(Before you say that this chapter may be a bit out of time, I just want to mention that the rescue of the animal has already taken place, and why are they still at the base or something, because they returned with Vilgax's spaceship to carry everything possible, and again you can talk more because someone from the league hasn't shown up yet, .... ROTEIRO..., my creativity is dying help me and accept this this time for the sake of the script)
The Plumbers' base hangar, carved into Mount Rushmore, was a corpse of concrete and steel, its floor cracked as if crushed by a titan, the walls scarred by explosions and plasma pulses. The ravine outside, a field of charred trees and smoking craters, held the defeated body of the Green Lantern, Klynn, his ring dark. My arm throbbed, the **Muscle Enhancement Module** still hot from combat, the cut on my forearm burning under a crust of dried blood. Victory was mine, the portal gun secured, but the shadow of the Justice League and the Plumbers loomed, a nagging unease I couldn't ignore. They would come, and I needed to be ready—not as the Vilgax of now, but as the conqueror who would bend galaxies to his will.
I stepped into the tank, parked in the hangar, its treads stained with ravine dirt. The hydraulic door closed with a hiss, the interior lit by blue panels, the air thick with the hum of systems. Lyra, at the console, typed with precision, her face reflecting the glow of screens listing the haul: the portal gun, its silver barrel and pulsing purple core, rested in a reinforced case, surrounded by data discs, plasma weapons, and energy crystals. Krag, the gray-skinned Czarnian, inspected a stolen launcher, while Tira and Jek stacked crates in the back. Dren, Vok, and the five Czarnians patrolled outside, drones buzzing in vigilance. "Haul's almost done, boss," Lyra said, her voice sharp, eyes fixed on the screens. "The gun's clean, but it might have trackers. Want me to scan?"
"Scan and disable any signals," I ordered, sitting in a reinforced chair that groaned under my weight, my armor creaking. "And prep the ship. We're not staying." Exhaustion weighed on me, but the promise of the gacha sharpened my focus. I closed my eyes, and the system's mental interface formed, a holographic roulette spinning in my mind, its alien symbols pulsing red and gold. *Forty points,* I thought, the power of victory—a Lantern defeated, a base raided—coursing like fire through my veins. No one saw, no one knew; the gacha was my secret, a weapon not even Lyra, with her cunning, could imagine. The roulette spun, each click a thunderclap, until it stopped. Four rewards, four steps toward the future.
A hidden compartment in the tank hummed, a retractable drawer opening with a click. To the team, it would seem like a supply delivery, but I knew the truth. Inside lay the items: a black cylinder with green circuits, an injector with blue fluid, two dark-red crystalline vials, and a metallic sphere with a blue core. I took each one, keeping my movements casual, as if inspecting the loot. First, the **Genetic Alteration Tech Tank**, its panels gleaming like obsidian, bioluminescent circuits pulsing with life. It was the key to transcendence, to reshaping my DNA to its pinnacle. *With you, I'll be unstoppable,* I thought, envisioning Superman crushed, the League kneeling.
I stowed the cylinder under the seat, out of sight, and grabbed the **Neural Nano-Enhancement**, the injector cold against my fingers. With a discreet motion, I applied it to my neck, the blue fluid seeping into my skin, an electric tingle racing through my body. My reflexes sharpened, my mind cleared, every sound in the tank—Lyra's typing, Krag's growl—becoming vivid. I tested it, flicking my wrist with a speed that sliced the air, and felt the difference: I could coordinate drones, fight, and plan simultaneously. *The League won't stand a chance,* I thought, pocketing the empty injector, unnoticed.
Then, I took the **Future Vilgax DNA** vials. The old one, clipped to my belt for months, held half the code of a conqueror who'd ruled galaxies. The new one, freshly earned, completed the puzzle—100% of the DNA of a Vilgax who was legend, his image etched in my mind: dark green skin, writhing tentacle beard, a robust body without heavy armor, driven by a strength that made worlds tremble. I held the vials, one in each hand, their red glow reflecting in my eyes. *The future is my destiny,* I thought, the weight of transformation almost tangible. This was the next step, the path to becoming Vilgax 10,000, a titan who needed no machines, only the pure essence of my species elevated to the extreme.
But transformation demanded a price. I glanced at my armor, scarred by cuts and blasts, the arm implants glowing faintly. The **Muscle Enhancement Module**, the laser vision, the **Repair Adhesive**—tools that brought me this far, but ones the Future Vilgax had abandoned. His power came from DNA, a body optimized by genetics, free of implants or armor. Shedding them would strip my defenses, exposing my flesh to the universe. *A risk worth the power,* I mused, my chest tight but my resolve unshaken. Without armor, I'd be vulnerable—but as Vilgax 10,000, I'd be invincible, a conqueror crushing armies barehanded.
The final item, the **Gravitational Pulse Generator**, was a compact sphere, its blue core pulsing like a star. I held it, disguising it as looted tech, and activated its repulsive mode with a touch. An invisible wave flung a crate against the tank's wall, the metal crumpling with a crash. Lyra glanced over, frowning, but didn't question—it was just stolen tech to her. *This will change the game,* I thought, picturing heroes like the Flash pinned by high gravity or attacks deflected by the pulse. It was the perfect tool to control chaos, ideal for what lay ahead.
"Lyra," I called, my voice sharp, stowing the Generator and vials in my belt, the Genetic Tank hidden. "Install that cylinder in the rear chamber," I said, pointing to the seat where I'd left it, as if it were part of the haul. "I want it running in hours. Test that sphere with the drones," I handed her the Generator, keeping up the facade. "And scan the portal gun. I want to know what it accesses—dimensions, planets, or more."
She nodded, taking the Generator. "Trackers on the gun are disabled, but the signal's weak. Could be base interference. The cylinder… looks like genetic tech. Want me to call the doctor?" Her mention of Dr. Animo, rescued from the previous prison, was a reminder of his utility. The scientist, with his twisted mind, could ensure the Genetic Tank worked flawlessly.
"Call him," I replied, standing, my armor creaking. "And tell Tira to tighten surveillance. The League might be close." The thought of Batman or Superman appearing twisted my gut, but it also sparked a challenge. *Let them come. I'm almost at the apex.*
Krag, in the corner, hefted the launcher, a savage grin on his face. "If the League shows, boss, we fight or bolt?" His scar gleamed under the light, his Czarnian eyes itching for violence.
"We fight until I'm ready," I said, walking to the portal gun's case. I lifted the device, its purple core pulsing in my hand. "The cylinder is the priority. With it…" I glanced at the vials on my belt, their red glow concealed. "No one will stop us."
The tank's door opened, and I stepped into the hangar, the cracked floor crunching under my boots. Czarnians hauled the last crates, drones patrolled, the air heavy with dust and burnt metal. I ordered the cylinder unloaded, and Lyra connected power cables, the Genetic Tank humming to life, its green circuits illuminating the chaos. I touched its surface, cold and smooth, picturing myself inside, Future DNA flowing, armor discarded, implants removed, emerging as Vilgax 10,000. *The future starts here,* I thought, but I knew a flaw in the tank could ruin everything. Animo would be crucial.
"Test the sphere," I ordered, pointing to a drone. Lyra attached the Generator, and the drone flew, activating high-gravity mode. A stack of crates collapsed, the concrete cracking under the weight. "It works," she said, noting it on the console. "Want it field-ready?"
"Prep it for combat," I replied, my mind on the tank and the gun. "If the League comes, I want targets pinned." I took the portal gun, turning it over, its purple core glowing. *What do you hide?* I wondered, imagining portals to rich worlds or traps for heroes. But the tank came first.
The communicator beeped, Tira's voice cutting through the noise. "Boss, signal 50 kilometers out, closing fast. Small ship, unidentified." Her caution was palpable, a mercenary sensing danger.
"Trackers," I muttered, fist clenched, the vials clinking. "Or the League." I looked at Lyra. "Genetic Tank is top priority. Call Animo now. And prep the ship—we're moving to the next prison." The new maximum-security prison, my next target, held something or someone vital—a step beyond Animo's rescue, a move to cement my power.
Lyra nodded, rushing to the tank, while Krag laughed, launcher ready. "Another prison, boss? I'm liking this plan." Czarnians barked orders, crates stacked, drones escorting. I ordered the haul transferred to the ship, a cloaked fortress in low orbit, its black silhouette waiting. The Genetic Tank was loaded, the portal gun secured, and the team boarded, the hangar left empty, a tomb of my victory.
I climbed aboard the ship, the deck vibrating with engines, and sat at the command, the DNA vials on my belt, the future within reach. "Next destination: maximum-security prison, Sector 2813," I announced, my voice echoing. "Prepare yourselves. The universe is ours." The ship roared, leaving Earth behind, bound for the prison where my next step awaited. Vilgax 10,000 was near, and nothing—not the League, not the Plumbers—would stop me.