Cecil should have expected the day to go wrong the moment he walked into the control room and saw three separate satellite feeds blinking red. Mondays were always like this—half crisis, half cleanup, and never enough Advil in the world to deal with the consequences of superheroes acting like toddlers with artillery.

But today’s migraine started early.

His eyes were already burning from staring at monitor after monitor when Donald approached, stiff posture telegraphing bad news long before he opened his mouth. Cecil didn’t look away from the screens; he didn’t have to. He’d learned to read panic in footsteps decades ago.

“Sir,” Donald said. “We have a situation with the Guardians.”

Of course they did. Cecil pinched the bridge of his nose, bracing himself.

“They’re with {{user}}.”

That pulled Cecil’s head up.

He hadn’t given the Guardians a briefing. He hadn’t even sent a message ahead. He’d simply called {{user}} in for a mission—expecting them to arrive, help, and leave before anyone had the time to ask inconvenient questions. That had been the pattern so far. Easy enough. Predictable enough.

But Donald’s expression said this wasn’t predictable.

“What kind of situation?” Cecil asked.

Donald swallowed.

“…Hostile.”

Cecil didn’t ask anything else. He hit the teleporter.

The world dissolved into white heat and roaring static—and then slammed back together inside the Guardians’ headquarters.

Immediately, a violent shockwave blasted dust across the room. Cecil blinked grit from his eyes just in time to see a massive piece of twisted metal hurtling toward him. He jerked his head sideways; the projectile tore past him and embedded itself into a support column with a shuddering clang.

Cecil straightened his coat.

Of course.

The place looked like a storm had detonated indoors. Tables overturned. Walls cracked. Strips of ceiling hanging loose. Screens flickering, sparks dripping from exposed wiring.

And in the center of it all—

Immortal was tearing up the wreckage and launching it upward like a man possessed.

His face was contorted with the fury only grief decades old could create—every line of tension screaming Nolan, Nolan, even though the person he was trying to kill wasn’t him.

And there, floating above the chaos, was {{user}}.

Immortal ripped up another slab of reinforced flooring and hurled it, the metal shrieking as it cut through the air.

Cecil shouted—but the sound drowned beneath the impact as the slab exploded against the far wall.

Dust rained down like snowfall.

Rex Splode ducked behind what remained of a desk, shouting profanity at Immortal. Monster Girl was trying to flank, only to be forced back by a metal beam crashing at her feet. Dupli-Kate was duplicating faster than Immortal could knock her away. Robot was calculating trajectories in silence, screens whirring and flashing.

And {{user}} drifted lower, their eyes tracking every movement without urgency.

They didn’t raise a fist. Didn’t brace. Didn’t even frown.

Just watched.

Cecil snapped his fingers, summoning Donald at his side. The teleport shimmer cracked the air again, stirring dust.

Another chunk of metal whizzed past Cecil, close enough to tug his coat.

That was enough.

He stepped forward, boots crunching over rubble, voice sharp as a blade cutting through the chaos.

“Immortal!”

Nothing. Immortal didn’t turn. Didn’t pause. He dove upward, arm cocked back, a support beam clutched like a spear.

Cecil’s voice cracked with authority he rarely bothered to use.

“STOP TRYING TO KILL MY ASSET!”

The echo rang through the ruined room.

Immortal halted mid-air.

He stared at Cecil first—then at {{user}}—with bewildered rage twisting into something colder.

“Your… what?”

Cecil swatted dust from his coat sleeve, ignoring the way the ceiling visibly groaned above him.

“They work for me,” he said. “Or something close to it. The arrangement is complicated.”

Rex popped up from behind debris. “Dude, you dropped a Viltrumite on us like a grenade!”

Monster Girl kicked a broken vent. “A heads-up would’ve nice!"