Beyond the Limit (DC)

"Alright, good work, Nova. Stay put. Government agents will come with inhibitor collars." Captain Atom's voice crackled through Joseph's communicator.

"Ok. Nova out." Joseph replied, ending the call.

He turned his attention back to the restrained assassin lying in a broken heap on the rooftop. The dim city lights reflected off Shrapnel's fractured metallic body, his living metal scales twitching as if testing the strength of their confinement. The anti-gravity field Joseph had wrapped around him kept the assassin from scattering again.

"You heard that?" Joseph's voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable edge to it. "You're going to Belle Reve. You better stay put in there and reflect on your actions because next time—" He clenched his fist, tightening the invisible force pressing down on Shrapnel. The metal shards groaned. "—there will be no second chances."

Shrapnel let out a distorted chuckle, his metallic body vibrating with the sound. "Tough talk, kid. You don't got the guts."

Joseph stared him down, his golden helmet masking any emotion. He had no illusions about criminals like this ever changing. Belle Reve was just a revolving door for metahuman scum. If Shrapnel got out, he wouldn't hesitate to come after him again.

Joseph didn't enjoy killing, not after everything he had endured in the arena. But his encounter with Americommando had shattered the last of his naive ideals. Some people simply didn't deserve to exist. If Shrapnel ever crossed the line again, Joseph wouldn't hesitate. He would just call it an accident.

A black SUV rolled up below, followed by two armored transport vehicles. Government agents in tactical gear stepped out, their rifles raised as they secured the perimeter. A pair of them carried a reinforced case, likely containing the inhibitor collar.

Joseph glanced down at Shrapnel one last time. "Try to run, and I'll make sure they have to sweep you up with a magnet."

He released his grip, allowing the agents to move in. He had more important things to deal with.

**

Carla Viti swirled the wine in her glass, the deep red liquid reflecting the dim light of her penthouse. She took a slow sip, savoring the taste, but the expensive drink did nothing to ease her frustration.

The past few months had been a disaster. Revenue losses, shipments intercepted, businesses burnt down. And all because of a handful of do-gooders who didn't understand how the world worked—especially that one in the helmet.

Nova.

She had spent a fortune hiring a metahuman assassin to take care of him quietly. The plan was simple: an ambush, an untraceable execution. No body, no questions.

And yet, here she was, sitting in her high-rise, drinking alone, waiting for confirmation.

Then she heard it—gunfire.

Not distant, not muffled by city streets. It was coming from inside the building.

Her breath hitched. The sounds of shouting followed, her men scrambling. More gunfire, then silence.

She wasn't stupid. She grabbed the pistol from her drawer, her hands steady from years in this business. The penthouse was secure, reinforced windows, a private elevator with fingerprint access—no way in except the way she came.

And then he came in through the balcony.

Floating just above the railing, arms folded behind his back like a god descending from Olympus, was Nova.

The city lights illuminated his purple bodysuit, the gold accents catching in the glow of her chandelier. His helmet—a smooth Spartan design—made it impossible to read his expression. But she didn't need to see his face.

She could feel the weight of his presence.

This wasn't some young idealist playing hero. This was something else.

She pulled the trigger.

The bullet never reached him.

It stopped mid-air, rotating slowly until it pointed back at her.

"That is your first strike," Nova said, his voice level. "No second chances. Will you surrender?"

Her fingers twitched around the gun, but she didn't fire again. Instinct, honed by years of surviving in a world of killers, told her this wasn't someone she could bluff or intimidate. This was someone who had killed before.

And that terrified her.

"What do you want?" she asked, keeping her voice steady.

"I want you to control Chicago's underworld."

Carla blinked, caught off guard. That was the last thing she had expected to hear.

"What?"

"If I take you down, another family will move in. Maybe the Bertinellis, maybe the Solntsevskaya, maybe someone worse." He took a step closer, the floating bullet still hovering between them. "Crime won't stop. It never does. So I want you to take control and enforce ground rules."

Her mind raced. Was this a trick? Was he wired?

"No more hard drugs," Nova continued. "No more trafficking. No more civilian casualties. Keep it in your world, and I'll let you run it. I'll even help you take down your competition."

Carla stared at him, unsure whether to laugh or be terrified.

"You're serious?"

He didn't answer.

The silence stretched.

This was it. This was her moment.

For years, she had clawed her way up, always second to her brother, always playing under someone else's rules. If what he was offering was real…

She could be queen.

She set the gun down on the desk, exhaling. "I agree."

Nova tilted his head slightly. "Good."

And just like that, the deal was struck.