Marvel's Alien Force

"Please, don't move too quickly—stay in line!"

A woman in military fatigues shouted into a handheld megaphone, her voice sharp over the noise. Around her, survivors huddled together, many wrapped in thermal blankets, some bleeding, others simply in shock. Helicopters passed overhead. Medical tents were being set up nearby. It was chaos, barely managed.

The Kaiju had attacked too suddenly. There'd been no warning, no proper evacuation—only panic.

"In today's breaking news: the Kaiju has been neutralized. The Avengers are on-site assisting in rescue efforts alongside the X-Men. If you are searching for a missing person, please call—"

The voice from the news app blared on the cracked smartphones of those lucky enough to have kept them. Others listened over shoulders or sat numb, watching a live feed of the giant mushroom cloud on tiny, flickering screens.

Mark Cain sat quietly on the edge of a military rescue boat, wrapped in silence as much as the emergency blanket around his shoulders. He looked up at the shattered skyline, then toward the twisted remnants of what had once been the Golden Gate Bridge.

A Kaiju. A real one.

Not a mutated lizard.

Not a rogue alien.

A true Pacific Rim Kaiju—six-limbed, towering, and nightmarish.

Mark had been a fan of Pacific Rim in his past life. Not just the movies—he'd dug into the lore, the backstory, the theories. And this? This was textbook. This was K-Day—the first time a Kaiju ever set foot on Earth.

Except this wasn't that Earth. This was Marvel's Earth. The one with gods, mutants, cosmic threats, and now… interdimensional monsters.

"So that's how it starts here, huh," he muttered under his breath. "With a Roar. With a nuke."

All around him were the sounds of grief and disbelief.

"My car… Why did this happen?"

"Officer, did you find my mother?"

"Sir, your brother's alive, but… his legs… he won't walk again."

So much pain. So much loss.

Mark might have cried too, if he were still the same person. But that version of him—whoever Mark Cain originally was—had died during the attack. Now it was him in that body, brought back with all his injuries miraculously healed after the transformation.

He should've felt grateful. Instead, he felt… hollow.

The gloom, the chaos, the sobbing—it was all too familiar. His old life wasn't much different. Just quieter. Lonelier.

His thoughts wandered back to the news—how the Kaiju was taken down by a nuclear strike.

A completely different outcome compared to the original Pacific Rim, where it took six days, three cities, and countless soldiers, jets, and sacrifices just to bring one down.

People died in the thousands back then.

Here too, probably.

Mark didn't need an official death toll to know that.

But thanks to Iron Man intercepting the Kaiju within the first hour of landfall, San Francisco wasn't entirely wiped off the map. Damaged, sure. Screwed, obviously. But not leveled.

Still, what caught his attention wasn't Iron Man. It was the timing.

It took less than two hours for the world to decide on nuking it.

The UN—an organization that can't agree on what kind of bottled water to stock—greenlit a nuclear launch in two hours.

That alone told Mark everything he needed to know.

The world was still in recovery mode after the Chitauri invasion.

Everyone was tired.

Everyone was afraid.

And now a monster walks out of the ocean like it owns the place?

For the governments of the world, it was both a threat and an opportunity. A chance to show that they could still act. Still take control. Still matter.

So they pushed the narrative hard—that superheroes and mutants aren't enough. That only real weapons work.

Bullshit.

Mark wasn't a fanboy, but he knew the limits.

The Hulk could've handled it. Maybe not cleanly, maybe not quickly, but he could do it. Eventually.

Tony Stark? Not with the suit he brought to this fight.

Kaiju were designed to take on modern warfare. That meant missiles, cannons, lasers, energy blasts—basically everything Iron Man had on tap.

Of course he couldn't scratch it.

As for the Kaiju's blue blood? Mark hadn't thought much about it yet. If he had, he probably would've concluded the same thing anyone with a brain should: Keep even the Hulk away from it.

That blood wasn't just toxic. It was alien. Contaminating.

But from the way the world acted—and how the news framed it—it really did look like the superheroes and mutants had failed.

Mark, though, considered another possibility.

"Professor Xavier must've noticed."

The guy was the most powerful telepath on the planet, capable of scanning and rewriting memories like editing a document.

There was no way he didn't take a peek inside the Kaiju's mind. And when he did...

"I see... so, that's how it is," Mark said with a low chuckle as everything started to come together.

Yeah, there was no way they had used the nuclear option as the first response.

Nick Fury would've pushed back. Even if he didn't have the final say—just a floating fortress and a stack of classified files—he still had influence. At the very least, he could've stalled the decision. Delayed it by five, maybe six hours. That didn't happen.

Which meant he was on board too.

"So, they're playing the big game, huh? Hmm... no. Maybe they're just playing the safe game," Mark muttered, correcting himself.

He thought about the people involved. Xavier. Fury. Maybe even others. He didn't know them personally, obviously—but he'd watched them, studied them, followed their choices from the movies and all the media he consumed.

And now, knowing what Xavier found inside that Kaiju's head—it made sense. The timing. The decision. The silence.

He wasn't claiming to know the exact chain of events, but it was his habit to put himself in others' shoes, especially ones he was already familiar with. He wasn't interested in pretending he knew the truth—just figuring out what kind of logic and decisions someone like them might have made.

That was enough.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CAN'T FIND MY MOTHER!!!???"

The scream tore through the air, snapping Mark out of his thoughts. He turned toward the voice.

A girl—young, maybe fourteen—was shouting at the female soldier who'd been trying to manage the crowd. Her fists were clenched, her eyes red and puffy, her twin-tails a mess of dust and debris.

"Please sit down," the soldier said, calm but clearly strained. "I've already registered your mother's name. We're forwarding the details to the other checkpoints—"

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THAT!?" the girl shrieked. "I've asked more than fifty times! WHERE IS MY MOTHER!? You keep saying she's not here, she's not found, you don't know—do you even understand the kind of hell I'm going through!? DO YOU!!!?"

Tears, snot, rage—her face was a mess, but understandable. Everyone around them was grieving or barely holding it together. But as Mark watched her, something felt… off.

A strange warmth spread through his chest. He pressed his palm against it without thinking. His heartbeat was steady—but something inside him wasn't.

His senses… started to scream.

Not like a sudden loud sound or a bright flash—but a gut-deep alarm, like an animal hearing thunder underground.

Danger.

Mark stood up, slowly. His eyes narrowed on the girl.

It wasn't logical. It wasn't rational. But something inside him was reacting—not to the scene, not to her yelling—but to her. To what was happening to her.

"What is going on?" he whispered under his breath.

She was just a kid. Messy clothes. Thin frame. Grief-stricken. But the more he looked, the stronger the pull became.

Attraction. Not the romantic kind—he wasn't a pedo—but something else. A strange magnetism toward what was brewing inside her. Not sexual. Not moral. Something… biological.

His vision shifted.

Colors dulled.

Shapes blurred at the edges.

But the girl—she lit up. Emotions, her emotions, were flooding out of her, practically visible to him now. A kind of colorless storm, twisting with pain, panic, fear.

And somehow…

He knew he could suppress it. Suppress her.

That thought alone froze him. But not for long.

He looked again—and saw it clearly this time.

Something inside her was rising.

Not leaking. Not forming.

Awakening.

Not for him. But for everyone else around her.

He didn't know how he knew. He didn't know what the hell was going on with his body or his brain.

But he trusted it.

He trusted the warning.

His mind—quicker than it had any right to be—snapped into motion. Thoughts fired faster than he could track, but one thing was clear: he couldn't wait.

The girl was about to break.

'XLR8!'

The thought echoed in his skull, and his body obeyed without hesitation. 

His human form warped—his torso stretched, limbs turned long and lean, muscle bands coiled under sleek skin that turned a deep blue-black. A long reptilian tail shot out behind him. His feet sharpened. His face and body twisted into something beak-like, sleek, and sharp—less human, more raptor.

Screams erupted around him.

"What the—?!"

"Alien!"

"Monster!"

He didn't care.

The helmet closed over his transformed head with a smooth hiss.

In the blink of an eye—gone. He blurred from one spot to another, suddenly standing beside the female officer. Without a word, he whisked her away, placing her far outside the storm's epicenter. Then another person. Then another. 

One by one, he cleared a ring around the girl, a wide empty space forming—ten meters, then fifteen. No one else was near her now.

She didn't even notice.

Her body was trembling, fists clenched, eyes wild. Her mouth opened, trembling with something she hadn't even realised yet.

Mark didn't wait.

He thought, 'Diamondhead!'

And his form began to shift from XLR8—this time starting from both hands. The transformation crawled up his forearms, jagged crystalline structures forming in uneven bursts, glinting green as they surfaced like broken glass forcing its way out of skin.

But he didn't wait.

His half-transformed diamond hands slammed into the floor.

"Diamond Wall!"

His voice sounded deeper—alien, even—but there was no time to focus on that.

Crystals erupted from the ground in sharp lines, extending outward fast. They encircled the girl—leaving just a small gap of space for her to stand in—and began forming walls, not just one, but layers.

The first came up around her at a ten-meter radius. Then another, further out. Then a third. Then a fourth.

Each wall curved from the base, sloped slightly inward—not vertical, but fortified. The tops flat. The gaps sealed. And between them, thick layers of air space like buffer zones.

He didn't stop until the last layer rose.

And right then—

"—MY MOTHER!!!"

The girl's scream tore out like a banshee wail.

What followed wasn't fire or wind, but a shockwave of force—pure, raw telekinesis that exploded upward like a column of pressure. It slammed into the walls, and beyond them, into the sky—blasting out with a pulse so sharp it echoed like a muffled sonic boom.

Mark's diamond walls held.

Barely.

Good thing he didn't leave her power room to pull—because the moment she lost it, the push was world-ending.

The girl had awakened.

Her X-gene was active now, triggered by grief and desperation.

But… she wasn't the only one.

Mark stood still, watching the walls groan under the invisible pressure. He could feel it—not just through the crystals but in his own body. Something inside him had clicked. Shifted. Changed.

Not alien.

Not from the Omnitrix.

Something else.

He wasn't just the one containing the mutant anymore.

He was one too.

A different kind. But a mutant, nonetheless.

And this stunt? This whole mess? It had just blown his cover wide open. Whatever plan he thought he was going to follow… it was fucked now.

'Haah… Let's deal with this first, I guess.'

He sighed inwardly, standing still, letting the reinforced crystal walls take the force—pulse after pulse of telekinetic backlash slamming against his defense like the girl's pain was trying to shatter the world.

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