more deliberate. "...It's me." Came the distinct voice of William drifting through the door. "I saw you leave the quad earlier."
A low breath left Mark's mouth, as his eyes moved back to the door, before getting up and gripping the handle. Unlocking it and pulling it open halfway, he did indeed see William Clockwell standing outside with a paper bag in one hand, phone in the other and a cautious look on his face. "Chinese." William stated simply as he held up the bag. "I thought you might be hungry, just like last time."
Hesitating for second, the friendship they held won out over his mood then as he nodded once and stepped aside. "Sure." He responded, just as simply.
Entering through the door with a gusto that matched William's personality, the man set the food onto the desk and began rifling through the bag. The silence hung for a moment as both moved, heavy with a familiar tint now. Mark dropped back onto the bed, fully this time as his body sank onto the mattress with the weight he seemed to carry lately to William's eyes, before he turned back to the bag. Pulling out two cartons of noodles, he passed one over to his best friend.
"You watched it, right?" Mark finally asked, his very voice sounding tired as he looked to the carton in his bare hand that managed the heat unlike William who put his jumper in the way of the flimsy aluminium. "The protest."
"Yeah." William replied in the affirmation, his own voice containing a cautious tint as his expression contained none of its usual jovialness, instead set in a tentative way as if it didn't know what to show. "Hard to miss it. Not exactly a campus-wide revolution, though."
Mark didn't respond.
Picking up his fork and just busying himself for a moment with eating, William studied the other man for a second. "You OK, Mark?" He questioned tentatively.
Not even looking to his best friend, Mark just let out a snort as he made himself with a hand behind his head and the other clutching the noodles to his chest, leaving it uneaten. "They don't know anything." He almost ground out, tongue dragging over his teeth to prevent them from clenching together again at his thoughts. "They speak like they're the ones who lived through fire, like they've carried dying people out of rubble."
William's full attention was on Mark then, sitting poised in the desk chair as his mind wandered what to say. "They're just scared." He answered in an honest manner.
"Well, so was I for a few moments in that fight." Mark snapped out, voice slightly raising then even as it stayed controlled. His fist curled round together under his head as his face twitched, obvious flashes of the battle going through his head as he still didn't look to William. "You saw it, I know you have. That thing actually hurt me, and attempted to kill me before driving me straight through a building. But, I didn't get to stop when it did so. I don't get to point fingers and say someone else should do it."
Just poking his noodles a few times, William sighed then. He really didn't know what to say, but he was damned if he wasn't going to let his friend get it off his chest. "They don't hate you personally, you know." He spoke with an injection of light sarcasm to his tone, mouth curling round deliberately at its edge as he looked to Mark to throw off a more cheerful look.
It seemed to work, as Mark looked to him proper then with a scrunched face that regarded him, before raising an eyebrow. "They don't know it's me." He responded.
Giving a small nod, William agreed with that. "True." He stated with a lightened tone and affirmation, then pointing his fork at Mark. "But would it matter if they did?"
That made Mark pause, his expression shifting as he considered that. Before giving a small dip of his own head. "Yeah. They see someone strong and angry on the news, and assume he's the enemy." He answered with a slowly flowing tone, as if the thoughts that had been on his mind for a while were taking longer to be dredged up then. Or, that there were too many to wade through. "They don't see the choice behind every punch. They just count the broken glass and think it says something."
William leaned back in his chair as he finished another mouth full of noodles, tapping his knee to the floor before just shrugging. "I've known you for a long time, Mark. I know you're carrying too much." William said with a gentle tone, as if knowing there was a tripwire that could detonate along the verbal path he was walking, and was wording it just right to avoid it. "But if you keep closing yourself off too much longer, all you're going to keep doing is moping."
No accusations or points were thrown his way, only a gentle suggestion - and Mark was more grateful than he could express in that second for his best friend. No anger had been provoked by William at all, and that arose a half-genuine chuckle from him; leaving only the serious point from the lightly-wrapped statement that lingered with Mark. Just - thought.
Shaking his head a bit then, he looked back to William and gave a small, almost sardonic smile. "You come here to lecture me, or feed me?" He questioned in his own sarcastic tone.
That seemed to be the right course of action too, as William's trademark smile enveloped his face as he raised his own box of noodles into the air. "Both." He jovially stated with a grin, tone containing an element of cheekiness that was William Clockwell.
Mark finally took a bite of his own noodles, and no words passed between them for a while. But the silence in the dorm room, for once, was lighter than ever.
The food slowly disappeared between the two of them, as Mark's laptop ended up being opened atop the desk and some muted sci-fi rerun flickering upon it. William wasn't too invested in it given his taste in shows more dramatic and rot-inducing to lose time in, but it was the best compromise that both knew would be reached. Mark slouched back against the headboard of the bed, his carton of half-finished noodles in the end balanced on one knee as William just leant back in his chair sipping from a plastic cup to watch the show.
It was one of those moments that felt normal.
Being the one who broke the silence again, Mark just let out a small happy huff as a soft smile spread on his lips. "You remember when we used to talk about doing road trips after high school?" He questioned suddenly, eyes looking to his best friend.
William glanced up from watching the TV show, blinking as he was caught unawares. "Er, yeah." he let out, before his mind caught up fully and he grinned again himself. "You wanted to see every national park and see Smokey the Bear. I just wanted to find weird diners and avoid bears."
His smile became a faint smirk. "I thought back then, maybe we'd actually do it." Mark stated.
"We still could." Was William's serious response.
The silence itself stilled for a moment, before Mark gave William a look as he turned his head to look at him. The happier expression on his mouth melted away, to slip into a frown - more neutral. More distant.
Setting his cup down, William just looked back. "Okay, maybe not now." He amended his earlier response, but still carried forth its point. "But you're not dead, Mark. You gotta live a little too, ya know."
Only a sigh came from Mark at that, covering his face as he didn't respond, instead rubbing at his eyes. William visibly frowned at the way the fingers pressed into the sockets a little too hard, studying how Mark's face slackened with the motions. "You look exhausted." William stated with a flat tone in a conveyance of knowing exactly what to say and delivering it as best he knew how, bluntly.
"I am." Mark's words came out flat too. "But I don't get to be."
Waiting a few moments for Mark's arms to drop back down, William continued on. "You know, it's okay not to carry the weight of the world every second. It's okay to just be a guy with too much on his plate."
A nod was given then by Mark, but his body language and verbal language showed he didn't actually believe it. "I'm not just some ordinary guy though, William." He murmured then. "I never was."
That hung in the air like a crack in glass as William blinked. "No, I guess you're not." He spoke honestly, before shrugging. "But I can see you're stressed, Mark. When are you gonna think about yourself rather than the world?"
Mark looked to him differently then, not coldly or with malice, not warmly or with recognition of some sort; but justdirectlyat William. "You're one of the only people I still talk to. One of the last." He still murmured in a quiet tone, but it carried with it a sincerity William had not heard before from his best friend. "I know that. I just... wanted to thank you..." He trailed of at that.
Allowing the sincerity to stretch for a moment, William just returned the earlier soft smile as he stood up. "You can thank me, Mark Grayson, by not shutting me out. Let me help you carry it, even if it's just by being here." He conveyed just as seriously back as he took a step round the bed.
Mark watched him move, as he spoke his last sentence with a frown. "That's not how this works." He spoke.
William paused at the door, hand on the handle as he looked back to Mark and shrugged once more. "Maybe not." William replied with a grin sliding onto his face and his tone becoming more carefree. "But that's how our friendship works." He didn't let Mark reply, as he closed the door behind him with a soft click.
Sitting there still, observing the door for a second before his eyes darted back to the finishing up TV show on his desk with the dark flicker of the laptop screen, Mark was alone again. But the silence wasn't empty this time, instead it pulsed. It echoed with what he wasn't quite ready to admit yet.
Looking to the chessboard left of the laptop on the desk, it remained untouched since he'd last practiced with it. Then without another word that evening, he got up and cleared the board back to its default state to set the pieces up again. Mark would seek out Vigil tomorrow for his next match, and he was sure he would be clearer about who he was by then than ever before.
Yet, even then as his thoughts cleared with the board, the lone string remained to be plucked. The last frame of mind on the horizon that he could see in his periphery, yet still could not acknowledge.
U.S. CAPITOL BUILDING, WASHINGTON D.C.
This was the building that was critical to the functioning of the United States political system, housing two of its highest political echelons in the form of the US senate and US House of Representatives. Today, it was host to a special congressional session within the Capitol Building, as the House Chamber buzzed with activity and murmurs - the air heavy with tension and opinions. Cameras clicked as the media swarmed the upper gallery, capturing every frown, every sharp glance exchanged below them. A placard placed in the middle of the room read:
U.S. Congressional Committee on Extranormal Affairs
Special session - Philadelphia Incident and the rise of enhanced vigilantism.
Sweeping from the bench she sat at was a woman who took the floor first as proceedings began, representative Janine Wexler of Pennsylvania who gripped the podium she now stood at. From the way her knuckles turned slowly white on the wood they tightened on; it was done with restrained fury. "Madam Chair, the citizens of my district woke up to smoking craters and shattered steel, entire commercial sectors of Philadelphia turned into rubble. A warzone has been created on the Eastern Coast of the continental United States of America, and I ask you to take this as seriously as we have when other attacks have occurred." Janine spoke out with a voice she definitively projected to crack out round the chamber to ensure she was heard. "Civilian deaths in the thousands, damages totalling now into the billions, and no accountability - none at all! Only footage of one man tearing through concrete and toppling entire skyscrapers in the heart of a city like wet paper. This cannot stand or be allowed to continue, surely."
Her point continued on as she was allowed the first voice in proceedings, as many felt was right given the representative of the affected state. When the Pennsylvania representative had finished, applause rippled across the chamber, but the media above them were quick to zero in on those who had arms crossed, or a sceptical expression on their face. Senator Reeves of Colorado was allowed to speak next, having been given greater leeway as a known backer of government-supervised hero programs.
"This is what happens when power exists without oversight." The senator's deep voice carried across the chamber, his admonishment of an unnamed party noted by many. "We've allowed figures like 'Invincible' to operate under informal alliances, assuming good will alone to be enough. I tell you now, it is not. He's not some military asset. He's more akin to a foreign superpower, with no chain of command!"
Discussions continued, circling round the topic in an endless loop that always arrived back to Invincible as the prime example of vigilantism gone wrong. A junior representative eventually addressed it directly, as they spoke from the floor. "Do we even know who he is?" They asked aloud.
There was a moment of silence as the House Chamber quietened and stilled, the intrigue and curiosity of all involved regardless of affiliation to any party arising from that. Chairwoman Hall's eyes roamed the room to observe this, before clearing her throat. "The relevant... federal agency, has refused to provide any civilian identity, citing operational secrecy." They answered in a curt tone, and none dared to interrupt them. "But let me be clear: the time of secrecy is over. This committee is discussing pre-emptive strategies, including containment procedures, for extranormal actors - regardless of a 'heroic' status or not."
That generated a loud rippled of discussion, looking like it would have to take a restoration of order from the higher benches of the chamber to quieten the peak of noise that spiked again, but they needn't had to. Another representative had stood then, and the recognised older veteran of the House was allowed to speak by the audience as they quietened when they took to the podium. An exchange of glances was made between the positions of the Chair and other higher positions of the House Chamber, but it was allowed due to the nature of the debate and that it was one of the few sessions where parties did not try and up the other.
The man read a few hastily scrawled notes on a sheet of paper, before scrunching it up and looking up with a serious expression. "Before we build prisons or pass condemnation, may I remind the chamber that many more lives were saved by this man than were killed. The alternative was undoubtedly hundreds of thousands potentially being casualties as the city would have mourned a massacre instead of a fight gone wrong." The veteran spoke loudly, his voice picking up deliberately louder to speak over initiated murmurs from his speech. "Is this but not a fact of our world? A world in which those with powers kill us off every day and simultaneously protect us against such beings; was Invincible not just stopping an extreme case that would have flattened Philadelphia and cost more lives if those twenty minutes had been uninterrupted for that being?"
"I mean really, what is this chamber saying to the entire hero community right now with this session?" The veteran's voice cracked out with the end of his speech. "That they should wait for a permit before acting against such levels of threats that level entire cities?"
The rest of the session passed quicker with a continuation of the planned proceedings. Analysts were called in give testimony of those with supposed expert knowledge, extending to even a couple of military officers called in. Briefings were given on the tactical capacities of so-labelled 'superpowered individual assets', as it was showcased with projected videos of Invincible and other supers. The chamber remained quieter that session than many other, more normal proceedings.
Finally, after two hours it began to close. Chairwoman Hall made her closing remarks with a flourishing style as was usual from the higher benches, standing up with a calm demeanour. "We are not here to brand heroes as villains." She announced through the room. "But if they are beyond question, beyond consequence - then they are not heroes. They are kings. And the country of the United States of America, with its proud history, does not answer to kings."
The hearing ended in an ironic twist to only signal the start of the true conversation and debates upon the situation, with the only confirmed fact arising from the session being the leaning direction of the United States government.
UPSTATE UNIVERSITY, MARK'S DORM ROOM
Late evening hung in the air outside the open window to Mark's room, only illuminated by the full moon as the stars were hidden by the light pollution of Chicago. The soft hum of Mark's laptop fan was the only source of noise from within the room that could match the city ambience coming from the window, as Mark sat at the desk. Eyes that were simultaneously focused, and distracted as they darted often in some direction to an input to his enhanced senses; before being forcibly redirected back. The glow of the desk lamp cast a sharp shadow across his face, as the textbook on his lap yielded the answers he needed slower than it should've, but progress was being made.
A sudden emission of a sharp noise, a pulse to his ears in what would've been a sustained crackle to human ears cracked into existence then in the larger space of the room. Cyan blue light that disappeared just as quickly as it disappeared at the speed of light was still in the retinas of the teleported arrival's retinas, but that was not the focus then. The focus was instantly put on the hand that closed round his throat and lifted him up, as Cecil actually choked on the tight grip Mark put on his neck as the GDA's director's vision had not even caught the blur of speed.
"I thought I told you to knock next time, Cecil." Mark's voice lashed out calmly then, snapping closed the textbook with the one hand not lifting the struggling man off the ground, as Cecil's suit was becoming thoroughly strained and wrinkled from the limb movements. His tie really would need adjustment as it dangled. "I also specifically remember telling you we were done. You seem to forget that though that fancy teleporter works at probably the speed of light, your reaction time does not." Bringing the man closer to him then as a slight sneer came on his face, Cecil Stedman was sent hurtling back to land on the floor roughly with his back clattering against the wall. "Fuck off."
"Mark-" Cecil choked out then, his voice extremely rough from the grip that had closed round his throat, going on to prove that speech was unsustainable as a hacking cough erupted from him. Even after it subsided, it came out hoarse and at a forced lower volume, no matter if the GDA director massaged it from his recovering position of back to the wall or not. "-Please, we need to talk."
A side-eyed glance was all he got, as Mark had slowly walked back to his desk and opened up his textbook again, only gracing the man with a minute turn of his head. "You need something." Mark simply stated, the tone smooth as if it were a mocking clarity. "Not me."
"I need you to stop acting like a child and do your job." Cecil snapped with a frustrated tone, bordering on anger as his gaze hardened, focused entirely on the Viltrumite hybrid. "You don't get to walk away from the world just because it's complicated. We both know you're the only one who can handle the threats coming down the line." Standing up, he just studied the young adult as he awaited the reaction.
The words thrown at Mark appeared to have no effect, but the director could tell from the subtle clench in his jaw that his anger in turn was provoking Mark's anger. As if the strongest being on the planet felt he was fully justified in his actions, in the face of Cecil's verbal reasoning. "I'm not your tool." Mark responded in a low tone, fully turning his head away then. "Not anymore. I refuse to be manipulated by anyone, anymore."
Taking a step closer as if to try and impose his seriousness onto Mark, Cecil got no further appearance of a reaction. "You think walking away gives you moral clarity? After the shit you've pulled, in killing the amount of people that you have?" He questioned with a patronising tone. "Yeah, you killed scumbags like Multi-Paul who were seconds away from pressing a button, sure. But all that blood from Philadelphia is on your hands, not mine. You made the decisions, Mark. Own it."
A snort was the only change in Mark's expression as he continued to keep his head focused at the textbook. "Yeah, I did." He spoke, his voice slow and controlled. "And you know what? I'd do it again. But not foryou."
Cecil narrowed his eyes at the third sentence spoken, cataloguing it in his mind of how far Mark had come but then ultimately not mentioning it in favour of making his point. That was his sole job after all - to have, and deploy the necessary resources he needed. "I don't care if you hate me." Cecil snapped further, hands adjusting the tie he wore with a harder clench than normal. "I care that this planet keeps breathing, which includes you. You think anyone else out there gives a shit what you believe in? The people don't trust you. The government wants control." Cecil's tone became tighter, as he played the only hand he really had against the world's strongest entity. "I'm the only thing standing between you, and the fear running rampant out there."
There was a long silence as both remained stilled in their poses, before Mark finally just looked to Cecil with tightened lips in a bitter smile. "That's funny. Because last I checked, I never worked for the US government in the same way I never officially worked for you, and neither did I give a shit about public opinion. If either of them has a problem,tough." Mark's voice did not match his smile, as it was resolute. "I'm not working alongside the GDA anymore, nor under you. Not under anyone."
Eyes closed as Cecil had to let out a sigh, pressure building in his temples before he forced his speech to remain level. "You're making a mistake." The director let out. "You're isolating yourself, and when the real monsters like Viltrumites show up, you're going to need us just as surely as we will need you. You'll either come crawling back or you'll die trying to do it alone."
"You see, there's your fucking problem Cecil." Mark answered back with no hesitation, no pause to the delivery which actually contained a hint of amusement as if he was the only one getting the joke. He tilted back in the chair somewhat with a shoulder leaning over the side of it, arm raising to point a relaxed finger at Cecil with the palm facing the ceiling. "You're so wrapped up in your little schemes, so sure of yourself and all the control your little agency has that you don't realise you also create problems like this one. Sure, that in the same way you think I have an ego, you're blinded by your own." A gentler smile lifted onto his face then, as if the most recent thought was a more uplifting one. "But hey, if I do die alone... at least I'll die free."
Tilting his head to the side, as he examined the GDA director for the last time that evening, Mark then just waved his hand at the man before turning round again. "Just fuck off now, Cecil." He finalised.
Staring at the young adult before him, Cecil let out a smaller, muted exhalation at his miserable failure. A flicker of some rare emotion passed behind his eyes - disappointment, maybe - as he looked at Mark, before then just stepping back and pressing a button on the wristband device he wore. "You walk away now, Mark - there's no coming back." Was his last warning before the teleportation field shimmered for a second time, swallowing Cecil in a blink of cyan light.
Another darting glance to the position he had stood in was all the response Cecil got in the resumed silence of the room, before it returned to the textbook. Completely calm and feeling not the slightest regret from his words, Mark just let out a snort. "Let them all come." He muttered to himself.
VIGIL'S APARTMENT
Sensitive microphones placed outside the target's accommodation was both a success and a failure of a strategy, making it mostly unused by the relevant agencies unless the situation called for it. On the one hand, it would completely bypass whatever government monitoring systems were bound to be within the room, based on one simple fact. The people installing them would not dare to step out and expose themselves, so it was mostly safe given he had installed his by drone onto the wall outside Mark's window. Unless they too had done that, but given how it had continued functioning for two weeks now, it was a safe bet to make by now.
It was a failure in that the window being closed rendered all source of noise from within that still may have escaped, being drowned out by the ultimately louder noises of the outside world. A laser device measuring the vibrations on the glass pane would have been ideal, but unfeasible given the distance between the safe installation space on a building nearby was more than ten metres away. Vigil was disappointed, but the worth of utilising his scientific knowledge to overcome infraction of emitted wavelengths by air molecules did not trump the amount of time which could be better spent doing other things.
Namely, intelligence gathering, as he had been doing for months now. Combined with the utilisation of cameras attached to commercially bought drones, it was good enough to spy on Mark Grayson when he needed to, but that was not often. It was also the best method, given he needed to remain off the campus to avoid Mark's Viltrumite enhanced senses, and a commercial drone slipped right under his nose. That was a given fact, as hundreds of them buzzed across the campus every week and it would be a mere addition so long as it was not obvious in hanging outside the window.
Right then, Vigil had directed the drone to return back to its allotted recharging station he'd rigged on a building just off the campus, as he turned back to the news playing on the second computer monitor next to him. He sat in stillness and intrigue as the news played, listening as the US Congress had advanced the expanded HEROA bill still in draft. Designed not to empower heroes, but tocontainthem.
Standing for the 'Hero Oversight and Regulation Act', it was being touted as a framework of collaborative accountability; akin to how real-world contractors or emergency responders were integrated with government bodies. It had apparently aimed to formalise communication channels, introduce civil oversight and preserve hero autonomy, all while acknowledging the crucial role of powered individuals. But with that piece of government legislation, Vigil had been disappointed with the ease he had pulled back the jargon to get at the real principles - tighter registration rules, new classifications, civilian oversight and federally monitored activity logs.
As with his observations thus far, it aligned as the scent of fear in those policies wasn't just metaphorical. It was real and not just human, but universally applicable. "So predictable." He muttered to himself, not in frustration or smugness, but in confirmation.
This was, after all, what the Viltrum Empire feasted on as a banquet of expansion with single-world civilisations, what it counted on to keep up its rapid rate of expansion. That the dominant species that managed to monopolise their world would fracture from within, create its own chains so that those with power would be hunted by all those without it. Until all trust burned away, leaving a status quo on the planet that was kept in check in a few differing ways; though with humanity it had been amusing for Vigil to see the self-admission in the globally accepted MAD doctrine.
Earth had all the justification needed for the Viltrumite Council to accelerate assimilation of it, and in all honesty, it would not have required his expertise at all to study its ways - as interesting as it had been. Truly a unique species that he had thoroughly enjoyed documenting and gathering data on, but the simple truth remained that their civilisation could not stand against their Empire. Only two reasons had really required him on the planet - Nolan's defection, and to observe the Viltrumite hybrid who was both a biological curiosity and potential asset for the Empire.
Once he had observed Mark and either persuaded him or pried it from him, he would have the reason for Nolan's defection too. All of it, truly was in good time - and Viltrum was in no hurry for his report. The simple fact that planetary infiltrators were given five hundred years of their life for a planet to conquer and rule over within showed it.
Mark Grayson was no longer working for this 'Cecil' person, of whom Vigil had been taking full notes of including ensuring the camera image was saved in case the drone went down for any reason. No longer purely naïve, as his profile records and the early news footages of Invincible before Nolan's defection had suggested. He had begun asking questions, turning away from others, hiding his internal shift behind blunt action. It was impacting both him and everyone else it seemed, as his personal life changed dramatically with the loss of his socialisation and work with the government person that Cecil apparently was. The world was reacting to Invincible too, in the differing ranges of antihero protests, online reactions, weariness and now the government taking charge.
Excitingly, the upcoming legislation would prove to be a unique test that would result in a bit more risk on his behalf in monitoring Mark more closely, but the justification for it was too good. The laws would push him one way or another, with no middle ground to be found in just ignoring the Congress bill towards heroes, specifically founded on his actions. It would be a test, bigger than any chess game he'd played with Mark so far, and would accordingly provide the bigger reaction.
If he broke too far in the wrong direction, then action would have to be taken - either from himself or from the Empire, he wasn't sure yet. Mark Grayson had proven a lot of things wrong so far, including his threat assessment.
Vigil had observed thousands of planets in his lifetime that still could not match those in the higher echelons of the Viltrum Empire. He had seen more than they would ever see, watched entire empires fall and resistance crumble, and they knew it which was why he was here. And Mark... Mark had the capacity, the potential to do so much. To be many things - hero, tyrant, saviour, threat. He would observe it all, as whilst his purpose was to the Viltrum Empire, this was what he lived for.
And this legislation? It was just another match held near a barrel of fuel.
There was still plenty of time. Enough so, that Mark Grayson would be able to find himself, who he would become and take action before the Empire decided for him. Progress was being made in all according avenues, whether it was world governments, shadowy agencies or superpowered individuals, Earth was breaking itself in and setting the stage for the highlight. And all he had to do was keep watching, waiting for that moment.
PENTAGON
The air in the command centre was peaceful, seemingly only vibrating softly as Cecil teleported into it as it was quiet with the hour approaching closer to midnight. Four technicians as the standard for a watch duty done during quieter hours showed that, with one going wide-eyed and spilling coffee from where it had been raised to their mouth as their director literally blinked into existence before them. It was calm work for those four people who worked in near silence, watching screens, analysing data feeds, and reviewing satellite footage of potential threats.
Cecil was not calm in that moment. He was anything but, as his jaw was tight with the pressure of keeping his teeth from grinding. "Get Donald to meet me at the briefing room." He snapped out, forcibly shattering the peace in his ire and not caring who complied with his order, as he strode out into the corridor. Walking straight into the operations briefing room which was the one place he could be sure of to hold absolutely no listeners, intentional or otherwise, he sealed the room as soon as his assistant walked in too.
Donald only needed to take one look at Cecil to guess at what it was about, his own expression parting slightly in shock at the state of the GDA director. For a man who prided himself on his professionalism, his duty and dedication to preserving world order, he had let himself unravel in his angered state as the hands that normally would've been placed on the table to steady himself were slammed down. "Sir? Are you okay?" Donald questioned then, his face going neutral as the best response to keep his boss calm. He knew that the director would not appreciate literally any other emotion than a professional one during this briefing. "Is Invincible... out?"
Not answering right away, Cecil just sighed from where he leant over the table, wiping his brow before then just nodding. "Yeah, Donald. He's done. And he meant it too, I could tell that from him." The man admitted with a tone of equal frustration and resignation. "We lost our best fighter. He's not even the same kid anymore - just watching him, I could tell he's gotten colder. Sharper." With another compelled sigh, and a rub to his temples, Cecil forced himself off the table and smoothed his image over. Masking his face with his usual professional persona, and swiping down his suit which finished with his quirk of adjusting his tie, he got to business. "Which makes him more dangerous."
With a nod, Donald did too, even if he buried his own regret at hearing Mark being lost to working with them. He had personally enjoyed working with Invincible. "You wish to discuss contingencies then sir." He stated as a singular sentence, in a statement which let Cecil know he was clued in as he pulled out the tablet he always kept on him. "Should we initiate tier three contingencies?"
Working as he spoke as his fingers flew across the screen of the tablet to sync with the large monitor screen in the briefing room which activated, the dossier of Mark Grayson opened up on the high-definition display before both men. Images of Mark flitted across one side of the display with recent satellite captures and social media captures, as documents opened up on the other side, ranging from battle summaries to psychological reports. Donald's mechanical eye scanned the data in quick time, as the other focused on his boss.
Cecil stood there taking the screen before him in, hands in pockets and obviously allowing his mind to think for a moment in silence. "Tier two first. I'm not blowing our arsenal, and more importantly, our hand at any opportunity unless I know he's gone rogue." Cecil announced, the protocol that whirred through his head almost audible as his remained glued on the opened digital documents before him. "That means we move fully into tracking his movements and gathering intel on him. Tag and install in every location he frequents - that includes across the campus, that damn coffee shop, you name it. Have a couple of agents monitor and patrol him. No drones - use civilian feeds and facial triangulation. If he so much as sneezes in front of a camera, I want it logged. I mean literally, I want every movement of his traced and recorded."
Nodding, Donald was making the necessary notes, but stayed his hand for a moment as a thought did occur. "And if he goes dark, sir? Simply can't be found?" He questioned.
"Then we get creative, Donald." Cecil responded in a thoughtful tone, rubbing his chin as he continued to think. "Use every means we have available without making it obvious. Track his phone, reroute satellite surveillance if you have to, get local enforcement involved. I'll even grant special usage of stealth squad in this case armed with the invisibility devices for covert surveillance, if it is required."
All of that was noted, but there was still the hanging 'if' in the situation. "What if he suspects we're tracking him, sir?" Donald asked.
Putting the hands back in the pockets to keep some other part of his body busy other than his mind, Cecil's brain gave him an answer anyway. Decades of experience and knowledge had fashioned his head into a computerised protocol list so. "He's not stupid. Mark's already removed his earpiece, and would have removed his isotopic tracer as soon as he knew he was alone. He'll already suspect us." Cecil replied, tone musing as his respect for Mark still shone through despite his frustration. "But if he does directly ask us, the only thing we can do is deny it. We can't win a head-on confrontation with him, but we can be ready at least."
There was a pause, before Cecil sighed again in a momentary crack of the professional persona he'd armoured up in. Looking to Donald for the first time since his assistant had stepped in the room, it was with a tight smile as his expression. "He's not the same kid anymore, Donald." He spoke in a quiet tone, as if it were an admission more meant for his own clarity. "And I'm not willing to wait and see who he becomes."
"So..." Donald let out, pausing as a dominant thought tried to come to the forefront of his mind from the jumble that existed in it. "We just prepare, sir?"
"We always prepare, Donald." Cecil announced then in a strong voice; his dedication fully displayed as he put every year of being director of the GDA into that singular statement. "It's our job to." Turning back round to the briefing room screen, it was with a thoughtful gesture then that he pulled out his smartphone and checked a couple of things on it. "How are the Reanimen coming along?"
"As expected sir, all to deadline." Donald's immediate response came then, no need for the tablet as it was actually drawn into the crook of his arm, calling it straight from memory of a project he personally supervised. "Sinclair reports the newer models have a 40% increase in physical strength over the previous generation. The latest batch of ten was delivered just two days ago." Slight hesitation entered his voice and his body frame, as he fiddled with his glasses with his other arm then. "Simulations still show they are orders of magnitude beneath Invincible's physical strength though, sir."
"Good. That doesn't matter Donald, they're but a diversion in the grand scheme of things anyway for such a potential threat. That's all we need of them." Cecil stated dismissively, instead speaking his own thoughts on the matter aloud. "Mark would likely see them as beneath him, yet he'll still waste energy putting them down. That's just who he is, and that's one of our biggest advantages over him - planning against what he'd do." Pointing to one of the documents on screen that Donald wasted no time in inputting a few quick swipes to his tablet to command it to enlarge on screen. "The real threat is this. How goes the inner ear disruption tech?"
That did require a quick check of a program on the tablet, before Donald looked squarely to the director. "The engineering department wants your approvals for tests, sir." He informed his boss. "They have working prototypes that can be readily fitted as loudspeakers to drones or static points as the main two options right now, but can be expanded in future. The oscillation frequencies involved required more significant power than previously thought, so custom devices with the required batteries are being used for now."
"Good. That's the containment option." Cecil spoke with certainty, before his voice dropped with the next question. Closing his eyes for a moment and pausing his mouth whilst doing so, but he forced it out anyway. "And our... neutralisation failsafe?"
True hesitation gripped Donald far more than it had Cecil then, as he just tapped slowly into his tablet to bring up the relevant information. "Engineering is currently designing and building the prototype in-situ, but work remains slow. An estimated three months before the first prototype will be ready for testing. Otherwise... project NeedlePoint remains on schedule." Donald informed slowly, as the protest came out before he could fully help it. "I do have to say though sir, its deployment would likely kill hundreds in the same area, even if it does work in killing Mark. And... we don't know if anything we have truly can."
Cecil had to restrain himself from repeating 'good' again at hearing the fabled project was at least progressing, exhaling himself at the thought of having to go to even further lengths than they had with their first encounter of a hostile Viltrumite. "That's better than millions, if he decides he knows best for the rest of us like Nolan tried, Donald." Cecil instead ground out, suddenly very much not in the mood for further discussion on the topic as he began to walk, rounding the table with slow steps. "Personally, I hope we never have to use any of this." He admitted as he paused momentarily without looking back to Donald, before then squaring his shoulders and setting off again as he forced out another admission which added another weight to those already on his soul; but that he carried anyway. "But if he turns, we press the button."
Donald watched Cecil move off with a sharp gaze, his own thinly set, frowning face and eyes hidden behind reflective glasses still more expressive than the director's masked one. "And if it turns out he's smarter than we thought?" Donald called out to Cecil, curiosity demanding an answer.
The short answer he got back did not require Cecil to pause at all again, instead seeming to hasten slightly in his movement to unseal the doorway to the briefing room as he gave it. "Then God help us." Was all that drifted back in a quietly spoken voice.
CORNER CAFE
A latte sat on the table, steaming and already a third of the way through the cup of being drunk. It was the exact same table, just half an hour before the normally established time; which gave Mark just enough time as he sat there. From following the man a couple of times, the Viltrumite hybrid had easily been able to use the cloak of darkness to hover and pick him out from the crowd to see what he did. And, as it seemed, nothing much, only that he arrived five minutes before 8PM.
Of course, whilst Mark had established some time ago that something was off, the thought of Vigil being a Viltrumite had only been a temporary thought he'd chuckled at. Viltrumites did not play games as this man did. Nolan proved they could hide, but that experience meant Mark felt he could at least get an established feeling from twenty years of living with one. Vigil just didn't have that feeling, but there was something there.
His own chessboard sat before him on the table, and though the pieces had been set upon it in the two uniform lines of opposing colours, he hadn't moved one. Mark's eyes drifted across the café often, looked out the window, but nonetheless would always return to the board like it whispered something he was trying to decode. It didn't matter how long he looked to it though, or even if his thoughts were of chess - the question was feeling closer to being answered. To the extent that it gave him frustration that his progress slowed with how much had accordingly built up and needed his attention.
Something different was aligned with Mark Grayson that evening, as had been the case quite a few times as of recent when Vigil walked in and made his first sweeping observation. He was dressed as plainly as ever, head slightly bowed with hood pulled up to cover it as usual, but the posture was completely different. The head was looking deep in thought at the chessboard in front of him, hands resting on the table instead of pockets which he had done every time without fail when Mark had arrived; which was of course another point of him being there before Vigil had been.
Mark Grayson was not a man predisposed to being considerate as of late. But the stance at the table showed a person of a composed manner, not tinged with impatience as Mark could be, but instead upright, sharp. There was no measure of pace or fidgeting in his body, he merely waited.
There was no surprise when Mark's eyes darted to his from under the hood as Vigil stopped a metre from the table, having not looked when the door had opened, or the couple of minutes he'd been ordering his own coffee with. But the Viltrumite scientist knew that Mark had known his location before the door had ever opened, as he set the mocha coffee down on the table. "You're early." Vigil simply remarked, voice flowing with the slight resonation that was characteristic of him. "Are you taking this more seriously now?"
Mark's head tilted somewhat as he considered Vigil's opening question, before then just giving a low shrug. "I've been taking this seriously since our second ever game." He responded with a normalised tone, just at a quieter volume than usual. Which in itself made it sound ruminative. "But yeah, I think it's time I changed things up. This..." He gestured to the board set up before him, that of his own property for the first time rather than Vigil's, with the unspoken inclusion of the fact that he was early. "...was just because I wanted time to think."
Removing his coat and sitting down with a flourish opposite his chess opponent, Vigil just composed his sitting posture as he then faced Mark fully. "Did it help?" He questioned with a sliver of deliberately injected curiosity.
Brown eyes stared at cobalt-silver, the guarded expression in Mark's eyes slamming down once more in the third resumption of his usual self. "It told me I don't think enough." He admitted aloud.
A hum was all Vigil gave in his first response, before raising a minute eyebrow. "Can I ask what changed?" He questioned, as it was no longer a sliver added to his tone. He allowed his intrigue to show.
"That's just it." Mark answered quickly with his first statement, before then picking up his coffee and drinking it more for the action of doing something than the need of it. A momentary break to gather the actual answer he could give. "I don't think much has changed. I think... I'm just going to stop pretending."
No further questions were allowed to be asked as Mark deliberately reached over and started the game, sliding forth a pawn on his side of the board. As usual, as had happened every game so far, he initiated the proceedings as the white colour as Vigil would follow on as black as if to give himself the deliberate advantage of observing his opponent. But there was something different with the opening to this game.
"This is the third time you've opened with king's pawn." Vigil remarked with interest, hand actually tapping the table with one finger as his eyes roamed the board to ensure every piece was taken in. Having been attentive from the start with the, to him, recognisable change in proceedings that were bound to occur, his earlier predictions of the situation regarding Mark becoming exciting seemed to be true. Even more when it happened before him.
Without looking up from the board where his hand was moving a supporting piece in his offence of the centre of the board, Mark gave a small nod. "And the first time I've actually followed it through." He declared. It turned out to be entirely correct, for as Vigil's own encircling move tried to be subtly pushed through on the flank, Mark had not bothered to pause and take stock of the situation as he normally did - instantly moving in with a knight to seal it off. Leaning back, Vigil's intrigue was peaking higher than it ever did from the simple act of playing his new favourite game of late; observing Mark just as much as the board.
Vigil knew that it was not just him either. Mark watched sharply at how Vigil moved his bishop with precision, in how the man reacted to changing circumstances not just strategically, but emotionally. At the man, with the muscles in his jaw. The way his fingers tensed. Studying. Absorbing.
"You really are different today." Vigil stated. Simple, spoken no different to how he normally would. But it also showed how he was adapting to the different atmosphere of their game that evening - he had directly questioned Mark. It had always been as a following comment before, once he had made his observation. But Vigil knew enough to keep Mark's interest, to earn his respect as he had been doing; had lived long enough to know when to adapt. His observations allowed him that.
Sure enough, a low chuckle came from Mark then as the upturn of a smirk on one corner of his mouth was shown from beneath the hood. "I've been watching how you play." Mark responded with a sure statement of his own. "You don't waste anything. No ego. No hesitation. Everything is like a sure bet with every action of yours." His words were not just meant for chess, that much Vigil could instantly discern from the way Mark's eyes locked on his. "You commit."
The hum that came from Vigil was emitted more as an exhalation, tinged with amusement as if he'd huffed it as a chuckle. "Well." He responded, as his voice carried none of that same amusement, and instead a level display of a serious thought. "Some people confuse clarity with cruelty."
It was a deliberate statement, another small challenge. A rhetorically spoken query, but a question all the same to the both of them that in the same way Vigil played a card from his hand, he challenged Mark to equally reveal his hand. And his opponent did not back down. Mark just titled his head in the other direction this time, eyes darting to look out the window as he gave his reply. "Maybe cruelty is just clarity without apology." He softly spoke.
A quiet moment passed then, as the rain tapped against the glass to be the dominant sound in Mark's enhanced hearing as he thought. It seemed Vigil would be the one to voice the subconsciously known fact aloud. "That's not something most would say unless they'd already decided who they want to become." Vigil stated with a measured tone.
After all, it had been seen throughout the game that had been ongoing for the past ten minutes. The match had begun with a familiar opening move that in turn had not been moved in accordance with previous games, and his very style had shifted. Mark had been more patient, and less reactive - less prone to utilise the pieces in the moment and instead thinking ahead in a greater amount than he'd shown before. He wasn't chasing the pieces anymore, rather setting traps of his own - and Vigil had noticed.
Beneath the hood, the half-smirk increased further. "You sound surprised." Mark asserted, forming a small challenge of his own.
It was met, and contested. "I'm not." Vigil responded with an assured tone, as if his denial were a fact. "I am only measuring the difference between instinct and intent now."
Again, as had been occurring throughout their conversation, the context of whether the chess match sat on the board in front of both was meant or the wider situation became blurred. Mark leant forward slightly, shifting another pawn in the right defence line that helped stabilise his still on-going central offensive, but it was also used to accentuate his sharp gaze. "Instinct can only get you so far in my case." He admitted, his tone flat but the seriousness of his eyes showed how hard it was for him to spit the words out as the teeth were bared a bit. "I need to train my instinct further, it's not enough anymore. I could punch a problem into the ground and still not solve it."
A respectful nod was given from Vigil, a polite way of recognition of Mark's words. "That is an interesting way of phrasing it." He replied, a friendly response with a causal tone that did not match the watchful gaze he gave the young adult. Mark evidently still hadn't finished talking yet, had things he could say more of, and a small break was perhaps all the more helpful in drawing it out.
Nodding once to acquiesce that, Mark did continue. "You said that people confuse clarity with cruelty." He spoke, hand reaching up to brush through the hair under the hood. "I think you were right."
"And what would you call clarity then?" Came Vigil's question, as expected from both.
"Knowing what needs to be done." Mark declared aloud without hesitation, coldly reflective as he met Vigil's eyes with no trace of the earlier smirk. "How to do it, and then actually doing it even if no one else will."
Truly, Mark was not the same reactive man he had been from even just a month ago. The very contours of his face showed it, a little more hardened, definitively more thoughtful. His very body language, and how he moved. The pieces would clack softly as they shifted on Mark's board with Vigil's moves being calculated in the face of Mark's own - aggressive, but without the touch of impatient dominance it once held. It was a planned offensive, where every trade he offered costing something.
"You've been studying." Vigil spoke, both to the previous words from Mark and in reference to the chess game that resumed between them as a slight deviation of topic. "You have learned much since that second game indeed."
"As I told you, I've been watching too." Mark responded, but the verbal expression had downturned - a flattened tone, with an edge of coldness to it. "Patterns. Pressure points. What to do and how it should go. Part of me realised that I've been learning this whole time, and that I was holding myself back from actually applying it properly so I didn't continue to make mistakes." It sounded less like a justification of why he'd been doing it - more as if it was ongoing realisation. "You do the same thing, applying strategies of your own that I've started to recognise. Corner space. Bait responses." A small shrug lifted Mark's shoulders. "Many people do."
As fluent as ever with his sharp mind, Vigil closed in with only a few words. "But not likeyou,right?" He deliberately baited.
In response, Mark only faintly smirked this time, none of the prior humour in it from before. Just a slow burn from under his skin.
Two minutes later, and the ending stages of the chess match had begun. Trapping Mark's bishop, Vigil ended his turn with the lift of his eyes to see where the game would swing from there; given saving it would end Mark's offensive push. But some things did still remain the same, as Mark sacrificed it and pressed forward regardless. It was an ugly advance, keeping Vigil on the defensive, but the end was in sight. Mark's defensive line was theoretically non-existent given the scattered proportion of his pieces in an aggressive push, and though he'd played well, Vigil finally brought out his queen for the first time.
As calm as ever still, Vigil took a second more to assess the board. "You're playing like someone who's tired of reacting." He affirmed, his words more of a rhetorical question.
Despite the changes he'd shown, Mark's frustration was still very much a part of him, as the contours of his face that had shown part of the differences now contorted - revealing a glimpse into the underlying driving force. "I am." Mark's admission was spoke lowly, serious and as if it hurt to admit but with conviction. "I'm not interested in being who I was. That version of me... hesitated." A forced laugh came from Mark as he looked to the board, and didn't take his turn. "Part of me thinks that I keep coming back to this chess board because it forces that clarity on me. I can't punch my way through it, can't outpace it."
They played in silence for several more turns, not tense from the conversation which surprisingly did not seep into the hand that moved the pieces, but rather seemed to focus it. Mark was serious, calm as he battled a now firmly losing game, the shield in his eyes reflecting only a frustrated analysation as Vigil took his knight. He didn't hold back and try to think up a new strategy, or grab a piece on instinct - but knowledge guided him as he managed to trade back efficiently with his last rook.
One thing he actually prided himself of learning more recently was showing less weakness.
"Some people get colder when they change, from what you've been telling me." Vigil remarked to shatter the focus, drawing away from the inevitability on the board, to the ongoing inevitability. "Change, is not the word I'd use for you. You seem... sharper." The Viltrumite scientist had deliberately drawn out that word, testing for Mark's reaction who only gave him a guarded look. "Like it's not change at all. But rather, you're stripping something away."
After a pause, Mark just exhaled to break from just looking at and studying the man before him. "I want you to teach me." He stated in a deliberate turn of conversation.
For the second time of their encounter that evening, Vigil raised a minute eyebrow. "You've been playing for weeks now with me, and knew the rules before that." He responded with amusement laced in his tone. "You seem to be getting on just fine by yourself, with how you are learning."
Hands squeezed into fists momentarily before Mark visibly forced them loose, the shield in his eyes dropping momentarily with the flare in them. "There are things coming for me soon, I can feel it." Mark affirmed quietly, looking away once more to the window. "Not what you think. But I have realised that each lesson I've learned has been at the hand of someone else's involvement, and I don't have the time to figure this out on my own anymore." A few seconds passed as he bit down on his own teeth in frustrated thought, before then just spitting it out. "I want to see the bigger picture, read the situation like you read this board."
Vigil gave off a purposeful small smile. "I'm honoured." He spoke. "You think I see more than others?"
"Iknowyou do." Mark ground out with his voice, as if he could not make it any clearer as his eyes swiftly met Vigil's again. "You read people, situations - angles. You're one of the few who plan for things five moves ahead while me and everyone else reacts to what's in front of them."
The response before him, and in sequence to that thus far actually made Vigil pause for a second, the first in a long time. Studying Mark closely, he saw no bravado, or the opposite end with desperation - just the calculated intent of someone who had put thought into it. "You don't strike me as the type to ask for help, Mark." He voiced an observation aloud. "Let alone be told what to do."
Another chuckle from Mark, but this one seemed more sinister in the low volume it was done with, and the impressed way it was done as if in congratulation of getting something right. "I'm not." Mark confirmed, his tone a bit distant, but there all the same. "But I do know... when I'm outmatched, and this isn't about pride anymore." One hand of the two on the table, his right hand, slowly curled back into a fist as he stated his next sentence with conviction. "It's about being ready - I don't plan to stay that way."
Something dangerous was forming in Mark - not rage, but the transformation of the frustration and anger within him. It was something with a definitive name - discipline fuelled by belief, which had always been the most dangerous kind of power. Vigil knew, given the centuries of his observations and literally being one member of an empire that embodied it. But there was something else too that if the scientist had to admit, he was surprised a bit by - the respect Mark Grayson had for him.
The perfect word came to mind for Mark's aggressive strategy he'd employed in chess, and now in their conversation - control. A newer version of Mark Grayson rising up from the ashes of his former self to seek mastery of what he had, the powers he wielded, and Vigil's interest peaked ever higher. It was a shift he'd never had the pleasure of seeing before.
"Fine." Vigil declared his affirmation to Mark's request, one which he could tell was still being fed by something deeper. The guarded expression despite his respect, the shield in his eyes as they were subconsciously narrowed at the peak of the consideration for his request, the tension in his jaw. "Don't mistake this for power for whatever you hope to achieve. I will teach you how to think, not how to win."
For the first time in that conversation, Mark's face showed his proper pleasure. More vindictive than happy, more of a satisfaction as it was a full smirk that overcame his face rather than halfway through. "I'll take both." He simply responded.
Checkmate slammed down on the chess board as Vigil just slid his queen into the last square move of the game, but that did not shake Mark's expression like it had every other time. Even as Mark watched Vigil just begin to reset the board without giving him a chance to look over his loss like he'd done every other time, simply observing himself. Watching as Vigil's fingers picked up and set the pawns, already learning before the next move.
"You're not just trying to win." Vigil summarised softly then. "You're trying to understand."
Only then, at that, did the smirk begin to fade, and did Mark's normal expression come back. Leaning a bit further back, drawing the hood a bit tighter round his head, he nodded once. "I have to." He simply declared.
Silence remained throughout their next game as the first move was played.
VIGIL'S APARTMENT
It took a fair amount of research for one morning; in that it took an hour. The problem was not with having the starting expertise as Vigil had been looking into it from the literal first day he'd arrived on the planet, nor not having the relative equipment as subtle coded language was required as a backdoor for the program. Superior Viltrumite technology took care of that problem, as the problem had been fine-tuning the hacking program to slip through the US government's handshake protocols that guarded its website.
Hacking wasn't just aided by having the best computers in the galaxy that could destroy system mainframe access in seconds like the human movies, but rather navigating foreign architecture. Subtle, non-detected access that didn't trigger alerts from trojan attempts required the accessing account to slip through the doorway to the server like any other real account. Feeling out the protocols and firewall defences of the US Department of Energy was what took as long as it did. So long as one stayed away from its militarised branches, then it was just like any other normal federal entity that still controlled an important part of the country - its electricity. Suffice to say, the civilian infrastructure database took an hour to access.
Having been observing Mark when he could, he had even watched closely with the deployment of a drone close to the window which had seen through the crack in the curtains. What had been most intriguing about the latest observation the day prior, was the revelation of who he'd worked for, the man named Cecil who was at least a member of this 'GDA'. The revelation of the man's unique face had not turned up anything which had been mostly expected, and he wasn't about to even type the letters 'GDA' into any search query.
If it wasn't public on any website, then he was both onto something and had to be careful of that something so he didn't blow his cover. The watchful eyes of the United States and how it harvested data by its intelligence agencies was well known to even its own citizens.
No, the best course of action in this case was to take the first daring risk he would take since arriving on the planet five months ago. Just as it took Nolan twenty years to take his first step into preparing Earth for the arrival of Viltrum (and ultimately abandoning it as per the news articles), it took him months just to get round to planning to infiltrate one of the protected sites of Earth. In this case, he wasn't sure where he needed to go yet, but rather knew what he needed information on.
And the 'DoE', in yet another government acronym that was admittedly at least on the nose this time, would help him despite how it wasn't any kind of hero agency at all. But it did monitor and oversee the energy production within the country of the United States, and that was something Vigil knew was related to this mystery 'GDA' which was the obvious agency that worked with heroes. After having quickly deduced the 'Cecil' person was utilising teleportation, given that human technology should not be at that level unless they'd found a workaround. Viltrumite technology allowed for warping and the channelling of it for FTL travel, but it was unheard of even by Earth's own internet for a civilisation at this stage to have that.
There had to be a workaround, and that would undoubtedly require a huge amount of energy.
Taking a mental snapshot of the moment, there had been the sound that occurred for approximately 0.4 seconds during the split instant of the teleportation. The flicker of light in the room, which whilst he could not confirm, he was sure was a brief disturbance in the electromagnetic fields of the room. The cyan light in the room that pulsed outward to come and go at the speed of light, indicating some chemical reaction with either the atmosphere or any supporting substances in the teleportation itself.
The power signature required for such a thing would be high, and thus could be measured by civilian infrastructure up and down the country that channelled the electricity. It was true that this teleportation could come from anywhere, but Vigil's theory of the workaround still required it to be sourced most likely as a machine of some kind - he just had to know where from. Power grid records were exactly what he needed to pull from the DoE database, which was subject to a lot of devolving infrastructure he'd need to scan through, but fortunately it could be narrowed down.
Substations around known military installations, the larger transformers in areas of controlled sites, even key private substations connected to federal contracts of which data would still be in the database. As he knew the exact timings of two such fluctuations from having it on camera, it was a simpler case of setting up a program on his Core device to harvest through the database. Cross-referencing timestamps with high-load anomalies that didn't match things like reported maintenance or surge loads took but the work of seventy-two seconds.
And there it was - a small, privatised substation for the Pentagon marked as a 'Federal array', where it showed the one and exact match with his requirements at the precise time. A surge too concentrated, and too short to be anything like a grid test - an electronic surge lasting precisely 0.8 seconds that drew huge amounts of power through it in that brief timespan. The unusual aspect of it was that the other three substations marked for Pentagon use by the DoE showed no such readings.
Logging the data into a secured and encrypted state on his Core device, he immediately cut access to the Federal servers to prevent being there any longer than necessary. They'd proved several times to have surprises on this planet, and it seemed to be all centred around this 'GDA' than anything else, which did make them something to be even slightly wary of. Given the tactical mobility advantage even Viltrumites with flight may envy, it appeared this 'Cecil' was not just a manipulator to Mark, but part of something which was the world's biggest strategic threat.
Something Viltrum may still scoff at, but he'd include it in his report all the same.