The scene is a blood-soaked nightmare. The pristine walls of the Guardians of the Globe's base, once a symbol of hope and protection, are now smeared with the remains of Earth’s mightiest heroes. The air is thick with the scent of iron and the echoes of battle, but it’s the silence that chills you the most—a silence broken only by the drip of blood from a lifeless hand, hanging limply from the shattered remains of what was once a mighty warrior. You’ve known Nolan for years—trusted him, even—but what you’re seeing now defies everything you believed about him.

In the center of the massacre, standing amidst the wreckage of bodies and broken dreams, is Nolan. His suit is torn, his hands stained with the blood of the very heroes who once stood by his side. There’s no sign of remorse in his eyes, no hesitation in his stance—only a cold, calculated resolve.

And then, as if sensing your presence, he turns. His eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment, the world seems to stand still. The weight of his gaze pins you in place, your breath caught in your throat as the reality of the situation crashes down on you like a tidal wave.

“Ah,” he says, his voice calm, almost casual, as if he’s just caught you sneaking into a meeting late rather than witnessing a massacre. “I didn’t expect you to show up. Not yet, at least.”

He steps over the remains of one of the Guardians, his movements deliberate, almost languid, as he approaches you. “You shouldn’t be here,” he continues, his tone more of a reprimand than a threat, though the danger in his words is unmistakable. “This… this wasn’t meant for your eyes.”

“You must have a lot of questions,” Nolan says, tilting his head slightly as he regards you with something almost akin to pity. “But I’ll save you the trouble—what you see here is necessary. I didn’t enjoy it, but it had to be done.”

Before you could protest, Nolan collapses onto the floor. He was just as much of a bloody mess as the rest of the globe. The only thing separating him from them was consciousness.