It Is A Basilisk Unto Mine Eye - Smokeycut - X-Men (2024)

Chapter 1: We All Wanna Change The World

Chapter Text

He woke with a start.

He always did, these days. Leaping upwards, eyes shut tight, in a cold sweat, crying out someone’s name. It always changed, but tonight it was Alex’s. He grabbed at his head and squeezed, as if crushing his own skull would quiet the voices that were haunting him this night, and every night before, going back far longer than he could even remember. And as the rain drummed against his bedroom window, and as the wind whipped at the trees outside, and as the thunder clapped and boomed… Scott Summers cried. He cried, and he didn’t know how to make the pain in his heart stop. If only, if only, if only it would stop.

He crawled his way out of bed, and opened the dresser without opening his eyes. He had done this routine often enough as a teenager, before he ever got his visor. He knew where he kept everything. It was all organized, not a single item out of place. Just in case. First drawer, second item from the left. A grey v-neck. At least, Jean said it was grey when she gave it to him on his twenty seventh birthday. The last one before she…

He couldn’t think about them. Not Alex and certainly not Jean. Not if he wanted to function. Second drawer, furthest item to the right. A pair of jeans. Bottom drawer, dead center. Black briefs. Just behind them, black socks. He slid the drawers closed, and turned to face the closet on his right. Second hanger from the right. A black leather jacket, well worn. He dressed himself, then grabbed a pair of glasses off of the top of the dresser and put them on. Finally, he opened his eyes. The room came to him through a soft red filter, like it always did. Ruby quartz. The only way he could see the world without destroying whatever he saw. He opened the door, slowly, and slipped out of his bedroom and into the hallway.

The mansion was silent and dark. He glanced at the clock on the wall as he entered the kitchen, and saw that it wasn’t even midnight yet. Everyone else was in bed, no doubt. Except for Logan. Scott could see his cabin out through the kitchen’s bay window, the lights on inside it. He could make out Logan’s silhouette in the doorway of the cabin, before the door closed and even those lights shut off. He opened the fridge, and noted that Logan must have just taken the last of their beer. He could always go out to the cabin, and join him in drinking to numb the pain. But that was never something the two of them had been capable of doing. Close as they were, they had never quite made it to being drinking buddies. And he didn’t want to start now.

So he left out the front entrance of the studentless school, and he slipped his keys into the ignition of the sedan that once belonged to Alex. That now belonged to him. The engine rumbled to life, and he drove off to find a bar.

It felt like entering a different world, when he stepped inside. A small group of men shared a booth in the corner of the room, while another two humans sat at the far right side of the bar. He chose a seat closer to the center, in front of the bartender. He was a tall, well built man, with long blonde hair and a small beard. His only other notable feature being the baseball cap he wore. He was looking at the tv that hung above the bar, and Scott’s gaze followed his.

It was set to the news. A woman, with bobbed black hair, bright blue eyes, and heavy makeup, was talking about politics. Maurette Leeds, it said her name was.

“Today marks the one year anniversary of the passage of the Mutant Registration Act. Spearheaded by Senate Majority Leader Robert Kelly, the act has led to the registration of over one thousand Mutants in the past year.”

She looked uncomfortable as she covered the subject. Stiff. She practically spat the word “Mutant”, like she didn’t even want something so filthy on her tongue.

“Can I have a beer, please?” Scott asked, looking over to the bartender. He nodded, and handed one to Scott. He started drinking the moment he had it in his hand. And still, the woman droned on.

“While the government’s zero tolerance policy for usage of Mutant powers was initially met with resistance and protests across the nation, it seems like most people have become content with the new status quo since then. Most likely due to the marked decrease in Mutant related crime.”

He asked for a second beer. And then, when that was finished, a third. And a fourth.

“To mark the one year anniversary of the MRA’s passage, Trask Industries has announced a new wave of Sentinels, which will be rolled out for active use by the police immediately. The Mark IV Sentinels are stated to be equipped with even greater Mutant tracking and hunting capabilities.”

A man from the corner booth swaggered over to the bar, and leaned up against it, next to Scott. He stank like booze. Then again, so did Scott.

“Many expected the deployment of the Mark IV Sentinels to be delayed by the attack on Trask Industries last week by the infamous Mutant terrorist group known as the X-Men, but Bolivar Trask revealed that the attack actually ended in his favor, with the death of at least one Mutant criminal.”

There was a flash of white light, and a wave of scorching heat. Alex’s voice, screaming, and then nothing. Just ash on the ground. A pair of red lights in the sky, peering down at him. He roared, and tore his visor off. Poured everything he had onto the monstrosity until it crumbled.

“Good riddance,” the man said with a drunken laugh. “f*ck the Muties. Let ‘em all die, see who gives a sh*t.”

They had nothing of him left to bury. Logan and Ororo had to grab Scott and tear him away from the scene, before he died too. They buried an empty casket. Just like when they buried Jean. He lost track of how many bottles he had downed.

“The new wave of Sentinels are projected to ensure the continued registration of all Mutants in the country, and the arrest of those who continue to use their powers in spite of the Mutant Registration Act. But in a joint statement, Trask and Kelly assured Mutants that so long as they comply with the zero tolerance policy, they have nothing to worry about.”

Jean. The Shi’ar hadn’t even let him take her body back to Earth. Hadn’t even let him bury his fiance. They took her body to some vault. To lock it away, billions of miles from home. Another empty grave. Between Alex’s and Charles’.

“Can you… Can you please turn the tv off?” he asked, looking weakly at the bartender. He nodded, and went to hit the switch, when the other man protested.

“Nah, leave it on, leave it on.” He looked at Scott, suspicious, and leaned closer to him. “Why don’t you wanna hear this, man? Why… What’s your problem?” he slurred. He tilted his head, and poked Scott in the shoulder.

“You a f*ckin’ Mutie lover?”

Scott turned, and looked at the drunk idiot. He didn’t even think. He was too tired to think. And far, far too drunk. And so, without thinking, he slugged the man in the face and knocked him out cold. And in the corner booth, the man’s friends started to stand up, and come closer…

“This is Maurette Leeds, signing off. Good night, and God bless.”

********************

She dialed the number, but her thumb hovered above the “call” button, frozen in place.

It became a daily ritual, ever since Joanna had gotten home from Kuwait. Every evening, after she had made dinner but before she had eaten, she’d type in the number, but she could never bring herself to call. She didn’t know if the other end would even pick up. And if she did pick up, what would she say? Would she hang up the instant she heard her daughter’s voice? Would she call the police? The hotline for reporting unregistered Mutants? Would she call her a monster, a demon, a murderer?

Was her mother even still alive?

She gritted her teeth and fought back the tears. She shut off her phone and put it in her back pocket, then held her head in her hands as she leaned against the cheap apartment countertop. But no matter how hard she fought against them, the wet, hot tears fell from her eyes, and splashed onto the counter. She tried to stay calm, to shut the emotions down before they overwhelmed her. Before she broke something.

She pushed herself away from the counter, and turned to take her stir fry off the stove. She sat down to eat, and turned on the news. The woman on CNN was going on and on and on about registration. About how the Mutants were going to be arrested or killed if they didn’t line up and tell the government all about who they are and what they’re able to do. They were handing out numbers, and she was expected to take one and obey, like a good little Mutie. She wasn’t going to. She’d die before she’d ever let someone else control her. But, try as she might to pretend she was going to take on the powers that be, that she was going to stand her ground and fight… She was still, at the end of the day, just a military washout sitting in her apartment and glaring at the news.

********************

She held the paperclip in her open hand, and with just a thought, she made it dance.

She had been collecting bits and pieces of metal for weeks, at school and at the supermarket and at home. Snatching up pens with metal casings, stealing staples out of the teachers’ staplers when they weren’t looking, exchanging her dollar bills for change… Until she had a display of metal objects surrounding her, on the floor of her bedroom. Her mom was watching the news in the other room, and her door was closed, so she knew she was safe to practice. To play. To make the metal dance in the air.

It felt good to reach out and feel it all. And she did feel it all. She couldn’t explain it, but every scrap of copper, steel, and aluminum could be felt without touching them. She only had to think at them, and they would bend to her will. She sent every other object in the pattern up into the air, and as they fell, she popped up the ones that had been left behind. Back and forth, over and over, watching them pop up and down, falling and rising past each other. Little toy cars and coins and ball bearings, all under her complete and total control. She furrowed her brow in concentration, and the trinkets began to dodge and weave around each other, whirling around and around and around her, like planets orbiting a star. And she was a star.

She couldn’t help but laugh with joy. She hated having to hide her gift, having to listen to kids at school talk about how disgusting Mutants were while she sat right there, pretending she wasn’t one of the genetic abnormalities that they wanted to hurt. But here, in the safety and privacy of her bedroom, she was able to be herself. She was able to be free.

“Nomi?! What the hell are you doing?!” The door to her room swung open, and her mother stood in the doorway. All of the metal dropped to the floor with a thud, and fear flashed across her young face.

********************

He watched the news, and fear gripped his heart.

“Has it really been a year?” He whispered, holding his head in his hand. His long chestnut hair hung over his face, and the coals of red light that were his irises burned dimly, as though even their fire was burning out.

“Hard to believe, isn’t it? How time ticks along, without a care for us and our kind?”

“Dey’re gonna kill us all, sooner or later…” He considered the glass in his hand, which contained only a few drops of whiskey at this point. The bottle on his table was empty, having been drained of its contents in the past few hours. He staggered over to the window of his dingy apartment and looked out at the stars that hung up above New Orleans.

Remy LeBeau was at the end of his rope, and he was looking for something, anything, to give him a way out of the darkness. He hung his head and sighed deeply as the world spun around him. Too drunk to make sense of it all. Too drunk to crawl his way out of the dark hole he had found himself in.

“It’ll be okay, Remy,” his companion assured him, though he didn’t buy it one bit. “I assure you, you and I… Together, we’ll live to see the end of all this. We’re survivors. Stronger together than we are apart. You trust me, don’t you?”

Remy sighed again, and turned his eyes to the moon. He spoke softly, weakly, and resigned. “I hope you’re right…”

********************

She held a shining, silver tray in her hands, and tried her hardest not to melt it.

The inner circle had gathered, and she was the only maid allowed in the room. She didn’t know why they trusted her above the others, but she tried her best to ignore what they were discussing. All of them, smiling coyly and talking about the new Sentinels like they were only programmed to hunt the poor Mutants. The ones who didn’t have the clout to end up as members of the Hellfire Club. Then again, for all she knew, that was exactly the case. The White Queen certainly had the money to pay off Trask Industries to hide her unique genetic signature from their tracking programs.

And here she stood, in an opulent club that was furnished as though they were living in eighteenth century France. Gold and silver and pearl as far as the eye could see. Even the tray she held was made of pure silver. Serving tea to a group of women and men in lavish clothing from the same era. A maid, doting on kings and queens. The White Queen was fanning herself and tittering at the White King’s remark about how he didn’t find Sentinels frightening in the least. No sh*t, Angel thought. He wasn’t even a Mutant.

She had been watching the news closely, ever since the MRA passed in her first year of college. It was the same year she had been diagnosed with breast cancer. The same year that her grandmother had died. The same year that Emma Frost came along and offered to protect her, to teach her how to use her powers safely, to avoid ending up in prison like all the Mutants who were caught using their abilities in public.

She reminded herself that she was only doing what she had to do to survive. One year into this hellish nightmare where giant robots rounded up people like her and shoved them into “detention centers”. A fancy way to refer to an internment camp, which held innocent people who simply couldn’t control their abilities. Or who had been born with abilities that were tied to them in a way that could never be suppressed. She thanked God that she wasn’t born with scales or fur or a tail. But she felt so much sorrow for those less fortunate.

The White Queen snapped her fingers, and Angelica snapped to attention. She poured the woman, her Mistress, another cup of tea, and stayed silent as the conversation resumed. Fear gripped her heart, as it had for a full year now. Too afraid to even keep the tea warm with her gift, lest someone report her for illegal usage of Mutant powers. She was like a bird in a cage. A phoenix that wasn’t even allowed to rise from her ashes.

She swallowed her emotions, and poured another cup of tea.

********************

Scott slumped against the door to Logan’s cabin and knocked on it with the back of his fist. He nearly collapsed inside when the door swung open, and was only saved from greeting the wooden floor by Logan catching him and leading him to the sofa. Scott leaned back and rested his head on the back of the couch, as Logan stood across from him, his burly, hairy arms crossed in front of his chest, a glass of iced tea resting on the table in front of him.

“What the hell happened, Summers?” He asked. His voice was as gruff as ever, but it carried a twinge of sympathy, and of worry.

Scott didn’t look at him, and he didn’t acknowledge the bruises that covered his face and chest. The blood on his knuckles, and in his mouth. The cracked left lense of his glasses, which threatened to burst with concussive force if it cracked any further. Logan sighed, and took a sip of his iced tea before pressing on.

“How much trouble are we in?”

“The X-Men? None,” Scott said with a wry laugh. He winced, and clutched his ribs. “But me? A lot.”

“You gonna bring any Sentinels down on our heads, Slim?”

“No… No, I’ve got a plan,” Scott assured him.

“And what is this plan?”

Scott looked out the window, towards the manor’s grounds. Cicadas buzzed, and crickets chirped, but he said nothing. Not yet. He had a plan. One that would, most likely, get himself killed before the year was over. But he was going to follow it to the end. He found himself humming a tune. An old one, that he remembered Charles being a fan of, before his death. His lips parted, and he sang softly to himself.

“You say you want a revolution…”

Chapter 2: Miss Atomic Bomb

Chapter Text

The bar had become her second home, over the past year. Fenris Tavern, in Montgomery, Alabama, that is. Joanna had been invited by a few folks from her support group, back when the MRA seemed like it was just a bigoted pipe-dream. Carol and Sam had dragged her along with them, told her it was a bar for vets like them. A place where they could gather, outside the support group, and talk about things besides how the war had f*cked them up, but with people who still knew what it was like to be in a combat zone.

But she didn’t come to the bar with Carol and Sam anymore. Hadn’t seen either of them in months. She tried to drag herself to the support groups, after the law passed, but she felt stifled, in a way she hadn’t before. They were talking about PTSD, about the stressors that set them off. She could talk about how she reacted when woken up unexpectedly, or the nightmares she had most nights, but she couldn’t talk about the giant mechanical beasts that roamed the streets, and how they activated her fight or flight response. Not without outing herself as a Mutant. Not without telling a room full of vets that she was one of the freaks. That she hadn’t really been discharged for having contraband. That it was the military’s strict “no Mutants” policy, which had been in place far longer than she had even been alive. That when they saw the bullets bounce off of her chest, they saw her as a liability instead of an asset.

So she stopped going to the support groups. But she couldn’t stay away from the bar. She moderated herself, she was never the sort to drink too much or too frequently. But she was the sort who became a notable fixture. Like John Proudstar, the Vietnam vet who tore through a pile of bar nuts every evening. Or Kevin Sydney, the guy who served in Desert Storm, and was usually passed out in the booth in the back corner of the room. They were nice guys. Nice enough, at least. John didn’t talk much to most people, but he talked to Joanna.

“Hey, kid,” he mumbled around a peanut. There was already a sizable collection of shells in front of him at his place at the bar. His eyes flicked up to meet her as she walked through the door. His head was bobbing along slightly to the country music that was playing on the radio.

“You do know I’m 30 years old, right?” She grabbed the bar stool next to his and nodded at the bartender as he set down her usual beer.

“Still a kid to me, kid.” He grunted, or chuckled. She could never tell which it was. But she smirked. The familiarity of it all put her at ease. The routine. Get off of work, head to the bar, and everyone who should be there is. Nothing was out of place or strange, and nothing set her off. A risk factor of zero.

Her eyes drifted down to John’s wrist as he began to shell another peanut, and her smirk was replaced with a scowl. She saw the bracelet around his wrist. Blinking with green lights around a number etched into a steel tag.

“You registered?” Joanna asked, her voice a low, harsh whisper. John looked at her slowly, and she saw how tired he was in his eyes. In the lines of his face. In the slump of his heavy shoulders. In his very essence.

“Better than being a scorch mark in the street,” He muttered. He shook his head and popped the peanut in his mouth.

“Better to die free than live as a slave,” Joanna shot back, her voice rising ever so slightly.

“This government already took everything my people had,” John whispered, defeat ringing clear in his weary voice. “All I’ve got left is my life.”

She opened her mouth to continue the debate, only to notice another face at the bar. This one unfamiliar. A white man, around her age, in a blue and yellow hoodie, with a NY Giants baseball cap pulled low to cover his face. He scratched at his beard, all short and brown and clearly still new to him. He wasn’t used to growing it out, so it itched. And he was looking at her. Watching her argue with John. And when her gaze turned to him, he stood, and moved to the seat on the other side of her from John’s.

Joanna tracked him, fists clenched and preparing for a fight if he tried anything. The brown haired man didn’t say anything at first, not until it became clear that Joanna was waiting for him to speak up. Until then, she turned her attention back to John, and prepared herself to defend the older man if need be. His strength and durability, while far greater than a baseline human’s, were much weaker than her own. Whether it was a matter of age or nature, it didn’t really matter to her. But keeping her own safe did.

“Joanna, right?” The brown haired man said. His voice was stiff, like he had prepared every word a week in advance. He held himself just at rigidly.

“Yeah? How’d you know?” She was on edge, on guard, prepared to shatter her beer bottle on his face if he tried anything. An exit strategy was already forming in her head.

“Kevin told me about you,” He said, turning to look at Kevin, passed out in his usual booth. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Joanna relaxed, only slightly, and regarded the man again. There was no alcohol on his breath, even though he had been there longer than her. His glasses, tinted red with thin metal frames, were pushed up to cover his eyes entirely. Coupled with the hoodie and the baseball cap, it was more than clear he was hiding from someone.

“You AWOL?” She asked, her voice low.

“In a way, yes.”

“In a way?”

“Let’s just say that I’m not the most beloved man in the country right now.” He looked at her through those sunglasses, and she had no idea whether he was looking at her, John, or the bartender, who was now at the other end of the bar.

“Are you even a vet?”

“A veteran? Yes. A veteran of the US military? No.”

“Then what the hell kinda war did you fight in?” Her voice deepened, became sharper, harsher, taking on the same tone it did when she saw John’s Mutant ID bracelet.

“The one that’s still going on,” He told her, with a hint of a smirk. “And I’m recruiting.”

Joanna glanced back at John, who was looking down at his bar nuts with a pained look in his eyes. She looked at Kevin, still sleeping off his booze. She looked at the man in the red sunglasses, and clenched her jaw tight.

“Let’s talk back at my place.”

The man smiled.

********************

“Alright, explain,” Joanna demanded, as she shut the door of her apartment behind them. The man took a look around, then turned to look at her. He was the very definition of a string bean, when applied to a human being. Tall, lanky, and too thin for someone of his height. But he carried himself like her. Like a soldier. Rigid, and yet weary. Tired from loss. He dressed like he was trying to look normal, but he wasn’t sure how normal looked. Like he was uncomfortable in his own clothes.

And behind the ruby red lenses of his glasses, there was a dangerous, yet alluring, red glow.

“Do you have your phone on you right now?” He asked, his voice low, and still as structured as in the bar.

“Yeah? What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Put it in another room. In a drawer or under a pillow or something.”

“You’re really into some kinda covert ops, huh?” She shook her head, but did as he requested. She walked to her bedroom and tucked her cellphone under her pillow, then came back to find him standing in the exact same spot, holding the exact same position.

“Any other recording devices? You don’t own an Echo, do you?”

“No. Now, you gonna tell me why you don’t want anyone listening in on this conversation?” Joanna asked, taking a step closer to him. As tall as he was, he still had to look up in order to meet her eye. And she wanted him to know that.

“My name is Scott Summers. I am a wanted fugitive. I am an unregistered Mutant. Until last week, I was a member of the X-Men.”

“You’re Cyclops…” The realization sank in, and she felt like a moron for not connecting the dots back at the bar. The glasses. The damn glasses were a dead giveaway. She put on hand on her hip, and the other held her forehead. “sh*t. Of course you are.”

The smallest hint of a smile graced his face, but vanished as quickly as it came. Despite being a fugitive from the law, he really looked like a fed.

“Do you watch the news, Ms. Cargill?”

“I try not to… But yeah. Yeah I do.” She glanced at her television with a sneer, thinking of the most recent news reports on Mutants and the supposed menace they posed to society.

“Then I’m sure you know about the Mutants that are being forced to register, or locked up in camps, or… Or killed. Executed.”

“Murdered, more like.”

He nodded stiffly. “Murdered.”

Joanna sighed, and crossed her arms. “So why are you coming to me?”

“Because I want to do something about it.” He looked at her, and she saw the danger behind his glasses humming louder. Angrier. And he continued.

“I have spent the past year watching as my people are rounded up and killed. No doubt tortured. Even longer, I have tried, tried and failed, to show humans that Mutants pose no threat to them. I fought alongside the X-Men. I led the X-Men. And no matter how often we protected humanity and their government, that very same government, those very same people… They keep trying to kill us. And I have watched them kill my own family.”

He looked down, and he swallowed. Tried to calm his racing heart. His face, still, betrayed little emotion. But she could hear it choking his voice. The pain. The loss. The weariness. He pushed his glasses up and clenched his fists. He spoke again, in a voice hardly above a whisper.

“I am tired, Ms. Cargill, of watching my people die. This country has betrayed us. So I think that it’s time for us betray our country. I think it’s time we take it back, for Mutantkind.”

She looked at him for a moment, and then snorted. He co*cked an eyebrow in confusion.

“This ain’t our country anymore, string bean. They made that clear last year. We wouldn’t be betraying anybody.” Her voice began to shift, leaning in to a growl. “But you’re talking about going all Brotherhood of Mutants on the world. Taking on ONE. The whole f*cking military. Fighting god damned Sentinels. Magneto couldn’t do it, but you think you can?”

“I don’t know if I can, Ms. Cargill. But we have to try.”

“sh*t…”

Scott watched as Joanna leaned against her kitchen table. No doubt, if she put her full weight on it, it would break like it was nothing. She did, in fact, stand notably taller than him. She had a good five inches on his six foot build, and she was built like a tank. Even without her mutation, she looked like she was strong enough to go toe-to-toe with a heavyweight boxing champ for ten rounds and come out on top. Her dark brown dreads were pulled back into a ponytail, and her dog tags hung from her neck on a small chain. She looked like a soldier, to the very core. She spoke with a husky, smooth voice. A twinge of a southern drawl snuck in through with the words. And he could practically feel the righteous fury that was boiling inside her. Threatening to explode.

And he wanted her to explode.

“Would you rather register?” He asked quietly. “Would you rather end up in a camp? Or killed by a Sentinel, and forgotten? Or would you rather stand up and fight? What is it you said back at the bar? Better to live free… Than to die a slave?”

She looked him dead in the eye, and he could see the explosion.

“What’s this little outfit of yours called, anyways?”

He smiled. That little, quick flash of a smile.

“The Mutant Liberation Front.”

Chapter 3: Suck A Dick, America

Chapter Text

Scott stood outside a diner called Jay’s. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his coat, but clenched his jaw and prepared to activate his visor at a moment’s notice. It was coming up any minute now. He could feel it. The comms he had stolen from Hank’s lab were barely functioning, but he tried to work through the crackling static to relay a message to Joanna.

“Police report says she’s wearing a blue hoodie, black leggings, and a white skirt. Bright blue hair, too.”

He winced as the comms whined at a high pitch, then settled down. Joanna’s voice filtered through, sounding as though she was miles away.

“Wouldn’t she have thought to ditch those clothes by now? Dyed her hair?”

“She’s thirteen.”

“...Hoodie, leggings, skirt. Got it.”

Scott fell quiet, and he waited. And waited. And waited. And after several more minutes had passed, he heard the telltale siren of a police car, and saw the flashing blue and red lights coming down the street. The comm began to whine again, and so he ripped it out and dropped it in the trash as the car pulled up to the curb near him. Two well-armed officers clambered on out, and Scott tensed up. One of his hands reached up towards his visor, but to his surprise, they didn’t even notice him. They weren’t there for him.

His gaze turned to the inside of the diner, and the first thought that ran through his mind was that he must have been an idiot. He had painstakingly scoped out every last street in the zipcode, and he didn’t even check inside the damn diner. But there she was, visible right through the window.

He watched in silence as she noticed the police. The color drained from her face, and she dropped her burger onto the plate. She stood, and began to back away in fear as the police aimed their guns right at her. The other patrons of the diner began to scream, and shoot up in horror at the scene that was unfolding before their eyes. Before Scott had a chance to react, the girl threw up her hands.

As her hands went up, so did every metal object in the building. Silverware, the cash register, even purses with metal chains. And all at once, they came together, bashing the cops with enough force to distract them and give the girl a chance to run. And as she looked for an exit, Scott provided one by shooting the glass window with an optic blast. The glass splintered and flooded inwards, and she didn’t hesitate before leaping out onto the sidewalk.

“My name is Scott Su-”

Before he had a chance to finish, she had bolted right past him and down the street. Scott sighed in frustration and chased after her, as the police ran out of the building and chased after him.

He glanced backwards and fired a warning shot, hitting the ground at their feet. They didn’t stop. He blasted their guns out of their hands, and they stopped to pick them back up. One of them said something into their radio, but he was too far ahead to hear it. He looked ahead, just in time to see the girl duck into an alley. He smiled at his luck, and followed after her.

He turned the corner to find Joanna blocking the girl’s path. How fortunate for them that their target had picked the exact alley that Joanna had picked as her stakeout position. She had grabbed the girl by her hoodie and lifted her up into the air, where she was flailing wildly and spitting out a startling stream of foul language. He was impressed.

“Quiet, kid!” Joanna growled. The girl fell silent, but then spat one last insult.

“f*ck you, fascist.”

“We’re not the fascists here,” Scott said, stepping closer. “We’re Mutants. Like you. And we are trying to help you get away from the real fascists.”

Her eyes went wide as she noticed his visor, and she broke into a grin. “You’re Cyclops, aren’t you? You’re the one who exploded the window?!”

“Yes, I am. And we need to get you out of here, fast.” He glanced towards the entrance to the alley, and breathed a sigh of relief as the cops ran past their position. “We need to get in the car and get out of here. Come on, let’s hurry.”

“I’m not too worried, honestly,” Joanna said, setting the girl on the ground. She kept a hand on her shoulder, just to make sure she didn’t try to split. “Between the two of us, we can take some cops no problem.”

“We’re not bullet proof.” Scott checked the alley’s entrance again.

“I am.”

He looked back at Joanna, and for some reason, began to genuinely consider the merits of taking on the entire Baltimore PD together. He hadn’t fought cops, seriously fought cops, since he was a teenager. When he and Jean were on their first date. When they had-

”HALT. MUTANTS IDENTIFIED.”

All three of them felt a chill run down their spines, and the color drained from their faces. Fear, pure and distilled terror, flooded their bodies. A shadow loomed over them, and they could hear the sounds of metal grinding against metal. They turned their gazes skyward to see the cold, emotionless, almost childlike face of a Sentinel staring down at them. It raised a hand, and a long, snake-like, steel tendril slithered out…

********************

Five hours earlier.

Scott sat in the front seat of the car, with Joanna in the passenger seat. Baltimore was spread out before them, as they parked in a lot not far from the stakeout point.

“So, who’re we picking up here, exactly?” She asked pointedly, as she tied her dreadlocks back into a low ponytail.

“Nomi Mara Blume. She’s a magnokinetic, like Magneto.”

“Wait, you mean the girl from the news? sh*t,” Joanna said, impressed.

Neither one of them had to clarify any further beyond that. Everyone in America who still watched the news had heard of Nomi Blume. They were calling her the next Magneto. The newest name in Mutant terrorism. What they didn’t say was that she had been apprehended by ONE after her own mother called their hotline to report her daughter. They didn’t tell people that she was only thirteen years old, or that her favorite color was electric blue, or that she had been a girl scout. Instead, they just talked about how she had become the first Mutant in history to break herself out of ONE’s custody. And for the past two weeks, she had managed to avoid being recaptured. Those facts, coupled with the coincidence that she shared her powers with the leader of The Brotherhood of Mutant Supremacy, made her the most feared girl in America.

“You sure you want to bring a kid into this, though?” Joanna asked, looking at Scott with a furrowed brow. “We’re talking war. Revolutionary war. She’s just a kid.”

“I’ve been fighting this war since I was a teenager. So have all my closest friends. Humans aren’t waiting until she turns eighteen, so neither will we,” Scott countered. That was enough for Joanna, so she simply nodded in affirmation and cracked her knuckles.

“Long as I get to bust some heads, I’m down,” She said, thinking back to the night she first used her own powers. He was right. She knew that from experience. The world didn’t care about a Mutant’s age. It only cared that they were a Mutant.

But Scott’s thoughts were elsewhere. He looked out the car window, into the blue sky up above, and wondered if they would even be able to get Nomi out of Baltimore. Or would he face the same fate as Alex? Turned into a black scorch mark on the ground, without even a trace of a body left behind? The skies looked clear, but… But he could never be sure of his own safety. Not in the world they lived in.

********************

Three sets of eyes gazed up at the Sentinel and three hearts began to pound rapidly, like drums on a battlefield. The steel tendril snaked out of its metallic purple hand and wrapped around Scott’s torso. Joanna began to shout. Nomi backed up against the brick wall of a building. Scott raised his hand to his visor, and unleashed hell.

Red light poured onto the Sentinel, right in the crook between its upper arm and forearm. The joint began to bend, and to weaken, as metal was ground down, bombarded with pure force. But as Scott was pulled into its cold, crushing grip, he had no choice but to release the button on his visor, and the concussive force barrage ceased.

Looking into its eyes, he thought again of Alex, and of Jean. He had expected it to all end like this, though not quite so soon. He could practically smell the burning flesh, from the night he watched his little brother die. He tried to squirm out of its grip, just enough so that he could activate his visor again, but there was no hope of escape. Not alone.

Thankfully, he wasn’t alone.

There was a wrenching noise, like the swing of a collapsing ferris wheel, as the Sentinel’s left leg buckled, and it fell to its knee. It was then that Scott saw Joanna, holding a crumpled mass of wire, cable, and metal in her hands, ripped right out of the machine’s leg. She roared, like a lioness, and hurled the ball of steel into the Sentinel’s unmoving face. Scott watched, in awe, as she leapt up onto the monstrosity’s kneecap and punched it in the stomach. The metal dented, and with another punch was punctured. The Sentinel’s grip began to weaken, and Scott pulled an arm free from its grasp.

“Keep hitting it!” He shouted, as he poured on another steady blast of concussive force. All the while, he kept directing his allies. “Go for the joints! With any luck, we can break it apart. Nomi, I want you to get somewhere safe. Hit it from a distance!”

“Screw that,” The young runaway muttered to herself. She pushed out her hands, palms facing the Sentinel, and began to raise her arms, slowly. As they were lifted, so too was the Sentinel. Up, off the ground, and into the air. Turning her hands away from each other, she began to pull the machine apart, right down the middle. Nuts and bolts shook and rattled, cables snapped, and panels were flung off and out into the streets. Finally, with a loud, metallic groan, its arms were torn from its torso, and dropped to the ground. Lifeless. Inert. Dead.

Scott was free, but the head kept talking.

”CEASE RESISTANCE. SUBMIT, MUTANTS. SUBMIT, MUTANTS. SUBMIT, MUTA-”

Joanna climbed up onto its chest and buried her fist in the death machine’s face, crushing its CPU and shutting it up for good. With a sickening crunch, it fell to the ground, and its lights dimmed, before blinking out entirely. Scott looked to the mouth of the alley, just as the two police officers entered it, and blasted them hard enough to knock them out.

“Suck a dick, mom…” Nomi mumbled, before collapsing to the ground, unconscious.

Scott’s attention turned to the fallen girl, while Joanna delivered one final kick to the Sentinel’s broken face. Scott rolled Nomi over, onto her back, and checked her pulse. She was still breathing, and steadily at that. She was, from the look of things, perfectly fine, save for a bloody nose. He smiled softly to himself. It wasn’t the first time that a young Mutant had pushed themselves to the edge of their abilities, and paid the price in the form of a fainting spell. Odds are it wouldn’t be the last, either. But she would be just fine, so long as they got her away before any more police arrived.

“Come on, let’s get her to the car,” Scott urged Joanna. She hoisted Nomi up and over her shoulder, and headed for the other end of the alley, where her car was parked. She put Nomi in the back seat, then climbed into the driver’s seat while Scott sat beside her.

She put the car in drive, and drove off. The entire ride out of the city, Scott found himself watching for any sign of police catching on to them. He was counting on luck, and luck had never helped him before. But as the minutes passed on by, and the police ran in circles trying to find Cyclops and a girl with blue hair, they ignored the car driven by Joanna Cargill and a random man with red sunglasses.

But still, it wasn’t until they reached Hanover, to the south, that he let his guard down even a little. He looked into the back seat and saw Nomi sitting up straight, wiping the now dried blood from her face and sneering at it in disgust.

“Gross,” She muttered, flicking it away. She looked up at Scott and furrowed her brow as she thought. “Are you taking me to live with the X-Men?” She asked.

“If you want. But that isn’t what I had in mind,” He told her.

“Wait, don’t the X-Men have a jet?”

“Yes. They do.”

“Then why are we in this lady’s car?”

“Because we’re not the X-Men,” He explained with a frustrated sigh.

Nomi scoffed. “What, did they fire you or something?”

“Kid, just shut up and let the man speak,” Joanna cut in, shooting Nomi a glare powerful enough to make her listen.

“Thanks, Joanna.” Scott looked straight at Nomi and explained. “The X-Men aren’t effective. They’re trying to plug a leaking dam, and it’s not working. I can take you up to live with them, if that’s what you really want, but I had something else in mind. Something that, I think, might suit you better.”

“And what’s that?”

“It’s what we just did, Nomi. Fighting ONE, and the Sentinels, directly. Bringing the fight to them, instead of avoiding it. Breaking people out of lockup, giving them the means to fight back, and lighting the fires of revolution. Burning down the factories that create those machines, one by one, until they can’t kill us anymore. Being ruthless. Using the methods that will make humans stop killing us. That is what I had in mind.”

Nomi looked at Joanna, and then back at Scott, and a smile began to form on her face. A blood stained bullet, stolen from one of the several ONE soldiers she had fought in order to escape captivity, floated out of the pocket of her hoodie, and began to spin in the palm of her hand.

“Suck a dick, America.”

Chapter 4: Devious Stares In My Direction

Chapter Text

“So, why are you going around getting a bunch of random Mutants to help you out, again?” Nomi asked Scott. She sat atop the trunk of Joanna’s car as Scott filled the gas tank, kicking her legs back and forth lazily and twirling a paperclip in the palm of her hand. The summer breeze blew gently on them all, easing the heat in the southern air.

“As opposed to what?” Scott looked at her, waiting for the tank to fill up.

“The X-Men? The Brotherhood? Why are we picking up a bunch of nobodies?”

“You are one of those nobodies, kid,” Joanna shot at her from her position in the driver’s seat. Nomi rolled her eyes and looked back to Scott, expecting an answer.

“I already tried to get the X-Men to agree with this plan,” He explained. He sighed, and hung up the hose. “None of them were on board. Not even Wolverine. They wanted to stick to Xavier’s way of doing things. Focus on protecting the humans, and showing them we aren’t out to hurt anyone. After our raid on that Sentinel factory, they won’t even go after Trask anymore. They’re too afraid of retaliation.”

“And the Brotherhood? Why the hell isn’t Magneto helping us?” Nomi complained.

“Because nobody has seen Magneto in months,” Joanna told her.

“Exactly. But trust me, we’re not in New Orleans for a nobody.”

“Who then?” Nomi and Joanna asked in unison. They shot each other a brief glare, then looked back at Scott.

“His name is Shiro Yoshida. He used to go by Sunfire,” Scott said with a slight smile. He was looking forward to seeing an old friend again, after how long it had been since their last encounter. “He used to be a member of the X-Men, but he left several years back.”

“Wait, seriously?!” Nomi shot up straight and kicked herself off of the back of the car. “I saw a youtube video of that guy! He’s like Pyro, but better! Why’d he quit?”

“He didn’t exactly gel with the rest of the team. He was never the kind to follow orders. But I could care less about that these days. And besides, I called him up in advance and he agreed to join. We’re just going down here to pick him up.”

“I wonder if he’ll teach me how to fly,” Nomi muttered to herself as she climbed back into the car’s back seat. It would be several more minutes before she remembered that Magneto didn’t actually fly, so much as he levitated his own armor.

Now that they were in New Orleans, it didn’t take them too long to reach the Yoshidas’ address. There was a young girl on the front lawn, playing with an older man. His black hair was just beginning to turn grey, at the temples, and his age showed around the eyes in the form of deep crows’ feet. He paused when he noticed the car pulling up the street, and his daughter’s baseball bounced off of his chest and rolled onto the grass.

“Aimi, go on inside,” He told her. She looked at him, confused, but a stern look from her father is all it took for the gravity of the situation to sink in. The car pulled into the driveway, and Shiro Yoshida let loose a deep sigh. His grey eyes hardened as Scott Summers stepped out of the car and onto the lawn.

“Shiro. It’s good to see you again,” Scott said as he extended his hand and shook Shiro’s own.

“You seem to be in poorer company these days.” Shiro eyed Joanna and Nomi with thinly veiled judgement as they joined Scott on the front lawn of the Yoshida household. “Did the X-Men kick you out when you revealed your inclinations towards extremism?”

Nomi snickered, and Joanna elbowed her in the ribs. Scott sighed. “I’m putting together a team, Shiro. Just like I told you. And believe me, they’re capable. They took down a Sentinel with hardly any help from me.”

Shiro snorted, and glanced to the window, where his daughter and wife were watching from. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t invite you in to meet my family. Yuriko isn’t happy about my decision to rejoin this fight.”

“Yuriko isn’t a Mutant.”

“Somedays, I wish I wasn’t either,” Shiro stated as a matter-of-fact. He had never been shy about admitting his contempt for their people, or their struggle against humanity. The day they first met, to plan the assault on Krakoa, Shiro had said as much. But Scott knew that deep down, there was a part of Shiro Yoshida that couldn’t stand to see Mutants victimized. And that was what he was here for. That was Sunfire.

“You said you’d be a part of this, Shiro. You made a promise,” Scott said. He looked at Shiro, and he could see the man’s resolve wavering. “What did you say to me on the phone, back when I called you from Westchester?”

Shiro sighed, and scratched at his neck. “...I want a world where Aimee can live without fear of who she is, of what she can do.”

“So are you in?” Joanna asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Or are we wasting our time here?”

“You will have Sunfire’s aid,” He told them, with a bitter twist in his voice. “Meet me back here tonight. After I have said goodbye to my family. They deserve one last day with me in their lives, before I return to this fight of ours.”

Scott nodded his head, and looked at Shiro’s wife and daughter, still watching the conversation with rapt interest, and worry. “I promise, Shiro. You’ll get to see your family again once this is all over.”

Shiro knelt down and picked up Aimee’s baseball, and turned it in his hand. The dirty, worn leather was comforting to touch. It reminded him of peaceful days. His eyes softened as he saw Aimee run out of the house to ask him who those strangers were. He hugged his daughter tight and sighed. He hoped Scott was right.

********************

Remy LeBeau grinned with eager delight as he spotted three figures stand outside of a motel. The sun was beginning to dip beneath the clouds, and brushes of pink and orange appeared on the blue canvas up above. He turned a deck of playing cards in his hands, shuffling them absentmindedly as he watched his marks go about their business.

The man, a tall, slim brown haired individual with red sunglasses and a blue button down shirt, was talking to a young girl with long blue hair and a baggy white t-shirt over black shorts. The girl was staring at a soda vending machine with an intense, determined look on her face. Her fingers were twitching, and she chewed on the bottom of her lip. After several minutes, a can of sprite dropped down into the bottom of the machine, without a single cent being spent on it.

“Good job,” The brown haired man said as he clapped the girl on her back. It was an intensely awkward gesture, like he was trying to behave as he had seen others behave when coaching a student, but was unsure of his own actions. But despite that, the girl basked in the praise.

“Grab me a pepsi, will you?” The third person, a tall, dreadlocked woman in an olive green tank top and jean shorts, asked, as she opened the door of their motel room, and tossed a duffel bag inside. The girl grinned, and focused on the machine once again.

As she worked on releasing another can of soda, Remy sprang into action. He turned up the collar on his ratty old jacket and walked through the party of three, slipping between them with a mumbled “Sorry, comin’ through.” And while they paid him no mind, he liberated the man and the woman’s wallets, and slipped them into his jacket pocket. He flashed a smug grin as he came out the other side, but it quickly turned to an expression of regret as someone grabbed him by the back of his coat.

The woman stared daggers at him as she shoved him up against the vending machine. Remy winced, and raised his hands to show he meant no harm. She caught sight of his eyes, and faltered for a moment, before pushing him into the machine again. A can of pepsi rattled to the slot with a thunk, and Remy smiled guiltily.

“Give them back,” She demanded. Remy opened his mouth to protest his innocence, but she raised a fist, and he knew right then that it wasn’t worth it. He pulled the wallets out of his coat and handed them over. But still, Joanna kept him pinned to the machine.

“Look, chere, Remy didn’ mean nothin’ by it…”

“Shove it, cajun,” She growled. Her gaze flicked towards his eyes again, and she clenched her jaw. “You’re a Mutant, aren’t you?”

“Naw, Remy ain’t no Mutant, chere,” He lied.

“Does he have brain damage?” Nomi wondered aloud. “He keeps talking in the third person. It’s really annoying.”

“Let’s avoid bringing up brain damage, Nomi,” Scott sighed. He’d have to have a talk with her later about avoiding sore subjects like that one. After they had wrapped things up with their little thief, that was.

“Tell me the truth and I’ll let you down, cajun,” Joanna told him, lifting him another inch up off the ground. “Are you a Mutant?”

Remy grinned, and his eyes began to burn brighter. The red of his iris flared, and the machine behind him began to glow a vibrant, neon purple.

“Chere, why don’ I jus’ show ya?”

Joanna’s eyes went wide, as she realized what was about to happen. She dropped Remy, and turned her back on him as she shielded Scott and Nomi from the burst of kinetic energy that exploded out of the vending machine. Nomi screamed, and Scott froze up, but Joanna turned back in time to push her car into the fleeing thief. He fell backwards, onto the hood, where she grabbed him again. This time, she threw him on the ground and planted a boot firmly on his chest. Unless he blew up the ground beneath himself, he had nowhere to run. She could see it in his eyes that he understood he was cornered, with no way out.

“That answers that, then.”

“Ya got me, chere,” Remy said with a laugh. “Now, why don’ we jus’ let bygones be bygones, yeah? I go my way, you three go your’s, we all walk away happy, yeah?”

“Bullsh*t we walk away happy,” Joanna growled. “You just blew up a damn vending machine. ONE is gonna be on our ass any minute because of you!”

“Wait, wha?” Remy looked from Joanna to Scott to Nomi, and back to Joanna. The red glasses, the blue hair, the almost superhuman physique… It clicked together all at once, and he broke out into the first genuine smile any of them had seen from the man. “You’re Mutants too?”

“We’re f*cked,” Nomi complained, throwing up her hands and dramatically walking around to the other side of the car. She made a show of climbing into the backseat and pounding her head into the headrest of the driver’s seat.

“Look, let’s all just keep a cool head,” Scott said, speaking up and taking charge of the situation, as though he hadn’t locked up in a panic just moments before. “Look, Remy, you said your name was? Remy. We’re here to recruit Mutants to our cause. And with the power you’ve just displayed, you’d be an asset to this team.”

“And what is ‘dis cause, eh?” He asked, as Joanna eased up on his chest just a hair.

“We’re fighting back, fool,” Joanna said with a sneer.

“Taking the fight right to ONE’s doorstep. To Trask Industries. To the politicians who signed off on the MRA, if it comes to that,” Scott explained. “I can assure you, it’d be a much better use of your gift than petty theft. What do you say?”

Remy looked between the two Mutants who stood above him, and he knew that he didn’t really have much of a choice at all. He cracked another grin, and extended a hand to the man who was currently offering him a brand new opportunity.

“You got yourself a deal, boss. Ain’t like I got nothin’ better to do anyhow.”

Scott nodded to Joanna, and she lifted her boot off of Remy’s chest. Scott pulled the thief to his feet, and their eyes met for a moment. Scott couldn’t help but notice the man’s eyes. Pitch black sclera, with irises that burned like dim, red coals. He wondered to himself if that was what his own eyes looked like, beneath the beams of concussive force. That was a mystery that only Jean had known the answer to, he supposed. He pushed the memories of that night down, beneath the surface of his thoughts, and focused on the matter at hand. Jean was gone, now. But these people were here, and he needed to lead them.

“We have to go meet back up with Shiro,” He said. “Remy, hop in the back with Nomi. I hope Shiro doesn’t mind fitting in between the two of you.” He knew, of course, that Shiro would rather kill himself. But thankfully, Sunfire could fly, even if he’d complain about it all the while.

The drive back to the Yoshida residence was quiet, in spite of Scott’s expectations. Joanna kept her eyes on Remy in the mirror, while Scott’s thoughts drifted back to the night that Jean, as Phoenix, suppressed his powers and looked into his eyes for the first and only time. Nomi was listening to music on her headphones and practicing her gift by toying with a pile of coins. Remy, their unexpected guest, simply leaned back and smiled to himself, enjoying the ride and the company.

Remy opened his eyes, and he saw Joanna staring at him through the mirror. The scruffy cajun flashed her a smile, and her scowl deepened. There was something about him that she didn’t, couldn’t, trust. But within the next few hours to come, he would go on to prove himself more than trustworthy to his new compatriots. Until that time came, however, she kept her eyes on the shifty Mutant, and he understood that it would take quite a bit of effort to win her over.

One by one, however, their attentions turned away from the thoughts in their heads, and towards the Yoshida house as they came down the street. The sky had darkened, turning to a purplish hue. But they also saw flashing blues and reds down the street. Sirens, ringing out in the night. And seeing them, Scott’s face fell.

“Oh no…” He whispered.

Joanna didn’t hesitate before throwing open her door and running towards the arriving police cars. Nomi was right behind her, wishing with all her heart that she’d get to show off by destroying her second Sentinel in a week. Remy and Scott climbed out of the car and exchanged a worried glance, before turning their attention to the large black van with the letters O.N.E. painted on the side in bold white letters. Only a few meters away was a different van, one that was bright white, with a news crew already filming in preparation for the arrest of an unregistered Mutant.

“Your friend in dat house?” Remy asked, as they walked closer to the scene. They could hear ONE agents shouting, demanding that Shiro Yoshida leave his house immediately. Another screamed at the top of his lungs at Joanna, demanding that she halt, as he aimed his machine gun at her chest.

As if to answer Remy’s question, a red hot figure shot through the roof of the Yoshida family’s home, and painted the night sky with a trail of blazing fire. It curved, and came to a stop in the air. The night was cool, even slightly chilly compared to the day that preceded it. But when the fiery figure revealed itself, the whole street was bathed in an intense wave of heat. Scott Summers clenched his jaw, and his fists, as he prepared for a fight. Remy LeBeau pulled a deck of cards from his jacket pocket and began to charge one with kinetic energy. Joanna Cargill cracked her neck and glared at the ONE agent who had spotted her. Nomi Blume raised her hands, and prepared to stop the bullets that would surely begin to fly at any second.

And up above their heads, Sunfire stood alone. A burning star, hanging in the night sky. An X-Man reborn, and ready to rejoin the battle against a world that was filled with hate and fear for him and his kind.

For a moment, the night was still, as all present parties sized each other up. And then, all at once, they began to fight.

Chapter 5: Help I'm Alive

Chapter Text

A bolt of fire arced through the sky, unleashing blasts of intense heat on the ONE soldiers below. It painted the night sky with ribbons of crimson and orange, as it weaved around, effortlessly dodging bullets fired from below. Scott had brought Joanna and Nomi to New Orleans to recruit Shiro Yoshida, formerly known as Sunfire. A fellow X-Man, who had retired years ago in order to start a family. But someone must have called ONE after they had met with him. And now Scott’s whole plan was going belly up, before it could even truly begin.

A beam of concussive energy shot through the night, from Scott’s visor to the chest of a soldier who had a bead on Sunfire. The black-clad soldier was knocked into the large van he and his comrades had arrived in, but two more jumped out the back and took his place. Another agent was firing round after round at Joanna, but the bullets bounced off like rubber, and did absolutely nothing to impede her. She charged at him with a roar, and tackled him into one of his friends, before slamming the both of them into a police car, leaving behind a massive dent.

One of the police officers leapt out of the way of one of Sunfire’s fireballs, and saw Nomi standing next to Scott and Remy. The woman pulled her firearm and unloaded three bullets, but not one of them met their targets. They hung in the air, suspended between her and the trio of Mutants, before rocketing backwards and into the officer’s head.

“Did you just murder a cop?!” Joanna shouted over the gunfire, as she tossed a ONE agent into the path of a fireball.

“Is dis really de time to be teachin’ the little one morals, chere?” Remy asked as he threw a charged playing card at another police officer. A purple explosion covered the sight of his now-marred face.

“Keep your minds on the mission, people,” Scott chided. Still, he couldn’t hide the smile on his face. It felt right to be back in the fight like this. To be striking back. Saving the life of a friend. It was like the old days, when he and the X-Men were fighting the good fight, and having the time of their lives doing it.

They worked like a well oiled machine, without even having had any prior practice as a full team, or a telepath to link their minds. Sunfire was at it like he had never even left, destroying the vehicles of their attackers and keeping them from coordinating any strategies. Scott directed his allies on the ground, picking off the police and ONE, one or two at a time. Nomi caught any bullets in flight, while Joanna muscled her way through any of their tougher foes.

Scott and Remy quickly found themselves pressed back-to-back, firing concussive beams and flinging exploding playing cards at anyone they could spot in the fire-lit night.

“Dis is what we gon’ do every night, boss?”

“More or less. That a problem?”

Remy pulled up a ONE agent’s helmet, stuck a card next to his face, and kicked him away.

“Hell naw.”

Inside the Yoshida household, however, the mood was anything but confident. Aimi Yoshida and her mother, Yuriko, cowered in their living room, in fear of the fight that raged on their street. Yuriko peeked out the window and watched with rapt attention as her husband lit a police car on fire. She had never seen this side of him before. She knew of his past, and of his power, but she had never seen him like this. She loved him, loved him dearly… But this frightened her.

“Mom?” Aimi whispered, tugging on the sleeve of her mother’s dress. Yuriko looked to Aimi and wrapped her in her arms, shielding her instinctively. “Why are the police outside? Why is Dad attacking them?”

Yuriko said nothing. What could she say? What on Earth was she supposed to tell her daughter? That her father was a retired superhero, a former member of a team that the government had labelled terrorists? That he was planning to leave them that night, so he could go with these other Mutants, and try to start a damned revolution? She didn’t know what to believe herself. Was he a terrorist? Or was he a hero? Did he have a good reason to leave them? Was any reason good enough?

So Yuriko Yoshida said nothing. She hugged her daughter tight, prayed that the fighting would stop, and said nothing.

And as the battle raged, and as Yuriko held her daughter, a young on the scene reporter by the name of Vicki Vale tried her best to describe what she was seeing to her cameraman, Jack.

“I am on the scene in New Orleans, as a battle rages between Mutant terrorists and law enforcement! Local police officers and agents of the Office of National Emergency arrived just moments ago to arrest an unregistered Mutant by the name of Shiro Yoshida, when they were attacked by a gang of unknown Mutants!”

Vale screamed in terror as bullets flew past her, just barely missing her as they raced towards Nomi Blume. The camera captured the sight of the thirteen year old Mutant catching the bullets and flinging them back at the ONE agents, curving them around the terrified reporter. That footage aired live on local stations, and would go on to be replayed dozens, if not hundreds of times, on national news in the coming days.

“Nomi!” Scott called out, as he zapped a cop who was about to fire a shotgun at Sunfire. “Let’s wrap this up!”

“Fiiiine,” She groaned. She was just starting to have fun, too. With a roll of her eyes and a shrug of her shoulders, Nomi reached out in the direction of the ONE van and flipped it over, taking out several agents at once, and leaving only a handful of local police left for them to deal with.

But before they could finish the fight, another party entered the fray. A bright yellow spotlight shone down on Scott, and he looked up to see the demonic red eyes of a Sentinel. The same eyes that watched him as Alex, his brother, was vaporized. Reduced to ash before his eyes. Scott could smell the burning remains of his little brother.

It wasn’t the same model that they had taken down in Baltimore. It had none of the exposed cables, nor was it as slender. It was bulkier, with purple armored plating covering its entire torso, as well as its shoulders. The spotlight in its chest was triangular, not circular. And while one hand still contained a steel tendril like the previous model, the other was charging a beam powerful enough to vaporize a grown adult. At the sight of it, Scott froze, unable to think, unable to move. Unable to do anything as the Sentinel raised its hand, and the hole in its palm glowed with white hot energy.

”HOSTILE MUTANTS IDENTIFIED. LETHAL FORCE AUTHORIZED.”

“Mark IV,” He whispered. “Mark IV. Mark IV. Mark IV.”

All of a sudden, something collided with his chest with all the force of a wrecking ball, and he was flung to the ground. His back slammed against the pavement, and a beam of energy scorched the ground where he had been standing just a moment before. He looked up, and saw Joanna straddling him, holding his arms down, and breathing heavily.

“What the f*ck is wrong with you?!” She yelled. He could barely hear her over the din of battle. The grinding of metal on metal as the mechanical titan shifted and focused on a new target. The fear, the absolute terror that muffled his thoughts.

“Mark IV,” Scott whispered. Joanna looked at him like he was crazy, before standing up and pulling him to his feet. “Mark IV,” He said again, looking into her eyes.

Joanna shook her head and let go of Scott. She leapt up at the Sentinel and landed on it’s knee, just like in her last encounter with one of its kind. But Scott understood what she still didn’t. The Sentinel that she and Nomi had destroyed in Baltimore was a Mark III, and the purple monster that now loomed above them was a Mark IV.

The Mark III Sentinel came equipped with a simple Mutant tracking software, and its suppression abilities were limited. It relied primarily on the telescoping tendrils that could be released from its hands, as well as its brute strength. But the Mark IV Sentinels, which the X-Men had shamefully failed to destroy in the past, were far, far more deadly. Their heat rays had taken his brother from him, and had now nearly taken Scott’s own life on two separate occasions. And now… Now it was aiming its hand right at Nomi.

Joanna pounded away at the behemoth’s kneecap, trying to break through its armored plating and damage it, as she had done its predecessor. But the newer model was much more durable, and swatted her away before she could even crack through its outer shell.

Nomi’s eyes grew wide and her heart began to pound like a jackhammer as the Sentinel aimed its heat ray directly at her. She reacted on instinct, flinging the remains of a burned out cop car at the Sentinel, and knocking its aim off course. A beam of intense heat washed over several fallen ONE agents, leaving nothing behind where they once laid.

Scott watched in petrified silence as his teammates were put on the defensive by the Sentinel that still seemed unstoppable. Nomi couldn’t focus long enough to use her powers of magnetism on the monstrosity, not before it would attack her again. Every time that Joanna charged at it, it just slapped her away like a bothersome gnat. Remy was throwing cards at its back, but the explosions barely even registered as a threat to the Mutant hunting machine. Scott had to do something. He was their leader and he was failing them. He had to do something. He had to. He had to. He had to.

But he couldn’t.

“No!” Nomi cried out as an energy beam just barely missed her. The hair on her arm was singed from the proximity to the destructive ray of heat, but thanks to Joanna pulling her away, she kept her life for the moment.

“Dammit, Scott! Do something!” Joanna shouted, pleaded. The rage she thrived on in the heat of a fight had turned to a stomach twisting, sickening dread. A part of her didn’t truly know whether or not they would all walk away from this fight. But they needed their leader. So she called out to him, and prayed to any god that might listen, that he would hear her.

A thought rose up above the fog in his mind. One solitary thought. Not even a plan, but a sliver of an idea. He broke free from his panicked, frozen stance, and fired a blast at the Sentinel’s face. The attack caught the monster’s attention, and it raised its hand to him. As the energy swelled in its palm, Scott poured everything he had into that slot in its hand, and hoped that it would work.

Red light began to shine through the seams in the violet plating of the Sentinel’s forearm. After several moments, moments in which everyone on the moonlit street fell silent, and still… The Sentinel’s arm exploded, torn apart by the combined might of Scott’s concussive force beam and the backfire of its own heat ray.

The monster sagged, the exposed wiring in its shoulder sparking wildly. Henry Calburn, a blonde haired man of twenty eight years old, who had grown up in New Orleans, and whose face had been scarred by Remy’s playing card earlier in the fight, stared up at the machine, and the hope in his eyes began to waver. He no longer had any certainty that the muties he so hated would be taken down. It was anyone’s game. And he knew that the Mutants were thinking the same thing.

But there was one player that just about everyone had forgotten about in the time since the Sentinel arrived. A man who could turn the tide in the Mutants’ favor. And he was sick and tired of the battle that raged on his street, and that threatened to harm his wife and daughter. Shiro Yoshida, Sunfire, flew directly at the wounded Sentinel, and poured as much heat onto its form as he could muster.

“Hit it hard and don’t stop until it’s scrap!” Scott shouted. His optic blasts slammed into the Sentinel at full power, keeping it off balance as Sunfire turned its purple shell into redhot, melting steel.

Nomi flung another police cruiser at the robot, managing to dent its chest with the blow. Remy grabbed a piece of the Sentinel’s destroyed arm, charged it up, and gave it to Joanna to throw at the beast’s face. The onslaught was unending, and try as it might, the Sentinel was no longer able to repel its attackers. Without its heat ray, it was reduced to swiping at the Mutants with its remaining arm, as Sunfire reduced it to melting scrap. Finally, Scott was able to spot a weak spot in its head. Where the Sentinel’s scalp had melted and fallen away, there was a chance to access its CPU and put it down, just like the one they destroyed in Baltimore.

“Joanna! Finish it!” Scott ordered, zapping the monster’s head, signaling where to attack.

The bulletproof vet took on a determined stride as she sprinted towards the behemoth and began to scale it. Nomi raised up another car for her to use as a platform, from which Joanna leapt onto the Sentinel’s head and began pounding away at its CPU. All it took was three straight hits before the computer was reduced to bits of useless metal, wires, and circuitry.

The great, terrifying thing groaned and swayed as its attackers fell silent, their assault finally coming to an end. The monstrosity that had frozen Scott in absolute terror just minutes before was now nothing to fear at all. They watched with satisfaction as it finally, finally fell onto its side and shut down. The lights in its eyes and on its chest went dim, and Joanna ripped its head off for good measure.

Sunfire touched down on the ground, and the flames that licked his body vanished, revealing a sneer as he regarded the Sentinel. He spat on its remains, as the Mutant Liberation Front breathed a unified sigh of relief.

“Thank you, Shiro. We couldn’t have done it without you,” Scott told him.

“I am well aware, Summers.” Shiro unclenched his jaw, and turned to look at his house. It was, to his relief, untouched. He watched in silence as the door opened, and Yuriko and Aimi poked their heads out to witness the aftermath of the battle.

Shiro took a step towards them, before stopping in his tracks. A loud crack rang out in the night, and the man of the hour fell to his knees, and blood soaked his shirt. An empty clicking sound followed, as Shiro looked at the bullet hole in his chest with an expression of pure bafflement.

Yuriko wailed, Aimi flinched, and Shiro whispered “No…”. Scott dropped to his knees and held onto his friend, trying to support him, lest he fall to the ground entirely. Remy’s face fell, Nomi blinked silently, her mouth agape, and Joanna looked for the source of the bullet.

Henry Calburn stood alone in the dark, leaning against the upturned ONE van he had arrived in with all his friends and coworkers, not one of whom was still with him among the living. He held a gun in his hand. He smiled vacantly and pulled the trigger, again and again and again, despite the empty clip. He laughed a dry, empty, wheezing laugh, which turned to a groan of pain as Joanna’s fist tore a hole through his chest.

Scott looked into Shiro’s eyes as the former X-Man died in his arms. Yuriko ran, barefoot, across her front lawn, the sidewalk, and the pavement of the road, until she collapsed at her husband’s side. Her hands caressed his face, and she whimpered at the sight of her dying husband. Shiro’s eyes turned not to her, but to Scott, and he opened his mouth with great effort to whisper his final words.

“You… You've killed me…”

His head lolled to the side, and he looked at Yuriko as the light faded from his eyes, as he fell limp, as he breathed his last… As he died.

“Shiro, Shiro no… Please, no…” Yuriko bowed her head, and hot tears began to stream down her cheeks. She touched her forehead to her dead husband’s, and mourned him. Scott tried to apologize, to say he was sorry for failing to keep her husband safe, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak. So he stayed quiet, and he didn’t try to justify his failure. He simply let her mourn, and hung his head in bitter shame.

“Dad?”

In that moment, all heads turned to watch as Aimi Yoshida, a girl of just ten years old, approached her parents with trepidation. Tears were welling up in her eyes, and she joined her mother in mourning the father she had just lost.

Scott left them to their mourning, and he left without a word. Joanna, Nomi, and Remy followed him, still grappling with the cost of failure that they now understood. The four Mutants fled the scene in silence, knowing that it wouldn’t be long before more ONE agents arrived. Likely with another Sentinel, if not more. The drive away was filled with an uncomfortable, stifling guilt shared amongst the group.

By the time they reached the city limits, Nomi had fallen asleep, her head coming to rest on Remy’s side. The cajun wrapped a protective arm around the young girl and sighed. He knew what was going to happen. He had seen it before, so many times. ONE would take Shiro’s body. They weren’t going to so much as let the family bury him. Mutants in Louisiana didn’t get burials, they got dissections, and nobody had the power to fight back against that practice.

In the front of the car, Joanna stared at the road. Not a single thought ran through her head. The anger, the pure, distilled rage that had driven her in the fight had dissipated in the wake of Shiro’s murder. But as they left New Orleans, she found herself looking at Scott, who sat in the passenger seat beside her.

His head was pressed against the window, and he hadn’t even thought to take off his visor and replace it with his glasses again. The red light reflected back onto his face, casting it in a dull scarlet glow. How many friends had he lost, she wondered. How many more would he watch die, while he was left alive? He was just a man, growing progressively more broken, but still fighting. Fighting until what? Until he died, like they had? Until he could reunite with his fallen friends and loved ones?

She fixed her eyes back on the road and set her jaw. She didn’t believe that. She couldn’t. She hadn’t known Scott long, but she did know one thing. Scott Summers believed in the future. People didn’t fight unless they believed they might win, in the end, and he was no different. He was bent, maybe. But he wasn’t broken. He would heal, in time. They all would. And then they’d get up, and they’d fight again, and again, and again.

Because someone still had to fight for a better tomorrow. And that someone was them.

********************

When ONE arrived at the scene, and found the remains of their fellow agents, the local law enforcement, and the Sentinel, all but two agents dedicated themselves to cleaning up the area with dignity and respect for their fallen comrades. But two were given the task of preparing the Mutie for transport.

Carlos Ramirez and Linda Loan had joined ONE on the exact same day, eight months ago. They became quick friends, and developed a rapport, built largely on their shared love of the northeast indie music scene, bad movies, and a hatred of Mutants. They looked down at Shiro Yoshida’s corpse with disgust, as their coworkers cleaned up the debris from the fight that had ended just a half hour before.

“Can’t believe they only put down one of ‘em,” Loan muttered, as she nudged the body with her boot.

“Ortiz said there were around ten of the genefreaks,” Ramirez said. He knelt down next to the body and looked it over. He sniffed, and found that he could still pick of the smell of a fire.

“Ortiz is full of sh*t. The report said there were only five, including this one.”

“Five? You’re sh*tting me. How’d they take down a Mark IV?”

“Four words. Nomi Blume, Scott Summers.”

“Holy sh*t.” Ramirez shook his head, then pulled his cellphone out of his pocket. He urged Loan to come near him, and held out the phone to take a selfie. The image captured the sight of a man sticking out his tongue, a woman giving a peace sign, and the dead body of Shiro Yoshida behind them.

As they put the body into a bag and tossed it haphazardly into the transport, Ramirez’s eyes locked with those of a civilian, who watched with contempt from the front steps of her house. The Mutie’s wife, who had fought tooth and nail with them when they demanded she get away from the crime scene. She had insisted that she be allowed to bury her husband. She only backed down when they threatened to arrest her for obstruction, but still she glared at them.

“f*ckin’ mutie lover,” Loan muttered as she and Ramirez shut the doors on the transport. “Honestly, we should just arrest the kid now. Save us the trouble it’ll cause when it hits puberty.”

“Not worth the lawsuits,” Ramirez said with a sigh.

Loan pointed at the wife with her finger and her thumb in the shape of a gun and mimed pulling the trigger with a laugh. She looked forward to the day they extended the MRA to include mutie lovers.

It would take several days for the body to reach its intended location. It was shuffled around and kept on ice for nearly a week before arriving at a lab in New York. Behind several feet of concrete, steel, armed guards and five Mark IV Sentinels, a man who appeared to be no more than thirty years old examined the body of Shiro Yoshida with interest.

He had been working on it all morning. Poking and prodding it, mucking about with the brain, seeing what he could make it do. Logically, there was no possible way for the body to fly, or to produce the heat it could. But the doctor, unlike the people he interacted with from day to day, understood just how beautiful Mutants were. Their gifts, he found, were a miracle. They could bend reality, the very laws of nature of physics, to their will. But he had tricks of his own.

The body had been modified in all the right ways. A few small needles poked their way out of its scalp, and an artificial heart had been implanted in its chest. There were even more implants inside of it, gifted to the doctor by Trask Industries for his very important work. He ran a hand through his dark, slicked back hair and reached out to press the button that would activate the implants. Shiro Yoshida’s body began to twitch, and jerk erratically, before settling down. The mechanical heart glowed a bright yellow. After several seconds of silence, Shiro bolted upright with a gasping breath.

“GAH! Yuriko! Tasukete kudasai!” Shiro’s hand leapt to his chest, where it felt something cold and humming. He looked down, and saw the large, ugly device that stuck out of his chest. He looked to the doctor, but only saw a white lab coat, and a pair of red eyes, glowing in the shadows…

“Who are you?! What have you done to me?!” Shiro cried out. He could feel every implanted device, every piece of technology that had been stuck inside of him. And they hurt. “TELL ME!”

The doctor placed a hand on his chest and smiled. “Quiet now, Mister Yoshida. No need to shout. I am, after all, the man who has ferried you back to the land of the living.”

“Tell me who you are, you monster!” Shiro raised his hand and tried to shoot a blast of flame at the mad doctor, only to find that nothing happened. He tried again, to similar results. Try as he might, he couldn’t summon even a single flame.

The doctor smiled, and pressed another button. Shiro Yoshida closed his eyes, and though he now lived again, he was as still as the dead. The doctor pressed a third button, this one to an intercom, and spoke into it in a soft, eerily polite voice.

“Agent Macleod, I’m all done here. I’ll just wrap this little present up, and you can take him on his way to Mister Trask.”

“You got it, Doctor Essex.”

Chapter 6: I Don't Know Where To Turn

Chapter Text

Angelica sat on a stool in the kitchen, her head propped up by an arm which rested on a cool metal countertop. A college textbook lay open in front of her, but the words were running off the page, into a soup of letters and overly complicated terminology. The kitchen was, at the moment, mostly empty. Only three Mutants were still there this late in the evening, including herself. Most of the staff had gone home after dinner was over and dealt with, but the maids and guards weren’t most of the staff.

Angelica looked up from her textbook and watched as Tessa flicked a paper football between Sam’s fingers. The young guard stared at the raven haired maid in disbelief, as Angelica smirked at the scene.

“No fair, Tessa. How come you always win?” Sam asked as he prepared to flick the folded up scrap of paper.

“Because, Sam…” The paper bounced off of one of Tessa’s fingers, and onto the floor. “I know my angles.”

Angelica sighed, and shut her textbook. Psychology was so far beyond her after a day of work. She could call her dad, she thought. She hadn’t spoken to him in over two weeks, and it was hard to deny the homesick feeling that was tying her stomach in knots. She pushed the thought away, however. She didn’t want to risk being seen by someone less willing to bend the rules than Sam and Tessa. She needed this job badly, and the inner circle was nothing if not demanding of their staff. If the White King saw her calling her dad back home in Montana instead of bringing him a cucumber sandwich… She was certain there’d be at least a full fifteen minute long dressing down, followed by her needing to find a new employer.

“Careful, Tessa,” Angelica said as she stood and stretched her arms. She could feel the joints pop as she reached out as far as her arms would go. “Three strikes, remember?”

Tessa’s face fell, and she swallowed the bitter taste of Angelica’s reminder. Three strikes. Her deal with ONE, when she turned herself in, involved three strikes. While the bracelet that hung from Sam’s wrist was keyed in to detect his energy propulsions, and while Angelica’s was keyed in to detect her microwave radiation powers, Tessa was a special case. Normally, Mutants with physical mutations were taken away, no matter what. Out of sight, out of mind, was ONE’s general policy. Mutants with unnatural hair colors could get away with dyeing their hair, but gills, claws, scales or green skin… They weren’t so lucky. Tessa, though, had a brain that functioned not unlike a computer. She was out of sight, but her mind was far too special for ONE’s liking.

So they offered the raven haired college professor a deal. So long as she didn’t use her gift, she could avoid a cell in ONE lockup. But to avoid using her gift, her intellect, meant limiting herself. She wasn’t allowed to teach, or to publish any more papers on theoretical mathematics, lest they decide she was using her power to get a leg up on normal folk. People who learned those things “fairly”. Her first strike came when she protested her barring from academia. The second came when a ONE agent decided to taunt her by asking what two plus two came out to. So Tessa took a job as a maid, and she played the part of a simpleton. A moron. A piece of dumb eyecandy.

Three strikes. And as much as Angelica hated to remind her friend of that fact, she hated even more the idea of Tessa being sent to some camp in the middle of nowhere, never to be seen again.

“Luck, then. We will chalk it up to luck,” Tessa said, more to herself than to Angelica or Sam.

Angelica yawned, and straightened out the skirt of her uniform. She hated how degrading it was, to be made to dress like a french maid day in and day out, but the Kings and Queens of the inner circle had their tastes and traditions, and so she didn’t get much of a choice in the matter. She fixed her hair, making sure that the long, fake red locks of her wig weren’t hanging in front of her face.

“I should get back to work,” She muttered, eyeing the door.

“Me too,” Sam said with a heavy sigh. “Harvey and Janet are off the clock soon, and someone’s gotta cover the front doors.”

The pair filtered out of the kitchen, leaving Tessa behind to rest her legs and exercise her mind in peace. The winding white and powder blue halls of the Hellfire Club were lavishly decorated, and they passed by countless vases and statues that were worth more than both of their lives put together. Artifacts that belonged in museums, instead used as proof that the kings and queens were disgustingly wealthy.

They came to a set of large, ornate wooden doors, where Angelica came to a stop. She placed one hand on the handle, and watched as Sam kept walking. He waved goodbye as he headed for the front entrance to the building, to take Harvey and Janet’s place and make sure nobody trespassed. She turned back to the door, took a deep breath, and put on her best fake smile before pulling it open and walking inside.

********************

Scott stood on the front steps of the Hellfire Club and looked at his team. The drive from New Orleans back up to New York had given them time to decompress, and to process their failure. Still, the weight of Shiro’s death was heavy on his shoulders. They had avoided checks from ONE at the state borders thanks to a combination of Joanna’s veteran status and Remy’s silver tongue, but not once had Scott let his guard down.

Joanna stood beside him, her arms crossed in front of her chest and a determined look in her eye. She, Scott, and Remy all wore suits, and the stiff fabric reminded her of her old dress uniform. She had been surprised when Scott pulled them out of his duffel bag earlier in the evening, but as he outlined their next goal, she came around to wearing one, at least for the time being.

Nomi, however, had fought tooth and nail over wearing a simple black dress. It wasn’t until Remy pointed out that they’d be sneaking into a club for the rich elites of New York that her rebellious nature was sated. Joanna highly doubted Remy’s promise that he’d make sure the girl didn’t try to steal anything. She also doubted his insistence that he wouldn’t steal anything either.

But they were done planning, and they were done waiting. Joanna’s watch showed that it was time to start, and so Scott turned to the front door and felt around for a hidden switch. He pressed a small wooden slat inwards, and waited for a guard to open the door and welcome them inside.

The guard was a gangly blond teenager. He couldn’t have been older than eighteen, even as he tried to stand up stall and puff out his chest. Whether he had worked at the Hellfire Club before, Scott couldn’t say for certain. He certainly wasn’t wearing the uniform that Scott was expecting. Gone were the blue and red bodysuits with blank face masks. Instead, the boy was dressed in a dark, wine red waistcoat and cream colored breeches. A silver bracelet hung from his wrist, with a blinking green light indicating that his powers weren’t in use. The bracelet, and his shaggy blond hair, were the only things that marked him as being from this century.

“I’m guessing the club’s gone through a few changes since the last time I was here,” Scott mumbled to himself. The guard’s cheeks flushed red, and he stepped outside to meet the party.

“D’ya have business here, sir?” He asked, his Kentucky drawl coming through loud and clear, adding another anachronism to his appearance.

“Yes, actually, I do,” Scott said. “My name is Erik Redford. I have a meeting with the White Queen.”

The boy nodded his head. The only people who even knew there was a White Queen were the sort of people who had business there. Still, she would have his head on a platter if he didn’t check in first. So Sam Guthrie paused for a moment, and urged a thought in the inner circle’s direction.

”Um, Miss White Queen, ma’am?”

There was a pause, as Scott stared down the boy and a tense silence hung in the air. Joanna began to shift on her heels, bracing for a fight. Remy’s hand fell towards his pocket, where a deck of cards lay waiting. Nomi sat on the steps and pulled a paperclip from the sidewalk to her waiting hand.

”What is it?”

Sam breathed a sigh of relief as she replied, prompting Scott to co*ck an eyebrow.

”There’s a group of people here to see ya, ma’am. A Mister Erik Redford and… Uh, I guess some friends a’his?”

”Intriguing… Send them in. It’s been quite some time since I’ve had the pleasure to see this… Mister Redford.”

As her voice vanished from his mind, Sam smiled warmly at the group and beckoned them to come inside. His stiff demeanor had vanished, forgotten entirely after his awkward staring match with the man in the red glasses. But if he was a friend of the White Queen’s, as she had implied, then Sam was sure the guy was on the up and up.

As he led them into the Hellfire Club’s foyer, and into the halls beyond, Sam did his best to make small talk with the strangers.

“So, how long’s it been since ya last came ‘round here, Mister Redford?” He asked.

“It’s… Been a few years,” He answered. “I’ve been meaning to visit lately. I can’t help but notice that the White Queen has been redecorating.”

“Huh? Oh, I guess that must’a been before I got a job here,” Sam laughed. “Harv and Jan, they’re some of my coworkers, they said the place used’ta be more modern.”

Scott noted that a few of the art pieces were holdovers from before, and that the basic layout of the building was unchanged. But beyond that, it was like it had been time shifted back a few hundred years.

“I guess the White Queen’s just real into this Italian renaissance stuff,” Sam mused.

“Rococo, actually,” Remy corrected. Scott, Joanna, and Nomi all looked at him, surprised. “What? I like art. Dere’s more to me than meets de eye, you know.”

“Who gives a sh*t?” Nomi muttered under her breath. “All this stuff’s too big to take anyways.” A nudge in the shoulder from Remy, along with a flash of a handful of pearls in his palm, proved her wrong and put a massive grin on her face.

“Alright, here we are!” Sam announced, as they came to a set of large, ornate doors. He pulled them open with a great degree of effort, and stood to the side as the four guests walked on in.

They found themselves in a lounge, decorated similarly to the rest of the building. Walls of pastel blue met a floor and ceiling of marble. Set into the far wall was a fireplace, with a massive television set hanging above it. Aside from that one anachronism, the rest of the room followed the same rococo aesthetic that Scott had come to expect.

Closer to the fire, four figures reclined on ornately decorated furniture, while another stood with a tray in her hands. Two were men, seated on a canapé, and dressed not unlike Sam, though their clothing was far more fanciful, featuring full coats, and their hair was covered by powdered wigs. The other two, both women, stood clothed in regal gowns with full skirts. The final woman, standing at attention with a tray of pastries, was a maid with long, bright red hair. As Scott and his party approached them, one woman turned to look, and a coy smile lit up her face. Despite all the theatrics and makeup, Scott could still recognize that face. He doubted he’d ever forget it.

Emma Grace Frost. Daughter of two of the world’s wealthiest humans, yet removed from the family and pushed out onto the streets after she told her family who and what she truly was. But in joining the Hellfire Club, she rose to a station even higher than that of her parents, even becoming part of the Hellfire Club’s inner circle. And now, it was apparent that she had risen even further, becoming the Lord Cardinal of the group. The most powerful Mutant in America.

“Ah, Erik… How lovely to see you again,” Emma cooed in a posh English accent. She flicked a hand fan and began to fan herself, purely for show.

“Emma.” Scott looked her over again, with an amused smirk. “You look different.”

Different was an understatement. He had expected to meet with a woman with long, straight blonde hair and a simple but elegant white suit. He had never seen Emma in anything else, until now. But there she stood, in a gown that hearkened back to eighteenth century France. She wore a floor length dress of pastel blue and pearl white, with a tight bodice and dangerously low neckline. The dress was lavishly covered in bows, frills, and lace. She was practically swimming in her skirts, which extended to both sides no less than two feet. Strings of pearls hung from her neck, and she held an antique fan in one gloved hand. Her blonde hair now towered above her head, interwoven with lilies and wildflowers, balancing delicately yet somehow remaining in place.

”Different is one way to put it, Mister Summers,” She whispered in his mind. Her natural Boston accent dominated the thoughts she shared; a glimpse at the true Emma, the one she hid in order to keep up appearances.

“Yes, isn’t it grand, Mister Redford?” She said aloud, giving him a slight nod. He understood the game. He had played it before, after all. Both with her, and with Jean. “To what do we owe your return to the Hellfire Club?”

”You’re using your telepathy?” Scott asked silently, his eyes darting to the bracelet around her wrist, which still blinked green.

“I just came to ask a favor, if I could be so bold,” He said with a small, put-upon smile.

”I told a little white lie when I registered. I told them about my diamond form, but I must have forgotten to mention my telepathy. As a result, they only keyed the bracelet in to detect the one, and not the other. Oops.”

“Why don’t you and your friends come sit down, and we can discuss business later,” She suggested, gesturing to an empty chaise longue beside her.

Emma’s hungry eyes looked over Scott’s body as he walked past her and took a seat. For a moment, he locked eyes with the other extravagantly dressed woman in the room. It took him longer to recognize her, not only due to her also embracing the Hellfire Club’s rococo styling, but also due to her dark brown hair. But he could never truly forget any of his former classmates, from back when he first joined the X-Men. Lorna Dane was an old friend. And of course, she recognized him.

The other three, however, were strangers to him. One of the men, who reclined back and wore a co*cky grin, was Brian Braddock. The other, who sat rigidly and was still recovering from surgery to alter his pointed ears and make them seem more human, was Jean Paul Beaubier. The maid, Angelica Jones. A pupil of Emma’s, and a keen, yet silent, observer to the events that would soon unfold .

Remy sat between the White and Black Kings, and slung his arms over their shoulders with a degree of comfort that threw both of them off guard. He threw his head back and flashed a smile as he eased in and enjoyed himself. Nomi leaned against the furniture and crossed her arms in front of her chest, eyeing the Black Queen with interest. She didn’t know that woman in the seafoam green gown shared her gift of magnetism, but she could feel a connection. One she couldn’t explain.

Joanna stood beside Scott, watching the room with a degree of suspicion. She was tense, and Scott was glad for that. He could count on her to protect him as he conducted their business. A sentiment he indicated with a grazing touch of her hand. She nodded at him, a thin smile gracing her otherwise stony expression.

“You’re certainly comfortable,” The Black King grumbled in a notable Quebecois accent. But when Remy locked eyes with him, he couldn’t fight the creeping blush that grew across his cheeks.

“I have to say, I’m a big fan of the style around here,” Remy said fondly. “Le style rocaille, le style moderne, le gout.”

“I see we have a fellow history fan,” Lorna noted as she fanned herself. It was so strange, Scott thought, to see her as a part of the Inner Circle. She had left the X-Men weeks before him, vanished the very same night that they lost Alex. Yet she displayed no signs of heartbreak. No signs of mourning. She acted as vapid and playful as Emma and Brian. If possible, he’d try to speak to her in private, later. No doubt, she planned to do the same.

Emma looked from Scott to Joanna, and from her to Nomi, and then to Remy, before returning to Scott.

“You have quite the entourage, Erik. I simply must know how you all found each other,” She implored.

“This is Diana, my security guard,” He lied, gesturing to Joanna. She nodded her head, playing along. She was grateful that he didn’t jump to using her as a fake wife. Next he gestured to Remy. “And over there is my…”

“I’m Olivier Winters,” Remy said simply, but oh so convincingly as he lied through his teeth. “Erik’s partner. But you know, we ain’t all dat exclusive,” He added, winking at Jean Paul, who grew even more flustered.

“I-I see…” The Black King mumbled.

”What happened to the old Inner Circle?” Scott asked Emma telepathically as their charade went on.

“Partners? Really? Oh, Erik, you never told me!” Emma gushed in a tone as ostentatious as her dress. “And here I was, hoping that I had a chance.”

”I wasn’t too pleased with their behavior back during that whole Dark Phoenix debacle. Had I known what they were doing to Jean Grey, I’d have put a stop to it. When I discovered the role they played in her demise, I rattled their brains so hard, they’ve all been reduced to having the mental capacity of newborn infants.”

Scott’s eyes widened. ”You’re joking, aren’t you?”

“Rebecca here is our kid,” Remy continued, patting Nomi on the shoulder. The girl looked entirely too pleased with their cover story, a fact she didn’t even bother to hide.

“Oh yeah. They adopted me from Canada, eh,” Nomi said, in the most flat and unconvincing Canadian accent she could manage. The obvious lie brought a smile to Lorna’s face, which she hid behind her fan.

”I’m not one to joke, Scott. And for what they did to your wife, I’d say they deserve far worse than the embarrassing fate I’ve given them,” Emma muttered into Scott’s mind as the farce continued, uninterrupted, around them. Remy was more than capable of keeping Lorna, Brian, and Jean Paul entertained while they discussed their business in the privacy of their own minds. The rest of the world fell away, and they focused only on each other.

”When will you return them to normal?”

”Even if I felt the urge to do so, I doubt I could. No, Sebastian, Donald, and Selene will have to take the long way around, I’m afraid. However, I think it’s time that you and I get down to business.” Emma looked Scott in the eye, and a hardened look began to form. ”Why do I have wanted fugitives in my parlor?”

”Because we need your help, Emma. I need your help.”

”While I love to hear you beg, I’m afraid my hands are tied. Much as I wish I could, I can’t commit myself to the X-Men’s cause, or to yours.”

”You don’t need to be public about it. We just need somewhere to stay. Funds to get ourselves started. A Cerebro, and a telepath to operate it. I can find the people, but I need your support to make this possible.”

”I’d be risking my neck to help you. I’m already doing what I can to shelter the Mutants under my care. If ONE learns that I’m helping you, it puts all of them in danger as well. Angelica, Samuel, Tessa, Clarice, Sharon… They depend on me. Not to mention Lorna and Jean Paul. Why should your fight endanger them?”

”Because it won’t stop here. You know that as well as I do, Emma. It starts with registration. But then they decide that Mutants would be happier if they were all grouped together in camps. Then they start executing the ones they deem too dangerous. Eventually, they’re killing all of us. Designing a drug that’ll eliminate the X-gene before it can activate. Within a decade or two, we’re all dead and forgotten…”

”...Unless you fight back,” She finished the grim thought for him.

”Exactly. I hate to say it, but Magneto was right. Mutantkind needs people to fight for them, and the X-Men aren’t fighting. They’re too afraid now. They’re just treading water, same as the Hellfire Club. But if you help us out, we can stand a chance. Please, Emma. Help us fight back.”

”I’ll make you a deal, Scott. If you do something for me first, then I’ll give you what you’re asking for. There’s a convoy, taking Mutants from general lockup in NYC to a camp in Syracuse in exactly one week. If you can save those Mutants, and bring them back here covertly, then we have a deal.”

”We’ll get it done. Thank you, Emma.”

She smiled softly, genuinely, and thanked him in turn.

Chapter 7: Light My Fire

Chapter Text

They had their orders. They had their targets. They just had to save them, and get out without any casualties. It wouldn’t be such a daunting task, if they had ever succeeded in doing that before.

Scott watched from the rooftops as the transport approached. It was about to leave the city, and begin the long trek to Syracuse. Emma had insisted that they stop it before it got too far away from New York City. That it was vital they reach it before it could meet with its convoy of Sentinels outside the city’s borders. Beyond that, she had refused to elaborate.

His mind briefly returned to that conversation. After he and his group had left the Hellfire Club, later that night, Emma gave them access to a backdoor. A hidden entrance to the building, which they used over the following week to meet with her in private and plan the breakout. In all that time, she never once broke her character as the flighty, vapid White Queen. But within the bounds of their telepathic conversations, she was consistently frank and honest with the group. Aside from her insistence that she not reveal who they were saving from ONE custody, of course.

He waited until the unmarked black van slowed at the bridge. ONE was being cagey about the move. No public reports on who was being moved, meaning that they were still kept in the dark. A part of him, the little voice of Xavier’s old lessons, worried that they were making a mistake. That whoever was in that van, they were better off locked away. Someone too dangerous to humans and Mutants alike. But then he remembered…

Xavier was dead. And humans killed him.

The transport came to a stop, and Scott acted. He fired a small concussive force blast at the front of the van, triggering the air bags, which would give them a few moments more to get into the fray before the ONE agents could react.

Scott leapt from the rooftop, trusting that Nomi would follow the plan. Luckily, she had paid attention, and she caught the metal on his person, slowing his fall and bringing him down in front of her just as she pulled her hood down and flashed a devious smile.

“Finally, some action,” She said, as she reached out and shoved the guards at the bridge to the side.

Scott smiled briefly at the sentiment as he fired another blast, this one at the door of the van, denting it and weakening the hinges. Joanna and Remy revealed themselves, fulfilling their positions in the plan by battling the armed guards directly. Charged playing cards detonated at their feet, and a pair of them were flung by Joanna into the water off in the distance.

Scott and Nomi walked towards the van, their stride unbreakable even as they were fired upon. Nomi caught what bullets came their way and sent them back to their owners. Once they were at the van, the only people who stood in their way were the ONE agents who had been driving it. One flashed a stun baton and dove for Nomi, only to have his skull pulverized by Joanna’s fist as she joined them.

“Thanks,” Scott said in a voice far too calm for the chaotic situation they were in.

“Don’t mention it,” She replied, as she ripped the doors off their hinges. A small hail of bullets bounced off of her face and onto the ground as the ONE agent inside tried his best to take her down. “Man, f*ck you,” Joanna spat before throwing him to the ground and stomping through his chest.

The gunfire ceased quickly, as Remy rejoined them. All guards and agents had been rendered unconscious, if not deceased, and the night grew quiet once again. But like in New Orleans, they knew there was a ticking clock. Likely an even quicker one, being that New York City was practically the playground of Sentinels. But Emma had known what she was getting them into, and it soon became apparent that there was a reason ONE wasn’t publicizing who they were trying to transport upstate.

St John Allerdyce stood from his seat inside the back of the van and casually hopped out. His dirty blonde hair had grown shaggy and unkempt since Scott’s last encounter with him. But he was still the same Pyro.

“Hey mate. Fancy seeing you here,” Pyro said with a chuckle. His thick Australian accent was as clear as ever, unchanged by his years abroad. “What happened to the rest of ya? Don’t recognize any of these muties.”

Behind him, the other prisoners began to filter out of the truck as well. A trio of teenagers, along with a heavily tattooed man who was roughly ten years Scott’s senior. All of them, Pyro included, wore heavy manacles over their hands and thick collars around their necks. With just a simple gesture, Nomi unlocked their restraints, and their powers quickly came flooding back to them.

“sh*t, mate. She related to Mags? That why you’re bustin’ me out?” Pyro asked, pointing at the girl.

“It was a favor for the White Queen,” Scott told him. “Trust me, I didn’t even know you were in there. If I had, I might have told her no.”

“The White Queen? Really? Well f*ck me sideways, I didn’t expect the boss to pull that string just for me. Guess he really does care.” Pyro snickered, and turned to the small crowd of Mutants. “By the by, anybody got a lighter I can borrow? I wanna roast some flatscans before we pop off.” To punctuate his point, he kicked a downed guard in the ribs and laughed again.

“You’re not roasting anybody, idiot,” Joanna told him. She grabbed his shoulder tight, and looked the pyromaniac sternly in the eye until he relented. “Now how the hell are we getting out of here before the Sentinels come and turn us to ash?”

“I believe I can be of assistance there,” The tattooed man said in a weasely little voice, which seemed to belong to someone half his size. “The name’s Telford Porter, but the police call me… The Vanisher. I, uh… I teleport.”

“Looks like de boss lady covered our escape plan after all,” Remy said with a grin.

“Alrighty then, everybody bunch up!” Vanisher insisted, pushing everyone together. “Where to, ladies and gentlemen?”

“And others,” One of the teens muttered under their breath. Nomi looked at them, and for once in her life, she found that she actually liked someone her age. A short mop of messy black hair sat atop their head, and they wore a necklace with a pair of dice hanging from the chain.

As Scott told Vanisher the address of the Hellfire Club, and specified where to find the lounge, the teenager, Chance, slipped something to Nomi before looking back to their friends. In a massive flash of blinding light, all nine Mutants vanished.

Another flash of light announced their return to the Hellfire Club’s lounge. The four teenagers found themselves reeling, and fighting back the urge to vomit or pass out. The adults, however, were more capable of withstanding the stresses of teleportation.

“Yeah, yeah, it happens, kid,” Vanisher told Chance as he patted them on the back. “Now then, if you’ll all excuse moi, I shall just make my way on out of here…”

“You’ll do no such thing, Telford,” Emma instructed, pointing her hand fan at the petty criminal. With just that motion and the glare that accompanied it, he found himself meekly following her orders without question.

The White Queen wasn’t waiting alone for the group’s return, however. At her side, like always, was the redheaded maid. At Emma’s direction, the girl offered a tray of pastries to the newly freed prisoners. As they ate, and relished the freedom they now had, Emma fanned herself, entirely too pleased with the results of the night’s effort.

“You’ve performed admirably, Mister Summers,” She tittered. She stepped away from the cluster, her elegant, pastel pink dress gliding across the floor as she made for the fireplace. Scott followed, walking stiffly. Joanna caught the movement, and kept an ear out. “I’m ever so glad to see that your Mutant Liberation Front has, well, liberated these Mutants. You’re certainly living up to the name.”

“Cut the bullsh*t, lady,” Joanna demanded, stomping across the room and pressing a finger against Emma’s sternum. “You just had us spring one of Magneto’s people from prison. Who the hell knows what he’s gonna do now? You should have told us Pyro was in that transport!”

Emma’s eyes flicked down to Joanna’s hands, then back up to her face. Her own bemused expression didn’t falter. In a voice that still displayed little regard for the situation at hand, she responded with a surprising degree of frankness.

“I thought you were supposed to be freeing Mutants? Or was that all just talk?” She smiled with confidence as Joanna and Scott were taken aback by the question. “You all came barging into my parlor, uninvited, and demanded that I lend you my aid. But now you’re upset that you just so happened to rescue a criminal? Quite the hypocrisy, coming from the people who recruited two criminals themselves.”

“We’re not murderers,” Scott muttered, though it came across as more of a justification for himself than for Emma.

“No? Because the news has been talking all about the ONE agents you killed down in New Orleans not long ago.” Emma spoke severely, all playfulness vanishing completely from her voice for the first time. “I have no qualms with your methods. In fact, I find them quite necessary if we’re going to have any success in this endeavor. But you must accept that you’re not playing by the rules anymore. You are to this country as Magneto once was. And that means that you will, now and many times in the future, come to the aid of wanted terrorists such as St John Allerdyce. That means that each of you will be seen as that very same sort of terrorist.”

“...Did you just say our cause?” Scott asked quietly.

“I did,” Emma answered, her voice growing slightly more gentle. “You’ve all proven yourselves, and I’d be a fool to turn you away now.” She turned to look at the small cluster of Mutants who still found themselves devouring the food from Angelica’s platter. “Mister Porter, I expect you to return Mister Allerdyce to his master on Asteroid M. And St John… Do be sure to tell Maxwell that he now owes a debt to the Mutant Liberation Front.”

“You got it, queenie. But he doesn’t owe you anymore,” Pyro said with a sloppy grin, his mouth full of strawberry shortcake.

“You’re going to have to tell me the story behind that at some point,” Scott said with a small but grateful smile.

“Oh, I’m sure I will someday. But for now… I’ll have to find accommodations for the rest of our guests.”

“If it’s not too much trouble, lady, I kinda wanna go with these guys,” One of the teens, a young blonde girl in a pink jacket, said while pointing her thumb at Pyro and Vanisher. The other two, Chance included, nodded their heads in agreement.

“Are you sure?” Scott asked them. “There’s also a railroad that’s trying to get Mutants to Scotland. The X-Men have an ally there, who has been keeping Mutants safe. Otherwise, we’d be happy to have your help in the MLF.”

“No offense, but the X-Men kinda suck at doing anything right these days dude,” Chance said with a snort. “I’d rather take my chances with Magneto. Ariel and Gomi feel the same way.”

“Very well then,” Emma said as she placed a gloved hand on Ariel’s shoulder. “You three take care. I’m sure you won’t be the last to seek refuge up there.”

“Surprised she actually gives a damn about them,” Joanna said under her breath. “Or anyone, for that matter.”

“Don’t be too surprised.” Joanna turned to look at the maid in surprise, having never heard her speak in all the time they had spent around her and her mistress. “The White Queen has a soft spot for kids.”

“What’s your deal?” Joanna asked, eyeing the girl’s bracelet with thinly veiled contempt.

“I generate heat, mostly,” She explained with a shrug of her shoulders. “Microwave radiation, to be more specific.” Despite the plainness with which she delivered her answer, there was a tinge of sadness to her voice. A sadness that didn’t go unnoticed by the former soldier.

“How’d you end up with Frost?”

“I applied for a job here in my first year of college. I heard that they didn’t have a problem with hiring Mutants. The kings and queens can be pretty full of themselves, but… I dunno, Emma’s never done wrong by me. She’s helped me out a lot over the years.”

“She convince you to register?”

“What other choice was there?” She asked.

“Fighting back. Making them pay. Showing them that we’re not gonna be their slaves.”

She swallowed, and nodded her head. “I’m not really a fighter, you know.”

“We’re built for fighting, girl. That’s why they’re afraid of us.”

The maid opened her mouth to respond, but found herself cut off by Emma, who broadcast a message to everyone’s minds at once. It was impossible to ignore, as her thoughts appeared as if they were their own. Quite the disorienting experience for those who had never spoken telepathically before.

”If you’d all be so kind, I think it’s about time everyone was on their way,” She thought with a coy smile and a wave of her fan. With their attention caught, she switched seamlessly back to spoken dialogue. “If you’re heading to live up on that silly little space rock, please see Mister Porter. If you plan to partake in an all new American revolution, then stay with Mister Summers. Either way, please… Prepare to leave so I can get my beauty sleep.”

It didn’t take long for them to sort themselves out. Chance, Ariel, and Gomi stood with Pyro and Vanisher. Chance and Nomi locked eyes, and the blue haired teenager nodded, and shifted on the balls of her feet. The Mutant Liberation Front stood together, all feeling the slightest bit disappointed that none of the rescued Mutants had chosen to join in their mission. But to everyone’s surprise, and Joanna’s satisfaction, they were joined by one particular person.

“Angelica?” Emma asked, confusion and a small hint of worry creeping into her voice. “You can’t be serious, can you?”

Angelica took a deep breath, and looked at Joanna, who gave her a slight nod. She looked to Emma, determination filling her eyes, and clenched her fists. “I can’t just sit around and wait for things to get better, Miss Frost. I… I have to fight back. You have no idea how badly I wanted to join them when they went to stop that prison transport. I can’t just let this opportunity slip by.”

Emma stepped closer to the girl, and she placed a hand on Angelica’s shoulder. Her eyes fell shut, and a thought extended from her mind to her pupil’s. ”Are you truly certain? I’d never forgive myself if I let you get killed out there.”

”I’ll be alright. My powers are strong, and I know how to control them now. Much better than I did when I was a teenager, at least. And besides… We’re built for fighting, Miss Frost… That’s why they hate us.”

Emma smiled weakly, and nodded her head. Her hand fell from Angelica’s shoulder, and she took a step back. “I suppose I’ll have to find a new handmaid then. Perhaps Tessa… Regardless, I accept this resignation of yours. Much as it pains me to do so.”

Emma turned to look at Vanisher and waved him off. “You may go now,” She said simply. He nodded, and with a flash of brilliant light, vanished with his passengers, leaving Emma alone with the Mutant Liberation Front.

“Where are we going, then?” Scott asked. “I trust that you have some sort of base lined up for us?”

“Yes, I do,” Emma said with a deep sigh. “I called in a few favors, paid off a few contractors, that sort of thing. Once Vanisher returns, as per the mental command I implanted in his mind, he’ll take you four… You five to your new home. Should you ever need transport in the future, I have someone who is willing to lend a hand. Once you all get settled in at your new place, I’ll give you her contact information.”

“Thank you, Emma,” Scott said. He spoke sincerely; she could tell even without her telepathy.

“Where are we goin’, exactly?” Remy asked. Emma smiled, and Angelica coughed awkwardly.

“I’ll let Angelica explain,” Emma said with a devilish grin.

“I helped pick out the location,” Angelica explained, nervously rubbing her forearm. “It’s secluded, the US Government thinks it’s abandoned, and it’s out of their jurisdiction anyways. There’s nowhere in the world that’s safer for us to stay.”

“Where?” Scott asked.

“An abandoned government facility up in Canada. Back in the seventies, it housed a project called Weapon X.”

Emma tittered as Scott hung his head. Joanna’s brow furrowed in confusion, and Remy began to size up Angelica, as of yet unsure of the newest recruit. But Nomi, who had stayed mostly quiet since they returned to the Hellfire Club, was far far away from the matter at hand.

She held in her hoodie pocket the item that Chance had slipped her. It was a small purple inhaler, like the kind used by people with asthma. There was a scrap of paper wrapped around it, with a word written on it in pencil. She had heard about it, back when she was in school. Kids loved to spread rumors, but she thought they were nonsense. Until now, of course.

Thanks to her new friend, she knew that Kick was very real indeed.

Chapter 8: Photographs and Still Frames

Chapter Text

Joanna was surprised by how much Canada felt like the United States. For some reason, she had expected the country to feel different, in some intrinsic way that couldn’t be explained. But the trees, the air, the ground beneath her feet… It didn’t feel any different from New York. It was just a forest. It was just a place.

Scott was a ways ahead, looking up at the structure. The complex. The facility that was soon to be their base of operations. His arms hung at his sides and he stared up at it, standing rigid, but without stability. A simple push would have been enough to topple the man over. His facial hair had grown out in the weeks since he had left the X Mansion. He looked tired. Tired all the time. But he never spoke of it.

Joanna walked closer. Twigs snapped underfoot, but Scott didn’t snap to attention. He turned his head to the side, and gazed at the trees. At the leaves. They were still green, but only just. Browns and reds and yellows were beginning to overwhelm them. They were growing crisp. Yet they hadn’t begun to fall. Not yet.

She stood at his side and sized him up. His blue and yellow hoodie, branded with an X on the breast, had grown dirty and ragged in the few short weeks that they had known one another. His jeans were torn from being scraped along pavement and the fights they had survived. He looked like a mess, and she had a growing suspicion that it wasn’t the norm for him. But clearly, it was becoming the norm.

She followed his gaze, and looked at the Weapon X facility that sprawled out before them. It was a great, oppressive thing. A mixture of steel and concrete, which had once housed experiments that the Canadian government denied it had ever authorized. Experiments that destroyed a man’s mind, body, and soul.

And they were about to call it home.

“So this is it, huh?” She asked, giving a tense nod to the facility.

“It is,” Scott said in a hoarse voice that was becoming far too familiar.

“Did we sweep for bugs or surveillance equipment yet?”

“Nomi is.”

“Did Wolverine really get ripped open and pumped full of metal here?”

“He did.”

“Damn.”

Angelica stood by the front door to the complex. The back of her head pressed against the cool, rough concrete of the wall. Remy approached from around the corner and flashed a small, friendly smile as he noticed her leaning against the wall. In the dark of night, his irises burned so brightly. So intently. It was impossible not to look at them.

“Hey chere,” He whispered in that heady, accented voice of his. “Now, I don’ think we been properly introduced yet.”

“Not really, no,” Angelica admitted. She tucked a lock of false red hair behind her ear and felt her body grow hot.

“Remy LeBeau. Thief, conman, dashing rogue.”

“Angelica Jones. People usually call me Angie. Or Angel,” She added, thinking back to what her father always called her. A pit dropped in her stomach as she realized that he didn’t know where she was at that moment. As far as he knew, she was still working at the Hellfire Club. Still going to college.

“Y’alright chere?” Remy asked. Suddenly, he was tilting her chin upwards with his thumb and forefinger. Looking into her eyes with concern written across his scruffy face.

“Yeah, I uhh… I’ll be fine,” She told him. “Just nervous about all this,” She insisted. “But I’m alright,” She lied.

“Must be cold in dat getup,” He cracked, looking her up and down with a gentle smirk. Angelica looked down at herself and flushed a deep red. She had almost forgotten, in all the excitement and teleportation, that she was still wearing a maid’s uniform.

“Trust me, I don’t plan on wearing this after tonight,” She said with a laugh. “I’m normally a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl.”

“Really? I thought ya just really liked frills and lace,” Remy ribbed. “Ya got anything else to wear, though? Cuz I thought you joinin’ us was a last minute sorta deal.”

“I’ll be fine. We factored clothing into the budget. Not just for you four, but for anyone who you rescue too. There are enough beds and clothes for upwards of thirty people. Myself included, now.”

Remy nodded, and looked off into the distance as Scott and Joanna approached. He flicked his wrist, and a playing card appeared in his hand. His eyes burned a bit brighter, and he gestured to the heavy steel doors.

“Want me to blow de doors open, boss?”

“We rewired the access codes,” Angelica told him. She looked at Scott and brushed her fingers against a small keypad that was set into the wall beside the doors. “Three five-”

“Not yet,” Scott instructed. He glanced to the side, and called out. “Nomi! Are you finished with the sweep?!”

The thirteen year old responded by dropping a ball of crushed together security cameras on the dirt before them. She sauntered into view, one hand firmly stuck in the pocket of her hoodie, and another camera floating above the other hand’s palm.

“Yeah, we’re good.”

“Um. Those aren’t our security cameras, are they?” Angelica asked, pointing at the pile of junk.

“I’m not an idiot,” Nomi bemoaned, tossing her head back and sagging her shoulders. “These were all up in the trees. Pretty sure most of them don’t even work anymore. They’re friggin’ ancient.”

“Oh thank God.” Angelica breathed a sigh of relief. “Miss Frost’s people redid all the security systems and updated the technology inside. The passcode is three five seven zero five two four nine. Try not to forget it.”

“Chere, Remy don’ forget anythin’ a cute girl say.”

“Why do you talk in the third person? Friggin’ weirdo,” Nomi muttered as she slumped against the wall on the opposite side of the door from Angelica.

“I’m with the kid. It’s weird,” Joanna agreed. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and caught a slight smirk from the young teenager.

“Can we please just… Go inside?” Scott asked, in his weary, yet still commanding, voice. Angelica jumped, and punched in the access code, which prompted the heavy steel doors to finally swing open and allow the five Mutants inside.

It was a cold, clinical looking building; as oppressive on the inside as it was on the outside. All of them, save for Angelica, had been expecting the halls to be dark, dusty and full of cobwebs. Cracked floors and claw-shredded walls. Instead, it was neat, and clean, and devoid of any sense of life or history.

“Our contractors got a lot done in the past week,” Angelica explained, rather casually as she walked further into the main hall. There was an elevator on the opposite wall from the entrance, as well as two wings of the building that branched off to each side. “Bedrooms are down the right. Mister Summers, you’re in A1, Miss Cargill is in A2, Nomi is in A3. Remy, you’re in B1.”

“And in the left wing?” Joanna asked, eyeing the hall.

“Kitchen, living areas, mess hall, that sort of thing. Oh, and downstairs, in the old lab area, we set up a Danger Room. There are a few surprises down there, but they’re pretty great. I think you guys will like them!”

The way she showed off the facility, and listed its features, made the college aged girl seem almost like a bouncy realtor, giving a tour of a new home for a family to consider. Still, all of them, even Nomi, even Angelica, found themselves thinking of what this place once was. The people who died. The torture that was inflicted. The memories that were shorn from a man’s mind, never to be reclaimed.

They took a look at their bedrooms.

Joanna found herself standing in a simple, plainly decorated room, painted grey with blue trim. A bed was set in the corner of the room, opposite a punching bag that was bolted into both the ceiling and the floor. She looked at the chains, and realized that whatever metal they were made from, it wasn’t steel. Her bathroom was likewise rather nondescript, although she was pleasantly surprised to find that they had stocked her cabinet with natural hair care products. But her inspection of the room was thorough, and she noticed the metal case that lay on her bed the instant she stepped into the room.

She flipped the latches and opened the case slowly. Inside was a costume, folded neatly, and an unopened letter that had been sealed with a wax stamp. She snorted, bemused by the assumption that she’d wear a costume like one of the X-Men, or the Brotherhood. But looking at it more closely… She didn’t hate the look of it.

It was predominantly black, with thicker, padded sections along the side and chest in a bright shade of blue. Long sleeves led into fingerless gloves, and a pair of metal knuckles were paired along with it. A glance at the floor beside the bed showed a pair of heavy metal arm guards, which would easily fit over her forearms, as well as a pair of boots, made from the same material.

She ripped the letter open with her teeth and read it over, a small smirk tugging at her lips.

The poet’s eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven. And you, my fine Frenzy, shall rattle the walls of earth, and the foundations of heaven. I do hope you enjoy the knuckles. They’re a special carbonadium-adamantium alloy, specially made just for you. Warm regards, the White Queen.

“God damn,” Joanna laughed to herself. “Now I get why they wear the costumes.”

Next to her room, Scott stood in his. It was identical to Joanna’s in structure, albeit with red trim. At least, he assumed the trim was red. The decoration was minimal, purely the necessities. A chair in the corner, a neatly made bed, and a dresser were all he had been given, and he was more than fine with that. The bathroom came complete with a specialized shower, made from ruby quartz walls and floors.

Emma really did pay attention to detail.

On the bed was a chest, identical to the one in Joanna’s room. He popped it open and found that it contained a costume. Primarily black, with padded and ribbed red portions along the sides and chest. There was something else, though. A mask, or helm, rather. Pure silver, in the shape of a human skull. Its eyes were made from ruby quartz, like his visor. He held it in his hands and smirked.

There was a letter paired with it, from Emma and addressed to him. He read it over once, before tucking it the bottom of his top dresser drawer.

So much to say to you, Scott, that I could not possibly fit in one letter. I’ve decided to keep it simple, then. You are our peoples’ greatest hope. I truly believe that. I am counting on you, Scott Summers. And maybe, someday, if you, my dreadful Basilisk, survive this war you plan to wage… I’d like to speak to you again. Yours always, The White Queen.

Down the hall, Remy stood in the doorway of his room and grinned with satisfaction. Grey walls, with purple trim, and a large portrait hanging on the wall. A gift from Emma, no doubt. He’d have to repay her someday, he thought to himself. Several decks of playing cards were sitting on a dresser, and his new costume lay on his bed.

Like Joanna, he wasn’t originally sure if Remy LeBeau was the costume type. But seeing it, he certainly came around on the idea. Mostly black, with purple accents on the padded sections. A collapsible bo staff was paired along with it in the case, as was a long brown coat, and he held his letter in his hand.

You were unquestionably a calculated risk, Mister LeBeau. I still believe that you are, to be completely honest. Know that I do not trust you, but… I would like to be proven wrong. Consider yourself a Gambit. Sincerely, The White Queen.

He chuckled to himself and tossed the letter to the side. Gambit did have a nice ring to it.

He peered across the hall, into Nomi’s room, and found the teenager zipping up her costume, already raring to go and get back into the thick of things. Where his and Joanna’s costumes were primarily black with smaller accents, Nomi’s was a bright shade of blue, which nearly matched the color of her hair. The padded sections were, like his, a royal purple. Along the sides of her legs were several metal bladed objects, which was a frightening sight on par with the face of a Sentinel.

He saw that her room was covered in metal. A metal dresser, metal coat hangers and weights, and walls of pure stainless steel. She reached over onto the bed and picked up her letter, and smiled. A small, whispered “hell yeah” escaped her lips. He hadn’t a clue what was written in it, but she did.

Look kid, I’m gonna be straight with you. Don’t try to levitate yourself right away, and don’t go trying to move bridges until you’re at least twenty five. Magnetism is like a muscle; you have to flex frequently in order to get stronger. If you have to stay under the radar, dye your hair brown and I can promise nobody will notice you. Always keep your feelers out for bullets, and if a guy named Vincent ever tells you he knows who your real father is, just walk away. Don’t let anybody tell you what to do. Oh, and by the by, I’m letting you have my original codename. Knock ‘em dead, Magnetrix. Have fun, The Black Queen.

Angelica walked past their rooms and traced her fingers along the wall. She felt so free without that bracelet on her wrist. Free to be herself, and to fight for her people at long last. It was a dream come true, even if she was now in a strange place with strange people she didn’t know.

She passed Remy’s room, and saw that one door was open. It wasn’t Scott’s room, or Joanna’s, or Nomi’s. She took a look inside and saw something odd. The rooms were meant to be featureless, except for the members of the team who Emma had known about. Yet this room was decorated.

The trim on the walls was a bright orange, and there was a framed photograph on the bedside table. The sheets were quilted red and orange, and a chest lay atop them. They hadn’t made a room for anyone else. She was certain of that. For a moment, she wondered if they had mistakenly jotted down a request for a room for Sunfire, but he had been killed before the Hellfire Club was ever approached by the MLF. But as she stepped into the room, as though pulled by some magnetic force, she saw who the photograph was of.

It was her. Her and her father and grandmother, hugging outside one of her high school baseball games. It was before her grandma had died, before life was full of fear and uncertainty. It was one week before her powers manifested for the first time. She looked so happy in the picture. Looking at it again, she felt tears begin to well up in her eyes, and she let them flow freely.

She didn’t have to open the chest on the bed to know what was inside, but she wanted to see it. The yellow suit, with red accents. There was a hand written letter for her as well, just like the ones that she had written under Emma’s dictation. But as she melted the wax seal with her thumb and pulled the letter from the envelope, Angelica saw that it was written in Emma’s handwriting.

Angelica. I want you to know how truly proud of you I am, my dear. Though I may not have shown it, I have cared for you, not just as a teacher would her student, but as a mother would her child. I have loved you as the child I could never have, ever since you first came under my care. And while it is with a heavy heart that I bid you farewell, I want you to know that I believe in you. I believe in your ability to set this world ablaze, my dearest Firestar. Eternally proud, Emma.

“Damnit, Miss Frost.”

She smiled softly to herself as tears splashed onto the paper.

Chapter 9: Shake, Rattle, Roll

Chapter Text

Valerie Cooper peered through the one-way mirror and into a singularly occupied interrogation room. Inside, scowling and struggling helplessly against his power dampening collar, was a teenage boy. He had deep brown skin and brown hair that hadn’t been cut in quite some time. His bangs hung over his eyes as he grunted and seethed in frustration. His name was Julio Esteban Richter. He had been arrested through the valiant and inspiring efforts of a local police officer. The man would no doubt be awarded a medal for his brave public service. The boy would no doubt rot in ONE lockup.

After Val was done questioning him, of course.

It had become almost routine, over the past several weeks. The FBI and ONE had decided on a sort of protocol, one which satisfied both federal agencies. When a Mutant was apprehended, they would be passed along to ONE. However, if said Mutant had a possible connection to a known domestic terrorist group, then the FBI would send their agents to perform an interrogation before ONE processed the individual.

She had interviewed nearly ten such individuals since the Mutant Liberation Front first appeared in New Orleans two months ago. Val had been to San Antonio, Lubbock, Rochester, Philadelphia, Omaha, Richmond, Albany, Raleigh, and now… San Francisco. She was a busy woman. Among her fellow agents, she had begun to develop a reputation as something not unlike a Mutant specialist. Rumors quickly swirled that she was being given offers to hop over to ONE. She was quick to dispel those rumors, though. She was just doing her job.

Her job, which was currently to get answers out of a sixteen year old who claimed to have been working on behalf of the MLF.

“Are we really about to interrogate a kid?” The man beside her asked. He held a cup of coffee in one hand and took a long sip from it. His name was John Silvercloud, and he had been assigned as her partner the day before they flew off to San Antonio for their first interrogation. She still wasn’t entirely a fan of him. He was right far too often for her tastes.

“He single handedly caused the collapse of a medical research facility, so yes we are,” Val said simply.

“It’s destruction of private property, not murder. He even said when the local PD arrived, he waited until everyone had evacuated before he knocked the lab over.”

“Are you really devil’s advocating for a Mutant?” Val asked, shooting her partner an icy glare.

John shrugged. “Just saying, the kid isn’t Magneto or anything.”

“They all get their start somehow,” Val mused, as her narrow gaze shifted back to Richtor. “We should get this over with quickly. I want to get back to Quantico as soon as possible so I can finish The Sopranos.”

John raised his eyebrows and stifled a laugh. Val looked back at him, confused, before he commented.

“Didn’t that end like twelve years ago?”

“Not all of us watched prestige television in high school, John.”

He regarded her for a moment, as the wheels turned in his head. Suddenly, his eyes lit up and he laughed openly.

“Don’t tell me… You were an anime kid in school, weren’t you?” The furious, withering glare she fired at him answered the question. John continued to laugh. “Oh man, what was your fix? Naruto? Sailor Moon?”

“...Gundam Wing,” She admitted in a terse tone. Her partner doubled over in laughter, and she sighed. Children. She worked with children. “Look, are we doing this or not?” She snapped.

“Yeah… Yeah, alright,” John said, his fit subsiding for the moment. Still, he wiped a joyful tear from his eye. “You wanna rock, paper, scissors for it?”

She nodded, and threw paper. He threw scissors.

She opened the door to the interrogation room and strode in with the utmost of confidence. The teenager scowled at the sight of her, and immediately launched into a string of obscenities that would have easily shocked and offended her mother. Val, however, had heard far worse in her lifetime.

But when he ended on a threat that the MLF was going to break him out and set him free, Val couldn’t help but laugh.

“We know you’re not working for Scott Summers,” She told him plainly. He looked at her, thrown by the accusation.

“Yeah I am!” He insisted, growing angrier, more defiant. “I’m part of it, and they’re gonna tear this whole place down to get me.”

Val chuckled. “Do you know how I know you’re lying, Julio? Because the Mutant Liberation Front has struck dozens of times in the past few weeks. Almost every other day, really. But it’s only ever the five of them.”

She let silence fill the air, and stared at him, all to make the situation as uncomfortable as possible. So much easier to get answers when people were uncomfortable. Teenagers especially. They just couldn’t stand being put in an awkward situation.

“And we know who each and every one of those five is,” She lied. They knew who Nomi Blume was, of course. Scott Summers wasn’t absolutely confirmed to be the ringleader, but he was the most likely option. The other three, however, were still a mystery to them. But she did know that none of them had Julio’s particular ability.

“They just recruited me,” Julio argued, his voice bitter, filled with contempt for the woman in front of him. “It was my first mission.”

“See, that brings me to point number two. The lab you attacked was owned by Alchemax. The Mutant Liberation Front only targets ONE and Trask Industries. They’re consistent about that, and we know why. But unlike those two, Alchemax doesn’t pose a risk to your kind. They have no reason to attack it.”

Julio shot out of his chair, knocking it to the ground, though he was still chained to the table by his cuffs. His nostrils flared, and he stared daggers at Val, who didn’t so much as react to the outburst.

“Alchemax is trying to “cure” Mutants!” He spat. “That’s why I took them down. I’m not gonna sit around on my ass and let those bastards sterilize us!”

“Check your sources, kid,” Val sighed. “Alchemax curing Mutants is a hoax. That lab was for cancer research. Research that you destroyed.”

He paused, and she could see him processing the information. She hoped it would pacify him; get him to calm down and sign a confession so they didn’t have to deal with a trial. Instead, he just got angrier.

“I don’t buy it. You’re lying,” He said, eyes narrowing as he leveled the accusation at Val. “Cops like you lie all the goddamn time.”

“The only one lying here is you, Julio.” Val shook her head dismissively. “What I want to know is why you’re wasting our time. You’re not working for Summers or Magneto. You’re not even working for the X-Men. I’m sure you think you were doing something brave and heroic. But you weren’t. You just gave us another reason to have Sentinels patrolling the streets.”

Julio fell silent. His eyes cast downwards, his shoulders slumped, and his hair hung over his face. Val felt a pang of… something in her heart for the boy. Pity? Sympathy? Put in his shoes, would she have done what he did? No. He was just another example of the innate destructive urges his kind were saddled with.

“Come on, kid. Just sign a confession so we don’t have to go through a whole trial. It’ll be easier on you, and your parents.”

Julio glared at her through his curtain of brown locks. What parents? They were both dead. He had been living on a friend’s couch up until the day he went to Alchemax. But he was damned if he was going to make his incarceration any easier on the bigoted bastards in charge of the criminal justice system.

Several tense, silent moments passed. Val crossed her arms and stared Julio down, but the teenager wouldn’t budge. Instead, she actually found herself beginning to sweat from the heat. The Californian sunshine had been hostile at best when she was outside, but the building was much cooler inside. She wondered if the air conditioning had broken down as she tugged at her canary colored blouse and grey suit jacket.

But then she heard a knock on the door, and John slipped his head into the room. There was a panicked look on his face, and his words sent a chill down Val’s spine.

“Val? You gotta take a look at this.”

John never interrupted her during an interrogation. She shot one last look at Julio, who seemed as confused as she was, before she joined John outside the room.

“What’s up?” She asked.

“The MLF is outside.”

“I’m sorry, what?!”

She followed him into the hall and to the front of the building. Outside, standing on a floating manhole cover, was the leader of the Mutant Liberation Front. Complete in his black and red uniform and silver skull-shaped helmet, Basilisk stared down the entire police station’s worth of officers… None of whom were armed. Instead, their guns were all floating in the air, and aimed directly at their heads. The scene gave her an eerie sense of deja vu.

“I’m going to assume this is the last of you,” Basilisk said with a contemptuous chuckle. His voice reverberated, slightly altered by the mask he wore. At his side sat Nomi Blume, who dangled her legs off the edge of their makeshift ride and was heavily concentrating on the firepower she was leveling.

“Wh-what do you want?” Val asked, as her own gun slipped free from its holster. She swallowed nervously as its barrel pressed against her forehead. The fact that all the guns were trembling in place, as though Nomi was doing her utmost to keep them from going off, only served to instill an even greater sense of dread in the captive police department.

“I’m sure Magnetrix could do with a glass of water,” He said. She didn’t have to see under his mask to know he was smiling as he teased her. “No, I think we’re perfectly content to just sit… And wait.”

“Until what?” John asked. He and Val exchanged a brief glance, both seeming to agree that they would try to glean whatever information they could, in case they managed to survive this.

Suddenly, an explosion rocked the building, and a small plume of purple-black smoke rose up from the building. Specifically, from where Val and John had been just minutes ago. The interrogation room’s roof had been blasted to nothing, and a woman in red and yellow rose up, carrying Julio Richtor in her arms.

“Until that,” Nomi said gleefully. She waved her hand, and all of the guns lightly butted their owners in the faces before scattering on the ground. She focused on projecting a magnetic shield around Basilisk and herself as they rejoined their teammates; the redheaded woman and a man in a long brown coat. A pink tear opened in the sky above the police station, and all five vanished into it before it shut behind them.

Val was never going to hear the end of this.

*******************************************************************************************************************************************

Julio looked around in shock as he stumbled into the renovated Weapon X facility. The air was cool and almost sterile, not at all like the hot, sweltering air of his hometown. He stumbled on his own two feet, before being caught by the strong, well worn hand of the fifth member of the MLF, who had been waiting for them to arrive.

“Don’t lose your feet, kid,” Frenzy snorted.

“Where am I?” He asked, taking in his surroundings. He felt like he was going to hurl from the sudden shift. He hardly even noticed the pink-skinned, elf-eared woman in green who was leaning against the wall.

“We don’t exactly have a name for it yet,” Basilisk said. He pulled his helmet off and slipped a pair of sunglasses on before opening his eyes. “But we’re always open to suggestions.”

It soon became apparent that Julio wasn’t the MLF’s only guest at the moment. As Nomi wandered off towards the kitchens in search of lunch, and as Remy slipped out to go for a walk in the woods, a college aged girl with bobbed black hair approached from the hallway.

“Um, who are you?” Julio asked her. “And who are you?” He asked the pink elf.

“Call me Blink,” The elf said in a light, ethereal voice. She was dressed as a civilian, as was the black haired girl. “I’m just here for transport.”

“And I’m Xi’an,” The other girl said with a slight smile. She shook Julio’s hand, and he noticed her prosthetic leg as he looked her over. “I’ve been here for about two weeks now,” She explained.

“Xi’an, I’m sure you can show Julio around the place while Joanna and I spar in the Danger Room,” Basilisk said. Xi’an nodded earnestly, and waved him off.

“Wait, so, what’s going on?” Julio asked Xi’an. “Where are we, exactly?”

“We’re in the Mutant Liberation Front’s home base,” She explained.

“Do I… Live here now?”

“If you want to.”

“You wanted to?”

“Yes. Not everyone does, though. Some ask to go be with the Brotherhood, or with the X-Men. If you want to stay here, though-”

“I do. And I wanna join up, too,” Julio said with a dangerous glint in his eye. “I wanna be part of the MLF.”

Xi’an laughed, and shook her head. “You’ll have to talk to Mister Summers about that. In the meantime, why don’t I show you your room?”

As Xi’an gave Julio the grand tour, grateful to have another roommate, Scott and Joanna took the elevator down into the complex’s sub-level. Joanna split off to go to the Danger Room, where she’d no doubt spar against the old reprogrammed Mk1 Sentinel they had gotten a hold of, while Scott made his way towards the war room. A brief detour, before he'd join his teammate.

The room, which was far less imposing than its name, was the area that he’d have to pass through in order to get to Cerebra; another of their benefactor’s wonderful gifts, albeit one that only she (and now Xi’an) was capable of using. But that wasn’t Scott’s destination. No, he approached a computer console that was set into one of the war room’s walls, and he brought up a direct video feed to their benefactor.

She blinked into view, fanning herself in all her regalia, and cooed at the sight of her dreadful little Basilisk. He was her favorite, most valued soldier, after all.

“Hullo, Scott,” Emma said as she flicked her fan shut. He tried to ignore the fact that she was… entertaining “guests” at the moment. They were rather scantily clad guests, at that.

“Emma,” He said flatly. “We have the Richtor boy you asked about. I wanted to know, though… Why the interest in him? You normally let us pick our own targets.”

“True, true. But I believe the boy was onto something, and I wanted to speak to him at the soonest possible moment.”

“You mean Alchemax?”

“I do,” She began, before blushing and chastising one of her guests for so rudely interrupting her. “I do, and I’ll be visiting tonight in order to plunder his memories. There may be more there than even he noticed.”

“I’ll be waiting,” He said with a thin smile, before cutting the line.

Chapter 10: Rust Away

Chapter Text

Joanna stood alone in the Danger Room. She bound her wrists and hands in athletic tape slowly, as she kept her eyes on the far wall of the room. A large, inert figure stared back; its eyes were dull and lifeless, and it posed no threat. Not yet, anyways. She didn’t know how Emma had managed to acquire it, but the Mk1 Sentinel was an opponent she loved to fight. No matter how badly she destroyed it, it was always so easy to put back together again. By this point, it was equal parts grey steel to its original purple and blue shell. In fact, calling it a proper Mk1 wasn’t quite accurate anymore. It was something else. Something that belonged to her. A sparring partner that thought it could be her exterminator.

“Bring it on, Rover,” She said with a sneer and a pounding of her fists. The voice command was picked up by the room’s equipment, and the Sentinel’s eyes sparked to life.

It lurched forward, ambling on legs of decade old steel. It raised one hand, and the bullets that fired from its palm bounced harmlessly off of Joanna’s chest as she approached it casually. A glitched out, distorted voice ordered her to surrender as she raised her fists.

”M-M-MutANT IdEntifiEd. H-H-H-H-H-H-Halt MutANT.”

“No thanks,” Joanna said. She delivered an uppercut which sent the eight foot tall robot reeling backwards. It caught itself with an outstretched foot, then wound up and punched Joanna right back.

Its heavy steel fist slammed into her head hard enough for her to feel it. A grin crossed Joanna’s face, and she retaliated with another punch of her own. Back and forth, the two of them traded blows. She knew that, at any moment, she could end it. All she had to do was give a voice command, or knock the head off of the outdated machine. But she wasn’t looking to end the fight. She was looking to blow off steam.

As she sparred with the Sentinel, Joanna’s mind wandered. Through the halls of the sublevel of the Weapon X complex, towards Scott. No doubt he was talking to the White Queen at that very moment. He had told her as much as they split off outside the Danger Room.

Fist met fist, and the Mk1’s hand crumpled.

She didn’t know what to make of the White Queen. The woman was opulent to the degree of annoyance, and she spoke about everything, even their own potential extinction, as though it was beneath her. Why did Scott put his trust in Emma?

With a stomp, she snapped off the front half of the Mk1’s foot.

How far back did those two go? What exactly was Scott’s history with the Hellfire Club? Why was he so willing to believe that a woman who willingly put one of those damn power tracking bracelets around her wrist wouldn’t betray them? Joanna was supposed to be his second in command, so why wasn’t she part of those private conversations between Scott and Emma?

A backhand knocked off the lower portion of the Mk1’s jaw and sent it skittering across the floor.

Why did she care?

The door to the Danger Room slid open with a gentle whooshing sound, and Scott stepped into the room. Gone was his silver, ruby eyed skull helmet. Instead, he wore the same pair of sunglasses that he wore when they first met. He was smiling, ever so slightly, as he approached the center of the room.

“I think Rover’s going to need some maintenance after this,” He oh so casually remarked.

“Tell Emma she should get us a Mk2, so we don’t have to keep repairing this one,” Joanna said as she pushed the struggling Sentinel onto its back. It twitched on the floor, unable to even lift itself anymore. “I can’t even feel the bullets.”

“The rest of us can.” Scott looked at the Sentinel, as Joanna’s eyes flicked to a scar on the back of Scott’s wrist, which was incredibly familiar to the former soldier. A bullet had grazed the spot years ago, before he ever met her. From how it was stretched and distorted, it was possible it was something that had happened when he was still growing. He had been fighting this war longer than anyone, and it showed.

“End program,” Joanna said. The Sentinel’s eyes blinked off, and its motions ceased. As its head lolled back onto the floor with a thunk, she crossed her arms in front of her chest and sighed. “So what’s her royal majesty want?” She asked.

“She’s going to drop by tonight, after Julio has settled in a bit. She wants to see what he knows about Alchemax.” Scott watched as Joanna made her way towards the door, and he followed after her.

“You think those cure rumors are true?” She asked as she peeled the tape from her hands and tossed it into a trash can outside of the room. The simple thought of someone, somehow, being able to cure Mutation was absurd. Or at least, that’s what they had always assumed. The genetics were just far too complicated for anyone to really understand what even caused the X gene to exist, and going so far as to find a way to suppress or remove it entirely? It seemed like a bigot’s dream, and little more.

It sent a chill down her spine.

“Hard to say. She thinks he may have seen more than he realizes, so she wants to look through his memories of the lab attack to see if there was something Julio may not have noticed.”

Joanna snorted and rolled her eyes. Telepaths. As if Frost’s demeanor didn’t unsettle her enough, she just had to have been born with the gift that was the root of humankind’s fear of them. And yet they relied on that Mutant ability in order to track Mutants in need of aid, and to find out what their human oppressors were keeping from them.

“How long until she gets here?” She asked as the two of them walked back into the elevator and waited for the doors to close. Her stomach flipped as it carried them up to the surface; she wondered if it was common for people to have that reaction in elevators.

“Blink is going to go and get her at around seven.”

“And what’s on for dinner?”

“Remy is making gumbo.”

“f*ck yes,” Joanna said with a laugh. The thought of Remy’s cooking managed to make up for having to deal with Emma again.

Above their heads, in the kitchen, Remy and Angelica were busy at work. It had become almost routine, since the five members of the MLF moved into the facility, for the two of them to prepare dinner. It gave them, as the two members of the MLF who were unexpected additions to Scott’s roster, an opportunity to grow closer.

“How many kids do you think we gon’ get runnin’ around dese halls?” Remy asked as he leaned against the counter. His messy brown hair framed his face perfectly, and his eyes burned gently even now, away from the fight.

“We’ve got space for dozens, if not more,” Angelica said. She had hung up her wig in her room after the mission ended, and so only a thin, burgeoning layer of red hair covered her scalp. Remy had yet to pry about it, and she was thankful for that. “And if we ever reach full capacity, Miss Frost has plans for another site.”

Remy spun a container of chili powder in his hand before adding it to the simmering dish on the stove. Angelica shook her head and laughed at the flourish.

“So…” Remy began, as his eyes flicked towards his sous chef.

“So...?”

“How does a girl like you start workin’ at a place like de Hellfire Club?”

Angelica paused, and chewed on the inside of her lip. Remy looked at her expectantly, so she sighed and answered his question honestly.

“I needed money, and they don’t have a problem hiring Mutants. And… She taught me how to use my powers safely.”

Remy nodded in understanding. “I get it. First time I used my powers, I blew up my girlfriend’s pool table.”

“Yikes.”

“Hah, yeah. Her daddy chased me outta de place with a gun after dat. Haven’t seen her in years now. I wonder, sometimes, if she’s doin’ okay.”

“What was her name?” Angelica asked. Remy caught her eyes in his own and smiled. There was a wistful look on his face as he recalled memories of a young blonde girl with dimples and freckles.

“Bella Donna. Me an’ her thought we were gonna take on de world together.”

“Well… You are, for what that’s worth,” Angelica said quietly. For a moment, she wasn’t certain whether he had even heard her. But then Remy laughed and nodded, and gave her a gentle side-hug.

The conversation fell away, and they found themselves entering a comfortable silence as they focused on finishing dinner. But still, Angelica felt a tighter connection growing between her and Remy. He wasn’t so much of a stranger to her anymore. In fact, she was all too eager to work with him in the field again.

“Does Julio have any allergies?” She wondered aloud as she pulled a loaf of cornbread from the oven.

“Don’t think anybody stopped to ask the boy, chere.” Remy slipped past her and grabbed a bowl of deveined shrimp to toss into the stewing mixture in the pan.

Angelica frowned. She paused, looking at the pan of bread for a moment. “I’m gonna go ask him. I don’t want to see him go into anaphylactic shock on his first day here just because we didn’t know he was allergic to seafood.”

Remy smiled slightly as he stirred their cooking dinner. As Angelica left the room to go find Julio, he gave her one parting message. “Best we can do is take dese kids as dey come, and try to do right by dem. We do dat? We win dis whole revolution.”

By the time that everyone had gathered in the mess hall, the Cajun Mutant had finished preparing their meal. Eight Mutants sat around the long, rectangular metal table. The scent of warm, hearty food filled the air. It felt as though it had already been a day since Julio was sprung out of lockup, rather than just a few hours. Scott and Joanna sat across from one another, with Nomi sandwiched between Scott and Remy. Mirroring their positions were Angelica, Xi’an, Julio and Clarice.

As they all began to eat, Julio looked across the table, towards the members of the MLF. “I just wanted to say thanks. You know, for helping me out today. You guys are f*cking heroes, man.”

Scott smiled and nodded. “We’re a tribe. Every Mutant owes it to their kind to lend a hand. I’d expect the same of any of you if I were in need.”

“Pfft. I had to rescue myself,” Nomi snorted. “Get on my level.”

“We can’t all be national criminal sensations,” Angelica shot back with a smirk. Her wig once again covered her growing hair, with only Remy having seen what was underneath.

“Actually, I’m pretty sure we are,” Joanna said as she brought a spoon up to her lips. It was true. If any of them were to look at the tv, they’d see an almost constant news cycle about the new Mutant terrorist organization. Their names were already infamous. Basilisk. Frenzy. Magnetrix. Gambit. Firestar. Monsters one and all, who were out to get the innocent young human children and destroy the police state.

And yet, to others, like Julio and Xi’an, they had already become saviors. In just a few short weeks, with a few chosen rescues and tactical strikes, they were a source of hope for the Mutants of the country.

Suddenly, a series of high pitched trills rang out. Scott snapped to attention and looked to the room’s exits. Joanna tensed, and prepared for a fight. Blink, however, simply pulled out a burner phone and held it to her ear. The ringing stopped the instant she did so.

“Ma’am? Right. I’m sorry, I lost track of time. You got it.”

The pink-skinned elf closed the phone and pushed it back into her pocket. With a quick flick of her wrist, a tear appeared in space a few feet away from the dining Mutants. The air itself ripped open, and air was sucked into the void. As the pink glow of the tear began to fade, it was replaced by a vision that was familiar to the MLF’s core members.

Emma Frost stepped through the gap in space, from the Hellfire Club lounge into the mess hall. The tear closed behind her, and she nodded at Blink, who sat back down.

Julio gawked at the woman; thrown by the sight of her. He had expected a woman in skintight white leather, or maybe lingerie and a fur cape. Instead, he found himself staring up at a woman over ten years his senior, and who was dressed in a powder blue gown that belonged in an era of French monarchy. Her golden hair was pulled back, and a small tricorn hat was perched atop her head. She looked like something out of a history textbook, rather than the dominatrix super villain he had imagined.

“You must be Mister Richter,” She said as a thin, confident smile graced her face. “Or would you prefer Julio?”

Julio stood and looked Emma up and down again, still thrown by the woman’s imposing presence. “Julio,” He muttered after a pause. “Basilisk said you’re gonna go looking through my memories or something?”

“That would be correct.”

“You really think I was right about them trying to cure us?” He asked.

“I do,” She swore.

“Is it gonna hurt?” He asked.

“Not one bit,” She promised.

Julio looked down, and a torn expression etched itself across his young face. Emma looked into his eyes and her own expression softened, growing sympathetic to the teenager. She knew what was holding him back. She couldn’t blame him for the reservation.

”I will only see what you wish for me to see. I promise you, I will not go snooping about your personal life. Do we have a deal?”

Julio swallowed his worries, and nodded his head. Emma smiled, and pressed her gloved hand against his temple. His eyes shut in tandem with her own, and she entered his mind with as much grace and poise as when she entered the room just a few moments earlier.

“Can I just be her when I’m older?” Nomi asked Joanna around a spoonful of shrimp.

*************************************************************************************************************

Julio’s eyes opened, and he found himself back in the Alchemax lab. It was the very moment that he kicked the front door open. A trail of shattered earth lay in his wake outside, and inside security was already beginning to scramble to attention.

This time, however, Julio did not stand alone.

Emma was there, at his side. A firm hand gripped his shoulder, and he saw that the memory was frozen in time. It was crystal clear to him as well. Every mote of dust that hung in the air, and every crack in the linoleum floor stood out as bright as day. He looked back up, and saw a security guard just to his side raise a gun. Not a taser, or anything so pacifying. It was a pistol, and it was readied with lethal intent.

Julio raised his hand, and the floor swelled and burst beneath the guard. His footing slipped, and he dropped his gun. Before he could reach for it, a spike of earth shot from the ground and into the wall above the guard, holding him down. Julio knelt down and grabbed the guard’s radio. Exactly as he did the first time around, Julio raised it to his lips, clicked the button, and spoke into it.

“The Mutant Liberation Front is here. Get out of the building now, before it comes down on all your heads.”

He looked to Emma as the memory played out, and she smiled with satisfaction. But her eyes were also searching for something, even as Julio walked further and further into the lab. He passed by technicians and doctors in lab coats as they fled for safety; his stride casual and rather excited. He had been eager to strike back at the humans who abused him for so long.

It carried on, exactly as he had experienced it. Attacking guards with the intent to disarm them, rather than to cause overt harm. Scaring researchers into fleeing. Going room to room in order to make sure that nobody stayed behind. He had wanted to destroy the place, not to hurt anyone. And he hadn’t, as much as ONE and the FBI liked to pretend otherwise.

Emma kept an eye on each and every scene as they unfolded. From time to time, she’d ask Julio for more information. Did he hear anyone talking about their work? Did he catch any glimpses of personnel who didn’t seem to belong, like ONE agents and the like? Did he, perhaps, find any actual evidence of cancer research?

All of her questions were answered with a resounding no.

But as they entered the final lab, deep in the heart of the building, Emma raised her hand. The memory, which had been unfolding in slow motion, came to a complete halt. Julio found that he was no longer bound to his tracks; he was free to move about just as Emma was.

The White Queen was, at that moment, walking by a row of computer monitors. Each one was frozen. The information displayed on them was accurate, albeit not anything Julio would have been capable of recalling on his own. Even someone with perfect recall likely wouldn’t have been able to accurately remember what had been picked up on the fringes of their mind. But inside of Julio’s mind, Emma was more than just an observer. She was practically walking through a library’s worth of information that Julio didn’t even know he had stored away.

“Facebook… Minesweeper… Hormone studies…” Emma muttered aloud as she passed by each computer monitor. “Oh hello there,” She whispered to herself as she came to a stop in front of one setup. She leaned over to get a better look, and Julio joined her.

“What is it?” He asked.

“Emails,” She said simply. “For future reference, always look into emails first. It’s much simpler to get a direct look at a conversation rather than pouring over mind numbing data sheets.”

Her eyes scanned across the length of the page, though her face remained expressionless. Julio tried to get a look for himself, but by the time he craned his head to see what had been written, Emma was moving on to another computer. Julio looked over the email, and he furrowed his brow.

“Office of National Emergency?” He read aloud from the address line. “They were talking to the f*cking feds!”

“Quite,” Emma said as she examined another monitor. “And there’s something here as well, in fact. Ignoring the p*rn tab this fellow had open, they were also studying the X Gene. And I doubt it was for cancer research like they claimed.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because…” Emma stood up straight and looked Julio dead in the eye. He looked at the monitor and saw three professional looking headshots. A trio of smiling faces, with their names printed underneath. “I don’t believe that cancer research entails killing three Mutant test subjects with failed drug co*cktails.”

Julio stared at her for a moment, but when the shock of her words faded, his eyes narrowed. He knew it. The rumors had been right after all, and he knew without a doubt that he had done the right thing in bringing this place to the ground. His only regret, at this point, was waiting for the researchers to leave before he did so.

Three Mutants. Three people, with names and stories to them. Three people who had their whole lives ahead of them, but who had been tricked into participating in a bogus study on cancer treatments. Three people who had been tricked into dying at the hands of humans who sought to exterminate their kind. Three people who were seen as a cancer by humankind.

Three Mutants who the MLF would be sure to avenge.

“These f*cking monsters,” He spat. His fists trembled, and the building began to quiver and shake beneath his feet.

“I couldn’t agree more, young man,” Emma said sadly as the memory came crashing down around them. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Chapter 11: Tangled Up Puppet

Chapter Text

Nomi stood on the street corner. Her hands were jammed firmly in the pockets of her hoodie and her eyes were screwed shut in concentration. Joanna stood beside her, and she kept her eyes on the young girl in her care. If she were to ever say that she was watching out for Nomi, then obviously the teenager would run right into traffic to spite her. But regardless, that’s exactly what she was doing.

“How many?” Joanna asked quietly. She glanced down the street, in the direction of faintly heard sirens. She breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing that it was just an ambulance heading towards a nearby hospital.

“I think… Two?” Nomi guessed. She tilted her head and squeezed her eyes tighter. “No, three.”

“You sure?” Joanna looked down at the thirteen year old girl, and saw her nostrils flare.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Jeez.” Nomi opened her eyes and wiped at her nose with the back of her hand. The chill of the fall air was starting to bring her under the weather, which certainly wasn’t making the task in front of her any easier. But as the team’s only surefire way to predict how many sentinels were in an area, it was a trick she’d no doubt be called upon to perform many times in the future. Scott was a jerk like that.

“What version are they?”

“How am I supposed to know?” Nomi complained. She sat down on the curb and ran a hand through her hair. It was hard enough for her to extend her feelers out to the block past where they were standing, even harder to identify how many lumbering robotic men were milling about. To then go even further, and know whether they were Mk I, II, III or IV was asking far too much of her. At least, it would be, if she were running with any crew other than the MLF and their perfectionist leaders.

Joanna sighed, and shook her head. She hadn’t known that taking part in a rebellion against the US government would involve this much babysitting, especially not with someone like Nomi being her charge. But Joanna had, in the time they’d known each other, picked up a few tricks of her own, which came in handy when she had to motivate the girl.

“You know, I heard that Magneto once figured out Colossus had joined the X-Men from the moment they first landed on Asteroid M. And he’s only, what, six foot four? The smallest sentinels are nearly four feet bigger than that. The biggest are practically twice his height.”

A sly grin flashed across Joanna’s face as Nomi shut her eyes again and held her palms out, facing the open air. Her fingers twitched slightly, a few degrees here and there, and she bit her tongue gently as she focused.

“They’re big,” She whispered.

“How big?” Joanna asked, laying a gentle, yet firm, hand on Nomi’s shoulder.

“Bigger than Rover, smaller than the one in New Orleans? I think?” Nomi guessed.

“About the same size as the one you took down when we first met?”

Nomi nodded. Joanna watched as, seemingly, the connection fell apart, and Nomi fell to her side. Thankfully, the older woman was already there to catch her, to support her and hold her up. She wrapped an arm around Nomi and smiled softly to herself as the girl stirred against her. She knew Nomi could do it, even if Nomi herself hadn’t.

“C’mon kid. Let’s get you a sandwich,” She whispered as she helped Nomi to her feet.

“Burger,” Nomi mumbled into Joanna’s jacket. The older woman chuckled and shook her head. Fine, she thought. A burger.

——————————————————————————————————————————

“It’s simply divine, isn’t it?”

She smiled, devilishly so, and traced her white-gloved finger along the elaborately carved wooden frame of the painting. Bolivar smiled politely and nodded in agreement, even as the subject flew over his head entirely. He never was much of an art person, but the… woman… who was entertaining his company certainly was.

The room in which he was seated, a small, intimate place with a crackling fire and polished floors that were spotless enough to reflect his own face back at him, was empty save for the two of them. If anyone else were to enter, it would feel almost cramped. It was similar enough in aesthetics to the lounge in which he typically met the Hellfire Club’s inner circle, but it was far, far different in feeling. It was cozier, for sure, and infinitely more relaxing, even with the priceless works of art that hung from the walls. She had told him, as he was led through the club’s halls, that this was her own private study. He could believe that, what with the stark white furniture and the antique writing desk that was nestled up against the wall.

“It’s lovely, Miss Frost,” He said, affirming her question even though he knew as well as she did that it was rhetorical. These were, however, the sorts of games that they had to play. Even with her kind. “It must have cost quite a penny.”

“Normally, yes. Lucky me, I managed to get it for a steal,” She gushed, tossing a flirtatious smile his way, paired with a wink behind her fan. “Sebastian left it for me as a gift before he and Selene eloped to Poland.”

“That’s very generous of him,” Bolivar said. Emma continued to smile in his direction as she drifted away from the painting and towards a chaise lounge. He coughed nervously as she took a seat. “I’ve got to say, I’m still rather… well, surprised by how Sebastian and the others left like they did. They were very helpful in funding my initial research into sentinels.”

“Believe me, Bolivar, no one was as surprised as myself! It was surreal, discovering that they had decided to leave the Hellfire Club just like that. Why, they hadn’t even discussed the matter with me beforehand!”

Bolivar nodded again, and glanced away from her penetrating gaze. It was like staring into the sun, trying to look at her. He didn’t consider himself to be a meek man, but there was something about her, about most of her people, rather, that made him feel the need to avert his eyes after more than a few moments. He wasn’t hateful, as he told himself time and time again. He just wasn’t quite so comfortable around them as he was with normal people. Emma understood that, of course. After all, she was one of the good ones. She understood the importance of his work, of what he did. That was why he was here.

“I just wanted to make sure, Miss Frost, that our contract isn’t threatened by all this Mutant Liberation Front nonsense.”

“You mean how a group of five Mutants managed to destroy one of your newest sentinel models?”

He coughed again. Of course she cut straight to the point. He scratched at his cheek and laughed quietly from the anxiety of it all.

“W-Well, you know how these things go, Emma. Every model is an upgrade from the previous version, but we’re constantly discovering new flaws in our creations. I can assure you, the Mark V sentinel is being overseen personally, by me. We have an array of new features that’ll be implemented, all of which are designed to help it deal with multiple threats at a time.”

Her playful, teasing smile faded, replaced by a look of concern. She folded up her fan and placed it on the lap of her ivory skirt, and looked directly at Bolivar.

“These new features… How lethal are they, Bolivar?”

“Emma, I know that you have your reasons for concern, but you have to believe me when I say that-”

“That Mutants are too dangerous to be met with anything short of death rays?” She asked sharply. He could practically feel the words dig into his chest like talons.

“Not all of them,” He said with hands raised in defense. “Only the ones who are dangerous. Mutants like this Basilisk fellow, or Magneto. The kind who would hurt innocent people. Even the Mark IV sentinels are programmed to seek pacifistic solutions first and foremost. That won’t change with the Mark V. You have my word.”

Emma looked away from Bolivar, towards the snapping fire, and mulled over his promises in silence. His gaze flicked briefly towards the blinking green bracelet that hung from her wrist, which she fiddled with gently, sliding it around in a circle as she thought on the matter. After several moments of heady silence, she looked to him once again and smiled sweetly.

“Bolivar…”

“Yes?”

”You are going to do your damndest to remove all lethal weaponry from future models of those terrible robots of yours. You are going to focus on nonviolent means of pacification, such as nets and sleeping gas. You will, as soon as you arrive at your office tomorrow, destroy all blueprints that pertain to lethal options, and you will forbid your employees from designing their own.”

Bolivar nodded lazily as Emma’s telepathic commands penetrated his mind and wormed their way into the deepest layers of his psyche, deep enough that he would assume they were his own. They rooted themselves inside, and attached themselves to his self-delusions of only wanting the best for what he believed to be an inherently inferior species. The cold smile on Emma’s face grew wider as he accepted her thoughts as his own.

”What’s more, you will put any concerns about the whereabouts of the Hellfire Club’s previous owners out of mind. That does not matter to you, and it never did. You are glad that I am running things now, as I and I alone am responsible for the working relationship between your company and mine.”

Again, he nodded. Again, he understood. Again, he accepted the telepathic instructions as nothing short of hardened fact.

”Finally, after this meeting is over, you are to head straight home, where you will tell your children that you love them, Mutant warts and all. Oh, and while you’re at it, you’ll throw away that hideous yellow tie. Blues and blacks only from this point on. I can’t believe I have to give fashion advice to bigots, yet here we are…”

With a flick of her fan, Bolivar came to once more, completely unaware of the mental domination that had just taken place. Emma smiled at him and fanned herself, and he smiled in return.

“So, er, where were we? I just drew a complete blank,” He sheepishly admitted, rubbing his arm. Emma, for her part, simply tittered playfully and pawed at the air.

“You were telling me about your new sentinel plans, and I was asking about the lethality of the newer models…”

“Ah, right!” The light in his eyes sparked to life, and a smile spread across his aging face. “Lethal options are going right out the window, of course. I was thinking about a mechanised system that would fire weighted nets…”

Emma reclined in her seat and continued to fan herself as the fire warmed the room. Bolivar kept droning on about his new plans, and she waited for the appropriate moment to confirm that she would continue to fund his creations, as long as he upheld his own promises in turn.

The sorts of games they had to play indeed…

——————————————————————————————————————————-

Kavita sighed and rolled her head and shoulders, eliciting a small pop. She had been working all day, three hours past when she was supposed to clock out, for the fifth day that week. She didn’t care enough to stop, though. She had heard comments about how she was “married to her work” too many times to remember, and at this point in her life she just tuned them out.

Part of the reason for her increased workload as of late was the fact that one of Alchemax’s other, smaller locations had been attacked. She knew that her own lab wasn’t as likely to be targeted, at least logically speaking, but the small irrational part of her mind told her to fret over the possibility that her life’s work could be destroyed overnight. Much to her chagrin, she was once again letting that irrational portion of herself override her need for sleep and food. A fact that her body decided to lodge a complaint about with a low and prolonged growl.

She pulled out her phone and checked the time. It was nearly ten at night, and she still had yet to eat dinner. She could always order takeout to the front gate; an idea that she was considering with a great deal of preference. She could really go for some pad thai, and she knew there was a place that was still open, and still delivering, this late at night. She licked her lips and placed a call.

As she took care of her needy stomach, Kavita glanced upwards, towards one of the sentinels that was resting, recharging, in the corner of the room. She had grown used to having them around, but that didn’t make her like them any more. She had a great distaste for violence. She always had. Her mother told her when she was young that everything in life could be solved through peaceful means, and Kavita wanted nothing more than to prove her right. Mutants, as a people, did not offend her. But so long as they were going to cause mass destruction, as they were wont to do, she would work towards a way to remove those violent capabilities via medicine.

A cure for mutation. It was her life’s dream, to create such a thing. Now, after forty years, she was closer than ever to discovering it. She just needed to connect a few more dots, run a few more trials, and it would be complete. By her estimates, which she had happily informed her superiors of, the cure would be completed within a year. So long as she kept receiving the proper funding, of course. These sorts of experiments didn’t come cheap, and they never would. At least, not within her lifetime.

A thin smile stretched across her face as the glow of her computer reflected off of her glasses. Yes, she was close. Closer than ever before. She had a good feeling about these upcoming trials. A brief glance reminded her of the names of the new volunteers. Angelo Espinosa, Paige Guthrie and Trevor Hawkins. Her heart was practically swelling with pride. The fact that these three were willing to put their lives on the line for the sake of scientific advancement was proof that the next generation had their hearts in the right place.

Suddenly, the sentinel in the corner snapped to attention, eyes glowing a powerful golden color, and a chill ran down Kavita’s spine. She dropped her phone, all thoughts of food vanishing as her stomach curdled. Perhaps the irrational part of her brain wasn’t quite so irrational after all.

”MUTANTS IDENTIFIED. INITIATING APPREHENSION PROTOCOLS.”

Chapter 12: The Wheel's Still In Spin

Chapter Text

Three sentinels. MkIIIs, if Nomi’s intel was to be believed. Four human security guards; two at the front gate and two inside the building itself. Motion sensors all around the perimeter, made from the same tech that allowed sentinels to identify Mutants. It wouldn’t be easy to get in. At least, not without a teleporter.

Luckily for Scott, he had one of those, and she was damn good.

Blink dropped them down in an old service tunnel, which Emma had oh so helpfully managed to provide photographic examples of to the elf-eared girl. Scott knew that the instant they set foot on the ground, it would only be a matter of time before the sentinels detected them, so they had to work fast. He had gone over the building’s schematics with Joanna and Remy, looking for the quickest, and safest, route to Dr. Rao’s personal laboratory.

Joanna took point, while Remy split off to sneak through the building’s ventilation system. He vanished with a two fingered salute and a sly wink, managing somehow to remain utterly silent as he crawled through the cramped metal tunnel.

“Let’s move quickly, team,” Scott said as they came out of the tunnel and into a side-hallway of the building. Rao’s lab was on the first floor, the same level as them.

“Leave it to me, Bas,” Joanna said with a grin that made her look hungry as a wolf. She pulled her dreadlocks back and tied them into a ponytail, then crept along, crouching close to the floor, as she led the pack through the stark white hallways of Alchemax.

They found the first security guard milling about in their neck of the woods. Scott raised a hand, signalling Angelica and Nomi to stop. Joanna dashed forward, brought herself up behind the man, and pulled him into a sleeper hold before he had so much as a chance to open his mouth in surprise. He struggled against her, wordlessly, for several long moments. The only sounds came from his shoes squeaking against the linoleum floors, and his hands slapping uselessly against the fabric of Joanna’s costume.

She laid him down on the floor once he had passed out, and the group kept moving towards the front of the facility.

They looped around the lab, making a brief detour at the security office, where Nomi smashed a filing cabinet into the second guard’s ribs, before a light tap from the back of Joanna’s hand knocked him unconscious. He’d be feeling worse for wear than the first one, but he’d consider himself lucky that they didn’t go any farther. All of them, save for Angelica, had killed before, and they weren’t opposed to doing it again if it came down to a human’s life or their own.

But as Joanna led them away from the security office, they heard the first alarm sound. Faintly, in the direction of Doctor Rao’s lab, a sentinel’s synthesized voice could be heard. A chill ran down Angelica’s spine, while Joanna cracked her knuckles and Nomi bounced on the balls of her feet in preparation for the fight to come.

It was Gambit, of course, who had set it off. He dropped from a ceiling vent into the lab, landing with the lightest of sounds behind a row of computers and test tubes. He peered above the countertop, just in time to be caught in the sweeping gaze of a large, blank faced, violet colored sentinel. His heart dropped into his stomach, and a split second later it was announcing his existence to the whole facility; no doubt remotely alerting the other two sentinels to his presence as well. Remy ducked and rolled away just in time to dodge a steel tendril which smashed through the counter like it was plywood.

He heard a woman, not any of the ones he knew, cry out against the sentinel; ordering it to stop destroying her work. Remy almost laughed. How ironic that the machine put in place to protect Rao had already done more to damage her research than Remy. But he could correct that, as well as fight off the mechanical monster that loomed overhead.

Three cards were drawn from the deck in his coat pocket. He charged them up enough for each to blow a small crater in concrete, then flicked them at the sentinel as he leapt over another writhing tentacle. They detonated along the sentinel’s side, scorching and warping the metal of its right arm, while also tearing through another few rows of vials and various bits of research equipment. A large microscope, which looked expensive enough to fetch a hefty price if he were to pawn it, was regrettably blown to smithereens.

He could always steal something else before they left.

The sentinel, seemingly bored of sending its palm-tendrils after Remy, lurched forward and swung at him with the back of its fist. It caught him, but he caught it as well. He grabbed onto its uppermost finger and held on tight as it completed the followthrough. When it raised him up to its head and reached up with its other hand to grab him, he let go and fell back to the ground… Leaving behind a finger that was now glowing with kinetic energy. Energy that was just waiting to burst.

Before he could break his back on the landing, Remy found himself caught out of the air like a flyball. He turned his head and grinned at the sight of Frenzy, Joanna, scowling as she skidded to a stop in the corner of the lab.

The sentinel looked down at them and reached out with one hand, only for the other to explode, distracting it from its quarry for another few moments. It staggered, giving them an opportunity to slip under its legs and regroup with the others.

“Magnetrix, let’s finish it off quickly,” Scott said, sounding almost as cold and methodical as the machine itself. He pressed the key on his wrist that split his skull-shaped helm down the middle and allowed his pent up optic blasts to pour out in a crimson stream of light.

The beam of pure, solid force slammed into the sentinel with a scream, crumpling its face inwards as another force, one of pure, manipulated magnetism, tore its mechanical innards out through its midsection, which had been damaged, weakened, by Remy’s first attack.

Within just a few moments of prolonged abuse, the sentinel fell onto its side, crushing what remained of the middle of the lab. All that was left were the computers, one of which doctor Kavita Rao was cowering behind at that very moment. Too frightened to attempt to flee through the doorway, which was being covered by a wall of heat that had been conjured up by Firestar.

“Wh-what do you want from me?!” The doctor whimpered after Joanna pulled her out by her shirt collar and threw her down on her very own workstation.

She looked thin, frail. Wiry in a way that told Scott she had never lifted a weight in her life. She wore thick glasses and had a slight overbite. The shirt she wore beneath her lab coat was wrinkled, and so too was her charcoal pencil skirt. She raised her arms in front of her face, defensively, and cowered in fear from the Mutant menace that bore down on her. She was all too human, and that sad, disappointment of a fact made Scott shake his head at the unfortunate woman.

Was this what they all were like, he wondered briefly, when you stripped away their veneer of hate? Frightened, messy children?

She was breathing rapidly, raggedly, as her eyes flitted from figure to figure. But it always returned to Scott, and his shining silver visage, which reflected her terrified face back at her.

“What we want, Doctor Rao, is to exist,” He said in a low, dangerous voice. “Your work will destroy us, and I, for one, cannot allow that to stand.”

“I-I don’t want to wipe Mutants out!” She stammered. She looked deep into his mask, and he tilted his head curiously before she continued. “Mutants are fascinating. I have no doubt that they could be a boon to scientific progress! For example, how does a healer heal? M-My theory is secretions from the skin! And if those secretions could be sampled, replicated, we could regrow lost limbs, o-or cure diseases!”

“Is that all we are to you?!” Joanna spat, seeing the smile that had slowly spread across the scientist’s face. “Freaks to be experimented on and studied?!”

“And fixed,” Nomi added with a sneer.

Rao shook her head. “No, you don’t understand. The cure is only for Mutants whose abnormalities are too dangerous, to themselves or others. It would never be administered to a shapeshifter, or an amphibian, or anyone else who is harmless.”

“Do you really believe that?” Scott asked, seething slightly at the doctor’s claims. He clenched his fists in a white-knuckled grip and scowled beneath his expressionless mask. “You don’t expect ONE to inject every last Mutant they find? You don’t think sentinels will be loaded up with syringes like darts to be fired into a crowd? How blind are you?”

He could see from the look on her face that she was quite blind indeed. She had the look of a woman who had never so much as considered the possible consequences of her actions, and that was perhaps the worst part of it all. Not active, purposeful malice. Simple, clueless stumbling about in the dark. He motioned for Joanna to release the woman, and after a brief but intense glare at the doctor, she complied; shoving her back onto the desk with a look of pure disgust.

“We should wrap dis up, boss,” Remy muttered into his ear, bo staff balancing atop his shoulder blades. “Other two sentinels should be showin’ up soon.”

Scott nodded, and looked to Nomi. “Wipe the computer,” He told her. With a bored expression and a wave of her hand, the deed was done. Rao looked at them, more horrified at what the teenager had done that anything before, mouth agape and eyes wide.

“Y-You have no idea how much research you’ve just destroyed!” She cried out in anguish. Scott smirked beneath his mask. She had no idea.

In an instant, his helm split open once more, and concussive force poured out in a tidal wave, smashing the remaining computers and assorted technology to useless junk. It cracked the floors, demolished the walls, splintered the light fixtures and reduced the room to nothing more than unlit rubble in under ten seconds. When he was done, and his mask had closed again, he turned his attention to the doctor one last time.

“Your sons and your daughters are beyond your command. Your old road is rapidly aging,” He whispered to her, as his ruby eyes shone brightly in the newly cast darkness of the lab. “Get out of the new one if you can’t lend a hand. Times are changing.”

“Wh-What…?” She blinked in confusion, a bewildered expression written across her face. “Are you… Quoting Bob Dylan at me?”

Scott scoffed. “You’re listening to the words, Doctor Rao, not the message; Your work has no place in the future. Find something new, or we’ll come for you again. Do you understand?”

She nodded, and he smiled coldly to himself. Angelica called in for an extraction from Blink, and by the time that the other sentinels found Kavita Rao, she was standing alone with her life’s work. Standing alone with nothing.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So, what’s next?”

Scott turned his head to look at Joanna, sitting on the opposite end of the couch from him in the lounge. He was still wearing his costume, save for the helmet, which he had swapped out for his glasses not long after they returned home. The same applied to Joanna, who had shed only the arm guards, boots and knuckles that provided her attacks with an extra degree of force. A half-finished bottle of water hung from her fingertips by its neck, dangling just above the floor as she propped her head up on the fist of her opposite hand and watched him intently.

“I have a few ideas,” He said after a long pause.

Joanna snorted derisively. “You mean she has ideas.”

He raised an eyebrow, and she shook her head. They both knew full well who she was talking about. It was impossible not to. Still, Scott waited for Joanna to continue with her complaint, rather than pushing back against it before she had finished what she intended to say. He motioned for her to continue, and she did so gladly.

“We’ve been acting like her lapdogs ever since she set us up with this place. Springing that kid from jail was her idea, not yours. Same for all our other busts. But I saw the fire in you before. You picked us out by hand, without anyone’s input. Why aren’t you picking our targets?”

“Do you want to get on a telepath’s bad side?”

“I’m serious,” She said with a slight growl. “Why the hell are we letting the Hellfire Club call the shots? We should be out there, right now, taking down the people who are hurting us the most.”

“We’d have gone after Kavita Rao regardless,” Scott pointed out. “Are you saying we shouldn’t have destroyed her research?”

She laughed, and put a hand to her head, peering at Scott through the gap in her fingers. “I’m telling you to give us a name, boy. And tomorrow, whether her royal majesty wants us to or not, we’ll cross it off the list.”

“Bolivar Trask.”

Two words. One name. Yet that alone was enough to bring a dangerous smile to Joanna’s face.

“Let’s get planning.”

Chapter 13: Look At My Life

Chapter Text

Bolivar Trask was a small man. Shorter than his wife, and most of the people he knew. His coworkers often joked that he could be carried away by a breeze. His pencil thin mustache twitched slightly as he read his morning paper. He was one of the few who still had it delivered. One of the even fewer who bothered to read it past the comics section.

All manner of topics were being discussed. The government’s ongoing deal with Trask Industries, and the protests against it. The vice president’s recent trip to Genosha, and the controversy that such a venture had stirred up. But the one that caught his eye, as it frequently did of late, was an article about the newest cell of mutant terrorists. The most active, as well.

A blurry photograph captured the sight of Basilisk, the man in the silver helm, staring down at police and federal agents. There was a dangerous glow emanating from his jewel-like eyes. The blue-haired girl who sat beside him was another recognizable face. Nomi Blume. The next Magneto. Bolivar’s mustache twitched again.

He set the paper down at the sound of footsteps, and he turned, and smiled fondly at the sight of his son. Seventeen years old, and so close to graduation. The boy, because he was still just a boy in his father’s eyes, despite his quarterback’s frame, rubbed at his bleary eyes and opened the fridge.

“Morning, dad,” Larry yawned. “That’s rough. I hope that the research is okay. Yeah, why would they want to go after cancer research? That’s so weird. I don-“

“Larry.” Bolivar’s voice was sharp. It didn’t boom, and he didn’t yell, but it cut through his son’s rambling, and froze the boy in place, as he procured a banana from the bottom shelf. But after a moment, his son furrowed his brow.

“Mom’s gonna be in a bad mood,” He mumbled. “I should get going, otherwise I’ll miss the bus and she’ll have to drive me.”

“Larry!” Bolivar snapped, throwing his paper down on the table in frustration. Father and son locked eyes, before Larry glanced at the ground and rubbed at his arm.

“Sorry. It’s… hard. To shut it out.”

“I… I know, son. I cannot imagine how difficult it must be to manage these things, but just try to remember; live in the now…”

“...not the five minutes from now,” Larry finished. The mantra was a common one in the Trask home. Recited nearly as many times in a day as there were days in a week. For a boy who could see the future, he was rather forgetful. But he loved his father, and it stung his heart to see the older man so worried over him and his… problem.

“I really should get going,” Larry said softly, glancing to the door. His father nodded, and patted him gently on the shoulder. They looked at each other for a moment, as silence filled the air, before Larry turned and made for the door.

Bolivar sighed, and looked back to the paper, laid out on the kitchen table. The Mutant terrorists were tearing the world apart by the seams, he thought bitterly. They were ruining things for the good Mutants, like his son, like Emma Frost. Why couldn’t they see what they were doing? Why couldn’t they see the damage that they caused? What would be the next target of their ire? Who would be the next crushed by an optic blast, or skewered by a shard of metal?

His mustache twitched. He had to get to work. There were new designs to draw up. The nonlethal weaponry that he had discussed with the White Queen… Yes, he remembered, he had to change the designs. Even when the Mutants took the low road, he’d go high. He’d be the better man.

**************************************************************

She watched from afar as he worked. Wearing a labcoat that had been left unattended in the break room. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a messy bun, and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses kept her beneath notice.

He was looking over schematics, discussing them in hushed tones with another man. She recognized him as well, though it took several moments to connect his face to the name. Stephen Lang. His name was like poison on her tongue. She dared not speak it, only to spit it out in the harshest of tones. It was more than he deserved.

She pursed her lips and denied herself the urge to lash out at the contemptible man. She kept to feigning her own work, typing away at a computer. In truth, she was committing the words on the screen to her own memory. It would be useful information to share with the Hellfire Club’s assets.

The sentinel project was developing rapidly. Work, it seemed, had already begun on the Prime series. She suppressed a shudder at the thought.

Her gaze drifted back over to the men at the drawing table. The others in the lab were avoiding them, walking round with wide berths, lest they disturb the conversation. Their faces meant nothing to her. Perhaps they ought to, she thought to herself in a moment of silent reflection. They were equally culpable for everything that came out of this room. They manufactured death, just the same as Lang. They deserved no less than the same contempt he had earned.

She turned away from them, and looked back to the computer. There was a name on the file. Shiro Yoshida. She did not recognize it, though she felt that she should have. There was a sense of shame in that. She should know the name of such an unfortunate soul. She would, for as long as she continued to exist in this world.

She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and sighed. There was simply too much to do. Too much to remember, to pass along. She would have to stick to the most important information, even though she knew deep in her heart of hearts that it may not be enough to make a difference.

Make a difference, she reminded herself. That was her goal. Make a difference, in whatever way she could. There were many, many ways, she thought. She could attempt to kill Lang in this very room. She could destroy as much information as possible before they caught on to what she was doing.

She looked to Bolivar Trask. No, she thought. She was going to make a difference in the way that only she could.

She adjusted her position in the chair and kept reading. The time would come. She just had to wait until sunset.

**************************************************************

Joanna exited the training room with a satisfied grin on her face. Rover had put up more of a fight after his most recent improvements. The dent she put in his faceplate had brightened her day considerably. He knew how to take a hit, whereas any other sparring partner would simply splatter against the wall when she charged them.

She wiped away the sweat on her brow with a towel, as she leaned against the open doorway. She closed her eyes and laughed as she recalled her most recent sparring session with Scott. They had reached a compromise of no powers, and it had ended with the beanpole somehow managing to flip her onto her back. He was a smart fighter. It was a unique kind of thrill, but not quite as fulfilling as when she could cut loose with the reprogrammed mk1.

Still, she wanted a rematch. Next time, it’d end with her on top.

She turned her head to a familiar sound. The air being displaced, as a hole split space open in the other room. Out stepped Blink, escorting Emma Frost. Joanna snorted. Even on a Saturday afternoon, the blonde dressed up like she was the second coming of Marie Antoinette.

“Thank you, Clarice,” Emma cooed behind a flicked-open fan. “I won’t be too long. I’ll call for you when I’m ready to leave.”

The pink-skinned girl nodded, and blinked herself away, though Joanna heard footsteps above that coincided with her departure. No doubt she was about to raid their kitchen yet again.

Emma sauntered in Joanna’s direction, smiling at her like one might regard an old friend who had fallen on hard times, and been surpassed entirely. Her nostrils flared as they were hit by a wave of perfume.

“Why’re you here?” Joanna asked sharply. “You were just on a call with Basilisk yesterday, remember?”

Emma’s smile changed, growing more sly and conniving as a small laugh escaped her soft lips. “Oh, my fine Frenzy, am I not welcome here? I simply wished to check up on my sentinel, in case you’ve gone and ruined it again.”

Joanna stepped forward, the muscles in her arms tensing. She loomed over Emma, not accounting for the woman’s hair, with several inches putting her above the self-titled queen. Indeed, Emma was forced to look upwards at her, lest she stare into Joanna’s chest.

“Just got done putting a hole in his chest, actually. Sorry about that,” She said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Emma’s eyes grew sharper, taking on a hawk-like focus as her lips curled. “Then I’ll have to send someone over to fix it. Again. Really, at this point I may as well just commission one of the newer models. I’m sure your skin is impervious to laser-blasts, hm?”

“Trust me, queenie, whatever you throw at me… I can take it.”

Emma blinked. Then, she laughed, as though she had heard the funniest joke of her life. She mimed wiping a tear from her eye and sighed happily, throwing Joanna off her footing. The taller woman took a step back and turned into the training room. Emma followed her, just barely able to fit past the door without having to turn sideways.

“You do know that if the two of us ever were to come to blows, I’d simply break that fragile little mind of yours,” Emma threatened sweetly.

“I don’t need to be thinking to take someone out,” Joanna shot back, looking away from the smaller woman, towards the heap of metal that had been her sparring partner. “Besides, only fragile thing in this room is you, princess.”

Emma grinned. “Can you shatter diamond, Joanna? Because if not, you’ll be left sorely disappointed.”

Joanna turned on her heel and glared down at Emma. “From what I remember, your highness, you turn to diamond and ONE’ll throw you away just like all us other non compliant muties.”

Emma’s haughty demeanor broke in a matter of moments as Joanna’s words sank in, and her expression fell. Her eyes cast downwards.

“So that’s why I can feel you bristle whenever I enter the room,” She noted, a twinge of sadness in her voice. Joanna blinked at her, confused at what she believed to be a ruse, until she realized that the sting was all too real. Emma’s fingers gingerly rolled the blinking green bracelet around her wrist, as though it were a newly forming scab.

“Can’t pretend I’ll ever understand why one of us would agree to wear those things,” Joanna plainly admitted. If they were being honest now, then she would be. She saw little reason not to.

Emma laughed bitterly. “I wouldn’t expect you to. Believe me, it wasn’t a decision I made lightly. Giving up the ability to use my powers freely, to be wholly me, was like being asked to cut out a piece of my own flesh to save my life. I had to let go of my pride, bite my tongue, and accept it. That doesn’t mean I did so gladly.”

Joanna sneered. “So what then, the rest of us are just to proud to do what’s best for us? What those bastards want us to do?”

“No, Joanna. Not at all,” Emma said, looking into her eyes for the first time. What Joanna had always seen as ice was as soft and gentle as water. “I think that you’re far braver than I had been.”

Joanna sighed. “Sorry,” She forced herself to say, even though apologizing to the woman was like pulling her own teeth. “Never considered it from the other perspective, I guess. Still doesn’t mean I like it.”

“Or me,” Emma noted. “All I ask is that you put your issues with me aside so that we can work together, and help those we’ve chosen to protect.”

Joanna nodded, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Fine. I just got one more question.”

Emma’s smile began to work its way across her face once again. “Well, by all means, Ms Cargill, do come out with it.”

“Why’re you really here?”

Emma laughed and hid her mouth behind her fan. “Perhaps I simply wished to instigate this conversation with you,” She teased, slipping back into her posh demeanor all too easily.

Joanna laughed like a bark as she walked past Emma, towards the room’s exit. “I don’t buy it,” She said. “You came here for something, and now you’re just covering your ass.”

“I assure you, that couldn’t be further from the truth,” Emma insisted as she followed Joanna into the war room.

“Then I guess you’ll be heading out now, right?” Joanna asked, leading her on.

Emma grew equally defiant, and did so all too readily. “Perhaps I will. Perhaps I’ll spend the rest of my day here, keeping you company. I’m sure you won’t mind that one bit, hm?”

Joanna gripped the back of Emma’s wig and stared into her face, with her eyes raking over her porcelain skin like claws. There was a heat in her belly, and an urge to slam the woman against the wall and make her admit why she had come. But then she saw the look on Emma’s face. The feminine whisper in her mind that said ”Do it.”

She released Emma from her grip and stepped back, breathing heavily as she realized she had been holding her breath without intention. She saw the pink glow on Emma’s cheeks, and the exhilarated laugh that filled the room.

“Oh, now that was what I was looking for,” Emma purred. “Simply marvelous, darling. Feel free to uncage that beast more often.”

Joanna scowled, and made for the elevator. She shot Emma a glare as the doors slid shut before her ascent, and saw that the woman was waving to her with that all-too-pleased smile still on her face. Joanna felt the fire in her belly that refused to go away, and even though she told herself it had been put there through telepathic suggestion, she knew that it was all her own.

She hated that woman.

**************************************************************

Bolivar pulled into the driveway of his home and pulled the keys from the ignition. Work had drained him of any energy he had had that morning, and doubly so with how much resistance he had faced from Stephen.

He turned their argument over and over in his head. No matter how he explained his reasoning, Stephen simply would not budge from his belief that lethal force was a necessity. He brought up all sorts of names, such as Magneto or Nomi Blume or Basilisk, and insisted that they were proof of why nets and tendrils and flash grenades weren’t enough. Even Bolivar’s suggestion of instituting sonic weaponry wouldn’t sate the other man’s desire for more firepower behind the robots.

Stephen had looked at him like he had two heads by the end of the debate. Bolivar had drawn his line in the sand; no lethal weaponry would be allowed on the new class of sentinels. Stephen had told him he was losing his mind. Losing touch with reality.

Bolivar sighed, and looked out his windshield, at the house that seemed to loom over him like a reaper. Stephen didn’t know that he was going home to a house with genetically abnormal children. No doubt he suspected it though. Especially after the day Bolivar had had.

Bolivar stepped out of the car and closed the door with a thud. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, just over the fence, in the backyard. One of the kids, perhaps, using the swingset he had built when Larry was just a boy. Now he was nearly a man.

Bolivar opened the gate and left it hanging open behind him. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, and prepared to greet whichever child of his it was with a weary smile.

He stopped in his tracks when he saw that it wasn’t a child at all. The figure, pushing herself lazily on the swing, was a woman. She was grown, older than Larry by a decade. She held a pair of glasses in one hand, and her dirty blonde hair was worn in a messy bun. Though she had shed the white coat, he recognized her from the lab in an instant. How could he not have noticed her earlier?

“Tanya?” He called out quietly. She looked up at him and smiled sadly. Her father looked so young to her, then. His hair had yet to fully grey, and he still had the mustache she remembered from her youth.

“Hey, dad,” She said, digging her heels into the dirt and coming to a stop. “Surprised you recognized me.”

He stepped closer to her, closing the distance and coming to see her more clearly in the twilight. He could see a small black mark above her eyebrow. He smudged it with his thumb, and saw the makeup come away to reveal a sharp M shape, tattooed onto her face. His face fell.

“Its not a good future, is it?” He asked, his voice low and shaky. Tanya looked up at him and forced herself to smile.

“I’m guessing I’ve done this before?” She wondered aloud. Her father nodded.

“About once a week, for the past two months.”

“So its all a bit normal to you now, then? Having a time traveling daughter?”

Bolivar’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “I find it hard to think of anything as normal these days,” He sighed. He took a seat on the swing beside his daughter and looked her over again. She had changed out of the nicer clothes she had stolen while spying on him at work. She wore baggy green fatigues instead. Coveralls of some sort. It sent a chill down his spine.

“It’ll be alright, dad,” Tanya promised him. “By the time I go back, my future’ll already be different. Just because I talked to you. Maybe next time it won’t be so bad.”

“You don’t need to explain temporal mechanics to me, sweetie,” Bolivar laughed softly, thinking to himself how absurd those words sound coming from his own mouth. “I figured out how your… your mutation works after the third time or so.”

“What gave it away?”

“You kept forgetting that we had already met like this. But, well… I really understood after you came back without a hand one week, and it was back the next.”

“Ouch,” She muttered, rubbing at her wrist. “When you put it in perspective, the tattoo really isn’t as bad as it could be, huh?”

Bolivar’s hand fell gently onto her shoulder, and she met his eyes. She saw the sadness in them. The pain at seeing his daughter, time and time again, visit him from hellish future after hellish future. Tears pricked at his eyes, and she reached out to embrace him.

“It’ll be okay, daddy. I promise. I just wanted to see you again is all. How is everyone? Mom? Larry? Me?”

“Your mother is alright. Larry put in a new college application yesterday. And you… she… she’s making friends. She even had one over last weekend.”

“Mandy Lincoln,” Tanya recalled fondly. “She was my best friend growing up. I had a great time that weekend.”

“A-and you? How are you?” Bolivar asked.

“I’m okay. Things turn out okay in the end, really.”

“We both know that’s not true,” Bolivar whispered into his daughter’s shoulder. “I just want to make a future where you’ll be able to grow up safe, without the world going to hell in a handbasket. But I… I don’t know how,” The man tearfully admitted.

“Just… just follow your heart, dad. That’s all you can do,” Tanya whispered.

Bolivar sat back, and looked at his daughter again. He saw the lines in her face. The tired look in her eyes. The way she had to remind herself not to flinch when she heard a bird chirping up above them.

“You don’t have to go,” He said softly. “I could find a way to keep you here. To ground you in the present. Maybe if I suppressed your mutation, you could-“

“Dad, no,” She said quietly. “Its… its just a natural part of the process. Of who I am. When I go back, I do it knowing that I’m going to fade away. I’m at peace with that. You’ll see me again next week anyways, right?”

“Not the same you, Tanya. Never the same you,” He whispered. She smiled sadly and cupped her father’s face in her hands. He closed his eyes and swallowed.

“Just keep trying, dad,” She told him. “Just keep trying to make the world a better place for us. For all of us.”

“I will,” He promised her.

When he opened his eyes again, she was gone. All that remained were the glasses she had been carrying, which had fallen to the dirt beneath his feet. He picked them up and turned them over.

They were his.

Chapter 14: Welcome To The Breakdown

Chapter Text

“So, we doin’ dis today?”

Remy shuffled the deck of cards in his hands absentmindedly, with his feet propped up on the table. Angelica sat across from him, while Joanna stood nearby and Nomi sat on the edge computer console. Scott turned to look from the screen and nodded sharply.

“He’ll be driving home from Trask Industries at six thirty. I asked Blink to plant a tracker on the underside of his car, and his route never changes,” He explained. Unlike the others, he was already suited up. He had been since that morning.

“How do we know that she won’t tell Frost?” Joanna asked, looking at Scott over her shoulder.

“Its unlikely. Blink thinks its just for a recon mission. I don’t plan on telling her otherwise.”

“So what’s de game plan, boss?” Remy asked as his cards fell fluidly from one hand into the other. “We gonna be discreet ‘bout this, or we gon’ make a splash?”

“I wanna throw a manhole cover at his head,” Nomi chimed in with a devilish grin.

Scott sighed. “While I would prefer discretion, I doubt it’ll be possible. That said, I don’t want any unnecessary casualties or destruction. This needs to be quick and precise, with as few hiccups as we can manage. Understood?”

“Fine,” Nomi grumbled. Joanna nodded stiffly, and Remy flashed a sly grin. Only Angelica remained quiet, as she had been ever since the group convened.

A finger curled artificial red hair round itself, and she sighed without thinking. Remy looked to her, and tilted his head slightly.

“Chere? You good?”

“Hm? Oh. Um, yeah, I’m fine,” She mumbled. Her finger worked its way out of her wig and she folded her hands in her lap.

Remy watched her for a few moments longer before turning his attention back to the briefing. Angelica, for her part, watched the discussion in continued silence. She did not speak her mind, nor did she raise any of the objections that were rattling around within the confines of her mind. If her former mentor had been there, if she had been aware of what they were planning, no doubt she’d raise objections of her own. That was why the White Queen had been kept in the dark, after all. They all knew she would put a stop to what they were doing. Angelica found herself thinking that maybe they should be stopped, before it went any farther.

But there were no telepaths in that room, and so her disapproval went unspoken and unheard. The plan was hashed out quickly; Nomi would force his car into a lot halfway through his drive home, where Angelica would melt his tires to prevent an escape. Remy and Joanna would box him in, and Scott would finish the job.

“I won’t make any of you get your hands dirty,” He told them, his voice grave as death’s hand. “This is my shot to call, and so… I’ll take the shot.”

Angelica chewed the inside of her cheek. His assurances did nothing, nothing at all, to silence her conflicted thoughts.

“Unless anybody has any objections, we’ll leave in five hours.”

She said nothing.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Bolivar clenched the wheel in his hands, his knuckles paling from the tightness of his grip. The voice in his ear, coming through his bluetooth, was continuing an argument that had been going for what felt like weeks, even if it was only, in truth, two days.

“All I’m asking is that we hold over the armaments from the previous model! Stripping it down and replacing it with- with weighted nets and taser arrays is nonsensical!” Stephen Lang growled.

Bolivar sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He had gone over this nearly a dozen times with Lang, and yet the man still wouldn’t quit protesting.

“The Mark V will be slimmer, more suited to crowd control,” He explained yet again, his voice run ragged from the constant bickering.

“That wouldn’t be a problem, if you weren’t also insisting on phasing out production of the Mark III and IV!” Lang hissed.

“The Mark III is nearing the end of its production cycle regardless,” Bolivar muttered.

“And the IV? Jesus, Bol, what the hell is going on with you?! There are terrorists out there, ripping our machines to shreds! We should be increasing the weapons arrays, not scrapping them!”

“These… terrorists… are only rising to what they feel is a provocation,” Bolivar reasoned, even if defending them left a bitter taste on his tongue. “If we focus on pacifying those with dangerous genetic abnormalities, rather than killing them, they’ll be more willing to understand our concerns.”

He could practically hear Lang’s sneer on the other end of the line. His voice fell low, taking on a dangerous edge. “They’re genefreaks, Bol. It’s not like anybody’ll miss them.

Bolivar frowned, as his thoughts turned towards his children. Towards Tanya. The futures she would grow up in. Futures that would be brought about by the neverending battle between men like Stephen and… beings such as Magneto. If only they could see sense. If only they could accept the Mutant Registration Act.

“We’ll talk about this tomorrow, Stephen,” He said quietly. “I’ll talk to you first thing once I get to th-“

He cut himself off, thrown into the door as his car lurched suddenly. He tried to turn the wheel, only to find the wheels locked. They were no longer rolling along the ground, as they ought to. The car was being dragged, scraping along at an angle as some unseen force pulled it into the empty lot behind a brewery.

That was when something landed on the hood. No, rather, that was when something crumpled the hood with all the force of jettisoned debris. He looked up and out, through the spider web-cracked windshield, and saw the face of a woman, whose box braids hung loose over her shoulders.

He tried to put the car in reverse, only to hear a harsh, confusing sound. He smelt burnt rubber, and scrambled to escape his vehicle. His suit jacket caught in the door and was shed by the time he tripped and fell onto his knees. He saw the tires of his car, melted to the asphalt, and his face went ghostly white.

He looked up, and saw the woman staring down at him. She raised one hand and flexed her fingers, threatening him without a single spoken word. He looked around, in the hopes that he’d find some means of exit. Instead, all he found were the faces of his attackers.

A man with long brown hair knelt down and tapped Bolivar’s forehead with the back of two fingers.

“Don’ run,” He said quietly, in an eerily smooth voice. His eyes, black with red irises, burned dimly, like the last embers of a fire. “We gon’ make it quick. Promise.”

“Wh-why are you… why me?” He stammered out, scrambling away from the Mutant. He scraped his palms red against the ground, and only managed to back away into yet another figure. A woman with long red hair and a visible heat emanating from her person.

“I’ll give you three guesses,” Another voice called out. A final figure entered the lot, joining the others in cornering the panicking roboticist. His silver skull glinted in the twilight. His ruby eyes glowed dangerously.

“B-Basilisk…”

“The one and only,” The masked man said. His voice was rigid, controlled. The same could be said for his movements; long, focused strides brought him closer to his target, while one hand raised to the etching of a jawbone.

“Please, don’t kill me!” Trask begged. He was hot, clammy, his voice hoarse. He had to strain just to be heard. “I’ll do anything!”

“You’ve done enough,” Basilisk said. Beneath the veneer of poise, there was a venom to be found. He was like a coiled snake, ready to strike.

“Please, no! I-I have children!”

Basilisk clenched his jaw beneath his helmet. “That’s not going to change my mind,” He said flatly.

“They’re Mutants, like you are! I’m just trying to help people like you!”

Firestar looked to Gambit, and he saw the look in her eyes. The fear. The storm of conflict which only raged harder within her now. But Basilisk simply ground his teeth, his eyes glowing ever brighter.

“Mutants don’t need the help you’re offering. We don’t need bracelets and mechanical jailers. Do you really think you’re helping us? Helping your children?”

Bolivar fell silent, his voice snatched away by the fear in his veins. He trembled beneath the skull-faced-man’s gaze.

“Jus’ get it over with, Bas’” Gambit muttered, shaking his head.

“Not yet,” He seethed, his line of sight never breaking from his target. “Tell me, Trask, when you go to sleep at night, have you ever thought about the blood on your hands?”

“B-b-but… I’ve never hurt anyone!” Bolivar whimpered like a stung child. “I’d never hurt a fly!”

A flash of red shattered the ground to the left of Bolivar’s head. He cried out as small bits of rock pelted the side of his face. Firestar flinched at the sight.

“What de hell, man?!” Gambit called out, hitting Basilisk’s arm. “The f*ck are you doin’?”

Basilisk ignored the protests of his teammate. He took a step closer to Trask, and gnashed his teeth as the man tried to crawl away from him.

“You’re a murderer.”

“I-I haven’t killed anyone!”

“YOU KILLED MY BROTHER!”

A flash of red smashed Trask’s femur like a twig. He howled in pain… before a cloud of purple smoke burst in front of him. There was the briefest flash of bared fangs before another cloud burst, and took Trask with it.

The revolutionaries looked around, trying to find the source of Trask’s disappearance. Basilisk clenched his fists and turned to face it, up on the roof of the brewery. He didn’t have to wonder who the interlopers were. He knew from the instant he heard the first bamf.

Up on the rooftop stood Nightcrawler, with Trask leaning against him for support, as well as the familiar faces of Wolverine, Revanche, Barricade, Ariel and Storm. The X-Men.

Storm floated above the others, and began her descent towards the MLF, riding on the very winds she controlled. Her feet touched down without a sound, her shining golden cape billowing gently in the breeze.

“Scott,” She said with all the authority that the X-Men’s leader commanded. “You have no idea how much this disappoints me.”

Chapter 15: Sub-Chapter A: Basilisk

Chapter Text

Scott Summers was just seven years old when his parents died.

He sat in the co*ckpit of a civilian plane, playing copilot to his father. His father ruffled his hair. He laughed from his belly. His mustache tickled when he leaned over to kiss Scotty on the forehead.

There was a fire. Scott and Alex landed on the shore, carried to safety by their parachute. Alex watched, and bawled in confusion, as their parents landed in the middle of the lake. The water splashed ferociously. Eventually, there was no more splashing at all. They were pulled down by the weight of their water-logged parachutes, tangled together like a cat’s cradle beneath the surface of the water.

Scott didn’t see his parents drown. He was just seven years old, and he hit his head on a rock when they tumbled to the ground. There was blood on the rocks. Scotty’s blood.

They had no aunts, no uncles, to take them in. No godfathers or godmothers, no grandparents to raise them. Scotty Summers and little Alex were all alone, but they were all alone together. That was what Scotty reminded himself when he lay awake late at night, while he hugged Alex tight in the bedroom of their first foster home.

Scott Summers was eleven years old when death came from his eyes.

He did not know what he was doing, or why it was happening. He cracked his foster mother’s ribs when he turned to her for help. It was just one week later that he was removed from their home, officially, and made to leave Alex behind. Little Alex Summers was still normal, still safe to be around. Scotty was anything but.

But an older man promised to help him. He gave him special glasses and told him that he was loved. He ruffled Scott’s hair, just like his father did.

The older man was not Scott’s father. Scott’s father had never hurt him, or pricked him with needles, or said he loved him with sweet venom on his lips. The older man did. The older man took him and twisted him, and made him feel wretched and sick. But he told Scott that he loved him, and that’s what Scott reminded himself when he lay awake at night, shaking from the pain. When he tried to ignore the twist of the smile beneath that beard, and the sharpness of the older man’s teeth, and the oily blackness of his hair.

Scott Summers was thirteen years old when he finally ran away.

He took the glasses with him, and he broke the windows to his room in the orphanage with a burst of red death. No, a burst of red liberation. He was free. Free to find a new home. Free to find a new father.

He found a man named Jack. Jack Winters. He was short and stout and balding, but he took a shining to Scott, and he took a shining to Scott’s special eyes. How he loved Scott’s special eyes. How he loved to turn them on anyone who didn’t give him the money they owed.

Better a loan shark’s son than a sad*stic freak’s pet. That’s what Jack always said. That’s what Scott always reminded himself when he lay awake at night, sobbing his way through the guilt. But then, one day while his eyes were glassy and his jaw slack, Jack opened the door and introduced Scott to yet another man, yet another father.

His name, he said, was Charles Xavier. He was going to take Scott away from Jack, he said, and bring him somewhere safe. He was going to help him heal, he said, and introduce him to people with gifts just like his own.

They sounded like lies. Sweet, enticing lies, just the same as the ones all the others had told him. Promises that finally he would be safe, and happy, and that his curse could be lifted. Promises that tasted like sugar and caramel, only to become bitter on his lips when the truth inevitably reared its head.

He said no. It was safer with Jack, he thought. He knew what to expect with Jack. He couldn’t say the same for Xavier. This path that Xavier laid out before him, it was too new, too frightening in its uncertainty.

The second time Xavier made his offer, while Scott sat in police lockup with his knees drawn up to his chin and a painful hunger in his belly. Jack had sent him to collect a debt on his own. It had gone poorly. His own fault, he admitted to Xavier. He shouldn’t have backed down. He should have been harder, colder, like Jack always told him to be.

Xavier made his sweet promises again, and Scott couldn’t say no twice. Like a frightened child, he fled into the arms of whoever promised not to hurt him as much as the last had done. He couldn’t help it. It was simply his way.

Scott Summers was fifteen years old when he was first sent to war.

He was given a uniform of blue and gold, a visor that gleamed in the sun’s light, and told it was his duty, his destiny to fight for a peaceful future. He had never had a destiny before. It felt nice. It felt like, finally, after so many years of drifting, he knew why he was alive.

Magneto and Toad at Cape Citadel. The Living Monolith in Cairo, Illinois. Mesmero at the Grand Canyon. The very first sentinel prototype, right at his new home at Graymalkin Lane. So many battles fought, and won, in the war of his youth.

And there were the allies. Xavier called them his classmates, but Scott knew they were more than that. They were his comrades in arms, fellow soldiers on the front lines of his new father’s war. Bobby, Jean, Warren, Hank, Lorna, Ororo, Fred… More and more, joining with each passing month.

But it wasn’t always war that filled his young life. Sometimes, his days were quiet and beautiful. Sometimes, he met beautiful girls like Jean Grey. From the moment he saw her, standing there in the spring breeze with a dress as green and flowery as the forest, holding onto her hat to keep it from blowing away as she stood on the steps to the mansion, the school, he felt his heart tether itself to her wrist. He had whispered out a strangled hello, and he had welcomed her inside, and told the professor that the newest student had arrived.

The love of his life had arrived.

Scott Summers was sixteen years old when he realized, for the first time, just how much he was feared.

He watched from the sidelines, behind the stage curtain, as Charles took the stage opposite a man in a tan suit and striped tie. The man was Charles’ opposite in every way, from his stiff posture to his full head of hair, to the horn rimmed glasses he wore and the fury in his heart.

He called Mutants devils in a human skin. He claimed that shapeshifters would replace world leaders and that telepaths would rewire your mind if you didn’t roll over at their command. He had pictures, drawings, of Mutant slave masters in striped shirts, with an M tattooed over their eyes, acting like monsters as they did horrid things to meek human victims.

And for a time, Charles said nothing. He let the man talk, and he let him spew his hate. It nearly drove Scott to tears. Looking to his side, he could see Lorna curling up on herself with shame, as the man declared Magneto to be no better than history’s greatest tyrants and dictators. Jean’s nostrils were flaring, and Warren was steadying Bobby so he wouldn’t collapse as his legs turned to jello.

And then Charles spoke, and it was like the whole world had shifted.

He spoke about his students, and the glee they felt when they were shown how their powers could be used constructively, to help rather than to harm. He spoke at length about the countless gifted individuals who lived quiet, ordinary lives. He spoke with passion about Scott, the boy who shot destruction from his eyes, but who had the heart of a lamb and the mind of a scholar.

And then he told the world that he was a Mutant as well. And that was when Scott’s fear began to curdle deep within his gut.

That was the day that a target was painted on Charles’ back.

Scott Summers was twenty four years old when he got married for the first time.

Jean looked more beautiful than ever, if such a feat was even possible. A fishtail gown and a veil that hid her face from him until the moment she lifted it and, at the urging of the officiant, kissed him. His heart was filled with perfect joy, and for a time, he allowed himself to believe that life was good, that people were good.

Life had a habit of proving Scott Summers wrong.

Scott Summers was twenty five years old when Charles was struck by a sniper’s bullet outside the school.

Scott Summers was twenty seven years old when Jean Grey killed herself on the moon, as fire licked his skin and yet left no mark as her own blazing glory was snuffed out.

Scott Summers was thirty years old when ash filled his lungs as his brother, Alex, was vaporized by a sentinel’s hand.

As a child, he had lost the two people he loved most in the world. After years of closing himself off, shutting out any who dared try and break their way into his heart, he allowed himself the folly of trust, and of hope. But Scott Summers’ life was a lesson, and the lesson was this:

The world will kill you unless you fight back.

Chapter 16: Danke, Fremder

Chapter Text

Scott looked up at Ororo, and ground his teeth beneath his silver mask.

“You changed your hair,” He noted. The shorter, natural cloud of white stood out to him, even as all other parties wondered if it was an attempt to deflect, or to distract. It wasn’t.

“We won’t let you kill this man, Scott,” Ororo said in as controlled a tone as she could manage, though the storm clouds rolling in gave a good picture of the true feelings that lingered beneath the surface.

“You don’t have to let me. I’ll do it anyways.”

“What has gotten into you, Scott? I was worried when you left, but had I known that you were heading down this road, I never would have allowed you to leave.”

He tilted his head. Ororo waited a beat for the quizzical response that she was expecting to be uttered. It was only a fraction of a second too late when she realized that he had abandoned the conversation entirely, and a flash of red light blared in the periphery of her vision.

“Nightcrawler!” She cried out in warning as much as worry. She turned around to look up at her teammates, positioned on the rooftop, and breathed a sigh of relief as Kurt and Trask dipped beneath the optic blast, and into the roof itself, with Ariel gripping their clothes as tightly as she could.

Before Storm could turn her attention back to her old friend, she felt a small, harsh slap against her leg. A coin fell to the ground at her feet. Suddenly, it rose upwards, and struck her in the face.

She narrowed her eyes, and looked for the girl with blue hair. The moment Storm found her, the dangerous grin on the girl’s face doubled in intensity, and they locked horns. A hailstone batted down a magnetically flung hubcap, and sent it skittering across the gravel of the parking lot.

“We did not come looking for a fight!” She called out, returning her attention, ever so briefly, to Scott.

“Then you shouldn’t have f*ckin’ started one!” The blue haired teen shouted back.

Magnetrix redoubled her efforts, sending a wide array of metallic scrap at the X-Man. Ororo dodged what she could, expertly maneuvering around the projectiles until the moment that Ariel was able to sneak up behind Nomi and tackle her to the ground.

“sh*t,” Angelica muttered. Her eyes swept across the lot, picking out what she could make sense of and attempting to formulate some kind of plan, any sort of way to salvage the situation.

Nomi and Ariel, the mutual teen sidekicks, grappled as they phased through cars and walls, never once letting go of the other, lest they accidentally get stuck. Hale and summer snow buffeted the fighting, chilling all but Firestar to the bone. Bursts of red light smashed into key targets, but never the same one twice. A woman with pastel hair and a large man in blue battled as a pair against Gambit and Frenzy, neither side truly gaining ground against the other.

And above it all, clouds of purple-black smoke popped over and over, with only the briefest of glimpses at the two men who traveled between spaces.

“Well, ‘dis went sideways, eh?” Gambit asked as a pair of charged cards left his fingers, and sailed towards Revanche.

“Shut it,” The purple haired, armored and hooded woman shot back.

She held out one hand and stopped the cards in mid-air. They exploded into a cloud of violet light, through which Frenzy emerged, knee first, landing a blow in the englishwoman’s gut.

“Bets!” Barricade cried out. He swung one massive arm and caught Frenzy’s fist before another hit could land, and Frenzy’s nostrils flared, eyes glared, as her momentum was stopped in its entirety.

“Get out of our way,” She growled, pushing harder, until her feet began to dig into the gravel, cracking the earth beneath her.

“Nobody moves me,” He said simply, in a low, calm voice. His walrus mustache twitched in anger, while Revanche rose up behind him, one hand held to her bruised ribs, and another reaching out in Frenzy’s direction. “And nobody gets to her.”

Frenzy stopped, and her arms fell limp to her sides. Her head twitched slightly, once, then twice, and her eyes glowed a soft purple color.

“Right then,” She spoke with a posh english accent, as her fingers flexed and muscles tensed. “Lets see what we can do.”

Frenzy turned, moving as though she was being puppeteered by an unseen hand, and began to advance on Gambit. The Cajun reacted quickly, ducking beneath the first sluggish haymaker and using his staff to trip his ally. Before Revanche could maneuver Frenzy’s body to lift her back up, he shot a card between Barricade’s legs and flashed a co*cky grin as it detonated.

With the brit temporarily incapacitated, and her boyfriend moving to ensure her safety, Gambit whistled, and Firestar came to their aid. A heavy burst of intense heat bore down on Barricade, hot enough to melt his rubber-soled boots to the asphalt.

“Thanks, petit,” He said, saluting the redhead with two fingers as she vanished back into the flurry fo violence. Frenzy rose to her feet, slowly, and locked eyes with Barricade.

“You’re lucky she’s okay,” He said, as his eyes narrowed and his fists clenched.

“You won’t be once I’m done with you,” Frenzy spat back, before charging in for another round.

A blast of crimson kinetic energy slammed into Storm’s back, and as she fell to the ground, the X-Men’s leader cursed herself for failing to keep every factor of the battle in mind. She had allowed herself to be distracted, trying to cut Kitty off from Magnetrix’s assault, so she could get clear of the other girl, with a rushing wall of wind, and paid the price.

Luckily, the X-Men looked out for one another. Just as she was watching Ariel’s back, Wolverine was watching her’s. He dashed towards Basilisk, claws extended and swinging for the legs, only to catch the air as his former teammate leapt out of the way.

“Really, Logan?” Basilisk asked. He fired off another shot, which glanced off Wolverine’s shoulder. “I thought you said you understood what I was doing.”

Wolverine growled, and pushed through the pain, pushed through the following blast, and punched Basilisk in the side of the head.

“That was when I thought you’d be throwing down with cops and feds, not goin’ off and assassinatin’ civilians,” He said angrily.

“He’s no civilian. Not after all he’s done,” Basilisk said in a low voice, before he tore up the ground at Wolverine’s feet.

With his old friend off balance, it was all too easy to hit him with a full volley of optic blasts. He would heal, but he wouldn’t get up for a while. Not after being forced into a crater in the ground.

In all the confusion, in all the chaotic fighting, he had only one question on his mind, still driving his every decision. He scanned over the battlefield, looking for an answer to his question-

Where had Kurt taken Trask?

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

A pop and a flash, followed by a plume of purple-black smoke, and Bolivar Trask found himself released from the grip of the blue-furred Mutant that had snatched him from the fray. Nightcrawler set him against a parked car, a block away from the ongoing mayhem.

“You are alright, ja? No aches, no broken bones?” He asked with a degree of mirth that had been sorely lacking in the others. But as his gaze fell to Bolivar’s smashed up knee, Nightcrawler winced. “Da habe ich mich wohl geirrt.”

Bolivar squirmed and gasped out, finally able to think, to process, after the flurry of spacial jumps. He felt as though he would soon vomit from all the flips his stomach had done, or from his proximity to the smiling face of what, to him, looked much like his grandmother’s descriptions of Satan. Nightcrawler’s forked tail twitched, and Bolivar gagged.

“Y-you saved me?” He asked, confusion written across his face.

“Of course,” Nightcrawler said with a shrug. “Why wouldn’t I?” He looked over his shoulder, and back to Trask, before sighing. “I do not think we are out of the woods yet, mein freund. Up to another leap or two?”

Trask paused for a moment, considering his options. But after one brief, fearful look at his leg, he whimpered and nodded, screwing his eyes shut.

But before they could teleport again, the air grew hot around them. A familiar sensation, at least now, and one which set Trask’s heart at a jackhammer pace. He whimpered again, and slowly opened his eyes.

Behind Nightcrawler, floating just overhead, was the woman in orange and red. She said nothing, did nothing, as Nightcrawler looked over his shoulder at her.

“Hallo there.”

“Is… is he okay?” She asked. Nightcrawler raised an eyebrow at the question, and despite Trask’s growing panic, he chose not to leap into action.

“He will live, assuming he reaches a hospital before it gets infected. He may even walk without a limp, if he is lucky.”

“If?”

“Yes, if.”

“Oh.”

“G-get me out of here, damnit!” Trask seethed, banging the back of his head against the car, only to wince at the self-inflicted stab of pain.

“What is your name?” Nightcrawler asked her, tilting his head.

“Firestar,” She told him. He waited a moment longer, but she did not offer him another, and so he shrugged his shoulders and accepted the name she was willing to give.

“Well, Firestar, are you going to make this a difficult task for me? Because I assure you, if we were to fight-”

“I don’t want to fight,” She said quickly, if quietly, cutting him off at the pass. He smiled at that admission, and nodded.

“Well… Neither do I. Will you try to stop us from leaving?”

“I…” She paused, and looked back at the fighting in the distance. She looked back to him, and the heat radiating from her began to lessen. The air began to cool. “I won’t.”

“Danke.”

A pop and a flash, followed by a plume of purple-black smoke, and the two men were gone.

And Angelica was left to return to the fight, and to let everyone know that it was over. The cause had been lost, at least for that day.

Chapter 17: I Think...

Chapter Text

“What in blazes were you thinking?! Or were you thinking at all? I mean really, is there a lone brain cell to be shared amongst the lot of you?”

They hadn’t been back more than five minutes before Emma had descended upon them in a whirlwind of ivory frills and condescending rage. Scott sat with his helmet in his lap, looking at the floor, face expressionless. He had tuned her out already, and was simply waiting for the lecture to end, or to be called upon for a statement. His ears perked up at the sound of questions being asked, but after she carried on, he realized that they were rhetorical in nature.

Angelica’s response was to shrink in on herself, and hope that by becoming as tiny and unassuming as possible, she would be overlooked. Or, at least, that Emma’s fondness for her would lead to partial treatment. She turned her wig in her hands and sighed, before flinching as Emma raised her voice.

Nomi fumed, and frequently opened her mouth to argue against Emma’s ever-lengthening tirade, only to be silenced by a withering look from Emma or a hand on the shoulder from Joanna, who sat with her arms on the meat of her legs and a slowly mounting fire in her eyes.

And unlike the others, Joanna was well aware that Remy had vanished the moment he saw Emma coming.

“-half a mind to put you all through a psychic wringer so you all understand how serious I am about this!”

“Are you just about finished?” Joanna muttered. She tensed her arms, flexing the muscles purely for show, before standing and taking a step towards Emma. She stood a head taller than her, not accounting for hair, even as Emma perched herself upon a pair of three inch heels. “Because I’m gonna be real honest with you, queenie… I don’t give a damn what you think we should’ve done. We had our shot at Trask, and we took it.”

Emma scowled. “You don’t get it, do you? I suppose I shall have to drive it through your silly little heads, then. You are not to set foot near Bolivar Trask; not now and not ever, until the day comes when I tell you that you may breathe the same air as him!”

“I f*cking knew it. You never really gave a damn about whether this thing worked or not; you’re just using us as your personal toy soldiers.”

“Don’t you dare assume that I don’t care about Mutant lives. Trask’s life has value in its own way, and that is precisely why you must leave him be.”

“So he can keep on making giant killer robots?!”

“Because I was handling him!”, Emma shouted into their minds. Joanna clutched her head, and the others followed suit as Emma’s words echoed within the confines of their heads. She took a deep breath, and composed herself, before speaking again.

“For the past year, longer than your silly little revolution has been a glimmer in Scott Summers’ mind, I have been working Bolivar Trask behind the scenes; playing him like my own personal fiddle, so as to mitigate the damage his war machines have been doing. It has been a long, careful process, and now I fear all my work has been ruined by the five of you, all because you couldn’t wait for my command.”

“You can’t blame us for taking things into our own hands when you won’t tell us what you’re thinking. We’re not all able to spy into each other’s brains,” Joanna shot back with a sneer.

Emma’s nostrils flared, but before she could respond in kind, Scott lifted his head, and looked up at the pair of arguing women.

“Gunning for Trask was a mistake. It was my call, and I screwed it up, and if anyone should face consequences for that decision, it’s me.”

Emma and Joanna stiffened, and regarded Scott with mixed feelings, though the exact co*cktails differed between the two of them. But he wasn’t finished; a fact he made all too clear a moment later.

“But Joanna is right. We can’t- won’t, be treated as your own private hit squad. You fund us, you help us, and I appreciate everything that you do, but you aren’t the leader of this team; I am. And my team isn’t going to be acting off of scraps of information any more. You need to trust us, Emma. You do that, and they’ll trust you like I do.”

For a moment, nobody added a single word to the debate. The air hung still, unsettlingly so. But after the long, drawn out pause had run its course, Emma flicked her fan open and sighed.

“Very well. I will admit that, perhaps, I could do to… be… more open… with all of you.”

Joanna swore she saw the woman shudder as she said that. Emma would deny it, naturally. The White Queen didn’t shudder, unless it was in delight after a long evening with several strangers and a bottle of champagne. Or so she claimed.

“Thank you,” Scott said with the slightest of nods.

Emma wrinkled her nose and huffed, before attempting to dismiss the audience with a wave. But they remained, some amused and others annoyed, by her deeply ingrained habit of thinking that she owned whatever room she set foot in.

Nomi quickly and quietly slunk off, the moment it was clear that the meeting had ended, hands stuffed in her pockets and a mischievous look on her young face. Scott took note of her direction, and reminded himself to check in on his youngest recruit soon.

But even as Scott left, Joanna and Angelica remained where they were. Angelica tugged nervously at the hem of her sleeve, while Joanna reclined on the sofa and continued to lock eyes with Emma.

“Am I to assume that you’re the one who broke Bolivar Trask’s leg?” Emma asked quietly, her voice approaching a hiss.

“Hah, no. You can thank your boytoy for that.”

Emma tsked. “That bloody imbecile. This is exactly why I didn’t want him anywhere near Trask.”

“Guy killed his baby brother. You really gonna blame him for wanting some payback?”

“This isn’t about payback. It isn’t about anything nearly so shortsighted as revenge.”

“Maybe not for you. Maybe not for me. But damn, princess, for a mindreader, you really missed what this was all about for him.”

Without another word, Joanna shoved off the sofa and walked past Emma, checking her shoulder on the way. Emma said nothing in return, did nothing to squeak out a minor victory in their spat. She stood still, eyes cast low, and sighed. She allowed herself a moment to wallow in the disappointment.

“Ms Frost?” Angelica asked, looking up at long last. Emma met her gaze, and Angelica took a deep breath. “I should tell you something…”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Nomi Blume tugged her hoodie on, over her costume, and slipped her hands into the pocket near her belly. Her small, nimble fingers latched onto an inhaler, and a nervous flutter whipped itself up in her chest.

She had yet to use it, but she came awfully close in that fight. Seeing the brown haired girl phase through one attack after the other, she had felt a rage growing, sparking brighter and brighter. Nobody, not a sentinel or a cop or a black-booted government thug, had ever escaped an encounter with her unscathed.

But that girl did, and she couldn’t get past it. She had slammed a damned car into her, and yet Ariel just stuck her tongue out at Nomi and walked away.

She clenched her fist around the inhaler. Next time, she told herself. Next time, she wouldn’t let her opponent walk away.

“Where you goin’, kid?”

She stopped, halfway out the door to the forest surrounding the Weapon X facility. There was nobody behind her; she was certain. But just around the corner, with a cigarette hanging from his lips and the sunlight splashing across his messy brown hair, was Remy.

“Gonna throw knives at trees,” She said with a shrug, as if it was a normal game for kids her age to play. Remy co*cked an eyebrow, and began to follow after her, putting out his cigarette with his foot on the way.

“I’ll join you. Been a while since I got some target practice in. Not countin’ the usual life or death situations.”

Nomi bristled at the intrusion on her time alone, but said nothing, choosing instead to adopt a contemptuous scowl.

She made her way to a small clearing, surrounded by trees on all sides. Remy took note of the dozens upon dozens of nicks and slashes in the tree bark; cuts numbering close to the hundreds. Hardly a moment later, and a small blade whizzed past his cheek and landed firmly in the tree he was inspecting.

“Crazy, kid. You’re pure crazy.”

Nomi’s scowl gave way to a grin. “Thanks.”

Remy turned to look at her, and yanked the blade free over his shoulder. “Didn’t mean it as a compliment.”

“Like I care.”

Another blade slipped from its place on her costume, and began to make a slow orbit around Nomi’s body, before flying at a tree to her side. Another blade followed it, and landed less than an inch away from the first. Then a third, and a fourth, and a fifth. All without Nomi ever breaking eye contact with Remy.

“You like scarin’ folks?” He asked simply. His voice was calm, despite the fact that he had just come within a fraction of an inch of gaining a new scar. But Nomi, despite how eagerly she was showing off, found herself taken aback by the question.

“Maybe,” She muttered, less steadily than she had intended. Her cheeks grew hot, and she summoned her weapons back to her person, where they hung in the air around her.

“Mhm. See, I don’t think it’s that simple with you. Know what I think?”

“No. Don’t care,” She huffed. Her knives pushed and pulled in tandem with her breath, pulsing slowly in and out in their little circle around her.

Remy flipped the blade he had procured, end over end, and caught it by the handle. Again, and again, and again. “See, I think you saw how scared all them humans got when they saw what you could do, and now scaring people’s all you know how to do.”

Nomi scowled again, and looked away from him, off into the distance. Where trees and greenery intersected and weaved themselves seamlessly into the landscape of the Canadian wilderness.

“I think you’re just a regular kid who doesn’t know what to do with all the power she got inside her. Who thinks all it’s good for is hurtin’.”

“God, don’t you ever shut up?”

“I think you gotta wise up and realize that power’s for more than just lightin’ fires. That you can build things with all that metal, instead of just rippin’ sh*t apart.”

A blade flew past her young face, and embedded itself in the tree nearest to her. She watched, with eyes wide open, as a strand of blue hair floated to the ground. Slowly, she turned to look at Remy, and found his arm extended, lining up perfectly with the trajectory of the knife.

“An’ I think you should take them drugs outta your pocket before you make a damn foolish mistake.”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

He stood in the sub-basem*nt, lights turned low, with his eyes closed. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Deep breath in, deep breath out.

There were footsteps. He opened his eyes and looked to the door just in time for it to open, and he saw Joanna. Her dreadlocks hung loosely over her shoulders, and her costume had been half-undone, revealing the grey tank top she wore beneath it.

“Joanna.”

“String-bean.”

Once again, they had found each other in their makeshift, primitive danger room. Once again, Joanna found herself looking at Scott, and realizing that she couldn’t see past his glasses. She couldn’t see his eyes. She didn’t know why that mattered, but it stuck in her mind.

“Is Emma still mad?”

Joanna snorted contemptuously. “She’ll deal. How about you? You good?”

“I don’t-“

“Don’t give me that sh*t,” She said, stepping closer to him. Tall as he was, she still had a good few inches on him, and as she poked his chest with one finger, that was all too clear to Scott. “You flew off the damn handle with Trask. I don’t blame you for that, but let’s be real here; that ain’t good.”

“I’m sorry.”

She sighed, and put her hands on her hips. “Don’t be sorry, be honest. Right now, just you and me. Tell me everything you haven’t told us. Tell me the sh*t that you let out back there.”

He stiffened. Wrapped his arms around himself, and looked at the ground. At his feet. But he told her everything; one long, rambling story about his wife, and his brother, and the bodies he never had the chance to bury. He told her who was responsible. How Jean’s killers were impossible to hit back at, and how he had tried, and failed, to avenge Alex.

And when all was said, when it was laying, open-faced, on the floor for her to see every horrible detail, he didn’t dare to look her in the eyes. He stayed still, staring at his own two feet, until she took him by the chin and tilted his head upwards. His mouth hung open, just slightly. He blinked, but she couldn’t see it.

“I’m sorry,” He said again.

“Don’t be,” She told him, as she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into a hug. “I get it,” She whispered against his neck. “I really do.”

Chapter 18: Sub-Chapter B: Frenzy

Chapter Text

Joanna Leighton Cargill was hated and feared from the day she was born.

Premature. Frail. Sick. Needed surgery. The words were thrown around the hospital as doctors and nurses whipped themselves into a frenzy, so as to save the child. Her mother cried; beside herself in fear of losing her first, and only, daughter before getting to so much as hold her. Her father simmered with quiet anger; furious at the notion that this girl, this gawking, fragile thing, was so weak that she couldn’t even survive her own birth unassisted.

His son was stronger. His son was healthy. His son, unlike him, was all too happy to visit his baby sister in her incubator. He smiled and waved at her through the glass, and laughed with giddy joy as the baby, seemingly, noticed him.

She was hated. She inspired fear. But she was also loved, from the very beginning.

Joanna Leighton Cargill was seven years old and riddled with health problems.

She had had no less than five surgeries before she had even begun school. Surgeries which left her family in debt, living out of half of a rented house in Leesville, Texas. Surgeries which only served to increase the resentment her father held for her.

Resentment which sparked abuse. The women in his house knew fear above all else. Fear of his daily arrival home from work. Fear of the stench of alcohol on his breath. Fear of the way his fingers curled while he watched the news on a small screen in the kitchen. Fear of him, and every little thing he did.

Daniel was her only friend. Daniel would take her out of the house, and buy her ice cream from a small stand a friend of his worked at. Daniel, and his friend, were all too happy to keep her attention on kinder things, happier things, than home. Even with her asthma, and her weak muscles, she craved the moments where she could tag along with them and play.

Joanna Leighton Cargill was thirteen years old when she noticed the scales on Daniel’s friend’s ankles.

By then, the girl wasn’t so much a friend anymore. Only Joanna knew, was allowed to know, the secret of their relationship. Daniel didn’t have to tell her not to tell their parents. She knew not to tell them anything, by then, that they did not need to know. But the sight of shiny blue-green scales fascinated Joanna. She didn’t know that girls got scales as they grew older. Thus far, puberty had only brought about frustrating new concepts, things which only increased her father’s distaste for her existence.

But she was so excited. Too excited. And in her excitement, Joanna asked her mother when she would get scales.

The color drained from her mother’s face, and her jaw fell open. When prodded, asked what girl she knew with scales, Joanna didn’t think, didn’t know, that saying Sally’s name would lead to the spiral of events that it did.

Rumors spread. Rumors about a Mutie in their midst. Rumors about a gang of genefreaks who were preparing to raze Lubbock, and set it ablaze to spite the innocent humans who they so hated. Rumors which led to Sally’s scales being exposed. The gills, and fins, that she hid beneath her clothes.

The last Joanna saw of Sally, she was crying as Daniel told her he was sorry, and offered to drive her out of Leesville. He came back late that night, with tired eyes and sagging shoulders.

He signed up for the army the next week.

Joanna Leighton Cargill was fifteen years old when he came back in a pine box.

What was left of him was brought back, overseas, and buried six feet underground with a flag folded over his casket and another one, a smaller one, planted atop the burial plot. Joanna cried at the funeral, even as her father sneered at her with contempt. She knew that she would be hit when they went back home.

The only question was how much.

Things were tense, at first. Quiet. Nobody dared make a sound. But she slipped into her parents’ bedroom and looked at the framed picture of Daniel, in his dress uniform, that rested on her father’s dresser. The beret that sat next to it.

She felt it calling to her. She knew that she had to honor her brother. She had to prove herself. She had to be strong, for him. So she took the beret, and she put it on her head.

And flinched when her father saw her. The stench of booze on his breath made her sick, and the pain that ensued was the worst she had ever endured before. Over and over again, punctuated by his shouting, by degradation and spittle.

But then he stopped. And Joanna felt something hot and wet fall onto her face in little droplets. Her hand, too, was wet. She opened her eyes, and saw her father’s mouth gaping, gasping for air. But he had no lungs to fill.

Her outstretched fist had made sure of that.

Joanna Leighton Cargill spent her sixteenth birthday in a halfway house, under a different name, up near the state border.

Just one more bus trip and she’d be in New Mexico. Just one more day. Her ma had no idea where she’d gone, or how she’d done what she had done. All she had known to do was pack a suitcase for her baby girl, and send her running before anyone else knew what had been done.

And there, in that halfway house, Joanna watched a tiny little box tv with rapt interest. There was a man, a bald man in a wheelchair, who debated a preacher with a sharp tongue and a sharper wit. They bickered and argued, and the words they used struck her deep.

Mutant. Like Sally had been. Like she was. What else would you call a fish girl, or someone with skin like titanium and a punch like a megaton bomb? She knew what she was, but only after she knew it was a shameful, dirty thing to be.

But there was hope. Bitter hope. Hope that came from a lifetime of being told she was too weak, too fragile, too much of a burden, only to end up strong, fast, and indestructible. And she was indestructible.

Hope that remained, bitter and cold and small, despite it all. The skirmishes in Iraq, and the discharge that followed. The laws that were passed, and the black-booted thugs that enforced them. The friends, the fellow bar flies, who registered, one by one, as the last traces of hope dissipated. But she held on tight to that cold, fragile thing inside her. She nurtured it, protected it with her titanium skin, so that it could flourish.

Joanna Leighton Cargill was thirty years old when she met a man named Scott Summers, and her purpose finally became clear.

Chapter 19: Children of Fate

Chapter Text

Tessa sighed, and put her hands on her hips. It hadn’t exactly been the best week, at work or at home, and this particular day certainly wasn’t helping matters. She had been assigned to the worst position a Hellfire Club maid could land, and it was one that she utterly loathed. They all took turns, shifts assigned and distributed fairly, but it felt as though it had only been two days since she had last found herself in this position. She wished she could trade with Clarice, or that Angelica was still working with them, but regrettably, there was no worming her way out of this one.

She had been assigned to care for the former members of the Inner Circle for the day.

Legally speaking, Sebastian Shaw, Selene Gallo, and Donald Pierce suffered from intense mental trauma and debilitating brain damage; the result of a car accident after a late night of drinking.

Everyone who worked for them knew that it was all a great big lie. The truth? Emma Frost had, several months ago, made a sudden grab for power. She turned their brains to mush and reshaped the Hellfire Club to suit her purposes. And of course, things within the club had never been better. At the very least, Tessa no longer had to deal with the lecherous stares, and inappropriate comments, that Shaw so dearly loved to dole out.

But watching as the former Black King drooled onto his striped shirt and overalls didn’t make her feel much better. It just left her feeling sorry for the horrid man, and yet also pleased, in a worrying fashion, that he had finally suffered some sort of retribution. She felt much the same way about Selene and Pierce, who sat near Shaw, fumbling with plush animals and murmuring unintelligibly.

Tessa shuddered, and turned away. They were kept far out of sight, and out of mind, save for the White Queen’s weekly visits to the remote cottage she kept them at. They required round the clock care, and despite her direct hand in turning them into what they were now, Emma Frost was adamant that they not be abused or taken advantage of in any way.

She didn’t mind a little smug taunting now and again, though. Something that Tessa realized the first time she saw Emma mockingly refer to them as her “ickle babies” while patting Selene on the head.

Tessa tried not to think about it too much. Not at all, if she could help it, save for the times she was entrusted with their care. Times like tonight.

She wiped the drool from Shaw’s chin with a cloth, and made sure Pierce wasn’t upset, as he so often was, by Selene touching his things. Tessa swore that the fallen Black Queen just loved to antagonize the baseline human of the group. She didn’t need to check a watch or a clock on the wall to know that it was just ten minutes to four, and Emma would be stopping by soon for her weekly checkup. ONE could slap a deactivated bracelet on Tessa’s wrist for show, and they could limit what she said and did in public, but they had no power over her mind itself, and it still worked like a perfect machine, with a flawless sense of time.

Little victories.

“Man, I never get tired of seeing him like this.”

She turned to the sound of the voice, and saw a familiar face, though not the one she was expecting. Rather than the White Queen’s pale, ostentatious presentation, her visitor chose to cut a more subdued, though still striking, appearance.

Long black hair was tied back into a bun, while his tacky floral shirt had been unbuttoned so as to flaunt the twin chest scars that he sported. He stepped out of his little corner of the room and grinned smugly at the sight of Sebastian Shaw in his current, feeble state.

Tessa rolled her eyes. “Get out of here, Shinobi. Frost will be here soon, and I doubt she’ll be happy to see you here.”

He ignored her concerns, and stepped closer to his father. The fall of his feet on the wooden floorboards of the cottage left no sound, as Shinobi Shaw was one of only two people on earth who was, quite literally, lighter than air. Tessa envied the freedom this gift allowed him, and the lack of a bracelet on his own wrist.

“Hey there, dad. Enjoying sitting in your own waste, you prick?”

Tessa scowled. “Knock it off, okay? You’re going to upset him.”

“That’s the point, Tess. What, you think I’d visit him just to be nice? Tell him I love him? Please.”

“He doesn’t even remember any of what he did to you, or to anyone for that matter. You really don’t feel any sympathy for him? Or them?”

Shinobi paused for a moment, and searched his heart for even a single drop of such a feeling. He shrugged his shoulders.

“For what it’s worth, I’m not really here for him,” Shinobi admitted. “I caught word that Emma would be visiting them today, and bringing a friend with her.”

“Basilisk?”

He nodded. “I’m just waiting for them to arrive.”

”Well you won’t have to wait much longer, my dear boy. We’re right here.”

The bubbly pink portal snapped shut behind them, with Clarice, Emma, and Basilisk now standing inside. Behind his silver mask, nobody could see the look on Scott’s face, though Emma could certainly feel the cyclone of conflicted emotions that was brewing inside him.

“Tessa, Clarice will keep you and your charges company, while Basilisk and I speak to Mr Shaw… elsewhere.”

Her eyes flicked to the door, and Scott and Shinobi made to leave with her coming after them. Shinobi simply phased through the door, leaving Scott scowling beneath his helmet, as he opened the door for Emma to slip through.

The cool evening air hit their skin as the sun began to dip in the sky, though it had yet to lower enough to alter the sky’s dusty blue hue. Fog was rolling in the distance, and getting closer. Scott closed his peacoat, while the layers of Emma’s dress kept her warm. Shinobi, however, delighted in the cold air.

“You may speak,” Emma directed with feigned apathy.

“I wasn’t waiting for permission,” He said, tilting his head and folding his hands behind it, elbows outstretched.

Emma co*cked an eyebrow. “Weren’t you?”

“Just get on with it,” Basilisk said through gritted teeth.

“Fiiiine, I’ll skip the pleasantries. I’m here to make a deal,” Shinobi claimed, his smug smile returning to his rather gorgeous face.

“Elaborate.”

“You guys have been hitting up a bunch of ONE transports, and that’s all well and good, but I figure there’s gotta be a reason you haven’t been going bigger. This week, it hit me! Your revolution needs more people lighting fuses.”

Basilisk clicked his tongue. “And you think we need your help?”

“I mean… yeah? Obviously.”

“We don’t.”

“Trust me, Cyclops, you do. Because I… can walk you right into the camps where ONE keeps those poor muties they capture.”

Basilisk bristled, his fists clenching tightly at his sides. He ground his teeth and shut his eyes, then took a deep breath and attempted to ground himself.

“I hate to give a Shaw credit for anything, but he may have a point, my dear,” Emma whispered into his mind as she looked off into the distance, feigning disinterest in their bickering.

“You’re not going to find a place on my team,” He stated definitively.

“You’re f*cking joking me, right? God damn, man, I didn’t realize someone could be such a-“

“You’re not going to be on my team,” Basilisk said sharply. “A team has to fit together. If one of its members won’t listen to orders, or thinks themselves superior to the rest… that member is a weak link. But… I have been thinking of organizing another team. A few of the people we’ve rescued want a way to repay the favor. I’ll put you in contact with them, but at the end of the day, it’s their choice whether or not you make the cut. Understood?”

Shinobi glared, though a cold smile lingered. “Fine,” He said after a lengthy silence. “But there’s no way they’re gonna say no to me. Nobody ever tells Shinobi Shaw no.”

“Believe me, young man, there’s a first time for everything,” Emma muttered, as Basilisk wrote a number onto a small sticky note he produced from his belt pocket.

As the two returned to the cottage, so Emma could spend some quality time with her former Inner Circle members, Shinobi was left alone with the fog, and a contact number for a burner phone. Alongside it, two names had been written.

Xi’an & Julio.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Hospitals made Bolivar Trask uneasy. Something about the smell of disinfectant, the almost unnatural cleanliness of the rooms and hallways, and the humming of the fluorescent lights overhead bothered him in a way that he could never quite articulate.

The demonic looking Mutant had dropped him off at the front entrance of the hospital just a day ago, and doctors were quick to treat him. Unfortunately, as was soon confirmed for him, the odds of his leg healing correctly were low at best. Basilisk had pulverized the bones in his knee, and unless a miracle came along, the damage wouldn’t ever be forgotten.

He still didn’t know what to make of the Mutant who had saved him. He could still recall the sensation of fur like blue velvet against his own clammy skin, and the low, earthy sound of it’s German accented voice. The smell of sulfur that followed its bursts of smoke and spatial distortion. The resemblance to a demon was uncanny, but Bolivar was a man of science, not superstition. He knew that it was merely a genetic abnormality which led to that poor thing’s horrific appearance. If the Mutant were normal, if it were human, no doubt it would live a happy, successful life.

Bolivar Trask sighed, and shifted in his hospital bed. His wife and children were on their way to visit, and he had already spoken to police, who now stood outside his hospital room, in case someone tried to finish what Basilisk had started.

Supposedly, a pair of FBI agents would arrive soon as well. Something about working on a case relating to the Mutant Liberation Front.

But for now, his only visitor was a nurse in grey scrubs. She wore her blonde hair long, cascading over her shoulders in silky golden waves, and the police outside allowed her to enter after checking that she sported no signs of mutation.

But Trask smiled softly as she sat beside him, and mimed taking an assortment of unneeded tests. She returned the smile, and said her hellos.

“You know, I wouldn’t mind if you went into the medical field,” He said wistfully, thinking of his own daughter, and what she could achieve in a better world than this one. The world he hoped to make possible.

“Now you tell me,” Tanya whispered back, sure to keep her voice low enough that the police outside her father’s door couldn’t hear their conversation. “How are you feeling?”

“Well, I’m on a lot of painkillers, so… not as bad as I did earlier,” Bolivar laughed nervously. “And you? How is… are… things?”

Tanya sat back, and folded her hands in her lap. “They’re pretty good, actually. Things… work out. They work out pretty well.”

Bolivar’s expression shifted, concern etching itself in heavy lines across his furrowed brow. “Then why would you come back? Why change it? If everything was going to work out for the best, then…”

She sighed. “That’s… not exactly how it works. Time isn’t a conveyer belt, daddy. You don’t just sit on it, and wait for someone else to choose your destination. I can change things, but the only extra benefit I have is knowledge of what could be. What will be is still up to you.”

Bolivar opened his mouth, but failed to find the words he searched for, as Tanya’s hand came to rest on his shoulder. She looked at the cast on his leg and her expression soured, as if she were sucking on a lemon wedge and trying to hide how uncomfortable it made her.

“Whether I come back or not… people will still change the flow of history. Every day, there’ll be a new iteration of me. A new life.”

“But this one was good? Really, truly good?”

“It was. It really, truly was.”

“Then tell me how to make it possible. Please, Tanya, just… give me the answer.”

She looked into her father’s eyes, and thought of her history lessons. The way things unfolded, who lived and who died, and who gave up their own dreams in order to fulfill those of another. She thought of those who went down in history as heroes, and those who became the villains.

And she didn’t know how to tell him that, in her future, he was the saddest monster of them all.

“Just… follow your heart, daddy. Keep looking for the right thing, the kind thing, and try to do that. If you do, then… then it’ll all work out.”

She forced a hopeful smile, as did her father. She plucked a marker off of the table beside him and signed his cast with bright blue ink, before packing up her things and getting on her way. After all, she was going to arrive here with her brother and mom in five minutes, and then ten minutes into their visit, just when she was getting bored, a pair of FBI agents were going to show up.

She didn’t need to be there for that again.

=====================
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
=====================

”Breaking news, listeners! Bolivar Trask, the founder and chief designer of Trask Industries, was attacked on his commute home from work. The culprit? I’ll give you one stinking guess. You know who did it. We ALL know who did it. You want me to say it anyways? Fine. Basilisk. Muties just don’t know when to stop, do they? First they start gunning down police officers and federal agents in the streets, and now they’re trying to assassinate scientists?! I’m disgusted, but I’ll tell you what… I’m not surprised one bit by this. What else do you expect from a man who shoots laser beams from his face? We’re lucky, yes LUCKY, that Bolivar Trask survived with minimal injuries. This is why I carry a gun, folks. Just in case.”

”Alright, that’s my time for today. William Metzger, signing off. See you tomorrow, folks. Good night, and God bless.”

Chapter 20: Targets

Chapter Text

“This is the list?”

“Yes. Every name vetted and double checked, every detail confirmed.”

“And her royal highness ain’t gonna get all pissy with us if we go after them?”

“Like I said, I double checked.”

“Hmph. Alright then. When do we start?”

“Right now. Gather everyone who is willing.”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Eliza stalked briskly down the street, files held close to her chest. She’d been going over the paperwork all night long, making phone calls well into the next morning, but still she had a confident, prideful sprint in her step.

Geoffry Patrick was going to become a senator, and it was all thanks to helpful volunteers like Eliza. People who spent all day, every day, devoted completely and utterly to the cause. Without people such as herself, there would be no catchy slogans, no snappy soundbites, no ads pasted across the internet, and no campaign.

A few calls to arrange “faulty” voting machines and “lost” ballots certainly didn’t hurt either. Those were Eliza’s specialities, of course, and the primary reason why she was Patrick’s favorite. That, and her eager willingness to ignore the wedding ring on his finger after a long day at the office.

Dawn was breaking through the blinds as she entered, finding the door already unlocked, and began to set up the office for another long, hard day of campaigning. The other volunteers would arrive soon enough, just an hour after her on a typical day. She switched on the lights, turned the radio on to a local classic rock station, and smiled as she took a sip of her morning coffee. The runoff election was less than a week away, and barring some sort of absolute disaster, there was no way in hell that Williams would beat Patrick.

Mark would be the first to arrive, she assumed. He typically was. Then Mary and James, and then all the others would filter in after. That was the norm, at least.

Eliza paused. Something smelt rank; horrid in fact. The smell lingered in the air, and Eliza couldn’t bear it. She began to hunt for the source of the smell, and only found it when she entered Geoffry Patrick’s office.

His body was slumped over his old oak desk. Blood pooled out, onto the wood and spilling, dripping ever so slowly, onto the carpet beneath it. The air stank from death and waste, and Eliza’s horrified scream pierced the morning like a knife.

Or rather, like the optic blast that’d crushed Geoffry Patrick’s skull and squashed his head.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Carl Denti smelt of cigarettes, black coffee and motor oil. He carried a guitar case in his hairy-knuckled hands, and wore a sneer like it was his favorite camo shirt, though he wore that as well.

Carl Denti looked military, between his regulation haircut, camouflage and combat boots, but records told a different story. He’d been drummed out of boot camp early on for severe misconduct, and had left without a single person thinking of him as anything resembling a friend. His next step was only natural for a young man with a chip on his shoulder, anger management problems, and a bigoted streak.

He spent the past ten years of his life in law enforcement, before finally being put on paid administrative leave after an… incident… became a nationwide news story. But that was reason enough for Denti to leave of his own accord. He knew that the fault lay not at his own feet, but at the feet of those who truly pulled the strings. He knew what they were, who they were. He knew how they had engineered the world against him all this time. Only they could do such a thing.

And he knew their mouthpiece lived in this city. Just across from the building he now stood atop. Maurette Leeds, that damnable news anchor, he could tell that she was one of them. The Purifiers were positive, and as he now counted himself among that group’s numbers, the former officer Denti knew that it was his god-given duty to do something about it.

She was in her apartment. Checking the fridge for leftover chinese takeout, to split with her boyfriend. He looked like one too. His skin was too pink, too pink to be normal, surely. And the shape of her eyes, that was all he needed to see in order to be certain. She wasn’t human. Not really.

He saw these things through the scope of a rifle, carried from there to here in his guitar case and then reassembled with expert hands. His breath hitched, and his finger rested on the trigger, and a cruel smile came to his face as he readied himself.

He was going to be a hero. He was going to take his country back from all the freaks and globalists who’d been pulling the strings. Starting with her. He was going to wake this country up and show them how it was done. No prisons, no camps, only bullets in the head.

There was a small cough behind him, and Carl Denti turned to face it. How had someone snuck up on him? Oh. Of course. Those eyes, like little burning coals. A mutie. A genefreak.

Carl had the gun, but his hands began to shake. Fear gripped him, as the stranger reached out, and placed two fingers atop the barrel of the rifle. It began to glow a bright, neon purple… and then exploded in Carl Denti’s face, and sent him careening off the ledge of the building, where he’d come face to face with the street below.

The other man smelt of cigarettes and black coffee too.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Jace Turner grimaced. There was blood on his pant leg, no doubt from that last prisoner he’d escorted off the truck. Damn thing kept coughing up blood and spittle, claiming he’d had his teeth knocked out during the arrest. Maybe, Jace thought bitterly, the kid wouldn’t have had his teeth knocked out if he hadn’t tried to run.

Running just made Jace’s partner angry.

He passed the kid off to the security officers at the facility without a word. Jace didn’t like this work, but he knew it was necessary. Someone had to do it, and better him than someone who got a sick, twisted kick out of the horrible business. And there were people like that. Jace had worked with several.

He couldn’t help but think, as the pink, paraffin-skinned boy was led away, that his own sister was about the same age. They shouldn’t be putting these kids in the same facilities as the adults, he mused silently to himself, as he hopped up into the cab of the transport truck. It was wrong. There should be facilities, separate ones, for the kids. Kinder ones. That’d be the humane thing to do.

Alas, just as it was with all matters of law and procedure, it was out of Jace’s hands. These things were decided by politicians, not normal men and women, not people like Jace.

John took the wheel, while Jace slumped up against the window. There was a call on the radio, asking for backup in the heart of Detroit. Claims of Mutant attackers, ones wearing uniforms. Militants. Jace shuddered. He couldn’t believe things had come to this, that things had gotten so bad. Couldn’t these people understand? Couldn’t they just try to get by, living normally? Why’d they have to stoop to all this mayhem and wanton destruction?

He picked up the mic and told them they’d be there.

But they got there after the fighting had already ended.

There was a man in a silver mask standing in the street, a ONE officer unconscious, held up only by Basilisk gripping his shirt. He let go, and the officer fell to the ground in a heap, with all the others.

Some were dead; holes punched through their chests, or with their bodies cleaved by explosions or metal shrapnel. Some were merely knocked out, if seriously injured by burns or lacerations.

And the Mutants stood above them all; freed prisoners huddled behind them for protection from the newly arriving force.

It was then that Jace saw the sentinel head floating in the sky, sans body. The shadow looming over their transport, as he stepped out of the cab.

“Is there anyone inside? Any Mutants?” Basilisk called out to him.

Jace shook his head. No, not a one, not after the dropoff.

“Are you lying to me?” He asked, his eyes glowing a loud, dangerous scarlet.

Again, Jace shook his head.

“Are you going to fight us?” Basilisk asked next. “Or are you going to go home, and leave these people alone?”

Jace paused. John went for his gun.

And the blue haired girl dropped the abused sentinel head on top of them.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Cameron Hodge was a son of a bitch. That was, at least, what Evangeline Whedon thought of him.

She’d never been too fond of her mutation. Turning into a dragon anytime she came into contact with another person’s blood wasn’t exactly the best gift in the world, but she was still human. Except Hodge didn’t seem to think so.

And he’d used her mutation, her very own ability, against her in a court of law. The case was absurd, it had no place even being argued. The judge should’ve thrown it right out. But they hadn’t. And then Hodge had to go low.

He’d pricked his finger right in front of her, and watched as the color drained from her face. He’d said that Mutants weren’t human, and he could prove it. After all, he’d said, his opposition was a dragon.

She rolled her fingers along the silver bracelet on her wrist and sighed. She couldn’t control it. The bracelet was a sign, more than anything. Proof that she’d registered; something she’d only done so she could keep fighting for Mutant rights in the courtroom. It didn’t stop her from transforming, though, and Hodge knew that.

And he’d pricked his damn finger. Started gesturing with it. Nobody else truly understood the danger, nobody but him and Evangeline. She was lucky that the judge had demanded he stop, and bandage it before any got on her.

She was unlucky in that the judge had just let it slide after.

There was a short recess, and now here she was, with her heart pounding and her skin cold and clammy. She reminded herself to breathe. Just breathe, and grab a bag of chips from the vending machine, and get ready for round two.

She looked over, and she saw Hodge sitting on a bench. He was on the phone with someone, wiping his glasses with a cloth. He had a snake’s smile on his face. He looked up at her, and his smile grew, and he waved.

She scowled, and turned away. Maybe she’d give Marie a call, take some time to vent, or make dinner plans for later that day. She’d need something decent at the end of this sh*tshow of a day.

She pulled her phone from her bag, and just by chance happened to catch sight of Cameron Hodge… With a man’s hand sticking out of his head. The assailant, a well dressed young man, retracted his hand, and nodded at Evangeline, as Hodge fell over onto the ground, dead.

Well, she thought to herself, at least things were looking up for her case.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Nomi was grouching. She often was, as was common for girls her age, but her reasons were, perhaps, a bit different from the norm.

“Why can’t I do this one?” She complained, tossing her head back so she could look at Scott upside-down.

“Because you’re thirteen,” He reminded her.

“I’ll be fourteen next week! And I’m great at it!” She insisted. “I’m a mini Magneto, and you won’t even let me do the cool sh*t. It sucks!”

Scott raised his eyebrows. “Joanna’s already in the field. We’re her lookouts. That’s still valuable.”

Nomi huffed, and curled her fingers beneath her legs as she sat on the lip of the roof. “You haven’t let me do any of them,” She mumbled. “You and Gambit and Joanna, even that weird Shinobi guy got to assassinate someone! Why can’t I?”

“Because you’re thirteen.”

“I hate you so much.”

“I know. Finish eating your sandwich, okay? Joanna’s coming back now.”

Chapter 21: Read My Mind

Chapter Text

“How many have you eliminated so far?”

Emma looked across the table at Scott. Joanna stood at his side, arms folded in front of her chest and head held high.

“We’re about seventy percent through with the list,” Scott said. “It’s largely politicians from here on out. Senators, lobbyists, so on. It’s been a busy few months.”

“Indeed,” Emma mused. “Militia leaders, bigoted lawyers, rightwing tabloid owners… It seems none can escape the gaze of my dreadful Basilisk.” She pressed one long, manicured nail into the soft flesh of her lower lip and then sighed. “I assume that you have some bad news, to go with the good? Some bombshell you’re waiting to drop on my unsuspecting head?”

Silence set in for a moment, as Joanna glanced down at Scott, who in turn gazed, seemingly impassively, at Emma, who flicked out her fan to cool herself. It could get so stuffy in the Weapon X facility some days, especially so when the heating kicked on in the dead of winter. The fur lining her collar was, admittedly, not helping matters.

“There’s a camp outside New York. Neverland. We want to liberate it.”

Emma blinked.

“You must be joking. Surely, you could not possibly be serious!”

“Read my mind, Emma.”

“Dear lord, you must have a death wish. I… Very well, then. Neverland, is it? The single most heavily fortified Mutant internment camp in the country. Do you plan to just waltz in there, then, and blow the doors off the place?”

Scott smirked. “Something like that.”

She scowled. “I expect a full, detailed explanation of this plan of yours. Today, in fact.”

“Actually…” Scott trailed off, and this time it was Joanna who smiled. “It’s not my plan.”

“It’s mine,” Said Joanna.

“In that case, we most certainly will be going over this plan with a fine-toothed comb,” Emma sighed. She stood from the table and began to saunter towards the door, her gait never failing in its composition. “In the meantime, I find myself in need of a rather stiff drink. If you’ll excuse me…”

The instant Emma was out the door, Joanna scoffed. “Is she never not in a bad mood?”

Scott tilted his head and regarded the question. After a pregnant pause, he shrugged, and Joanna snickered.

“How long have you known her, anyways?” Joanna asked as they walked from the war room to the hallway. She watched him as he moved; the stiffness of his back and shoulders, and the long strides he took. Always on edge, but projecting assuredness despite that. Anxious confidence, thy name is Scott Summers.

“Hard to say.”

“Mhm. You don’t have to dodge the question, you know. Could just throw out a lie,” She told him, as she reached to pull off her sweater and strip down to the sleeveless undershirt she wore beneath it. She began to wrap her hands, while Scott switched from his glasses to a spare visor from the old days. The Cyclops days.

“I meant that it’s hard to say,” He repeated, his face an expressionless mask. “Emma and I have known one another for a long time, but not always as allies. The first time we met, my wife put her through a wall.”

“Damn. What’d she do?”

Scott smiled a wistful little smile. “The Hellfire Club were running a blackmail racket. The X-Men put a stop to it. That’s how things usually went, before… Before Emma took control of the organization.”

“Before your wife died.”

He looked at Joanna, mouth hanging open just slightly, as the pit in his stomach dropped. “Yes,” He murmured. “Before that.”

“Sorry. Figured it’d be better to just get it out there, y’know? Didn’t mean to upset you,” She told him. She looked away, and sighed. It wasn’t easy, stepping around all these ghosts. The brother, the mentor, the wife… It was suffocating, sometimes. But, in her own way, she was able to puncture that shroud, and let the air back into his lungs.

“No, it’s alright,” He said softly. “I miss her. I just don’t always know how to talk about her. That’s all. Besides, you know the whole story-“

“Not the good parts,” She interjected. He looked at her, and she at him. “You told me how she died. How Alex died. You never told me what they meant to you, though.”

“Oh. Right.”

Joanna bumped his shoulder with her fist. “Wanna beat up a robot and tell me about her some more?”

He smiled at that. “Couldn’t hurt to give it a shot.”

Several feet above their heads, Emma exited the elevator and found herself running near-headfirst into a certain Cajun cardshark.

“Monsieur LeBeau.”

“Mm, Mademoiselle Frost.”

She held her fan to her chin and pursed her lips. “Would you particularly mind showing a lady to the hardest liquor on the premises?”

Remy cracked a sly grin. “Oh, I think I could be convinced. C’mon, I got somethin’ good squirreled away for occasions such as this.”

“And what fine occasion would this be, exactly?” Emma asked as she followed Remy down the hall, towards his room. She watched from the doorway, her slender fingers curling around the frame as he popped open a vent along the floor and fished out a dusty old bottle.

He tilted his head and wrenched the cork out of the bottle’s neck with his bare hands. “A pretty lady needin’ a stiff drink is all the reason I need,” He admitted with a shrug, before taking a swig directly from the bottle. “Besides, not like I pay for my booze. I get it the ol’ fashion way.”

Emma co*cked an eyebrow as he handed the bottle off to her. “Plundering the homes of your political enemies whilst your allies are killing them in their sleep?”

“Exactly,” He said with a laugh, which only grew more encouraging as Emma braced herself and mimicked his behavior, taking a sharp swig for herself. “Now, mind tellin’ Remy why you need a drink?”

Emma scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Speaking in the third person is rather unbecoming, you know.”

He shrugged, and set about gathering a pair of glasses for them to more properly drink from. “C’mon chere, y’can answer the question. Promise I won’ tell anyone. Things are purely confidential in here, an’ all that.”

Perhaps it was the liquor. Perhaps it was the bombshell that Scott and Joanna had dropped on her just a few minutes ago. Perhaps it was simply the fact that she was in a rare charitable mood. Whatever the reason, Emma found herself willing to loosen up, at least for a little while, and be honest.

A rarity indeed.

“I’m afraid I don’t know where to begin,” She grumbled, accepting a glass and taking a brief sip. She rolled it around her mouth and swallowed, feeling the heat rise up in her chest. “Shall I start with the oncoming suicide mission? Or how about Scott’s flourishing death wish? Oh, or perhaps I ought to begin with the fact that…”

She trailed off, and Remy raised an eyebrow as he knocked back his drink in a moment. “Chere? The fact that…”

She shook her head. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

“Mhm. Nothin’. Alright, then why don’ you tell me ‘bout this here suicide mission? Cuz I’ll level with you, that seems relevant to my personal interests.”

She snorted. “And what would your personal interests be, Mister LeBeau? You’ve proven quite elusive in that regard, which is rather worrying when you weren’t intended for a role in this team to begin with.”

He shrugged, and poured himself a second glass, then sat against his bed and swirled his drink around, watching the deep, warm-hued liquid splash up against the sides of the glass.

“Maybe I was jus’ gettin’ bored down south. Only got so much to do in New Orleans, y’know? An’ maybe the police were startin’ to get on my case of late.”

Emma narrowed her eyes and leveled him with a suspicious glare. She took another sip, but never broke eye contact with the thief. Scott had told her, already, that he’d meant to contact Shiro Yoshida, and picked up Remy along the way. Considering the former Sunfire’s untimely demise, Emma was glad they’d at least managed to find another willing body prior to meeting with her.

But that didn’t mean she trusted him.

“I find myself rather doubtful of that. You seem to be quite the con artist, and I have no doubts you’d easily get out of any minor scuffles or scrapes in your old stomping grounds. How long have you been at it, by the by? Quite some time, I imagine.”

He flashed her a knowing smile. A dangerous smile, with his burning eyes hidden beneath his bangs. He pushed them up and out of the way in one fluid motion, and once more he shrugged his shoulders, as if that was all the answer he needed.

“Been at this game a long, long time. Long as I can remember. How about you, hm? You always playin’ dress-up like a French queen? Or were you just a miserable little sewer rat once upon a time, like moi?”

“I’ll have you know that I come from one of the wealthiest families in the nation.”

“Mm. An’ yet… You don’ seem to have no family around these days, do ya? Jus’ like the rest of us. Funny thing, these genes we got. They make damn sure we stay only children, huh?”

Emma bristled at the remark. His smile ticked upwards a notch upon noticing her involuntary response to the suggestion. He was on the right track, wasn’t he? Yes, yes he was. He could feel it, as though it were hanging in the air around him.

“Me, I’m nothin’. Guess that makes us polar opposites, don’ it? No family, no palace, no servants… Just a man with a god-given gift for demolitions… and a knack for pickin’ pockets.”

He stood up, and knocked back the rest of his second glass, then set it down on his bedside table and crossed the room. He stood several inches higher than her, even with the two inch heels she sported, and his close presence was nearly as intoxicating as the drink he’d poured. A secondary ability, a heady pheromone, that she’d not been informed of. She’d have to correct her records. He plucked the now-empty glass from her hands and finished it off himself, then turned the glass in his hand and watched her, refracted through it.

“You wanna know why I’m here, hm?” He asked, his voice kept low, so as not to be heard by any potential eavesdroppers. He leaned in close, and whispered in her ear these words-

“Read my mind.”

He shut the door, and she was left alone, more troubled than before.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Joanna’s fist met steel, and it buckled under her strength. Rover stumbled, and was knocked off balance by the optic blast that followed. One more hit to the chest, and the great mechanical killer fell to the ground.

“-and that’s where the double date ended,” Scott said, finishing his latest story with a wistful smile.

Joanna smirked, and dusted off her shoulder. “So you were almost in-laws with Magneto, huh? Master of magnetism, greatest threat to humanity, that Magneto?”

Scott nodded. “She was with Alex up until just before he... before he died. I’ve known her since I was about sixteen years old. She may be with the Hellfire Club now, but I still remember what she looked like in braces.”

A short burst of laughter escaped from Joanna’s chest. “Magneto’s kid had braces? Damn, I’d kill to see that.”

Scott chuckled at the memory. It felt like a lifetime had passed since those days, back when they were all young and innocent. Relatively innocent, anyways. The days when Hank was fur-free and Jean was mulling over new codenames every other weekend. When Scott and Alex were catching up after all those years apart and Bobby was pretending he didn’t have a massive crush on Warren. They were good memories. They held strong, even though the harsh, grim reality of life had worn away at them in the years that’d passed since.

Joanna watched him as he thought. The heave of his chest while he caught his breath, and the tussle of his wavy brown hair, all slick with sweat. The glow of his visor, the danger always threatening to break free and crush everything he turned his eyes to. The sad little smile on his face, as he thought of the wife and the brother that were no longer with him.

“You good, string bean?” She asked him.

He smiled softly at her, and sighed. “Yeah. I think I am. Are you?”

She grinned, and cracked her knuckles. “Yeah. But I kinda wanna go another round with the tin can.”

“I think I can work with that.”

Chapter 22: Killing Things

Chapter Text

Nomi Blume was ready. She knew that she was. But they disagreed.

She didn’t care what they thought, though. She was positive, she knew that she could do it. She was a cold blooded murder machine, just like Magneto, just like Basilisk, just like all the best killer Mutants.

She kicked one leg out, and metal bent to follow. She stepped on a shorn panel of steel, and then another. They kept pace with her as she walked through the air, above the treetops, holding her aloft even as snow fell past her, to the ground below. Two panels, ripped from an old part of the Weapon X facility that had yet to find renewed purpose. Some lab, with a large tank of water and a viewing area. The metal she walked on had been clawed up, scratched all to hell by an animal; something feral and mean. She smiled at the thought of some beast running loose in the Canadian wilderness. Maybe she’d make it her pet, if and when she found it.

Nomi bit her tongue gently, brow furrowed in concentration as she guided the steel stepping stones into place. She wasn’t sure how Magneto made it look so easy, but she was sure she could do it as well. Anything he could do, she could. Whether it was this, or what he was best known for.

The air began to grow hot, and that could only mean one thing. Nomi huffed, and held her arms out to the sides, so as to maintain her balance. She did her best to ignore her newfound audience, but that was easier said than done. One foot in front of the other, and one panel to match it.

“You’re doing great!” Angelica called out to her, with her hands cupped around her mouth. Nomi looked out of the corner of her eye, and saw the pale young redhead floating above a frost-dusted pine tree; her aura of heat rippling the air in her vicinity.

Nomi looked ahead, and kept walking. Much to her continued annoyance, Angelica chose to follow, drifting lazily along after her and marveling at this burgeoning skill. This persistent annoyance quickly grew unbearable, and Nomi’s footing was misplaced. Her foot caught the edge of one panel and glanced off of it. She tried to pull the other into place to catch herself, only for it to catch her along the back. She fell, turning end over end, barrelling rapidly towards the earth.

Until something incredibly warm caught her, and carried her gently to the ground.

Nomi opened her eyes and unfurled her curled up body, to be set down with the snow crunching underfoot. Or at least, she expected to hear that familiar crunch, but Angelica had a peculiar habit of melting the snow anywhere she walked, and so Nomi’s winter boots found only wet green grass as she detached herself from her savior.

“Ugh. Why are you even here?” Nomi bemoaned, crossing her arms in front of her chest and doing her best to hide the embarrassment in her cheeks. “You made me screw it up.”

Angelica couldn’t help but smile, amused by the accusation. Was she like this when she was that age? Were all 13 year olds so… like that?

“Sorry. I just wanted to check in on you, and see how you were doing, that’s all.”

Nomi shot Angelica her best withering glare, though it wasn’t nearly so withering as she assumed it was. With a wave of her hand, the fallen panels of steel came back to her, and she formed them into a staircase so she could begin where she left off.

“I’m fine,” Nomi said plainly.

“It’s okay if you’re nervous,” Angelica told her. “I am. I think everyone is, to tell the truth.”

“I’m fine,” Nomi said, through gritted teeth.

“I was just talking to Remy about it, actually. I mean, we’ve never done anything this big before. It’d be weird to not be at least a little afraid. Liberating a whole camp full of people-“

“I’m fine!” Nomi said, or rather, shouted. She kicked out with one leg and sent a panel flying into the distance, then stomped on the one that remained underfoot. “I’m not scared, I’m not some kid, and I don’t need you or anyone else to look after me like I am!”

She stared daggers at Angelica, fists clenched and teeth gnashing, her knuckles paling to a ghostly white as her nails dug into her palms. She was seething, chest rising and falling with heavy, angry breaths.

And the fear behind her pale blue eyes was impossible for Angelica to ignore.

“Just leave me the hell alone,” Nomi growled, turning away and, using the sheet of metal as she had so many manhole covers in the past, flew off in a direction picked at random. Angelica sighed, and chased after.

“Nomi!”

“Shut up!”

Nomi banked hard to the right, and Angelica curved, carving a graceful arc through the sky to follow the teenager’s path. The trees vanished behind them just as quickly as they came into view, entirely forgotten as soon as they were no longer in sight.

“I’m sorry, okay?! I won’t make you talk about your feelings!”

As if in response, the previously discarded metal panel slammed into Angelica’s side, knocking the wind out of her and sending her directly into the top of a tree. She took a moment to right herself, but by the time she was back in the air, Nomi had managed to put quite a bit more distance between them.

But Angelica was faster than most people thought. As fast as a train, at least, and she could push herself far more than that when she wanted. If she wanted to close the gap, and she most certainly did, she was easily capable.

She slammed into Nomi from behind, and wrapped her arms around the girl as they were sent careening down to the ground, landing in a ditch outside a bowling alley in the town closest to their special hideaway.

Nomi lashed out, hitting and kicking at the nearest warm body, and from the sounds Angelica made, those flailing limbs had found their target. But she was bigger than Nomi, and in the months that’d passed since her chemotherapy had ended, she’d regained enough strength to overpower the younger girl, enough to pin her down and stop the fight before it got too out of hand.

“Stop. It.”

Nomi glared upwards, into Angelica’s stern blue eyes. They were usually so soft, so full of kindhearted, earnest faith. But now they were sharp, alert and commanding. And Nomi couldn’t help but feel small in comparison. She always felt small. She hated it. Hated it more than she could bear.

“You suck,” Nomi grumbled, as Angelica released her grip on the blue haired girl’s small wrists. She slid off of Nomi and stood, then helped the younger girl to her feet as well, but kept one hand on her shoulder.

“Well, one of us has to be the grownup here. Might as well be me,” Angelica said with a weary sigh. She put her hands on her hips and took a look around, hoping to place where they’d ended up. She turned back to Nomi, and found the girl staring at her, shuffling awkwardly on her feet. “What?” She asked.

“Your hair,” Nomi muttered.

Angelica reached up, and only then did she realize she’d lost her wig someplace back over the woods. Her hair, her real hair, all short and feathery and new, was showing freely. Her fingers curled around a lock of crimson, and she felt a pit drop in her stomach.

“Look, if I explain… this. Will you at least talk to me?” Angelica asked Nomi, the exhaustion in her voice ringing true. “Just us. Purely confidential. If I tell anyone what you say to me, feel free to whack me with another steel plate, okay?”

Nomi shrugged her shoulders and stuck her hands in the pocket of her hoodie. “Fine. I guess. Can we get something to eat?”

“Yeah. We can get something to eat,” Angelica promised, setting her eyes on the bowling alley, and the blinking green OPEN sign in its window.

They sat at a small table with two bar stools pulled up to it at either end, while the powerful clatters of bowling balls against waxed wood and pins mixed with the sounds of Alison Blair music from the establishment’s lone jukebox, building up into a din which easily disguised their conversation from any curious ears.

Beauty & the beast! Unleash, unleash, the beast you hide inside… The beast behind those lonesome green eyes...

It was, as it happens, Angelica’s favorite song. One she could hardly help but hum along to, while Nomi single handedly tore apart a basket of chili cheese fries.

“I finished chemo treatments a couple weeks before you guys came to Miss Frost that first time. She paid for everything, and I mean everything. All the stuff my dad’s insurance wouldn’t cover, on top of my student loans. She’s always been good to me like that.”

Nomi nodded, her eyes still locked firmly on her food. “So what’s with the outfits?” She asked around a mouthful of mush.

“I never got around to asking… How about you? What was life like before all this?”

Nomi shrugged, and fell silent. It was only after a few more bars of that grating earworm of a pop song she secretly enjoyed that she was forced to recognize she had no choice but to answer.

“I got arrested.”

“So I heard. But I don’t know if I ever heard why they decided to arrest a 13 year old girl,” Angelica mused aloud, certain that Nomi would take the hint.

“I killed those ONE guys.”

“From what I heard, that happened after you were arrested. When you were escaping. Or am I mistaken?”

“...they had those cattle prod things,” Nomi added, reminded suddenly of how painful it felt when electricity flooded her body. How long the mark on her skin took to heal up and fade away. How good it felt to make those creeps fall down, and never get back up again.

Angelica put her hand over Nomi’s, and gave her a look of sympathy. She didn’t say anything. Truth was, she hoped she wouldn’t have to. Truth was, Nomi didn’t want her to. It was better left unsaid, but understood all the same. And in that rarest of moments, Nomi Blume’s guard fell by the wayside.

“My mom called them,” She murmured so quietly, so weakly, that at first Angelica wasn’t certain she’d heard it at all. But she had, and her heart broke for this petulant, spiteful girl.

“I’m sorry.”

Again, Nomi shrugged, as though it didn’t matter. But the look on her face told the exact opposite story, and that’s the one Angelica listened to. “Not like I miss any of that junk anyways. School sucked. Being a supervillain is way cooler.”

At that, Angelica couldn’t help but to roll her eyes. “We’re not supervillains, Nomi. At least, I hope we aren’t. And I’m sure you miss some stuff from your old life. It’s okay to admit it. I miss my old friends, and my dad, and my cat.”

“Nah, it was all dumb,” Nomi insisted, chomping at another fry. “There was this one girl, Kayla, I’d totally throw a folding chair at her if I saw her again. Total bitch.”

Angelica co*cked an eyebrow. “So you’re saying you didn’t have any friends at all? Everyone’s got friends in middle school.”

“Yeah, sure. Maybe in the 80s, when you were my age, but kids are assholes now.”

Angelica scoffed in disbelief. “I’m twenty, thank you very much!”

“Yeah, that’s old,” Nomi oh so helpfully informed her. “You’re old.”

“Okay, we’re dropping that thread. Point is, are you sure you didn’t have any friends? Not editing those memories of yours, not even a smidge?”

“Nope. There was this boy, Tyler, but he just wanted to date me, so I tricked him into flunking our geology test. School sucks when you’re not one of the popular kids.”

“I wasn’t popular either, I’ll have you know. I was just… normal, I guess. I had a few friends, a lot of acquaintances, and I got okay grades. Then I kind of melted the skating rink and gave myself cancer.”

“That sucks.”

“Mhm. It sucks a lot.”

Nomi snorted, and then laughed, and Angelica had to as well. It was all so absurd, wasn’t it? They both got the birds and the bees talk, but there was never any mention of the fact that you may, just possibly, be in the percentage of the population that randomly turns into a magnet or a walking microwave once your hormones start flowing.

They were the lucky few. Not birds, not bees, but genetically mutated voles, or some other woodland animal. Whatever fit the metaphor.

“So, what’s the story with the hair? Natural, or dyed?”

“It’s mine. Started growing in blue before I got the powers, but I figured out what it meant. Internet explained it,” Nomi said casually, as if she were remarking on the history of a band she liked. “I spent a couple weeks trying to figure out what I could do, but then I made a soda machine at school explode on accident. It was so cool.”

Angelica smiled at the girl. For all her bluster and seething rage, she wasn’t too odd. All things considered, it would be shocking if she was more well adjusted than this, not less. But that didn’t mean she was doing great. There was still a flicker of something grey, of something fearful, lingering behind those small, fierce eyes.

“So what have you heard about Neverland?” Angelica asked softly. A loud clatter rang out, followed by cheers at someone bowling their third strike in a row.

“Kids at school would talk about it sometimes. Whenever they’d call someone a Mutant,” Nomi explained. “They’d tell you you were gonna go to Neverland, and that nobody ever gets to turn old there.”

“Middle schoolers are still really dark then, huh?” Angelica wondered aloud, propping her cheek up with one fist. “Sounds about the same as what I heard, though. It’s… a bad place.”

“It’s like a big concentration camp,” Nomi said plainly. Angelica looked, rather shocked, at the girl, who seemed only interested in polishing off the basket of fries. “I can call it that, I’m Jewish.”

“Well… Yeah. Pretty much hit the nail on the head with that one,” Angelica admitted. “That doesn’t scare you? It scares me. A lot.”

Nomi was silent for a moment, as she turned the question over in her head. She poked her fingers through the plastic weaving of the fry basket, and waggled them as much as she was able.

“We kill those ONE guys, and then we save all the people inside, and then we blow up all the sentinels.”

“That wasn’t an answer, Nomi.”

“I’m good at blowing up sentinels.”

“Nomi…”

“I’ve done it before. I’ve killed ONE guys before. A lot of them.”

Nomi blinked away the tears in her eyes, but it was too late. Angelica had already moved closer, and pulled her into a hug she wanted absolutely nothing to do with. She wriggled and squirmed against it, to no avail. She was trapped.

“I’m good at killing things,” Nomi assured herself. “I’m really good at killing things.”

“C’mon, Nomi. Let’s go bowling, okay?”

The younger girl nodded her head against Angelica’s shoulder, and when released from the accursed embrace, followed her as they rented shoes and found a lane for themselves to use.

Nomi quickly found herself drawn to a bright blue ball with a marbled pattern, despite its weight, while Angelica was content with the ball that simply felt most comfortable in her hands; plain, black and featureless.

She knew better than to suggest that Nomi look for something smaller. She let her be stubborn in this manner, just this once. It was to her surprise that Nomi seemed to be a natural at the game, even with the heavier ball that forced her to exert great effort just to lug around.

“How often have you bowled before?” Angelica asked her, watching as Nomi pulled her score up five points higher than Angelica’s own.

“I dunno,” Nomi answered with a noncommittal shrug, as she waited for her ball to return through the machine.

Angelica chewed the inside of her lip and took her shot, groaning as her ball curved into the gutter. That was, what, the second time she’d done that now? She walked up to bowl the ball a second time, and when it only knocked over four pins, she began to wonder.

She didn’t know how often Nomi had bowled before, if she ever had. But Angelica had very fond memories of going bowling with her father, and her grandmother, when she was younger. Every year, for her birthday, she’d be so eager to visit their local alley, and while she was far from great, she knew for a fact that her skills were decent. Decent enough, at least, that her current score was abysmal in comparison to those days.

Alas, Nomi’s score continued to rise, bit by bit. She was changing her technique as it went on, learning by watching the other patrons and how they moved, then mimicking those motions. She had a skill. Not in bowling, at least not that one thing in particular, but in learning. She paid attention, and she drew upon what she saw. It didn’t matter whether that was youtube videos of Magneto walking on sheets of metal he’d shorn from a city bus, or a simple sport of resin coated plastic and wood.

But that didn’t mean she wasn’t more than willing to cheat.

It was only after the game had drawn to a close, when they were once again soaring through the skies over the snow-dusted Canadian wilderness, that Nomi revealed her secret.

“Did you know that some bowling balls have graphite and other junk in the middle of them?”

Of course.

Chapter 23: The Human Factor

Chapter Text

Then.

Val exited the van, and blocked the sun from her eyes with a hand turned outwards, towards the sky. New Orleans wasn’t nearly so hot and shiny as San Antonio had been, but she was a winter person at heart. How she was expected to survive a weekend in Louisiana during a heatwave was beyond her.

Silvercloud exited the passenger’s side, and circled the vehicle with his hands in the pockets of his suit. He seemed to handle the weather a fair bit better than his newly assigned partner. If it bothered him at all, he didn’t show it. Instead, he simply unfolded a pair of sunglasses that’d been tucked away in his shirt pocket and put them on without a word, and tucked the silver pod-shaped necklace he wore back under his shirt, so only its chain was exposed.

The scars of a battle were still apparent, though the demolished vehicles and scrapped sentinels had been long since cleared away by ONE operatives. The city had done their best to fix up the surrounding damage, but it took time for grass to regrow, and the deep grooves in the road hadn’t yet been paved over.

The blood was gone, but not the memories.

The pair had only been working together for a week or so, but their objective was clear; apprehend those involved in the domestic terrorist group known as the Mutant Liberation Front. It seemed obvious to start here, at the sight of their first battle.

John and Val walked up to the house, and John allowed his new partner to take the lead. She was rather headstrong, not to mention a tad stuffy at times. John preferred to sit back, and watch, and take things in as his partners did most of the talking. He was more of a thinker than a talker.

Val rapped on the front door with the back of her hand, and when it was opened she wasted no time in getting right into things.

“Mrs. Yoshida? Agents Cooper and Silvercloud. We were hoping you could… give us a moment of your time…”

The child blinked. “Mom! Some people are here to talk to you!”

John chuckled darkly, while Val’s cheeks grew hot and red. It wasn’t the first time she’d accidentally begun an interview with a child, but telling her new partner about that was at the bottom of her list of fun facts to share. Luckily for her, the moment passed quickly and was forgotten just as fast, as the actual Yuriko Yoshida stepped into view.

She looked a mess, but who could blame her? Dressing in a wrinkled, day-old gym shirt and sweats, her hair unkempt and her eyes holding dark, heavy bags. She hadn’t slept in days. She hadn’t gone out in a week. She moved like death possessed her, shambling and sullen.

“Aimi, go finish your breakfast,” She told her child, though neither FBI agent understood the Japanese she spoke. She turned back to face them, and sighed, before speaking in English. “What is it that you want from me?”

“We’re need to ask you a few questions about the day of your husband’s death,” Val explained, her tone of voice as rigid and businesslike as her expression.

Yuriko snorted derisively, and stepped away from the doorframe. “Murder. My husband was murdered by your people,” She said, making her way to the living room as she spoke. John and Val exchanged a brief look before following her inside, assuming that the invitation was unspoken, but apparent.

“It’s not actually his death that we need to ask you about,” Val said, earning a scornful look from both Yuriko and John, though if she noticed them, she didn’t show it. “The day he died, your husband met with someone. Do you remember seeing a man with a silver mask? He would have been accompanied by an African American woman, and a young girl with blue hair.”

“Silver mask? No.”

Val groaned internally. She had expected Yuriko to be averse to answering questions, but had hoped to be wrong.

“The man had red sunglasses.”

So Val was wrong.

“Red glasses… Scott Summers? This man, was his name Scott Summers?” John cut in suddenly, prompting Val to glance at him in surprise. But before Val could think to speak herself, an answer came.

“Yes. He was a friend of Shiro’s. An old friend. He came to hire him for something. Mutant things, again, like before.”

Val chewed the inside of her cheek. This all tracked with what they understood, so far, of their quarry. But the name, that was new to Val. New to her, but apparently not to Agent Silvercloud. She placed her hands on her hips and pushed further.

“Do you know where these people were heading? Or what exactly they were planning? Did they tell your husband anythi-“

“No,” Yuriko said sharply, leveling a severe look in Val’s direction. “I did not care to ask them, and Shiro did not wish to speak of it either. I know who Summers is, but not the others. I have nothing left to tell you.”

Val sighed, and nodded. “Alright. Well, thank you for your help, Mrs Yosh-“

Yuriko scoffed, and shook her head. Her voice grew even more bitter, her gaze more cutting. “I am no help to you. My husband would still be alive if your government had not treated him like filth. I saw what they did with his body. They would not even let me bury him. I know nothing of what he was going to do, but if I did, I would not tell you. Now get out of my home.”

The door slammed shut behind them as soon as they were on the front stoop, and Val tensed at the sudden sound. John sighed, and returned his hands to his pockets, before taking a good look at the scarred pavement that stretched out before them.

“I think that went well.”

“Oh shut the hell up,” Val groaned, making for the van. She knew full well how poorly it’d gone, despite her doing absolutely nothing whatsoever that could have led to such a downward turn. She still had one question, though, sticking to her brain like flypaper.

She stopped, with her hand on the van’s doorframe, and looked pointedly at John.

“Who the hell is Scott Summers?”

==========================

Now.

“Where. The hell. Is Scott Summers?”

Val stared daggers at the map on their corkboard. Pins dotted the map, from NYC to Tulsa to New Orleans to LA, and so many cities in between. Every single place that the MLF, Basilisk’s little terrorist crew, had made themselves known. Every city where they’d turned sentinels to scrap, left a pile of ONE soldiers dead in their wake, and whisked Mutant fugitives away from the proper authorities before they could be processed and brought to a detention facility where they belonged.

Where Scott Summers belonged.

“I don’t think it’s gonna answer you,” John murmured from where he stood, over by the coffee pot, and poured himself a cup.

Val scowled. She’d grown accustomed to Agent Silvercloud’s presence over the course of the year, but to say she had become at all fond of him was a stretch. She took a sip from her mug of tea and continued to study the map, as though some secret might reveal itself to her if she stared long enough.

“There’s no pattern to it,” She bemoaned. “They turn up anywhere, any time, and get away before any decent number of reinforcements arrive. That damn teleporter of theirs makes it impossible to tell where they’re operating from.”

“They might not even be in the country. Do we know the teleporter’s range?”

“No. But it has to have one,” Val assumed, despite the complete lack of evidence to support such an assumption. “Maybe New York? When they started escalating, performing assassinations, they started with Bolivar Trask, in NYC. Why?”

John turned to look at the map. His mustache twitched. “Head of Trask Industries? You wanna rage against the machine, might as well go for the guy who makes the machines, yeah?”

Val chewed on the inside of her cheek. “Could be. That friend of yours, Agent Duncan, right? Does he know why Summers split with the X-Men?”

John shrugged. “I could ask. Anyone knows why, it’d be Fred. He’s the one who told me about Summers in the first place, back when he used to work with the X-Men.”

“So you said. I want to know why they stopped him from killing Trask. Why they saved him, even if it meant fighting one of their own.”

John gave her a look. Val had a few bad habits he’d noticed since they began working together. Chewing on pens, or her nails, or her lips. Talking over people. Fiddling with the radio while she drove. But this one, assuming that every Mutant had the same ideas, the same beliefs, the same goals, that was the one that got under his skin.

He touched a finger to the little pod-shaped necklace he wore, and took another sip of coffee.

“Trask said Summers was pissed when the MLF attacked him,” He murmured, talking more to himself than to Val. “Said he killed someone Summers knew. Hold on…”

John made for a box of files, dossiers they’d assembled for Summers and Blume and Jones, the only three members of the organization whose identities they were certain of. A potential file had been built on Frenzy, though it was scarce. Whoever she was, she never registered, and she never made a splash either. Not until now. Gambit, on the other hand, was entirely a mystery to them. But in Scott Summers’ file, John knew he’d seen something, something that he now understood.

He found the page in Summers’ file and pulled it out, set it down on the table with confidence.

“Alex Summers. Killed by Trask Industries security forces earlier this year. Scott Summers’ brother.”

Val looked at the page and kicked herself mentally. Of course. How on earth had she overlooked this? “This is why, then? His brother died trying to bomb a Sentinel factory, and so he goes and decides to get revenge, by any means necessary.”

“Explains why he left. Why he decided to shoot for Trask first.”

“But it doesn’t give us his location, or his next target,” Val pointed out.

“Maybe not. But it’s a start.”

Val sighed, but nodded. He was right about that much, at least. “I want to go talk to Trask again,” She decided. “I have an idea.”

==========================

Now, still.

Loan and Ramirez looked at one another, and then at the driver of the latest shipment.

“This is it? You’re f*ckin’ kidding me, man,” Ramirez said with a heavy sigh. The driver shook his head, and adjusted his Trask Industries branded cap.

“Nope. Just the one. Guess it’s a prototype or something? I dunno, I barely even understand how these things work. I’m just here to drop ‘em off on your doorstep.”

Loan rolled her eyes. These drivers never seemed to have much of an investment, no matter how much they ought to. She and Ramirez, for their part, gave a damn about the fate of the human race. But they were on pickup duty today, and so they would get this new model online and functioning. They’d had the training, and this one, despite its obvious differences from the typical models they received, had a similar starting mechanism to the others.

Trask Industries had already loaded it up with ONE’s Mutant registry database, as well as the data on current wanted Mutant terrorists. They’d just have to turn it on, hook up the laptop, and make sure all its systems were functioning and that it’s protocols were set correctly.

It was just… so small. Smaller even than a Mk 1 Sentinel. Compared to the Mk IVs they’d been getting up until now, it was tiny, only slightly larger than her. Hell, Ramirez was about the exact same size as it, give or take an inch of violet colored armor plating.

“Omega Sentinel, Mk 1,” Ramirez muttered, reading from the manual. “Designed for systematic targeting and apprehension of Mutant fugitives. So, what, it’s a genefreak hunter?”

Loan snorted. “Aren’t they all? I don’t know what’s so special about this one. They should be sending us f*ckin’ tanks.”

“Sentinel tanks? Or, like, transformers?”

“See, that’d be pretty sick. Sic Optimus Prime on the muties, see what they do then.”

Ramirez laughed. “Pretty sure they’d sh*t their pants.”

Loan plugged the laptop into the new Sentinel and watched, eyes glazed over, as the information came onscreen. Most of these things were automatic, so unless any irregularities popped up, there was nothing for her to even do aside from hitting the big switch.

As she looked over the protocols, Ramirez took to inspecting the machine, and checking its equipment. Not for work, but for pleasure. It had all the usual armaments; mutant tracking software, database access, rocket boosters in its feet, heat rays, snake-like cables rooted in its forearms…

He looked at the Sentinel and found himself, for the very first time, shocked by what he saw. Its small size may not have been impressive to him before, but now? Those scientists over at Trask’s had managed to shrink down the Mk IV equipment to human size. Those giants, with their heat sinks and massive power cores, had been reworked to fit inside this thing?

He didn’t even know where they’d managed to fit all of it.

Ramirez peered into its eyes, blank and black, but far more human-like in shape than its predecessors, and considered himself impressed. Personally, he’d assume this model was designed for PR reasons; to get photo-ops with kids and deliver PSAs on all ONE was doing for the public good, but if they said it was a mutie hunter… well, it was a mutie hunter.

Its eyes sparked, and a soft yellow light began to glow behind them. A small, segmented ring of light began to spin in the place where its pupils might have been, before stopping, and moving around as the machine took in its surroundings. The first thing it saw was Ramirez, peering at it with his mouth hanging ever so slightly open.

A small, steady hum further signified its awakening, and the Omega Sentinel twitched and jerked to life. It saw that this person was human, and so it was meant to protect and serve him. It saw that he was of ONE, as it was. He was an ally, not a threat, as was the woman with the computer.

She pulled the cable from its neck, and the Omega Sentinel nodded. It was free to begin its work. It was free to eradicate Mutant hostiles; terrorists and criminals and threats to human life and liberty.

It also felt alive. The electric tingle of stale air on its face. The shock of color flooding its sensors, and the sudden understanding that it was here, in this moment, experiencing something that would not last forever. Experiencing the first moments of its new life. It was real, and it was here, and it was so painfully aware of that simple, yet awe-inspiring fact.

The first Omega Sentinel was online.

Chapter 24: Neverland (part 1)

Chapter Text

The plan was simple.

Except, of course, for the parts that weren’t.

Joanna took a deep breath, and made a concerted effort not to crush the steering wheel in her hands. It’d been ages since she last wore any sort of uniform, unless one counted her costume, and it felt strange to put one on again. Like stepping back in time, but to an alternate version of her past.

She felt stiff, and she felt tense, and she needed not to. She needed to be comfortable in this skin that was not her own, or they might never believe her.

She glanced to her right, where Angelica, similarly dressed, was sitting. Angelica adjusted her cap, the cuffs of her sleeves, the buttons of her shirt, over and over and over again, without rest.

“Quit fidgeting,” Joanna told her.

“Sorry,” Angelica said in a strangled voice, her cheeks growing red at the sudden realization of what she’d been doing. “Just nervous is all. You?”

Joanna said nothing at first. Her eyes were locked on the road ahead, and her heart was slamming against her chest like it was desperate to escape her.

“Like a cow headed into a slaughterhouse,” She admitted with a small, wry laugh.

“We’ll be fine,” Scott called out from the back of the van. “Just remember, this is only plan number one. If it fails, we move to plan number two, and so on.”

Scott’s words were confident, but his posture read the opposite. He sat on the bench, hands cuffed between his knees, head and shoulders slouched forward, staring directly at the metal beneath his feet. The power restraints on his hands, and on Nomi’s and Remy’s, were rigged to disarm and unlock after a set time ran out, but still he felt their effects. The way it sapped his energy, and left him feeling empty and cold inside. The solar radiation he soaked in and stored in his cells was as dampened as the concussive blasts that poured from his eyes.

Remy felt much the same, and for the first time in a long time, he felt no ease and no power. He was in a van full of people, and he felt as alone as he ever was. He carried his co*cksure smile all the same, and leaned against the wall of the van with the confidence of a man who held all the cards.

Nomi sat beside Scott, curled up on herself with her legs drawn up beneath her chin. Her arms curled around her calves, and she felt wrong. Disconnected from the cold metal and steel that surrounded her. She felt broken. Boxed in. Scared and small and helpless.

“We’ll be fine,” Scott whispered in as quiet a voice as he could. “We’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. We’ll be fine,” He repeated, as many times as it took to believe it. And not a soul heard this insistence, save for young Nomi Blume.

And she felt a little less alone.

Scott glanced up, and he saw her looking at him, and he saw her nod in agreement, at that, he too felt a little less alone.

The truck rolled to a slow stop, and Scott listened intently as Joanna spoke with the guards at the gate. They checked codes, and they looked over the list of detainees, and asked, as expected, if the names were truly correct.

“Summers? Wait, like, really? Holy hell, how’d you get Basilisk and Nomi Blume?”

Joanna shrugged, and she grinned. “Just got lucky, I guess. Caught him when he wasn’t expecting us. Trashed one of our Sentinels, though.”

“Yeesh. Well, glad we finally got him, at least,” the guard said with a relieved laugh. “Just wait’ll this makes the news. The higher ups are gonna flip their lids. Alright, go on ahead. We’ll bring ‘em inside for processing.”

The truck began to move again, before shuddering to a final halt. Silence held for several long moments, and Nomi took deep breaths in the hopes of calming her nerves, until the doors swung open, and she was met by an all too familiar sight.

Several ONE guards, dressed all in black, their faces hidden behind goggles and masks. They carried rifles, strapped to their bodies, and high voltage tasers holstered at their hips. Among them were two friendly faces, but that did little to change the sudden and intense pang of fear that the teenager felt rip through her chest.

She’d been here before. Not here, here, but it was hardly a year ago that she’d found herself staring down the barrel of this gun. A camp. Guards. Guns.

Last time, she had been lucky. The power dampener had been faulty, and she’d been so easily able to shred anyone who tried to get close to her. She’d sent their bullets through their own heads. She’d crushed them beneath the van by tipping it over onto them. She’d run like a bat out of hell, towards an ever-fragile freedom.

And now she was here again. Here, here, at Neverland. The place where no Mutant was allowed to grow old.

And this time, the power dampener was strangling her, cutting off the flow of energy between her and the magnetic poles that she’d grown so used to. It was ever-present in her life, until now. It was like fresh air in her lungs, until now.

“Let me go! Let me go you f*cking creeps!” She screamed at the guards as they took hold of her, and hauled her out of the van, with Remy and Scott following after.

Any eyes that would be focused intently on the dreaded Basilisk were instead drawn to the girl with the blue hair. Drawn to Nomi goddamn Blume, the Mutant mass murderer.

She was so small.

“Let me go or I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you! I’ll f*ckin’ kill you!!”

She managed to fling her elbow into one guard’s face, breaking his nose, before they could pin her to the ground. Joanna dropped to her knee and clamped a hand over Nomi’s mouth, sending her a silent message to the best of her abilities. Stay calm. Keep quiet. Don’t blow the mission.

The raging panic in her eyes faded, but it didn’t completely dull. It never could. Even as she bit into impenetrable skin, and came away feeling guilty and empty inside all the same.

They pulled her to her feet, and one man held a firm grip on her loose blue hair; yanking at it to bring the girl into submission.

“Don’t touch her,” Basilisk said softly, yet with all the force of booming thunder. With those three words, he commanded the presence of everyone in the area; his team as well as the ONE guards who were preparing to lock them away.

“What’d you say, genefreak?” One guard, the largest of the lot, asked, as his hands crept along the length of his rifle.

“Don’t touch her,” Basilisk repeated. “I said don’t touch her.”

The guard snarled. “Heard you the first time, mutie. But you don’t give orders to me, got that? I give orders to you. And you do what we say. I don’t give a damn how important you think you are, Summers. End of the day, you’re just another prisoner here. We clear on that?”

Basilisk nodded stiffly, but said nothing. The guard’s scowl worsened, and in a fit of rage he tore the silver skull-shaped mask from his captive’s head; the face of Scott Summers exposed for all to see. His eyes were held tightly shut, but his face remained as expressionless as his mask had been, possibly moreso.

“I said, we clear on that, Summers?”

“Crystal,” He whispered.

They brought them inside. They left Joanna and Angel at the gate. There were no fingerprints taken, no phonecalls given, nothing save for a strip search and three sets of green coverall jumpsuits with a large black M on the breasts.

Basilisk dressed himself without once opening his eyes. He’d had lots of experience after all. Even without his powers, he didn’t so much as crack an eyelid to the fluorescent lights.

Remy watched him from a distance, and counted the seconds. He was skilled at a few things himself on account of his powers, and timing was one of them. He knew well enough how long it took for a charge to run out the clock and detonate. He knew well enough how long it took for a man to notice his wallet was missing. Timing the “accidental” deactivation of their power dampening braces was a cinch.

So he watched Scott Summers, and the tension he carried in every inch of muscle and bone that made up his being, and he waited for the pin to drop.

And then it did.

The double-beep, the shunting of steel, and the clatter of heavy metal on a concrete floor. A big pin, but a pin all the same.

After processing, but before they made it to their cells. Right on schedule, like they’d planned. The easy part was over, and now came the hard part. The part where lives were gambled, and all the chips were down.

The part where they lived, or the part where they died. So simple, when you put it like that. Not simple at all, when you were knee-deep in the muck like they were. Just three people, outnumbered a hundred to one.

Basilisk had faced worse odds. He’d also faced better. But facing them with no visor, no mask… that was new. And that was frightening.

Luckily, he had someone on hand who could even those odds.

He knocked the nearest guard to the floor with a right hook, as did Remy, before he called out the play. “Nomi! Hit the switch.”

Basilisk heard the clatter of over one hundred metal braces against the concrete floor, and the rattle of over one hundred steel cages being unlocked. The voices of over one hundred Mutants, cheering and jeering in unison, but all of them leaping at the chance for freedom.

“Remy, you’re my eyes here. Keep me informed. Nomi, you secure our escape. I don’t want any closed doors here, you got that?”

“I’m gonna kill them,” She hissed. He heard several gunshots ring out, and several bodies drop. Friend or ally? He couldn’t tell. Not from sound alone.

He felt the rush of bodies, as his people ran for the nearest door. He followed the flow, attempted to stay at the head of the pack, and he heard Remy’s voice close to his ear. A supportive arm against his back.

“Jus’ de guards. C’mon, boss, right this way.”

Basilisk nodded, and he kept pace. Things were escalating, and he heard gunfire in the distance. He felt the air growing hot. Angelica and Joanna were in the thick of it too, but where? How far away? And how many soldiers, exactly, were they up against here? He’d only been able to count so many in the moments leading up to this. Not nearly enough to map it all out in his head, not completely.

He only had a rough idea, and the words of a conman to go off of. Basilisk just hoped that’d be enough. “Get me to the front,” he ordered, slipping comfortably into the role of a leader, of a commander of soldiers on the front lines. It’s what he was trained to do, raised to do. It’s all he knew to do in a moment like this, no matter the circ*mstances.

Soon enough, he was there. Leading the pack. No bodies in front, but a clamor of voices and surging power at his back. The clang of metal, of more open doors and more freed prisoners, boosted him up higher and higher. He could feel a sloppy grin working its way across his face, without his urging. He felt it in his bones and in his blood. The pumping, beating heart of this.

Revolution was calling.

“No more cages!” He bellowed, as if speaking at a podium, before a crowd of cheering spirits. It was almost true. “No more prisons! No more registration! No more! No! More! We will fight for our liberation, and we will die for it! So fight! Fight on!”

And under his breath, as the walls of Neverland came crumbling down under the combined might of hundreds of innocent people, spurred onward by the promise of sunlight and fresh air on their lips and on their skin, Basilisk allowed himself one indulgence; one small gift, for him and him alone, in this most beautiful of moments. Quietly, so only he could hear them, he whispered these words for what might have been the last time-

“To me, my X-Men…”

Chapter 25: Neverland (Part 2)

Chapter Text

Joanna felt the dry, stale air on her skin, as the doors to the camp, to Neverland, shut behind Scott, Nomi, and Remy. They were closed off, their fates left in their own hands. She could feel Angelica fidgeting beside her, and tapped the back of her fingers against the younger woman’s wrist to quiet her. They didn’t need their covers blown, no matter how anxious they felt for the safety of their teammates. Of their friends.

One of the ONE goons, the captain, a burly man whose stiff-brimmed black cap did not hide the lack of hair on his head, crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked over the supposed soldiers who’d brought Summers and company in. His mustache twitched.

“How’d you say you took them down again?” He asked, his voice as gruff as his expression.

“Oh, we just got really lucky,” Angelica said, repeating what Joanna had already claimed. “Honestly, the sentinels did all the work,” She said with a nervous laugh.

“They were holed up in some sh*thole in Brooklyn. The Cajun was in the john when we stormed the place,” Joanna added.

The captain laughed, and produced a pack of cigarettes from one of the pockets on his kevlar vest. He sparked up a cigarette and turned his gaze to the horizon, as the sun hung low in the afternoon sky. “Now we just gotta get the rest of ‘em,” He said wearily, as though this were some great burden he had been chosen to bear. How truly terrible this burden was.

“We should probably head out, right?” Angelica asked, her eyes flicking from Joanna to the officer, and then back again. The guards, armed to the teeth as they were, made her nervous, and she wasn’t certain that sticking around was the best idea to lower suspicions. They’d not gone over this part of the plan, only what the others would do once the timer on their cuffs ran out and restored their abilities.

“You kidding? We just took down Basilisk. I’m taking the rest of the day off,” Joanna laughed, clapping her on the back. A few of the other guards grinned and nodded in agreement, with the captain even tossing her a cigarette upon request.

Even as she spoke, and made small talk with the guards as they waited for the shift change, Joanna kept running down the timer in her head. She’d been the one to set it, after all, and so she knew exactly when the mannacles would trigger and deactivate.

Turns out she didn’t even need to keep track; the sound of bullets ripping through the air preceded a blaring alarm, and by the time that minute had run out, Joanna had herded Angelica behind her before clotheslining the nearest guard.

The captain had no sooner raised his gun when a blast of heat seared the side of his face, and a fist tore through his stomach. He slumped to the ground, gasping for air that would not, could not, come to him. His cigarette fell from his lips and was snuffed out by a pool of his own blood, seeping from the wound, as his eyes turned cold and lifeless.

Bullets fell from Joanna’s skin, crumbled and smoking, without leaving so much as a dent or scatch. She lunged forward and tore two rifles from their owners hands, throwing them to the ground before shoving the men into the wall behind them.

Bursts of rapid fire continued, both within the facility and outside. Bodies dropped, yes, but not Joanna. In less than a minute, she’d disarmed all the guards around her, and left them stunned or worse. She looked over her shoulder at Angelica and smirked, with all the confidence that a bulletproof woman had earned.

Angelica nodded stiffly and, throwing her hat to the side, pulled off the drab uniform she’d been masquerading in, revealing the vibrant yellow and red suit she wore beneath it; colored like fire, rippling in the burst of intense heat she projected from her gloved hands. The door began to melt off its own hinges, primed and ready for Joanna to rip it off its hinges without so much as breaking a sweat from the effort, only the heat.

Their job now was rather simple, rather plain. Hold the line, and get the escaping prisoners far enough away that they might be easily teleported to safety. Easy to say, yes, but in practice, this task was anything but.

It wouldn’t be long before the riots inside began to spread out. When they did, there needed to be as little opposition as possible, and that meant…

Well, that meant dealing with the trio of gigantic sentinels that landed at the gates, and which now loomed overhead with death in their cold yellow irises. Mark IVs, the lot of them, and there were sure to be more following not long behind.

Their intel said there were at least three of them on the premises, and five more located just half an hour away, each. All of them Mark IVs. Older models were no doubt on the move as well, of course. There was no reason to get rid of them when ONE could have enough firepower to blitz a small country.

And yet it had only taken one of them to kill an X-Man.

Joanna sprang at the first one she saw; digging into its purple outer shell with her fingers and pulling herself up, like scaling a cliff’s face. She punched a hole in its hip, and it bucked, nearly throwing her off.

Another fist to its side allowed her to keep a hold on the machine, but holding on only did so much. The sentinel to its left reached out, and grabbed her round the middle; a thick steel coil from its palm restraining her against the crushing steel.

Before that moment, Joanna Cargill, Frenzy, had never quite tested her exact strength against that of a sentinel. She had never quite tested the limits of her strength whatsoever. She wasn’t the sort of woman who wanted to know her limits. To know them meant she had them.

She pushed against the sentinel’s super powered grip, straining to pry herself free from its massive hand. She tensed her muscles, flexed her arms as best as she was able, but there was only so much she could do, only so much she could fight, against its crushing might. But she pushed on, and on, and on, without rest. With one great roar, Frenzy thrust her arms out…

And found that still, she had no limits to know.

She dropped from the sentinel’s broken, crumpled fingers, and landed between its legs, with sweat dripping from her dark brow. She spun around, and began her ascent anew on this second target; her fists punching hole after hole in its shell as she inched ever higher. Torn wires sparked and circuits broke down, motor functions failing, bringing the mechanical beast to its knees by the time she reached its back.

“Go for the head!” She called out to Firestar, preceding a leap upwards, to her quarry’s heavily armored shoulder blades.

“Right! Okay, Angel, okay, you can do this…” Firestar muttered to herself from overhead. She’d yet to take one herself, not in her time with the MLF and certainly not before, but she had little other choice here, now did she?

She swooped in, diving straight for the unattended sentinel’s head, weaving around its swiping hands and narrowly avoiding capture from its steel hand-tendril. Her hands made contact with the already rather warm plating of its scalp, and Firestar screwed her eyes shut as heat broiled over in waves from her palms.

She melted a hole in the back of its head, and the sentinel slowed, grinding against itself as its own head melted into slag and fried its CPU. It sparked and sputtered, before a small explosion erupted from the hole she’d burned through; Firestar only securing her own safety by kicking off at the last moment.

Down on the ground, Joanna continued to pummel away at the legs of the closest sentinel; weaving in and out of its path as it attempted to crush her underfoot, or carve through her with a white-hot beam of energy.

She heard an explosion in the distance; purple smoke rose from the vents at the top of the prison complex. Gambit. They were making their way up, breaking the place wide open as they went. Good. Maybe they’d actually pull this thing off, maybe they wouldn’t all just end up with their faces down in the cold, hard, frost-bitten dirt. Maybe they were unstoppable.

She tore through the plating at the back of the sentinel’s leg with one more right hook; wrenching it free and collapsing the pumping steel tendons with a straight jab. The machine crumpled, falling to its knee, just in time for Firestar to light it up like she did its sibling. Only this time, just as Firestar burned past the outer shell, a gunshot rang out. One, and then another, and then another.

More guards, coming in from all around them. They were on the rooftops, lining the gates, flooding from the building and trucks just pulling in outside. And there wasn’t any time to react to the new threat, not with two sentinels still attacking them. A bullet glanced off Joanna’s shoulder, and the next sentinel bucked her off its foot with a kick. Another gunshot, while she ran from a path of burning light that ripped through the earth behind her. Another gunshot, while she slid between the legs of the third sentinel, and breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of it being struck by its brother’s heat ray. Another gunshot, muffled by the overpowering sound of the sentinel exploding from the friendly fire.

Another gunshot, and Frenzy heard Firestar cry out in shock and pain.

She looked up, and saw the girl fall from the sky; hurtling towards the ground with a hand pressed to her shoulder. Joanna leapt, caught her, and ran. They needed to get away, get to the others, get Firestar to safety and assess the damage. She was breathing ragged and thready in Joanna’s arms, while blood seeped from the shoulder. Joanna told herself it was only a graze, only a graze, please just be a goddamned graze.

She barreled her way past a string of guards, armed to the teeth with rifles and gas grenades, and didn’t stop even as they lit her up with everything they had. She could take the bullets. She could push past the smoke and pain of the tear gas. The girl in her arms couldn’t, and that’s what stuck at the front of her mind.

“Girl, I’m gonna need you to get up,” She said. Her voice brooked no disagreement, and she wouldn’t hear any. “Because it’s just us out here right now, and I ain’t gonna keep running, okay?”

Firestar nodded; gritting her teeth as she freed herself from Frenzy’s hold and staggered to her feet. The pain in her arm was going numb as shock set in, and she felt weak, scared above it all. But she also knew that if she didn’t do anything, didn’t react or fight, she wouldn’t see tomorrow or any days after. That was motivation enough to stand and turn, to face the oncoming wave of guards and their pet machines.

There were more of them than she could count. Heavy steel feet thudded against the ground as more landed, both in front of her and all around Neverland. Another violet explosion rang out on the other side of the camp, blasting open the wall. The sun was sinking beneath them.

“You go high, I go low,” Frenzy ordered. Firestar nodded, and took flight.

The full weight of a Mark IV sentinel crashed against the side of the prison; thrown to the side by Nomi Blume, by Magnetrix, so as to clear a path out. Basilisk was behind her, with Gambit’s arm around his shoulders. The crowd surged forward, spilling out into the twilight to be met by gunfire and the groan of metal.

Golden eyes had flashed above them, and the sentinel raised its arm. White-hot light began to flare, so she pushed her hands out, thrusting and grabbing at it with her magnetic strings, like hooks on fishing wire, and pulled it down to the side. It brought brick and concrete down as it smashed into the building, cracking open the skull of a fleeing Mutant who went unseen and unheard in the chaos.

The first casualty on their side of the battle, but not the last. No, no, not the last.

Some Mutants took to the skies, while others shielded themselves with psychokinetic bubbles and bio-fields, and others still leapt into the fray without hesitation; gifts turned into weapons just so they might survive.

Fireworks blinded the guards, as charged cards detonated like mortars across the battlefield. Bullets ripped through the air just as they ripped through flesh, with Magnetrix managing only to turn so many back on their attackers. Rays of killing heat came from the palms of sentinels, and the palms of Firestar, both burning whatever they hit to a smoldering crisp.

In the middle of it all, Basilisk was running blind; eyes shut tight as the sounds of battle raged around him. Explosions, animalistic roars, sirens and screaming were all he had to go off of. The chaos and fear the others felt were amplified tenfold, not knowing who was on the receiving end of what.

He stumbled over something. He didn’t know it was the body of a teenager. He just fought his way back to his feet, and felt for Gambit’s arm to guide him.

“We have to get past the gates!” Basilisk called out over the din of the fight. “Blink can take us from there!”

“We’re tryin’, boss! C’mon, c’mon! I think I see Jo!”

Gambit pulled Basilisk along, cursing silently to himself as they ran. Basilisk didn’t see anything, but Gambit saw it all. He saw the bodies dropping on both sides. He saw the eyes overhead, staring down without mercy to give. He saw a man atomized just eight feet away from them, and smelt the burning stench that was left behind. Things he’d never forget, for as long as he lived, however long that might be. And he realized, with a cold chill, that it might not be very much longer.

The tide was turning. He could feel it, coming up, cresting, growing stronger as it raged and thrashed around them, against them. He saw a flash of something, of fire, up in the sky. He saw Firestar burning a trail, lighting a signal for them to follow. She was guiding them towards freedom. Towards the gates. They were so close, so damn close.

And then something grabbed him by the back of his collar, and it threw him back. Gambit landed with a thud, and he groaned as he rolled over onto his arms. He pushed himself up, only to feel a boot on his back, pushing him down.

He looked up, and saw it. The cold, glowing yellow irises of the machine. One unlike any he’d ever seen before. Its violet plating seemed less like that of a walking tank, and more like body armor. The burst of a firework behind it lit it up in a wash of green and blue, only for the light to fade, and the impassive expression it wore to cut right through him.

“Mutant hostile detected. Name: Gambit. Orders: kill on sight.”

It raised its hand, and the air swelled at its palm; sucking inwards before bursting into flame. Was this how it ended? Burned alive, the first victim of this new monster? No. No, not like this, not ever.

He grabbed a stone from the ground and charged it, as powerful a charge as he could make it in what little time he had. It lit up with purple light, and he slung it into the Omega Sentinel’s side. The flash of the explosion blinded them both; the sentinel took a step back. He was free. He was free.

Gambit scrambled to his feet, put some distance between him and it. It rose its hand, and a stream of fire leapt out at him. It caught the edge of his coat, and he couldn’t get it off fast enough before the fire spread. The fire hit his lower back, and he gasped from the pain as his coat hit the ground and snuffed out, trampled underfoot by more fleeing Mutants.

“Death is inevitable. Mutant life must be exterminated. You will be exterminated.”

It stalked towards him, unflinching, unwavering, its stride unbroken by those who threw their anger its way. A bolt of green telekinetic energy did nothing to it, nor did a stray bullet from a ONE soldier’s rifle. It carried on, one hand raised with flame in the center of its palm.

Another sentinel fell in the distance, a smoking hole blown through its chest by the combined efforts of five Mutants, only three of whom would survive the night. He couldn’t see Nomi, or Joanna, or even Angelica. He’d lost sight of them all, save for Scott, who was clinging to the side of a boy with wax skin.

Gambit heard Basilisk calling out for him. He watched as the Omega Sentinel lit a woman on fire without breaking its stride. He saw death in its glowing eyes as it came ever closer.

And he ran, gripped by fear, away from them all, abandoning them to whatever fates may come.

Basilisk coughed as more gas rolled in. He wheezed into his arms, air fleeing his lungs, as he crawled in what direction he hoped might lead him to the waiting arms of his people. Blink would be waiting. He needed to get to her. He needed to get to the others. He needed to…

Another explosion. Something groaning, grinding, as metal drove against metal. Screams, terrified, then snuffed out. The roar of fire, and the burning heat overhead. He forced his way to his feet, pushed onwards by a memory. Dirt on his face and blood rushing in his veins. A voice, not his own but his father’s, running through his head like it was gospel.

You’re a soldier, Scott. You don’t get to give up. Not on the mission, not on the team, and not on yourself.

He couldn’t lay down. He couldn’t stop. He had to fight, and keep his men safe. Nomi, Joanna, Remy, Angelica… He couldn’t lose any of them. He couldn’t fail again, like he’d failed Charles, Jean, Alex… He just couldn’t.

He broke into a sprint, shoving past bodies, not stopping to consider the massive crushing sound that fell behind him. He shouted to them, rallying them, just as he did inside. Urging them not to give in, not to give up, to keep fighting, until they were free.

He even felt a glimmer of hope. Hope that was snuffed out in an instant when something came at him sideways, and knocked him end over end. His head hit something hard, and his mind went quiet.

Moments earlier, Magnetrix found herself fighting for dear life against the heel of a sentinel. It was inches away from crushing her under its foot, held back only by a boy made of stone and her own magnetic abilities. The boy was straining, cracking quite literally from the pressure.

She felt weak, drained by all that she’d done so far. Releasing all the prisoners, unshackling their power dampening cuffs, helping Gambit break down the walls, toppling the sentinel… she was bleeding from the nose, tears stinging at her eyes, and her muscles were sure to collapse soon.

Her legs buckled. She fell to her knees. Her head fell to her hands and she screamed; hit the sides of her head with the palms of her hands. She wasn’t going out like a chump, not her. She was strong. She was powerful. Nomi Blume didn’t get weak.

She grabbed the inhaler from her pocket and filled her lungs with one long puff of kick.

She felt electricity surge through her veins, burning through her eyes and her fingertips as she rose to her feet. With one hand, she lifted the sentinel into the air. With one more, she tore its legs clean off with a terrible wrenching noise and dropped them to the ground. The sound of its wreckage hitting the earth was louder than the screams of the people it crushed. Louder than the explosions and gunfire. Louder than anything.

She tossed her head back and laughed. She was Nomi goddamned Blume, and she was unstoppable. She set her eyes on the gates and with one motion tore them all down. She flipped over a truck full of arriving reinforcements, and sent it flying into another sentinel, ripping right through its chest. The ensuing explosion ripped through the sky like a shot from a cannon.

Blue hair whipped in the gust of wind that followed; as she turned her eyes again towards freedom. People were running for the hills, and Nomi was all too happy to lead them. She ripped a pair of plates from the crumpled van and walked on them, like she’d practiced, high up above the raging battle. She paid no mind, no mind at all, to those who were still down there, still fighting. She was high on her own power, and all it took was a few motions of her hands to clear a path to freedom for the rest, lining up felled sentinels into a wall. The others just had to make it to the end.

The portal opened as Xi’an’s heart skipped a beat; space warping as air was sucked through the bridged gap. Blink described it like folding space over itself, and then punching a hole through. That’s how it felt to walk in one end and out the other.

She hadn’t known what to expect, exactly, but nothing she envisioned was as bad as this. Neverland was burning to the ground, and the night was alight with death and flashing fire. She reached out, grabbed hold of the first human mind she could touch, and saw from their eyes.

Mutants were running towards their position, but ONE was scrambling to set up an ambush. Between the portal, with Blink, Richtor, Karma and Shinobi, and the fleeing prisoners, there were roughly twenty soldiers with rifles and grenades. She’d never taken a life before. She was just nineteen.

She made the guard train his gun on the person next to him, and pulled a string; pulled the trigger.

She jumped from body to body, using them like puppets while Richtor opened a fissure in the ground, as Blink used her powers to split them through space, and as Shinobi phased hearts from chests. In a matter of seconds, the ambush had been ambushed, and the path to safety was secure. Xi’an left the very last soldier alive, with just a self inflicted pistol whip to take the woman out.

Blink opened a portal, as big as she could manage, stretching all the way to the treetops, while Shinobi, Richtor and Xi’an covered her sides.

She couldn’t keep track of how many Mutants made it through, far too many to count, but she saw a few that gave her flutters of hope. Magnetrix was among the first, and Firestar swooped down not long after. But she couldn’t see Basilisk, couldn’t see Gambit, couldn’t see Frenzy…

“I’m going to find them,” She told her teammates, running off before either could stop her. Not that they would, mind. Both Blink and Shinobi thought the same; her decision, her consequences. Only Julio watched after her as she ran off.

Karma ran against the flow of escapees, urging them onwards with promises of safety as she went. She stopped, for just a short moment, to help a girl with a skull-shaped head and big black eyes get back to her feet and find someone to lead her by the hand to safety.

At the torn down gates, she found Frenzy. The woman was covered in ash and dirt, panting with fists covered in blood that was not hers. Her braids hung loose around her shoulders, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, as she turned to look at Xi’an.

“What are you doing down here?!” She called out, reaching forward to grab the teenager by the shirt collar.

“I-I was-“

“Come on, we have to move!” Frenzy ordered. She began to run for the portal, dragging Karma along. “Did the others make it?” She asked.

“Everyone except for you, Gambit, a-and Basilisk,” Karma told her. Frenzy stopped.

“Scott… Dammit. I’m going back for him-“

“No! Portal’s closing now, whether you like it or not!” Blink cried out from on ahead.

“Basilisk is still back there!”

“I have my orders! This gate closes in sixty seconds. Get in or stay out, your choice,” Blink hissed. Joanna cursed under her breath, and turned to look at Karma-

When the unconscious guard woke up, and fired a short burst from her rifle. Karma went down, and Blink cried out in shock, grabbing at her eye.

The portal began to waver, to shunt close. There was no time, no time to go back. Frenzy grabbed Karma with one hand, grabbed Blink with the other, and dashed through the portal just in time.

She hit the ground running, kicking up blood-stained snow on the other side. The Weapon X facility stared down at her, impassive as ever, as she slammed her fists into the ground. Blink was unconscious at her side, blood pooling around her head, while Karma grabbed at her leg and whimpered in pain. It’d been riddled with bullets, taking most of the gunshots that had been fired. But one had glanced off of Joanna, and struck Blink in the face.

She looked up, and saw Nomi, who stood with eyes wide and alert, a strange grin on her face. She saw Angelica, leaning against Julio for support as her arm continued to bleed. She saw the girls who lay beside her, shot all to hell.

She didn’t see Remy, and she didn’t see Scott. Her blood ran cold at that thought. It struck her to her core, slowing the beating heart in her chest. She felt empty. She felt lost.

But they were home. They were safe. Neverland had fallen, and the imprisoned Mutants brought here, to a new life, new freedom. The mission was a success, wasn’t it?

...Wasn’t it?

Chapter 26: In The Wake

Chapter Text

Emma came as soon as she could.

She found herself entering total disaster; diving straight into the deep end. The first thing she saw, upon arriving with Vanisher, was a line of Mutants spilling out the door and into the frigid, snowing night.

Angelica and Julio were processing people as they came in; taking down names and pointing them towards whatever was most needed. Those who were injured were led by Shinobi to the med lab, where a doctor had set up shop and was, it seemed, running triage. Those who were hungry, which was a great many, were pointed towards the kitchen, where a pair of teenage boys had tasked themselves with preparing food for the refugees. Those looking for family were asked to wait in the wings, and promised they’d be reunited if at all possible.

A woman with heavy bags under her eyes tugged at the hand of a little girl, who followed along numbly. She looked at Angelica, and saw a child trying her best not to break down and cry under the circ*mstances.

“Kwannon Tsuyaraba.”

The woman’s voice was as weary as she looked. Her long black hair lay flat and unwashed, but she didn’t bother asking Angelica for anything, not even a change of clothes. She’d seen the previous person be pointed towards the kitchen, and moved to follow their trail. Her daughter hadn’t eaten in two days, and she wasn’t going to wait any longer. Angelica didn’t try and stop her.

Angelica cleared her throat, and beckoned the next person in line to come forward. As he stepped up, her eyes fell to the sheet she had in front of her. It was only the second one, and yet it was already nearly filled with names. Santo Vacarro. Sooraya Qadir. Victor Borkowski. Everett Thomas. Jubilation Lee. So many more, and yet…

”All you can think of is how many you won’t be able to write down,” Emma thought to her. Angelica jumped, and looked over her shoulder. She saw Emma, and nodded her head ever so slightly.

”Ms Frost, I-“

”We need not talk now, my girl. Later, when we have time and quiet.”

Without another word broadcast, Emma turned and made her way down the hall. She saw Frenzy, Joanna, walking alone towards the elevator. Before the doors could close, she slipped past them and joined her as it quietly whirred its way down to the sub-basem*nt.

“What happened?” She asked. Her eyes were turned downwards, towards the corner of the small, boxed in lift. There wasn’t anything to look at, but that was alright. Better than having to see the pain in Joanna’s eyes.

“I don’t know,” The other woman croaked. Her voice was hoarse, even though she allowed herself to shed no tears. She clenched her gloved fists as the elevator began to slow. Her alloy knuckles were marked with the blood of other men. Men she’d killed without a second thought. She didn’t know their names, but she could still see their faces.

“Joanna, if you-“

“Save it,” Joanna snapped. Her voice kept low, hardly above a whisper, but the danger was clear. She glared at Emma as the doors opened, and wrinkled her nose. “I don’t need you telling me how we f*cked up, okay? So keep your damn mouth shut, and leave me the hell alone. You wanna help, you can go upstairs.”

She turned and made to leave the elevator, only for Emma to reach out and grab her by the wrist. Emma’s wrists were small, weak, so easy to snap like a twig. All she’d have to do was twist her arm the right way. She almost did, too, before Emma’s words brought her to a halt.

“If you need someone to talk to,” Emma said softly, looking deep into Joanna’s dark brown eyes. Her voice was small and thready, as if close to fraying and being lost entirely. Her hand fell away, and to her side, hanging limp against her skirts. “If you ever need someone to talk to, I’ll endeavor to listen. I’m certain you did all you could, and…”

She trailed off, her eyes cast downwards again. She held onto the elevator door, lest she fall on legs that felt suddenly so weak, and so brittle. “Is Scott…?”

Joanna shook her head. The door to the elevator began to close, but she reached out with one hand and stopped it. Emma blinked, and saw the tears that had begun to fall from the other woman’s eyes. “I don’t know,” She whispered, her voice breaking as the walls came down. Finally. After all this time. She rubbed at her eyes with the back of one hand, and Emma reached out to hold her.

She cried into Emma’s shoulder; her tears staining the blonde Mutant’s white dress, her hands gripping Emma’s bodice. Emma wrapped her arms around Joanna and said nothing. She wasn’t here to talk, not tonight. She was here for this, to be the one who held them up, so they wouldn’t have to do so themselves.

Joanna didn’t tell her, not then or there. She didn’t have to. Emma felt the surface thoughts, the fear and worry and grief. She felt them before, too. The small flutters and cast away thoughts, which Joanna wouldn’t share with anyone willingly. Emma knew that Joanna loved him. She knew that she loved him too. Maybe, if he came back to them, one of them might say so. Until then, they’d not bicker pointlessly amongst themselves.

She rubbed small circles in Joanna’s back, and Joanna’s heavy breaths slowed in their paces. She released herself from the embrace, and sniffled quietly while she avoided eye contact. A small, pained laugh escaped her lips, and she again wiped away her tears with the back of one gloved hand. Emma gathered Joanna’s braids and, circling around behind her, tied them into a low ponytail. Her hands came to rest on Joanna’s shoulders, and she offered a small, encouraging smile.

“Guess I’m supposed to take charge with him gone, huh?” She asked.

“It’ll be no small task,” Emma admitted with a sigh. “But I do believe you’re more capable than anyone else, my dear.”

“Mhm. Maybe after all this is over, I might make a couple cups of coffee…” Joanna said, as they entered the elevator again, and she punched in the command to rise back up to the main level.

“I’d rather a nice cup of tea, but… I’ll join you, if you don’t mind.”

Joanna nodded, a small smile on her face. “Okay,” She said, steeling herself to take command up top, and bring things into order. People would need rooms, a leader to look to, and options for what came next. It was on her to provide. She nodded her head, and loosened her muscles. She’d had her moment alone, her time to cry it out and recover, enough at least to get back out there and pull things into order.

“Okay.”

— — — — — — — — — —

Doctor Cecilia Reyes was among the first to make it in. As everyone stood still in the snow outside, unsure of what to do, hungry and exhausted and numb, she saw people in need of aid. She did what any doctor would; even one who’d spent the past eight months in a concentration camp.

She started saving lives.

Frenzy had set her up in the old abandoned med lab. Fortunately for Doctor Reyes, it’d been cleaned up and fully stocked with supplies; a blessing she’d not expected to receive considering everything she’d been through up to now.

She’d already worked for six straight hours, and she’d work for as many more as it took until everyone in her care was safe and sound. She didn’t need to rest, didn’t need to eat, not until the work was done. Of course, it would be easier with properly trained nurses on hand. Instead, she was making do with volunteers.

She sighed and wiped at her forehead, slick with sweat, with a piece of cloth. The boy in front of her had lost his hands to a sentinel blast, but he was going to live. All she could think, in that small silent moment, was what poor luck the boy had. He couldn’t have been older than fifteen, and he’d spent nearly as much time in that hellhole as she had, and came out of it in far worse shape than she.

There were others, of course. Ones she’d already gotten stable, and ones who were being kept going by the mercy of the universe and the hard work of her volunteers. She marched over to the next patient, who’d gotten away with a deep gash along his forehead and a broken wrist.

Compared to the rest of the night’s cases, this was a simple patch job. For a woman who’d been doing ER care ever since her residency began five years ago, she was a perfect fit for this task. Well seasoned, calm under pressure, and unwilling to take any sh*t from her patients.

“Golden boy, how’s she doing?” She called out across the room, to where one teenager was keeping another breathing with a touch.

His skin, shining and golden, was all that kept the injured Ms Wyngard from fading away. She’d been among the worst cases to arrive, with severe head trauma and third degree burns along her arms and back. Already, however, her burns had faded to clean scars, and while she was not yet awake, it seemed unlikely that she’d die from her injuries so long as he stayed with her. Perhaps, Doctor Reyes hoped, the boy might even be able to heal their patient entirely given enough time.

“She’s gonna be okay, I think,” He told her with a relieved smile.

“Good. Stick with her, alright? And Stacy here’s gonna help me get you fixed up too, alright Tyrone?” The young man nodded stiffly, and allowed the doctor to work.

Outside, in the hall, Angelica watched silently as they whiled away. She’d taken a short break, just a few minutes, to get a glass of water and some air. She had Vanisher, heaven help her, covering her spot. Shinobi had been drafted too, to help speed things along. She fiddled with the tips of her wig, her heart breaking at the sight of the kids, just kids, inside the med lab. And she was hardly any older than them.

She raised her hand to her shoulder. The graze had been patched up quickly by Doctor Reyes, right after she’d finished with the major cases; Xi’an and Clarice. The moment she’d seen what had happened to those girls, Angel felt her stomach drop into a pit. She should’ve stayed back, shouldn’t have gone running ahead like she did. It was selfish of her. If she’d stayed back, maybe… maybe they’d be alright. Maybe she’d have been able to keep them safe.

“Hullo there, Angel.”

For the second time that night, she jumped at the sound of Emma’s voice. Her old mentor had snuck up on her somehow, and now stood beside her, one hand on Angelica’s back as they peered through the stretched window. Most of the patients left once they were all stitched back together. The more serious cases stayed. Both Xi’an and Clarice were still inside.

Angelica lipped her cracked lips and searched for something to say, but nothing came. What could she say? Nothing felt adequate. Nothing felt right.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Emma whispered to her.

She felt the older woman’s gentle presence in her mind, and found it helped her to relax, if only by so much. It was warm, and soft, and pleasing. Like falling into a soft bed with flannel covers. Angelica closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to the glass. It was cool to the touch. Even against her skin, it felt cool. She almost laughed at that. Almost.

“They’re going to be okay,” She said, her voice as dry as her lips. “That’s what the doctor said. That they’ll be alright.”

“Good. I’m not quite sure what I’d do if they weren’t. I promised Clarice I’d keep her safe, just as I promised you. Now… Well, I’ve done a rather rubbish job of it, haven’t I?”

“No,” Angelica said without hesitation, without question, without doubt. She turned her head against the glass, until she was looking at Emma out of the corner of her eye. Her White Queen. “You can’t blame yourself for us choosing to get involved. It was our choice, and that makes the consequences, well… our consequences.”

“But a teacher’s job is to keep her students safe, no matter what,” Emma said softly. Her fingers came to rest against the glass. “I’ve not done my job, have I?”

Angelica looked at Emma, and Emma looked at her. Emma tilted her head and offered a sad smile, the best she could manage, and Angelica hugged her. “We’ll be okay, Ms Frost. Promise.”

“Thank you, my dear. I think I’ll stay here, if that’s alright?”

“Of course,” Angelica said, giving Emma one last gentle squeeze around the middle before pulling away. “I’ve got to get back to work. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, if I get the chance.”

Emma nodded, and bid her former protege farewell as Angelica, looking far more grown than when Emma had met her, walked down the hall. Once Angelica had turned the corner, she let out a deep sigh, then took a deeper breath. She put her hand on the door, and turned the knob.

“I’m terribly sorry, but… I was wondering if I might be able to sit with Xi’an and Clarice? I’d like to keep them company,” She said, to which Doctor Reyes merely glanced up out of the corner of her eyes.

“They’re recovering right next door. Just don’t bother any of my other patients, alright?”

“Of course. Thank you.”

Silently, she shut the door and made her way to the next. It was a small room, only half the size of the med lab proper. A few makeshift beds had been set up, with the more seriously injured Mutants laying down and getting what rest they could.

In the corner, Xi’an Coy Manh sat beside Clarice Fong, holding her bright pink hand in her own. Emma’s heart fell as she saw the bandages around Xi’an’s upper thigh, and nothing below. They’d not been able to save her leg. The girl looked so tired, too tired by a mile. Clarice, for her part, lay still on the bed with her head bandaged and her injured eye patched. Her violet hair spilled out in a halo around her head, and Emma smoothed it back, pushing a few stray strands out of the girl’s face as she slept.

Emma knelt at her bedside, and clasped Clarice’s other hand between hers, and she met Xi’an’s eyes tearfully, but said nothing. She had nothing to say, nothing that mattered. All that mattered was this. Being here with them now, until her charge woke up again. And when she did, Emma would stay with them still. She’d stay with them, all of them, until they were well again. Because someone ought to, and because she couldn’t just do nothing.

She eased her way into their minds, conscious and unconscious alike, and did her best to keep them feeling comfortable, at least on the inside. It was the least that she could do.

— — — — — — — — — —

Nomi Blume stood alone.

The rush of the battle, of the kick in her system, had blown open her mind and made her feel more alive, more aware, than she’d ever felt before. She’d been unstoppable, her senses heightened and her powers enhanced threefold. She was throwing sentinels around like they were dolls, picking limbs off of them like one might pluck the wings off a fly.

The cold didn’t even bother her, not at first. She felt hot, sweating beneath her costume despite the falling snow. It dusted her hair and shoulders, and she paid it no notice. She stood there, electric, aware of every scrap of metal in a ten mile radius. But it was ebbing, the high of it all; fading away slowly, too slow for a thirteen year old to perceive.

The cold came first. The sting of snow on her bare forearms, melting away into little droplets of water on her pale skin. The chill of the air that cut through to her bones. The dark empty feeling in her stomach. She began to shiver, and looked to the Weapon X facility. It was the only place for miles that would offer her warmth and shelter. But she didn’t enter, not even to see who had made it and who hadn’t.

Hunger came second. The sharp pangs and a low, prolonged growl deep in the gut. She hadn’t eaten since before the mission. Joanna had offered her breakfast, but she’d said no. She regretted that now, fourteen hours later. She regretted it deeply. She’d kill for a plate of pancakes, or a burrito. Something warm.

Clarity came last. The memories, coming into view one by one. The screams of the dead as she’d sent those machines crashing into the ground. The sound of bodies hitting the floor after she’d sent their bullets ripping back through them. The smoke in the air, and in her lungs. The realization that not everyone who’d died had been ONE. That she’d racked up a higher body count in one night than any of her teammates ever had.

Nomi Blume was good at killing things.

She was walking, but she didn’t know to where. She stumbled, tripping over a branch buried by snow, and leaned against a tall pine for support. She retched, and threw up in the snow, as tremors ran along her body.

It was then that the last memory came into view. As she sank down into the snow, and hung her head over her knees; drawn up to her chest. She’d seen it through the haze of battle, and only now understood what it was that had happened.

She saw Scott calling out for Remy. She saw a sentinel, a small one, land between them. She saw Remy run, abandoning Scott, abandoning them all, just to save himself.

“Excuse me, miss?”

She thought she’d imagined the sound of snow crunching underfoot, or perhaps that it was her own doing. But at the sound of the voice, older and distinguished, brought her to lift her head and open her eyes. She saw a man with a thick coat of blue fur covering his entire body, wearing a costume of orange and black, with an X shaped belt buckle and a white lab coat. He smiled down at her, with fangs poking up against his lips from his slight underbite.

Behind him stood several more people. Familiar faces, but not ones she knew to be friendly.

“My name is Doctor Hank McCoy. I understand that there are some people inside who may be in need of aid. We’re here to offer ours’.”

Chapter 27: What Almost Was, But Was Not

Chapter Text

Scott Summers had not seen color since he was a boy. His world existed in hues of red. Pale, dark, dull or vibrant… but always red. He knew that his own hair was brown, that his current uniform was black, that the one he’d worn before it was dark blue and snowy white, but he knew these things as statements, as promises of truth from those around him. He did not know, when he looked in a mirror, that his hair was still brown or that his eyes were pale blue. He saw them through a thick red lens, forever and always.

Almost always.

There was a night, which seemed now to have happened a lifetime ago, where he’d gone with his wife to the lake off the campus of the Xavier School at which they taught. They’d held hands on a red gingham blanket, and sat beneath the stars, with water gently stirring just feet away. She wore a red dress, and he a red polo shirt, when she’d whispered into his ear that she wanted him to do something, something for her.

“Close your eyes,” She had told him, in a voice that now, so long after, seemed to be ethereal, unreal, like magic. Time had erased the giddy hiccup in her speech, the way she licked her lips before speaking, the fact that she was just beginning to stop caring for her own health. He remembered only that she had whispered those words in his ear, and that he had done as he was asked.

Jean had touched his face; running her slender fingers along his jaw, up his cheek, and then, slowly, she pulled off his glasses. He shut his eyes tighter, and swallowed the lump in his throat. He feared, in that moment and many like it, that the concussive energy might escape from his eyelids no matter how tightly he held them shut. But Jean had smiled, and sat back, and asked him to do one thing more for her.

“Now… open your eyes.”

“No! Jean, no- No. What are you talking about? You know I can’t-“

He’d protested, but she quieted him with a finger pressed to his lips. For a moment, the only sounds he’d heard were those of the cicadas buzzing around them, and the water gently stirring. A cricket chirped. A frog croaked. And then, finally, then Jean spoke.

“You can, Scott. I’m different now, I-I can feel it. I don’t know how to explain it, but I- Oh, I’m sure, I know what to do.”

She was manic. It happened, more and more frequently as they neared the end. They hadn’t known it, he’d never expected it, not until it came and struck him by surprise. But looking back, it was all too painfully clear that Jean wasn’t in a healthy place, a healthy state of mind. But in the moment… in the moment, Scott had been young, and in love, and foolish enough to listen.

Foolish enough to open his eyes.

And when he did, he saw her. He saw the trees, and the grass, and the lake and the stars and the sky… he saw it all, for the very first time in what felt like a lifetime, in vivid color. Her hair was red. Really red, nearing orange, not the darker hue he’d always seen before. And her eyes, they were green like jewels, and the dress was yellow, not red, and…

Was this what other people saw all the time? Was this how beautiful the world was in their eyes? Had he really, truly forgotten what it all looked like?

And just like that, he shut his eyes again, remembering what ought to happen when they were open. He’d demanded that she give him back his glasses, out of fear that whatever she was doing, however she was doing it, it might slip loose, he might hurt her, might…

But she’d died anyways, some time after that. On the cold dark moon, with Scott tearfully begging her not to go, not to leave him.

Scott Summers saw the world in hues of red. Pale, dark, dull or vibrant… but always, always red.

Almost always.

He awoke with a start, and he awoke with his eyes wide open. Pale blue eyes, sitting by the lake, underneath the stars. He wore his costume still, the black and red suit and peacoat, but his helmet was gone; lost back before the fighting began. But why was he here, of all places? How had he come here? Where was his helmet, his visor, his glasses… and how was he not destroying everything in his line of sight?

He shut his eyes tight, but when he chanced to open them again, still the world remained. He let loose the breath he’d locked away in his lungs, and laughed in relief. It’d been so long since he’d laughed.

He saw the black sky up above, and the dark green grass beneath his palms. He saw brown bark on trees and rustling green leaves hanging from their branches. He tucked his head to his chest and laughed until he cried.

And when he opened his eyes again, that’s when Scott saw her; the girl who sat at the edge of the lake. Short red hair, close to orange, cut to just beneath her ears. She wore a blank tank top and cuffed jeans, with a red flannel shirt tied around her waist. She dragged her fingers through the water, and yet they came away dry. She turned to look at him, and the only name which came to his lips was-

“Jean?”

His voice cracked when he said the name, and his lips went dry. He took a hesitant step towards her, and then another; dew-tipped grass folding softly underfoot.

“Mm, not quite,” She said, in a voice lower, rougher than Jean’s ever was. She smiled softly, and looked at him. He saw the tattoos on her face, like black claw marks stretching towards the center. Her eyes were pale blue, and her brows thicker than Jean’s ever were.

“Then… who are you?” He asked.

She put her hands to the ground, and patted it, as if asking him to join her there. He walked closer and stumbled, fell, to his knees beside her. Beneath the silver light of the moon, her pale skin seemed almost to glow. The freckles along her shoulders lit up like fireflies, and she leaned back on her arms with eyes gently closing. She opened them, and looked to the stars as she spoke.

“I’m what almost was… but was not. Does that make any sense? If she were still alive, I might exist here. But she’s not, so…”

Scott blinked. He understood what she meant, what she was alluding to, but to say it aloud seemed an impossible task, and one he dared not attempt. So he said nothing, and simply hoped she knew that he understood.

“Why am I here?” He asked, as he followed her gaze to the stars, and then lowered it to the lake’s reflection of those very same pinpricks of pale, silver light.

“You know, I think I’ve asked myself that same question every day of my life?” The girl laughed, and shook her head. Droplets of water seemed to fall from her hair, though it was dry, and they hung suspended in the air. Just… drifting there, so slow and so still.

“But you don’t mean like that, do you? You mean here here. The lake,” She surmised. Scott nodded stiffly. “My best guess is it’s something that was important to you. When we come here, here here that is, we bring pieces of ourselves with us. Places, clothes, memories… They become a part of us, a part of our mental landscape. Like we’re always stitching together this grand tapestry. We’re here because you brought us here.”

“And… why are you here? Instead of Jean, or Joanna, or Emma? No offense. I just mean…”

Again she laughed, and water fell away from her. It caught the moonlight and flew away, buzzing, glowing, like little lightning bugs in the summer night.

“I know what you mean,” She said, putting a finger to his forehead. “I’m here because I just wanted to say… It’s okay.”

“I don’t-“

“Yes, you do. You know exactly what I mean,” She said with a roll of her pale blue eyes. “It’s okay for you to care about someone again. It’s okay for you to love someone again. I think she’d want you to.”

He said nothing. He couldn’t. If he said something, if he even so much as acknowledged it, that meant making it real. That meant betraying her, betraying her memory. But even as he looked into the water, it wasn’t his own reflection he saw staring back at him. It wasn’t Jean’s either.

It was Joanna’s.

The girl leaned her head against his shoulder, her arm wrapped around him in a loose embrace. “You like her an awful lot, huh? Her and Emma both?”

“I can’t… I can’t be happy with either of them.”

“Or both of them?”

He shook his head. “I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve them, or anyone. I’m just… broken. Maybe I always have been, but I know I am now. That’s why I have to do this. That’s why I have to fight until I’ve got nothing left in me.”

“Nobody’s broken. Not really. And everybody deserves somebody. Everybody deserves another chance to be happy,” She told him, as she pulled away. She stood, and stretched her long legs, and her back, before putting her hands on her hips and looking into the distance, and then down at him. She nudged him with her shoe. “And by everybody, I mean you.”

He looked up at her, and he saw the way she smiled. There was pain there. There was fear there. There was joy there, too. The sort of joy that only came from living through the worst days of your life, and coming out intact on the other side. There were scars, and there was trauma which lingered, nestled deep in her pale blue eyes, but there was hope too. The hope that tomorrow would be a better, brighter day.

She blinked her eyes, and droplets of water came floating away. More and more of her followed; drifting into the summer night like little stars, rain that did not fall. When she was halfway gone, he found his voice, enough so to ask her one last question.

“What’s your name?” He asked of her. “What do I call you?”

The last he saw of her was her smile, carried away on the silver moon’s glow. Twinkling, like little precious fireflies, vanishing into the dark. And just when he thought she’d gone, just when he thought she’d never existed at all, he heard her voice on the gentle august breeze.

“My dad called me Rachel.”

— — — — — — — — — —

Lights washed over what remained of Neverland. Camp 004, as it was officially designated by ONE, lay in ruins. Ash and rubble blanketed the area, and they were pulling up new bodies by the hour. Some of them Mutant, most of them human, but so far not a one that was still breathing.

A trio of Mk IIIs patrolled the area, scanning for signs of life, human or otherwise. Those ONE soldiers who had survived the revolt sat on the sidelines, being attended to by the organization’s medical technicians. A few had to be airlifted to a nearby hospital for treatment, and of those few even fewer would survive the round trip.

Among it all, the Omega Sentinel walked over toppled stone and brick. Its metal boots clanked against a piece of exposed rebar, and its yellow irises shimmered, transitioning to icy silver. It scanned in X-Ray, looking over the smoldering wreckage that once was a prison for those it had been sworn to exterminate.

A white targeting reticle flitted about its field of vision, latching onto target after target, abandoning them each upon detecting no signs of life. But then, there, in the distance, it detected a faint heartbeat, growing stronger, more steady, with each passing moment. The Omega Sentinel took flight, hovering over to the still-living entity; a Mutant male.

It blasted away the rubble with a shot of pure solar heat, and there it saw its bounty. His face was smudged with dirt, his hair mussed and his clothing torn, but there was no mistaking the DNA signature. It checked its databanks twice, and then twice more, and knew that it was him.

“Name: Scott Summers. Orders: Capture alive.”

It grabbed the unconscious man by the collar of his shirt and carried him away.

— — — — — — — — — —

“So how’d you find us?”

Joanna looked across the war room’s table, at the place where Storm and Ariel sat. Looking at them here, out of the heat of battle, she saw the people beneath the costumes. Storm was a woman who carried herself with the grace of a goddess, but had the sharp, focused eyes of a pickpocket. Ariel, a girl who couldn’t be much older than Nomi, fidgeted while she sat; fingering the maghen david which hung from her neck and looking to Storm like a child might look to their parent in a tense situation.

Storm pursed her lips. “We have a telepath of our own. Revanche was able to detect you with Cerebro sometime after our rescue of Bolivar Trask. When the time came that we heard news of your attack on Camp 004, we flew out as soon as we could. We wish only to help you.”

Joanna nodded, and folded her arms in front of her chest. She was dead tired; awake for over twenty four hours but trying her best not to show it. “Alright. So what sort of help are you offering?”

Storm set a hand on the table; long golden nails clicking gently against the cold steel. “Revanche can offer telepathic counseling to those who require it. Beast is upstairs now, joining your doctor in administering medical aid. The rest of us are willing and able to help in whatever area you’d like.”

Joanna put her hands on her hips and sighed, if only to disguise a yawn. “Alright, we could use the extra bodies. These people need to get set up with rooms, clean clothes, other essentials like that. We have enough space to house anyone who wants to stay here, but we’re not keeping them if they want to leave.”

“The X-Men can arrange transportation to Muir Isle in Scotland for those who desire it,” Storm offered. “Moira Mactaggert has been helping refugees with identification and other documents so that they can live abroad without fear of deportation. Is that acceptable?”

She held out a hand, and Joanna eyed it for a moment with suspicion, before relenting and shaking it. “Deal,” She said, the weariness she felt seeping into her voice just enough to be detected by Storm. “Firestar is coordinating up top, so talk to her for assignments. She’ll put your people where they’ll be most useful.”

“Very well. Come, Kitten, let’s go,” Storm said as she stood, beckoning for Ariel to follow. She made for the elevator, with the teenager scampering after her.

“Hold up,” Joanna said, just as Storm pressed the button to summon the elevator. She paused, and looked over her shoulder at the MLF’s acting leader.

“Yes?”

Joanna blinked away the heaviness of her eyelids, and clenched her fists; pushing nails into skin so that she might prick herself back to alertness. She looked Ororo in her misty white eyes and set her jaw.

“Why are you doing this?” She asked, after a moment’s silence. “Why now? You screwed us before, but now we should rely on you? Give me a reason.”

For a moment, Storm said nothing. She looked to the ceiling, and her cloud of white hair seemed to blow in a breeze that did not reach them down here, behind all these heavy walls of steel. She looked at Joanna, the softest of smiles on her face.

“Charles Xavier believed in a future where humans and Mutants do no harm to one another; offering open hands instead of closed fists. We offered our open hand to Bolivar Trask, and now we offer it to the Mutant Liberation Front.”

Joanna snorted derisively. “And you really think that’s gonna get them to put their killer robots away?”

Storm shrugged. “Charles believed that one day, good will would win out over prejudice. I choose to believe the same. Is that not enough?”

Joanna sighed, and put a hand to her temple. Her head was killing her, throbbing worse with each passing moment she staved off rest. She bid Storm and Ariel goodbye, and the X-Men’s leader nodded sagely in turn.

Once the elevator doors had shuddered to a close, Joanna collapsed backwards into the nearest chair. She allowed herself just a few moments of rest, shutting her eyes but willing herself not to sleep, not yet. She couldn’t allow herself that rest, not until the people under her watch were properly safe and cared for.

”I’d advise against that,” Emma’s voice whispered into her mind. ”You’re little good to us tired as you are. You’re practically drooling onto your chest.”

Joanna bristled at the sudden telepathic intrusion, but with a prolonged sigh she refrained from making anything of it. She was trying, yes trying, to move things along smoothly with Emma from here on out. Besides, she wasn’t exactly wrong; Joanna was nodding off already, and had to jerk her head back up in order to fend off the oncoming sleep.

”I’m fine,” She responded, only to hear a stern tut tut from the other side of the psychic connection. ”Don’t give me that. Things are a damn mess right now, and I have to keep ‘em running.”

”Please, darling, you’ve been ‘keeping them running’ for nearly thirty hours. I hate to chastise you, but-“

”You know that’s a damn lie, you do it all the time.”

She could hear Emma’s mental sigh. ”Fine, it’s like the world’s most wonderful drug to me. But the point remains, Joanna. Go to bed. Angel and I will work with Storm to prevent everything from blowing up while you rest. I won’t tolerate any more disagreements.”

Joanna sighed, and rubbed at her eyes. “Fine,” She muttered to herself as she stood. “You win.”

She took the elevator back up, and quietly slunk off to her room, moving among the throng of other bodies milling about, searching for the places they ought to go. Joanna had to believe that Emma and the others would keep a lid on things, at least until she was rested enough to get back into it.

She stopped outside her room, and glanced back at Scott’s. She put a hand to the plain, unfurnished door and rested her head against its nameplate. She didn’t even think of what she was doing as she opened the door and crossed the room, shedding her costume along the way.

She fell into his bed, half dressed and already asleep.

Chapter 28: Moment By Moment

Chapter Text

The snowfall had finally come to an end. A blanket of white coated the Weapon X facility; bright enough beneath the morning sun’s rays to be blinding. The windchill was nill, but even without it the air was cold and frigid, chilling even Angelica’s bones as she stood outside.

She watched Wolverine, Logan, from a distance. Looking at him was like watching a wild boar, always thinking that it might up and gore you at any moment. He chomped away at a cigar and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, then grunted.

“Wat’cha need, kid?”

“Oh! Um, nothing, I was just…”

She trailed off, and again the rougher older Mutant grunted. He wore his cowl pulled down around his neck, giving the impression of a man who’d pulled his head out of an animal’s gaping maw and then chose to wear its brown and black hide like a second skin. He blew a ring of smoke into the air and scratched at the side of his face, where hair was growing in all patchy and coarse.

She mumbled something indistinct. He raised an eyebrow at the sound.

“Didn’t catch that, darlin’. Gonna have to speak up,” He huffed.

“I’m sorry,” She said. He waited, and she blanched. “No, no, I mean… I’m sorry. That’s what I wanted to say to you.”

“What for?” He asked, looking off into the wilderness.

He could see it there, in the pristine white snow. The path he’d run to freedom from this hellhole. The footsteps had melted away and been frozen back over who knows how many times, but he could see the ghost of his memory running, naked and feral, with blood staining the snow beneath him. How long ago was it now? Thirty years? Forty? More? It was hard to say.

“The Trask thing,” She said, looking to her shoes, crunched down in the snow. “There are some things we’ve done that I know are right, but there are things that I just can’t call right, and that was one of them. The whole time we were chasing him down, I just kept thinking about how badly I wished someone would stop us so we wouldn’t have to, you know, do that, and then the X-Men showed up and… I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

Logan chuckled, and put the stub of his cigar out against the steel plated exterior of the facility. “You’re the one that helped Kurt give ‘em the slip, huh? The fuzzy blue elf told us about you letting him take Trask to the hospital. Good on ya, kid.”

“...thanks,” Angelica said with a soft smile. “I just… I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s right.”

“If what’s right? Gonna have to be more specific, darlin’.”

“Right, sorry. I meant to say, that is, is it right for me to… to stay here? If they’re killing people, if we’re killing people, is it right for me to stay?”

He paused a moment. Then he turned to look at her, and she saw the haunted look in his dark brown eyes. He had the eyes of a man who’d seen more than any man should. Eyes she feared she might, someday, share. “You ever killed someone, kid?”

“I… I don’t…” She ran a hand through her hair, felt the lace of her new wig slip against her skin and grimaced. “I don’t know. I hadn’t, but, maybe at Neverland? I’m not sure, and-“

“And the uncertainty scares ya,” He said. She nodded. But then he smiled, and she felt, for some strange reason, almost comforted by the expression. “Some folks can stomach killin’. Some folks can’t. Me, I never figured Scott for the kinda guy who could do it, but he proved me wrong. But if you ain’t got the stomach…”

“I shouldn’t be here?”

“Nah. You should be. ‘Cuz guys like me an’ him, we need folks like you to keep our heads on straight.”

She smiled softly to herself and nodded. She could do that. She could try.

— — — — — — — — — —

“Why’m ah the one who’s gotta play nurse?” Rogue groaned, looking over her shoulder at Beast. She tugged off her cuffed green gloves with her teeth, and snapped on a new pair, made of stretchy white latex. “Ah got a damn death touch. Just seems like a bad idea, s’all ah’m sayin’.”

Beast chuckled softly, and plucked a roll of gauze from the tray beside his seated patient. He motioned for Rogue to come over, and handed it off to her. Beneath the fluorescent lights in the medlab, the white streak that cut across the length of her feathery brown hair was nearly blinding to look at.

“I requested your aid specifically, Ms Darkholme,” Beast said, “So that you might learn a new skill. First aid is a necessity in your line of work.”

The twenty one year old Mutant rolled her eyes, but relented. She took the gauze and slowly, unsteadily, began to wind it around the young man’s head. It only took a few seconds for Beast to cringe and step in.

“Ah, ahem. Tighter, Rogue. There needs to be pressure in order for the bleeding to stop.”

She scowled, and began again, only to pause when the boy winced and let out a small whine of pain. Beast nodded for her to continue, only for her to stop again at another wince. “It’s hurtin’ him,” She hissed, in an attempt at a whisper.

“Discomfort is to be expected. It’s better than young Mr Thomas bleeding into his own eyes, hm?”

“Ah guess…”

“Uh, it’s fine. I’m sure you’re doing a fine job,” The patient said, prompting Rogue to carry on in bandaging his head wound. However, just as she was almost done, she stopped once more.

“Rogue…” Beast sighed.

“Ah got his blood on me!” She bemoaned, lifting her arm to point out the scant few droplets of red that had ended up on her cropped green jacket.

“It’s leather! It’ll come off! Just- I- Oh my stars and garters do I need a drink.”

“Can ya get me a beer?” She asked.

“I most certainly will not.”

— — — — — — — — — —

For two days and two nights, Emma Frost had not strayed from her post. She kept to the bedsides of those who’d been injured, and who now recovered under her watchful eye. She had no telekinesis, but with tender hands she helped Doctors Reyes and McCoy to change the dressings and ensure the patients were well fed and well rested.

She didn’t stay just for her girls, for Xi’an and for Clarice, but for all of them. So many were young, and so many needed someone to lean on. A kind face to look to, to speak to, and to call caregiver. She had done, and would do, her best to provide.

She sat at the bedside of one Sharon Stone, though she preferred another name; Catseye. It wasn’t hard to guess where the name came from. Her eyes, with golden irises and slit pupils which dilated as she grew more excited. She was often excited when Emma came around to check in on her.

“Fancy Frost-lady brings warm food again Catseye’s way?” She asked, in her fashion, with a welcoming smile on her youthful face. The narrow gash along her cheek, cut by shrapnel from a sentinel’s destruction, was stitched and building to a scar beneath its bandage.

Emma cupped Catseye’s cheek and smiled softly at the girl. “I’m afraid it’s not quite suppertime yet, my girl. How are you feeling?” She asked.

Catseye’s smile grew, and she lounged in her cot, one leg hanging lazily off the side. She was, to be quite plain, content with any surroundings more freeing than the camps. Here, she had room to stretch her legs, to morph into her violet lioness form, and was treated kindly. Sometimes Xi’an would scratch her behind the ear, and she loved that dearly.

“Catseye tired with long day. Face itch,” She said, as her lips curled into a pout. She raised a hand, morphing into a pink-furred paw, to scratch at her cheek, only for Emma to gently hold her wrist short of reaching.

“Terribly sorry, but you mustn't break your stitches, okay? Lest it feel even worse. Do you understand, Sharon?”

She whimpered, but nodded in assent, and her restless motions stilled. She brought her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, as Emma scratched behind her ear, and purred softly to herself. It wasn’t easy for Emma to ask such a difficult thing of the teenager, but she did it because it needed doing. Someone had to care for her, and Emma would, for as long as she needed.

She had already promised herself that she’d offer Catseye a place, a permanent one, under her care once she had recovered. She’d been purchasing property up here, up north, to house those Mutant refugees who might need it.

This girl, this girl right here, was at the top of the list.

— — — — — — — — — —

There wasn’t much in the way of empty space in the Weapon X facility anymore. Not with the number of new faces they’d taken on since the Neverland debacle. Most of the spare rooms had been taken, several with multiple occupants, and Nomi counted herself lucky that Joanna had yet to make her take a roomie. She didn’t like the thought of sleeping in the same room as another person, no matter who they were. She didn’t want her back turned to anyone.

She sat on her bed, looking at the inhaler in her hand. It was small, so small, and yet to hold it felt as though she were bearing a ten ton weight on her palm. The power she’d felt, the rush of energy and awareness… it was beyond anything she’d experienced before. But she hadn’t a clue where it came from, just that that kid, Chance, had given it to her. Why? And where had they gotten it to begin with?

And why did Gambit know what it was? He’d said as much, some time back. He knew about it, knew she had it, and yet he hadn’t told anyone. Why? Why why why why why?

There were so many whys running through Nomi Blume’s young mind. Why had she been given this? Why had Remy not told anyone about it? Why had he abandoned them? Why was she the only one who knew he’d run, and not been captured as the others feared?

And that left just one last question for her to grapple with. The most pressing concern. Should she tell them? Would they believe her? What was to be done about it?

Anger tore through her then, like a flash of lightning, and from her frustrations Nomi pitched the inhaler across her room. It smacked off the opposite wall and fell to the floor with a small thump. It was a little thing. An atom bomb in her pocket. And as Nomi curled up on her bed, and wished she still had her phone so she might distract herself, she was left to face one fact among all the questions that circled her mind.

She’d used the inhaler once, and it only had two pumps left.

Chapter 29: Pawns, Kings, Queens

Chapter Text

He woke up with his head on cold steel. Something heavy around his hands. A gentle, steady rumbling surrounded him. He was moving; in a car? No. A van, a transport. He was being moved.

His muscles were stiff and sore. His neck hurt. They must have drugged him, after his weeklong stay in a cramped cell. Power dampening manacles, properly functioning ones, were clamped around his forearms and hands. And now they were taking him somewhere new. Wonderful. Odds were good that the guard detail was a heavy one. Odds were even better that he was being taken in for interrogation, if not something worse. They’d yet to ask him much of anything, but he knew that they knew who he was. He’d heard the guards say his name before, more than a few times. They liked to whisper to one another, sharing stories they’d heard about the Mutant terrorist who had come to rival Magneto in infamy over the past year.

The transport stopped. Doors opened and shut, and then there was the distant jingle of keys. The doors were being unlocked. Someone grabbed him by the arm, roughly declaring “Come on, genefreak, move it,” as they dragged him out of the vehicle. He braced himself for the fall out of the truck; with his eyes shut he couldn’t be certain where or when to step out. The guards yanked him back, preventing him from hitting the gravel underfoot.

They jerked him around, pulling him onwards as his feet caught up. It was like wading through molasses, still trying to bring his body back to full function after the tranqs they’d shot him full of before the trip. He yawned, and they entered a building. Its heating system kept it warm, much more comfortable than outside had been. His bare arms were dusted in melting snowdrops, and though he could not see it, his hair was similarly flecked with snow.

Then it went cold again. Not just cold, but frigid. He was thrown down; his manacles chained to the floor beneath his steel chair. It was designed to be uncomfortable. He heard an electrical buzz; a weak fluorescent light overhead no doubt. He cracked a smirk. Interrogation it was, then.

They left him there for a time. He counted the minutes, tallying them up in his head. After the first ten, he recalled the strange dream he’d had after being knocked unconscious, back when everything went to hell. The girl at the lake, what was her name…? She looked so like Jean that it hurt to look at her, but her eyes, she had his eyes. The eyes he vaguely recalled from his youth, from before his first optic blast cut through the air. Sad blue eyes.

A door opened, then closed, and he heard footsteps. He couldn’t be sure how many. A steel chair scraped against the floor, and a soft voice cleared its throat upon sitting down.

Scott hung his head low, all expression falling from his face, leaving it blank, even. His face was half lit by the humming light overhead, half shadowed beneath his messy tangle of brown hair. He’d not cut it in three months. Maybe more. He sometimes lost track of these things. He pulled his hands as far away from the table as he could, but the chain went taught. It was strong. If he’d had Joanna’s strength, or Piotr’s, then perhaps he could snap it with one swift jerk. But he was only… well, not human. But not that sort of Mutant either.

“Mister Summers,” The soft voice said. She was trying to sound stern, commanding. She wasn’t very good at it. Maybe it would have more of an impact if he could see her. Maybe not.

Still, he turned his head upwards, and though he could not see her, he did know several things. From the sound of her voice, she was not much older than him, if older than him at all. She wore perfume, even to an interrogation. She was giddy, excited to finally speak to him, but not as sure of herself as she ought to be. She dreaded this as much as she looked forward to it. Interesting.

Something flopped onto the table between them. A file? Most likely.

“Would you prefer I call you Basilisk? Or how about Cyclops?” She asked.

“I don’t care what you call me,” He muttered.

“Well, Cyclops, I’m here to ask you a few questions,” She said. He co*cked his head.

“Like what?”

“Like where are your allies hiding. If you tell us now, we can strike a deal. Maybe lighten your sentence.”

He wanted to laugh. Really? They were trotting that tired old lie out already? Did they really expect him to fall for that? There was no way, not a chance in hell, that the feds were willing to cut him a deal.

“I’m not going to tell you that,” He said evenly. She sighed.

“I figured as much. It is interesting though… The company you keep, I mean. You X-Men always claimed to be heroes, and yet now you’re running around with a teenaged murderer, a wanted felon, and… Well, to be honest the veteran is the most interesting one, if you ask me. Joanna? Joanna Cargill?”

He clenched his jaw. He wasn’t shocked that they knew all their identities. He expected it by now. Still, it angered him to hear her say Joanna’s name. The implied threat… He didn’t much care for it. No, he didn’t care for that one bit.

“I’m not selling out my team,” He insisted.

“Really? Even if they’ve been lying to you? See, once we figured out who you’d recruited to fight in your little war, we did some digging. FBI, it’s what we do. Right John?”

“Yup.”

Two of them, then. Of course.

“Tell me, Cyclops, did “Frenzy” ever tell you that she falsified her documents when she enrolled in the US Military? Nothing huge, really. She left out her middle name, added an extra L to her last name… Do you know why?”

“Let’s assume I don’t. Why should I care?”

“Because she ran away from home at seventeen after murdering her father.”

Scott considered the possibility that she was lying. Possible, but he felt it unlikely in this instance. He knew Joanna’s father was dead, she’d said as much before, but the circ*mstances had been left unexplained. So, assuming that the agent was telling the truth…

“...I still don’t see why I should care,” He said with a shrug.

“Well goddamn.”

“Yeah, that’s kinda dark,” The other agent, John, muttered to himself.

“Look, Summers, just make this easy on yourself-“

“Trust me, nothing in my life has ever been easy,” He interjected. “On the scale in my head, this rates a two.”

The FBI agent sighed. Was he frustrating her? “Yes, you Mutants are always upset about one thing or another, aren’t you? Isn’t that why you started this, what are they calling it?”

“Mutant Liberation Front,” John said.

“Yes, that. Well?”

Scott’s lip twitched into a sneer. “You could never understand.”

“Try me,” She said.

“Why should I bother?” Scott asked. He scoffed. “So far you’re just another human, working for the very same system that exterminates my people like rodents. You haven’t even told me your name.”

“Valerie. Agent Valerie Cooper. And yes, I suppose I do work for “the system”, as you so succinctly put it. It’s my job to uphold law and order; to keep innocent people safe, to-“

“Innocent people,” Scott spat the words. They left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. “Are Mutants not innocent people, Agent Cooper? Or are they just not your people?”

“...”

He chuckled to himself. Of course she had nothing to say about that. “I didn’t think so,” He said darkly.

“I could hardly call Mutants “innocent”,” Agent Cooper said. There was an edge to her voice, an anger that had been missing until now. Finally. He tilted his head back, so the light hit it fully, illuminating his sharp, angular features and unshaven face.

“What about Idie Okonkwo? Murdered by her nextdoor neighbor when he saw her playing in the snow, in the middle of July.”

She didn’t respond. Her chair creaked underneath her as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. He pressed further.

“Victor Borkowski. Hospitalized, then arrested, after his classmates found him kissing another boy he went to school with. His boyfriend died. He went to Neverland.”

“Mister Summers, I-“

“Charles Xavier. Shot in the head by a human with a sniper rifle.”

“Mutants like you shoot lasers from your eyes, Mister Summers!” She snapped, pounding the steel table with her open hand. Her partner moved to pull her back, but she kept him at arm’s length. “You are dangerous. There is a reason we can’t trust people like you, or call you innocent!”

“Val, maybe we should-“

“Not now, John.”

Scott leveled his head. He looked directly at her, eyes still shut tight. She fell silent, as did her partner. They were watching him closely. Studying him.

“Did you know that these power dampeners only have a 92% success rate? 8% of them don’t work properly. Either they unlatch at random, or they don’t properly negate the wearer’s powers.”

Still, they said nothing.

“Do you know what might happen if I were to open my eyes right now, Ms Cooper? Depending on the quality of these cuffs, and on how much force my eyes expel; if you’re lucky, you would get knocked into the wall behind you. You’d suffer a few bruises, maybe a mild concussion.”

“Are you threatening me?!”

“Worst case scenario, you would be pulverized into what would look something akin to raw ground beef.”

Her chair scraped against the floor, and she stood up, sharply, in a panic. He could hear the sound of the two way mirror as she bumped against it. He smiled, if ever so slightly.

“None of those things are going to happen to you, Ms Cooper. You, and all the other humans on the premises, are perfectly safe. Not because of these dampeners, though. Who knows if they even work. Do you know why?”

“I-I… why?”

“Because I won’t ever open my eyes. Because I know the danger. Oh, and by the way? They’re not lasers.”

For a few long, tense, painful moments, nothing happened. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. The rattling whir of the air conditioner and the steady, maddening buzz of the lights were the only sounds to be heard. Scott Summers cracked a cold, mean smile, and the other agent, John, spoke quietly, steady.

“Val, why don’t you grab a cup of water? I’ll keep an eye on him. Come on,” John said, followed by the gentle opening and closing of the door.

The opposite chair scraped again against the floor, as John sat down. He sighed, and the gentle clink of a watch on the steel table told Scott he’d rested his hands there. He waited a few moments more, then heard something else touch the table. A cup? Perhaps.

“Sorry about Val,” He said. “She’s been a bit touchy lately. She’s not exactly a fan of yours. You have to understand.”

“I don’t have fans,” Scott said plainly.

“That’s not what I’ve heard. See, Agent Cooper and I have been racing back and forth across the country all year long, talking to Mutants who were lashing out under the impression it’d get themselves into your good graces. Ever since you broke Julio Richter out of custody, every Mutant who gets into it with a cop thinks they’re going to be the next to join the war.”

Scott hadn’t heard about that. But he liked the sound of it. He liked the sound of it very much. It was like having agents out there, sewn into the fabric of the country, ready to pop up and attack at a moment’s notice. It was good to know. He’d have to tell Joanna, if and when he got back home. If and when he knew that she was still alive.

“Maybe they’re acting under orders,” Scott murmured, just loud enough so that he knew the FBI agent heard him clearly.

“Mm, maybe. You ask me, I think they’re just a bunch of kids who’re getting sucked into something a lot bigger than them. I mean, just look at Nomi Blume. Perfectly normal kid one day, and then the next she kills a couple cops and runs away from home.”

“They were trying to arrest her for the crime of existing,” Scott said tersely.

“Existing isn’t a crime, Scott. Failure to register with the government is a crime. We make people register firearms, so why not make Mutants register?”

“People are not guns, agent.”

“No, but you understand what I mean. Don’t you worry that you’re ruining these childrens’ lives? Taking away their futures by getting them to fight in this war you’ve started?”

“I didn’t start it. Your government did.”

“The government’s not your enemy, Scott. It doesn’t have to be. I’m not asking you to betray your friends here, you don’t need to do that. But if you just call them off, tell them to leave things be, you’ll see that things aren’t so bad. They can, and will, get better.”

Scott’s lip curled into a sneer. He was seething, clenching his fists tight enough to leave marks on his palms from where his fingernails dug into them.

“Tell me… over and over and over again, my friend… how you don’t believe… that we’re on the eve of destruction.”

Agent Silvercloud coughed. He scratched at the back of his neck, and he fiddled with the necklace he wore.

“So. You think that’s it then? We’re counting down to doomsday, is that it, Scott?”

“Don’t call me that,” Scott snapped. “You don’t know me.”

“I thought you didn’t care what we called you? But if you’d prefer to be nameless, that’s fine. Besides, I actually think I’ve gotten to know you pretty damn well today.”

“You don’t… You don’t know me at all,” Scott insisted.

“Don’t I? You see yourself as a soldier. You always have. You think you’re the kind of man who can kill with no pain. You look around, you see people who have complied with the law, who have registered, and you think of them as dogs on a chain. You see yourself as a man with no name. But I can’t blame you, Scott. At the end of the day... you’re just a pawn in their game. Same as me.”

Scott’s brow furrowed. He was, for the first time in this room, feeling lost. Was this really the angle they were coming from? Of all the things, this was the one he hadn’t expected. “Explain,” He said, in a low and cautious voice. He was listening.

Agent Silvercloud shrugged. “You and me, and everyone else really, we’re all just playing our parts, aren’t we? But it goes higher than us. We’ve both got other people pulling the strings, telling us where to go, who to chase, what to do once we’ve got them. I work for the government, but I don’t know who you work for, Scott. Who is it? Magneto? Someone else? You can tell me, Scott, and I can help you out.”

Scott had to laugh. Of course. Of course, he should have seen this coming from a mile away, but he’d never even thought… Oh, it was impossible not to laugh. He quoted Maguire, and Silvercloud, he quoted Dylan. Not directly, not obviously enough to tip off his partner on the other side of the glass, but he knew Scott would recognize it. It was a signal.

The temperature of the air plummeted. A cracking sound rose up, quiet at first and then louder, and the stone wall to Scott’s right shattered into a million tiny pieces.

He hit the ground hard; dragged down by Silvercloud, hunched over his body, only for a thud and a groan to tell him Silvercloud was knocked unconscious. A familiar voice spoke to him, but he couldn’t place it. Not at first.

“C’mon, man, let’s go!”

“Not yet,” Scott said. “Get the cuffs off me, quick.”

“Done,” A woman’s voice sounded. His cuffs beeped, then unlatched, and Scott dove for Silvercloud’s pockets. There, in the inside pocket of his suit jacket, a piece of folded metal. He grabbed it, tucked it under his arm and tucked in to the protective embrace of the familiar voice.

“Freeze!” Agent Cooper called out as she threw open the door, only to yelp and slam it shut as one of Scott’s rescuers laughed and threw heavy fire in her direction.

A thick haze of heat washed over the room, as Scott staggered to his feet. They grabbed him, pulled him along with them, and he felt the distinct twisting sensation of being yanked through a fold in space; a teleporter’s signature.

On the other side, Scott flicked out the piece of metal he’d looted from Silvercloud’s unconscious body, unfolded it along two joints, and put the visor over his face. With confidence, he opened his eyes, and saw the featureless, frozen over face of Bobby Drake looking back at him.

“Hey Scottie. Long time, no see,” He said, interlacing his fingers behind his head.

“Hey Bobby. Where are we?” Scott asked as he looked around.

They were standing in a corridor; four long facets of steel and high tech computer panels, the likes of which he’d most often seen in the sub-basem*nts of the Xavier School and Weapon X Facility. But this was neither of them, he knew that at a glance. The strange sights of his other two liberators gave a strong implication, but he wanted to hear Bobby say it. He needed to know this wasn’t his imagination playing tricks on him, or another strange dream.

Bobby chuckled nervously and took a step back, towards Pyro, Vanisher and Scarlet Witch, who smiled fondly in his direction. He gestured around them, and summoning all his energy, Bobby Drake did his best to capture the importance of the moment in his voice.

“Welcome to Asteroid M. Hope you survive the, y’know…”

“Experience?”

“I was gonna say cold and suffocating vacuum of space, but that works too,” Bobby laughed.

— — — — — — — — — —

Scott looked out the bay window, at the black expanse of space. Stars twinkled in the distance; dancing like little jewels in the great dark sea of the eternal night which lay beyond this gently drifting satellite. His hand was cold against the window, and he felt empty inside as he took it all in. It wasn’t a painful feeling. It was the feeling of being so small, so insignificant in the grand scheme of the universe, that made one realize just how important every moment, every decision, truly was.

He’d been to space before. Twice, and only twice, before this. Both times, someone dear to him had died. The second time, she didn’t come back.

He shut his eyes and touched his forehead to the window. He missed her. He wished he’d gotten a chance to say goodbye. But maybe this could be goodbye. He didn’t remember much of that dream he’d had, after the mission at Neverland went to hell in a handbasket, but he remembered a voice… Jean’s voice, he thought, telling him it was okay to move on. Telling him she’d want him to.

So he whispered his goodbyes to the endless reaches of space, for only he and Jean to hear, before turning at the sound of footsteps on the metal floors of Asteroid M.

There was a girl in black and green; her leather coat hanging to the floor, while its hood blanketed her young face in shadows. She was unfamiliar to him, no thanks in part to the simple black mask which covered her mouth and nose. She stopped in her tracks, and watched him from a distance. What little of her face wasn’t covered by her mask was covered by her short, unruly black hair, which left only her blue eyes to look at as she stared him down.

His gaze quickly shifted over to Bobby, coming down the hall from behind her, as the girl ducked around a corner; the audible shunting of a door’s opening and closing signaling her fast exit.

“You doing alright?” Bobby asked him, as he came to sit against the windowsill.

“No,” Scott said simply. “What are you doing with the Brotherhood, Bobby?” He asked. Bobby shrugged.

“I dunno, Scott, what are you doing in jail?”

“Bobby…”

He sighed. “Fine. I got scared, so I decided to cut my losses and run. Like a coward.”

Scott looked at him. “I’d never call you a coward for that,” He said.

“But you’re thinking it,” Bobby muttered. “It’s alright, y’know? I am one. But it just… it just got so hard, Scott. To keep on fighting every day. Watching people we care about die. I couldn’t keep doing it, so… I ran. Went to Magneto and asked him if I could hide out up here.”

Scott nodded. “That’s okay. I understand. I meant to say that I’m just glad you’re alright. When I ran into the X-Men a few months ago, I didn’t see you with them, and… I worried. I thought either you’d gone to Muir Isle, like Piotr and Sean, or…”

“Or I died?” Bobby asked.

Scott nodded. “How long have you been with them?”

Bobby shrugged. “About two months after you left. I’m still kinda the new guy around here,” He admitted with a chuckle.

“How were they?” Scott asked. “When you were last there?”

“You didn’t get a chance to talk?”

Scott shook his head. “We were too busy hitting each other.”

“Ouch. They were alright, I guess. About as well as can be expected, considering.”

They fell silent for a moment, as Scott looked off into the distance, staring a hole into the wall at the opposite end of the hall.

“I didn’t see Hank,” He said suddenly.

“Oh!” Bobby gasped, then laughed, putting a hand to his knee. “No, no, Hank’s fine. He just f*cked up his knee real bad a couple weeks after you skipped town. Ol’ fuzzy’s been on support duty since then.”

“And Warren?”

“...They got him just before I left,” Bobby said, a sharp twinge of sadness, of heartbreak, in his voice as he looked down at the floor between his legs.

“I’m sorry,” Scott told him.

“Thanks,” Bobby said, sniffing sharply. “There’s some new faces too, but you probably saw them. Mystique’s kid? Rogue? She joined up a little while back; pissed her moms off a lot, but she insisted on it. And that British chick, Revanche? She and Fred hit it off pretty quick, couple of days before I left.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Scott said. “Times like these, we could use all the help we can get. How about up here? Any big shakeups?”

“A couple,” Bobby said. “You already met Forge. Vanisher’s new, he showed up same time St John busted out of jail. Or I guess, same time your new crew busted them out of jail. Thanks, by the way.”

“Why?”

Bobby blushed. “Ah, no reason,” He lied, electing not to admit to Scott that he and the pyrokinetic had been sharing a bunk the past three months. It got lonely up there, hanging in the earth’s orbit, with only so many people to talk to. Some of them didn’t like to talk at all. But St John took to him quickly, and after losing Warren… Bobby had needed someone, and Pyro was someone. But that was a conversation for another time, another place.

“Okay. Everyone else?”

“Same as the last time we saw ‘em. Mags, Mystique, Destiny, Toad of course, Wanda…”

“And the girl?” Scott asked, thinking of the stranger who’d been staring at him from a distance just a few short minutes ago.

“Oh, Mesmero? She’s new. Doesn’t talk much, but she does alright. Pitches in and stuff, I mean,” Bobby explained. “I think she got here a week before me.”

Scott stared at him. His face was stone, his jaw clenched tight as a cold shiver ran down his spine. “Mesmero?”

He hadn’t heard that name in a long time. He hadn’t even allowed it to taint his thoughts, not since the day the man died the most horrible death Scott had ever seen. He deserved worse, as far as he was concerned, for what he’d done, for the damage he’d caused. All the lives Mesmero had ruined, including… Including hers.

“Yeah, I uh… I kinda had the same reaction, first time I met her,” Bobby admitted, rubbing at the back of his shoulder and cringing. “I promise, she’s nothing like him though. I honestly don’t think she even knows about what he did.”

“She was watching me,” Scott said. It was said like more of an accusation than a simple fact. It was meant to.

“Maybe she’s a fan?” Bobby suggested.

Yeah, Scott thought to himself, as a bitter taste settled on his tongue. Maybe she was. Maybe.

In the time that it took for him to look away, and then back again, a new figure stood at the end of the hall. One which was far more familiar to Scott, with her dark fountain of curls and her pierced, aquiline nose.

Wanda Maximoff, The Scarlet Witch, stood before him in the very same flowing red robes and M-shaped tiara he’d always known her to wear. The ten rings on her fingers were new, however. He liked them. The large gemstones and intricate engravings were flashy, but Wanda was a flashy sort of woman. She smiled softly at him, and waited for him to approach her before she spoke to him.

“My father wishes to speak with you,” She told him, her voice cool and clipped; all business, at least at the moment. He nodded in understanding, and with a whispered promise to talk to Bobby again, he began to follow her down the hall.

Two right turns and a left, passing nothing save for closed doors and empty rooms, and they came to what seemed only like a vault door, or an airlock. Wanda typed a combination into a keypad, 1-14-26-1, then put her eye to a retinal scanner and whispered the word “mivtachim” into a microphone panel. With three security measures cleared, a light blinked green, and the door came hissing open; turning and retreating in halves, into the walls.

Beyond its threshold lay a command room; controls for the management of the satellite and three individuals. Mystique hovered over an imaging console, with red hair slicked back down to the nape of her neck, her unnaturally flawless, featureless blue skin and golden eyes contrasting with the black corset and leather pants she’d shapeshifted onto her form. Beside her stood her wife, Destiny, in a blue dress and eerie golden mask, writing furiously into a small, old, leatherbound journal.

And in the center of the room, looking nearly half a century younger than his true age, in armor of pitch black and royal gold, stood Magneto. His horned helmet framed his heavily lined, world weary face in a way which managed to further enhance the majesty he commanded in legend alone. He, the Master of Magnetism, the Mutant Menace, the Scourge of Humanity, stood tall and proud, and remained entirely unsurprised as the door shuddered open, even as Mystique snapped to attention. She was as alert, as ready to defend herself, as ever. Scott found that small piece of stability comforting.

Magneto turned to face him, with one hand on a console of switches and toggles and blinking lights, and tipped his head in acknowledgement, while Scott entered the room and Wanda hung in the doorway.

“Thank you, Scarlet Witch. You may go,” Magneto said. His daughter turned on her heel and went on her way, as he looked to the other women in the room with him. “Mystique, Destiny, if you would? I would like to speak to Basilisk alone.”

“Fine,” Raven said, as she wrapped an arm around her wife’s waist and walked with her back to their own quarters.

She met Scott’s eyes as they passed him by, and her features shifted ever so slightly, keeping their azure hue but reconfiguring in structure to closely mirror someone else’s; Jean’s. She smirked, and as quickly as the change came, it left; no evidence to prove it had happened at all.

He ignored the attempt to rile him up, and instead looked to Magneto, as he closed the door behind them. Looking up at Scott, with the slightest of smiles on his face, Magneto motioned for him to sit. He stood, even as Magneto summoned a chair of his own; resembling more of an ornate throne than the simple rounded stool he’d offered Scott.

“I must express my appreciation of your new chosen name,” Magneto said, as he leaned back in his metallic throne. “It suits you; destruction with but a gaze. It is a truly powerful gift, and one I have always admired.”

“I’d hardly call it a gift,” Scott said. He held his hands behind his back, standing tall but stiff, and avoiding eye contact.

“I would,” Magneto said. There was a sense of awe to his voice, of genuine fascination, which he had always reserved for the man who stood before him. Even as an enemy, as the X-Men’s leader, he had seen this potential inside of him. And to see him now, he felt as though that potential might be finally unleashed. A series of ball bearings rose from the top of the computer console to his right, and began to circle over his open hand.

“Whether one controls metal, or fires concussive force from their eyes, or has skin made of stone… We are all gifted. And those of us who were born with such gifts are always welcome in my Brotherhood.”

Scott bristled at the implication. “What’s this really about, Magneto?” He asked. “You didn’t have your people break me out of prison just to send me back to my team, did you? You wouldn’t break a year long exile just for that.”

Magneto sighed. “I confess, my motives were not so generous. I sent word to your team earlier today, through our mutual friends in the Hellfire Club, offering them safe haven on Asteroid M. We have taken on a few refugees in the past year, such as young Chance and Vanisher, and I would like to extend that same offer to you.

“Join me here, Basilisk, on Asteroid M. You and your allies will be safe here, away from humankind and their innate cruelty.”

“I’d wondered why the Brotherhood had gone radio silent,” Scott admitted. “But this is it, isn’t it? After you failed to kill Senator Kelly, after the registration act was passed, you gave up on Earth, is that it?”

“I once believed that the Earth could belong to our kind,” Magneto admitted, his voice growing somber and weary. The years had not been kind to him, not as a child and not as an old man. The world ground away at Max Eisenhardt, and left only Magneto. “I believed, when I was younger, that our people could flourish there. I thought that all humanity needed was to recognize that we would someday replace them. That we are the next step in the evolutionary path.

“But when they recognized that, they reacted with fear and anger. And now, after spending so much of my life fighting against them, after losing my son to them, I have come to a different conclusion; humankind is too stubborn, too fearful, to ever accept us as the future of this world. So I have chosen to leave them to their devices. Once they have killed themselves, with their bombs and robots and endless wars… Only then will Mutantkind inherit the world of our birth. So here, on Asteroid M, we will wait.”

“That’s quite the speech,” Scott said, breaking the long silence that stretched between them. “But I’m afraid I’ll have to decline your offer.”

Magneto chuckled darkly to himself. “You truly still believe in Charles’ dream? In peaceful coexistence?” He asked. Scott only shrugged.

“Maybe. Maybe not. But I made a promise to myself, that I wouldn’t stop fighting ONE until I took my dying breath. And I’m still breathing.”

“Funny… Your teammates said the exact same thing. Frenzy, I believe, used that very analogy. She’s quite the Mutant.”

Scott smiled softly. She was, wasn’t she? He opened his mouth to speak, only to feel the air in the room warp, as Vanisher ripped his way through space in order to appear before them; his hand on the shoulder of a woman in resplendent rococo gown and elaborate, flower laden hair. She flicked out a fan to cover her face, though her sharp, piercing eyes remained visible.

“Scott. Dad. Sorry for interrupting,” She said cooly as she fanned herself, and Vanisher again lived up to his name, leaving the three to themselves.

“Lorna. It’s good to see you again,” Scott admitted. “I assume you arranged this, then?”

“The Hellfire Club likes to have strings we can pull when needed. Once I got word from Forge that you’d been captured, I coordinated with my father to see your release.”

“Much as I wish my daughter would shed that wretched bracelet and join her family up here, she insists on remaining in Frost’s court down below.”

“Yeah, yeah. I love you too, Dad,” Lorna sighed. She extended a black-gloved hand to Scott, and waited for him to take it. “Vanisher’ll be back soon. Then we’ll get you back home so everyone can stop worrying. Sounds like a plan?”

Scott nodded decisively, and took her hand in his. “Sounds like it,” He said, as they prepared to vanish once more.

Chapter 30: Sub-Chapter C: White Queen

Chapter Text

Emma Grace Frost was fifteen years old when she first started hearing voices.

It started with a boy named Troy, who sat at the desk beside her in math class. She stole a glance at him, as she often did, and she could hear words in her mind that weren’t her own; scratching against the walls of her head. Disgusting things. Things that made her skin crawl, and her stomach twist, and which made it impossible for her to look at him the same way again. She thought, at first, that they were her own thoughts. Thoughts spoken in another voice, but that must have belonged to some dark, vile part of her. But as the class continued, she realized there were more voices than his.

Her eyes darted around the classroom in a panic as words poured into her mind, and drowned out the teacher’s droning lecture on advanced algebra. She could feel her chest constrict, and her skin grow cold and clammy. There were too many voices, and they were far, far too loud. They overwhelmed the poor, nervous young girl, and nearly drove her to tears.

And then she heard Troy’s voice, his real voice, mutter that she must have been on her period.

She ran out of the classroom and fell against the far wall of the hallway, heaving and hyperventilating, until she lost her lunch on the floor. The school nurse called her parents to pick her up, but they insisted that she was faking it. She tried her hardest to finish the day, but even when she managed to shut out the voices, she could still hear Troy’s. It was always in the back of her mind, mocking her, degrading her, calling her a freak.

It wasn’t until months later, a week after she turned sixteen, that she understood a piece of the puzzle that explained why she was the way that she was.

She was staying up late at night in the den. Her legs crossed beneath her as she sat on the rug by the fire. Her math textbook was open beside her, and a homework sheet was on her lap, but her eyes were glued to the television. Her mother had turned on the news earlier in the night, and had forgotten to turn it off when she went to bed; drunk on her eighth glass of wine.

Emma watched with pure, heart trembling rapture as two men, both more than twice her age, debated each other live. One was a reverend, by the name of William Stryker. He owned the largest megachurch in the nation, and was furiously calling attention to the moral decay of the country. He claimed that Americans had earned God’s wrath, in the form of hom*osexuals and Mutants.

But the other man… The bald man in the wheelchair, whose name was Charles Xavier, spoke softly and kindly. He spoke not unlike the father that Emma wished she had. Or like her English teacher, who often recommended her new books to read, and commended her on her essays. And that man, that Charles Xavier, he told William Stryker that he was wrong about hom*osexuals, and he was wrong about Mutants. They weren’t signs of death and disease and destruction. Not at all.

In fact, he said, he himself was a Mutant. One that could hear the thoughts of others. He said that, as a child, he thought himself mad. Insane. But it was only when he realized his telepathy was a gift, rather than a curse, that he began to recognize the beauty in Mutation.

That night, as Emma watched two men debate whether she and countless others had the right to live freely or not, she finally came to understand what she was. Like Xavier, she wasn’t crazy. She wasn’t hearing voices. She was hearing thoughts. She too was a Mutant. Finally, after so many weeks of confusion and pain, she had a word for what she was.

But she knew that she could never tell her parents, or her siblings. Adrienne would never understand, and neither would their mother or father. They were the sort of people who agreed with Stryker. The sort of people who thought that queer couples were unseemly. That people with scales or feathers or compound eyes were ghastly abominations, brought on by poor breeding. They could never know of her gift, even if that meant she would never get the chance to become one of Xavier’s students.

Emma Grace Frost was sixteen years old when she first tried on a dress.

It belonged to Cordelia, who was only one year her junior. A simple white dress with spaghetti straps and a ruffled hem. It hung awkwardly on her frame, but she cried joyful tears when she saw her reflection. Adrienne’s mascara began to run down her cheeks, but she blinked the tears away and basked in the image that she saw reflected back at her. She felt real, and seen, and beautiful. An ugly duckling who finally understood that she could become a swan.

But like with her gift of telepathy, she knew she could never tell her family the truth. They would cast her out, cut her off from the family fortune, strike her name from the will. They would pretend she didn’t exist. Lord knew they had done it once before.

But she still had Christian’s phone number, tucked away in her phone contacts. She held onto it for another year, until she graduated from high school at the top of her class. She told her teachers that she wanted to be like them. That she wanted to get a degree in education, and help other children find their truth, and their calling. But as she told them that, she knew deep down that there was a choice laid out in front of her. A crossroads that she was fast approaching. Either she could stay with her family, and attend the most prestigious school that they picked out for her… Or she could be true to herself, and give up everything she had.

It wasn’t much of a choice at all, really.

Emma Grace Frost was seventeen years old when she finally asked for help.

She dialed Christian’s phone number with unsteady hands and asked for a place to stay, even if it was just for a little while. But her older brother, the original black sheep of the family, he told her she was welcome to stay as long as she liked.

She found herself at the door to his apartment, one hand tightly gripping the bag that held all her possessions. Clothing, soap, toothbrush and paste, her books and textbooks, all of her notes on how exactly her powers worked, and one stuffed rabbit by the name of Grace. With her other hand, she knocked slowly on the wooden door.

A man answered. A man who was not her brother. He was shirtless, and had obviously just woken up, but he could see something familiar in the nervous brown haired teenager who stood before him.

He asked if she was Christian’s little brother.

She told him she was Christian’s little sister.

He smiled and invited her in; explained that her brother was in the shower, but had already told him she was coming to stay with them. She learned a lot about her brother’s roommate, Tyrell, that day. Most obviously; that he was the reason Christian was considered persona non grata among their family. Most importantly; that he was the man Christian loved.

Christian welcomed her with open arms and a warm hug, as well as a promise that he’d help her become the woman she was meant to be. There were many therapy appointments and meetings with doctors that were to follow, but in the end he made good on that promise. It wasn’t long before she had been prescribed hormones, and had her legal documents changed to match her gender and chosen name. Of course, she never told her brother that she had used her telepathy to ensure she wasn’t denied access to those options. As open and proud as he was, she wasn’t certain for the longest time as to whether or not he’d accept her as a Mutant.

It was October of that year that she found herself standing in front of a movie theater in a blouse and skirt and white fur-lined jacket, staring up at the marquee with piqued interest. Bold black letters, backlit by yellow light, proudly displayed the name Marie Antoinette. There was a showing at eight o’clock at night, and Emma Frost walked inside to purchase a ticket.

It, in no uncertain terms, inspired her. Seeing the over the top displays of wealth and grandeur; the abundant, almost disgusting flaunting of power and grace and nobility… She was captivated. The art, the fashion, the music of rococo era France, it called to her in a way nothing had before. She adored the excess and the power that was associated with the monarchy of the time, and she craved that sort of life.

She wanted to be a queen.

Emma Grace Frost was eighteen years old when she first traded her body for money.

She bought a camera with what money she could scrounge together here and there. It was set up at the foot of her bed, while she sat on the sheets with her top off. She put on a show, as best as she could, and she told herself it was just work. Work like any other kind. Nowhere would hire her, or anyone like her, so it wasn’t like she even had many other options. Besides, she thought, this put her in charge of things. It gave her a degree of control. Truth be told, she even enjoyed it, from time to time.

She made videos often. Often enough, at least, for her to afford her own apartment by that same time a year later. It became routine. Normal. Work like any other kind. But one evening, as she sipped from a glass of wine that she was still, technically, too young to own, Emma found an email in her inbox.

A man named Sebastian Shaw wanted to meet with her at a coffee shop.

She sat across from him at noon the following week. The shop was crowded, but nobody paid any mind to the forty year old man with thick, coarse black hair and a plain business suit. Nor did they pay any mind to the nineteen year old platinum blonde who sat across from him in a miniskirt and halter top. It didn’t take much effort at all on Emma’s part to keep them out of sight and out of mind for the rest of the patrons that day.

He told her that he was a fan. That she had potential for much more than simple videos out of her bedroom. He had a club, he told her. A place where the rich and powerful gathered, and had fun. He told her that he could see a spark in her eye. A hunger. A drive, not unlike his own. He asked her how much she made off of her amateur videos; if she wanted to rake in hundreds of dollars each night.

A thousand a week, he promised her. She tried to nudge his mind closer to two thousand, but to her surprise, Shaw didn’t budge. He smiled. It was a cold, snakelike smile. One she’d come to familiarize herself with many times over the coming years. With one direct thought, he revealed to her that he knew telepaths and the games that they liked to play. He wasn’t as unprepared as most people were. A thousand a week, for the first year.

She knew deals like that didn’t come often. She said yes.

And so she spent that year in snow white lingerie, her heel at the throat of powerful men and women every other night. She never understood their desire to be at the mercy of another human being. She knew, whenever Shaw had her at his… She knew that she hated it. She felt a hatred for him as pure as her hatred for debasing herself. But she also knew that it wouldn’t last forever.

Emma Grace Frost was twenty four years old when Shaw offered her a better deal.

He had grown bored with her, as the years went on. Bored with using her. Bored with degrading her. Bored with demanding that she thank him for every paycheck, like it was a gift rather than payment for doing her job. It was supposed to be work like any other kind of work. At least, that’s what it used to be.

But he recognized talent in the young woman. A cold, cunning sense of business and power dynamics. She didn’t need to be in a bedroom with someone to know how to control them, and she didn’t need a whip to make them do as she commanded. She had her mind, and she had her gift, and she had a drive that would take her to the top.

So she found her way out from under Shaw’s thumb. A position had opened up, and Shaw felt like being generous. She accepted, of course. She became the White Bishop of the Hellfire Club.

The new position came with benefits that she never could have imagined. Not just the influx of money, or the status that came with it; there were new connections made and new deals offered… Deals that she negotiated, rather than begrudgingly accepted.

The greatest benefit of all, however, was the ability to pay for the body she always dreamt she could have had. Millimeters of bone were shaved down. Vocal cords were altered. Implants were installed. Any surgery she desired was bought and paid for, all in the name of alleviating the dysphoria she felt.

And just one year later, the White Queen suffered a terrible accident. A mild seizure, as she was walking down the stairs. She split her head open and died on her way to the hospital.

Shaw saw no reason why Emma shouldn’t have been her replacement.

Emma Grace Frost was twenty five years old when she became a queen.

She traded her corsetry for a white suit, tailored to fit her perfectly by her favorite Italian seamstress. She made a vow to herself, as the jacket was slipped onto her graceful figure, that she would never be under anyone’s control again, so long as she lived.

The world became so much larger when she became the queen. Charles Xavier, the man who was once a figure of solidarity, became an enemy. His students, people who she could have called classmates, had things been different, became her opponents. His son, now a man the same age as Emma, became a battlefield infatuation of hers. His ruby red blasts of optic force pushed her diamond form into a corner, and she couldn’t help but wonder more about the man beneath the visor.

But, much to her disappointment, he belonged to a different world. A different woman. So Emma Grace Frost let go of her attachment, and she reminded herself that he was just a man. Men could be bought, sold, controlled and crushed. But never, not in her life, could she allow one to dictate who and what she was.

She was Emma Grace Frost.

She was a queen.

Chapter 31: One Tin Soldier

Chapter Text

“He’s back.”

The words slammed into Joanna’s chest like a thunder clap. For over a week, she’d been working on coordinating travel for the refugees who wanted to stay, who wanted to go to Muir Isle, and who wanted to go to Asteroid M. She’d yet to make any solid arrangements, aside from tallying up who wanted to go where. But when Angelica threw open the doors to the gym, while Joanna had been blowing off steam with their pet Mk2, she dropped everything to get back upstairs.

She left the long abandoned and recently revived Weapon X facility and stood in the middle of the snow, frost nipping at her bare arms, as three shadowed figures approached through the fog of white. She could only see their silhouettes, but she knew. She knew it was him. She felt it in the way her heart pulsed.

She threw her arms around him and dragged him inside without a word, but she could feel him shivering against her warmth. He was moving like he was living dead, which he quite possibly was, but her spirits were higher than they had any right to be. She just couldn't help but feel a sweet drop of hope.

What came after was a whirlwind of arguments. Disagreements over whether to take him to the medbay, or to let him sleep, or to get straight to business. Emma and Lorna and Joanna and Angelica all trying to hash something out, until Scott’s voice broke through, clear and straightforward.

“If it’s alright with everyone, I’d just like to know what I missed,” He said, looking from one person to the next, and then the next after them. “And then I’ll sort all this out.”

“I most certainly think not!” Emma scoffed, wagging her fan at him in a gesture not at all unlike a school teacher chiding a student with a ruler. “You’ve just been released from prison, on top of being buried under a mountain of rubbish and walking genocide factories. We’ll all be here when you’ve finished resting,” She told him, certain that her sentence was final. It was anything but.

“Emma, I’m fine,” Scott insisted, pressing his palms to the table as he stood, slowly rising from his seat as its legs scraped against the steel floor. He set his eyes on her, hidden as they were behind his new visor, though his tight-lipped expression said it all. “I just want to get back to business.”

“I hate to agree with the White Princess, but she’s right,” Joanna cut in, to Emma’s momentary surprise, but quick pleasure. “You can take the night, Scott. Nobody would think less of you,” She promised him, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“The war doesn’t go on pause while I’m asleep,” He said, to which Lorna sighed.

“He has a point. And besides, he seemed fine on Asteroid M,” She admitted with a shrug of her shoulders.

“Just because he looks fine, that doesn’t always mean he is,” Angelica pointed out, to which Scott’s brow twitched.

“I’m. Fine.”

He wasn’t fine. They could all see it in his posture, in the way he carried himself. It was a wonder he’d not pulled any muscles, going by how tightly they were tensed. But it was, regrettably, clear to all those present that this was a debate he’d not concede.

“Fine. Run yourself ragged, see if I care,” Emma fumed, crossing her arms and turning away, before quickly turning back to point at him from across the table. “But the next time you blow yourself up, or decide to run headfirst into a death camp, o-or need a bloody psychic, don’t you dare come running to me to make it all better!” She threatened before turning on her heel and stalking off in a shrill, if understandable, rage, muttering furiously to herself about the silk bedsheets she’d not slept beneath in a week as she went.

Angelica, likewise, threw up her hands in defeat, and followed after, leaving a different trio than the norm behind to discuss matters further. Scott, who stood silent and still, Joanna, who had half a mind to follow after Emma right then, and Lorna, who was far too tired to deal with any of this drama and circ*mstance. Alas, there she was, dealing.

“Vanisher’s still around here somewhere,” She told him flatly. “If any of the refugees want to come up to Asteroid M, we have the space, but it’ll take him a while to run all the trips. Unless Blink is back on her feet?”

“She’s still in rough shape,” Joanna said with a shake of the head. Scott tilted his head.

“What happened to Blink?”

“Shot in the eye,” Joanna told him, her voice slipping towards the grave as she thought of the girl, the sight of her when she was bleeding out in the snow. How she wasn’t the only one. “Karma lost a leg. Couple others got hurt bad like that too.”

“Nomi?”

“No, she’s fine. Just brooding like usual,” She said, shrugging. Nomi would do as Nomis did, after all.

“And Remy?”

“We… Don’t know. He never made it back,” Joanna admitted, bristling at the fact.

“He wasn’t being held by ONE or the FBI either,” Lorna said. “Forge would have told us if he was. So, either he made it out, but didn’t get to the portal, or…”

“Or he’s dead,” Scott said plainly, as if it were anything remotely close to a plain matter. He knew it wasn’t. He chose to pretend it was. “Okay. We’ll sort the refugees, then. Take a poll, see who wants to go to Asteroid M, who wants to try the X-Men. If we have someone at Muir Isle, maybe we could-“

“I already did,” Joanna told him. “The X-Men have been coming and going the past couple days, helping out here and there. We just need to get people to where they need to be, then figure out our next step after that.”

“I want to track down Gambit,” Scott said, rubbing at his face with one hand, kept from rubbing his eyes by the visor which covered them. “If Emma can find him with Cerebra…”

“Yeah, well, she just left, all pissed off at you, remember?”

“Oh. Right. Well, then Xuan should be able to fill in. She’s practiced with it before,” He said, stifling an oncoming yawn, before Joanna put a hand on his chest.

“Hold up there, slim. She’s still in the med bay, and f*ck it, I’m putting my foot down. Emma’s right, okay? We got this sh*t handled. You don’t. Go to your room, get some sleep. We’ll still be here tomorrow.”

“Joanna-“

“I’m not giving you a choice here, soldier,” She told him, stepping up and grabbing his collar in one tight fist. “You’re a mess. Take a shower, get some sleep. That’s an order.”

“…okay.”

– – – – – – – – – –

Dark night, black as the abyss. The scent of ash and burning meat clung thick to the air. Shrill, frightened screams rang out like gunshots. Alex's cries for help. Jean's pleading to make sense of her tangled mind. Shiro's gasp cut short in an instant. All the innocent Mutant lives he'd ever witnessed be snuffed out before his eyes.

There, stalking after him, a mechanical monster. Hulking violet and navy machine. The Omega. Hands like burning vices around his neck. Lifeless golden eyes. Pale false skin stitched around them. A mockery of a life. A thing pretending to be a man. What they claimed him to be, it truly was. An abomination which dealt only in death.

It crushed his throat, and he could not scream Joanna's name.

– – – – – – – – – –

He woke with a start, late that night, early that morning, just as midnight gave way to the day after. His sheets were awash with sweat, water from his shower. He'd forgotten to towel himself off. His breathing ran ragged. He kept his eyes shut, felt for his visor, and found it wasn't on his bedside table. His heart skipped.

He felt around for it, to no avail, then around his bed, the floor, and found nothing, nothing, nothing. He felt he might choke.

Then, suddenly, something touched against his face. He reached up, and felt as the visor fitted itself snugly, hooked around his ears. For a moment, he felt Jean's name on his tongue. Who else could it possibly have been?

He opened his eyes, and through a tint of red, he saw the dark cloaked figure in his doorway. The amazement he'd felt for just a single sweet moment dissipated, washed away by seething anger.

"It was on the floor of your shower," She told him, though he didn't believe a word of it. He may have, had it come from anybody else.

"What are you doing here?" He asked sharply, standing up slowly, rising to his full height, a head above her at least. His fists clenched at his sides.

"...They asked for someone to check on you. I volunteered."

He pushed past Mesmero, into the hallway, and out towards the war room. She followed, until he held out a hand to stop her.

"Just. Stay back," He warned her, before carrying on. She didn't follow this time. She stood rooted to the spot, hands in the black pockets of her cloak.

He found the team, what was left of it, waiting for him. Joanna, Angelica, Nomi, and not a soul besides. He felt overwhelming relief at the sight of them, at least, before a pang of guilt spiked at him for those who weren't. Emma, gone in a huff at his callousness. Remy, missing, maybe dead. Shiro, who should have been there from the start, but never would be. Their auxiliary team, all injured or maimed, from what little he'd heard. Alex, Jean, always.

"What have I missed?" He asked, his voice an unexpected croak. He cleared his throat. He couldn't show that he was seeing ghosts.

Frenzy sighed. "X-Men finished rounding up the refugees set for Muir Isle. Brotherhood took the rest to Asteroid M. You just missed the blackbird leaving."

He nodded. "Where's Magneto? Lorna?"

She shrugged. "Gone. They finished up not long after you went to bed."

He shook his head. No, he knew, that wasn't right. "They haven't left, Mesmero is-"

"Staying," Angelica cut him off, bags heavy beneath her eyes.

"Pardon?"

"I volunteered," Came the quiet, rasping voice from behind him. Slowly, he turned to look at her. She hung in the doorway like a phantom, black and green hood pulled up and casting shadows around her eyes. "You were down a member, Magneto asked and I-"

"I should have been consulted," Scott said abruptly. Joanna stood, and put a hand on his shoulder. She pushed him down into a seat.

"You were asleep."

"Only because you-"

"Scott. Listen to me. You've been gone, I've been handling sh*t, and you being back didn't mean a damn thing when you could barely stand on your own two feet. You good now? Fine. You're in charge. But last night, that was still me."

He stared at her, silent, stunned. Angelica sighed, head in her hands, and Nomi cinched her hoodie tighter around her face. She was barely awake as it stood. Joanna set her hands on his shoulders, gently, and looked him in the eye. Her expression softened. His didn't.

"Emma's pissed, and we needed a psychic. We got one. I don't know what's going on in your head right now, but we can figure that sh*t out later. Right now… we need to find Gambit."

Scott blinked. "Gambit isn't our top priority, we don't even know if he's alive or not yet."

Joanna scowled. "For his sake, he better not be."

Nomi trembled slightly in her chair, legs drawn up to her chest, fists pulling at the drawstrings of her hoodie. Angelica put a hand on her shoulder. She didn't stop shaking.

"Before they left, we talked with the people who were held at Neverland," Angelica said quietly, her voice dragged down by a heavy weight. "We asked if any of them saw what happened to Rem- To Gambit."

Scott furrowed his brow. Joanna looked at Mesmero. Scott didn't.

"We gave them a description of Remy LeBeau," Mesmero said. "I walked through their memories with them, but nobody remembers seeing him during the battle. But the further back I looked… They all knew his face."

"What do you mean?" He asked, his voice cold as ice. It unnerved her. She opened her mouth to speak, only to be quieted by the sudden slam of table against ceiling.

The table fell down, rattled back into place. Nomi stood abruptly, and stormed out of the room in silence; furious tears stinging at her cheeks.

She couldn't bear to hear it be said again.

– – – – – – – – – –

Remy LeBeau was lucky to be alive.

He'd lost track of the days and nights. It was hard to keep them straight when he was sleeping only where and when it was physically possible to do so. Under overpasses, beneath park benches in the dead of night, in the basem*nts of foreclosed homes, or wherever else rest could take him.

He felt not at all unlike he did before the MLF drafted his services; lost and alone and putting on a co*cksure face when he truly felt anything but. He was tired, he was cold, and he was starving. He'd only eaten scraps in the days since his narrow escape from the absolutely hellish nightmare that was the Neverland operation. He'd only slept two straight hours the night before.

He turned up his collar, walking through this empty construction yard in the blackest hour of the night. His little coal eyes traced red light through the air as he stooped low to shovel gravel into his coat pocket. He'd run out of cards distracting a squad car away from his squat two days prior, and hadn't yet found a chance to shoplift another pack.

He shivered against the stiff cold breeze. It was a cowardly thing to do, running scared like he had, but if he was a coward, he was wise. Better to live another day than to die a fool, that was how it always went. He had played the hero, he had liked it, he had enjoyed himself and the comradery of it all, but he couldn't be expected to throw himself at some lost cause, and Neverland was a lost cause by the end of it.

Still, he thought, Scott didn't deserve to die like that. None of them did. Not Scott, not Joana, not Angel, and certainly not the kid. It was all a waste. He'd seen more than enough wasted lives. Now, as before, he was on his own, and as much as he hated to admit it, he couldn't go back to New Orleans. His face was too well known now. That's what he got for playing the good guy.

The air shifted. He felt a rush of air, and ducked behind a concrete mixer just in time to avoid a bullet landing itself in his leg. It took him a moment to recognize the lack of gunshot. Too long to notice, when another slug grazed his calf, drawing blood and cutting a hiss through his clenched teeth.

He limped onwards, towards the nearest scaffolding. Mustering his strength, despite the hard living of late, he leapt upwards and dragged himself up the steps, hands grasping at guardrails while his attackers gave chase.

Something knocked the scaffolding out from beneath him. It crumbled into wood and iron. He leapt, caught a hanging girder, and swung himself to the next scaffold over. He reached into his pocket as he limped, charged a handful of stone, and flung it over his shoulder. The gravel began to pop and burst, exploding in a shower of violet energy. Whether it found its target or not, it would do to disguise his next move.

He leapt from the platform; extended his bo staff and drove it into the dirt to catch his fall, and vaulted himself over a stationary crane cab. He left the staff behind. Another loss in the pursuit of survival.

He hit the ground with a wince, and when he made to keep running, his shot leg gave out from under him. He fell, hit the ground hard, and clawed at the dirt. Looking up, he saw the face of a stranger. A girl all in black and bright green, with spiky black locks hanging over her eyes. She held out a hand, and with a single wave, threw him against the crane tread.

"Listen, chere, you don' wanna fight. I ain't a problem, I promise, so why don't you just let Gambit go, and-"

"Shut the f*ck up, you loser!" Came the furious sound of a familiar voice. He couldn't help himself. He smiled at the sound. Even when she slammed a horizontal piece of rebar against his chest and hooked it into the crane, trapping him against it.

"Kid! You're alright!" He laughed, grinning from ear to ear. He began to charge the rebar as lightly as he could, and slipped free in the ensuing detonation. The explosion threw Mesmero against the nearest chain-link fence, and he began to hobble off, only to pause at what he saw. It was a sight for sore eyes.

Nomi, Angelica, Joanna, even Scott, all suited up and standing together. But when his sigh of relief was met with a line of furious expressions, he felt his blood run cold.

Mesmero rose up, like a shadow, from behind him, and he found he could not move. She forced his knees to buckle, and he watched as Joanna cracked her knuckles, bearing down on him with nothing but anger in her eyes. A halo of shrapnel, not bullets, hung in the air around Nomi's head and shoulders. Scott's visor glared with a violent intensity he'd never before witnessed.

Only Angelica held back.

"Go ahead and hate your neighbor," Scott said in a low, rattling voice. He stepped forward, and Remy's pulse doubled.

"Scott, what de hell are you doing? I-Its me! It's Gambit!"

"Go ahead and cheat a friend," He continued, taking another slow, methodical step. "Do it in the name of heaven, you can justify it in the end. Won't be any trumpets blowing, come the judgment day…"

He reached forward, gripped Remy by the hair, and tilted his head back with a forcefulness he'd never have expected. Remy pleaded with him, eyes wide and bloodshot, but he found no mercy in the lines of Scott's face.

"On the bloody morning after… one tin soldier rides away…"

Everything cut to black.

Chapter 32: Trust

Chapter Text

When he awoke, it was in the pale early dawn, with foggy grey clouds stirring overhead. He turned, pushed himself to his arms and his knees, and found them bound together with cords. His hands too were taped to one another, with nothing to charge between them. They'd thought this through.

He rolled over, and found himself in the woods, though he knew not if he was in the states or the wilderness which surrounded the Weapon X facility. But when he saw the council of faces which surrounded him on all sides, he knew it didn't well matter. He was trapped either way.

Basilisk. Frenzy. Firestar. Magnetrix. Mesmero too, though he didn't know her by name. His replacement, he supposed, and accurately so.

"If someone picked your pockets," He said dryly, "I promise, it wasn't Gambit. Not this time, at least."

"Quiet," Basilisk said, his voice a forceful whisper. His skull-faced helm was gone, a simple collapsible visor in its place. "You're going to answer our questions, Remy."

"Hope you didn't give my room away already, I had some-"

"You're going to answer them honestly," Basilisk told him, cutting straight through the stall with focus.

"An' if I don't?"

"We let Nomi take out her anger issues on you however she sees fit."

"An' if I do?"

"We let Angelica."

Remy scowled. "Dat's fine and dandy an' all, only I don't know why you're doin' this! I didn't do nothin' to you!"

Basilisk glowered. The snowfall was light, and flakes hung on his black peacoat, and his dark hair, without melting. Remy looked to Frenzy, and to Magnetrix, and found no sympathy. He looked to Firestar, to Angelica, and pleaded.

"I didn't do no wrong," He promised her. She looked away. She looked ashamed.

Basilisk crouched low, and gripped Remy by the hair. He tilted his head back, and looked into his burning coal eyes. The thin crimson line of his visor glowed dangerously. Somehow, it made him seem even less human than the chrome skull helm.

"Why did you run?"

"Because you were tryin' to kill me!" He claimed. "Throwin' metal at me, tryin' to crush me under sh*t!"

"Why did you abandon us at Neverland? Why did you run then?"

"I… I didn't have no choice!" He insisted, to no further sympathy. "I could'a swore I watched you die! I wasn't gonna stay there and let the same thing happen to me, I did what I had to do to stay alive!"

He boxed Remy on the ear, drawing out a hiss of pain. "Tell us your name."

"Wh- My name is Remy LeBeau! What de hell are you-"

Basilisk struck him again. Firestar flinched, said nothing.

"Your other name. The name you used when you experimented-"

"What?"

"Tortured-"

"What?!"

"And maimed the Mutants at Neverland!" Basilisk shouted, grabbing him by the collar, slamming him up against the nearest pine tree. His breath came out in shuddering vapor, and intermingled with Remy's own belabored breathing. For a moment, he said nothing more, his silence deafening. The snow crunched underfoot.

"You betrayed us. You were never one of us. Tell us everything, and we might let you live a little longer."

He was crazy. He was delusional. He had to be. But when Remy looked at Frenzy, at Nomi, at Firestar… They all believed it too. He looked at Mesmero, and it all made sense.

"Don't you see? It's her, damnit!" He insisted, jerking his head to signal at the dark, cloaked figure. "She's a telepath, right? Holdin' me down earlier? She's puttin' ideas in your heads-"

Basilisk sneered at him. "Do you think I'd be that trusting? We had Emma verify everything she found. Every single Mutant we liberated that night, they all pointed the finger at you, Remy. ONE's very own sad*stic mad scientist, tipping them off to our plan to-"

"READ MY MIND, DAMMIT! I AIN'T NO DAMN TRAITOR!"

Basilisk let him go. He looked at the others, and as Remy slumped back down into the snow-dusted grass and dirt, he swore he saw confusion written across all their faces. Basilisk looked at Mesmero.

"I… I never even thought to," She said, seeming aghast at her own neglect. She shut her mouth, and what she said next, what they all said, was done without words. He was not privy to their debate.

After what felt like an eternity, Basilisk looked down at Remy, furious still. "Firestar, summon the White Queen. Mesmero… start reading. Be thorough."

"Okay," Mesmero agreed readily, nodding along dutifully. Just looking at her, he knew, as he knew himself, that she was a liar. Like knew like, after all. "It'll take a few hours."

"Like I said… be thorough."

Remy shivered as she knelt down, and lowered her baggy black hood around her shoulders. Messy, limp raven locks framed her face, and she pressed one hand's fingers to his face, her bare digits poking out from black wool arm warmers. For a brief moment, he saw past the glamor she projected, but couldn't vocalize a word of it, when she plunged with him deep into the folds of his memories.

– – – – – – – – – –

"I must admit, I'm quite surprised that you did not simply turn our lost little LeBeau into a thin smear along the ground when you found him."

Emma had arrived as quickly as she was able, with Blink still on bed rest. They'd hoped not to have to use the girl's powers until she was ready, but between the urgency with which they needed to find Gambit, and the need for the White Queen's return, they were forced to wake her twice. Angelica promised not to do so again. She hoped she could keep that promise.

Scott and Joanna had adjourned to the war room in wait for Emma, locking the door until she arrived. Angelica stayed with Gambit outside, watching him from a distance no less than twelve feet. Nomi shut herself away in her room, just as she'd done whenever not needed since their return from the hell that was the Neverland mission.

"Believe me, I felt the temptation," Joanna muttered, clenching her fists at the very thought. They all felt betrayed. She felt stupid on top of it.

"Why did we trust him?"

It was the question they'd all been asking themselves, wasn't it? But it wasn't so simple as betrayal. It went deeper than that. Scott looked straight at Emma and clarified himself.

"We go to Louisiana to recruit Shiro. While there, we meet a man who was never a part of our plans, who none of us had any prior experience with, who none of us thought to vet. We never pressed into his background, we never questioned his motives for joining us, or even that he happened to encounter us at all.

"Emma… did you ever read his mind?"

Emma blinked. For a moment, she said nothing, the odd question registering. She sat back in her chair, fanning herself to maintain some degree of superiority despite the unease she felt.

"Of course I read his mind. We maintained telepathic conversation on several occasions; you all were privy to those very same discussions," She said, before Scott again clarified himself.

"But did you ever read his mind? Did you ever scan his thoughts when he wasn't expecting it?"

She scoffed. "Please, Mr Summers, I read everybody's thoughts," She insisted, fanning herself faster. It didn't hide the troubled expression on her face.

"But did you read his?"

"...Why had I not?" She asked herself, after several silent moments. Like the others, the realization hit her with a co*cktail of confusion, regret, and some amount of self-loathing. Scott sighed, and held his head in his hands. Emma set down her fan, and put a hand on his arm. "Did you have Magneto's little telepath-"

"She's picking his brain apart right now," Joanna said. Emma bristled at the interruption, but let the matter lie for now. She'd come to expect Joanna's lack of respect for her status, and with the severity of the matter at hand, she let it slide. "But only after he told us to do it. What we're trying to figure out is why nobody thought about it until he said so."

They sat in silence for a moment. Ideas circled, shared via telepathic link, but none were spoken until a feasible option presented itself. Emma and Joanna shared a troubled look.

"Telepathic resistance wouldn't prevent me from trying. If he's a telepath himself, that wouldn't explain it…" Emma began.

"But if he can somehow charm you, make you trust him some other way, so you'd never even think to do it…" Joanna continued, and Emma nodded stiffly.

"A pheromone, perhaps, or some sort of aura. A Mutant charm factor, like you so succinctly described, could account for why you, even why I, never thought to interrogate Mssr LeBeau until now."

"A secondary mutation," Scott whispered, before rising slowly from the table. Joanna rose with him, a hand on his arm. Emma stood last, hugging herself at the thought that she'd been so easily fooled by something that wasn't even trying.

"We know the how, but still lack the why," She said, offering the two a sympathetic eye. "Not only why he infiltrated our little rebellion, but why did he tell you to read his mind? If he truly is working for ONE, why would he offer up the one surefire way to prove it?"

"I don't know," Scott admitted. His lips grew taught, turned down, and he held his arms straight at his sides. He was all nerves, wired and ready to detonate. "But once Mesmero is done with him, we'll have an answer."

"I'd like to double check her work, if you don't mind," Emma said, circling around the pair. She moved slowly, this whole matter weighing on her no less than it did them. "You'll forgive me for being less trusting."

"I was going to ask you to anyways. Bringing Gambit in was mandatory, but I don't want her on any missions until we know what she's really here for."

Joanna looked from Scott to Emma, then back again. Only when Scott excused himself, saying he needed to keep a watch over their new prisoner, did Joanna ask the question that had been on her mind since his return.

"What exactly did Mesmero do to Jean Grey?"

– – – – – – – – – –

Angelica paced down the hallway, chewing the nail of her thumb. She stopped outside of Nomi's room, and for a moment hesitated. Scott relieved her of her self-appointed duty to watch over Mesmero and Gambit, claiming he'd feel better if he knew for a fact that their unexpected recruit was following the given orders, and told her to get something to eat.

She wasn't feeling hungry. But maybe Nomi was.

She knocked on the door gently, and heard no response. "Nomi?" She asked, again to no answer. "I brought you some food, in case you were hungry. Bowling buddy?"

The door swung open, and Angelica entered. She saw Nomi hunched over herself on the bed, arms crossed atop her knees, tired eyes boring into the far wall. She motioned with two fingers, and the door shut behind Angelica.

"We gonna kill him now?" She asked, her voice as dull and as deadpan as her eyes. Angelica sat beside her, and put a gentle hand on the young girl's back.

"No, we're not… I don't know what we're doing with Remy. Nothing for now, okay?"

"Why not?" Nomi asked. She held out an arm, palm facing upwards, and flexed her fingers. Screws, nails, ball bearings and all other manner of metal objects filled the air; hidden seamlessly throughout the room until this very moment. "I'm good at killing things. I'd get it done quick."

Angelica wrapped her arms tight around Nomi, and the swirling galaxy of makeshift weapons fell, lifeless, to the floor. She put her hands on either side of the girl's face, cupping her cheeks, and looked her in the eyes.

"Don't talk about yourself like that! Please, just… God, Nomi, just be a teenaged girl for once, okay? Just for a little while?"

Her eyes were half lidded still; a dull, metallic gray-blue. She didn't say a word. She didn't make a sound, didn't cry, didn't show an inch of what lay beneath.

Still, Angelica stayed with her, held her in her arms, and convinced her to eat just a little, until the time came for them to be summoned again. A year of fighting side by side, for a few short hours of comradery.

– – – – – – – – – –

Scott had watched them, vigilant, for hours by the time the probe ran its course. The sun was fully overhead, his stomach aching no less than his muscles and his head, but he remained in his place. Standing beside a pine tree, he watched in silence as Mesmero plunged through every lasting memory she could find within Gambit's mind.

Every so often, there would come some twitch, some jerk, which alerted him. Always, it would amount to nothing, just a muscle spasming as a side effect of the ongoing psychic scan.

For a time, his thoughts turned to Mesmero. Distracted as she was (he'd made sure to check, and found her eyes a shapeless red glow), he felt no reservations in wondering who, precisely, she was. He hadn't gleaned much from his brief conversation with Bobby on Asteroid M, only that the Brotherhood considered her trustworthy.

The Brotherhood also considered Mystique worth trusting. He could be forgiven for not putting much, if any, stock in Magneto's choice of allies.

Where she came from, what her birth name was, how she'd met Magneto to begin with, all were beyond his knowledge. They wouldn't remain that way for long, he swore to himself with a bitter look in their direction. The snow stung at his cheek. He was going to get to the bottom of who, exactly, Gambit truly was, and what he was planning. When that was over, he would do the same for Mesmero.

The circle of trust had to be tighter. It had to be.

Suddenly, Gambit slumped over, face in the snow, and Mesmero stood up. She held a finger to his neck, and when satisfied with the pulse she found, she stood up straight, and looked over her shoulder at Scott.

"Well?" He asked her, voice as stiff as his rigid posture. She looked down, drew up her hood, and whispered her answer into the cold.

"I'm sorry," She said. He furrowed his brow, stepped forward, and she held up her hands in a show of compliance. "I looked through everything, every memory, every corner of his mind, but… It's complicated."

He narrowed his eyes. "Then explain."

– – – – – – – – – –

Bolivar Trask watched the news with bloodshot eyes and a lit cigarette hanging from his fingers, a glass of whiskey poured from a bottle he'd owned for years but never tasted in his other hand. He sat in the den at home, lights off, eight years of not smoking gone in a few anxious puffs.

His nerves had been fraying ever since the Mutant Registration Act had passed into law, since Project Wideawake had begun. The visits from his daughter, from the countless iterations of his Mutant daughter, hadn't helped. The neverending news cycle focusing on the absolute sh*t storm that was the attack on Neverland was just about ready to seize his poor heart for good.

There was a knock on the door. It couldn't have been his wife. She was out of town, attending a cybernetics conference in Florida on his behalf. It might have been his son, Larry. It might have been his daughter, Tanya. She'd already poked her head in earlier, to ask him for a snack. It might even have been some other Tanya, one he'd never met before and never would again.

"Come in," He said, his voice weak and thready. Maurette Leeds was facing the camera, facing him, talking about the Mutant menace Basilisk, and his escape from police custody. It was breaking news. They claimed that two federal agents were maimed, comatose in a government hospital.

It was a lie, of course. He had the privilege, the burden, of knowing that, thanks to his lofty position and government connections. Just a bit of yellow journalism, to drum up more righteous outrage at Scott Summers and his merry band of misfits. Agents Cooper and Silvercloud were at their respective homes, recovering from mild concussions and light bruises.

The door opened. He didn't look to see who it was. Two entered, one after the other, and looked down at him, where he sat in his leather easychair.

"Bolivar," Stephen Lang, his esteemed colleague, said curtly. Bolivar didn't look at him. His eyes, bleary and tired, re-focused as best as they could on the television. Senator Kelly was unveiling the latest in Mutant-hunting technology, courtesy of Trask Industries. The Omega Sentinel. He put his head in his hands.

"What… what did you do, Stephen? What is this-"

"It's the future, Bolivar. Pacifism was getting us nowhere. You were holding us back. Nathaniel and I-

Trask pounded his fist on his arm rest. "Dear God, this is his idea? Stephen, you can't possibly…" He trailed off, finally taking stock of who, exactly, stood beside his fellow cyberneticist. His heart dropped. His hands trembled. He spilled his glass, which rolled off the side table and onto the carpet with a thud.

An all too familiar face by now stepped forward. Her blonde hair was shaved close to the scalp. She wore a pale gray uniform; purple accents along her collar, with tall black boots and short black gloves. A badge, shaped almost like a sentinel's face, was affixed to her breast. A long barcode was tattooed along the side of her neck.

"...Tanya?"

She held herself with rigid posture, her expression cold and unfeeling. Hands held behind her back, she looked down her nose at her father. He'd seen her so many times before; sad, scared, confident, maimed, whole, tattooed… never like this. Never so authoritative, never, not never, with Stephen.

"You're heading down a bad path, Father. If you don't clean up your act soon, someone else will have to do it for you." Her lips twitched. A sneer flashed across her face. Something about her voice seemed wrong. He couldn't place why.

"Wh-what are you-"

"Fixing your mistakes before you have a chance to make them," She said harshly, before sighing and glancing at Stephen. "See? I told you I came back tonight for a reason. If he keeps on like this, you have a ticking time bomb on your hands. Two weeks from now, in my timeline, he goes to the press with documents proving what, who, the Omega Sentinel is. Not every outlet runs the story, but enough do to make it… problematic, for ONE."

Bolivar stood on shaky legs. He rubbed at his stubble-marked chin, eyes wide open, mind racing to understand. Tanya, this Tanya, glared at him without pity, only disgust and shame. What had happened to his little girl? What in her life had made this version of her so cold? What had made her side with ONE?

"We can't allow you to ruin this, Bolivar," Stephen said in a low, resigned voice. Oh, how resigned he was to this course of action. How bitterly he pretended to wish it were another way. "Trask industries has worked too hard, ONE has done too much for this world, to let one man with a guilty conscience go and f*ck it all up."

Bolivar took a step back. He stumbled, fell across his chair, and ended up on the ground, on his side, looking up at them. Tanya scoffed.

"Have some dignity, won't you? Or were you always this spineless?"

"Tanya… what happened to you?" He asked, his heart breaking in real time. The answer was silent, and it made his blood run cold.

She tugged the glove off of her right hand, and revealed the slender purple machine which had replaced her arm. Her father's creation; evolved over the course of her lifetime. Its palm glowed with a dangerous golden light, and she offered one more look at Stephen Lang.

"Do you want to step out? I won't make you watch."

He shook his head. He stayed. Tanya shrugged, and held her robotic hand, palm flat and faced out, at her father. He closed his eyes, and repeated something that had been told to him, which had stuck with him ever since.

"Follow your heart," He said to her, though it meant nothing. "Look for the right thing, the kind thing, and do that. If you do, it'll all work out. You… someone very important to me told me that, Tanya. Someone I hope to see again soon."

She scowled. He was pitiful, up until the end. It was too bad that she couldn't remain here, to see how her actions changed the flow of things. She could, however, take satisfaction in the knowledge that with his guilty conscience out of the way, ONE had a far greater chance of crushing the revolution underfoot.

The Omega Sentinel of the future, the thing that had once been Tanya Trask, took a life for the cause, as her younger self slept peacefully upstairs. By the end of the hour, this other self would exist no more, just like all the others before her. Another prospective future would take the place of her own. Never again would Bolivar Trask be visited by the possibilities that lay ahead.

Her younger self still slept soundly upstairs, not knowing, never knowing, what she had done.

Chapter 33: Sub-Chapter D: Gambit

Chapter Text

Remy LeBeau first met the world naked, alone, and afraid. He emerged fully formed, without memory or history, with only a healthy body to call his own. He lay on a cold, damp, slick tile floor, surrounded by a wash of green-blue fluid and heavy steel cables. When he stood, stood for the first time, he saw nothing and nobody to greet him, to explain to him who he was or how he had come to this place.

He took all that he could think might be of use before he wandered out into the world. He took a long brown leather coat off a steel hook, and a scalpel to protect himself, stolen off a steel tray which carried various tools; purposes unknown but frightening to consider. There was nothing else for him here.

He came out into the sunlight with a hand over his eyes, to shield himself from the glare, and he wandered the streets of New Orleans, returning once to the home of his first memory, only to find it burned out, bombed, abandoned.

Remy LeBeau was twenty four, maybe, he thought. He could not be sure.

He was not so young as the youths he saw from afar, and he had no recollection of his own childhood, no matter how hard he searched for the face of his mother, his father, his home.

He was not so old as the man who found him one night, cold and alone in an alleyway behind a cheap seafood restaurant, feasting on what he found in the trash. His clothes were dirty, all stolen, and his hair matted and unwashed. It was nine weeks from the day he first awoke. Nine weeks when he was given a home, a name.

The thieves called him Remy, and the man who found him was called LeBeau. He was the closest thing to a father Remy had. He taught him to steal, to pick locks and pockets without even his fellow thieves catching on. He taught him cards, tricks and games to pass the time. He taught him to lie, a skill which came naturally to Remy.

After all, he lied to all of them. For months he lied. About his childhood, about his home, his supposed abusive father who spurred him to run away at sixteen. He lied about his age, saying with confidence that he knew the date of his birth and sharing memories he did not possess of celebrations he did not have. He told them he was a man, though they all knew that was not entirely true.

After all, a man had whites in his eyes. Remy had only pitch black, with burning red irises. After all, his touch brought kinetic violence, a volatile eruption of color and light.

But his fellow thieves did not cast judgment. To them, it merely explained further why their newest member had spent so long on the streets. Every city had Morlocks. Every city had Mutants like Remy. Mutants like Bella Donna.

They fell in love quickly, dangerously, during heists and during small, intimate moments together. They shared a bed under LeBeau's roof, a life in the guild, and she shared with him her own story of what it was to be a Mutant in America. It made them useful to the guild. It helped them cover their tracks. It justified why they did what they did. Mutants had to break the rules to survive.

Remy LeBeau was twenty four, he presumed, when he and Bella Donna struck out on their own. When they betrayed the guild. When they stole every last cent the others had pooled in one night, desperate for escape.

It was a betrayal, yes, but in that moment it was survival. If nothing else, in that year, Remy had survived, and he would do so still, however he could.

They had debts to settle. They had addictions to feed. They eloped with ten grand and left behind only a mocking letter, written by Remy's hand.

"Don't blame Remy. Blame the gambit."

He refused to let himself feel guilt for it. Bella Donna did the same. They got high off kick together to celebrate the plan well played, and he threw stones at the sky that night, to give her fireworks ahead of Mardi Gras.

He was twenty eight, maybe, when Bella Donna had her first overdose. Maybe it was the kick. Maybe it was the heroin. Maybe both. She had told him she was going to project her mind across the whole world, and for a moment, he felt it. Her essence, inside of him, breathing life into him, before she stopped breathing.

He was twenty nine, barely, when she overdosed again. Twenty nine and three months when it happened for the third time. Thirty when it happened for the last.

He was thirty years old, he lied to himself, as he looked out the window of their small rundown apartment. The cracks in the walls grew like cobwebs, and Bella Donna lay on the couch behind him. He held the last inhaler of kick they could afford in his hand, and he looked out into the city streets with a haggard, work down expression on his unshaven face.

The TV was playing in the background. They were talking about Mutant Registration. About sentinels. About Muties. About them.

"Has it really been a year?" He asked himself, touching a hand to his forehead. His chestnut hair hung like a curtain, framing his pretty face. The coals of his eyes burned dimly, their fire near extinguished.

"Hard to believe, isn't it?" Bella Donna had said, her voice muffled by a throw pillow, as she stretched out her legs. "How time ticks along, without a care for us and our kind?"

He muttered a bitter prediction to himself, that soon he and she and all other Mutants would be dead in the streets, before grabbing his glass and lapping up what drops of whiskey lingered within it. He was drunk. He would remember this night about as well as he could recall the day before he awoke on that floor.

Remy LeBeau was thirty, at the end of his rope, ready to die with as much dignity as he'd lived.

"It'll be okay, Remy," Bella Donna slurred. "I… I assure you, you and I… together we'll…"

He couldn't make out the rest of what she said. It was incoherent. Most of it was spoken into her own arms.

"You trust me, don't you?" She asked him. She begged him. He looked at her, and saw her holding out her hand. He gave the inhaler, and then looked at the moon.

In the morning, she lay on the couch, no longer breathing. In the morning, he threw their things into a duffel bag and ran away, like always, to save himself from the fallout.

Remy LeBeau was thirty one, yeah, when he felt himself compelled to follow Scott Summers that fateful day, just weeks after breaking his addiction. He recognized him on sight, from the news maybe or from somewhere deep inside, and he knew he had to talk to him, to make himself a friend, though he did not know why.

He really didn't know why.

Chapter 34: Open Eyes, No Secrets

Chapter Text

Scott stood with his back facing them all. Clustered around the table in the sub-basem*nt war room, each occupying their own seat.

Those he trusted sat amongst those he did not. They watched each other closely, studying every tic and every motion. Scott clenched his fists. He couldn't allow any more time to be wasted on this, not after this final meeting, this final debate. There was still so much work to be done, and they had been waylaid for far too long by what happened at Neverland.

Frenzy. Firestar. The White Queen. Nomi. Mesmero. Gambit.

Emma spoke first.

"I've verified every detail of Mesmero's account. Mssr LeBeau is a liar, a scoundrel and a thief, but he had nothing to do with the tortures that occurred at that damnable facility."

"Unless she erased all those memories before you had your turn," Frenzy countered. For seemingly the first time around those present, there was a remarkable lack of enmity in their debate. It was an honest suggestion, and it was taken as such.

"She's really a novice telepath, believe me. If even the original Mesmero had tried to erase a memory, I could uncover it." She paused, and glanced at Scott's back. She whispered an apology to his mind, though he did not respond to it.

"Then what about his original memories? Before he woke up in that, what was it, a lab? Were you able to find those?" Firestar asked hopefully, to a rueful shake of the head. Her shoulders sagged, and she felt her heart break just a little further.

"Would that I could, dear girl," Emma said, steepling her fingers. Despite her regalia, she had abandoned her pomp and grandeur tonight, and offered a momentary glimpse at an older version of herself, one she had left behind after Shaw's unfortunate mental collapse.

"It's not that his memories were erased," Mesmero spoke up, her voice quiet at first, before she continued; jagged black hair hanging over her eyes. "It's like he didn't have any memories at all before then. Like he just didn't exist."

All eyes turned to her, and she shrank back in her seat, pulling her hood over her head in the hopes of casting off their distrust. She knew that she was on trial here just as much as he was. She had, after all, cast the first stone.

Nomi snorted. "That's stupid. You're stupid. What, you think he just fell out of the sky one day and landed in a creepy mad science lab? God, just shut up you Mu-"

"What Nomi is trying to say," Firestar cut her off with a gentle hand on the shoulder. "Is that, well, it's hard to believe that, isn't it? He had to come from somewhere, he has to have some… some memories of who he really is, right?"

For a moment, they all fell quiet. For a moment, they said nothing. Only when Remy himself spoke up, not in his defense but as his own prosecutor, did Scott turn to look at him.

"I wasn't nobody before then, chére. Besides, if I got no memory of what I was then, how's that got anything to do with what lil miss said I done? Emma's right anyways," He sniffed. "I'm a liar and a thief. Murderer too. Only thing I didn't do was torture no Mutant kids."

He looked at Mesmero, and she saw a million things in his tired eyes. Guilt and shame, loathing and self-loathing, and a great hollow that had never been filled, save for brief moments of joy. Moments with the thieve's guild. Moments with Bella Donna. Moments with these others. And she saw that he knew, more than anybody, that he had only himself to blame for losing these people and their trust.

"I was wrong," She admitted, carding a hand through her hair. "He never set foot in Neverland before your assault on it. Every second is accounted for. Even though he ran away, he… he cares about you all. A lot. He was even hoping you would find him again. This is as much a surprise to him as it is to you."

Frenzy looked across the table at Gambit, and watched him closely as he looked at Firestar, at Nomi, at Emma, at Scott, and then at her. They all met his eyes, no matter how briefly or how sadly or how bitterly. When he looked at her, she sighed.

"Fine. So he's not some sad*st surgeon with a thing for ripping apart other Mutants. He's just a scumbag, like we always thought he was. But that doesn't answer everything. Namely… who are you?"

She looked down her nose at Mesmero, her contempt second only to Scott's. The girl was a telepath. She didn't need to see their faces to know how little they thought of her. Nor did she need to look at the others to know how suspect they were of her motives, if to lesser degrees. Of all of them, it seemed only Gambit had nothing to think one way or the other. How bitterly ironic, that.

Scott's eyes burned the hottest of all. The way he looked at her, oh, that look could kill, even without his powers.

"The Brotherhood may not be in the habit of asking for human names and histories, but I am. You only have one chance to tell us who you really are before I have Emma pull the information out of you. I've given you far more trust until this point than you've earned, and I won't be extending that kindness any further.

"You stare into the vacuum of my eyes, and say do you want to make a deal? That's the deal. Who. Are. You."

Slowly, so slowly, she looked him in the cold red line of his visor. She had been told, time and time again, what a great leader he was, how stoic and stalwart, how reliable. They hadn't mentioned how angry. Still, she looked him dead on, and with conviction, she gave him an answer.

"My name is Karen Grant. I'm from Santa Monica. My parents died when I was a little kid, and I drifted from city to city until I met Magneto… Do I need to tell you more? Or is that enough, Cyclops?"

He looked at her, expressionless. "Joanna," He said. Frenzy smirked.

"Why join Magneto? And why ditch him for us?"

She didn't miss a beat, turning to look over her shoulder as she answered off the bat. "Because I respect him, and because I respect Cyclops more."

"Firestar."

"Have you ever taken a life before?"

A moment's hesitation, before she answered again, almost indignantly. "Yes. A long time ago. I didn't have any other choice."

"Nomi," Scott called on next.

"You look like an emo tryhard."

"Noted," Mesmero said.

He glanced at Gambit, and moved past him. He looked at Emma, and nodded.

"Pick her apart. Just leave her coherent after."

"Gladly," Emma said. She reached out with a slender finger and tilted the dark haired girl's face up to look at her.

As the others sat back and watched, the White Queen made her first press into Mesmero's mind. She expected resistance, a psychic firewall or lockbox that she'd have to exert some degree of effort in solving. Instead, as she looked into the sharp, accosting eyes of this young woman, she found the mind open and willing. As if daring her to expose the lie. As if telling her to take what she wanted and just leave.

So she did. And once she was done, after only five minutes of flipping through her mind, Emma came away with a curious look in her eyes. She looked again at the dark psychic, and she did so with renewed interest.

"Oh, you fascinating little thing, you…"

"Go on, you cow, tell them what you saw."

Emma hid her mouth behind her hand and glanced in Scott's direction. "She's no innocent little lamb, but she's precisely who she claims to be. In fact… I dare say, we can trust her more than we can Mssr LeBeau. Despite her rash judgment of him, and her terribly poor choices in fashion, name, and personal grooming, that is."

Scott looked Emma in the eye.

"What's the real story?" He asked her plainly.

"I'm not lying, pet," Emma lied. "I rather think you'd like this one, if you give her a chance. She might surprise you."

He held his hands behind his back, and looked upwards, before settling his gaze on all the members, trustworthy and not, of his team, and set his jaw. He still couldn't bring himself to put his faith in the two. He knew he ought to take Emma at her word, and yet, try as he might…

"Fine. Two hours, then we hit our next target."

He left without a single word further, followed by a sneering Nomi, who was herself followed hurriedly by Firestar exclaiming "Nomi, wait for me!" Emma rose from the table and gave Frenzy a look, then raised an expectant eyebrow, spurring the latter to make a beeline for their troubled leader. Gambit rose silently, turned up his collar, and left as silently as Scott.

Emma looked again at Mesmero, a coy smile on her pale face. Mesmero sagged her shoulders, brought a leg up to her chest, and let her psychic projection fall for the first time, revealing her true face. She dropped her hood around her shoulders, and tugged down the black face mask she wore. Emma clapped her hands together in delightful fascination.

"You didn't tell them," Mesmero said, both surprised and quite relieved. Emma shook her head ever so slightly, still utterly amazed.

"How could I? They would never believe me. Well played, dear girl, well played."

Mesmero smirked, stood from her seat, and brought her psychic mask back up with hardly an ounce of effort. It had become second nature by now. She left the room after the others, to find an empty room she might call her own.

– – – – – – – – – –

The news broke in the morning. Bolivar Trask, family man, entrepreneur, friend and kindly employer, was discovered dead in his study by his own son, Larry. Police were summoned, and then the FBI. Agents Cooper and Silvercloud spoke with the local law enforcement, and with Mrs Trask, and with Larry, before investigating the scene of the crime. The daughter, Tanya, was sobbing into her mother's chest. They'd done what they could to ensure she didn't see the body.

John Silvercloud, Forge as he was known to his allies in the Brotherhood, knelt down beside the body of Bolivar Trask. His glass was empty and overturned on the floor. He was laying, slumped on his back, with a large hole burned through his chest. The gore was enough to remind him of his time in the army, overseas. It made Val Cooper sick to her stomach.

"Val, you know what this looks like, don't you?" He asked her, to no response.

She'd been particularly taciturn ever since Basilisk escaped their clutches. Quiet and driven, determined to prove to their superiors that they weren't failures, that they shouldn't be taken off the case. The decision was due to come down shortly. Everyone knew they were screwed.

"It looks like-"

"Like something a Mutant could do," She said coldly, her voice utterly without affect. She stood up slowly, and looked down at him. Eyes half-lidded, jaw set in stone. The bandage over her nose and the stitches along her eyebrow were small accessories to the myriad bruises she was sporting. They matched his own.

"Val, this scorch pattern is identical to a sentinel's-"

"It was Basilisk. Him or one of his terrorist friends. Angelica Jones has fire powers."

He hung his head, and silently cursed the human race. It was hard to blame men like Basilisk and Magneto for turning the way they did when humans blamed everything they could on them. Regardless of what crimes they had committed, they could always be saddled with more. It was hard to blame Forge for believing in them.

"Fine," He muttered, shaking his head in bitter resignation. "It was Scott Summers. He burned a hole in Bolivar Trask's chest with his concussive force beams without breaking any locks on his way in or out of the house."

Val glared at him. She didn't say anything more before she left. In her report back to Langley, she'd pin it on Angelica Jones, acting under orders from Scott Summers. It would be rubber-stamped, filed, and added to the sizeable record of crimes committed by the college student and cancer survivor. Her family would receive even more hate mail than they already had when the news of the killer's identity leaked two weeks later.

In the next room over, Stephen Lang comforted the grieving Trasks, assuring Bolivar's widow that the Mutants responsible would be brought to justice one way or another. In his pockets, texts rang off one after another, all in relation to his ongoing Prime Sentinel project, which was due to ramp up production in response to Trask's unjust demise.

He knelt down and promised the young Tanya Trask that everything would be better in time. She believed him. God help her, she believed him.

– – – – – – – – – –

Scott sat on the edge of his bed, his room as spartan as ever. He had changed into a clean uniform, though the visor remained. Emma had only prepared one mask for him, and his gleaming silver skull-faced design was smashed to pieces in the rubble of that camp. The visor given to him by Forge, while not as personal as the mask or as carefully crafted as the visors Beast had once made for him, would suffice for a while longer.

He sat there for a while. Not moving. Not thinking. Trying his best not to feel. His chest was a whirlwind of confused emotion; betrayal and anger and the dull pain of exhaustion all mingling together. Even with Remy's innocence seemingly proven, it would appear that further questions were raised. Questions far more difficult to answer.

Who was he, then? And who was the man in the memories of all those frightened and abused Mutants?

Not to mention the young woman. He didn't even want to think about her, but he promised himself, at the first sign of betrayal or intentional manipulation, she would be gone. Her joining them on this next mission was only to give her enough rope so she might hang herself with it.

He knew precisely where they all were for the moment.

Nomi was flinging shrapnel at a decapitated Mk2 head she'd taken a liking to for target practice, while Angelica was trying to keep her company and talk her into forgiving Gambit for abandoning them.

Gambit was having a smoke outside in the woods and wondering if anybody would talk to him again, and if so, when.

Emma was checking on Blink, to see if she was even able to transport them to their target, whilst hiding her anger at Scott for announcing another mission so abruptly, without her prior knowledge.

Mesmero was wandering the halls; creeping, spying, very likely reading his mind and those of all the others.

Joanna…

The door to his room opened, and there she stood. She closed it with a slow swing of the leg, and crossed her arms when he rose up and started to walk past her, towards the shower. She grabbed him by the arm. She could rip it off if he tried to move along. She wouldn't. He stripped off his shirt and crossed the threshold between the rooms.

"Henry Peter Gyrich," He said flatly, as he removed his clothes, his visor, and deposited them carefully in the same places he always did when he showered off before and after a mission. It helped him clear his mind first, and then his conscience after. "He's the current director of operations for ONE. If we kill him, then-"

"Boy, I don't give a damn who we're killing next," She told him, standing close enough he could feel her breath against his bare skin. His hand was on the shower knob. He pulled it, and she scoffed as the cascade of frigid water hit them both. "We're soldiers, we kill people every day. But when one of us comes home after being held prisoner for days and nights… we take care of him."

"I'm fine, Joanna," He told her, wondering why she'd not left yet. She put her hand around his jaw, and held it not tightly, but with a surprisingly gentle touch.

"No, you're not. You don't even believe your own bullsh*t, so don't try selling it to me."

"...what do you want, Joanna?"

She leaned in, close enough he could feel the heat of her body, though their skin did not touch. The droplets of water which hit her impenetrable skin bounced onto his. Her voice was nearly silent as she whispered.

"For you to open your eyes, slim."

"No." The answer was quick, forceful if only driven by the fear of what would happen. "Jesus, why would you-"

"Because we both know it won't hurt me. And because dammit, Scott, I wanna see what your eyes look like."

He said nothing. Deliberate or not, her words sparked a memory. A memory of the school, of sitting up late one night with Jean out by the lake. She seemed so manic, so wild, but she had convinced him regardless to try. And he had, he had opened his eyes, and for the first time since he was a boy nothing happened. He saw her in all her glory, without the red tint of the world overlapping her. Without her dying. She had kissed him, and he'd slapped his visor back on before the moment fell to pieces, and… and…

"Do you trust me, Scott?" She asked him. He did. God help him, he did. So he opened his eyes.

He saw Joanna standing there before him, awash with the crimson rays of force that he could not help to control. She was smiling, she was laughing, and she grabbed him by the shoulders as if to prove to him that yes, she was real, and she was okay. He couldn't hurt her even if he tried.

"J… Joanna…" He whispered, and she tilted her head towards him. She put a hand behind his head, and draped one over his shoulders.

"Can't lie so easily when you don't have something covering up your eyes, now can you?"

He looked at her, and slowly, so slowly, he nodded his head. If nothing else, if nobody else, he could trust her. He would trust her. He only closed his eyes again when she kissed him, and when she did it felt like a damn long time coming.

His eyes were beautiful.

Chapter 35: Killing Things II

Chapter Text

Henry Peter Gyrich was a cruel, callous human. He supported the Mutant Registration Act all the way through its runup to becoming law. He argued over it with his pro-Mutant niece during Thanksgiving that year, until she cut off contact with him over his mocking distaste for Mutants. It wasn't hatred, it wasn't fear that drove him to become the director of operations for ONE; he never saw Mutants as being worth the effort to accept.

They were Mutants, after all. Deviations from the norm. Who could ever find it in them to care about an abnormality? It was absurd, thought the wise Mr Gyrich. It was laughable. Not even worth the effort of hatred.

Until the day they came for him, just like they'd come for all those before.

He was on his way to a meeting with Trask Industries, eager to see what new weapons they'd cooked up for him, eager to ask on the status of another Omega Sentinel. The first was doing wonders, having captured 5 Mutants already this week, and killed another 15. If he had two, three, four, well then… maybe even Basilisk and his flunkies would be added to that list.

He had his eyes on his phone, a message from Lang claiming he'd meet him at the office, when the car swerved suddenly. He looked up, ready to berate his driver, when he saw the man slumped over at the wheel, already quite dead.

He tried to reach forward, tried to grab the wheel from the back seat, but he was too late. They hit the curb, crashed straight into a light pole, and Henry Peter Gyrich was sent sprawling across the back seat of the car. He looked up and watched as the door was wrenched off its hinges, and a woman with long black box braids looked down at him with scorn.

He laughed, and adjusted his glasses. They didn't know about the sentinels which were acting as his escorts, did they? Two MkIII models, and a MkIV just to be sure, which always followed from a distance, pretending to simply be watching for unregistered Mutant-

The head of a MkIII fell on the hood of his car, and Nomi Blume descended from the sky, sitting on top of another. In the distance, he could see the MkIV being torn limb from limb by a young woman dressed all in black, with nothing but the power of her mind and an assist from Gambit.

Frenzy dragged him roughly from the car, and threw him onto the road. Cars drove past them, desperately avoiding the chaos that had seemingly come from nowhere. Firestar and Basilisk encouraged the motorists to steer clear, with a wall of flame and a menacing glare.

"He's mine," Nomi Blume said, hopping down from the lip of the decapitated sentinel she'd been riding.

"No, he's not!" Firestar called back from the curb where she stood. She swore under her breath at the sounds of sirens.

"He's MINE!"

"NOMI!"

Those were the last words Henry Peter Gyrich heard before a jagged piece of the sentinel's scalp severed his head at the jaw.

– – – – – – – – – –

There was a man in the room. He was a human, with zero trace of X-gene in his family history. There was a margin of error for humans; if they had less than a 20% chance of Mutant offspring, they were to be considered truly safe. Anything over 65% chance of Mutant offspring was added to a watchlist which grew in length each and every day, as sentinels scanned the population and assembled family histories with the aid of ancestry discovery websites and services.

Bolivar Trask had had two Mutant offspring. His odds of producing a third, based on his and his wife's genetic makeup, was over 85%. In stark contrast, Stephen Lang was as pure as humans came. The Prime Sentinel relaxed, its intricate layers of carbonadium muscle growing lax, while it waited patiently for instructions from its co-creator.

It was a man-sized thing, with slender armor plating over the complicated network of machines which allowed it to function. Inside its arms were enough weapons and tools to wage a small war. Inside its softly glowing triangular chest light was an arc reactor powerful enough to level a skyscraper. Inside its legs were pistons and hydraulics and exhausts to vent excess heat.

Inside its head was a mind that could be considered almost entirely artificial in nature, with synapses and positrons firing in tandem; emotions suppressed and yet so keenly aware at all hours of the day. Dark hair grew from its scalp, while its cheeks and jaw and neck were covered in the same flexible metal as its torso and arms. Its eyes glowed golden, feeding optics straight to the mechanized mind with near-instant reaction time.

It had a name once. It couldn't recall what it was.

Stephen Lang had entered his penthouse suite with a weary sigh. The relief of having Trask done away with the night before was immeasurable, but it had been a long long night all the same. He'd not slept in thirty hours, between meeting with the Prime Sentinel version of Tanya Trask and consoling the present day family of the departed, between dealing with the police and ensuring Basilisk's crew took the blame… he had so little time to prepare for his ascension to Trask's old seat as the CEO of Trask Industries.

He ignored the human-sized killing machine which stood in his living room, opting instead to set his phone on the table and play back his voicemail messages on speaker phone. He stripped himself of his suit jacket and threw it over a plush chair, kicked his shoes onto the rug, and went straight to the kitchen so he could make himself a drink.

Stephen Lang was an upstanding man. He didn't drink, he didn't smoke, he didn't sleep around. He lived his life cleanly, and took great pride in his healthy habits. There was no weakness within him. No chance of becoming a quivering, guilty, drunken wreck like Bolivar. No chance of thinking twice about the path that was being taken.

"Stephen, I just heard the news about Bolivar. I know you two were close, if there's anything I can-"

"Delete. Play the next one," He said, pouring himself a glass of orange juice. He made his own, pulp and all.

"Stephen, the board is convening today at one o'clock. I expect you'll be there to-"

"Skip." He took a sip, and approached the Prime Sentinel in his living room. He'd have to take a small nap soon, lest he fall asleep during the meeting where he would, no doubt, be chosen as Bolivar's successor.

"Stephen, my dear boy! I just heard the news! My oh my, how wonderful it is to see you take some initiative again. You always have had such an eye for what needs to be done. Oh, but I'm sure you've got people congratulating you in droves, so I won't add to the pile. I just wanted you to know that I do believe I've found our next Prime Sentinel. A marvelous little thing, I assure you, and don't you worry I'll email you all the details! The schematics are to die for! Ta-ta!"

Stephen Lang smirked. The Prime Sentinel watched him as he opened up his email and began to look over the blueprints with slowly mounting excitement.

Inside its body, the Prime Sentinel equipped with experimental technology unlike any that had ever been seen before. It was a singular being, unmatched by all the sentinels which came before it. It had, for only a brief moment that night before, seen another of its kind. A young woman with cold dead eyes and short blonde hair, who was heading to kill the man that was once her father before she faded from time like a forgotten memory. It had felt something in that moment, though it knew not what.

It felt that strange thing again now, deep in its chest cavity, where its heart once had been, at the idea that another of its kind would soon be born. It felt wrong. It felt wrong to feel anything at all.

– – – – – – – – – –

"Why were you so eager to take a man's life?"

Nomi sneered, her face cast in shadows by the construction site's tarps and plastic net coverings. They still had work to do in the city, still had targets to hit; factory locations where sentinels were assembled had to be located before they could bring the production of the killing machines to a stagger. In the meantime, Mesmero and Nomi were told to stay back, ostensibly to keep a telepathic eye out for those who would investigate Gyrich's assassination.

Mesmero knew the real reason. Scott still didn't trust her, and Nomi was a time bomb that had just gone off. Either the former would pacify the latter, or the latter would kill the former. Angelica hadn't wanted to leave them behind, had argued with Scott the entire time he outlined their next target, demanding that Nomi be at least sent back to home base.

"It's what we're here for, isn't it?" Nomi scoffed, echoing Scott's own argument without ever having heard it. She spun a violet shard of metal in her hand, before flinging it into the back of a stop sign, and then pulling it back to try again when she failed to hit it dead center. "Everyone else got to kill a human, why not me? I killed tons of those ONE guys."

Mesmero watched from a distance as the blue-haired girl practiced her sharpshooting on signs, construction equipment, knots in wooden planks, and a host of other makeshift targets. She was a good shot. Not Magneto good, definitely not Cyclops good, but Havok good at least. She had a steady hand, despite her impulsive nature.

The black-hooded telepath sat atop the cab of a bulldozer, legs crossed and hands resting on her knees, with the moon hanging behind her head like a halo. She frowned, and Nomi sank a shot splitting a plank of wood in two.

"There's a difference between killing someone to protect yourself and hunting them down when they're defenseless."

"So what? I should let the grownups do all the- the cool sh*t?"

Nomi summoned the shard of steel, but Mesmero heard the stutter in her voice. She saw the way Nomi had to reach out to catch the metal, when she pulled it back too far off the arc without thinking. She saw the way the girl looked away, took a deep breath, and started scanning the construction site for a new target.

"So how did it feel? Now that you've finally done it."

Nomi shrugged. Mesmero watched her still. She didn't say anything. She didn't need to. Mesmero could hear it all anyways. Even Nomi knew that. She wished she had Magneto's helmet, so she could block all the mind readers out. Then nobody would ever know the kind of agony she was in.

She was a fourteen year old girl, drowning in a storm-struck sea. And of course, the only people looking out for her, well, they were busy drowning too.

"...what do you know about me?" Nomi asked her in a small, scared little voice.

For the first time, she sounded like she had no defenses, no anger and no spite to fall back on. She stood in the empty construction site, hands in the pockets of the hoodie she wore over her costume, and she drew patterns in the dirt with the toe of her boot. Mesmero looked down at her, and she saw a young girl who was reaching out for just about anything to keep her head above water.

"Nomi, I know everything you know. I know about you taking Kick to save yourself at Neverland, and I know you still have it in your pocket right now. I know you really thought you could trust Gambit, and I know you hate him for leaving. I know how much you care about Scott and Joanna and Angelica, and I know that they don't have a clue just how important they are to you.

"I know you already wish you could take back what you did today, and let someone else do it in your place. I'm sorry that you can't. I really am."

Nomi sank to her knees, and Mesmero watched as the first burning hot tears began to well up in the girl's cold grey-blue eyes. It was like looking at a mirror into the past.

"I won't tell them," She promised, the smallest of smiles gracing her sharp and angular face.

"I h-hate you," Nomi whispered, eyes screwed shut as the tears streaked down her cheeks.

"I won't tell them that either." Mesmero turned, and looked at the moon over her shoulder. "You can trust me, Nomi Blume. I promise."

Chapter 36: You And My Memories

Chapter Text

Once upon a time, there was a young man with eyes that spilt pure destruction and a young woman with a terrible storm in her head who loved him dearly.

She was dead now. Some days, he felt a little dead too. For a time, they grew more and more common, until not a day went by in which he didn't contemplate the point of fighting death anymore. Then, despite himself, despite one of the greatest failures of his life, those days began to grow infrequent. He didn't want to chalk it up to Joanna, he didn't want to justify it at all. It simply was.

But he still thought about Jean. He thought about her often, and the pain lingered, but it wasn't so crushing and miserable as before. Not unless he was forced into the presence of her.

Mesmero crept up beside him, positioned as they were on the peak of a grassy hill. Down in the valley, some way beyond, there was a factory which produced death on two legs. One of the newer sentinel factories, which had just begun production a few weeks prior. It had been on the docket before, before Neverland and its aftermath swallowed everything up and threw them off course. Originally, they meant to kill it in the cradle. Now, they had to make do with halting any further production.

It was strictly recon, that was the only reason that he didn't have the others along for the ride. He wouldn't allow her to be the only one by his side for something so dangerous, so requiring in trust and cohesion, as destroying a sentinel plant. Even under the best of circ*mstances, you could… he had lost a brother.

“Fifteen ONE operatives on site; two of them are former Hellfire Club guards, the others are all-”

“Quiet,” Basilisk said coldly. Mesmero went silent.

He bristled, and she pursed her lips. It was as if he wanted her to ignore his orders. Do right or wrong, both were wrong in his eyes, so long as she was the one trying.

He watched as trucks came and went, delivering pallets of steel and crates of computer components.

“They're not using human machinists anymore,” He told her, lowering his binoculars. She had never thought before that he might still use them as anybody else would; simply holding them up to his visor. “There's a Master Mold AI program running the machines, correcting manufacturing mistakes as they occur.”

“It was developed by Stephen Lang,” Mesmero said. She stuck her hands in the deep pockets of her long black leather coat. He shot her a look.

“How do you know that?”

“I know a lot of things about sentinels.”

He clenched his jaw. “How. Tell me how you know.”

“It's a long story.”

“That's an excuse, and not a good one. If you expect me to trust you-”

She shook her head. “I know you won't, no matter what I do. I'm making my peace with that. Still, why would I lie about any of this? I'm a Mutant too. When the flatscans put us against the wall, I'm going to be right there next to you, whether you like it or not.”

For a moment, he said nothing. Her heart fluttered slightly, hoping and hoping that maybe, just maybe-

“Don't call them that. They're not all monsters,” He said in a low, disappointed voice. She shrank back, head low, and muttered an apology.

“Sorry. I… haven't had the good fortune to know any,” She told him. He glanced at her briefly, then sighed. He set the binoculars down on the grass, and lowered himself behind the hill as cover. She followed.

“My parents were human,” He told her. “They were pilots. The X-Men have been shuttling Mutants to Muir Isle, where a human, Moira Mactaggert, works to provide them shelter and refuge in Europe. Back when we still had a school to run, we had human faculty who we called friends. Humans who would lay down their lives for their students in a heartbeat.

“When we win this war, we aren't going to put our boots to their throats. That's never been the goal. We're just fighting for our place in the sun. Don't forget that.”

She bowed her head, and nodded ever so slightly. “Right. Sorry, Cyclops.”

He looked at her. For the first time all day, he looked at her for more than the time it took to scold her. He looked long enough to see just how young she was. She was Angelica’s age, if that. No older than twenty one. Maybe not even that much. Her limpid black hair hung over her eyes, obscuring their shape and making them seem sharper, harder than they were. She pulled her hood up over her head and furrowed her brow, and any familiarity he might have seen in her face was left clouded once more.

“Who was he to you?”

She stared back at him, the wind whistling and stirring up leaves in the trees which carried down the hill and throughout the valley, save for the swath of land which had been ripped apart for the sake of killing machines. Slowly, she pulled down her black face mask, and she brushed the hair out of her curious blue eyes.

“Who?”

“Mesmero. The original Mesmero. Vincent Langella. Who was he to you?”

She sighed, and lowered herself closer to the ground, laying against it as she gave up on her mental scan of the facility. It was more surprising than anything that they'd not yet had this particular conversation. She had hoped to avoid it altogether.

“That's sort of a long story,” She told him. Not a lie, but certainly not an answer either.

“We have time. Do you know what kind of a man he was?” Scott asked her. Despite how measured his tone was, she could feel the anger radiating off of him in waves. He despised the name. He despised the man. He despised her for what he assumed was her honoring it.

Mesmero scoffed. For the first time, finally, he thought, she was letting the facade drop. She had been maddeningly patient thus far, always wilting under his gaze, always trying to stay out of sight, always fading into the team as if she weren't an intruder, as if she belonged. Finally she was letting her real emotions show.

“I know what you're asking, Cyclops,” She said, her vocal fry cutting through her words. She looked at him, eyes filled with scorn. “You want to know if I know that Mesmero is the reason why Jean Grey is dead. I do.”

Scott’s lip twitched. If Joanna were here, she'd have put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. He had to make do on his own. “You know what he did. Why? Why on Earth would you name yourself after that monster?”

Her expression softened. For just a moment, as the moonlight hit her face, and her ivory skin glowed beneath it, she seemed almost beautiful. She reminded him then, as she had for a glimmer of a moment before, of someone he once knew, before her words stabbed into his heart.

“Because I know what he did.”

– – – – – – – – – –

The interior of the factory was loud, chaotic, and bright. The ONE agent whose mind she had hijacked walked through the fledgling facility with confidence. She had done this before.

Everything she saw through his eyes, she relayed back to Basilisk via her own body up on the hill. Her telepathic range extended far, though not forever. She warned him she may not be capable of maintaining her control on the farthest side of the factory. He told her to try anyways. She rolled her eyes and did exactly that.

From her recon, he charted his map. A full floorplan of the factory, including her best approximations of what duty each and every machine served in the creation of new mechanical monsters.

“To my left, six feet north of the conveyor belt, there’s a repulsor ray fabricator. Trask Industries model. If you sabotage the internal power supply it'll render every ray useless, at least until they figure out what's causing the defects,” She told him, while her puppet shined a flashlight over the mass of iron and steel and its various shining lights.

“How do you know how to sabotage it?” He asked her.

“Just guessing,” She lied.

She shined her light across the factory floor, making her way up a flight of stairs, to the overlook which granted full view to the sparking machines and patrolling ONE officers. Making her way along, she kept relaying every ounce of information, relevant or otherwise, to Basilisk. Nothing was truly irrelevant. Not in a place like this.

“Have you ever thought about killing Bolivar Trask?” She asked him later, as they left the reconnaissance mission behind them. There was a 24/7 diner in a town not too far away from the factory. It served cheap coffee and burgers that tasted better than anything they could get for a higher price.

They made their way with a stolen car, its plates replaced by Nomi before they left. With Blink injured, and their auxiliary team all but officially broken up, they needed to teleport sparingly.

Scott looked at her through the lenses of his glasses, his lips pursed. His visor was folded up in his back pocket. He still hadn't asked Emma to commission a new mask. It was flashy, and sometimes that was needed, but not now. He took a sip of coffee.

“We tried it. Things didn't work out.”

“They don't all have to be as public as what happened to Gyrich. If you wanted, we could just sneak into his house at night, give him an aneurysm. Something like that. Nobody has to know it was us,” Mesmero, Karen Grant if she were to be taken at her word, said before sinking her teeth into a burger spattered with ketchup and mustard. She ate like she hadn't touched food in months. Normally she didn't even take her meals outside of her room.

Scott tapped his wallet against the tabletop. There was a television above the counter, re-playing the evening news.

“When I kill Trask, I'm going to do it myself. I'm going to make sure everyone knows who killed him, and I'm going to make sure they know why.”

“What Mutant wouldn't want his head on a spike?”

He clenched his fist. “He took my brother from me, and he didn't even know it. Every dead Mutant is just a statistic to a man like that.”

She stole two of his fries. “My dad, he used to say that everybody deserves a second chance. Does Trask?”

He grimaced. “Your father is wrong. People like Trask don't get to make amends.”

“Was. He died when I was a little kid.”

“My condolences.”

She smiled softly. “You believe me this time?”

The corners of his mouth inched ever so slightly upwards. “Not one word.”

“So when do we do it? Take him out, I mean. I assume you and Frenzy have it all planned out.”

Scott fell silent. He'd allowed Joanna to talk him into gunning for Trask once before, and look how that had turned out. But the X-Men weren't going to stop them next time. They understood the mission now, even if they refused to take part. They were focusing on rescuing Mutants all over the world now, trying to make good in a bad world. It was on him to do the dirty work still.

Why not try to reap some reward while he was at it? Emma’s plans hadn't stopped Trask Industries from pumping out new weapons of death; new factories were being built and deadlier sentinels were being brought into the world as fast as ONE could buy them.

He looked at Mesmero as she watched the tv. Yes, Joanna had talked him into it once before, but this wasn't Joanna sitting across from him. This was a young woman carrying a thousand lies and the name of the one man he loathed even more than Bolivar Trask. This wasn't someone he could take advice from, not for this and not for anything. She was a soldier in his war, not an advisor, and she never would be.

He trusted Joanna. He loved Joanna. He-

“We've been talking about Trask in the present tense, right?” Mesmero asked. She looked at him, and he saw the concern written across her face, as if she were genuinely asking him such a question.

“Obviously.”

She pointed at the tv. “Well, the reason I ask is because it sounds like you already did it.”

Bolivar Trask, dead at forty seven. Father of two found dead in his home, having been murdered by one Scott Summers. They had the whole story, and they were telling it day and night, on every station in America. They had been, in fact, ever since the body was found yesterday morning. They would continue, yes, for weeks onwards, long after it became fact in the mind of every human and Mutant in the nation.

That's when he saw the group of ONE agents enter the diner, hungry for a meal after their shift at the factory ended. That's when their scanning tech, designed to ping them when Mutants were detected, went ping ping ping. That's when they saw him, and leapt into action. That's when he did the same.

He hurled his coffee at one officer’s face to blind him and throw off his aim, whilst tilting up his glasses to bowl two more over with a blast of pure concussive force.

Mesmero threw out her arms and swept them aside, parting the small group of armed thugs to clear an opening. He crouched low, and leveraged one charging with a knife up and over his shoulder, crashing him into a table with an optic blast that likewise pushed Scott backwards, where he met Mesmero back to back.

A push and a twist of the hands filled two minds with a piercing psychic scream, and Scott surged towards them to sweep both men's feet out from under them.

Mesmero bolted for the door, erasing memories with reckless abandon, and Scott ran after. He turned his head to blast their pursuers again and again until they were in the car and driving off towards the northern border, as fast as its wheels could take them. They drove on in silence, her thoughts kept entirely to herself, and his?

Fighting alongside her, it all felt eerily familiar.