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After more than a year away from Earth, Aidan had genuinely missed his friends and family. The familiar sights and sounds of Queens felt both comforting and foreign as he made his way home, but when he stepped through the front door, devastating news awaited him.
"When did the dean pass away?" Aidan asked quietly, settling onto the living room sofa as he struggled to process the shock.
"Two months ago," May replied, her voice heavy with lingering sadness. "He spoke of you constantly near the end—how grateful he was for everything you'd done. He passed very peacefully, surrounded by the children."
The beloved old man had touched countless lives during his tenure at the orphanage. From the very beginning, he'd known that Aidan was the anonymous donor whose generous support had allowed them to expand their facilities and help so many more children. The knowledge that his life's work would continue had filled his final days with contentment.
"Don't blame yourself for being away," May said gently, noticing how Aidan had fallen silent. "He lived a full, meaningful life without any regrets."
"I know," Aidan managed a weak smile, though grief still weighed heavily on his heart. "I'm just... processing this. The old dean definitely earned his place in heaven." Despite not witnessing the death firsthand, the loss hit him with unexpected force—a profound sense of mortality and solitude. "Where is he buried? I need to pay my respects."
"St. Michael's Cemetery, up on the hill outside the city. There's a flower shop called Angel's Garden right at the entrance—Ms. Melina runs it. She'll help you choose appropriate flowers."
"Thank you," Aidan nodded, then stood as a more urgent matter occurred to him. "Aunt May, I need you to let Hot Rod take you somewhere safe. New York won't be secure for the next few days."
"Hot Rod?" May looked puzzled by the unfamiliar name.
"The black Lamborghini I gave you—he's a Transformer." Ever since the Transformers movie franchise had exploded into global popularity, mechanical themes had dominated entertainment and toy markets worldwide. Characters like Optimus Prime, Megatron, and Bumblebee had become household names.
"Wait, that car is actually a Transformer?" May stared at Aidan in astonishment, searching his face for any sign he was joking. She'd been thrilled when the luxury vehicle had been delivered, but the possibility that it was a sentient robot had never occurred to her.
"Absolutely. I've created dozens of them—most are stationed on my private island, and Hot Rod is specifically assigned to protect you."
"Oh my God," May sat back down heavily, her eyes wide with wonder. "I need a moment to wrap my head around this."
After she'd collected herself somewhat, Aidan continued with growing urgency. "There's going to be an alien invasion within the next few days. I need you somewhere safe to prevent any accidents."
"How could you possibly know that? This isn't some elaborate prank, is it?"
"I wish it were," Aidan shook his head with grim seriousness. "That island is my primary base of operations. Everything from my movies exists there in reality—Optimus Prime, Megatron, all the Transformers. Peter would absolutely love it, and you won't be bored."
"Alright, I trust you," May nodded without further questions. "But first, I want to meet Hot Rod properly."
"Of course. He should be in the garage where you always park."
They made their way to the attached garage, where a sleek black Lamborghini sat in pristine silence. "Hey there, buddy," Aidan called out, rapping his knuckles against the hood. "Time for active duty."
Vroom!
The sports car's headlights blazed to life as the engine roared awake. The vehicle rolled out of the garage under its own power before stopping in the middle of the driveway. Under May's amazed gaze, the Lamborghini began its spectacular transformation.
"Oh, Aidan! I've been going stir-crazy sitting in that garage," Hot Rod complained as his towering robotic form knelt on the pavement. He turned to May with obvious exasperation. "And please tell those detailing people to stop crawling all over me every week. It's incredibly annoying."
Aidan shot May an amused look, and she returned an embarrassed smile.
"I need you to escort Aunt May to collect Peter from school, then transport them both to Apex Island via the teleportation array at the Baymax Laboratory," Aidan instructed.
"Finally, some real action!" Hot Rod exclaimed enthusiastically, transforming back into vehicle mode. "Ready when you are, ma'am."
"Give me a few minutes to pack," May called, already heading back toward the house.
"Humans," Hot Rod muttered with mechanical exasperation.
With his family's safety arrangements in motion, Aidan made his way to St. Michael's Cemetery. The memorial grounds occupied a peaceful hillside on the city's outskirts, with neat rows of headstones stretching across manicured lawns. At the entrance, a modest flower shop bore the sign "Angel's Garden."
The interior was simple and serene, filled predominantly with white and pale yellow blooms that seemed to radiate tranquility.
"Who are you here to honor, young man?" asked the shop's proprietor—an elderly woman with silver hair and a face that seemed naturally suited to offering comfort to the grieving.
"Mr. Twain Nutt, former director of the Queensboro Youth House. Are you the cemetery administrator?"
"I am indeed," she replied, consulting a well-worn registry with deliberate care. "Let me locate him for you... Here we are. Mr. Nutt rests in the third row, seventh plot. That's quite a blessed location." In Western tradition, the number three represented the trinity of earth, sky, and sea, while seven symbolized the layers of heaven.
"What flowers would be most appropriate?" Aidan asked, his voice thick with emotion.
"Yellow carnations," she suggested kindly, selecting several from a nearby display. "They represent remembrance and eternal devotion—perfectly suited for honoring an elder who touched so many lives."
"Thank you," Aidan accepted the carefully wrapped bouquet and paid before making his way into the cemetery proper.
Following the caretaker's directions, he located the seventh plot in the third row. The familiar face in the photograph on the headstone brought a flood of bittersweet memories. When Aidan had first arrived in this world—literally starving and desperate—this kind old man had taken him in without question. In many ways, Baymax Medical Technology Corporation had been founded as a tribute to the dean's humanitarian ideals and unwavering commitment to helping others.
But Aidan recognized the fundamental difference between them. While the dean had been truly selfless, dedicating his entire life to others' welfare, Aidan knew he could never match that level of pure altruism. He remained, at his core, driven by personal motivations—even when doing good for the world.
POWERSTONES PLZ .