The hum of the anti-gravity platform faded as Cecil stepped off inside GDA headquarters. Chris followed close, the golden shimmer around him gone, his boots echoing across polished steel floors. Homelander lingered outside, muttering something about being left out again, but Nolan shadowed them in silence, eyes sharp, calculating.
Inside, the command center buzzed with quiet intensity. Screens flickered with data, satellites relaying endless feeds of global crises. Agents stopped in their tracks when Chris entered, jaws slack, whispers breaking like wildfire. They had heard stories — legends, really — about the genius who vanished at the end of the war. None expected to see him walking alive, looking no older than thirty-five.
Cecil waved them off, his usual gravelly bark returning. "Eyes forward. Back to work. This isn't a circus."
He led Chris down a quieter hall into his private office. The door sealed with a hiss. For a moment, neither spoke.
Cecil moved behind his desk, but he didn't sit. His hands braced the surface, knuckles white. He stared at Chris like a man trying to reconcile two impossible truths.
"You vanished in '49," Cecil said finally, his voice low. "We were losing ground everywhere. The Zar' Eth had us cornered. And then your blast shut the gates, collapsed the wormholes, and just like that — the invasion was over. The war was over. Everyone thought you burned away in that lab. I buried you, Chris."
Chris let out a long breath. "I buried myself, too. At least, what I was. But I'm here now."
Cecil studied him, eyes narrowing. "You were twenty-two back then. You should be pushing seventy now. But you…" He gestured vaguely, shaking his head. "You look like Superman come to life — thirty, maybe thirty-five, tops. Stronger than I remember."
Chris smirked faintly. "Perks of the job."
Cecil stepped closer, the mask of the hardened director slipping just for a moment. "It really is you…"
Chris met his gaze, unease flickering across his face. "Cecil… I didn't plan any of it. The blast, the wormholes collapsing… that wasn't me saving the world. It was an accident. A damn accident."
Cecil shook his head. "Accident or not, the result's the same. You shut the door on the Zar' Eth when no one else could. People call that a miracle. Me? I call it the reason we're still here."
Chris fell silent, the weight of Cecil's words pressing down. A miracle. He'd never thought of it that way.
Cecil's throat bobbed, but he swallowed it down, his mask sliding back on. "Well, you're back now. And the world's… different. More complicated. Supes running around in the open. Corporations playing god. And Nolan—" he glanced toward the door, voice lowering, "—he's not as simple as he looks."
Chris's eyes flicked, golden light flashing faintly. "I know."
The silence stretched. Then Cecil lit a fresh cigar, smoke curling in the dim light. "Alright then. You want in? You want to help? I'll give you a seat at the table. But this isn't the forties anymore. It's dirtier. Meaner. And if we're gonna make it through what's coming…" He jabbed the cigar toward Chris. "I need to know you're with me."
Chris nodded once. "Always."
For the first time, Cecil leaned back, letting out a breath that almost sounded like relief.
"Good," he muttered. "Because God help me, I trust you more than anyone else on this planet."