Chapter Text
City Z was a weird place. Coming from Saitama, who'd lived there his whole life, that was saying something. It wasn't the biggest city in the country, but it was up there in the single digits at least, and the weirdness-per-people levels were off the charts.
Saitama counted himself among the oddities. At least, for the last couple years, ever since his hair started falling out and his weird dreams began bleeding into reality.
"You really didn't see anything?" Saitama asked, though he already knew the answer.
Mumen shook his head, hunched over a steaming cup of coffee. "I don't know what to tell you."
"It's just, when it happened, the way you reacted, I thought..."
"How I reacted?" His brow furrowed over thick glasses. Mumen's eyes weren't that bad, he couldn't have qualified to be a cop if they were, but he special ordered military grade lenses because he hated wearing contacts.
"You were freaked out!"
"Of course I was, Saitama, we nearly got run over!"
"Yeah! By an eight foot tall dude in a Beetle!"
Mumen smiled indulgently. "He wasn't eight feet."
"At least eight," Saitama insisted. "I'm accounting for my brain exaggerating because of adrenaline. And he sort of... unfolded when he got out. Like he had too many joints."
Mumen frowned harder. "I believe you saw what you saw."
Saitama sighed. "You know, I could swear it. Clear as day. But if you didn't..."
"I'm sorry," Mumen said quietly. He reached across the table and squeezed Saitama's hand briefly. It wasn't that long ago that Saitama was uncomfortable with friendly physical affection like this, especially after he found out Mumen liked guys, but if you couldn't trust your partner you couldn't trust anybody.
"I think this job is getting to me," Saitama slumped back in the uncomfortable booth. It was hell on the back, but the familiarity was comforting. "It feels like every time I see something crazy, you remember it different!"
"Take a vacation," Mumen suggested. "Sleep in, maybe go to the beach?"
"If I could afford the beach I would." He nodded thoughtfully. "But time off isn't a bad idea."
Neither one of them mentioned talking with someone professional about it. Admitting you might be losing it was a worst-case-scenario type situation. As long as it could be explained away as a faulty memory and bad dreams, it could be safely ignored.
If Saitama was more thorough in his reports it might be a problem. He'd tried, when he first started, recording every detail of every incident. But people looked at you funny when you said a suspect had yellow eyes, or gray skin, or too many teeth. So Saitama summarized, and no one complained.
"You want to come over?" Mumen asked.
"Nah, I'm tired." They'd had the early morning shift, so it was only late afternoon now, but Saitama felt like watching bad TV until he fell asleep. "Thanks anyway."
They finished up their coffee and headed out, parting ways at the bike rack where Mumen locked his up. Saitama had been Mumen's partner for three years now, and he still couldn't understand the man's obsession with cycling. He watched him ride off, fighting the urge to call him back, then shoved his hands in his hoodie pocket and pointed his feet in the direction of home.
Saitama needed a vacation, that was all it was. City Z was a weird place, and being law enforcement meant seeing the weirdest side of it. Never mind that Saitama had been having dreams about monsters for years. Never mind that the whole reason he became a cop was because he saw something he couldn't explain. Never mind that he'd noticed men in black suits hanging around the station after every incident...
Lost in thought, and secure in the knowledge that he could overpower any prospective muggers, Saitama nearly walked into the old man before he saw him. He was stooped, with a bushy mustache, and so wrinkled his face looked like leather, but he was sharply dressed in a black suit and tie.
"Sorry, gramps," Saitama said.
"My fault, officer," the old man said. For some reason it gave Saitama a chill, until he remembered he was out of uniform.
One of Saitama's few skills when it came to police work was the fact he did not look like a cop. He slouched, he hadn't updated his wardrobe since college, and he was bald. Right now he was wearing a hoodie with "oppai" in English and a simplified drawing of the body part in question.
The old man didn't look familiar, but Saitama wasn't great at remembering people he hadn't arrested. Carefully, casually, he said, "Have we met before?"
"Once or twice." The old man put his hands in his suit pockets. Saitama scanned the jacket for the telltale bulge of a weapon, but saw nothing suspicious. "I'd like to talk to you in private, Officer Saitama. About a job offer."
Saitama snorted. "I already have a job, thanks." A job that may or may not be driving him insane, but a job nonetheless.
"At least let me buy you dinner. You don't have to talk, just listen."
"I'm not a good listener."
"Just eat then."
If there was one lesson Saitama had learned in his various misadventures, it was never to turn down free food. No consequence was ever greater than the gain.
"Okay gramps. I could eat."
Saitama knew the walk from the station to home so well he could, and had, done it in his sleep. He knew every shop, every train station, every restaurant. But somehow the old man took him to a hole-in-the-wall he'd never noticed, with a small sign in multiple languages, and food smells he couldn't identify. The old man got them in with a nod at the even-older man at the front door, and soon they were seated with ice water for Saitama and tea for the old man.
"You come here often, gramps?" If they already knew his drink order.
"Not often, but I've been here before. It's on my route, you might say."
"Might I?" Saitama was already starting to get fed up with the cryptic answers, and he got the feeling there was no end of them in sight. "What's your name, anyway?"
"You can call me Silver."
"I think I prefer 'gramps.'"
He shrugged. "As you like."
Saitama popped an ice cube in his mouth to chew on. “So you wanted to talk. Talk.”
Silver blew gently on the steam from his tea cup. “Saitama-kun, I heard you were nearly struck by a car while on the job last week.”
“So? It happens.”
“Was there anything unusual about it?”
Saitama's teeth crunched through the ice. “Aside from the fact the dude fled the scene and we still have his car locked up? No.”
“I see...” After a pause that went on for a bit too long, Silver continued. “What about last month? You claimed the suspect you were chasing climbed a building with his bare hands.”
“One of those parkour types.”
“And a week before that you saw a woman pull a gun from a compartment in her stomach.”
Saitama fiddled with another ice cube. “I must have been seeing things. Adrenaline.”
“Saitama-kun.” Silver put his cup down and leaned forward. “What if I told you you're not going crazy?”
It wasn't just the ice giving Saitama a chill. “That'd be nice gramps, but I don't think you're qualified to make that call.”
“At least, not about this.” He smiled brightly, and it took Saitama a second to realize it wasn't directed at him. A waif of a girl handed over two menus, attempting a smile that came out crooked, before scurrying off to the kitchen. She moved strangely, legs only, the upper body completely stiff. “You should try the meatball soup, it's very good.”
“What kind of meat is it?” Saitama asked, hesitantly.
Silver smiled again. “Beef. I wouldn't take a recruit to a place that served extra-foreign cuisine.”
“Extra foreign? Gramps, you have to start making sense at some point.”
“I will. After we eat. If you still want to hear more, that is.”
Saitama sighed and picked up his menu. “So meatball soup, huh?”
Over dinner, Silver talked mostly about his own work experience, in the military and running a dojo, and yet more cryptic bullshit about how those had helped him in the job he had now. He managed to get Saitama to talk about his work too, commiserating over the strict rules and low pay.
“My offer pays better, and you're given more freedom in the field, but there are always rules and regulations, no matter the career.”
“You still haven't what your career is. You a bodyguard or something? Private security?” Saitama cocked his head. “Government?”
“You could say I work for... immigration.”
“Sounds boring.”
“Far more exciting than I'd prefer, sometimes. Other times, yes. But that's what it was like in the military too. You're familiar with the phrase 'hurry up and wait?'”
Saitama suppressed a smile. They used that in law enforcement too; the rush to get in position, every second counting, and then... nothing. Sometimes for hours. But you had to be prepared at any moment for the suspect to move, or package to be dropped, or fellow officers to radio for backup.
All the same... “I don't know if I'm into the idea of kicking people out of the country.”
“That's not the job,” Silver assured him. “Well, sometimes, but believe me, if they've drawn our attention they deserve it.”
“Noooot really sold.” Saitama scraped up the last of his soup, a thick cream base that Silver had been right about being good. He licked his spoon and dropped it in the bowl.
Immediately, Silver stood up. “Let's walk.”
“What about the bill?”
“Covered.” On the way out Silver handed something that looked like a gumball to the older man, whose eyes lit up and he rushed to the kitchen. Saitama heard a split second of excited talk in a language he couldn't place, then they were outside.
“Where we going?”
“The local branch office. I think there's some things you should see.”
They walked for about half a block, Silver glancing at Saitama occasionally, until he started to speak again in a low tone. There were still people about, but his voice was quiet, so quiet Saitama had to move closer to hear him.
“The tall man in the Volkswagon, who caused the accident last week. Do you wonder why he never came back for his car?”
“Of course I wonder. But we searched it thoroughly, even put the dogs to it, we didn't find anything.”
“He was scared. He made a mistake, he slipped up in front of law enforcement, and he was scared.”
Saitama's brow furrowed. “Why do you know all this? Is he an immigrant?”
Silver let out a bark of laughter. “No! Actually. He was born here, just like you and me.”
“So what's it to you then?”
They were a block away from Saitama's apartment, by the old building with narrow windows that Saitama thought was offices or something. In truth, he'd never thought much about it at all.
No one did, most likely, Saitama realized, following Silver through the doors. They were dark glass, slightly mirrored, like sunglasses. Inside was a lobby with peeling paint and fake plants, smelling of cigarettes and ant poison. Silver pressed the button for the elevator, and in half a second the doors were wooshing open.
“It's a scanner. If you tried that, it would make a clunking noise and not open.”
“The elevator button scans your fingerprints?” Saitama asked. The elevator itself was much newer, glossy, and smelled like burnt coffee.
“No. Gene signature.”
“Whaaaat.”
Saitama couldn't tell if the elevator was going up or down, and that made him uncomfortable in a way he couldn't put his finger on. Perhaps it was the way his stomach was sinking further and further as the cryptic bullshit slotted together, puzzle pieces snapping in place, making a picture that his brain refused to admit was real.
People with strange abilities. High tech security. Black suits and mirrored glass. Immigration.
There was nothing in the elevator that indicated the floor they were going to, but the ride didn't take very long. Either it was only a couple floors, or it moved very fast and very smoothly. Saitama would put even odds on either explanation.
The doors slid open over a wide open room in all white and gray, a loose ellipsoid about three stories high. From here, on a catwalk, Saitama and Silver could see two rings of rooms overlooking a central floor, all of it bustling with men and women in black suits.
And... other things.
Tall things, small things. Organic and mechanical. On banks of screens were more, some appearing human, some not. In the center of the room was a column with robotic faces in a ring, sliding up and down and jutting out to give orders.
“Metal Knight is the leader of our organization, but the City Z branch is headed by that man,” Silver gestured at a rather dumpy guy talking to one of the column-faces. “He's called Lead.”
“You're led by Lead?” Saitama said, weakly.
“That's right. The code names are just a formality, but it does make things easier when it comes to keeping your private life and work life separate.”
“That's... important, huh?” Saitama couldn't stop staring at a group down on the bottom floor, less than knee high even to the short woman talking to them, wearing matching yellow outfits. They looked like a flock of ducklings.
“It can be.” Silver began walking, jerking his thumb for Saitama to follow. One of the ducklings was looking back, so Saitama did. “One of the reasons I'm offering you this job, Saitama-kun, is that you don't have family.”
“I do though,” Saitama pointed out. “My sister.”
“On the other side of the country. You won't have any difficulty hiding your career from her.”
“Of course you already know that,” Saitama muttered. Silver led him into a white room, set up like a meeting room, a long table and uncomfortable chairs, water cooler and a real plant this time in one corner.
“Have a seat,” Silver offered.
“I get the conference table treatment?” Saitama knew it was a lame attempt, but he was trying. He had to try, or he'd start screaming.
Silver got him a tiny cup of water from the cooler and joined him at the table. Saitama took it in shaking hands and sipped cautiously.
“Still think you're crazy?”
“Not about this.” The water tasted vaguely of plastic, which was comforting in its normalcy. “So uh. Aliens, right? Not like... X-Men.”
“Aliens,” Silver confirmed.
“Right. Okay.” Saitama downed the rest of his water. “Okay.”
“You're taking this well.”
“Am I?” He rubbed his scalp. The temperature in here was slightly chilly, most likely because everyone was wearing suits. “I've heard the stories, you know. Everyone has.”
“Of course.”
“The men in black suits coming to keep things quiet.” Saitama took a slow breath. “I guess that's you.”
“It is.” Silver confirmed, as though they were discussing the weather. “It used to be harder, back in the early days.”
“How early is early?”
“No way to tell for sure, but evidence indicates they've been coming here for about as long as recorded history.”
“Of course,” Saitama muttered.
“None of that built-the-pyramids nonsense. But habitable planets are less common than you'd think in a universe so vast, and people will always want to run away and leave their old lives behind. It wasn't until the fifties that humans became really aware of it.”
“People are people, I guess.” Saitama leaned back so he could look out the windows in the walls, watched two women, two human women, walk past chatting with a large insect in a sun hat. “No matter where they're from.”
“Now we have the infrastructure and the funding to allow legal off-planet immigration, but it takes monitoring. And there are always those who try to slip through the cracks.”
“So?” Saitama turned back, crumpling his paper cup in one hand. “You just said it's been happening for like, thousands of years.”
“And most of the time it hasn't gone well!” Silver took out his phone and swiped through some pictures. He showed Saitama one of a person with a face like a sea lion. “The man who abandoned his car after he nearly struck you? His species is capable of snapping a human spine in two with as little effort as you just crushed that cup. If he tried to stand his ground against you and your partner, he would have killed you both.”
“No.” Saitama hadn't meant to say it, the word just slipped out.
Silver blinked. “No?”
“I crushed that cup a lot easier than you think.”
Silver smiled, and leaned back in his chair. “Perhaps not. I suspected you were keeping a secret of your own, Saitama-kun.”
He shrugged. “It's not much of a secret. Most people don't believe me, is all.”
“I'm open to the idea. So tell me, Saitama-kun. Just how strong are you?”
“I don't really know.” He picked up the cup again, squeezing it in his hand. “I've never found an upper limit. I can lift cars, I can punch through walls, I can jump over buildings. I can take a hit, any kind of hit, I...” The dust the cup had been reduced to trickled from his palm. “I haven't felt pain in almost two years.”
There was a certain amount of satisfaction in seeing the awe on Silver's face. “Saitama-kun. How?”
“I worked and it happened.”
“A normal person couldn't do this.”
“I know, gramps, believe me.” He sighed. “The muscleheads at my gym gave up asking me for my 'real' workout ages ago. They still give me the sideeye over how much I can bench.”
“Mm. Tanktopes. They view you as an alpha and it upsets them.”
Saitama, drawn from his reverie of self-pity, looked at him. “What?”
“The 'muscleheads' at your gym. They're Tanktopes. They like to gather in packs like that, with the strongest taking the leadership position in a big brother sort of way. A bit like teenage cliques.”
Saitama felt his mouth drop open. “They're aliens?”
“Oh yes. You seems to know quite a few aliens socially, if the data I've been gathering is any indication.”
“Not...” The last person in the world likely to keep secrets from him came instantly to mind. “Not Mumen.”
“Your partner? Not at all. In fact, that's how we discovered your-” Silver stopped, abruptly.
“My what?”
“Nothing important.” He smiled, disarmingly. “There are several offworld immigrants in the police force, however. Usually the ones who have the easiest time staying in disguise.”
“Yeah, like who?”
“Do you really want to know?”
Saitama considered this. He wasn't really close to anyone at work besides Mumen, but... “No. It'd make things weird.”
“See? You're already suited for this job.”
Saitama dusted powdered cup off his hands and stood. He crossed to the windows, staring out at the room full of monstrosities and suits, at the robot faces overseeing it all.
“Would you like a tour?”
“Yeah?” Saitama turned back. “I won't cause an intergalactic incident, will I?”
“Highly unlikely.” Silver had stood and crossed the room without Saitama even noticing. He clapped him on the back. “This isn't where diplomats would be processed.”
“Good to know.”
Silver hesitated. “Stay close to me anyway.”
“Will do.”
Saitama followed him back out to the circular walkway. He couldn't see the ducklings from here, but he did see the insect and the two women in another room across the gap, drinking coffee and laughing about something.
Most of the rooms on this floor looked like offices. They were banked with glass, so you could see everything inside. The other meeting rooms they passed, all occupied by actual meetings, were a bit more private. One had its windows darkened to a mirror sheen, and when Saitama asked Silver said they could all do that.
“Even the offices?”
“Yes, but people would get suspicious if they were dark for very long. Especially if someone were having a meeting. Wouldn't be the first time someone with malicious intentions managed to get in.”
“So no,” Saitama made a pumping motion with his arm, “on company time?”
Silver coughed. “It would be unwise.”
The second floor was a bit more diverse. Saitama saw rooms that looked like storage, or science labs, or even a medical examination room like at the doctor's. Everywhere there were people bustling, not giving Saitama so much as a second glance.
They peered into a room with a strong smell of bleach, and Saitama's eyes homed in on a half-dismantled box of wires and lights.
“What's that thing?”
“Oh, technology from one of our off-planet allies.” Silver gave a smug smile. “Working here has advantages.”
“I'm no good with computers.” Saitama shrugged, but the box looked familiar for some reason. Maybe he'd arrested someone with one?
“You'll learn.”
“Maybe,” Saitama conceded. Silver was really taking it as a given he'd accept the job.
Still, it was pretty cool. Saitama had spent his life watching sci-fi and reading all kinds of fantasy nonsense, and now there was a whole universe full of life opened up before him. New cultures, new creatures, new experiences. Could he go into space? Could he eat alien food?
Scattered around the bottom floor were video screens, some of them anchored to the floor, some lifted up on platforms, all visible to the column of robot heads. In between those were desks and tables, and for some reason a 3d printer.
“We monitor all security systems and public cameras for footage showing things we don't want getting out. Obviously there are slip-ups, but very few people pay it any mind.”
Silver pointed at the platform, where the robot heads were spinning around. Saitama could have sworn one of them looked directly at him. “Metal Knight isn't always in direct contact, but he's always reachable. In an emergency it's good to have one clear voice of command.”
Saitama looked at him, then back up at the platform. “Unnecessarily creepy design.”
“Mm. Well.” That was as good as agreement. “Do you want some coffee?”
“It's getting kinda late. I have work really early.”
“We're not finished yet. I can show you the garage, the armory. I probably can't take you to the starport yet, but-”
“I'm finished.” Saitama stared up at one of the banks of screens. ATM camera, convenience store, somebody's garage.
“Come with me.” Silver led him to another room, about the same size as the meeting room, but with a bunch of weird giant ball things that looked very alien until Saitama noticed they were stamped with the label “Nap Pod.” There were a couple chairs as well, and an empty coffee pot that Silver scowled at.
“Listen, gramps, I appreciate the offer and all, but...”
“I'm not sure you do.”
“No, I do. I do.” Saitama glanced back at the door. This room didn't have any windows. It was the only one. “In the stories... the men in black always tell the witnesses not to talk about it. Sometimes on threat of death.”
“Those days are over.”
“But it's a secret. You mentioned disguises. These people can't just... be.”
“You're not stupid Saitama-kun, you know how bad humans can be to each other for looking slightly different.”
“So it'll be rough at first. It always is. It's still rough for lots of people. But is it better than hiding? Mumen's gay, he said having to keep secrets and lie constantly takes a toll on you.”
“These people know what they're getting into. They make the choice to come here anyway.”
“Not the ones who are born here!” Saitama shook his head. “Look, I get what you're offering, and I appreciate knowing I'm not crazy, but I can't be a part of this. I'm not the G-Man type.”
“I see.” Silver drew two items from inside his suit jacket. A pair of sunglasses that probably cost more than Saitama's rent, and a little silver cylinder. “I'm sorry about this, Saitama-kun. You could have been the best of us.”
“Huh?”
Silver put the sunglasses on and raised the cylinder. A red light flashed on the end of it, and for just a second Saitama reeled. It wasn't bright, but it seemed to strike right through the eyes like an ice pick to the brain. He blinked away spots, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets.
“That's odd,” he heard Silver say.
“What's odd?” Saitama snapped. “What was that all about?”
“Oh. Hm. Well this is unusual.”
“What?”
“Last time you were at least stunned long enough for me to leave.”
“Stunned? What?”
“I think this might be unprecedented.”
“Dude seriously, what?” Saitama looked up in time to see the cylinder being pointed at him again.
“Maybe it just needs another dose.”
“Knock it off!” The idea of another brain-stabbing was so unappealing that Saitama tried to smack the cylinder out of Silver's hand, only to snap it in two. “Oops.”
Silver lowered his sunglasses. “This... may be a problem.”
“What were you even trying to do?”
“Well, wipe your memory, to be honest.”
Saitama stared at him.
“That's the new way of doing things.” Silver flashed his teeth. “No more threats of death. We just take what we don't want you to remember.”
“You... you guys are evil!” Saitama grabbed the door handle and wrenched it open, the crunching sound indicating it had been locked after all.
Briefly he thought he was still seeing things, flashes of red, until Silver swore softly behind him and Saitama realized he could see it too. The hum of activity in the room had gotten quiet for a second, then abruptly much much louder.
Saitama heard the leader, Lead, start issuing orders, and wandered back out to the main floor. Silver was following behind him, unconcerned about their disagreement now that there was work to do. The majority of the video screens had switched to views of space, or red dots, or red dots in space.
"What are they thinking?" Silver muttered, just as Lead singled him out.
"Silver! What's your assessment?"
Remarkably spry for an old guy, Silver bolted up the curving stairs to the platform. Saitama followed, partly obeying the instruction to stay close, largely out of curiosity. The screens, which Saitama had been assuming were multiple small ones bolted together, switched to one giant seamless image. A cluster of red dots, headed past a large blue circle, and aimed toward a much larger green one. It didn't take a genius to figure out what he was looking at.
"Borosians?" Silver asked. Lead nodded. "They know better. That's not an insult, they know better, which means if they're coming it's worth it to them."
"What could be worth it to risk an intergalactic incident? Especially after last time. Unless..." Lead waved his hand in the direction of the screen, and a single red dot penetrated the green circle of the Earth. "Unless it's related to last time."
"Is this live?" Silver asked.
Lead nodded again. "The scout just landed."
"Unless it's not a scout."
Lead pointed at someone on the ground floor, "Get me a visual! Now."
It took a few minutes, during which the rest of the red dots traveled over half the distance between the moon and Earth. Saitama wasn't an astronaut, but he knew it wasn't as easy as all that. It took the space shuttles days to make that trip.
Soon though, a woman reported, "Visual incoming," and a blurry video from a gas station security camera took over the screen. A couple of gas pumps, a battered red truck with the driver standing next to it pointing his phone at a tall figure with blocky shoulders walking in the middle of the road.
"Is the civilian streaming?" Lead asked.
The woman who'd found the signal did something on her tablet. "Yes."
The video switched to a better quality picture, but far shakier. Along with it came audio, heavy breathing, and one "Hooooly shit dude." Saitama felt a lot of empathy for the truck driver all of a sudden.
On the screen they could see the figure fairly clearly. It looked like a robot from a Hollywood blockbuster; dark and battle damaged, plates sliding over each other as it moved, wires and cables visible where the panels didn't cover.
Then the camera focused in on the robot's face, and Saitama felt a tightness in his chest. It was a human face. Soft and young, and looking around like he was lost. The eyes were glowing and there was a cracked visor over them, but there was no way to fake that expression.
"Where am I?" he asked, sounding as young as he looked.
"Outside City Z, dude," the cameraman answered.
"What's the date?"
"October 21st." After a second's pause he added, "2016."
The man reached up under his visor and rubbed the side of his nose. "Four years."
"Y'okay?"
"Yes." His face was stoic now. "You should get to safety. They're following me."
"'They?'" The camera shifted, blurred. They got a shot of the back of the pickup truck, a pile of baseball equipment, and a hand reaching out to grab a metal bat. "I'll do this with you bro, I don't give a fuck."
The robot guy looked as baffled as Saitama felt. "No thank you?"
"I mean it! I'll-"
"No," robot guy was firm. "Please get to safety. If it comes to it, I'd rather not have to worry about allies."
"Okay dude." A clank of metal-on-metal, tossing the bat back into the truck no doubt. Then a high-pitched whine, and the camera turned toward the sky. Bright yellow lights streaked across the stars.
"Get out of here!" the robot guy snapped, offscreen, and then the video ended.
Saitama realized he was gripping the handrail on the edge of the platform so hard he'd dented it.
"Report," Lead said. While Saitama was enraptured by the video stream, everyone else had still been working.
"Three ships landed," someone said. "Five more broke atmo."
Someone else added, "We have confirmation of the weapon's identity. Four years ago there was an abduction attributed to the Borosians in G Village."
"Name?"
A handful of photos popped up next to the gas station footage, now showing just the pumps. The action had moved on. With the photos of missing kids and the dreary shot of a gas station, it looked like an Amber Alert.
"These five weren't found among the dead."
Before he could stop himself, Saitama pointed at a freckled face with deep brown eyes. "That one. He's that one."
Lead and Silver both stared at him, but Silver nodded. "What's his name?"
"Wakahisa Rin, sir." The agent brought up the diagram of the invading ships again. "Sir, the remaining ships are converging on the first ship's landing site."
"Why aren't we moving?" Lead pointed at three people. "Molybdenum, Tungsten, Pyrite, get your partners and get going. Find that abductee, get him back here under guard. Don't underestimate the Borosian weapon program." He turned to Silver. "Oversee it. Protocol... let's say Dragon, play it safe."
"Sir." Silver headed for the stairs, pausing only to say, "Saitama-kun, you're with me."
"I am?" Saitama trailed after him. The pairs Lead had indicated followed them out a door and down a ramp, and before he knew it Saitama was in a parking garage full of identical black vans.
"Sir," the one called Pyrite, a tall man with scars over his eye, hesitated at the door of an identical vehicle. "What about the Borosians themselves?"
"Avoid engagement if at all possible, but prioritize capturing the weapon."
"You're talking about a person!" Saitama heard himself snap. "He was abducted and- and turned into that, right? Lead said weapon program."
Everyone stared at him.
"Saitama-kun," Silver jerked his head and got in the van. Saitama climbed into the passenger seat and shut the door. "It's not that simple. It's true he's a victim, but the Borosians tried to brainwash him. We don't know how much took."
"He told that guy to get to safety."
"This isn't the first time one of them has escaped. First time since they claimed to have shut down the program, but..." Silver started the engine. "The last ones who made it to Earth only lasted a few days before they lost their minds. The ones before that killed each other before they even landed."
"He seems okay! And even if he's not-"
"If he's not he's dangerous," Silver looked back, over the empty backseats, to pull out of the parking space. "I don't fault you for your compassion, Saitama-kun, but trust me on this. Trust my experience."
"Fine." Saitama leaned back in his seat. "Are you bringing me to observe, or to help? Just so I know."
"The first. You haven't trained with any of our weapons so it wouldn't be safe for you to handle them."
Saitama clenched his left hand into a fist. "Don't need 'em, gramps."
"I'm aware," Silver said, thoughtfully. Saitama wondered if he'd just bought himself some extra work.
The drive out of the city took time, even though the vans were fast and appeared to handle smoothly. Silver darted through traffic like a pickpocket through a crowd, and a trip that would have taken Saitama an hour in the patrol car took less than half.
When they got to the gas station where the cameraman had been there was no trace of anything. The gas station minimart was already closed, the pumps automated, and Saitama heard Silver confirm over the radio that there was only one witness so far.
"Nothing in that video was outside the realm of a prank," Silver said. "We wipe his memory and all recordings of it, and that should do it."
"Good," Lead replied. "Keep me posted."
The radio crackled and whined, and Saitama recognized the sound in time to look up. Sure enough, yellow lights whizzed overhead in the direction of the woods.
"That way," Silver said dryly.
Saitama was pretty familiar with what a fight looked like from a distance. It took almost another twenty minutes before they caught up, but there were fallen trees, skidmarks, a knocked-over mailbox, another gas station full of cars and people talking.
"Pyrite, get on that," Silver said, and one of the vans veered off.
"Memory wipes, huh?" Saitama asked.
"If needed. Usually this sort of thing can be explained away as a low-flying plane or hijacked helicopter."
"'This sort of thing' happen a lot?"
"Not to this extent." They could see yellow lights in the distance, sending shafts between the trees. "Joyriders, the occasional smugglers, fugitives. Legal landings are tightly controlled." Silver steered onto a dirt road without so much as slowing down. He switched the radio on again. "Molly, Tungsten, pincer movement. I've got south."
"Roger," they both replied.
The van swerved so sharply Saitama banged his shoulder against the door, denting it. A tree toppled over ahead them, and Silver backed up, then stepped on the gas, launching over the trunk and skidding to a stop next to a shiny black object the size of a grain silo.
"Landing craft." Silver climbed out, taking the keys with him. "Stay here, don't get involved."
"Roger," Saitama said, giving a mock salute.
Silver got into the backseat, opening up the seat itself, and retrieved what could only be a gun. At least, it was big and silver and more or less gun-shaped. He charged off in the direction of the lights, and as soon as he was gone Saitama got out of the van.
He was interpreting "stay here" very loosely.
The landing craft all had lights around the bottom, and a couple of them were shining searchlights through the trees, so it was pretty easy to see. Saitama counted five craft nearby, and at least two unaccounted for. Could have still been flying around, could just be behind the others. Under the harsh lights were about half a dozen beings a little shorter than the average human, but the right shape, barring backwards knees.
Saitama hunkered down and watched Silver sneak up on the squad. He took out one with his bare hands, some kind of karate move flipping over the small figure and pinning him underfoot. The others didn't notice, kept moving ahead, and Silver followed like a deadly old shadow.
Shouting and shots rang out, further into the woods and left of where Silver had gone. Maybe the other agents ran into trouble, maybe not, but Saitama went to investigate.
He'd been hiking and camping plenty of times, he knew how to move through the brush and not sprain an ankle, and he was light on his feet. He was almost on top of the firefight before he got noticed.
One of the little aliens, dark-eyed and apparently purple-skinned if the light wasn't playing tricks on him, pointed a remote control thing at him and said, "Stop," in a strange clicking accent.
Saitama put his hands up obediently, and then, when the alien lowered its arm, punched it just hard enough to knock it over and kept moving. After taking the weapon, of course.
He dispatched one more like that, then the sound of fighting was joined by rushing water, and Saitama emerged on the river bank. Standing with his back to it was the robot guy, the palms of his hands pointed at a trio of aliens, all of them yelling and clicking. The robot guy said one word in Japanese, "Incinerate!" and tight jets of flame shot from both hands.
The aliens backed up. One of them glanced back at the trees, probably looking for the others that were supposed to be sneak-attacking by now, and Saitama felt a thrill of pride when the robot guy took advantage of its distraction and vaulted over it, driving a heavy metal foot into its face.
The guy ran, followed by the last two aliens, and Saitama followed. He couldn't understand a word that was being shouted, but he knew the tone, he knew the fury in the robot guy's voice. It helped that he was throwing some swears in there.
Back in the direction Saitama had come, back toward the van and the first landing craft. There was more shouting, this time in Japanese, and Saitama caught Silver's voice.
"We just want to help!"
"Bullshit!" The robot guy said, punctuating it with a crunch of metal that Saitama strongly suspected was the hood of the van.
What came after that was a scream. Entirely human, filled with pain, and Saitama came into sight just in time to see an agent lower his gun and cross to the fallen figure.
"That should do it," he said, confident. Cocky. Saitama wasn't surprised at all when the robot guy's hand shot out and grabbed the agent's ankle, physically yanking him off his feet.
He was up again, running, dodging through the trees like he'd grown up doing it. Maybe he had. The agents followed, and Saitama tried to, until he was caught by a vice grip on his arm.
Silver squeezed his fingers around Saitama's bicep. "I told you not to get involved," he said, voice cold.
"Hey, I only defended myself!" Saitama chose not to mention he'd left the van on his own. "Any more of those purple guys around?"
"Unknown," Silver said. He nodded at the space craft, where Saitama saw a bunch of the aliens had been cuffed and shackled, sitting in the light where they could be easily watched. "We've captured thirteen, but- It doesn't matter." He jerked his thumb at the van. "Get in."
Saitama frowned at the fist-shaped dent in the bumper. He'd been wrong about which part the guy punched. "Doesn't look secure."
"Saitama-kun you are testing my patience."
"You're testing me!" Saitama shook his arm out of Silver's grip, enjoying the surprise on his face. "That's why you brought me, isn't it? You wanted to see what I'd do." He glanced around, oriented himself, and started walking. "Well I'm doing this. Try and stop me."
Silver didn't.
The river led to a lake in the north and the sea in the south. Saitama took a chance and went north, the opposite direction the robot guy had run away, and picked his way along the bank with only the distant lights of the spaceships and half a moon overhead to guide him.
It wasn't long before he saw a faint yellow glow, the robot guy's eyes, and hung back. Did he have a way to tell if someone was sneaking up on him?
That question was answered quick enough, when he pointed one hand at Saitama and lit up in a couple more spots on chest and arms. There was a light coming from his palm too; red, menacing.
"Hold it."
Saitama put his hands up. "Consider it held."
“Who are you?” the guy growled. His voice was deep, but it sounded strange, affected.
“Saitama,” Saitama said, raising his hands a little higher.
“You with the suits?”
“God no,” Saitama laughed. “I’m a cop. Off duty though.”
“A cop?” he repeated, incredulous, glowing yellow eyes fixed on the cartoon breasts drawn on Saitama’s hoodie. Saitama couldn’t blame him; he got that reaction a lot.
“I said I was off duty.” Saitama flapped one hand. “I have my badge if you wanna see. But it's in my pocket.”
“Don't. I'll believe you for now.”
Saitama looked him up and down. The cell phone video hadn't been clear enough that he could tell if some of the battle damage was new. “You okay?”
The guy gave him a flat look.
“I mean aside from being an alien abductee.”
“I’m not hurt,” he said. Slowly, he started to lower his arms. “You’re not with the suits?”
“Definitely not. Those guys are dicks.”
“What do you want with me?”
Saitama shrugged, keeping his own arms up. “You got kidnapped by aliens, man, and now the suits want to lock you up and study you? I’ve seen that movie. I’ve seen all those movies.”
“You want to help me?” The guy fired a quick shot from his right hand up into the air like a flare. Saitama thought that was a bad idea, but it did look impressive. “I don’t need it.”
“You’re saying that now, but you’re only one dude. The suits are hundreds, thousands. And they’re government, you know? This might be the part of the movie where they call in the army.”
“Calling in the army in the movies never works.”
Saitama smiled. So he was getting through. “Are you the monster? Or the protagonist?”
The guy’s shoulders, so heavily armored they were almost taller than his head, lowered. “Both?”
“I’m your wisecracking best friend then.” Taking a chance, Saitama held one hand out. “If we’re friends, I should know your name.” Technically he'd heard it back at the office, but he couldn't remember, and he didn't want to admit he'd been there.
The guy didn’t move for over a minute. Saitama didn’t either. He’d never lost a staring contest as a kid, and he wasn’t going to start now.
One hand, still warm from firing the gun in his palm, pressed into Saitama’s. “Genos. I’m- Call me Genos.”
“Nice to meet you, Genos.”
“You too. Officer Saitama.”
Saitama groaned. “No, man, we’re friends! It’s just Saitama.”
“Saitama-san?”
“No.” He tugged Genos closer, and he could see the surprise on his face that Saitama was able to move him. “We’ll work on that. But here, I have something for you." Saitama dug into his hoodie pocket. "Don't freak out."
"Why would I freak out?" Genos' brow furrowed, incongruously adorable on someone so huge. At least, until Saitama pulled out the remote control things he'd taken off the aliens, and Genos jumped back several feet and pointed both hands and four more guns at him, the muzzles popping out of his shoulders and forearms. "Why do you have those?!"
"Took 'em off those purple guys." Saitama dropped them, one at a time, in the sand. "See? You're okay. I'm backing up now."
He did it as he said it, and once he was out of easy reach Genos slowly crept forward and took the remotes.
"You stole these from the security forces?"
"If that's who was chasing you, yeah." He mimed a punch. "Had to knock 'em down first."
Genos gave him an incredulous look. "You beat them? With your hands?"
"I'm good at that. About the only thing I am good at." Saitama didn't mean to sound quite so bitter as he said it.
"Borosians are stronger than humans," Genos said. "And the security forces are all enhanced."
"Like you?"
Genos crunched one of the remotes in his hand. "Not exactly. I'm... special."
"Everyone's special, buddy." Saitama took a step toward him and, when Genos didn't flinch, crossed the distance between them until he was in shoulder-clapping range. "Which means no one is. Which means you can make your life whatever you want."
Genos looked down at him with an expression of unbridled awe. Saitama wasn't sure if he'd gone too cheesy with that, but at least it was working.
"So what's the plan here? Hide out in the woods like robot Bigfoot?"
"I'm a cyborg," Genos corrected. "I'm not sure. Those men in the suits- But you're a police officer. Can you... protect me?"
"Yeah..." Saitama shoved his hands in his pockets. "I mean, yes, absolutely, but as a police officer? Not sure."
Silver had been on his side. The organization needed Genos as proof those aliens had broken their promise about not abducting people. And so far Saitama hadn't seen them kill anyone. He was inclined to trust them. Maybe not to have Genos' best interests at heart, but at least to not keep him prisoner.
"I think, hear me out, I think we should talk to them."
Genos moved away. "Why? They tried to capture me. They shot me."
"I know, but they're the only people equipped to handle your..." Saitama gestured at all of him, "deal."
“I'm not-”
Saitama heard it before Genos did, throwing himself in front of the larger man just as the alien burst from the bushes wielding a larger version of their remote controls. It felt like what Saitama imagined a laser would; searing heat and pinpoint accuracy, spattering his back with points of pain. Well. Almost pain.
He let Genos catch him but didn't stay to enjoy it, grabbing the remaining remote control from his hand and whirling around to fire it at the alien. It had to be the big red button, right?
It was. Saitama was momentarily sickened to see the hole punched through the alien's skull, but the way Genos' arms tightened around him told him he'd done the right thing.
“H- how?” Genos stared at him. “You- Those weapons are designed to take out my kind, how did you...”
He released Saitama and stepped back. From the chilly feeling on his back, Saitama assumed the fabric was shredded, but his skin didn't even feel abraded.
“How?”
“Beats me, man. It just kind of happened.”
“You... you're not enhanced?”
“Nope. Nothing but hard work and luck.” Saitama reached up the back of his hoodie and felt nothing but air. “Ah, damn, I liked this.” He shivered as warm metal fingers ran up his spine.
“You're not burned at all. But your body temperature is-”
“Dropping,” Saitama finished for him. “It's the middle of the goddamn night.”
Genos nodded, as much as he could with his heavily-armored neck. “Of course, Saitama-sama. We'll go wherever you want.”
“'Sama?' That's much worse.”
For whatever reason Genos followed Saitama back south until they ran into a pair of the agents. Saitama recognized the one with the scars.
“Hey, Pyrite, right? I got him, he's coming quietly. We're all good. Also I killed an alien back there.”
The man just frowned, while his petite partner rolled her eyes. “Who even are you?”
“Silver is trying to hire me.”
“You said you weren't with them,” Genos said quietly.
“I'm not, I turned him down.” Saitama tried to smile reassuringly. “I'm not gonna screw you, I promise.”
“If you're not one of us, then-”
“Nope!” Saitama pulled the badge from his back pocket. “He's under my protection.”
“You're a cop?”
“Yep. And this is an important witness to a kidnapping.” He reached back and Genos slipped his hand into Saitama's. “But since I don't have a car we'll ride back with you.”
“Oh my god, newbie.” She rolled her eyes again. Just like Genos seemed to have been built to scowl, this girl was born to look disdainful. “You are writing checks your ass is not gonna be able to cash.”
“We'll see.”
They escorted Saitama and Genos back to Silver's van, Saitama learning along the way that the woman's name was Copper, and she was not, in fact, ten years old. Her shouting about it tipped off the other agents, and by the time Saitama found himself face-to-face with the old man they were completely surrounded.
“So.”
“So.” Silver looked at the two of them. Saitama had dropped Genos' hand after they acquired their second pair of guards, but Genos was sticking close to him, understandably. “What's your name, son?”
“Genos.” He raised his chin. “Don't call me 'son.'”
“Young man, do you understand what your being here means?”
“No, and I don't care. I got away.” Static entered his voice. “I came home. That's all I wanted.”
“Genos-kun.” Silver gestured, and the other agents cleared away to a respectful distance. “Do you remember your real name?”
He said nothing.
“What do you remember?”
“I remember... my home. My village. My family.” He squeezed his eyes shut. The lids, Saitama was surprised to see, were black. “I remember the destruction. The Borosians killed everyone.”
“What do you want to do? Now that you're back. You have no home to return to.”
Saitama stepped forward, fists clenched. “What are you doing? He's been through enough.”
Silver spread his hands, innocently. “He's got nowhere to go. You have no authority to protect him. You think the ZPD wants anything to do with this? I'm giving you options.”
“Like what?”
“Join up. Both of you.”
Saitama looked at Genos. At all seven feet of him, glowing eyes, robot body. Silver was right, Genos couldn't just go out into the world and expect to find a job, finish school, make friends. Even if he wasn't horribly traumatized from what he'd been through.
“Genos-kun?”
His mouth twisted. “And do what? Cover-ups, conspiracies, hunting down people like me?”
“A lot of the job is just... helping people who need it.”
Saitama held up one finger. “I'll do it on one condition.”
“Oh?”
He pointed it at Genos. “He's my partner. Not you. Not anybody else.”
Silver raised his eyebrows. “Is this all right with you, Genos-kun?”
For a long time, the only sound was the muttered clicks of the aliens still tied up nearby.
“Yes,” Genos said, finally. “I'll go with Saitama-sama. Wherever that is.”
Saitama groaned and rubbed his temple. “Stop. Stop with the sama stuff. It is way too late at night for this.”
Silver chuckled. “Oh, your night is just getting started.”
The basic medical check-up wasn't much of a surprise. The visit from the tailor was, and the optometrist, and the alien with two heads who claimed to be checking his “leylines.” Saitama was pretty sure that last one was just a prank, but he let it happen.
Then there was a psych exam that involved measuring his blink time, and they stuck diodes to his head and made him watch an episode of Tom and Jerry, and they grilled him on his family history until he came a hair's breadth from punching the interviewer.
By the time they let him go it was well into the early hours of the morning and Saitama was running on coffee and a questionable egg sandwich. Somebody had given him a new shirt, so at least he wasn't walking around with his back freezing, but he stubbornly put his ruined hoodie back on over it. He found Silver waiting, looking none the worse for wear. Maybe he'd used one of those nap pods. The bastard.
“Well? Am I too crazy to work here?”
“Just the right amount,” Silver said. “Genos is... questionable. But okay on a trial basis.”
Saitama looked around. He was pretty sure most of the people in suits were different, but he wasn't a hundred percent.
“Where is he?”
“Arrangements are being made for him to stay here.”
“Here?” Saitama looked around again, squinting at the doors he hadn't seen behind yet. “How deep does this rabbit hole go?”
“Even I'm not sure.”
“Well can't he just come home with me? I live a block away.”
Silver gave him a strange look. “Saitama-kun, I know you feel responsible, but-”
“It's not that! He's- I'd do it for anybody.”
The look continued for a moment. “I believe you would.” Silver sighed and pulled out his phone. “Okay, for tonight, today, he can stay with you. The arrangements were taking some time anyway.”
Genos was produced by a muscleman even taller than he was. The man looked familiar, and gave Saitama a suspicious look in return. He'd have to keep his eyes open next time he went to the gym.
“Come on,” Saitama said, smiling with far more cheer than he felt. “You're crashing with me for now.”
“With you?” Genos relaxed so much that Saitama was almost guilty.
“It's not much, don't get your hopes up. Cops in real life can't afford designer.”
“I don't know what you mean,” Genos said, following Silver and Saitama to the elevator.
“You know? On TV? Everybody's always wearing name brand sunglasses and using Apple computers, and...” Genos looked blank. “Okay is this a memory thing or did you not watch TV before?”
“Oh. Not much I suppose, sempai.”
Saitama sighed. “I can live with 'sempai.'”
They walked home with the sky turning gray, the last of the stars fading. Genos had a massive trenchcoat draped over his shoulders, and someone had managed, miraculously, to find jeans that fit him. It looked weirder somehow, to have jeans on and nothing but metal and rubber elsewhere.
“Where do you live, sempai?”
“Right around the corner.” Saitama sighed again. If sighs had a lifetime limit, he'd probably used about half of his in this one night. “I was living a block away from the G-Men for the last year and I didn't even know.”
He led Genos up the stairs (which creaked worryingly under his weight), and into his apartment. Through the slats of the blinds he could see the sky lightening by the second.
“Sorry if it's messy. I wasn't expecting company.”
There was a very faint pout of disapproval around Genos' mouth, but he didn't say anything. “Thank you for having me.”
“Yeah yeah. I gotta call out of work, I'm gonna be useless like this. You wanna use the bathroom before bed?”
“I don't need to, sempai. The human parts of my body still require nutrients, but there aren't many of them, and my body processes food into bio-fuel so I don't produce waste.”
Saitama blinked a few times. “That was... a lot of information. But uh, want to wash your face or something?”
“Oh. Yes, I should. Excuse me sempai.”
Left more or less alone, Saitama dialed the only number in his phone that was a person and not an office. “Mumen, it's me.”
“Saitama?” He could hear the sleep in his partner's voice. This was about the time he'd be getting up to get ready, so he didn't feel bad about calling. At least, not too bad. “Whassit?”
“I'm not coming in today. I had a hell of a night.”
“Y'okay? Y'sick?”
“No, just exhausted. I'll be in tomorrow for sure.”
“Nmm. Call in properly.”
“I will, I will. Sorry man.”
“S'okay. Take care.”
“You too.”
If he hadn't caught Mumen half-asleep, he was sure there would have been more questions. He would certainly have a lot of explaining to do tomorrow... not to mention when he put in his two weeks. “I made a lot of choices I didn't think through and also I have a pet cyborg now” wasn't really a good answer.
Saitama called out sick, faking a sore throat and playing for sympathy. He was sure they weren't buying it, but it didn't matter much, he was quitting soon anyway.
That done, Saitama glanced out the window. The sun would be peeking over the horizon now.
Something cracked. Saitama twitched, the tiredness making him jumpy, and took a second to source the noise. There were only two people in the apartment, he was pretty sure his only neighbors were crows and squirrels...
He rapped on the bathroom door. “Hey bud. Not trying to be weird. You've been in there a long time for somebody who just told me they don't poop.”
The door opened and Saitama took in Genos, the visor ripped off his face, the newly-broken mirror above the sink. Without that visor his eyes were almost too bright to look at. Saitama could see the broken edges of it near his temples.
“I'm sorry sempai,” he said. He didn't offer an explanation, and Saitama didn't ask for one.
“Hey, wanna see something?”
“Sempai?”
“C'mon. Just for a bit.”
Unreasonably trusting for someone who'd just been kidnapped for four years, Genos followed Saitama up a few more sets of stairs. One nice thing about living in an apartment building the landlord didn't care about was that no one had bothered to repair the lock to the roof the last time Saitama broke it.
It wasn't a very tall building, but here on the shitty side of town they had a view of the skyline to one side, the suburbs and the forest to the other, and the sun rising between them.
Saitama sat on the edge of the roof, patting the spot behind him. Genos joined him, carefully swinging his leg over the lip and angling his body sideways.
“I dunno if you're the sunrise-watching type, but...” Saitama gestured at the view. “You don't see that in space, do you? I'd be willing to bet no other planet has a sunrise quite like Earth's.”
“No,” Genos said. He was already sounding choked up. “I was. The sunrise-watching type.”
“Okay.” Saitama leaned back, putting just enough pressure on Genos' arm to remind him of his presence.
They watched as the sky went from purple to pink to orange. Saitama didn't say a word when he heard Genos sob, or hiccup, or wipe his eyes with the back of his hand. He was nearly falling asleep when Genos leaned away and he lost his balance, thankfully toppling back instead of forward.
“I'm sorry.”
“S'okay.”
“Sempai, I'm very tired.” There were thick shiny tracks on Genos' cheeks, making Saitama think he didn't cry normal tears any more.
“Oh yeah, me too.” He dug around in his pockets until he found a napkin stolen from the diner yesterday. “Um, here.”
Genos took it, wiping his face obediently. “I'm sorry for my weakness.”
“What? Dude, no. Come on. If you're ever allowed to cry, it's now.” Saitama reached up and got a spot he'd missed with the sleeve of his hoodie. It was ruined anyway. “You've been through hell. But it's okay. You're home now.”
“Thank you.” He crumpled up the napkin in his hand, hanging on to it. Saitama remembered that feeling from when he was a kid. You wanted to cling to anything that gave you comfort at the time.
Anything, like Saitama.
“Let's go to bed, okay?” Saitama suggested.
“I'm... afraid.” Genos closed his eyes. “I've dreamed of this before.”
“Well, it's not a dream, okay? I promise.”
“You're sure?”
“Sure I'm sure. My dreams about aliens are always the usual creepy experiments kind. Not picking up somebody who already escaped on their own.”
Genos nodded, and swayed on his feet. They were still close enough to the edge of the roof that Saitama grabbed him to keep him steady.
“How long since you slept, anyway?”
“I don't know... I was flying for a long time.” Someday, after Genos had gotten some therapy, Saitama wanted to hear the full story of his escape.
“Come on.” Saitama looped his arm over his shoulders, letting Genos put his considerable weight on him. “Bed for you.”
“Yes, sempai.”
He was heavy, and too tired to move his feet much, but Saitama carried him down the stairs and into the apartment easily. He kicked his only futon out on the floor and set Genos down on it, lying smoothly that he had another one. Once he was sure Genos was passed out, Saitama changed into his pajamas and a fresh hoodie to keep warm, and curled up with a towel for a pillow.
It was funny how content he felt, with a cyborg in his bed and the universe unfolding above him. Being strong was about the only thing Saitama was good at, after all. If he could carry Genos, take a little bit of this weight off him... that would be enough.