(Dexter's POV)
I sat down before my giant console—blue screen humming softly, the classic green line flickering like an oscilloscope heartbeat.
This was the QuadraplexT-3000.
My Computer.
"Computer, analysis," I said, folding my hands under my chin as I leaned forward.
The familiar, slightly smug feminine voice of my A.I. filled the chamber as text scrolled across the screen and a 3D projection hovered above.
[Midas unit status: 97% complete. Final calibration pending. Full field readiness estimated by tomorrow afternoon.]
There it was, my magnum opus.
Midas.
A combat-capable robot designed for World Robot Boxing, sure, but far more than just a mechanical bruiser. With shadow link capability, high-torque servos, adaptive AI learning, and layer upon layer of shielding, he was the first step. Not just toward power but recognition.
As I studied the schematics, an alert tone pinged then Computer chimed again:
[Dexter, the news bulletin you requested to monitor has triggered. Would you like to view it now?]
"Let me see it."
The feed switched to a sleek interface. KMPC News 8.
A pretty woman with big blue eyes and a pixie cut was reporting live in front of a towering statue under construction which I recognized immediately.
"Construction of the new Metro Man Memorial is nearly complete," she beamed. "And tomorrow, the city plans to unveil it in honor of his decades of service."
The feed flickered and changed.
Now it was another station. The anchor looked rattled, his hair is frizzed, papers slightly out of order. You could always tell when something real was happening when the polished calm slipped just a little.
"In breaking news earlier today in a suburban marketplace, an unidentified alien organism latched onto a human. Witnesses described the transformation as 'horrific' the host's skin turned beige with inky black extremities. Military officials have confirmed the creature has been subdued thanks to intervention by the Powerpuff Girls, and is now in containment at Area 51."
A blurry photo of the creature flashed onscreen.
"DNAliens huh"
I sighed and scratched my head.
"Looks like the plot's finally moving," I muttered under my breath.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling of my lab for a moment.
One of the first things I did when I arrived in this world after the initial panic and disbelief was study.
Not just study science, mind you. That part's almost second nature to me. No, I mean study the world itself. This world history, its events, its rules because for all my genius, all my knowledge in quantum calculus and atomic architecture, I was still painfully... naïve.
I mean, really the previous Dexter once thought girls had penises until he was eight. He didn't even know who Gregor Mendel was until Dee Dee of all people casually mentioned him like he was common knowledge. Arcade machines confused him and nature was a vague concept he occasionally observed through reinforced glass. And socially? Hah... his or should I say my own circle of "friends" consisted of my cousin Douglas, and Mandark who teetered between being my nemesis and... someone who just kind of existed with a permanent grudge against me.
Still, I've been trying to change that... slowly. Progress is nonlinear, but change is possible.
With that in mind, I dove deep into this world's database searching, watching, listening. And what I discovered was both exhilarating and terrifying.
This world is insane.
Aliens, mutants, superpowered beings, heroes and villains alike. Reality here feels like it was co-written by ten different authors without a continuity editor. Just five years ago, in 2010, a meteorite crash-landed on Earth, setting off a chain reaction of chaos. Alien invasions, dimensional rifts, and even a certain blue-skinned genius trying to turn an entire city into his personal playground. Unfortunately for him, he didn't succeed. He's behind bars now, stopped by a Superman knockoff. But the chaos he unleashed continue to ripple through society.
Also superheroes in this world was once celebrated and adored by the public. But everything changed years ago when a wave of lawsuits and civil complaints began stacking up against them. Civilians who were accidentally injured during heroic battles, cities damaged during rescue missions, and even bystanders traumatized by supers' unintended side effects began suing the heroes, not just for property damage, but for personal liability.
One man sued a hero for saving him from a falling building, claiming the rescue caused a herniated disc. A woman sued another for emotional trauma after witnessing a villain's defeat. Insurance companies refused to cover damages caused by "acts of supers." Public opinion began to split while some still viewed heroes as protectors, others saw them as walking disasters.
As the lawsuits piled up and the financial toll on both heroes and governments grew unbearable, the federal government stepped in. Quietly and without media fanfare, they passed the Super Relocation Act, a law that officially outlawed superhero activity and held heroes legally accountable for any unauthorized use of their powers.
To manage this, the government created the Superhero Relocation Program a covert operation that helped supers disappear into civilian life. They were given new identities, jobs, and homes, and were strictly forbidden from using their powers in public. Any violation risked arrest or expulsion from protection.
This forced retirement applied not just in the U.S., but eventually spread as global pressure mounted. Many supers vanished from the spotlight, while others rebelled and went rogue.
Now, with the rise of interdimensional anomalies, alien invasions, and technological chaos escalating, there are whispers that the program might be dissolved or reactivated for something bigger.
But of course, there are exceptions.
Despite the Super Relocation Act being in full force, some heroes remained active—either because they were too powerful to be silenced or too symbolic to erase. Metro Man, the beloved protector of Metro City, was one of the few whose influence and clean public image made him untouchable. His very presence brought hope and stability, and so the government quietly turned a blind eye to his continued heroism.
Then there were the Powerpuff Girls, born from a chemical accident, and technically still children. Their actions in Townsville couldn't be regulated the same way adult heroes were. Despite their destructive capabilities, the girls were too deeply ingrained into their city's defense infrastructure to be sidelined. The government permitted them to continue, under heavy supervision and occasional military partnership.
In New York, things were more complicated. With so many alien threats, interdimensional breaches, and Hydra wars, agencies like S.H.I.E.L.D quietly negotiated with certain enhanced individuals to work off-the-books.
Groups like the Avengers operated in an unstable gray area—sometimes supported by the government, sometimes monitored like potential threats.
In essence, the world was far from peaceful. Heroes may have disappeared from the headlines, but that didn't mean the threats had. What changed was visibility. The capes were hidden, the powers concealed, and the wars fought in the shadows. The system hadn't made the world safer, it had only buried its chaos under bureaucracy and secrecy.
______
After seeing the news and processing the implications, I returned to the main console and activated the database I'd been working on for a week now. The glowing monitor flared to life, revealing line after line of names, files, incident reports, energy readings, and threat levels.
I called it SCALE—Systematic Cataloguing and Assessment for Level Evaluation.
In this world, there were too many unpredictable factors. Aliens, mutants, heroes and villains. I needed a framework to quantify danger, to understand just how powerful the individuals and creatures walking this Earth truly were.
So I built a ranking system, simple and scalable.
F-Class — Normal civilians. The powerless. Office workers, students, farmers, delivery drivers. People who barely knew how to throw a punch.
E-Class — The trained baseline humans. Martial artists, gunmen, survivalists. These individuals had no powers, but they could handle themselves better than most in a fight.
D-Class — The enhanced. People with minor abilities, limited telekinesis, improved durability, or someone like that alien who could stretch his limbs but struggled to even lift a car. Still more dangerous than most, but not city-threatening.
C-Class — A serious jump. Flight, pyrokinesis, super-speed abilities that could destroy buildings, stop tanks, or overwhelm local law enforcement. These individuals were often the subject of containment watchlists.
B-Class — Region-level threats. Villains or heroes who could affect whole districts, disable a small army, or shrug off advanced military tech. These were the beings that required multiple agents or full squads to contain.
A-Class — Rare, powerful, and terrifying. Energy manipulators, dimension walkers, monsters created through mutagens or strong alien beings. They could topple cities if left unchecked. Most high-ranking Supers and alien warriors fall under this.
S-Class — The apex. God-tier threats, reality warpers or world destroyers. Someone like Alien X, who could erase existence with a thoughtassuming he wasn't too busy arguing with himself. These were forces that couldn't be stopped only diverted, contained, or delayed. The kind of existence that made governments draw up evacuation protocols.
Each individual was ranked not just by raw power, but also by their impact,casualties caused, cities saved, alien invasions repelled, military confrontations survived.
SCALE was still in progress. A few hundred names so far but it would grow...it had to.
Because if there was one thing I understood about this world, it was that the real threats don't wait for you to be ready.
And if I was going to survive… if I was going to compete…
Then the next phase of my plan had to begin.
This world may look like a patchwork of bright colors and exaggerated characters, but beneath it lies chaos, potential, and more danger than any normal human could handle.
That's why I need more.
Gadgets alone won't cut it—not forever. Sure, rich geniuses always have their toys. But in this world if you want real power you need something in your blood.
Something that burns.
So I began researching.
Getting powers isn't easy. You're either born with them mutations, alien genetics or exposed to some freak accident with a 99% chance of death. I had a few options in mind.
I considered Chemical X the unstable compound that gave birth to the Powerpuff Girls but I still had no idea how Professor Utonium synthesized it. And the risks was catastrophic.
Then there was the serum Megamind developed the one that created Titan. Now that… had potential. A synthetic formula, designed to rewrite the human genome using a superpowered DNA base.
From that concept, I developed my own theory: if I could acquire a viable DNA sample from a superpowered individual, I could reverse-engineer the structure and create a controlled, adaptive serum tailored to my physiology.
It's dangerous, reckless and possibly irreversible.
Which means it's perfect.
I rose from my seat and walked through the central corridor of my lab, past glowing tubes, suspended prototypes, and dormant machinery.
I approached a different part of the facility: a large, reinforced chamber designed to mimic a dense jungle environment. Artificial vines, mist sprayers, humidifiers, and daylight filters made it feel alive.
The doors slid open with a hiss, releasing a wave of warm, damp air.
Inside, synthetic sunlight filtered through oversized leaves, and birds chirped from unseen speakers.
I stepped inside and raised my voice slightly, letting it echo.
"Monkey."
A rustle answered me high in the trees.
There was movement, a blur through the canopy, branches bending and shadows flickering.
And then—
Well.
Let's just say this world has given me a few unexpected allies.
And Monkey... might be the most important one yet.