Mark woke up sprawled across Harley's massive bed in Galatea's penthouse, feeling like someone had run him over with a semi, his arms and legs tangled with bare skin—Harley lay draped over his chest, snoring loud into his neck, her breath hot and a little sour, Cass pressed against his right side, her leg slung over his thigh, Galatea stretched out on his left, her arm flopped across his stomach, all of them stark naked, sheets twisted around their waists, the room reeking of dried sweat and last night's marathon. He groaned low, rubbing his face with both hands, sliding out from under Harley's dead weight, stepping over Cass's sprawled arm, snagging his jeans off the floor, yanking them on as he shuffled to the bathroom—he flipped on the shower, stepping under the hot water, letting it pound his chest and shoulders, washing off the sticky mess, scrubbing his arms and pits, his brain spinning about the mess he'd made, three women in his bed, a kid he'd just met, Viltrumites chasing Kara, stressing about how he'd keep this shitshow from falling apart. He shut off the tap, grabbed a towel, wiped down quick, tugged his jeans back on, stepping out when he heard crying—Lucy's wails echoing from the next room, cutting through the morning quiet like a siren.
He hustled over, pushing the bedroom door open, spotting Lucy in her crib by the wall, her face all scrunched, tears streaming as she bawled her lungs out—he stepped over a pile of Harley's clothes, scooping her up, cradling her against his chest, rocking her side to side, saying, "Hey, hey, easy now, it's alright, Daddy's here, huh? You're good," kissing her forehead, feeling her wiggle against him, then settle, her sobs turning into little hiccups. He carried her out, walking through the living area with its fancy rugs and huge windows, stepping into the kitchen, holding her close, asking, "You starving, huh? Let's get you something," rubbing her back as her tiny fists grabbed at his shirt.
A voice piped up, "Harley's got some breast milk stashed in the fridge." He turned, seeing Sam at the table, shoveling cereal into her mouth, still in her loose pajama pants and tank top from last night—she nodded toward the fridge, chewing with her mouth half open. He said, "Oh, shit, thanks, Sam," shifting Lucy to his shoulder, her head lolling there, opening the fridge with his free hand, grabbing a bottle from the door shelf, kicking it shut with his foot—he walked to the counter, setting the bottle down, turning on the sink, running warm water over it, shaking it to heat it up, testing a drop on his wrist to make sure it wasn't scalding, then tilting Lucy back in his arm, holding the bottle to her lips, her sucking it down fast, gulping like she hadn't eaten in days.
"You're a natural at that," Sam said, wandering over, plopping onto a stool at the island, resting her chin in her hand, watching him.
He grinned, "What, you thought I'd suck at it or something?"
She shrugged, "Nah, I mean, maybe? Hell, I don't know, just didn't picture a guy who could turn a city into rubble being, like, Mr. Mom too."
He laughed, "Fair, took me a while to figure it out—my first kid, Waylon, came a bit before Lucy, Raven and I were clueless, not exactly a planned thing, so I panic-read every baby book I could grab, scoured every damn article online about diapers and feeding, though I still wake up some nights thinking I'm messing it all up."
She smirked, "Well, from here it looks like you've got it down pat."
Lucy drained the bottle, babbling, "Ba ga ba," kicking her legs against his arm—he set the empty bottle on the counter, lifting her upright, holding her against his chest, rubbing her back in slow circles, feeling her burp, a dribble of spit hitting his shoulder. He sat across from Sam, resting Lucy on his lap, asking, "So how have things been, have you thought about finding your parents?"
She shook her head, spooning more cereal, "Nah, they're long gone, been that way since I was a kid."
He winced, "Damn, sorry, didn't mean to dig that up."
She waved it off, "No biggie, barely remember them anyway," then smirked, "At least neither of 'em's trying to blow up the planet, right?"
He snorted, "Yeah, no kidding—think I'll pass on sending him a Father's Day card this year." She grinned, showing teeth, and they kept talking, him asking about her old gigs, her asking about his craziest fights—Sam felt a flutter in her gut as he cracked up at her snarky comments, her mind flicking back to that kiss last night, wondering if she should say something, cheeks burning at how she'd just gone for it, kicking herself for being so dumb.
He leaned in, "So, what's your next move?"
She shrugged, "Fuck if I know, never finished high school, no diploma, no college,"
She then opened her mouth to say something but just as quickly clamped it shut
He tilted his head, "Hey, what were you about to say?"
She shook her head, "Nothing, it's dumb, drop it."
He leaned closer, "Come on, Sam, spill it, I'm curious now."
She sighed, "Fine, when I was a kid, before Intergang nabbed me, I got my powers, and used to daydream about being a superhero, running around saving people, figuring bad guys—stupid, right? Total kid bullshit."
He shook his head, "Nah, that's not stupid at all, with what you can do, you'd kick ass as a hero."
She smirked, "Thanks... means a lot."
He bounced Lucy on his knee, "So why not go for it?"
She laughed, "What? No way, that ship's sailed."
He frowned, "Why's that?"
She waved her hands, "Oh, come on, where do I start? No training, no gear, no clue what I'm doing, plus I freak out every time I use my powers, brings back all that Intergang crap—locks me up just thinking about it."
He nodded, "You've made it this far, you're tougher than you think, you'll get past that fear, just takes time."
She tried again, "Yeah, but I don't have a costume, no team, no base—"
He cut in, "You don't need all that to start, figure it out as you go."
She kept going, "What if I screw it up, though? What if I'm not cut out for it, what if people die because I'm too slow or too weak?"
He smiled, "Look, being a hero's tough, I hate it most days, only do it when I have to, half the time I'm dragging my ass out there kicking and screaming, but but it's not about having the best equipment or the best training, it's about guts, putting everything on the line, fucking up, seeing people get hurt, then hauling yourself up and going again."
He shifted Lucy, "That's the real deal, Sam, the guts to keep standing, all the fancy shit's just bonus—so ask yourself, can you handle that?"
She chewed her lip, staring at the countertop, mulling it over—Galatea strutted in, cutting her off, "Oh, Mark, that was adorable, real heart-to-heart vibes, but we gotta roll, loverboy."
He frowned, "Roll where?"
She dangled his phone, "Your little sidekick's freaking out, says she needs you at the cave ASAP."
He stood, "She called you?"
She smirked, "Nah, not me, she blabbed to Kara, all panicky," then mimicked Kara's voice, "Sure I'll totally tell Mark right away, I just need to let my nails dry first."
Mark deadpanned. "She doesn't sound like that..."
"Yes she does..." Galatea replied.
He sighed, carrying Lucy back to the bedroom, easing her into the crib, pulling the blanket over her, kissing her forehead—he walked back, telling Sam, "Hey, when Harley wakes up, tell her I'll swing by later, if I'm held up, I'll send someone to grab you guys, cool?"
She nodded, "Yeah, sure, just don't get yourself killed out there, alright?"
Mark chuckled "Yeah that tricks getting old," he said.
He then turned to Galatea, "You set?"
She grinned, "Gimme a sec," zipping off, reappearing in a Supergirl outfit, cape swishing, boots thudding on the floor, hands on her hips.
"What?" she said, spinning once, "This is what you wanted, right?"
He raised an eyebrow, "Where the hell'd you get that?"
She shrugged, "Got a guy to whip it up last night, no big deal."
He shook his head, stepping onto the balcony, launching into the air—Eve stitched his Invincible suit around him mid-flight, his white outfit snapping into place over his skin, Galatea taking off beside him, cape flapping as they sliced through the morning sky.
Mark flew alongside Galatea over Gotham, wind whipping past his suit as they soared above the city, her cape flapping behind her like a banner—they banked around a towering skyscraper when an explosion erupted in downtown, orange flames bursting upward from the streets and smoke billowing into the sky like a dark shroud. He sighed, muttering under his breath, "Gonna be one of those days, huh?"
Galatea glanced over at him, her voice cutting through the rush of air, "Just ignore it."
He shot her a sidelong look, keeping his tone dry, "Not very Supergirl of you to say that."
She rolled her eyes and blew a raspberry with her lips, but she followed him anyway as he veered off sharply, diving toward the blast with a burst of speed—he dropped fast, his boots slamming into the pavement, which cracked beneath his weight, landing in the middle of pure chaos where a dozen muscular abominations were tearing up the city, ripping cars apart with their bare hands, smashing storefronts into rubble, and sending people screaming and running in every direction. He straightened up, brushing dust off his hands, saying aloud, "This is probably what Barbara needed help with," as more explosions detonated across the skyline, their booms echoing through the streets, prompting him to frown and instruct Eve, "Call Barbara."
[Of course, Mark,] Eve responded, her voice buzzing in his ear—his phone connected, and Barbara's voice crackled through the line.
She shouted, her words tumbling out in a rush, "Mark, it's all gone to hell down here, and everything's falling apart!"
He kept his voice calm, trying to steady her, "Hey, Barbara, take a deep breath because I need you to tell me what's happening."
She panted, her voice still edged with panic, "These damn abominations are everywhere, hundreds of them spawning all over the city, and they're stronger than before, moving like they've got some kind of plan, not just mindless wrecks anymore."
He raised an eyebrow, processing her words, "That could be trouble, so is anyone else handling it?"
She rattled off names, "Superboy's out there, Wonder Girl's with him, Red Robin's on it, asshole Robin too, Red Tornado's leading evacuation, Artemis is helping, and a few others are pitching in, but they're all spread way too thin."
He frowned deeper, his jaw tightening, "Where's the League at?"
She said, "They're tied up with the Viltrumites, and it's been a total mess."
He blinked, his voice sharpening, "What do you mean?"
She sucked in a breath, "Past few days, the Viltrumites went nuts, started leveling cities all over the world, and the Justice League's been scrambling to chase them down and stop the destruction."
He muttered, "Shit."
Galatea smirked, leaning closer, "Your dad's a real asshole, huh?"
He snapped back, "Yeah, I get it, thanks," then told Barbara, "I'll take out as many as I can."
He asked, "Any reinforcements coming?"
She paused, her voice softening, "I'm sorry, Mark, but you're on your own for now."
He sighed, nodding to himself, looking at Galatea, "Guess it's your hero debut."
She groaned, throwing her hands up, "Yay, so thrilled."
He shot downward, spotting an abomination that was swinging a car at a group of people huddled against a wall, diving in fast, slamming his fist into its back with enough force that it drove the creature face-first into the asphalt, which shattered under the impact, shouting to the crowd, "Get out of here, now!"—they scrambled away, tripping over debris as he stomped his foot into the abomination's head, cracking the pavement further, but the beast roared, grabbing his leg with both hands, hurling him backward through the air—he flipped mid-flight, twisting his body, landing on his feet with a skid, zooming forward again, slamming his fist under its chin, which snapped its head back, sending it crashing into a building where glass shattered and bricks tumbled down around it.
He thought fast, frowning because the last time he fought these things he hadn't needed to use even half his strength, wondering what had changed as more abominations closed in, surrounding him with their hulking forms—they swung massive fists, one connecting with his jaw, another kicking his ribs, him blocking a third punch with his forearm, ducking under a fourth that whistled past his head, taking a hard hit to the chest that sent him stumbling back, swinging his fist into one's gut, which doubled it over, following with an uppercut that sent it smashing through a truck, metal crumpling around its body. They pressed in harder, punching his shoulder, kicking his legs out from under him, throwing him into a wall, which cracked under his weight—he pushed off the concrete, tackling one, slamming it to the ground with a shoulder charge, but another grabbed his shoulders, lifting him, tossing him down face-first, stomping his back with heavy boots, him grunting as the blows hammered him deeper into the pavement, trying to roll free, only to catch another kick to his side that knocked the wind out of him.
Galatea swooped in, grabbing the abomination stomping him, ripping it off with a yank, blasting heat vision from her eyes, which seared straight through its skull, burning its eyes to ash, killing it instantly, dropping the charred corpse to the ground with a thud—she hovered above him, "You're holding back, dumbass, so fight for real or they'll keep kicking your shit in."
He sighed, pushing himself up, brushing gravel off his suit, knowing he'd promised Barbara he wouldn't kill as a hero, but realizing holding back was getting him nowhere—he ducked under a swinging fist that aimed for his head, steeling himself, slamming his hand forward into an abomination's stomach, punching clean through its flesh, blood gushing over his arm, yanking his fist out as it gurgled, flying up fast, flipping in the air, driving his foot down into its head, which cracked its skull open, brain matter splattering across the street as the body slumped lifeless.
He landed hard, facing the rest, and Galatea shot forward, grabbing one by the neck, twisting her hands, snapping its spine with a loud pop, tossing it aside like trash as he charged another, punching its chest, caving in its ribcage, bones snapping, blood spraying over his fist, kicking its legs out from under it, stomping its head flat into the pavement, which split under the force. She flew upward, blasting heat vision, slicing two abominations in half with a sweep of her eyes, their torsos falling apart, legs collapsing as he grabbed another, hurling it into a third, both crashing through a storefront, glass exploding outward—he zoomed in after them, punching one's face, shattering its jaw with a wet crunch, kicking the other's knee, breaking it backward, slamming his elbow into its throat, which crushed its windpipe, choking it out as it dropped.
Galatea tackled one, slamming it into the street, cratering the asphalt with its body, punching its head repeatedly, each blow cracking bone until its skull burst open, brains splattering across her fists—he caught another swinging at him, twisting its arm, snapping it at the elbow, driving his knee into its gut, doubling it over, smashing his fist down onto its head, splitting it like a melon, blood pooling around his boots. She flew past, grabbing two by their necks, smashing their heads together, skulls cracking, brains leaking as she dropped them—he punched through one's chest, ripping its heart out with a squelch, kicking another into a parked car, metal folding around its body, crushing its spine as it twitched and went still.
They moved together, him ducking a punch, grabbing the arm, flipping the beast over his shoulder, stomping its neck, snapping it with a twist of his boot—Galatea blasted heat vision, burning through one's face, melting its eyes and nose into a blackened mess, him tackling the last one, slamming it into a wall, punching its chest, ribs breaking with each hit, finishing with a fist to its head, which exploded in a spray of blood and bone. He stood, breathing hard, blood dripping from his knuckles, Galatea landing beside him, wiping her hands on her hips, bodies scattered around them, the street torn up, fires flickering in the distance from the earlier blasts.
After they were done Mark shot up into the sky above Gotham's skyline, wind rushing past his suit as he climbed higher and higher, stopping far above the tallest buildings, hovering in place, turning his head to look across the city stretching out below—Galatea followed close behind, pulling up next to him, asking in a sharp tone, "What are you looking for up here?" He squinted, focusing his vision, as a Viltrumite he had evolved for flight and had eyesight sharp comparable to various birds of pray on earth, which Eve's tech enhanced even further, letting him zoom in on the streets and rooftops, saying, "I'm looking for the cause, there has to be a source making these monsters pop up everywhere."
He scanned the city, sweeping his gaze over smoking ruins and crowded intersections, remembering Barbara mentioning David Armstrong last time they met, recalling her saying the guy was tied to the abominations tearing things apart, pushing his vision harder to pick out any sign of him among the chaos—he turned to Galatea, "Go help the other heroes down there."
She crossed her arms, "That sounds boring."
He tilted his head, "We've got a deal, don't forget." She huffed, rolling her eyes, muttering something under her breath, flying off toward the city—he stayed high up, asking Eve, "Can you track down David Armstrong for me?"
[Affirmative, accessing cameras now,] she said, her voice buzzing in his ear—she worked for a few minutes, sifting through feeds, then reported, [Located him, he just stepped into WayneTech.] He cursed, "Shit," diving straight down, shooting toward the building, landing hard in front of the main entrance, boots slamming into the pavement, cracking it, seeing dead guards and workers scattered across the steps, blood pooling under slashed necks and crushed torsos—he stepped over a body, pushing through the glass doors, walking inside, asking Eve, "Where's he at now?"
[According to camera footage, he's moving down to R&D,] she said—he walked fast, stepping past a dead receptionist slumped over her desk, finding an elevator, stepping inside, hitting the R&D button, riding it down as the machinery hummed and the doors slid shut behind him. The elevator stopped, and he stepped out, pushing open a heavy door into the department—lights flickered overhead, buzzing loud, dead bodies littering the floor, some sprawled with throats cut, others crumpled over workstations, blood streaking the tiles—he muttered, "Eve, give me his position."
[Cannot ascertain his position right now,] she replied—he cursed, "Fuck," but kept moving, stepping over a scientist with a snapped neck, walking deeper into the space, entering a huge open area stretching out like a whole district, filled with labs stuffed with equipment, cars parked in neat rows, glassed-in biomes holding trees and ponds—he muttered to himself, "Wayne really does have fuck-you money," shaking his head, asking Eve, "What do they have in here?"
[Based on scans, research and development into nearly every branch of science and technology,] she said—he raised an eyebrow, "Every branch?" She confirmed, [Yes.] She added, [Warning, several dangerous substances detected in this area,] as he kept walking, passing a lab with glowing vials on shelves, turning a corner, spotting David Armstrong standing in a section lined with almost a hundred closed pods, tapping at a terminal's keyboard.
He called out, "David, back away from there and come here."
David turned, laughing, "I'm honored, the hero who saved the world, aren't you supposed to be dead?" still fiddling with the terminal's controls.
Mark stepped closer, "My death was exaggerated, now step back from that panel, I won't ask again."
David tilted his head, "Do you even know what I'm doing here?"
Mark crossed his arms, "Don't know, don't care, but you've been causing me problems, turning people into abominations."
David spun around, "Abominations? I make them the best they can be, they'd never reach that strength alone, they're grateful."
Mark shook his head, "They don't look too grateful."
David chuckled, "Wouldn't expect you to understand, you were born with that power, strength normal men dream of—even in my prime I didn't have one percent of what you've got, but now it's different."
Mark stepped forward, "Listen, David, I don't know what you're doing, and honestly I don't care, but it ends now, we can do this easy or hard, your choice."
David pulled off his hoodie, tossing it to the floor, "Give it your best," but before he finished speaking, Mark shot forward, slamming his fist into David's stomach, sending him flying back, crashing through a lab table, glass shattering across the floor and into a wall—he shook his head, "Idiot," walking over to the terminal, looking down at the screens, trying to figure out what it controlled, stepping around the panel, peering at the pods, brushing dust off one, seeing a woman inside, short blonde hair framing her face, pale skin, wearing a black-and-white outfit, eyes closed in stasis.
He reached to touch the pod, but a voice shouted, "You shouldn't do that"—he frowned, walking back around the console, seeing a screen flicker on, a man appearing, gray hair slicked back, wearing a lab coat, smiling wide. The man said, "Good day to you, Invincible, or should I say Mark Grayson?"
Mark kept his face blank, staring at the screen, knowing his identity wasn't a secret after fighting his dad unmasked and tangling with the Justice League, asking, "Who are you?"
The man leaned forward, "Name's Doctor Julian Junice, but most call me Doctor Juice."
Mark nodded, "I assume you're the one behind the abominations out there."
Doctor Juice waved a hand, "They're not abominations, my boy, merely the next step for humanity."
Mark raised an eyebrow, waiting.
Doctor Juice leaned back, "Humans are weak, that's been proven over and over—Omni-Man, your father, a man from the stars who can destroy the world solo, Superman, another alien with that kind of power, and the list keeps going."
He paused, "No human can compare, but what we lack in strength, we make up for in adaptability and ingenuity."
Mark crossed his arms, "What point are you trying to make?"
Doctor Juice grinned, "What I'm saying is it's time for humans to climb back to the top of the food chain."
Mark snorted, "If those red monsters are your plan, I fear for humanity."
Doctor Juice laughed, "You misunderstand, that's just an imperfect formula—no, what'll put us back on top are the pods you're standing by."
Mark glanced at them, "Who are they?"
Doctor Juice steepled his fingers, "Back when supers first showed up, my beloved friend Thomas Wayne believed humanity needed a safeguard against them, so he came to me, and together we created one hundred bio-androids, each capable of wide-scale destruction on their own."
Mark blinked, "Bio-androids?"
Doctor Juice nodded, "Yes, runaways and homeless we enhanced beyond anything imaginable—Thomas handled the tech, I did the biology."
Mark clenched his fists, thinking how sick it was, feeling a pang of sympathy for Galatea—Doctor Juice smirked, "Don't feel bad for them, they were nobodies, minor criminals, no one missed them."
He continued, "They were my masterpiece, but Thomas chickened out—he saw heroes teaming up, protecting us, decided we didn't need them, the fool, so he shut them down, locked them in stasis."
Mark stepped forward, "So you're gonna wake them up and do what?"
Doctor Juice spread his arms, "Bring order back, restore human supremacy, wipe out the aliens, the meta-humans—once they're gone, I'll evolve humanity proper, make us the pinnacle of life," laughing hard, voice bouncing off the walls.
Mark muttered to himself, "What a nutjob," forming a red sphere in his hand, energy humming—Doctor Juice laughed louder, "You won't be doing that."
Mark tilted his head, "Why not?"
Doctor Juice grinned, "Think I'm chatting because I'm lonely? No, I'm stalling."
Mark opened his mouth, "what—" but David Armstrong punched him in the chest, sending him skidding across the floor, crashing into an armored vehicle, denting the side—he pushed up, touching his jaw, "That stung a bit," standing, brushing dust off his suit.
(AN: So next chapter will end the little mini arc we have with our good friend and introduce some people that may or may not be from a different universe idk. I'm sure by the description some of you can guess who this is but I won't say anything else. I hope you enjoyed the chapter)
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