Inside the stomach of a heavily fortified facility, deep within the subterranean bowels of the Global Defense Agency, a high-speed elevator plummeted downwards with sickening velocity.
The air inside smelled faintly of ozone, hydraulic fluid, and cold steel.
When the metal doors parted with a sharp, resonant ding, four figures stepped out into the pristine gloom of a high-tech subterranean corridor.
Leading the party was Donald Ferguson.
Dressed in a sharp, modest suit and round-framed spectacles, he appeared far too gentle—almost unassuming—for a place that bristled with high-level military secrets.
Behind him walked Debbie Grayson, her jaw tightly set, her eyes darting across the bleak architecture with an unvarnished scowl.
She clearly hated every inch of this cold, mechanical tomb.
Beside her were her Dick and Mark.
The Grayson twins looked utterly shaken by the sparse, terrifying updates they had received about their father on the ride over.
Mark's hands twitched nervously at his sides, his breath shallow and uneven.
Dick, on the other hand, maintained an eerily serene expression, though a violent tempest raged behind his sharp eyes.
As they walked, Dick's gaze flicked subtly across the reinforced corridor.
Armed to the teeth in high-grade ballistic armor, tactical guards lined the walls at precise intervals.
To his left, a massive, multi-story glass partition revealed a cavernous hangar below, buzzing with personnel, logistics teams, and sleek, experimental jetcraft.
It looked straight out of a classified S.H.I.E.L.D. file.
Methodically, Dick began mapping the layout in his head—evaluating guard patrol patterns, calculating blind spots, mapping out choke points, and identifying emergency escape routes.
"Nolan is receiving the highest standard of care available on the planet," Donald assured them smoothly, his voice low and practiced as he walked. "He's currently our absolute highest priority. The director has cleared all available medical assets for his treatment."
"What exactly happened to him?" Dick asked, his voice steady despite the tension lacing his words. "You said he was injured, but you haven't given us a single detail."
"Truthfully, we aren't entirely sure yet," Donald replied, glancing back with an apologetic expression. "When our recovery teams reached him, he was already in critical condition. We brought him here immediately."
Donald continued to offer background details on the GDA, attempting to explain their historic collaboration with superhero assets and their role in global security.
But Debbie had reached her limit.
"Donald, please. Stop," Debbie snapped, her voice cutting through the sterile corridor. "We aren't on a field trip, and I don't care about your agency right now. Just take us to my husband."
Donald paused, cleared his throat to dispel the thick awkwardness, and gave a respectful nod. "Of course ma'am. Right this way."
*********
They stopped before a massive, reinforced door flanked by two heavily armored GDA operatives bearing the agency's insignia.
Donald swiped a keycard, inputted a lengthy security code, and the heavy doors slid open into the Emergency Medical Wing.
The moment the seal broke, Debbie choked back a gasp, her hands flying to clamp over her mouth.
Mark staggered back a step, his face draining of color.
Beside them, Dick's hands tightened into white-knuckled fists so hard his nails bit into his palms.
Lying on an elevated, state-of-the-art medical bay was Nolan Grayson—Omni-Man.
The pillar of strength, the invincible protector who had always seemed entirely unshakeable to his family, was reduced to a battered, broken figure.
He was hooked up to a dozen complex monitoring systems, IV lines, and life-support machines, his chest rising and falling in shallow, labored rhythms.
Debbie rushed to his side, her hands trembling as she gently caressed Nolan's bruised, unconscious face.
Her fingers trailed down to his hand, tightly intertwining her fingers with his.
"Oh God, Nolan..." she whispered, her voice cracking as tears welled in her eyes.
Mark hovered close beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder in a desperate attempt to offer comfort, though he looked entirely lost himself.
Dick moved to the opposite side of the bed, his legs feeling heavy and uncertain beneath him.
He stared down at his father, struggling to reconcile the invincible hero he had looked up to all his life with the shattered man lying before him.
"We have our top trauma surgeons working around the clock," Donald said softly from the edge of the room. "He's stabilized for now. We are doing everything humanly possible."
"Who the hell did this to him?!" Mark rounded on Donald, his voice cracking with rage and desperation. "Who could even do something like this?!"
"We're trying to figure that out ourselves, kid," a new voice answered from the shadows.
Everyone turned toward the corner of the room, where a fifth man was leaning against the cold wall.
He wore a crisp suit, a bold red tie, and had graying, thin hair over a heavily scarred face. He looked to be in his late fifties, carrying an aura of absolute authority that commanded the entire room.
"And who are you supposed to be?" Dick asked, his tone dripping with quiet suspicion.
"Cecil Stedman. Director of the Global Defense Agency," the man said, stepping forward into the light and extending a hand toward Mark.
Mark shook it numbly.
Dick took the hand next, letting his grip linger for a fraction of a second longer than necessary while maintaining cold, calculating eye contact.
Cecil's eyes narrowed slightly; both he and Donald clearly registered the distrust radiating from the younger twin.
Dick made no effort to hide it—he wanted them to know he was suspicious.
"Cecil, how could this happen?" Debbie demanded, turning on the director with sharp, accusatory indignation. "How could you let him end up like this?"
Cecil exhaled slowly, rubbing the bridge of his nose before looking Debbie in the eyes. "Our rapid response team found Nolan battered and near death inside the Guardians of the Globe headquarters... along with the bodies of the rest of the team."
The room went dead silent.
"What?!" Mark gasped, staring in absolute disbelief.
Debbie froze, her hand tightening around Nolan's.
"The Guardians... dead?" Dick breathed out, his mind racing to process the sheer scale of the disaster. Earth's primary line of defense had been wiped off the map in a single night. "All of them?"
"Every single one," Cecil confirmed grimly. "We dispatched a team after they went dark. When we breached the facility, we found the entire team slaughtered. Torn apart, limb from limb. Nolan was the only survivor, barely clinging to life."
Dick took a shuddering breath, feeling the floor seem to tilt beneath him.
Just Omni-Man being reduced to such a state was worse.
But the fact that the Guardians were dead too?
This was a catastrophic threat to global security.
Cecil stepped closer to Debbie.
"Look, Deborah, until we know who or what is behind this, you and your boys aren't safe out there. The perpetrator might target his family next. I strongly advise you to stay here under our protection—"
"I need clean linens, a basin of boiled water, fresh bandages, and high-grade antiseptic," Debbie interrupted sharply, standing up and stepping right into Cecil's personal space.
Cecil blinked. "Debbie, we have a medical staff trained specifically to—"
"I have been taking care of Nolan for over twenty years, Cecil," she snapped, her eyes ablaze with unyielding determination. "I know his body better than any doctor in this building, and I am going to take care of him now. Nothing has changed."
Cecil stared at her for a long second, weighing the fierce resolve in her eyes. Recognizing a battle he wasn't going to win, he released a heavy sigh. "Donald, get her whatever she needs."
Before Donald could respond, a high-priority tone chimed sharply from his earpiece.
He pressed a finger to his ear, listened for two seconds, and his face instantly drained of color.
He leaned in close to Cecil, whispering loudly enough for the twins' heightened hearing to catch every word. "Sir, we have a catastrophic breach downtown. A heavily armed extraterrestrial force just portal'd into the city center. Mass casualties, civilian panic."
"What?!" Cecil swore under his breath, his calm demeanor slipping into harsh urgency. "Fucking damn it. Now? Of all time? We're completely understaffed with the Guardians gone! Donald, set up the tactical link, get the strike teams moving now!"
The two men spun around and sprinted out of the medical room toward the command hub.
Left in the quiet room, Mark and Dick exchanged a quick, heavy look.
Responsibility was knocking on the door.
"Mom..." Dick started softly, turning toward his mother.
Debbie didn't even turn around from Nolan's bedside, though her voice rang out with absolute conviction.
"Go," she commanded softly, her back to them as she adjusted Nolan's blankets. "Do what needs to be done. Just don't die out there. Bring each other back in one piece, don't lose any limbs... and pick up some real food on your way back. I don't trust the cafeteria food in a place like this."
The twins stood stunned for a brief moment, a rare, small smile tugging at the edge of Mark's lips.
"We will, Mom," Mark promised.
"Count on it," Dick added, his jaw setting with newfound purpose.
Without another word, the Grayson brothers turned on their heels and broke into a dead sprint down the hallway.