Chapter 7: Integration
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Arsenal597
Getting sticky.
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Sorry about the long wait, guys!
This chapter was shown to those of sufficient rank on my Discord at the time of the last update. Those who support my writing can get anywhere from 1 to 10 chapters in advance (Note, OB currently has 4 chapters in advance for backlog)
Hope you enjoy!
The medbay doors hadn't opened in twenty-three minutes.
Cecil knew that because he'd checked the time twice without meaning to, then forced himself to stop looking at the clock altogether. It didn't help anything. The hallway outside the operating room was quieter than the rest of the facility, insulated just enough that the usual hum of activity felt distant. Lights ran in a steady line overhead, clean and clinical, reflecting off polished floors that hadn't seen a scuff since the last shift rotation.
He stood a few feet off to the side of the doors, hands in his coat pockets, posture loose in a way that didn't match what was going on behind that wall. Medical teams moved in and out of adjacent rooms, voices low, controlled, never quite carrying far enough to break the stillness around him.
Alien physiology.
That alone was enough to make this complicated. Unknown biology, unknown reactions, unknown limits. They had protocols for it, sure. They had people trained to deal with things that didn't belong on Earth. But there was always a gap between what you prepared for and what actually showed up on your table bleeding out.
Cecil exhaled slowly through his nose, his gaze drifting toward the sealed doors again. He didn't like waiting. Waiting meant things were out of his hands. It meant someone else was making decisions he couldn't see, couldn't adjust, couldn't steer.
And tonight had already given him more unknowns than he was comfortable with.
A faint shift in the air pulled Cecil's attention before anything else did. He didn't turn immediately. He didn't need to. There was only one person who moved like that—no footsteps, no warning, just presence.
Omni-Man stood at the far end of the hall.
For a second, Cecil just looked at him.
The suit was torn in multiple places, fabric burned through along one side, edges blackened where something had hit hard enough to leave a mark. There were streaks of dried blood along his jaw and collar, some of it his, some of it not. His hair was slightly out of place, pushed back like he'd run a hand through it more than once without thinking.
He looked like he'd been in a warzone. Cecil pushed himself off the wall, stepping forward just enough to close the distance a bit.
"What happened?" he asked, voice even.
Nolan dragged a hand through his hair again before answering, the motion slower this time.
"Ever heard of someone known as Vilgax the Conqueror?"
The name didn't ring any immediate bells. That didn't mean much. Cecil's network covered a lot, but it didn't cover everything—especially not things that stayed off-world.
"No," Cecil said. "Should I have?"
Nolan's expression didn't change much, but something behind his eyes tightened.
"He's a warlord. Operates across multiple systems. Aggressive expansion, heavy use of cybernetics. He's been building himself up for a long time."
Cecil let that sit for a second, filing it away.
"And he just decided to drop by our neighborhood?"
"He was following her," Nolan replied, glancing briefly toward the medbay doors. "That's the distress signal we received. He was already engaging it when I got there."
Cecil's gaze sharpened slightly.
"That pilot — Xylene, right?" He paused. "You know her?"
Nolan's posture shifted, subtle but noticeable.
"We have some history. Back when I first left Viltrum." His voice lowered just enough to carry weight without changing tone. "She's a friend."
That explained the urgency.
Cecil studied him for a moment longer, then nodded once.
"And you almost didn't make it in time."
Nolan didn't answer right away. His eyes flicked back to the door, then away again.
"I almost didn't," he said finally.
There wasn't much to add to that.
Cecil let the silence hang for a beat before moving on.
"Why'd someone like this Vilgax attack her ship?"
Nolan's jaw tightened slightly.
"He wouldn't elaborate. Focused on keeping me occupied more than anything else." He folded his arms loosely, the motion controlled despite the damage to his suit. "Whatever she was transporting, it was gone by the time I reached her."
Cecil's brow furrowed.
"Gone how?"
"Removed," Nolan said. "Most likely through an escape pod."
That lined up with what Cecil had been thinking, and he didn't like it any more hearing it out loud.
"Could it have been destroyed with the rest of the ship?" he asked, though the answer was already forming in the back of his mind.
Nolan shook his head once.
"Xylene's too smart to let valuable cargo be destroyed. If she had time—and I think she did—she would've gotten it off that ship before things got worse." His gaze settled somewhere past Cecil, distant for a moment. "She wouldn't leave something like that to chance."
Cecil followed that line of thought without saying anything for a second. Alien courier. High-value cargo. A warlord willing to track it across systems and engage near Earth's orbit to get it back.
Worst case scenarios started lining up faster than he could filter them.
"So," Cecil said slowly, bringing his eyes back to Nolan, "we have an unknown piece of cargo that a heavily armed warlord was willing to tear a ship apart for… currently unaccounted for."
Nolan didn't argue.
"And if she jettisoned it," Cecil continued, "there's a non-zero chance it ended up somewhere close."
"Close enough," Nolan replied.
Cecil let out a quiet breath, one hand coming up to rub briefly at the side of his face before dropping again.
"Worst case scenario, it's on Earth."
"That sounds about right."
There wasn't any sarcasm in Nolan's voice.
Cecil stared at the medbay doors again, his mind already moving ahead, running through possibilities, contingencies, questions he didn't have answers to yet.
Plumber signal. Uxorite courier. Unknown cargo. Vilgax.
And now it was all sitting right on his doorstep.
"…Jesus," Cecil muttered under his breath, shaking his head slightly. "I'm going to need a drink at this rate."
But now there was the question resting in the back of his mind that needed to be addressed.
"Is Vilgax still alive?"
Nolan was quiet for a moment, closing his eyes solemnly. It wasn't often he saw something so human from the superhero, but when it came through Cecil knew it was serious.
"I destroyed his ship," Nolan said finally, quieter than before. "-with him still inside"
Cecil's gaze lingered on him, reading between the words as best he could, trying to decipher the look in his eyes.
"Could he have survived that?" Cecil asked.
Nolan exhaled slowly through his nose, his eyes drifting for half a second toward the reinforced glass panel set into the medbay doors, where movement flickered behind it.
"If he did," Nolan turned back toward him, "he won't last long without the ship. Not in that condition."
There was no bravado in it. No satisfaction. Cecil had heard enough reports over the years to know what Nolan meant without needing the details spelled out. Space didn't forgive mistakes, and it didn't give second chances to something already broken.
Still… Vilgax had a way of lingering in the conversation, even in absence. The kind of problem that didn't feel solved just because it was out of sight.
Cecil rubbed at his jaw, the stubble there rough against his fingers as he shifted his weight slightly. The hallway felt colder than it had a few minutes ago, or maybe that was just the adrenaline finally starting to settle.
"Hell of a first impression," he muttered under his breath.
Nolan's attention shifted back to him, something faintly tired sitting behind his eyes now. It wasn't physical exhaustion—Cecil had long since stopped expecting that from him—but there was a weight there all the same.
"If there's any change," Nolan said, nodding toward the medbay doors, "I want to know."
"You will," Cecil replied immediately. "We've got our best people on her."
Another pause settled between them, thinner this time.
Nolan ran a hand back through his hair, pushing it away from his face, smearing a faint trace of dried blood further along his temple without seeming to notice.
"I should go," he said. "Debbie's probably wondering where I am. Mark too."
Cecil gave a small nod.
"Of course."
Nolan turned slightly, already preparing to leave, but Cecil spoke again before he could take off.
"Nolan."
That got him to stop.
Cecil held his gaze for a moment, weighing how much to say. It wasn't something he did often—this part. The acknowledgement. It didn't come naturally, and it didn't always feel useful. But tonight had earned it.
"I know I don't say this enough," Cecil said, his voice steady, "but thank you."
Nolan didn't react right away. He just looked at him for a second, like he was deciding what to do with that. Then he gave a small nod.
"You're welcome."
Then without another word, he was gone, leaving Cecil standing there in the hallway by himself. The air shifted in his absence, settling back into something more ordinary. The distant hum of the facility crept back in, the low vibration of systems running beneath the surface, the faint murmur of voices filtering through reinforced walls. Somewhere down the corridor, a cart rattled past, wheels squeaking just enough to be annoying.
Cecil stayed where he was.
His eyes drifted back to the medbay doors, to the faint blur of movement behind the glass.
There was still a lot to do tonight, and despite the fact Xylene should have been the priority, he knew there were bigger fish to fry.
So, there's an unidentified piece of extraterrestrial cargo potentially on-planet that a warlord was willing to chase it into our backyard. A pilot on death's door, using Plumber channels despite Earth having no connection to them for decades. More questions than answers.
He let out a slow breath, reaching into his coat and pulling out a fresh cigarette, rolling it between his fingers without lighting it. A habit more than anything. Something to do while his brain tried to get ahead of the problem.
Vilgax was either dead or as close to it as made no difference in the short term. That should've been the end of it, but in this line of work that was rarely the case.
Cecil tapped the cigarette lightly against his palm, once, twice, then stilled it.
"Alright," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else. "Where the hell did you send it?"
No answer came. Just the quiet hum of the facility and the distant, steady rhythm of a team working to keep someone alive behind a sealed door.
Cecil stared at the glass for another second, then turned and started down the hallway, already running through possibilities, trajectories, worst-case scenarios stacking one on top of the other whether he liked it or not.
Because if Vilgax had been willing to tear through a system for it — then whatever that cargo was…
It wasn't something he could afford to lose track of.
The trail swallowed him up quicker than Ben expected. One step off the edge of the campsite and the world shifted — firelight fading behind him, replaced by the dim glow of the moon slipping through the trees overhead. The ground wasn't as flat out here. Roots pushed up through the dirt in crooked lines, patches of gravel crunching under his shoes as he walked without much direction.
He kept his hands buried in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched as he followed the path where it felt the most worn. It wasn't really a trail so much as a suggestion of one—just enough to show that someone had walked this way before, maybe a few people, maybe a long time ago.
The sounds changed the further he went. The crackle of the fire was gone completely now, replaced by insects buzzing low in the dark and the occasional rustle of leaves shifting somewhere off to the side. Once or twice, he caught himself glancing over without thinking, like he expected something to be there.
He let out a quiet breath, dragging a hand through his hair before dropping it back into his pocket. His shoulders loosened a little after that, like the act alone helped shake something off.
"Nice going," he muttered under his breath, kicking a small rock out of his path. It skidded ahead of him, bouncing once before disappearing into the brush. "Real smooth."
He replayed it without meaning to. The look on Gwen's face. The way Max had answered anyway, calm like it didn't bother him—even though it obviously did. That was the part that stuck. If Max had snapped back or brushed him off, it would've been easier to ignore.
But he hadn't.
Ben exhaled through his nose, slower this time.
"I didn't mean it like that," he added, quieter now, like he was trying to explain it to someone who wasn't there. "I just—"
He didn't finish the thought.
Because he didn't really have an excuse that sounded good once he actually thought about it.
Another stretch of silence followed as he kept walking, his pace steady, shoes crunching lightly against the dirt and scattered stones. The trail dipped slightly, the air cooling just enough for him to notice. A faint breeze brushed past, carrying something different with it—cleaner, sharper.
Water.
He didn't realize where the path was leading until the trees started to thin out.
The lake opened up in front of him without much warning, the shoreline stretching out in a wide, quiet curve. The surface of the water barely moved, only the occasional ripple breaking across it where the breeze managed to reach. Moonlight reflected off it in long, broken streaks, shifting gently with every small disturbance.
Ben slowed as he approached, his steps softening against the grass near the edge. He stopped a few feet from the water, just standing there for a second as he took it in.
"…Huh."
That was about all he had.
He walked a little closer before dropping down, sitting near the edge where the ground sloped just enough for his legs to stretch out comfortably. His hands rested behind him, fingers digging slightly into the grass as he leaned back, eyes drifting across the surface of the lake.
Ben drew in a slow breath, letting it out just as gradually.
"Yeah… I'm definitely apologizing," he said to himself, staring out at the water. "First thing tomorrow."
He nodded once, like that settled it.
"Or tonight," he added after a second, glancing back in the direction of the campsite through the trees. He could barely see anything from here. Just darkness where he knew the Rust Bucket was parked. "No, that'd be weird. He's probably asleep. Or… trying to be."
He grimaced slightly.
"Yeah. Tomorrow."
He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he watched his reflection fracture across the surface of the lake. The ripples pulled his face apart and stitched it back together in uneven pieces. For a second, he just sat there with it.
Sometimes he wished he could keep his mouth shut. Nothing he said seemed to land the way he meant it to. When he was younger, he'd get in trouble for never taking anything seriously. What nobody realized was that he used humor to hide that he was scared. It led to a few more scrapes and bruises than he'd like to admit, but it was just how he coped in the situation.
It felt like his mouth moved faster than his brain at times, and like earlier, it normally led to things becoming awkward. That was just another thing he wished could be different.
As his reflection steadied, he noticed something in the background. He glanced up before the thought could form.
A streak of light tore across the sky, clean and fast, carving a line through the dark that lingered just long enough to register. His shoulders eased as he leaned back slightly, tracking it. It had been a while since he'd seen something like that without a ceiling of light pollution getting in the way.
Ben let out a slow breath through his nose, the edge of a smile pulling at his mouth. He thought about making a wish, but decided it wouldn't be worth it. Ben's eyes narrowed, attention sharpening as the streak shifted—subtle at first, then more pronounced, its path tightening into something steeper.
All at once, the object made a clear ninety degree turn — straight at him.
"Oh sh-"
He was already moving. Hands slipped against the damp grass as he pushed himself up, catching his balance a half-second late. His pulse spiked hard, sudden and loud in his ears as the thing in the sky grew brighter—larger than it had any right to be.
He stepped back once, then again, eyes locked on it as it picked up speed. Too fast. Too straight.
He turned and ran.
The ground fought him for it. Roots caught at his shoes, uneven patches forcing his stride shorter than he wanted. Gravel shifted underfoot, threatening to take him with it if he leaned too hard into a step. Behind him, the air began to tear—low at first, then building into something that pressed at his back like a warning he couldn't ignore.
He glanced over his shoulder, regret hitting immediately. The sky behind him burned with it now—a mass of light tearing downward, dragging a wake that warped the air around it.
He didn't remember deciding to jump.
One second he was running, the next he was throwing himself forward, arms coming up as he hit the ground hard enough to knock the breath out of him.
The impact followed.
Sound split the air—sharp and violent—as the object struck the lake. Water surged upward in a wall, rising high before collapsing in a heavy crash that rolled toward shore. It didn't stop there. The force carried, driving across the surface in a churning line that cut straight for land.
Ben lifted his head just enough to see it break free of the water. The shoreline gave way with it. Dirt and rock tore apart as the object plowed through, sending chunks of earth into the air. The ground shuddered beneath him, the impact rolling through his chest as debris scattered in every direction.
He ducked, arms locking over his head as something clipped his shoulder and spun off into the dirt nearby. Another piece struck close enough that he felt it through his ribs.
Then—
Nothing.
The noise collapsed, leaving a hollow ringing in its wake.
Ben stayed where he was, breathing hard into the dirt. His heart hammered, each beat loud and uneven as everything caught up at once.
"…Ow," he groaned, rolling onto his side.
He pushed himself up, dragging his hood back. It clung for a second—heavy, soaked—before peeling away and dropping against his back.
Cold air hit his face.
"What the hell was that?"
The words didn't carry far.
He got to his feet, testing his weight without thinking about it. Nothing sharp. Nothing broken. Just a dull ache settling in that he knew was going to get worse.
His gaze lifted.
The shoreline was gone.
In its place, the ground had been carved open—a deep gouge cutting through the earth and ending in a wide, uneven crater. Dirt still shifted along the edges, loose sections giving way and sliding down into the center. Thin streams of steam curled upward, catching faint traces of moonlight.
Ben swallowed.
Every reasonable thought pointed him back the way he came. Back to the campsite. Back to someone who actually knew what to do with something like this.
He stepped forward anyway.
The dirt shifted under his foot as he reached the edge, forcing him to adjust his balance. He leaned slightly, peering down through the lingering haze.
Metal caught the light first.
Not one piece—several. Scattered across the impact site, twisted and broken, edges still glowing faintly with heat. The air above them shimmered, distorting what little detail he could make out.
"What the…?"
He squinted, trying to piece it together from a distance.
"A satellite or something?"
The thought didn't sit right. Satellites didn't move like that. Didn't correct mid-flight. Didn't carve trenches through the ground.
Ben slid down into the crater, boots digging into the loose dirt to keep himself steady. The closer he got, the clearer it became—this wasn't built like anything he'd seen before.
The structure didn't match. The pieces weren't flat or paneled the way they should've been. It was curved…
Ben stepped around a chunk of debris, brushing it with his hand before jerking back. It was still hot.
"Real smart," Ben muttered under his breath, shaking his hand.
His eyes lifted toward the center.
That's when he saw it.
The main body had held together.
Partially embedded in the ground, tilted just enough to reveal its full shape, it sat intact while everything around it had come apart.
He kept moving down into the crater, boots sinking slightly with each step as loose earth shifted under him. The heat lingered here in waves, uneven pockets rising from twisted fragments of metal that still hissed faintly as they cooled. Smoke—or something close to it—drifted upward in thin, lazy strands, breaking apart before it reached the rim.
The pod sat at the center like it had chosen the spot instead of crashing into it.
Closer now, the shape made more sense.
Not wreckage or just debris.
An escape vessel.
Sleek curvature, reinforced seams running along its surface in deliberate patterns. The exterior held together too cleanly for something that had just torn through the sky. Even the impact damage looked concentrated around survival points—areas sacrificed to keep the core intact.
Ben slowed as he approached, eyes tracking the seams, the way the surface curved inward and back out again like layered armor. Something about it made his stomach tighten in a way he couldn't explain.
"No way…" he muttered under his breath.
He circled it slightly, careful with his footing. There wasn't a cockpit. No obvious controls. No windows.
No pilot.
That thought landed a second too late.
A soft green light flickered across the surface.
Ben flinched as it washed over his face, sudden and cold against the warmth still hanging in the air. It wasn't coming from outside. It was coming from within the pod itself, filtering through hidden channels in the metal like something waking up behind sealed doors.
He stopped moving.
The light held for half a beat.
Then the pod responded.
A seam split along its upper half with a controlled hiss, metal plates sliding apart in interlocking segments. The sound wasn't mechanical strain—it was precise, deliberate, like something unlocking rather than breaking.
The top lifted just enough to reveal the interior.
Ben stepped closer without meaning to.
Inside, mounted into a recessed seat, rested something that didn't belong in any wreckage he could think of.
A sphere.
About the size of his torso, hovering in a cradle designed to hold it steady even through impact. Its surface carried a muted pewter sheen, dull in some angles and reflective in others, like it couldn't decide what it wanted to be. The upper half was covered in layered segments—thin, overlapping shutters that reminded him of an armadillo curling into itself.
Ben swallowed.
"…Okay," he said quietly. "That's new."
He stepped forward again.
The moment his foot crossed the edge of the pod's opening, the sphere reacted.
The shutters shifted.
A low mechanical exhale filled the space as the upper segments peeled back in sequence, revealing a core of yellow-green light. It wasn't harsh at first—more like something contained, struggling against structure that no longer fit it.
Then it stabilized.
The shape inside resolved into an hourglass.
Not physical glass. Not metal. Light forming geometry where solid matter should've been, suspended in the center of the sphere like a locked function finally allowed to run. It almost looked like the hourglass was a part of a screen or-
Ben froze.
"What the hell?" His voice cracked slightly on the edge of disbelief. "Is that a watch?"
His left hand lifted without him really deciding to move it. The sphere remained open, light pulsing gently from within like it was waiting for confirmation it already expected.
"Okay," he added, squinting slightly as if that would help make it make sense. "What is a watch doing in outer space?"
The moment the words left him, everything changed.
A voice cut through the air.
"DNA signature recognized."
Flat. Mechanical. Too close.
Ben jerked back, but there was nowhere to go fast enough.
The sphere reacted instantly.
The light snapped inward.
Something inside it unfolded.
Dark gray and black metal tendrils surged outward in controlled bursts, thin and precise, moving like they already knew exactly where to go. They latched onto him before he could fully step away, wrapping around his left arm in a tightening spiral that climbed faster than his thoughts could keep up with.
"Hey—!"
Heat flared instantly where it touched skin.
His jacket sleeve disintegrated in strips, not burning away so much as being rewritten into ash mid-contact. The metal tightened around his wrist, locking into place with a pressure that made his entire arm go rigid.
"Beginning DNA coupling."
The words hit a second before the pain did.
Then everything in him lit up.
It wasn't just sensation—it was intrusion. Like something had reached into his bloodstream and decided it knew better than his body how things were supposed to work. Fire didn't describe it right. Electricity didn't either. It was deeper than either of those, threaded through muscle and bone, rewriting every signal at once.
Ben dropped hard to his knees.
The ground rushed up to meet him, but he barely felt it.
His mouth opened, trying to force out a scream, but nothing came. His throat locked. His chest seized in a way that made breathing irrelevant.
Light erupted under his skin.
Green-white, threading through veins like fractured lightning trapped beneath glass. It climbed his arm first, racing up toward his shoulder, then his neck, branching out in sharp lines that pulsed in time with something inside the sphere.
His vision warped at the edges.
The world around him dimmed, not fading but being pushed away by something brighter taking its place.
The glow reached his eyes.
For a split second, everything he saw was green.
Then it surged outward.
A column of light burst from him into the sky, wide and violent, punching through the smoke above the crater and dissolving it into nothing. The entire impact site was washed in it, metal fragments casting long, flickering shadows before even those disappeared into the glare.
Wind kicked up around him, not natural—forced outward by pressure that didn't belong in the atmosphere.
Then, just as suddenly—
It stopped.
The light collapsed inward like it had been cut off mid-thought.
Silence rushed in after it.
Ben slumped forward.
The metal on his wrist loosened slightly, settling into place rather than gripping, as if whatever process had just torn through him had finished deciding what he was supposed to be.
He hit the dirt on his side, breathing uneven, vision still swimming at the edges. His lungs ached, muscles screamed at him, and his eyes stung. But he didn't necessarily hurt now. His face settled against the dirt, struggling to keep his eyes open.
He could barely make out the shape resting on his wrist, other than the green hourglass illuminating from it. He couldn't remember ever being this tired. It was etched into his very being, exhaustion creeping in ways he never knew existed. The disturbed dirt beneath him was cool to the touch, like a pillow welcoming him home for the night. The breeze felt like a fan on his face.
The fear he had felt, it was gone now. Replaced by a strange calmness, no… content. The dark began creeping in further, until Ben saw no more. Only the sound of a voice that was too close, whispering in his ear, closer than anything should've been.
"Who are you?"
Again, sorry about the wait between chapters! I got busy focusing on another story. I'm back, and trying to get back on a regular update schedule.
Links will be down below if you're interested in joining the community or supporting my writing.
Links
-Arsenal
This chapter was shown to those of sufficient rank on my Discord at the time of the last update. Those who support my writing can get anywhere from 1 to 10 chapters in advance (Note, OB currently has 4 chapters in advance for backlog)
Hope you enjoy!
The medbay doors hadn't opened in twenty-three minutes.
Cecil knew that because he'd checked the time twice without meaning to, then forced himself to stop looking at the clock altogether. It didn't help anything. The hallway outside the operating room was quieter than the rest of the facility, insulated just enough that the usual hum of activity felt distant. Lights ran in a steady line overhead, clean and clinical, reflecting off polished floors that hadn't seen a scuff since the last shift rotation.
He stood a few feet off to the side of the doors, hands in his coat pockets, posture loose in a way that didn't match what was going on behind that wall. Medical teams moved in and out of adjacent rooms, voices low, controlled, never quite carrying far enough to break the stillness around him.
Alien physiology.
That alone was enough to make this complicated. Unknown biology, unknown reactions, unknown limits. They had protocols for it, sure. They had people trained to deal with things that didn't belong on Earth. But there was always a gap between what you prepared for and what actually showed up on your table bleeding out.
Cecil exhaled slowly through his nose, his gaze drifting toward the sealed doors again. He didn't like waiting. Waiting meant things were out of his hands. It meant someone else was making decisions he couldn't see, couldn't adjust, couldn't steer.
And tonight had already given him more unknowns than he was comfortable with.
A faint shift in the air pulled Cecil's attention before anything else did. He didn't turn immediately. He didn't need to. There was only one person who moved like that—no footsteps, no warning, just presence.
Omni-Man stood at the far end of the hall.
For a second, Cecil just looked at him.
The suit was torn in multiple places, fabric burned through along one side, edges blackened where something had hit hard enough to leave a mark. There were streaks of dried blood along his jaw and collar, some of it his, some of it not. His hair was slightly out of place, pushed back like he'd run a hand through it more than once without thinking.
He looked like he'd been in a warzone. Cecil pushed himself off the wall, stepping forward just enough to close the distance a bit.
"What happened?" he asked, voice even.
Nolan dragged a hand through his hair again before answering, the motion slower this time.
"Ever heard of someone known as Vilgax the Conqueror?"
The name didn't ring any immediate bells. That didn't mean much. Cecil's network covered a lot, but it didn't cover everything—especially not things that stayed off-world.
"No," Cecil said. "Should I have?"
Nolan's expression didn't change much, but something behind his eyes tightened.
"He's a warlord. Operates across multiple systems. Aggressive expansion, heavy use of cybernetics. He's been building himself up for a long time."
Cecil let that sit for a second, filing it away.
"And he just decided to drop by our neighborhood?"
"He was following her," Nolan replied, glancing briefly toward the medbay doors. "That's the distress signal we received. He was already engaging it when I got there."
Cecil's gaze sharpened slightly.
"That pilot — Xylene, right?" He paused. "You know her?"
Nolan's posture shifted, subtle but noticeable.
"We have some history. Back when I first left Viltrum." His voice lowered just enough to carry weight without changing tone. "She's a friend."
That explained the urgency.
Cecil studied him for a moment longer, then nodded once.
"And you almost didn't make it in time."
Nolan didn't answer right away. His eyes flicked back to the door, then away again.
"I almost didn't," he said finally.
There wasn't much to add to that.
Cecil let the silence hang for a beat before moving on.
"Why'd someone like this Vilgax attack her ship?"
Nolan's jaw tightened slightly.
"He wouldn't elaborate. Focused on keeping me occupied more than anything else." He folded his arms loosely, the motion controlled despite the damage to his suit. "Whatever she was transporting, it was gone by the time I reached her."
Cecil's brow furrowed.
"Gone how?"
"Removed," Nolan said. "Most likely through an escape pod."
That lined up with what Cecil had been thinking, and he didn't like it any more hearing it out loud.
"Could it have been destroyed with the rest of the ship?" he asked, though the answer was already forming in the back of his mind.
Nolan shook his head once.
"Xylene's too smart to let valuable cargo be destroyed. If she had time—and I think she did—she would've gotten it off that ship before things got worse." His gaze settled somewhere past Cecil, distant for a moment. "She wouldn't leave something like that to chance."
Cecil followed that line of thought without saying anything for a second. Alien courier. High-value cargo. A warlord willing to track it across systems and engage near Earth's orbit to get it back.
Worst case scenarios started lining up faster than he could filter them.
"So," Cecil said slowly, bringing his eyes back to Nolan, "we have an unknown piece of cargo that a heavily armed warlord was willing to tear a ship apart for… currently unaccounted for."
Nolan didn't argue.
"And if she jettisoned it," Cecil continued, "there's a non-zero chance it ended up somewhere close."
"Close enough," Nolan replied.
Cecil let out a quiet breath, one hand coming up to rub briefly at the side of his face before dropping again.
"Worst case scenario, it's on Earth."
"That sounds about right."
There wasn't any sarcasm in Nolan's voice.
Cecil stared at the medbay doors again, his mind already moving ahead, running through possibilities, contingencies, questions he didn't have answers to yet.
Plumber signal. Uxorite courier. Unknown cargo. Vilgax.
And now it was all sitting right on his doorstep.
"…Jesus," Cecil muttered under his breath, shaking his head slightly. "I'm going to need a drink at this rate."
But now there was the question resting in the back of his mind that needed to be addressed.
"Is Vilgax still alive?"
Nolan was quiet for a moment, closing his eyes solemnly. It wasn't often he saw something so human from the superhero, but when it came through Cecil knew it was serious.
"I destroyed his ship," Nolan said finally, quieter than before. "-with him still inside"
Cecil's gaze lingered on him, reading between the words as best he could, trying to decipher the look in his eyes.
"Could he have survived that?" Cecil asked.
Nolan exhaled slowly through his nose, his eyes drifting for half a second toward the reinforced glass panel set into the medbay doors, where movement flickered behind it.
"If he did," Nolan turned back toward him, "he won't last long without the ship. Not in that condition."
There was no bravado in it. No satisfaction. Cecil had heard enough reports over the years to know what Nolan meant without needing the details spelled out. Space didn't forgive mistakes, and it didn't give second chances to something already broken.
Still… Vilgax had a way of lingering in the conversation, even in absence. The kind of problem that didn't feel solved just because it was out of sight.
Cecil rubbed at his jaw, the stubble there rough against his fingers as he shifted his weight slightly. The hallway felt colder than it had a few minutes ago, or maybe that was just the adrenaline finally starting to settle.
"Hell of a first impression," he muttered under his breath.
Nolan's attention shifted back to him, something faintly tired sitting behind his eyes now. It wasn't physical exhaustion—Cecil had long since stopped expecting that from him—but there was a weight there all the same.
"If there's any change," Nolan said, nodding toward the medbay doors, "I want to know."
"You will," Cecil replied immediately. "We've got our best people on her."
Another pause settled between them, thinner this time.
Nolan ran a hand back through his hair, pushing it away from his face, smearing a faint trace of dried blood further along his temple without seeming to notice.
"I should go," he said. "Debbie's probably wondering where I am. Mark too."
Cecil gave a small nod.
"Of course."
Nolan turned slightly, already preparing to leave, but Cecil spoke again before he could take off.
"Nolan."
That got him to stop.
Cecil held his gaze for a moment, weighing how much to say. It wasn't something he did often—this part. The acknowledgement. It didn't come naturally, and it didn't always feel useful. But tonight had earned it.
"I know I don't say this enough," Cecil said, his voice steady, "but thank you."
Nolan didn't react right away. He just looked at him for a second, like he was deciding what to do with that. Then he gave a small nod.
"You're welcome."
Then without another word, he was gone, leaving Cecil standing there in the hallway by himself. The air shifted in his absence, settling back into something more ordinary. The distant hum of the facility crept back in, the low vibration of systems running beneath the surface, the faint murmur of voices filtering through reinforced walls. Somewhere down the corridor, a cart rattled past, wheels squeaking just enough to be annoying.
Cecil stayed where he was.
His eyes drifted back to the medbay doors, to the faint blur of movement behind the glass.
There was still a lot to do tonight, and despite the fact Xylene should have been the priority, he knew there were bigger fish to fry.
So, there's an unidentified piece of extraterrestrial cargo potentially on-planet that a warlord was willing to chase it into our backyard. A pilot on death's door, using Plumber channels despite Earth having no connection to them for decades. More questions than answers.
He let out a slow breath, reaching into his coat and pulling out a fresh cigarette, rolling it between his fingers without lighting it. A habit more than anything. Something to do while his brain tried to get ahead of the problem.
Vilgax was either dead or as close to it as made no difference in the short term. That should've been the end of it, but in this line of work that was rarely the case.
Cecil tapped the cigarette lightly against his palm, once, twice, then stilled it.
"Alright," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else. "Where the hell did you send it?"
No answer came. Just the quiet hum of the facility and the distant, steady rhythm of a team working to keep someone alive behind a sealed door.
Cecil stared at the glass for another second, then turned and started down the hallway, already running through possibilities, trajectories, worst-case scenarios stacking one on top of the other whether he liked it or not.
Because if Vilgax had been willing to tear through a system for it — then whatever that cargo was…
It wasn't something he could afford to lose track of.
The trail swallowed him up quicker than Ben expected. One step off the edge of the campsite and the world shifted — firelight fading behind him, replaced by the dim glow of the moon slipping through the trees overhead. The ground wasn't as flat out here. Roots pushed up through the dirt in crooked lines, patches of gravel crunching under his shoes as he walked without much direction.
He kept his hands buried in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched as he followed the path where it felt the most worn. It wasn't really a trail so much as a suggestion of one—just enough to show that someone had walked this way before, maybe a few people, maybe a long time ago.
The sounds changed the further he went. The crackle of the fire was gone completely now, replaced by insects buzzing low in the dark and the occasional rustle of leaves shifting somewhere off to the side. Once or twice, he caught himself glancing over without thinking, like he expected something to be there.
He let out a quiet breath, dragging a hand through his hair before dropping it back into his pocket. His shoulders loosened a little after that, like the act alone helped shake something off.
"Nice going," he muttered under his breath, kicking a small rock out of his path. It skidded ahead of him, bouncing once before disappearing into the brush. "Real smooth."
He replayed it without meaning to. The look on Gwen's face. The way Max had answered anyway, calm like it didn't bother him—even though it obviously did. That was the part that stuck. If Max had snapped back or brushed him off, it would've been easier to ignore.
But he hadn't.
Ben exhaled through his nose, slower this time.
"I didn't mean it like that," he added, quieter now, like he was trying to explain it to someone who wasn't there. "I just—"
He didn't finish the thought.
Because he didn't really have an excuse that sounded good once he actually thought about it.
Another stretch of silence followed as he kept walking, his pace steady, shoes crunching lightly against the dirt and scattered stones. The trail dipped slightly, the air cooling just enough for him to notice. A faint breeze brushed past, carrying something different with it—cleaner, sharper.
Water.
He didn't realize where the path was leading until the trees started to thin out.
The lake opened up in front of him without much warning, the shoreline stretching out in a wide, quiet curve. The surface of the water barely moved, only the occasional ripple breaking across it where the breeze managed to reach. Moonlight reflected off it in long, broken streaks, shifting gently with every small disturbance.
Ben slowed as he approached, his steps softening against the grass near the edge. He stopped a few feet from the water, just standing there for a second as he took it in.
"…Huh."
That was about all he had.
He walked a little closer before dropping down, sitting near the edge where the ground sloped just enough for his legs to stretch out comfortably. His hands rested behind him, fingers digging slightly into the grass as he leaned back, eyes drifting across the surface of the lake.
Ben drew in a slow breath, letting it out just as gradually.
"Yeah… I'm definitely apologizing," he said to himself, staring out at the water. "First thing tomorrow."
He nodded once, like that settled it.
"Or tonight," he added after a second, glancing back in the direction of the campsite through the trees. He could barely see anything from here. Just darkness where he knew the Rust Bucket was parked. "No, that'd be weird. He's probably asleep. Or… trying to be."
He grimaced slightly.
"Yeah. Tomorrow."
He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he watched his reflection fracture across the surface of the lake. The ripples pulled his face apart and stitched it back together in uneven pieces. For a second, he just sat there with it.
Sometimes he wished he could keep his mouth shut. Nothing he said seemed to land the way he meant it to. When he was younger, he'd get in trouble for never taking anything seriously. What nobody realized was that he used humor to hide that he was scared. It led to a few more scrapes and bruises than he'd like to admit, but it was just how he coped in the situation.
It felt like his mouth moved faster than his brain at times, and like earlier, it normally led to things becoming awkward. That was just another thing he wished could be different.
As his reflection steadied, he noticed something in the background. He glanced up before the thought could form.
A streak of light tore across the sky, clean and fast, carving a line through the dark that lingered just long enough to register. His shoulders eased as he leaned back slightly, tracking it. It had been a while since he'd seen something like that without a ceiling of light pollution getting in the way.
Ben let out a slow breath through his nose, the edge of a smile pulling at his mouth. He thought about making a wish, but decided it wouldn't be worth it. Ben's eyes narrowed, attention sharpening as the streak shifted—subtle at first, then more pronounced, its path tightening into something steeper.
All at once, the object made a clear ninety degree turn — straight at him.
"Oh sh-"
He was already moving. Hands slipped against the damp grass as he pushed himself up, catching his balance a half-second late. His pulse spiked hard, sudden and loud in his ears as the thing in the sky grew brighter—larger than it had any right to be.
He stepped back once, then again, eyes locked on it as it picked up speed. Too fast. Too straight.
He turned and ran.
The ground fought him for it. Roots caught at his shoes, uneven patches forcing his stride shorter than he wanted. Gravel shifted underfoot, threatening to take him with it if he leaned too hard into a step. Behind him, the air began to tear—low at first, then building into something that pressed at his back like a warning he couldn't ignore.
He glanced over his shoulder, regret hitting immediately. The sky behind him burned with it now—a mass of light tearing downward, dragging a wake that warped the air around it.
He didn't remember deciding to jump.
One second he was running, the next he was throwing himself forward, arms coming up as he hit the ground hard enough to knock the breath out of him.
The impact followed.
Sound split the air—sharp and violent—as the object struck the lake. Water surged upward in a wall, rising high before collapsing in a heavy crash that rolled toward shore. It didn't stop there. The force carried, driving across the surface in a churning line that cut straight for land.
Ben lifted his head just enough to see it break free of the water. The shoreline gave way with it. Dirt and rock tore apart as the object plowed through, sending chunks of earth into the air. The ground shuddered beneath him, the impact rolling through his chest as debris scattered in every direction.
He ducked, arms locking over his head as something clipped his shoulder and spun off into the dirt nearby. Another piece struck close enough that he felt it through his ribs.
Then—
Nothing.
The noise collapsed, leaving a hollow ringing in its wake.
Ben stayed where he was, breathing hard into the dirt. His heart hammered, each beat loud and uneven as everything caught up at once.
"…Ow," he groaned, rolling onto his side.
He pushed himself up, dragging his hood back. It clung for a second—heavy, soaked—before peeling away and dropping against his back.
Cold air hit his face.
"What the hell was that?"
The words didn't carry far.
He got to his feet, testing his weight without thinking about it. Nothing sharp. Nothing broken. Just a dull ache settling in that he knew was going to get worse.
His gaze lifted.
The shoreline was gone.
In its place, the ground had been carved open—a deep gouge cutting through the earth and ending in a wide, uneven crater. Dirt still shifted along the edges, loose sections giving way and sliding down into the center. Thin streams of steam curled upward, catching faint traces of moonlight.
Ben swallowed.
Every reasonable thought pointed him back the way he came. Back to the campsite. Back to someone who actually knew what to do with something like this.
He stepped forward anyway.
The dirt shifted under his foot as he reached the edge, forcing him to adjust his balance. He leaned slightly, peering down through the lingering haze.
Metal caught the light first.
Not one piece—several. Scattered across the impact site, twisted and broken, edges still glowing faintly with heat. The air above them shimmered, distorting what little detail he could make out.
"What the…?"
He squinted, trying to piece it together from a distance.
"A satellite or something?"
The thought didn't sit right. Satellites didn't move like that. Didn't correct mid-flight. Didn't carve trenches through the ground.
Ben slid down into the crater, boots digging into the loose dirt to keep himself steady. The closer he got, the clearer it became—this wasn't built like anything he'd seen before.
The structure didn't match. The pieces weren't flat or paneled the way they should've been. It was curved…
Ben stepped around a chunk of debris, brushing it with his hand before jerking back. It was still hot.
"Real smart," Ben muttered under his breath, shaking his hand.
His eyes lifted toward the center.
That's when he saw it.
The main body had held together.
Partially embedded in the ground, tilted just enough to reveal its full shape, it sat intact while everything around it had come apart.
He kept moving down into the crater, boots sinking slightly with each step as loose earth shifted under him. The heat lingered here in waves, uneven pockets rising from twisted fragments of metal that still hissed faintly as they cooled. Smoke—or something close to it—drifted upward in thin, lazy strands, breaking apart before it reached the rim.
The pod sat at the center like it had chosen the spot instead of crashing into it.
Closer now, the shape made more sense.
Not wreckage or just debris.
An escape vessel.
Sleek curvature, reinforced seams running along its surface in deliberate patterns. The exterior held together too cleanly for something that had just torn through the sky. Even the impact damage looked concentrated around survival points—areas sacrificed to keep the core intact.
Ben slowed as he approached, eyes tracking the seams, the way the surface curved inward and back out again like layered armor. Something about it made his stomach tighten in a way he couldn't explain.
"No way…" he muttered under his breath.
He circled it slightly, careful with his footing. There wasn't a cockpit. No obvious controls. No windows.
No pilot.
That thought landed a second too late.
A soft green light flickered across the surface.
Ben flinched as it washed over his face, sudden and cold against the warmth still hanging in the air. It wasn't coming from outside. It was coming from within the pod itself, filtering through hidden channels in the metal like something waking up behind sealed doors.
He stopped moving.
The light held for half a beat.
Then the pod responded.
A seam split along its upper half with a controlled hiss, metal plates sliding apart in interlocking segments. The sound wasn't mechanical strain—it was precise, deliberate, like something unlocking rather than breaking.
The top lifted just enough to reveal the interior.
Ben stepped closer without meaning to.
Inside, mounted into a recessed seat, rested something that didn't belong in any wreckage he could think of.
A sphere.
About the size of his torso, hovering in a cradle designed to hold it steady even through impact. Its surface carried a muted pewter sheen, dull in some angles and reflective in others, like it couldn't decide what it wanted to be. The upper half was covered in layered segments—thin, overlapping shutters that reminded him of an armadillo curling into itself.
Ben swallowed.
"…Okay," he said quietly. "That's new."
He stepped forward again.
The moment his foot crossed the edge of the pod's opening, the sphere reacted.
The shutters shifted.
A low mechanical exhale filled the space as the upper segments peeled back in sequence, revealing a core of yellow-green light. It wasn't harsh at first—more like something contained, struggling against structure that no longer fit it.
Then it stabilized.
The shape inside resolved into an hourglass.
Not physical glass. Not metal. Light forming geometry where solid matter should've been, suspended in the center of the sphere like a locked function finally allowed to run. It almost looked like the hourglass was a part of a screen or-
Ben froze.
"What the hell?" His voice cracked slightly on the edge of disbelief. "Is that a watch?"
His left hand lifted without him really deciding to move it. The sphere remained open, light pulsing gently from within like it was waiting for confirmation it already expected.
"Okay," he added, squinting slightly as if that would help make it make sense. "What is a watch doing in outer space?"
The moment the words left him, everything changed.
A voice cut through the air.
"DNA signature recognized."
Flat. Mechanical. Too close.
Ben jerked back, but there was nowhere to go fast enough.
The sphere reacted instantly.
The light snapped inward.
Something inside it unfolded.
Dark gray and black metal tendrils surged outward in controlled bursts, thin and precise, moving like they already knew exactly where to go. They latched onto him before he could fully step away, wrapping around his left arm in a tightening spiral that climbed faster than his thoughts could keep up with.
"Hey—!"
Heat flared instantly where it touched skin.
His jacket sleeve disintegrated in strips, not burning away so much as being rewritten into ash mid-contact. The metal tightened around his wrist, locking into place with a pressure that made his entire arm go rigid.
"Beginning DNA coupling."
The words hit a second before the pain did.
Then everything in him lit up.
It wasn't just sensation—it was intrusion. Like something had reached into his bloodstream and decided it knew better than his body how things were supposed to work. Fire didn't describe it right. Electricity didn't either. It was deeper than either of those, threaded through muscle and bone, rewriting every signal at once.
Ben dropped hard to his knees.
The ground rushed up to meet him, but he barely felt it.
His mouth opened, trying to force out a scream, but nothing came. His throat locked. His chest seized in a way that made breathing irrelevant.
Light erupted under his skin.
Green-white, threading through veins like fractured lightning trapped beneath glass. It climbed his arm first, racing up toward his shoulder, then his neck, branching out in sharp lines that pulsed in time with something inside the sphere.
His vision warped at the edges.
The world around him dimmed, not fading but being pushed away by something brighter taking its place.
The glow reached his eyes.
For a split second, everything he saw was green.
Then it surged outward.
A column of light burst from him into the sky, wide and violent, punching through the smoke above the crater and dissolving it into nothing. The entire impact site was washed in it, metal fragments casting long, flickering shadows before even those disappeared into the glare.
Wind kicked up around him, not natural—forced outward by pressure that didn't belong in the atmosphere.
Then, just as suddenly—
It stopped.
The light collapsed inward like it had been cut off mid-thought.
Silence rushed in after it.
Ben slumped forward.
The metal on his wrist loosened slightly, settling into place rather than gripping, as if whatever process had just torn through him had finished deciding what he was supposed to be.
He hit the dirt on his side, breathing uneven, vision still swimming at the edges. His lungs ached, muscles screamed at him, and his eyes stung. But he didn't necessarily hurt now. His face settled against the dirt, struggling to keep his eyes open.
He could barely make out the shape resting on his wrist, other than the green hourglass illuminating from it. He couldn't remember ever being this tired. It was etched into his very being, exhaustion creeping in ways he never knew existed. The disturbed dirt beneath him was cool to the touch, like a pillow welcoming him home for the night. The breeze felt like a fan on his face.
The fear he had felt, it was gone now. Replaced by a strange calmness, no… content. The dark began creeping in further, until Ben saw no more. Only the sound of a voice that was too close, whispering in his ear, closer than anything should've been.
"Who are you?"
Again, sorry about the wait between chapters! I got busy focusing on another story. I'm back, and trying to get back on a regular update schedule.
Links will be down below if you're interested in joining the community or supporting my writing.
Links
-Arsenal
