Invincible:Detonate

I kept running. Not because I had a destination, but because stopping meant thinking. And thinking meant realizing just how deep in shit I actually was.

So I ran.

The rooftops blurred together, each jump a little riskier than the last. My body was running on fumes, muscles screaming, lungs burning. But I pushed forward.

Behind me, the suits weren't far. I could hear them, moving fast, efficient. They weren't just some hired goons. No wasted movement, no barking orders—just silent, surgical pursuit.

Which meant they were professionals. Which meant I was in real trouble.

[Step Seventeen: Lose the Tail]

A straight chase wasn't going to work. They were better trained, probably better equipped. I needed to be unpredictable.

I spotted a rooftop vent ahead—one of those big industrial fans. My legs were already moving before I had a plan.

I grabbed a loose bolt from my pocket, channeled a tiny spark of energy into it, and flicked it toward the fan.

Boom!!

Not huge, but enough. The metal casing blew open, the fan blades screeching as they jammed up. Sparks flew. The whole thing groaned before tilting forward—right into the alley below.

There was a thud, then shouting. A crash. A car alarm.

I didn't stop to check if they were pinned or just pissed—I just ran.

The rooftops wouldn't be safe forever. I needed to get out of sight, change locations before they boxed me in.

A few buildings down, I spotted a fire escape leading to an open window.

That was my exit.

I took a running start, hit the ledge, and dropped.

The second my feet hit the fire escape, the metal groaned. Too loud.

I didn't have time to be careful. I moved fast, swinging into the open window, landing hard on the floor.

I barely had time to take in my surroundings—a cramped, dimly lit apartment—before I heard footsteps from the hallway outside.

Someone lived here.

And they were coming this way.

I pressed myself against the wall just as the door swung open.

A man in boxers and a stained T-shirt stood there, rubbing his eyes. Mid-30s, maybe older. Looked like he hadn't slept in days.

"…What the fuck?"

Not my best entrance.

I raised my hands in what I hoped was a please don't scream gesture.

"Look, man," I whispered. "I know this looks bad, but I just need—"

He reached for something behind the door. A bat.

Of course he had a bat.

I moved fast, stepping forward and grabbing it before he could swing.

"Whoa—relax," I hissed. "I'm not here to rob you."

His eyes flicked to my hand, where my fingers were still glowing faintly from earlier.

"…Oh, hell no."

He let go of the bat and took a step back, hands up. "I don't want any trouble, man."

"Great," I said. "Neither do I."

I lowered the bat, exhaled. "I just need to lay low for a sec."

He eyed me, suspicious. "You a cape?"

I hesitated. "Something like that."

He scoffed. "Yeah, well, keep your superhero shit away from my fucking apartment."

Fair.

"I'll be out in a minute," I said.

He muttered something under his breath but didn't argue. Just turned and walked back toward what I assumed was his bedroom.

I sat down, rubbing my face.

I was alive. I lost them. For now.(again)

But this? This was just the beginning.

Whoever these guys were, they weren't giving up.

And I needed to be ready.

————————————————-

I sat there, back against the cheap, peeling wallpaper, forcing myself to take slow, steady breaths. My heartbeat was finally starting to calm, but my mind wouldn't stop racing.

I wasn't safe. Not really. The suits would be out there, scouring the city, and I didn't know how deep their reach went.

And more importantly?

I didn't know why they wanted me.

Yeah, sure, I was a walking bomb with anger issues, but Rex Splode wasn't exactly top-tier. I wasn't on Omni-Man's level. Hell, I wasn't even in the Guardians. So why go through all this trouble?

Something wasn't adding up.

I needed information. Fast.

But first, I needed a new plan

I checked my pockets. Nothing useful. Just some loose change, a half-crumpled receipt and some bolts I found at the convenience store

Not exactly inspiring.

I needed cash, supplies, a burner phone—something to give me an edge.

I glanced toward the hallway where the guy had disappeared.

No.

I wasn't about to rob some random dude just because I was in deep. That wasn't the play.

But that didn't mean I couldn't find another way.

I pushed myself to my feet, wincing as my body protested. My arms still felt like jelly from all the climbing, and my ribs ached like hell. But I couldn't afford to slow down.

I crept toward the window, peeking out. The street was mostly empty. No signs of the suits.

Good.

I slipped out onto the fire escape, moving carefully this time, and made my way down.

There were two kinds of people in this city who always had cash—drug dealers and gamblers.

Guess where I was headed?

I made my way toward the nearest underground card room, an old spot I vaguely remembered from Rex's memories. It wasn't fancy—just a dingy backroom in a rundown bar, filled with cigarette smoke and bad decisions.

Perfect.

I walked in like I belonged there, scanning the tables. The usual crowd—old guys who'd been playing too long, a few younger idiots who thought they could beat the odds, and one or two guys I was pretty sure were carrying.

I slid into an open seat, cracking my knuckles.

Time to see if Rex's luck was any better than mine.

The first few hands were just warm-ups. I played it safe, kept my bets low, got a feel for the table.

Then I started pressing little bursts of energy under the table, just enough to jostle the deck, nudge the right card into place. Nothing big. Nothing flashy. Just subtle.

Cheating? Technically.

But I wasn't about to feel bad about robbing a bunch of guys who'd probably pull a knife on me the second they thought I was an easy mark.

The chips started piling up.

The old guy across from me squinted, clearly suspicious. "You're either the luckiest bastard I've ever seen, or you're running a scam."

I grinned, leaning back. "Maybe I'm just that good."

He didn't look convinced, but before he could press the issue, the door slammed open.

Two men stepped inside.

Not suits. Not cops.

But I recognized them immediately.

Machine Head's guys.

Fuck my life