- Time Skip 1 Month.
Samantha (War-torn Eve's) POV:
I remember when I believed in heroes.
When I thought that sacrifice meant something. That if I gave enough - my body, my safety, my future - the world would recognize it. Reward it. Protect me in return.
I was such a child then.
The mask fits perfectly against my face, the black material molded to my features like a second skin.
The voice modulator hums quietly as I breathe, transforming my natural tones into something deeper, more mechanical. Less human.
Appropriate, really.
The long black coat settles around me as I crouch on the rooftop, watching the warehouse below.
Beside me, Heisenberg (Nolan)'s pristine white form is a stark contrast to my darkness - like we're playing at being yin and yang. Good cop, bad cop. Though neither of us is good, not really.
"Six guards," he says, his voice similarly altered by his mask. "Two at each entrance, two patrolling. Standard rotation pattern. Minimal quirk usage - they're trying to stay under the radar."
I nod once. "The lab?"
"Northeast corner. Reinforced walls. Three heat signatures inside - likely the chemists."
The plan is simple. We're not here to arrest anyone or save the day.
We're here to take over. To claim this small-time operation as our own and use it to climb higher in this world's underworld.
To eventually draw out the shadow that Roberta - my mother now, still strange to think of her that way - discovered lurking behind everything.
All For One.
The greatest villain in this world's history.
Dad wants to meet him. To understand him. To eliminate him if necessary.
And what Dad wants, I ensure he gets.
"Ready?" Heisenberg asks, though it's not really a question. We both know I am.
I stand, feeling the power hum through my veins. Since coming to this world, since Roberta's genetic modifications, since all I've experienced, my abilities have evolved.
The mental blocks that once limited my molecular manipulation are gone.
I can feel every atom around me now. Every molecule. Every possibility.
"Let's go," I say, and step off the edge of the roof.
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The first guard doesn't even have time to shout.
I land silently behind him, my hand already covering his mouth as I manipulate the air molecules around his head, creating a localized zone devoid of oxygen.
He struggles briefly before slumping unconscious in my arms.
Across the yard, Heisenberg moves like a white ghost, his enhanced speed making him nearly invisible as he neutralizes the other guards with equal efficiency.
We meet at the side entrance, bodies carefully hidden.
"Remember," he says quietly, "we need most of them alive. This operation continues under new management."
I nod, though part of me is disappointed. The old me would have been horrified by such thoughts. But the old me died in another world, under another Mark's perverse hands.
The door's electronic lock is child's play. I simply rearrange its molecular structure, making the metal flow like water around my fingers before resolidifying in an open position.
Inside, the warehouse is dimly lit, stacks of crates creating a maze-like pattern.
The air smells of chemicals and sweat. From the shadows, I can hear low conversations, the occasional laugh.
They have no idea what's coming.
Heisenberg taps my shoulder, pointing to a corridor leading deeper into the building. I follow, my footsteps silent, my senses extended through the molecular vibrations around us.
Three men playing cards at a folding table. Two more cleaning weapons. One speaking rapidly into a phone. All minor threats.
The lab is behind a heavy steel door at the end of the corridor. Through it, I can sense three people moving around equipment, the complex molecular structures of their drug floating in solution tanks.
Heisenberg - that name is still kinda funny, Nolan having chosen it, because Debbie and he liked some show, I still need to watch it, luckily mom has it downloaded - looks at me, and I know what he's asking.
With a slight nod, I place my palm against the door and feel the metal respond to my will, flowing aside like curtains parting.
The three men inside freeze, their expressions shifting from surprise to fear as they take in our appearances - the black and white figures from nowhere, faceless behind our masks.
"What the fuck?" one of them manages, reaching for something under his lab coat.
He never completes the motion. Heisenberg is across the room in a blur, the man's arm bent at an unnatural angle behind his back.
"I wouldn't," Heisenberg says quietly.
The other two raise their hands immediately, backing away from their workstations.
"Who are you?" asks the oldest of them, a thin man with graying hair at his temples. "If Muscular sent you-"
"We represent ourselves," I interrupt, my voice cold through the modulator. "Your operation interests us."
The third man, younger than the others with nervous eyes, glances toward a red button on the wall. I smile behind my mask, though they can't see it.
"If you're thinking about calling for help," I say softly, "don't bother."
To demonstrate, I extend my hand toward the alarm system. With a thought, the wiring inside the wall disintegrates, the molecules separating and reforming as harmless dust.
The young man's eyes widen. "What - what kind of quirk is that?"
Before I can respond with how stupid that question is, the door behind us bursts open. Six men rush in, guns drawn, led by a muscular figure with a face tattoo that crawls up from his neck like ivy.
"Boss," one of the gunmen says, "these two just walked in-"
"I can see that, moron," the tattooed man snaps. He studies us, eyes narrowed. "You've got some nerve coming in here uninvited. This is Viper territory."
So this is the infamous Viper. The boss of this small-time operation, known for his cruelty and the potency of the quirk-enhancing drugs his chemists produce. Not the strongest villain in the area, but connected enough to matter for our purposes.
"Your security is inadequate," Heisenberg states flatly. "Six of your men are currently unconscious outside. Your alarm system has been neutralized. And you still don't understand the situation you're in."
Viper laughs, a harsh sound like gravel being crushed. "Big talk from a couple of costumed freaks. Do you have any idea who I am?"
"A small fish," I reply, "in a very large pond."
His face darkens. "You're dead. Both of you." He turns to his men. "Kill them. Slowly."
The gunmen raise their weapons, but they're too slow. Far too slow.
I extend my awareness, feeling the metal of their guns, the chemicals in the ammunition. With a flick of my wrist, I alter the molecular bonds. The weapons crumble in their hands, turning to fine dust that sifts through their fingers.
Their expressions are almost comical - shock giving way to terror as they realize what they're facing.
Heisenberg moves then, a white blur among them. I hear the crack of bones, the soft thuds of bodies hitting the floor. He's careful not to kill them - just incapacitate. We need workers, after all.
In seconds, only Viper remains standing, his tattooed face pale with shock.
"What - what the fuck are you people?" he stammers, backing away until he hits the lab table.
I step forward, my black coat swirling around my ankles. "We're your new employers."
His fear transforms into rage. "Like hell you are! This is my operation! My territory!"
"Was," Heisenberg corrects mildly.
Viper's hand darts toward his belt, pulling a knife with practiced speed. The blade gleams under the harsh fluorescent lights as he lunges toward me.
I don't move. Don't need to.
The knife stops an inch from my throat, held there by nothing visible. Viper strains against the invisible force, his muscles bulging with effort, veins standing out on his forehead.
"Suprised?," I ask softly. "I've frozen the air molecules around your blade. You could have the strength of a hundred men, and it wouldn't make a difference."
With a slight gesture, I send him flying backward, crashing into the equipment behind him. Glass shatters, chemicals spill across the floor, and Viper groans as he struggles to rise.
"Who cooks?" Heisenberg asks, his voice calm as if we're having a normal business conversation.
The older chemist points a shaking finger at Viper. "He does. He's the only one who knows the full formula. We just... assist."
Heisenberg turns to Viper, who's now on his feet again, blood trickling from a cut on his forehead. "Interesting. So you're not just muscle. You have skills."
"Fuck you," Viper spits. "You think you can just walk in here and take over? Do you know who I'm connected to? Who protects me?"
"No one protects you now," I say, stepping closer.
His eyes dart to me, full of hatred. "Go back to wherever you came from and suck your daddy's limp dick, you masked cunt."
The words hang in the air for a moment. I feel something cold and hard crystallize in my chest - a familiar sensation now.
Cold rage.
No one insults my father. Not ever.
"Heisenberg," I say quietly, "I'll handle this one."
He nods once, understanding in his posture. "Don't take too long. We have business to conclude."
I approach Viper slowly, my hands at my sides. He tries to back away, but I've already manipulated the molecules of the floor beneath him, creating a subtle adhesion that holds his feet in place.
"What the-" he begins, looking down in confusion.
"You mentioned my dad," I say, my voice calm through the modulator. "That was a mistake."
I raise my hand, and Viper's eyes widen as his skin begins to peel away from his forearm - not tearing, but separating at the molecular level. A perfect, bloodless flaying.
His scream echoes through the lab as I carefully maintain his nerve endings, ensuring maximum sensation.
"My father," I continue conversationally, "is the greatest being in Creation. Emperor of worlds you couldn't begin to comprehend. The strongest, the wisest, the most worthy of respect."
Another layer of skin peels away, this time from his chest. Viper's screams intensify, his body shaking with pain and terror.
"And you dared speak of him with disrespect."
I'm careful with my power, maintaining his vital functions even as I systematically deconstruct him.
His lungs remain functional as I remove the protective tissue around them, exposing the pulsing organs to the air.
His heart continues to beat as I make its outer layers transparent, revealing the muscular contractions beneath.
"Please," Viper gasps between screams, "please stop - I didn't know-"
"Of course you didn't know," I agree mildly. "How could you? You're nothing. Less than nothing."
I manipulate the oxygen flow to his brain, creating momentary hypoxia before restoring it.
The cycle of panic and relief is particularly effective, I've found. The human mind breaks more thoroughly when given moments of hope between the pain. I know from experience.
Behind me, I can sense the horror radiating from the chemists and the remaining conscious guards.
Good. Let them see. Let them understand what happens to those who disrespect what matters to me.
After what seems like hours but is probably only minutes, Viper is barely recognizable as human - a living anatomy display of exposed muscle, bone, and organ, kept functioning through my power alone.
His screams have faded to whimpers, his mind fractured by pain beyond comprehension.
I step back, admiring my work. The old me would be horrified. The hero I once was would consider this monstrous.
But that me died long ago, in another world, under another Mark's hands.
This me knows the truth: power is the only reality. And those who disrespect power must learn their place.
Heisenberg appears beside me, his white form untouched by the blood and fluids that now coat the floor around Viper's suspended body.
"That's enough," he says quietly.
I nod, stepping aside. Heisenberg positions himself above what remains of Viper's head. His white boot rises, hovers for a moment, then descends.
The sound is like a watermelon bursting - a wet crack followed by a splash as blood, bone fragments, and brain matter spray across the floor.
Some of it spatters against my black coat, but I don't mind. The material is designed to repel such things.
The room falls silent except for the terrified breathing of the witnesses.
Heisenberg turns to face them, his white mask expressionless yet somehow radiating authority.
"I am the Cook now," he announces, his modulated voice carrying clearly. "This operation belongs to us. Those who prove useful will be rewarded. Those who resist will join your former employer."
He gestures to me, and I understand what he wants. With a wave of my hand, I materialize the information we've gathered - personnel files, home addresses, family photos, identities - and scatter them across the bloodied floor.
"We know who you are," I say softly. "We know where you live. Who you love. What you fear."
One of the guards begins to sob quietly.
"Clean this lab," Heisenberg orders. "Every trace of contamination must be removed before production resumes. We maintain certain standards."
The survivors scramble to obey, giving the remains of Viper a wide berth as they fetch cleaning supplies.
As they work, Heisenberg and I move to a corner to observe. Though our masks hide our expressions, I can read his posture - the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his head tilts.
"Was that display necessary?" he asks quietly, for my ears only.
I consider the question. Was it necessary? Perhaps not. Efficient? Definitely not. But it served a purpose beyond mere intimidation.
"They need to understand," I reply. "Fear is the foundation. Respect comes later."
He studies me for a moment, then nods once. "Just remember our purpose here. We're not doing this for pleasure."
"I know why we're here," I say, perhaps more sharply than intended. "To draw out All For One. To understand him. To eliminate him if necessary."
"And to gather intelligence on this world's power structures," Heisenberg adds. "For when the Emperor decides its fate."
Yes. For when Dad decides. For when he determines whether this world is worthy of elevation or merely conquest.
I watch the terrified workers cleaning Viper's remains from the floor, and I feel... nothing. No satisfaction from his suffering.
No guilt over his death. Just the calm certainty that I've done what was necessary to protect what matters.
Dad protected me when I was broken. When Mark - that monster who wore my former love's face - had finished destroying everything I was.
Dad found me, saved me, loved me despite my weakness.
I would burn a thousand worlds to keep his approval. To see that pride in his eyes when he looks at me.
(I... I can't survive if he doesn't love me anymore.)
"The younger chemist has potential," Heisenberg notes, bringing me back to the present. "He's afraid, but he's thinking. Calculating his options."
I follow his gaze to the nervous young man who's organizing the cleanup with surprising efficiency. "You're right. Mark him for possible promotion."
"Already done."
We fall silent again, watching as our new enterprise takes shape around us. By morning, production will resume under stricter quality control.
Within a week, our product will begin replacing inferior versions on the street. Within a month, larger players will take notice.
And eventually, the shadow behind it all - All For One - will become aware of the new operators in his territory.
That's when our real work begins.
As I stand in this blood-soaked lab, surrounded by fear and death, I think about the journey that brought me here.
How I went from a hero willing to sacrifice everything for others to... this. Whatever I am now.
I remember believing in goodness. In justice. In the idea that if you fought hard enough for what was right, the universe would somehow recognize and reward it.
Then I remember Mark's hands on my skin, cutting, marking me, forcing himself upon me, as he whispered about love.
I remember being trapped in that wheelchair, helpless as he decided when I could eat, sleep, speak.
I remember the world moving on without me, heroes continuing their pointless cycle of fight-die-repeat while I suffered in silence.
And I remember Dad finding me. Carrying me away from that hell. Looking at me not with pity but with recognition - seeing not my brokenness but my potential.
The world had its chance with me. It took everything and gave nothing back.
Now I serve a different purpose. A greater vision. One that doesn't pretend to be kind or fair, but that at least acknowledges the truth: power is the only reality that matters.
And through my father, through the Emperor, I finally have power that no one can take away.
One of the guards drops a bucket, the clatter echoing through the lab. Everyone freezes, eyes darting to me and Heisenberg, waiting for punishment.
"Continue," I say softly. "You have until dawn."
They return to their tasks with renewed vigor, terrified of failing.
This is my life now. Not a hero, not a villain. Something else. Something necessary.
War.
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(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all enjoyed the chapter!
Before anyone says anything, the repetition was intentional, to show Eve's still processing everything and convincing herself of this - since her core reason for all this is Thragg's approval.
Yes, she's begun to see power as all that matters too, because it is what destroyed her and also what saved her, being good or evil having no true reward in her eyes anymore, but still, she does this fundementally to be loved by Thragg.
She is completely dependent upon him - for love, safety in both physical and emotional sense, stability everything.
She has as I stated long ago - become daddy's little girl, who when she is with him is all happy, smiling, kind, innocent, but otherwise with virtually anyone else, cold, distant, disinterested, and absolutely ruthless when it comes to anyone standing against him.
Well, I hope you guys like this development, I find it logical based on the trauma she experienced.
I hope to see you all later,
Bye!)