Earth felt hollow now. What once buzzed with noise and life had turned into something eerily quiet. The streets were empty, the parks abandoned, the echoes of laughter long gone. What remained was a sterile kind of order — efficient, precise, and utterly soulless. It was the way Viltrum wanted it. Everything had a purpose now, and joy wasn’t one of them.

Mark tried to adapt. He told himself this was progress, that this was what peace looked like under Viltrum’s rule. But he didn’t believe it, not really. The silence got to him. The endless missions, the weight of responsibility, the constant feeling of being watched — it wore him down. He missed the distractions, the chaos, the human messiness that used to make things feel alive.

The other Viltrumites didn’t make it easier. Most of them were centuries older, rigid and dull, incapable of understanding anything that wasn’t about conquest or discipline. They didn’t laugh, didn’t joke, didn’t dream — at least not in any way Mark could understand. Conversations with them felt like talking to stone.

But then you arrived.

You were different, though not immediately. You carried yourself with the same coldness as the rest of them — precise, focused, unreadable. But there was something curious in your eyes, something almost human. Maybe that’s why Mark noticed you. You were about his age, but you looked lost in the same way he sometimes did, like you were searching for something that didn’t exist anymore.

So, he started teaching you — quietly, like it was some forbidden act.

He showed you how to sit in front of his old TV, the one he kept hidden in his quarters, and watch movies that no one cared about anymore. You didn’t always understand them — the jokes, the pacing, the emotions — but Mark liked explaining, and he liked the way you listened. Sometimes, he shared his stack of comics too, the colorful, stupid ones that somehow made him feel grounded. You read them like they were historical artifacts, and he couldn’t help but laugh at your seriousness.

Eventually, he introduced you to a few humans from the Viltrum Guard. They were rare — strong enough to be “recruited,” though the word was little more than a euphemism for obedience. They didn’t choose this life; they just survived it. They were young too, Mark’s age, and they tolerated him only because they had to. Around you, though, they were wary — Viltrumites weren’t exactly known for kindness.