Invincible:Detonate

Somewhere in the Woods. Definitely Lost.]

Alright. Let's take stock.

• I escaped the shady lab.

• Blew up a car.

• Ran into the woods like an idiot with no plan.

• Now I was cold, exhausted, and still very much in deep shit.

Perfect start to my new life.

I sat against a tree, catching my breath. My body was still adjusting to… well, being this body. I was stronger. Faster. More durable. But also sore as hell. Whatever "enhancements" they did to me, my muscles weren't happy about it.

On top of that, I was starving. Like, actually starving. The kind of hunger that makes you consider eating tree bark if it means your stomach stops trying to digest itself.

Which meant priority one: food.

Priority two: figuring out where the hell I was.

Priority three: not dying.

[Step One: Find Civilization.]

Wandering through the woods at night with no supplies and no clue where I was going? Not my best idea. Every branch snap made me tense, every rustle of leaves had me on edge.

At some point, I just started walking in a straight line, hoping I'd eventually hit something useful. A road. A town. A gas station where I could pretend I had money.

After what felt like hours, I finally saw it—streetlights. Civilization.

I picked up the pace, stumbling onto a cracked asphalt road. No signs. No traffic. Just an empty stretch of pavement leading into a small town.

A real, honest-to-God town.

[Step Two: Act Normal.]

Walking down the street barefoot, wearing only medical pants, covered in dirt and minor burns? Not exactly blending in. I probably looked like I just escaped from a psych ward.

Which, to be fair, wasn't far from the truth.

The town was quiet. No bustling nightlife. No people wandering around. Just a few dimly lit shops, a gas station, and—bingo—a laundromat.

It was closed, but the back door was unlocked. I slipped inside, grabbing the first set of clothes that looked like they might fit.

Black hoodie. Faded jeans. Some ratty sneakers.

I changed quickly, leaving my old clothes behind. Not exactly high fashion, but at least I didn't look like a deranged escapee anymore.

[Step Three: Food. Please, for the Love of God, Food.]

I found a gas station nearby. Cheap, greasy, probably my best shot at not passing out.

Problem: I was broke.

Solution: Be creative.

I walked inside, grabbed a couple of protein bars, and made my way to the register. The cashier, a bored-looking teenager, barely glanced up from his phone.

"$5.79," he muttered.

I patted my pockets like I totally had a wallet. "Right, uh… weird question. Do you guys have an ATM?"

"Outside."

"Cool, cool." I nodded, pretending to think. Then, with the confidence of someone who belonged here, I pointed behind him. "Hey, is that supposed to be smoking?"

"What?" He turned.

And I walked out.

[Step Four: Not Get Caught for Petty Theft.]

Was it a dick move? Yes. Did I care? Not particularly. Survival came first.

I unwrapped a protein bar, stuffing it in my mouth as I kept walking. Now that I had some energy, it was time to think long-term.

I was in Invincible. That meant this world was dangerous as hell. It also meant a lot of the bigger players—Mark, Omni-Man, the Guardians—probably weren't that active yet.

Which gave me a window.

I needed to lay low. Figure out how my powers worked. And, most importantly, not attract attention from people who could rip me in half.

Easier said than done.

[Unknown Location. Watching Me.]

Unbeknownst to me, I wasn't exactly as stealthy as I thought.

A figure sat in a parked car down the street, watching me through the windshield. He had a phone to his ear, voice calm.

"We found him."

A pause.

"No, he's not dead."

Another pause.

"Orders?"

The voice on the other end responded. The man nodded.

"Understood."

He started the car.

I had no idea.

But my escape?

It wasn't over yet.

[Some Crappy Motel. Barely Functional.]

I found a motel on the outskirts of town. One of those places that looked like it hadn't been cleaned since the Clinton administration. Cheap. Run-down. Smelled like cigarette smoke and regret.

Perfect.

I walked up to the front desk, already formulating a plan. The guy working the night shift barely glanced up from his ancient-looking TV. He was middle-aged, overweight, and about three seconds from passing out.

"Need a room," I said, putting on my best totally normal guy who definitely has money voice.

"Forty bucks," he grunted.

Problem: I still had exactly zero dollars.

Solution: Improvisation.

I exhaled sharply, shaking my head like I was frustrated. "Man, you won't believe the night I've had. Got mugged. They took everything—wallet, phone, even my shoes. Who the hell steals shoes, right?" I forced a tired chuckle.

The guy finally looked at me. Frowned. "You serious?"

I nodded. "Dead serious. Look, I just need a place to crash. I'll pay you in the morning, swear to God."

He squinted at me, clearly debating whether he cared enough to press further. In the end, apathy won. He sighed, grabbed a key, and tossed it onto the counter.

"Room 12. Check-out's at eleven."

"Thanks, man. You're a lifesaver." I grabbed the key and walked off before he could change his mind.

[Step Five: Don't Die in My Sleep.]

The room was exactly what I expected—stained carpet, flickering light, a bed that felt like it had been stuffed with broken springs and crushed dreams.

Didn't matter.

I locked the door, wedged a chair under the handle for good measure, then collapsed onto the bed. My body still ached. My head was pounding. But I was alive.

For now.

I had no idea who was looking for me, but if this was following Invincible's canon, then the people who experimented on Rex weren't the type to just let things go.

Which meant I had maybe a day—two at most—before someone came knocking.

I needed a plan.

[Step Six: Figure Out My Powers. Preferably Before Someone Kills Me.]

The good news? I had powers. The bad news? I had no idea how to use them.

Rex Splode could make things explode on contact. Kinda like Gambit from X-Men, except way less refined. In the comics and show, he used coins and playing cards because they were small and easy to throw.

I had neither.

I pulled a motel pen from the nightstand, rolling it between my fingers. Concentrated. Tried to feel something.

Nothing happened.

"Okay," I muttered. "Think, dumbass."

How did this work? Was it mental? Instinctual? Did I have to will something to explode?

I focused again. This time, I imagined the energy flowing from my fingertips into the pen. A subtle hum built in my palm. The pen vibrated slightly.

Then—

Boooooooooooom

The pen exploded with a sharp pop, sending tiny plastic shards flying. Not big. Not even strong enough to do damage. But it worked.

I grinned. Hell yes.

Now I just had to not blow myself up.

[Unknown Location. People Who Definitely Want Me Dead.]

Somewhere across town, the guy from the parked car stepped into a dimly lit room. A couple of other men were waiting, all dressed in casual, unassuming clothes.

"He's at a motel," the man said. "Alone."

One of the others—taller, meaner-looking—nodded. "Orders?"

"Bring him in. Alive if possible."

The taller guy cracked his knuckles. "And if he resists?"

A slow smirk. "Then make him comply."

They left.

Back at the motel, I had no idea what was coming.

But I was about to find out.