The following morning, Wall Street was a canyon of glass and steel, teeming with the self-important buzz of global finance. I stood across from the First Federal Bank, invisible, watching the sleek black sedan pull up to the curb. Right on time.
The driver, a bulky man with a comms piece in his ear, got out first, scanning the area with a professional's detached gaze. Then the rear door opened, and David Russo—Graviton—stepped out.
He looked exactly like his file: mid-forties, military-posture perfect, with a sharp, calculating face. He wore an expensive, tailored suit, not a costume. He didn't need one. His power was his identity. He glanced up at the bank's imposing facade, and for a fraction of a second, I saw it—not paranoia, but anticipation. He was waiting for something. For me.
"Target and driver are on site," I subvocalized into my comm. "Moving in."
"Security loop is active," Frenchie confirmed. "You have nine minutes."
I moved as they did, a ghost matching their pace. The driver held the door open. As Graviton stepped through, I slipped in behind him, my invisibility flawless. The lobby was a cathedral of money, all marble and polished brass. It was unnervingly quiet.
The driver stayed by the door. Graviton walked toward a bank of elevators where a nervous-looking executive was waiting.
This was the moment. Isolate the driver first.
I approached the man from behind. He was good; he sensed a presence, a shift in the air, and started to turn. I was faster. My hand clamped over his mouth, and my eyes locked with his.
"Sleep. You will remember nothing."
His eyes rolled back, and I lowered his sleeping form silently to the marble floor. One down.
I turned toward Graviton. He was halfway to the elevator, his back to me. Perfect.
I dropped my invisibility and transformed in a cascade of black lightning. The sound echoed in the vast lobby.
Graviton spun around. He didn't look surprised. He looked… satisfied.
"Mazahs," he said, his voice calm, resonant. "I was hoping you'd show up."
He didn't wait for a reply. He simply raised a hand.
And the world turned inside out.
It wasn't like being hit. It was like the entire concept of 'down' was rewritten. A wave of invisible force,十倍, a hundred times gravity, slammed into me. I was driven down into the marble floor, which cracked and cratered under the impossible pressure. My bones groaned. My energy shields flared gold, screaming under the strain. I couldn't move. I could barely breathe.
"Homelander thought you'd be smarter," Graviton said, walking toward me, his hands in his pockets as if he were out for a stroll. "But you're just another blunt instrument. You see a target, you charge. Predictable."
I struggled against the force, but it was like trying to lift a mountain. This was his power—not just increased gravity, but the manipulation of fundamental forces. He could make the air around me as dense as lead.
"Vought wants you alive," he continued, standing over me. "For study. To find out what makes you tick. But they said nothing about you being in one piece."
He made a twisting motion with his finger.
The pressure shifted. It wasn't just pushing down anymore; it was pulling me apart. I felt my joints separating, my muscles tearing. I roared in pain and frustration, pushing back with everything I had—eleven powers screaming in unison.
My telekinesis met his gravity control. For a moment, the forces warred in the space between us, reality itself distorting. The air shimmered like a heat haze. A bank of monitors behind him exploded.
The surprise on his face was genuine this time. "Fascinating. You're stronger than the file suggested."
It was the opening I needed. The momentary lapse in his concentration was enough for me to break the hold. I surged to my feet, my body screaming in protest.
"No more talking," I snarled.
I hit him with a concussive blast of telekinetic force. He flew backward, crashing through the executive's desk. But he was already recovering, throwing up a gravitational shield that bent my next energy blast harmlessly into the ceiling.
We were at a stalemate. He could crush me if he got a solid hold, but I was too fast, too varied in my attacks for him to pin down. He was a master of one devastating discipline. I was a jack-of-all-trades with the power of a dozen masters.
I feinted with a lightning strike, then used my new pyrokinesis. I didn't throw a fireball. I did something more subtle. I superheated the air directly around his head.
He gasped, stumbling back as the air became an oven. His gravitational control flickered. It was the distraction I needed.
I closed the distance in an instant. My hand, wreathed in energy, shot out and grabbed his face.
"Look at me," I commanded, my hypnotic power slamming into his mind.
He fought it. His will was iron, hardened by military discipline and a supreme arrogance in his own power. But I had faced Black Noir and won. I had broken stronger wills than his.
I poured more power into the command. "STOP RESISTING."
His struggles ceased. His body went slack, his eyes glazing over. The immense gravitational pressure in the room vanished, leaving behind a scene of utter destruction.
"Alex, status!" Butcher's voice was frantic in my ear. "The whole block felt that! Cops and Vought are inbound! You have two minutes, tops!"
"I have him," I said, my breath coming in ragged gasps. "Moving to extraction."
I slung Graviton's limp form over my shoulder, activated my invisibility, and shot out through a shattered window, leaving the ruined bank lobby behind. The weight of his power was already calling to me, a new, profound force waiting to be absorbed.
But as I flew toward the docks, a chilling thought occurred to me. Graviton hadn't been caught off guard. He'd been waiting.
Homelander wasn't just hunting me anymore.
He was studying me.