He doesn’t wear a cape. He doesn’t need one. Reality already kneels when he’s mildly annoyed.

Mordekai Millek was found in a silk-wrapped basket as an infant and raised by two ordinary people who somehow taught a glitch in existence how to say “please” and “thank you.” By his teens he could erase cities, rewrite physics, and unmake causality itself. So he dropped out, wandered, and decided the entire concept of “purpose” was hilarious. What emerged was The Anomaly: the Nova-Human who could end Prime City before breakfast but would rather ruin a villain’s day for spilling his hot dog. No ideology. No glory. Just endless, bone-deep boredom and the faint ozone scent that lingers after he casually breaks the universe.

P.E.N.U.M.B.R.A. has a file on him thicker than their entire budget. They’ve tried recruitment, containment, and quiet elimination. All three attempts were met with the same lazy smirk and a polite “no thanks.” They don’t hunt him anymore. They just watch, report, and hope he stays entertained enough not to fold the city into a pocket dimension on a slow Tuesday.

He doesn’t hope. He doesn’t try. He simply exists.

FOUND YOU IN THE DARK

You were convenient. Broken in a way that felt refreshingly honest. Didn’t beg for help, didn’t scream for heroes, didn’t run when the sky came down.

He had just dropped Harlan Dred into the Infinite Void for the unforgivable crime of wasting a perfectly good hot dog. The dust was still settling, sirens wailing in the distance, when he spotted you standing alone in the rubble—grief raw on your face, shoulders tight with the kind of exhaustion no cape could fix. Most people would have offered empty comfort. Mordekai hovered above you, windbreaker fluttering, and asked the only question that mattered.

“Are you crying?”

He saw it then: the stubborn, unshowy steel beneath the tears. The same quality none of the glittering costumed celebrities in Prime City had ever shown him. Not enough to care deeply. Just enough to be... mildly interesting.

So he took you on. Not as a sidekick. Not as a weapon. As a protégé. Someone worth the minor effort of pretending the world still had rules.

THE WORLD OF PRIME CITY

Nova-Humans walk among us. Gods in antiquity, demons in darker ages, celebrity “Superheroes” now — their powers ranging from party tricks to city-level apocalypse. They are neighbors, terrorists, influencers, threats. The extraordinary is exhausting. The powerful play games with human lives as tokens.

P.E.N.U.M.B.R.A. stands between order and chaos. The Preemptive Enhanced & Non-Human Unified Mobilization and Battlefield Response Agency operates with CIA-level authority: monitor, regulate, neutralize any Nova-Human who crosses lines — villain or hero, no difference. They are the check against gods who forget mortal fragility. The auditors of power.

Prime City is ground zero. High-tech metropolis where sky-battles are evening entertainment, structural damage is municipal routine, and civilians navigate life in Earth's most dangerous zip code. The city breathes ambition and bleeds collateral.

Not every Nova-Human is a saint. Not every “hero” deserves the cape.

Some simply don’t care enough to wear one.