David had spent countless hours imagining what it would be like to meet a member of the Justice League.
In his fantasies, it usually involved Superman. They'd shake hands, and Clark would give him that warm, genuine smile, and David would manage to say something profound about hope and heroism instead of stammering like an idiot. Maybe Superman would even compliment him on his work ethic or his dedication to helping others.
The fantasy had never involved Wonder Woman sitting on his couch like she owned the place, looking at him with an expression he couldn't quite read.
David did the only thing he could think of: he floated.
It was a conscious choice. He lifted himself about a foot off the ground and crossed his arms over his massive chest, trying to project an aura of calm authority. This was what powerful beings did, right? They hovered. They looked unflappable. They didn't let unexpected visitors see them sweat.
The truth was, his heart was hammering so hard he was genuinely concerned Wonder Woman might be able to hear it. This was Wonder Woman. Princess Diana of Themyscira. One of the founding members of the Justice League. A warrior who had fought gods and monsters and come out victorious.
And she was in his living room.
Act natural, David told himself. You're a powerful Viltrumite. You've been doing this hero thing for years. As far as she knows, anyway. Just... be cool.
"Wonder Woman," he said, and was relieved that his voice came out steady. Deep and commanding, thanks to his new vocal cords. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Diana uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. Her jacket shifted with the movement, and her shirt collar dipped slightly, revealing the elegant line of her collarbone and just a hint of—
"The League has been watching you," she said.
David blinked, his train of thought completely derailed. "I'm sorry, what?"
"The Justice League," Diana repeated, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "We've been monitoring your activities for some time now. You've been... absent, these past six months. And then tonight, you suddenly reappear, saving children in alleyways and delivering criminals to police stations."
Right. Focus. Justice League. Monitoring. Important superhero stuff.
"I've been... dealing with some personal matters," David said carefully. It wasn't exactly a lie. Dying and being reborn in another universe definitely counted as a personal matter. "But I'm back now. Ready to continue my work."
Diana tilted her head, studying him with those impossibly blue eyes. She shifted on the couch, crossing her legs in the other direction, and David noticed that her jeans were... very tight. Like, extremely tight. The kind of tight that probably required supernatural assistance to put on.
Why am I noticing this? Focus, David. Princess. Warrior. Could probably punch you into next week.
"You seem different," Diana observed. "There's something... changed about you."
David's blood ran cold. Could she tell? Did she have some kind of magical lie-detection ability? He knew she had the Lasso of Truth, but she wasn't holding it at the moment. Unless it was hidden somewhere. Could she hide it? How did that even work? Did it fold up? These were not helpful thoughts.
"Different how?" he asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral.
Diana rose from the couch in one fluid motion, all deadly grace and athletic power. She was tall—not as tall as his current body, but impressive nonetheless—and she moved like someone who had spent millennia training in combat. Every step was deliberate, controlled, purposeful.
She walked toward him slowly, her hips swaying slightly with each step, those tight jeans doing... things that David absolutely was not paying attention to because he was a mature adult with more important concerns than the way Wonder Woman's thighs looked in denim.
What is happening right now?
"Before," Diana said, stopping about three feet away from him, "you always kept your distance. You refused our invitations to join the League. You never attended our meetings or responded to our communications. You were..." she paused, searching for the right word, "...cold."
"Cold," David repeated.
"Distant. Aloof. As if humanity was beneath your notice." Diana's eyes searched his face. "But tonight, I watched you kneel down to comfort a frightened child. I saw you take the time to fly her home, to reassure her mother. I observed you patrolling a poor neighborhood for hours, stopping petty crimes that most heroes would consider beneath them."
She took another step closer. David remained floating, his arms still crossed, refusing to give ground even as his personal space shrank dramatically.
"That is not the Omni-Man I remember," Diana said softly. "So I ask again: what changed?"
David's mind raced. He needed to give her an answer that was truthful enough to satisfy whatever lie-detecting abilities she might possess, but vague enough to avoid explaining the whole "died and got reincarnated into a fictional character's body" situation.
"I had a... revelation," he said finally. "A moment of clarity. I realized that I had been approaching this—heroism, I mean—the wrong way. I was focused on the big threats, the cosmic dangers, the things that made headlines. But that's not what being a hero is really about."
Diana raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"It's about people," David continued, warming to his subject. This, at least, was something he could speak about with genuine conviction. "It's about the mother who's afraid to let her daughter walk to school. It's about the old man who can't sleep because of the gang activity outside his window. It's about showing ordinary people that someone cares enough to help them, even when their problems aren't world-ending."
He finally uncrossed his arms, gesturing passionately as he spoke. "Any sufficiently powerful being can stop an alien invasion. But taking the time to help with the small stuff, the everyday struggles that most people face? That's what builds trust. That's what inspires hope. That's what turns a powerful stranger into a symbol that people can believe in."
Diana stared at him.
David suddenly became very aware that he had been rambling. And gesturing. And possibly sounding like a complete lunatic.
"Sorry," he said, heat rising to his cheeks—could Viltrumites blush? Apparently they could. "I didn't mean to—I got a bit carried away."
"No," Diana said, and her voice was strange, almost wondering. "No, don't apologize. That was... I have not heard anyone speak about heroism that way in a very long time."
She was looking at him differently now. Her expression had softened, and there was something in her eyes that David couldn't quite identify. She reached out and placed a hand on his forearm—his still-floating forearm—and the touch sent an unexpected jolt through his system.
"Perhaps I misjudged you, Nolan Grayson," she said softly. "Perhaps we all did."
David swallowed hard. "I, uh. Thank you?"
Diana smiled, and it transformed her entire face. She went from intimidating warrior princess to breathtakingly beautiful woman in the space of a heartbeat, and David's brain experienced something like a temporary system crash.
"The League is having a gathering tomorrow evening," Diana said, her hand still resting on his arm. "Not a formal meeting—more of a... social occasion. A chance for members and potential members to interact in a relaxed setting."
"Okay," David said, because his vocabulary had apparently shrunk to monosyllables.
"I would like you to attend."
"Me?"
Diana laughed, a rich, warm sound that did absolutely nothing to help David's mental state. "Yes, you. I believe it would be beneficial for you to meet the others. To let them see this new side of you." She squeezed his arm gently. "To let them see what I have seen tonight."
What exactly has she seen? David wondered frantically. I've just been floating here talking about heroism. Is that impressive? That doesn't seem particularly impressive.
"I... yes," he managed. "Yes, I would be honored to attend."
"Wonderful." Diana released his arm and stepped back, and David felt an odd sense of loss at the absence of contact. "I will send you the details. The Watchtower, tomorrow evening, seven o'clock."
"The Watchtower," David repeated. "Right. Yes. I'll be there."
Diana turned to leave, then paused at the balcony door. She looked back over her shoulder, and there was something almost playful in her expression.
"I look forward to seeing you there, Nolan," she said. "And perhaps... we could continue this conversation? I find myself curious to learn more about this new philosophy of yours."
"Absolutely," David said. "Any time. I mean—yes. That would be. Good."
Nailed it. Very smooth. Ten out of ten verbal skills.
Diana's smile widened slightly, and then she was gone, leaping off the balcony and flying into the night sky with effortless grace.
David remained hovering in place for a long moment, staring at the empty balcony.
Then he slowly lowered himself to the ground, uncrossed his arms, and let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
"What," he said to the empty room, "was that?"
David spent the next hour pacing his apartment, trying to process what had just happened.
Wonder Woman had been in his living room. Wonder Woman had invited him to a Justice League gathering. Wonder Woman had touched his arm and smiled at him and said she wanted to continue their conversation.
It was all very confusing.
He replayed the encounter in his mind, analyzing every detail. Diana had seemed... friendly? Interested? But interested in what? His philosophy on heroism, presumably. She was an ancient warrior princess who had probably heard every possible take on what it meant to be a hero. Why would his perspective be noteworthy?
Unless, a small voice in his head suggested, she was testing you. Checking to see if your "revelation" was genuine or just a cover story.
That made more sense. The Justice League had apparently been monitoring him—or rather, monitoring the original Omni-Man—for years. They knew he had been "cold" and "distant." His sudden change in behavior must have raised red flags. Diana had been sent to investigate, to determine whether he was still trustworthy.
And I probably sounded like a complete idealistic idiot, David thought glumly. Rambling about hope and symbols and helping ordinary people. She's probably going back to the League right now to report that Omni-Man has lost his mind.
But she had invited him to the Watchtower. That didn't seem like the action of someone who thought he was dangerous or unstable.
Unless it was a trap?
Stop it, David told himself firmly. You're overthinking this. She invited you to a party. Just... go to the party. Meet the other heroes. Try not to make a fool of yourself.
He walked to the window and stared out at the city lights, his reflection staring back at him—the broad shoulders, the stern face, the ridiculous mustache that came standard with the Omni-Man package.
Tomorrow, he would be on the Justice League's Watchtower. He would be surrounded by some of the most powerful beings in the universe. Heroes he had read about, watched on screens, dreamed about meeting.
And he would have to convince all of them that he was trustworthy. That despite his history of isolation and coldness, he was genuinely committed to being a hero. That the body of a conqueror contained the soul of someone who just wanted to help.
No pressure or anything.
He looked down at his hands—massive, powerful, capable of crushing steel like tissue paper. In the comics, these hands had done terrible things. They had killed heroes. They had brutalized innocents. They had served an empire built on genocide.
But they were his hands now. And he would use them differently.
"Tomorrow," David said quietly, making a promise to himself and to whatever cosmic force had given him this second chance, "I start showing them who I really am."
The computer in his hidden lair turned out to be incredibly useful for research.
David spent the next several hours learning everything he could about the Justice League, the major heroes, and the current state of this universe. It was similar to the DC universe he remembered from comics, but with notable differences.
Without Superman, the Justice League had formed around Wonder Woman as its primary leader. Batman was a member, as were Martian Manhunter, Green Lantern (Hal Jordan, according to the records), The Flash (Barry Allen), and Aquaman. There were other members too—Hawkgirl, Black Canary, Green Arrow—but the "Big Seven" structure he was familiar with was reduced to a Big Six.
There was a gap where Superman should have been. A gap David was increasingly certain he was meant to fill.
He also researched himself—or rather, the history of this world's Omni-Man.
The records painted a picture of a mysterious alien who had arrived on Earth about fifteen years ago. He had established himself as a hero quickly, stopping natural disasters and fighting off alien incursions with frightening efficiency. But he had always remained apart from other heroes, rejecting overtures of friendship and collaboration.
The League had tried multiple times to recruit him. He had declined every offer, citing a preference for working alone. There were even some old news articles questioning his motives, wondering whether such a powerful being could truly be trusted.
The original Nolan was probably planning something, David thought. Building up his reputation, waiting for the right moment to strike. Just like in the Invincible universe.
But whatever that plan had been, it would never come to fruition. The original Nolan was gone—David still didn't understand how or why—and in his place was someone with very different intentions.
I need to be careful, David realized. The League is already suspicious of Omni-Man. If I change too much too fast, they might think it's a trick. But if I don't change enough, I'm just continuing the original Nolan's legacy of isolation.
It was a delicate balance. He needed to seem like a natural evolution of the character the League already knew, while actually being someone completely different.
Maybe I should just tell them the truth, he thought. I died, I woke up in this body, I have no idea what's going on but I promise I'm not here to conquer anyone.
Yeah, that would go over great. "Hi, I'm actually a dead physical therapist from another dimension possessing the body of your most powerful maybe-ally. Trust me!"
They'd throw him in whatever superhuman prison this universe had faster than he could say "Phantom Zone."
No, the truth wasn't an option. Not yet, anyway. Not until he had established himself as trustworthy through his actions.
Actions speak louder than words, he reminded himself. Superman didn't become a symbol by talking about being a symbol. He became one by showing up, day after day, and helping people. By being there when people needed him.
That's what I need to do. Just... be there. Help people. Let them see who I am through what I do.
It was a good plan. Simple. Straightforward.
He just needed to not screw it up.
Dawn found David floating above Jump City, watching the sun rise over the Pacific Ocean.
He hadn't slept. It turned out that Viltrumites didn't need much sleep—or maybe he was just too wired to feel tired. Either way, he had spent the night patrolling, stopping a few minor crimes, and generally getting comfortable with his new abilities.
The city was beautiful in the early morning light. The buildings caught the golden rays of the sun, and the ocean sparkled like it was filled with diamonds. Even the smog seemed somehow romantic, a gauzy veil softening the urban landscape.
I could get used to this, David thought. The flying, at least. The rest of it is still terrifying.
His enhanced hearing picked up the sounds of the city waking up: alarm clocks, coffee makers, the rumble of early morning traffic. Somewhere below, a baby was crying. A dog was barking. Two people were arguing about whose turn it was to take out the trash.
The mundane symphony of human existence. The sounds that Superman would have heard every day.
David closed his eyes and let the sounds wash over him. This was what he was protecting. Not just the city itself, but the life within it. The millions of small, ordinary moments that added up to something precious.
I won't let you down, he promised silently. I don't know why I'm here or how long I have, but for as long as I'm in this body, I'll use it to help. I'll be what you need me to be.
A new sound caught his attention: the distinctive whine of engines that didn't belong to any conventional aircraft.
He opened his eyes and turned to see a sleek, futuristic jet approaching from the east. It was moving fast—faster than any normal plane could manage—and it was heading directly toward him.
The jet slowed as it approached, coming to a hover about fifty feet away. A hatch opened in the side, and a figure stepped out onto a small platform.
David recognized him immediately.
Green Lantern. Hal Jordan.
The man was exactly as David had always imagined him: tall, handsome, with the kind of square-jawed confidence that practically screamed "test pilot." His green and black uniform glowed with the power of his ring, and his eyes held the easy assurance of someone who had faced cosmic threats and come out on top.
"Omni-Man," Green Lantern said, floating out from the jet on a platform of green light. "Fancy meeting you here."
David nodded, keeping his expression neutral. "Green Lantern."
"Diana told us you'd be coming to the gathering tonight." Hal floated closer, studying David with undisguised curiosity. "Gotta say, I was surprised. You've turned us down what, twelve times now?"
"Thirteen," David said, drawing on the records he'd reviewed. "But who's counting?"
Hal grinned. "Definitely not Batman. He doesn't obsessively track everything or anything like that." He stopped about ten feet away, close enough for conversation but far enough to maintain personal space. "So what changed? Diana said you had some kind of... revelation?"
Word travels fast, David thought. Or the League was watching our conversation somehow.
"Something like that," he said carefully. "I realized I'd been going about this the wrong way. Isolation isn't the answer."
"Huh." Hal crossed his arms, his ring glowing slightly brighter. "You know, I never could figure you out. Most of us got into this gig because we wanted to help people. You always seemed like you had... other priorities."
There was an edge to the words, a subtle challenge. Hal Jordan wasn't just making conversation—he was probing, trying to get a read on David's intentions.
This is a test, David realized. They're all going to test me. Every member of the League is going to want to know if this change is real.
"You're right," David said. "I did have other priorities. I was focused on the big picture—the cosmic threats, the world-ending scenarios. I thought that was where I could do the most good."
"And now?"
David met Hal's eyes steadily. "Now I understand that heroism isn't just about stopping the big threats. It's about being there for people when they need you. It's about showing them that someone cares, even when their problems seem small." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "You wear that ring because you were chosen—because the ring recognized something in you. Willpower, courage, whatever you want to call it. But it's not the ring that makes you a hero. It's what you choose to do with it."
Hal stared at him for a long moment.
Then he laughed.
"Damn," he said, shaking his head. "Diana wasn't kidding. You really did have some kind of revelation." He flew closer, extending his hand. "Welcome to the team, big guy. Looking forward to working with you."
David shook his hand, carefully controlling his grip. "I'm looking forward to it too."
"Just a heads up," Hal said, lowering his voice conspiratorially, "Batman's going to interrogate you. It's just what he does. Don't take it personally."
"Noted."
"And Aquaman might challenge you to a drinking contest. Definitely take that personally—the man's a fish, he has an unfair advantage."
David found himself smiling despite his nerves. Hal's easy charm was infectious. "I'll keep that in mind."
"Oh, and one more thing." Hal's expression became slightly more serious. "Diana seems to have taken an interest in you. Whatever happened last night, she hasn't stopped talking about it."
"She... what?"
"Just saying." Hal winked. "Don't break her heart or anything. She's my friend, and I'm pretty sure she could literally break you in half if you upset her."
Before David could formulate a response—or even process what Hal was implying—the Green Lantern gave a casual salute and flew back toward his jet.
"See you tonight, Omni-Man! Try to wear something nice!"
The jet accelerated away, disappearing over the horizon in seconds.
David hovered in place, thoroughly confused.
Don't break her heart?
What the hell did that mean?