Invincible: Blood of Two

"The eye is always caught by light, but shadows have more to say." by Gregory Maguire

Two months passed.

Two months of new routines, new friendships, and beneath it all — the growing itch at the back of Marcus's neck. The hum of the fluorescent lights in the classroom, the rhythmic squeak of sneakers on the gym floor, the scent of stale cafeteria food — it all felt subtly off. Like a meticulously constructed stage set with a few misplaced props, hinting at something behind the curtain.

He wasn't paranoid. Not really. Not anymore. He'd lived through enough to distinguish genuine threats from the shadows of his own mind.

The feeling of being watched wasn't new to him. In his old world, the one he'd left behind, he'd buried himself in anonymity, a ghost in the machine. Here? His last name alone made him visible, painted him with a spotlight he couldn't escape. Son of Nolan Grayson. Son of Omni-Man. That alone painted a target on his back, a neon sign broadcasting his potential, his lineage. But this wasn't the usual stares from curious teachers, or the sidelong glances from overachieving classmates trying to gauge his intelligence. This was... something else entirely. Something cold and calculating, like a predator tracking its prey.

It started small, almost imperceptibly. A flicker in his peripheral vision, a voice overheard, a detail that didn't quite fit.

A new guidance counselor, a Mr. Hargreeves, whose smile felt a little too practiced, whose questions about his "adjustment to high school" seemed to probe just a little too deeply into his habits, his interests, his family life. He'd catch Hargreeves watching him in the hallway, eyes lingering a fraction too long before a quick, professional nod. Then there was the new gym teacher, a Mr. Davies, built like a brick wall and with a gaze that seemed to miss nothing. He'd never seen Davies before, yet the man was perpetually watching him during self-defense practice, clipboard in hand, pretending to jot notes while barely looking at the students' forms, his focus unnervingly fixed on Marcus alone.

And then there was the substitute teacher slip-up, the first solid piece of evidence that this wasn't just his imagination.

"Hargreeves said he was my sub today?" Marcus asked casually one afternoon as he and Julian Sinclair walked out of their shared physics class, the murmur of student chatter filling the hallway around them. He nudged Julian with his elbow, trying to keep his voice light. "I thought he was listed as guidance staff… kind of a weird jump, right?"

Julian, ever the sharp one, paused, adjusting his black-rimmed glasses, his expression unreadable. His gaze flicked past Marcus, scanning the retreating students. "Probably nothing. Or it's something. I keep track of staff too. Comes in handy when you're planning your ascent to academic dominance, knowing who's pulling the strings."

"You're insufferable," Marcus muttered, but a small smile played on his lips.

"And yet," Julian said, a knowing smirk on his face, "you continue to walk with me. Perhaps my insufferable nature is less irritating than the common idiocy that permeates these halls."

The truth? Marcus didn't mind Julian's company anymore. The rivalry was still there, a constant, invigorating hum beneath every sarcastic comment and competitive smirk, but it had settled into something… familiar. Comfortable, even. They challenged each other, their minds a matched set, pushing the boundaries of their intellect. They respected each other, a silent acknowledgment of shared capability. Julian had even started attending self-defense with him too — purely for 'data collection,' as he put it, claiming he needed to understand the "physical prowess of the general population for future societal analysis," though Marcus suspected he was enjoying the satisfying thud of a well-placed kick more than he let on.

Their banter became a ritual, a verbal sparring match that honed their wits. Their debates sharpened them both, forcing them to consider new angles, new strategies.

"You ever feel like we're chess pieces in someone else's game?" Marcus asked during one such conversation, his voice low, watching students mill past them in the crowded hallway, a river of oblivious youth. He leaned against a locker, a subtle tension in his shoulders.

Julian arched an eyebrow, his head tilted. "Paranoid much, Grayson? I thought that was my territory, to question the motives of all those around us."

"I prefer… observant," Marcus corrected, pushing off the locker. "And maybe a little less trusting than the average teenager."

Home, That Evening

The familiar scent of Debbie's cooking, tonight a hearty lasagna, filled the dining room, a comforting anchor. But even amidst the warmth, Marcus couldn't shake the chill of his observations.

"Mom," Marcus said over dinner, poking at his rice absently, the grains scattering on his plate. He tried to sound casual, but his voice felt strangely tight. "Do you ever feel like we're… being watched? Like, specifically watched?"

Debbie let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "Marcus, you're overthinking things. Why would anyone be watching us, of all people? We're just a regular family." She reached across the table to give his hand a gentle squeeze, her voice calm and reassuring. "Sometimes when things change, it just feels like everyone's paying more attention than they really are. I promise, no one's out to get you."

"No, I mean at school," Marcus pressed, leaning forward slightly, his gaze earnest. "Staff acting weird. New people popping up in places they shouldn't be. Like Mr. Hargreeves being a substitute teacher for a day when he's supposed to be a counselor. It just feels… off."

Debbie's smile faltered. "Marcus, paranoia's not a great look. You sure you're not just… adjusting still? It's a big change, starting high school, new friends, new everything." She reached across the table, her hand briefly covering his, a silent plea for him to let it go.

Nolan, for once, didn't offer much. He just gave Marcus a knowing look over the rim of his water glass. A look that said yeah, you're probably right. But you're smart enough to figure it out. There was no alarm in his gaze, just a calm, almost proud understanding. He knew this game. He'd played it countless times. As he already has an idea of who was watching him.

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Marcus knew then he was on his own. And that was fine. He liked being on his own. He changed his schedule. Quietly. Subtly. He told his teachers he'd be staying late for extra help but ducked out early. He swapped classrooms with a classmate for one period under the guise of 'group study,' a casual exchange of permission slips. He left a trail of false breadcrumbs, a carefully constructed illusion of his movements, then doubled back.

Sure enough, like clockwork, both Hargreeves and the gym teacher, Davies, showed up where he was supposed to be. Not looking for the class. Looking for him. Asking casual questions to bewildered teachers or students, their eyes scanning for Marcus's familiar figure.

He caught Hargreeves talking quietly into an earpiece just outside the library doors, his back turned, his voice a low murmur. Marcus had doubled back, hiding behind a row of tall lockers, watching.

"Target deviated from expected pattern. Confirming presence in auxiliary wing… no, he's not there. The last known location was supposed to be the main study hall. Over." The counselor's face was taut with frustration, a stark contrast to his usual placid expression.

Gotcha, Marcus thought, a cold satisfaction settling in his gut. The game was officially on.

GDA Headquarters — Observation Room

The air in the GDA's covert observation room hummed with the low thrum of machinery and the faint scent of stale coffee. Monitors glowed with a dozen different feeds, each one focused on a different corner of the city, a different potential threat. But one bank of screens was dedicated solely to a high school in the suburbs.

"Kid's sharp," Donald Ferguson said, his voice a low rumble. He flipped through Marcus's latest 'surprise' schedule changes on a tablet, the data flickering across the screen. "Figures out patterns fast. Not just book smart either — instincts like a damn spy. He's deliberately trying to evade us."

Across from him, Cecil Stedman lit a cigarette, the flare of the match a brief, bright light in the dim room. He watched the screens with his usual impassive stare, smoke curling from his lips. "He's Nolan's son, Donald. And he is smart too. I'd be disappointed if he wasn't figuring this out. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, intelligence-wise, at least."

Donald leaned back in his chair, the swivel creaking softly. "Still think he's a threat, Sir? Or just… playing games?"

"Too soon to tell. He hasn't shown any powers, but his intellect is undeniable. And interesting? Oh yeah. Very." Cecil blew a stream of smoke toward the ceiling, watching it dissipate. "Keep the counselors on him. Keep the gym rat, too. I want to see if he pokes the bear… or if the bear pokes back."

Donald smirked. "You want me to pull them out? Change tactics?"

"No," Cecil's voice was flat, final. "Let the kid play his game. Let him think he's outsmarted us. Sometimes the smartest thing you can do is let someone think they've won. It gives you a clearer picture of who they really are, what they're capable of when they believe they're unsupervised." His eyes, dark and sharp, never left the screens. The boy was a puzzle, and Cecil loved puzzles.

Back at School — After Self-Defense Class

The gym was emptying out, the last of their classmate's filing past, sweaty and exhausted, their voices echoing in the high-ceilinged space. Marcus and Julian were among the last to leave.

"You're distracted," Julian said, tossing Marcus a chilled water bottle. The plastic thudded against his chest.

"Just thinking." Marcus twisted the cap off, taking a long drink, the cold water a jolt to his system.

"Dangerous habit, especially in this establishment." Julian leaned against the cool cinderblock wall, a towel draped around his neck, observing Marcus with a narrowed gaze. "Let me guess. More about our shadowy observers?"

"Maybe." Marcus cracked a grin, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "But I'm turning it to my advantage now."

Julian's eyebrows rose. "Do tell. This sounds like it could be entertaining."

"Let's just say… I'm done reacting," Marcus said, lowering the water bottle. His voice was low, laced with a new kind of resolve. "From now on, I set the pace. If they're watching, I'll give them something to watch. Something they don't expect." He could almost feel Cecil's eyes on him, even now.

Julian's smirk mirrored his own, a genuine if fleeting, expression of shared mischief. "God, you're exhausting, Grayson. Always complicating things. Fine. I'm in. Let's see how deep this rabbit hole goes. Just warn me before you commit any federal offenses."

"I thought you didn't believe me," Marcus challenged, his eyes sparkling with a renewed energy.

"I didn't say that," Julian corrected, his tone precise. "I said you sounded paranoid. There's a difference. Paranoia is a state of mind. Proof is… verifiable." He extended his hand in a fist.

They bumped fists, a ritual now. Rivals, yes. But allies, too, drawn together by a shared intellect and an unspoken understanding of the world's complexities.

Later That Night — Marcus's Room

He stared at the ceiling. Lights off. The room was bathed in the soft, ambient glow of the city outside his window. His mind, however, was racing, a whirlwind of theories and counter-theories.

So. The GDA was watching. His school was compromised. His father knew, probably approved, seeing it as standard procedure, a necessary evil. His mother, bless her heart, thought it was just part of the job, part of being Omni-Man's family. They were all playing their parts.

Fine.

Let them watch. Let them analyze. Let them think they had him all figured out.

He'd give them something they'd never forget. He'd show them exactly what a fully-conscious, fully-aware adult mind, imbued with Viltrumite physiology, could truly accomplish.

And when the time came? He'd decide how much they got to see. He'd decide who held the reins. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips in the darkness. The game had just begun.