-----
[Date: Present Time – 2016]
-----
Space bent around him.
Black Mentis hung in the void, unmoving. The dark blue–silver armor hugged his frame like it was welded to his bones. His eyes… empty. Sharp. Focused. The kind of stare that didn't need blinking to see everything.
Stars dotted the endless black around him, distant pinpricks flickering against the curve of Earth's glowing blue atmosphere below. Clouds swirled lazily over continents, oblivious to the threat hurtling toward them. Sunlight crept along the horizon, painting the planet in gold and shadow.
Around him, space was endless and quiet.
Distant stars burning without flickering.
A massive shadow cut through the darkness ahead.
The meteor.
It was enormous— so large it blocked out sections of the starfield as it rushed forward. Rock and metal fused together, burning at the edges as it tore through debris fields. Smaller fragments broke off, spinning wildly. Satellites shattered on impact, sparks flashing briefly before vanishing into nothing.
Below, Earth's orbit erupted into alarms.
Every screen lit up at once.
Emergency broadcasts cut through regular programming. Red warnings flashed across control rooms. Scientists shouted coordinates over each other, hands shaking as calculations updated again and again.
On the streets, people stopped and looked up.
Some screamed, hands flying to mouths.
Some prayed, dropping to knees with clasped palms.
Some just stared, frozen, as the sky above them burned faintly red.
Someone contacting black mentis via ear piece:" we're counting on you black Mentis..earth existence rely on your success."
Black mentis tapped on his ear piece once:" yeah right, I got this stop freaking out on my ear damn it."
He raised one hand slightly— fingers loose, lazy, like flicking lint off a shirt.
Ahead of him, a continent-sized meteor tore toward Earth.
It charged towards earth with an insane speed. Breaking through orbit. Shredding satellites. Triggering emergency alerts across every screen on Earth.
People screamed. Governments panicked. Scientists collapsed over computers trying to calculate the impact zone.
And in the cold vacuum around him?
Nothing but silence.
A low violet pulse gathered in Black Mentis' palm.
FVVVMM.
The ripple of gravity rolled outward, slamming into the meteor with impossible force. Cracks exploded across its surface. Entire slabs broke off in slow-motion, drifting like floating continents ripped apart.
The meteor shuddered.
And then veered off course like it had been slapped by God Himself.
It vanished into the black..
No effort was needed from him.
Black Mentis didn't even exhale.
His voice slipped out, calm and low— too soft for space, yet loud in the way thoughts whisper behind your ear.
"…It's time."
He didn't move for a moment. Just stared into the endless dark. A flicker of something crossed his jaw— nostalgia? Regret? Hard to tell.
"It was fun while it lasted."
He shifted his gaze toward Earth— blue, bright, almost innocent. The way a warrior looks at a battlefield he knows he'll have to walk back onto.
"It'll be them next."
And then he dropped.
Stars smeared into streaks. The atmosphere bent around him, screaming from friction. Ultraviolet arcs snapped across the sky as sonic booms stacked on top of each other.
WHOOOOSH— KRAKKK.
Clouds tore open around him. Lightning burst in every direction.
He descended faster.
F a s t e r.
Until— tap.
Boots touched the ground with barely a sound. Not even dust rose.
The world didn't even know a god-like had landed.
He stood in a quiet clearing outside the city. Wind pushed against him and lost.
He scanned the horizon. His jaw clenched.
"It seems not every memory is a happy one."
His voice broke the quiet like someone speaking to an old friend's grave.
His hand tightened slightly.
For those who live too long, friends, days gone by, and ventures live on in their memories…"
Wind brushed past him.
His voice was low. Personal. Like he wasn't speaking to the world. Just letting it hear him speak to himself.
"…As such, I have no regrets in choosing this life. Should the day come that we are not together, you will continue to shine like the sun into my memory."
He breathed out slowly.
The city behind him buzzed faintly. Cars. Distant horns. A world living its life, blind to the monster watching it.
A fortress of chrome and glass cut through the skyline like a blade.
(He landed on top of a skyscraper and his eyes is set on Winchester enterprises company)
Winchester Industries' main tower gleamed under the midday sun, sunlight bouncing off mirrored glass in sharp, blinding flashes. Inside, the marble floors hummed faintly with vibrations from the automated tram systems beneath. People moved fast — clipped footsteps, rolling laptops, nervous whispers about deadlines.
Voices echoed off polished stone:
"Run those numbers again—"
"I said the Anderson shipment, not the Nevada one—"
"Get me legal—now."
All of it flowed like a machine.
And at the center of it—Ben Winchester.
Dark hair slicked back. Silver streak cutting through the side. Clean-shaven jaw locked in permanent discipline. His fingers tapped the armrest of his leather chair — steady, controlled, synced with the ticking of the titanium chronograph on his wrist.
A junior exec cleared his throat, holding a tablet slightly too high — hands shaking.
"Uh—numbers are up, sir. Five percent across the East Sector. We're, um—looking good."
Ben didn't look at him. Didn't blink.
Didn't even pause scrolling through his augmented data feed.
"That's not growth," he said flatly.
"That's stagnation with lipstick."
Silence suffocated the room instantly.
The exec swallowed so hard his collar shifted. "Y-Yes—sir. I'll, uh—adjust the—"
Ben cut him off with a tilt of his head.
"Double-run inventory checks. Cut third-tier suppliers by ten percent. And tell the eastern regional head if she keeps running my company like a corner store, she'll be selling lemonade by summer."
"Yes, sir."
Ben stood — long, controlled movement, like every motion served a purpose.
He walked out.
His assistant scrambled to follow, nearly tripping over her own heels.
"Mr. Winchester, about the Innovate Tech merger—there's been a rescheduling. The board wants—"
"Push it," Ben said without breaking stride.
"My son's math competition starts in thirty."
"Sir, the board said it's urgent, and that you should—"
Ben stopped walking.
The assistant froze behind him like her soul left her body.
Ben turned his head just slightly — just heaviness that could crush steel.
"Tell the board I'll be back after dinner."
"Yes—yes, of course, I—"
"And tell them—" he adjusted his cuff, "—if they ever schedule over my family again, they can conduct future meetings from a fucking soup kitchen."
He kept walking.
The assistant didn't move for a full two seconds before finally exhaling.
-----