Hala, capital of the Kree Empire.
Ssshhhhh—!
The blinding sweep of heat rays cut across the Kree soldiers like a merciless scythe of fire, mowing them down before they could even cry out. Their armor cracked and split, their weapons clattered uselessly to the ground, and within moments the disciplined unit had collapsed into a smoking heap of corpses.
The surviving footage replayed over and over on the hovering screens. Every time the beams flared to life, they etched the same devastating truth.
Yon-Rogg stood stiff before the projection, arms folded behind his back, his face a mask of severity. Yet behind his eyes there was an undeniable weight pressing harder with every repeat.
Who is this man? This native of C53 who wields such devastating power?
Even watching from the sterile safety of Hala's command chamber, Yon-Rogg felt that suffocating presence. The figure on the screen wasn't merely strong—he was overwhelming, the sort of opponent whose very existence destabilized strategy.
Since when did C53—this primitive, fractured planet—birth someone like that?
A crease deepened across his brow as memory stirred.
Mutants…
Yes. That was the term from Earth's intelligence files. Humans, yet not entirely. A divergent subspecies marked by strange, often unpredictable abilities.
Yon-Rogg had read the reports, but like most Kree officers, he had dismissed them. A scattered minority, some powerful, yes, but ultimately irrelevant. Against the weight of Kree fleets, advanced weaponry, and millennia of empire-building, what was a handful of humans with tricks?
Child's play.
That had been the assumption.
But the footage shattered complacency.
That man—flying with impossible speed, shrugging off blaster fire, vaporizing platoons with nothing but beams from his eyes—was no child's play. He was a living catastrophe.
For the first time in years, Yon-Rogg felt the edge of a threat keen enough to draw blood.
"I underestimated C53," he admitted aloud after a long silence, the words dragging out like stone grinding on stone.
The planet wasn't the soft, primitive target he had always imagined. It was a nest of hidden blades.
His mind shifted swiftly to the missing operatives—Kree undercover agents, every one of them gone without a trace. Until now, Yon-Rogg had chalked it up to bad luck or internal betrayal. But what if… what if these mutants were behind it?
The thought, once laughable, now carried weight. Special abilities—who could predict the reach of them? Perhaps, after all, there was an explanation.
The possibility darkened his expression.
"This requires my hand," he finally said, voice low, cold with resolve.
The decision was made.
This time he would not delegate. He would descend personally, at the head of an elite strike force. He would burn C53's arrogance to ash. He would remind that backwater world of the vast gulf between empire and savages.
And the man who killed Talo, the mutant who dared to humiliate the Kree? His name was already carved onto Yon-Rogg's must-kill list.
…
Mutant base.
A faint murmur escaped Carol Danvers's lips. "Where… am I? Am I… not dead?"
Her eyes opened slowly, and she found herself lying on a clean, softly lit hospital bed. The air carried the scent of disinfectant, the faint hum of medical equipment blending with the quiet of the room. Walls of polished steel and advanced monitors surrounded her—it looked more like a high-end facility than anything she'd expect from a mutant refuge.
Instinctively, she touched her side, then her chest, her arms. Smooth skin. Not even a scar. Yet her last memories were sharp and brutal—searing energy blasts ripping through her body, the agony of collapse, the certainty that she would never rise again.
And then—Alex.
"Yes… Alex saved me," she whispered, clarity breaking through the fog.
But the relief lasted only a heartbeat before grief followed. "Danny…"
Her comrade's face surfaced in memory, followed by the sight of his fall. He hadn't made it. She should have joined him, and yet here she was, alive because Alex had intervened at the last possible moment.
The door clicked open.
"You're awake."
The voice was calm, edged with authority. A tall woman stepped into the room, black trench coat swaying slightly with each stride. Her short hair framed sharp features, and her dark eyes carried a glint of energy that suggested she was always three steps ahead.
Selene.
She approached the bedside with steady composure. "How do you feel?"
Carol pushed herself up, leaning against the headboard. "Better than I should," she admitted, her gratitude unfeigned. "The wounds… they're all gone. Not even a trace. It's… incredible."
"Ike Diamond," Selene said simply. "One of ours. His gift is healing."
Understanding dawned. Carol glanced around again—of course. If Alex had saved her, then this must be his base, a sanctuary of mutants. And within a community like this, abilities that defied logic would be commonplace.
"Then today really was my lucky day," she murmured, though sorrow still tugged at her words.
Selene's gaze softened, if only slightly. "Do you want food? Something to help you recover?"
Carol shook her head at once. "No… thank you. I couldn't, not now." She paused, eyes sharpening. "Where is Alex? Can I see him?"
Questions churned inside her, too many to ignore.
Selene didn't hesitate. Alex had already given orders regarding her. "Follow me."
…
The conference room smelled faintly of ink and old paper, mixed with the hum of technology. Alex sat at the long table, documents spread before him, posture relaxed yet commanding. His pen scratched once more across the page before he set it aside, as if closing one matter to open another.
His eyes lifted, steady and unreadable, as Selene guided Carol inside.
"How do you feel?" he asked, his voice calm, almost casual, but carrying a subtle weight that made the simple question sound like an evaluation.
Carol eased into the chair opposite him, her gratitude bubbling over before she could think. "Thanks to you, I feel fine." Her gaze locked onto him. "Alex… you saved my life."
Alex didn't bother with false modesty. He only spread his hands lightly, a gesture of fact more than pride. "It seems so."
Carol hesitated, her voice faltering under the enormity of the debt she felt. "Someone like you… I don't even know how to repay this. You already have everything. What could I possibly offer?"
Alex waved the thought away, his tone clipped but not unkind. "Forget that. You came here with questions—many of them." His eyes sharpened with quiet amusement. "So ask."
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