Chapter 33 – The Old Man’s Review & The Helicopter Mom Problem

【Patient Zero (Adam) PoV】

You know what’s better than being the most powerful entity in the known universe—watching your kid stumble through godhood like a college freshman trying to parallel park during the driver’s test—absolutely hilarious—ten out of ten—would recommend.​

I’m lounging in what the facility calls my “containment cell” but what I call my beach resort penthouse because when you can warp reality the bars are just suggestions and the guards are extras in a show I didn’t audition for—the screen in front of me shows everything—every hallway—every tantrum—every pathetic attempt at flirting—it’s better than cable honestly and I don’t even have to pay for premium channels.

Let’s recap the mess my son just survived shall we.

Sarah the shapeshifter—sweet girl—bit clingy—decided to throw the mother of all tantrums because Kai forgot to visit her for like what—two days—maybe three—and she melted down so hard she breached a Level 5 containment cell like it was tissue paper—guards screaming—alarms wailing—pure chaos—and what does my boy do—does he panic—does he call for backup—nope—he walks down there calm as Sunday morning and talks her down with the emotional intelligence of a guidance counselor who moonlights as a cosmic deity.​

Respect.

But then—oh then—he does something I’ve been waiting twenty-four years to see—he uses the family gift—the void—tears a hole in reality like he’s opening a birthday present and stuffs her inside a custom-made prison dimension that tastes like him—Block Zero he calls it—romantic as hell honestly—I would’ve named it something cooler like “The Abyss of Eternal Embrace” but kids these days have no flair for dramatic titles.​

Sarah’s in there now purring like a cat in a sunbeam—completely content—living her best yandere life inside a cage made of my son’s energy—if that’s not true love I don’t know what is—the girl literally got exactly what she wanted by being bad—solid strategy—can’t even be mad at her hustle.

But here’s where it gets spicy.

Director Esdeath—Ice Queen extraordinaire—absolute mess of a woman—has been sitting in her office having a full-blown crisis over a plastic action figure—yes you heard that right—a tiny Kai doll she commissioned because she’s obsessed but too proud to admit it—freezing her own keyboard every time she thinks about him—accidentally turning her assistant into a popsicle when she got caught talking to it like a therapist—comedy gold right there—if I were directing this show I would give her character an Emmy just for the sheer commitment to being a disaster lesbian but for men.​

She wants him so bad it’s painful to watch—like witnessing someone try to open a jar they don’t realize has already been opened—just twist it honey—use your words—tell the boy you think he’s hot when he bends the laws of physics—not that hard—but no—she’s got to maintain her “professional ice goddess” persona while internally screaming into the void—which coincidentally is now occupied by her competition—irony is beautiful sometimes.

And then Solomon showed up.

Dusty old bastard—Omega Commander—King of Demons—collects monsters like they’re limited edition trading cards—walks into Esdeath’s office like he owns the mountain—which technically he might—sits in her chair—finds the action figure—and proceeds to insult her looks because she doesn’t have tentacles or extra eyes—absolute legend move—I’m not even mad—that’s impressive.​

Guy’s a pervert but at least he’s honest about it—none of this “I appreciate inner beauty” nonsense—straight up tells her she’s bland because she’s human-shaped—then offers her a deal—he gets to study Kai’s void powers to upgrade his demon-binding seal—she gets Kai all to herself with no monster girls in the way—clean divorce settlement as he called it—manipulative—strategic—exactly the kind of villain this story needed—finally some proper opposition instead of just lovesick reality-benders throwing tantrums.​

But here’s what Solomon doesn’t know.

Here’s what nobody knows except me because I’m the only one playing four-dimensional chess while everyone else is struggling with checkers.

The real villain of this story isn’t Solomon—isn’t some ancient evil—isn’t even the cult my son accidentally inherited when I gave him that book at his kindergarten graduation—nope—the real final boss—the ultimate obstacle standing between Kai and his destiny as the next King of the Void—is his mother.

Gaia.

My ex-wife.

The earth goddess.

The most terrifying force in creation—not because she’s stronger than me—she’s not—I could unmake her with a thought if I wanted—but because she has something I don’t—she has maternal instinct weaponized to apocalyptic levels—she is the ultimate helicopter mom—the kind who shows up at college to do your laundry and interrogate your roommates—except instead of college it’s an interdimensional prison and instead of laundry it’s making sure no one hurts her precious baby boy.​

She doesn’t love him romantically like Thalia or Sarah—thank god for small mercies—but her love is somehow worse—it’s suffocating—possessive in a completely different way—she wants him fed—clothed—happy—safe—bubble-wrapped in cotton and kept away from anything remotely dangerous—which is hilarious considering he works as a warden for cosmic horrors—but try telling her that—go ahead—I’ll wait here while you recover from the tongue-lashing that could strip paint off walls.

Here’s my problem.

I want Kai to succeed me—to take the throne—to become what I am but better—sharper—less bored—I want to retire—kick back—maybe explore some alternate dimensions where the beer is cold and the existential dread is optional—but I can’t do that until he grows into his power—until he stops treating godhood like a minimum wage job he tolerates—until he embraces what he is instead of what he thinks he should be.

But Gaia won’t let that happen.

She wants him human—normal—safe—working a desk job somewhere filing taxes—not ripping holes in reality and collecting yandere girlfriends like pokemon—every time I try to nudge him toward greatness she shows up with cookies and threats—the cookies are delicious—the threats are effective—it’s a whole thing—we’ve been fighting this custody battle for twenty-four years and neither of us is winning.

That’s why I haven’t fixed everything yet—why I haven’t stepped in and cleared the board myself—because the moment I do—the moment I interfere too directly—she’ll know—and she’ll intervene—and then we’re back to square one except with more property damage and uncomfortable Thanksgiving dinners that somehow still happen despite us being divorced gods.

But watching the monitor now—seeing Loki set up her chessboard—seeing Solomon making deals—seeing my son walk to his car under a moon that flickers like a bad projection because the chaos goddess just declared open season on reality—I’m thinking maybe it’s time to break my own rules.

The screen shows Kai pulling into his driveway—exhausted—oblivious to half the plots spinning around him—good kid—terrible situational awareness—definitely got that from his mother—and I finish my drink—some interdimensional whiskey that tastes like starlight and regret—set the glass down on a table that definitely wasn’t there a second ago—and stand up.

The guards outside my cell shift nervous—they always do when I move—like they think today’s the day I finally get bored and walk out—joke’s on them—I walk out twice a week minimum—I just come back because the wifi here is better than most dimensions and someone has to keep an eye on the show.

I look at the camera in the corner—the one they think is hidden—the one that definitely records everything—and I smile—the kind of smile that makes reality nervous—because I know something they don’t—something Solomon doesn’t—something even Gaia doesn’t fully appreciate.

My son just created a pocket dimension.

He wove a prison out of nothing using only his will and his father’s genes—that’s not beginner level magic—that’s god-tier reality manipulation—and he did it casually—like moving furniture—like it was the obvious solution—like it wasn’t the single most impressive display of raw power I’ve seen from him since he accidentally made his fifth-grade bully forget the concept of bullying entirely.

The kid’s ready.

He doesn’t know it yet—too busy being tired and responsible—but the power’s there—sleeping—waiting—and all these monsters circling him aren’t threats—they’re catalysts—every obsession—every crisis—every impossible situation pushes him closer to waking up and realizing he’s not the warden—he’s the architect—he’s the one who decides what’s possible and what’s not.

Solomon wants to use him as a battery—Esdeath wants to date him—Thalia wants to own him—Loki wants to play with him—Sarah wants to consume him—Gaia wants to protect him—but me—I want him to surpass me—to take what I built and make it better—to be the god I got too bored to be properly.

And I think it’s time I stopped watching from the sidelines and started teaching him how.

The facility’s about to get a lot more interesting—Loki’s game is starting—Solomon’s moving pieces—Esdeath’s making terrible decisions—and Gaia’s going to lose her mind when she finds out I’m getting involved again—but that’s fine—I’ve been retired long enough—time to shake things up—remind everyone why I’m Patient Zero—why I’m the standard by which all other disasters are measured.

I walk to the cell door—it opens before I touch it because it knows better—and I step into the hallway where three guards immediately draw tasers they know won’t work—cute—I wave at them like we’re old friends—which we kind of are at this point—and head toward the exit.

Time to visit my son.

Time to have a talk about Block Zero and void powers and all the things his mother didn’t want him to know because knowledge leads to danger and danger leads to growth and growth leads to him not needing her protection anymore.

Season one is over kids—the training arc just ended—and now the mentor character is stepping up from cameo appearances to main cast member—try not to blink—things are about to get educational in the worst possible way.​

I whistle as I walk—some song from a dimension where music is a weapon—and behind me the facility alarms finally start screaming—way too late as usual—but points for effort I guess.

Kai’s going to be so annoyed when I show up at his house at three in the morning.

Can’t wait.