Creation Of All Things

Two weeks later

Somewhere beneath Old District 9

The steel door hissed open with a deep clunk. Smooth lights rippled on overhead strips like breathing veins. Everything about the base was clean—unnaturally clean. Polished chrome. Black glass walls. Screens lined the main chamber like a silent orchestra, pulsing with feeds from across the city.

Adam stood at the center of it all.

No longer in plain clothes.

Now he wore a suit—sleek black with subtle silver trims that shimmered only when light hit at the right angle. A high collar. Fingerless gloves. A minimalist symbol etched across the chest: a broken circle, with a single line crossing through its center.

Not too flashy. But distinct enough to be remembered.

A voice spoke behind him.

"All systems active, sir."

He turned.

It wasn't AI.

It was a man.

Well… something like one.

His skin was pale. Eyes gray like old glass. Movements smooth, precise, not stiff—just… deliberate. Like everything he did had already been calculated.

"Thank you, Rook," Adam said casually.

The humanoid bowed his head slightly.

Adam walked past him, boots clicking against the titanium floor. As he entered the next chamber, more of them turned to face him.

Five total.

Each one looked human.

Each one had a name.

Rook. Slate. Ivy. Vance. Kilo.

Each one was handcrafted by Adam from raw matter, sculpted from his will. They weren't just machines. They weren't clones either. They were something else. Something in-between.

They didn't need to eat. They didn't age. They didn't question. But they weren't mindless. They learned. They adapted. And more than anything, they served—as his eyes, his ears, and when needed… his fists.

"You've finished the surveillance map?" Adam asked.

Slate stepped forward, projecting a floating 3D image of the city between them.

"Yes, sir. All hero organizations are marked. So are villain hotspots. Underground activity is most concentrated in Sectors 3, 7, and 12."

Adam smirked. "Of course. The shiny ones like to leave Sector 12 alone."

"Too messy," Ivy chimed in. "Not enough camera ops."

He chuckled. "Then maybe that's where we begin."

"Begin… what, sir?" Vance asked.

Adam turned away, heading toward the inner lift.

"My debut."

Surface – Later That Night – Sector 12

It was the kind of place even trash didn't like to stay in. Busted neon signs. Smoky alleyways. The scent of old oil, metal, and fried despair.

Screams echoed down an alley.

Two men ran.

They wore cheap body armor. Powered by stolen tech. One of them had a stolen plasma blade buzzing in his grip. Behind them—two terrified kids, siblings, cornered by the rest of the gang.

"Please!" one of the kids cried out.

A chuckle came from the gang leader. "Don't worry, kid. We're not monsters. We'll make it quick."

A sudden whump echoed.

Like air getting punched.

One of the thugs blinked.

"Did you feel tha—"

His face met the pavement before he could finish. A hole in the air appeared where his nose used to be.

The rest turned.

A figure stood at the alley's mouth.

Black suit. High collar. Face half-covered by a shifting mask of shadows. Silver lines gleaming faintly on his chest.

No introduction.

No warning.

Just his presence—and the sudden sense that none of them were going home.

"Who the hell—?" the leader barked.

Adam didn't answer.

He raised a hand.

A crackle of energy formed between his fingers—not lightning, not flame. Just… force. Raw, invisible, crushing.

The plasma blade flew out of the thug's grip and turned to ash in midair.

Adam stepped forward.

One of the gangsters lunged with a crowbar.

Adam didn't dodge.

The moment the metal touched his chest, it shattered like glass. The fragments floated for a second—then melted into nothing.

"What the—!?"

Adam blinked.

The next moment, they all hit the wall at once—pinned by gravity they didn't understand. The concrete cracked behind them.

He walked up to the terrified kids and offered a hand.

"Go. That way."

They nodded fast, scrambled, and vanished down the street.

Adam turned back to the criminals.

"You're not worth erasing," he said calmly.

He snapped his fingers.

They all blacked out instantly.

No injuries. No pain.

Just lights out.

Surveillance Tower HQ – Minutes Later

Alarms blared.

Live feed pinged into place. A blurry shadow figure in Sector 12—dispatch confirmed no official hero responded in that area.

The woman in the red blazer from earlier now leaned forward, eyes narrowed.

"There he is," she muttered.

The operator clicked a few times.

"No signal ID. No registered suit. No team. No comm trace. But…"

She leaned closer.

"…he's wearing a symbol now."

The operator zoomed in.

The broken circle.

The single line.

"…That's new."

Another agent whispered, "Did he just wipe out a gang in five seconds?"

The woman didn't answer.

She just whispered one word.

"Godspeed."

Underground Base – Command Room

Rook, Ivy, and Slate watched the playback from Sector 12.

Kilo tapped the feed window. "That symbol. The people are already tweeting about it. Reddit, too. They're calling him 'Null'."

Adam walked in just then.

"Null?" he asked.

Ivy nodded. "Yeah. Someone said it means 'empty of limits.' Sounds cool, I guess."

Adam smirked. "I like it."

"So that's the alias now?" Rook asked.

Adam picked up a datapad, eyes on the monitor.

"Sure. Let's make it official."

"Already trending in two hours," Slate noted. "Civilians are calling you 'the quiet one.' Some are scared. Others… impressed."

Adam leaned back.

"I'm not here to be liked."

He pointed at the screen. At the map.

"I want all villain networks in the city. Where they eat, sleep, hide, recruit. I want every corrupt hero too. No one gets a pass."

"Yes, sir," they answered in unison.

"And I want media to get footage of what happens when real power stops pretending."

Elsewhere – Villain Underground, Sector 3

A hologram flickered to life in a dirty room where eight different villain bosses sat.

The man in the middle scowled.

"Who the hell is Null?"

One of the others leaned forward.

"Doesn't matter. He's unregistered. Some rogue freak trying to play god."

"No hero does that clean a job," another growled. "That's not a hero. That's a message."

The hologram zoomed into the broken circle.

One of them stood.

"I say we kill him before he gets ideas."

They didn't know it yet.

But Adam was already listening.

One of his drones sat on the ceiling, cloaked in plain sight.

He watched.

He smiled.

And back at his base, Adam whispered to himself—

"Let's see how deep this rabbit hole really goes."

And so, the city learned his name.

Null.

The one who erased.

The one who created.

The one who didn't play by the handbook.

But still walked their streets…

like he owned them.