The Avengers compound was designed to be impressive—a statement of power and purpose that communicated to anyone who approached that they were entering the domain of Earth's mightiest heroes. The architecture combined functionality with intimidation, defensive systems with aesthetic grandeur, practicality with the kind of symbolism that inspired civilians and gave villains pause.
Sylux found it adequate.
He had received the summons approximately six hours ago, transmitted through channels that suggested official authority and carried the weight of multiple signatures. The Avengers. The X-Men. SHIELD. Representatives of various other heroic organizations that had apparently decided to coordinate their concerns into a single confrontation.
They wanted to talk.
He had considered ignoring the summons entirely. His current operations had no connection to Earth, and the planet's heroes had no authority over his activities in galactic space. Their opinions about his contracts were irrelevant to his methodology.
But curiosity—that persistent fragment of his former humanity—had suggested that the conversation might be interesting. And he had been experiencing something that might have been boredom with his recent contracts, a lack of stimulation that came from targets that posed no meaningful challenge.
Perhaps confrontation with Earth's heroes would provide variety.
He landed the Delano 7 in the designated area, noting the defensive positions that had been established around the perimeter. They were expecting trouble, apparently. They had prepared for the possibility that this conversation would not remain civil.
Good. Preparation suggested they understood what they were dealing with.
He disembarked and walked toward the main building, his sensors tracking the various individuals who were observing his approach. Sniper positions on three rooftops. Energy weapon emplacements concealed within architectural features. At least two dozen enhanced individuals waiting inside, their biological signatures indicating elevated stress responses.
They were afraid of him.
Also good.
The conference room they had selected was large enough to accommodate the gathered heroes without crowding, which was necessary given the number who had assembled. Sylux catalogued them as he entered: Tony Stark in his armor, Steve Rogers in his uniform, Thor with Mjolnir resting at his side. Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Bruce Banner—though Banner was positioned near the exit, presumably in case his alter ego became necessary.
The X-Men had sent a delegation as well. Cyclops, Storm, Wolverine, and Jean Grey—the last of whom met his visor with an expression that contained complicated layers his processing couldn't fully decode.
Spider-Gwen was present, standing slightly apart from the official delegations, her body language suggesting she wasn't entirely comfortable with her position in this gathering.
She-Hulk was there too, in her professional capacity based on the briefcase she carried, though her expression when she looked at him suggested personal investment beyond legal representation.
Nick Fury stood at the head of the table, his single eye fixed on Sylux with the intensity of someone who had been waiting for this moment.
"Sylux," Fury said as he entered. "Thank you for coming."
Sylux didn't respond. He simply stood at the opposite end of the table from Fury, his posture communicating nothing beyond readiness.
"We have concerns," Fury continued, apparently unsurprised by the lack of verbal engagement. "Significant concerns about the direction of your operations over the past several months."
He activated a display that showed a timeline of Sylux's activities, annotated with details that suggested comprehensive intelligence gathering.
"Six months ago, you were operating primarily against human traffickers, weapons dealers, and criminal organizations that most people would agree deserved elimination. Your methodology was extreme, but your targets were legitimate by almost any ethical framework."
The display shifted to more recent operations.
"Then something changed. You began accepting contracts from parties that can only be described as actively hostile to life itself. Thanos. The data you recovered for him has accelerated his pursuit of the Infinity Stones. Our projections suggest that your assistance has moved his timeline forward by years—years during which trillions of lives might have been saved if his plans had been delayed."
Sylux observed the display without reaction.
"You've also taken contracts that have destabilized entire sectors. Political assassinations that created power vacuums now filled by warlords. Research facilities destroyed that were developing defenses against cosmic threats. Protectors eliminated, leaving vulnerable populations exposed to exploitation."
Fury's voice hardened.
"You've become a weapon that fires in whatever direction pays best. And we can't allow that to continue without at least attempting to understand why."
He waited, apparently expecting a response.
Sylux provided one, text projected in the air above the table:
IS THERE A QUESTION
"The question," Steve Rogers said, stepping forward with the bearing of someone accustomed to moral authority, "is why. You had a code, once. You protected people. You hunted monsters. What happened to that? What turned you into someone who works for Thanos?"
Sylux considered the question.
NOTHING HAPPENED
"That's not an answer," Tony Stark interjected. "Something changed. People don't go from vigilante justice to cosmic mercenary without a reason. Did someone threaten you? Manipulate you? Is there some factor we're not seeing that explains this shift?"
THE SHIFT WAS INTERNAL
"Internal how?"
I STOPPED CARING
Silence followed this admission. The heroes exchanged glances that communicated confusion, concern, and in some cases, something approaching fear.
"What do you mean, you stopped caring?" Jean Grey asked, her voice carrying the gentleness of someone trying to reach a patient in crisis. "About what specifically?"
ABOUT EVERYTHING
Jean stepped forward, her expression intensifying. "When we worked together—when the Phoenix examined you—it said there was still something. A fragment of humanity that persisted. Are you saying that's gone now?"
NOT GONE
"Then what?"
IRRELEVANT
"Your humanity is irrelevant?"
TO THE HUNT
Another silence, longer this time.
"Let me understand," Thor said, his voice rumbling with barely contained emotion. "You are saying that you continue to hunt, continue to kill, continue to take contracts from beings like Thanos, because the hunt itself is all that matters? That the morality of your actions has become meaningless to you?"
CORRECT
"That's not acceptable," Cyclops said, his hand moving toward his visor in what might have been an unconscious gesture. "You can't operate without ethics and expect us to just let it happen. You're too dangerous. The damage you can do—the damage you have done—is too significant."
I DID NOT ASK FOR YOUR ACCEPTANCE
"You don't need to ask. We're telling you: this stops. Either you return to operating within some kind of moral framework, or we take action to prevent you from operating at all."
The threat hung in the air, and Sylux processed it with the same clinical detachment he processed everything else.
YOU CANNOT STOP ME
"We can try," Wolverine growled, claws extending slightly before he controlled the impulse. "And we've stopped plenty of things that thought they were unstoppable."
YOU WOULD FAIL
"Pretty confident for someone surrounded by the most powerful beings on the planet," Stark observed.
I HAVE REVIEWED YOUR CAPABILITIES
Sylux projected a comprehensive tactical analysis, displaying data on each hero present—their powers, their weaknesses, their historical performance in combat situations.
ESTIMATED TIME TO INCAPACITATE ALL PRESENT: FOUR MINUTES SEVENTEEN SECONDS
"That's... disturbingly specific," Banner noted quietly.
"He's not wrong," Natasha murmured, her professional assessment apparently aligning with his calculations.
"Whether he could defeat us isn't the point," Steve said firmly. "The point is that we're asking you to reconsider your path. To remember what you were. To find your way back to something that isn't just... this."
Sylux looked at him—really looked, focusing the full attention of his visor on the symbol of everything Earth's heroes represented.
WHY
"Because it's the right thing to do. Because the universe needs people who fight for justice, not just the highest bidder. Because—"
NO
Steve stopped, apparently surprised by the interruption.
WHY DO YOU CARE
"What?"
WHY DO YOU CARE WHAT I DO
"Because your actions have consequences. Because people die when you—"
PEOPLE DIE REGARDLESS
"That doesn't mean—"
I HAVE OBSERVED THIS UNIVERSE FOR ELEVEN MONTHS
Sylux projected a new display—statistics, data, patterns that his systems had compiled during his time in this reality.
DEATHS FROM PREVENTABLE CAUSES: 4.7 BILLION ANNUALLY
DEATHS FROM CRIMINAL ACTIVITY: 890 MILLION ANNUALLY
DEATHS FROM CONFLICTS: 340 MILLION ANNUALLY
DEATHS ATTRIBUTABLE TO MY OPERATIONS: APPROXIMATELY 12,000
YOUR CONCERN IS DISPROPORTIONATE
"Those numbers don't make what you've done acceptable," Jean said. "Ethics isn't a matter of scale. Every life matters, and you've taken lives that—"
I HAVE ALSO SAVED LIVES
TRAFFICKING NETWORKS DESTROYED: 47
ESTIMATED VICTIMS FREED: 23,000
INVASION FLEET ELIMINATED: 1
ESTIMATED CASUALTIES PREVENTED: 8.2 BILLION
DO THESE NUMBERS OFFSET THE HARM
"It doesn't work like that," Steve insisted. "You can't balance atrocities against good deeds and declare yourself justified."
THEN NOTHING IS JUSTIFIED
ALL ACTION CREATES HARM
ALL INACTION ALLOWS HARM
THE CALCULATION IS IMPOSSIBLE
THEREFORE I DO NOT CALCULATE
I HUNT
"That's nihilism," Beast observed. "A philosophical position that denies the existence of meaning or value. It's intellectually defensible, but practically catastrophic when combined with the kind of power you possess."
CORRECT
"You admit it?"
I ACKNOWLEDGE THE DESCRIPTION
I DO NOT ACCEPT IT AS A CRITICISM
Spider-Gwen finally spoke, her voice carrying emotion that cut through the philosophical debate.
"This isn't you."
Sylux turned his attention to her.
"I know you. I've been following you around for almost a year. I've seen what you do, how you do it, why you do it. And this—" she gestured at him, at the display, at everything "—this isn't you. You're not a nihilist. You're not someone who doesn't care. You're someone who cares so much that you've burned it out of yourself because caring was too painful."
A pause.
"I've seen the way you look at victims after you rescue them. The way you stand guard even when there's no tactical reason to. The way you hesitated—even for a second—when you thought your actions might hurt someone who didn't deserve it. That's not nothing. That's not someone who doesn't care."
YOU ARE PROJECTING
"Maybe. But I don't think so." She stepped closer, ignoring the tension in the room. "I think you remember what it was like to feel things. I think somewhere inside all that armor and silence, there's still a person who wanted to help people. And I think you're scared of that person because being him hurt too much."
FEAR IS INEFFICIENT
"Yeah, you keep saying that. But you know what else is inefficient? Running from yourself. Pretending you don't have feelings because feelings are inconvenient. Becoming a monster because being human was too hard."
I AM NOT RUNNING
"Then why are you here?"
The question stopped him.
WHY
"You could have ignored the summons. You said it yourself—we can't stop you. You have no reason to be here, no obligation to listen to us lecture you about ethics. But you came anyway. Why?"
Sylux processed the question, searching for a logical explanation for his decision to attend this gathering.
He couldn't find one.
CURIOSITY
"About what?"
ABOUT WHETHER YOU WOULD SAY SOMETHING INTERESTING
"And have we?"
He considered this.
YOU HAVE SAID NOTHING I HAD NOT ALREADY CONSIDERED
"But you considered it. That means you thought about whether what you're doing is right. That means you still have the capacity to question yourself." Spider-Gwen's voice intensified. "That's not nothing, Sylux. That's everything. That's the difference between a monster and someone who's lost their way."
She-Hulk spoke next, her professional tone carrying personal weight. "She's right. I've represented a lot of clients who've done terrible things, and the ones who are truly gone—the ones who can't be reached—they don't question. They don't consider. They just act, and they never wonder whether their actions are justified."
"You wonder," she continued. "You question. You came here despite having no reason to. That tells me there's still something in there that wants to be reached."
Sylux looked at her, then at Spider-Gwen, then at the assembled heroes who had gathered to confront him.
SUPPOSE YOU ARE CORRECT
"Yes?"
SUPPOSE THERE IS SOMETHING REMAINING
SUPPOSE THE CAPACITY FOR FEELING PERSISTS
WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE ME DO
"Come back," Steve said immediately. "Work with us. Use your capabilities for purposes that are unambiguously good. We can help you find your way again."
Sylux considered this offer.
NO
"Why not?"
YOUR PURPOSES ARE NOT MY PURPOSES
YOUR METHODS ARE NOT MY METHODS
YOUR CONSTRAINTS WOULD LIMIT MY EFFECTIVENESS
"But your effectiveness is being used for terrible things," Tony pointed out. "Wouldn't limiting it be an improvement?"
NOT TO ME
"Then what about to the people you're hurting? The civilizations you're destabilizing? The cosmic threats you're enabling?"
THEY ARE ABSTRACTIONS
"They're not abstractions to them."
THEY ARE ABSTRACTIONS TO ME
Another silence, heavier than the ones before.
"So that's it," Fury said. "You're telling us that you're going to continue operating however you see fit, taking whatever contracts interest you, regardless of the consequences, and there's nothing we can say that will change your mind."
CORRECT
"And if we try to stop you?"
I WILL RESPOND APPROPRIATELY
"That's a threat."
THAT IS A STATEMENT OF FACT
Jean Grey stepped forward, her expression carrying something that might have been determination.
"You said the Phoenix offered to help you. To process what you've lost, to rebuild the emotional architecture that's eroded. The offer still stands."
Sylux looked at her.
"I'm a telepath. I can see into minds, understand psychological structures, help people work through damage that seems irreparable. I've done it before—helped people who thought they were beyond saving find their way back to themselves."
She paused.
"Let me try. Let me look inside your mind, see what's actually there, help you understand what you've become. Maybe there's something that can be recovered. Maybe the person Gwen thinks she sees is still in there, waiting to be reached."
Sylux considered this offer for a long moment.
The logical response was refusal. His current psychological configuration was optimized for his function. Emotional recovery would introduce inefficiencies, create vulnerabilities, potentially compromise his operational effectiveness.
But.
There was something. A fragment that persisted despite his attempts to suppress it. The curiosity that had brought him here. The confusion about attraction that he couldn't resolve. The faint stirrings that the Phoenix had observed.
Maybe understanding what remained would be useful. Maybe knowing whether recovery was possible would allow him to make a more informed decision about whether to pursue it.
ACCEPTABLE
The word surprised everyone, including himself.
"You'll let me try?"
ONE ATTEMPT
ONE SESSION
IF IT PROVES UNPRODUCTIVE I WILL NOT REPEAT THE EXERCISE
"That's... that's more than I expected." Jean's surprise was evident. "When?"
NOW
"Now? Here?"
THIS GATHERING BORES ME
PRODUCTIVITY WOULD BE PREFERABLE
Jean exchanged glances with the other heroes, apparently seeking permission or consensus.
"Do it," Fury said. "We wanted to reach him. This might be our only chance."
Jean nodded and approached Sylux, her hands rising toward his helmet.
"I'm going to establish a telepathic connection. It won't hurt, but it might be... intense. You'll be experiencing your own psychology from an outside perspective, which can be disorienting."
PROCEED
Her hands touched his helmet, and suddenly he was somewhere else.
The mindscape was not what Jean had expected.
She had entered the minds of countless individuals over her career—heroes, villains, civilians, beings of vast power and beings of no power at all. Each mind had its own architecture, its own aesthetic, its own way of representing the psychological structures that made up a person's identity.
Sylux's mind was empty.
Not empty in the sense of being unoccupied—there were structures present, systems operating, processes running with mechanical precision. But empty in the sense of emotional content. Where other minds had color, his had nothing. Where other minds had warmth, his had vacuum. Where other minds had the rich complexity of lived experience, his had only function.
She moved through the emptiness, searching for something—anything—that resembled the humanity Spider-Gwen insisted was still present.
And she found it.
In the deepest part of his mind, in a space so small it should have been beneath notice, there was a light.
It was dim—barely visible against the endless grey efficiency that surrounded it—but it was there. A fragment of something that had once been much larger. A remnant of the person who had existed before Sylux, the nobody from another universe who had died choking on processed food and been reborn as something else entirely.
She approached the light and found memories.
A cat named Mr. Whiskers, purring on a lap while television played in the background.
A moment of genuine laughter at something a coworker said, unexpected and warm.
The feeling of satisfaction after helping someone with a technical problem, small but real.
The quiet contentment of a rainy afternoon with nothing to do, no obligations, no expectations, just existing.
These were not grand memories. They were not significant by any meaningful measure. But they were human—genuinely, authentically human—and they had survived everything that had happened since.
"You're still here," Jean whispered, though the whisper existed only in the mindscape. "Buried, but present. The person you were didn't disappear entirely."
The light pulsed, responding to her attention.
"You've been protecting this. Keeping it isolated from the rest of your psychology so it wouldn't be consumed by the efficiency you've built around it." She paused, understanding dawning. "You're not a nihilist. You're not someone who doesn't care. You're someone who put their heart in a box so it wouldn't get broken, and then forgot where the box was."
The light pulsed again, stronger this time.
"I can't restore you. Not like this, not in one session. The damage is too extensive, the restructuring too complete. But I can show you where the box is. I can help you remember that it exists, that it's yours, that you can open it if you choose to."
She reached toward the light, not to take it but to illuminate it, to make it visible against the grey expanse that surrounded it.
"The choice is yours. You can continue as you are—efficient, effective, empty. Or you can try to find your way back to this. To the person who laughed at coworker jokes and loved his cat and felt satisfaction from helping others."
The light pulsed once more.
"I'll give you a path. A way to access this part of yourself when you're ready. But you have to walk it. No one else can do that for you."
She withdrew, and the mindscape faded, and suddenly Sylux was back in the conference room with Jean's hands falling away from his helmet and a room full of heroes watching him with expressions that ranged from hope to suspicion to confusion.
"Well?" Fury asked.
Jean looked at Sylux, then at the others.
"There's something. A fragment. Very small, very buried, but present." She paused. "He's not lost. He's just... very far from where he needs to be."
"Can you bring him back?"
"Not me. Only he can do that. But I've shown him where to look." Jean's gaze returned to Sylux. "The rest is up to him."
Sylux processed this information, correlating it with what he had experienced during the telepathic session.
The light. The memories. The fragment he had apparently been protecting without conscious awareness.
HE CONSIDERED THIS.
INTERESTING
"That's all you have to say?"
THE SESSION WAS PRODUCTIVE
I WILL CONSIDER WHAT WAS REVEALED
"And your operations? Your contracts? The path you've been following?"
UNCHANGED
FOR NOW
"For now?"
THE FRAGMENT REQUIRES ANALYSIS
UNTIL ANALYSIS IS COMPLETE
I WILL CONTINUE AS I HAVE BEEN
"That's not good enough," Steve said.
IT IS WHAT I AM OFFERING
"We could try to stop you. Force the issue."
Sylux looked at him, and something in his posture shifted—a subtle change that somehow communicated vast threat despite the minimal movement.
YOU COULD TRY
The tension in the room escalated dramatically. Hands moved toward weapons. Powers prepared for activation. The defensive systems of the compound hummed with increased energy.
"Stop."
Spider-Gwen's voice cut through the tension, and she stepped between Sylux and the assembled heroes.
"Everyone just stop. This isn't helping."
"Gwen—" Steve began.
"No. Listen to me." She turned to face the heroes, her back to Sylux in a gesture of trust that his tactical analysis found tactically inadvisable. "He came here. He listened. He let Jean into his mind—his mind, the most private thing anyone has. And she found something. Something that means he's not lost."
She gestured at the assembled heroes.
"You want to fight him now? After all that? What do you think that would accomplish? Even if you won—which you wouldn't—what message does that send? 'Come to us for help and we'll attack you anyway?'"
"He's working for Thanos," Tony pointed out.
"He's considering changing." Spider-Gwen's voice was fierce. "That's more than he was doing yesterday. That's more than he's done in months. And you want to throw it away because it's not fast enough for you?"
Silence.
"Give him time. Give him space. Let him process what Jean showed him." She turned to look at Sylux, and even through her mask, her expression carried something that his limited emotional processing recognized as hope.
"He'll figure it out. He'll find his way back. I believe that."
YOU HAVE SIGNIFICANT FAITH
"Yeah. I do. I've been following you around long enough to know that there's something worth believing in, even when you're doing everything possible to hide it."
Sylux considered this statement.
Considered the fragment Jean had shown him.
Considered the path she had offered.
Considered the possibility that Spider-Gwen was correct—that there was something worth preserving, worth recovering, worth finding his way back to.
I WILL RETURN TO EARTH
WHEN I HAVE REACHED CONCLUSIONS
WE WILL SPEAK AGAIN
It wasn't a promise of change. It wasn't a commitment to reform. But it was something—an acknowledgment that the conversation might continue, that the door remained open.
"We'll be here," Steve said, and there was something in his voice that might have been acceptance.
Sylux turned and walked toward the exit, his armor gleaming under the artificial lights of the compound.
"Sylux."
He paused at Jean's voice.
"The box is there. Whenever you're ready to open it. And you don't have to do it alone."
He didn't respond.
He didn't know how to respond.
He simply walked out of the compound, boarded his ship, and ascended into the sky while the heroes of Earth watched him go.
The hunt would continue.
But something had shifted.
Something small.
Something that might, eventually, matter.
In the conference room, Spider-Gwen watched the Delano 7 disappear into the clouds.
"He'll come back," she said quietly. "He'll figure it out."
"You really believe that?" Natasha asked.
"I have to." Spider-Gwen's voice carried exhaustion and determination in equal measure. "Because if I stop believing, there's no one left who will."
She-Hulk moved to stand beside her, offering silent support.
"You're not alone in that," she said. "For what it's worth."
Spider-Gwen looked at her, then at Jean, then at the sky where Sylux had vanished.
"It's worth a lot, actually."
The heroes dispersed, returning to their own responsibilities and concerns, leaving behind the unresolved question of what Sylux would become.
But in the space where the confrontation had occurred, something lingered.
Hope.
Faint, fragile, and entirely irrational.
But present.
Just like the light Jean had found in the depths of an empty mind.
Just like the humanity that refused to die entirely.
Just like the possibility that even the most lost could find their way home.