[Pier 47, National City Port — July 2017, 9:23 PM]
The western flank was chaos.
Mon-El hit the first guard before the man could finish raising his weapon—a precise strike to the jaw that sent him spinning into a stack of crates. Two more soldiers turned, rifles swinging toward him, but he was already moving. Speed blur. Impact. Impact. Both down before their fingers found triggers.
Gunfire erupted across the compound. Muzzle flashes in the darkness. Kara's heat vision carved through a truck's engine block, sending it up in flames. J'onn phased through a wall, taking down three soldiers from behind. The coordinated assault was working—Cadmus forces scattered, overwhelmed by enemies attacking from every direction.
But the cargo ship was moving.
Mon-El could see it—the massive vessel pulling away from the pier, its hull scraping against concrete as it accelerated toward open water. The biohazard containers were aboard. Whatever enhanced Medusa variant Cadmus had created, it was leaving with the ship.
He searched the chaos for Jeremiah.
Found him.
The man stood near a control station at the pier's edge, tablet in hand, calmly directing operations despite the battle raging around him. A force of soldiers had formed a defensive perimeter, keeping DEO agents at bay.
Mon-El broke through them like a wave through sandcastles.
He grabbed Jeremiah by the collar, lifted him off his feet, slammed him against the control station hard enough to crack the screen. The tablet clattered away into the darkness.
"Call back the ship."
Jeremiah's cybernetic arm hummed—the same arm that had deployed the EMP. Mon-El caught it before the strike could connect, metal fingers straining against his grip.
"You can't stop this." Jeremiah's voice was calm despite his position. "That ship will reach international waters within the hour. Deployment begins at dawn."
"Deployment of what?"
"Justice." Something like faith burned in Jeremiah's eyes. "Medusa 3.0. Airborne. Global dispersal pattern. By tomorrow night, every alien on Earth will be dead. My daughters will finally be safe."
Mon-El's grip tightened. "Your daughters are aliens. One by birth, one by love. You'd kill everyone they care about."
"They'll understand. Eventually. When the threat is gone and humanity can—"
Mon-El threw him.
Jeremiah flew fifteen feet, hit a stack of cargo containers with a metallic crash, and came up fighting. His cybernetic arm had transformed—no longer just metal, but armed with bladed attachments that gleamed in the firefight's glow.
The first slash came fast. Mon-El dodged, felt the blade whisper past his ear. The second caught his forearm—not deep, but enough to draw blood. Jeremiah's enhancements made him faster than any human should be.
But Mon-El wasn't human either.
He caught the third strike with his TK field, holding Jeremiah's arm in place long enough to drive a fist into his midsection. The enhanced man doubled over. Mon-El followed with an uppercut that lifted him off his feet.
"You don't have to do this!" Mon-El shouted over the battle noise. "Fight the programming! I know part of you is still in there!"
Jeremiah spat blood. "There's nothing to fight. I'm not a puppet. I chose this. Every time I close my eyes, I see what they showed me—alien ships, alien weapons, Earth burning. I chose to prevent that."
"By committing genocide?"
"By doing what's necessary."
He charged.
The exchange was brutal—cybernetic strength against Daxamite durability. Mon-El took hits that would have killed a human, gave back strikes that cracked Jeremiah's protective plating. Every punch felt wrong. This was Alex's father. Kara's family. A man broken by Cadmus and rebuilt into a weapon.
But he's still a weapon, Mon-El reminded himself. And that ship is getting away.
"Kara!" He touched his earpiece mid-dodge. "The ship—Medusa variant, global deployment. You have to stop it!"
Static. Then Kara's voice: "I see it. Go—I've got the ship."
A red-and-blue blur streaked across the sky, heading for the water. The cargo ship was a quarter mile out now, picking up speed. Kara hit it like a missile, plunging into the hull somewhere near the waterline.
The ship lurched. Stopped.
Mon-El turned back to Jeremiah—and found the man watching his daughter's silhouette with something like pride mixed with despair.
"She's remarkable," Jeremiah said quietly. "Both of them are. I wanted to protect that."
"You wanted to destroy everything they stand for."
"I wanted to save them." He raised his blade arm. "We're done talking."
They clashed again.
Mon-El was faster now—reading Jeremiah's patterns, anticipating the cybernetic arm's movements. His TK field deflected strikes while his fists found openings. A blow to Jeremiah's knee. A palm strike to his chest. An elbow that crunched against enhanced bone.
But Jeremiah kept fighting. Cadmus had built him to last.
Then a new sound cut through the battle—a weapon cycling. Mon-El glanced sideways.
Alex Danvers stood ten feet away, pistol raised, aimed at her father's head.
"Dad." Her voice shook. "Stop. Please."
---
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