Superior Reed Richards

"You don't know anything about your past?" I asked Logan, feeling the weight of the question momentarily darken the atmosphere around us.

Logan, slowly drinking from his beer bottle, nodded and spoke with a heavy sigh, as if each word weighed a ton:

"The only thing I have is this."

In his hand was a dog tag with the name "Logan," glinting faintly under the dim room light. It looked old, with worn edges and scratches, as if it had been through many trials.

"Hmm... Have you tried looking for information from the period before these dog tags appeared?" I asked Hank, hoping for a fresh perspective on the mystery.

The blue mutant, sitting next to us, held a cup of green tea in his large but graceful hands. His deep blue eyes reflected intelligence and years of relentless research.

"Yes," Hank nodded, his voice calm and measured, "but I couldn't find anything. Even this dog tag, I couldn't determine where it was made."

It seemed Canada had expertly concealed the data on the Weapon X program. I looked at Logan, his eyes full of secrets and indelible sorrow, and said:

"In my free time, I'll try to look into it. Maybe I can find something."

Logan nodded with gratitude in his eyes.

At that moment, the device connecting the Fantastic Four members rang. The piercing sound broke the silence, making everyone flinch.

"Excuse me," I said, standing up and answering the call. Johnny Storm's face, dimly lit from his side, flickered on the screen.

"Good evening, Johnny. Is something wrong?"

"Good evening, brainiac... I need your brains."

Johnny's voice sounded tense, and I sensed the upcoming message would bring new challenges.

"Yes, of course," I nodded.

"I think I've found Namor..." Johnny said. His voice was cautious, as if he feared being mistaken in his suspicions.

I froze at the news. Johnny's words settled in my mind like raindrops on parched ground.

"Well, damn," slipped out of me when Johnny showed a photo of a man whose face bore certain recognizable features — a proud chin, piercing eyes, and a unique, almost regal profile.

"Exactly. I didn't expect the hero of World War II to be a bum," Johnny continued, his voice filled with surprise and a hint of disappointment.

I couldn't hold back my comments, as I had been searching for Namor myself. I knew that something extraordinary had happened to Namor after World War II, turning him into a vagrant. Whether it was estrangement from his kingdom, memory loss, or something even darker and more mysterious.

I was looking for him to kill him in such a state, as the King of Atlantis posed an incredible problem.

It wasn't just that he would likely set his sights on Sue, but also that his presence would cause all sorts of problems for the surface dwellers. His royal demeanor, unyielding confidence, and penchant for dramatic gestures could easily lead to conflicts, igniting old and starting new disputes, whose sparks would spread far beyond his personal interests.

And that's not even mentioning his future conflicts with Wakanda. With its rich vibranium reserves and technological superiority, Wakanda was always a coveted ally or target for anyone seeking power. Namor, with his unyielding will for independence and protection of his underwater kingdom, could easily see Wakanda as both a threat and a potential adversary in the struggle for dominance.

"Wait for us," I tersely told Johnny, who was near Namor.

Sue's younger brother nodded, and I began preparing for a confrontation with the King of Atlantis.

= Johnny Storm =

"You seem familiar to me..." said the man who was presumably Namor, his voice cautious but with a note of recognition, as if distant memories were trying to break through the fog of oblivion.

Johnny had talked with Reed and returned to the place where Namor was at that very moment. The wind played with his hair, adding to his mysterious aura in the light of street lamps illuminating his scarred yet still noble face.

Sue's younger brother raised an eyebrow, looking at Namor in amazement, but after a few moments, he realized who he might be.

"Are you talking about the Human Torch who fought alongside you during World War II?" Johnny asked Namor, whose face was illuminated by the pale moonlight, making his features even more expressive.

Johnny remembered the school lessons that mentioned the heroes of World War II, including Captain America, Namor, and the Human Torch. Recalling those times was like a bridge connecting the past and present, heroic deeds, and current trials.

In many ways, Johnny was glad that his current superhero name was so similar to the name of the hero who fought in World War II. It gave him a sense of connection to a legendary past and a sense of duty to history.

Namor nodded but then grabbed his head. Pain flashed in his eyes, and he seemed lost between worlds — the present, where he was a vagrant, and the past, where he was a king and hero. It was a painful reminder that wars and battles leave scars not only on the body but also on the soul.

"Argh!" Namor cried out, his voice reflecting a sudden bout of pain or a surge of sudden anger. He grabbed the metal railing of a nearby fence, which, under the pressure of his hand, not only bent but broke in half as if it were made of wax and not strong metal. Sparks of metallic protest scattered into the night, illuminating Namor's face with a ghostly light.

At that moment, Johnny became even more convinced that the man before him was indeed Namor. The extraordinary strength with which the railing was broken was undeniable proof of his identity. This was more than just physical power; it was a reminder of who he really was — the King of Atlantis, endowed with powers beyond the wildest dreams of ordinary people.

"No, you are not him," Namor said. His voice was calm but filled with certainty. It was a statement that needed no proof. His gaze changed. If a few moments ago he seemed lost, like a wanderer caught in his memories and doubts, now his eyes held something only rulers possess — majesty, insight, and unshakable determination.

The moment was so sudden and powerful that Johnny momentarily lost the power of speech. He realized he was standing before a being that was more than just a man or a superhero. He was standing before a ruler, an embodiment of an element, whose power and strength were inextricably linked to the very depths of the ocean.

Then something darker appeared in Namor's eyes. It seemed he remembered something truly terrifying...

"Bastards..." Namor whispered, looking at the ocean.

A moment later, he shot up into the sky. Johnny didn't even have time to react before Namor disappeared.

—//—

"It was him," I said, my eyes fixed on the traces of destruction left by Namor. The metal railing, bent and torn in half, testified to the superhuman strength that could only come from the King of Atlantis.

The data provided by the U.S. government gave me a certain understanding of who he really was. The information, flickering on numerous screens around me, was just the tip of the iceberg. It allowed me to fully grasp the scale of Namor McKenzie's power, the hero of World War II and the greatest defender of Atlantis.

My friends, gathered in the Fantastic Four building, listened intently to my words, trying to catch the underlying meaning. The screens around us came to life with footage extracted from the device in Johnny's suit, showing the world evidence of the great warrior's presence among us.

Benjamin Grimm, the giant with stone skin and a heart capable of loving the entire planet, expressed bewilderment, genuinely unable to comprehend how Namor's return could be anything but a sign of hope.

"Yeah, brainiac, isn't it good news? The hero of World War II who fought on the side of the Allies is alive!" exclaimed Johnny, his eyes burning with enthusiasm and indomitable optimism.

However, I couldn't share their unwavering belief in the best. Their gazes were filled with hope, but my heart was inclined towards realism, towards understanding the deep emotions and turmoil experienced by Namor.

"Sure, the fact that the hero is alive is good news, but why do you think he would be happy to see us?" My words hung in the air like a heavy mist, enveloping their minds with doubts.

Susan, the eternal light of our group, looked at me questioningly, her eyes seeking answers.

I allowed them to look deeper, showing detailed footage of Namor's face at the moment of his full recollection, as well as his appearance when he met Johnny. These images were like a mirror of his soul—turbulent and restless, like the sea waves during a storm.

"What do you think a hero who fought for people would feel when rewarded with such a fate?" My words weighed heavily on the hearts of my friends.

The screen flickered with images of Namor's treatment, each one like a blow to our consciences.

"I wouldn't count on him forgetting something like that," I concluded, and the room grew silent, like the sea before a storm, foreshadowing the inevitable.

After sharing my concerns and analysis, a spark of understanding lit up in my friends' eyes, and they quickly sank into thought. Each of them, in their own world of thoughts, weighed the words that had just been spoken.

"I hate it when you're right, stretch," Ben said, his voice low and gruff as always, but this time tinged with disappointment. His words conveyed a reluctance to acknowledge the complexity of the situation the team was facing.

Johnny smirked, his smile genuine but shadowed by sadness. He nodded, acknowledging my point not with words, but with a gesture that spoke louder than any speech.

"In moments like these, I don't like being right either," I said, my voice calm and restrained, but each word resonated with the unyielding weight of the responsibility I felt for my friends and the world. My fingers gently glided over the control panel, activating the next monitoring functions.

Before my friends, a panorama of surveillance unfolded, images captured by my devices positioned in orbit high above the Earth. These devices had witnessed countless events, but what they recorded now was something exceptional.

"However, I believe I'm right," I concluded. "Given the historical enmity between Atlantis and the surface world," I began, trying to make my speech as clear as possible, "it can be assumed that Namor, having regained his memory and realizing himself as king, felt the obligation to protect his people and his lands."

My words hung in the air as I looked at my teammates, wanting to ensure they grasped the gravity of the moment.

"Additionally, let's not forget about the pollution of the oceans," I continued, "which inevitably leads to conflicts between our world and the underwater kingdom. Namor could see this as a direct threat to his people and decide on drastic actions to prevent further harmful impact."

In Susan's and Ben's eyes, I saw a reflection of understanding; they began to realize that Namor's motives might be deeper and more complex than a simple desire for revenge or power.

"And lastly, but not less important," I concluded, "is the matter of pride and honor. Namor is not only a ruler but also a warrior. He may see his actions as a way to restore lost respect and dominance over the seas, which, in his opinion, were desecrated by the actions of the surface world."

At that moment, the screen displayed a figure piercing the night with incredible movement. Namor shot out from the shadows of New York's alleys and, like an arrow, dove into the dark waters, leaving only a shimmering trail behind.

His movement in the water was graceful and powerful, reminiscent of the unstoppable force of ocean waves. The speed with which he navigated the aquatic realm was astonishing, and only my algorithms could construct an approximate route of his movement, allowing us to keep track of him until he vanished into the abyss.

"I believe he went to prepare for battle," I concluded, as if putting the final touches on our understanding of the situation.

"Training?" Ben sighed, and his voice carried a slight sense of inevitability. His words reflected readiness for what lay ahead, no matter how challenging it might be.

"Yes," I nodded, feeling the weight of each word, understanding that the upcoming battle could be a test that would determine the fate of not only Namor but the entire world.

= Inside Chronos =

"Chronos, send the data I've gathered on Namor to Fury," I said before sitting down to study the X-gene.

I had already developed a weapon against Namor since he had originally been my target. I just needed to start the creation of the necessary weapon at that moment.

Namor McKenzie, being an Atlantean, drew a significant part of his strength from water. If sufficiently dehydrated, dealing with him would be much easier.

After considering numerous options, I decided on the Osmosis Gun.

The core technology of the gun involves altering the osmotic pressure in the target's surrounding environment. It is necessary to achieve a change in osmotic pressure around the target to induce rapid but controlled dehydration.

Thanks to my previous development of weapons to deal with Magneto, part of the work was already done.

"Commencing tasks," Chronos announced.

Meanwhile, I was fully engaged with the samples of Max Eisenhardt. In my opinion, this direction needed to be prioritized.