Project ROWDY 14

ROWDY 14: LINK


Brick didn’t like medbays or hospitals, or whatever else people called them.

Maybe it was how sterile everything felt. Hell, it could have just been the hum in the walls.

Not loud. Not sharp.

Just… wrong. Too clean.

Like everything else in this place—filtered, vacuum-sealed, and dead behind the glass. White. Flat. Sterile.

Part of him had to wonder if it was at all related to being born in the filthiest and least hygienic of of environments. There had to be something psychological about that, right?

Either way, the oldest of the Rowdyruffs didn’t shift or fidget as his arms stayed clasped behind his back, spine military-straight, feet planted at precisely the width he’d seen from GDA agents.

Despite that, as always, his eyes moved. Left to right. Corner to screen. The steady drip of telemetry from the wall monitors didn’t change much, not really, not unless you were looking for the micro-spikes. He was.

Fifty-six percent accelerated recovery. He noted quietly, eyes still tracking. Seven… no -eight hours ahead of projected curve as seen from Omni-Man’s injuries before. Something accelerated his mitochondrial resync rate.

The beard looked stupid, in Brick’s opinion. Not the length—it was longer, obviously, like someone yanked him through a fast-forward montage. But it didn’t look right. Downright patchy in the wrong places. It was almost like whatever had hit the guy scrambled his regeneration before his cells remembered what they were supposed to be.

“Old man like shit,” Butch muttered from the corner, green energy sparking off his fingertips in lazy pops. He wasn’t looking at the screens. He was watching the door like it owed him something.

“He’s not awake yet,” Brick said, his correction wrapped in indifference.

Butch snorted, the Greenest of the Rowdies shrugging his shoulders. “Don’t need him awake to know he got his ass kicked.”

Boomer, halfway crouched near the medbay entrance, perked up like someone had flipped a switch. “What if it wasn’t just one alien, though?” His voice bounced, too fast, already halfway to a new theory before the last one finished forming. “Like—okay—what if it was, like, a space horde bigger than we fought? Big, ugly, all teeth and laser guns—oh! Or a space worm! A big one! Like the ones in that movie with the sand—”

“Boomer,” Brick cut in, eyes not leaving the monitor, “shut up.”

That only slowed him down for a second. “You think he fought a time monster? He’s got old-man beard now. What if he—”

The door hissed open.

Brick’s body reacted before his thoughts did, spine somehow getting straighter, fingers tightening behind his back. Cecil entered like he always did—like the room had been waiting for him. Donald trailed two steps behind, posture ramrod and tablet in hand, like always.

“Vitals’re stable. Recovery’s ahead of schedule.” Cecil’s drawl dragged across the sterile air like sandpaper on tile. “He’ll be awake by sundown.”

Donald glanced up from his tablet. “Sir, Grayson family ETA under fifteen.”

“Already cleared,” Cecil replied, not looking at him. He was looking at the boys now. At Brick.

Brick didn’t blink. “You should know that there’s a mismatch in the dimensional signature. From the portal that returned him.”

Cecil’s brow twitched—barely. “You sure?”

“I watched the Salt Lake breach frame-by-frame. This one flickered.”

Donald chimed in, still too upbeat. “Chromatic shift logged at entry. Harmonic profile skews… uh, more dynamic. Far more angular distortion across localized space.”

Cecil glanced over. “Translation.”

“Different kind of hole, sir. Natural rather than man-made.”

“Mm.”

Butch flicked another spark. “Cool. So we wait. Again.”

“You don’t wait,” Cecil said, tone so flat it scraped. “You observe.”

“And do what?” Butch asked, pacing now. “Take notes on how bad he got stomped? Bet he’s not even gonna remember it.”

“He’ll remember,” Cecil said.

Boomer was picking at the seam of his glove. “Is he gonna be mad?”

Brick’s jaw clenched. “That he got beat? Probably.”

Donald’s voice stayed sunny. “Would you like access to the energy readings from the crater, Agent Brick?”

“Yes.” He nearly flinched at how quickly the word left his mouth.

Cecil’s gaze didn’t leave him. “You think you’re gonna solve it before we do?”

“I think I’m gonna try.”

There was a pause. Long enough to feel like a test.

“Good,” Cecil said. “Try hard.”

The tablet beeped. Donald tapped it. “Sir, family’s here.”

Cecil turned to them fully now. “Last warning. No talking unless prompted. No games. No gags. No eye-lasers unless fired upon.”

Butch gave him a salute that would’ve gotten someone punched in Mojo’s camp. “Sir, yes, sir. Gag reflex disabled.”

Cecil didn’t blink. “And Butch—”

“Yeah?”

“If you throw their kid through another city bus again, I’m not covering for you.”

Butch held back a snort. “…Understood.”

Brick hadn’t moved. The monitors beeped behind him, the fluorescent hum pressing against the back of his skull like a threat with bad manners. Omni-Man lay motionless in the center of the room, beard long, breath steady. Twelve hours since reentry. Fifty-three since the crater. Something broke him. That mattered.

If he’d known the truth earlier—if he’d known Invincible was his son—he might’ve held back.

Or at the every least, not start a fight in the first place.

Too late now.

The door hissed open and the Boys turned, all three heads moving in unison.

Debbie Grayson stepped through like she’d been waiting to burst, her hair tied back in a bun, low and tight. Her face was nervous, stressed and worried like she had held it back the whole ride and only now started to come apart. Her eyes hit the bed, locked there like she couldn’t blink without losing ground.

She rushed over to the comatose superhero like nothing else in the room existed. Not the blinking tech, not the armed guards outside, not the three boys standing off to the side like static. Her hand trembled when it landed on the side of her husband’s face.

“Nolan,” she said as her fingers traced his jaw, careful, like it might break.

Mark followed slower, like he wanted to be smaller. Not that he was—guy was tall for sixteen, maybe seventeen. But his steps felt short, almost hesitant. His eyes jumped from the bed to the floor to Brick’s team and back.

“Who—” he started, then froze up as he took in both the boys and his dad, confused by both in the same room. “What… happened?”

Brick raised an eyebrow as Butch shifted first, the Green Rowdyruff already moving. He pushed his weight off the wall, boots scraping against steel. “You’re the guy from Baltimore,” he said, eyes narrowing. “Invulnera—wait, no… You’re Invinciboy.”

Mark Grayson blinked, clearly frustrated at the name and seeing the boys again but fighting the urge to get angry as his eyes drifted back to his dad. “It’s Invincible.” The correction was quick but the tone wasn’t sharp. More tired than pissed.

Butch grinned like he’d found a bruise to poke. “Sure. Invincible. ‘Cause you look real un-breakable right now.”

Boomer leaned in from the wall, eyes wide as if he was just now paying proper attention. “We broke him pretty good last time though, right?”

“Boomer,” Brick warned.

Cecil was already in the room, strutting in as casually as a man who had seen more in a single hour than most people had in their entire life. Donald shadowed him, tablet already live, eyes skimming. Brick kept his spine straight, hands clasped behind his back. He could feel the tension roll off Debbie in waves. Mark just looked confused, tired, definitely out of his depth.

“Boys,” Cecil drawled. “Why don’t you let me handle this part?”

Debbie turned, not fully, just enough to see them. “Cecil, these boys…?”

Cecil’s eyes didn’t move. “They’re called Trinity. Official superhuman GDA operatives who’ve been working with us for some time now. They recovered Nolan after he dropped out of a hole in space over Salt Lake.”

Donald nodded, tone steady. “Nolan’s stabilization was complete in twelve hours. Minimal intervention required. Strong recovery baseline.”

Debbie’s face went pale.

Mark blinked hard. “Wait, wait. He fell out of a what?”

“Dimensional rift,” Cecil said flatly. “Big one. Same one he fell into while fighting some being. An alien that called himself Omnipotus. Real chatty. Clearly not all that bright.”

Boomer snorted. “That’s not even a cool name.”

Butch folded his arms, eyes locked on the bed. “Did Dad win?”

Cecil didn’t answer immediately. After a moment ot two, he spoke what was on his mind. “He’s here. The other guy ain’t.”

Mark’s face twisted like he was trying to do the math but the numbers kept changing. “But it’s only been a day. He’s got a beard.”

Donald piped in again, reading off his tablet. “What you’re seeing here are the effects of localized time dilation. Subjective timeline seems to indicate that several weeks passed for him during a twenty-four hour interval.”

Brick tracked Mark’s reaction, the way the older boy’s face shifted, his shoulders tightening. The kid hadn’t seen anything real yet.

“So Omni-Man’s universal now?” Butch’s question almost made Brick shake his head.

Cecil raised an eyebrow. “What in the hell does that even mean?”

Brick just pinched the bridge of his nose. “Butch. I told you to stop watching those powerscalers. They rot your brain.”

“Nuh-uh. There’s math.”

Boomer grinned. “I like TikTok dancers.”

Debbie turned and looked at them fully now, her eyes softer than Brick expected. She stepped forward and, before Brick could move or think or plan an exit, she wrapped her arms around all three of them. One motion. 

Like they were hers to thank. 

Like they were… kids.

“Thank you,” she said, voice like gravity finally letting go. “Thank you so very much.”

Brick locked up, the oldest Rowdyruff freezing in place like contact might shatter him. 

Not that she was rough. 

It wasn’t that kind of hug. It was warm. Soft. Controlled, even. But it hit like a charge going off in his spine—arms wrapping around him, Butch, Boomer, all at once, like she could just do that, like it meant something she thought they’d understand.

He held position. Straight-backed. Hands locked behind him like he was still waiting on mission orders. He could feel Butch’s shoulder twitch under the weight of it—fight impulse just barely held back. No fists yet. Just tension coiled like a spring under his jacket.

Boomer made a noise. Tiny, half-choked, half-startled. His hands hovered up and didn’t know what to do. He looked at Brick. At Debbie. Back again. Like someone had swapped out gravity and forgotten to tell him.

Debbie let go.

No big speech. No dramatic pause. She just stepped back, turned, and returned to her husband’s side like she hadn’t just laid a hand on a live wire and survived.

Boomer leaned sideways. Whispered, way too loud, “Wait—was that… a mom hug?”

Brick didn’t respond.

He couldn’t move or think or feel anything about that without something breaking. He just watched her hand find Nolan’s and linger like it was allowed.

Mark heard it, obviously. His head turned so fast it might’ve whiplashed, and the look on his face—yeah, no. Brick didn’t want to deal with that right now.




ROWDY 14: LINK