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Chapter Text

March 12th 2005 3.00pm
Westchester

The rain hadn't let up all day. It rolled off the edges of umbrellas and dripped down the backs of coats, but no one moved. The crowd stood still, silent, heads bowed before a line of freshly dug graves behind Xavier's School for gifted youngsters. Once, the mansion had been a place of hope and learning. But today... Today it was the backdrop for a funeral.

Ten freshly marked headstones sat in the rain, neat and cold. The names etched into the granite still didn’t feel real.

Professor Charles Xavier

Jean Grey

Alex Summers

Kitty Pryde

Piotr Rasputin

Samuel Guthrie

Pietro Maximoff

Dr. Lorna Dane

Warren Worthington III

Rogue

Ororo Munroe, otherwise known as Storm, stood over a small podium. She took a breath and faced the people gathered before her. Mutants from all corners of the world stood side by side. Friends. Enemies. Strangers united by grief.

“My friends,” she began, her voice quiet but strong. “Today we have the unfortunate task of laying to rest some of our own. Days like today make our past conflicts seem... petty by comparison"

She looked over the crowd, eyes lingering briefly on a few faces—Beast, his glasses fogged with rain. Gambit, silent for once, hat in hand. Further in the back her young students, Bobby, Suzanne, Calvin, Roberto, all pale and all trembling. Far too young to have to be sharing this pain.

And even farther back, slightly away from the service, barely visible under the cover of a tree, stood a man alone..

He didn’t speak. He hadn’t since he arrived. His long silver hair clung to his face, soaked and unkempt. His helmet was gone. In its place was a hollow man, too heavy with regret to move or speak. The pain of loss was not foreign to him, so much pain and strife marked his life, molded him, made him who he was and now... it seems it had finally broken him. The pain had broken the one they called Magneto

"Whether you stood with the X-Men" Ororo continued "sided with the brotherhood, kept a neutral stance, or just were a friend. What truly matters is that we are all hurting this day for our own kind"

In the distance, Magneto turned away and disappeared into the trees.

Ororo watched him leave, then looked to the remaining members of the Brotherhood, who stood stiffly among the X-Men.

"Charles Xavier was the best of us and he believed, wholeheartedly that unity and peace could be reached between us and with the humans. He believed that the key to our survival was coexistence"

Members of brotherhood listened intently. Todd, Juggernaut, Pyro, names that she had told her students were untrustworthy, now sat side by side along with them

"4 days ago the humans betrayed the trust of a good man, they slaughtered good people in the name of fear. Today, with all of us together, i ask and i plead that you not betray Charles' wish in the name of his death"

Internally she knew that would fall on deaf ears, they may be united today but how long would that truly last? It was worth a shot at least, she thought to herself, it's what Charles would have wanted

"We must show them that we won't stoop to those levels... this is a time of mourning but it can also be a time of reflection and forgiveness"

She turned back to the graves. The words caught in her throat, but she forced them out.

“To the fallen... may you find the peace that this world denied you.”

The funeral ended in silence.

***

A short distance away, beneath the dripping limbs of an old tree, Logan sat with his back against the trunk, legs stretched out in the mud. A few crushed beer cans lay beside him, another in his hand. His shirt was half-buttoned, eyes bloodshot and staring off into the middle distance.

He hadn’t joined the others for the service.

Storm found him there a few minutes later, Beast trailing right behind her. She didn’t speak at first. Just watched him drink.

"You missed the service Logan"

Logan took a big swig of his beer "I heard what i needed to hear, that's what's matters

Storm stepped closer. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks.”

Beast adjusted his coat. “This isn’t the way to go about things Logan.”

He finally looked at them. “What way is there left? Because everything that tied me to this place is now six feet under.”

Storm’s voice softened. “...Jean wouldn’t want you like this.”

Logan stared off at the field, the gravestones just visible through the trees.

“She’s dead,” he said. “So what she wants don’t mean much anymore does it?”

Storm looked away. She had no fight in her and truly their was nothing left to say. She turned and walked off, Beast following reluctantly.

***

FIVE. YEARS. LATER

March 12th 2010 3.00pm
Washington D.C

The walls of the Senate chamber were cold and clinical, a true far cry from the muddy field behind Xavier’s School. Rows of politicians and aides sat behind polished desks, eyes fixed on the lone mutant standing at the center of the room going through his notes. Cameras lined the walls, red lights blinking as they streamed the session live across the country.

Dr. Hank McCoy adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. His blue fur popped out of his custom tailored navy suit. He stood tall, dignified, even as the weight of the moment pressed down on him like gravity.

A senator spoke into the microphone "Mr McCoy-"

"It's actually Doctor... Doctor Hank McCoy" Beast interjected

The senator offered a thin smile "Of course, my apologies Doctor McCoy. The purpose of this public hearing is to further quell any fears the mutant populous has over relations between humans and mutants. In a recent television appearance you stated you have fears over the united states government's and i quote 'lack of transparency' to the mutant population, would you like to elaborate on that?"

"Of course, 5 years ago, a sentinel attacked and killed many of my friends and my people in broad daylight."

He paused, letting the words hang in the air before continuing

"This machine was recovered by the US government and in the past 5 years no information has been released publicly about where the machine came from, who built it, where it's parts were made or why it solely targeted mutants"

The senator leaned in to respond "The Sentinel is now property of the US government and you have been informed that it was immediately dismantled for research purposes, no other information will be released at-"

"Furthermore" Beast interjects again "the name of the machine Senator...The Sentinel. To my records of the day in question, the machine never spoke, and as you say had no discernable markings on it, no insignia. So how were you so quick to name it The Sentinel"

Murmurs began spreading through the room, one of the aides leaned in and whispered something to the senator

"We know what it was called because of recovered data from its internal programming.”

Beast raised an eyebrow. “So you were able to access its programming files?”

“That’s classified information Doctor McCoy”

“Will the mutant population ever be allowed to see those files Senator?”

“Doctor McCoy,” the senator said, clearly agitated now, “need I remind you, the United States has been very cooperative with your X-Men, just as we have with all super-powered individuals operating on American soil.”

Beast smiled thinly. “Ah yes. Just last month i believe, Mr. Tony Stark stood in this very room to answer questions pertaining to the Avengers. However i don’t recall him having a sniper aimed at his head.”

There was an audible gasp. The murmur turned into voices rising, reporters scribbling furiously in notebooks and typing into phones, up in the rafters on the building stood a lone officer with a rifle aimed at Hank.

“Order!” the chairman barked. “Settle down!”

Beast waited for the noise to fade, then folded his arms behind his back.

“The truth of the matter is that, you don’t trust us Senator” he said quietly. “Not truly. Even after all the times we've saved this country, this world… we're still seen as threats.”

More murmers come from the crowd as reporters discuss what Hank is saying

"Settle down... Doctor McCoy can you honestly blame us? Having Tony Stark here is very different from having... what is it they call you? The Beast?"

A few in the crowd nod, visually put off by Hank's mutation and name

"The name actually comes from a human Senator" there was a brief pause "it was about 10 years ago give or take, the X-Men had barely formed and we were tasked with a mission, a bank robbery with dozens and dozens of hostages. My team successfully infiltrated the building, neutralized the threat and prevented any casualties. That day a small child was one of the hostages, he looked to me after the fact and proudly proclaimed to me 'you're a beast!'

Hank has a slight chuckle at the memory before continuing

"There was no malice in his voice, no negative connotations, he just said what he felt in the moment, that i Hank Mccoy... was a beast...and i suppose the name just stuck after all these years"

There was a noticeable silence in the air after Hank finished speaking, one of quiet consideration from those listening

"Regardless Doctor McCoy at this time the United States government has no further information to reveal about the sentinel attack from day zero"

Hank flinches ever so slightly upon hearing the words 'Day Zero'

"If that is the case i have no further testimony Senator. Thank you for your time"

Hank made his way out of the chamber and discussions began to run rampant

***

March 12th 2010 10.00pm
Madripoor

The crowd roared as the cage slammed shut behind him. Madripoor’s infamous underground fight ring, known only as The Pit, was a circular cage lit by harsh overhead lights and surrounded by drunk spectators hungry for blood and violence.

Logan stood in the center, shirtless, scarred, and already bleeding from a cut above his eyebrow, but the cut was already beginning to heal itself.
Across from him towered his opponent, nearly a foot taller, muscles like steel cables, a mutant whose skin shimmered like obsidian and arms rippling with barely contained power.

A bell rang loudly and the crowd roared with excitement.

The mutant charged full speed at Logan, he ducked under the first blow, drove his adamantium laced fist into the man's side, then took a knee to the jaw that rattled his skull. He staggered, spat blood, and smiled at Logan

They traded punches over and over again. Logan’s nose broke. His ribs being cracked. But every time he hit the floor, he came back up, healing, cursing, and fighting through the fleeting pain

The fight ended when Logan drove his elbow into the side of the man's neck, wrapped an arm around his head, and brought him down hard with a thunderous slam. The opponent hit the ground and didn’t get up.

The bell rang again "Here is your winner and still undefeated! THE MOTHER! FUCKING! WOLVERINE!!!"

The announcer's booming voice sent the crowd wild again. Logan stood over his fallen opponent, chest heaving, the hint of temptation on his face, to bring out his claws and really end this, give these psychos a show and blood bath they'd never forget

"Not worth it" he said to himself, steeping over the man and out of the cage

In the shadows of the rafters of the pit, high above the cage, Magik appeared silently. Her glowing orange portal shimmered like moonlight on water. Next to her stood Sebastian Shaw, tailored as ever, eyes fixed on Logan like a man watching a weapon prove its worth.

“He’ll do,” Shaw murmured and walked back through her portal, vanishing

Magik said nothing but look at her target, a slight smile creeping across her face

***

March 12th 17.00pm
Genosha

The sun began to set over Genosha, casting a soft light across rolling hills and modest stone buildings. Once a battleground, now the island had the tranquility of a small forgotten town at the edge of the world, tucked away from all the chaos. The streets were lined with simple homes, vegetable gardens, and narrow paths shaded by trees.

Mutants moved freely here, laughing, working, existing. A child with wings soared over rooftops. A woman with green skin hung laundry beside a man whose fingertips sparked electricity as he tuned a broken radio. The peace was genuine, but beneath it lingered something else, almost like the town was holding its breath, surely peace like this wasn't sustainable for a mutant?

Storm landed the blackbird jet on an unobtained patch of land on the outskirts of the town. She slowly made her way through, wondering to herself if in another life she'd be here instead, but she knows she has a responsibility to those who aren't here, those who are at the school, those who didn't survive.

Magneto was waiting for her. He wore just a simple black coat over muted grey robes, his long hair tied back, streaked with silver. He looked older than she remembered.

“Ororo,” he greeted with a tired smile. “It’s good to see you.”

“You look... calm Erik” she said, searching his face for the man he used to be.

“I am. Retirement has it's benefits.”

"I'm not sure you can classify leading all of this as retirement". She quickly retorted

They walked together in silence through the winding village paths. As they moved, mutants greeted them, some nodding with respect, others merely curious but speaking loud enough to be heard "is that storm?". Magneto spoke as they approached a modest two-story building on a quiet street.

“She arrived here last month. Kurt barely managed to smuggle her in after her powers manifested” he said

"What happened?"

"Parents thought she was schizophrenic, took her to the hospital to have her diagnosed, then she accidentally had everyone in her wing seeing visions of dead relatives"

"Jesus"

"Police wanted her in custody for causing mass hysteria. We have a contact at the hospital, they reached out and i had Kurt get to her before the humans could".

Erik opened the door for her and they made their way upstairs. “She'd been quite calm upon arrival but recently her powers have been… unstable. She’s barely been sleeping.”

Upstairs, the air felt heavier, tense with psychic energy. From inside the room, muffled crying echoed faintly.

Storm knocked on the door and entered gently.

A young girl sat curled in the corner of the room, no older than sixteen, knees pulled tight to her chest. Her eyes were wide and unseeing, but her hands clawed at the air as if trying to push something away.

Around her, illusions flickered and pulsed, transparent figures that drifted through the room. A man with green eyes and a hooked nose. A young woman with green hair screaming. A woman wrapped in light, mouth agape in a song.

Storm knelt down beside her, careful not to touch. “Xuân, my name is Ororo, It’s okay. None of them are real. Just breathe, child.”

“I don’t know them,” Xuân whispered. “I don’t know who they are, but they keep… showing up. I can never hear them but I feel them. They're in pain and i don't know why”

“They aren’t yours,” Storm said softly. “You’re reaching into the minds of others… people you’ve never met. Echoes. Memories that don’t belong to you.”

Xuân’s breathing began to slow, but tears streamed down her cheeks.

“I’m scared,” she said.

“I know. I’ve seen this before,” Storm said, her voice low. “I had a friend like you, a very close friend. She had gifts just like yours. Sometimes her power felt like a wave too big for her to control… but she did. She learned.”

Karma’s illusions began to fade, each figure flickering once before disappearing into smoke. Erik stands in the doorway watching over the two of them

“You remind me of her,” Storm said with a small smile. “Strong. And so much more powerful than you realize.”

Silence filled the room. Xuân wiped her face, still trembling but present now.

“Will you help me?” she asked.

“I will, it's why I'm here” Storm said. “It's a lot to ask of you to relocate again but if you're willing i run a school for gifted individuals just like yourself. There you can learn how to control your powers. You won’t face this alone."

Minutes later Ororo was taking the young mutant onto the blackbird. She motioned for Xuân to continue on as she turned to speak with Erik

"You made the right choice telling me about her"

Erik takes a moment to think over what he intends to say next "do you think she has the potential to hit that level?"

Ororo puts her hands on her hips thinking it over "Honestly too early to say, her powers seem more disruptive than destructive but...it was the same with Jean in the beginning"

"Take care of her Ororo"

Ororo looks at a man she once would have called enemy without hesitation, the genuine look of compassion and cconcern shocked her. Erik had always cared for mutants but not in this way, it reminded her so much of Charles

She nodded at him before making her way to the blackbird to return home with a new student

From the doorway, Magneto watched, his expression unreadable.

Outside, the sun had nearly vanished, but for the first time that day, the air inside the room felt still.

***

March 12th 2010. 20.45pm
New Jersey

Scott Summers sat in the far corner of a holding cell, one eye swollen shut, the other almost hidden behind a bruised cheekbone. His head was bowed, eyes clamped shut tight. Without his visor, the risk was too high. A twitch, a reflex, and the steel bars in front of him would melt like candle wax.

"Hey mutie boy!" the cop muttered, loud enough to be heard. He kicked the bench leg with the toe of his boot. “Wait till everyone gets a load of you. What they call you? Fucking cyclops” the cops laughs hard "Fucking muties man"

Scott didn’t react. The weight of his silence was heavier than any insult the man could lob his way tonight

Then the front doors sprung open. The cold wind rushed in first. Then heel, sharp, measured, and loud.

Emma Frost entered like she owned the building.

She stood just shy of six feet tall in stiletto heels, the white fabric of her tailored coat parting slightly with every stride to reveal a skin-tight corset beneath, hugging her curves like it had been sewn directly onto her body. Her hourglass figure drew the eye of the cop instantly, full bust, a tapered waist, and long, sculpted legs that moved with an almost practiced precision. Her thighs, powerful and smooth, brushed together with every step. Her platinum blonde hair flowing behind her like a banner of warning: beautiful, dangerous, untouchable.

She walked past the front desk without a glance, a slim case in one hand, and met the cop’s sneer with a glacial smile.

“You have someone here I need released. A Mr. Scott Summers.”

“We don’t do charity cases, lady,” the cop grunted. “Unless you’re here to post bail, I have to ask you to leave.”

Emma’s voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to.

“I’m here,” she said, stepping closer, her words threading into his mind like silk, suggestion wrapped in desire, “because you want to release him. You want to do it quietly. No paperwork. No questions, is that okay?”

The officer blinked rapidly, he doesn't know why but he must do what she says immediately “ Yes ma'am, no paperwork, no bail.”

Moments later, Emma walked up to Scott's cell as it was opened, he stood but his eyes were still shut. He looked more broken than dangerous.

She handed him the small black case "here". Her voice sounded almost apologetic

Inside: a new pair of sunglasses. Sleek. Familiar.

He put them on slowly, like donning a memory, and looked at her for the first time. He knew it was her, he could recognize her voice from a mile away whether he liked it or not

“Let's go...we need to talk” she muttered.

March 13th 2010. 01.00pm
Madripoor

The alley reeked of rotting trash, rust, and piss... honestly standard fair for the streets of Madripoor. Neon lights flickered from a nearby sign, bathing the rain-slick walls in a red glow.

Then the air split.

A circle of violet flame erupted out of nowhere against the alley wall, spiraling open with a deep, arcane hum. Magik stepped through the portal. Her boots crunching loudly against broken glass. The portal closed behind her like a heartbeat coming to an end

She dragged a body behind her

Logan hit the pavement with a grunt, a near empty bottle of whiskey slipping from his fingers and rolling to the curb. His shirt was torn, his knuckles bloodied, eyes glassy.

Before he could move, the ground beneath him cracked with cold light. Magik's weapon of choice, her Soul Sword rose from the shadows like a specter, massive and burning blue, and with a single, effortless swing, she brought it down, pressing the sharp edge to the side of his neck

Magik stared down at him, her eyes like frozen steel.

“So this is the Wolverine…” she said, her thick russian accent on full display

“I’m not impressed.”

End Of Chapter

Chapter Text

March 13th 2010. 04.00am
Madripoor

Logan's eyes narrowed. The edge of the glowing blade was still at his throat, and he could feel warm blood sliding slowly down either side of his neck.

"Who the fuck are you?" he growled, voice hoarse from whiskey and smoke

The girl didn't flinch. She smirked.
"That's rude. Be nice Wolverine"

Without a word, she pressed the sword deeper. Logan winced as the sharp pain cut through the fog in his skull. Now it wasn't just a line, it was around. The kind that would normally heal in seconds, but it was taking longer than normal

"You know i could've killed you in your sleep," she added. "Dragged your corpse through the portal instead. But I thought this would be more fun."

He grunted, locking eyes with her. "Better have tried, better have failed"

She laughs then twists the blade on his neck. He groans in pain, holding back actual screams "Don't be such a baby, I heard you heal fast"

She pulled the blade back, letting it dissolve into nothing with a shimmer of blue light. Then she stood tall, arms crossed, expression calm but coiled like a viper. "My name is Illyana Rasputin."

Logan coughed hard, specs of blood shooting out of his mouth. "That supposed to mean something to me?"

"You knew my brother," she said, and just like that, the sarcasm drained from her voice. What was left was colder.

A flicker of recognition hit him. The accent. The name.
"...Colossus"

She gave him a mocking little nod. "Da. The dead one."

Logan's jaw tightened remembering her brother, memories he'd spent the last 5 year burying down a beer bottle

Before he could say anything else, she continued. "Sebastian Shaw wants a word with you. Immediately."

"Yeah?" he muttered, staggering to his feet and wiping the blood from his neck with the back of his hand. "What makes you think I give a damn what that son of a bitch wants?"

She smugly smiled again "Because, Wolverine... this meeting isn't optional."

The portal flared to life again behind Logan, casting the alley in an eerie light. Logan stared at her and made a decision

Fuck this, he thought

SNIKT SNIKT

Logan's claws retracted from his body, he was ready for a fight

"That's cute!" Her smug tone let him know she didn't care

Magik in one swift motion kicked Logan before he had time to react, straight into the portal behind him

He vanished, and soon she followed

***

March 15th 2010. 09.00am

Jean was laughing

Laughing in that soft, effortless way that made Scott forget the weight of the world on his shoulders. They were lying together in the grass behind that old mansion, the sunlight painting her hair gold, her fingers tracing lazy circles over his chest. He could feel her warmth, her pulse against his skin. She looked up at him, eyes glowing, she was perfect.

"You always take the world on your shoulders," she whispered, brushing his cheek. "Let someone else carry it for once Scott."

He leaned in to kiss her.

And then it was gone.

The sunlight turned cold and sterile. Her skin pale. Her eyes lifeless. The sheet pulled back in the morgue to reveal her face, bruised, bloodless, lifeless. Scott stood there, unable to breathe, unable to scream

He jolted awake.

New York

He sat up fast, wincing. His ribs ached. His face throbbed. And more importantly, his eyes were closed. Always closed, unless he had his glasses, because without them, anyone in front of him could be vaporized by a glance.

His hand patted blindly around the nightstand until he heard a voice like velvet.

"Looking for these?"

Emma Frost stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with one perfectly manicured hand holding out his iconic ruby-quartz sunglasses

She handed them to him and he put them on "Where am i?"

"My house" she thought it over "well one of my houses anyway. You've been asleep for about 2 days give or take. Somebody was worn out" she said that a little more sensual than intended...or not

He quickly looked around, just to get a look outside the window near the bed "Westchester?"

"Buffalo". Scott breathed a sight of relief, not wanting to be anywhere near the x mansion right now

Scott sat up on the edge of the bed, rubbing his temples as the last traces of the nightmare clung to his mind like cobwebs

"You bailed me out?" he asked her

Emma raised an eyebrow, amused. "Darling, please. I didn't bail you out. I walked you out."

She stepped into the room with effortless grace. She sat on the arm of a nearby chair, crossing one leg over the other with poise.

"Yeah but why? You could have asked the X-Men for help"

Emma let out a short laugh, but there was no real humor in it. She looked at him like he'd just asked if the Earth was still flat. "Judging by the state I found you in, you clearly haven't been paying attention. The X-Men don't exist anymore. They haven't for a long time."

Her voice softened a touch, but the edge returned just as quickly. "Besides, I need someone I can trust. Someone who can keep things quiet. I can't risk things getting out before I know more."

Scott frowned. "What are you talking about?"

Emma stood, walking slowly across the room. As she passed him, she let her fingers trail briefly across his shoulder.

"It's better if I showed you."

***

March 15th 2010. 11.00am
Westchester

Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters stood quietly beneath the overcast sky, its once vibrant energy reduced to a faint hum. It wasn't empty, there were still a handful of students wandering its halls, young mutants trying to find their place but after day zero many parents pulled their children out of the school, others without family fled for Genosha when given the chance. The mansion felt hollow compared to what it once was. Echoes of the past lingered in every floorboard, every faded photograph in the entry hall.

Xuân stood alone on the front steps, arms wrapped tightly around herself. She had been there for two days but hadn't spoken to anyone thus far. Her powers had been unstable, manifesting people she didn't recognize, illusions that didn't belong to her. It was like being haunted by someone else's nightmares. So she kept her distance, afraid of what she might do if she got too close to someone.

The low rumble of an engine pulled her out of her thoughts. She looked up as a motorcycle came into view, kicking up dust as it rolled to a stop. A man climbed off with lazy confidence, a worn backpack slung over his shoulder and a long coat whipping in the breeze. He had stubble on his jaw, dark hair falling into his eyes, and sunglasses that barely hid the smirk playing on his lips.

He started up the steps, and Xuân instinctively took a step back.

"Didn't think anyone'd be waiting for me," he said with a smooth Cajun accent.

"Who are you?" Xuân asked warily, trying to keep her voice steady.

The man stopped in front of her, reached into his coat pocket, and pulled out a single playing card. With a little flair, he flipped it toward her. It landed in her hand, light as a feather. She looked down and saw it glowing faintly pink, energy crackling at the edges.

"Remy Lebeau" he said with a wink. "But you can call me The Gambit."

Xuân stared at the sparking card, then looked back up at him. For the first time since she'd arrived, she almost smiled

"I'm Xuân," she said softly.

Gambit's smirk deepened. "Nice to meet you, ma chérie." He turned toward the mansion without missing a beat, his coat flaring slightly behind him as he walked. "If you'll excuse me, I've got a date with the refrigerator. Kitchen still in the same spot?"

He didn't wait for an answer, already making his way through the front doors like he owned the place.

"Yeah, I guess," Xuân called after him, a bit amused now. She looked down at the card still resting in her hand. "Wait—don't you want your card back?"

From inside, Gambit's voice drifted back: "Garde-le."

As if on cue, the card sparkled again, warm pink light crackling along its edge before fading. Xuân stared at it, the faint glow still dancing in her palm, and for the first time in days, she felt just a little less haunted.

***

March 15th 2010. 11.30am
Genosha

The hill overlooking Genosha's coastline was quiet this time of day. Waves lapped gently at the rocky shore. Magneto stood with his hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed on the horizon as if trying to see beyond it

BAMF

"Guten Abend," Nightcrawler said, his voice gentle, his yellow eyes warm.

Magneto didn't turn. "Kurt."

Nightcrawler stepped beside him, arms folded as his tail swayed lazily behind him. "It's peaceful here... It's like a dream someone dared to make real."

Magneto gave a small nod. "We did more than dream, Kurt. We built it."

Kurt studied him for a moment, his former rival now turned friend then smiled "I'm proud of the man you've become Erik. It takes strength to overcome one's demons... especially when they once gave you purpose."

A flicker of something unreadable passed through Erik's expression. "Demons never truly leave us. We just... learn to live alongside them."

Kurt's eyes narrowed, his tone gentler but more pointed now. "You know, it's been five years... and I still don't know why they were all there together. Charles, Jean, Lorna, Pietro everyone. Why were brotherhood and X-Men mutants meeting secretly"

Magneto turned his gaze back to the sea, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. "What good would it do now? The past can't be changed."

"No," Kurt said, "but ignoring it won't bring peace either. You must face your truth, or it finds you when you least expect it."

There was a long pause between them, the wind the only sound.

"Are these the lessons you teach the youth of Genosha?" Erik finally said.

Kurt has a soft chuckle to himself "i suppose so"

Kurt put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't bury the past, Erik. Lay it to rest. That's the only way to move on."

BAMF

Erik didn't respond, he kept looking over the coast, trying not to think, but it's hard not to when he should have been there that day

***
March 15th 2010. 05.30am
Madripoor

A portal tore open in a flash of orange light, and Logan came crashing out of it, landing hard on the floor of a sleek office. The place smelled like expensive cologne and reckless ambition. Behind a massive mahogany desk sat Sebastian Shaw, a pleasant but completely insincere smile on his face.

"Hello, Logan," Shaw spoke slowly. "You're not an easy man to track down."

Logan growled low in his throat and pushed himself up. Magik casually strolled through the portal after him, boots clicking against the floor, and hopped up to sit cross-legged on Shaw's desk like she owned the place. She looked utterly bored, grabbing a handful of candy from a crystal dish on the desk and popping one into her mouth.

"Did you really have to send your little bitch to drag me here?" Logan snarled.

Illyana didn't even flinch. She smirked around the candy and said, "Is he always this grumpy?" She tilted her head at Shaw. "I was kind enough to spray you down with a hose before bringing you in, and this is the thanks I get?" She pretended to think it over, "I could also mention that even with the hose, you still smell like shit... but I won't, because I'm so nice."

"There's no need for that, Illyana," Shaw said smoothly. "I invited our guest here to talk. So let's talk."

He turned his full attention back to Logan. "Tell me, Logan. What do you know about Day Zero?"

Logan glared at him, jaw tight.

"A derogatory term, I know," Shaw mused, "but I mean it truthfully—"

"Get to the goddamn point before I rip your skull in half," Logan growled, baring his teeth.

Illyana let out a delighted little laugh, swinging her legs off the desk.

"The point is," Shaw continued, completely unfazed, "the humans were onto something when they named it Day Zero."

"So what? You saying the government was involved?" Logan asked, voice low and dangerous.

"No," Shaw said, chuckling. "Those buffoons can barely run the country. No, the name implies a beginning. The start of something. And they're right."

He pulled a thin file from the drawer and slid it across the desk toward Logan.

"I have eyes and ears everywhere Logan. People are starting to talk."

Logan flipped open the file. It was filled with schematics of a sentinel design, most of it redacted with heavy black bars.

"This is mostly useless," Logan said, flipping through the pages. "Doesn't tell us shit."

"Except for two things," Shaw said, holding up a finger. "First, look at the date."

Logan squinted.
September 20th, 2009.

Logan's gut twisted. " So you're telling me these aren't the schematics of the original..." he muttered. "They're building another one."

Shaw watched him carefully. "Exactly."

Logan tried not to show it, but anger and honestly something colder flashed across his face.

"How do you know this ain't fake Shaw?"

"Trust me, i know"

"Trust you? you're a scumbag slime ball who will do anything to get what he wants and you expect me to trust you?"

"I do Logan, because in case you forgot i am a mutant as well. The sentinel program doesn't just affect you or your precious X-men, it affects us all" Shaw leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper "and quite frankly a machine that could wipe out mutants like Jean Grey and Charles Xavier in mere minutes warrants further investigation, wouldn't you agree?"

Logan's hands curled into fists at the mention of Jean, but he said nothing.

"While you and the others," Shaw continued, "chose to retreat into your grief like wounded children, I chose to work. I chose to learn. And what I learned is that they're making another."

"Who's 'they,' Shaw?"

"I don't know yet," Shaw admitted, a rare crack in his smug façade. "But I intend to find out. And I'm assembling a team to make sure no other abomination like that sentinel ever sees the light of day."

Logan scoffed, unimpressed.

"I need mutants who aren't afraid to get their hands dirty. And that," Shaw said with a sly smile, "is where you come in."

Logan said nothing, his mind turning

"What was the second thing? you said you learned two things"

Shaw tapped the folder "The assumption was the machine's exoskeleton had to be made of a strong enough material to withstand attacks from the likes of Quicksilver, Polaris, Colossus and so on, to give it enough time to wipe them all out without them having the time to break it down... the working theory was it had to be made of vibranium...however AD-131 appears in this document on 3 separate occasions...that is the periodic classification for adamantium"

Logan's fists tightened.
There were only a handful of places on Earth that could access adamantium, let alone in enough of a quantity to build an entire robot and maybe more.
And only one of them had tortured him, experimented on him, turned him into the weapon he became.

"Weapon X" Logan growled under his breath.

Shaw smiled like a shark. "Welcome to the team, Logan."

"I didn't say I was in," Logan snapped.

"You didn't say you were out," Shaw said, leaning back in his chair. "Pack your bags. We start tomorrow."

Magik popped another candy into her mouth, watching them with mild amusement.
"Huh," she said with a grin. "I've always wanted to be in a band."

March 15th 2010. 13.00pm
Westchester

The kitchen in the X Mansion smelled like toasted bread and cheap lunch meat when Storm stepped through the door. She crossed her arms and leaned casually against the doorway, watching Gambit root around in the fridge like a raccoon in the night.

"Remy LeBeau," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Have you no shame?"

Gambit glanced over his shoulder, grinning as he slapped two slices of baloney onto a piece of bread. "C'mon, chère. You don't even like baloney."

Storm chuckled under her breath and shook her head. "It's not for me, its for the students. Xavier's would fall apart without rules, you know."

Gambit winked at her. "Good thing I was never one for rules."

He took a massive bite of the sandwich, then leaned back against the counter. His eyes usually dancing with mischief, seemed a little heavier than usual.

"How are you holding up?" Storm asked gently.

Remy shrugged. "Coping. Better now that I'm home."

She smiled at that, a little sadness behind it.

"When did the Xuân girl show up?" he asked, nodding toward the hallway.

Storm raised an eyebrow. "How'd you know she was new"

"C'est évident," Remy said, taking another bite. "She's got that look in her eye we all did, first time we walked through these doors."

Storm didn't argue. The haunted, uncertain look was something she recognized too well.

Before she could reply, Beast lumbered into the kitchen, sniffing the air like a bloodhound. Without a word, he plucked the sandwich clean from Gambit's hand and took a huge bite.

"Thank you, Remy, your sandwich making skills are as excellent as ever" Beast said, voice muffled by food.

Remy stared, dumbfounded. "Mon dieu, Hank! That was mine!"

Switching to rapid-fire French, Gambit unleashed a string of colorful curses as he grabbed the bread again and started building a second larger sandwich. Storm just laughed, the easy sound lightening the room a little.

As she moved toward the window over the sink, Storm's gaze drifted outside. The afternoon sun warmed the backyard basketball court where a handful of the young mutants were playing a chaotic, half serious game. Roberto da Costa, wrestled the ball from Bobby Drake, laughing as he did. A few other students cheered from the sidelines, their voices bright and carefree.

"They're getting bigger," Gambit said, coming up behind her, a fresh sandwich in hand "the boys were only 12 when i left, now look at them."

"They'll be running off at 18 like you did Remy" Beast added, brushing crumbs from his furred chest.

Storm watched as Bobby created a thin layer of ice beneath Roberto's feet, sending him sprawling while the others howled with laughter.

"It's important they have time to just be kids," Storm said softly. "To live."

Remy leaned against the counter, thoughtful. "I been traveling around a lot lately. Lotta mutants struggling to get by. Some trying to make it to Genosha, some stuck out there with no help at all."

"And the humans?" Beast asked.

Remy's face darkened. "Getting more paranoid. Towns getting curfews, new laws. Mutants are the monsters under the bed again."

"How the sentinel attack made them more scared of us is beyond me...but i suppose that fear was always there and they had the excuse now" Hank thought over what to say next before turning to look at Ororo "The world needs the X-Men," he said, voice low and honestly a little uncertain.

Storm shook her head. "The world has heroes, Hank. The Fantastic Four, Doctor Strange, The Avengers—"

"They're not us, Ororo," Beast said, cutting her off. "They don't represent our people. And that matters."

Storm didn't answer right away. She just watched the kids through the glass, their laughter carrying faintly inside. Bobby pulled Roberto back to his feet, and the game started again.

They were growing up, stronger, faster, smarter.
Storm's heart ached with pride. And fear.

Because she knew better than anyone how fast innocence could be ripped away.

March 15th 2010. 13.30pm
Buffalo

The elevator hummed as it descended deeper underground than Scott thought possible. The air grew colder, the metal walls reflecting the faint, sterile blue light overhead. Scott stood stiffly beside Emma, arms crossed, still wearing the sunglasses she'd given him.

How big is this fucking house, he thought

When the doors slid open with a soft hiss, he stepped into a bunker that looked more like a war room than anything else. Sleek computers lined the walls, huge monitors displaying maps, DNA charts, security feeds, you name it.

Scott turned slowly, taking it all in. "What the hell is all this?"

Emma sauntered past him, heels clicking against the concrete "This," she said smoothly, "is what I've been working on for the last year or so give or take. Privately of course."

Scott narrowed his eyes behind his glasses. "Private from who?"

"Everyone really" she said simply. "There were... whispers. Rumors. About experiments happening somewhere deep in Canada. The location is still a bit unclear but regardless it's off the books stuff. Government-adjacent but... private. Nasty work and mutant related...as usual."

She tapped a few keys on a console and a large monitor flickered to life. DNA sequences and biometric scans rolled across the screen, tagged with names he recognized immediately.

Ororo Munre. Hank McCoy. Mystique. Alison Blaire...Jean Grey

Scott froze.

A second later, Charles Xavier's image flickered up too.

Scott's stomach twisted. He looked away sharply.

"What is this about, Emma?" he asked, voice rough.

Emma said nothing for a moment. She moved to a secured locker, opened it with a touch of her palm, and pulled out a slim file folder, sealed with a black security band. She offered it to him without a word.

Scott took it and flipped it open. His hands tightened around the file.

The first document inside was a personnel profile sheet, the government format unmistakable.

Name: Anna Marie
Last Name: [REDACTED]
Alias: Rogue
Age: 15
Height: 5'8"
Place of Birth: Caldecott County, Mississippi
Status: Deceased

The word "Deceased" was stamped in blood-red ink across the bottom.

Scott's chest tightened painfully.

He flipped to the next page.
A second biometric scan.
No name attached or personal information attached to it like the other. The "Subject" field left blank but the DNA profile was right there in black and white.

Identical to Rogue's. Down to the last genetic marker.

Scott looked up at Emma, confusion on his face. His voice came out hoarse. "I don't understand?"

Emma met his gaze steadily, her voice low but sure.
"That dna profile was only done a few months ago... Scott... I think Rogue is still alive."

The humming of the bunker seemed to grow louder in the silence that followed. Scott stared down at the file again, the edges of the paper crumpling slightly in his grip.

END OF CHAPTER

Chapter Text

March 15th 2010. 13.45pm
Buffalo

Scott kept staring at the file, his hands clenching it tighter with every passing second. "Are you sure about this, Emma?" he asked finally, his voice low.

Emma leaned back against a sleek counter, arms folded. "As sure as I can be without seeing her myself, Scott. This isn't wishful thinking. It's tangible."

Scott shifted his weight, still uneasy. "How'd you even get this sample?"

Emma's lips curved into a small, humorless smile. "Tell me, Scott. Have you ever heard of the Hellfire Club?"

Scott raised an eyebrow. "Vaguely. It's some kind of... sex cult for rich people?"

Emma actually chuckled, the sound sharp and dry. "That's a crude but honestly not inaccurate way of putting it. But beyond the orgies and blackmail parties, the Hellfire Club is a collection of some of the most powerful individuals on the planet. Business moguls, politicians, royalty, celebrities, you name it. The ones who really move the world when no one's looking."

She crossed the room, heels tapping lightly, her voice dropping slightly.

"I was invited more than once. Always said no, until a few months ago." She gave a small shrug. "I finally accepted. Not because I wanted to drink champagne off someone's bare chest, mind you... but because I figured a society like that most likely has a few skeletons worth digging up... and i was right."

Scott's frown deepened. "What did you find out?"

"An individual by the name Teresia Karisik was added as a member, she however had no real ties to money. Not royalty, not an investor, politician, nothing. But what she did have was more valuable"

Emma let that hang for a moment, making sure he was listening

"She had information, specifically on mutants, detailed files on all of us, X-Men, Brotherhood, X-Force, it didn't matter. If it was mutant related she had the inside scoop. Any missions you had, battles that took place, new powers, mutations, new recruits everything. She was basically an encyclopedia of knowledge on all things mutant"

"So what happened to her?"

"She vanished," Emma said simply, "Nobody has seen or heard from her for going on a year. All the other members don't really care because they have access to her files, and with the X-Men and Brotherhood disbanded, nobody sees a need to keep updating those files"

Scott's jaw tightened. "But how did this tie back to Rogue?"

"I received an anonymous package weeks ago, completely untraceable. The second dna sample was in their but i didn't piece it together at first, had to go through every single person's files until i noticed it was a complete match with rogue"

"So there's a whistleblower?" Scott asked

Emma nodded in response "Whatever group took her, somebody knew about Teresia's work, probably used it as the basis for whatever they're doing to Rogue, and now they're getting cold feet about it"

Scott exhaled sharply, frustration bleeding through. "This just feels like one step forward and two steps back. Just more questions before we get any complete answers"

Emma smiled thinly, "Then let's get some answers shall we. The next hellfire event is soon...wanna be my plus one?"

"What can we hope to learn from those guys"

Emma's smile grew a little sharper. "A lot. They may be horny weirdos but they're not stupid, there's information to be had there and i want it"

***

A television broadcast flickered to life with a high energy jingle, almost cheerful if not for the two smirking anchors sitting behind the glossy news desk.

"Good evening, folks. I'm Allan Stevens," the man said, flashing a fake grin.

"And I'm Heidi O'Shea," the woman added "and you're watching The Mutant Threat" she tosses her blonde hair over one shoulder and gives the camera the most forced smile possible

The screen behind them lit up with big, bold letters: "THE MUTANT THREAT — EPISODE 077."

"Tonight's top story," Allan said, leaning forward like he was about to reveal a deep secret, "Doctor Hank McCoy, better known as the mutant terrorist Beast, appeared before the United States Senate earlier this week to argue for 'mutant rights' or some shit i don't know."

The anchors laughed

Heidi gave a fake sympathetic nod. "Because apparently our government can't be trusted, our government who by the way got rid of that sentinel and we haven't seen anything like it since! but yeah lets listen to the mutie furry who's mad he didn't get to see some excel spreadsheets about a dead robot. i mean give me a break honestly"

Allan chuckled. "You really can't make this stuff up folks."

A clip played briefly on the screen: Beast, dressed formally, passionately addressing a Senate chamber. The footage was muted, so only Allan and Heidi's dripping commentary filled the air.

"Poor guy," Allan mocked. "Anyway let's talk about what i really want to get into on this episode. Genosha"

"Oh boy, here we go," Heidi said, rolling her eyes. "Strap in, folks."

"Listen folks, Uncle Allan is about to give you a history lesson so listen up." He winked at the camera.

"Seven years ago, the mutie freak known as Black Tom, great name by the way, used his freak of nature abilities to create an entire freakin island off the coast of North Carolina, and he planned on expanding it, growing it, using it to dominate us normal Americans"

"Guess who saved us from that threat?" Allan said, grinning wide.

"The X-Men?" Heidi asked mock-innocently.

"God no! Of course not! It was the Fantastic Four! Real American heroes."

Heidi laughed along, twirling her hair.

"Then there was a whole new mess now, what do we do with this new land mass? A new state maybe? North Carolina just got bigger? NO!" Allan bellowed. "Mutant terrorist Magneto swooped in, claimed the island for himself, and threatened any U.S. officials who dared step foot on it!"

"And the best part?" Heidi said, giggling. "After that Day Zero fiasco, Magneto publicly announces the island's now called Genosha. Safe haven, mutant paradise, blah blah PR spin."

Allan pointed to the camera. "We're not stupid, Magneto. That island's just a cover for your mutant criminal activities! It's a cult! Yeah, I said it, it's a fucking cult of psycho mutie—"

The screen goes black.

March 16th 2010. 14.00pm
Westchester

Xuân Cô Mai sat hunched on the couch, arms wrapped around her knees, staring blankly at the screen, every casual slur, sneer and vile remark still ringing in her head

She blinked and looked up to see Roberto da Costa standing there, remote in hand.

"You really shouldn't watch that garbage," he said, his voice warm.

Xuân shifted uncomfortably. "I just... wanted to know what they were saying."

"They're not saying anything worth hearing to be honest," Roberto replied. He sat down casually on the couch with her, flashing an easy smile. "Name's Roberto."

Xuân hesitated, then mumbled, "Xuân."

"Yeah, I know," he said. "You're kinda famous around here already."

"I am?" she asked, startled.

"Kinda. A lot of us know people over in Genosha. We heard about you. About your powers."

"Oh"

"Why haven't you been hanging out us? Could of used another player on the court earlier"

Xuân looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers like she was afraid they'd betray her. "I don't... trust myself. My powers i mean... they're not stable. I don't want to hurt you guys."

Roberto studied her for a moment, then grinned. "Maybe I know a way that can help."

***

March 16th 2010. 22.00pm
Symkaria

The air cracked with dark orange energy as a portal ripped open atop a snow caked hilltop. Wolverine and Magik stepped through, dressed in tight, tactical black suits.

Wolverine scowled immediately, adjusting his collar

Magik smirked, summoning her soulsword effortlessly and spinning it around like a common toy for show
"Would you have preferred yellow spandex Wolverine?" she teased.

Logan grunted.

Below them, nestled between jagged cliffs and a snow covered forest, a giant grey concrete complex buzzed with floodlights. Razor wire crowned the walls. Watchtowers with snipers loomed overhead. A place that really wasn't supposed to exist.

Wolverine eyed it grimly. "So, who's locked up in there? Serial killers? Cannibals?"
He surveyed the scene, slightly surprised at the amount of guards that were here. "Feels like we're breakin' the wrong people out."

Magik shook her head. "No. Not like that... Well mostly"
She pointed with her sword toward the main yard, where figures barely visible under spotlights shuffled with shackles on their wrists, ankles and power damping collars around their necks.
"Some are dangerous, sure. But most? They're just random mutants. Some are kids. Some can't hide what they are like you and me, mutation is too obvious"
Her voice darkened. "They were brought here to be tortured, watched, studied, killed, sold to the highest bidder, you name it"

Wolverine's face hardened. "Sick bastards."

Another one of magik's portals opened up behind them

Magik gave a wolfish smile and nudges Logan. "So how do you want to play this? Stealthy or we just kill everyone?"

SNIKT

Without another word, Logan turned back into the portal vanishing

"Yeah I'd have picked kill everyone too"

Inside the prison was an immediate bloodbath.

A guard patrolling the hallway turned in surprise and Logan was on him in a flash, three claws punching through his chest with a wet, crunching crack. Blood sprayed the walls immediately.

Magik teleported across the hall, her Soulsword cleaving a man from shoulder to hip in one graceful, sickening motion. His body slid apart in two twitching halves.

Another guard raised a rifle to fire but Logan barreled into him, claws raking across his face, peeling skin from bone. Screams filled the air, raw and animalistic.

A cluster of guards opened fire from behind a barricade.
Magik slashed her sword in a wide arc, a portal opened behind the shooters and Wolverine lunged through it, eviscerating them from behind, tearing into flesh and Kevlar with brutal precision.

"No survivors," Magik stated almost psychotically

In a stairwell slick with blood, a guard tripped and fell to the floor
"Please!" he sobbed uncontrollably, hands raised. "I have a family! Please, please—"

Magik approached him slowly, her blade dripping red.

She knelt down, pressing the glowing point of her sword lightly against his heart.

"Funny," she whispered, tilting her head, "I used to have one of those too."

With a cruel smile, she pushed the blade into his chest, slow.
The man gasped wetly, his eyes bulging as he slid down the wall, leaving a crimson smear.

Wolverine didn't even glance at the corpse.
"Move kid" he barked. "Target's still waiting."

More guards rushed the corridor shouting in a language neither mutant cared to understand.

"Wolverine do you speak Symkarian?" Magik asked half heartedly

The guards aimed squarely at Logan's head, hoping by some miracle for a killshot

Suddenly, a flash of violet energy burst from the shadows.

A psi-knife buried itself in one guard's skull, then another lanced into the heart of the man beside him. A third knife whizzed into the last one's ear and out the other, dropping all three in quick, silent succession.

Wolverine and Magik spun toward the source.

Psylocke stepped into the light, her stealth suit soaked to the elbows, her expression unreadable.

"I feel like we had that handled," Magik said flatly.

"Hello, Logan," Betsy greeted, calm and cool.

"Betsy," Logan nodded. "Didn't expect you here."

Magik raised a brow, flicking her eyes between them. "You two know each other?"

"Shaw called me in, same as you i presume. Felt the mission could use more subtlety."

Logan sheathed his claws, looking around at the carnage. "Subtle ain't really our thing."

Magik stepped forward to Psylocke, eyes narrowing slightly "i feel like you're ignoring me and that's kind of rude"

Psylocke's tone didn't change. "The only reason this place isn't swarming with reinforcements is because I shut down the external alarm... while you two turned the hallways into a horror show."

Magik rolled her eyes but didn't argue.

"Enough talk," Psylocke said, already moving. "Let's finish this."

She disappeared into the corridor. Magik followed with a shrug and a muttered "Whatever."

Logan lingered for a second, surrounded by bodies, blood still dripping from his knuckles.

He didn't feel guilt, not for these men, not for this place but... the weight still crept in.

These were monsters, sure. But somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear Charles's voice. He wondered what the old man would've said... what he'd make of him reverting back to his primal urges.

Logan exhaled sharply, shoved the thought down, and stalked after the others.

March 16th 2010. 14.00pm
Westchester

The door groaned open with a low, mechanical hiss.
Xuân peeked inside, her arms hugging herself tightly. The room was massive, circular, and cold, like stepping into the inside of a great steel heart.
At the center stood the machine.

Cerebro

A towering silver dome tangled in snaking wires, faint lights pulsing like veins.

"Whoa," she whispered.

Roberto da Costa leaned casually against the doorway behind her, arms crossed, smirking.

"Pretty wild, huh?" he said. "Come on. It's cooler up close."

Xuân hesitated, then followed him, her footsteps echoing on the polished metal floor.

"What is it?" she asked, staring at the intricate helmet resting on its pedestal.

"Cerebro," Roberto said proudly, tapping the side of the dome. "Every telepath that's ever lived at this school used it. Professor Xavier, Jean Grey... it's, like, a rite of passage or something."

Xuân reached out tentatively, brushing her fingers along the smooth surface.

"It feels... heavy," she said.

"Well, yeah," Roberto chuckled. "It's basically like plugging your brain into every mind on the planet."

Xuân pulled her hand back quickly, spooked. "Every mind?"

"More or less." Roberto shrugged. "Only the really strong telepaths could handle it for long. For the rest of us? This room's just cool to sneak into."

As they moved closer, a voice rang out behind them, sharp as a crack of thunder.

"And what exactly are you two doing here?"

Xuân jumped.
Roberto winced. "Shit."

Storm stood at the entrance, arms crossed.

"Nothing!" Roberto said too fast, backing up. "Just showing her around. You know, history lesson and all."

Storm fixed him with a cool, unimpressed glare. "Go to your room, Roberto. Now."

He sighed, shoulders slumping. As he trudged past her, Storm called after him:
"And you're on kitchen duty. Alone. After dinner."

Roberto muttered something under his breath that sounded like "Fuck," before disappearing down the hall.

Storm turned back to Xuân, her expression softening.

"Cerebro," she explained, walking slowly toward the console, "is a device that primarily amplifies telepathic abilities. It allows those who are strong enough to connect with mutant minds across the world. Professor Xavier created it. Jean Grey once mastered it. Others have tried, but few can handle its weight."

Xuân swallowed. "I'm not a telepath."

"No you're not," Storm said, placing a gentle hand on the helmet. "I hate to admit it but Roberto might have been on to something. Sometimes it helps to see things from a different perspective."

She lifted the helmet carefully and gestured for Xuân to sit.
The girl hesitated, then lowered herself into the seat, nerves jangling.

Storm placed the helmet over her head.

At first — darkness.

Then — light.

Xuân gasped.

Thousands of glowing points bloomed before her mind's eye, not just minds, but feelings: joy, hope, curiosity, love.
It flooded her senses in waves, pure and overwhelming, but not painful. Not like her powers usually made it.

For the first time in what felt like forever, she was surrounded not by fear, not by hate but by life.

A small, awed smile crept onto Xuân's face.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.

Storm watched silently, arms folded, a proud smile on her lips.

***

March 16th 2010. 22.30pm
Symkaria

The halls were painted with blood.

Bodies slumped against walls, pools of crimson spreading beneath them. Alarms whined distantly, shorted out halfway, coughing static into the halls. The smell of burned flesh, gunpowder, and fear clung to literally everything.

Wolverine wiped blood from his claws with a ripped piece of guard uniform.

Magik led the pack down a long corridor of cells, her Soulsword humming with dark light. "Cell Block D. Inmate 103."

Psylocke brought up the rear, moving like a shadow, katana already dripping.

They reached a heavy steel door, reinforced and sealed by a biometric lock. Wolverine glared at it, claws flexing.

"So who's the mystery guest we're risking our asses for anyway?" he asked.

Psylocke shrugged. "Shaw said they worked for him before. That's all I got."

"Good enough for me, let's find out who's joining the band" Magik muttered. She raised her blade and drove it straight into the lock, the system sparking and screeching.

The door shuddered open with a heavy groan.

Inside, shackled to the wall with a power dampening collar tight around her neck, sat a woman, bruised, but grinning like she was right where she wanted to be.

"Took you long enough," she said dryly. "Thank fuck he didn't send Wade."

Psylocke stepped forward, summoning her glowing psi-knife. She jabbed it carefully against the collar; with a burst of psychic energy, the restraint popped open and fell away with a clatter.

The woman stretched, cracking her neck.

"Name's Domino," she said, flashing them a tired smirk. "And you must be Magik, Psylocke and...well everyone knows who you are"

Wolverine sniffed the air, suspicious. "And what do you do exactly?"

"I'm lucky" Domino said, deadpan.

Magik arched a brow at her "So we're just calling luck a power now?"

Almost on cue, from down the hall, a straggling guard stumbled toward them, gun raised. "GET ON YOUR FUCKING KNEES YOU GODDAMN MUTIES-"
He slipped on a smear of blood, crashing into the wall so hard he knocked himself unconscious.
Above them, the security camera in domino's cell sparked and exploded, the faint noise of other cameras going off in the distance. The lights flickered but stayed just bright enough to show the amused glint in Domino's eye.

"Should really pay their electric bill" she said.

Magik rolled her eyes but grinned slightly. "Okay fine i believe you"

Psylocke led them quickly through the corridors. Domino peeled off into a side room, yanking open the door to a security hub.

"One last piece of the puzzle, then we can get out of here" she said, cracking her knuckles.

She moved fast, fingers dancing across the keyboards, a conveniently placed hard drive allowed Domino to start downloading files, surveillance logs, experiment information, everything the prison ever did to mutants here all perfectly on record for her.

"You sure you want a record of all this shit?" Wolverine growled, watching over her shoulder.

"Shaw does," Domino replied. "Probably wants to blackmail half the bastards who funded this place or just see what the fuck was going on here, either way i have a job to finish and i like to get paid soo."

Wolverine snarled, looking back down the hallway where broken cells and broken bodies lined the path. "We need to free the other prisoners."

Domino groaned. "Do we actually need to is my question"

"Do it". Wolverine popped out his claws threatening her

"Okay you can put your steak knives away. God, I forgot you were an X-Man."

Domino taps a few buttons and it causes the mass release of all the prisoners

"Let's move, I'd like to be gone before they send reinforcements or something" Magik ordered, slicing a portal open with her Soulsword, swirling dark blue energy spiraling outward.

Logan and Psylocke lead all the prisoners to magik's portal "Everybody through now!" Wolverine barked.

Dozens of mutants, some too weak to walk, others limping or carrying friends, stumbled into the portal, fleeing their nightmare.

Domino was the last one through, glancing back with a grin.

The portal snapped shut behind them, leaving the ruined prison and its sins to rot in the dark.

March 16th 2010. 11.30pm
Madripoor

Sebastian Shaw sat alone behind his desk, the room dimly lit, a half-empty glass of bourbon in his hand. He sipped slowly, savoring the quiet, until the sharp trill of a phone interrupted the stillness.

He answered with measured calm.
"Yeah... it's done. I got confirmation from Illyana."

A pause. The voice on the other end was muffled, but persistent. Shaw listened, expression unreadable.

"Freeing the prisoners wasn't part of the objective," he said flatly. "But Domino did her job. We have all the data, and that's what matters."

A longer pause this time. Shaw leaned back in his chair, swirling the liquid in his glass.

"Ill-placed or not, I have faith in the unit I've assembled. Domino's in it for the payout, reliable motivation. Psylocke and Wolverine? They still believe in doing some semblance of good, so getting them on board wasn't particularly difficult. And Illyana..." He allowed himself a smirk. "She owes me."

The voice on the line offered one final reply before the call ended.

"I'm not under any illusions," Shaw said quietly, more to himself now. "This isn't a long-term arrangement. What matters is that, for now, they get the job done."

He set the phone down, lifted his glass again, and smiled to himself in the silence.

END OF CHAPTER

Chapter Text

March 17th 2010. 13.30pm
Westchester

The Danger Room hummed to life with a low electric thrum. The floor was flat and unprogrammed, the steel walls gleaming under the fluorescent lights. No holograms. No simulated terrain. Nothing.

Gambit stood at the center, twirling his bo staff lazily between his fingers, his red on black eyes dancing with energy. The young mutants filed in, half expecting a full battle simulation: explosions, hydra troopers, maybe even a volcano or two. Instead, they were greeted by an empty room and a grinning Cajun.

"What gives?" Roberto asked bluntly

"No simulation today," Gambit called out, voice echoing in the chamber. "Y'all ain't ready for all that."

There was a collective groan from the group except from Xuàn, who was truly not ready for that

"Today's lesson is real simple," he continued, walking toward them pointing his staff at each of them. "One-on-one sparring. You fight me. If you can knock me to the ground, you're off cleaning duty for the week. If I knock you down... well, guess what you'll be doin'."

The groans turned into whoops of excitement and jeering bravado.

Above them, Storm watched from the observation deck, arms folded. She said nothing, but her eyes missed nothing either.

"First up... you". He pointed his staff at Roberto

"State your name"

"Roberto? But you already know that". A few chuckles ring out from the other young mutants

"No, mon ami! State your name"

It clicked for Roberto, and a massive grin spread across his face

"Sunspot"

Roberto stepped forward, flames already licking across his arms and chest as his body darkened with solar absorption. He cracked his knuckles and smiled.

Gambit just waved him forward. "Show me what you got, Sunspot."

Sunspot came in like a rocket, fast, furious, aggressive. He threw heat and fists in equal measure, but Gambit was a blur, sliding and spinning around every single attack, landing small jabs with his staff to unbalance him. After just over a minute, Roberto's foot caught on Gambit's sweep and he hit the ground with a thud.

"Too wild," Gambit said, offering a hand. "Strength and power don't matter if you can't aim it mon ami"

Next was up Bobby

"State your name Bobby"

"Oh I don't really have a name yet-"

"Iceman!" James shouted from the peanut gallery

"Sounds like it's Iceman" Gambit grinned

Bobby slid in on a trail of ice, his whole body now encased in gleaming frost.

He played it smart, using ice walls, and freezing fog to try and confuse Gambit, forcing the mutant to stay mobile. But Remy never lost track of Bobby. With a well placed charged card and a twirl of his staff, he knocked Bobby's feet out from under him.

"You think too much, snowflake," Gambit teased. "Good instincts though. We can build on that."

Then came Sarah.

"You can call me Marrow"

She stomped in, sharp bone projectiles sprouting from her arms like jagged thorns. She didn't hold back at all, launching a barrage before closing the gap and swinging with wild precision.

Gambit didn't even try to counter at first. He danced around her, a ghost in the chaos, frustrating her more and more with every dodge.

"You think this is funny?" she growled.

"You tell me," he replied as he ducked her final swing and tapped her back with his staff, dropping her to one knee.

She snarled and slammed a fist into the floor.

"Control," Gambit said firmly. "Your power's deadly, but your temper's louder. You want to win, you gotta quiet one of 'em. You can guess which"

Storm narrowed her eyes from above, a memory flashing in her mind, her voice echoing in another time, another place, giving the same exact advice to a younger, cockier Gambit. She allowed herself the briefest smile.

James entered the gambit gauntlet next

"Big man! State your name"

"Warpath"

"Sinistre" Gambit smiles "i like it"

Warpath moved like a tank but fought like a seasoned warrior. He didn't charge recklessly, he waited, letting Gambit make the first move.

Remy nodded in appreciation. "Different strategy, eh?"

They exchanged blows for a full minute, Gambit's staff versus Warpath's raw power. In the end, a quick feint and a leg sweep brought him down.

"Good idea lettin' me come to you," Gambit said. "But you gotta move your feet more big man. Power don't help if it don't hit nothin'."

Finally, Xuân lingered at the back, looking uneasy.

"You next, petite," Gambit said.

"I don't think I should... I've never trained like this before... I've never trained at all"

"I ain't expectin' perfection. I just wanna see what's in here." He tapped his temple. "Try anything. Whatever feels natural."

Xuân stepped forward nervously. She tried a punch. Gambit side stepped easily. Another. He ducked and spun, tapping her shoulder gently with the staff.

She stumbled, breathing hard. "I told you"

He held up a hand. "Ain't about winnin' mon chere. I needed to see your instincts, how can i help if i don't know what I'm working with huh?"

He offered her a hand up. The moment she grabbed it, her eyes flashed and Gambit's body tensed. His smile faded as a sudden mental image burst in his mind: a stern-faced man in a dim New Orleans study... his father.

His grip loosened. She used the opportunity to sweep his legs out from under him.

He hit the floor.

"Oh shit!" The other kids burst out laughing and clapping. Gambit sat up slowly, rubbing his head.

"i knocked you down first so technically you're not off cleaning duty" he stated.

Xuân smiled for the first time all day. "i know."

Gambit stared at her for a moment, then nodded, unable to hide the swell of pride he was feeling.

From the observation deck, Storm watched them all as they gathered

"Alright we go again from the top. Let's go sunspot" gambit said

Her eyes stayed on Remy, watching her old student become the new teacher.

***

March 17th 2010 14.00am
Buffalo

The room was quiet.

Scott stood alone in front of the bathroom mirror, the silence of Emma's mansion pressing down around him. She was gone for the day, off to secure them both a place at the next Hellfire Club event. He hadn't asked for details, truthfully he didn't want them.

He stared at himself in the mirror.

The bruises on his face from when Emma found him were gone now, but something deeper lingered. His reflection looked older than he remembered. He was 32 now, he had the same strong jaw, the same tired blue eyes hidden behind his glasses. But something in the way he held himself was different. Tired. Faded. Thinner at the edges.

In the quiet of the room, memory took over.

Westchester. Six years ago

The war room at Xavier's mansion was dimly lit, save for the soft glow of the mission map hovering above the table. Lines of red indicated hostiles, blue dots for the X-Men team. Scott sat alone, still in uniform, shoulders squared, jaw locked tight, analyzing a battle that came and went. His gloved hand tapped against the table in frustration, again and again.

The door creaked open.

"You've been sitting here for almost thirty minutes," Jean said softly, stepping in with two mugs of hot chocolate in her hands. Her voice carried warmth, even through the fatigue. It was the middle of the night and she was dressed for bed in.

Scott didn't look up. "It was a disaster."

Jean walked over and set one mug down beside him. "It was a win Scott" she said, pulling a chair next to him. "A messy one, sure. But a win."

Scott finally lifted his eyes. "It went sideways from the start. I couldn't rein Logan in. Remy, god what was i thinking, the kid is sixteen and i thought he could handle this professionally. Kitty froze when the civilians panicked. If Ororo hadn't stepped in—"

"Okay... she stepped in because that's what second in command does right?" Jean interrupted gently. "Not because you failed. Because the situation called for it."

He exhaled slowly, his hand tightening into a fist on the table. "Charles trusts me to lead this team, he has for a while but I'm floundering Jean. I'm supposed to be the one in control, the one who makes the right calls, and I—"

"You're not a god, Scott." She reached across the table, took his hand. "You think because you wear the visor, you have to see everything coming. You don't. No one does."

He was quiet for a long time, his thumb brushing the side of her fingers.

"I just don't want to fail them."

"And you won't," she said, with the sort of certainty only she could offer. "Because you care too much. You overanalyze, you carry the weight of the world on your back but that's the difference between someone dangerous and someone worthy of leading."

Scott looked at her, really looked. Her eyes were tired, but calm. She believed in him. Even when he couldn't.

He gave the smallest nod.

"Okay," he said quietly.

"Good," she replied, sitting back. "Now please drink this before it goes cold."

Present Day

Back in the present, Scott blinked, the ghost of her voice still fading from his mind.

The mansion's silence returned.

He turned from the mirror and walked out of the room without looking back.

***

March 17th 2010 18.30pm
Westchester

The kitchen in the mansion was warm, filled with the rich aroma of simmering spices and slow cooked vegetables. Storm moved with practiced grace between the stove and the cutting board, sleeves rolled up, her silver hair tied loosely back.

Gambit strolled in, staff tucked under one arm, humming some bluesy tune under his breath. He looked more energized than usual, flushed from sparring and pleased with himself.

"You eat anything before dinner's done," Storm said without looking up, "and I'm making you do the dishes."

Remy smirked. "That's why I made the kids wager cleanin' duty for the week, chère. I plan ahead."

He dipped a spoon into her sauce and tasted it before she could stop him. His eyes closed in appreciation.

"Parfait."

Storm gave him a sideways glance, fighting the smile tugging at her lips. "You were a good teacher today."

He leaned against the counter, twirling the spoon like a baton. "Learned from the best."

She raised an eyebrow.

He chuckled before she spoke, "Though, to be fair, I don't know if you were actually payin' attention back then... or just tryin' to impress Rogue."

His smile faded a bit. The quiet lingered between them.

Memories flickered behind Remy's eyes, her face, her laugh. Rogue. Lost too soon.

He cleared his throat. "This group's got real potential. Bobby and Roberto? They're basically ready."

Storm turned away, knife poised to slice through a sweet potato. "Remy..."

"No," he said, gently but firmly. "Hank was right. The world needs the X-Men again."

Storm's hand paused over the cutting board.

"I don't know," she said softly. "I haven't talked to Scott in years. Heaven knows where Logan is."

"They made their choice," Remy said. "Just like I made mine, comin' back. Just like you made yours... never leavin'."

Storm didn't respond. She set the knife down, staring at the food but not really seeing it.

"I... I don't know if I can lose more members of my family, Remy," she said quietly.

The soft clatter of the mansion beyond the kitchen distant laughter, footsteps on the stairs echoed like ghosts of a brighter past.

Remy's voice was low when he finally answered.

"You've done a lot of good with them but there's a lot more like us out there who are struggling right now... Just think about it."

Storm looked over at him, her eyes searching his face. She wants him to be wrong so badly. But is he

***

Westchester. Six Years Ago

The mansion grounds were quiet. From the second floor window, Scott could see a lone figure out near the basketball court. The hoop was crooked, the court cracked in places, but the girl shooting hoops didn't seem to mind.

Rogue.

She moved like she was trying to burn off something heavier than energy, something coiled deep in her chest. She took a shot. Missed. Caught the rebound. Tried again. It bounced hard off the rim.

Scott made his way outside, boots crunching softly on damp concrete. She didn't look up until he was right near the edge of the court.

"Hey, kid," he said, voice low but even. "You alright?"

Rogue caught the ball and held it against her hip. Her hair was tied back, a white streak falling over one shoulder like a question mark. She squinted at him, then asked bluntly, "Can you see?"

Scott blinked. "What?"

"Your powers," she said, nodding to his visor. "If your eyes are always blasting people, how do you even see?"

She passed him the ball and he gave a small smile and adjusted the edge of his visor. "Ruby quartz. It's the only thing that can contain the beams. So yeah,I can see. But everything's like a deep red. All the time."

Scott took a shot and made it. Rogue frowned slightly. "So... not like regular seeing?"

"Not really. For a while, I couldn't open my eyes at all. Not unless I wanted to hurt someone. I kept them shut for days. Weeks, even."

Her expression softened while collecting the ball.

Scott continued, "You learn to live with what you've got. These," he tapped the visor, " they gave me vision. A way forward. Gave me control. Made me Cyclops."

Rogue bounced the ball once, then again. "When do I get mine?"

"Yours?"

"Whatever gives me control. Lets me touch someone without killing them."

Scott took a breath. "I don't know Rogue."

Rogue didn't flinch at the honesty. She just nodded like she expected it.

"But I know it won't always feel like this," Scott added. "Pain has this way of convincing you it's permanent. It isn't. You keep moving. You keep training. You find a way to live above it, not under it."

She mulled that over, Scott's words truly sinking in, then tilted her head. "So when do I get to be an X-Man?"

Scott chuckled to himself. "That's the real question, huh?"

"I mean, Remy's already on the team," she said. "And he's only sixteen!"

"And in case you forgot you're only fourteen, maybe you wait it out two years and then we can have this conversation again."

Rogue rolled her eyes dramatically. "That's bullshit and you know it."

Scott grabbed the ball from her and spun it in one hand. "Alright, let's see if you've got the chops, future X-Man."

He charged the hoop, leapt and missed the rim entirely.

Rogue cackled, took to the air in a blur of flight, snatched the ball from midair, and banked a perfect three-pointer from fifteen feet up.

She hovered there a second, grinning wide. "How many X-Men can do that huh!"

Scott looked up at her, smiling despite himself. "Storm probably, Warren too"

She landed softly, catching the ball again.

"Yeah whatever... I'll be on the team one day," she said with quiet certainty.

"I don't doubt it," Scott replied.

Present Day

Back in the present, the memory faded. Scott stood at the edge of Emma's empty living room, staring out the window at the grey sky rolling over the hills. He blinked, slowly. That version of Rogue, so young, bright, still full of hope was long gone. She'd spent years of her life captured, maybe tortured, he didn't know

All he knew in that moment

I'm coming Rogue

Chapter Text

March 8th 2010. 21.00pm
Harlem

Tandy and Tyrone leaned against the humming soda fridge at the back of a bodega in Harlem. They were both eighteen years old, old enough to make trouble, too young to have anywhere else to be. Mutants in their own right but their abilities were easily hidden. And after a few chaotic years of knowing each other, practically inseparable.

"Is he coming or not?" Tandy asked, arms crossed, voice low.

Tyrone didn't look up from his phone. "Yeah, he's right around the corner."

The bell above the door jingled.

Reggie strutted in with a crooked grin. "My man, T.J., what's good, homie?"

Tyrone dapped him up. "All good. Appreciate the hook up."

"Always, bro. Ay, anything for a valued customer amirite," he said, laughing at his own joke, then his eyes landed on Tandy. "Damn, you didn't tell me it'd be snowin' tonight!"

He looked her up and down, slow and gross, like he was seeing something she hadn't offered. She wasn't even dressed provocatively, just jeans, t-shirt, and hoodie but apparently that wasn't enough to stop Reggie from leering. "If I knew you were coming out, I'd have worn my best fit for you, Miss Bowen."

Tandy rolled her eyes. "Fuck off, Reggie."

He smirked. "Come on, this cat and mouse thing we got going? Getting a little old. And I know my man T.J. over here ain't hittin' it, so—"

"You're about to be the one that gets hit if you keep talking."

Reggie laughed. "Ay maybe I like that white chocolate."

A dagger of light began to form in Tandy's palm.

Tyrone noticed out of the corner of his eye and stepped between them before Reggie could see it. "Aight, man, we get it. You got what we asked for or not?"

"You way too protective over her dawg. Especially if you ain't even tappin' that! Some of us ready for a snow day bro." He emptied his pockets and handed over a small plastic baggie. "Signed, sealed, delivered. RAVE. Straight from Latveria."

Tyrone raised an eyebrow. "Your dumb ass never been to Latveria."

"Don't matter. This shit is pure. You and Miss Milk over there gonna be flying tonight."

Tyrone handed him the cash. Reggie counted it quick, satisfied. As he turned to leave, he called over his shoulder, "Miss you already Tandy. Holla when you ready for a real man."

Tandy didn't even blink. "I'll let you know when I see one."

Reggie laughed and disappeared out the door.

As they stepped into the night, Tandy shook her head. "Why the hell are you friends with that asshole?"

"That asshole's our only connect, So you're welcome" Tyrone said, tossing the baggie to her.

She caught it without looking. "You're welcome," she mouthed mockingly.

"Let's go," she said, and they walked into the dark.

***

March 8th 2010. 22.00pm

Music pounded through cracked cement walls, a mix of trap and electro run through cheap speakers boosted with shitty wiring. The basement was packed wall to wall with young mutants, bodies moving, powers sparking, heat and light and shadow bleeding into the air like magical graffiti. A haze of smoke hovered near the ceiling, thick with weed, vape clouds, and something sharper. RAVE.

No one was hiding what they were down here. A boy with scaled skin and glowing green eyes stood in the corner, laughing with a girl whose arms flickered in and out of invisibility like a broken projection. A fire breather lit blunt after blunt for anyone who asked, puffing flames with a grin. A girl with four arms danced in the center of the room, not a single person batting an eye.

This was freedom. At least it was what they had

Tyrone moved through the crowd like he was in his element, letting little bursts of darkness ripple off him, swallowing light and distorting space. People ooh'ed and clapped when he opened a mini portal midair and dropped a beer can through it, only for it to fall from the ceiling behind them with perfect aim into a trash can.

Tandy was near the back, holding court near the dartboard. She raised a hand, and three light daggers shimmered into existence. With a flick of her wrist, they launched

Thunk Thunk Thunk

All three landing dead center in the bullseye.

A round of cheers went up, she took a bow soaking in the applause. Someone with a chunky old camcorder zoomed in from across the room, laughing and calling out, "Yo Tandy when the gymnast thing doesn't work out, we gotta get you on America's Got Talent!"

Tandy flipped him off and laughed.

RAVE was hitting everyone different, some were laid out on worn couches, eyes wide with awe at the ceiling; others were wired, dancing like the beat was pounding inside their skin. Tyrone and Tandy passed a joint back and forth, relaxing.

Near the end of the night, the music dimmed and a voice cut through the static.

A Japanese girl stood on top of an overturned milk crate, holding a solo cup in one hand, the camcorder in the other. Her name was Nori, and everyone quieted when she talked. Her hair was a deep blue, and she struggled to keep herself upright, clearly intoxicated.

"...sup," she couldn't help but giggle at herself but the crowd cheered nonetheless, "Alright i swear I'm only gonna do this sappy shit once then we can get back to it."

She took a sip of her drink and continued, "5 years ago, to the fucking day by the way, the humans sent a death bot to start whipping us out, and make no mistake if that thing wasn't running on double A batteries it would have killed a lot more than 10 of us"

She took a large gulp of her drink and continued "I don't fuck with the X-Men, i don't fuck with the brotherhood but what i do fuck with is us! Mutants."

Everyone in the room stilled. Even the smokers lowered their joints.

"From the day our powers manifested, we got smacked with labels on our backs like we did something. Freak, monster, mutie."

Some nods. Some fists clenched. Tandy crossed her arms. Tyrone just stared at Nori, quiet.

"They're scared of us. Always have been. Always will be. But that fear doesn't mean we have to be ashamed of who the fuck we are. I am a motherfucking mutant." She raised her cup high.

"Fuck the X-Men, Fuck the Brotherhood and most of all fuck the humans."

The room erupted into a chorus of cheers, laughter, applause. Someone popped a bag of fireworks out the window. A lightshow exploded over the building like a middle finger to the sky.

***

March 9th 2010. 08.00am

The sun was creeping in through the cracked blinds when the bedroom door creaked open.

Micah stood in the doorway, hands on his hips, face full of eight-year-old judgment.

"Hey! One of you two needs to get up and make me breakfast. I'm hungry!"

In the bed, tangled in blankets, Tyrone stirred first. Tandy groaned and buried her face deeper into his chest. They were spooning, fully clothed, but wrapped up like a lock and key.

"Micah," Tyrone mumbled, "get outta here, man."

"No! Mom already left and I'm hungry."

Tandy sat up, hair wild, voice hoarse. "How are you this awake right now?"

"Cereal ain't gonna pour itself lady!" Micah barked, then turned for the kitchen. "And y'all lucky I didn't tell Mom y'all were having sex."

Tyrone nearly choked on air. "What?!"

Tandy laughed, dragging a hand down her face. "Oh my God, it's too early in the morning for this."

Tyrone got up from bed, leaping over Tandy to follow his little brother to the kitchen "Where did you even hear that word?".

"TV. Duh."

Tyrone crouched down to eye level. "Okay, listen dude... first and foremost, nothing happened. Nothing alright"

The little boy didn't really react, Tyrone continued anyway "Second, if you tell Mom anything, I'm telling her about the time you stole five bucks from her purse for Pokémon cards."

Micah's eyes went wide. "You said you wouldn't!"

"I lied. You wanna play grown up games, you get grown up consequences."

Micah pouted but relented. "Fine. I won't say anything. But I still want pancakes."

Tyrone rolled his eyes

Tandy walked in behind them, sleep still on her face, and started pouring him a bowl of cereal.

She'd been here so many times over the years, she already knows where everything is

"Behold, a bowl of cereal. Now go watch cartoons."

Tandy handed him the bowl, he practically snatched it out of her hand yelling "Thanks Mom!" sarcastically as he ran towards the living room

Tandy leaned against the counter. "Well. That wasn't traumatizing or anything."

Tyrone smirked, "For us or for him?"

"Honestly both, I'm not qualified to give the sex talk to an 8 year old"

"You don't live here Tandy"

"Didn't you hear him? I'm mom now"

The pair laugh off the morning awkwardness

She nudged him. "But seriously i should've gotten up earlier and snuck out. So this one is definitely on me"

He shook his head. "Nah. It's not that deep. I didn't mind."

She glanced at him, the corner of her mouth curling. "Didn't mind the cuddles you mean?"

"i meant like, we didn't do anything so you know it's not a big deal... But yeah i didn't hate that either."

They stood there for a moment, quiet. Tandy walked over to the old CD player, she flicked through a few cds to find something to play

Her eyebrows perked up at a discovery "You listen to Dazzler?"

Tyrone considered lying "i mean her last record was pretty good so..."

Tandy laughed then selected a different cd, she popped it in and a smooth jazz beat came over the miniature speakers

She looked at Tyrone and held up her hand.

Tyrone raised his and pressed it to hers.

A soft glow lit the air where their palms met.

Her light, his shadow, weaving together like smoke and sun.

Neither of them could help but smile as they watched their powers collide

They leaned in, forehead to forehead, breath syncing without thought. The charge between them was heavy, unspoken, unavoidable.

Tyrone tilted his head and leaned in further.

Tandy turned away gently, their hands still locked.

"We can't Ty," she said, voice low.

"I know," he replied, and kissed her forehead instead.

They stayed like that, quiet, close, and deeply unsure. Caught between something real and something genetic. Not sure which scared them more.

***
March 15th 2010. 12.00pm

A several days later Tyrone stood by the curb, one hand in his pockets, hood up, phone out with earbuds in.

This neighborhood always made him feel like he was trespassing, even when he wasn't.

A police cruiser pulled up slowly towards him. Two white cops. Window down.

"Hey," the passenger barked. "You live here?"

Tyrone didn't flinch. Taking out an earbud and saying "What?'

"I said you live here?"

"Nah, i'm waiting for someone."

The driver stepped out. "You got ID on you?"

"For what?" Tyrone asked, already feeling the pulse in his jaw.

"We got a call," the driver said. "Some suspicious guy lurking around. You might meet that description since I'm not seeing anybody else around right now."

"Yeah? What description's that?" Tyrone asked.

"We ask the questions around here kid, alright" the passenger said.

The second door opened. Both cops moved towards Tyrone

He already knew what this was but was working hard to keep himself under control

Tandy stepped out of her mansion home fast, pissed and loud. "Excuse me, what the fuck is this?"

Both cops turned. "Ma'am, step back—"

"No, you step the fuck back!" she barked, storming down the steps. "He's not doing anything. He's literally standing on MY sidewalk waiting for ME. You dumbasses stop every black kid in a hoodie when you're out doing your so called job?"

"Ma'am I'm gonna need you to calm down, we received a call—"

"I don't give a shit what call you received. He's my friend, and you're about ten seconds from ending your careers."

The cops looked at each other, seemingly weighing up if they wanted to escalate the situation or not

"Bowen," she snapped. "Tandy Bowen. You want me to call my dad? Councilman Nathaniel Bowen? Or should I just let the press know you tried to profile his daughter's friend in broad daylight?"

Dead silence.

The driver mumbled, "No trouble here. We got a call and just making sure everything's safe."

"Yeah, well it was safe until you asshat's showed up."

They got back in the cruiser and drove off without another word.

Tandy turned to Tyrone, still fuming.

"You good?" she asked.

He glared at her. "I didn't need you to save me Tandy."

"I know Ty," she said, softer now. "I wasn't trying to save you. I was trying to make sure you didn't shadow blast two random ass cops into the fucking Twilight Zone."

Tyrone let the words hang.

Then muttered, "Maybe I should've. Lord knows they'd deserve it"

"Ty-"

He cut her off before she could continue "Nah fuck those guys, I'm tired of letting shit like that slide"

"We can't exactly do anything about it"

"Who says we can't?"

***

The police cruiser sat idling near the back of the police lot, parked under a flickering streetlamp. Tandy crouched on a rooftop across the street, hoodie pulled low, light dagger twirling softly between her fingers. A smirk tugged at her lips as she whispered into her phone in her hand.

"You in position?"

A whisper crackled back: "I've been in position dude."

Inside the cruiser, Tyrone was already in the backseat, cloaked in shadow, practically invisible. He watched through the smoked glass as the two beat cops strolled back from the bodega, sipping coffee and bullshitting loudly about Knicks games.

Tandy gave a soft whistle once they opened the doors and climbed inside, "Showtime."

Tyrone vanished.

The moment the engine turned over, the interior lights cut, then flared. Bright, blinding strobe flashes erupted from above the windshield. Tandy's daggers lit up the street like a rave, rapid and disorienting.

"What the fuck is happening—?!" one cop yelled, shielding his eyes.

Then it went black. Not just dark. A full, oppressive, suffocating void swallowed the cruiser whole. The windows turned to shadows, the dashboard lights dead. The officers gasped, disoriented, reaching for flashlights, radios, literally anything.

But the radio hissed with white noise.

Then came the voice.
Low. Echoing from nowhere and everywhere.

"You been looking for monsters... How about the monster comes to you."

One of the officers screamed. The other drew his gun, only to find his hands sinking into nothingness. The grip turned to vapor.

Then, just as suddenly as it started, the darkness vanished. The lights came back on. The car was untouched. No damage. No trace.

The officers burst out of the cruiser, stumbling like drunk men, gasping for breath.

Tandy was already sliding off the rooftop, landing in the alley beside Tyrone, who emerged from the shadows grinning and laughing like a child.

"God i feel like that was so illegal," Tandy said, breathless, eyes wide with adrenaline "And what the fuck was that shit about Monsters? What were you talking about?"

The pair doubled over laughing at their work

"I don't know i just felt like i had to say some shit you know." Tyrone shrugged, "Had to sell it"

She bumped her shoulder into his. "Fuck that was funny."

He looked over at the now empty lot, the cops cursing at each other and pacing.

"Worth it."

They disappeared into the night.

***

Knock. Knock. BANG.

Later that night, Tyrone sat on the couch of his home. His mom peeked through the blinds to see the cause of the commotion. Blue and red lights washed across her face.

"Police," a voice barked from outside. "We need to speak to Tyrone Johnson. Now."

Tyrone stood slowly. "Hey stay inside, whatever this is let me handle it," his mom warned. He ignored her and opened the door, knowing exactly what this is. She followed, throwing a sweater over her shoulders as they stepped out onto the stoop.

Two cops waited at the bottom of the stairs. One had his hand resting on his belt. The other pointed at Tyrone

"That's him," the second said. "Recognized that fucking brat's voice. He was in the cruiser."

Tyrone blinked, stunned. "Are you fucking serious right now? Yo i don't—"

"Enough of the bullshit," the first cop said. "We know exactly what you are. And what you did."

Simultaneously Tandy quietly slipped into her house on the other side of town, shoes in hand. The hallway light flicked on.

Her father stood outside her room with her mother, he was red faced, phone in one hand.

"You knew! You fucking knew!?!" he snarled. Then, without warning

SMACK

His palm connected with her cheek, knocking her against the wall.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Tandy yelled, holding her mother's face.

"There's a goddamn video Tandy!" her father roared. "Mutants, trashing some warehouse i don't know! But i do know they're your kind! You think I wouldn't find out?! You're in it! You're in the fucking video! Throwing glowing knives around like a circus freak!"

Tandy froze.

The party. Someone posted the video.

Back at Tyrone's house, his mom stepped forward to the cops. "My son's done nothing wrong. So I'll ask you both kindly to Leave. Our. Property."

She turned to head back inside, motioning for her son to follow suit. Tyrone gripped his mom's hand.

But a cop reached out and grabbed his arm. "Hey we're not done here."

Tyrone yanked back, instinct flaring "Get the fuck off me!"

The cop stumbled, and that was the only excuse he needed

He pulled his gun out and fired.

The shot passed harmlessly through Tyrone's half shifted body of swirling darkforce... but the second it passed through him, it struck flesh.

His mom fell.

"MOM!"

Tyrone screamed and caught her as she crumpled. The world turned black around him.

He turned to the cop and lost it.

The shadows erupted more than they ever had before.

"You're a mutie. An abomination. A fucking disgrace to this family!" Back at the Bowen residence, Tandy's father's verbal tirade was in full force, he jabbed his finger at Tandy. "We let you in this home. Trusted you, Loved you, and you turn out like this!?!."

Her mom pushed him back. "She's our daughter!"

He sneered. "You knew. You raised this freak and didn't think to tell me."

Then, he swung. Aiming at his wife.

Tandy screamed.

A dagger of light shot from her hand, slicing across his forearm.

He cried out "FUCK!" staggering back, blood soaking his sleeve. Tandy trembled, hand glowing.

"Don't touch her!" she yelled, breath catching in her throat. "Don't you dare touch her ever again!"

Suddenly—

A pop of dark energy cracked through the air. The living room dimmed.

Tyrone suddenly appeared in the doorway, cloaked in shadow, face streaked with tears, eyes red with grief.

"Tyrone?"

He looked at her. She looked at him.

Without a word, they reached for each other's hand. Glowing white met endless black.

And they vanished.

END OF CHAPTER

Chapter Text

A television broadcast flickered to life with a high energy jingle, almost cheerful if not for the two smirking anchors sitting behind the glossy news desk.

"Good evening, folks. I'm Allan Stevens," the man said, flashing a fake grin.

"And I'm Heidi O'Shea," the woman added "and you're watching The Mutant Threat" she tosses her blonde hair over one shoulder and gives the camera the most forced smile possible

The screen behind them lit up with big, bold letters: "THE MUTANT THREAT — EPISODE 078."

"Tonight's top story," Allan said, leaning forward like he was about to reveal a deep secret, "Terrible brewing in Harlem as City Councilman Nathaniel Bowen was brutally assaulted by, get this, his own daughter!."

Heidi nods with faux concern, "That's right Allan, his daughter revealed herself to be a mutant, and as per usual a dangerous one at that"

"But the story doesn't even end there Heidi, you see also in Harlem, police officer Bradley Thompson was beaten within an inch of his life, unprovoked, by another teenage mutant delinquent"

"These two mutants have been identified as Tyrone Johnson and Tandy Bowen. Fortunately there victims have no justice as the pair fled the scene of their crimes together and haven't been seen since"

"This is what myself and Allan talk about here folks, mutie freaks who think they can get away with anything they want. Something needs to be done and done fast. We're lucky there victims are still here to tell the tale, but that won't always be the case"

"Mutants. Can't. Be. Trusted."

***

March 16th 2010. 16.00pm
Harlem

The air in the abandoned church was cold and tasted like dust. A stained glass window cast fractured light across the cracked floor, and birds made quiet homes in the rafters above.

Tandy sat curled up on a decaying pew, hood pulled low, arms wrapped around her knees. Tyrone paced near the altar, every step sharp with frustration.

“They’re not gonna stop looking,” he said. “Every news channel’s dragging our names through the fucking mud. I can't even check my phone without seeing my face pop up under some clickbait bullshit headline.”

“I know Ty,” Tandy murmured, eyes distant. “They’re calling us terrorists, which is fucking insane.”

“They shot my mom, Tandy.” His voice cracked. “ I can't even go see her in the hospital, the only reason i know she's alive is because of news reports. And the cop’s who did it are walking around like nothing happened.”

"Not the cop you almost beat to death" Tandy flatly stated. And she was right, Officer Thompson survived within an inch of his life, Ty's powers spiked to a level that he had never experienced before

He was angry, vengeful, and most importantly. Lost total control, for a brief moment anyway

Neither of them had slept much in the past two days. They looked like ghosts, sunken eyes, pale skin, shadows under their clothes. The only warmth between them now came from the memory of that final moment before they ran, when their powers flared and the world disappeared in a blink of light and shadow.

“I don’t think we can stay here much longer,” Tandy finally said. “ It's basically a witch hunt for us and staying in Harlem isn't the move.”

Tyrone nodded, rubbing a hand down his face. “What about Genosha?”

She blinked. “What?”

“You wanna run? So let’s run for real. Let’s go to Genosha.”

"Getting their isn't exactly easy, i think it's pretty clear they don't want anymore mutants going to that island"

"Would you prefer continuing to hide out in this shitty church, maybe we get caught and get thrown in a mutant prison"

"We'll get thrown in a mutant prison if we try and get there and get caught anyway!"

A brief silence hung between them, resistance maybe? Possibly grief. Fear. The understanding that whatever future they might’ve had just… burned away in an instant.

Eventually, she spoke. “It’s not like we can buy a ticket.”

“We know someone,” Tyrone said. “From the party. Nori. She might have a way. Mutants get smuggled through on supply ships all the time right? Maybe she can get us on one of those ships"

"This is a really big maybe Ty"

"Nobody we know is more hooked up on mutant shit than Nori, she'll know somebody"

***

Tandy and Tyrone stuck to the shadows as they crossed the city, honestly not that it mattered. Most people had already seen their faces on the news.

The only saving grace was how fast New York moved; everyone had something else to do, someplace else to be. Just another pair of hooded kids ducking low under the glow of a corner street lamp.

Nori’s apartment sat three flights up in a half condemned building in Bushwick. The buzzer was busted. They knocked instead.

A few tense seconds passed. Then the door cracked open, a chain still latched.

When Nori saw them, she gave a dry laugh and undid the chain. “You two look like shit.”

They slipped inside. The place smelled like burnt wires and instant ramen. A power strip overloaded every socket. Posters for underground mutant raves covered one wall, and a half disassembled drone lay gutted on the table.

“Sorry for barging in,” Tyrone said. “We just... We didn’t really know where else to go.”

“You know what kind of heat you two got on you right now?” Nori said, locking the door behind them. “Whole city's buzzing. Only reason the cops aren’t in a full on mutant hunting spree is 'cause your victims aren’t dead yet.”

Tandy’s jaw tightened at the word 'victims'. “Go fuck yourself Nori.”

Nori blinked, then let out a laugh. “Great way of asking for help, trust fund baby.”

Light flared. Two bright daggers crackled into life in Tandy’s hands, her body arched to strike. The room dimmed with the glow. Nori’s hair stood on end. Sparks danced at her knuckles as electricity arced along her fingers, crawling up her arms like blue fire.

Tyrone stepped between them. “Enough! Fuck! Look... We didn’t come here to fight. We just need help getting to Genosha. That’s it.”

The tension hummed for a beat longer. Then both girls slowly let their powers fade. The room exhaled.

“Genosha?” Nori muttered, brushing her fingers through her hair. “You’re dreaming. Humans like to pretend they have great relations with Magneto and our great unofficial 51st state but getting there’s damn near impossible now. The humans shut that shit down. Anyone trying to make it gets stopped. Best case? They throw you in one of those new 'detainment centers.' Worst case? They just fucking kill you to avoid the paperwork.”

Tandy’s voice came quieter this time. “We’ve got nothing left Nori. Nowhere to go.”

Nori looked at her. For a second, her usual fire dimmed. “Yeah,” she muttered. “Welcome to the shits trust fund, we've been expecting you”

The silence was heavy, and drawn out. Finally, Nori sighed hard and cracked her knuckles. “I might know a guy. Emphasis on might. He flies under the radar. Brings in food supplies for homeless mutants, but also makes trips to Genosha, guess he's got a deal with them or something. Either way he might be able to sneak you through. But it’s not free.”

“Whatever it takes,” Tyrone said instantly.

Nori pointed at them both. “Then you owe me. Big. And i will collect.”

Tandy gave a tired smile. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Nori said, already pulling out her phone. “You still have to make it.”

***

It was dusk when they found the location that Nori had given them. The address led to a boarded up hardware shop on the edge of Queens, long since gutted and left to rot. They slipped inside through a cracked side door, the interior dark, the air thick with dust and mold.

The smuggler was already waiting, lean, grizzled, and too calm for the way he leaned against a crate with a cigarette lazily burning between two fingers.

“Damn,” he said, giving them both a dramatic once over. “You two look like shit.”

Tandy rolled her eyes. “Yeah so we’ve heard.”

The man chuckled. “Your buddy Nori must really fuck with you. Hell of a solid she’s set up here. Real humanitarian shit... Or i guess mutantitarian”

Tyrone stepped forward, cautious but hopeful. “So how does this work exactly?”

The smuggler took a slow drag, then exhaled the smoke through his nose. “Yeah… right... about that.”

His smile turned cruel. “Bad news, kiddos. Nori pays solid but the cops? They pay way way better. You two might as well be on the FBI's most wanted list. Cops want you bad, politicians too. I’m just here to collect.”

From outside came the sudden scream of sirens.

Tandy’s breath caught in her throat. “Shit.”

Tyrone grabbed her hand instantly. Shadows rose around their feet, curling like smoke. In a blink, they vanished into the Darkforce dimension, then popped back into reality just outside, in the alley behind the shop.

They barely had time to breathe.

A voice shouted from the corner: “Captain! They’re out back!”

A cop leveled his weapon, already barking into his radio. “Suspects spotted!”

Tyrone pulled on the Darkforce again but this time.

Nothing.

His body flickered but didn’t phase. His brow furrowed in panic.

“Tyrone!” Tandy said quickly, “what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” he gritted. “It’s just not working.”

From the alley’s end, a flood of heavy boots and rifles swung into view. At least five cops now, now ten, yelling over one another to freeze, get on the ground, hands up, mutant scum—

Tandy stepped forward, light erupting from her fists. Daggers flared into life, illuminating her silhouette like a fallen angel ready for war.

Then—

BAMF.

A sudden plume of sulfuric smoke burst in the moonlight above.

From the fire escape, a figure dropped like a phantom. Blue skin, yellow eyes, tail curling midair.

Nightcrawler.

“Guten Abend,” he said with a sharp grin.

Guns turned instantly toward him, but he was gone again before the safeties clicked off. Another BAMF. Then another. One by one, he teleported behind the officers, disarming them with blinding speed, pulling a baton from one’s belt, sweeping another’s legs out, then vanishing before they hit the ground.

He didn’t kill. He didn’t even leave bruises. Just swift, surgical non-lethal strikes, precision personified.

When the last cop collapsed with a groan, Nightcrawler landed lightly in front of them, mist curling off his shoulders.

Tyrone and Tandy stared.

"What the fuck" were the only words Tandy could muster

“Come,” Nightcrawler said, voice gentler now. “You’re not safe here.”

He held out both hands.

Tyrone took Tandy’s. Tandy grabbed his.

With one last BAMF, the alley fell empty.

***

They landed in an empty warehouse near the Brooklyn docks, shrouded in moonlight and salt air. Tandy and Tyrone stumbled slightly as they reappeared, the BAMF still echoing in their ears and the stink of sulfur hanging faintly in their noses. Tyrone helped Tandy steady herself, then turned toward the figure who had just saved their lives.

The blue skinned man offered a small bow. “I am Kurt Wagner. It's a pleasure to meet you both.”

Tyrone nodded, still catching his breath. “Yeah… we know who you are. You’re an X-Man.”

Kurt smiled softly at that, though there was sadness behind it. “I was, once. Those days are long gone I'm afraid.” He looked between the two of them. “You’ve had a rough go of it.”

Tandy scoffed. “Yeah that’s one way of putting it.”

Tyrone cut to the chase. “How’d you even find us?”

“I was already in New York,” Kurt explained, folding his arms across his chest. “There’s another young mutant here I was meant to bring to Genosha. But once I arrived, all anyone was talking about… was you two.”

“Guess we made a few headlines,” Tandy muttered.

Kurt tilted his head. “The man you met tonight, he’s not the most trustworthy of contacts. Talks too much, drinks even more. He was bragging to anyone who’d listen that he had you. Word travels fast when the reward is high.”

“Yeah just our fucking luck,” Tyrone said.

“My apologies,” Kurt admitted. “I don’t really love working with him or the likes of him, but sometimes it’s better to deal with the devil you know… especially if it means getting there before the humans do.”

There was a heavy pause. The kind that wrapped around your chest and made it hard to breathe.

Kurt stepped forward. “I have a boat. It’s small, discreet. We’re leaving tonight. It’ll take us to Genosha.”

Tyrone narrowed his eyes. “And then what? We can just... Live there?”

Kurt nodded. “If you want to. You won’t be hunted there. You won’t be treated like criminals. On Genosha, you’ll be free. No more hiding. No more running.”

Tandy didn’t respond. She glanced at Tyrone. He was staring at the floor like the weight of the past three days was finally cracking his spine.

Kurt read their hesitation. “I understand,” he said gently. “It’s hard to uproot everything you’ve known. You had lives here. Friends, family, good or bad, it was still yours. But Genosha isn’t just a place. It’s a chance. A fresh start. Somewhere mutants don’t have to look over their shoulder or justify their existence.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “The world out there is burning, meine Freunde. You can stay in the fire… or you can let me help you escape it.”

Tyrone finally spoke, voice low. “We don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Tandy met Kurt’s gaze and nodded. “We’re in.”

Kurt gave them a small, knowing smile. “Then let’s get moving. The boat won’t wait forever.”

***

The fishing boat was old but well maintained, its engine purring steadily as it cut through the dark waters. Despite its unassuming exterior, the thing moved like it had purpose, fast, smooth, with just the right hum to lull the nerves. Night had fallen hard, and the ocean around them was an endless black, broken only by the lights of the distant island coming into view.

Inside the cabin, the air was warmer. Tandy and Tyrone sat beside each other, wrapped in worn blankets Kurt had offered. Across from them, at the wheel, a grizzled man with silver-streaked hair and weathered skin calmly guided the boat toward its destination. He looked human, could’ve passed for someone’s grandpa, complete with a thermos of coffee and a country music radio station playing quietly under the static.

They heard his voice cut through the quiet as he spoke into the radio. “Yeah this is Argo. Four passengers. Three kids, KW is the escort. Yeah, that’s right. Cleared. Yeah, go ahead and check the manifest. I’ll wait.”

Tyrone tensed for a second. "Everything good?”

Kurt nodded. “Nothing to worry about my friend. Argo’s been doing this longer than most of us have been alive. His agreement with the coast guard isn’t exactly legal, but… it works. He keeps things quiet for us, they turn a blind eye.”

Tandy leaned back, eyeing the other figure tucked into the far corner of the cabin.

It was a little girl, maybe seven or eight years old, curled up in the warmth of a wool blanket. Her blue skin peeked out from beneath the fabric, and her tail nearly identical to Kurt’s, twitched faintly in her sleep. She had short black hair, tousled from the wind, and small fangs that poked out of her mouth even as she dreamed peacefully.

Tandy glanced at Kurt. “I take it she's who you came for. Who is she?”

Kurt looked over his shoulder, eyes softening. “Someone important,” he said simply. “Just like the two of you.”

They didn’t press. The hum of the boat and the low hiss of the waves filled the silence as the lights of Genosha grew closer. The island shimmered in the distance, less like a refuge and more like a promise. Neon lights dotted the cliffside. Wind turbines turned slowly in the breeze.

The boat slowed as it pulled into the pier. Argo tossed a rope over the side to a dock worker waiting in a heavy coat.

Tandy stood up, stepping out into the night air. Tyrone followed, taking in the view with wide eyes. The sea breeze carried a scent of earth and salt, but also something else something electric. Possibility.

Kurt stepped out behind them. The little girl stirred but didn’t wake.

He looked at them both, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Welcome home,” he said.

END OF CHAPTER

Chapter Text

March 20th 2010. 20.00pm
Buffalo

The sun dipped low outside the Frost estate, casting long shadows over the marble floors of Emma’s lavish dressing room. Muted jazz played from a record player in the corner, the notes smooth and unbothered, unlike the man standing stiffly in front of the full length mirror.

Scott Summers adjusted his collar for the third time, scowling at the reflection that looked more like a substitute teacher than a former revolutionary.

Emma Frost stepped into the doorway, arms folded, “You know,” she said, tilting her head, “considering we're trying to play this incognito, maybe looking exactly like Cyclops isn’t the way to go.”

Scott turned, raising a brow. “I’m wearing glasses instead of my visor.”

“Funny,” she replied, circling him, “you have the same messy hair, and particular kind of glasses that not many people are wearing. The only thing different about you is your scruffy bread but that's definitely not enough’” She stopped in front of him and smirked. “Honestly, you remind me of a lawyer I once had.”

Scott squinted. “Was he any good?”

Emma shrugged. “He was a very good lawyer. But that's besides the point”

Scott groaned and walked toward the adjoining bathroom. “Fine. I’ll do something about it.”

Time passed. The music played on, lazy and content with itself. When Scott stepped back into the room, his brown hair was gone, shaved into a tight buzzcut that made his face look harsher, more angular. He raised his arms slightly, as if to say well?

Emma stared for a beat. "Oh God.”

Scott smirked. “That bad huh?”

“You look like you just got out of prison and you’re about to tell me it changed you.”

“I’m blending in.”

“You’re giving me third string security detail.”

Scott chuckled softly. "Good, that's the point right"

Then the weight of the night settled between them. He took a breath, eyes narrowing slightly behind the red tinted lenses. “You ready?”

Emma, already turning for the door, nodded once. “Let’s go.”

***

March 20th 2010. 20.00pm
Genosha

It had been three days since Tandy Bowen arrived in Genosha.

Three days since her father called her an abomination. Since Tyrone’s mother collapsed from a bullet meant for him. Since they fought through betrayal and fear just to reach this place that no longer felt like the real world.

Now, for the first time in what felt like forever, there were no cops, no screams, no news anchors tearing her name apart on television. Just peace. And it unsettled her more than she expected.

There was some kind of celebration happening in the town square,ba festival? A welcome party? Something. Tyrone had gone, pushed by the younger kids they’d met in the last few days. Tandy had stayed behind. She wasn’t ready to celebrate yet. Her body wasn’t bruised, but her soul still throbbed like it had been cracked down the center.

She walked.

Wandered really, through the winding streets of Genosha, past shops run by smiling mutants, through courtyards where kids played tag with their powers, into the quieter zones of the island until her feet carried her into a strange building. A greenhouse, almost. No… an indoor garden.

It was beautiful.

Sunlight streamed in from a glass paneled roof above, casting golden rays over vibrant patches of fresh, thriving life. Rows of wildflowers, vegetables, fruit trees, herbs, and hanging vines filled the space. It smelled of mint and soil and new beginnings. Everything had been cared for with intention. Each leaf trimmed. Tandy ran her fingers along the edge of a planter and let the stillness settle into her bones.

At the far end of the garden, past a walkway shaded by blooming trees, was a small marble altar. Set into its center, resting in a pristine glass case, was a helmet.

His helmet.

It was just a hunk of metal now, truthfully it always was a hunk of metal, no power, no menace but it radiated history. Fear. Defiance. She had seen it in documentaries, news reports and in propaganda posters with words like Extremist and Terrorist beneath it. It had been the last thing a lot of people ever saw before they met their end.

She found herself staring.

Frozen.

As if the weight of it reached across the room and pressed on her chest.

“Most people tend to skip past this place,” came a voice behind her, warm and aged like firewood burning low. “Though i find it has it's charms.”

Tandy spun around. “I—I didn’t mean to intrude,” she said quickly, guilt rushing to the surface. “I wasn’t sure if it was private or not, and then I saw the helmet and—”

“You're not trespassing Ms Bowen,” the man said, stepping into the light.

It was him.

Magneto.

But older now, slower. No cape, no steel toed boots, just a dark jacket and slacks, his white hair pulled back. There were lines in his face where once there had only been sharp angles and fire.

“This garden,” he continued, eyes drifting across the rows of blooming life, “is a place I built to remember the things that came before peace. To build something that doesn’t scream. To grow instead of destroy. A quiet rebellion of my own mind, you might say.”

Tandy swallowed, nodding. “It’s beautiful.”

“It's beauty is often lost on your generation,” he said with a faint smile. “A pleasant surprise it's not lost on all of you.”

He took a few steps forward, to the glass case. His hand hovered over it, never touching.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked, eyes not leaving the helmet.

Tandy hesitated. It felt like a test. “You’re… Magneto.”

A flicker of something moved across his face. Sadness? Weariness? It passed too fast to be sure.

“I was,” he said softly. “But not anymore. As long as that helmet remains behind glass, Magneto remains dead. I’m just Erik Lehnsherr now.”

There was silence between them.

Finally, Tandy asked, “Why stop being Magneto?”

He looked at her, amused. “Why do you care?”

She shrugged. “You are kind of a huge deal. You made a name for yourself. People feared you. Your people respected you.”

Erik chuckled under his breath. “Sounds like you know a lot about me.”

“It's hard not to but i paid attention.”

“Well,” he said, “I could say the same of you.”

Tandy looked down, shifting her weight. Erik folded his arms.

“Tell me, what is it you do, Ms. Bowen?”

“I… I make light, best way i can put it,” she said. “Daggers mostly. But I'm starting to think i've barely scratched the surface of what I can really do.”

“And yet the humans already fear you,” Erik said, with the kind of sadness that came from experience.

“After my powers showed up,” she said, “I got really sick. Like… dying sick. I was bedridden at the hospital, my body was shutting down, nothing they tried helped. Then I met Tyrone. We ran into each other at a hospital cafeteria. I don’t know why, but the moment we got close… it was like a switch flipped. I got better. He felt it too. Like… we’re connected somehow. Our mutations are linked.”

He listened quietly, his gaze never wavering.

“Since then, we’ve been inseparable,” she said. “Even when it got ugly.”

Erik nodded. He turned toward a window looking out over the courtyard, where music played in the distance and mutants laughed without fear.

“You are not the first to suffer for your gift Tandy Bowen,” he said. “And you won’t be the last. But here… here, you’re free. Mutants like you and Tyrone live in hiding all over the world. Most of them won’t make it here. Won’t get to laugh like that.”

Tandy joined him at the window, watching the joy unfold beyond the glass.

“You deserve this,” Erik said quietly. “You deserve to live. Not to mourn what you’ve lost, but to discover what you still have.”

He walked away, slow and thoughtful, leaving Tandy standing there with the helmet, the garden, and the sound of life just beyond reach.

***

March 20th 2010. 20.45pm
Buffalo

A limousine rolled to a stop outside the Hellfire Gala’s private compound, nestled behind reinforced gates and layers of high tech security. It didn’t look like much from the outside, just an old mansion, a relic of old money but inside, it was a palace of sin and strategy.

Emma adjusted the low cut collar of her white gown, glancing at Scott from beneath thick lashes. “Remember, Summers. We’re here to gather information, not to judge the guests or indulge our curiosity.”

Scott, now hair freshly buzzed, in a sleek gray suit and his red tinted glasses, gave a small nod. “Got it. In, out, discreet.”

“Discreet,” Emma echoed with a smirk. “Lead the way Cyclops.”

They stepped inside and were immediately swallowed by decadence.

The Hellfire Gala was… excessive.

Strippers, human and mutant, danced along chrome poles and over velvet ottomans. Lube stations were set up next to charcuterie boards. An entire room was devoted to sex swings and voyeur balconies. Silver trays with pills, powders, and syringes floated past on by servers in leather harnesses. The lighting was soft and seductive, like everything here was dipped in perfume and poor judgment.

Scott and Emma ignored it all, as hard as it was.

They drifted from group to group, blending in like smoke. Emma’s sultry tone of voice made her instantly welcome in any circle. Scott stood just behind her, silent, watching.

Emma was soon invited into a bedroom by a pair of high ranking senators both male, both sweating scotch and corruption. “How about a short break from diplomacy and you crush my skull with those thighs,” one of the men purred.

Emma smiled coolly. “My schedule’s full tonight. Maybe next gala gentlemen.”

Scott, meanwhile, was cornered by an actress with a face the tabloids knew intimately. “Who are you?” she asked, almost purring. “You don’t look like any regular I’ve seen around here before.”

Scott smiled. “Prince Erik of Masovia. Small country. Very small. Big throne.”

Her hand slid down his chest. “I’ve never fucked royalty before your highness.”

He gently removed her fingers. “Unfortunately tonight isn’t your night, if you'll excuse me.”

Elsewhere, Emma mingled with a group of mutant hating supremacists, pureblood idealists who used slurs for mutants and laughed at their own ignorance. She pressed for information, pretending to sympathize. They gave nothing useful. Just venom and vodka breath.

At one point, a self proclaimed “mutant savior” tried to get Emma to try a drug called BrainBite, something about protecting your mind from the mutant brain virus. She declined.

Scott watched a man in a fur coat try to auction off what he called the original claws of the Sabertooth. He made a mental note of that guy.

Eventually, a stripper with fake crimson eyes and a lazy confidence approached Scott directly. “You look like you need to relax handsome,” she said. “Big strong types always carry too much tension.”

“I’m good,” Scott replied.

“I’ve been to every Hellfire Gala in the past five years,” she said casually. “I can practically sense tense, maybe it's my mutant ability. I promise I won't disappoint.”

That made him pause...Five years huh.

A moment later, he followed her to a private room.

Red velvet, dim lighting. Music pulsed like a heartbeat behind the walls.

The dance began. Slow. Seductive. Professional. She moved with ease and zero shame, twirling herself in his orbit without touching him.

“I’m actually looking for someone, so maybe you can help me out” Scott said calmly, hands folded. “Ever heard of Teresia Karisik?.”

The dancer raised an eyebrow. “The stuffy science bitch with all the tattoos. I'm aware.”

Scott smiled. “Yeah? She’s uhh... she's my type but haven't seen her around you know.”

That got a laugh. “Oh you're the submissive type huh, like your women bitchy and demanding... Nobody really knows what happened to your lady. She stopped showing up a while ago. Word is, one of the old boys Bradshaw, bragged about moving her up to some facility in Montreal. Said she was finally going to ‘get what she deserves.’ Real psycho tone to it. Probably fucking her brains out in some private sex dungeon”

Scott leaned forward slightly. “Montreal, huh?”

“Yep. Classy place to send someone to be fucked. Wonder if they got another gala up there or something”

He chuckled. “Maybe I should go up there. Get myself a piece of her.”

The dancer winked. “If you want someone to be rude to you, honey, I can play the part better than that nerd.”

Scott laughed, genuinely. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

They left the private room a few minutes later. Emma was already waiting with a raised eyebrow.

“Do i even want to know” she asked.

He gave a subtle nod. “Montreal. That's where they have Teresia”

She looped her arm through his. “And you learned this from a lapdance?”

"I'm good at my job"

"Or she is"

***

March 20th 2010. 11.00pm
Madripoor

Magik sat alone in Shaw’s office, legs draped lazily over the arm of a leather chair, flipping a half solved Rubik’s Cube in her hand like it was a stress toy.

The door creaked open.

Logan stepped in, face set like stone. “Where’s Shaw?”

Magik didn’t look up. “He’s coming.”

Logan growled under his breath. “Not keen on waiting.”

“God have some patience, Wolverine,” Magik said, smirking faintly. “Should get you a rubix cube. It's very relaxing.”

He crossed the room, arms folded, watching her idly twist the cube. “What’s your deal anyway kid?” he asked. “You don’t strike me as the merc for hire type. And you sure as hell ain’t doing this for justice.”

She laughed softly. “Are you here for justice, Wolverine?”

“Call me Logan.”

She tilted her head, genuinely considering it. Then shook it. “You're funny Wolverine. No. I won't be doing that.”

Before he could respond, the door swung open again. Domino walked in, chewing gum, a sidearm holstered low. Behind her, Psylocke stepped through, calm and quiet as always, her eyes immediately scanning the room.

“Where’s Shaw?” Domino asked flatly.

“God, none of you have any patience,” Magik muttered, rolling her eyes. “Can't even finish my cube in peace.”

At last, Sebastian Shaw entered with theatrical timing, adjusting the cuffs of his black suit like he’d been waiting for the perfect moment to command attention.

“Good, you're all here,” he said smoothly. “Next target’s a private facility down in New Mexico. Smaller than the last one. Quiet but still important.”

Logan stepped forward. “What’s the point of hitting these places one by one? What are we even doing?”

Shaw’s smile didn’t waver. “They’re all connected Logan. Each site runs under the same administration just stretched across the globe, we hit them and we get a clearer picture, clearer picture means we get more information and uncover the whole operation.”

“Yeah?” Logan grunted. “Funny how Domino seems to have her own little side objective. We kill all the humans you don’t like while she grabs data none of the rest of us get to see.”

Domino shrugged, blowing a bubble. “You just mad ‘cause you don’t know how to work a computer, grandpa.”

Magik snorted. “Because you're old. That's funny.”

Shaw stepped between them before it could escalate. “I don’t understand your reservations, Logan. You’re rescuing mutants. That’s what you used to do right? When you were an X-Man. I'm just giving you the added bonus of eliminating the humans who imprisoned them.”

Logan stepped closer, jaw tight. “Yeah. When I was an X-Man… I trusted my team. I. Don't. Trust. You.”

Shaw didn’t flinch. “And yet, you’re still here. You can feel as uncomfortable as you want with this arrangement, with this unit, but you aren't being forced to be here.”

The air in the room thickened.

Shaw clasped his hands behind his back, voice calm but full of command. “I picked each of you for a reason. Domino’s luck and infiltration skills. Psylocke’s precision and control. Illyana’s raw power and teleportation abilities. And you, Logan, because you’re a blunt instrument with a conscience built by war. When you aim at something, it stays down.”

He looked each of them in the eye.

“The mission hasn’t changed. The goal is to stop the completion of the second sentinel and anymore that may follow. That’s the only goal. The only goal that matters. You may feel uneasy that you aren't taking orders from Charles Xavier or Scott Summers but make no mistake Logan, this team is my Inner Circle now. And everything we do is for the survival and future of mutantkind.”

A beat passed. Then Magik said with a grin, “Inner Circle’s a great name for a band you know.”

Domino chuckled "The russian chick is growing on me."

Psylocke opted not to react, instead being a silent observer to the conversation.

Logan glared at Shaw like he was still deciding whether to tear his throat out.

Shaw only smiled at Logan again. “Glad that's all settled, you leave for New Mexico tomorrow.”

***

March 21st 2010. 00.20am
Buffalo

The double doors of Emma Frost’s mansion swung shut behind them, sealing off the sounds and sins of the Hellfire Gala.

Emma exhaled as she tossed her heels to the floor, massaging the arch of one foot. “If I never see another bottle of baby oil again, i might have to kill myself.”

Scott pulled off his jacket, placing it neatly on a chair. “What matters is that we know where to go next.”

She looked over. “Right. Montreal.”

He nodded. “That’s where they’re keeping Teresia Karisik. If she’s even still there.”

Emma walked to the bar and poured herself a glass of wine. “Canada’s never exactly been the safest place for our kind,” she said. “Need I remind you of the Weapon X program?”

Scott’s expression tightened at the name. Emma raised an eyebrow and sipped her wine.

“We could reach out to Logan you know,” she offered. “He knows that part of the world better than anyone. If she’s stashed somewhere dirty, chances are he’ll sniff it out.”

Scott shook his head. “No... honestly I don’t even know where he is these days. And even if I did, that conversation would most likely end in a fight.”

Emma narrowed her eyes, curious. “Did something happen between you two?”

Scott didn’t answer right away. “Let’s just say... Our last chat wasn't too wholesome.”

Emma didn’t press, but something in her face told him she was filing that away for later.

She walked toward him. “Look, up until now, it’s been easy,” she said. “I pull some strings, play nice with trust fund creeps, shake hands, smile, pretend I don’t want to set their hair on fire. But now it gets real. Teresia was moved for a reason. Rogue’s still out there somewhere. And someone’s eventually going to notice we’ve been poking around.”

Scott stared out the window, the moonlight catching the edge of his glasses. “You scared?”

Emma leaned against the windowsill beside him. Her voice dropped, quiet and honest. “For myself? For you? Not particularly no.”

She turned her head toward him, eyes steady.

“However I am fearful of what the people we’re trying to find might do to stop us.”

Silence settled between them like dust. Heavy. Unspoken things hanging in the air.

Scott nodded once, solemnly.

***

Unknown. Unknown
Unknown

The hum of machinery echoed through the underground bunker, constant and cold. Fluorescent lights cast a sterile glow over the rows of server banks and surgical instruments. At the center of it all stood a towering machine, humanoid in shape and design, seven feet tall, sleek and unfinished. Its metallic frame gleamed with a liquid-like sheen, its surface shifting in subtle, unnatural ways. A prototype. A weapon.

A man moved slowly around it, examining its joints, checking readouts on a nearby tablet. His face was tired, worn from years of obsession and sleepless nights. White lab coat streaked with grease. Glasses slid halfway down the bridge of his nose. His fingers never stopped moving.

“I must say,” he spoke aloud, his voice calm, almost gentle, “your contributions to the Sentinel program have been... enlightening.”

He turned, looking toward the back of the lab, towards a tall cryo tube bathed in blue light. Inside was a shadowy figure, obscured by frost and condensation. Still. Silent.

“But,” the man continued, stepping closer to the tube, “I fear your usefulness is beginning to dwindle.”

He pressed his hand to the glass. The figure inside didn’t move.

The man’s smile was small, almost sympathetic.

“But don’t worry,” he said softly. “You’ll still be part of the future. A part of history. Just not the way you imagined.”

END OF CHAPTER

Chapter Text

March 21st 2010. 10.00am
Montreal

The sky above Quebec was a sheet of steel, the clouds dense and heavy, threatening snow. Emma Frost stepped off a small private jet in heels that sank slightly into the icy tarmac, her white coat catching the wind like a cape. Scott Summers followed behind her, his buzzcut hidden beneath a black beanie, aviators covering his eyes.

A figure waited for them near a weather worn hangar. Tall, slim, dark haired and sharp-eyed — Northstar, already tapping one foot impatiently.

“Took you two long enough,” he said, arms folded, breath visible in the cold. “Some of us still work for a living, and you're costing me vacation days”

“Oh please,” Emma drawled, adjusting her gloves. “You work for the government, it's hardly the same as a nine to five.”

Scott gave a tired smile. “Good to see you again, Jean-Paul.”

Northstar smirked. “Likewise my friend, seven years is far too long. The grey hairs haven't kicked in but give it time. Men in our line of work age quicker. Come on, I’ve got somewhere warmer to talk.”

He led them into a side building that looked like it hadn’t been in use since the Cold War. Inside, however, was a surprisingly clean and modern looking operations room. Maps of Montreal, security schematics, and photos of various facility entrances taped across a corkboard.

Northstar gestured to a blueprint. “When Emma mentioned this Bradshaw fellow over the phone, my team and i started digging, felt like we'd covered these areas before but something new did pop up. The lab where Teresia Karisik was supposedly moved to, is a blacksite built under a decommissioned hospital in Outremont. Looks like they’ve buried something they don’t want found.”

Scott stepped closer, narrowing his eyes at the layout. “How deep is this place?”

“Five levels. Most of it’s underground. Above is a shell basically, just enough to make it look like some long forgotten property waiting for demolition. But they’ve got new security. Motion sensors, heat detectors. Human guards, armed. And that's just what we've found with a day of digging.”

Emma studied the photos. “How does a place like this go undetected for so long and we just stumble into it?”

Northstar rresponded. “Alpha Flight has been keeping an eye on Montreal for years since Weapon X was permanently dismantled, but even we missed this. Working theory is they had someone on the inside at the government level, covering their tracks, and maybe that cover isn't around anymore.”

Scott stated, “Whether it's good fortune or someone baiting us in, we gotta make a move”

Jean-Paul tapped a spot on the blueprint. “Then our move is through the front door. Or close enough. The staff rotates every couple of days. Cleaners, private security, contractors. I have for you forged credentials and uniforms. Walk in, act like you belong, and no one questions you, at least not right away.”

Emma raised an eyebrow. Very risky.”

“Sure,” Jean-Paul said. “But crawling through tunnels with heat sensors is worse. Besides, this place is bureaucratic as hell. Half the people working there don’t even know what they’re guarding in the lower levels.”

Scott nodded, studying the map. “So we get in as guards. Make it to the sublevels. Get Teresia out if she’s alive. Quietly.”

“And if it’s not quiet?” Emma asked.

“Then you do what you always do,” Northstar said. “Improvise.”

Emma sighed and looked at Scott. “I miss the old days, when sneaking around used to just mean some light telepathy and a trench coat.”

Scott smirked. “Now it’s buzzcuts and security badges.”

Northstar chuckled. “Don't count out having to use your powers yet. Just cause i know the layout of the place doesn't mean i know how it's gonna go for us.”

Emma folded her arms. “Well... looks like we're playing dress up.”

Scott stared at the layout again, eyes hard. “Guess we are.”

***

March 21st 2010. 11.00am
Westchester

Doctor Hank McCoy’s office was a curious mix of old world academia and bleeding edge science, worn down leather chairs, shelves of Shakespeare and mutant genome sequencing reports stacked side by side, the smell of paper and ink lingering in the air.

Hank McCoy sat at his desk, sleeves rolled to the elbows, glasses perched low as he sifted through a stack of international reports. A half eaten sandwich sat forgotten beside a mug of cold coffee. The door creaked open softly.

“Remy's eventually going to retaliate if you keep stealing his sandwiches ,” Storm said.

Hank looked up, the lines around his eyes deepening in a weary smile. “The boy is too kind hearted for that, regardless i would win that fight.”

Storm stepped inside, arms crossed loosely. “I figured I’d check on you. You’ve barely come up for air lately.”

“I could say the same for you,” Hank replied, gesturing for her to sit. She did. “Something on your mind?”

Ororo hesitated before asking, “Is it really that bad out there?”

Beast leaned back slowly, exhaling through his nose. “Senate hearings aren't getting any less passive aggressive, Boston and Philadelphia both reported riots last week. Anti-mutant militias clashing with protestors.”

Storm’s brow furrowed. “And what about abroad?”

Beast nodded. “In Europe, there's a lot of reports about off-grid sites. Experimental detainment facilities. No official paper trail. Some of them… the photos I’ve seen, Ororo, they’re not prisons. They’re camps. Designed to break people down. Physically. Psychologically.”

He hesitated, then added, “Did you know Kurt was spotted in Harlem two days ago?”

Her eyes widened. “No. Recruiting mission for Genosha?”

“Appears so, two kids in Harlem got in a lot of trouble, police officer assaulted and a politician injured. Media practically wanted their heads on a spike, might have succeeded if Kurt hadn't have stepped in.”

Storm turned to look out the window. Snow had started to fall. Soft, slow, and silent.

Beast continued, voice low. “It's been over five years and we still don’t know who built the Sentinel. Not where it came from, the motivation to build it, if more are ever coming. Erik's legitimizing of Genosha as a mutant safe haven has the humans fearing he's amassing an army that will rival The Avengers, and in response the humans are becoming harsher against us. It's only a matter of time before we reach a tipping point.”

He stood now, not looming but steady. Calm. Certain.

“It’s getting worse Ororo,” he said. “I can keep playing the politics game but eventually, at some point we have to intervene.”

Ororo was quiet for a long moment. Then: “I didn’t stay to lead Hank. I stayed to help the students who had nowhere else to go”

“Well,” Hank said. “Have you considered that leading is how you help them?”

She let out a tired sigh listening to Hank's words.

“I know you don’t want it to be you,” he said, gently now. “You’d rather be on the beach in Wakanda. But Ororo… you’re here. Not Scott. Not Logan... Not Jean. Not the Professor. It's you”

He paused, locking eyes with her.

“It has to be you.”

Storm let the silence linger, her breath visible in the cold air as if the room itself held its breath.

Finally, she said, “Fuck.”

Beast chuckled softly. “Indeed.”

***

March 21st 2010. 12.00pm
New Mexico

A portal opened in the shadow of a low ridge just outside of a New Mexico compound. An old, brutalist structure half buried in the sand and rock, like something abandoned after a failed Cold War experiment. The air buzzed with heat and static, and the sky above was a dull, burnt orange.

Illyana Rasputin stepped through first, her Soulsword already in hand, gleaming faintly in the dusk light. Behind her came Psylocke, Domino, and Wolverine, each scanning the horizon with practiced precision.

“Fuck it's hot,” Magik muttered, eyeing the concrete monolith ahead. “You’d think with all their secret government funding they could at least afford a paint job.”

Psylocke raised a pair of binoculars, the lenses flicking to infrared as she scanned the facility’s perimeter. “Ten guards outside. Three on patrol with rifles, the rest clustered near the gate. Interior’s hazy though. Either the walls are shielded or someone’s jamming thermal.”

Domino smirked. “Guess we’ll just have to go in and say hello.”

Logan cracked his knuckles. “Why are you all so chatty before a fight?”

Magik grinned. “Just trying to keep team morale high you know.”

She spun her Soulsword once, and then another portal hummed to life.

“After you.”

The four stepped through and appeared seconds later in the middle of the building’s front reception

"Okay, i might have undershot that portal"

A bland lobby with beige tile floors, fake plants, and a single, bored looking receptionist seated behind bulletproof glass.

He blinked. “Uh…”

Magik strode forward like she owned the place. “Hi."

"Hi???"

"We’re here for a surprise inspection of your super secret illegal murder dungeon facility place. Be a sweetheart and buzz us down, will you?”

The man’s hand slowly reached for a silent alarm beneath the desk.

Magik tilted her head. “I wouldn’t do that if i was you.”

He froze. “I— I don’t—”

Illyana sighed. “Okay fine. You’ve got one chance to let us in before I kill you slowly. Better?”

The receptionist’s face turned white. He reached over and hit a switch. The elevator at the far end of the lobby dinged open.

Magik smiled. “Spasiba.”

As the four stepped into the elevator, Wolverine muttered, “Lets get this over with.”

Halfway down, a siren blared. Red lights snapped on. Somewhere above, heavy shutters slammed into place.

Domino rolled her eyes. “We really should’ve killed that guy.”

The elevator doors opened to chaos.

Dozens and dozens of guards stood in the hallway, helmets on, rifles raised, armor bulkier than standard military issue. Their eyes gleamed oddly, unnaturally, and their movements were oddily fast.

Magik stepped forward, Soulsword blazing. "Bet i kill more than you guys.”

Domino laughed. “Only if you get lucky.”

***

March 21st 2010. 12.00pm
Montreal

Snow whirls down in a lazy, quiet curtain over the old hospital’s worn stone exterior. A battered maintenance van pulls up to the rear gate.

A sleepy security guard steps out of a booth. The driver’s side window rolls down to reveal Northstar, crisp in a security contractor uniform.

“Pipe burst on Level 2. Got called in,” he says, flashing forged credentials.

The guard barely glances. “Check in at the desk.”

Inside, Emma Frost smooths the front of her ill-fitting janitorial uniform like it’s a personal insult. Across from her, Scott Summers double checks a floor plan on a tablet.

“Why do these uniforms always smell like sadness and bleach?” Emma mutters.

“Why do you know what Janitor's uniforms smell like?” Scott says.

She gives him a flat look.

The van doors slide open. The team emerges, wheeling a tool cart and a dolly carrying sealed crates.

Emma subtly touches her temple as they pass the first checkpoint. The guard inside the security booth blinks, eyes glazing for a beat.

“You never saw us,” she murmurs mentally.

"I never saw you" he quickly responded outloud

He waves them through without looking up.

Northstar chuckles to himself "Must be fun to be a jedi"

Fluorescent lights buzz overhead as the group moves deeper into the facility. Emma trails a hand along the wall, brushing against minds, probing gently for any useful information

“Should be a checkpoint coming up,” Scott warns, remembering the map.

Emma closes her eyes briefly—two guards stationed ahead.

“They’ll let us through,” she says.

As they round the corner, the guards look up. One opens his mouth, but falters, allowing them safe passage

“What now?” Northstar snaps.

“There's a stairwell on our left coming up, should give us a clean path to sub level 3,” Scott adds coolly.

Guards coming up the stairwell, pause noticing our 'maintenance crew'

"Let me guess, egg heads in logistics spilled coffee all over the console again?"

Thinking on his feet, Scott responded "For a group so smart you'd know how to handle a coffee mug"

The guards chuckled and went on their way

"You a telepath now Summers" Emma asks mockingly

"No i just speak the universal language of annoyed at smart people,"

They descend into a deeper sublevel. The walls changed here,less hospital, more secure bunker. No signage. No windows. Just steel and silence.

Scott slows. “We should be close.”

Emma suddenly stops. “Wait.”

She scans. One of the minds ahead is hazy, clouded...something artificial.

Then booming red lights briefly engulfed the hallway

A mechanical voice echoes through the corridor:

“MUTANT GENE DETECTED. SECURITY PROTOCOL 47 ACTIVATED.”

Emma’s eyes widen. “We must have tripped some kind of hidden mutant scanner. At least we know we're at the level they don't want us to see.”

Scott curses under his breath.

Northstar looks back from where they came. “I can stall whoever comes. You guys press ahead and I'll play defense.”

Emma nods. “Then we better move fast.”

He meets Scott’s eyes. “If it comes to it, you might have to blast your way out of here.”

Scott: “Can say the same for you.”

As Northstar disappears into the shadows, Emma and Scott press ahead.

***

March 21st 2010. 13.00pm
Westchester

The sliding doors of the Danger Room opened with a hydraulic sigh.

Sunspot, Marrow, Iceman, Xuân, and Warpath stepped in together, expecting the usual — a clean, quiet chamber and Gambit waiting with some cocky grin and a fresh training scenario.

Instead, the lights were already dimmed.

The hum of active systems pulsed through the metal beneath their boots. The room wasn’t idle. A simulation was already running.

Sunspot frowned. “That’s... new.”

“So no Remy?” said Marrow, scanning the corners. “You think he overslept and left the program running or something?”

Warpath shook his head. “Doesn’t feel random.”

Suddenly, the environment flickered and changed.

The floor dropped away beneath their feet, shifting seamlessly into a wide open savannah cracked by heat and thunder. Black storm clouds rolled overhead, fat with lightning. Wind blasted through the grass, bending trees sideways. The heat was oppressive, electric.

Then came the voice. Clear, calm. Commanding.

“Welcome to today’s session children,” it said. “You have one objective: survive.”

A bolt of lightning struck nearby, close enough to make them all flinch. And from the sky, she descended, not with fanfare, but precision.

"Oh shit" were the only words Roberto could muster looking at his opponent. Storm.

She landed softly on a crumbling ridge above them, cloak flaring behind her, eyes lit with pale fury. Her expression was unreadable.

“I keep being told the world needs the X-Men, i keep being told you are the group that's ready to step up” she said. “Today you train with me and prove you have what it takes.”

The team instinctively spread out, “Guess this is happening,” Iceman said under his breath as ice began crawling up his arms.

“Don’t hold back,” Storm warned from above, her voice cutting through the gale. “Because I won’t.”

Roberto's power began to flair up, a wicked grin on his face as he spoke "Dude this is awesome"

***

March 21st 2010. 12.30pm
New Mexico

Illyana hit the concrete hard, skidding across the floor and slamming into a support beam with a grunt. Her sword clattered out of reach, vanishing in a blink of light.

“This is not awesome,” she groaned, pushing herself up.

Around her, chaos reigned.

Domino ducked beneath a punch that cracked the drywall behind her, flipping up and firing two perfect shots into a man’s chest

He barely flinched.

Psylocke was a blur of motion, her psionic blade slicing through another attacker’s arm. Blood sprayed but the man snarled and kept coming forward.

Wolverine was already bleeding from a dozen cuts, feral and furious, claws embedded in one enemy while another grabbed him from behind and hurled him into a pillar.

“Okay are these guys on super soldier steroids!?!” Domino barked, diving for cover. “What the hell is happening!”

“Durability’s off the charts,” Psylocke hissed. “Their minds are wrong too. Clouded.”

One of the enhanced humans roared and lunged at Magik, eyes wild, veins black beneath his skin. She teleported a few feet back just in time, barely avoiding being crushed under his weight.

She summoned a new blade, panting, sweat mixing with blood on her brow.

Then — the voice.

Dark and guttural. Inside her skull.

“KILL THEM. FUCKING RIP THEM APART. BATHE IN THEIR BLOOD.”

Magik winced. “Not now.”

“THEY ARE MEAT. THEY ARE NOTHING. LET. ME. END. THIS.”

She watched as Wolverine was knocked down again, Domino running out of ammo, Psylocke bleeding from a split across her ribs.

Illyana sighed.

“Fuck”

Her eyes turned black, and the ambient light dimmed. The air around her shimmered like heat off a furnace.

With a sudden scream, her body ignited in demonic flame, armor crawling up her limbs, horns twisting from her skull, fangs glinting behind a warped smile.

Darkchylde had arrived.

The nearest enhanced man charged her. He didn’t get within five feet.

She impaled him on a jagged, molten blade conjured from nothing, lifting his body and splitting it in two with a flex of her will.

She didn’t stop. She couldn't

Darkchylde surged forward with supernatural speed, teleporting in bursts of flame and shadow. Each appearance ended in a kill.

One decapitated.

Another ripped in half by monstrous claws

A third had his spine crushed under her heel as she laughed in his face

The bodies were piling up, each death more vile than the last

Wolverine blinked blood from his eyes. “Jesus...”

Psylocke lowered her blade, stepping back as another body hit the floor, entrails smoking.

Domino, reloading, yelling out, “WHAT THE FUCK”

When the last enhanced human was reduced to ash and ruin, Darkchylde stood in the center of the wreckage, breathing heavy, her mouth curled into a grin full of teeth.

Silence reigned, thick and oily.

Then her expression flickered.

And she exhaled slowly, the horns retreating, armor melting away, her eyes going back to blue.

Illyana stood there, covered in gore, expression flat.

“That was disgusting.” she muttered.

***

March 21st 2010. 12.30pm
Montreal

The sterile corridors hummed with fluorescent light, the buzz of security systems barely audible beneath their footsteps.

Scott and Emma moved in silence. The further they descended, the more abandoned the facility felt, like something gutted and repurposed for uglier work. Concrete walls, flickering cameras, doors that looked welded shut from the inside.

“We're close,” Scott whispered, eyes scanning ahead through his visor. “Jean-Paul’s map ends here.”

Emma narrowed her eyes, brushing a gloved hand over a biometric scanner. Nothing. “Whatever is behind this door is not on any blueprint we went over.”

A sound echoed from down the hallway — boots. Multiple.

“Get down,” Scott hissed.

They ducked into a maintenance alcove just as a squad of armed guards passed by. One paused, suspicious. Looked back. Started toward them.

Emma noticing let out an exasperated sigh "Fuck."

She stepped out before he could react and in an instant, her body crystallized into gleaming diamond.

The guard fired his gun, bullets pinged harmlessly off her shimmering form.

She surged forward, smashing into him with crushing force. He hit the ground hard, unconscious or maybe worse.

More guards turned, raising their weapons but Scott was already moving. He stepped into the open and unleashed a wide angle optic blast that sent them flying like bowling pins.

Silence fell again, broken only by Emma’s crystalline form reverting to flesh.

“You okay?” he asked.

She grinned. “Please.”

They moved forward cautiously until they reached a reinforced door at the far end. Emma extended her mind briefly, grimaced. “Nothing behind it. Nothing human, anyway.”

Scott fired an optic blast at the scanner and forced the door open.

Inside was a cold, clinical chamber. Machines lined the walls. IVs, monitors, reinforced restraints. And in the center, a woman, barely alive, suspended upright with mechanical limbs bolted into her body. Her eyes were open, but unfocused. Hair thin and patchy. Half her skull replaced with polished steel.

Teresia Karisik.

Emma stepped forward gently. “What the fuck”

No response.

Scott approached, taking in the wires protruding from her spine, the metal casing around her ribs. “How could they do this to her.”

Emma reached out to touch her shoulder—

—and doubled over with a cry.

Scott winced, nearly collapsing. “What—what is that?”

A low, droning frequency began vibrating through the room. It wasn’t audible but it pressed into their skulls like a vice.

Emma gritted her teeth. “Some kind of—psychic… acoustic weapon…”

Then a voice came over the speaker system. Calm and clinical

“Emma Frost... Scott Summers... Welcome. I had my suspicions it wouldn't take you long to find this place, seems i was correct.”

Scott looked up, eyes burning. “Who are you?”

“In due time Mr. Summers, i believe you have more pressing issues at this time.”

Emma screamed again, clutching her head.

“What you’re feeling is a frequency calibrated specifically to mutant neurology. Your genes betray you — even when you try to sneak in through the back door.”

Scott tried to aim a blast, at anything but his balance wavered. He dropped to one knee.

The voice continued, cool and merciless.

“I know you came here under the impression of rescuing Ms. Karisik. But I'm afraid that won't be possible and now, you may have to join her.”

The lights in the chamber turned red.

And the door behind them sealed shut with a hiss.

END OF CHAPTER

Chapter Text

March 21st 2010. 12.30pm
Montreal

The alarm sirens wailed like the death throes of some wounded animal, shrill and chaotic. Harsh red light pulsed through the narrow corridor, painting the concrete walls in flashes of crimson.

Gunfire echoed off the steel walls as the facility went into a full lockdown.

Jean-Paul Beaubier didn’t flinch. His breathing was steady. Focused.

They were coming.

He stood alone in the flickering dark, his posture loose, arms relaxed at his sides like a runner waiting for the starter’s pistol. But his eyes, sharp, calculating, watched the far end of the hallway.

The guards arrived in droves. He let them.

The first man raised a rifle.

Too slow.

Northstar vanished in a blink, a streak of white and silver light slicing through the air. The guard dropped mid shout, ribs shattered, body folded against the wall like a marionette with its strings cut.

Another stepped into the corridor, and Jean-Paul slammed into him shoulder first, an explosion of force that sent the man flying six feet back, crashing through a reinforced door. The sound of metal shrieking under flesh echoed behind him.

More boots thundered around the corner, four, maybe five, maybe too many too count. Shouting in French. Orders barked into radios.

Northstar smiled coldly.

Let them come.

He blurred forward, a flash of speed. To the guards, he was a ghost, appearing behind them, beside them, above them, before they even turned their heads. Knees snapped backward. Helmets cracked against concrete. Teeth clattered to the floor like broken glass.

One tried to fire.

Jean-Paul kicked the weapon clean from his hands and drove a fist into the man’s solar plexus, caving in the armor plate with a sickening crunch. The guard hit the ground gagging, curled around the pain.

Then the red lights cut out.

The emergency sirens went silent all at once.

Northstar froze.

He wasn't sure what was going on.

He tapped the comm in his ear. “Frost? Scott? Come in.”

Static.

He waited. Tried again. “Emma. Do you read me? Did you find Teresia?”

Nothing.

Jean-Paul’s brow furrowed. He stepped over the unconscious bodies littering the hallway. No way of knowing if they’d made it out.

“Shit,” he muttered.

***

A high pitched whine drilled into Emma Frost’s skull.

"Jesus, fuck"

She stirred, groaning faintly, her head pounding like it had been split with a sledgehammer. The world was muffled and blurry, colors bleeding at the edges of her vision. Her first breath was metallic, recycled air thick with disinfectant and sweat.

Her hands wouldn’t move.

She blinked hard, focusing.

Cold steel floor. Fluorescent lights above. Collared.

The pressure around her neck wasn’t just discomfort, it was suppression. Heavy. Humming.

"God damn it". A power dampener.

Scott sat up slowly, wincing. Blood clung to his temple in a dried smear. His fingers brushed against his face—his visor was gone. No weight over his eyes. No strap at the back of his head. Just skin. Unprotected.

Panic lanced through him for a second but when he opened his eyes fully, nothing happened. No optic blast. No eruption of red hot force tearing the room apart.

Just… red.

A suffocating haze, thick and pulsing, like looking through blood filled water. The power dampening collar wasn’t just suppressing his energy, it was bottling it. Clogging it inside his skull, building pressure behind his eyes that made it feel like his head might rupture if he looked too long.

He shut his eyes tight, gasping.

“I can’t see. Visor's gone,” he muttered. “Collar is fucking up my vision too"

Emma moved closer, gently reaching for him, her expression hardening at the sight of his bare face.
“Emma…” he rasped.

Her voice came low, hoarse. “I’m here Scott. I think… we’re in a cell.”

Scott sat up slowly, wincing. His jaw clenched as the memories returned: the facility, the alarm, the trap.

“How long have we been-?”

Before he could finish, a buzz snapped overhead. A metal slot in the wall slid open.

“Not long enough,” came a voice, thick with smugness.

A guard stood just outside the cell, tactical armor, helmet, cattle prod slung on his hip like a casual reminder. Behind him, two more waited with rifles at ease. Their faces were covered, but the posture said it all: relaxed. Confident.

“Get a good look, muties,” the first guard sneered. “You're looking at your protection detail, be grateful.”

Emma stared, calm but lethal beneath it.

“You have no idea what you’re doing and who you're messing with,” she said, her voice like ice.

The guard chuckled, stepping closer to the glass. “I ain't worried about you lady, those collars on your necks ain't here for the fashion. As long as those are on-"

"Yes we know dipshit" Emma cut him off before he could finish "collars to dampen our abilities, is this the first time you've managed to have mutants in a cell you had to guard? This rehearsed speech not as threatening as you hoped?"

"Talk big all you want, soon you're being transferred. Boss wants to see what happens when you turn diamonds into dust.”

She rose slowly, every movement deliberate, graceful despite the circumstances.

“If you think I need powers to hurt you,” she said, voice velvet-wrapped venom, “you’re even dumber than you sound.”

The smile vanished from his face.

He hit a switch on his wrist.

The sound returned in an instant, an earsplitting pulse, tuned to mutant neural frequencies, designed to override thought with raw agony.

Emma collapsed against the wall, clutching her head, teeth bared in a silent scream. Scott shouted, barely able to stay upright as his muscles seized and spasmed.

“Learn some manners bitch,” the guard growled.

He cut the device off after five seconds.

Silence. Only the flickering of the light above, and the steady sound of Emma breathing through clenched teeth.

“I’ll see you both at transfer,” he said, stepping back. “Hope you like needles.”

The slot hissed shut.

Darkness again.

***

Northstar moved like a bullet.

A blur of silver light flashed through the corridor as he ducked around a corner, boots skidding across the polished floor. The last pair of guards barely had time to scream before he dropped them, one with a brutal elbow to the neck, the other slammed face first into a reinforced door panel.

“And stay down,” he muttered to himself, kicking their weapons away.

He was breathing fast, not from exhaustion, but frustration.

Every hallway in this cursed place looked exactly the same: smooth steel walls, low ceiling lighting, no windows, no signage. Every corridor branched into more corridors. He’d looped past the same set of sealed labs twice now, and the keypads required codes he didn’t have.

He was fast enough to cover the entire level in seconds. But when everything looked like a copy of itself, speed meant shit.

He checked his communicator again.

Nothing.

Static.

“Emma? Scott? Anyone?” he called out in a low voice.

No response. The silence grated on him worse than the alarms.

Jean-Paul flexed his fingers, his hands still tingling from the last few hits. He could feel his temper rising, the pounding behind his ears worse with every locked door and dead-end junction.

It was just him, running blind in a concrete maze.

Then—

Clunk.

A door ahead hissed open. Slowly. No sound. No lights flashing red.

Just… unlocked.

Northstar paused. Eyes narrowing.

No guards. No movement. Just a yawning dark hallway beyond the threshold. Nothing about it felt random.

“Okay,” he muttered. “That’s not creepy at all.”

He crept closer, through the hallway, boots silent now.

Another clunk.

A wall panel slid open on his left, revealing a narrow side passage he hadn’t seen before. Dimly lit, low ceiling, ventilation tubes overhead. It looked old. Unused. Not meant for soldiers or scientists.

Someone or something was guiding him.

He glanced back toward the main hallway. No sounds of pursuit. No reason to stay.

“Lead the way, I guess,” he said, stepping into the side passage. “This is how i fucking die.”

The passage shut behind him.

***

Metal echoed underfoot as Scott and Emma were marched down the sterile corridor, wrists bound behind their backs, power dampening collars still clamped tight around their necks. Two guards flanked them, rifles raised and fingers ready. A third walked ahead, swaggering with the overconfidence of someone who thought he’d already won.

Scott kept his eyes closed.

Without his ruby quartz glasses, even the dim hallway lights burned through the red haze that coated his vision. The collar kept his powers in check, but it didn’t stop the pressure, didn’t stop the migraine blooming behind his temples. His eyes throbbed. His brain pulsed like it was swelling inside his skull.

Emma, beside him, held her head high, lips tight. Her telepathy was offline, silenced by the collar, but her poise remained unshaken.

The lead guard turned his head with a grin. “Hope you muties are comfortable because things are about to get a whole lot worse for you. Gonna crack you both open like farm fresh eggs.”

Emma said nothing in response.

Scott gritted his teeth. He couldn’t look up, couldn’t see straight. But he felt Emma tense beside him.

Then came the interruption.

A door halfway down the hall slid open with a hiss, and a man in a white lab coat stepped out, holding a tablet and flashing a security badge.

“Thank you guards,, but that’ll be enough,” he said calmly.

The guards slowed. One turned. “Excuse me?”

The man walked forward with precise, measured steps. His voice was even but firm. “Dr. Elias Kincaid. Level Seven clearance. Transfer orders have been rescinded by the higher ups. I’ll take it from here.”

The guards exchanged confused looks. “That’s not what we—”

Kincaid cut him off, tapping the side of his badge. “Do you really want to argue about this and have to make the call to central command, or can we just speed this along?”

A pause.

Then, reluctantly, the lead guard stepped back. “Fine. They’re your problem now Doc.”

Kincaid nodded. “Thank you.”

Weapons lowered. Boots turned. In seconds, the guards were gone, muttering under their breath as they disappeared around the corner.

Scott lifted his head slightly. The red fog made it hard to make out features, but the figure before him looked… calm. Not cruel. Not triumphant. Just focused.

Emma’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

Kincaid ignored the question. “We don’t have much time. Follow me.”

Scott frowned, stumbling forward with Emma as the doctor guided them down a different corridor, one unmarked, quiet, away from the main routes.

Emma leaned toward Scott. "Any thoughts here Summers?”

“Not many,” he muttered. “We were already being led to our deaths before, might as well let this play out and see what happens.”

What neither of them knew, what even the doctor hadn’t dared to admit aloud thus far, was that he was the reason they were still alive.

Dr. Elias Kincaid led them deeper into the underbelly of the facility, where the walls were no longer polished steel but exposed concrete, utility access tunnels layered with old wiring, barely lit by flickering maintenance lights. Emma and Scott followed closely, boots scuffing the floor, their hands still bound behind their backs.

“If you’d like to survive this,” Kincaid said without turning, “My advice for the both of you would be to do exactly as I say.”

Scott grunted. “Yeah, because we're just supposed to trust you.”

"You're following me aren't you?" The doctor responded

Emma tried again, voice sharper this time “Where are you taking us? Who are you really Doctor Kincaid?”

Kincaid didn’t his break stride. “Your only hope”

He kept glancing down at the tablet in his hand, swiping through security feeds, heat signatures, and blueprints of the facility. There was no mistaking it now, he wasn’t just walking blindly. He was coordinating something.

“Care to share with the rest of the class,” Emma said, piecing it together aloud. “I'm not overly fond of being left in the dark on things.”

Kincaid finally stopped and looked back, eyes tired behind rectangular glasses. “I'm trying to lead your speedster friend over to us before he walks himself into a room that can deal with his abilities like the two of you did.”

Scott blinked through the fog of red behind his eyelids. “And where is he right now?”

“Close.”

“And the million dollar question” Scott asked. “Why are you helping us?”

Kincaid visibly annoyed. “You people lack patience.”

Scott blinked "What do you mean you people?"

They rounded another corner and the hallway opened into a small chamber: dusty, abandoned, once used to house generators. Northstar appeared from the opposite tunnel in a blur of motion, slightly winded, his uniform torn and smeared with soot.

“About damn time,” he muttered. “I feel like i've been running in fucking circles.”

“Because you're bad at taking directions,” Kincaid said, raising the tablet.

Northstar looks confused and turns towards Emma "Who's the new guy?"

Emma stepped forward. “Our rescuer, apparently.”

Northstar gave Kincaid a skeptical once-over. “Okay Mr. Rescuer, what's the plan now?”

“Well Mr. Speedster you will go through there” Kincaid points through a dimly lit hallway. “It's a straight shot to the main entrance, go out and cause a scene, at least cause enough commotion to get the attention of your Alpha Flight team and get them here to shut this place down”

Northstar's confusion only grew "who the fuck are you?"

Kincaid ignored him and kept going "Ms. Frost and Mr. Summers will follow me out of an emergency exit once your diversion has taken hold"

Scott’s jaw tightened. “And why would we do that?”

“Firstly you'll need someone to get those collars off,” Kincaid said. “But more importantly, the true reason you came here was to find out what happened to Rogue didn't you?.”

That question hit Scott like a gut punch

He hesitated to respond. “You know where she is?”

Kincaid looked him square in the eye. “I do, and i know a hell of a lot more”

A beat passed. Scott nodded once, slow and grim.

Northstar cracked his neck. “Fine, guess we're doing this. Time to cause a little chaos. I was your liaison on this little trip so please don't get killed by this random doctor.”

In the next moment, he vanished in a streak of white light and wind, tearing through the hallway ahead. The vibrations rumbled through the floor.

Kincaid turned back to the secret passage to the emergency exit. “Let’s go. Before the entire base figures out what’s happening.”

Emma stepped in first. Then Scott, one hand brushing the side of the collar, the pressure in his skull still throbbing.

***

Outside the emergency exit, a car was waiting exactly where Elias Kincaid had secretly planned for it to be, tucked beside a utility road that led out of the perimeter gate, waiting under a torn camouflage tarp. The engine started without hesitation, the gas tank full. Emma climbed into the passenger seat beside Kincaid, while Scott sat stiffly in the back, the collar around his neck a constant, humming weight.

None of them spoke during the drive. Just the sound of tires crunching gravel and the high, thin whistle of wind outside.

Fifteen minutes later, they ditched the car on the edge of a barren field—nothing around but patchy grass, hills, and scrub. Kincaid led the way on foot, his eyes locked on a specific point in the distance. Emma and Scott followed close behind, every sound twitching Scott’s instincts toward violence, though his powers remained dulled to a red haze behind his eyelids.

When they reached the center of the field, Kincaid knelt, brushed away some dead grass, and popped open a square of artificial turf no wider than a doormat. Beneath it, a steel hatch. He punched in a code on a small keypad hidden under the latch. The mechanism hissed as it unlocked, revealing a narrow stairwell that descended into the earth.

They stepped inside.

The bunker was surprisingly homey, cramped? Most definitely but homey.

There was a compact living area with a futon style bed, a single countertop kitchen with a mini fridge and a hot plate, a small desk cluttered with tools and wires, and a doorway leading to what looked like a bathroom. Dim LED strips along the ceiling cast everything in soft, warm light.

Kincaid headed straight for the workbench, grabbed a tray of instruments, and motioned to Scott. “Sit.”

Scott hesitated, then sank onto the edge of the bed.

Emma paced behind him while Scott spoke. “You plan on telling us who you are now?”

Emma had been racking her brain privately throughout the trip down here and concluded “You’ve got to be the whistleblower,” she continued, eyes narrowing. “The anonymous dna samples sent to me.”

Kincaid didn’t deny it. He just picked up a fine screwdriver and began unscrewing the tiny casing embedded in Scott’s collar. “You were always a smart one Ms. Frost. Or at least that's what I've been told.”

Scott winced slightly as Kincaid worked. “Why? Why risk all this?”

“Because this has all turned into something i didn't want, something i didn't sign myself up for,” Kincaid said without looking up. “Lines were being crossed that shouldn't have been”

He paused, glanced toward the heavy hatch as it sealed shut above them.

“This bunker’s completely off the grid by the way. No network access, no wireless signals, no Bluetooth. Lead-lined walls, analog everything. No one can trace it. Once the hatch seals, it's locked tight with a twelve hour minimum cycle before it can be opened again.”

Emma blinked, stepping forward. “You’re saying we’re stuck in here? For twelve hours?”

Kincaid smirked faintly. “That's correct. You got somewhere better to be?”

A small click echoed in the silence.

Scott exhaled as the collar loosened around his neck and dropped into Kincaid’s hand.

The pain in his head, the distortion of vision, didn’t vanish completely—but it began to ease. For the first time in hours, the world behind his eyelids stopped throbbing.

“Your turn,” Kincaid said, already reaching for Emma’s collar.

Kincaid set Emma’s collar on the table, the final lock clicking free with a muted snap. She let out a slow breath as he dropped both collars into a metal bin beneath the workbench and stood.

“I know you’ve both got a million questions,” he said, brushing his hands off on his pants. “And I’m happy to answer them.”

He crossed to the mini fridge and began pulling out ingredients: a container of cooked rice, a bag of frozen vegetables, and a vacuum sealed pack of chicken breast.

Emma arched an eyebrow as he retrieved a small cutting board and a battered electric skillet from a cupboard.

Scott, still seated on the bed, blinked at him. “You’re cooking?”

Kincaid shot him a glance over his shoulder. “Are you on a hunger strike?”

He turned back to the counter and began slicing the chicken with quick, precise motions, as if dissecting a specimen. The sharp sound of the knife on plastic broke the silence, followed by the soft sizzle of oil as he tossed the meat into the skillet.

Emma and Scott exchanged a glance, wary, uncertain of Kincaid and their situation, but both opted to remain where they were.

Scott cleared his throat. “Alright. Start talking. Who are you, really? And don’t just give me a name.”

Kincaid stirred the chicken, then added the vegetables. He didn’t turn around.

“I am Doctor Elias Kincaid. I have degrees in molecular biology and applied genetics. I’ve led research teams for private defense contractors, pharmaceutical giants, and a few institutions I probably shouldn’t name out loud.”

“And you were hired to study mutants?” Scott asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Correct.”

Emma stepped forward slightly. “The X-gene?”

He nodded, finally glancing back. “Exactly. What triggers it? Why does it express so differently in each host? What causes some mutations to stabilize, while others destabilize entirely? They wanted answers to every possible question, and i was the only one qualified enough to put them on the path to figure it all out.”

His tone was flat. Not proud. Not ashamed. Just factual.

Emma crossed her arms. “What answers have you been able to give them exactly?”

Kincaid looked down at the skillet, now steaming with heat and color. “Breakthroughs were hard to come by otherwise their wouldn't be such a great debate about the mutants. I gave them the science and what followed was less than ideal.”

He spooned the stir-fry into three mismatched bowls and set them on the table without fanfare. No one moved for a second.

“Eat,” he said simply, sitting down across from them. “We’ve got a lot of time together. And quite frankly I don't want to spend the next 12 hours hungry.”

Scott and Emma shared a look again. Unspoken, but aligned. This was absurd...bizarre...fucking weird but regardless he was right. For now, they had no better option.

Wordlessly, they sat at the small table, the mismatched bowls in front of them steaming quietly. For a moment, it felt almost like a twisted kind of family dinner. Two captured mutants and the man who’d helped imprison them or free them depending on who you asked… now sitting down to stir-fry under the dirt of an empty field.

Emma took a bite, slowly, then glanced across the table at Kincaid. “So,” she said, her voice careful, “who are They, exactly?”

Kincaid didn’t look up. “The F.O.H.”

Emma’s brow furrowed. “The what?”

"Friends Of Humanity,” he clarified. “They’re a private organization i suppose, funded by a small network of billionaires, political players, and industrialists with a very particular view of the future.”

Emma scoffed lightly. “Never heard of them.”

“I’m not surprised,” Kincaid said, still stirring the last few bits of rice in his bowl. “On paper, they don’t exist. Buried under shell companies, cut-outs, fake NGOs. You get the picture .”

Scott leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Why would you work for a group that shady?”

Kincaid looked at him, eyes tired. “I didn’t know what they were when I signed on. Seven years ago, I was brought in to lead research on the X-gene. Gene therapy, diagnostics, treatment, maybe even a cure for those who didn't want it"

Emma’s tone sharpened. “And your research... had actual mutants involved?”

“Volunteers,” he said quickly. “Always volunteers. Kids who couldn’t control their abilities. Adults struggling to stay employed. They were paid. Handsomely, in some cases. I needed samples—blood, bone marrow, cerebrospinal fluid, saliva. And in those first years, no one was harmed. No one was experimented on in the way you're thinking.”

He paused, taking a drink of water as his voice started to waver.

“But progress was slow. Too slow. And eventually, the people funding the whole thing… they got impatient. That’s when things changed.”

He set his glass down carefully, the sound dull against the wood.

“There was another division. One I didn’t know about when i signed on for this. Cybernetics. Robotics. Black-budget DARPA type shit. And then…and then they unveiled it.”

He didn’t need to say more. The weight in his voice, the haunted look in his eyes—it said enough.

Scott’s face tightened. “...The Sentinel.”

Kincaid nodded, slow and hollow. “They were so proud of that thing. Paraded it through the facility like it was the second coming. Said it would usher in a new age of peace and order.”

Emma’s fork clinked softly in her bowl. “For who?”

“For humans,” Kincaid said. “Definitely not for you.”

The room fell silent, Kincaid glanced at them both, his voice quieter now. “That’s when I realized I wasn’t a scientist anymore. I was part of a war.”

The Sentinel. The word echoed in Scott's head like a detonation, and suddenly, he wasn’t in a bunker. He was back to that day, being told of the demise of his friends, his mentor, his fiancee...his people.

Jean.

His chest burned. His fingers trembled. The familiar pressure welled behind his eyes, heat rising, an instinctive urge to release, to fire, to destroy. No beams came, only a red haze, so deep and disorienting behind his closed eyes.

Then he felt her.

“Scott… stop. I’m right here. Breathe.”

Emma’s voice, cool and steady, whispered into his mind like a hand on his shoulder. Her psychic presence was gentle but firm, grounding him, holding him back from the edge.

He inhaled sharply, then let it out slowly.

He looked towards Elias, jaw clenched. “Go on.”

Elias shifted uncomfortably. “The F.O.H organized a gathering. A closed door event inside their main compound. A celebration i guess. Every scientist, engineer, officer, even lab assistants, they were all invited.”

Emma sat up straighter. “What kind of gathering?”

“A rally,” Elias said. “Indoors. Uniforms. Applause. Flags. It felt… fascist.”

He swallowed.

“The man who led the event… his name was Bolivar Trask. He took the stage like a politician, he thanked the engineers, the researchers, the military consultants. Even thanked me, by name and i hadn't even met him at that point. Then he launched into this… tirade. Called mutants a ‘disease.’ Said the Sentinel was the ‘cure.’ Called it the first step in restoring human supremacy.”

Scott stared, speechless.

“The crowd cheered,” Elias went on. “Not all of them, maybe… but enough. I clapped, too. If I hadn’t, I might not be sitting here now.”

Emma’s face had gone cold.

“Then Trask made the announcement,” Elias said. “The Sentinel would be deployed in a 'live combat field test' he called it. They were targeting a group known to them. Prominent. Symbolic. High impact. Whatever would make the necessary noise.”

Scott’s stomach turned.

“They chose Charles Xavier,” Elias said.

Silence.

"Charles unfortunately made it public knowledge that he planned on speaking with Magneto over some kind of peace talks, that you already know I'm sure, but Trask saw that as the perfect opportunity to test out his machine"

Scott’s voice came hoarse, his lips barely moving. “So March 8th”

Elias nodded slowly. "It was planned. The only thing that wasn't planned was the body count. Trask expected only Charles and Magneto there, so i suppose you can say the machine... overperformed”

Scott’s fist hit the table so hard the dishes rattled. “You knew it was coming! Why didn’t you warn us?!”

“I tried Scott,” Elias said, his voice firm but not defensive. “You have to understand. We were being watched constantly. Everything was monitored, our communications, our movements, our visitors, our families. They knew the X-Men were public figures. Trask even made a joke about how many TV appearances Charles Xavier had done. I couldn’t send anything directly. Not without blowing the lid that i wanted out.”

“Then what did you do?” Scott demanded. “Just stand there while my people died?”

“No,” Elias said. “I sent a message. Just not to you.”

Emma leaned in. “What do you mean?”

“I figured,” Elias said. “I figured I'd have a better shot if i tried to contact The Brotherhood.”

Emma blinked.

Scott’s breath caught in his throat. “Magneto… Erik...he...he knew?”

Elias nodded. “I managed to get word to him. A coded message buried in some research papers that i planted for him and his people to find. To the FOH it just looked like a few scribblings from a scientist leaked out.”

Scott sat back, stunned.

Emma’s lips parted, the realization hitting her like a stone. “So he knew… all along...that's why he wasn't there that day...he sent his people to their deaths.”

Kincaid didn’t speak. He didn’t have to.

The silence in the bunker was deeper than before. Heavy. Tense. The weight of a secret long buried—finally unearthed.

"He Knew"

END OF CHAPTER

Chapter Text

March 8th 2005. 11.00pm
Westchester
5 Years Ago

The halls of the Xavier Institute were bathed in morning light, sunlight filtered through wide windows and stained glass, throwing fractured patterns on the polished floors. Scott Summers walked alongside Professor Charles Xavier, boots clicking with steady rhythm, though his thoughts were anything but steady.

“You know that normally i wouldn't question your judgement, but honestly Professor, is this the right decision?” Scott asked, voice low but firm. “We both know the Brotherhood isn’t exactly known for civil discussions.”

Charles gave him a calm, measured look as they passed a line of students on their way to morning classes. “You worry too much for someone your age Scott, we've had many ups and downs but i trust Erik not to do something rash… but even if I’m wrong, it's why I'm already bringing a capable team.”

Scott scoffed softly. “And i should be on that team Professor, I'm the leader of the X-Men. What kind of message is it going to send to have peace talks with our greatest enemies and I'm not present.”

“You being the leader is exactly why i want you here at the mansion, protecting the children should anything go wrong,” Charles replied. “I still maintain he intends no harm, Erik is growing soft in his old age, so am I. We can't keep fighting each other while also fighting for peace with the humans. Something has to give and i know he feels it too, otherwise he wouldn't have accepted my invitation.”

“You have a lot of faith in a man you've been at odds with for decades,” Scott muttered, arms folded across his chest. “Do you honestly think his team however will be as forthcoming?”

“I've thrown the olive branch Scott,” Charles said simply. “Now we just have to see who's willing to take it.”

They turned a corner and found Kitty Pryde already waiting, leaning against a doorway with arms crossed and one eyebrow raised.

“I'm with Scott Professor, if he really planned on being civil,” Kitty said, “he wouldn’t be bringing his Brotherhood goon squad. I don't think guys like Quicksilver have the patience for peace talks.”

Charles gave her a patient smile. “Really appreciating the optimism from some of my star students.”

She snorted. “I wish i was still a student, far less fate of mutantkind responsibilities.”

Scott let out a short breath, half amused. “We can trade places if you want? I'll go, you stay.”

“We will not be trading places,” Charles said, continuing down the hall. “This meeting may change the trajectory of everything. We could take a large step towards everything we worked for today.”

They moved together into the strategy room, one of the Institute’s quieter corners, where confidential meetings often happened. Inside, Jean Grey sat at the long table, red hair spilling over her shoulder, fingers absently drumming against a steaming cup of tea. Colossus stood by the window, arms folded and jaw tight, while Warren Worthington leaned against the wall, silent and watchful.

“For what it's worth I'm siding with the professor,” Jean said without looking up. She’d heard them coming before they entered, probably felt Scott’s nerves humming like a wire ready to snap.

Warren shot a glance toward Charles. “Yeah well that makes one of us. Are we seriously trusting Magneto?”

Charles gave a small nod. “We’re trusting that a man who’s seen and lived through mankind at it's absolute worst, knows when it's time for a different approach.”

Scott exchanged a quick look with Jean. He wanted to believe it, to believe her but something deep in his gut twisted. He wasn’t sure if it was paranoia, instinct or just a sense that today was going to change everything.

***

March 21st 2010. 13.30pm
Montreal

Scott snapped out of the memory with a jolt, his breath ragged and uneven. His heart was pounding in his chest, and for a moment, he felt like he couldn’t breathe. The anger surged within him again, visceral and uncontrollable, like a flood that was finally breaking through its dam.

His voice was hoarse when he spoke, barely controlled. “Erik… god fucking damn it,” he spat the name like it was venom in his mouth. “Why would he... why would he just sit on this information!?! I lost friends! I lost family! I lost... and he just fucking knew it was coming!?! All that talk about mutantkind's future... it's all just bullshit.”

He stood, pacing around the bunker, hands clenched into fists by his sides. “We were fighting each other for what feels like forever, he challenged everything we ever tried to build, everything Charles tried to build and for what? So he can just give up, let us die and he gets to retire on a fucking island like he's some kind of saviour!”

Emma and Elias watched him silently, not interrupting, just giving him space. Emma’s gaze was calm, her expression unreadable, but there was a softness in her eyes. She understood the kind of grief he was feeling, even if she couldn’t share the same raw intensity.

Scott’s chest heaved with each breath, and when he finally stopped pacing, he stood still for a moment. His hands trembled, but he clenched them tighter, willing himself to keep it together. He blinked hard, but the anger still burned behind his eyes, like a fire he couldn’t put out.

Emma waited a beat before speaking to Elias, her voice low. “What happened next?”

Elias’ voice was almost detached, as though the words didn’t hold the weight they should. “I guess it was... like a celebration, of sorts. The F.O.H. saw their creation in play for the first time. Their precious Sentinel. They had been betting on it for so long, and when it exceeded all expectations—when it worked, when it really fucking worked—the whole building was buzzing with excitement. They were elated. It was like a party, but all I could think about was the nightmare that unfolded.”

Scott’s thoughts were already spiraling, but as Elias spoke, something within the memory clicked, and the world around him blurred. The sounds of Elias' voice became muffled, like he was hearing it from underwater, as the past surged forward again.

***

5 years ago

The shriek of the Blackbird’s engines rang in his ears as the sleek jet landed on a blocked off stretch of road, skidding to a halt in front of what had once been a research building. But now, the structure was barely standing. One corner had collapsed in on itself, black smoke still curling from shattered windows, while debris littered the surrounding ground.

Scott’s breath caught in his throat. “What the hell” he murmured, barely able to believe his eyes.

Logan was already on his feet, storming toward the exit, his sharp eyes scanning the destruction. “We need to figure out if anyone survived.”

Storm was right behind them, face grim but determined. “They have to be alright.”

Scott felt a chill run through him as he stepped out of the Blackbird, his boots hitting the concrete with an almost unnatural sound. His mind was racing

Jean, Warren, Piotr, Kitty, Rogue, Charles—what happened to them? Were they okay? Were they even alive?

A police blockade stopped them dead in their tracks, officers shouting orders as they closed ranks. “Hey i know who you guys are but this is an active crime scene! You need to turn around, now!”

Scott’s heart skipped a beat. He pushed forward, but the officers didn’t budge. “What do you mean crime scene? What the hell happened here? Where are my people!” he growled, his voice low and commanding.

But then, through the gaps in the crowd, he saw it, the thing they would all come to fear, the thing they would soon learn has completely ruined there lives in no time at all. The Sentinel.

Towering over them, its cold, mechanical eyes flicking to life one last time as it was wheeled away on a gurney. It locked eyes with Scott, its gaze unwavering, and for a brief moment, Scott could hear the faint hum of its systems.

Then, as if in some final act of defiance, the Sentinel powered down, its eyes shutting down for good.

It was the last thing Scott would see of it, and it filled him with nothing but a sense of dread.

A wave of realization hit him hard in the chest, a crushing weight as his mind screamed for the others. “Where are they?” he called out, panic rising in his throat. “Where are my friends? Where’s Jean?”

He scanned the crowd, his eyes desperate, but the authorities weren’t answering. And then, with a sickening inevitability, the body bags started to emerge.

Storm dropped to her knees, hands pressed to the ground as the weight of it all hit her. Her breath hitched in her chest, and the first sob broke free from her throat. She trembled, her voice barely above a whisper. “No... no no no”

Logan’s growl was deep and dangerous, but there was no fight left in him. “Who's in those bags! I will rip... Who's in the bags goddamn!” he snarled, but there was no one left to fight.

Scott felt a wrenching pain in his chest, a deep, gutting ache that stole the air from his lungs. He called out for Jean, for Warren, for Piotr, for Kitty, for Rogue, for Charles, but there was no response. No sign of life.

The authorities wouldn’t let them through, but they didn’t need to. The body bags were all the proof they needed. The evidence of their lost friends, their fallen family.

He staggered back, his vision going red as his heart shattered into a thousand pieces. A cry tore from his throat, a wail of pain, grief, and anger as his knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, his face buried in his hands. He didn’t know what hurt more: the loss of his friends, or the loss of his mentor.

Or the loss of Jean. His one true love.

***

Scott’s breath was ragged as the memory pulled away, leaving him once more in the dimly lit bunker. His hands were clenched tightly in his lap, his body shaking with the force of what he had just relived.

Emma was silent beside him, but Elias had already moved to stand by the small workbench, his hands set firmly on the tools he’d used to remove their collars. He wasn’t looking at Scott, but he was quietly offering them space.

Scott’s voice cracked when he spoke again, raw and hoarse. “A lot of good people died that day”

Elias didn’t meet his eyes as he responded. “I know, and I'm sorry, i know it doesn't mean anything... But I'm sorry.”

***

Time passed slowly in the bunker.

The clink of Elias fiddling with scrap metal was the only sound for a long while. The oppressive silence between the three of them wasn’t awkward, it was something heavier, denser. The kind of silence that settled on the chest and refused to leave. Scott sat slumped on one of the makeshift benches, elbows on his knees, head bowed. He hadn’t said anything in minutes. Emma hadn’t pushed.

Eventually, she crossed her legs and leaned forward slightly, studying him.

“Penny for your thoughts?” she asked gently, her voice low, careful not to break him further.

Scott let out a slow exhale through his nose, still not looking up. He looked older than usual, like the grief was aging him minute by minute. When he finally answered, it was barely above a whisper.

“Do you know what the worst part was?” he asked, more to the floor than anyone else. “It wasn’t when I knew they were gone. Not having to explain it all to the students. Not the empty rooms. It was later. After everything. When they asked us to come down... and identify the bodies.”

Emma didn’t respond. She didn’t have to. The memory took him, and she let it

***

The walls were sterile, white, humming under flickering fluorescent lights. The cold in the morgue wasn’t just physical, it cut deeper than that, numbing the soul. Scott stood beside Storm, both of them silent, their faces ashen. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to.

The morgue attendant, a pale, tired-looking man in his sixties, met them with a clipboard in hand and a grave expression. “I need to warn you both,” he said, eyes flicking between them. “It’s... Not for the faint of heart. Some of these are hard to look at.”

Scott gave a shallow nod. “We understand.”

The man led them toward the first drawer and pulled it open with a heavy breath. “Katherine Pryde.”

The sheet was pulled back.

Storm gasped and immediately turned away, one hand clamped over her mouth to stifle the cry. Scott stared, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

Kitty’s torso had been collapsed in, crushed like a tin can, ribs caved and blood dried around the edges. Her face was still. Peaceful in a way that made it worse.

Scott didn’t blink. “It’s her,” he said, voice hollow.

The drawer closed. Another opened.

“Piotr Rasputin,” the man said.

This time, there was no face, just the gleaming metal of Colossus’s armored form, mangled and misshapen. The entire top half of his head was gone, the metal torn and blackened like scorched steel.

Scott swallowed, pain like razors in his throat. “That’s him.”

The morgue worker hesitated before opening the next. “There’s... something you should know,” he said, eyes not quite meeting theirs. “We found... additional blood at the site. DNA confirmed two other individuals were present. But according to the police... the machine...it... It managed to fully vaporize their bodies. There’s... nothing left.”

Ororo’s brow furrowed. “Who?”

The man’s voice cracked. “Rogue and Warren Worthington.”

Ororo let out a choked breath, stepping back as the horror sank in. Scott staggered slightly, like he’d been punched in the chest. He closed his eyes tightly, his voice catching. “Nothing... to bury.”

There was a sick, final quality to the words.

The morgue attendant continued. The sheet was pulled back again.

“Pietro Maximoff.”

Quicksilver’s body was twisted unnaturally, limbs bent wrong, chest cratered in.

Another drawer.

“Doctor Lorna Dane.”

Polaris’s skin had gone pale blue from blood loss. A hole through her side.

“Samuel Guthrie.”

Cannonball’s body had been split nearly in two, his powers clearly not enough to shield him.

And then—

The man paused before opening it. “Mr Summers... this one, he has your last name. Given the situation we assumed...”

The drawer slid open.

Scott’s knees almost buckled.

“Alex Summers.”

His older brother looked nothing like the cocky rebel he remembered. His chest was sunken, blackened by burns. One arm was gone entirely. Scott stared in disbelief, his mouth parted, unable to make a sound.

He hadn’t known Alex was even there.

They’d fought. Fought for years. Opposite sides, opposing ideals. But this... he wasn’t ready for this.

The grief came back in a wave, fresh and crushing. It hit him so hard he had to grip the side of the table just to stay upright. His voice trembled. “He was my brother.”

Storm placed a hand on his back, steadying him.

That’s when he broke.

Tears streamed down his face, falling silently at first, then in wrenching sobs. He pulled away from her touch and staggered out of the room, unable to handle any more, needing to collapse alone.

Storm watched him go, her own tears barely restrained.

The morgue attendant lowered his gaze. “There’s two left. Jean Grey... and Professor Charles Xavier.”

Ororo squared her shoulders, wiped her face, and turned to face them alone.

***

Back in the present day, Scott leaned back against the cold wall, legs outstretched, hands limp between his knees. He didn’t look at either of them when he spoke again.

“I couldn’t do it,” he muttered. “I couldn’t look at Jean. Or Charles, not like that. So I just walked out, forced Ororo to face that alone... I couldn’t take any more.”

Emma listened closely, but didn’t interject.

Scott finally turned his head to glance at her. “I left her to do it. I regret that every damn day.”

He took a breath and sat up straighter, as if bracing himself to relive it all.

“After that… everything about Xavier’s felt wrong. Too many empty rooms. Too many memories. I tried to be strong, for the kids, but I wasn’t. I had nothing left in me, I was just... hollow. Going through the motions.”

He stared at a rust stained bolt in the wall, avoiding both of their eyes.

“So when Erik announced his mutant island, and some of the students started packing up to go, I figured... good. Let them go, we failed them. And for me, it was an excuse. A reason to leave without feeling like a coward. I didn’t want to look at that place anymore. Didn’t want to feel it every time I walked down a hallway.”

Emma’s voice was soft. “No one blames you for walking away, Scott.”

“They should,” he snapped, the words brittle and sharp. “They should.”

His tone cracked.

“Because if he’s right…” he said, motioning vaguely toward Elias, “then Rogue’s alive. And instead of trying to find her for the past five fucking years, I was busy wallowing. She’s just a kid Emma.”

He paused. His voice dropped to a whisper.

“Charles didn’t even want her there that day you know. She must’ve snuck onto the Blackbird. Wanted to prove herself. She always did. She wanted to be an X-Man so fucking bad.”

He wiped his eyes and shook his head.

“And I didn’t protect her.”

Emma moved to sit beside him this time. She didn’t touch him, but her presence was firm and grounding. She turned to Elias.

“Where is she?”

Elias took a breath, gathering the strength to relive it all.

“After March 8th,” he began, “I couldn’t exactly sleep anymore. Couldn’t live with what I helped build. So I started digging. For anything. Dirt, rumors, off the record transfers, whispers about what the Friends of Humanity were really doing.”

He looked at them both, his voice tight with guilt.

“I deliberately slowed my research. Dragged my feet. Acted like I needed more time. And eventually, I made my move. I told them I needed to understand the endgame, what all this was for. I said if they wanted real, meaningful progress, I needed to know why. What I was building towards.”

He gave a bitter smile.

“It worked.”

Scott and Emma leaned forward slightly.

“A few months later, Trask flies me out. Secret site. Didn’t even tell me where, we even changed planes twice. Finally, I’m escorted into this massive underground lab. And that’s where I saw her.”

His eyes lost focus, the memory playing out.

“She was inside some kind of containment tank. She looked—” he swallowed. “—awful. Pale. Weak. Drugged out of her mind i think. But alive.”

He clenched his hands.

“Our eyes met. Just for a second. And...god... it took everything I had not to react. Not to break the illusion that i wanted no part of this.”

Emma’s hand pressed gently to her lips.

Scott was still, barely breathing.

Elias continued.

“Trask said she was special. ‘The key to the next step.’ That was the phrase he used. Said if my work proved successful, she’d take us into the next phase.”

Emma spoke slowly. “What kind of phase? What was he talking about?”

“I don’t know. He never told me. But based on the lab’s layout… based on her isolation, the biometric cables, the neurological webbing—he wasn’t just keeping her alive. He was using her for something. Draining her like a battery before letting herself recharge and doing it all over again.”

Scott whispered, “Where?”

Elias rubbed the back of his neck, his voice growing hoarse. “I kept delaying my output, feeding them half truths, just enough to keep them from getting suspicious. Then a few weeks ago, I figured i might as well take a risk.”

He looked down, ashamed.

“I asked for DNA samples from Rogue. Blood. Bone marrow. Hair. The whole genetic profile. I said I needed them for parallel testing and development.”

Scott’s eyes narrowed, trying to get past the pain of hearing about the latest poking and prodding that Rogue went through. “And they just gave it to you?”

“Eventually,” Elias nodded. “The years of trust i had been developing had paid off i suppose.”

Emma folded her arms. “You realize what you’re saying, right? That you ordered pieces of a teenage girl they’ve been torturing, just to—”

“I know what I did Ms. Frost,” Elias said, his voice cracking under the weight. “And I regret it. I'll regret it for the rest of my life. Forcing her to give what she never consented to… it was sick. But I needed something, anything that could help me figure out where they were keeping her.”

He exhaled shakily.

“They sent the samples over, and with them came a logistics manifest. I was told to forward a few vials to another lab conducting human trials. Volunteers, supposedly.”

Scott scoffed under his breath.

“That’s how I got the location,” Elias continued. “She’s being held on what I thought was an uninhabited island near Malaysia. Completely off-grid, camouflaged from aerial surveillance, no public records. Not even satellites pick up activity.”

Emma’s expression hardened. “So once you had that, you reached out to me.”

“There was no Brotherhood left. No X-Men. I figured the CEO of Frost International would know how to move without setting off every alarm imaginable.”

Scott stared silently, processing.

Emma tilted her head. “But why send her genetic profile and not an actual location?”

Elias looked up, weary. “Because I’m watched. Everything I send is combed through. So I did what I did with Erik, wrapped it up in fake research and hoped someone smart would recognize what i was doing. And you did.”

A long beat of silence fell. The bunker felt colder somehow.

Scott finally broke it. “They’re going to come after you, Elias. You know that, right?”

Elias nodded. “Yes. I’ve made peace with it. I’m turning myself in once this is over.”

Emma blinked, surprised. “You are?”

“I didn’t sign up for this. But I didn’t walk away either, yes they probably would have killed me but at least the research would die with me a lot sooner. I kept working. I let ‘volunteers’ unknowingly help whatever it is they're planning. I let her get poked and prodded, again and again, just to get a clue about her location. I helped build this monster.”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“I’ve done good. I’ve done bad. But I don’t get to be the judge of which weighs more. I did my part. And now I’ll face the consequences.”

Emma sat back in silence.

Scott stared at him with unreadable eyes, jaw clenched. He looked like he was about to say something but instead just nodded once, curt and grim.

The weight of it all settled in the bunker like ash.

***

The metallic groan of the bunker doors echoed in the stillness as they finally opened late at night. A cold breeze rushed in, cutting through the stale air inside. Scott and Emma stepped out first, shoulders heavy, eyes distant. Behind them, Elias followed in silence.

He reached into his coat and pulled out a set of keys, holding them out.

“The car’s parked up the road,” he said quietly. “Take it. It’s better if we split up. You’ve got a lot to do. And I’ve got a lot to answer for.”

Scott stared at the keys, then looked at Elias. Wordlessly, he extended his hand.

Elias took it.

A firm shake. A moment of acknowledgment between two broken men.

No forgiveness. No blame. Just reality.

Scott and Emma got in the car, Scott behind the wheel. The engine turned over with a mechanical grumble, headlights slicing through the darkness as they pulled away from the clearing.

For a while, neither spoke.

Then Emma looked over at him. “If we’re going to get her out of there, realistically we’re going to need backup.”

Scott nodded. “I know.” He paused. “I trust you can handle that... because i need to handle something of my own first.”

Emma didn’t push. She simply turned her eyes to the road ahead.

As the car rolled down the empty highway, Scott’s mind drifted, one final memory taking hold, clawing its way to the surface.

***

March 7th, 2005. 01:12am
Westchester
5 Years Ago

Scott rubbed sleep from his eyes as he stepped into the kitchen, drawn by the faint sound of whispering and a muffled laugh.

Inside, the fridge was open. Remy LeBeau stood in pajama pants, raiding the leftover pie. Rogue sat on the counter, swinging her sock covered feet, grinning at him.

Scott crossed his arms. “You two planning on making it through the night without burning the place down?”

Remy turned, a spoon in his mouth. “Jus’ a midnight snack, mon capitan.”

Rogue snorted. “That’s your third midnight snack today”

“I have a fast metabolism.”

Scott sighed. “Go to your room, LeBeau.”

Remy grinned, mock saluted, and headed out. “Yes, sir.”

As he passed Scott, Rogue threw him a mischievous glance. “You sound like my dad.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “You don’t have a dad.”

She smirked. “Yeah. But if I did, you’d probably come close.”

He chuckled, then leaned on the counter beside her. The warmth between them was easy, familial.

Then her expression shifted, curious. “So, what’s the big deal with this meeting happening tomorrow? X-Men and the Brotherhood in one room? Kinda a big moment, right?”

Scott gave her a look. “You know I can’t tell you anything Rogue.”

She gasped in mock offense. “Oh shit, so you don’t know anything either? Damn, not so fun when it's you being sidelined, huh?”

He shook his head, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You know most girls your age are worried about prom, or crushes, or—”

“Yeah?” she cut in, tone sharpened. “Most girls my age could touch someone without killing them.”

Scott’s smile vanished.

She looked down, fingers tightening over the edge of the counter. “Typical teenage girl shit wasn’t meant for me.”

He let the silence sit for a moment before speaking.

“You have so much potential, Rogue. You’re strong. Smarter than you let on. Brave, probably too brave. But rushing into this… trying to be an X-Man before you’re ready…” He shook his head. “It’s not going to help anyone. I’ve told you before, but you have to be patient. Let us help you grow into this. I promise… it’ll be worth it in the end.”

She chewed her bottom lip, letting his words really sink in. Then she looked at him with a small smile. “Thanks... Dad.”

Scott raised a brow, but the smile he returned was genuine before slightly shoving her

***

Back in the car, Scott blinked hard, memory fading into the dark road ahead.

His grip tightened on the wheel, voice low and steady.

He only had one location in mind

Genosha.

END OF CHAPTER

Chapter Text

March 23rd 2010. 13.00pm
Westchester

A warzone raged around them, crumbling towers, fractured pavement, and the eerie glow of simulated fires flaring up into a sky roiling with artificial storm clouds. Thunder cracked overhead as Storm hovered midair, cloaked in swirling winds. Her arms were raised in quiet command, her eyes glowing with elemental fury. Every movement was effortless, regal, she was truly the storm incarnate.

On the ground below, Gambit moved like a phantom between debris piles and smoking husks of broken cars. He slid into cover behind the remains of a concrete wall. With a cocky grin, he charged a length of steel pipe with kinetic energy and hurled it at her like a spear.

Storm spun effortlessly to the side. The projectile missed her by inches, detonating midair with a sharp, purple flash behind her. She didn’t flinch.

“I guess we're not holding back today,” she called down.

Gambit emerged from behind cover, wiping sweat from his brow. “You’re rusty chère, I'm just trying to help you get back up to speed”

Her lips quirked into a smile. Then she raised one hand and summoned a fierce gust of wind. Gambit braced himself, sliding back a few inches as the gale slammed into him. He retaliated by snatching a manhole cover from the ground, charging it, and flinging it into a nearby pillar. It exploded on impact, scattering sparks across the chamber.

Neither of them held back. Each maneuver was met with a counter, every trick answered in kind. It was less of a sparring match and more of a dance between two equals, years of experience and trust wrapped in combat rhythm.

Then the world in the danger room froze.

The storm clouds vanished. The fires blinked out. The collapsed buildings and craters shimmered, glitching out of existence as the Danger Room reset to its neutral, sterile metallic state with a soft chime.

A voice called out across the sudden stillness.

“Sorry to interrupt whatever badass post-apocalyptic training session is going on right now…”

Storm and Gambit turned toward the console platform.

Roberto da Costa stood there in a loose hoodie, sipping a protein shake and looking thoroughly impressed by the world ending showdown he’d walked in on.

“But there’s like... a really, really hot six foot blonde chick out front asking for you,” he said, nodding toward Storm. “And I mean like aggressively hot.”

Storm exchanged a look with Gambit. His brow arched.

“‘Aggressively hot huh?’” he said. “You got a type Roberto?.”

Storm lowered herself to the floor, the last crackles of static lightning fading from her fingertips.

“Something tells me Emma Frost isn't going to be interested in a Seventeen year old,” she muttered.

Without waiting for further commentary, she strode across the room toward the exit, brushing past Roberto.

“Set your expectations on attainable women Roberto.”

Roberto thought it over for a moment. “I didn't say i was into her, i was just pointing out that she's an attractive...large...woman and...Wait Emma Frost is the one that can read minds right? Do you think she—”

“Go to your room Roberto,” Storm said without turning.

He turned on his heel and headed back to his room.

Gambit watched Ororo and Roberto leave, exhaling slowly as he ran a hand through his hair.

“The boy is not wrong,” he muttered to himself. “Definitely aggressively hot.”

***

The study was quiet, lit only by the soft, warm glow of a few antique lamps that cast long shadows against the wood-paneled walls. Emma Frost stood near one of the tall bookshelves, idly running a manicured finger along the spines. Her white coat draped elegantly from her shoulders, the hem just grazing the polished floor. She pulled a volume from the shelf—Existentialism—and flipped through it without interest, her face an unreadable mask of faint amusement and maybe even tiredness.

“Still smells like that old man and ideals,” she murmured.

Footsteps echoed softly behind her.

“You’ve come a long way to criticize our reading list Emma,” said Storm as she entered, her arms loosely crossed over her chest, eyes cool and curious as they landed on Emma.

Emma didn’t look up. “A lot of these books look untouched. Are you not teaching these children much anymore?”

Storm arched a brow. “They learn plenty. Though advanced philosophy literature isn’t really their speed these days.”

Emma made a small sound, a soft, almost undetectable chuckle, and slid the book back into its place with surgical precision.

“Well i suppose that tracks,” she said, turning to face her former peer. “It has been a very long time since I was last in this room.”

Storm nodded, her gaze sharp and unreadable. “You mean since Charles tried to recruit you.”

Emma smirked faintly, as though recalling a distant and unflattering memory. “Yes, well. I was never one to play well with others.” She began pacing idly, fingertips trailing along a nearby desk. “Although... this isn’t one of those situations I'm afraid.”

Storm stepped further into the room, studying her more carefully now. “So that’s why you’re here. To ask for help.”

Emma met her eyes across the space. Her posture was relaxed, but the fatigue in her expression was impossible to miss. She gave a single, solemn nod.

Storm tilted her head slightly. “Must be pretty bad if you came here for backup.”

Emma hesitated. For a brief moment, the frost in her persona cracked.

“There’s a lot I need to catch you up on. Ororo,” she said quietly.

Storm didn’t move. She only said, “Okay... I'm all ears.”

***

March 23rd 2010. 14.00pm
Madripoor

The dining room inside Sebastian Shaw’s compound was quiet, except for the faint clinking of a fork against ceramic. Illyana sat alone at the long dinner table, idly spearing cherry tomatoes and lettuce leaves from a small salad bowl, her blonde hair falling like a curtain around her face. She chewed with deliberate disinterest, the room lit dimly by a chandelier above that cast fractured shadows across the hardwood.

Logan entered without ceremony, boots heavy on the floor. He stood in the doorway for a moment, arms crossed, studying her.

Illyana didn’t look up.

“Can you not stare?” she said flatly. “You’re stressing out my salad Wolverine.”

Logan didn’t smile. He took a few slow steps forward. “Are we not gonna talk about what happened?”

She finally glanced up at him, one brow lifted. “Talk about what? How you’re ruining my salad right now?”

Logan narrowed his eyes but didn’t take the bait. He pulled out a chair across from her and sat down heavily, resting his forearms on the table.

“You turned into a fucking demon kid,” he said, voice low but firm. “And I’d like to know more about that.”

Illyana’s grip on her fork tightened. “Why?” she shot back, more harshly than she intended. “You going into psychology Wolverine?”

Logan didn’t respond right away. He just looked at her...really looked at her, and something in his eyes made her pause. It wasn’t judgment, or fear. It wasn’t curiosity, either.

It was concern. Quiet, heavy, almost paternal concern.

Illyana let out a breath, closed her eyes, and leaned back in her chair.

“It’s called the Darkchylde,” she said after a long pause. “It’s not some trick or power up. It’s... a part of me. Because I spent ten years in a place called Limbo and it gave me that...part of myself as a gift. Limbo is a hell dimension full of monsters, warlocks, and shit that makes the demons you've probably faced look like cuddly pets.” She opened her eyes again. “Time moves very strangely in limbo, i thought i was only there for a few months. Ten years instead...go figure. There you go Wolverine, that's my origin story.”

Logan’s voice softened. “I’m sorry that happened to you. I didn’t know.”

“I’m not surprised,” Illyana said, going back to her salad like the confession hadn’t just fractured something open inside her.

Logan hesitated again, then tried gently, “You know, your brother—”

She dropped her fork with a sharp clatter and glared at him. “Don’t. Don’t try the sympathy card bullshit by name dropping my dead brother.”

Logan kept his voice even. “I was his friend Illyana. I knew him pretty well.”

Illyana let out a bitter laugh. “You knew him? What does that even mean? You knew him. Did you even know I existed before a few weeks ago?” She shook her head. “With all the X-Men’s big brains and resources, did Piotr ever try to find me? Look into the sister he left behind in Russia? No. He didn’t. Because you didn’t know Piotr Rasputin. You knew Colossus. The big fancy superhero” Her voice broke slightly but she swallowed it back. “He proved that he'd rather play superhero than play big brother.”

Silence fell again. She picked up her fork, more gently this time.

“In the end, he died for it, but me, i survived,” she said, stabbing another tomato. “So now, will you kindly, let me eat my fucking salad in peace.”

Logan didn’t say another word. He just sat there, quietly watching her, as the past hung heavy between them both.

***

March 23rd 2010. 14.00pm
Westchester

The study was silent now, heavy with the kind of truth that settled into the bones like cold.

Ororo Munroe stood by the tall windows, her back partially turned, arms crossed tightly over her chest. The moonlight spilled in through the glass, catching the silver streaks in her white hair and casting soft shadows on her face. She didn’t look at Emma, not yet. Her eyes were fixed somewhere far beyond the glass, on something unreachable.

“Jesus... fucking Christ,” she finally said, the words low and raw.

Emma remained by the bookcase, motionless except for the slow rise and fall of her chest. There was no satisfaction in the revelation, no sharpness in her usual wit. Just the solemn weight of someone who had delivered a burden too awful to keep to herself any longer.

Ororo turned slowly. Her expression wasn’t one of anger or disbelief, it was honestly something much worse. It was the kind of horror that came with knowing the person they had mourned, had buried in their hearts, had been alive this entire time, and had been suffering.

“Do you know where she is?” Ororo asked, voice hushed but tight.

Emma nodded. “I do. An island off the coast of Malaysia. One of those kinds of places that don’t show up on maps. And if what Elias told us is true, then it's likely she's been there the whole time.”

"And you're sure? 100 percent sure positive-"

"She's there Ororo."

Ororo closed her eyes, a muscle jumping in her jaw. “So she’s been a test subject...for years”

Ororo. said nothing for a long moment. Her fingers flexed, as if curling into invisible fists, then unclenched.

“You said you’re going with Scott.”

Emma nodded again. “We’re leaving soon. But…” She hesitated. “Elias is definitely made, which means they know he talked to us, they’ll be waiting for us to show up. Every gun loaded. Every trick they've got up their sleeve. It’s basically a suicide mission.”

Ororo met her gaze then. Her voice booming with conviction. “I don’t care.”

Emma nodded slightly.

“I am not leaving her there one day longer.” Her voice grew firmer, her words deliberate. “Not after what you just told me. I don’t care what they have waiting. We’ll deal with it or die trying. I'm not leaving her.”

Emma studied her for a beat longer, and then, just for a moment, allowed herself to exhale.

“Remy’s going to want to come too, probably more than anybody” Ororo added.

Emma gave a soft, bitter smile. “Good, I get the feeling it's going to take all of us to get her out of there.”

Storm stepped away from the window, her eyes harder now, focused. “Then you’d better get in contact with Scott, i want us on the way there as soon as possible .”

Emma nodded once and turned toward the door. “He had something he needed to handle first, but he has access to my resources, he'll meet us where we need to go.”

***

March 23rd 2010. 22.00pm
Genosha

The rain fell hard in Genosha that night, slicing through the warm island air like a cleansing knife. Thunder rolled overhead in slow, groaning waves. In the center of a quiet garden built from reclaimed stone and rich, black soil, Erik Lehnsherr stood with a watering can in one hand, gently pouring over a bed of lavender. He moved slowly, deliberately, as if each drop of water could reverse time. His silver hair clung to his scalp, soaked, his clothes plastered to his skin. He didn’t seem to mind.

To see him like this, once the face of revolution, the wrath of mutantkind or the savior of it depending on who you asked, now tending soil like a weary monk, would’ve shocked most people. But Erik didn’t do this for show. The garden was his peace.

The double doors at the far end of the yard exploded inward with a metallic screech, wrenched from their hinges and flung across the courtyard with a clang. Erik didn’t flinch. He looked up.

Scott Summers stood in the doorway, drenched in rain, fists clenched at his sides. His visor glowed faintly through the storm’s veil, but it was the look in his eyes that struck Erik deepest

Rage. Grief. Betrayal.

“You knew...” Scott said, voice brittle as thunder rumbled behind him.

Erik exhaled, long and low. “Yes. I did.”

“WHY?!” Scott roared, stepping forward as lightning slashed the sky behind him.

Erik set the watering can down with care, the rain still drenching his face. “Because I didn’t believe it at first.”

Scott’s breath caught.

“John intercepted the message,” Erik clarified, his tone weary. “He thought it was junk. Someone trying to scare us. A trap, maybe. I read it myself. ‘Don’t attend. Something terrible is going to happen.’ That’s all it said. No source. No proof. I assumed it was sent by someone on your side. A politician maybe. Someone afraid of what unity among us might mean.”

Scott shook his head, rain pouring down his cheeks like tears. “So you chose to do nothing.”

“I chose not to go,” Erik said, standing straighter. “Not out of fear, out of strategy. There were too many unknowns. So i sent my mutants to learn more, i couldn't have imagined that was the fate waiting for them... waiting for me had i gone.”

Scott scoffed, fire building in his chest. “Your precious strategy got my people killed.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Erik snapped, voice finally sharpening. “You think I don’t relive that day every time I close my eyes?”

“You should’ve told us. Erik. You should’ve told Charles, you should have told someone.”

“It wasn’t that simple.”

“YES. IT WAS!”

The rain intensified. The wind howled through the garden.

“You’re so focused on protecting your interests, your fucking agenda,” Scott pressed, stepping forward, his body trembling, “that you let all of us walk straight into that ambush. Because showing your head meant giving up control. So you let us die!”

Erik’s jaw clenched. “Your friends died. So did mine. I lost my son, Pietro, he died that day. My daughter Lorna. My other daughter, Wanda, won’t even speak to me anymore.”

Scott’s rage was boiling now, desperate to escape the walls he’d built. “My brother is dead. Jean is dead. Piotr, Kitty, Warren, Charles. They are all dead because of you."

Erik raised his voice for the first time, eyes flaring with old pain. “You dare lecture me about loss?! A survivor from birth. I was born into slaughter. Raised in the shadow of genocide. We can go in circles forever, Scott, but the truth is this: we were marked for death that day.”

Scott stepped closer, rain dripping from his visor. “And maybe we were. But we could’ve had a chance. If you had just… just once… stopped thinking about people who follow you, who feed your messiah complex. If you had thought for once in your fucking life about the rest of us. We could’ve done something!”

“How?!”

“BECAUSE I WOULD HAVE BEEN THERE. LOGAN WOULD HAVE BEEN THERE. ORORO. EMMA. HANK. MAYBE EVEN WANDA. Maybe we still would’ve died, but at least we'd have had the opportunity to give ourselves a fighting chance”

Erik's breath hitched. For a moment, he looked older than ever, drenched and exhausted, a monument cracked by time. “I did what I thought was right in the moment, regardless of the unfortunate outcome i standby that decision. While you…” He gestured vaguely. “You’ve been wasting away in bars for five years. I built this place. I gave our people hope, real tangible hope.”

Scott’s fists clenched, optic energy humming. “What do you think that makes you huh? Our savior? Our hero?”

“I’ve done more good for mutantkind than you ever could boy.”

That snapped something.

Scott lunged.

“I’m not going to fight you,” Erik warned, backing toward the center of the garden.

“I didn't come here to fight you Erik,” Scott growled.

“I came here to kill you.”

Then the optic blast came.

A roaring beam of red hot force erupted from Scott’s visor, slamming into the far wall of the garden, shattering stone and sending marble dust into the rain. Erik flung a hand forward, metal fragments from the destroyed doors slamming into place as a shield.

Scott fired again, this time at Erik’s feet. Stone shattered, soil exploded upward. Erik leapt back, then threw up his hand and ripped a strip of metal from the garden’s fencing to intercept a third blast. Sparks flew as energy seared against steel.

Scott charged at him, throwing punches now, not blasts. Erik deflected with a metallic plate as a makeshift shield, not striking back. A hook from Scott caught him in the ribs, and Erik staggered.

Scott fired a blast straight at Erik's face, but Erik's reflexes were fast enough to move the metal plate in front of himself to block the beam

“You’re holding back,” Scott spat.

“Because I see no point in this battle,” Erik muttered.

Scott’s voice cracked. “Then you’ll die as you lived, a coward”

Another blast fired, closer now, burning a crater in the center of the garden as Erik moved out the way. Vines and roots burst into flames. Scott moved with purpose now, his rage boiling over into wild, tactical fury. He darted left, then twisted right, trying to flank Erik between shots. The elder mutant floated upward briefly, but not far, refusing to flee.

“You want to kill me, boy?” Erik shouted, his own voice rising now. “Then do it! Let your grief rot you from the inside until the only thing left is the rage!”

Scott screamed and released a sustained blast one of the most powerful he had ever conjured, a storm of concussive force that bent the trees backward and collapsed half the garden wall. Erik hurled a sheet of copper to block it, but even he was driven backward, boots sliding in the wet soil.

At last, Erik dropped to one knee at the altar at the garden’s center. A cracked obelisk bearing names: Pietro, Lorna, Jean, Alex, Samuel, Pietro, Katherine, Piotr, Rogue, Charles. The raindrops couldn’t wash away the carved loss.

Behind him, in a glass case mounted to the wall, Magneto’s helmet gleamed dimly in the lightning.

Scott stepped forward, breathing hard, rain pouring down his face like blood. He stared at the helmet, then at Erik, on his knees, his white hair matted, unmoving.

“That helmet used to strike fear in the hearts of your enemies” Scott whispered "Now it's just a relic of a dead man"

Then he tilted his head back

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

And screamed.

A scream of every failure. Every corpse. Every hour in silence.

A red beam massive, unrestrained, exploded from his visor, straight for Erik’s unprotected face.

BAMF!

A burst of sulfur. A crack of sound.

Scott vanished, reappearing on the cliff’s edge far above the Genoshan shore. His optic blast continued for another half second, lancing into the crashing sea and carving a red wound across the water.

Beside him, Kurt Wagner stood soaked in rain, solemn, his tail curling around his ankle.

“Hallo, mein Freund,"

***

March 23rd 2010. 22.30pm
Montreal

The room was silent, save for the faint hum of overhead fluorescent lights. Elias Kincaid sat alone, hunched at a steel table bolted to the concrete floor. The walls were smooth and gray, without windows or decoration, just an unrelenting stillness pressing in on all sides. He didn’t know how long he’d been in here. Long enough for time to lose meaning. His beard had grown in patchy and coarse. His eyes were rimmed with sleepless red.

No chains. No bruises. Just isolation and the quiet violence of reflection.

The heavy door groaned open.

Elias didn’t flinch. He just raised his head.

Bolivar Trask entered like a man who owned the ground he walked on. The dark trench coat was crisp. The shine of his boots cut through the drab lighting like a scalpel. Under his arm, he carried a manila folder, thick, worn, and ominously casual.

He shut the door behind him with deliberate quiet.

Then he sat across from Elias with a calm that bordered on smug.

“Doctor Elias Kincaid, a pleasure to see you again” Trask said, as if greeting an old friend.

Elias nodded once. “Mr. Trask.”

They stared at each other for a long, dragging moment. Neither blinked. Neither smiled.

“You’ve been busy Doctor,” Trask said finally, leaning back slightly in his chair.

Elias snorted. “What can i say? Had a lot to get off my chest.”

Trask allowed himself a small chuckle. “Well, you’ll be pleased to know, the facility in Montreal was taken over by Alpha Flight and the appropriate authorities.”

Elias tilted his head. “That right.”

“Yes but um” Trask continued, “necessary assets were secured. The work lives on, you understand.”

Elias leaned forward now, resting his forearms on the cold steel of the table.

“I know you didn’t come here to give one of your former grunts a fucking status report Trask,” he said. “I get it. I’m a loose thread. You probably killed all the cops in this station to get this alone time with me or maybe they were already in your back pocket I don't know. So just do us both a favor and just kill me already and let's save the pretense.”

Trask’s smile widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Kill you?” he said softly. “No, Doctor. On the contrary. I wouldn’t dream of it. You’re far too valuable an asset to lose.”

He opened the folder slightly, not enough to reveal anything, and slid it across the table with two fingers.

Trask gestured toward it with a nod.

“You always wanted to know what all of this was for. Why you were building what you were building. Why the tests, the lies. Why the secrecy... Why the girl”

He sat back, hands folded.

“Well… now you know.”

Elias stared at the file. His hand hovered over it, reluctant.

Then, slowly, he opened it.

The contents were visible only to him.

He didn’t make a sound, but something shifted behind his eyes. They widened just a fraction but enough. Enough to see the recognition. The horror.

His lips parted. A tremble formed at the edge of his breath. One hand gripped the edge of the table tightly, the knuckles going white.

Trask watched him with quiet satisfaction, like a man admiring a masterpiece.

“You see it now,” he said.

Elias said nothing. He couldn’t. The words were gone.

He closed the file with a slow, shaking motion. His gaze stayed down. Hollow.

Across from him, Trask leaned in with the calm joy of a puppeteer watching his strings tighten.

The room was silent once more.

END OF CHAPTER

Chapter Text

March 23rd 2010. 22.30pm
Genosha

Night clung to the edges of Genosha like bruises on a body, rain whispering down in cold sheets as lightning traced cracks across the sky. When the world righted itself again after the sudden jolt of teleportation, Scott Summers stumbled forward, boots skidding on the wet stone of a seaside cliff.

He spun around in the dark, one hand already rising to his visor. "What the hell?"

But the red glow behind the lenses flickered and softened as he saw the familiar silhouette standing still and calm against the storm.

"Kurt?" Scott's voice was half snarled, half relieved. His heart still beat with battle rhythms, the adrenaline not yet faded. "What the hell are you doing?"

Kurt Wagner stood with his arms crossed, tail flicking lazily behind him like a cat's. The rain slicked his indigo fur, but he looked entirely at peace, a ghost of a smile playing at his lips.

"I spoke with Ororo today," he said. "She mentioned you might be stopping by the island. You were never one for social visits, so i pieced together why you'd be here"

Scott's shoulders rose and fell with heavy breath, his jaw tightened. But slowly, comprehension dawned in his eyes. He looked at Kurt, studied him calmly.

"You knew?" Scott said, voice low, accusing.

Kurt's smile vanished, replaced by something deeper. "Not at first," he admitted, "but... yes. Erik carried around a burden when we first began forging this place. In time, it became clear why."

Scott looked away, into the rain, his jaw clenched so hard it trembled. "All the people we lost Kurt," he said, voice cracking. "The mourning, the grieving, all of it. It could have been prevented, if he just said something in time."

The rain disguised the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, but his voice raw and breaking, made them obvious enough.

Kurt looked at him with aching sympathy. "We cannot rewrite the past, Scott. No matter how sharp the blade of regret, it carves nothing but scars."

Scott shook his head but Kurt went on. "Erik is not a coward for trying to move forward. For trying to make peace with his decisions. Killing him won't change what happened, it won't bring any of them back, it will only poison this place. Genosha is more than a haven now. It's hope."

Scott staggered back a step, then simply gave up. His knees gave out. He sank onto the stone floor, sitting with his knees pulled to his chest.

Kurt stood beside him, silent for a time.

Together, they looked out over the cliffs.

The sea rolled in slow, dark waves, brushing the rocks like an old friend. Lightning flashed again, briefly illuminating the far edge of the island, jungle, rock, sky, all drenched in the solemn hush of midnight.

"I'm so tired, Kurt," Scott whispered. "I'm just... fucking tired."

Kurt nodded gently, kneeling down beside him. He placed a hand on Scott's shoulder, firm and warm.

"I know, my friend," he said. "But you must be strong a little longer."

He looked him square in the face, his golden eyes steady.

"For her."

Scott closed his eyes, letting the rain wash over him.

Somewhere beyond this island, Rogue was waiting.

And she needed him.

***

March 24th 2010. 12.00pm
Madripoor

The room was dim, lit only by the low orange glow of a fireplace and the flickering holographic display suspended above the conference table. Sebastian Shaw stood at its head, arms folded behind his back, gaze locked on the slowly rotating three-dimensional projection of the latest facility he planned on sending his team to rip to shreds. The name flashed across the bottom in bold red text: Tanah Orang Mati.

One by one, they entered.

Illyana Rasputin appeared first, stepping out of a disk of glowing helllight that reeked faintly of sulfur. She was dressed in combat gear, her hood down and eyes sharp, ready for what was next.

Domino followed, leaning against the wall like she'd been there all along. She tossed a protein bar wrapper into the fire, her expression unreadable.

Psylocke arrived next, silent as a shadow. She didn't sit, only folded her arms and nodded once towards Shaw.

And finally, Logan.

Logan walked in with a half-burnt cigar clenched between his teeth and the distinct scowl of a man who hated waiting. He gave Shaw a look that said this better be worth it and took the last empty seat, slouching low.

Shaw allowed a pause, letting the silence stretch just long enough to assert control before finally speaking.

"This boys and girls, is the big one" he said, gesturing to the image rotating above the table, "The previous two compounds you hit served their purpose and got us here. With the data that Domino collected, i can confirm with about 95 percent certainty, that this is it. This is where they're keeping the second sentinel."

He pressed a button, and the hologram zoomed in. Heat signatures, transport schematics, buried bunkers. A 7ft silhouette being transported on a gurney, slowly came into focus, tall, humanoid, inert.

"Jesus," Domino said dryly. "How'd you even get this image."

"Lets just say i have a lot more contacts than the 4 of you in this room," Shaw said. "The image is old but i doubt they'd risk moving an asset that expensive and important ."

Psylocke's eyes narrowed. "So what exactly are we doing to it once we find it?"

Shaw's lips curled into a grin. " Depends on the condition it's in, odds are if they see us coming, they'll turn it on and we have a big problem on our hands. We try to break it while it's off, it likely has self defense capabilities or a self destruct. The safe option is take it for ourselves and dismantle it carefully."

Logan exhaled smoke through his nose. "You expect me to believe that's all you want to do with it? Dismantle"

"Quite frankly i don't care what you believe," Shaw said flatly. "If you'd rather face that thing 1v1 when you scratch it with your claws be my guest, but don't be surprised when I'm not exactly rushing to save you."

A quiet beat followed, until Domino spoke.

"I vote for dismantling it later"

Shaw turned to her. "Someone with common sense, how exciting"

Logan cracked his knuckles. "You're playing with fire, bub."

Shaw looked at him calmly. "I've lived longer than any of you could fathom. You play with fire to evolve."

Illyana stood, the hellsword strapped to her back catching a glint of firelight. "Enough talking, it's time to go sentinel hunting"

Shaw smiled.

"Wheels up in a few. It's time we claimed their monster."

***

March 24th 2010. 13.00pm
Westchester

The clouds hung low over the Westchester sky, heavy with the promise of rain, and a faint wind rustled through the trees like a whisper warning them not to go.

At the edge of the garden behind the Xavier Institute, the blackbird sat in quiet readiness, its sleek black hull gleaming faintly with condensation. Emma Frost, white cloak billowing in the breeze, was already loading last minute supplies into the storage hold. Remy LeBeau leaned against the open ramp. His red-on-black eyes watched the treeline like something might leap out and try to stop them.

Storm was the last to arrive, dressed in stealth gear, hair braided tight, eyes hard with purpose. But before she could board the jet, a voice called out behind her.

"Wait! Hold up!"

She turned, and there they were, Roberto, standing at the front, with Xuàn, Bobby, Sarah, And James flanking him.

Ororo's face softened.

"Please," Roberto said, walking closer. "You guys aren't much of a team, at least numbers wise. We've trained for this. We've worked hard for this, we can help. We're ready."

Sarah folded her arms, trying to hide the anxiety in her eyes. James said nothing but stepped forward in silent solidarity. Bobby tried a smile but looked worried. Xuan, stoic, met Ororo's gaze without blinking.

Storm looked at them like a mother seeing her children on the edge of adulthood. So brave. So certain. So young.

"Roberto..." she said quietly.

Behind her, Remy caught her eye. A subtle gesture—let me handle it.

She walked up to Roberto, laid a warm hand gently on his cheek. "I'm sorry but not this time."

The words were heavy. Final.

She turned, stepping aboard the Blackbird, where Emma waited silently.

Remy lingered.

He approached Roberto slowly, the wind tousling his trench coat. The fire in Roberto's eyes hadn't gone out. It burned hotter now, with pride, and with frustration.

"Hey," Remy said softly. "Ain't nobody knows how ready y'all are more than me. I trained you, remember?"

Roberto didn't answer.

Remy reached into his coat and pulled out a single card. The Ace Of Spades, glowing faintly pink with kinetic charge.

He held it out.

"Your time's comin', mon ami. And when it happens, you'll be ready, i know it."

Roberto looked at the card, then up at Remy.

Remy pressed it into his hand. "Trust."

Then he turned and boarded the jet without another word.

The Blackbird's engines roared to life.

And the young mutants watched on as it disappeared into the breaking clouds, taking their mentors to a mission nobody was sure would end well.

***

March 24th 2010. 13.30pm
Genosha

The Blackbird touched down on Genosha with a mechanical groan, its sleek black body kicking up a cyclone of dust and leaves. Mutants gathered instinctively near the cliffside, drawn by the sound of the aircraft. Children perched on shoulders, teenagers whispered, and among them stood Tandy and Tyrone, side by side, eyes fixed on the jet with quiet curiosity and unease.

The ramp hissed open. Ororo Munroe descended first. Her eyes scanned the gathering crowd, faces new and old, wary and reverent. But her attention stopped on one man waiting at the base of the cliff.

Scott Summers.

He stood still, arms crossed, waiting for her to get closer. There was no hostility between them, no anger but a canyon of time and pain stretched out in the few feet between them. Ororo saw an old friend who looked like a stranger to her. Scott saw the woman who had held the broken world together in his absence.

She narrowed her eyes, taking in his buzzcut for the first time. "I don't like it."

Scott cracked a guilty smile. "I'm beginning to learn nobody does."

There was a pause. Wind stirred between them.

"You look good," he said, quiet and genuine.

She tilted her head, lips twitching. "You look old."

Scott chuckled once, but it died fast. "It's been a long couple of years."

Then, Remy LeBeau stormed out of the jet behind her, trench coat snapping in the wind. He didn't hesitate. He didn't even glance at Ororo. He walked straight up to Scott, chest to chest, the heat between them instantaneous.

"Let me get this straight," Remy snapped, eyes blazing. "After you found out she was alive, your first thought, your first instinct, wasn't to come to us, but instead come here and fight an old man? For what, Scott? So you could feel better about yourself?"

Scott didn't react. He'd expected this. He even welcomed it. Remy had every right.

"She could've been saved Remy, they all could have. They didn't need to die, Rogue didn't need to be captured" Scott said, his voice low but steady. "He knew. Erik knew. We could have helped stop it and instead he said nothing."

Remy's jaw clenched. "That still don't excuse you. You should have been at the mansion but instead you were here, fighting Erik, wasting time. We should be on our way there right now but instead we're here picking you up, wasting time" He stepped closer. "Every single second counts and you decided wasting it was the way to go."

Scott's mouth opened slightly—no retort came. Just guilt, worn and weathered like armor.

"Okay, that's enough!" Ororo stepped between them, her tone slicing the air clean. "In case you boys haven't noticed you're drawing a crowd."

Remy threw his hands up, muttering curses in French as he stalked back toward the jet. Scott lingered for a moment, then followed, quieter, slower. A good soldier falling in line.

Ororo turned toward the assembled onlookers and spotted him immediately.

Kurt Wagner, tall and still as a statue, his yellow eyes serene in the sea of faces. She walked over to him, her expression softening.

"Thanks for babysitting," she said with a faint smirk.

Kurt gave a small chuckle. "There's still a lot of pain in his heart Ororo," he said gently. "You should keep an eye on him."

"I will," she nodded, glancing back at the jet.

"How's Erik?" she asked.

Kurt raised his brows. "His ego may be bruised, but he'll recover. Don't think he's keen on being reminded he lost that fight."

Ororo smiled faintly, then asked, "You sure you're not coming with us?"

Kurt's gaze shifted out to the sea, where waves crashed against jagged rocks. "We don't know why they took her, Ororo. But we do know they hate us more than anything. If they choose to attack, Genosha will be their first target. My place is here."

She placed a hand gently on his shoulder, nodding.

"Stay safe, my friend," Kurt said, pulling her into a tight embrace.

"You too Kurt," she whispered.

And with one final glance back at the mutant sanctuary, Ororo turned and walked toward the waiting Blackbird, its ramp still open like the mouth of fate.

The mission had begun.

***

March 24th 2010. 14.00pm
Malaysia

The Blackbird hummed quietly as it cut through the clouds over the South China Sea, moonlight glinting off its sleek wings. Inside the cabin, tension lay thick and unspoken between its four passengers.

Emma Frost sat at the controls in the cockpit, her pristine white gloves adjusting levers with the confidence of someone in complete control or at least performing the part flawlessly. In the passenger section behind her, Ororo, Scott, and Remy sat buckled in, each lost in their own thoughts. The silence was heavy, broken only by the soft hum of the engines and the distant static of instruments.

Finally, Remy let out a dramatic sigh, lounging back in his seat. "So tell me, chère," he called toward the cockpit, "where'd a lady like you learn to fly a jet?"

Emma didn't look back. "When you're as rich as me, you pick up a lot of expensive hobbies to keep from dying of boredom."

Remy grinned. "You sure you wanna talk about bein' rich around someone like me?"

Emma glanced over her shoulder, arching one immaculate brow. "The last time I saw you, LeBeau, you were a little pickpocket sneaking around the estate in Westchester that Charles picked up off the street. That ragged Thieves Guild of yours has not and never will try to steal from me. They know better, so should you."

Remy laughed, a low, raspy chuckle. "On verra bien," he muttered in French. We'll see about that.

Scott simply stared out the window while this conversation took place.

Suddenly, a shrill alert blared from the console above. Lights flickered amber.

Ororo was already up, moving with sharp, fluid purpose to the control panel beside Emma. Her eyes scanned the readings, her lips pressing into a grim line.

"We've got a problem," she said.

Scott leaned forward to speak "What kind of problem?"

Storm turned to face them. "Whatever's on that island... it knows we're coming. I'm detecting an automated defense grid. Missile signatures are locking onto us right now. And there's a lot."

Emma's voice was cool as ever, though her hands moved faster across the controls. "So much for a quiet entry."

Scott stepped up behind her, looking over her shoulder. "Can you dodge them?"

Emma gave a one-shouldered shrug, like she was discussing a poker hand rather than incoming death. "Fifty-fifty chance, I'd say."

Ororo stepped up beside her, arching a brow. "Well, you better make it fifty in our favor," she said calmly. "Because I'm the only one here who can fly if this thing goes down."

The first missile launched with a sonic scream, its warhead glowing in the dark like a vengeful star.

Emma's hands flew across the Blackbird's controls, the jet banking hard to the right with a roar that sent Remy sliding halfway out of his seat. The missile streaked past them, missing by inches and spiraling wide before detonating harmlessly in the sky.

"Another incoming," Emma warned, voice tight.

Two more missiles followed, these ones tracking tighter, faster, hungrier.

"Hang on," she muttered.

The Blackbird dropped suddenly, plunging toward the ocean before twisting into a barrel roll. The maneuver threw one of the missiles off-course. The second kept coming, until it collided with the first, both erupting mid-air in a brilliant double bloom of orange and smoke.

Remy whooped from the back. "Fucking hell"

Emma didn't flinch. "Just wait till you see me parallel park."

A low chime pulsed on the panel.

The fourth missile struck the blackbird.

A deafening BOOM rocked the aircraft. Alarms flared. The cabin shook violently as the jet pitched to the left, a blinding white light flaring through the windows. The shields held but only barely.

"I don't know what kind of firepower these bastards are using," Emma said, recalibrating controls with shaking hands, "but we can't take many more hits like that."

Ororo was already unbuckling. Her eyes, now glowing with white hot energy, stared out at the clouds, narrowing with purpose. She saw what needed to be done.

"Enough of this," she said.

She slammed her palm down on a panel. A muted hiss, then a mechanical clang as a compartment above her unsealed.

"Wait Ororo-" Scott started, too late.

The roof cracked open and Storm was launched into the night sky.

The cold wind howled as she ascended, cape billowing behind her like wings of smoke and lightning. Her eyes scanned the heavens, the ocean, and then the trail of death coming straight for them.

Three more missiles were closing in fast.

She stretched her arms wide, summoning the storm to her call. A thunderous growl cracked through the night. Bolts of lightning arced across the sky, then lashed forward, guided by her fury, spearing the first missile into oblivion. The second met a similar fate. The third veered off just in time to crash into the debris of the first, torn apart midair.

Below, the Blackbird leveled out, damaged but flying steady.

Then Storm surged ahead of it.

She became a blur, wind trailing like a comet's tail as she rocketed across the sea toward the island. From above, she spotted the source of the attack: two massive missile silos nestled in the jungle, their launchers still smoking from recent fire.

Storm raised her arms and brought down the sky.

A massive bolt of lightning cracked through the air and struck one of the silos dead on, exploding it into a fireball that lit up the forest canopy.

The second silo began to rotate toward her, targeting her mid-flight.

She didn't give it the chance.

With a burst of speed, she became lightning itself, her body narrowing into a bolt of blinding white light. She screamed downward, pure thunder, pure vengeance, and smashed into the silo headfirst.

BOOM.

Metal twisted. Circuits shattered. Fire blossomed.

And then silence.

Smoke billowed upward as the wreckage crumbled around her. Storm stood tall at the center of it, untouched by the fire, cape fluttering in the wind, white hair glowing under the clearing skies

Behind her, the Blackbird finally descended, wounded but intact, landing gently on the edge of a ruined airstrip.

Inside, Remy leaned forward, watching through the window with a wide grin. "She's still got it."

***

The jungle path ended at a towering concrete gate flanked by rusted watchtowers and dense brush. No gunfire. No movement.

Way too quiet.

Emma squinted. "You'd think they'd be shooting at us by now."

Scott scanned the treeline. "Snipers?"

"None that I can see," Storm murmured.

Remy walked up to the gate, placing a gloved hand on the weathered wall. "Then maybe they're waitin' inside."

He smirked. A faint pink glow pulsed beneath his palm. "Be rude to turn up late no?"

The charge built in seconds, then detonated, blasting the center of the gate into flying chunks of rebar and pulverized concrete. Smoke and dust filled the air as the metal doors tore off their hinges and crashed backward with a thunderous echo.

They stepped into the compound.

Inside was a sea of bodies.

Hundreds of armed guards were waiting, standing in formation across a wide open courtyard of cracked pavement, steel shipping containers, and stacked crates of weapons. Spotlights snapped on, illuminating the intruders like a stage. A ragged sign hung crooked from a guard post to the right:

"FRIENDS OF HUMANITY"

Ororo's lip curled. "Looks like we're in the right place."

Then all hell broke loose.

A scream of commands. Gunfire erupted. The guards surged forward like a wave.

Emma's skin shimmered, and then her body shifted into solid diamond. She launched forward into the fray like a tank, her crystalline fists breaking bones and shattering skulls. With a flash of psychic energy, she hijacked a cluster of soldiers' minds. They turned on each other in a brutal, chaotic burst of friendly fire, one swinging a rifle like a club, another shooting his comrade point blank in the kneecap before being gunned down himself.

Remy danced into the crowd, baton spinning with precision. He ducked a bullet, swept a guard's legs, and brought the staff down on a man's face with a sickening crunch. Cards flared in his fingers, pink energy charging them like live grenades. He flicked three into a crowd near a container, and they detonated, sending bodies flying like broken puppets.

Scott unleashed a concussive blast from his visor, cleaving a line through a wall of soldiers. He adjusted the dial and fired a narrow beam to precisely slice a sniper's perch in half. Another turn of the dial and he cleared a path for Emma, knocking back a truckload of incoming reinforcements like bowling pins.

From above, Storm rose into the sky, eyes glowing like pale moons. Thunder cracked. A gust of wind sent jetpack troopers spiraling into the jungle, crashing into trees with bone shattering speed. A lightning bolt speared a rooftop mounted rocket launcher before it could fire.

She summoned a cyclone at the far end of the courtyard, pulling a dozen guards into the air like ragdolls, then dropped them in a heap of screams and broken bodies.

Below her, Emma hurled a guard into a stack of crates, grabbed another by the collar, and slammed his head into the pavement. Behind her, Scott gritted his teeth and used a wide blast to push back an armored riot squad.

Remy was bleeding from a cut on his temple but still grinning, moving with elegance through the chaos. "Y'all came heavy," he said, flicking another charged card, "but i came for my girl, and i ain't leaving without her."

Storm arced overhead, rain now falling like knives. She spotted a gunship rising from behind a hangar.

"I'll handle it," she whispered, disappearing into the clouds. Moments later a bolt the size of a tree exploded downward, blowing the gunship to flaming wreckage before it even had the chance to do anything.

As the smoke thickened and the guards started to retreat, the compound became a war zone of scattered bodies, wrecked weapons, and the sounds of moaning, panic, and crackling flame.

Emma, still in diamond form, stepped over the fallen, glassy eyes scanning for more.

Scott lowered his hand from his visor. "That's not even close to all of them."

Remy caught his breath and readied another card. "Good," he said. "I got a whole lot more where that came from."

From above, Storm hovered like an avenging goddess, rain swirling in her wake.

Let's move," she said.

They pressed deeper into the facility.

***

The interior of the compound was a dim, oppressive corridor of gunmetal grey. The group advanced cautiously, boots echoing against cold steel. No signs. No markings. No windows.

Emma's heels clicked irritably as she glanced around. "With the billions they've poured into this fascist little playground, you'd think they could spring for windows. Maybe some natural fucking light at least."

Scott didn't look back. "Stay sharp. We don't know what to expect. Keep an eye out for power dampening collars. And that psychic acoustic weapon they used on us in Montreal, if they deploy it again, we might not get back up."

The group fell quiet, senses heightened as they moved deeper into the complex. Pipes hissed above them. Lights flickered. The silence was deafening

Then, without warning, an orange portal shimmered into existence a few feet ahead.

Remy raised a charged card, brows raised. "What the fu—"

Something launched from the portal like a bullet.

Logan.

He moved like an animal with raw instinct and violence. His hand clamped around Storm's throat before she could react, slamming her against the wall, claws extended on his other hand.

Ororo gasped, lightning flickering at her fingertips.

Then recognition hit him like a freight train.

"Storm?" he breathed.

Her feet dropped to the ground. She coughed, catching her breath. "Logan?"

Out of the portal stepped the rest of Shaw's team, Illyana Rasputin, glowing with residual limbo energy, Domino with her rifle already drawn, Psylocke poised and unreadable, and finally, Sebastian Shaw, dressed like he was headed to a board meeting instead of a war zone.

Emma blinked. "Shaw?"

He grinned. "Frost."

Illyana folded her arms, glancing around at all the strangers. "And I'm Illyana. Now that we're all acquainted—what the fuck is happening?"

Shaw's smirk didn't fade. "I was wondering what happened to those delightful missile launchers they have outside. Nice to see you out of retirement, Ororo."

Storm ignored him and turned to Logan. "Why the hell are you with Sebastian Shaw of all people?"

Before Logan could answer, Domino cut in. "Ain't it obvious Thunder chick? We're here for the Sentinel."

Scott narrowed his eyes. "What Sentinel?"

Psylocke's expression sharpened. "The Sentinel. You didn't know?"

Logan finally spoke, stepping forward, voice gravelly. "I've been working with him, not for him. He found out they built a second Sentinel. So I joined his little crew to bring it down. This is where they're keepin' it."

Remy swore under his breath in French. "Merde..."

Emma's voice dropped low. "This just got a lot more fucking complicated."

Shaw raised an eyebrow. "Now that i've shown you mine, you show me yours. Why exactly are you here if not for the Sentinel?"

Ororo stepped forward, her eyes locked on Logan. "Logan... Rogue... She's alive."

The words hit like a bomb.

Logan's body tensed. "What?"

"She wasn't killed five years ago. They took her," Storm said quietly.

His face twisted with something old and raw. "And...and the others? The professor? Jean?"

Scott shook his head. "It's just Rogue."

Illyana blinked. "Okay... who's Rogue?"

Everyone ignored her.

Domino made a face. "Wait. So this facility is holding a Sentinel and the chick who kills people by touching them?"

She looked between them incredulously. "And you four fucking idiots came in here guns blazing?!"

Remy held up his hands. "We didn't know there was a Sentinel here!"

Domino threw her arms up. "Well now you do jackass! And they're probably turning that murder-bot on while we stand here arguing like a bunch of dickheads!"

Suddenly, a loudspeaker clicked on, echoing through the corridor.

A familiar voice came through, cold, composed, and smug:

"Hello... Congratulations are in order for making it this far," said Bolivar Trask. "Truly. It's not often I get to test my defenses this thoroughly. Could honestly use some work i suppose."

The team froze.

"I apologize for not being able to be there in person," Trask continued. "I'm attending to other pressing matters at the moment. But I trust you'll be able to entertain yourselves."

The loudspeaker clicked off.

Several levels down in the compound, a massive reinforced vault hissed open.

Steam rolled out into the room, revealing a dimly lit chamber lined with surgical implements, black cables, and flickering monitors. Inside the chamber stood something monstrous, seven feet tall, sleek and humanoid. A terrifying mix of chrome precision and biomechanical horror.

Its surface gleamed like liquid mercury.

Its face had no mouth, only glowing red eyes.

Its movements were eerily graceful.

The Second Sentinel stepped forward from the shadows, scanning its surroundings, weapons beginning to shift and emerge from beneath its arms.

Built for genocide, ready for combat

And now it was awake.

***

March 24th 2010. 14.30pm
Westchester

Rain taps against the windows of the Xavier Institute. The main living room is dim, the only real light coming from the TV and a couple of scattered lamps.

Sarah and Bobby sit cross-legged on the floor, locked in on an intense fighting game on the TV. Bobby mashes buttons wildly, while Sarah calmly dismantled him in the game

Xuân and Roberto sit on the couch nearby, speaking in low tones. A book is open on Xuân's lap, but she's not reading it. Roberto looks distracted, eyes flicking to the windows every few seconds.

The door creaks open and James stepped in. His expression is grim.

"Talked to Hank," he says, arms folded. "Still no updates from Storm, or anyone else."

Roberto slouches further. "It's been hours and not even like a status report or whatever. They could be in trouble. We should've gone with them."

Xuân gently places a hand on his arm. "Don't spiral. If something was really wrong, they'd find a way to tell us. Everything will be fine."

From the TV, Sarah shouts, "Last time something like this happened, all our teachers died, remember?"

Bobby groans. "Dude. Chill."

"No, seriously!" Sarah tosses her controller down in frustration. "They should have taken us. We're not little kids anymore. We're not useless."

"Nobody said we were useless," James says calmly. "They just didn't want us involved in this."

"There's never going to be an easy mission to lead us into this superhero shit, either we're ready or we're not and clearly they don't think we're ready," Sarah mutters.

The tension simmers as they all fall quiet again. Roberto leans forward and rubs his hands through his hair.

Then something catches his eye.

On the coffee table, the playing card Remy gave him earlier, the ace of spades, it's glowing.

"Guys..." Roberto stands. "You gotta see this."

The others gather around as the card flickers with a faint, pulsing pink light.

Bobby frowns. "Is that... Remy? But he's in Malaysia, right? Is he even powerful enough to do this from that far away?"

Everyone stares.

Xuân's eyes narrow. She leans closer, watching the flicker.

"It's not just glowing," she murmurs. "It's... blinking. In a pattern. I think this is morse code."

Sarah blinks. "Wait what?"

James tilts his head. "You know Morse code?"

Xuân nods slowly. "Enough to recognize it."

They all go quiet.

Roberto's voice is tight. "What's he saying?"

Xuân concentrates, following the blinks, her lips silently counting.

"...It's hard to tell... but... one of the words..." Her eyes widen. "One of the words is—help."

The group falls still.

The card keeps blinking.

END OF CHAPTER

Chapter Text

March 24th 2010. 15.00pm
Westchester

Hank McCoy's office was quiet except for the steady scratch of pen on paper. The room was cluttered with datapads, thick journals, and errant bolts from long forgotten inventions. Overhead, a lamp hummed. Hank sat hunched behind his desk, reading glasses perched on his nose, grading student work with the seriousness of a man grading history itself. He barely looked up when his door was flung open, that was until the urgency in the footsteps caught his attention.

James Proudstar stepped inside, "Hey Hank-"

"James i already told you, i haven't heard anything from-"

“You need to see this. Now”

Hank blinked, lowering his pen. “I assume this is important?”

James didn’t answer and walked out of the room, expecting Hank to follow. He did, out of curiosity more than anything else.

In the mansion’s common room, the air buzzed faintly with energy. The younger mutants—Bobby, Roberto, Xuân, Sarah, and James—were gathered around the coffee table. On it sat the glowing card Remy had given Roberto earlier in the day. The light pulsed softly, like a heartbeat. Now becoming more and more clear it had a pattern to it

“Cards don’t do that,” Bobby muttered.

“No shit Bobby,” Sarah shot back, arms crossed.

Xuân sat closest, her brow furrowed in focus.

“I'm telling you guys,” she said quietly. “It’s Morse code. I just can't pick out all the words”

Beast knelt beside the table, adjusting his glasses. His eyes tracked the blinking light with scientific calm, lips moving as he counted the pattern.

"Fascinating," he said. "I had no idea Remy was capable of something like this"

He studied the card for longer, racking his brain until the message became clear and then he spoke

“Help... Robot... Coming.”

A beat of silence followed.

Roberto broke it. “Robot?”

“Like a Sentinel?” Bobby asked.

Beast didn’t answer. His expression had turned grim.

“I fear you're right Bobby, Remy may be alerting us to the fact that there’s a Sentinel on that island,” he said.

“Shit... And it's just the four of them” Sarah whispered.

“That's why he's calling us for help. If they’re in trouble, we have to go, right now” Roberto said. “But even if we knew where to go, we’d never get there fast enough.”

Beast stood. “Not true. Follow me.”

They descended into the sublevels beneath the mansion, past reinforced doors, the old Cerebro vault, and echoing underground corridors. None of the younger mutants had ever even been this far down. The air was cooler here, older, heavy with the silence of forgotten wars.

Beast led them through one final security gate into a long chamber lit by motion activated lights that clicked on in a wave above them.

It was a hangar, sealed and silent.

Covered in heavy tarp and layers of dust, a second Blackbird sat dormant in the middle of the room like a sleeping beast. Along the far wall were rows of inactive consoles and crates stamped with the faded “X” insignia.

But what drew the younger mutants’ attention wasn’t the jet.

On the right hand side of the chamber, a glass display wall stretched from floor to ceiling, softly backlit.

Inside, mounted in individual cases, were old X-Men uniforms.

Scott Summers’ deep blue and yellow suit, worn and faded, with his signature visor resting atop it. Jean Grey’s red and gold armor. Logan’s black stealth gear with torn slashes across the shoulder. Kitty Pryde’s costume, complete with the dragon emblem stitched into the chest. Each one a frozen memory. A legacy of the past.

Beast peeled back the tarp, and lights flickered to life along the floor

“How many of these things do we even have?” Roberto asked.

Beast didn’t look back. “When you’ve done this long enough, you learn to always have a backup plan. And a backup jet.”

The Blackbird came online with a gentle whir of engines cycling to standby.

“I always make sure she's flight ready, just in case,” Beast said. “We’ll be over the South China Sea in no time. Hopefully they can hold out until we get there.”

The young mutants hesitated. The moment hung heavy.

Sarah was the first to speak. “So like... We’re really doing this huh?”

Bobby added, “Fighting a sentinel is definitely a big jump from Remy's danger room simulations. Not exactly sure we're ready for this.”

Beast turned to them, his expression uncharacteristically serious.

“That's the secret Bobby. The best heroes never think they’re ready. They just act when it counts. No one gave Charles Xavier a manual when he decided to create all of this. No one gave Ororo a script on how to take care of all of you when this all fell apart five years ago. You’re waiting for the moment you’ll feel ready. But i promise you, it’s not coming.”

He stepped onto the Blackbird’s ramp.

“If you stay behind, I won’t judge you. But if you step on this jet with me, you’re not just kids anymore. You’re X-Men.”

Silence. Then Roberto climbed the ramp without a word. Xuân followed closely behind him. Bobby swallowed hard and stepped up. James stepped up next. Sarah hesitated the longest,
then she squared her shoulders and mumbled to herself "fuck it" as she walked up into the jet.

Beast sealed the hatch behind them. The engines roared to life.

Outside, the sky split with thunder as the Blackbird rose into the night, slicing upward through the clouds.

They were coming.

***

March 24th 2010. 15.00pm
Genosha

Shattered stones lay in the dirt where flowering shrubs once bloomed. Pillars cracked down the middle, toppled like a sandcastle. The flowers had been scorched dry, ringed with the black soot of Cyclops’s optic blast. Even the vines that once coiled peacefully up the perimeter wall had burned to nothing.

And yet, Erik Lehnsherr was cleaning it by hand.

Kneeling in the midday sun, sleeves rolled to his elbows, he scooped fallen earth with a rusted shovel. His gloves sat folded beside him. His nails were dirt stained, knuckles scraped. He tugged loose stone fragments out of the grass and stacked them neatly, one by one.

He did not use his powers.

He could have though. With a twitch of his fingers, the entire garden could be restored. Metal reformed. Water pulled from the pipes. But today, he needed to feel the weight of it all. The ache in his back. The heat on his skin. He needed to rebuild something with his hands.

There was something sacred in that. Or maybe penitent.

When the wind rose and scattered soil across the stone path, he didn’t stop it. When a splinter from the shovel’s old handle dug into his palm, he only grunted and kept working.

By late afternoon, he stood and wiped sweat from his brow. The space still looked like a graveyard, but it was less chaotic now. Less angry.

He turned, walking slowly up the gravel path toward the altar.

It stood beneath a cracked archway of ivy and steel. A glass case rested at its center, simple, dusted with age, yet unbroken. Inside it, on a velvet pedestal, sat the helmet.

His helmet.

He reached out, pausing with his fingertips hovering just above the glass. Then he opened it.

A soft hiss escaped as the seal broke. With a care that bordered on reverence, he lifted the helmet into his hands.

It was heavier than he remembered. Cold.

For a long moment, he just held it. The world seemed to dim.

Old memories surged through him like whispers, explosions in the night, the sound of collapsing bridges, the scream of warheads twisting in mid-air, Xavier’s voice in his head, Charles begging him to stop, to see reason. Then others: Jean attacking him. Pietro running ahead of the wind. Wanda trembling. Scott, eyes burning red. Children. Soldiers. Martyrs. Everything.

His fingers gripped the edges of the helm.

There had been a time when this helmet was more than armor. It was absolution. A mask not just to block Xavier’s mind, but to become something else, something greater. Something necessary.

He stared at his reflection in the polished metal. Not Erik. Not anymore.

Magneto.

It called to him.

For one heartbeat, he almost put it on.

But then he closed his eyes. Took a slow breath. And let the moment pass.

With a steadiness that betrayed the war within him, he placed the helmet back on the velvet. Closed the glass.

Turned away.

Behind him, in the silence, the helmet gleamed in the fading light, still waiting.

***

March 24th 2010. 15.00pm
Malaysia

The tinny echo of Trask’s voice finally died out, replaced by the low hum of machinery deep beneath the compound.

“'Entertain yourselves?” Illyana said, brow furrowing as she twirled her Soulsword restlessly in her palm. “What the hell does that mean?”

Emma didn’t look up. Her eyes were distant, her mind scanning the periphery. “It means,” she said slowly, coldly, “he just turned the Sentinel on.”

A beat of silence hit like a thunderclap.

In the corner of the room, Remy’s eyes flickered.

Tiny pulses of energy shimmered through his irises, glowing faintly, in rhythm. Blink. Blink. Blink.

Same pattern as the card he'd given Roberto. Morse code.

Domino clocked it and took a step back, already prepping her exit. “Then we need to go. Now.”

Remy blinked rapidly, snapping out of the trance. He shook his head, as if surfacing from deep underwater.

“No,” he said, voice rough. “We’re not leaving without Rogue.”

Domino spun to face him, exasperated. “Jesus Christ, are you serious?” She pointed toward the corridor. “I don’t give a fuck about this Rogue chick, alright? That’s not why I came here.”

Logan stepped forward. He looked annoyed but focused.

“It’s not why we came,” he said. “But it’s what we’re doing.”

Shaw’s jaw clenched. “Logan—”

“Don’t fucking care,” he growled.

Shaw exhaled through his nose, fists flexing. “We didn’t come here to get sentimental. We came to end a threat. Period.”

“I’ll stay and help,” Psylocke said quietly. “She’s a mutant. She’s one of us. Leaving her behind is wrong.”

Illyana turned toward her, frowning. “Since when do you give a damn?”

“You've seen what they do to mutants in these kinds of facilities, helping is not an option. It's mandatory.”

Scott finally stepped forward, voice steady. “And because it’s the right thing to do.”

Domino barked a laugh and turned on him. “Oh my god! Shut the fuck up! You wanna go help your little lady go right ahead, I'm not going to stop you. But we—” she pointed between herself, Illyana, Shaw, and Psylocke “—we came here to destroy a walking, murderous, seven foot tall washing machine, not save some half dead chick I’ve never met.”

“I understand your frustration at the situation,” Storm said firmly, stepping into the circle of conflict. “But whether any of us like it or not, we are in this together now. So we can neither work together or die bickering.”

Domino rolled her eyes. “Don’t start with the bullshit. Illyana open us a fucking portal. I’m not dying for a stranger.”

All eyes shifted to the blonde sorceress. Illyana looked at Domino, then at Shaw.

He gave her a small nod.

“We’re staying put,” he said. “I don’t care much about the Rogue girl either, but if there’s a Sentinel coming for us, I want every capable body in play.”

Domino stared him down. “Seriously?”

“Ororo is right,” Shaw said. “You want to survive this, we need to work together.”

Illyana shrugged and planted her Soulsword into the ground. “He’s the boss.”

Domino cursed under her breath.

Before another word could be said, the room shook.

The metallic slam of reinforced doors opening echoed through the chamber. A klaxon blared.

The second wave of guards had arrived.

Storm turned toward the corridor as shadows moved into view, dozens of armed guards in mechanized armor, eyes glowing red, weapons raised.

The guards poured in like a black tide, ready for a fight.

Cyclops was the first to fire. A crimson beam carved through the dark, slamming a trio of soldiers off their feet before they could take aim. Emma stood beside him, her skin crystallizing into flawless diamond as she raised a hand to deflect incoming fire.

“Try not to miss,” she said dryly.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Scott replied, eyes flaring with another blast as Emma launched herself forward, shattering a soldier’s helmet with a spinning elbow.

On the other side of the room, Remy pulled two cards from his coat but instead of throwing them, he slammed them into Logan’s fists. The cards glowed neon pink, spreading energy through his claws like plasma.

Wolverine grinned. “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

He charged into the fray, a blur of berserker rage and superheated adamantium. Every swipe lit the air with streaks of molten energy, carving glowing arcs through the soldiers’ armor.

Remy acrobatically flipped over a crowd, simultaneously hurling an explosive charged card back into the crowd from where he came.

Near the rear, Psylocke spun her katana, purple psionic energy crackling down its edge. Illyana opened a glowing portal behind her, and Betsy dove through, slashing a soldier in the gut as she reappeared through another portal behind him.

They moved like a dance: slash, vanish, reappear, strike again. At one point, Psylocke kicked off the wall and vanished into one of Illyana’s portal's mid-air, landing in a crouch behind enemy lines.

“Don't be a showoff” Illyana called. “Nobody likes a showoff.”

“I've hardly broken a sweat yet,” Betsy replied, cleaving a guard’s energy cannon in half.

Storm and Domino fought back-to-back. Lightning crackled from Ororo’s fingers, blasting the floor under a guard's feet and sending him flying. Domino caught him mid-air with a shot through the visor.

“I better get paid double for this fucking job,” Domino muttered, ducking a plasma shot.

“I think money should be the last thing on your mind right now,” Ororo countered, sending a bolt of lightning through a ceiling panel that crashed down on another squad.

Domino smirked. “Then you don't know me very well.”

Elsewhere, Shaw fought alone, his movements economical and brutal. He absorbed a barrage of hits, gunfire, batons, even a shoulder-mounted sonic pulse, all of it soaking into his body like fuel.

When he moved, it was with ferocious speed: a punch that shattered a helmet, a kick that sent a soldier ragdolling into a steel beam, breaking his spine in half.

Not a hair on his head out of place.

He paused, adjusted his cufflinks, and drove an elbow through a guard’s chestplate without even glancing.

“Honestly,” he muttered, “I expected better.”

One guard tried to grab him from behind. Shaw slammed the man down to the floor with a sigh, dusting his shoulder and leaving a small crater on the ground.

The battle raged, each team moving in perfect or chaotic synchronicity. The air smelled of sweat, blood and burning circuitry, the floor littered with shattered armor, sparking weaponry and bodies.

They were winning.

But just as the last soldier dropped, silence fell, thick and sudden.

The lights overhead flickered.

A deep, mechanical rumble shook the ground beneath them.

Then came the sound

THOOM. THOOM. THOOM.

A low mechanical whirr rumbled through the compound floor, just beneath their feet.

Storm turned her head first, narrowing her eyes. “Do you feel that?”

Before anyone could answer, the far wall of the chamber began to split down the middle. The seam glowed faintly with pulsing red light as panels hissed and slid apart, revealing a reinforced blast door… or rather, what remained of it.

With a shriek of metal on metal, something ripped it wide open from the other side.

Out stepped the Sentinel.

Seven feet tall, gleaming with dull gunmetal plating and accented with pulsing red lights that tracked like veins across its limbs. Its head was humanoid but in the way a nightmare might dream of being human, sleek, cold, destructive.

It stepped forward slowly, scanning the room.

“TARGETS ACQUIRED,” the voice intoned, mechanical and final. A red grid swept the room, pausing over each mutant in turn. “MUTANT GENE DETECTED. THREAT LEVEL: ALPHA PROBABLE. PRIMARY DIRECTIVE: EXTERMINATION.”

Everyone froze.

Gambit was the first to act. He launched a volley of glowing cards toward the Sentinel’s chest, each one crackling with kinetic energy, an explosive rainbow in the dim light. They struck with a boom-boom-boom… and fizzled harmlessly against the Sentinel’s armor.

“Shit,” Remy breathed, eyes widening.

The Sentinel responded instantly. A silver hand lashed forward, backhanding Gambit across the room with bone-cracking force. He hit the wall hard and dropped like a sack of bricks.

Logan roared, claws out, and charged.

He leapt onto the machine’s chest, slashing deep across its alloy skin. Sparks flew. The Sentinel staggered back one step but then its arm snapped up and punched Logan in the face with a seismic crack.

Wolverine flew backward, landing hard on his side, not moving.

Emma rushed in next, her body shimmering into diamond. She slammed into the Sentinel with all her mass, pushing it back into the wall.

For a moment, it actually seemed to work until the Sentinel reached out and grabbed her face.

It began to squeeze.

Cracks spiderwebbed through her diamond form.

Emma screamed through gritted teeth, knees buckling.

Then came the saving blow, a crimson optic blast from Scott that struck the Sentinel square in the head, knocking it back just enough to drop her.

“Emma!” Scott shouted, firing again.

Storm lifted both hands, summoning a bolt of searing white lightning from above. It slammed into the Sentinel’s back, causing its body to glow with internal surges of electricity but it didn’t fall. It just turned toward them, smoke rising from its shoulder.

Psylocke attacked next, charging from the side. Her blade struck the Sentinel’s torso in a diagonal slash but it barely reacted. Instead, it reached out, caught her sword mid swing, and before she could react drove it into her own shoulder.

Betsy cried out as blood burst from the wound. The Sentinel threw her aside like garbage. She crashed into a crate, slumping behind it.

Domino opened fire, emptying clip after clip into its torso.

“Come on, come the fuck on!” she shouted, desperately aiming for joints, eyes, any potential weak point.

It advanced without flinching.

The Sentinel raised a fist, hydraulics whining. It was going to crush her.

Domino raised her arms but just as the fist swung down, she tripped over a broken chunk of floor, falling backward.

The fist slammed into the concrete inches from her head.

She blinked.

“Fuck.”

The Sentinel reeled its arm back to finish her.

That’s when Logan reappeared, bloodied and pissed.

He leapt onto the Sentinel’s back, stabbing both claws into its neck and pulling down, trying to cut into its spine.

The machine staggered, arms flailing but Logan held on.

In the chaos, no one noticed Sebastian Shaw slip back several steps, hand in his pocket.

His phone buzzed.

He glanced at the screen. One word.

“Ready.”

Shaw looked up. Illyana stood nearby, her grip tightening on the handle of her Soulsword, eyes wild as she prepared to jump into the fight.

He touched her arm.

Just a nod.

She met his gaze. No words exchanged. No need.

A portal snapped open beside them, swirling and golden.

And just like that they were gone with no warning.

The others didn’t even notice. They were still fighting for their lives.

Logan clung to the Sentinel’s back like a beast, claws sunk deep into its armored plating, carving sparks as he dragged down its spine. The machine reeled, letting out a sharp screech of static as it staggered backward, arms flailing wildly. But Logan was relentless, snarling with feral rage, his eyes locked on nothing but destruction.

Then the Sentinel reached back.

With horrifying precision, it ripped him free from its chassis and hurled him like a missile into Cyclops.

Scott turned just in time to catch Logan’s full weight, ribs crunching under the impact as both men crashed to the floor in a heap.

“AHHH!” Scott grunted, trying to breathe.

Storm flew in from above, riding a streak of lightning, cloak billowing behind her like a storm cloud. Her eyes glowed white as she raised both hands, thunder crackling around her. She screamed with fury—

And the Sentinel swatted her midair like a fly.

Ororo crashed into the far wall with a sickening crack, crumpling in a heap, unmoving.

“Storm!” Emma shouted, charging in again, her diamond form gleaming as she rammed into the Sentinel’s side.

This time, it was ready.

Its massive hand snapped up, catching her by the arm. With a horrifying crunch, it began to squeeze.

Cracks spread like lightning across her crystalline shoulder.

Emma gasped. “No—!”

Then came the sound no one should ever hear.

Snap.

Her diamond arm fractured. The flawless exterior broke open like shattered glass, then her flesh beneath gave way. Bones popped and splintered inside her shoulder joint. The pain was blinding.

Emma SCREAMED. Louder than she ever had before.

“AHHHH” Logan bellowed, blood dripping from his mouth, claws gleaming.

He hurled himself again, this time aiming directly for the Sentinel’s chest.

With a brutal shunk, his claws stabbed into the center of its armor, and for the first time, the metal gave way. Sparks and fluid exploded from the impact.

The Sentinel shrieked in static, releasing Emma from its grip. She crumpled to the ground, clutching her shattered shoulder.

Logan didn’t let up. He drove his claws deeper.

And that’s when it grabbed him.

One metal fist wrapped around his body like a vice and slammed him into the ground.

Once.

Twice.

A third time.

Over and over, the ground cracked beneath them, Logan’s face a blur of blood and bone, his jaw visibly dislocated, one eye already swelling shut.

WHAM.

WHAM.

WHAM.

Even with adamantium bones and healing flesh, something was starting to give.

The Sentinel’s fist lifted high again, its metal fingers dripping blood.

Logan’s body twitched beneath it. Barely.

Another punch and it might start crushing his skull through the bone.

Then… it stopped.

The Sentinel froze, mid-motion. Its head turned slightly.

The red eye glowed brighter.

“NEW TARGET ACQUIRED,” it spoke. “THREAT LEVEL: OMEGA.”

Its gaze wasn’t on anyone in the room.

It was staring at the far wall, beyond it.

Something… someone outside.

Without another word, the Sentinel released Logan’s broken body. He slumped back to the floor, blood pooling beneath his cheek.

The machine turned, ignoring the wounded around it, and began to stomp towards the exit, tearing through wall after wall with its bare hands. Dust and debris exploded in its wake as it ripped its own path forward, vanishing deeper into the compound, in search of its new prey.

And just like that, it was gone.

Leaving behind a ruined team, bloodied, broken and still unsure what fresh nightmare awaited them just ahead.

A long, tense silence followed the Sentinel’s departure, punctuated only by the ragged breathing of the wounded and the distant sound of crumbling walls.

Storm groaned, shifting where she lay. Blood trickled down her temple, but her eyes found the ceiling, drawn by something strange.

A red glow.

It started as a pinpoint, no bigger than a coin. But it burned, searing hotter and hotter. The concrete above them cracked and hissed, the red spot expanding like a brand pressed into flesh.

Then—BOOM—the ceiling caved in.

Chunks of molten rubble slammed to the floor as six figures dropped through the smoke and light. Roberto landed first, his body glowing with solar energy, eyes burning with focused fury. Beside him, James Proudstar hit the ground like a meteor, his massive frame crouched and ready.

Bobby slid in on a freezing path of ice, hands already glowing with frost. Xuân landed awkwardly beside him, seemingly distracted. Sarah stumbled through last, flanked by Beast, grim determination etched across his blue face.

Storm blinked. For a moment, she wasn’t sure if she was hallucinating.

“Hopefully we're not too late,” Hank said simply, helping her to her feet with surprising gentleness.

***

A swirling disk of light opened in the shadows of the lower levels, far beneath the chaos unfolding above. Illyana Rasputin stepped out first, her sword already in hand, the portal's glow dancing along her pale hair. Sebastian Shaw followed, eyes fixed on the device in his hand, a sleek black phone streaming with encrypted code.

Around them, the corridor was tight, sterile, lit by flickering emergency lights. Scientists and technicians cowered beneath desks and consoles as the two mutants passed by. Illyana made a point of slowing down near one, her sharp eyes locking onto his from beneath the curtain of her bangs. The man shrank further beneath his desk. She smirked.

Shaw paid them no mind. He moved with purpose, tapping something into his phone as they turned into a vast chamber.

Before them: containment units. Five in total, each towering like a sarcophagus. They were all full. The fifth especially hummed with a locked down energy.

Shaw approached the panel and keyed in a passcode without hesitation. A metallic clang echoed through the room, and the thick steel doors hissed open. Cold steam poured out.

Inside stood a third Sentinel.

It was massive, almost seven and a half feet tall, sleek and streamlined, its plating dark gunmetal and pulsing faintly with crimson lights.

Shaw’s grin stretched wide. He reached into the inner pocket of his tailored jacket and withdrew a small black chip, no bigger than a coin.

Without hesitation, he climbed a nearby console and slotted the chip into a hidden port at the base of the Sentinel’s neck.

The machine shuddered.

Then… it came alive.

Red eyes flickered open. It stepped from its chamber with hydraulic hisses, towering over them. But it didn’t scan Shaw. Didn’t analyze Illyana.

It didn't care they were mutants.

Shaw adjusted his cuffs as the machine fell into line behind them. Illyana opened another portal.

A beat later, the three of them—Shaw, Illyana, and the newly awakened Sentinel—stepped out onto the roof of the compound.

A helicopter was waiting, rotors already spinning against the wind. The pilot stepped out to greet them, a short, bespectacled man in a bomber jacket.

Bolivar Trask.

“Took you long enough,” Trask muttered.

Shaw brushed dust from his shoulder. “We ran into some unexpected guests. Nothing we can't handle.”

From behind a storage stack, two guards emerged, rifles raised, creeping toward them with cautious steps. Trask noticed. Wordlessly, he pulled a pistol from his jacket, raised it, and:

BANG

One guard dropped with a perfect shot between the eyes. The second guard gasped.

BANG.

He crumpled beside his partner, blood pooling on the tarmac.

Shaw didn’t flinch. Illyana’s sword lowered.

Trask exhaled. “So.”

And then… his body began to change.

His limbs elongated, face narrowing, hair retracting. Skin rippled and shimmered, blue scales overtaking his human disguise. Clothing disappeared as though absorbed into her form. What stood now in Trask’s place was:

Mystique.

She was tall, stunning, and terrifying. Her skin was a textured shade of deep cobalt, like shifting liquid armor. Smooth, subtle scales caught the moonlight across her curvy frame. Fiery red hair swept across her shoulders like a banner. Her gold eyes, cat-like and piercing, glinted with knowing power. She was completely nude, unabashed and unashamed, an image of sensuality and lethality fused into one perfect weapon.

Mystique’s crimson lips curled into a smirk.

“Shall we go?”

END OF CHAPTER

Chapter Text

March 24th 2010. 15.30pm
Malaysia

A red hot glow formed on the ceiling like a sunspot, then burst open with a sharp hiss of superheated steel. Chunks of concrete and metal clattered to the floor as Roberto, Hank, Xuan, Bobby, Sarah, and James dropped into the ruined facility.

What they found was carnage.

Smoke drifted through the busted walls. Emma was slumped against a broken wall, her diamond arm shattered, shoulder grotesquely dislocated and her lips pale from pain. Logan lay motionless, face a pulped mess of blood and bruises. Psylocke sat near the wall, sword still jutting from her shoulder, blood soaking her chest. Cyclops clutched his side, grimacing. Domino was the only one still upright and moving, albeit breathing hard.

“Shit,” Roberto muttered, hurrying to Psylocke's side. “I think i can help but honestly it's gonna hurt really bad.”

She nodded faintly.

He gripped the handle of the blade and yanked it free in one swift motion. She screamed, a sharp guttural thing that echoed off the walls. Without hesitation, Roberto pressed his hand to her shoulder, letting his body flare with solar heat. Her wound sizzled, the bleeding cauterized by his touch. The smell of burning flesh made his stomach turn.

“Hold that tight,” he said, pulling off his jacket and pressing it over the scorched skin.

Across the room, Hank skidded to a stop at Wolverine’s crumpled body. He crouched, fingers at Logan’s throat. There was a beat of tension, then Hank sighed with relief.

“Thank goodness for healing factors,” he muttered. Logan’s chest barely rose and fell.

Sarah helped Ororo up, steadying the wind goddess as she staggered.

“Where did the Sentinel go?” Ororo asked, looking around in disbelief.

“Ask her,” James replied, pointing to Xuan, who hadn’t moved since they arrived.

She stood in the center of the room, hands trembling, gaze locked on the ragged hole the Sentinel had made tearing through the walls. Her entire body was tense, sweat trickling down her temple.

“I… I wasn’t sure it would work,” she whispered, barely audible. “But I made an illusion. On the beach. Something… someone stronger than any one of us. It thinks an omega level mutant’s out there. So far it’s buying it. But I don’t know how long I can hold it.”

Beast looked between the wounded and the open exit. “Then let’s count our blessings and go. Now.”

“No,” Remy said, pushing off the wall. “Not without her. I ain’t leavin’ Rogue behind. I’ll die here before I do that.”

Ororo sighed deeply, scanning the wreckage. Psylocke was out of commission, barely conscious. Emma’s arm was useless. Scott’s posture screamed broken ribs. Logan was breathing but unconscious. There was no way all of them would make it out on foot.

She exhaled deeply and made the call.

“Remy. Take James, Sarah and Bobby. Find Rogue. Now.”

Remy blinked. “You sure?”

“Go,” Storm ordered. “Xuan, drop the illusion. We can’t risk that thing being out there when we move the injured to the jet.”

Xuan looked like she was about to argue but nodded, her focus wavering. Storm turned to the rest of the team.

“Roberto, you’re with me and Xuan. Distraction detail. Hank, help Domino get the wounded to the jet.”

Domino raised an eyebrow. “And why do I have to help you people?”

Storm didn’t miss a beat. “Because if you don’t, I’ll leave you here to die. Sound fair?”

Domino smirked faintly, but said nothing more.

Remy stepped closer to Storm, eyes hard. “I gotta be honest, I'm not liking our odds on this one. You sure about this?”

Storm gave him a firm nod. “I know what I’m doing Remy. Find Rogue. Meet us outside.”

Remy nodded once, then motioned for his trio of students. The group of four slipped into the corridor beyond, deeper into the compound.

Storm turned to Xuan. “Drop the illusion.”

Xuan hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Xuan closed her eyes, took one breath

And dropped the illusion.

The effect was immediate. She crumpled to her knees, gasping, trembling from the effort.

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, as Beast knelt beside her. “Just tired. That’s all.”

Outside, somewhere across the jungle sands, the massive Sentinel suddenly stopped mid step on the beach. It turned its head.

Then it turned its body.

Its scanners swept the air, no longer registering any omega level threat.

With a mechanical hiss, it turned back toward the compound.

And it began to march.

Through the trees. Through the jungle. Through the walls.

Back to finish what it started.

***

The corridors were a maze of flickering lights, cracked tiles, and streaks of blood, some old, some fresh. Remy, Sarah, Bobby and James moved fast, footsteps pounding, hearts louder. Gunfire and chaos echoed faintly behind them, but the deeper they ran, the more it faded into silence.

“This place is built like a fucking maze,” Sarah said, panting as she kept pace beside Remy. “Do we even know where we’re going?”

“No,” Remy answered. “But I might know some people who do.”

They rounded a corner, skidding past a busted sign that once read “Containment Subsector B.” Remy held up a hand, motioning them to stop. From down the hall, raised voices. Panic. Movement.

He pointed and sprinted.

They turned down the passage, passing shattered glass and scattered data pads, until they reached a narrow office. Inside, a group of lab coated scientists frantically packed up papers, jammed hard drives into satchels, and shouted over one another in desperation. Alarms pulsed like a heartbeat. One of them shouted, “Just grab what you can! If we don’t have the neural sync logs, Trask will—”

BANG!

Remy slammed the end of his bo staff against the metal door frame with a crash that silenced the room instantly. The scientists froze.

“Bonjour,” Remy said, voice soft but dangerous. He stepped through the doorway, twirling his staff once as he scanned the frightened men and women. “There’s a girl you’ve been keepin’ hidden in this place for a long, long time now.”

His tone dropped like a blade. “Where is she?”

No one answered. Nervous glances passed between them like sparks in dry grass. One man, pale, wiry, trembling, finally stepped forward.

“Listen... Even if we knew,” the man stammered, “which we don’t by the way! That’s Trask’s… his top asset. He’ll have our heads if she gets out. We don’t—”

Remy moved before the man could finish, closing the distance between them in a single step. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. He pressed the end of his staff gently, too gently, into the man’s chest.

Fwoom.

A crackling purple glow burst to life at the base of the staff. The heat shimmered off it like summer pavement. The tip pulsed, the kinetic energy humming inches from the man’s heart.

“Do you feel that Mon Ami?” Remy asked, voice low and smooth as silk. “That heat?”

The scientist trembled violently. Remy leaned in, lips just beside the man’s ear.

“Listen to me carefully. I will boil you from the inside out. Trask won’t get the chance to send you to hell, 'cause I’ll save him the trouble. Now if you’d like to avoid that, and give yourself a chance of escapin’ this place with your life intact…”

He pulled back, staring into the scientist’s soul.

“Where. Is. My. Girl?”

The man cracked.

“Okay! Sorry!” he gasped. “Okay! I’ll take you—I’ll take you straight to her!”

Remy extinguished the glow with a flick of his wrist and stepped back. He smiled—not kindly.

“Bon homme,” he said in French. Good man.

The scientist nearly collapsed with relief, then turned and started moving down the hallway. Remy, Sarah, Bobby and James followed.

Somewhere deeper in this nightmare of steel and shadows… Rogue was waiting.

And Remy Lebeau was coming for her.

***

The hallway vibrated with each distant, metallic step. Dust drifted down from the ceiling like falling ash. The Sentinel was coming back.

Everyone could feel it.

In the tension, Roberto crossed his arms and looked around at the battered crew beside him. Emma stood with her arm hanging limp, shoulder shattered. Psylocke gritted her teeth, one hand clamped to her bandaged shoulder. Scott leaned against the wall, ribs splintered. Logan was still unconscious behind them.

“Look, no offense,” Roberto said, his voice cutting through the silence. “But you guys clearly got your asses kicked by this thing before we showed up. So… what’s the plan here? Die slower?”

Storm didn’t flinch. “It’s going to tire out.”

Scott blinked. “What are you talking about?”

She turned to him, voice even. “Think about it. The Sentinel that attacked five years ago—eventually, it stopped. It didn’t self-destruct. It didn’t vanish. It shut down. Because it ran out of power.”

A beat passed.

“I'm willing to bet,” she continued, “they haven't fixed that problem yet. If they had, they would’ve sent another one after us years ago.”

Beast tilted his head, calculating. “So… you’re saying we don’t have to defeat it?”

Storm nodded. “No... we just have to outlast it.”

A bitter laugh escaped Domino, who leaned against a chunk of broken wall. “You people are fucking crazy.”

Another metallic boom echoed, closer this time. Xuan’s hands twitched with nervous energy. Roberto looked down the hall, then to Storm, then to the others. “So what? Just… run around until it drops dead?”

“Be smart. Be quick. Be evasive,” Storm said, voice clear and commanding. “And most importantly—no going for killing blows. We aren’t going to win a straight fight. We survive. We outlast”

Xuan swallowed hard, nodding. Roberto sighed, muttering under his breath, “Well… this’ll be a cool way to die at least.”

With that, he launched into the air, heat pulsing from his skin, rocket blasting himself toward the approaching Sentinel. The giant machine rounded the corner, eyes glowing red, scanners flashing. It raised an arm and swung—

—and Roberto dodged, barely, the air cutting like a blade past his face. He twisted midair and zipped behind the behemoth, shouting to draw its attention. The Sentinel turned, recalibrating its aim.

“That’s our cue,” Hank said, pushing up his sleeves. He looked to Scott and Domino. “Let’s get the injured out.”

He lifted Logan like a rag doll, grunting under the dead weight. Scott hobbled to Emma, who hissed in pain as he supported her good side. “Try not to jostle the arm,” she grunted.

“No promises,” he muttered.

Domino turned to Psylocke, her typical sarcasm gone. She extended a hand. “Come on, ninja Barbie.”

Psylocke took it without hesitation.

Outside, Roberto wasn’t faring as well. The Sentinel’s targeting system had recalibrated. In a blur, it snatched him out of the air, its massive hand closing around his throat like a vice. Roberto choked, struggling, energy pulsing uselessly against its armor.

Storm’s eyes crackled with electricity.

“Let him go.”

A bolt of lightning tore through the hallway, striking the Sentinel in its exposed back panels, the same ones Wolverine had carved open earlier. Sparks flew. Circuits screamed.

The machine dropped Roberto, recalibrating again, this time turning its glowing red eyes on Storm.

Beast glanced up toward the hole they’d fallen through, toward the ceiling, then looked at the unconscious and injured crew. “Do you think… I could throw them up there?”

Emma shot him a glare through her pain. “If you fucking throw me, Hank, I swear to god.”

Scott winced and stepped forward. “Don't worry. I got this.”

He turned to face the wall, drawing in a shaky breath. “Everyone get behind me.”

Emma, Domino, Hank, and Psylocke all scrambled back behind him.

Scott took off his visor.

BOOM.

A devastating optic blast erupted from his eyes, tearing into the solid concrete. The walls cracked, shattered, exploded outward, an entire section of the facility blown open, revealing the pale afternoon sky beyond.

Light poured in. Dust swirled.

A way out.

***

The corridors seemed to go on forever.

Remy, Sarah, James, and Bobby followed the trembling scientist through a labyrinth of concrete and steel, descending narrow staircases, ducking under low piping, slipping past checkpoints where cameras had been smashed or turned the other way. The scientist muttered coordinates to himself, flinching at every echo of boots or distant gunfire.

They moved fast.

Down one final staircase, the group emerged into a wide underground chamber, dark and humming with cold fluorescent lights. Thick pillars held up the ceiling like the ribs of some ancient beast, and at the far end of the chamber loomed a blast door sealed with biometric locks.

But between them and the door, dozens upon dozens of guards.

“Guess they knew we were coming,” Bobby muttered, fists already frosting over with forming ice.

The scientist immediately paled. “I didn’t tell anyone, I swear! It’s standard protocol! When the compound is compromised, they always double up the security around prized assets.”

James swore under his breath. “We’re surrounded.”

Sarah flexed her arms, bone spikes sprouting through the flesh of her forearms like thorns. “Yeah i know, there's dozens of them.”

Remy twirled his staff once and smirked. “Then Trask should’ve sent more.”

The guards didn’t wait.

Gunfire erupted, deafening in the enclosed space. The scientist screamed and dropped to the ground, hands over his head.

In a flash, Bobby raised his arms and threw up an ice wall, a thick dome of shimmering blue crystal sealing the four mutants inside. Bullets thudded into the barrier harmlessly, cracking but not breaking through.

“Let's see what you got X-Men,” Remy called out.

Before anyone could answer, he vaulted over the dome, spinning mid-air, staff crackling with kinetic energy. He slammed it to the ground, sending a shockwave through the floor. The force shattered weapons, knocked men off their feet, and sent crates flying but most importantly, it opened a gap in the surrounding circle.

The moment the ice wall lowered, the real fight began.

Bobby Drake moved with a surprising bit of grace. His palms hit the ground and a layer of frost spread outward, freezing several guards in place from the knees down. He summoned twin icicles into his hands, hurling them like spears into gun barrels, jamming the weapons. With a shout, he launched himself into the air on a wave of ice, sliding in a looping arc around the perimeter, using walls and floor alike as his canvas.

He hit the ground hard, fists slamming into the concrete and sending a wave of jagged ice straight through a cluster of guards. They went flying like bowling pins.

Sarah was raw brutality.

Her bone spikes extended into blades and javelins, jutting from her elbows, knuckles, even her back. She hurled one like a spear, impaling a guard’s thigh and sending him howling to the ground. Another charged her, and she met him with a bone armored shoulder, sending him flying backward.

Two guards tried to flank her, one with a baton, the other with a shock prod.

She spun, slicing the baton in half with a sharpened elbow spike and back kicking the second in the gut so hard he vomited through his mask. She stood tall in the middle of the chaos, panting, eyes burning with rage.

James moved with a grace and speed that belied his size, ducking and weaving between shots, closing the distance before the guards could react. A powerful uppercut sent one man airborne; a spinning backhand sent another crashing through a steel locker.

They tried to regroup, but he was already among them, picking them off one by one.

A man fired point blank at the teen's chest and the bullets barely slowed him down. He grabbed the rifle and snapped it in half, headbutting the shooter into unconsciousness.

Another guard raised a grenade launcher, but James was faster. He hurled a metal tray like a discus, striking the man’s arm and causing the launcher to explode at his feet.

Remy was a whirlwind of charm and destruction. As soon as he leapt back into the fray, he reached into the folds of his coat and drew a fistful of playing cards.

Each one flickered with violet energy as he charged them mid-air, flicking them in quick succession toward a cluster of advancing guards.

The cards detonated in a crackling line of explosions, launching bodies into the air and sending rifles clattering across the concrete floor.

Before the smoke cleared, he was already moving, spinning low with his staff, tripping a soldier by the knees and vaulting forward, planting a kinetic charged boot into another’s chest and sending him hurtling into a wall.

A guard lunged with a stun baton, but Remy snatched the weapon mid swing, overcharged it with his power, and shoved it back into the man’s vest, the resulting blast sending him careening across the room in a burst of sparks. Not missing a beat, Remy flipped his staff end over end and jabbed it into the gut of another soldier, igniting it just enough to lift the man off the ground and blast him backward into his comrades.

His smile never faded, even as the chaos swirled around him. He moved like poetry in motion, a thief, a brawler, and a one-man demolition team, carving a path toward Rogue with determination burning behind his red-on-black eyes.

When the tide began to turn, James looked over his shoulder, breathing hard. “Remy! Go! We’ll hold them off!”

Remy didn’t hesitate.

He turned, grabbed the terrified scientist by the collar, and dragged him down the hallway like a misbehaving child.

“Time to earn your paycheck, mon ami,” he muttered, charging his staff again as they disappeared into the shadows.

***

The roar of the Sentinel’s footfalls echoed like artillery through the ruined compound. The glowing red light of its ocular lens pulsed with purpose.

Storm stood in its path, sweat and blood streaking down the side of her temple. Her white eyes sparked, lightning dancing at her fingertips. “Don't let up” she ordered through labored breaths. “We can do this”

Xuàn moved with purpose, weaving between steel columns. “Almost there…” she whispered. Her hands moved in practiced gestures, building something from thought and memory. The illusion shimmered to life before her, a perfect, snarl lipped image of the Wolverine. Claws extended, muscles tensed, dripping with the same bloodlust the real Logan once had. It charged the Sentinel from the side with a berserker roar.

The Sentinel paused. Its red eye flared as it turned and read the illusion as real. “Threat level: Omega. Mutant gene signature: The Wolverine. Status: priority elimination.” It lunged toward the phantom with crushing force.

Xuàn kept the illusion moving, Wolverine slashing and snarling, dodging the machine’s thunderous fists. It was working. Xuàn kept her distance, pushing herself to hold the psychic projection steady. The Sentinel couldn’t risk ignoring Logan.

But it adapted fast.

The Sentinel’s head twisted slightly. It re-analyzed the Wolverine illusion and suddenly fired a scanning pulse straight through the image. The illusion stuttered, shimmered, and blinked out. “Illusory projection detected. Threat level reclassified.”

The Sentinel charged, launching a wide metal arm like a battering ram. Roberto caught it to the chest, rocketing backwards into a pillar that cracked in two. He slumped but coughed, still alive.

Xuan conjured another shifting illusion midair, three clones of herself scattering in opposite directions. The Sentinel paused, momentarily confused, and unleashed a wild sweep of its other arm. It tore through two phantoms and nearly clipped the real Xuàn. Storm soared high above, drawing its attention with a crackling bolt of lightning that hammered against its shoulder joint. The metal hissed and glowed, but held.

The machine spun and fired a sonic pulse from its chest, knocking Storm from the sky. She crashed to the ground, tumbling across the floor. Xuan cried out, instinctively darting toward her, but the Sentinel moved faster. With a mechanical hiss, its hand raised high, ready to crush them both.

Storm pushed Xuan out of the way and took the hit full-force.

The blow drove her into the ground like a meteor. Her body bounced once and didn’t move. Xuan screamed, eyes wide with horror. “Ororo!”

Now alone in the fight, Xuan stumbled backward, forming flickering illusions of jagged walls, roaring beasts, fire—anything to slow the machine. The Sentinel, unfooled, marched through it all with single minded brutality. Roberto stirred, groaning from the rubble but unable to rise. Xuan had seconds.

The Sentinel raised its arm again.

Xuan stood defiant, too drained to run, too terrified to scream. Her last illusion sparked and failed as the machine's hand came down toward her—

—and froze.

The whirring stopped. The red light in its eye flickered once, then dimmed. The Sentinel went still mid-motion, like a paused machine caught in the middle of death.

Xuan blinked, heart racing in her ears. The towering figure loomed over her, frozen in defeat. She dared to breathe and collapsed in exhaustion

They had done it. Somehow, they’d survived.

Storm groaned somewhere behind her. Roberto coughed again. Xuan hands trembling. “Holy shit…”

The war machine was down.

And they had outlasted it.

Meanwhile outside, Scott stumbled forward, one hand clutched tight over his ribs, the other guiding Emma gently by the uninjured arm. Her face was pale, lips pressed into a thin line as she fought through the pain of her shattered shoulder. Every jolt from her own movement sent tremors through her body, but she didn’t cry out. She focused on making it to the jet.

Behind them, Hank carried Logan’s unconscious form draped over his shoulders. The weight of him—adamantium and all—was immense, but Hank didn’t complain. His fur was matted with blood, some Logan’s, some not.

Domino had her arm wrapped around Psylocke’s waist, keeping the purple-haired assassin upright. Blood soaked through the makeshift bandage Roberto had tied over her shoulder. Every few steps, Psylocke hissed in pain, her sword still clutched in her good hand like a lifeline.

They finally reached the jet hangar, Hank moved to the Blackbird and with a quick gesture, unlocked the bay door. The ramp lowered with a mechanical whine, steam hissing from the exhaust vents. One by one, the wounded were loaded in.

Scott helped Emma into a seat, buckling her in gently. He lingered there for a second longer than necessary, eyes searching hers, perhaps trying to apologize without words. Emma, half-lucid, smirked through the pain. “I'm not dying Summers, i don't need the puppy dog eyes.”

Scott chuckled once—short, bitter. “Sorry.”

Domino all but tossed Psylocke into a seat and collapsed beside her. “Okay, we’re done. Close the fucking ramp. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“No,” Hank said, voice firm. He moved to the control panel but didn’t touch it. “We wait.”

Domino whipped around. “For what? The thing’s probably killing them right now. You saw what it did to us!”

“We wait,” Hank repeated, quieter but more resolute. His eyes scanned the dark ruins of the compound ahead. “I'm not interested in leaving anyone behind.”

Silence fell over them all for a moment, broken only by the soft hum of the Blackbird’s idle engines and the sharp exhale of wounded breath.

Scott turned his face toward the ruined structure. He couldn’t see them yet. But he could feel it—somehow—like the thread of something unfinished tugging at the back of his mind.

“We wait,” he echoed.

Domino muttered under her breath and leaned back in her seat, gun still in hand. Psylocke had passed out, her head lolling slightly. Emma stared forward in silence, and Logan groaned softly, still unconscious but fighting to wake up.

Outside the Blackbird, the air hung heavy. And in the ruins of the jungle-covered compound… the mission wasn’t over.

***

The corridor stretched on like a wound in the earth, dark, metallic, humming faintly with artificial life. Remy’s boots echoed against the steel floor, each step heavier than the last. The scientist walked ahead, shoulders hunched in fear, but still dutiful, swiping a keycard at the end of the hall. A small panel lit up, demanding a sequence. His fingers trembled as he typed in the code.

Remy didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

With a hiss and a clunk, the large metal door unsealed. It slid open with slow finality, revealing a sterile room lit by a soft, pale glow. At its center stood a containment tube, large, reinforced, clinical.

Inside it, suspended like a memory frozen in time, was Rogue.

Remy froze. For a moment, the air left his lungs. Five years had passed. The last time he saw her, they were just kids—he barely seventeen, she barely fifteen, still laughing, still arguing, still figuring themselves out and spending every moment together. She looked older now, still young but with an adulthood forced upon her far too soon. Her face was thinner, her body leaner, not malnourished, but worn, like someone who had spent long stretches without proper rest or food. Her white streak remained, tangled in a longer mess of brown hair.

But it was her.

Rogue.

His eyes burned, his throat tightened, but he didn’t cry. He couldn’t afford to. Not yet.

“Let her out,” he said, voice low, hoarse. A command, not a request.

The scientist nodded rapidly, crossing to a control panel. A series of tones chirped as he entered a string of commands. With a hydraulic sigh, the glass of the containment tube split open. A puff of chilled air escaped into the room, curling around Remy like fog. Rogue’s body tilted forward, lifeless.

He moved fast, stripping off his trench coat and wrapping it around her before she could collapse. His fingers ached to touch her skin, but he knew better. Her powers might still be active. Carefully, gently, he lifted her into his arms. She didn’t stir. Her breathing was shallow but steady. Asleep? Unconscious? Something worse? He didn’t know. No time to think about that now.

“C’mon, chère,” he whispered. “I got you.”

Turning back toward the door, he adjusted her weight in his arms. The scientist lingered at the edge of the room, eyes wide.

“W-what now?” he asked. “You gonna kill me?”

Remy paused in the doorway. He turned, meeting the man’s eyes. There was no warmth in his gaze, only fire.

“No,” he said. “But when Trask comes for you, and believe me mon ami he will, i want you to tell him somethin’ for me.”

The scientist nodded mutely.

Remy’s voice dropped to a growl.

“You tell him I’m comin’. And everything he did to her? All the pain, all the experiments… It’s gonna look like a cheap imitation of what I’m gonna do to him.”

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked out, his girl in his arms, his vengeance to be sealed in stone.

***

Inside the Blackbird, silence hung over the cabin like a held breath. The faint hum of the engines, the occasional beep from the cockpit, and the slow, rhythmic breathing of the wounded were the only sounds.

Domino stood near one of the side windows, eyes narrowed as she scanned the horizon. "Holy Shit,” she muttered. “Your friends are somehow still alive.”

Heads turned. Cyclops, Emma—her arm in a makeshift sling—and Hank moved closer to see what she meant. Through the tinted glass, figures emerged from the haze of dust and battle.

Roberto was limping slightly, one arm wrapped around Ororo’s waist, helping to carry her forward. On the other side, Xuan supported Storm’s opposite shoulder, her face pale from exhaustion. Between them, Ororo looked drained and in a haze, her long white hair matted to her face, her body slouched but alive. They were making their way toward the jet, staggering, bruised, barely standing.

Then movement behind them, fast, aggressive.

Dozens of remaining guards swarmed out of the crumbling facility, weapons drawn, screams carrying over the distance. They opened fire, rounds zipping through the air and clanging off the Blackbird’s hull.

“Son of a—” Domino cursed. “We have to go! Now!”

“Not yet!” Beast shouted from the co-pilot’s chair. “Remy hasn’t returned with the others.”

“They’re dead if we wait any longer!” Domino snapped back.

Cyclops stood, his body aching with every movement. He stepped to the hatch, gripping the edge for support. “ She's right. He’ll have to take the second Blackbird.”

Emma raised an eyebrow. “Does Remy  know how to fly?”

Hank spoke up, “More or less. The boy was never keen on the flying lessons but he did them” his hands were already dancing over the controls of this blackbird. “Starting engines.”

Scott pulled on his visor, and a solid beam of red light shot out, carving a line across the battlefield. It hit with explosive force, scattering the advancing guards and sending shockwaves of panic through their lines.

Roberto, Xuan, and Ororo stumbled in, nearly collapsing as they crossed the threshold.

“Close it!” Scott barked.

Beast slapped the control and the hangar door sealed shut with a hiss and a clunk. The jet lurched forward as Hank pulled them skyward, muttering to himself under his breath. “Come on, Remy.”

Elsewhere, the last of the guards fell under a barrage of ice shards and bone spears. Remy charged through the chaos, Rogue still wrapped tightly in his coat, her body limp but safe in his arms.

Bobby and Sarah flanked him, using their powers to clear the way. James took point, clearing debris and knocking out any final stragglers.

As they reached open air, Bobby looked up at the sky. The Blackbird was a dark shape disappearing into the clouds.

“Are they leaving us?” he asked, breathless.

Remy didn’t even blink. “Non. We got two birds, remember?”

Sarah, panting, glanced at him. “Do you even know how to fly it?”

Remy grinned as they ran. “More or less.”

Down by the beach, a final unit of guards stood between them and the remaining Blackbird, hastily assembled and unprepared. Sarah dashed forward, bone blades protruding from her arms like vicious spears. Bobby slid in beside her, a freezing wave erupting beneath his feet, turning the ground to ice and tripping the guards where they stood.

It was over in moments.

Remy raced up the ramp, gently handing Rogue into James’s waiting arms. She hadn’t stirred. “Hold her steady,” Remy muttered, then sprinted to the cockpit.

The hangar door sealed behind them. Fingers flying over the controls, Remy exhaled and muttered a prayer in French. The jet sputtered, then surged to life.

It lifted awkwardly at first, jerking, rising too fast, tilting too far left but Remy steadied it.

They were airborne.

He glanced over his shoulder. Rogue was safe. His students were alive.

They did it.

***

March 24th 2010. 22.00pm
United States of America

Late that night, somewhere in the heart of a U.S. military airbase,

A transport hangar roared with floodlights and low murmurs. The buzz of machinery, the clinking of boots, and the hum of idle conversation filled the cavernous space until a sudden hush fell over the room.

Sebastian Shaw walked into the hangar like he owned the place, flanked by Illyana Rasputin and Mystique, with a seven-foot Sentinel looming behind them like a goddamn monolith. Its mechanical frame gleamed under the harsh lights, parts of its body slick with dark adamantium plating, glinting like sharpened obsidian. With each heavy step, the metal beast sent a low rumble through the concrete.

The soldiers stationed in the hangar parted without a word, staring, whispering, stepping back. No one dared block their path.

In the center of the hangar, surrounded by high ranking officers and staffers in suits, stood Senator Robert Coleman, the same man who had grilled Hank McCoy during the televised hearings on the 5 year anniversary of Day Zero. His suit was slick, his expression smug.

Coleman’s grin stretched wide as he laid eyes on the Sentinel. “Would you look at the size of this sumbitch!” he barked, letting out a hearty laugh. “God damn!”

Shaw came to a stop, calm and poised in his immaculate black suit. “As promised,” he said coolly, “a fully functional Sentinel. Yours to command to your heart's content.”

Coleman strutted forward and offered his hand. Shaw took it, firm and unflinching.

“Christ, Sebastian,” Coleman said. “You really pulled this shit off. And who are your... friends?”

Illyana answered first, her Russian accent crisp and indifferent. “Illyana Rasputin.”

Mystique stepped forward next. Nude in her natural form, scales glistening, her golden eyes burned into Coleman. He gave her a long, slow once-over, a smirk curling his lips inappropriately.

Mystique let it linger—and then morphed.

Her body shimmered and transformed, reshaping itself into Senator Coleman himself, down to the last wrinkle and hair. Same slick suit. Same crooked smile. She stepped up to him, eye to eye now, and whispered seductively in his voice, “Like what you see?”

Coleman blinked, half-horrified, half-aroused. He looked to Shaw with an uncomfortable chuckle. “You keep strange company, Shaw. A Russian bitch and every teenage boy’s wet dream. A god damn shapeshifter”

Shaw ignored the comment entirely, his gaze cutting cold. “The Sentinel is yours. Now pay me.”

Coleman frowned. “Alright alright, how much we talking?”

“Two billion,” Shaw said. “That machine has more adamantium laced through it than Wolverine himself. I doubt there’s more of it in the entire United States. You just bought guaranteed victory in the next war your people start over oil, lithium, or air. Two billion. And I’m being generous.”

The Senator hesitated—then laughed again, nodding slowly. “You drive a hard bargain, Shaw… but when you’re right, you’re right.” He looked over to an aide. “Make sure Mr. Shaw receives his payment in full.”

Shaw smiled at that. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

He turned and began walking away, the Sentinel still standing silent in the background. Illyana followed. Mystique, now back in her true form, fell into step beside them.

As they neared the edge of the hangar, Shaw spoke without turning. “Make sure Domino gets her cut.”

Mystique raised an eyebrow. “You still trust her after you left her behind?”

“I don’t,” Shaw said plainly. “However money has always been her motivator, and her abilities make her useful. I'd like to keep her on the payroll.”

Illyana extended her hand, slicing the air open with her Soul Sword. A portal burst into life, crackling with magic.

The three of them stepped through it and vanished.

END OF CHAPTER

Chapter Text

March 2004, Westchester

The late evening moonlight filtered softly through the blinds of Rogue’s bedroom window, painting striped shadows over her open textbook. She lay stomach down across her neatly made bed, gloved hands gripping the sides of the page, mouthing equations silently. Her lips moved, her brow furrowed.

“Y’know,” came a voice from the corner of the room, “most people take breaks when they study. Keeps the brain from catchin’ on fire.”

Remy LeBeau was slouched in her desk chair like he owned it, long legs kicked up against the dresser, a deck of cards lazily flicking between his fingers. Sixteen, smug, and charming in the worst way possible.

Rogue didn’t look up. “I'll take a break when i’m finished Remy.”

“But then you’ll be all tired and boring,” he drawled. “And I came here to be entertained, not ignored.”

She turned a page sharply. “Then go bother Kitty or something.”

“She kicked me out after i almost set her eyebrows on fire that one time.”

Rogue exhaled through her nose, clearly not amused.

Remy stood, moved closer. He held up the deck of cards. “C’mon. Lemme show you somethin’. Won’t take a minute. I promise.”

She looked up at him, unimpressed. “If this is another one of those ‘pick a card, any card’ things, I swear to god—”

He smiled. “What if it is?”

She rolled her eyes, but sat up, pushing the book aside. “Fine. One trick. Then you’re outta here.”

“Deal.” He shuffled dramatically, the cards flowing like water between his hands. He fanned them out and held them to her. “Pick one.”

She narrowed her eyes at him but plucked a card from the middle. He turned around while she looked at it, a seven of hearts, and tucked it back into the deck when he turned back.

Remy shuffled again. Twice. Then tapped the side of the deck theatrically.

“Your card… was the four of spades.”

Rogue snorted. “Wrong.”

Remy frowned, flipping the four of spades for dramatic effect. “Huh. Weird.”
He shuffled again, feigning confusion. Then paused. “Wait. Maybe it was… this one?”

He pulled a card from behind her ear. Rogue blinked and smirked despite herself.

But when she looked down, the card wasn’t just the seven of hearts, it was glowing faintly purple at the edges. Slowly, as she watched, the card began to smolder along its border, curling in until it burned into the shape of a heart, her number still intact in the center.

Her breath caught. “You're such an idiot,” she whispered, smiling, “you’re gonna burn my room down, no wonder Kitty kicked you out. You do this trick for her too?”

"No chère, it's an exclusive. For your eyes only."

Remy gave a mock bow and gently placed the heart shaped card in her gloved palm.

They both froze.

She looked up. He looked down.

The room went quiet, the kind of silence that teeters on the edge of something fragile. His hand was still brushing hers. Their eyes locked. His grin faded into something softer.

Remy leaned in, slowly, giving her every chance to move.

And just as his lips were a breath away from hers, she turned her head.

“I—I should get back to studying,” she said softly.

He pulled away without protest, his hand lingering for a moment before falling to his side.

“Yeah,” he said, voice hushed. “Sure.”

She didn’t look up again.

And he didn’t leave.

But the memory began to fade.

***

September 2000, Mississippi

The small boutique smelled like lavender perfume and fabric starch. Soft country music played from a dusty speaker in the corner. Racks of frilly dresses lined the walls, all pinks and purples and uncomfortable tulle.

Anna-Marie stood in front of the mirror, one boot tapping against the floor. Her hands were fidgeting with the hem of a hot pink satin dress, her expression sour.

“I look like a fucking cupcake,” she grumbled.

Behind her, Aunt Carrie chuckled, tugging at the back zipper with practiced fingers. “Watch your mouth darlin’, it is a pageant. You’re supposed to look sweet.”

Anna-Marie turned on her heels. “Ah wanted to wear the blue one. The one with the short sleeves and the boots.”

Carrie folded her arms and gave her niece a teasing glare. “Oh I know what you wanted. You wanted to look like a rebel cowgirl again.” She shook her head, smiling fondly. “Your mama always said you were too wild for tiaras and makeup. What's it she likes calling you? ‘little miss Rogue.’”

Anna-Marie lit up. "Well that means mama is pretty smart”

“Is that right.” Carrie pulled a loose strand of hair behind the girl’s ear. “You are all heart and no brakes Miss Rogue.”

The nickname made her feel special, like it was some secret badge of honor. “Then maybe Rogue don’t wear pink.”

Carrie looked at her for a long moment, then let out a resigned sigh and reached for the rack behind them. “Fine. One try. But if you still look like a troublemaker, you’re going in the cupcake.”

Anna-Marie beamed.

Five minutes later, she spun in front of the mirror, wearing a blue dress with silver trimming and cowgirl boots she’d begged for last Christmas. “See?” she said, arms akimbo. “I look cool.”

Carrie laughed, stepping forward. “Alright, alright. You win. You do look adorable.”

Anna-Marie turned and hugged her. “Thank you, Aunt Carrie. You’re the best.”

She felt her aunt stiffen. It happened so fast.

Carrie gasped softly. Her arms faltered.

Then her knees buckled.

“Aunt Carrie?”

The air in the boutique turned thick. Anna-Marie’s stomach flipped. Her breath caught in her throat.

Her aunt collapsed to the floor with a heavy, graceless thud.

“Aunt Carrie?!”

But Anna couldn’t move, not really. Her mind was spinning, overtaken by images that weren’t hers. A flood of thoughts she didn’t understand. Memories of adulthood. Bills. Arguments. Quiet nights alone. A car accident. Pain. Dreams. Fear.

They crashed through her like a freight train.

When she finally stumbled back into herself, trembling, her chest heaving, she looked down.

Her aunt’s body lay on the laminate floor like a puppet with the strings cut.

Eyes wide. Mouth slightly parted. Skin pale, almost gray.

Dead.

“AUNT CARRIE!!!” she screamed, her voice cracking.

She dropped to her knees, sobbing helplessly over the lifeless body of her aunt. She reached out, stopped herself, reached again and screamed again instead.

In the mirror beside her, she saw her own reflection: blue dress, boots, wide horrified eyes.

She saw something else, too.

She saw death.

And the memory began to fade.

***

2007, I don't know

The floor was cold.

That was the first thing she registered. Even through the thin, gray hospital gown clinging to her skin, the chill of the floor seeped into her bones. She was lying on her side, curled in on herself, ribs poking against her own arms.

Her body ached. Her lips were dry. Her thoughts came in waves, broken, slow, disoriented.

Light filtered through the opaque glass of the containment tube. Harsh fluorescent lights beyond the cylinder glared down like the sun on snow.

There was a voice. Muffled at first. Then clearer.

“…Can you hear me?”

Rogue's eyes fluttered open, blinking slowly. Everything was blurry, a dull smear of pale shapes and sterile light.

The voice came again, more gently this time. “Focus, Anna-Marie.”

She flinched.

That name.

Her vision sharpened just enough to make out the figure of a man seated just outside the tube. A suit, a blue tie, hair combed neatly back. His face was calm, analytical. Polite.

“I know you’re confused,” he said, folding his hands. “Let’s start easy. Do you know who I am?”

She tried to speak, but her throat rasped like sandpaper. Finally, she whispered, “No.”

“That’s alright.” He smiled with practiced warmth. “My name is Doctor Bolivar Trask.”

She blinked slowly. The name meant nothing to her.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Anna-Marie.”

Again she winced. She didn’t know why the sound of her real name felt like a punch to the chest. But it did.

He noticed. “Hmm,” he said. “You prefer Rogue, I imagine.”

She said nothing.

His voice dropped to something soothing, like a doctor reassuring a patient before surgery. “Do you know where you are?”

She looked around, as much as her sluggish body would allow. The curved glass. The machinery. Her pale legs. Her arms. Too thin. Too still.

“No,” she croaked.

“That’s okay, too.” Trask stood and stepped closer to the glass, his face bathed in reflected light. “You’ve been here for some time. Long enough that your memory might be fragmented. That's to be expected, but don’t worry, your mind will adjust to the conditions. What matters now is understanding why.”

He stared at her with fascination, like a man regarding a priceless object behind bulletproof glass.

“You are a miracle my dear,” he said softly. “Truly a once in a generation specimen. A being like no other. You are nature’s final answer.”

Rogue blinked, head swimming. Hunger gnawed at her gut. Her eyelids drooped.

“I’m not going to kill you, if you have those concerns,” Trask continued. “You’re too important. In fact, I want to thank you. Because with you, I can do what it is I have been trying to do.”

She barely heard the words.

As her vision blurred again and her body sagged toward unconsciousness, his final words cut through the haze like a whisper in her soul.

“You are the key, Rogue.”

Darkness came.

And the memory began to fade.

***

It was a Tuesday, 2002, Westchester, New York

The Blackbird touched down with a soft metallic hum, its landing gear settling into the private runway behind the mansion like a bird folding its wings.

Inside, Rogue sat hunched in her seat, eyes fixed on the floor.

Ororo Munroe, whom she’d met just the day before, was seated across from her, serene as ever in her long coat, white hair cascading like silk. She rose first.

“We’re here,” she said gently.

Rogue didn’t move.

Ororo extended a hand. “Come on. It’s just a house.”

Rogue finally looked up. Her gloves were too big. Her heart beat too fast. She nodded stiffly and stood, following Ororo in silence. They descended the ramp, the roar of the engines fading behind them.

The mansion loomed before her: a palace compared to the small Mississippi home she’d grown up in. She was supposed to feel excited. Instead, her chest tightened. All she could think about was the aunt she killed, her mother that abandoned her. The town that no longer looked at her like she was a child, but a monster.

Two people waited on the front steps.

The first was a bald man in a suit, seated in a sleek wheelchair with chrome rims. He offered a gentle smile.

“Hello There,” he said. “My name is Professor Charles Xavier.”

Beside him stood a tall red haired woman with sharp eyes and a calming presence. She stepped forward with a small wave.

“And i’m Jean Grey,” she said. “And what’s your name sweetheart?”

Rogue hesitated. She thought about her real name. Anna-Marie.

She thought about how it sounded in legal documents. On hospital records. Out of the mouths of the people who can no longer stand her existence.

And then, like tearing off a scab, she let it go.

“Rogue,” she said. “My name’s Rogue.”

Jean smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Rogue.”

The professor nodded. “Very much so.”

Later that day, Ororo walked beside her through the grand halls of the mansion. It didn’t feel like a school. It felt like a castle. But weird.

And she liked weird.

They passed a classroom where a girl phased through a wall as if it wasn’t there. Kitty Pryde, Ororo explained to her.

Another room showed a boy growing vines out of a pot in science class. A teacher with enormous wings folded at his back marked a test in front of the blackboard.

It was strange. Wonderful. Like a world stitched together from fantasy and nightmares.

She turned a corner and bumped into something fuzzy.

“Oof—sorry!” said a blue skinned boy with a German accent. “Didn’t see you there. Bit of a rush.”

Before she could respond, he disappeared in a puff of sulfur and purple smoke.

She coughed. “What the hell?”

“That was Kurt,” Ororo said with a small smile. “You get used to it, i promise.”

The tour ended in front of a modest door on the second floor. Ororo pushed it open and gestured inside.

“And this will be your room.”

Rogue stepped inside like it might vanish if she blinked. A full sized bed. A desk. A closet. A window overlooking the lawn.

All hers.

“I'll let you settle in for a bit,” Ororo said gently. “I'll come by later to see how you're doing.”

The door clicked softly shut behind her.

She dropped her backpack on the bed and began to unpack when a knock echoed from the door.

She opened it and blinked.

On the other side stood a lanky boy in a red and black hoodie, tousled hair falling over mischievous eyes. He was holding a deck of cards.

“Pick a card,” he said, dead serious.

“...What?”

“Just pick one. You’ll thank me later.”

With a bewildered glance, she reached out and carefully pulled a card from the fan he’d spread out. The Joker.

He snatched it back with a grin, shuffled once, twice, flipped a card—

“Is this your card?”

She frowned. “No.”

He paused. “Damn. Thought I had that one.” He turned around and walked away down the hall.

She stared after him, completely baffled.

A small popping noise made her spin around. Her desk drawer was rattling.

Opening it slowly, she found a single playing card nestled inside: the Joker. Her card.

She turned back to the door.

He was standing there again, hands out, posing dramatically like a magician on stage.

“Ta-da,” Remy LeBeau said.

She laughed. Genuinely. For the first time in weeks.

And the memory began to fade.

***

March 8th, 2005, Day Zero

Her head was pounding.

The kind of pain that came in slow, thick pulses, like a war drum inside her skull. She groaned, or at least she thought she did. It was hard to tell. Her body wouldn’t move the way she wanted it to. Her eyes blinked open to a blur of red and silver and smoke.

She reached up instinctively, gloved fingers brushing against the side of her temple. Wet. Warm. When she pulled her hand away, her vision sharpened just enough to see it was blood.

Everything hurt.

The air tasted like metal and ash. There were no alarms. No cries. Just silence.

Her breathing quickened. The walls around her flickered in and out of focus, like a dream refusing to commit. Slowly, shakily, Rogue pushed herself up, using her elbows, ignoring the spike of pain in her ribs.

She looked around the room and froze.

Bodies. Everywhere.

Some representing the Brotherhood others unmistakably her friends in the X-Men. Twisted. Broken. Strewn across the floor like action figures snapped in half by an angry child.

Rogue’s stomach turned, and she curled forward with a dry heave, but nothing came out.

A thud snapped her attention toward the far end of the room.

Then another thud.

Then another—flesh against steel.

Her blurred vision focused just in time to watch Kitty Pryde, bloodied and barely recognizable, trying to phase through the floor. But it wasn’t working.

The Sentinel had learned.

Its cold metal fist slammed into Kitty’s chest, again and again and again until something inside her gave way with a horrible crunch. Her body slumped. She didn’t move again.

Rogue wanted to scream. Wanted to cry. Wanted to run.

But nothing came out of her throat. Nothing worked.

She turned away, trembling violently, and caught sight of something worse. Colossusher laided in the corner. His armored head severed from his body. His face was still.

Gone.

Everything was gone.

Tears welled in her eyes but couldn’t fall. Her body, still in shock, had forgotten how.

She looked up at the ceiling. Anything to escape the carnage.

The shadows above blurred and swam. Her heart slowed. Her consciousness faded.

Then

boom...

boom...

boom...

The floor trembled with each step.

She looked up one last time, and the towering figure of the Sentinel loomed above her, its glowing red eyes fixated directly on her. Mechanical arms raised, scanning her, assessing her.

The last sound she heard was the servos in its chest whirring to life.

And then the memory fades.

***

2001

The room was too cold.

Rogue sat in a stiff plastic chair in the center of a small, musty office that smelled like paper and Lysol. Her oversized denim jacket swallowed her frame, the sleeves covering her hands almost completely. Almost. She noticed the tips of two fingers poking out from the left sleeve and immediately jerked them back inside like they’d betrayed her.

She couldn’t let that happen again.

Her bare skin was dangerous. Her touch was death.

There were tissues crumpled around her feet like fallen leaves, some damp, others long dried. Her face was streaked with tear trails, but the crying had stopped. Now she was just tired. Her stomach ached. She’d thrown up earlier and hadn’t eaten since yesterday. She couldn’t remember if anyone had offered her food.

But what haunted her more was the silence in this room and the noise beyond it.

From the hallway just outside the door, voices erupted in a heated argument.

“I don’t care about your fucking rules” her mother screamed. “She’s a monster! She killed my sister! She killed that boy last week!”

“Ma'am she’s a child,” the woman, who must’ve owned this office, said, her voice far calmer but strained. “And as I've explained to you several times, we do not accept mutant children here. She’s your responsibility. She's your daughter”

“She’s an abomination! She's not my daughter” her mother spat. “If I leave her on the street i get arrested. If I take her home, she’ll kill me in my goddamn sleep!”

The words didn’t hurt anymore.

Not like they had the first time.

Rogue stared ahead blankly, her eyes red rimmed and dry. Her chest barely rose with each shallow breath. Her mind wasn’t even trying to make sense of it. She just sat in that chair, pulling her knees up to her chest, shrinking as small as she could, buried in sleeves and denim and shame.

She didn’t understand.

Why did she have these powers?

Why couldn’t she be normal?

Why didn’t anyone love her?

Her heart ached in a way that felt like it was collapsing inward. Not like heartbreak, but like rot. Like her soul was dying a little more every time she remembered her mother’s face after Aunt Carrie had died.

She slowly reached a hand out from under her sleeve. Tentative. Quiet. Curious. Her fingers trembled as she brought them toward her own cheek.

What if I touch myself?

Her palm pressed gently to her skin.

Nothing happened.

She pulled it back.

Of course it didn’t work. You couldn’t drain yourself. There was nothing left inside her to take.

She folded in on herself and cried again, quietly this time, just as the two women outside kept screaming over who was more afraid to keep her.

She wished someone, anyone, would come save her.

But no one did.

And then the memory fades

***

2004, Trivia Night

Trivia night at the Xavier Institute was chaos but the fun kind.

The living room had been rearranged with chairs and bean bags, snacks spread out across the coffee table, and a whiteboard behind Hank McCoy, who stood with a marker in one hand and a question card in the other like a game show host. He adjusted his glasses dramatically before reading the next prompt, voice booming with theatrical flair.

“Final question of the round!” Hank called. “In what year did the Berlin Wall fall?”

Team A—Jean Grey, Scott Summers, Roberto De Costa, and Kurt Wagner—huddled together, whispering.

“1989,” Jean said confidently, but kept her voice low. “I'll let someone else have the glory.”

Scott nodded, then pointed at Roberto. “You heard the lady.”

Roberto sat up straighter and grinned. “Eighty-nine!”

“Correct!” Hank shouted. A chorus of cheers came from Team A, especially from Kurt, who was already swiping two mini chocolate bars off the prize pile with a smug grin.

“Hey! Kurt!” Kitty called from Team B. “He’s stealing candy again! I want a points deduction”

“I am redistributing the wealth,” Kurt teased, vanishing with a bamf and reappearing behind Warren just to mess with his wings.

Team B—Warren Worthington, Kitty Pryde, Remy LeBeau, and Rogue—sat across the room, noticeably behind in points. Remy threw his hands up in defeat, slumping back in his chair with a dramatic sigh.

“This whole game’s rigged,” he muttered. “That last question was politics. I thought we were gettin’ pop culture.”

“Remy you thought Elvis was a Beatle, i don't think it would have helped,” Rogue said, trying not to laugh.

Remy pointed at her, mock offended. “And you let me say it! Sabotage!”

“You’re sabotaging yourself, Cajun.”

Warren groaned. “We are never catching up.”

“Still plenty of questions to go,” Hank said. “Sorry Remy but it's another history question ”

He held up a bar of mint chocolate like it was Excalibur. Half the room made noises of disgust.

“Who even bought that,” Kitty whispered. “The prize pool needs to be re-evaluated”

Hank grinned. “Here we go: Who was the 26th president of the United States?”

Silence.

Remy leaned over to Rogue. “Was that Lincoln?”

“Lincoln was the 16th,” Rogue muttered.

And then, out loud, “Teddy Roosevelt.”

Hank blinked. “Correct!”

The room filled with scattered applause, most of it sarcastic, and Rogue stood with a proud smirk, making her way to the candy stash. She picked up the mint chocolate bar and held it like a trophy.

Scott, from across the room, raised an eyebrow. “Not surprising.”

Rogue shrugged. “I like mint chocolate.”

Warren scoffed. “You’re the only one who does.”

“More for me then losers.”

There were no monsters that night. No battles that everyone had to rush of to fight. No dark futures looming over them. Just a couch full of weird kids with strange gifts, arguing over candy, laughing like fools, and being… together.

No one died. No one cried.

It was, for once, a perfectly content day.

A family day.

And for Rogue, years later, trapped in darkness and silence, it was this memory, this tiny, unremarkable joy, that her mind clung to most.

***

The memories were flashing now. Too fast to catch. Too bright, too loud. Fractured moments, faces, laughter, screams, the glint of metal, cards, blood, mint chocolate, the cold hum of containment. Spinning. Colliding. Breaking.

Then nothing.

No sound. No color. No memories.

Just black.

And then, slowly, light.

Her eyelids were heavy, as though someone had placed weights on them. But they fluttered open, sluggishly, like curtains in a windless room. She stared forward.

A desk.

Books.

Her mirror.

Her nightstand with the chipped corner.

Her room?

It couldn’t be. No, it had to be another memory. Some forgotten flicker trying to comfort her. But this didn’t feel like the others. It wasn’t foggy or warped around the edges. There was no dreamlike hum or echo.

This felt… now.

Rogue blinked slowly, her vision sharpening. The familiar was unfamiliar. Her muscles ached. Her bones felt hollow. Her body was a weight that barely belonged to her. There were thin plastic tubes running under her nose, helping her breathe. An IV was hooked into her left arm, feeding fluids into her veins.

She was… awake.

Actually awake.

March 31st 2010. 04.00am
Westchester

Her room was dimly lit by the low bedside lamp. The clock read 4:01 AM. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and lavender. Her body screamed to rest again, but her mind fought to see. To understand.

And then she did.

To her left, there was movement, stillness, really. A form slumped over the edge of her bed, his head resting on folded arms, fingers loose in sleep. The chair he sat in was pulled in close, like he’d been there for hours. Maybe days.

Remy.

Rogue just stared.

His hair was longer than she remembered, brushing along his cheekbones in a messy, unruly wave. His face was unshaven, scruffy with uneven stubble. He looked older. Not old, but… older than the seventeen year old boy she remembered last. Stronger around the jaw. Softer around the eyes.

He looked tired.

And for a moment, so did she. But she didn’t want to look away.

Her gloved fingers twitched toward him, aching to touch, to prove he was real. Even that slight movement sent pain dancing up her arm. Her throat burned when she tried to speak.

“...Remy?”

It came out as a whisper. Barely a breath. He didn’t stir.

She could’ve tried again, but something stopped her. Maybe it was her body begging her to rest again. Maybe it was the comfort of silence. Maybe it was enough, for now, to know he was there.

For so long, all she had were her memories. Flickers. Echoes.

But now, for the first time in so long she had something real. Someone tangible.

And just before her eyes slid shut again, Rogue smiled faintly.

Because he was the first thing she saw.

END OF CHAPTER

Chapter Text

April 7th, 2010. 09.00am
Westchester

It had been two weeks since they pulled Rogue out of the Sentinel facility on that now blood soaked island in Malaysia.

For the first seven days, she didn't move. Not a twitch, not a murmur. Her eyes stayed shut, her face slack and colorless, body hollowed out from years of confinement and starvation. For a time, they feared they'd saved only a corpse that hadn't finished dying.

But on the morning of March 31st, her eyes fluttered open.

She didn't speak, not right away. She could barely lift her arms. Her first words were a hoarse whisper, barely louder than breath. Her mind was fragile, patchy, her thoughts drifting in and out like fog. But she was alive. And that was enough.

Storm had made the decision early on: no questions about what she remembered, no pressure to explain what had happened in that lab, not yet. The girl needed time. So they focused on healing.

Storm herself was recovering from a concussion. Logan, thanks to his healing factor, was already back to full physical health, though the bruises on his pride lingered. Roberto wore a black eye the size of a plum. Psylocke had left the day after they returned, opting to recover from her shoulder wound in solitude. Emma's shattered arm was reassembled via high end surgery within forty eight hours. With the kind of money she wielded, healing came with luxury. She also arranged for a shipment of advanced medical equipment to be delivered to the school: IV drips, oxygen tanks, painkillers, heart monitors, everything they didn't already have.

Scott had sprained ribs that made every breath feel like broken glass. Domino ghosted after one night, vanishing without fanfare and without warning.

And now it was April 7th.

The sun was out, but the wind had bite. Storm padded softly through the hallway of the second floor, a steaming mug of tea in her hand, her white robe brushing the wood floor with every step. She stopped outside Rogue's door and knocked gently.

No answer.

Frowning, she opened it. The room was empty. The blankets on the bed were tangled and kicked off. The window was slightly ajar, letting in the smell of morning dew.

Storm didn't panic. She just looked.

She moved through the hallway, glanced through windows until one caught her breath. Outside, on the mansion's back steps, sat a familiar figure.

Barefoot and cross-legged on the concrete, wrapped in sweatpants and a grey sweatshirt, Rogue sat with the sun on her back. Her dark brown hair hung like drapery around her pale face, and her gloves lay neatly beside her. Between her fingers, she held a half-eaten mint chocolate bar, slowly working through it as if it were made of gold.

Storm made her way outside.

She took a seat a few feet away, not too close. Always careful, always respectful.

Rogue didn't look over, but her voice carried softly.
"Morning."

"Morning," Storm replied. "Where'd you get the chocolate?"

"Remy. He bought me a few bars when I woke up," she said, not looking up. "Took a few days to actually eat it. Now... I can't really stop."

Storm smiled gently. "Yeah i bet."

"Where is he anyway?" Rogue asked, glancing over at last. Her eyes were brighter now, but still rimmed with fatigue.

"I sent him out earlier this morning," Storm said. "Groceries. Bills. Air. Since we got you back, he's barely left your side. Figured he could use some fresh air just like you."

Rogue smirked, but it faded just as fast. "Yeah. That makes sense."

She looked down at the wrapper in her lap, then picked another square and nibbled it. She didn't speak for a long while. Neither did Storm. The garden stretched before them in a soft expanse of green and gold. The birds had returned for spring. Wind stirred the trees gently, and somewhere far off, a lawn mower hummed, James on chore duty it seems.

Finally, Rogue spoke.

"What year is it?"

Storm blinked. "Remy didn't tell you?"

Rogue shrugged. "Maybe he didn't want to freak me out or something. But people look different. Older. I just... I know it's been a while."

Storm hesitated. Then answered.

"It's 2010."

Rogue went very still. Storm saw her fingers tighten slightly on the wrapper.

"You're twenty years old Rogue," she added, softly. "It's been five years."

Rogue's eyes stayed fixed forward, but Storm could see the way her shoulders tensed. Five years. Five years in a tube. Five years of cold, sterile silence. Of darkness and hunger and emptiness.

Five years where the world moved on without her.

"I'm sorry," Storm said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Rogue shook her head slowly. "It's not your fault."

Storm waited another moment, then asked what had been weighing on her for days. "We never had a survivor from the sentinel attack before. No witness. Some of the bodies were never recovered. And we still don't know exactly what happened. So I know it's hard but i need to ask you Rogue... are you sure you're the only one that survived?"

Rogue flinched.

The memories came back like a wave of blood. Kitty screaming, then silence. Piotr's headless body. Jean. Warren. A machine standing over her, shadow swallowing the room.

"I'm sure," Rogue said. "I was the only one."

Storm didn't push. She just let the words sit in the air, like a stone dropped in water.

"I'm sorry baby," she repeated.

Rogue looked at her, really looked at her. Her voice was steady.
"It's okay."

It wasn't. Not even close. But it was the only thing left to say.

Storm stayed with her there on the steps for a while longer, until the wind picked up and Rogue's empty wrapper fluttered from her hand like a spent leaf.

***

April 7th 2010. 15.00pm
Westchester

The sun filtered through the trees in gold and tangerine ribbons, painting the path behind the X-Mansion in soft, warm light. It was quiet here, removed from the noise of recovery, strategy, and survival. The soft wind rustled through the trees and bent the grass that surrounded the modest row of headstones, still and solemn reminders of a day that shattered everything.

Scott stood silently in front of Jean's grave.
The marble was smooth, clean, tended. Someone had placed a fresh flower there recently, he wondered if it had been Ororo. Maybe Hank. The engraving was as clear as ever:

Jean Grey
Daughter. Friend. Leader. Hero.
Born to fly.

Behind him, footsteps. He didn't turn.
"I figured you might be here," said Emma.

He exhaled, slow. "You know, I haven't been here since the funeral. When we buried everyone we could. I couldn't bring myself to come out here after that."
He rubbed the back of his neck, tense. "And it didn't take me long to leave the mansion altogether after that."

Emma stepped beside him, just close enough to feel her presence. "How do you feel now that you're here?"

He looked at the grave for a long moment, visor catching the sunlight.
"I don't know," he admitted. "I avoided this place for so long, I didn't know how it'd feel once I finally came back."
His voice dropped to a near whisper. "I still don't."

Emma didn't say anything for a moment. Then, with the faintest hint of a smirk, "She was never my biggest fan."

Scott let out a dry breath. "You're not wrong."
He looked over at Emma now, really looked at her. "But... I think she'd be proud of the person you've become."

Emma didn't respond to that, but the look in her eyes softened.

Scott turned back to the grave, the tension easing slightly from his shoulders. "You know... you never told me why."

She blinked. "Why what?"

"Why you got involved. Why you tracked me down. Why you didn't just hand all that information off to Ororo and Hank and let them deal with it. You nearly lost your arm. You didn't have to be in this."

Emma was quiet for a long beat. Then she nodded to herself, as if deciding to be honest.
"When what happened, happened. I was halfway across the world. Doing some soulless Frost International deal, I don't even remember what for. I heard the news on some airport TV, and just... froze."

She looked down at her hand, still in its sling.
"I won't pretend I had close friends on either side. I always stayed neutral, you know that. But they were still my people. I knew them. I'd met them. Mutants. Just gone like they were nothing. Like insects."
She shook her head. "And where was I? Off making more money for myself."

Her voice grew a little bitter. "When you've got the kind of resources I do, and you still choose to do nothing? Well, let's just say it's no mystery why half the people in New York scream 'Eat the rich' at me when I walk past."

Scott gave her a sidelong glance. There was real guilt in her voice. Real self-awareness.

After a moment, he asked quietly, "Are you planning on becoming an X-Man now?"

Emma let out a sharp scoff. "God, no. Blue and yellow aren't my colors."
Then, after a pause, "But I'll lend a hand if needed. Think of me as... an associate."

Scott smiled faintly. "Sounds like a good title. X-Men Associate."
He looked back at the mansion now. "I used to think this place would fall apart without me. That Charles picked me to lead because I was the only one who could hold it all together."
He sighed. "But when everything went to hell, I crumbled. And Ororo? She rose. Like she always does."
He shrugged. "They don't need me. So yeah... associate sounds about right."

Emma let out a soft laugh. "And what does that mean for our little adventure together?"

He turned to her again. There was a flicker of something between them, a glance that lingered longer than necessary. Something unspoken.

"I don't know if you noticed," Scott said, "but I don't exactly have a place to stay."

Emma raised a brow. "That's right. I found you rotting in a jail cell. Where were you staying before that?"

Scott smirked. "A shitty apartment I haven't paid rent on in a month."

Emma rolled her eyes. "Well, I'll pay the back rent you owe. You can stay with me. I've got a spare room."

He quirked a brow. "Or ten."

She smirked, but didn't deny it. "Come on, fellow associate. I only came out here to find you because Ororo's calling a meeting. She wants everyone on deck."

Emma turned and started walking up the path, toward the mansion.
Scott lingered one last second longer.

He turned back to the headstone.

"I'm sorry I stayed away so long," he said quietly. "But I'm still here Jean."

Then he followed Emma up the hill.

***

Elsewhere in tthe mansion, Roberto da Costa was sprawled at his desk, pencil tapping rhythmically against his sketchbook as he stared at the rough lines taking shape. Across the top of the page, scrawled in bold, messy lettering:
"SUNSPOT SUIT IDEAS."

The sketches below were a jumble of creative ambition, spiked shoulders, radiant flame patterns, and sleek aerodynamic cuts. A few were wild, too sci-fi for any real combat. One looked like it belonged on a runway. But others? Others had promise.

He paused on a particular design near the bottom right corner, a tight fitting black bodysuit with symmetrical golden panels running down the chest and thighs, glowing with solar energy. The shoulders were angular but not bulky, with vents along the sides that suggested built in energy regulation. A segmented visor masked the upper half of the face, hinting at mystery, while the rest of the design screamed control, power, confidence or just boredom. He'd been at this for awhile.

It was probably his favorite. And that bothered him, because he was starting to think it might be too good to ever wear.

Just as he was about to shade in the flames radiating from the hands, a knock came at his door.

"Yeah?" he answered, not looking up.

The door creaked open.

He looked.
And froze.

Rogue stood in the doorway, one gloved hand resting against the frame, the other gripping the wall for support. Her hair was tied messily at the back of her head, a few streaks of white curling loose near her face. She wore sweatpants and an oversized Xavier sweatshirt, clothing meant for comfort, not style. And yet... she still looked like someone who'd survived a war.

"Hey," she said softly, stepping in like each footfall might betray her balance.

Roberto blinked, then smiled, wide and surprised. "Hey. I-uh... wow. Hey."
He got up quickly, awkwardly brushing pencil shavings off his shirt.

Rogue winced a little as she crossed the room, her body clearly not used to moving so much, even though there was no visible injury. Five years without walking, without anything, had done a number on her. She looked like someone learning how to be human again.

"You got snacks?" she asked, already flopping belly first onto his bed with a sigh of relief. "There's like no fucking snacks in this house."

Roberto blinked again. "Should you even be moving around?"

"I shouldn't be starving either, but here we are," she groaned, face buried in the pillow.

He grabbed the only thing he had, a sealed bag of salt and vinegar chips from his desk and handed it to her.

She opened it like it was treasure.

"FUCK, that's so good," she muttered, shoving a handful into her mouth.

He sat back in his chair, turning it to face her. "So uh... what were they feeding you down there?"

She chewed slowly, her eyes squinting in thought. "Honestly? No clue. Can't remember much. But if these chips taste like gourmet cuisine, then clearly nothing good."

Silence fell between them. It wasn't awkward, just... careful. The kind of silence between two kids who used to know each other well, play together all the time but now had to start over.

"So..." Roberto ventured, "You okay?"

Rogue gave him a long look, then sighed. "I don't know. And honestly? It's fucking weird. Like, the last time I saw you, you were shorter than me."

Roberto laughed. "Yeah, well, it's been five years, dude."

She shook her head in disbelief. Five years. Five birthdays. Five missed Christmases. Five entire chapters of her life stolen.

The mansion was so quiet now too. It felt unnerving.

Sensing the shift in her mood, Roberto perked up. "Since you're here," he said, reaching for the sketchbook, "you might as well help me pick."

He handed it over and kicked back on the bed beside her.

She glanced at the cover, then flipped through the pages. The designs were rough, sometimes ridiculous, but undeniably creative. Her eyes settled on the last one, the one on the bottom right.

"You can like, fully be on fire now?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Like the Fantastic Four guy?"

"Kinda," Roberto said. "Not like, exactly him. My fire's different, solar, not... whatever his thing is. But yeah. Pretty much."

She smirked. "Still cool, dude. I missed way too much. I need a crash course on everything."

He shrugged. "Ask."

She chewed thoughtfully, then asked, "Where's Kurt?"

"Genosha," Roberto replied. "He's working with Magneto."

"Wait, so Genosha is that island place right?" she asked.

"Yeah. Magneto owns it."

"So he's a good guy now?"

Roberto winced. "I don't know about good, but... he's retired i guess."

She nodded, thinking it over. "Do they know if Spider-Man's a mutant or not yet?"

He laughed. "Still don't know."

Rogue grinned, then leaned in a little. "Okay, tell me about this Xuan girl."

His ears turned red. "How do you even know about that?"

"Remy told me," she said casually, digging back into the chips.

Roberto groaned and slammed his pillow over his face. "Am I that obvious?"

She laughed. "Must be if Remy figured it out."

She nudged his leg. "Don't worry, though. The girl's cute."

He peeled the pillow off his face. "Have you even met her? Have you even seen her?"

"Nope."

He chucked the pillow at her face. She caught it and smacked him with it, laughing. It felt good to laugh. It felt normal.

"Shouldn't you be with Remy anyway," he muttered.

"He's not here. And all the grown ups are in some meeting. So," she grinned, "you're stuck with me."

"You're basically a grown up now," he teased.

"Whatever."

She handed the sketchbook back to him, still crunching chips. "I like the one on the bottom right."

He glanced at the design, the sleek black suit with yellow flame patterns, sharp edges and glowing palms.

"Yeah?" he asked, more touched than he let on.

"Yeah. Looks kinda badass. I never liked the blue and yellow suits everybody used to wear, black and yellow however has promise."

He nodded. "Thanks, dude."

They bumped fists.

For a second, it felt like no time had passed at all.

***

The war room at the X-Mansion was a circular chamber lined with reinforced metal panels and softly humming electronics. At its center was a large round table, above which a holographic projector cast an image into the air, clear and blue and crackling gently with energy. Seated around the table were Storm, Cyclops, Emma Frost, Beast, and Wolverine, each of them nursing visible or invisible wounds, tension etched deep into their faces.

The hologram flickered but held steady: Susan Storm-Richards, also known as the Invisible Woman, her expression composed but tinged with concern.

“We looked into it like you asked,” Sue was saying, arms crossed, voice professional. “But the Malaysian government is locking the entire area down. And I mean the entire area. They're casting the net wide—restricting airspace, posting military patrols in every village within fifty miles.”

She paused, her face grim. “It’s pretty clear they don’t want anybody finding out there was a facility harboring Sentinels… or experimenting on a teenage girl. We can keep pushing, but honestly? We’d be risking an international incident.”

Storm exhaled sharply and rubbed her temple, eyes closing for a moment. The headache pounding in her skull wasn’t just from the concussion. “You’re right. The last thing we need right now is world governments knocking down our doors. Thanks anyway Sue.”

Sue nodded once. “No problem. Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything else.”

With a flicker, the hologram blinked out of existence. The war room dimmed slightly in its absence.

Hank leaned forward, adjusting his glasses. “With how quickly they’re erasing their tracks, I’d wager this Bolivar Trask has strong connections in the Malaysian government. Possibly beyond.”

Logan, arms crossed, chimed in gruffly, “Who even is this guy?”

Emma’s tone was icy. “A ghost honestly. I’ve done as much digging as I can with every contact I have in intelligence, finance, and black market trade. There’s nothing. No passports. No citizenship. No driver’s license. No school records. No digital footprint. Not even a damn birth certificate.”

She glanced around the table. “There is no record, anywhere, of a Bolivar Trask ever existing.”

Scott leaned forward, his jaw tight. “So it's likely an alias. Something he made up, which makes sense if he didn’t mind letting all his scientists know it.”

Storm leaned back in her chair and looked around the table. “That’s problem number one. Problem number two is Sebastian Shaw.”

All eyes turned to Logan.

He lifted his hands defensively. “I already told you. I never worked for him. I worked with him. There’s a difference.”

Emma arched a brow. “And you just chose to work with him for a month?”

“I chose to value the results,” Logan growled. “We broke into blacksites. We freed mutants. We found the labs where they were building those metal bastards. Sorry I didn’t come with whistleblower intel. My path wasn’t as squeaky clean as yours Frost.”

Scott frowned but didn’t argue. “Either way, it’s clear now he had an ulterior motive. He used the fight against the Sentinels to build trust, maybe even loyalty, with his team. It was a strategic move.”

Emma leaned forward, fingers stapled under her chin. “What about the girl he was with? The one with the big sword.”

Logan’s eyes flicked toward her. “Her name’s Illyana Rasputin.”

Hank sat up straighter. “Rasputin? As in—?”

“Yeah,” Logan cut in, flatly. “As in his sister.”

Storm blinked. “Piotr never told us he had a sister.”

Logan shrugged. “Her past is… complicated, from what she told me anyway. Shaw’s got something on her though, but I don’t know what. Whatever it is, it’s enough to keep her loyal.”

Storm muttered, “Great. We’ll make her problem number three.”

She took a breath. “That leaves problem four… Rogue.”

All eyes shifted again.

Beast spoke first, his voice low with concern. “Her memory is still fragmented. She’s only been awake a week, and even now her body’s in a fragile state. She can barely walk, and her appetite only returned recently. Pushing her for answers could be traumatic, possibly even dangerous.”

Storm nodded solemnly. “Still. The one thing I doubt she’ll ever be able to answer is why her in the first place.”

Emma folded her arms. “Why not her? With all due respect… the girl is the Black Plague incarnate. Ten seconds of contact and you’re as good as dead. An ability like that would be highly attractive to a madman like Trask.”

Beast adjusted his glasses again. “I ran every test I could think of. There are no foreign bodies in her bloodstream. No implanted trackers, no microchips. The scarring on her body is consistent with what you say Elias Kincaid described, blood extractions, bone marrow samples. Her X-gene is still active. So her powers are intact.”

He hesitated, then added delicately, “There’s no evidence of forced entry or… sexual assault. But again, five years is a long time. They may have had time to erase or cover up any signs of… invasive procedures. It’s not conclusive. We should keep a watchful eye on her.”

Storm said softly, “Remy’s already on that. Those two have been inseparable since the day they met. No one knows her better than he does. So if something’s off… he’ll notice.”

A silence fell over the room for a long beat. Then Emma broke it.

“Then I suppose the more frightening question is…” she said, her voice cold, “if they didn’t put something in her…”

She looked around the table, gaze hard.

“…What exactly were they hoping to take out? And did they succeed?”

The war room fell into heavy silence, the unspoken weight of that question lingering over them all.

***

The fluorescent kitchen lights buzzed softly over the island counter, where Xuan and Roberto sat side by side, a mostly empty cereal bowl between them and Roberto’s sketchbook spread wide open. The clock on the microwave read 8:02 PM.

“These are seriously good,” Xuan said, flipping the page carefully, her thumb trailing over one of the more stylized black and gold designs. “Like, professional good.”

Roberto gave an awkward little shrug, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just something I’ve been messing around with. Sketching helps me think i guess.”

“No, for real. I love the linework on this one,” she said, pointing at a sharp angled concept with flame like streaks. “You’ve got an eye for this stuff.”

He leaned in a bit, then casually offered, “I mean, if you don’t have a suit design yet, I could maybe draw you something? Like… you know, if you want.”

She turned her head, half-smiling, but there was something else under it too, mischief, curiosity, maybe even vulnerability.

“You wanna draw me?”

Roberto blinked like a deer in headlights. “I mean, yeah if you want.”

Xuan laughed. “Yeah.” She tapped the sketchbook. “Yeah. Okay. I’d like that.”

Just then, the front door opened with a gentle creak, and Remy LeBeau walked in, weighed down by several plastic grocery bags dangling from both arms. He was windblown, a little rumpled, and carrying himself like a man who’d spent the entire day wrestling a grocery list through enemy territory.

“Bonsoir, les enfants,” he said, kicking the door shut with his foot.

Roberto glanced over his shoulder. “Dude, you’ve been gone all day. How hard is it to buy groceries? I kinda thought you were dead.”

Remy set the bags down on the counter with a groan. “And I just know you were stressin’ over that possibility.”

Xuan helped unload one of the bags, arching an eyebrow. “Do we actually eat this much, this fast?”

Remy waved her off. “It's Hank mostly. You’d be surprised what it costs to keep this place running. Don’t know how Charles ever managed when we had dozens of kids runnin’ around here, including me. Like do you even know who your legal guardian is?”

“Probably Ororo,” Xuan said through a shrug. “She’s like the boss, right?”

Remy raised an eyebrow, annoyed she got it right. “Yeah, well… suppose that makes me your charming and overworked uncle or somethin’.”

He turned to Roberto. “How’d she do?”

Roberto put the cereal bowl in the sink. “Hank gave her lunch. She came by my room and i gave her some chips, she passed out afterwards, so I helped her back to her home. Think she’s been asleep since, so hasn't eaten in awhile.”

Remy nodded, pulling a paper bag of Chinese takeout from one of the grocery sacks. “Alright. Y’all put the rest of this away for me. I’m checkin’ on her.”

Upstairs, the hall was dim and quiet. Remy padded to Rogue’s door, balancing the food in one hand. He knocked lightly.

No answer.

He nudged the door open, expecting to find her out cold and he did. She was curled beneath a heap of blankets, her breathing steady but her face slack with exhaustion. He stepped inside quietly, placing the food on her nightstand. As he turned to leave, a drowsy murmur broke the silence.

“Remy?”

He stopped, turned. Her voice was weak, groggy, but unmistakable.

He smiled gently. “Didn’t mean to wake you, ma belle.”

She blinked slowly, her green eyes adjusting to the soft light. “You left me.”

It wasn’t accusatory, just an observation, plain and simple.

Remy walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, I did. Somebody has to make sure this circus still has toilet paper.”

She let her head fall back into the pillow with a faint smile. “You’re like… a responsible adult now.”

He gave a mock sigh. “Don’t remind me.”

She turned her head, looking at him with a heaviness behind her eyes. “Does Kurt know I’m alive?”

Remy frowned slightly. “Of course. Why do you ask?”

“I’ve been awake for a while now,” she said softly, “and he hasn’t come by. Nobody that used to live here has.”

Remy exhaled. “Kurt’s been in Genosha, helpin’ folks on the run. Bringin’ ‘em in, settlin’ ‘em down. He’s real important there. Busy all the time.”

She looked away. “And Genosha… it’s safe? For mutants?”

“It’s safer than a lotta places these days honestly,” he said after a pause.

She nodded, but it wasn’t enough. It never would be. “Everything feels so different now. I keep expecting it to feel like it used to, but it doesn’t. And I don’t know what to do with that.”

Remy shifted closer. “Lot’s changed, yeah. But you still got your room. Roberto’s still here. Hank, Ororo…” He touched his chest and smiled. “Me.”

Rogue gave him a look, bittersweet. “But you’re different too. Last time I saw you, we were kids Remy. Midnight snacks and bad horror movies. Now you’ve got a beard, and a bank card, you're paying bills and a bunch of mutants callin’ you their teacher. And I don’t know where I fit in that.”

Her voice was cracking. She was holding something back, trying hard to stay afloat in her own storm of memory and grief.

“When people die,” she said, “life moves on. I basically died. And now I’m back, watchin’ everything that moved on without me. I feel out of place.”

Remy’s voice dropped low. “I won’t pretend to know what you went through, cherie. I won’t even try. But I can tell you what I felt. When I saw you, in that tube... it was like gettin’ hit in the chest with every prayer I ever whispered. I thought I’d never see you again. I thought I lost you.”

He swallowed.

“I’d die a thousand times if it meant gettin’ you back. But I didn’t have to. I got lucky. We both did.”

Her hand crept toward his instinctively, her fingers bare. When he noticed, he drew back slightly and she followed his eyes. Realized. Pulled her hand under the covers.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

A sharp reminder of what still lingered between them. Of what hadn’t changed.

Then, without a word, Remy laid his hand gently on top of hers, the blanket between them. It wasn’t much. But it meant everything.

***

April 7th 2010. 21.00pm
Location Unknown

The fluorescent lights in the ceiling buzzed with a faint electric hum, the only sound in the windowless concrete room besides the occasional clink of metal against plastic. Elias Kincaid sat hunched over a cold tray of institutional food, mushy, colorless, and only questionably edible. He chewed slowly, methodically, not because he was enjoying it, but because there wasn’t anything else to do. Two armed guards stood by the reinforced door, stone faced and silent, but he could feel their eyes on him like searchlights.

Then, with a low mechanical hiss, the magnetic locks disengaged.

The massive steel door groaned open.

In stepped Bolivar Trask, immaculate as ever, dressed like he’d just left a board meeting instead of a clandestine military grade facility. A smug smile crept onto his face like it had never truly left.

“Good evening, Doctor Kincaid,” he said with syrupy politeness.

Elias didn’t stand. He didn’t even pause his chewing. “I don’t know what you have to be smug about,” he muttered around a bite. “Last I heard, your crown jewel of a facility was turned to rubble. A stolen sentinel. Your prized asset, the girl, taken back to where she belongs.”

Trask’s smile didn’t waver. He said nothing, only strolled forward and calmly took the seat opposite him.

Elias leaned back, now wearing the smirk. “Your guards here? Real chatty when you're not around. Word travels fast.”

“I see no issue,” Trask replied coolly. “Let them talk. That’s not the part that concerns me.”

He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a sleek black phone, and slid it across the table.

Elias glanced down. The screen displayed a web article.

MISSING: Prominent Geneticist Dr. Elias Kincaid. Last seen two weeks ago, presumed dead. Wife files tearful plea to the public.

A photo accompanied it, Elias and his wife Martha, smiling at some charity gala, wine glasses in hand.

Trask folded his hands together and tilted his head. “Your beautiful wife, Martha, filed the report just days after we… reacquainted. Your disappearance made waves. Former DARPA consultant. Acclaimed biogeneticist. People care. The world’s looking for you, Elias.”

He leaned forward, voice dropping just a hair.

“The question is: who do they find first? You… or me?”

The subtle threat tightened like a wire around Elias’s chest. Trask didn’t need to spell it out, if anyone got too close, Martha and the kids would pay the price. His family wasn’t just leverage; they were hostages. Living, breathing time bombs.

Elias looked up from the screen, his voice barely above a whisper. “What do you want?”

Trask smiled like he was greeting an old friend. “What I’ve always wanted Elias. For you to finish what we started.”

He stood slowly, retrieving his phone with surgical precision.

“You get back to work. You give me the data. You bring the Omega Program to its final phase. Do that, and I set you free. You can go home. To your wife. To your children.”

Trask’s expression didn’t change, but his voice cooled, hardened.

“Decline, and I’ll let you go home all the same. I just can’t promise you’ll like what you find there.”

A silence settled between them like dust on a coffin. Elias stared at the table. Swallowed.

“…Yes,” he said, barely more than a breath.

“Excellent.” Trask straightened his coat. “Your lab is prepped. You have seventy two hours.”

He turned for the door, paused, and glanced over his shoulder with that same pristine, corporate, sociopathic grin.

“Thank you, Doctor. Always a pleasure.”

And with that, he was gone. The door sealed shut behind him with a final, echoing thud.

Elias Kincaid sat alone in the sterile room. His food had gone cold. His hands trembled just slightly as he picked up his fork again, because there was nothing else to do.

END OF CHAPTER

Chapter Text

April 14th 2010. 14.00pm
Westchester

The Danger Room was unusually quiet.

No whirring gears, no holograms, no training simulations. Just five young mutants standing in a line — Xuan, Roberto, Sarah, Bobby, and James.

Their faces a mixture of curiosity, nerves, and something heavier beneath it all. Expectation. Uncertainty.

The heavy doors slid open with a hiss.

Storm stepped into the room. Regal as ever. Her boots echoed against the metal floor as she walked forward, stopping just in front of them, her expression unreadable. Not cold, but serious, the kind of look that meant something important was coming.

“I’ve dreaded this day,” she began.

The words surprised them.

“Not because you aren’t ready,” she clarified. “But because… I’ve helped me raise some of you since you were kids. And for the others, I’ve watched you grow under this roof, through hardship and heartbreak. This place... it became your home. And I suppose I got used to seeing you as children.”

Storm took a breath, her voice steady but rich with emotion.

“And because of what we’ve lost.”

Everyone felt the weight of those words. Jean. Kitty. The Professor. So many gone. So many they had to bury.

“There was always going to be an excuse to wait,” she said. “To say ‘not yet,’ to say you weren’t ready. But as Hank reminded me and reminded you not long ago... the perfect moment will never come. And the world doesn’t wait.”

She began to pace slowly in front of them, her gaze sweeping over their faces.

“Mutants are living in fear again. Bigots grow bolder by the day. Trask and his machines are out there preparing for i don't know what, but what i do know is we will need to fight back. Not just to survive, but to protect those who can’t protect themselves. We need heroes. Heroes who represent us. Mutants.”

With a soft hiss, the panels behind the five young mutants slid open, revealing five suits — sleek, fitted, and unified in design: black and deep yellow, sharp yet functional, inspired by the legacy of the team and reimagined through youthful eyes. They weren’t just uniforms. They were symbols.

Everyone turned to look.

“Nice job dude” Bobby spoke quietly, nudging Roberto.

Roberto gave a small, proud shrug. “Figured we needed a group look.”

Storm approached them again, standing straighter, voice taking on a different tone now, not just a caretaker. A commander.

“You are still my kids,” she said. “But from this day forth…”

She turned to James first. “Warpath.”

Then to Bobby. “Iceman.”

She met Sarah’s eyes next. “Marrow.”

Then Roberto. “Sunspot.”

Finally, she stopped in front of Xuan. The girl met her eyes nervously, uncertain

But regardless she proudly announced herself. "Karma."

Storm smiled soft, proud, and without hesitation. "Karma."

Xuan’s lips parted, a quiet breath escaping. She hadn’t expected it to feel like this.

Storm stepped back, her hands behind her back now, gaze sweeping across all of them once more.

“You five,” she said, “are now X-Men.”

There was silence for a moment. Not out of awkwardness but of reverence. The weight of the name settled into them like armor.

And for the first time since Day Zero, the X-Men were alive again.

***
April 14th 2010. 15.00pm
Manhattan

A smoke bomb rolled down the sidewalk outside a jewelry store on 45th in Manhattan.

Out of the haze came Sunspot, fire blazing along his arms, eyes glowing with heat. “I said drop the bags,” he growled.

The thieves didn’t listen.

Before they could reach the alley, a wall of ice formed in their path, courtesy of Iceman, who skated down the sidewalk on an icy trail with a cocky grin. “You should’ve listened to my friend.”

From above, Warpath dropped from a fire escape, landing with enough force to crack the pavement.

The goons scattered, dropping the bags of stolen items.

The next day a rally for mutant positivity was taking place in Washington Square Park. Protesters on both sides screamed across the barricades. Tensions were high, insults flying like bricks.

A woman in a Mutants Are People Too shirt got shoved to the ground, only fanning the flames of each crowd's fury.

Suddenly the crowd parted, and there stood Karma, flanked by the others, her voice calm but firm.

“We’re not here to fight, and neither should any of you. This is meant to be a peaceful protest and it's in everyone's best interest to keep it that way.”

One hotheaded human threw a bottle at Marrow's head, but she caught it in mid-air and crushed it in one hand, shards crunching to powder in her palm.

Everyone got the message. The violence died down. The crowd held its breath. The rally continued peacefully.

The following day sirens ran out in Brooklyn

Smoke billowed out of the upper floors of a crumbling building. Screams echoed from inside.

Iceman formed a stairway of ice straight up to the third floor, his body slick with sweat from the heat. Karma helped direct people down safely, her powers nudging their panicked minds into clarity.

Inside, Sunspot scorched through fallen beams, carrying a mother and baby through a burning corridor. Marrow tore debris out of the way with brute strength. Warpath moved like a tank, fearless, tireless.

Eventually, they stepped outside, coughing, charred, but alive with every last tenant accounted for.

As the crowd clapped, a kid, maybe six years old, stomped over with tears in his eyes. “Where's Spider-Man!?! I wanted Spider-Man to save us!”

Sarah turned, completely deadpan. “Does this look like Queens kid.”

Xuan nudges Sarah, she dramatically rolls her eyes and looks at the kid again and says, "Spider-Man was busy. Sorry."

The group made their way to Harlem and a local convenience store

An older man stood at the counter screaming at the cashier, a visibly mutant teenage girl with glowing yellow eyes and faint scales up her neck. “You people shouldn’t even be allowed to be working here,” he barked. “What has this country come to. I ought to report this whole place!”

Others in the store looked on. Some joined in. One woman mumbled something about "food safety." Another said, “Isn’t Genosha where you freaks are supposed to go?”

She looked cornered. Her hands trembled as she clutched the register.

That’s when the door swung open.

The bell above the frame jingled, and five teens walked in black and yellow suits, bold Xs across their chests. The air shifted instantly.

Warpath stepped up first. “We interrupting something?”

The man turned, mouth open, ready to unleash something vicious, then he saw the squad behind him. Marrow sharpening a bone spike. Iceman tossing an ice cube from hand to hand. Karma with her arms crossed, reading him like a page in a book. Sunspot, literal fire in his eyes.

He left.

So did the others.

The cashier took a long breath and nearly sank to the floor in relief. “Th-thank you, seriously,” she stammered.

“Not a problem,” Sunspot said, casually grabbing a bag of chips.

“Yeah,” Marrow added, “we were just here for snacks anyway.”

Within seconds the team scattered. Bobby filled his arms with frozen burritos. James grabbed jerky. Xuan picked a watermelon soda.

Sarah inspected a wall of sour candies with intense, tactical calculation.

They brought their snacks to the register, and Roberto handled the total.

The mutant girl rang them up with shaky hands, still clearly overwhelmed. She started to say something maybe another thanks but before she could, Karma gently placed a $50 bill in the tip jar.

“Keep the change,” Xuan said with a small, kind smile.

The girl’s eyes lit up.

As they headed for the door, the girl called after them. “Hey wait! Who are you guys anyway?”

Roberto paused, turning back as the rest of the team pushed through the door behind him.

“We’re the X-Men.”

***
April 16th 2010. 15.00pm
Buffalo

The rain came down in steady sheets outside the wide windows of Emma Frost’s mansion, the sound a soft, persistent rhythm against the glass. Inside the study, the air was tense. A holomap hovered above the sleek table, casting a faint blue glow across the room. It showed the ruins of the Malaysian compound, the blacksite where Rogue had been found.

Emma sat on the edge of a velvet couch, her arm still bound in a sleek black sling. She was quiet, staring at the screen. Across from her, Scott stood with his arms crossed, watching the looped drone footage of a place that no longer existed.

“I don't know why we're wasting our time with this,” he said finally. “Susan already told us they have the place on lockdown. We're not gonna get anything from old surveillance.”

Emma didn’t look at him. “You're probably right. But we need something, this Trask person has been ahead of us for literal years, we need to catch up.”

Scott exhaled slowly. “And we still don't even have the guy's real name.”

“I was never a fan of Where's Waldo.”

He cracked a dry smile. “Could never find him?”

"I'd get too frustrated and give up."

Emma waved a hand and dismissed the projection. The room dimmed again, lit only by a tall lamp near the bookshelf. She tapped her tablet and pulled up a new file: Elias Kincaid’s profile. His face filled the screen, graying hair, tired eyes, formal smile. Below it, the bold words: MISSING PERSON – 3 WEEKS.

“If we can’t find Trask,” she said, “we find the man he’s using. Elias.”

Scott stepped closer. “You think he’s still alive?”

“Honestly i don't know, but Elias was clearly a valued asset, the smart thing to do would be to off him, but the smarter thing  to do would be to find a way to keep him working for you.”

Scott studied the file for a moment, then frowned. “Elias had a family right? They're the ones who filed missing persons?”

Emma pulled up a second profile. Martha Kincaid. A recent headshot of a woman in her forties, dark hair pinned back, eyes that looked both kind and tired.

“Wife. Associate professor at the University of Connecticut. She filed the missing person report that made it to public databases. I doubt she knows everything, probably knows nothing but it never hurts to ask.”

Scott glanced at Emma. “If we go to her we might be putting her in danger.”

“Just filing that missing persons report already likely placed her on the FOH's radar. She's already in danger.”

Scott didn’t answer, just clenched his jaw.

“We go see her,” he said. “But we have to be careful about what we tell her and what she knows, we can't make things worse.”

Emma stood, slowly, adjusting her sling. “No offense, but subtlety has never exactly been your area of expertise.”

“I think that's changed since we started working together.”

She gave him a tired smirk. “Touche.”

There was a brief silence between them. The rain outside had softened, but thunder still rolled somewhere distant over the river.

Scott glanced back at the holomap one last time before shutting it down.

“We should leave as early as possible.”

Emma moved to the window, watching water streak down the glass. She pulled out her phone as she spoke.

“I'll start making some calls.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “We have to make this visit look natural, just in case anyone is looking.”

Scott nodded behind her.

***

April 16th 2010. 22.00pm
Madripoor

The air was thick with salt and smoke. Even at night, Madripoor buzzed with life, neon flickers, street vendors yelling over the sound of synth beats, and the ever present hum of trouble.

Wolverine and Storm walked side by side, boots crunching on the gravel path that led up a small incline. At the top sat a large, modern mansion, sharp lines, black marble siding, and a view of the sea to die for.

Storm gave Logan a sideways look. “So this is where Shaw set up shop?”

Logan grunted. “Back when I was working with him, yeah. Whole operation ran outta here.”

She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Subtle.”

“Neither are we.”

They reached the tall front doors. Logan stood in front of them for a moment, then placed a hand on the handle.

Storm crossed her arms. “Should we knock?”

Logan looked back with the faintest smirk. “It be the polite thing to do.”

He shoved the door open.

The mansion was empty.

And not just lived in but recently vacated empty, hollow. No furniture. No paintings. No art, rugs, personal belongings. Not even dust.

Storm stepped inside slowly, her boots echoing across the pristine marble. “Well,” she said dryly, “I guess we should have seen this coming.”

Logan closed the door behind them. The space felt eerie, like a museum stripped of everything that made it worth visiting.

They split up, wandering through different wings of the first floor, checking each room. Guest suites, bare. Kitchen, cleaner than it had probably ever been. Office, nothing but moonlight bleeding through large glass windows.

Storm returned to the main hallway, arms out to her sides. “He didn’t even leave behind a paperclip.”

Logan emerged from what looked like a wine cellar, shaking his head. “This place was the hub for everything. Meetings. Briefings. Fucking living. If he bailed on this, this fast-”

“He knew we’d come looking.” She turned slowly in place, taking one last look at the gutted luxury around her. “He could be anywhere.”

A soft buzz came from her pocket.

She pulled out her phone. The screen lit up with a message from Roberto:
“Issue in Harlem. Might need backup but will probably be fine. Definitely gonna need a ride though.”

Storm exhaled and locked the screen. “Looks like we’re done here.”

Logan raised a brow. “Where to?”

“Harlem,” she replied, already heading for the door.

The door slammed shut behind them, echoing through the abandoned mansion.

***

April 16th 2010. 11.00pm
Frankfurt

The bass thumped like a heartbeat. Neon pinks and reds painted the walls of the smoky club, where laughter, perfume, and desperation mixed into something intoxicating.

Front and center, a green skinned man with slicked back black hair threw euros at the stage like it was burning a hole in his pocket. A blonde voluptuous naked dancer spun upside down on the pole, legs elegant and eyes blank behind her fake lashes.

“Shake it, Cherry!” he shouted, nearly spilling his drink. “You’re a goddamn goddess!”

A few seats over, a waitress with snakebite piercings rolled her eyes and moved on. Nobody cared much about the green man’s enthusiasm, most figured he had money, and that’s all that mattered.

An Asian dancer, small framed but confident, slinked up behind him and draped her arms around his neck. She straddled him without hesitation, whispering into his ear.

“You want a private show, baby?”

He blinked, slightly flustered. “Uh—I mean, I don’t know—”

She smiled, her lips glossed and inviting. “I think you do know.”

Vincent’s hesitation crumbled, and he nodded, cheeks flushed. She led him by the hand, heels clacking, through a beaded curtain and down a red hallway to one of the velvet lined private rooms.

He stepped in, dim lights, soft music.

And a man already waiting, calmly sipping a glass of scotch.

Vincent stopped dead. “Shaw!?” His voice cracked, eyes darting toward the door. “What the fuck!?”

Sebastian Shaw smiled, leaning back comfortably in a leather armchair. “Hello, Vincent. It’s been far too long.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

Vincent turned just in time to see the dancer’s form shimmer and contort, skin turning blue, hair red, features changing like melting wax.

“Mystique,” he groaned, shoulders slumping. “God fucking damnit.”

She crossed her arms, looking far too smug. “You’re a hard man to find, Mesmero.”

“Don’t call me that,” Vincent muttered, rubbing his temple. “I hate that name.”

“That's too bad, i thought it was cute” She dropped into a chair like she owned the place.

Vincent turned back to Shaw. “Alright, you got me. What the hell do you want?

"I'll be straight forward, long time ago you did some work for Erik-"

"Hey! I haven’t talked to Magneto in years. I haven't talked to anybody in years!”

“I know Vincent,” Shaw said calmly. “But you did do some work for him. Specifically, a little experiment in mind control warfare.”

Vincent threw up his hands. “Seven years ago! And I failed, in case you forgot. The X-Men were immune or resistant or i just fucked it up I don't know. I tried, okay? And I already apologized for that screw-up.”

“Yes,” Mystique said, voice cool. “And your failure got me locked in a government holding cell for three months. Thanks for that by the way.”

Vincent groaned. “Erik broke you out!. It all worked out right?”

Shaw steepled his fingers. “You say your powers are unreliable. But you’re sitting here, in a very exclusive club with a very clear ‘No Mutants Allowed’ policy. Yet, no one batted an eye when you walked in.”

Vincent froze.

Mystique raised an eyebrow. “Thought maybe you’d glamoured the bouncers.”

He sighed, deflating. “Alright, fine. Maybe I nudged a few minds. Just enough to enjoy myself in peace. I wasn’t hurting anyone though. I just wanted to see Cherry dance. She’s very... talented and... curvy.”

Shaw grinned, predatory. “A man of your talents wasting away in German strip clubs is not the way it should be going for you. The world is about to change in a very big way Vincent, bigger than you can imagine, and the reason I'm here is very simple. I want to offer you a seat at the table, a seat at my table."

Vincent hesitated. “What kind of change? And why me?”

Shaw rose to his feet and poured another drink. “The kind of change where you don't have to mind control a bunch of humans who are beneath you to get a lapdance Vincent. I have plans for the future, and let's just say right now you are a big part of those plans”

Mesmero glanced between the two of them. “And what if i screw up your plans, what if I'm not your guy? What if you're making a mistake?”

Mystique smiled coldly. “We don't make mistakes”

Shaw offered him a drink.

And Vincent took it.

***
April 16th 2010. 11.30pm
Harlem

The night was thick with heat, the city buzzing in every direction, but the new X-Men stood quietly across the street from a tall, aging apartment building in upper Harlem.

Bobby squinted up toward the top floors. “This the place?”

Xuan nodded, arms folded. “This is the place. Reports of little girls with torn up clothes being dragged in and out of this place for few weeks. Screaming. Crying. Always the top floor.”

James frowned. “Why the hell hasn’t anyone shut it down yet?”

Roberto answered grimly, “Cops were called. 'Investigated.’ Found nothing. Some of the neighbors say they saw power dampening collars around the girls’ necks. So now you know why the cops are turning a blind eye.”

Sarah muttered under her breath, her jaw tight. “So some scumbags get to do whatever they want to literal kids… because they’re mutants. Fucking assholes.”

A heavy silence followed. Then Roberto cleared his throat.

“So… how do you want to play this? If we go in too hot, we risk hurting the girls. If we go in too cold, they might destroy evidence or worse.”

Sarah exhaled, looked at Bobby and Roberto. “So we'll need an aggressive but measured approach. Which means you two are out.”

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "Why's that?”

Sarah smirked. “No offense, but ice boy and latino heat aren’t exactly subtle.”

Bobby shrugged. “So got any suggestions?”

"Just one"

Sarah looked at James.

“Ever heard of the fastball special?”

Inside the apartment, five young mutants crouched behind a stained couch in the corner of the apartment’s top floor. Their bodies trembled, oversized collars weighing down their thin necks, their clothes dirty, torn, some barely clothed at all. One of the older girls tried to shield the others with her arms, but she was shaking just as hard.

Two men sat near the window playing cards. Another leaned against the fridge, arms crossed. The fourth and fifth were pacing. One of them, clearly the ringleader, spoke into a burner phone with the nonchalance of someone ordering takeout.

"Yeah, we got five of ’em. All mutants. What kind? Fuck if I know, I ain’t taking those collars off to find out. You want ‘em or not? I’ll give you a discount if you take the whole batch, i know your boss loves some group activities."

He laughed, harsh and cold, glancing back at the girls like they were cattle in a pen.

“You can do whatever you want with them, I’m just here to get paid.”

Then, a knock at the door.

Everyone froze.

The men traded confused glances. The one near the fridge drew his gun and crept toward the peephole.

That’s when everything shattered.

The window exploded inwards like a bomb had gone off. Sarah, mid flight, hurtled through the glass like a missile, body tucked, hair trailing like a comet’s tail. She hit the ground and rolled smoothly, already pulling bones from her arms as she rose.

Her scream echoed through the room like a war cry.

“What the fuck!”

Before anyone could react, Sarah was a blur. Bone daggers slammed into knees, joints, shoulders, precision strikes designed not to kill but to cripple. One man raised his gun, Sarah spun and drove a sharpened bone through his hand, pinning it to the wall.

A second later, the front door melted off its hinges.

Roberto, glowing with heat, stepped through first, steam rising from his arms. Behind him came Xuan, calm and calculating, and Bobby, cracking his knuckles with a cocky grin.

One of the traffickers aimed his weapon.

A wall of ice surged from Bobby’s fingertips, freezing the gun solid. It snapped in two with a hollow pop. The man dropped it, screaming as his hands turned purple from frostbite.

The ringleader made a desperate move, turning the gun on himself.

Click. Nothing.

He looked down in horror.

Sarah stood inches from him, her eyes burning with rage. A jagged bone spike jutted through the barrel of his gun, rendering it useless.

She leaned in, voice low, deadly.

“You don’t get to check out early, you pedophilic asshole.”

In the corner, Xuan knelt by the terrified girls. Her voice was soft, careful. “It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

They didn’t understand her words, not at first. Fear clung to them like smoke. Their eyes darted from her to the fight still winding down around them.

Xuan closed her eyes and sent out a wave of psychic calm, not control, just comfort. The trembling slowed. A few of the girls reached for her hands.

That’s when James walked through the broken hallway, breathing hard.

“Jesus, you fly like a damn football,” he said, giving Sarah a once-over. She shrugged, bone shards still bristling from her arms.

He immediately moved to the girls, dropping to one knee and inspecting the collars. Thick, metallic, humming with a low energy. James gritted his teeth and began tearing them off one by one with brute force.

A quiet sob broke the air. One of the girls started crying, not out of fear, but from the sheer shock of freedom.

“Hey,” James said gently. “You’re gonna be okay. We got you.”

From the rooftop, a gust of wind swept down.

The Blackbird hovered into view, black and sleek and glowing under the Harlem moonlight.

Roberto turned to the others. “Looks like our ride is here.”

James carefully lifted two girls. Bobby and Xuan guided the others. Sarah, still seething, kept close to the rear, her eyes locked on the whimpering traffickers.

***

April 17th 2010. 00.01am
Genosha

The Blackbird touched down on Genosha's landing platform with a soft hydraulic hiss, wind from the turbines kicking up dust and grass. A small group waited for its arrival.

Mutants of varying appearances and ages, but at the center stood Kurt Wagner, calm and composed, his yellow eyes scanning the descending ramp. Beside him, Tyrone Johnson held a stack of blankets in his arms.

As the hatch opened, five little girls were led carefully down the ramp, all wrapped in layers of trauma and silence. They didn’t speak, didn’t cry, just looked around wide eyed as Genosha’s warm, salt-kissed air welcomed them.

Tyrone and the other residents didn’t wait. Blankets were wrapped gently around the girls as arms guided them away toward the infirmary, soft words and softer touches trying to undo what little they could of the horrors the children had seen.

Storm and Roberto descended last. Storm's expression was cool but firm, her eyes scanning for Kurt immediately. Roberto adjusted his X-Men jacket as he caught Kurt’s eye.

Kurt smiled warmly. “New suit looks good on you, mein freund.”

Roberto smiled. “Thanks. I designed it myself.”

Kurt nodded, his smile fading as he turned to Storm. “So what happened?”

Storm’s jaw clenched. “Five young mutant girls. Traffickers had them. Power dampening collars too. We don’t know where they’re from, English might not be their first language or they're just too shocked to speak just yet. Regardless they’re safe now.”

In the background, the girls were ushered gently toward a modest hospital building. A few turned their heads to look back, unsure what came next.

Kurt’s eyes followed them, his gaze darkening. “Thank you. This... this is why the X-Men have to be out there again.”

Storm nodded slowly. “I know. Excuse me though, i need to speak to Erik.”

As she turned to leave, Roberto leaned toward Kurt. “Oh uh Rogue says hi by the way.”

Kurt’s expression softened again. “Tell her I’m sorry I haven’t visited just yet. You can imagine… things here never slow down.” He glanced back at the girls. “But I’m just glad she’s safe.”

A private, walled garden rested on the cliffs of Genosha’s eastern coast. Carefully manicured and lush with tropical greenery, it was Magneto’s quiet retreat and today, it was his classroom.

Tandy Bowen stood, eyes closed, breathing slowly and evenly. Around her, faint flickers of light pulsed like fireflies. She exhaled. On instinct, glowing light daggers formed in her palms. When Erik Lensherr finally gave the signal, she opened her eyes and hurled them forward. The knives spun through the air and buried themselves in bullseye targets with perfect accuracy.

“Perfectly placed,” Erik said with a small, satisfied smile.

Tandy rolled her eyes, sweaty and out of breath. “Yeah, only took me like a hundred tries.”

“Attempts don’t matter,” Erik said. “Only the execution. Consistency will come.”

A voice rang out from the garden’s entrance. “Am I interrupting?”

Ororo stood framed in the archway.

Tandy turned, slightly surprised. “Oh. No, not at all. Sorry. I’ll get out of your way.” On her way out, she gave Storm a quick smile. “Big fan by the way.”

Storm couldn’t help but return it.

When she turned back to Erik, her smile vanished. “You’re a teacher now?”

“I always have been,” Erik replied calmly. “She actually listens though. So that's rare.”

He moved to the garden’s edge, peering out the tall windows where the X-Men could be seen playing with young Genosha residents. He didn’t look back as he asked, “How many?”

Storm inhaled slowly. “Five.”

Erik closed his eyes for a moment. “Five more young mutants saved. But how many have we already missed?”

“Erik—”

He cut her off, his voice rising. “The humans are emboldened. Interrupting peaceful protests. Trafficking our children in New York. Sentinels rising again. Do you not see the signs?”

Storm moved beside him, her tone firm. “I do. That’s why I came. I knew this would… radicalize you.”

He turned to her sharply. “And it doesn’t you?”

“Of course it does Erik,” she snapped. “But there are ways to handle this.”

“Diplomacy,” Erik spat. “And how many mutants will suffer while you beg humans to play fair?”

“For the past five years, we’ve built this place,” Storm said. “You, me, Kurt. We’ve given people safety, homes, purpose, a life. Don’t throw that away because of your ego. Me and my team can handle what is going on.”

Erik squared up to her. “Your ‘team’?  Your children. Playing pretend in bright costumes. They are not built for war, for combat.”

Ororo’s voice dropped to a growl. “Yes. My team. And they’re out there saving lives while you sulk in a garden teaching light tricks to a teenager."

Ororo sighs deeply and continues, "I'm sorry but you are an old man-"

His eyes narrowed, cutting her off before she could finish. “Watch your tongue, Ororo. I chose peace. I did. But there is still a war raging in me. Don’t think I won’t unleash it if I feel i must.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” she snapped back. “You think i didn't hear about your little spat with Scott. The only reason you’re still breathing right now is because Kurt held him back.”

Erik’s nostrils flared.

She exhaled slowly and softened—just a little. “I know you. I know what drives you. I understand the anger. But we have work to do. Shaw’s is up to something and we don't know what it is, Trask and his sentinels are out there and we don't know what they're planning next, all that on top of all the other problems that are bubbling over.”

She stepped closer.

“I need you here, i need Erik Lensherr. What I don't need is Magneto. I need the man who built a haven for our people. I need the protector. Not the executioner. Can you do that?”

He studied her for a long moment without a word. Ororo turned to go, the tension still thick between them.

***
April 17th 2010. 00.30am
Westchester

The halls of the X-Mansion were dead quiet, save for the gentle ticking of a grandfather clock in the foyer. It was past midnight. The moonlight painted soft silver lines across the hardwood floor, and the only glow inside came from the warm lights of the kitchen.

Rogue sat alone at the counter, her legs tucked up on the stool, slowly chewing through a reheated bowl of gumbo that Remy had left for her. She’d slept through most of the afternoon and evening, her body still fighting to keep up with the world she’d been thrust back into. The food was good, warm, comforting but her mind was elsewhere.

She looked up when Remy entered, his arms stacked with a bundle of slightly weather worn mail. He dropped it with a sigh on the kitchen island and started flipping through it.

“Been real quiet today,” Rogue said between bites, not looking at him. “Honestly too quiet. Everyone okay?”

“They’re fine,” Remy replied, pulling out flyers and folded bills. “Whole gang’s in Genosha. Probably on their way back now.”

Rogue nodded, stirring her food. “That’s good. House feels way too empty.”

Remy didn’t answer immediately. His fingers paused on a single envelope, plain and unassuming, no return logo, just a Mississippi address scrawled across the front. His whole posture shifted. She noticed.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, lowering her spoon.

Remy hesitated, eyes still on the letter.

“I should’ve told you about this sooner,” he said quietly. “Honestly, I forgot about it. ‘Til now.”

He slid the envelope across the counter to her.

She flipped it over with hesitant fingers, tore it open slowly, and pulled the letter out.

Silence hung heavy between them.

Her eyes scanned the first lines. The words were messy, written in a rushed hand. Her expression changed, whatever piece of strength she’d started to rebuild today, it cracked just a little.

Remy waited quietly.

“How long?” she asked, her voice low, slightly frayed.

“Before I came back,” Remy admitted. “Ororo says a year, give or take.”

Rogue leaned back in her seat, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. “Fuck.”

“I ain’t sayin’ you gotta do anything with it,” he said. “I just… figured you should know.”

“What do you think I should do?”

Remy gave a shrug. “I think that depends on you. We could go check it out or we ignore it until it stops.”

She thought it over. “A road trip?”

Remy smirked. “You sayin’ I ain’t good company?”

“I’m sayin’ going home ain’t exactly a vacation spot. Especially not for this”

"Okay, so we won't go."

Silence lingered between them.

She picked the letter back up, turned it in her hands like it was a riddle she couldn’t solve.

Then she looked up at him.

“…You serious?”

“Only if you are.”

Rogue stared down at the letter again.

“…Fuck it.”

END OF CHAPTER