"Report! B-12 is down…"
On a trashed, gouged-up stretch of grass, three cloaked soldiers—each wearing kinetic armor made from materials ordinary Americans couldn't even perceive—stared at their fallen teammate and delivered the news to their boss.
"Dead?!"
"Bang!"
"Sht! Sht!"
"Is that bastard Jovian trying to start a war?!"
Cecil felt himself losing it. He hammered his fist into the metal desk again and again.
"Director, maybe the soldier slipped and fell out the window," his secretary said after getting the report, analyzing it out loud. The man had short, blond hair styled into a vintage, slicked-back look. "In theory, Jovian shouldn't even be able to see our people."
"You're telling me the Global Defense Agency's most elite soldier, wearing the GDA's best kinetic armor, died because he 'slipped,' fell out of a high school bathroom window, and broke his neck?!"
Cecil's brow twitched. Rage burned in his eyes.
"Uh…" The secretary hesitated, then forced it out anyway. "In theory, it's possible. We can't rule anything out."
"Bang!"
Cecil didn't answer. He just drove his fist into the desk hard enough to rattle it.
"All of you—out."
He barked it at the busy staff in the command room.
"…"
At the order, the workers moved with practiced efficiency—gathering documents, shutting their mouths, and filing out of the Global Defense Agency's control center.
"Come out."
Cecil's gaze shifted to a corner of the room.
"Heh…"
A figure appeared, as if he'd stepped out of shadow itself.
"Cecil. You know it. You can't lie to yourself," the demon detective said coolly. "You know exactly who caused all of this."
Damien Darkblood stood before him, eyes like embers in a face carved from menace.
"Listen to me," Cecil snapped, warning him. "Stop investigating. Whatever you think you've learned—forget it."
As he spoke, Cecil's fist tightened until his knuckles went white. Of course he wanted to drag the truth into the light. But he couldn't—absolutely couldn't—not until they had a way to counter Jovian. If the truth went public right now, it would deal a lethal blow the GDA—and the entire planet—might never recover from.
"Blind old man," Damien muttered, staring at Cecil with icy contempt.
He didn't care about consequences. His job was exposure. Let someone else choke on the fallout.
"…"
Cecil didn't respond. He simply watched Damien in silence, and made a decision.
Before he uncovered the final answer, he needed to remove every uncontrolled variable.
For example…
The stubborn demon detective standing right in front of him.
Meanwhile…
"Hahaha…"
"Hand over the cash, you weak little punks!"
In a neighborhood somewhere in the United States, a man in a skin-tight yellow suit crackled with electricity as he robbed a bank—sparks snapping from his hands like whips.
"Damn it!"
"If the Guardians of the Globe could show up, this would be over!"
The bank's security—and even the police—were completely outmatched. They hid behind cover, swearing and shouting, but none of it mattered.
With the Guardians missing in action, super-criminals were practically celebrating. In this city alone, there were dozens of supervillain bank robberies every single day.
Put simply: there weren't enough superheroes anymore.
"See you later, amateurs~"
The yellow-suited man hefted a bulging sack of cash, flashed the cops a middle finger, and turned into a bolt of lightning as he shot off into the distance.
"F*ck!"
The captain watched the smug criminal vanish, then punched the hood of his patrol car so hard it caved in with a deep dent.
Cars sure weren't built like they used to be.
And yet, as the captain could only sigh, a white figure stood high above the clouds—silent, still, watching everything below.
"Hahaha…"
"I'm rich! No Guardians of the Globe, no damn do-gooders getting in my way—this is the best!"
Far outside the city limits, the electric supervillain counted his money with manic excitement.
"Looks like you made a killing."
A hoarse voice spoke right beside his ear.
"Yeah, I made a killing…" the villain said, nodding without thinking.
Then he froze.
This was his private hideout. No one was supposed to be here.
He spun around—
"Good afternoon, pal."
A hulking man in a snow-white bodysuit stood behind him, smiling casually. A massive letter "F" was stamped across his chest.
"Sh*t!"
The villain cursed and instantly unleashed his strongest lightning attack.
"Bang!"
He never got the chance.
A crushing force clamped around his throat—an unstoppable grip that seized his fate by the neck.
"Listen," Jovian said coldly.
"I'm not here to arrest you."
"I'm here to talk business."
"I'm not a dictator, so I'll give you a choice. You decide whether you accept the deal."
"Accept it, and nod."
"Refuse it, and you die right here."
"I'll give you five seconds."
"Five!"
Jovian held him aloft by the throat, voice like gravel.
"Mm—!!"
The villain heard the part about dying and didn't even hesitate—he nodded frantically.
"Good. Then gather your crew. At three p.m., I want you to hit the biggest bank in this city."
Jovian glanced at the time as he gave the order.
"What?!" The villain's eyes went wide. "You want me to rob a bank?"
"Relax. I won't arrest you," Jovian said, hovering in the air. "And I guarantee you this—aside from me, the Guardians of the Globe, Omni-Man, and Invincible will not show up."
"As for why I want this… you don't need to know."
"Just answer me: are you doing it, or not?"
"Hahaha!"
"No Omni-Man, and you're not coming either?! Why wouldn't I do that deal?!"
In his mind, if those people stayed away, no one could stop him.
"Good," Jovian said. "I'll be waiting for your good news."
"But remember—if you break our agreement, I'll kill you. Even if you run to Mars, I'll hunt you down and finish you."
With that, Jovian vanished into a blur—an explosive crack of a sonic boom trailing behind him as he shot into the sky.
"…Man. I'm jealous of that kind of power."
The electric villain stared upward, envy filling his eyes.