"Okay, Son, bear with me... This is gonna be a little awkward for both of us. You may have noticed that I'm not like normal dads. Your mother and I think it's time you knew the truth. We believe you're old enough for me to tell you where I really come from. Millions of miles from here, out in deep space, is the planet Viltrum... It's a cool blue oasis alone in a solar system much like our own. I was born on this planet. Viltrumites are very similar to humans, except we can fly, move at super speed, and possess great strength. When our people come of age, we leave Viltrum and venture out into the galaxy, using our abilities to help lesser-developed worlds. I volunteered to relocate to Earth and be its sole protector. That's when I met your mother... and we eventually had you. I know this is a lot to take in all at one time, but you're half Viltrumite, Son, and you're getting older. Things are gonna start to change for you in a few years as you hit puberty.
You're gonna get acne. Your voice will start to crack as it begins to change. You'll begin to grow hair in strange places and start to develop superpowers of your own. Just like me—super strength and speed, flight, the whole bit. Do you understand? You're going to be able to fly. Yes, Son, you're going to be able to fly... I'm going to be able to fly."
--- Mark Grayson POV
Mark swung off the wooden bar, twisting in midair before landing in a perfect stance on the grass. His breath was steady, arms raised slightly, like he was still expecting an audience to clap. Old habits.
He barely took a second before sprinting back toward the parallel bars. A running leap, hands gripping cold metal, and then he was moving—body weightless, momentum carrying him forward. His muscles burned, but the rhythm was perfect. He let himself go, swinging higher, each rotation faster, smoother. "This is it. This is the only time it makes sense".
There was no pressure up here. No expectations. No voices telling him what he should be, what he should want. Just motion, just rhythm. "Here, I'm not a son, student, or whatever people think I am. I'm just… moving". He closed his eyes for half a second, feeling the wind rush past his face before he released, twisting midair before catching the bar again. His hands stung, but it didn't matter. The weightlessness between the bars, those brief seconds when he was neither rising nor falling, was the only time he felt free.
He dug his phone out of his hoodie, thumb swiping across the screen.
7:42 AM
"Shit" He was supposed to be home by now. He tapped through his notifications—Will had sent a couple of texts about meeting up before class. He barely had time to respond. Instead, he shoved the phone back in his pocket, grabbed his backpack off the bench, and took off at a sprint.
By the time he got home, the house was already stirring. His mom was in the kitchen, pouring coffee, still in her robe. The smell of toast and eggs filled the air.
"You're cutting it close, Mark," she said without looking up.
"Yeah, I know," he muttered, already bounding up the stairs two at a time. His room was messy—clothes on the floor, half-finished homework scattered across his desk. He grabbed the first clean shirt, yanked it on, and switched out his workout sweats for jeans. A glance in the mirror told him he looked passable—at least enough that no one would suspect he'd spent the last two hours doing gymnastics instead of sleeping in.
A few minutes later, he was in the kitchen, shoving toast into his mouth while pouring himself a cup of coffee. His mom gave him a knowing look over her mug.
"Did you at least sleep?"
"Define 'sleep.'"
She sighed but didn't push it.
With his backpack slung over one shoulder, he grabbed his keys and phone, rechecking the time.
7:58 AM.
If he didn't hurry, he'd be late. Out the door, down the street, and sprinting toward school like any other teenager running on inadequate sleep and adrenaline.
---
"Mark Grayson! late to my class as per usual!" Ms. Brown's sharp voice cut him to the bone.
"Yeah, yeah, it will never happen again," Will thought, his sarcasm almost palpable, as he moved the backpack, saving Mark a seat.
"You know you're supposed to get here on time, right?" Will said as he slapped up Mark.
"I forget sometimes. It's not like I don't ace the exams. She should get over it and accept me for who I am," Mark said with a cocky smile.
As soon as the bell rang, signaling the end of class, Mark packed his things and tried remembering his next class.
"Where are we off to, Will?"
"You don't know, do you? Typical," Will scoffed
"Shut up," Mark muttered, though he couldn't help but grin as they walked out of the classroom together.
The hallway buzzed with students heading to their next class, but Mark and Will had a free period. They decided to head outside to the courtyard, where they could hang out until their next class.
"How do you skip through half a class and still get an A?"
"Hey! It's not my fault that my brain works in mysterious ways. Just be glad I helped you with your homework," Mark shot back with a grin.
"That's exactly my point," Will said, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're dumb and smart at the same time. I don't get it."
Mark laughed. "Yeah, well, you're lucky to have a genius like me."
Will rolled his eyes. "Whatever. When will you start having fun like the rest of us seniors? You know this is the last year for you to ask out Eve before we all go to college." He shot Mark a knowing smirk.
"Who are these people you're having fun with? Last time I checked, I'm your only friend," Mark retorted with a playful grin.
"Nice try, but I want a clear answer about Eve. You're one of the only guys in school with a chance. "
Marcus glanced down at his shoes, his voice softening. "I'm working on it."
Walking toward the cafeteria, they noticed a small crowd gathering near the lockers.
"Knock it off, Todd!" said a beautiful young black woman in the center of the commotion.
"Come on, I know you're crazy about me. Marcy told me," said the young man, who fit the description of a typical jock.
"Well, you are big and strong, aren't you?" the girl replied sarcastically.
"Yeah, you know it," Todd said smugly.
"And you think that makes it okay for you to harass me?" she snapped, putting her hands on her hips and starting to walk away.
"Hey! Don't walk away from me! What are you, a lesbian or something?" Todd said, reaching out to grab her arm.
"Oh my god! I wish—would you leave me alone then?" she shot back, swatting his hand away and continuing to walk away.
Todd, undeterred, grabbed the back of her jacket. "Let go of me so I can find a girl to kiss!" the girl shouted, her voice filled with frustration.
Will placed a firm hand on Marcus's shoulder. "Don't. That guy has a history of putting people in the hospital."
"Maybe you can just sit back and watch this, but I can't," Mark said, taking a step forward.
"I can because I'm not Omni-Man, and neither are you," Will whispered urgently.
Marcus shrugged off Will's hand, his voice lowering with determination. "You don't know how right you are."
Marcus's voice took on a slightly deeper tone as he approached Todd. "I think Amber's been pretty clear with how she feels… Todd."
Todd turned to face Mark, moving closer so they were eye to eye. "Are you serious, Grayson!?"
Todd snapped a quick left jab into Mark's face, followed by a brutal right uppercut to his ribs. Mark staggered but recovered fast, lunging forward and smashing his forehead into Todd's face. The crack of bone on bone sent both of them stumbling, blood dripping from Todd's nose as Mark steadied himself, ready to keep fighting.
Amber, seeing her chance, kicked Todd straight in the groin. "Leave him alone!" she shouted.
Todd, more limping than running, retreated. "What are you looking at?!" he barked at the onlookers as he fled.
Amber walked past Marcus, offering him a sympathetic smile. "Thank you."
"Yeah, piece of cake," Mark replied, wincing as Will helped him stay upright.
"That was stupid. Let's get you to the nurse," Will said, shaking his head.
"Yeah, yeah," Mark mumbled, still reeling from the adrenaline.
---
Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting in the cafeteria. Mark held an ice pack to his head.
"Pizza helps you recover after a fight," Mark said, taking a bite.
Will rolled his eyes. "I'm glad you learned something from this experience."
Mark, his mouth full of pizza, grinned. "Yeah, yeah. Just two more classes and the weekend starts."
"Stop talking! You know I hate it when you talk with food in your mouth," Will said, leaning away from the table in mock disgust.
The bell rang, signaling the end of their lunch period.
---
"Thanks again for the ride," Mark said, walking alongside Will as they approached the car." No problem," Will replied with a grin.
"What are friends for, if not to be personal chauffeurs?" Mark chuckled.
"Okay, okay, you got me. What do you want? I've got cash if you're that shallow."
Will laughed as they climbed into the car.
"Nah, I'm just messing with you. But seriously, I will remind you again—ask Eve before the semester ends. Or I'll do it for you."
Mark paused, considering it for a moment. "Sure," he muttered."
Good choice," Will nodded, starting the engine.
"Now, hurry up. I wanna be out of here before everyone else.
"As they sped off, Mark couldn't help but glance at the sky, the thought lingering in his mind: What if one day, I could fly?
---
Mark waved as Will's car disappeared down the street. "Drive safe!"
Once inside, he tossed his backpack onto the couch and headed straight for the kitchen. Grabbing an apple from the counter, he bit into it.
"I'm gonna be late again, I just know it." Sighing, he threw on his uniform, grabbed his bike, and pedaled down the street. When he arrived, the usual morning rush was already in full swing.
"Grayson, you're late!" Bryan, his manager, shouted as Marcus hurried through the door.
"Story of my life," Mark muttered, punching in his time card.
"Yeah, yeah," Bryan said. "Get on the grill. We need more patties down, stat."Mark nodded, tying his apron.
The heat from the grill hit him instantly. He grabbed a spatula and flipped burgers as the orders kept coming. The dinner rush was relentless. The sound of sizzling meat, clattering trays, and customers shouting their orders filled the air. Mid-flip, something… shifted.
Something wasn't right.
Pain.
A sharp, searing pain erupted in his chest. He gasped, a cold wave of terror crashing over him as his legs buckled, sending him to the floor. His breath hitched, and a dark, wet warmth spread across his uniform.
I'm dying.
I'm dying.
Through the haze of pain, Mark heard the masked voice shouting.
"Don't fuck around! We're here for the money—do as we say and you won't end up like him!" Another voice, rasping, came from the other side. "Unlucky kid."
Mark barely registered the words as his world narrowed to nothing but pain and the feeling of life slipping away. His body screamed for him to stay down, to stop moving. But some deep, primal instinct kicked in—he couldn't stop himself.
The pain... it vanished. Gone, like a switch had been flipped.
He wasn't thinking anymore. His fingers pressed against the floor—cracks split the tile under his grip.
The man with the crowbar took a step back, eyes wide. "Uh—"He was on his feet before Mark knew what was happening. He moved faster, stronger, and more violently than ever.
His hand shot out, punching through the man's throat. He hadn't meant to, but his fingers didn't stop when they connected to his flesh.
The man crumpled to the floor in a heap.
Dead.
Dead.
The gunman stood frozen, eyes wide with shock. "Jesus Christ."
Mark didn't hear him.
Didn't care.
He looked down at his hands. Blood covered them. His hands were trembling, almost uncontrollably.
The gunman bolted.
Mark didn't chase him.
He just stared at his hands.
They were covered in blood. So much blood.