Cecil Stedman had seen a lot of shit in his lifetime.
Alien invasions, dimension-hopping psychopaths, monsters that defied classification - the usual Tuesday afternoon fare for someone in his position.
But watching the most powerful heroes on the planet get swatted away like gnats by a mustachioed space dictator? That was a new one, even for him.
As the dust settled in the conference room, Cecil removed his sunglasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.
The scarred skin around his mouth - the only part of his original body he'd kept after that unfortunate incident with the flesh-disintegrating gas years ago - felt particularly tight today.
Stress did that to him.
"Well," he said to the silent room, "that went about as well as a blind date with Ted Bundy."
Nobody laughed. Nobody even smiled. Tough crowd, but understandable given the circumstances.
The Immortal was the first to rise, cradling his broken hand. "In my thousands of years of living," he said quietly, "I've never encountered anything like him."
"You've got to admit," Cecil replied, "he's got a hell of a sales pitch. 'Join me or die in an hour.' Really cuts through the bureaucratic red tape."
War Woman retrieved her axe from where it had fallen. "This isn't the time for jokes, Cecil."
"Who's joking?" Cecil straightened his tie and turned to face the monitors where two dozen world leaders watched with expressions ranging from shock to grim resignation.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I believe we have what the Pentagon would call a 'situation.'"
The President of the United States cleared his throat. "Mr. Stedman, what are our options here?"
Cecil barked a laugh that held no humor. "Options? Did you not see what just happened? The combined might of the Guardians of the Globe plus Omni-Man couldn't make him flinch.
I'm not sure we have options beyond 'how politely do we surrender?'"
"Surely we have contingencies," the British Prime Minister interjected. "Weapons that could-"
"We don't," Cecil cut her off. "Nothing in our arsenal would even irritate him. Hell, I'm not sure a nuclear strike would muss his mustache."
The Chinese Premier leaned forward. "Then we must consider his offer seriously. If resistance is truly futile, perhaps integration is the logical choice."
A murmur ran through the assembled leaders. Cecil watched them with a cynical eye, already calculating how this would play out. Politicians were predictable, even when facing extinction-level threats.
"With all due respect," the German Chancellor said, "we cannot simply surrender Earth's sovereignty to an alien dictator, no matter how powerful."
"With all due respect back," Cecil countered, "I'm not sure we have much choice.
Unless someone here has a secret weapon capable of taking down a being who just treated our strongest heroes like they were made of wet tissue paper."
The Guardians had gathered themselves, their injuries already being tended to by GDA medical staff. Red Rush vibrated nervously in place, his usual speed-induced fidgeting amplified by anxiety.
"We could try again," he suggested. "Different tactics, maybe-"
"Different tactics won't matter," The Immortal interrupted. "You felt it, didn't you? It wasn't just strength. It was like hitting something... invincible."
Cecil nodded. "The Grand Regent wasn't bluffing. If he wanted Earth conquered, it would be conquered. The question now is whether we take the path with fewer casualties."
The Saudi Arabian representative, who had been silent until now, spoke up. "In my culture, we have a long history of dealing with powerful conquerors. Sometimes, wisdom lies in bending rather than breaking."
"Are you suggesting we capitulate?" the French President asked incredulously.
"I am suggesting we be realistic," the Saudi replied calmly. "This Thragg offered us integration with dignity, not humiliation or enslavement.
He spoke of eliminating disease, hunger, war - improving human life. If conquest is inevitable either way, is it not better to choose the path that preserves our people?"
Cecil considered this perspective thoughtfully. "He's got a point. Thragg didn't talk about destroying our cultures or enslaving humanity. He talked about a protectorate relationship."
"A benevolent dictator is still a dictator," the Canadian Prime Minister argued.
"And a dead population has no freedom at all," Cecil countered. "Look, I'm as fond of democracy and independence as the next guy who's spent his life defending it, but I'm also a pragmatist. We're outmatched. Completely and utterly outmatched."
The Iraqian representative nodded slowly. "In our history, we have seen empires rise and fall.
The wisest rulers were those who allowed the conquered to maintain their ways of life, their religions, their customs - while simply requiring tribute and loyalty.
Perhaps this Thragg understands this ancient wisdom."
"He did say our political structures would remain in place," Cecil acknowledged. "Just ultimately answerable to him."
The room fell silent as everyone contemplated the implications.
Cecil walked to the window overlooking the underground GDA facility, watching his agents scurry about, preparing for a crisis they couldn't possibly handle.
Poor bastards didn't even know it.
"You know what the really frustrating part is?" he said to no one in particular. "Omni-Man. Twenty years, and he never mentioned being part of an interstellar empire. Makes you wonder what else he's been hiding."
The Immortal approached, standing beside Cecil at the window. "What do you think we should do?"
Cecil sighed. "What I think doesn't matter. This is above my pay grade. Way, way above."
"Bullshit," The Immortal replied. "You're the one who's been preparing for planetary threats longer than anyone. Your opinion matters."
Cecil turned to face the assembled leaders on the monitors. "If you're asking for my professional assessment, it's this: we cannot win a direct confrontation. Period.
So our choices are to accept Thragg's offer of peaceful integration, or to face conquest with all the death and destruction that entails."
"And if we accept his offer," the Russian President asked, "what guarantees do we have that he will honor the terms?"
"None," Cecil admitted. "But he doesn't strike me as the type who needs to lie. He's powerful enough to simply take what he wants.
The fact that he's offering terms at all suggests he prefers cooperation to domination."
The Egyptian representative spoke up. "In my country, we have a saying: 'The wise man bows before the storm and rises unbroken when it passes.' Perhaps this is such a storm."
"A storm named Thragg," Cecil muttered. "Catchy."
The United Nations Secretary-General, who had been listening silently until now, finally spoke. "I propose we put it to a vote. The decision affects all humanity; it should be made collectively."
Cecil nodded. "Fair enough. But I suggest we do it quickly. Our deadline is 24 hours, and I don't think the Grand Regent is the type to offer extensions."
The next several hours were a blur of heated debates, strategic assessments, and increasingly desperate proposals.
Cecil moved between the conference room and his private office, fielding calls from military leaders, scientific advisors, and intelligence agencies around the world.
None of them had anything useful to offer. No secret weapons, no hidden allies, no clever strategies that might turn the tide. Just variations on the same theme: they were hopelessly outmatched.
By evening, Cecil found himself alone in his office, nursing a glass of bourbon that did little to dull the impending sense of doom. A knock at the door interrupted his brooding.
"Enter," he called, not bothering to look up.
Dr. Deborah Markham, the GDA's chief xenobiologist, stepped in. "The preliminary analysis of the confrontation is complete," she said, placing a tablet on his desk.
"Let me guess," Cecil replied, taking a sip of his drink. "We're screwed."
"That's the technical term, yes." She sighed and sat down across from him. "His cellular density is off the charts.
The energy readings during the confrontation - just from him standing there - exceeded anything we've ever recorded, including from Omni-Man."
Cecil scrolled through the data, though the numbers meant little to him. "Any weaknesses? Vulnerabilities? A fondness for chocolate that we could exploit?"
Dr. Markham didn't smile. "None that we could detect. And there's something else... something strange."
"Strange how?"
"His molecular structure seems to be in a state of perfect equilibrium. It's like every atom in his body is exactly where it should be, with no possibility of disruption. It's not natural."
Cecil leaned forward. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying he's not just strong or durable. It's like he's achieved some kind of... perfect structural integrity at the atomic level. I can't explain it scientifically. It shouldn't be possible."
"Great," Cecil muttered. "So he's not just stronger than anyone we've ever encountered; he's breaking the laws of physics too beyond normal standards. Anything else to brighten my day?"
Dr. Markham hesitated. "Our analysis teams have been working non-stop. Everything we can find about Viltrumite physiology suggests they're nearly indestructible. Nothing in our arsenal would even register to him."
Cecil drained his glass. "Fantastic. So our options indeed are surrender to Space Hitler or get obliterated. So much for getting one's hopes up." Not that he truly did.
"That's... not an entirely accurate comparison," Dr. Markham said carefully. "From what little Omni-Man has shared over the years, and from our observations today, Thragg doesn't seem inclined toward genocide or cultural erasure. He spoke of integration, not annihilation."
"Small comfort," Cecil replied, even though he himself earlier used that argument against the World Leaders, he still found it bullshit. Still, he's got to hope.
Another knock interrupted them. This time it was one of Cecil's aides. "Sir, the UN Security Council has reached a preliminary decision. They're requesting your presence."
Cecil nodded, dismissing the aide with a wave. "Duty calls," he said to Dr. Markham. "Let's go see if Earth's leaders have chosen the fire or the frying pan."
Back in the conference room, the mood had shifted from panic to grim resolution. The Security Council members looked exhausted but determined.
"Mr. Stedman," the Secretary-General began, "after extensive deliberation, the Security Council has voted to accept Grand Regent Thragg's offer of peaceful integration, with certain requested assurances."
Cecil raised an eyebrow. "Requested assurances? You're planning to negotiate with the guy who just swatted away our strongest defenders like flies?"
"We must try," the French representative insisted. "Basic guarantees of human rights, cultural autonomy, non-interference in religious practices-"
"I get it," Cecil interrupted. "You want to make sure the new landlord doesn't redecorate too drastically. But I'm not sure Thragg is the negotiating type."
The Saudi representative spoke up again. "Even the mightiest conqueror understands the value of a willing populace over a resentful one.
There is no harm in asking for these assurances, even if we must ultimately accept his terms regardless."
Cecil couldn't argue with that logic. "Fair enough. So we're accepting his offer. What about the dissenters?" He glanced at the monitors where several leaders still looked unconvinced.
"The vote was not unanimous," the Secretary-General admitted. "But a significant majority recognizes the reality of our situation. We will present a unified response to Grand Regent Thragg."
"Well," Cecil said, clapping his hands together with forced enthusiasm, "I guess that's that. Earth gets a new management team. Should I prepare the welcome basket, or will someone else handle that?"
No one appreciated his gallows humor, but Cecil hadn't expected them to. It was how he coped with impending doom - had been since that day he'd nearly been dissolved into a puddle of goo by terrorists.
The meeting concluded with the drafting of an official response to Thragg, complete with the requested assurances that everyone knew might well be ignored.
Cecil watched the process with detached interest, already thinking ahead to what Earth under Viltrumite rule might look like.
Would Thragg keep his word about eliminating disease and hunger? Would human civilization actually benefit from this forced evolution? Or was this the beginning of the end for humanity as they knew it?
As the document was finalized and preparations made to deliver their response, Cecil found himself alone with The Immortal once more.
"So," The Immortal said quietly, "this is how it ends. Not with a bang, but with a signature."
"It's not ending," Cecil replied, trying to convince himself as much as his ancient friend. "It's changing. Humanity's good at adapting. We'll figure out how to live under new management."
"I've seen empires rise and fall," The Immortal mused. "I've watched civilizations transform. Sometimes for better, sometimes for worse. But I've never seen anything quite like this."
Cecil nodded. "First time for everything. Even for you, old man."
The Immortal almost smiled. "What will you do now? Will you continue to lead the GDA under Viltrumite rule?"
It was a question Cecil had been asking himself. "Someone has to manage the transition. Might as well be someone who knows where all the bodies are buried - figuratively speaking, of course."
"Of course," The Immortal echoed, not believing him for a second.
As night fell over the Pentagon, Cecil stood on the surface level, watching the stars.
Somewhere up there was the Viltrum Empire, a civilization powerful enough to send a single representative - Nolan alone - who could bring Earth to its knees without breaking a sweat.
An Empire who's ruler apparently deemed Earth and Humanity valuable enough to step off his mighty throne and make sure to gain it himself.
Tomorrow, they would deliver their response to Thragg. Tomorrow, Earth would officially become a protectorate of the Viltrum Empire.
And Cecil Stedman, who had spent his entire career protecting Earth from threats both foreign and domestic, would have to learn how to serve a new master.
"Well," he muttered to himself, "at least the health benefits should be good. Maybe I'll get to live a couple decades longer."
He turned and walked back into the building, already planning how to restructure the GDA for its new role in a Viltrumite-ruled world.
If humanity was going to survive this transition, they'd need people like him - pragmatists who could work within the system, even as it changed around them.
It wasn't the future he'd imagined, but it was the future they had. And Cecil Stedman had always been good at playing the hand he was dealt, even when the cards were crap.
Tomorrow would bring a new era for Earth. All they could do now was hope that Thragg would keep his word about making it a better one.
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(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all liked the chapter!
Man, did I like writing Cecil this chapter. I find that I've improved a bit when it comes to him, compared to my other fics representations of him, do tell me your opinions about that.
Well, I hope to see you all later,
Bye!)