August 21st

"Cap'n Adam! Mommy, look, Cap'n Adam!"

The shriek cut through the crowd like an arrow—sharp, unmissable, and kind of adorable if you were into that. Zeke's head jerked up on reflex, scanning the sea of faces until he found the source: a kid barely five years old, squirming in his mom's arms like he'd been zapped with a double dose of caffeine. The kid was all big, round eyes and pure, unfiltered joy, waving with such aggressive enthusiasm Zeke half-expected his arm to pop out of its socket.

"Yes, it is," the mom confirmed, her voice edged with the kind of patience that probably came from years of dealing with pint-sized chaos. "Isn't he your favorite?"

"He's like Supahman but shiny, shiny and cool," the kid blurted out with stars in his eyes, each word tumbling over the next like he couldn't spit them out fast enough. "And and and he has my name! Cap'n Adam, hi!"

Zeke's lips curled into a grin before he even realized it. not that he was really trying to hold it back. Honestly, how could you not crack a smile at that?

"Kid's not wrong," he muttered under his breath, watching Captain Atom give the boy a small, polite wave—gentle and almost human, which felt weird coming from a dude literally made of glowing metal. Cap's definitely got the shine factor going for him.

Snorting softly, Zeke shifted his gaze, letting it wander up and down the bustling street. When Captain Atom had first mentioned this gig—a library re-opening, some speeches, and the usual leaguer photo ops—he had pictured something low-key. Maybe a ribbon, a pair of oversized scissors, and, if they were lucky, a tray of slightly stale cookies.

But this?

This was next-level.

Brightly colored balloons floated on invisible strings, dancing in the warm summer breeze. The air was thick with the mingling scents of hotdogs, buttery popcorn, and that cloyingly sweet tang of cotton candy. Food stands, face-painting stations, and inflatable bounce houses lined the sidewalks, transforming what Zeke had assumed would be a snooze fest into a full-blown carnival. A little girl skipped past him, her face painted with a shockingly accurate wonder woman symbol, and he couldn't help but smirk. "Guess when a Justice Leaguer shows up, you pull out all the stops," he muttered.

Despite the smile on his face, Zeke couldn't quite shake the weird feeling in his gut. His usually bright blue eyes felt unfocused, like he was looking at everything through a slightly blurry lens. The festivities were cool and all, but something kept dragging his attention away.

He and Captain Atom stood on a raised stage in front of the new library, all sleek lines and wall-to-wall glass. It was impressive, sure, but Zeke's gaze kept drifting across the street to the park and playground. Behind that stood the community center, and in front of that...

Heroes.

Tall full-body sculptures of heroes he recognized.

Heroes that shouldn't exist here.

Wolverine, Iron Man, Captain America... what the heck? Zeke blinked, half-expecting the familiar figures to vanish. They didn't. I googled this stuff for days. How'd I miss the fact that freaking Marvel is a thing here?

The realization made his head spin. If Marvel existed as fiction in the DC universe, what did that mean? That had to imply there were other worlds out there where DC was just comics and Marvel was real? How many are there? How infinite is infinity?

His head throbbed just thinking about it. The mental math was too big, too messy, and he wasn't exactly eager to unravel the multiversal spaghetti of it all. There was only so much existential dread he could process before noon.

Zeke let out a heavy sigh without meaning to, the sound slipping past his lips like a runaway balloon. Captain Atom caught it immediately—of course he did.

"Genesis," the captain rumbled, his deep voice cutting through the ambient noise like the low growl of thunder. "Penny for your thoughts?"

Zeke blinked, all of a sudden snapping back to the present. "Uh... just inflation alone makes that a terrible deal," he muttered reflexively, fiddling with the strap of his goggles to give his hands something—anything—to do. Even as the words left his mouth, they felt hollow, like they were ricocheting around an empty room. "It's nothing, really."

Captain Atom didn't reply, his polished chrome face unreadable, but Zeke could feel the weight of his gaze, like a particularly patient spotlight.

Zeke sighed again, eyes skimming the crowd. Kids darted between clusters of adults, their painted faces grinning as they chased each other through the carnival-like chaos. The air buzzed with laughter, chatter, and the occasional hiss of hot oil from the food trucks lining the street. It should've been grounding, normal, especially compared to all the hyper-violent superhero bullshit but somehow it made the knot in his chest tighten.

"it's just…" Zeke started, then hesitated, chewing on his words. "These last two missions…"

Captain Atom's chrome face shifted slightly, his equivalent of raising an eyebrow. "What about them, soldier?"

Zeke caught a glimpse of a family waving enthusiastically at the stage. Three kids, practically glowing with excitement, pointed in his direction, their smiles wide enough to hurt. Zeke waved back automatically, plastering on a grin that felt like a poorly-fitted mask. It wasn't their fault, but their joy made something twist uncomfortably in his gut.

"Two missions, back-to-back, both ending with heroes in the hospital," he said finally, the words tumbling out faster than he'd planned. "Not just injured—badly injured. like, almost dead." He swallowed, his gaze fixed on the ground. "It's… harder to deal with than I thought. and not for the obvious reason, either. Y'know?"

Captain Atom nodded politely to an overzealous older man in khaki shorts and a blue polo who snapped off a salute. "No. Not yet, at least.."

Understanding the unspoken 'continue', Zeke clicked his tongue, his goggles sliding awkwardly between his fingers as he tried to articulate the storm swirling in his head. "It's just… before, when I wasn't in the middle of it, when I was just watching from the sidelines—heroes were always, like, larger than life, y'know? I mean, they won. Sure, there were struggles and sacrifices and all that, but there were still wins."

He paused, his voice dropping as heat crept up his neck. "And yeah, I know it sounds childish, but… I guess I thought there'd be more of those. more straight-up victories. more…" he trailed off, searching for the word. "Cleaner endings."

The Captain nodded slowly, saying nothing, but the silence felt heavy with permission. Go on, it seemed to say.

Zeke took a breath. "Superboy in a coma. Doctor Fate in a coma." His voice barely rose above a whisper. "And that's just the last two weeks. It's just—I dunno. it feels harsher than i thought it'd be."

The captain's chrome face shifted again, his usual calm smile dimming into something fainter, hollower. "I understand that feeling. to a degree."

Zeke raised an eyebrow, skepticism slipping through his carefully-constructed wall of polite deference. "Yeah? You do?"

Atom's gaze shifted, no longer anchored to the bustling street or the sea of cheering faces. instead, it seemed to pierce through time itself, reaching into an era only he could see. "When I was a boy," he began, his voice much quieter now, laced with something softer, almost fragile. "No older than you are, I used to read about the Justice Society in old comics." There was a wistfulness to his tone that Zeke had never heard before as he spoke.

"Yeah..." Zeke nodded, unsure what else to say. Even though he knew this before, somehow, the idea of Captain Atom—literal living metal Superman—geeking out over superheroes felt both surreal and weirdly relatable.

"Larger than life, every single one of them," the captain continued, his words slow, deliberate, like he was unspooling memories he hadn't touched in decades. "True heroes in every sense of the word. When they were forced to disband..." His jaw tightened, a flicker of old anger flashing in his glowing eyes. "Calling the Justice Society of America unamerican... that's something I never understood."

Zeke shifted on his feet, suddenly feeling like he'd wandered into a conversation he wasn't qualified to have. "Yeah..." he mumbled, unsure what else to say. What do you even say to that?

But Captain Atom wasn't looking for a response.

"They truly were the heroes that started it all," the captain continued. "I've always wished to meet all of them." He paused, a rueful smile playing at his metallic lips. "Wildcat is the only one I have had the chance to so far. Should have paid Doctor Nelson a visit while I had the chance."

Zeke nodded at that, phantom aches flaring up as he remembered the beatings the old man had put him through during just that one day of training. Yeah, I know that much, he thought, suppressing a wince. I'd almost rather fight a villain.

After a moment, he raised his head to stare at the Captain, a question that had been burning in the back of his mind finally bubbling to the surface. "You ever just wish things were more like how they were in some of the comics?"

Captain Atom turned his head slightly, his chrome features catching the sunlight. His glowing eyes drifted to his hands, flexing metallic fingers that could bend titanium like paper. Something that wasn't quite a sigh so much as a loud exhale left the man as he spoke again, "All the time, son."

Zeke blinked, a realization hitting him like a ton of bricks. Oh yeah, he was named after the same Captain Atom he used to read about, the one from Charlton Comics.

The thirteen-year-old opened his mouth, a question that had been burning in his gut for weeks now on the tip of his tongue. "Captai—

"BOOM!

The sound hit like a freight train, cutting him off mid-word. a thunderclap of force ripped through the air, and Zeke's head snapped toward the source just in time to see a food truck rocket into the sky, trailing fire and debris. Chaos erupted around them as the crowd scattered in all directions, screams mixing with the high-pitched wail of metal being torn apart.

Captain Atom's eyes flared, glowing brighter as his body tensed like a coiled spring. Without a word, he launched himself upward, the ground beneath him cracking from the sheer force of his takeoff. His silver form streaked toward the airborne truck, a glint of light against the chaos.

Zeke's heart slammed against his ribs, adrenaline flooding his system. Focus, focus! his brain screamed, but his body was already moving. His legs carried him off the stage and into the fray, weaving through the panicked crowd like a pinball. "Move, move, move!" he shouted, waving people toward cover.

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The air was thick with smoke and the sharp, acrid scent of burning oil. Zeke's eyes darted around, scanning the area for any signs of the attacker—or, god forbid, more explosions. His fists clenched, strength tingling just beneath his skin, ready to snap into action.

Okay, he thought, his breathing quick but steady. Food truck just went boom. Cap's airborne. Now what?

He didn't have to wait long for an answer.

A second explosion tore through the air, this one closer, sending a shockwave that nearly knocked him off his feet. Zeke stumbled but caught himself, his eyes narrowing as he spotted movement in the smoke.

Oh, great, he thought grimly, squaring his shoulders. here we go.

Training and instinct collided in Zeke's mind like two speeding cars at an intersection. The crowd's panic washed over him in a deafening wave—screams, shouts, the thunderous clatter of feet on asphalt. For a second, it felt like the whole world was unraveling. His throat burned as he forced himself to shout over the chaos.

"EVERYBODY STAY CALM!" he bellowed, his voice cracking slightly but carrying enough force to cut through the noise. Glowing blue energy flared from his hands as he raised them high, waving to get their attention. "JUST GET INSIDE THE LIBRARY NOW!"

They listened.

But calm? Yeah, not so much.

The crowd stampeded toward the sleek glass doors, trampling everything in their path. Balloons burst underfoot with sharp pops, food stands tipped over, and chairs skidded across the pavement. Zeke winced as one unlucky guy lost his balance, crashing into a popcorn machine and sending a spray of kernels flying. "Great. That's helpful," he muttered, shaking his head as frustration boiled beneath the surface.

But there wasn't time to dwell on the chaos. Zeke glanced up, scanning the sky for Captain Atom—and froze, his eyes widening in disbelief.

The chrome hero was locked in mid-air combat with a figure straight out of mythology. Long blond hair whipped around a thickly bearded face as the man flew through the air in a sleeveless black chestplate adorned with six gleaming silver disks. His arms and legs were wrapped in leather, the entire look screaming Norse god chic. But it was the weapon that really nailed it: a double-headed monstrosity that was half-battle axe, half-warhammer, crackling with electric energy.

No. Freaking. Way.

"Have at thee, silver demon!" The booming voice echoed across the street as the figure raised the axe-hammer in both hands and swung in a devastating arc.

Zeke's jaw dropped as Captain Atom barely dodged, the hammer slicing through the air inches from his face. The captain retaliated with a blast of radiant energy, but the man—Thor? Is that actually Thor?!—spun his weapon, deflecting the blast into the sky. They clashed again and again, each impact sending shockwaves rippling through the air.

Zeke fought to keep his balance on the stage as the ground rumbled beneath him. "Who the hell…" he started, but the words died in his throat as a thunderous roar came from his right.

His head snapped around, and his brain short-circuited at what he saw. A hulking, green-skinned behemoth—Hulk. That's Hulk. That has to be Hulk—was ripping through the abandoned food carts like a starving bear at an all-you-can-eat buffet. Hotdogs, burgers, and what looked like an entire nacho tray disappeared into the giant's mouth in rapid succession.

"…What," Zeke muttered, the word barely audible. His brain stumbled over itself, trying and failing to process the scene. "Is that… Is that really—"

"HULK HUNGRY!" the jade giant bellowed between massive bites, his voice shaking the very air.

Zeke blinked slowly, his thoughts sputtering like an old engine. If that's Hulk… and that's Thor… His train of thought derailed completely as he tried to connect the dots. Does that mean—

Something flickered in his peripheral vision, snapping him back to the present. Pure instinct took over as he dove off the stage, narrowly avoiding the blur of something sharp that whizzed past his ear. He hit the ground hard, rolling to absorb the impact, and came up with his hands flaring bright blue.

The shield—an unmistakable, vibranium-laced, star-spangled thwang—bounced off the stage with the kind of precision that made Zeke's stomach lurch. It arced back through the air, spinning like a lethal boomerang, before landing squarely in the grasp of a gloved hand. Not just any hand. That hand.

Zeke stumbled to his feet, his chest heaving as his heart tried to kick its way out of his ribs. The figure in front of him looked like he'd stepped out of the most vintage, golden-hour Captain America comic Zeke had ever seen. The star-spangled chest, the utility belt, the wings on the cowl—it was all there, right down to the A on his forehead.

Captain America. The Captain America.

Solid. Imposing. And glaring at him like Zeke had just spilled red Kool-Aid all over the Declaration of Independence.

"You've got two options, boy," the Captain barked, his voice as cold and unyielding as the steel in his shield. "Easy, or hard. Your choice."

Zeke's mind went into overdrive. He wasn't just staring at an icon—he was staring at an impossibility. His breath hitched as his thoughts spiraled into a frantic loop: This isn't real. This can't be real. It's gotta be some kind of trick, right? Right?

But the shield? Oh, that looked real enough to knock his head clean off his shoulders, and Zeke wasn't exactly eager to test how fast he could regenerate from a concave skull.

"Uh," he started, his voice coming out weak and cracked. Smooth, Zeke. Real smooth.

Before he could say anything else, a sudden whoosh drew his attention upward. A shadow passed overhead, and the sharp whine of repulsor jets cut through the chaos. Zeke's head snapped up just in time to see something big and metallic hover into position above Cap's head.

It wasn't sleek—far from it, actually. The design screamed first draft: blocky, almost clunky, with a silver-gray body that looked like it had been through a few too many late-night welding sessions. Bright red shoulders and a gleaming gold faceplate stood out against the dull metallic bulk, and blue lights dotted the chest, with a bigger circle glowing dead center.

"Oh, c'mon," Zeke muttered, his jaw tightening. "Really?"

"Cap," the suit's synthesized voice crackled, confirming Zeke's sinking suspicion. Iron Man. Because, of course, why not? "Thor's havin' a helluva time with the wannabe Silver Surfer over there. Might need an assist."

Captain America didn't even flinch. "Then give it to him, Stark," he snapped, his voice carrying the edge of a drill sergeant who'd run out of patience five decades ago. "I'll handle the kid."

"You got it, Gramps," Iron Man quipped, his voice dripping with casual arrogance. He angled his repulsors downward, rocketing off toward Captain Atom, who was still locked in a cataclysmic struggle with Thor. Energy blasts shot from Iron Man's palms, streaking toward Atom like a meteor shower of concentrated destruction.

Zeke's head spun, the chaotic scene around him blurring at the edges as he struggled to keep track of everything. Thor and Captain Atom were smashing into each other like two freight trains on steroids. Iron Man was adding firepower to the mix. The Hulk—because what else could he possibly call the green behemoth—was still inhaling street food like it was his last meal on Earth.

And now, Captain Freaking America was standing a few feet away, looking at Zeke like he was about to ground him for skipping curfew.

"This is insane," Zeke muttered, his fists tightening as the glow around them brightened. "How are they even here? Why are they—"

A low, gravelly voice interrupted his thoughts, cutting through the chaos like a blade. "Looks like you're stuck with me for backup, Rogers."

Zeke's head whipped toward the source of the voice, and his stomach plummeted.

A figure crouched atop a black sedan, his posture predatory, muscles coiled like a spring ready to snap. The sleek black suit with distinctive yellow stripes was familiar enough to send a jolt of recognition down Zeke's spine. But it was the hair—wild, unkempt—and the gleaming metal claws extending from each fist that really drove the point home.

Wolverine.

Just perfect.

"Seriously?" Zeke hissed under his breath, his hands beginning to tremble from a mix of adrenaline and sheer disbelief. "First the shield, now the claws? What next, Magneto shows up and starts pulling cars out of the ground?"

Wolverine hopped down from the car with a casual, fluid motion that made Zeke's skin crawl. His gaze was sharp, his eyes like daggers slicing through the space between them. "What's the play, Cap?" he growled, his voice carrying an unmistakable weight of authority—like he'd already decided the outcome of this fight, and Zeke was the footnote.

Captain America didn't miss a beat. "We secure the kid and neutralize any threats."

Oh, fantastic, Zeke thought, rolling his shoulders as he forced himself to take a steadying breath. His glowing hands flared brighter, the blue energy crackling in response to his rising anxiety. "Yeah, I'm just gonna go ahead and vote no on that one."

"Your consent is not a factor," Captain America said, nodding with military precision. His tone was sharp, like a scalpel, and just as cold. He shifted his grip on the shield, the sun catching its polished surface and making it gleam like a weaponized halo. His gaze flicked to Wolverine, sizing him up like a weapon he was about to deploy. "The runt looks soft. We'll make this quick."

Wolverine's lips twisted into a feral grin that made Zeke's stomach churn. His claws scraped against each other with a metallic shriek that set Zeke's teeth on edge. "My favorite kind of fight," he growled, his stance lowering into something animalistic, predatory.

Zeke's hands flared with bright blue energy as his pulse slammed against his ears. Somewhere, in the part of his brain that wasn't screaming run, there was the tiniest spark of awe at the sight of his childhood heroes standing mere feet away. But the rest of him—the louder, saner part—couldn't stop shouting about the fact that those heroes were currently gearing up to murder him.

"You know what," Zeke muttered, shaking his head as he tightened his glowing fists.

His stance shifted, feet planting firmly beneath him as he tried to remember anything useful from his boxing training. "I don't even care anymore."