This is getting annoying, Max thought, standing before Thena, who remained frozen, still trapped in the genjutsu.
White Zetsu's head popped out of the ground, the rest of his body submerged. "I think you broke her," he said, tilting his head. "What are you even doing to her?"
"She's trapped in a loop. And didn't I tell you to keep your distance?" Max snapped, his gaze cutting to White Zetsu.
"You're not fun," White Zetsu muttered, sinking back into the ground and releasing the genjutsu.
Thena collapsed to her knees, gasping for air. She had been running in that endless loop for what felt like five minutes. Before she could even recover, vines erupted from the floor, wrapping around her. Her eyes widened in disbelief.
"What… how?" she muttered, struggling against the binding.
Max crouched slightly, his tone calm but deliberate. "Well… that's simple. It's because I'm your father."
A tense silence stretched between them. Thena's gaze snapped to him, defiant and confused. "No. I'm just a clone… made from someone's DNA. I don't have parents."
She knew she wasn't truly born; it had been drilled into her at the facility. She was a weapon, created for the government's purposes, not a person.
Max exhaled softly, inwardly acknowledging that being gentle was not his strong suit. This was awkward—he had never done this before—but he forced himself to approach carefully. He walked toward her and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of her.
"That's how someone with limited knowledge would put it," he began, voice steady. "You weren't made from my DNA alone… which, honestly, doesn't matter right now. The point is, being a clone doesn't mean you can't have your own life, Have your own thoughts, or that you don't deserve happiness and I for one see you as my daughter,my responsibility."
Thena blinked, speechless, her mind struggling to process his words.
"A bad start doesn't always mean a bad ending," Max continued, "It all depends on the choices you make. I'm willing to give you a chance to live whatever life you want… even with me, if you choose to. But you have two options.
The first: I erase every memory you have of this place, of me, of everything. I'll seal your abilities so they never surface again. Then, you can live a normal life—grow up with a family from the orphanage, make friends, laugh, play… all the things a child deserves."
Thena froze as the words settled in. Tears streamed down her cheeks, hot and unrelenting. The thought of a normal life—a parent, a home—was comforting, almost too much to bear. And yet, the fear lingered. the man in front of her hadn't hurt her directly, but the image of him killing someone burned in her mind. Even the fake stabbing had left her shaken. He was terrifying, no matter how calm his voice sounded now.
She forced herself to breathe, to steady the racing of her heart. As the vines binding her slackened, she wiped at her face with trembling hands. Her voice cracked when she asked, "Why didn't you kill me back then?"
Max looked at her for a long moment, then answered simply. "Because I don't kill innocent people. You didn't ask to be created. And the one responsible for your birth… let's just say she's long gone. Swimming with the fishes."
He reached out and rested a hand on her shoulder. Thena flinched hard, her hands curling into fists, ready to fight. Max felt it but didn't pull away. His expression stayed calm, almost unreadable.
"I may be a killer," he said , "but I have standards. I'm sorry you had to see what you did… and for what I made you experience but It had to be done." His voice softened, almost hesitant. "Now… do you want to hear the second option?"
Silence stretched between them. Thena's throat worked as she swallowed. Finally, in a small, fragile voice, she said, "I… want to hear it."
Max exhaled slowly. "The second option is this: I tell you everything. Who you are. Where you came from. Why you exist. But once I do, the chance for a normal life is gone forever. You'll have to grow stronger—much stronger—and I'll make sure of it. Because this world is merciless, and weakness is death." He paused, eyes searching hers. "But… if you want my advice? Take the first option. Sometimes ignorance really is bliss. Either way, it's too much to decide right now. I'll give you time to think."
Thena's body began to sway . Her eyelids drooped heavily, fighting to stay open. The room seemed to blur around her,white feathers drifting through her vision. She tried to speak, but the words never left her lips.
She collapsed against Max's chest.
He caught her carefully, almost awkwardly, as if afraid she might break. For a moment, he stood frozen, listening to her small, uneven breaths. Then, with a flick of his hands, a shadow clone appeared. It met his eyes, nodded, and lifted Thena gently before vanishing in a soft whoosh of displaced air.
The hideout fell silent again, leaving Max standing alone—his hand still tingling from where her shoulder had been.
As soon as Max's clone vanished with Thena, the floor rippled and White Zetsu popped up beside him.
"That…" Zetsu said, voice bright with false innocence, "was the most touching thing I've ever seen in my short life. I'm curious, though — did you actually give her a choice, or just an illusion of one? Only a fool would pick lies over the truth. Then again… she's a kid. I wouldn't be surprised if she chose the lie."
"I honestly have no idea," Max admitted, rubbing his temple. "It was the best I could come up with on the fly. At least I'm giving her a choice rather than deciding for her."
He paused, meeting Zetsu's eyes. "Why am I even discussing this with you?"
"Umm… because you can't really discuss it with walls," Zetsu said breezily.
Max glared. "Do you think I can be a responsible parent?"
Zetsu considered the question for a beat. "I don't know. I haven't known you long — ask me again in a week and I'll give you a proper answer."
Max snorted. "I wasn't expecting a reasonable response from you, but I guess life is full of surprises."
"What? I feel like my intelligence is being challenged," Zetsu protested, chattering away as Max ignored him and started walking off. Zetsu trailed after, still jabbering.
They reached a room crowded with medical equipment. Max moved to a wall, drew a hand through the air, and pulled a corpse from his system space. It thudded onto the table in the center of the room.
Zetsu peered at it with ravenous curiosity. "Who's corpse is this?" he asked.
"A man named Floyd Lawton," Max replied. "Mercenary. Went by Deadshot. Excellent with guns. But guns can only do so much when you're facing someone who reacts before you pull the trigger."
"Can I eat it?" Zetsu asked casually.
"No," Max said, flat. "I have a specific use for it — otherwise I wouldn't have brought it here."
He produced several small black rods from his fingers and arranged them neatly on the table. "You're going to help me prepare this body," he said.
Zetsu cocked his head. "I might have assimilated the scientist, but I know next to nothing about medicine beyond first aid. What are we preparing it for?"
Max's expression didn't change. "It's not complicated if you follow instructions. And as for why: I'm going to pilot it."
"How does that even work?" White Zetsu asked.
"You ask too many questions. Just do as I say," Max snapped, irritation sharpening his voice.
"Aye aye, boss," Zetsu chirped, hands going up in mock obedience.
Luthor Estate
Lex Luthor sat in a wheelchair, an IV bag hanging from a stand beside him, tubes running into his remaining arm. The moment he woke from his coma he'd demanded to be discharged — the sterile smell of the hospital made him nauseous. He'd rather die inside his estate than rot away under fluorescent lights. Long hospital stays were a sign of weakness, and weakness was a stain on his image.
He could already imagine the headlines: "Multibillionaire Lex Luthor, reduced to a cripple and hospitalized , fighting for his life." The scandal would bruise his reputation — and wound his pride even more. He replayed the memory of Max humiliating him, the sound of his own scream echoing in his head. Bitterer still: he might have been saved by the very person he used to despise the most which is superman and Pietro has taken his spot.
The only consolation Luthor had was that he hadn't given Pietro the satisfaction of begging for mercy.
The door opened with a soft click. Mercy walked in, carrying a sleek briefcase.
"Sir, how are you feeling?" she asked.
"Is that even a question?" Luthor snapped. "Of course I'm not feeling good — my arm was chopped off."
Mercy didn't flinch. "While you were out of commission, I made sure the world saw Pietro for what he really is."
"Oh? So that was you," Luthor said, a thin smile tugging at his lips. "But it's not enough. That savage must regret even laying a finger on me — the one and only Lex Luthor!"
"Your arm is preserved," Mercy reminded him calmly. "With our technology, it can still be reattached."
Luthor waved the suggestion away with his remaining hand. "I don't need it. I'd rather have a prosthetic. Contact General Lane. I want to discuss a few… things with him."
Mercy gave a sharp nod, already reaching for her phone.
Arkham Asylum
The long corridor echoed with the steady clack of boots against concrete. Two wardens moved down the passage, flashlights cutting through the gloom as they checked cells one by one. In Arkham, midnight rounds were a necessity. An inmate slipping out in the dead of night was practically an everyday occurrence.
"You seen the news , Jenkins?" Tenpenny muttered, voice low, torchlight sweeping across iron bars.
"About Belle Reve?" Jenkins replied, glancing at him. "Yeah. Tobi stormed the place—killed everyone, including Waller."
Tenpenny stopped mid-step, frowning. "What? You serious?"
Jenkins nodded grimly. "Dead serious.Word is he had some beef with Waller. But he didn't stop there—blew the whole place sky-high. Took every last inmate with it."
Tenpenny let out a long whistle. "Damn. That's a massacre."
"That's not even the half of it," Jenkins added, swinging his torch across a cell. "One of the casualties was that nutjob Harley Quinn. Guess she was still in lockup when the explosion hit."
Tenpenny barked a short laugh. "Good riddance. That's at least one psychopath we don't have to babysit anymore when it gets sent in our direction. Shame we're still stuck with this one." He stopped at a barred door, beam of his flashlight landing on a figure crouched in the shadows inside.
Jenkins grunted. "Honestly, I don't get why people are losing their minds over this. Tobi or Pietro as he had confirmed to be his real name,did the world a favor. Folks out there don't know what it's like dealing with these freaks every damn day. Let them cry about morals. Me? I say better them in the ground than out on the streets."
The cell remained silent for a long moment. Then, a soft chuckle slipped out, bouncing eerily off the walls.
The figure inside stepped forward into the beam of light, green hair glinting faintly, pale grin cutting through the darkness.
"Harley… gone?" Joker's voice was hushed, almost mournful. Then his lips curled into something wider, sharper. "Now that's what I call… a blast."
His laughter erupted, sharp and unhinged, ricocheting through the corridor .
"Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Oh, Harley, my dear—you always knew how to go out with style!"
Jenkins and Tenpenny stiffened, torches trembling slightly as Joker's manic cackle filled the asylum, rising and falling like a deranged symphony.
The sound carried far, crawling into every dark corner of Arkham.
End of chapter.
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