After dropping the broken, unconscious Atom Eve at the Global Defense Agency's hospital, Eden didn't linger. He went straight back to the Kent residence.
First stop? A long, scalding shower. Then he glanced at the clock. Barely five minutes had passed. With time to kill, he hit the biggest supermarket in town to stock up.
Because next on his calendar? A two-week trip to Mars with NASA's bargain-bin astronauts.
BEEP BEEP BEEP!
Just as Eden kicked back on the couch, phone buzzing in his ear, his brow furrowed. Who the hell was calling at this hour?
He slid the screen open. Sure enough—Cecil.
"Yeah? Cecil. If I'm not mistaken, I already saved both the Guardians and the Teen Team for you. So what now? Cleanup's supposed to be your department. If you can't even handle that, maybe it's time you retire."
Eden didn't even let him get a word in, laying into him first.
"Eden, trust me—if this wasn't urgent, I wouldn't be calling you," Cecil said, weariness dripping from his voice. Even as Director of the GDA, dealing with Eden felt like reporting to a boss who held his career—and head—in his hands.
"What is it?"
"What the hell did you do to the Immortal down in the Subterranean World? He came back screaming about quitting the Guardians. We couldn't even hold him back."
Cecil pinched his nose. As if the mountain of supervillain crises on his desk wasn't enough, now the heroes themselves were imploding. Being Director of the GDA was a thankless job.
"Then let him walk. The Guardians don't need a crybaby like him. And you really need me to teach you this, Cecil? Ask Robot if you want the details."
Click. Eden hung up.
"Oh, right." Eden flexed his fists, remembering. "If the Immortal hadn't reminded me, I would've forgotten about exterminating the bugs."
With that, he suited up in his black battlesuit and dove back into the Subterranean World for a full-scale purge.
Meanwhile, at the GDA—
"Tch." Cecil slammed a hand on his desk, still simmering from Eden's verbal beatdown. For everything he did to keep Earth safe, somehow he always ended up on the receiving end of someone else's anger. Even worse—he realized he'd subconsciously started treating Eden like his superior.
"Robot, get over here."
A moment later, Robot's voice came through comms. "I'm here."
The mechanical hero entered Cecil's office without delay.
"So what's that idiot Immortal raising hell about now?"
"The bugs," Robot replied simply.
Cecil blinked. "The bugs?"
"Black Suit Super believes the giant arthropods in the Subterranean World pose an existential threat to humanity, so he intends to wipe them out. The Immortal, however, argues humanity invaded first. His stance is that we should vacate the Subterranean World entirely and leave it to the creatures that have lived there for hundreds of millions of years."
Robot delivered it like a report.
"Eden did the right thing," Cecil said without hesitation. Then his scowl deepened. "The Immortal's a damn fool. Cockroaches have been around for hundreds of millions of years too—doesn't stop anyone from stomping them. And chickens are descended from dinosaurs, but I've never seen the Immortal skip a chicken sandwich."
Cecil shook his head. Another problem to juggle.
At Guardians HQ, the team was in session. When the Immortal declared he was leaving, jaws dropped.
"You're serious?" War Woman pressed. "You'd quit the Guardians… over a bunch of arthropods?"
"It's not about that." The Immortal's voice thundered with anger. "It's about Cecil. He doesn't respect us. None of us even knew that black-suited Superman existed before he showed up. Cecil kept him in his back pocket like some secret weapon. Who's he planning to use him against?"
The room fell silent. Red Rush spoke cautiously: "Maybe Cecil has his reasons—"
"Don't defend him, Red Rush. That bastard's not worth it," the Immortal cut him off. "Here's how this goes. Either Cecil lays all his cards on the table right now, or I walk. He's smart enough to know which choice is better."
At that moment, a harsh white light flashed in the room. Cecil materialized.
The Immortal sneered. "Cecil. Took you long enough. Ready to explain yourself?"
He expected an apology, maybe even some honesty.
Instead, Cecil cocked his head. "Immortal? Didn't you quit already? Why are you still here?"
"…Excuse me?" The Immortal blinked. "If you're apologizing, I can—wait. What did you just say?"
"You can pack your shit and go. You're done, Immortal." Cecil's tone was flat, final. He didn't even bother looking at him again.
The room froze.
Cecil didn't stop. "Anyone else planning on leaving? Speak now. I'd rather handle all the quitters in one day."
Eyes dropped to the floor. Not a soul moved. Especially Martian Man—he knew better than to cross Cecil. Without Cecil's approval, he wouldn't last a week on Earth.
"You've got five seconds to decide. Five… four… three… two… one." Cecil's voice rolled like a countdown timer. No one spoke. "Good. Then let's talk about restructuring."
His eyes swept the room. "The Doctor Seismic fiasco was pathetic. You let me down. From now on, I'm splitting the Guardians into two squads. A main team and a backup team. Maybe then I'll actually get some results."
As Cecil droned on about protocols and restructuring, the Immortal sat frozen, staring at the table.
"I…I'm unemployed?" he muttered, dazed.
By the time the meeting adjourned, he still hadn't recovered. Darkwing quietly retrieved the comm device he'd once entrusted to him. No need to keep it anymore.
The Immortal was out. Just like Black Samson. Yesterday's hero, today's dead weight.
...
"From here on, Robot will serve as the Guardians' security consultant and take full responsibility for recruiting the Guardians' second squad."
After The Immortal's exit, Cecil launched another virtual meeting with the Guardians—this time without him. His decision was final: Robot would be the one handling the new squad.
Honestly, Cecil wouldn't trust the idiots on the first team to handle recruitment. Not if his life depended on it.
Robot's eyes flickered with light for a moment before he finally gave a nod. He accepted.
"As for Black Suit Super—he's none of your concern. Got it?!" Cecil's tone sharpened. "If I catch anyone poking into him again, don't forget what happened to The Immortal."
The message landed hard. Eden's existence was a secret that needed to stay buried. The fewer people who knew, the better.
At this point, only Cecil, Donald, a few GDA higher-ups—and Robot—were aware of Eden's true identity. But Robot was smart. In public, he never once slipped. He always called him Black Suit Super.
Once the official meeting dissolved, the Guardians huddled privately. They tried to reassure The Immortal, telling him he'd always be part of the team no matter what Cecil said.
But when it came to Black Suit Super? Not a single word. They weren't stupid. The guy who dared complain about him had been kicked to the curb in seconds.
Clearly, Eden outranked them all in Cecil's book.
Cecil's logic was simple: "You're my subordinates. Eden's my superior."
Cough. Yeah.
Eden himself? He couldn't care less about their politics.
That evening, Eden summoned the System again.
"System. Start the simulation!"
"This time I'm taking on three Elite Viltrumites at once."
His voice brimmed with confidence.
[Simulation initializing…]
The void of space stretched endless and dark around him. No sound. No chatter. Just three Viltrumite elites blinking into existence: Lucan, Thula, and Vidor.
No trash talk. No warm-up. They clashed the instant they locked eyes.
Eden struck first—blitzing straight for Lucan, the biggest and strongest of the three. His fist smashed into the man's jaw with bone-crunching force.
Even in the vacuum, blood spilled red, floating in sharp contrast against the black void.
Thula and Vidor traded shocked glances, then flanked Eden left and right. Lucan rallied, rocketing back at him like a meteor.
Eden swung with his left—but his wrist jerked to a stop. He turned in surprise. Thula's long braid had lashed around his arm like a whip, binding him tight.
"Dammit."
Before he could react, Vidor was already on him, locking down his right arm.
Lucan charged, face mangled and teeth missing, grinning a bloody smile.
Too slow. Eden's eyes flared red—twin beams of Heat Vision seared across Lucan's face, forcing him back. He whipped his head, slicing through Thula's braid in the same breath.
Vidor hammered his chest with a flurry of sonic-speed punches, each blow rattling Eden's bones. Blood bubbled past his lips, but he barely cared. With his freed hand, he shoved Vidor away, then dove straight for the weakest link.
Both hands clamped around Thula's throat.
Her fists blurred, pounding Eden's chest until it was raw and crimson. But Eden's strength was greater. Veins bulged down his arms as he twisted, snapping her neck into a grotesque angle. Thula's lifeless body drifted into the void.
Eden spat blood, eyes burning as he glared down the remaining two.
The battle raged on. Three streaks of light tore across the vacuum.
An hour later.
Two gaping craters marred Eden's chest, holes the size of fists. Three Viltrumite corpses floated around him—Thula, Vidor, and Lucan.
"End simulation."
The stars blinked out, replaced by the familiar ceiling of his bedroom. Eden collapsed back into bed, chest heaving.
Victory? Sure. More like mutual destruction. Still, it was a step forward. He replayed the fight in his mind, breaking it down.
Individually, those three weren't on the level of Nolan, Conquest, or Kregg. But together? Their synergy pushed far beyond simple addition. Even Thragg, the Viltrumite Regent, would've had his hands full.
"At this pace, give me a week. I'll be ready to simulate Battle Beast—or even Thragg himself."
He smirked. "Though maybe I should warm up on a Rognarr first. They're Viltrumite-killers for a reason—fangs, claws, the whole package. Might as well practice before tackling Battle Beast."
As things stood, his self-assessment was simple:
One Elite Viltrumite? Quick kill. Easy.
Two Elites? Still manageable. Overwhelming advantage.
Three? That was the wall. He could only manage a bloody stalemate. But if he could break through that wall…
It'd be a whole new level.
"Keep running it."
And so he did. Again and again, chasing that breakthrough.
The next morning.
Eden stirred awake after a string of brutal 1v3 matches inside the Simulation. He cleaned up, calm and collected, then headed for the far side of the moon to wait.
Friday. Nine a.m.
With a thunderous roar, the world's first manned Mars rocket blasted off. Reporters scrambled, headlines exploded, newsfeeds flooded the globe. Humanity's greatest leap was underway.
And Eden? He was already there.
Sitting cross-legged on the hull of the rocket, quietly chewing on a frozen, radiation-hardened sandwich. A silent guardian hitching a ride into the cosmos. None of the astronauts inside had a clue. Neither did the millions glued to their TV screens.
Cecil's words echoed in his ears: "Eden, you know how it is. We have to protect NASA's pride. If they find out a guy who can make a round trip to Mars in a single day is babysitting them they'll feel useless."
So Eden's job was simple: stay hidden, step in only if things went sideways. Otherwise? Treat it like a vacation.
And honestly? He was fine with that. Fame had never been his thing.
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Author's Note: Who else is unemployed like immortal? Raise your hands🖐️