ã€ŠMarvel 11836: Rise of the Lone Starã€‹


 Prologue: Deals in the Dark

    Under the cool glow of a Texas moon, the desert stretched endlessly, a barren expanse of scrub and rock. The horizon shimmered faintly, a mirage of heat even in the night¡¯s chill. Two caravans of SUVs¡ªgleaming black like the polished barrels of revolvers¡ªrolled up on the dusty dirt road, engines grumbling low, their headlights cutting long, ghostly beams into the darkness. Somewhere nearby, coyotes yipped, and the faint hum of the Rio Grande drifted on the breeze.

    The vehicles stopped a respectful distance apart, the silence settling like a shroud. Doors creaked open with purpose, and from the lead SUV of the first group, a skinny man stepped out. He was about thirty, wiry and twitchy, dressed in a white button-up shirt tucked sloppily into expensive suit pants, golden chains glinting at his neck and wrist. His shoes crunched on the grit as he adjusted his bracelet, eyes flicking warily to the opposing group.

    From the other SUV, a shorter, stockier man emerged. Bald and built like a fireplug, he moved with the deliberate weight of someone who knew his worth. His boots were scuffed, his jeans dark and sturdy, his flannel shirt stretched tight over a broad chest. He was unarmed¡ªor appeared to be¡ªbut the confidence in his walk suggested he didn¡¯t need to be. The two men closed the distance, the tension between them hanging thick as the Texas heat.

    ¡°Fernando,¡± the bald man greeted, his voice gravelly, each syllable chewed over like tobacco.

    ¡°Diego,¡± replied the skinny man, his voice sharp and quick, the faintest edge of sarcasm wrapped in familiarity.

    Diego¡¯s lips twitched in what might have been a smile. ¡°Are you here for the money, puto?¡±

    Fernando cocked his head, rolling his shoulders like he was loosening up for a fight. ¡°Are you here for the pescado?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡± Diego snapped his fingers, and two burly men stepped out of the shadows, each armed with sleek, black rifles. They moved to the back of Diego¡¯s lead SUV, their boots kicking up small clouds of dust. The taillights flared as they popped open the trunk, and after a few seconds of shuffling and muffled grunts, a truck with grocery store markings rolled forward. It was an old vehicle, faded and dusty, its bright logo peeling in places.

    Fernando watched with narrowed eyes, his hand resting on his hip, fingers grazing the grip of a pistol. ¡°When I said pescado, I didn¡¯t mean fish, guey.¡±

    Diego barked a laugh, short and rough. ¡°Ja, puto, yo sey. No soy est¨²pido. Jokester.¡±

    The two guards hauled a large cooler from the truck bed, setting it on the ground with a heavy thud. They unlatched it with mechanical precision, lifting the lid to reveal tightly wrapped bricks of cocaine, each one marked with a scorpion logo in black ink.

    Fernando¡¯s eyes gleamed in the moonlight. ¡°Are those kilos?¡±

    ¡°S¨ª, un kilo. Each,¡± Diego replied, crossing his arms and tilting his head.

    ¡°Good. How many?¡±

    ¡°Three hundred kilos.¡±

    Fernando¡¯s mouth tightened, a flicker of irritation crossing his sharp features. ¡°We asked for four hundred kilos.¡±

    Diego shrugged, the motion casual but deliberate. ¡°Sorry, we couldn¡¯t bring four hundred kilos.¡±

    ¡°Shit, guey,¡± Fernando muttered, rubbing his jaw as he glanced at his men, who were hanging back near their SUVs, their hands hovering near holstered weapons. ¡°Then there¡¯s no deal.¡±

    Diego raised a placating hand. ¡°No, cabr¨®n. Tranquilo, hombre. We brought somethin¡¯ better.¡±

    Fernando¡¯s eyebrow arched, skepticism hardening his features. ¡°And that is?¡±

    Diego snapped his fingers again, and his men pulled a large, reinforced chest from the truck¡¯s interior. They set it on the ground beside the cooler and popped it open. Fernando stepped forward, and his breath hitched slightly as he saw the contents.

    Inside were ten sleek, alien-looking gauntlets. They were dark purple with glowing blue stripes running along their edges, like veins of light under the skin of some biomechanical beast. Their surfaces gleamed with an otherworldly pearlescence, almost iridescent under the moonlight. They looked advanced¡ªfar beyond the crude weaponry cartels were known for.

    ¡°Carajo, cumpa,¡± Fernando breathed, his hand brushing the edge of one gauntlet. ¡°How did you get those?¡±

    Diego smirked, the faintest hint of pride in his eyes. ¡°A friend of mine hooked me up with some Trask Tech.¡±

    Fernando¡¯s fingers traced the glowing lines on one gauntlet, his expression caught between awe and disbelief. ¡°Holy shit.¡±

    Diego nodded, gesturing at the weapons like a salesman presenting his wares. ¡°This goes for over three million. You¡¯re lucky to get these with a two hundred grand discount.¡±

    Fernando picked up one of the gauntlets, surprised by how light it felt. The grip molded perfectly to his hand, the glowing lines pulsing faintly as it activated. He raised his arm, aiming at a distant cactus. With a satisfying hum, the blaster fired, a bolt of energy streaking through the night. The cactus disintegrated instantly, leaving only a smoking stump.

    ¡°Oh man,¡± Fernando muttered, lowering the gauntlet. ¡°I can take the Wolverine with this, puto.¡±

    He swung the gauntlet around, pointing it at Diego, a sly grin spreading across his face. Diego didn¡¯t flinch, his arms still crossed, his gaze steady.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°So, what¡¯s stopping me from firing at you now, guey?¡± Fernando asked, his tone dripping with mockery.

    ¡°Nada,¡± Diego replied coolly. ¡°Just good business.¡±

    Fernando laughed, lowering the gauntlet. ¡°I¡¯m just messin¡¯ around, guey. I¡¯ll go mutant huntin¡¯ later.¡± He waved a hand toward his men. ¡°Now, Paco, dinero agora!¡±

    As his men moved to retrieve the cash from their SUVs, the moonlight caught the faint shimmer of heat on the horizon. The desert was quiet, but there was a sense of tension in the air¡ªan unspoken anticipation of something yet to come. In the stillness, the distant hum of an engine grew louder, carried on the wind like a warning.

    The desert air grew heavier as the faint hum of engines grew louder, the moonlight catching the rising dust kicked up by approaching SUVs and trucks. The cartel men, already tense, glanced at each other and instinctively gripped their weapons tighter. The roar of engines grew louder, and soon a convoy of matte black SUVs and trucks rolled into view. They were sleek, aggressive vehicles, bearing no insignia except for a stark, matte black sticker on their doors¡ªa minimalist X symbol with jagged edges, like a scar slashed across the paint. The Friends of Humanity (FoH) had arrived.

    Fernando turned toward Diego, his face tight with suspicion. ¡°Are they with you?¡±

    Diego shook his head, his jaw tightening. ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Shit,¡± Fernando muttered, scanning the SUVs. ¡°Get ready. We have company. Might be Feds.¡±

    The cartel men sprang into action, pulling rifles and shotguns from their vehicles and fanning out in a loose formation. The soft clicks of weapons being cocked punctuated the night. Diego¡¯s guards stepped forward, their faces grim, as the FoH vehicles came to a halt in a semicircle around the cartel convoy. The sound of engines idling filled the silence, the lights of the black SUVs casting harsh beams across the dusty ground.

    The lead SUV¡¯s door opened slowly, deliberately. From it stepped a tall, imposing figure clad in a sleek black tactical uniform with sharp red accents. His gear gleamed faintly under the moonlight, a fusion of high-tech combat armor and intimidation. His face was hidden behind a chrome mask shaped like the head of a crow, the long metallic beak catching the light, its polished surface reflecting distorted images of the men who stared back at it. He moved with deliberate precision, his gloved hands resting casually at his sides, but the aura of danger around him was palpable.

    Fernando stepped forward, his voice sharp and demanding. ¡°Who are you? Are you with the Feds?¡±

    The masked man tilted his head slightly, the crow-like mask giving the motion an eerie, predatory quality. His voice emerged, cold and mechanical through a voice modulator. ¡°No, I¡¯m not.¡±

    ¡°Then who the hell are you?¡± Fernando demanded.

    The man didn¡¯t answer the question. Instead, he said, ¡°You have something that was taken away from us.¡±

    Fernando¡¯s brow furrowed, his irritation mounting. ¡°Taken away? Pendejo, I bought this fair and square.¡±

    The man stepped closer, the black matte of his armor absorbing the light like a void. ¡°From a traitor and black-market contrabandist.¡±

    Diego shifted uncomfortably but kept his expression neutral. Fernando laughed harshly, his voice cutting through the tense air. ¡°I don¡¯t care where it came from. I bought it. It¡¯s mine.¡±

    The X-Cutioner raised a gloved hand, palm open in a mockingly casual gesture. ¡°I¡¯ll give you two hundred thousand for them.¡±

    Fernando turned to Diego, his face twisting in incredulity. ¡°Diego, can you hear this, guey? Two hundred grand for ten blasters? This gringo lost his mind. Go back to New York or wherever the hell you came from.¡±

    The masked man remained still, his voice calm but icy. ¡°I said my piece. Accept it, or don¡¯t. Either way, I¡¯ll have those blasters.¡±

    Fernando spat on the ground, the gesture filled with disdain. ¡°Smoke this motherfucker.¡±

    Before the cartel men could even fully raise their weapons, the X-Cutioner moved. His hand snapped to his side, pulling a sleek blaster from his hip, and with a deafening whine, a streak of red energy erupted from the barrel. The bolt struck Fernando squarely in the face, and for a brief, horrifying moment, his head glowed like molten metal before disintegrating into a fine, blackened ash. His body crumpled to the ground, still smoking, the empty neck where his head had been an awful, smoldering stump.

    ¡°Madre de Dios!¡± one of Fernando¡¯s men shouted, stumbling back in terror.

    The scene exploded into chaos. The cartel men opened fire, bullets spraying wildly toward the FoH vehicles and their leader. The night was lit by muzzle flashes, but the X-Cutioner didn¡¯t flinch. Moving with mechanical precision, he fired his blaster again, cutting through the cacophony of gunfire. Another cartel soldier screamed as his chest caved in, the blast disintegrating his ribcage in a flash of searing heat.

    Diego ducked behind one of his SUVs, barking orders to his guards. ¡°Pin him down! Take him out!¡±

    The FoH operatives began pouring out of their vehicles, clad in similar black tactical armor. They moved with eerie synchronization, each one armed with advanced energy weapons. The cartel¡¯s bullets pinged harmlessly off their armor, sparks flying as high-tech plating absorbed the impact.

    One cartel guard, a stocky man wielding an AK-47, let out a war cry and sprayed a burst of fire toward the advancing FoH soldiers. The X-Cutioner raised his arm, activating a wrist-mounted shield that shimmered to life in glowing red hexagonal patterns. The bullets ricocheted off harmlessly, and the X-Cutioner responded with a single, precise shot that turned the guard into a heap of smoldering flesh.

    Another cartel soldier attempted to flank the FoH operatives, but one of the black-armored soldiers turned with inhuman speed, firing a blaster that sent the man sprawling backward, his body lifeless before it hit the ground.

    The desert was filled with the sounds of screams, blaster fire, and the dull thuds of bodies hitting the earth. One by one, the cartel men fell, their outdated firearms no match for the advanced weaponry and tactics of the FoH.

    Diego, pinned behind the SUV, watched in horror as his men were systematically cut down. The X-Cutioner strode forward through the chaos, calm and methodical, his chrome mask reflecting the carnage around him. He stepped over the body of a dying cartel soldier, his boots crunching on the bloody dirt.

    Diego scrambled to his feet, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. ¡°Wait! Wait! We can make a deal! I¡¯ll double what they¡¯re paying you!¡±

    The X-Cutioner stopped, tilting his head slightly. ¡°You misunderstand.¡±

    Before Diego could respond, the X-Cutioner raised his blaster and fired. The bolt struck Diego in the chest, his body convulsing violently before crumpling to the ground, smoke curling from the scorched wound.

    As the last of the cartel men were dispatched, the remaining FoH soldiers began to gather the Sentinel blasters from the SUV. The X-Cutioner turned to survey the carnage, his chrome mask catching the faint glow of the weapons being loaded into their trucks. The cartel had been utterly humiliated, their power and pride reduced to ash in the Texas moonlight.

    ¡°Leave the bodies,¡± the X-Cutioner said, his modulated voice devoid of emotion. ¡°Let the coyotes have them.¡±

    The FoH operatives complied, their black-clad forms blending into the night as they finished their grim task. Within minutes, the convoy of SUVs and trucks disappeared into the darkness, leaving nothing but blood, ash, and silence behind.

 Chapter 1: Conditional Support

    Imperial Heights, Midland, Texas.

    In the quiet of his childhood bedroom, Duncan Nenni sat cross-legged on the floor, his gaming laptop humming faintly on the desk in front of him. His room was a chaotic mosaic of his life¡ªboth past and present. Faded posters of Captain America, their edges curling, clung to the walls alongside vintage Texan paraphernalia: an old Roxxon gas station sign, battered Texas license plates, and models of police cars and M1 Abrams tanks arranged haphazardly on shelves. A small stack of economic textbooks sat untouched on a dusty corner of his desk, remnants of his college years, alongside Lego sets that had long since lost their original shapes.

    On his laptop, Duncan toggled between games, his fingers deftly dancing across the keyboard. His dark brown hair, slightly disheveled, fell into his eyes as he muttered under his breath. ¡°Mother¡ª¡± he cursed softly, his screen flickering with a defeat notification. The sharp contrast between the game¡¯s noise and the oppressive quiet of Midland at night filled the room.

    Between rounds, he leaned back in his chair, pulling out his cellphone to scroll through the latest headlines. His jaw tightened as he read an article about mutant incidents near the Rio Grande, but he said nothing. Instead, he tapped out a few terse notes in a file on his phone, a habit born of his analytical mind.

    The silence was broken by a soft, melodic voice calling from downstairs.

    ¡°Duncan, son?¡±

    He didn¡¯t look away from his phone immediately. ¡°Mama?¡±

    ¡°Are you really going to stay up here all night and not talk to your parents? You leave tomorrow, y¡¯know.¡±

    His lips twitched in annoyance, but he sighed and spun his chair around to face the door. ¡°I don¡¯t think there¡¯s much to talk about.¡±

    ¡°Just come downstairs, son. Alright?¡±

    He hesitated, considering going back to his game, but her tone left little room for argument. ¡°Fine, fine¡­ Will do.¡±

    Duncan floated down the stairs rather than taking them step by step, his arms crossed as he descended. His family¡¯s small but tidy living room was exactly as he¡¯d left it months ago: worn leather couches, a crocheted throw over one armrest, and a modest entertainment center with a muted television playing an old Western. The warm scent of steak, green beans, and potatoes wafted from the kitchen.

    At the dining table, his parents sat waiting. His father, Robert Nenni, was leaning back in his chair with an amused smirk. At 5¡¯5¡±, Robert had a dad bod, his stocky frame softened by years of comfort in retirement a stark difference from his son''s 6''1". His sun-kissed skin bore faint lines from decades under the Texas sun, and his short-cropped white hair was streaked with remnants of its darker youth. His dark hazel eyes, sharp and observant, flicked toward Duncan as he floated into the room. His observant eyes tired from years of service as a Warden.

    ¡°Good mornin¡¯, son,¡± Robert said sarcastically, his voice deep but tinged with humor. ¡°Finally got off that computer?¡±

    ¡°Yup,¡± Duncan replied flatly, letting himself land softly on the floor and pulling out a chair.

    His mother, Marcy Nenni, gestured toward the spread of food with her small hands. At 5¡¯3¡±, she was petite but carried herself with a calm authority, her dyed blonde hair pulled into a neat bun. Her lightly tanned skin seemed to glow in the kitchen¡¯s soft light, her brown eyes kind but firm. Years of working as a high-ranking social worker for the Texas Department of Criminal Justice had given her a voice that could both comfort and command, a trait Duncan had never fully escaped.

    ¡°Here, sit,¡± she said, nodding toward the green beans, steak, and potatoes.

    Duncan sat and reached for his plate, but his father cleared his throat meaningfully.

    ¡°Robert,¡± Marcy said, her tone exasperated. ¡°Prayer.¡±

    ¡°Right, sorry,¡± Robert mumbled, folding his hands.

    Duncan suppressed a sigh, clasping his hands loosely together. His parents bowed their heads, eyes closed, and Marcy began to pray. Her voice was soft and melodic, but Duncan¡¯s mind wandered, his eyes open and fixed on the food.

    When the prayer ended, Marcy and Robert began eating, their movements slow and deliberate as they savored their meal. Duncan, however, tore into his steak without hesitation, prompting a raised eyebrow from his father.

    ¡°So,¡± Robert said, his voice cutting through the silence, ¡°you go back to Dallas tomorrow?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m goin¡¯ tonight, actually,¡± Duncan replied, not looking up.

    ¡°Bus?¡±

    ¡°Flyin¡¯.¡±

    Robert set his fork down, narrowing his eyes. ¡°What have I told you ¡¯bout flyin¡¯, son?¡±

    Duncan sighed, finally meeting his father¡¯s gaze. ¡°It is dangerous. They might think I¡¯m a bad mutant.¡±

    ¡°I ain¡¯t sayin¡¯ you¡¯re a bad mutant, but you know how people think these days,¡± Robert said. ¡°It¡¯s risky.¡±

    ¡°I ain¡¯t no bad mutant,¡± Duncan replied, his voice sharp. ¡°I¡¯m just a guy flyin¡¯ around. When Captain Marvel does it, y¡¯all don¡¯t complain.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s different,¡± Marcy interjected gently. ¡°It¡¯s not complainin¡¯, Duncan. We¡¯re just takin¡¯ care of you.¡±

    ¡°I understand, Mama. Daddy. But this is an ability I have. Why should I spend money on a bus ticket or plane ticket when I can fly faster than they ever could?¡±

    ¡°Because it might trigger a Sentinel,¡± Robert said firmly, his voice heavy with concern.

    ¡°I¡¯m not scared of no Sentinel,¡± Duncan shot back, leaning back in his chair.

    ¡°Son,¡± Robert said, his voice lowering, ¡°Sentinels are made to protect us. If you destroy one, we risk not bein'' able to protect ourselves from the likes of Magneto¡±

    Duncan¡¯s fork froze mid-air, his jaw tightening. ¡°Seriously? Y¡¯all think Sentinels were made to protect y¡¯all? They¡¯re made to kill people like me.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no people like you, Duncan,¡± Marcy said softly. ¡°You¡¯re human, just as we are.¡±

    ¡°I ain¡¯t human,¡± Duncan muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. ¡°Not in the slightest.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a child of God, flyin¡¯ or no flyin¡¯¡± Marcy said, her tone firm but calm.

    Duncan nodded silently, though his eyes betrayed his disagreement. ¡°Whatever y¡¯all say.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t patronize us or the Lord, Duncan¡± Marcy added, her voice laced with quiet pleading.

    ¡°I ain''t patronizin¡¯, I believe if there''s a creator, he wouldn''t mind a bit of that either.¡±

    ¡°Duncan,¡± Marcy said gently. ¡°You forgot that we¡¯re nothin¡¯ without God.¡±

    ¡°Son,¡± Robert started, his tone softening, but Marcy raised a hand to stop him.

    ¡°Don¡¯t say it, Robert,¡± she said firmly. ¡°He knows what he has to do. Let the Lord touch his heart.¡±

    Duncan¡¯s eyes flicked toward his parents, his face carefully neutral. ¡°We¡¯ll see.¡±

    The silence that followed was heavy but not hostile, the quiet acceptance of a family divided by beliefs but bound by love. For the Nennis, this was a familiar dance¡ªone they¡¯d been performing since Duncan¡¯s powers first manifested. But for Duncan, every step felt heavier than the last.

    Duncan Nenni leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his dark brown eyes narrowing as he studied his parents. The dining table was now cleared except for their glasses and a few scraps of green beans left on his father¡¯s plate. The air in the small kitchen felt heavier now, filled with the residue of unspoken tension that always seemed to linger when the conversation drifted into certain territories.

    He tapped his fingers on the table, breaking the silence. "Y¡¯all know the Celestials, right?¡±

    Across the table, Robert Nenni, his father, paused mid-bite of his steak, his hazel eyes snapping to Duncan with a mix of suspicion and disapproval. He had the look of a man who had heard this argument one too many times. "None of that atheist talk here, Duncan," Robert said, his voice stern but not quite hostile.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    Duncan sighed, his lips tightening as he rubbed his temple. "It ain¡¯t atheist, it¡¯s just empirical evidence. Evidence that suggests¡ª"

    Marcy Nenni, his mother, shook her head sharply. Her blonde bun swayed slightly as she raised a hand to cut him off. ¡°I can¡¯t believe you¡¯ve started buyin¡¯ into that celestial explanation fer yer powers. After all we taught you?¡±

    Duncan leaned forward, his voice firm but restrained. ¡°Mutants come from a race of Celestial-bred humans. It¡¯s not some pie-in-the-sky theory. It¡¯s based on study, on evidence."

    "Not at the table, Duncan," Marcy interrupted, her voice rising slightly but still melodic, like she was trying to stay calm.

    "Science can''t explain everythin¡¯, son," Robert added, leaning back in his chair, his expression guarded.

    ¡°That¡¯s true,¡± Duncan agreed, his voice laced with sarcasm. ¡°But I like to believe in what I see and what¡¯s been proven."

    The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Marcy¡¯s face tightened, and Robert straightened in his chair, his eyes narrowing further.

    ¡°Alright, enough,¡± Robert barked, his tone sharp now, final. ¡°Let¡¯s go ahead and change the subject.¡±

    He got up, grabbing his plate, and made his way to the living room, where his favorite recliner awaited him. His wife followed, shooting Duncan a warning glance as she passed.

    Left alone at the table, Duncan pulled out his phone, his fingers already scrolling through his notifications. His thoughts swirled, half-formed arguments he hadn¡¯t gotten to make still buzzing in his head.

    ¡°Let go of that damn thing fer a while and come sit with us, son,¡± Robert called from the couch, his voice slightly muffled by the hum of the television.

    Duncan sighed, dropping his phone onto the table with a clatter. ¡°Yeah, comin¡¯,¡± he muttered, rising to his feet.

    He settled into the smaller armchair across from his father, the leather creaking slightly under his weight. His plate had long since been emptied, but Marcy still glanced at him with mild concern.

    ¡°Son, you eat too fast,¡± she said, her voice tinged with maternal worry. ¡°You¡¯re gonna make yourself sick one of these days.¡±

    Duncan waved her off. ¡°Mama, I don¡¯t even have to eat, really. Much less eat slow.¡±

    Marcy frowned but didn¡¯t push the point. She leaned back into the couch as Robert turned the volume up on the television. An ad was playing, brightly lit and cheerful, featuring couples walking hand-in-hand in sunny parks, laughing over coffee, and exchanging quick kisses. It was for Worthington Industries, the company Warren Worthington III, the former Angel, had thrown himself into after retiring from active heroism.

    Marcy¡¯s face twisted slightly as she gestured toward the screen. ¡°Look, great. Now they¡¯re all on TV. Mutants everywhere.¡±

    ¡°Wokeism,¡± Robert grumbled, shaking his head. ¡°It¡¯s in everythin'' now. Even Stark and the Avengers.¡±

    Duncan rolled his eyes, sinking deeper into the chair. ¡°There y¡¯all go again,¡± he said flatly. ¡°It¡¯s just some couple mutants in an ad. Ain¡¯t nobody gettin¡¯ hurt. No rights bein¡¯ pushed ¡¯round.¡±

    ¡°We don''t need this mutantkind fight nonsense bein'' spewed to our faces. Look, we don''t dislike mutants¡­ but they want to be everywhere nowadays.¡±

    Duncan¡¯s patience was wearing thin. He rubbed his temple, muttering under his breath before speaking louder. ¡°Y¡¯all stress too much ¡¯bout this. As long as the Avengers are focused on, I dunno, not lettin¡¯ the world go haywire, it¡¯s fine. Really.¡±

    ¡°Woke talk, that''s what this is.¡± Robert retorted in a disappointed tone.

    ¡°Eugh,¡± Duncan groaned, throwing his hands up. ¡°It¡¯s just people, my god.¡±

    Marcy chimed in. ¡°It''s people now, ads today. Tomorrow it''s they agreein¡¯ with Magneto''s crusade against us¡­¡±

    ¡°Extremism,¡± Robert added darkly, the words carrying a heavy weight.

    Duncan sat up straighter, his frustration boiling over. ¡°Alright, look, y¡¯all. What the hell am I, huh?¡±

    Marcy¡¯s voice softened, her tone almost pleading. ¡°We love you, son, but that doesn¡¯t mean they have to make everythin¡¯ about mutants.¡±

    ¡°Yep,¡± Robert said, nodding. ¡°Now they¡¯re just givin¡¯ Xavier a reason to swoop down and replace us.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not against ¡®em,¡± Marcy said, her tone defensive. ¡°We completely support Mutants. It¡¯s part of our blood. Part of what makes America great.¡±

    ¡°Absolutely, As long as they don''t shove it up on our faces,¡± Robert added, his voice dripping with finality.

    Duncan let out a frustrated laugh, standing abruptly. ¡°Jesus,¡± he muttered, running a hand through his hair. ¡°Y¡¯all done here?¡±

    The room fell into an uncomfortable silence, the only sound coming from the television. Duncan stood there for a moment, looking between his parents. Their expressions were defensive but not hostile, their love for him undeniable but wrapped in a package he couldn¡¯t always stomach.

    The TV flickered in the dimly lit living room, casting soft blue and white hues over the worn furniture. The news channel was running a segment on the X-Men, the iconic mutant team that had been a cultural touchstone for decades. Clips of their latest mission played on the screen: Cyclops, his ruby-quartz visor glinting under harsh floodlights, leading the team through a chaotic battlefield. Behind him, Storm hovered gracefully, summoning lightning, while Wolverine leapt into the fray, claws gleaming under the moonlight.

    The footage cut to a still image of Cyclops giving a press conference, his once-youthful face now etched with lines of experience. His broad shoulders were still proud, but his stance carried the weight of years in the spotlight. His voice, when it came through the speakers, was calm and measured, but there was a roughness to it, a subtle sign of age that even the most powerful mutants couldn¡¯t escape.

    Marcy, sitting on the couch with her arms crossed, squinted at the screen and sighed. ¡°Look at that. The X-Men again,¡± she muttered, her tone a mixture of mild disapproval and reluctant intrigue.

    Robert leaned forward in his recliner, his hazel eyes narrowing as he focused on Cyclops. ¡°Jesus Christ, how Cyclops got old,¡± he said, shaking his head slightly.

    Marcy nodded in agreement, her blonde bun bobbing faintly. ¡°Yeah, he looks old.¡±

    Duncan, sprawled in the armchair with his legs stretched out and his phone in hand, glanced up at the screen. ¡°I don¡¯t think he¡¯s changed that much,¡± he said, his voice casual.

    Marcy turned to him, one eyebrow arched. ¡°¡¯Cause you¡¯re young, Duncan. We remember him back in the 2000s.¡±

    Robert gestured at the screen with his fork, pointing out Cyclops¡¯ face. ¡°He looked like a boy back then.¡±

    ¡°He was a boy,¡± Marcy added, her voice carrying the weight of nostalgia.

    Duncan snorted, setting his phone down on the armrest. ¡°And so were y¡¯all,¡± he quipped, a smirk tugging at his lips. ¡°Now y¡¯all got wrinkles and a beer gut.¡±

    Robert gasped, her hand flying to her chest in mock offense. ¡°Don¡¯t say that! I don¡¯t even drink.¡±

    ¡°Still has a beer gut,¡± Duncan muttered, just loud enough to ensure they both heard it.

    Robert pointed his fork at him, his tone playfully stern. ¡°You better watch it, boy. I can still whoop ya if I need to.¡±

    Duncan grinned, leaning back in the chair. ¡°Yeah, okay, old man. Just don¡¯t pull your back tryin¡¯.¡±

    Marcy rolled her eyes but couldn¡¯t suppress a smile. ¡°He¡¯s right, though, Robert. You¡¯ve put on a little weight since you retired.¡±

    Robert groaned, rubbing his belly exaggeratedly. ¡°It ain¡¯t a beer gut. It¡¯s¡­ wisdom weight.¡±

    Duncan burst out laughing, doubling over in his chair. ¡°Wisdom weight? That¡¯s a good one, Dad. I¡¯ll remember that.¡±

    ¡°Laugh all you want,¡± Robert said, jabbing his fork toward Duncan again. ¡°You¡¯ll get there one day. Give it a couple decades, and you¡¯ll see.¡±

    Marcy chuckled softly, patting her husband¡¯s arm. ¡°Don¡¯t listen to him, Robert. You¡¯re still my handsome man.¡±

    Robert leaned back in his chair, his chest puffing out slightly. ¡°Damn right I am.¡±

    The room fell into a comfortable silence as they turned their attention back to the TV. The segment shifted to a reporter interviewing Storm, who stood tall and composed, her silver hair catching the light. Marcy tilted her head, studying the screen. ¡°Now she doesn¡¯t look like she¡¯s aged a day.¡±

    Robert nodded in agreement. ¡°That¡¯s true. What¡¯s her secret? Some mutant anti-aging power or somethin¡¯?¡±

    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s just good genes,¡± Duncan offered.

    ¡°Good genes my foot,¡± Robert grumbled. ¡°If I had genes like that, I¡¯d be on TV too.¡±

    Marcy smirked. ¡°If you had genes like that, you wouldn¡¯t be sittin¡¯ here in Midland with a ¡®wisdom weight¡¯ gut, I¡¯ll tell you that much.¡±

    Robert shot her a mock glare. ¡°Marcy! You¡¯re supposed to be on my side.¡±

    Marcy laughed, leaning back into the couch. ¡°I am on your side, but I¡¯m not blind.¡±

    Duncan shook his head, chuckling softly. ¡°Y¡¯all are somethin¡¯ else.¡±

    The segment on the X-Men ended, and the channel transitioned to commercials. The room grew quieter, the glow of the TV casting soft shadows on their faces. Robert leaned back in his recliner, hands resting on his stomach, his expression thoughtful.

    ¡°Y¡¯know,¡± he said after a moment, ¡°I used to think those X-Men were just a bunch of kids playin¡¯ dress-up. But they¡¯ve been at this a long time now. Gotta respect that.¡±

    Marcy nodded, her tone softer now. ¡°Yeah. They¡¯ve done a lot of good. Even if I don¡¯t always agree with how they do it.¡±

    Duncan shrugged, his voice quieter now. ¡°It¡¯s not an easy job. People hate ¡¯em no matter what they do.¡±

    Robert glanced at him, his expression serious. ¡°It ain''t hate¡­ it''s skepticism, they keep doin¡¯ it anyway. It means we''re gettin¡¯ somewhere, I reckon¡±

    Duncan didn¡¯t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the flickering TV. ¡°Yeah,¡± he said finally, his voice low. ¡°Maybe, maybe we''re gettin'' somewhere.¡±

    The silence settled again, comfortable but reflective. The faint hum of the TV and the distant chirping of crickets outside filled the room. For a moment, the generational gap between them seemed to shrink, their shared respect for the struggles of others bridging the divide.

    ¡°Alright,¡± Robert said, breaking the quiet as he reached for the remote. ¡°Let¡¯s see what else is on. Maybe somethin¡¯ less woke, huh?¡±

    Duncan groaned, leaning his head back. ¡°And there it is. Couldn¡¯t go five minutes without sayin¡¯ it.¡±

    Marcy laughed softly, shaking her head. ¡°You two never stop.¡±

    The TV hummed softly in the background, broadcasting a news segment with dramatic urgency. Footage of Avengers descending on a clandestine AIM laboratory filled the screen, their iconic silhouettes illuminated against the chaos of explosions and smoke. The anchor¡¯s voice cut through the noise:

    ¡°There it is! Avengers uncover an illegal AIM laboratory testing bioweapons on mutates. Early reports suggest this facility was experimenting with a new compound codenamed ¡®Compost K,¡¯ believed to be a potential anti-superhuman weapon.¡±

    Robert Nenni, reclining in his favorite chair, nodded toward the screen. ¡°Good news, I guess,¡± he muttered, his voice heavy with cautious approval.

    Marcy leaned forward, squinting at the words scrolling across the bottom of the screen. ¡°What is that¡­ hmmm, Compost K?¡± she asked, tilting her head.

    Duncan, sprawled on the smaller couch with his legs kicked up on the armrest, glanced up from his phone. ¡°Weapon of war?¡±

    ¡°Most likely,¡± Robert said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. ¡°Maybe somethin¡¯ AIM cooked up to keep the Avengers off their backs. A deterrent, y¡¯know? Somethin¡¯ to stop ¡®em meddlin¡¯ with illegal weapons.¡±

    Marcy sighed, shaking her head. ¡°The world¡¯s gettin¡¯ crazier by the day.¡± She glanced at Duncan. ¡°See, son, one day, maybe you can be an Avenger.¡±

    Duncan snorted softly, lowering his phone. ¡°I¡¯m a mutant, Mama. I don¡¯t think the Avengers are really takin¡¯ applications from my kind.¡±

    Robert waved a hand dismissively. ¡°The X-Men are not the same anymore. It¡¯s all wokeness and mutant snowflakes these days, always whinin¡¯ ¡®bout equality.¡±

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t even talkin¡¯ about bein¡¯ an X-Man,¡± Duncan said, sitting up straighter. ¡°I was fixin¡¯ to say I¡¯m fine with my financial career.¡±

    ¡°Good fer you, son,¡± Marcy said, nodding approvingly. ¡°But you gotta consider other options... Think ''bout what I''m goin'' to say now, just listen to me, son."

    Duncan knew exactly what his father meant and he buckled up to the lecture that was about to commence. His fingers instinctively finding their way to pinch the bridge of his nose as sighed heavily.

 Chapter 2: Wasted Potential

    Robert gestured toward the screen, where Captain America was giving a statement to reporters outside the demolished AIM facility. ¡°What ¡®bout bein¡¯ an Avenger, huh? You got the power fer it.¡±

    Duncan let out a sharp laugh. ¡°I¡¯m not sure that¡¯s what I want, Dad.¡±

    Robert leaned forward, his expression serious. ¡°Then dedicate yerself to somethin¡¯ ya do want. Be the best at it. You¡¯ve got the potential.¡±

    Marcy nodded, her tone encouraging. ¡°Yer one of the most powerful people we know, Duncan.¡±

    ¡°The most powerful,¡± Robert corrected, pointing a finger at him.

    ¡°Don¡¯t let that go to waste,¡± Marcy added earnestly.

    Duncan threw his hands up in exasperation. ¡°I don''t want to be no fuckin¡¯ superhero¡±

    Marcy frowned, giving him a disapproving look. ¡°Language, Duncan.¡±

    Duncan stared at them both, his jaw tightening. ¡°Look, I went to college, alright? I got a job. Isn¡¯t that enough?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re doin¡¯ great, son,¡± Robert admitted. ¡°But maybe you''re wastin'' some potential there.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a powerful man,¡± Marcy added, her eyes serious. ¡°You can do so much more.¡±

    Duncan folded his arms across his chest, his voice sharper now. ¡°Question is, should I?¡±

    Robert nodded firmly. ¡°Maybe you should. You gotta prove yerself, son. Send Captain America an email or somethin¡¯. Let ¡®im know you¡¯re ready.¡± He chuckled a bit. ¡°Ask fer an Avengers interview.¡±

    Duncan burst out laughing, shaking his head. ¡°Are y¡¯all insane? Cap has absolutely no time fer some random mutant!¡±

    Marcy raised an eyebrow. ¡°Young man¡ª¡±

    ¡°Yes, I mean mutant! Like he¡¯s just sittin¡¯ around answerin¡¯ emails from mutants who wanna be Avengers.¡±

    Robert¡¯s voice grew sterner. ¡°Then get outta yer way. Show you care. Show ya can be proactive.¡±

    Duncan sighed, rubbing his temples. ¡°What if I don¡¯t want to be an Avenger?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me ya wanna be an X-Man,¡± Marcy said, her voice suddenly suspicious.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t say that,¡± Duncan shot back. ¡°I said I didn¡¯t want to be an Avenger.¡±

    Robert¡¯s gaze softened slightly, though his tone was still firm. ¡°Duncan, the Avengers fight fer all of us.¡±

    ¡°The X-Men?¡± Marcy interjected, shaking her head. ¡°They¡¯re too¡­.¡± She sighs. ¡°Lost their way. Became obsessed. Now it¡¯s all ¡®bout equity and whatnot.¡±

    Duncan smirked faintly. ¡°I actually agree with that, believe it or not. We mutants shouldn¡¯t be equal. We¡¯re better. Not through violence, obviously, but through our skills.¡±

    Robert groaned, leaning back in his chair. ¡°Y¡¯all mutants have it easy. Y¡¯all don¡¯t know what it¡¯s like to go to prison every mornin¡¯, bein¡¯ a regular guy. Afraid of these vile criminals.¡±

    ¡°And afraid some mad villain¡¯s gonna come along and release ¡¯em all,¡± Marcy added, her voice tinged with genuine fear. ¡°Kill us all.¡±

    ¡°The things we saw,¡± Robert muttered, shaking his head.

    ¡°It¡¯s an ugly world out there, Duncan,¡± Marcy said, her voice quieter now.

    Duncan shrugged, his tone nonchalant. ¡°It¡¯s an ugly world ¡®cause people have all the incentives to do this kinda shit.¡±Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

    Robert¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°And you ain¡¯t exactly stoppin¡¯ ¡¯em, are ya?¡±

    Duncan¡¯s voice turned colder. ¡°It¡¯s not my problem. I have other problems.¡±

    Robert sighed heavily, his disappointment palpable. Marcy reached over to pat his arm, her expression conflicted. Duncan stared back at them both, his face set in a mixture of defiance and quiet guilt. The room fell into a heavy silence, the hum of the TV the only sound between them.

    In the glow of the screen, the divide between them felt wider than ever.

    The TV¡¯s soft hum filled the room, but the earlier news segment about the Avengers had faded into background noise. The tension in the small living room had shifted from mild disapproval to something heavier, more familiar¡ªa dance the family had rehearsed countless times but never quite perfected. Duncan sat back in the armchair, his long legs stretched out, his arms crossed over his chest. His parents, Robert and Marcy, exchanged glances from their spots on the couch and recliner, their expressions a mix of exasperation and concern.

    ¡°Nobody¡¯s tellin¡¯ ya to be a superhero,¡± Marcy said finally, her voice calm but pointed.

    Duncan raised an eyebrow, his tone dipping into sarcasm. ¡°Don¡¯t think ya should be one either?¡±

    Robert leaned forward in his recliner, resting his hands on his knees. His hazel eyes narrowed slightly as he considered his words. ¡°We¡¯re just sayin¡¯... we ain¡¯t sure you¡¯re even ready for somethin¡¯ like that. Yer a lil¡¯ immature, Duncan.¡±

    Duncan straightened in his chair, the muscles in his jaw tightening. ¡°Maybe, maybe I¡¯m a lil¡¯ immature¡ªat least in some regards,¡± he said, his voice defensive but measured. ¡°But that don¡¯t mean I¡¯m immature in every department.¡±

    Robert shrugged, his tone blunt. ¡°Yer in most things. But that¡¯s ¡¯cause yer young. You¡¯ll grow outta it.¡±

    Duncan ran a hand through his dark brown hair, frustration flashing across his face. ¡°So what are y¡¯all sayin¡¯? Ya want me to be a hero then?¡±

    Marcy sighed, folding her hands in her lap. ¡°All we¡¯re sayin¡¯ is ya have a lot of potential. Maybe bein¡¯ a financial analyst or economist isn¡¯t what yer best suited fer.¡±

    Duncan leaned forward, his voice sharper now. ¡°Which is a fair assessment, given my powers. But I¡¯m choosin¡¯ not to be a hero.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a choice,¡± Robert said, sitting back in his recliner. ¡°But I¡¯ll tell ya this¡ªI personally would try to do more if I had powers. And I¡¯m sure yer mother would too.¡±

    Duncan smirked, shaking his head. ¡°Well, too bad y¡¯all have no powers.¡±

    The room fell into an uneasy silence. The flickering TV cast soft shadows over their faces as they all sat there, the weight of the moment pressing down like the Texas heat.

    Marcy broke the silence, her voice softer now. ¡°Ya don¡¯t need powers to be a good man, Duncan.¡±

    Robert nodded in agreement. ¡°Not at all. Ya can help people and be happy, even if ya don¡¯t have powers.¡±

    Duncan rubbed his temples, his voice dropping to a quieter tone. ¡°Yeah, sure. But not everyone¡¯s callin¡¯ is to serve. I mean, unless it''s ¡®bout freedom of course.¡±

    Robert let out a groan, leaning his head back against the recliner. ¡°And there he goes with the freedom talk,¡± he muttered, his voice tinged with both frustration and reluctant amusement.

    Marcy raised an eyebrow at Duncan. ¡°Not everythin¡¯ is books and ideals, son. There¡¯s more to life than all that theorizing you like to do.¡±

    Duncan rolled his eyes, standing up abruptly. ¡°Alright, well, good talk. But I gotta go. I¡¯ve got work tomorrow, so I¡¯m headin¡¯ back to Dallas. I¡¯ll just fly there.¡±

    ¡°Son¡ª¡± Marcy started, her voice tinged with concern.

    ¡°Nope,¡± Duncan interrupted, holding up a hand. ¡°I¡¯m flyin¡¯. Don¡¯t argue.¡±

    Marcy sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. ¡°Just be safe out there, alright?¡±

    ¡°Be careful,¡± Robert added, his tone gruff. ¡°And don¡¯t break anythin¡¯.¡±

    Duncan smirked, his frustration giving way to a faint glimmer of amusement. ¡°Oh yeah, don¡¯t worry.¡±

    With that, he turned and floated up toward his room, the soft hum of his plasmatic aura barely audible as he ascended the stairs. The thud of his door closing signaled his departure, leaving Robert and Marcy alone in the living room.

    Marcy turned toward her husband, her brow furrowing slightly. ¡°He¡¯s stubborn like you, Bob.¡±

    Robert let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. ¡°He¡¯s worse than my dad sometimes.¡±

    Marcy smiled faintly, resting her head against the back of the couch. ¡°That he is.¡±

    They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their conversation lingering. Marcy¡¯s eyes flicked toward the muted TV, where a commercial was playing, but her thoughts were far from the screen.

    ¡°You think he¡¯ll ever figure it out?¡± she asked softly.

    Robert didn¡¯t answer right away, his gaze fixed on a distant point in the room. Finally, he shrugged, his tone gruff but tinged with reluctant hope. ¡°He¡¯s got time. He¡¯s young. And he¡¯s smarter than he lets on, even if he¡¯s too damn stubborn to admit it.¡±

    Marcy nodded, her voice quiet. ¡°Let¡¯s just hope he stays safe out there.¡±

    The hum of the TV filled the room again, and for a moment, the two of them sat together in the comfortable, familiar silence of a long marriage. Upstairs, Duncan packed his things, the conversation with his parents echoing in his mind. He shook his head, muttering to himself as he zipped up his bag.

    ¡°Stubborn? Maybe. But at least I know what I¡¯m about,¡± he said under his breath, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

    A few moments later, the faint sound of a window sliding open drifted through the house. In the living room, Robert and Marcy exchanged a knowing glance, but neither said a word. Outside, the soft glow of plasmatic energy lit up the night as Duncan shot off into the Texas sky, the warm air rushing past him as he left Midland behind once again.

 Chapter 3: Strange Man in a Familiar Land

    The Dallas morning had the kind of crisp energy that promised productivity¡ªor at least the illusion of it. The downtown skyline loomed in the distance as Duncan Nenni maneuvered his car through the early traffic. His midnight blue suit, immaculately pressed and paired with a matching tie, was an intentional choice. It wasn¡¯t just about appearances; Duncan believed in dressing the part. The quiet confidence of his tailored attire set him apart from most of his co-workers, who favored more casual business wear: wrinkled dress shirts, loose ties, and pants that hadn¡¯t seen an iron in months.

    He pulled into the underground parking garage of the bank¡¯s office building, the echo of his car doors shutting bouncing off the concrete walls. The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted faintly from the breakroom as he stepped out of the elevator onto the 10th floor, where the investment banking division was located. The open floor plan stretched out before him, cubicles arranged in tidy rows, desks cluttered with monitors, coffee cups, and the occasional stress ball.

    ¡°Howdy, Mr. Nenni,¡± came the cheerful voice of Sandra, the receptionist, from behind her desk at the floor¡¯s entrance. She was a middle-aged woman with neatly styled hair, a kind smile, and a way of making everyone feel welcome. Her desk was decorated with pictures of her grandchildren and a small cactus in a painted clay pot.

    ¡°Sandra,¡± Duncan replied with a polite nod, tipping an imaginary hat as he passed by.

    She motioned for him to pause, shuffling through some sticky notes before looking up. ¡°Mr. Davidson wants to check on those reports about the Carraro account. Says there¡¯s a new fund he wants to discuss with you and some analysts. And after that, he wants you to take a look at a corporate bond proposal¡ªmake sure the company¡¯s legit. You¡¯ll be workin¡¯ with Mr. Donovan on that.¡±

    Duncan adjusted his tie, his expression calm but focused. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll meet Davidson. Where¡¯s he at?¡±

    ¡°Meeting starts in thirty minutes,¡± Sandra replied, glancing at her monitor. ¡°John, Ray, Pablo, and Paco are already in the room. They¡¯re waitin¡¯ on you.¡±

    ¡°Great. Good,¡± Duncan said, his drawl still prominent despite years spent in Dallas. ¡°I¡¯ll be headin¡¯ there.¡±

    He walked briskly past the cubicles, his polished black shoes clicking against the tiled floor. Around him, the office buzzed with the sounds of ringing phones, clacking keyboards, and hushed conversations about market trends. The air was cool, almost sterile, save for the faint smell of paper and toner.

    The conference room was at the end of the hallway, its glass walls offering a clear view of the analysts already inside. Duncan stepped in, greeted by a mix of familiar faces and the faint hum of a projector displaying charts on the wall.

    ¡°John, Ray, Paco, Pablo,¡± Duncan greeted as he entered, his tone neutral but polite.

    ¡°Duncan!¡± John said, a wide grin on his face. He was a tall, lanky man in his early thirties with a head of unruly brown hair that always seemed one step away from complete chaos.

    ¡°Hey there, cowboy,¡± quipped Ray, a wiry man with sharp features and a perpetual smirk. His rolled-up sleeves and loosened tie gave him the appearance of someone who thrived in the chaos of deadlines.

    ¡°Oil-man,¡± Paco teased, leaning back in his chair. He was shorter, stockier, and always had a slight five o¡¯clock shadow, no matter the time of day.

    ¡°Duncan,¡± Pablo said simply, offering a polite nod. He was the quietest of the group, a meticulous worker whose neatly organized notes and spreadsheets always impressed during presentations.

    Duncan smirked faintly, setting his leather portfolio on the table. ¡°Howdy fer y¡¯all too, boys. Has Mr. Davidson arrived?¡±

    Ray shook his head, pointing toward the door with his pen. ¡°He¡¯s still talkin¡¯ to one of the company reps. Should be here soon.¡±

    ¡°Good, good,¡± Duncan said, pulling out his earbuds from his pocket. ¡°I¡¯ll wait then.¡±

    He popped in the earbuds and leaned back slightly, scrolling through his phone as the others chatted among themselves. He caught snippets of their conversation¡ªsomething about last night¡¯s game and complaints about a new software update¡ªbut tuned most of it out, focusing instead on double-checking his notes for the presentation.

    A few minutes later, the sound of the door opening drew everyone¡¯s attention. Mr. Davidson, the department manager, entered, his stocky frame and perpetually tired eyes giving away his long tenure in the banking world. He wore a crisp white shirt and a gray suit, his tie slightly loosened. Behind him followed the company representative¡ªa man who immediately stood out from the typical polished corporate types.

    The representative looked rugged, with short auburn hair and a weathered face that spoke of years stress.His gray suit was well-fitted but unremarkable, and his movements carried the confidence of someone used to commanding respect. There was something slightly unsettling about him, a tension in the set of his jaw and a sharpness in his brown eyes that made Duncan¡¯s instincts prickle.

    ¡°Morning, gentlemen,¡± Davidson said, his voice gruff but polite. ¡°This is Mr. Kane, representing the company behind the corporate bond we¡¯ll be reviewing. He¡¯ll be assisting with any questions you might have.¡±

    Kane offered a curt nod, his gaze sweeping the room like a hawk surveying its prey. ¡°Morning,¡± he said, his voice low and steady, with a faint edge that hinted at impatience.

    Duncan studied Kane for a moment, something about the man¡¯s demeanor making him uneasy. He couldn¡¯t quite put his finger on it, but the polished corporate exterior didn¡¯t seem to sit naturally on Kane. There was a sense of something concealed beneath the surface¡ªsomething dangerous.

    Davidson clapped his hands together, breaking the silence. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s get started. Duncan, you¡¯ve got the Carraro report handy?¡±

    Duncan nodded, pulling a neatly organized stack of documents from his portfolio. ¡°Yes, sir. Got everything ready.¡±

    ¡°Good,¡± Davidson said, motioning for everyone to settle in. ¡°Let¡¯s get to it.¡±

    As the meeting began, Duncan¡¯s mind was half on the presentation and half on the nagging feeling that there was more to Mr. Kane than met the eye.

    The conference room buzzed with the low hum of professional focus as the group pored over financial reports, balance sheets, and market analyses projected on the large screen. Charts and graphs dominated the room, their sharp lines and colorful markers outlining the performance metrics of the company Mr. Kane represented. The air smelled faintly of coffee and printer toner, as if the weight of the morning¡¯s business hung tangibly in the room.

    Duncan Nenni sat at his place at the table, his fingers flipping through a printed report. His keen eyes scanned the financials with practiced efficiency, noting the seemingly solid balance sheet, steady cash flows, and predictable revenue growth. The company was positioned as a private security services provider, specializing in surveillance, tracking, and high-end monitoring systems¡ªa sector that had seen increased demand in a world of ever-heightening tensions.

    It all looked good on paper. Almost too good.

    One thing caught Duncan¡¯s attention, buried deep in the report¡¯s appendix: a series of substantial transactions with Trask International, a name that carried a peculiar weight. He glanced at the others in the room, but no one else seemed to take note of it.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    John was leaning back slightly in his chair, doodling on a sticky note while occasionally nodding at the presentation. Ray, with his sleeves rolled up, was scribbling something onto a notepad, his head bobbing slightly as though he were listening to music only he could hear. Paco flipped through the pages lazily, his pen tapping rhythmically against the table. Pablo, ever meticulous, was highlighting specific lines in his report, his brow furrowed in concentration.

    Duncan cleared his throat, breaking the rhythm of the meeting. ¡°Mr. Kane,¡± he began, his drawl cutting through the hum of the projector. ¡°I reckon there¡¯s a lot of transactions involvin¡¯ Trask International here. Trask provides technology on many fields, but what exactly is it y¡¯all buy from ¡¯em?¡±

    Kane didn¡¯t miss a beat. He straightened slightly, his pale blue eyes locking onto Duncan¡¯s with a calm, almost practiced demeanor. His voice was smooth, with the faintest hint of amusement. ¡°Oh, pay no mind, Mr. Nenni,¡± he said, waving a hand dismissively. ¡°Trask International makes a lot of the trackers and other surveillance equipment we use. They have really high-end solutions to many problems.¡±

    Duncan nodded slowly, his expression neutral but his mind racing. The answer was vague, intentionally so. The kind of answer that sidesteps scrutiny without outright lying. ¡°I see,¡± he replied, leaning back in his chair.

    The room shifted focus as Mr. Davidson, the department manager, took the lead again. ¡°Well, gentlemen,¡± Davidson began, his voice commanding attention, ¡°it seems everything checks out. The rating agency has already classed this company as AA, which gives me a good level of comfort. Solid cash flows, low leverage. It¡¯s all very promising.¡±

    Kane¡¯s lips curled into a faint smile, his confidence radiating across the room. ¡°We pride ourselves on our creditworthiness,¡± he said smoothly.

    Davidson adjusted his glasses, pointing to the screen. ¡°So, we¡¯re probably goin¡¯ to ask for 5% on these bonds when we issue them to the market, no?¡±

    Kane chuckled lightly, tilting his head. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t mind classin¡¯ it to 3.5%.¡±

    The room collectively raised eyebrows. Duncan¡¯s mouth twitched into a faint smirk, though he said nothing yet. Davidson¡¯s head snapped up, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly.

    ¡°3.5% real?¡± Davidson asked, his tone tinged with skepticism. ¡°That¡¯s a bit low, now. For this amount of risk.¡±

    Kane leaned forward, folding his hands on the table. ¡°I think we¡¯ll have amazing buyers for this issue,¡± he said smoothly. ¡°We¡¯ve already lined up substantial interest from some institutional investors.¡±

    Davidson frowned, glancing at Duncan. ¡°Still too low,¡± Davidson muttered, shaking his head. He turned back to Kane. ¡°Y¡¯all might want to consider meetin¡¯ us halfway. This 5%, or at least 4.5%, makes more sense given the market conditions.¡±

    Kane¡¯s smile didn¡¯t falter, but his eyes grew slightly colder. He nodded slowly, his tone calculated. ¡°We¡¯ll settle on 4.5%.¡±

    Davidson nodded, satisfied. ¡°Great. We¡¯ll proceed forward with the origination of the bonds.¡±

    ¡°Excellent,¡± Kane replied, rising to his feet. ¡°I appreciate the opportunity, gentlemen. I¡¯ll leave the finer details to your capable team.¡±

    The group stood as well, a chorus of polite goodbyes filling the room.

    ¡°Thank you, Mr. Kane,¡± Davidson said, shaking his hand firmly.

    ¡°Bye, Mr. Kane,¡± John said with a small wave.

    ¡°Much obliged, Mr. Kane,¡± Duncan added, his tone polite but neutral, his sharp eyes studying Kane¡¯s every movement.

    Davidson grabbed his folder and gestured for Kane to follow him. ¡°I¡¯ll walk with you, Kane. We¡¯ve got some things to discuss about timelines and logistics for the issuance.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± Kane replied, his voice smooth as ever.

    As the door closed behind them, the room fell into a brief silence. The faint hum of the projector filled the space, the charts on the screen now irrelevant. Duncan tapped his fingers on the table, his mind turning over the details of the meeting.

    ¡°Something about that guy,¡± Ray muttered, breaking the silence. ¡°He¡¯s smooth, but¡­¡±

    ¡°Too smooth,¡± Duncan finished, his eyes still fixed on the closed door.

    Paco shrugged, leaning back in his chair. ¡°Eh, probably just some corporate suit. They all act like that.¡±

    Duncan didn¡¯t respond. His instincts told him there was more to Mr. Kane than he¡¯d let on. Those transactions with Trask International didn¡¯t sit right, and the vague explanations only deepened his suspicion. As the group began gathering their things, Duncan¡¯s mind was already racing ahead, piecing together fragments of information and trying to see the bigger picture. He returned to his room to work on other statements.

    The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning and the occasional ding of a notification. Duncan worked methodically, reviewing client portfolios, drafting market updates, and finishing his reports for the day. Yet two thoughts loomed in his mind, breaking his usual focus.

    The first was the Carraro account. Something about them didn¡¯t add up¡ªtheir heavy reliance on Trask International as a supplier raised questions. Trask wasn¡¯t the go-to for private security companies. Their specialty was Sentinel technology and government contracts, not trackers or general surveillance equipment. Why would a firm like Carraro have such deep ties to them?

    The second was Midland, the echoes of his parents¡¯ words from the night before. He could still hear his father¡¯s gruff voice and his mother¡¯s melodic tone, their words urging him to do more. Should he be content with being an investment banker? Should he strive for something bigger? Something with purpose?

    Duncan shook his head, trying to push the thoughts aside as he finished a report. But they lingered, refusing to be ignored.

    Hours of spreadsheets and statement reviews later.

    When lunchtime rolled around, Duncan grabbed his wallet and phone, stepping out into the bustling office cafeteria. The space was bright and open, filled with rows of tables, vending machines, and employees chatting over sandwiches and salads. Duncan spotted Pablo, one of his closest colleagues, sitting near a window overlooking the downtown skyline. Pablo was meticulously slicing his sandwich with a plastic knife, his glasses perched precariously on the tip of his nose as he read something on his phone.

    Duncan approached with a grin. ¡°Howdy, Pablito. Can I sit down?¡±

    Pablo didn¡¯t look up but smirked faintly. ¡°Sit down, Oil-Man,¡± he replied, gesturing to the seat across from him.

    Duncan chuckled, setting down his tray and taking a seat. ¡°Still callin¡¯ me that, huh?¡±

    ¡°Always will,¡± Pablo said, finally glancing up. ¡°You can¡¯t expect me to let the Texan cowboy thing slide. So, what¡¯s on your mind? Or are you here to discuss the wonders of Tex-Mex cuisine again?¡±

    Duncan leaned forward, his voice lowering slightly. ¡°What do you think of the Carraro account?¡±

    Pablo blinked, setting his phone down. ¡°Way to start a conversation, Duncan. Could¡¯ve at least pretended to care about my day first.¡±

    ¡°Sorry, my bad,¡± Duncan said, raising his hands in mock apology.

    Pablo sighed, sitting back in his chair. ¡°They look fine, I guess. It¡¯s good business. I do think the interest they asked on those bonds might be a bit too low, though. Maybe they¡¯ve got some great buyers lined up, but I doubt it. Firms like theirs¡ªprivate service companies¡ªthey usually struggle in the bond market.¡±

    Duncan nodded slowly, his brow furrowing. ¡°Yeah, sure. I agree 100%. But what about Trask?¡±

    Pablo raised an eyebrow. ¡°What about it? They make security equipment, just like the guy said.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a private security company,¡± Duncan said, leaning closer. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen a security company buy so much stuff from Trask.¡±

    Pablo tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s true. Usually there are better companies¡ªHammer Industries, Stark Tech, y¡¯know. If they¡¯re serious about their equipment, they¡¯d go there. Trask is¡­ specific.¡±

    ¡°To Sentinel technology,¡± Duncan said pointedly.

    Pablo¡¯s eyes narrowed as realization dawned. ¡°Yeah. That¡¯s right.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a monopsony,¡± Duncan continued, his tone steady but intense. ¡°Trask¡¯s biggest buyer is the government. Those big orders? They¡¯re almost always tied to federal contracts. A private security firm buyin¡¯ from Trask in these quantities? That doesn¡¯t happen.¡±

    Pablo nodded slowly, his fingers drumming against the table. ¡°Doesn¡¯t seem like it, but Carraro does buy a lot of Trask.¡±

    ¡°Yup,¡± Duncan said, leaning back in his chair. ¡°I wonder what they¡¯re really up to.¡±

    Pablo shrugged, his skepticism creeping back into his voice. ¡°Probably nothing, Duncan. You¡¯re overthinking it. It¡¯s just a regular, run-of-the-mill security company.¡±

    Duncan chuckled dryly, shaking his head. ¡°Yeah, in EBITDA, in net profit, ROE, ROI¡­ but somethin¡¯ still sounds fishy. I read their reports, Pablito. They have a lot of employees. But not many of ¡¯em seem to work in the same place.¡±

    Pablo frowned, tapping his plastic knife against his plate. ¡°Are you investigating them?¡±

    Duncan shrugged, his tone casual but deliberate. ¡°Yeah. A little.¡±

    Pablo¡¯s lips quirked into a faint smile. ¡°That¡¯s not bad. Davidson will like it.¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± Duncan said, though his voice carried less certainty. ¡°Sure.¡±

    The conversation lulled for a moment as they both returned to their meals. The buzz of the cafeteria surrounded them: colleagues chatting, the hum of the vending machines, and the occasional clatter of trays. But Duncan¡¯s mind was elsewhere.

    The Carraro account wasn¡¯t sitting right. He couldn¡¯t explain it, but his instincts¡ªhoned through years of analytical work and an almost obsessive need to dig deeper¡ªwere telling him there was more to this company than met the eye.

    And then there was the other thought, the one that had been nagging at him since Midland. His parents¡¯ voices echoed faintly in his mind: ¡°Don¡¯t waste your potential, son.¡±

    For a brief moment, Duncan wondered if they were right. Should he be doing more than just spreadsheets and financial projections? Should he try to turn his skills, his powers, and his ideas into something greater?

    Or was he destined to be just another desk jockey?

    ¡°Hey,¡± Pablo said, breaking the silence. ¡°You¡¯re overthinking again.¡±

    Duncan blinked, snapping back to the present. ¡°Maybe.¡±

    Pablo smirked, pointing his plastic knife at him. ¡°Don¡¯t let it eat you up, man. Sometimes a security company is just a security company.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Duncan said, though he wasn¡¯t convinced. ¡°Sometimes.¡±

 Chapter 4: A Mollusk Too Big for its Shell

    The afternoon sun streamed through the large glass windows of the office floor, casting long shadows across Duncan''s desk as he hunched over his laptop. The numbers on the spreadsheets glowed faintly in the artificial light, columns of balance sheets, revenue projections, and asset allocations meticulously detailed. Duncan¡¯s sharp eyes scanned each row, every formula, every transaction. On the surface, the Carraro account appeared perfect¡ªalmost too perfect.

    Their numbers matched industry averages with uncanny precision, and the small deviations that did exist only skewed slightly above the benchmarks. It was polished, calculated. But to someone with Duncan¡¯s analytical mind and gut instinct, it was clear that this wasn¡¯t the result of sheer operational efficiency. Something wasn¡¯t right.

    His fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up additional reports, cross-referencing supplier details, and tracing supply chains. His suspicions kept circling back to Trask International. Trask¡¯s primary business revolved around Sentinel technology, a field heavily regulated and primarily contracted by governments. Private companies¡ªespecially small firms like Carraro¡ªrarely had any reason to engage with Trask, let alone at the scale Carraro was operating. Duncan narrowed his eyes as he traced transaction after transaction, each one adding fuel to his curiosity.

    Then he found it: addresses. A handful of locations tied to Carraro¡¯s transactions with Trask. Warehouses, ostensibly, but their distribution patterns didn¡¯t make sense for a standard private security operation. Duncan leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. He made a note of the addresses¡ªhe already knew what he was going to do after his shift.

    For now, though, there was another matter to handle. If anyone could provide clarity¡ªor at least confirm his suspicions¡ªit was Mr. Davidson, his department manager. Duncan gathered his reports, stacked them neatly, and headed for Davidson¡¯s office, his polished shoes clicking softly against the tiled floor.

    Davidson¡¯s office was a corner room with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the sprawling Dallas skyline. The space was meticulously organized, with dark wooden furniture, framed certifications, and a few photographs of Davidson with prominent figures in finance and government. Behind the large desk sat Davidson himself, a stocky man in his late 50s, his thinning hair combed neatly to the side. His usual air of calm authority seemed slightly frayed today, his shoulders tense as he stared at his computer screen.

    Duncan knocked on the doorframe, leaning slightly into the room. ¡°Mr. Davidson?¡±

    Davidson looked up, blinking as though pulled from deep thought. ¡°Duncan. Come in,¡± he said, gesturing to the chair across from his desk.

    Duncan stepped inside, closing the door behind him. ¡°Howdy, sir,¡± he said as he sat down.

    Davidson offered a faint smile. ¡°Howdy.¡±

    Duncan set his reports on the desk, tapping them lightly with his fingers. ¡°So, I¡¯ve been lookin¡¯ at these reports here,¡± he began. ¡°They look normal. Too normal. Most of their info matches the market average perfectly, while some numbers are just slightly above.¡±

    Davidson leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. ¡°Great. Then we can move forward with the bond origination, right?¡±

    Duncan hesitated, tilting his head slightly. ¡°I ain¡¯t sure, sir. Somethin¡¯ about this Trask thing is botherin¡¯ me.¡±

    Davidson raised an eyebrow. ¡°Why? What about it?¡±

    ¡°It seems like an irregular amount of stock for a company like Trask to supply,¡± Duncan said, his voice calm but firm. ¡°It¡¯s almost like they¡¯re buyin¡¯... y¡¯know, Sentinels.¡±

    Davidson¡¯s expression hardened, though he forced a chuckle. ¡°C¡¯mon, Duncan, don¡¯t be ridiculous. No company buys Sentinels. Those are used by the government to protect us from... y¡¯know... mutants.¡±

    Duncan¡¯s jaw tightened, his voice lowering slightly. ¡°Violent mutants, no?¡±

    Davidson shrugged, leaning forward slightly. ¡°All of ¡¯em have violent potential, don¡¯t they?¡±

    Duncan¡¯s eyes narrowed, his tone sharpening. ¡°Not really, if ya consider the ones in Epsilon class.¡±

    Davidson scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. ¡°The ugly ones? Well, they¡¯re just ugly. They ain¡¯t a threat.¡±

    Duncan¡¯s face remained neutral, though his patience was wearing thin. ¡°Yeah¡­ I suppose,¡± he said carefully, before shifting the conversation back. ¡°Regardless, I wanted to check on the company stock before we issue these bonds.¡±

    Davidson blinked, his expression tightening. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°I wanna see what kind of assets they¡¯re purchasin¡¯ from Trask,¡± Duncan explained. ¡°Make sure there¡¯s no breach of federal law, or that the assets ain¡¯t unrelated to their stated business. If they¡¯re buyin¡¯ useless¡­ stuff, it could be a reason to lower their credit rating. And we both know what the average institutional investor would think if they found out they were givin¡¯ credit to a company buyin¡¯ nonsense.¡±

    Davidson¡¯s face paled slightly, though he quickly forced a smile. ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s necessary,¡± he said, his voice a bit too quick.

    Duncan watched him carefully, the slight tremor in Davidson¡¯s hand as he reached for his coffee cup, the faint sheen of sweat on his brow. He¡¯s hiding something. With his X-ray vision, Duncan discreetly focused on Davidson¡¯s chest. His heart rate was elevated, his breathing shallow. It was clear that the mere suggestion of investigating Carraro¡¯s stock had rattled him.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    ¡°Okay, then,¡± Duncan said smoothly, rising from his chair. ¡°It¡¯s fine. I¡¯ll go back to work.¡±

    Davidson nodded quickly, his forced smile returning. ¡°Yeah. You do that, Duncan. No need to overcomplicate things.¡±

    Duncan turned to leave, pausing at the door. ¡°Excuse me, sir.¡±

    ¡°See ya, Duncan,¡± Davidson said, his voice almost dismissive.

    Duncan stepped out of the office, closing the door behind him. As he walked back to his desk, his mind was racing. Why is Davidson nervous? What¡¯s he hiding?

    Whatever it was, Duncan wasn¡¯t about to let it go. Not yet. Tonight, after his shift, he¡¯d follow the trail¡ªand see just what Carraro was really up to.

    The office floor gradually emptied as the day wound down, the usual cacophony of phones ringing and conversations fading into the quiet hum of fluorescent lights. Duncan Nenni sat at his desk, meticulously finishing his work while keeping an eye on the clock. His plan was simple but risky¡ªwait until everyone left, then dig deeper into the Carraro account. He already had the addresses, and one in Arkansas stood out like a sore thumb. A warehouse.

    By the time the last of his colleagues had packed up and headed home, Duncan was ready. He stuffed a slim folder containing key documents into his leather satchel, grabbed his phone, and made his way out of the building. The evening air was cool as he stepped into the shadows of a nearby alley. Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, he crouched slightly, then launched into the sky in a streak of blue plasma light.

    The ground disappeared beneath him as he climbed higher, the city lights sparkling like a constellation below. Flying was liberating¡ªa mix of adrenaline and clarity¡ªbut tonight his thoughts were racing too fast to fully enjoy it.

    ¡°What if they really are Sentinels?¡± he muttered to himself, his voice lost to the wind. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. Gotta find out.¡±

    He adjusted his trajectory, heading toward the address in Arkansas. The journey took only a few minutes, his supersonic speed cutting through the night like a comet. As he approached the location, the landscape shifted from urban sprawl to sprawling farmland and dense woods. The address came into view¡ªa large warehouse, its metal exterior glinting faintly under the moonlight.

    Duncan hovered high above, studying the area. The warehouse sat in a clearing surrounded by chain-link fencing topped with razor wire. Floodlights illuminated the perimeter, and armed guards patrolled the grounds in pairs. Duncan¡¯s sharp eyes caught the faint shimmer of security cameras mounted on poles and walls.

    ¡°A warehouse?¡± he muttered, narrowing his eyes. ¡°Why does a security company need a warehouse? Maybe it¡¯s where they stock their gear. Let¡¯s check.¡±

    Lowering his altitude, Duncan flew closer but kept to the shadows, his movements precise and controlled. Once he was in range, he pulled his camera, scanning the interior. His enhanced senses gave him a clear view inside: rows of crates, some marked with familiar corporate logos¡ªTrask International¡ªand others with no markings at all. Men in tactical gear moved between the crates, their weapons gleaming under the harsh interior lights. A few desks were scattered at the back, lined with monitors displaying security feeds.

    Duncan¡¯s heart raced. ¡°Armed guards inside and out? This ain¡¯t just a gear warehouse. What the hell¡¯s goin¡¯ on here?¡±

    Before he could process further, the rumble of engines caught his attention. He turned his gaze toward the road leading to the warehouse, where a convoy of SUVs and a single truck approached, their headlights cutting through the dark. Duncan adjusted his position, perching on the edge of a nearby billboard to observe.

    The vehicles came to a halt near the warehouse entrance, and the guards outside immediately stiffened, their postures straightening. The truck¡¯s rear doors swung open, and none other than the infamous X-Cutioner, stepped out. Dressed in tactical gear with red accents, his black hood and polished chrome mask caught the light, making him look like a specter of death. His movements were purposeful, every step calculated.

    Duncan¡¯s breath caught. ¡°Shit,¡± he muttered under his breath. ¡°I knew this was fishy.¡±

    The Carraro men gathered near the vehicles as Denti approached. One of them, a tall man in his mid-thirties with a neatly trimmed beard, stepped forward nervously.

    ¡°Mr. Denti,¡± the man¡ªIn a full blue and black tactical uniform¡ªbegan, his voice tinged with apprehension. ¡°We didn¡¯t know you were gonna be here tonight.¡±

    Denti¡¯s modulated voice carried across the clearing, cold and sharp. ¡°Well, expect the unexpected, Thompson.¡±

    The man, probably a lieutenant, Thompson from what Duncan gathered, swallowed hard. ¡°What do you have for us?¡±

    Denti gestured toward the truck. ¡°Sentinel blasters. The ones they stole from us.¡±

    Thompson¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Really?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Denti replied, his tone flat. ¡°Ten of them. You¡¯re lucky to be gettin¡¯ them back.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s great,¡± Stevenson said, nodding quickly. ¡°Let¡¯s get inside. It¡¯s gettin¡¯ cold out here.¡±

    ¡°Agreed,¡± Denti said. He waved a hand, and the guards began unloading crates from the truck.

    Duncan, hovering in the shadows, felt his pulse quicken. ¡°Motherfuckers,¡± he whispered. ¡°They¡¯re either workin¡¯ with the Friends of Humanity or they¡¯re a shell front for the FoH. Shit.¡±

    With his phone, Duncan activated the camera. Carefully, he began snapping pictures of the scene: Denti, the armed guards, the Sentinel blasters being unloaded. His steady hands ensured the images were sharp, capturing every detail that could later serve as evidence.

    As he worked, one of the guards near the warehouse suddenly paused, his head tilting as if he¡¯d sensed something. Duncan froze, watching as the guard turned toward his direction, squinting into the shadows.

    ¡°Shit,¡± Duncan muttered, lowering his phone.

    The guard began walking toward him, his rifle held at the ready. Duncan¡¯s mind raced. ¡°Gotta bail. Dang it.¡±

    With a quick burst of energy, Duncan launched himself into the air, becoming a blue blur against the dark sky. The sudden movement caught the guard¡¯s attention, and he raised his rifle, shouting something to the others. But by the time reinforcements arrived, Duncan was long gone, streaking through the night at supersonic speed.

    Miles away, Duncan finally slowed, hovering above a quiet stretch of forest. He let out a heavy sigh, his breath visible in the cool night air. ¡°Damnit,¡± he muttered, running a hand through his hair. ¡°They definitely saw me.¡±

    He checked his phone, scrolling through the photos he¡¯d managed to take. The images were clear, damning. Sentinel blasters, armed guards, the X-Cutioner himself¡ªit was all there.

    As he hovered in the darkness, his mind raced. Carraro wasn¡¯t just a private security firm. They were tied to the Friends of Humanity, possibly supplying them with advanced weapons. And now, they knew someone had seen them.

    ¡°Great,¡± Duncan muttered, his voice tinged with frustration. ¡°Now I¡¯m on their radar.¡±

    But even as doubt crept in, another part of him felt resolute. Whatever was happening, it was bigger than corporate bonds and financial reports. Duncan knew he couldn¡¯t ignore it. Not anymore.

    The next day dawned quietly for Duncan Nenni, the Dallas skyline glowing faintly in the early morning light as he sipped his coffee, his mind already racing. He had barely slept, the events of the previous night in Arkansas replaying in his head. The warehouse, the Sentinel blasters, and the presence of the X-Cutioner¡ªit all painted a picture of something far larger and more dangerous than just a bond deal gone sideways.

 Chapter 5: Stepping up

    Now he had to play it cool. Today wasn¡¯t about charging in or making reckless accusations. It was about planting seeds of doubt, starting with Mr. Davidson, his department manager. Duncan dressed sharply, as always, his midnight-blue suit pristine, his tie perfectly knotted. He arrived at the office early, settling into his desk to go through his usual reports, waiting for the right moment.

    When the time came, Duncan grabbed a slim folder of documents and made his way to Davidson¡¯s corner office. He knocked on the doorframe, stepping just far enough in to get Davidson¡¯s attention.

    ¡°Mr. Davidson?¡± Duncan said, his tone calm but deliberate.

    Davidson, who had been staring at his monitor, glanced up and waved him in. ¡°Nenni,¡± he said simply, leaning back in his chair. ¡°What can I do for ya?¡±

    Duncan stepped inside, closing the door behind him. ¡°Sir,¡± he began, holding the folder in one hand, ¡°I was wonderin¡¯ somethin¡¯. What if the Carraro account was, say, buyin¡¯ Trask Tech to fight¡­¡± He paused, choosing his words carefully. ¡°...muties?¡±

    Davidson raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. ¡°Don¡¯t be ridiculous, Duncan,¡± he said, shaking his head. ¡°They¡¯re just a security firm.¡±

    Duncan shifted his weight slightly, his expression neutral. ¡°I understand that, sir. But even if they¡¯re buyin¡¯ tools to fight mutants, think about it. Mutants can be dangerous robbers and criminals, no? If you¡¯re a client, would ya want to be unprotected?¡±

    Davidson nodded slightly, his tone turning more conversational. ¡°No, Duncan, I wouldn¡¯t. That¡¯s a sensible answer. Mutants, especially the dangerous ones, can wreak havoc. If Carraro¡¯s clients wanna feel secure, I can¡¯t fault them for that.¡±

    Duncan pressed on, his voice steady but probing. ¡°But what if, say, Carraro had connections to the Friends of Humanity, for instance?¡±

    Davidson froze for a fraction of a second, his eyes narrowing slightly before he forced a chuckle. ¡°Well, that¡¯s oddly specific, Duncan. But let¡¯s entertain the idea. Let¡¯s say they did have connections to the FoH. That could be problematic.¡±

    He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. ¡°But if it¡¯s not overly apparent¡ªif there¡¯s no clear evidence¡ªthen it wouldn¡¯t necessarily matter. It wouldn¡¯t stop the bond issuance outright. You know how this works.¡±

    Duncan nodded, his tone turning clinical. ¡°We¡¯d have to increase the interest rates and reduce their credit rating, though, wouldn¡¯t we?¡±

    Davidson smiled faintly, tilting his head. ¡°Exactly. If there¡¯s a real connection, it¡¯d expose them to what we call the ¡®X-Men risk.¡¯¡±

    Duncan raised an eyebrow, curious. ¡°X-Men risk, sir?¡±

    Davidson leaned back again, folding his arms across his chest. ¡°Think about it. If a company¡¯s too closely tied to anti-mutant activities, they¡¯re a target. Not just for public backlash, but for retaliation. The X-Men, or other mutant groups, could see them as a threat and act accordingly. That kind of risk drives up costs, makes investors nervous, and ultimately hurts the liquidity of the bonds.¡±

    Duncan nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. ¡°And that would hurt our margins.¡±

    ¡°Yup,¡± Davidson said, tapping his desk for emphasis.

    There was a brief silence as Duncan let the conversation settle, then he added, ¡°Maybe you should talk to Mr. Kane, Davidson. Just to be sure there¡¯s nothin¡¯ we¡¯re missin¡¯ here.¡±

    Davidson frowned slightly, his fingers drumming against the arm of his chair. ¡°Mr. Kane, huh?¡± he muttered, his voice quieter now.

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Duncan said, his tone neutral but deliberate. ¡°He seemed confident yesterday, but I think it¡¯s worth checkin¡¯ in. Just to confirm there¡¯s no... complications.¡±

    Davidson nodded slowly, though his eyes seemed distant, as if weighing something in his mind. ¡°I¡¯ll check on him,¡± he said finally, his tone firm. ¡°Thank you for bringin¡¯ this up, Duncan. Good work.¡±

    Duncan nodded politely, rising from his chair. ¡°Excuse me, sir,¡± he said as he turned to leave.

    ¡°See ya, Duncan,¡± Davidson replied, his voice carrying a faint edge of something Duncan couldn¡¯t quite place¡ªirritation? Worry? Guilt?

    As Duncan walked back to his desk, his thoughts raced. Davidson¡¯s reaction had been telling, even if subtle. The quick dismissal of mutants as a threat, the awkward pause when the FoH was mentioned, and the faint tension in his voice when Kane came up¡ªit all added up to more questions than answers.

    Settling into his chair, Duncan pulled up the Carraro files again, his sharp mind working through the possibilities. Whatever was going on, it was bigger than just a bad bond deal.

    And Duncan wasn¡¯t about to let it go.

    Duncan sat at his desk, trying to focus on the market analysis on his screen, but his attention kept drifting. The hum of conversation in the office had long since faded as the day wore on, leaving only the faint clatter of keyboards and the occasional rustle of papers. Outside, the sun was beginning to dip, casting a warm, amber glow over the city skyline.

    He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment, the events of the past few days swirling in his mind. Carraro. Trask. X-Cutioner. Sentinels. It all pointed to something larger, something insidious, and now Davidson¡¯s involvement seemed more suspicious than ever.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Then he heard it¡ªa muffled voice, faint but unmistakable, filtering through the thin walls of his office. Duncan straightened, tilting his head slightly to listen.

    ¡°Alright, so I rechecked the terms,¡± Davidson was saying. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, a nervous tension. ¡°And one of my specialists brought up an interestin¡¯ point¡­ Listen to me.¡±

    Duncan¡¯s pulse quickened. One of my specialists. That¡¯s me.

    Another voice responded, this one sharper, more measured, though faint enough that Duncan had to strain to hear. ¡°Talk.¡±

    Duncan frowned, leaning slightly closer to the wall. He couldn¡¯t make out every word, but the tone was unmistakable¡ªcold, calculating. Then Davidson spoke again, his voice louder now, tinged with frustration.

    ¡°Look, if this is tied to the FoH, it¡¯s bad fer us, Creed.¡±

    Duncan froze. His breath caught in his throat. Creed? The name rang in his mind like a warning bell. Could it be¡­ Graydon Creed? Leader of the Friends of Humanity?

    His jaw tightened as he leaned forward, focusing all his senses on the conversation. His enhanced hearing picked up Davidson¡¯s words more clearly now.

    ¡°Look, I want to help. But this affects the bottom line¡ªmy job, the bank.¡± Davidson¡¯s voice had grown more desperate, the tension in his words palpable. ¡°No, I don¡¯t want to be part of this mess.¡±

    The voice on the other end responded, sharp and cutting, but too faint for Duncan to catch the words.

    ¡°No,¡± Davidson continued, his voice hardening. ¡°I don¡¯t like muties. I like ¡¯em about as much as y¡¯all do. But I won¡¯t be involved.¡±

    Duncan¡¯s stomach twisted, his hands balling into fists. There it was¡ªthe truth laid bare. Davidson wasn¡¯t just complacent. He was complicit.

    The other voice¡ªCreed¡¯s voice¡ªspoke again, more insistent this time. Whatever he said made Davidson snap.

    ¡°God damnit, Creed!¡± Davidson hissed, his voice low but seething with anger. ¡°Ya¡¯re makin¡¯ a mistake.¡±

    There was a pause, a long silence that Duncan could almost feel through the wall. Then Davidson sighed heavily, his voice resigned.

    ¡°FINE! Alright. Let him come¡­ But ya won¡¯t find anythin¡¯ here.¡±

    Duncan¡¯s heart raced as the conversation ended. The faint sound of Davidson hanging up the phone reached his ears, followed by the creak of his chair. Duncan sat frozen, his mind reeling. Creed. Davidson. FoH. The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place, and the picture they painted was darker than he¡¯d imagined.

    For a long moment, Duncan stayed at his desk, staring blankly at his monitor. The fluorescent light above him buzzed softly, a stark contrast to the storm raging in his mind. Davidson had confirmed what Duncan had already suspected: Carraro wasn¡¯t just a private security firm. It was a front. A shell for the Friends of Humanity.

    And now, Davidson was in the middle of it.

    Duncan exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He needed a plan, and he needed it fast. If Creed was involved, this wasn¡¯t just about shady business practices or questionable bonds. This was about mutant lives.

    As the office grew quieter and the shadows grew longer, Duncan pulled out his phone and opened the pictures he¡¯d taken the night before at the warehouse. Sentinel blasters. Armed guards. X-Cutioner. The evidence was damning, but it wasn¡¯t enough. He needed more¡ªsomething concrete, something undeniable.

    He glanced toward Davidson¡¯s office, the faint sound of papers rustling still coming from inside. Duncan¡¯s jaw tightened as he made a decision.

    The knock at the door was unexpected, and Robert Nenni was halfway through his evening routine when he heard it. He shuffled toward the door, wiping his hands on a towel, muttering something under his breath.

    ¡°Just one moment,¡± he called out.

    When he opened the door and saw Duncan, his son, standing there in his well-kept suit, his hair slightly disheveled from flying at supersonic speed, Robert froze in surprise.

    ¡°Son?¡± Robert said, his tone laced with confusion and curiosity.

    ¡°Hey, Daddy,¡± Duncan replied casually, stepping inside as though he hadn¡¯t just shown up unannounced.

    Robert raised an eyebrow, stepping back to let him in. ¡°Did ya fly down here?¡±

    ¡°Sure hell did,¡± Duncan replied, brushing past him and setting his satchel on the kitchen counter.

    Robert groaned, closing the door behind him. ¡°What have I told ya ¡¯bout flyin¡¯ like that?¡±

    ¡°Not now,¡± Duncan interrupted, his tone unusually serious. ¡°This is important. Where¡¯s Mama?¡±

    From the living room, Marcy Nenni appeared, wiping her hands on her apron. ¡°Duncan?¡± she asked, her voice a mixture of surprise and concern. ¡°What¡¯s goin¡¯ on? You¡¯re supposed to be in Dallas.¡±

    Duncan raised a hand, motioning for calm. ¡°Alright, settle down. This matters. Y¡¯all are gonna want to hear this.¡±

    Robert folded his arms, leaning against the counter, while Marcy sat at the dining table, her expression wary. ¡°Alright,¡± she said. ¡°Spill it.¡±

    Duncan launched into his story, recounting everything from his discoveries at work to the events at the warehouse in Arkansas. His parents listened in silence, their faces growing more serious with each detail. By the time he finished, the room was heavy with tension.

    ¡°And you¡¯re gonna stop ¡¯em?¡± Robert asked, his tone probing.

    Duncan nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll deny their bond origination. They won¡¯t be able to issue the bonds in the primary market.¡±

    Marcy frowned, her brow furrowing. ¡°Is that ¡¯nuff to stop ¡¯em from doin¡¯¡­ y¡¯know, whatever they¡¯re plannin¡¯?¡±

    ¡°Nope,¡± Duncan admitted, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. ¡°But at least I won¡¯t have contributed to their amassin¡¯ of weapons to use against mutants.¡±

    Robert¡¯s expression hardened. ¡°So you¡¯re just washin¡¯ yer hands of it. They won¡¯t blame ya, but it¡¯ll still happen?¡±

    ¡°It ain¡¯t my problem,¡± Duncan said firmly, meeting his father¡¯s gaze. ¡°This is an X-Men thingy, not mine.¡±

    Marcy folded her hands on the table, her voice softer but no less serious. ¡°Alright, son. But don¡¯t overexpose yerself. This sounds dangerous.¡±

    Robert nodded, his tone more pointed. ¡°But ya could do somethin¡¯ more, Duncan. Go the extra mile. Show ya care. Do yer honest job¡­¡±

    Duncan raised an eyebrow, waiting for the inevitable follow-up.

    Robert didn¡¯t disappoint. ¡°If they¡¯re hurtin¡¯ people.¡±

    Marcy added, her voice trembling slightly, ¡°They could hurt you, Duncan.¡±

    Duncan let out a small, incredulous laugh. ¡°C¡¯mon, y¡¯all. They ain¡¯t gonna hurt me. I¡¯m just sayin¡¯ no.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Robert said cautiously. ¡°It¡¯s not exactly yer problem, son.¡±

    Marcy¡¯s eyes narrowed, her tone sharper now. ¡°But it could be.¡±

    Duncan sighed, rubbing his temple. ¡°Alright, Dad. Mom. I¡¯ll see what I can do.¡±

    Marcy leaned forward slightly, her voice firm. ¡°See it right. ¡¯Cause if you don¡¯t, you¡¯re driftin¡¯. And when you drift, you lose sight of who you are.¡±

    ¡°I said I¡¯ll see what I can do,¡± Duncan repeated, his voice tinged with irritation.

    ¡°Don¡¯t wait, Duncan,¡± Marcy pressed. ¡°Stop procrastinatin¡¯.¡±

    That struck a nerve. Duncan¡¯s jaw tightened as he straightened up. ¡°That again? Always with the moralizin¡¯.¡±

    ¡°And also pray fer the Lord¡¯s guidance,¡± Marcy added, her voice softer but no less insistent.

    Duncan groaned, throwing his hands up. ¡°Alright. I clearly overstayed my welcome. Whatever I do, I¡¯ll do it my way.¡±

    Robert¡¯s tone turned sharp. ¡°You never listen, do ya, Duncan?¡±

    Duncan smirked faintly, his tone dripping with sarcasm. ¡°If I didn¡¯t listen, I wouldn¡¯t even be here talkin¡¯ to yer annoyin¡¯ faces.¡±

    Robert¡¯s face darkened, his voice rising. ¡°Boy, you¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll see y¡¯all soon,¡± Duncan interrupted, stepping toward the front door.

    Before they could say anything else, he walked out onto the porch and launched himself into the air, his blue plasma trail lighting up the night as he streaked away toward the horizon.

 Chapter 6: Remember The Alamo

    The next morning arrived in a blur of early sunlight filtering through the skyscraper windows, casting long shadows across the investment office. Duncan Nenni stepped into the hallway, his polished shoes clicking against the tile as he carried a folder tucked under his arm. He was dressed sharply, as usual¡ªhis dark suit immaculate, his tie perfectly knotted. Today, however, his usual calm was undercut by a sharp determination. He wasn¡¯t here to play games.

    Knocking firmly on Mr. Davidson¡¯s office door, Duncan didn¡¯t wait for an answer before stepping inside. Davidson, sitting behind his large wooden desk, looked up from his computer with surprise.

    ¡°Mr. Davidson,¡± Duncan began without preamble, setting the folder down on the desk with a deliberate motion. ¡°I think we must stop the bond origination.¡±

    Davidson frowned, leaning back in his chair. ¡°What? Why?¡± he asked, his voice tinged with frustration.

    Duncan flipped open the folder, revealing a stack of printed photos. The images were grainy but clear enough to show armed guards, Sentinel blasters, and Carl Denti standing amid a convoy of SUVs outside the warehouse. Davidson¡¯s eyes widened as he picked up the photos, his fingers tightening on the edges.

    ¡°What? How did ya get these?¡± Davidson demanded, his voice rising slightly.

    Duncan¡¯s expression remained impassive. ¡°Don¡¯t matter, sir. But let¡¯s say it was a concerned party. Someone who thought you should see this.¡±

    Davidson flipped through the photos, his face growing pale. ¡°These are¡­ incriminatin¡¯,¡± he muttered. ¡°The investors will hate this.¡±

    ¡°If this gets leaked,¡± Duncan said, his voice calm but firm, ¡°the damn X-Men will show up, and damn the deal, won¡¯t they, sir?¡±

    Davidson nodded slowly, his hand rubbing at his temple. ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re right. They¡¯ll never pay interest, much less the principal.¡±

    ¡°No, sir,¡± Duncan added, his tone sharper now. ¡°It¡¯ll be junk status.¡±

    Davidson sighed heavily, leaning forward on his desk. ¡°Dang it¡­ I¡¯ll cut ¡¯em off.¡±

    But before either man could say anything further, the office door opened without a knock. The tension in the room doubled as Graydon Creed, now clearly identified as Mr. Kane, stepped inside, flanked by Carl Denti¡ªthe X-Cutioner. Both men were dressed in sharp suits, their presence radiating a quiet menace that seemed to darken the room.

    ¡°Mr. Kane,¡± Davidson said, his voice faltering slightly as he stood.

    ¡°Greetings, Mr. Davidson. Mr. Nenni,¡± Creed said smoothly, his cold smile never reaching his eyes. He gestured to the man beside him. ¡°This is my associate, Carl Denti.¡±

    Denti stepped forward, extending a hand to Davidson, who shook it reluctantly. He then turned to Duncan, his eyes narrowing as he extended his hand once more.

    Duncan hesitated for only a second before gripping Denti¡¯s hand firmly. The tension between the two men was palpable.

    ¡°Your hands,¡± Denti said, his tone casual but laced with suspicion. ¡°They¡¯re warm.¡±

    ¡°Yup,¡± Duncan replied evenly. ¡°I¡¯m usually warm, yes.¡±

    Denti didn¡¯t let go, his grip tightening slightly. ¡°This temperature¡­ it¡¯s unusual. Way above 100¡ã. You¡¯re in a fever state.¡±

    Duncan held his gaze, his tone calm but pointed. ¡°No, I reckon I¡¯m just fine.¡±

    The two locked eyes, an unspoken hostility passing between them. Carl¡¯s lips curled into a faint smirk as he finally released Duncan¡¯s hand. ¡°You have a very strong grip.¡±

    ¡°I train,¡± Duncan replied, his voice edged with sarcasm.

    Denti gestured faintly toward Duncan¡¯s broad shoulders. ¡°I can see,¡± he said.

    Davidson cleared his throat, breaking the tension. ¡°Can we talk about the deal?¡±

    Creed¡¯s attention shifted back to Davidson, his sharp smile returning. ¡°Yeah¡­ ¡¯bout that, Mr. Davidson. I hear there¡¯s some hesitation. Why?¡±

    Davidson shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ¡°Well, Mr. Kane, we¡¯ve been reviewing the terms, and we¡¯ve come across evidence suggestin¡¯ possible cooperation with the FoH.¡±

    Creed¡¯s expression hardened slightly, though his tone remained even. ¡°And? Do you have a problem with that?¡±

    Denti, standing at Creed¡¯s side, smirked and added, ¡°Yeah, do ya?¡±

    Davidson raised his hands, his voice placating. ¡°It¡¯s not about personal politics. The problem is, if this gets out, the X-Men will target y¡¯all. And when that happens, they¡¯ll destroy everythin¡¯ y¡¯all built. That means you¡¯ll never pay back the debt.¡±

    Creed¡¯s smile thinned, his eyes narrowing. ¡°Who let the boy speak?¡± he said, motioning toward Duncan, his voice full of disdain.

    Duncan didn¡¯t flinch. ¡°I can more than stand fer myself,¡± he said, his voice steady.

    Creed ignored him, turning back to Davidson. ¡°Let me make this clear: you have no reason to deny this deal.¡±

    Davidson hesitated, his gaze shifting nervously between Creed and Duncan. ¡°We¡­ we can¡¯t go on with the deal. The risk is too high. If the X-Men find out we¡¯re in collusion with the FoH, they might decide we¡¯re a threat too.¡±

    The room fell silent for a moment. Then Denti stepped closer to Duncan, his imposing frame looming over him. His face was mere inches away, his voice low and dangerous.

    ¡°So you¡¯re against cleanin¡¯ the streets of criminal freaks and terrorists?¡± Denti''s voice came cold and dry. His eyebrows furrowing in anger.

    Duncan met his gaze unflinchingly. ¡°I¡¯m against losin¡¯ money,¡± he said coldly. ¡°Especially when it¡¯s tied to petty tyrant freedom-hatin¡¯ fucks like the FoH.¡±

    Denti¡¯s eyes narrowed to slits. ¡°People support causes for three reasons: they¡¯re benefited by it, they¡¯re in it, or they know someone involved. So which is it, cowboy? Are you benefiting from the muties, a mutie lover, or a freak yourself?¡±

    Duncan¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°What I am ain¡¯t none of yer concern.¡±

    Denti¡¯s smirk turned into a sneer. His hand dipped into his jacket, and he pulled out a sleek black Glock 17, aiming it directly at Duncan.

    ¡°Woah,¡± Davidson stammered, raising his hands. ¡°Denti, calm down.¡±

    Denti didn¡¯t look away from Duncan. ¡°Call security,¡± he said, his voice venomous, ¡°and you¡¯ll be gone too, desk jockey.¡±

    Duncan didn¡¯t flinch, his gaze locked on Denti¡¯s. ¡°I ain¡¯t afraid of no tyrant, X-Cutioner,¡± he said softly. ¡°Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of.¡±

    Denti¡¯s finger tightened on the trigger.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    The sharp click of the hammer echoed in the room, and everything froze.

    The sound of the gunshot rang through the office like thunder, silencing everything. For a moment, the world seemed to stop. Davidson yelled, his voice frantic: ¡°DUNCAN!¡±

    But there was no scream of pain, no crumpling body. Instead, the silence was broken only by the soft clink of the bullet casing hitting the floor. The bullet itself lay flat on the ground, its tip crumpled, as though it had struck an impenetrable wall. Duncan looked down to the ground at the spread hollow-point 9mm projectile laying on the floor, like flower blossoming in the spring.

    ¡°What?¡± Denti muttered, his voice laced with confusion and rising panic.

    The tension in the room thickened as Duncan stood there, unmoved, the faint blue glimmer of plasma energy dancing across his chest where the bullet had struck. His sharp eyes glared at Denti, his voice low and measured. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, X-Cutioner. Ya oughta try harder if ya wanna kill me.¡±

    Denti¡¯s face twisted in fury, and he fired again¡ªthree more times in quick succession. The bullets hit their mark but clattered uselessly to the floor, the metal gleaming under the fluorescent lights.

    Duncan¡¯s expression hardened. Without a word, he stepped forward and grabbed the X-Cutioner by the neck, lifting him off the ground with terrifying ease.

    Denti struggled, his feet kicking at the air. ¡°Freak!¡± he spat. ¡°Stay behind me, Creed!¡±

    Duncan¡¯s grip tightened slightly, his voice dripping with calm menace. ¡°My turn, X-Cutioner.¡± He raised his other hand, forming his signature finger gun, a glowing blue plasma bolt forming at the tip of his finger. The room filled with a faint hum as the energy built, and then he fired.

    The bolt struck Denti square in the chest, sending him flying across the room. He crashed into the wall with a sickening thud, his suit and tie charred, his tactical vest barely protecting him from being burned alive.

    Duncan stepped forward, his tone cold. ¡°Gets worse, Denti.¡±

    Denti scrambled to his feet, pulling a second gun from his belt. He fired wildly, but Duncan was faster, sidestepping the shots with effortless precision. With a sudden burst of speed, Duncan closed the distance and grabbed Davidson, pulling him out of harm¡¯s way as the bullets tore through the air.

    ¡°You¡¯re a mutant?¡± Davidson asked, his voice trembling.

    Duncan smirked, glancing over his shoulder. ¡°Bless yer heart, y''all took yer sweet time to figure it out.¡±

    The X-Cutioner, now furious, charged at Duncan with a feral roar. The fight exploded into chaos, Denti swinging wildly as Duncan dodged and countered with precision. Desks were overturned, papers flew through the air, and the sound of shattering glass filled the room.

    At one point, Denti lunged at Davidson, but Duncan blocked the attack, shoving him backward. ¡°Go home, Denti,¡± Duncan growled, his voice low and dangerous.

    The fight spilled into the open office space, the sound of their struggle drawing the attention of every employee on the floor. Heads poked out from cubicles, and soon a crowd began to gather, their whispers filling the air.

    ¡°Is that Duncan?¡± One of the office workers stammered back, hot coffee spilling over the floor from his surprise.

    ¡°Oh my god, is he a mutant?¡± One of the other workers, a younger woman spoke from her cubicle.

    Denti stumbled back, his chest heaving. He raised his gun again, shouting, ¡°DIE!¡± and fired.

    Duncan didn¡¯t even flinch. The bullet barely touched him before falling to the ground. He closed the distance in an instant, grabbing Denti¡¯s leg and lifting him off the ground. With a swift motion, he slammed the man into a nearby desk. The desk shattered under the impact, sending shards of wood flying.

    ¡°ARGH!¡± Denti howled, rolling away in pain.

    Duncan stalked after him, his voice calm but filled with authority. ¡°Done yet?¡±

    Denti forced himself to his feet, pulling another gun, a smaller .380 compact. ¡°Freak!¡± he spat. He fired again, but Duncan moved faster, grabbing the gun and crushing the barrel slide and the frame below it in his hand.

    ¡°You¡¯re done here, Denti,¡± Duncan said, his voice steady as he grabbed the X-Cutioner and lifted him above his head. ¡°Go home. Dallas ain¡¯t a place fer the likes of ya.¡±

    Denti, his face contorted with rage, spat in Duncan¡¯s face. ¡°You freaks are all the same! Fighting and dying for your cause! This will be no different.¡±

    Duncan wiped the spit away, his eyes narrowing, glowing faintly red. Plasma energy coursed through his veins, his hands burning hot as he tightened his grip. Denti screamed, clutching his neck as Duncan¡¯s touch left searing burns.

    Desperate, Denti pulled a hidden adamantium blade from his boot and hurled it at Duncan. The knife struck Duncan¡¯s hand, embedding itself there.

    Duncan stared at it, unfazed. ¡°Asshole,¡± he muttered, pulling the knife out like it was nothing more than a splinter. There was barely any blood, the wound already beginning to close.

    Denti stumbled back, his face a mixture of fear and fury. ¡°You freaks are all the same!¡± he snarled. ¡°You¡¯re monsters! Radicals! Criminals! All for that god damned X-Gene¡±

    Duncan stepped closer, his voice low and unyielding. ¡°I ain¡¯t no X-Man. My cause is not the same.¡±

    With that, Duncan grabbed Denti again, lifting him effortlessly. ¡°KILL ME!¡± Denti screamed. ¡°SHOW THEM WHO YOU ARE! MUTANT!¡±

    Duncan¡¯s gaze hardened. ¡°No. I won¡¯t kill ya. But I¡¯ll humiliate yer ass.¡±

    He threw Denti to the ground with a sickening thud, then stepped on the man¡¯s right knee. A loud crack echoed through the office as Denti screamed in pain. A loud crunch was firstly heard, then a coarse almost sand like noise, his bones scrapping breaking beyond any medical save.

    ¡°ARGH!!!!¡± Denti yelled clutching his legs in agonizing pain.

    Duncan moved to the left knee, his voice calm. ¡°There ya go, Carl Denti.¡± Another crack, another scream.

    But as Denti writhed on the floor, clutching his shattered legs, Duncan¡¯s attention shifted.

    Graydon Creed still stood in the doorway, his cold gaze fixed on Duncan.

    The tension in the office was palpable as Duncan Nenni stood over the broken and battered Carl Denti, his imposing frame outlined by the faint glow of residual plasma energy. Behind him, the gathered employees of the bank whispered nervously, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear, awe, and confusion. But the room went silent as Graydon Creed, now fully revealed, stepped forward, his sharp suit barely containing his seething anger.

    ¡°You mutants,¡± Creed began, his voice dripping with venom, ¡°are all cruel brutes.¡±

    Duncan turned to face him, his expression calm but his eyes burning with quiet fury. ¡°Says the man who just tried to kill me, and has killed plenty before.¡±

    Creed sneered, his fists clenched at his sides. ¡°You don¡¯t understand what it¡¯s like to be powerless. To live in fear of your kind!¡±

    Duncan raised an eyebrow, his tone steady but cutting. ¡°I wasn¡¯t always a mutant, y¡¯know. Powers take a while to manifest.¡±

    Creed scoffed, his voice rising. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter! You care for nothing and no one. All you mutants do is tear, break, destroy! You¡¯re a plague¡ªa cancer on this earth. And if we don¡¯t stop your kind, you¡¯ll destroy ours!¡±

    Duncan¡¯s expression hardened. ¡°You¡¯re insane, Creed. We just want to be left the damn alone.¡±

    ¡°Is that so, freak?¡± Creed spat. ¡°Does Magneto want to be left alone? Does Apocalypse? Mystique?! SABERTOOTH?!¡±

    Duncan took a step forward, his voice cold and sharp. ¡°Ya¡¯re comparin¡¯ me to vicious criminals. By that logic, all humans are murderers too¡ª¡¯cause Denti here killed a bunch of people. Or I dunno¡­ let¡¯s go with Red Skull, Stalin, Hitler¡­ y''know ad infinitum.¡± He gestured widely, his voice rising slightly. ¡°Ya can¡¯t measure anythin¡¯ collectively. Each individual is¡ª¡±

    Before he could finish, Creed moved suddenly, launching a collar meant to disrupt mutant powers. The device gleamed as it sailed through the air, a perfect shot aimed directly at Duncan¡¯s neck.

    But Duncan was faster. With reflexes honed by both training and instinct, he snatched the collar out of the air with a loud clap, holding it in his hand like a useless toy.

    ¡°Seriously?¡± Duncan said, narrowing his eyes. ¡°Mid-monologue? You¡¯re an asshole, Creed.¡±

    Creed¡¯s lips curled into a snarl. ¡°You end here, mutant,¡± he growled, reaching into his suit jacket and pulling out a Sentinel blaster. The weapon unfolded from its compact form, nanotech plating extending across Creed¡¯s arm until it resembled something out of a science-fiction nightmare.

    The gathered employees gasped, some ducking behind cubicles, others scrambling for cover. The blaster began to hum, its energy cells charging as Creed raised it toward Duncan.

    But before Creed could fire, Duncan moved. His eyes flicked to a nearby laptop sitting on a desk, and in one swift motion, he grabbed it and hurled it at Creed. The computer struck him square in the face, knocking him backward into a cubicle with a loud crash.

    ¡°Sorry, Janice,¡± Duncan muttered to the wide-eyed co-worker crouched behind her desk.

    Creed groaned, struggling to his feet, the Sentinel blaster sparking slightly from the impact. Duncan walked toward him, his footsteps slow and deliberate.

    ¡°Not all mutants are evil, Creed,¡± Duncan said, his voice low but carrying across the room. ¡°I won¡¯t hurt ya, but don¡¯t bother me again.¡±

    From somewhere in the back of the room, Paco, one of Duncan¡¯s colleagues, yelled out: ¡°DUNCAN! DO A CATCHPHRASE!¡±

    Duncan paused, turning slightly toward the voice. ¡°What? N¡ªAhem¡­ hmm¡­¡± He cleared his throat, then turned back to Creed, his tone mock-dramatic. ¡°Remember the Alamo, motherfucker.¡± He paused, then repeated it with more gravitas: ¡°Yeah. Remember the Alamo, Creed.¡±

    From the sidelines, Pablo muttered, ¡°Corny ass line.¡±

    Duncan sighed, shaking his head. ¡°I¡¯m tryin¡¯, god damnit.¡± But there was a hint of amusement in his eyes, now red and glowing, a far cry from his dark browns.

    He knelt down, grabbing Creed¡¯s wrist. The Sentinel blaster hummed weakly, its systems damaged but still active. Duncan gripped it tightly, his plasma-charged strength crushing the advanced tech as though it were made of tin foil. Creed winced as the metal buckled, sparks flying before the weapon fell silent.

    Duncan released Creed¡¯s wrist, straightening up. ¡°I¡¯ll see ya ¡¯round, Creed.¡± He turned and walked toward the shattered window, pausing only to glance over his shoulder. ¡°And don¡¯t come back to Dallas. It ain¡¯t yer kinda town.¡±

    With that, Duncan leapt through the broken window, his body enveloped in a blue streak of plasma energy as he shot into the sky.

 Chapter 7: 1836

    In the aftermath, the office was a scene of chaos. Papers fluttered in the air, desks were overturned, and employees were slowly emerging from their hiding spots. Carl Denti groaned on the floor, his knees shattered, while Graydon Creed sat slumped against a cubicle, his pride¡ªand his weapon¡ªcompletely destroyed.

    The whispers began almost immediately.

    ¡°Did Duncan just¡ªfly?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s a mutant? Since when?¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe he took down Creed and that psycho Denti.¡±

    ¡°¡®Remember the Alamo¡¯? Seriously?¡±

    Creed clenched his fists, his voice a low growl. ¡°You freaks think you¡¯ve won? This isn¡¯t over.¡±

    But the room had already turned against him. For the first time, Creed¡¯s carefully constructed fa?ade had cracked, and the people around him saw him for what he truly was.

    And high above the city, Duncan flew through the open sky, the wind rushing past him as he considered his next move.

    The Arkansas countryside stretched out below as Duncan Nenni streaked through the sky, a blue blur against the twilight horizon. The wind roared in his ears, but his thoughts were louder. The events of the last few days replayed in his mind like a broken record: Carraro Security, Graydon Creed, the Friends of Humanity, and their Sentinel tech operation.

    Duncan¡¯s phone buzzed in his pocket, reminding him of the task he¡¯d just completed. Before leaving Dallas, he¡¯d sent an anonymous email to the X-Men¡¯s tip line, a tool he found strangely humorous yet surprisingly useful in times like these. Pulling out his phone mid-flight, he quickly reread the message he¡¯d sent:

    <hr>

    TO: Xavier¡¯s Anonymous Mutant Rights Line

    SUBJECT: FoH Operation in Arkansas

    Message:

    Howdy,

    Got some hard evidence of Friends of Humanity activity in Arkansas. They¡¯re using a Carraro Security warehouse as a front to store Sentinel tech. You¡¯ll find weapons, guards, and likely more connections to Trask.

    I¡¯ve attached the coordinates and photos for you to check out. Handle it however you see fit¡ªI¡¯m not sticking around for the fireworks.

    Signed,

    Concerned Party

    <hr>

    Duncan smirked to himself as he tucked the phone away. ¡°X-Folk oughta love that,¡± he muttered. ¡°Hope they bring the big guns for this one.¡±

    But his focus shifted as the warehouse came into view¡ªa sprawling industrial compound surrounded by chain-link fencing topped with razor wire. Floodlights bathed the area in harsh white light, illuminating armed guards patrolling the perimeter. Duncan¡¯s enhanced vision picked out the familiar shapes of Sentinel blasters in the guards¡¯ hands, the weapons gleaming ominously under the lights.

    ¡°Here we go,¡± Duncan muttered, descending lower. He didn¡¯t plan to stick around long¡ªjust enough to get a closer look, stir up trouble, and make sure the X-Men had a clear target when they arrived.

    But the moment he got within range, a shout echoed from below:

    ¡°MUTANT! OPEN FIRE!¡±

    Duncan rolled his eyes. ¡°Dang it, not even a goddamn hello.¡±

    The guards raised their weapons, their Sentinel blasters humming to life.

    ¡°Kill him!¡± one of them barked, and the air filled with the sharp, mechanical sound of energy charging.

    ¡°Energy won¡¯t¡ª¡± Duncan started, but he was cut off as a massive blast struck him square in the chest. The force sent him hurtling backward through the air, tumbling end over end before he managed to stabilize himself.

    ¡°That burned,¡± Duncan growled, glancing down at his now-charred suit. ¡°Fuck, my suit! I spent half of my damn bonus on this suit, dang it!¡±

    His skin was a faint reddish hue where the blast had struck, a combination of residual heat and the plasma energy that coursed through him. But instead of feeling drained, he noticed something peculiar: he felt more energized. The pain was there, sure, but beneath it was a surge of vitality, like a shot of adrenaline.

    He floated for a moment, running a hand across his chest. ¡°Alright, so this is my espresso shot?¡± he muttered, his lips curling into a smirk. ¡°I can get used to bein¡¯ blasted regularly then¡±

    The guards on the ground reloaded their weapons, their voices a mix of panic and determination.

    ¡°He¡¯s still up there! Fire again!¡±

    Duncan descended slowly, his arms crossed over his chest as he hovered just out of range. ¡°Y¡¯all done yet, or do I have to come down there and teach you manners? Reckon this is the rudest welcomin¡¯ party I¡¯ve ever crashed¡±

    One of the guards barked an order, and a volley of energy blasts erupted from the blasters, streaking toward Duncan like bolts of lightning. He twisted and dodged with ease, the blue blur of his movements leaving trails in the air.

    ¡°Work on that aim, boys¡± he taunted, weaving between the shots.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    But then one of the guards aimed a more powerful charged blast, the weapon glowing intensely before firing a beam that crackled with raw energy. Duncan didn¡¯t have time to dodge, and the blast hit him squarely, sending him plummeting toward the ground.

    He crashed into the dirt with a loud thud, a small cloud of dust rising around him. The guards hesitated, their weapons still trained on the impact site. For a moment, there was only silence.

    Then Duncan rose slowly from the crater, brushing the dirt off his suit. His shirt was torn, the fabric burned away to reveal the faint glow of plasma veins running under his skin as he used his powers, like blue energized blood. His smirk was gone, replaced by a cold, focused glare.

    ¡°Alright, the posturin¡¯ is over,¡± he said, his voice calm but filled with menace.

    The guards exchanged nervous glances, their confidence wavering.

    ¡°Drop the weapons,¡± Duncan said, his voice carrying across the compound. ¡°Last chance.¡±

    One of the guards raised his blaster again, that was enough for an answer to Duncan as he sighed. ¡°Fine. Have it yer way.¡±

    In a burst of speed, he closed the distance between himself and the nearest guard, grabbing the man¡¯s blaster and crushing it in his hand. The guard stumbled backward in shock as Duncan turned to the others, his hands glowing with blue plasma energy.

    ¡°Y¡¯all really need to learn when to quit,¡± Duncan said, raising his hands. With a flick of his fingers, he sent two small plasma bolts streaking toward the remaining guards, knocking the weapons out of their hands.

    The guards panicked, some fleeing toward the warehouse while others froze in place. Duncan stood in the center of the chaos, his calm demeanor contrasting sharply with the destruction around him.

    From the corner of his eye, Duncan saw the warehouse doors begin to open, revealing more armed men inside. ¡°More friends, huh?¡± he muttered. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s dance.¡±

    He cracked his knuckles, his plasma energy flaring brighter as he prepared for the next round.

    The Arkansas night was alive with chaos, the Carraro Security warehouse now a full-blown battleground. The air crackled with energy, plasma bolts illuminating the scene like blue lightning. Smoke and dust filled the air as Duncan Nenni, now fully embracing his power, systematically dismantled the Friends of Humanity guards who had foolishly thought they could stand against him.

    The warehouse itself was massive, an industrial labyrinth of steel beams and towering shelves stacked with crates marked Trask International. Rows of Sentinel blasters, surveillance equipment, and other tech lay scattered among the debris as Duncan tore through the compound. The fluorescent lights above flickered erratically, some shattered by stray plasma bolts, casting the scene in an eerie half-light.

    Duncan hovered a few feet off the ground, his blue plasma energy glowing faintly around him like an aura. His suit was singed and torn, revealing his broad shoulders and muscular frame beneath, faintly glowing with streaks of light where his plasma veins coursed through him. His eyes burned with determination, a faint red hue flickering in his irises.

    A shout came from one of the guards. ¡°KILL HIM!¡±

    Duncan sighed, dodging a poorly aimed blast with casual ease. ¡°Y¡¯all keep shoutin¡¯ the same thing. What? Weren¡¯t ya tryin¡¯ hard ¡¯nuff already?¡± He raised a hand and fired a precise plasma bolt, knocking the weapon clean out of the guard¡¯s hands.

    But then the ground began to tremble. A low, mechanical whine filled the air as something massive came online within the warehouse. The noise grew louder, accompanied by the heavy clanking of metal footsteps.

    Duncan turned toward the source of the sound, a wry grin forming on his face. ¡°Finally. Thought this was gonna be too easy.¡±

    The massive form of a Sentinel emerged from the shadows, its towering frame gleaming under the flickering lights. Its metallic purple-and-silver armor was polished to a mirror sheen, and its glowing eyes locked onto Duncan with cold precision.

    The Sentinel¡¯s voice boomed, its monotone echoing across the battlefield:

    [OMEGA THREAT DETECTED.]

    Duncan raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he hovered in place. ¡°Omega? I appreciate the compliment, partner.¡±

    [IMMEDIATE ELIMINATION PROTOCOL ENGAGED.]

    Duncan smirked, tilting his head slightly. ¡°A little backhanded, but I¡¯ll take it. Great to know y¡¯all machines have rated me so highly, Good thing I¡¯m in my best suit, or at least what remains of it.¡±

    The Sentinel wasted no time. Its massive arms whirred to life, firing a barrage of energy blasts that turned the warehouse into a war zone. Duncan darted through the air, weaving between the shots with fluid precision.

    ¡°They need to update that targetin¡¯ software, but then again, y¡¯all got the older models¡± he taunted, firing a series of plasma bolts from his fingertips. Each shot hit its mark, punching small, glowing craters into the Sentinel¡¯s armor.

    The machine stumbled slightly but recalibrated, raising one of its massive arms to swipe at him. Duncan dodged effortlessly, grabbing onto the arm mid-swing. His hands glowed brighter as he channeled his plasma energy into the Sentinel¡¯s arm, the metal groaning under the heat.

    With a sharp CRACK, he tore the arm free, the massive limb sparking wildly as he spun it over his head like a toy.

    ¡°That¡¯ll hurt, but it won¡¯t kill,¡± he said, hurling the arm into a group of FoH guards who were trying to retreat. The massive piece of metal hit the ground with a deafening crash, scattering the guards like bowling pins.

    ¡°You freak!¡± one of them shouted, raising a Sentinel blaster.

    Duncan smirked, landing softly on the ground. ¡°Yeah, freakishly good at depreciatin¡¯ yer assets, amigo.¡±

    The guards hesitated, their fear evident as Duncan walked toward the Sentinel. The towering machine tried to recalibrate, its remaining arm aiming another energy cannon at him.

    ¡°Energy won¡¯t work on me, remember?¡± Duncan said, raising a hand. He fired a concentrated plasma bolt directly into the Sentinel¡¯s chest, the impact sending it crashing into the side of the warehouse. The metal beams buckled under its weight, and the Sentinel¡¯s glowing eyes dimmed as its systems powered down.

    Duncan dusted off his hands, surveying the wreckage. One by one, he turned his attention to the remaining guards, using a combination of his super strength, plasma bolts, and flight to neutralize them. He moved with surgical precision, taking out their weapons and incapacitating them without a single fatality. As the last guard fled into the night, Duncan stood in the center of the ruined warehouse, his chest rising and falling with steady breaths. The air was thick with the smell of burnt metal and ozone, the faint hum of his plasma energy the only sound in the aftermath of the battle.

    Then, in the distance, he saw it: the unmistakable silhouette of the Blackbird, its sleek frame cutting through the sky like a shadow.

    Duncan frowned, glancing down at his torn suit. ¡°I ain¡¯t meetin¡¯ these folks lookin¡¯ like I¡¯m doin¡¯ right now,¡± he muttered.

    Grabbing a piece of the Sentinel¡¯s armor, he held it in his hands, the metal already beginning to melt under the heat of his touch. Using his finger, he etched a message into the softened metal:

    I got ¡¯em for y¡¯all. No need to thank me.

    ¡ªThe Alamo

    Duncan dropped the Sentinel plating onto the ground with a soft clang, stepping back to admire his handiwork. He smirked, his tone light as he spoke to himself. ¡°The Alamo. I like it. The Texan who stands against tyranny against overwhelmin¡¯ odds. That¡¯s what I am. Let¡¯s go with it¡­ The Alamo.¡±

    With that, he launched into the air, his blue plasma trail streaking across the sky as he disappeared into the horizon.

 Chapter 8: Seriously Badass Guy... or Girl

    Inside the Blackbird, the X-Men watched the scene unfold from above. The warehouse was in ruins, Sentinel parts scattered across the compound like discarded toys.

    ¡°Uncle Wolvie, did you see that?¡± Jubilee asked, her voice filled with excitement.

    Logan, leaning against the cockpit door, squinted at the blue blur streaking away in the distance. ¡°The hell was that, kid? What do you see, Slim?¡±

    ¡°As much as you, Logan,¡± Cyclops replied, his tone calm but curious.

    ¡°Damn, that was awesome!¡± Jubilee exclaimed, practically bouncing in her seat.

    ¡°It¡¯s just another Tuesday, kiddo, settle down¡± Logan muttered, shaking his head.

    Cyclops adjusted his visor. ¡°Let¡¯s get down there. Whoever that was, they¡¯ve left us quite a scene to clean up.¡±

    As the Blackbird descended, the team prepared to investigate. But in the back of their minds, one question lingered:

    Who was the blue blur?

    The Blackbird landed gracefully in the scorched field outside the smoldering remains of the Carraro Security warehouse, its sleek black frame gleaming under the dim moonlight. The ramp descended with a soft hiss, and the team stepped out¡ªStorm, Cyclops, Jubilee, and Wolverine. The air was thick with the smell of burned metal and ozone, mingled with faint wisps of smoke that rose lazily from the ruins.

    Wolverine¡¯s sharp senses twitched, his nose wrinkling in distaste. ¡°This whole place smells burned,¡± he growled, his gravelly voice cutting through the quiet.

    ¡°That¡¯s ¡®cause it is, Wolvie,¡± Jubilee chimed in, her tone filled with awe. ¡°This place is just gone! Whoever did this? So badass!¡±

    ¡°Calm down, kid,¡± Wolverine said, shooting her a sidelong glance as he adjusted the gloves of his updated uniform¡ªa dark orange and brown ensemble with muted blue accents. His clawed hands flexed instinctively, as if expecting trouble.

    They hadn¡¯t been the first to arrive. Already on the ground, standing near the wreckage with her arms crossed, was their escort: Rogue. She stood out sharply against the chaotic backdrop, her white-and-green suit glinting faintly under the lights of the Blackbird. The design echoed her classic yellow and green look, but the vibrant yellow was replaced with more dark green, complemented by her signature brown leather jacket with a red on black X-Badge.

    Rogue glanced back at them with a smirk. ¡°Took ya long ¡®nuff, y¡¯all,¡± she drawled, brushing a strand of her white streak out of her face.

    Storm, stepping off the ramp with her usual regal grace, glanced around the area. Her updated uniform shimmered with black and silver tones, her long white hair braided intricately down her back. Her sharp eyes scanned the wreckage, already assessing the damage. ¡°What do we have here, Rogue?¡±

    Rogue uncrossed her arms, gesturing lazily toward the charred remains of the Sentinel. ¡°Well, there¡¯s a bunch of unlucky fellas over yonder,¡± she said, nodding toward a group of FoH guards, tied up and groaning softly. ¡°But they¡¯re alive.¡±

    Cyclops, his updated visor gleaming under the faint moonlight, stepped forward with purpose, his blue-and-black uniform crisp and professional. ¡°Any evidence of who did this?¡±

    ¡°A seriously badass guy¡­ or gal,¡± Jubilee interjected, striding up beside Rogue. Her yellow tech-wear jacket fluttered slightly in the breeze, the bright tech-wear design contrasting sharply with the black-and-pink bodysuit she wore underneath. She pointed toward the mangled Sentinel. ¡°Look at that thing. It¡¯s all messed up!¡±

    Wolverine grunted, his claws briefly extending with a soft snikt before retracting again. ¡°Yeah, kid. Nothin¡¯ new. We¡¯ve been doin¡¯ this since the 2000s.¡±

    ¡°You, do,¡± Jubilee said, rolling her eyes. ¡°I¡¯m still new, okay? Let me have this.¡±

    Cyclops sighed, running a gloved hand down his visor. ¡°Alright, Rogue. What¡¯ve you got for us?¡±

    Rogue smirked, crouching down and lifting a heavy piece of Sentinel plating. The faint blue hue of plasma energy still glowed faintly along its surface, the scorched edges telling the story of what had happened. She turned it around to reveal an inscription etched into the metal.

    ¡°The Alamo,¡± Rogue said, reading it aloud.

    Jubilee¡¯s face lit up, and before anyone could stop her, she whipped out her phone. ¡°That is totally goin¡¯ to TikTok.¡±

    ¡°Not now, Jubilation,¡± Cyclops said sharply, shooting her a look that was equal parts annoyance and amusement.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    ¡°You kids and your damn social media, give me this shit¡± Wolverine grumbled, taking the phone from her hands in a single swoop.

    ¡°WOLVIE!,¡± Jubilee grumbled back, trying to reach for her phone, which wasn''t exactly the problem with Wolverine''s height, but taking it from his hand was another story. ¡°Give my phone back, gramps!¡±

    Cyclops turned back to the team, adjusting his visor. ¡°What do we know about this ¡®Alamo¡¯?¡±

    Rogue tilted her head, tossing the plate onto the ground with a loud clang. ¡°Plasma. Ah reckon it¡¯s somethin¡¯ tied to Texas, y¡¯know? Given the name, it¡¯s about as subtle as a truck full o¡¯ pigs.¡±

    ¡°Whoever this Alamo is,¡± Storm said, her voice calm but firm, ¡°it seems he has intentions to help us.¡±

    ¡°Or to annoy,¡± Wolverine muttered, crossing his arms after finally giving Jubilee¡¯s damned phone back. ¡°I swear to God, if this is another Mystique job¡ª¡±

    ¡°Logan,¡± Storm interrupted, her voice sharp. ¡°This is clearly a man¡¯s work.¡±

    Jubilee laughed, hopping up onto a piece of fallen debris. ¡°Or a Rogue job!¡±

    Rogue shot her a playful glare. ¡°Ah ain¡¯t this¡­ destructive.¡±

    Jubilee grinned, hopping back down. ¡°Ha! Gal, you¡¯re worse. Come to think of it, Stormy, you¡¯re also pretty destructive¡­¡±

    ¡°Kid¡¯s got a point, ¡®Ro,¡± Wolverine said with a smirk, turning to Storm. ¡°This ain¡¯t exactly a gender thing, darlin¡¯.¡±

    Storm raised an eyebrow, her regal composure unwavering. ¡°That is not what I meant, Logan. I simply meant this whole thing smells like¡ª¡±

    ¡°Testosterone and pride,¡± Cyclops cut in, his tone dry.

    Wolverine snorted. ¡°Yeah, you¡¯d know a thing or two about that, wouldn¡¯t ya, Slim?¡±. He elbowed Jubilee lightly on the shoulder.

    ¡°Not now, Logan,¡± Cyclops said, shaking his head.

    The team fell silent for a moment, the faint crackling of burnt metal filling the void. Jubilee, still buzzing with excitement, looked out toward the horizon, where the faint blue blur of Duncan¡¯s retreating plasma trail was barely visible against the afternoon sky.

    ¡°Whoever this Alamo guy is,¡± she said, breaking the silence, ¡°or Girl, they''re kinda awesome.¡±

    ¡°Jubilee, this ain''t no gal. What lady calls herself ¡®The Alamo''.¡± Rogue chuckled, her eyes still lingered on the jagged metal canvas The Alamo had left them.

    ¡°Yeah, not very delicate handiwork, kinda like your kind of handiwork, Roguey. Blow shit up, ask questions later¡­ Maybe you have a long lost Texas sister or somethin¡¯.¡± Jubilee snorted.

    ¡°Ah ain¡¯t got no Texas sister, Jubes. One Rogue is ¡®nuff fer this world.¡± Rogue''s head snapped to her, eyes narrowing. The amusement in her face and the biting sarcasm betrayed any attempts at seriousness

    ¡°Roguey, one of you might be too much for this world already¡± Jubilee retorted in a grin ear to ear as she took random pictures of Rogue and the other X-Men on the scene.

    ¡°Ain¡¯t just a laugh riot, Jubilation.¡± Rogue said, covering her face from the gratuitous attention from the fireworks girl.

    ¡°Also, if it''s a guy¡­ I wonder if he''s like¡­ hot or somethin¡¯.¡± Jubilee said, almost to herself, the cellphone back in her hands as she took a selfie.

    Cyclops glanced at her, his tone softening slightly. ¡°You two, ease on the chatter. For now, let¡¯s clean this up and figure out what we¡¯re dealing with.¡±

    "Got ya, bub" Wolverine followed Cyclops.

    Storm nodded, her gaze lingering on the horizon. ¡°Whoever he is, he¡¯s clearly made his mark.¡±

    Wolverine sniffed the air, his sharp senses still on edge. ¡°Yeah, well, if this Alamo kid is out there, we¡¯ll run into him eventually. No one just tears through a place like this without gettin¡¯ noticed.¡±

    The team began to move, their boots crunching against the scorched ground as they spread out to gather evidence. Above them, the sun hung high, casting its light over the remnants of a battle that had left more questions than answers. And somewhere, far away, Duncan Nenni¡ªthe Alamo¡ªflew into the distance, a smirk on his face as he thought about what lay ahead.

    <hr>

    Halfway from Little Rock, Arkansas to Midland, Texas.

    Duncan Nenni soared through the afternoon sky, the vehciles, small and distant glinting faintly as the wind whipped past him. His blue plasma trail lit up the horizon as he headed back to Midland, the events of the last few hours replaying in his mind. The adrenaline still buzzed faintly in his veins, and he couldn¡¯t help but grin to himself.

    ¡°Wow! That was¡­¡± he began, his voice rising in excitement before he coughed, trying to contain himself. ¡°Ahem¡­ great. Now let¡¯s go check on my folks.¡±

    As he flew, he pulled out his phone, balancing it carefully in one hand while the other maintained his flight path. He opened a browser tab and began scrolling through options. ¡°Alright, if I¡¯m gonna be a superhero, I need a costume. Let me see what¡¯s out there¡­¡±

    Page after page of designs and concepts passed by as Duncan muttered to himself, his fingers idly scrolling through images of superhero costumes. Finally, inspiration struck, and his smile widened as he pieced it together in his mind: a black Cattleman hat, a long black coat that would flare dramatically in the wind, and a sleek black uniform with a giant white star emblazoned across the chest. White cavalry gloves, a white utility belt, and a chrome mask that would shimmer like liquid metal would complete the look.

    ¡°This,¡± he said, his voice rising in approval. ¡°Yeah¡­ this could work.¡±

    Excitedly, he clicked through the suggestion box online, tweaking and refining his vision, until he reached the checkout page. His enthusiasm froze as his eyes landed on the price of some options the tailors offered. ¡°Twenty thousand dollars?!¡± he exclaimed, leaning back in his chair. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ well, dang¡­ Jesus Christ on a hoverboard, no wonder why ya need Worthington or Stark money to bankroll these operations¡±

    Rubbing his chin, Duncan leaned forward again, his thoughts racing. ¡°I need someone who knows what they¡¯re doing. Someone who¡¯s worked with heroes before.¡± A quick search led him to two intriguing names.

    The first was Luke Jacobson, a modern stylist known for designing high-end costumes with flair and functionality, most famously She-Hulk¡¯s sleek wardrobe. His work was bold, cutting-edge, and screamed designer chic. But scrolling further, Duncan¡¯s eyes landed on someone else: Leo Zelinsky, a legendary tailor for heroes and villains alike. His designs were steeped in tradition, with a practicality and timeless quality that appealed to Duncan¡¯s no-nonsense mindset.

    ¡°Luke¡¯s¡­ well, too much. This ain¡¯t Mardi Gras,¡± Duncan muttered, his eyes lingering on Jacobson¡¯s gallery. ¡°Leo¡­ he¡¯s got history.¡± He leaned back, crossing his arms. ¡°And history¡¯s more my speed.¡±

    A few forms later, Duncan grinned as he pocketed the phone. ¡°Leo¡¯s shop next week. Perfect.¡± He tipped his imaginary hat to no one in particular, already imagining the outfit coming to life. ¡°I¡¯ll show ¡¯em that more than just villains wear metallic masks.¡±

 Chapter 9: Family Time

    The lights of Midland grew brighter on the horizon, soft pinpricks against the vast, dark expanse of the Texas night. Duncan could feel the dry wind tugging at what remained of his tattered suit as he descended toward the quiet, suburban neighborhood where his parents still lived. The familiar sight of their modest, white-paneled house came into view, the porch light casting a warm glow over the driveway. It was a sight he hadn¡¯t seen in months, and one that always managed to ground him.

    He landed softly on the wooden porch, the boards creaking beneath his heavy boots. The smell of cedar mulch from the flowerbeds mingled with the faint scent of chicken fried stake and chilli wafting through the slightly cracked kitchen window. He hesitated for a moment, glancing down at the scorched edges of his shirt and the bullet holes peppering his sleeves.

    Before he could raise his hand to knock, the door swung open, and there stood Marcy Nenni, her short, blonde hair slightly disheveled as though she¡¯d been pacing. Her sharp eyes, the same piercing brown as his own, widened as they scanned him from head to toe.

    ¡°Duncan! Jesus Christ, are ya hurt? What happened to yer clothes?¡± she exclaimed, her voice equal parts relief and alarm.

    Duncan shrugged, brushing a hand over the singed fabric. ¡°Oh, this? It¡¯s my best suit, Mama, but I guess tonight wasn¡¯t its lucky night. Nothin¡¯ I can¡¯t handle.¡±

    From deeper inside the house, Robert Nenni appeared, his graying hair still damp from a recent shower. He wore an old Dallas Cowboys T-shirt and a pair of well-worn jeans. His brow furrowed as he stepped into the light of the doorway, a mix of concern and frustration etched into his face.

    ¡°Son? What in the hell¡¯s goin¡¯ on?¡±

    ¡°Daddy. Mama.¡± Duncan greeted them both with a faint smile, stepping into the familiar warmth of the house as Marcy ushered him in with a firm hand on his arm.

    ¡°Get in, son,¡± Robert said in a low, urgent tone, glancing briefly toward the street. ¡°You¡¯re on the TV.¡±

    Duncan¡¯s easy demeanor faltered for just a second, a flicker of unease crossing his face before he quickly masked it. ¡°Course I am,¡± he replied casually. Still, there was a tension in his voice as he let his mother steer him toward the couch.

    The living room was just as he remembered it¡ªa snapshot of his childhood preserved in time. The walls were painted a soft beige, adorned with family photos. The faded plaid couch sagged slightly in the middle, a testament to years of family movie nights and arguments about who got the good spot.

    Marcy didn¡¯t waste a second, digging through a basket of laundry in the corner. She pulled out an old Captain America T-shirt and a pair of his oversized gym shorts, thrusting them toward Duncan with a look that brooked no argument.

    ¡°Here. Get outta those ruined clothes before you track soot all over my house.¡±The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    Duncan took the clothes without protest and disappeared down the hall to change, the worn hardwood floor cool beneath his feet. When he returned, dressed in the mismatched outfit, he found his parents standing near the TV, their faces tight with worry.

    On the screen, Trish Tilby¡¯s perfectly coiffed hair didn¡¯t move an inch as she delivered the breaking news. The footage cut between shaky cell phone videos of Duncan trading blows with the X-Cutioner and the smoldering remains of a Carraro warehouse in Arkansas. The clips were grainy, but there was no mistaking the figure in the burnt suit and cowboy boots.

    ¡°Oh, shit,¡± Duncan muttered under his breath, sinking onto the couch. ¡°I hope they don¡¯t say my name.¡±

    ¡°Son, this is dangerous,¡± Robert said, running a hand through his hair as he began pacing. ¡°You¡¯re in over your head.¡±

    ¡°Maybe, Daddy. But I handled it,¡± Duncan said, his smirk returning as he slouched into the cushions. ¡°And now the X-Men¡¯ll clean up what¡¯s left. That¡¯s teamwork, right?¡±

    Marcy crossed her arms, her voice sharp. ¡°What did you do, Duncan?¡±

    Duncan leaned back, one arm draped over the back of the couch. ¡°Well, remember the whole FoH thing? Decided to take direct action since the X-Cutioner came to my office tryin¡¯ to coerce us into issuin¡¯ bonds. Thought I¡¯d send a message.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Marcy¡¯s voice rose an octave as she planted her hands on her hips. ¡°You¡¯re tellin¡¯ me you fought him in your office?¡±

    ¡°He shot me first,¡± Duncan replied, his tone almost nonchalant as he pointed to the bullet holes in his tattered suit. ¡°Nine millimeters don¡¯t actually hurt me, Mama.¡±

    Marcy¡¯s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with horror. ¡°Duncan!¡±

    Robert stopped pacing, his expression grim. ¡°What about the other people in the office? Anyone get hurt?¡±

    ¡°No, Dad,¡± Duncan said firmly. ¡°I didn¡¯t give ¡¯em time to hurt anyone.¡±

    Marcy rubbed her temples with a frustrated sigh. ¡°One day, Duncan, you¡¯re gonna bite off more than you can chew.¡±

    Duncan stood, stretching his arms over his head. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Mama. I¡¯ve got this. It¡¯s the Alamo way.¡±

    ¡°The Alamo?¡± Robert asked, raising an eyebrow.

    ¡°Oh, yeah,¡± Duncan said with a grin. ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m callin¡¯ myself now.¡±

    The kitchen light flickered as Duncan wandered toward the fridge. The hum of the appliance and the faint clinking of glass jars filled the quiet as he pulled out a Dr. Pepper and a Pepsi, holding one in each hand like a cowboy deciding which pistol to draw.

    From the living room, his parents¡¯ voices drifted toward him.

    ¡°The Alamo?¡± Marcy repeated, her tone thoughtful. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ very Texan.¡±

    ¡°Not bad,¡± Robert admitted. ¡°It¡¯s got a nice ring to it.¡±

    Duncan popped the tab on the Dr. Pepper, letting the fizz tickle his hand as he took a long sip. His reflection in the kitchen window grinned back at him.

    ¡°The Alamo,¡± he said softly, testing the name in his Texan drawl. ¡°Yeah. I like it.¡±

    ¡°I just hope he doesn¡¯t become an X-Man,¡± Robert added from the living room, his tone dipping slightly.

    ¡°Yeah, an Avenger would be much better,¡± Marcy said, her voice lighter but still holding a note of seriousness.

    Duncan called out from the kitchen, loud enough for them to hear. ¡°I can still hear y¡¯all. The X-Men ain¡¯t half bad, y¡¯know. The X brand thing is on point, I reckon if people didn''t hate our asses half of the time we could sell a shit ton of shirts and toys."

    "X-Men Toys? Who would buy that? I don''t want a doll of an old bald guy that can read minds starin'' at my family from the shelf" Robert said, chuckling at his own joke.

    "Maybe not Xavier, dad... maybe someone more appealin''." Duncan spoke from the kitchen, grabbing some chilli from the microwave. Before he floated back to the living room with the drinks. Grinning to both his parents.

 Chapter 10: Stand Your Ground State

    The Nenni household sat quietly under the dim glow of a Midland evening, the faint hum of cicadas in the distance. Inside, the tension was palpable as Duncan stood in the living room, his arms crossed and his face unreadable. Marcy paced near the window, glancing nervously between the curtain and the TV, while Robert sat stiffly on the couch, his hands gripping his knees. The news hadn¡¯t been kind¡ªDuncan¡¯s face was everywhere now, his name tied to both the Dallas confrontation with the X-Cutioner and the Arkansas warehouse takedown.

    ¡°They got your name, son,¡± Robert said finally, breaking the silence. ¡°Look at the TV.¡±

    Marcy sighed, shaking her head. ¡°Maybe not in the way we would¡¯ve wished¡­ but well done, Duncan.¡±

    Duncan leaned back against the wall, his gaze distant. ¡°I guess it¡¯s the powers, I reckon. But this ain¡¯t necessarily good.¡±

    Robert tilted his head, his voice steady but cautious. ¡°It means people... well, it means yer work is impactful.¡±

    Duncan shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. ¡°Might be, Daddy. Still.¡±

    Marcy turned to face them both, her expression tense. ¡°Do they know our names?¡±

    Duncan¡¯s eyes flicked toward her, his tone calm but grim. ¡°They¡¯ll find out soon enough, Mama.¡±

    Robert exhaled, his jaw tightening. ¡°This means...¡±

    Marcy cut him off, her voice trembling slightly. ¡°It means they can come here.¡±

    Robert straightened, his tone sharp but confident. ¡°Hell, let ¡¯em come. I¡¯ll put ¡¯em all down on the dirt.¡±

    Duncan nodded, his voice tinged with resolve. ¡°Yup, I¡¯ll help. Though I¡¯d rather just break their knees and wrists.¡±

    Marcy shot him a disapproving glare. ¡°Duncan!¡±

    Robert raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. ¡°So essentially makin¡¯ ¡¯em suffer fer countless years in unbearable pain and limited mobility? It is a hill of beans to keep em'' alive."

    Duncan shook his head, his tone taking on a more analytical edge. ¡°It ain¡¯t a hill of beans, Daddy. It¡¯s ¡¯bout reducin¡¯ the incentives fer committin¡¯ crimes. This includes the physical limitation of the act itself.¡±

    Robert rolled his eyes. ¡°So ya¡¯re concerned with rehabilitatin¡¯ criminals so they can contribute to the economy?¡±

    Duncan nodded, his tone matter-of-fact. ¡°Is there any better reason? Why should we take from the pool of the labor market if we can expand the availability of workers, thus reducin¡¯ costs¡ª¡±

    Marcy raised a hand, cutting him off. ¡°Duncan, come back to earth¡­ you¡¯re veerin¡¯ off-topic again.¡±

    Duncan sighed, waving her off. ¡°Whatever, y¡¯all¡ª¡±

    A sudden loud thud on the door interrupted him, the sound reverberating through the small home like a gunshot. Marcy froze mid-step, her eyes wide as she turned to Robert.

    ¡°Robert,¡± she whispered, her voice barely audible.

    Robert stood slowly, his movements deliberate. ¡°I¡¯ll go.¡±

    Marcy grabbed Duncan¡¯s arm, her grip tight. ¡°Duncan, take care.¡±

    Duncan rolled his eyes, gently pulling free from her grasp. ¡°Meh, whatever. They can¡¯t hurt me anyway.¡±

    Robert approached the door, glancing back at his son one last time. ¡°Are you sure, Duncan?¡±

    Duncan didn¡¯t move, his arms crossed and his tone casual. ¡°Go ahead, Daddy. I¡¯ll handle it.¡±

    Robert opened the door cautiously, revealing a heavily armed squad of Friends of Humanity guards standing in formation just outside the porch. Behind them, the hulking forms of three Sentinels loomed, their glowing eyes fixed on the house. The lead guard, a man with a scar running down his face and a FoH insignia stitched onto his tactical vest, stepped forward.

    His voice was sharp and accusatory. ¡°Are you Duncan Nenni?¡±

    Duncan stepped past his father, leaning casually against the doorframe as he looked the man up and down. ¡°Ah, great,¡± he muttered. ¡°We¡¯ve got ourselves a circus.¡±

    The guard scowled, raising his voice. ¡°You¡¯re a danger to humanity.¡±

    Duncan tilted his head, his tone laced with sarcasm. ¡°Seriously? You¡¯re literally dyin¡¯ on that hill?¡±

    The guard ignored him, his hand inching toward the gun holstered at his side. ¡°You are done, freak.¡±

    Duncan¡¯s smirk widened. ¡°No, I don¡¯t think I am.¡±

    Before the guard could draw his weapon, Duncan moved. His enhanced speed made him a blue blur, his hand darting out to grab the man¡¯s wrist. The guard screamed as Duncan¡¯s grip crushed the gun into useless scrap, his fingers snapping under the pressure.

    ¡°ARGH!¡± the man yelled, falling to his knees as the other guards raised their weapons in panic.

    Duncan held up the mangled remains of the gun, his plasma energy flickering faintly around his fingers. ¡°Now, y¡¯all better think twice ¡¯fore ya try somethin¡¯ stupid.¡±

    The Sentinels whirred to life behind them, their massive frames stepping forward ominously as they locked onto Duncan. From inside the house, Marcy¡¯s voice trembled. ¡°Robert¡­ what¡¯s happening?¡±

    ¡°Trouble,¡± Robert said simply, his eyes never leaving his son.

    Duncan turned slightly, his tone calm but firm. ¡°Mama, Daddy, get back inside. This ain¡¯t fer y¡¯all to worry ¡¯bout.¡±

    Robert hesitated but nodded, pulling Marcy back as the door closed behind them. Duncan turned back to the guards and Sentinels, his smirk fading as his expression hardened.

    ¡°Alright, boys. Let¡¯s get this over with.¡±

    The battle erupted like a thunderstorm, the whirring and clanking of Sentinels punctuated by the hiss of plasma bolts and the sharp cracks of energy blasts. The Nenni family home, a modest suburban house with a neatly trimmed lawn and a white picket fence, was now ground zero for a full-blown war. Duncan, hovering just above the lawn with his arms glowing faintly blue, stared down the massive machines. Their glowing eyes locked onto him as their metallic voices boomed.

    ¡°TARGET IDENTIFIED: MUTANT PRESENCE DETECTED.¡±

    ¡°I ain¡¯t givin¡¯ an inch of my parents¡¯ house to y¡¯all!¡± Duncan shouted, his voice a mix of anger and determination. ¡°They¡¯re humans, dammit¡ªleave ¡¯em alone!¡±

    The lead Sentinel paused for a moment, its head tilting slightly as it scanned the house. Its voice was cold, emotionless. ¡°ALL INDIVIDUALS HARBORING MUTANTS ARE CLASSIFIED AS COMPLICIT THREATS. TERMINATION AUTHORIZED.¡±

    Duncan clenched his fists, his plasma energy flaring brighter. ¡°Dangerous? What¡¯s so dangerous about me? If y¡¯all weren¡¯t such sore losers and accepted when to have credit denied¡­ we wouldn¡¯t be here! Denti and Creed wouldn¡¯t be in the damn hospital!¡±

    One of the FoH guards behind the Sentinels shouted back, his voice dripping with venom. ¡°You¡¯re done, mutie! This ends here!¡±

    Duncan glared at the man but turned his focus back to the Sentinels as they began to advance. Their massive metal feet crushed the lawn with every step, and their energy cannons whirred to life.

    ¡°Argh, fine,¡± Duncan muttered. He launched himself forward, his plasma trail streaking behind him as he collided with the lead Sentinel. The impact sent a shockwave rippling through the air, but Duncan held his ground, grappling with the machine¡¯s massive arm.

    The Sentinel swiped at him with its other arm, but Duncan ducked and spun, delivering a plasma-charged punch that dented its chest plate. ¡°This house was costly to buy!¡± Duncan shouted, his frustration spilling out as he shoved the machine back.

    One of the guards sneered. ¡°Then buy another, mutie!¡±

    Duncan¡¯s eyes flared red as he dodged another blast. ¡°Motherfucker, why would we buy somethin¡¯ we already have?¡± he snapped, firing a volley of plasma bolts at the Sentinel¡¯s energy cannon, causing it to spark and malfunction.

    Despite his overwhelming power, the sheer number of enemies made it difficult to maintain the defensive strategy he was employing. The Sentinels kept advancing, firing blasts that Duncan barely managed to deflect. His parents¡¯ house shuddered under the impact of stray shots, windows shattering and siding scorched.

    ¡°Dammit, too many¡­¡± Duncan muttered, blocking a swipe from another Sentinel. He retaliated by grabbing its arm and using it as leverage to swing himself upward, delivering a crushing blow to its head. The Sentinel¡¯s systems sparked as it toppled backward, but another one stepped forward to take its place.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Then, from above, a voice cut through the chaos¡ªa voice any Texan would recognize. ¡°Needin¡¯ help, partner?¡±

    Duncan glanced up, his eyes widening in surprise. Four figures descended from the sky, their silhouettes framed by the faint glow of the moon. The leader, wearing a green and white costume and a wide-brimmed hat, landed gracefully beside him.

    ¡°Holy shit,¡± Duncan said, blinking. ¡°Texas Twister¡­ and the Rangers!¡±

    Texas Twister tipped his hat with a grin, the wind swirling around him like a protective shield. ¡°We¡¯re here to help, kid. Duncan, right?¡±

    Duncan nodded, still processing the sudden arrival. ¡°Yup. Miss Shootin¡¯ Star.¡± He glanced at the blonde in the red-and-blue outfit, her twin pistols glowing faintly as she drew them.

    Shooting Star smiled warmly. ¡°Then let us help you protect this neighborhood, sugar.¡±

    ¡°Well, I could protect my home alone¡­¡± Duncan started, but then sighed. ¡°But, I guess it¡¯s more efficient this way.¡±

    The team didn¡¯t waste time. Firebird, her fiery aura illuminating the battlefield, took to the skies, launching fireballs at the Sentinels and guards. Her attacks melted through the machines¡¯ armor, creating openings for Duncan and the others to exploit.

    ¡°Clear the area, Duncan! I¡¯ll handle these clankers!¡± she shouted.

    Meanwhile, Fifty-One, the alien member of the team, moved with calculated precision. The computerized voice emanating from his chest was calm and technical, a stark contrast to the chaos around him. ¡°ASSESSING ENEMY FORCE. INITIATING NEUTRALIZATION PROTOCOL.¡±

    He raised his arms, firing energy beams that short-circuited one Sentinel¡¯s systems. As the machine froze in place, Fifty-One moved to the next target, his movements efficient and precise.

    Texas Twister summoned a whirlwind, pulling the guards off their feet and tossing them harmlessly into the air before depositing them in a heap at the edge of the battlefield. ¡°Y¡¯all don¡¯t belong here, boys! Take it as a blessin¡¯ I ain¡¯t lettin¡¯ the kid finish ya off!¡±

    Duncan grinned, his plasma energy flaring as he delivered a crushing blow to another Sentinel. ¡°Thanks fer the backup, Twister.¡±

    Shooting Star, meanwhile, used her pistols to target the guards¡¯ weapons, disarming them with pinpoint accuracy. ¡°We¡¯re here to make sure this neighborhood stays safe, Duncan. You¡¯re doin¡¯ great, but everyone could use a hand now and then.¡±

    The combined efforts of Duncan and the Rangers began to turn the tide. Sentinels fell one by one, their massive frames crumpling to the ground. The guards retreated, their ranks broken and their confidence shattered. But the fight wasn¡¯t over yet¡ªthe last Sentinel, larger and more heavily armed than the others, stepped forward, its voice booming.

    ¡°TERMINATION PROTOCOL INITIATED. ALL HOSTILES WILL BE NEUTRALIZED.¡±

    The team braced themselves as the machine¡¯s energy cannons powered up, its targeting systems locking onto the house. Duncan¡¯s eyes flared with determination as he stepped forward, his fists glowing brighter than ever.

    ¡°Y¡¯all can¡¯t take my home, and you sure as hell can¡¯t take Texas,¡± he growled, his voice steady as the team prepared for the final assault.

    The final Sentinel stood no chance against Duncan Nenni, the so-called Alamo, as he tore into it with unrelenting precision. Plasma energy crackled from his hands as he grabbed the machine by its massive head, ripping it free from its armored shoulders in a shower of sparks and metal fragments. He wasn¡¯t done there¡ªhis glowing hands crushed the Sentinel¡¯s head piece by piece, crumbling it as if it were little more than tin foil. The hollow clatter of discarded parts echoed across the battlefield, a stark reminder of his sheer power.

    When the last piece hit the ground, Duncan straightened, his chest rising and falling with controlled breaths. His glowing eyes scanned the wreckage around him¡ªthe mangled Sentinels, the scattered FoH guards groaning in defeat. His jaw clenched as the weight of what had just happened fully set in. ¡°This,¡± he said, his voice low but sharp, ¡°this is a violation of everythin¡¯ we hold dear. I understand the FoH standin¡¯ fer humanity, but this¡­ this is somethin¡¯ else. What they are¡ª¡± He gestured broadly to the carnage. ¡°They¡¯re criminals and terrorists.¡±

    Texas Twister, still standing a few feet away, adjusted his wide-brimmed hat and spoke in a calm, measured tone. ¡°Calm down, cowboy.¡±

    Duncan shot him a fiery glance, but his voice remained steady. ¡°Oh, very calm. I¡¯m just insulted, is all. It¡¯s bafflin¡¯, really. Their problem is with mutants like me, yet they¡¯re happy to harass and possibly murder ordinary humans just to make their point. All ¡¯cause of the decisions I took¡ªdecisions that don¡¯t involve ¡¯em at all.¡±

    Shooting Star stepped closer, holstering her pistols and resting a hand on his shoulder. ¡°They¡¯re neutralized for now, kid. Don¡¯t worry. Your folks are safe tonight.¡±

    Duncan nodded, but the anger in his voice didn¡¯t fade. ¡°I appreciate the help, Rangers. I really do. But if the FoH comes back again, there won¡¯t be any of ¡¯em standin¡¯. I¡¯m done with second chances.¡±

    Texas Twister¡¯s voice hardened, though his calm demeanor didn¡¯t falter. ¡°Murder is not an option, kid. You don¡¯t wanna go down that road. Trust me.¡±

    Duncan¡¯s eyes flared red for a moment as he stepped closer to Twister, his tone firm. ¡°This is Texas, Mr. Twister. It¡¯s a stand-your-ground state. If they show up again on my family¡¯s property¡­ I¡¯ll stand. And I¡¯ll put ¡¯em in the ground.¡±

    The tension between them hung in the air like a storm cloud until Shooting Star stepped between them, her voice softening the edge. ¡°Alright, alright. Let¡¯s not get into a debate here. Duncan, your family¡¯s safe, and that¡¯s what matters. Let¡¯s focus on that.¡±

    Firebird landed nearby, her fiery aura dimming as she folded her arms. ¡°She¡¯s right, Twister. The kid¡¯s not wrong, though¡ªhis family¡¯s a target now. They¡¯ll have to relocate. New names, new lives¡­ FoH doesn¡¯t let go.¡±

    Duncan turned to her, his expression darkening. ¡°Exactly. They¡¯ll always have a target on their backs now. And that¡¯s my fault.¡±

    ¡°Not entirely,¡± Texas Twister said, his tone softening slightly. ¡°The FoH operates on hate, Duncan. They¡¯ll use any excuse to come after folks like you. This ain¡¯t on you.¡±

    Duncan exhaled sharply, crossing his arms. ¡°Doesn¡¯t change the fact they¡¯ll never stop.¡±

    There was a heavy silence before Texas Twister spoke again. ¡°Well, kid, I reckon you¡¯ll cross that bridge when the time comes. For now, you did good tonight. You kept your folks safe, and you stood your ground. That¡¯s all anyone can ask.¡±

    Duncan nodded slowly, the glow in his hands fading as he allowed himself to relax, if only slightly. ¡°Much obliged fer the help, Rangers. Couldn¡¯t¡¯ve done it this clean without y¡¯all.¡±

    Shooting Star gave him a small smile. ¡°That¡¯s what we¡¯re here for. But, Duncan¡­ if you feel like you can do more, you know we¡¯ve always got an open door.¡±

    Before Duncan could respond, Firebird chimed in. ¡°He¡¯s a mutant, Twister. He knows where to go. The X-Men are better suited to his kind of fight.¡±

    Duncan frowned, looking between the two of them. ¡°Calm down. I ain¡¯t sayin¡¯ no to the Rangers, nor yes to the X-Men. And fer the record, I was never offered to join the X-Men or nothin¡¯.¡±

    Texas Twister chuckled, tipping his hat. ¡°Fair enough. But if you ask me, you¡¯d make one hell of a Ranger, kid.¡±

    Duncan couldn¡¯t help but smirk at the compliment. ¡°Thanks, Mr. Twister. I¡¯ll consider the possibility.¡±

    Twister nodded. ¡°That¡¯s all we ask. Think on it, Duncan. You¡¯ve got potential. Don¡¯t waste it.¡±

    With that, the Rangers began to depart, each offering their own brief farewell. Fifty-One, ever formal, gave a brief bow before his mechanical voice sounded. ¡°MISSION SUCCESSFUL. ASSISTANCE RENDERED. FAREWELL.¡±

    Shooting Star smiled warmly. ¡°Take care of yourself, Duncan. And your folks. They¡¯re lucky to have you.¡±

    Firebird gave him a nod before lifting into the air, her fiery aura reigniting. ¡°Stay safe, kid. And remember¡ªyou don¡¯t have to fight alone.¡±

    As the Rangers disappeared into the night, Duncan stood there on the porch of his family¡¯s battered home, watching the horizon. The moonlight caught the faint blue glow of his hands as he clenched them into fists. He exhaled, his voice barely above a whisper.

    ¡°The Alamo don¡¯t forget. Not tonight, not ever.¡±

    He turned back toward the house, his mind already racing with plans for the days ahead. This wasn¡¯t over.

    Duncan stepped through the broken front door, his shoulders tense but his expression calm. The battle outside had taken its toll, and though he¡¯d managed to fend off the Sentinels and the FoH, the damage was undeniable. The house smelled faintly of scorched wood and ozone, the aftermath of energy blasts leaving blackened marks along the siding and a few shattered windows. He found his parents in the living room, sitting close together on the couch, their faces pale but determined.

    ¡°Daddy, Mama?¡± he called softly.

    Marcy was the first to respond, her voice trembling slightly. ¡°We¡¯re here, Duncan.¡±

    Robert stood, his movements deliberate but steady. ¡°Are ya hurt, son?¡±

    Duncan shook his head, brushing a hand over his singed shirt. ¡°Nope. Ahem, the Rangers showed up to help.¡±

    Marcy¡¯s eyebrows shot up. ¡°The Rangers? Really?¡±

    ¡°Yup,¡± Duncan replied, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms.

    Robert¡¯s expression softened slightly. ¡°That¡¯s great. Did ya thank ¡¯em? Don¡¯t be arrogant now, Duncan.¡±

    Duncan sighed, managing a small smile. ¡°Yeah, I thanked ¡¯em, Mama. They were helpful, even if I coulda handled it myself.¡±

    Marcy gave him a sharp look. ¡°A little humility wouldn¡¯t kill ya.¡±

    Duncan ignored the jab and glanced around the room. The house was still standing, though parts of it bore the scars of the fight¡ªscorched walls, a broken window frame, and a few overturned pieces of furniture. ¡°The house is¡­ intact, mostly,¡± he said, nodding toward the damage.

    ¡°Well, I¡¯m good at my job, it seems,¡± he added, a faint grin tugging at his lips.

    Robert chuckled. ¡°Not bad at all, son. Not bad at all.¡±

    But the humor faded quickly as Duncan¡¯s expression turned serious. ¡°Y¡¯all can¡¯t stay here, though,¡± he said firmly. ¡°The FoH will come again, and they probably won¡¯t ever stop.¡±

    Marcy shook her head immediately, her voice rising. ¡°No. This is our house. We bought it. This is where we¡¯ve built our lives.¡±

    ¡°As much as I agree y¡¯all shouldn¡¯t have to leave yer home ¡¯cause of a bunch of mobs,¡± Duncan said, his tone softening, ¡°I still understand y¡¯all need to be safe.¡±

    Marcy frowned, crossing her arms. ¡°But my job¡¯s here, son. We can¡¯t just up and leave.¡±

    Duncan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. ¡°Mama, Daddy, listen. I hate sayin¡¯ this, but y¡¯all need to relocate. I know it¡¯s unfair, I know it¡¯s wrong, but I can¡¯t always be here to protect y¡¯all. It¡¯s not safe.¡±

    Marcy hesitated, glancing at Robert. ¡°Well¡­ we do have the funds, Robert. We could buy a house somewhere else.¡±

    Robert frowned deeper. ¡°Where, Marcy? Florida? You wanna move to Florida?¡±

    Duncan shook his head quickly. ¡°I don¡¯t think Florida¡¯s a good idea. Maybe Canada.¡±

    Robert¡¯s face twisted in disapproval. ¡°Have ya lost yer mind, son? We ain¡¯t goin¡¯ to Canada.¡±

    ¡°I ain¡¯t a fan of Canada either, Dad, but that doesn¡¯t mean it ain¡¯t safer right now,¡± Duncan countered.

    Marcy tapped her fingers on the armrest, her expression thoughtful. ¡°We could go to Iowa,¡± she suggested.

    Duncan raised an eyebrow. ¡°Iowa? Why not Arizona?¡±

    ¡°Arizona¡¯s too close, unfortunately,¡± Robert said with a sigh. ¡°It¡¯d be my second pick, too.¡±

    ¡°Alright,¡± Marcy said after a long pause. ¡°Iowa. We could move to Des Moines.¡±

    Duncan nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll help y¡¯all. Whatever ya need.¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t need money, Duncan,¡± Robert said firmly. ¡°We¡¯re fine. We have funds.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not talkin¡¯ ¡¯bout just money, Daddy,¡± Duncan said, leaning forward. ¡°The house might have some liquidity problems now that it¡¯s been attacked. Midland isn¡¯t usually a target, so the local brokers will remember this. Y¡¯all might struggle to sell it.¡±

    Robert waved him off. ¡°We¡¯re fine, son. We¡¯ve got what we need.¡±

    Marcy added, her voice gentle but firm. ¡°We did this ¡¯cause we love you, Duncan, not ¡¯cause you¡¯d owe us anything.¡±

    Duncan smiled faintly. ¡°I know. I love y¡¯all too. But y¡¯all have to move. Unfortunately¡ªand I hate to say it¡ªTexas ain¡¯t safe right now. You can come back later when things cool down.¡±

    Marcy sighed, leaning into Robert¡¯s shoulder. ¡°We¡¯ll buy a house in Iowa and rent this one. Then, when we¡¯re ready, we can sell the Iowa house and come back here.¡±

    Duncan¡¯s expression brightened slightly. ¡°Good investment plan, Mama. That works. Now let¡¯s find y¡¯all a hotel to stay in for a few days while we figure this out.¡±

    Marcy and Robert exchanged a glance before nodding. ¡°Alright, Duncan,¡± Robert said. ¡°We¡¯ll pack some things.¡±

    Duncan stood, his expression resolute. ¡°Good. We¡¯ll make this work. I promise.¡±

    As they began to gather their belongings, the faint hum of cicadas returned, filling the silence in the house. Outside, the wreckage of the battle still lingered, but inside, there was a small flicker of hope that, with time, things might just settle down.

 Chapter 11: Oilman

    The morning sun streamed through the tall glass windows of the office building, casting fractured beams of light onto the construction tarps and scaffolding that littered the interior. The hum of power tools and the occasional crack of a hammer echoed through the space, a stark reminder of the chaos Duncan had left behind only a week ago. Half the office was in disrepair¡ªwalls patched up with fresh plaster, pillars reinforced with steel braces, and cubicles left empty as maintenance workers scrambled to finish repairs.

    Duncan adjusted his tie as he stepped into the main floor, his boots scuffing against the plastic sheeting that covered the carpet. The usual buzz of conversation was absent, replaced by a tense, almost deafening silence. Eyes followed him as he walked by. Whispers stirred like the faintest breeze, and glances darted his way before quickly looking elsewhere.

    He spotted Janice near the kitchenette, her brown curls bouncing as she turned sharply to avoid him. She clutched a tablet to her chest, her expression a mix of anger and fear. Duncan¡¯s chest tightened at the sight. He hadn¡¯t even seen her since the incident, but it was clear she had no interest in a conversation. Her avoidance spoke volumes.

    As he made his way deeper into the office, the damage grew more apparent. One side of the room was blocked off entirely, plastic tarps obscuring shattered windows and burnt walls. His boots crunched over stray bits of plaster and glass as he approached the corner office, where he found Ray, John, Paco, and Pablo gathered around a whiteboard covered in financial data.

    Ray, tall and sharp-featured with his usual pressed shirt undone at the collar, was mid-sentence when he noticed Duncan entering. His blue eyes met Duncan¡¯s, and the words died on his tongue.

    ¡°Duncan,¡± Ray said, his tone careful, uncertain. ¡°Didn¡¯t expect to see you here.¡±

    Duncan raised an eyebrow, his Texan drawl cutting through the awkward tension. ¡°What, this is my office. My job. Y¡¯all should expect me to be here.¡±

    John, seated with his feet propped up on the desk, snorted and shook his head. ¡°Dude, you beat up Graydon Creed and the X-Cutioner pretty bad. We thought¡ªy¡¯know¡ªyou¡¯d run off to New York.¡±

    Duncan¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°What the hell for? Why would I go to New York?¡±

    ¡°Oilman, good to see you,¡± Paco said, standing up to shake Duncan¡¯s hand. Paco¡¯s usual upbeat demeanor seemed forced, his smile wavering. ¡°John¡¯s talkin¡¯ about Westchester. Like¡­ X-Men Westchester.¡±

    Duncan¡¯s jaw tightened. He could already feel his patience fraying. ¡°I ain¡¯t goin¡¯ to no school in New York. Much less joinin¡¯ the spandex crew.¡± His voice carried an edge that silenced the room for a moment.

    ¡°Man, the¡­ guys ain¡¯t very happy with you, Duncan,¡± Ray finally said, scratching the back of his neck. ¡°They¡¯re mad, actually.¡±

    ¡°Especially Janice,¡± John chimed in, leaning forward now. ¡°That laptop you, uh, threw at Creed? It had all her quarterly reports on it. She didn¡¯t upload them to the cloud, so now she¡¯s a week behind on deadlines.¡±

    Duncan grimaced, running a hand down his face. ¡°She¡¯s sayin¡¯ I cost her a week of work,¡± Ray continued. ¡°The clients aren¡¯t happy. You¡¯ve put a lotta people here in a tough spot.¡±

    Pablo, who had been silent until now, leaned forward with an eager grin. ¡°Don¡¯t listen to ¡¯em, man. You¡¯re the Alamo! Bro, you seriously messed up those guys. You¡¯re like a freakin¡¯ hero!¡±

    ¡°Not a hero,¡± John cut in sharply, crossing his arms. ¡°He could¡¯ve fried us all. Hell, he nearly did.¡±

    ¡°What the hell?¡± Duncan snapped, his voice rising. ¡°I was tryin¡¯ to protect y¡¯all!¡±

    John stood, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. ¡°Protect us? Protect us from what, exactly? You gettin¡¯ shot? We didn¡¯t sign up for this, Duncan!¡±

    ¡°John, that¡¯s enough,¡± Paco interjected, his tone firm.

    ¡°No, Paco,¡± John shot back. ¡°Duncan messed up. He put on a big damn show, and now the office is behind schedule, half our clients are pullin¡¯ their accounts, and everyone¡¯s scared to death another fight¡¯s gonna break out here.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean clients are pullin¡¯ their accounts?¡± Duncan demanded, his fists clenching at his sides.

    Ray sighed, his voice heavy. ¡°Because we don¡¯t have mutants blowin¡¯ up our competition¡¯s offices, that¡¯s why. They¡¯re scared, Duncan. They think we¡¯re a liability.¡±

    Duncan¡¯s voice was low and tight as he spoke, anger simmering just beneath the surface. ¡°What d¡¯ya want me to say, Ray? I¡¯m sorry for bein¡¯ a mutant? I¡¯m sorry some crazy son of a bitch tried to kill me? That what y¡¯all wanna hear?¡± His fists glowed faintly, his eyes tinged red as his emotions flared.

    ¡°I thought we were friends. Colleagues. Hell, we built this team together.¡±

    Before Paco or Pablo could say anything, John¡¯s voice cut through like a knife. ¡°That was before we learned you were a mutant.¡±

    The words hit like a slap. Duncan¡¯s breath hitched, his knuckles cracking as he fought the urge to lash out. ¡°Mother¡ª¡±

    ¡°Oilman, c¡¯mon,¡± Paco said quickly, placing a hand on Duncan¡¯s shoulder and steering him toward the hallway. ¡°Just¡­ take a minute, alright?¡±

    Duncan let himself be led away, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. Paco and Pablo followed him into the hallway, away from the tense atmosphere of the office.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry they treated you that way,¡± Paco said, his voice soft.

    Duncan shook his head, leaning back against the wall with a bitter chuckle. ¡°No, it¡¯s fine. Really. They¡¯ve got a point.¡±

    ¡°Nah, man. This is messed up,¡± Pablo argued. ¡°You didn¡¯t ask for this. You didn¡¯t choose to have powers. They just¡­ showed up.¡±

    Duncan shrugged. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. Powers freak people out. Hell, I freak people out. I can¡¯t blame ¡¯em for that.¡±

    ¡°Man, screw that,¡± Paco said. ¡°We like you, Duncan. But this whole situation¡¯s got people spooked. What if the FoH shows up again? What if someone else comes gunnin¡¯ for you? We saw what happened at your folks¡¯ house. It¡¯s scary, man.¡±

    Duncan opened his mouth to respond, but a voice interrupted him.

    ¡°Mr. Nenni.¡±

    He turned to see Sandra standing a few feet away, her usually warm demeanor replaced by a frosty professionalism.

    ¡°Sandra?¡± he asked, his brows furrowing.

    ¡°Mr. Davidson wants to see you. Now,¡± she said flatly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

    Duncan glanced back at Paco and Pablo, who both looked apologetic but uncertain.

    ¡°We¡¯re sorry, Oilman,¡± Paco said quietly.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Pablo echoed. ¡°We are.¡±

    Duncan exhaled slowly, nodding. ¡°I¡¯ll see y¡¯all ¡¯round.¡±

    ¡°See ya, cowboy,¡± Paco replied with a faint smile.

    Duncan turned and followed Sandra down the hallway, his boots heavy against the floor. The tension in the air was suffocating, and as he walked, he couldn¡¯t shake the weight of their words.

    He didn¡¯t ask for this life. But it seemed like no matter how hard he tried, he¡¯d always be judged by the powers he never chose.

    The hallway outside Davidson¡¯s office felt colder than the rest of the building. Duncan followed Sandra in silence, her clipped pace and stiff posture a clear signal she had no interest in small talk. The short, middle-aged secretary¡ªwho had once teased him for his cowboy boots and occasional Texan idioms¡ªseemed like a different person now. She avoided meeting his eyes, her lips pressed into a thin line as they approached the frosted glass door.

    ¡°Sandra,¡± Duncan tried, his voice low, almost hesitant.

    ¡°We¡¯re almost there, Duncan,¡± she replied curtly, her tone flat, offering nothing else.

    That was it. No warmth, no reassurance, nothing. The message was clear: she didn¡¯t want to talk to him. Whatever he¡¯d once been in her eyes¡ªa bright young economist, a promising colleague, maybe even a friend¡ªhad been erased. Now, he was just ¡°the mutant.¡±

    When Sandra opened the door, Duncan stepped inside, his boots sinking into the plush gray carpet. The room felt as sterile as a hospital waiting area. The blinds were half-drawn, letting in thin slants of light that highlighted the stark, minimalist decor. Davidson sat behind his large mahogany desk, his gray hair slightly disheveled and his tie loosened, giving him the look of a man running on fumes. Beside him stood a young Black woman in a sharp navy suit, her shoulders squared, her posture impeccably professional.

    Davidson glanced up, his expression strained. ¡°Duncan,¡± he said, gesturing to the woman at his side, ¡°this is Christine from HR.¡±

    Duncan nodded stiffly, stepping forward to shake their hands. Christine¡¯s handshake was firm and deliberate, her nails immaculately manicured. She offered him a polite smile that didn¡¯t quite reach her eyes.

    ¡°Your hands are very warm, Mr. Nenni,¡± she remarked, her voice smooth and even.

    Duncan blinked, caught off guard by the comment. ¡°Yeah, I get that a lot,¡± he muttered, withdrawing his hand quickly. His face remained unreadable as he lowered himself into the chair opposite Davidson¡¯s desk.

    He didn¡¯t smile back. He didn¡¯t even try. Instead, his expression was cold, his eyes slightly narrowed. He knew exactly why he was here, and the weight of it pressed against his chest like a vice. His anxiety, which had been simmering since Sandra called his name, threatened to boil over. He clenched his hands tightly against his knees, his shoulders trembling ever so slightly.

    Davidson leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk as he folded his hands together. His lips pressed into a thin, hesitant line. ¡°Duncan, we brought you here to talk about¡­ the events of last week.¡±

    Duncan¡¯s jaw tightened, but he nodded once. ¡°I see,¡± he said flatly.

    Davidson rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze shifting awkwardly between Christine and Duncan. ¡°Look, the situation¡¯s caused a lotta disruption. The kind of disruption that doesn¡¯t just stay in-house. It¡¯s gone up the chain. Hell, the CEO¡¯s been dealin¡¯ with calls about it all week.¡±

    Duncan exhaled sharply through his nose. ¡°I reckon that¡¯s expected.¡±

    Davidson hesitated, his eyes darting to Christine. It was clear he didn¡¯t want to say what came next. His lips parted, but no words came out. After a tense pause, Christine took over, her tone as measured as her posture.

    ¡°Well, Mr. Nenni,¡± she began, folding her hands in front of her, ¡°after careful consideration of the events that occurred, we regret to inform you that we will be terminating your contract with America Bank. Effective immediately.¡±Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

    The words hung in the air like a thunderclap. Duncan blinked, the full weight of the statement slamming into him. His stomach churned, but he forced himself to keep his expression neutral, even as his chest tightened. He leaned forward slightly, gripping the arms of his chair so hard his knuckles whitened.

    ¡°What?¡± His voice was low, disbelieving. ¡°How can y¡¯all do that to me? I tried to protect this office. I tried to protect the people here!¡±

    Christine¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change. If anything, it softened slightly, as though she¡¯d anticipated this reaction and prepared for it. ¡°We¡¯re aware of your intentions, Duncan,¡± she said, her voice calm but firm. ¡°However, the damage caused by your actions was substantial. You frightened your coworkers and caused severe physical damage to the Plaza. Structural beams had to be replaced, which alone cost the company thousands of dollars.¡±

    Duncan shook his head, his voice rising slightly. ¡°I was tryin¡¯ to protect myself! Protect everyone from Creed and the X-Cutioner!¡±

    ¡°We understand,¡± Christine replied, her voice steady, unyielding. ¡°That¡¯s why there¡¯s no liability suit or police report being filed against you.¡±

    ¡°Wait¡ª¡± Duncan¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°Y¡¯all didn¡¯t call the police on Creed?¡±

    Christine hesitated, glancing briefly at Davidson. Her response was careful, deliberate. ¡°We¡¯re afraid that wasn¡¯t possible.¡±

    ¡°Jesus Christ,¡± Duncan muttered under his breath, running a hand down his face.

    Davidson leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. ¡°Look, Duncan,¡± he said, his voice low and tired. ¡°I know this ain¡¯t what you wanna hear, but¡­ your time with the company¡¯s been short, and, uh, well¡­ we appreciate what you¡¯ve done for us. Truly. Especially those models of yours. They¡¯ve been real valuable.¡±

    Duncan straightened, his eyes narrowing. ¡°Valuable?¡± he repeated, his tone sharp. ¡°Do y¡¯all even realize that my model on superhuman impact on credit quality is being used across the entire bank? The whole damn institution runs smoother ¡¯cause of it!¡±

    Davidson nodded reluctantly. ¡°We¡¯re aware, Duncan.¡±

    Christine cut in smoothly. ¡°Your contributions to credit risk modeling and both macroeconomic and microeconomic analysis have been significant, Mr. Nenni. That¡¯s why we are offering you a severance package of one hundred thousand dollars.¡±

    Duncan¡¯s head jerked back slightly, his expression darkening. ¡°That ain¡¯t even my yearly salary,¡± he snapped.

    Christine¡¯s voice remained even, diplomatic. ¡°We believe the severance package is sufficient, given the circumstances surrounding your contract.¡±

    Duncan barked a bitter laugh, his anger bubbling to the surface. ¡°Circumstances? What, y¡¯all mean me bein¡¯ a mutant?¡±

    Christine opened her mouth to respond, but Duncan cut her off, his voice rising. ¡°Don¡¯t y¡¯all preach about diversity and inclusion every goddamn year? Eight years y¡¯all¡¯ve been draggin¡¯ that banner around, and now it don¡¯t extend to people like me?¡±

    ¡°Mr. Nenni,¡± Christine said firmly, her tone carrying a warning, ¡°please refrain from raising your voice.¡±

    ¡°Well, excuse me if I¡¯m pissed off!¡± Duncan growled, leaning forward. His hands gripped the armrests again, faint wisps of blue plasma flickering around his fingers. ¡°Do y¡¯all have any idea how many hours I¡¯ve spent buildin¡¯ those models? How much time I¡¯ve poured into those goddamn reports y¡¯all wave at investors like it¡¯s a fuckin¡¯ pet trick? I did that¡ªme. Every goddamn equation, every statistical significance, every error, every correlation. I worked my ass off, and now y¡¯all wanna toss me out like garbage. Screw you, Davidson.¡±

    ¡°DUNCAN!¡± Davidson barked, his voice cutting through the room. He stood abruptly, his hands slamming down on the desk. ¡°People could¡¯ve died! People are scared, for God¡¯s sake! Do you think this is easy? Do you think I wanted this? We spent nearly a hundred thousand just on repairs, not to mention the PR nightmare this¡¯s caused!¡±

    ¡°Repairs?¡± Duncan shot back, standing as well. ¡°The only reason there were repairs needed in the first place is ¡¯cause you wanted to put the FoH¡¯s bonds on the market!¡±

    Davidson¡¯s face flushed, and for a moment, he looked genuinely angry. ¡°And didn¡¯t I agree to pull ¡¯em? Didn¡¯t I listen to you and pull the damn bonds?¡±

    ¡°So what?!¡± Duncan shouted. ¡°You knew Kane was Creed! Don¡¯t act like you didn¡¯t!¡±

    Davidson froze, his jaw tightening. His shoulders sagged as he ran a hand through his hair. ¡°I made a mistake,¡± he admitted, his voice quiet. ¡°I didn¡¯t expect him to¡­¡±

    ¡°To try to kill me? To try to kill us?¡± Duncan snarled. ¡°Why? ¡¯Cause you thought bein¡¯ human made you safe? Newsflash, Davidson¡ªthey don¡¯t care ¡¯bout collateral!¡±

    ¡°Mr. Nenni! Mr. Davidson!¡± Christine interrupted, her voice sharp and authoritative, trying to regain control of the escalating conversation.

    ¡°Not now,¡± Davidson and Duncan snapped in unison, their anger momentarily united.

    ¡°People are scared,¡± Davidson said, his voice rough but quieter now, as though exhaustion had finally caught up with him. He sat heavily back into his chair, rubbing his temples. ¡°Clients are floodin¡¯ to the competition. They don¡¯t want the risk¡­ they don¡¯t want mutant politics.¡±

    Duncan¡¯s eyes burned as he stared at the man he¡¯d once respected, his fists clenched at his sides. He was trembling now, not from fear but from the sheer effort of holding himself together. His voice came out low, tinged with bitterness.

    ¡°So that¡¯s what I am, huh?¡± Duncan said, his tone sharp and cutting. ¡°Just a mutant. Not an economist, not an employee, not an individual. Just The Mutant. That¡¯s all y¡¯all see¡ªthe red glowin¡¯ eyes, the plasma hands.¡± His lip curled in a bitter smirk as he gestured to himself. ¡°I¡¯m just a mutant. Hell, might as well slap a goofy X on my forehead and call it a day, right?¡±

    Christine, who had been watching him with a carefully measured expression, spoke up, her tone still calm but firmer now, as if she was trying to contain the growing tension in the room. ¡°Well, Mr. Nenni,¡± she said, folding her hands neatly in front of her, ¡°you certainly didn¡¯t mind concealing it for the two years you worked here.¡±

    Duncan¡¯s eyes snapped to hers, his glare sharp enough to cut steel. His voice dropped an octave, laced with anger barely held in check. ¡°And why d¡¯ya think that, Genius?¡± he spat. ¡°¡¯Cause I wouldn¡¯t¡¯ve been hired otherwise. I would¡¯ve been ¡®The Mutant Risk¡¯ before I even got through the door.¡±

    Davidson interjected, his tone defensive, almost pleading. ¡°It ain¡¯t like that, Duncan.¡±

    ¡°The hell it ain¡¯t!¡± Duncan shot back, his voice rising as he leaned forward, the plasma in his hands flickering faintly. He gestured to the desk between them. ¡°I¡¯m literally bein¡¯ fired for bein¡¯ a mutant! Y¡¯all can dress it up however you like, but that¡¯s what this boils down to!¡±

    Christine kept her composure, her gaze unwavering. ¡°You¡¯re being terminated,¡± she said, her tone cold and professional, ¡°because you endangered the lives of your coworkers, destroyed company property, conducted several acts of vigilante justice, and severely injured two individuals.¡±

    ¡°Two damn terrorists!¡± Duncan roared, his hands slamming onto the desk, the faint smell of ozone filling the air as his plasma energy flared briefly. ¡°They came after me¡ªthey came after us! What the hell was I supposed to do?!¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter, Duncan,¡± Christine said, her voice tightening ever so slightly as she leaned back, putting some distance between herself and his outburst. ¡°Regardless of intent, the damage has been done. Your actions caused harm, disrupted operations, and created an environment of fear among your colleagues. I am¡­ terribly sorry, but this is the decision we¡¯ve reached.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re sorry?¡± Duncan scoffed, shaking his head as a bitter laugh escaped him. He turned his glare back to Davidson. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have struck that damn deal, Davidson. None of this would¡¯ve happened if you hadn¡¯t been so eager to get in bed with the FoH.¡±

    Davidson looked down at the desk, his shoulders sagging. For a long moment, he didn¡¯t say anything, his fingers tapping absently against the polished wood. Finally, he let out a long sigh.

    ¡°I know,¡± he admitted, his voice quiet, almost hollow. He looked up at Duncan, his expression weary. ¡°I know I shouldn¡¯t¡¯ve. I made a mistake. I didn¡¯t think it¡¯d¡­¡± He trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

    ¡°To try to kill me?¡± Duncan finished for him, his voice dripping with venom. ¡°To try to kill all of us?¡± He leaned forward again, his eyes narrowing. ¡°What¡¯d you think, huh? That bein¡¯ human would make you safe? That they¡¯d just leave you alone while they came after me? They don¡¯t give a damn about collateral, Davidson. They never have.¡±

    The silence that followed was thick and heavy, broken only by the faint hum of the air conditioning. Duncan stood there for a moment, his chest heaving, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles had turned white.

    Christine cleared her throat, regaining control of the room. ¡°Mr. Nenni,¡± she said, her tone softer but still firm. ¡°We understand that this is difficult. And we acknowledge the contributions you¡¯ve made to this company during your time here. Your work has been exceptional. But this is the decision that has been made. I hope you¡¯ll respect it.¡±

    Duncan didn¡¯t respond immediately. Instead, he stared down at the termination letter Davidson slid across the desk toward him. His name was printed neatly at the top, followed by the sterile, impersonal language of corporate termination. His hand hovered over the pen for a moment, trembling slightly.

    Finally, he picked up the pen and signed his name in sharp, angry strokes. He shoved the paper back across the desk, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

    Davidson hesitated, as though he wanted to say something, then finally spoke. ¡°If it makes you feel any better,¡± he said quietly, ¡°you¡¯re one of the good ones, Duncan. Mutant or not, you¡¯re a good man.¡±

    Duncan froze, his eyes narrowing as he stared at Davidson. For a long moment, the room was silent, the tension palpable. Then, he let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he turned toward the door.

    ¡°One of the good ones,¡± he muttered under his breath as he reached for the doorknob. ¡°Fuck you, Davidson.¡±

    The office floor was quieter than it had been when Duncan arrived that morning, but the silence had changed. It was no longer the cold, awkward quiet of people avoiding his gaze¡ªit was heavier, denser. The kind of silence that pressed against your ears, as if the entire room were holding its breath. Every step he took felt amplified, the soles of his boots thudding against the carpet as he made his way back to his desk.

    He could feel the weight of every pair of eyes on him, feel the whispers that sprang up the moment he passed, only to fall silent again when he got too close. Colleagues he¡¯d once shared lunches and late-night projects with now averted their gazes, their expressions a mix of pity, unease, and guilt.

    When he reached his desk, Duncan set the cardboard box he¡¯d brought with him down with a soft thud. He stared at his desk for a moment, at the clutter of papers, pens, and personal items scattered across it. This had been his space¡ªhis little corner of the world where he¡¯d poured himself into his work, where he¡¯d built a reputation as a reliable teammate and a damn good economist.

    Now, it felt hollow.

    He exhaled through his nose, the sound sharp in the stillness, and began packing. His movements were mechanical, almost robotic. Papers and files went in first, followed by books and manuals, their covers worn from hours of use. He grabbed the small cactus he¡¯d kept on the corner of his desk¡ªan ironic gift from Paco, who¡¯d joked that it was "the most Texan plant" he could think of. The plant went into the box, its tiny spines brushing against his fingers.

    Finally, he reached for the photo. It was a candid shot taken during the last holiday party¡ªa group picture of his team crammed into the corner of the break room, all smiles and bad Christmas sweaters. He stared at it for a long moment, his thumb brushing over the glass, smudging it with faint fingerprints. Then he placed it on top of the pile, its weight feeling heavier than it should¡¯ve been.

    At the last moment, his eyes landed on the cowboy hat he¡¯d left on a nearby shelf, a decoration that had become a running joke among his coworkers. He picked it up, hesitated for a moment, then placed it on his head. The brim cast a shadow over his face, but it did little to hide the tension in his jaw, the red shimmer in his eyes.

    Something inside him shifted then¡ªsome tether he¡¯d been holding onto finally snapped. He didn¡¯t care anymore. He didn¡¯t care if they stared, didn¡¯t care if they whispered, didn¡¯t care if they were afraid. His hands began to glow faintly, the soft blue plasma that hummed beneath his skin seeping out and dancing along his fingertips. His boots lifted off the carpet as he floated a few inches into the air, the hum of his energy filling the silence as he rose.

    He drifted down the hallway, his coworkers stopping in their tracks to watch him. The whispers stopped entirely now, replaced by wide-eyed stares as Duncan made his way to a trash can near the corner of the room. Without a word, he tipped the box, dumping its contents into the bin. The papers and books landed in a crumpled heap, the cactus toppling onto its side. The photo frame hit the edge of the bin and fell to the floor, the glass cracking into a spiderweb of fractures.

    ¡°Duncan, man,¡± a voice called behind him. He turned to see Paco and Pablo standing a few feet away, their expressions filled with worry and sadness. ¡°You¡¯re leavin¡¯?¡± Paco asked hesitantly.

    Duncan adjusted the brim of his hat, his voice clipped. ¡°Yup.¡±

    ¡°They fired you?¡± Pablo pressed, his brows knitting together.

    ¡°Yup,¡± Duncan said again, his tone flat, his expression unreadable.

    Paco¡¯s fists clenched at his sides, frustration creeping into his voice. ¡°Man, you saved us. This is so unfair.¡±

    ¡°Yup,¡± Duncan replied, though his voice wavered slightly this time, the word carrying a weight of defeat.

    Each ¡°yup¡± felt like a blow to his own resolve, chipping away at the stoic mask he¡¯d been trying so hard to keep in place. His shoulders sagged slightly, the faint glow of his hands dimming as he turned to face them fully.

    ¡°We¡¯ll miss you, bro,¡± Paco said, his voice quiet.

    ¡°Yep,¡± Pablo chimed in, his tone more upbeat but just as sincere. ¡°You¡¯re awesome, dude. Thanks for helpin¡¯ us out with those reports.¡±

    ¡°And the PowerPoints,¡± Paco added, managing a weak smile.

    Duncan let out a soft, humorless laugh, shaking his head. ¡°Don¡¯t worry ¡¯bout it, y¡¯all.¡±

    There was a brief pause, the weight of the moment settling over them like a fog.

    ¡°Bye, Oilman,¡± Paco said, his voice tight.

    ¡°We¡¯ll see you around, Duncan,¡± Pablo added.

    Duncan tipped his hat to them, his voice softer now. ¡°Till then, y¡¯all. Till then.¡±

    Paco hesitated, then stepped closer. ¡°Hey,¡± he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. ¡°If you stick to bein¡¯ a superhero¡­ just don¡¯t forget the little guys, alright?¡±

    ¡°And,¡± Pablo added with a grin, ¡°please tell us if you end up with the X-Men.¡±

    ¡°Or the Avengers,¡± Paco chimed in.

    Duncan gave them a small, crooked smile¡ªthe first real smile he¡¯d managed all day. ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± he said. ¡°But I¡¯ll let ya know.¡±

    With that, he turned and floated toward the open window on the far side of the office. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if he were savoring the moment despite the bitterness in his chest.

    Coworkers gathered to watch as he passed, their expressions a mix of awe, sadness, and unease. His boots never touched the ground as he reached the window, pausing briefly to glance back at the room.

    Ray and John stood near the break room, watching silently. Ray¡¯s arms were crossed, his jaw tight, while John leaned against the wall with his hands in his pockets.

    ¡°Maybe we were too harsh on him,¡± Ray muttered, his voice low.

    John shook his head, his expression hard. ¡°He¡¯s a mutant, Ray. They¡¯re only trouble.¡±

    Ray didn¡¯t respond, his gaze fixed on Duncan as the man floated out of the window and into the open sky.

    The office remained silent as Duncan disappeared into the distance, the faint shimmer of his plasma trailing behind him like a comet.

 Chapter 12: Free to Choose

    Duncan¡¯s flight home was quiet. The usual hum of the city below, the buzz of traffic and the distant glow of skyscrapers¡ªit all blurred together as he drifted aimlessly through the night air. He wasn¡¯t flying so much as floating, his plasma flickering faintly around his hands and feet, reflecting the dim lights of the streets below. When his apartment building came into view, he sighed and descended, landing softly on the balcony he rarely used.

    Inside, the apartment felt smaller than usual. The walls seemed to press in around him as he locked the sliding glass door behind him. It wasn¡¯t much of a place¡ªjust a one-bedroom apartment with beige carpeting, scuffed furniture, and a lingering smell of fried food from the diner down the block. But it was home. Or at least, it had been.

    Duncan slipped off his boots, leaving them by the door. The first thing to go was the cowboy hat, which he placed carefully on the small table by the entryway. Then came the tie, which he yanked loose with a sharp tug, tossing it onto the couch. His shirt followed, revealing the faint scars that crossed his broad shoulders and chest¡ªfaint reminders of fights he hadn¡¯t wanted but couldn¡¯t avoid.

    He slumped onto the couch, the cushions sagging under his weight as he stared blankly at the TV across the room. The remote sat on the coffee table in front of him, but he didn¡¯t bother reaching for it. The screen was dark, reflecting his own tired, disheveled image back at him.

    ¡°What now?¡± The question rolled around in his mind, sharp and heavy. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as his hands hung limply between them.

    ¡°After so many years of tryin¡¯ to hide this from ¡¯em... this happens.¡± He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. His thoughts spiraled, chasing themselves in circles.

    ¡°Was it ¡¯cause my parents told me not to fly¡­?¡± he muttered under his breath, the words almost absurd as they left his lips. ¡°No, that¡¯s ridiculous. Dang it.¡± He rubbed his temples, frustration building in his chest like a pressure valve about to burst. ¡°My damn job, my damn family¡­ fuck.¡±

    The word came out louder, sharper, cutting through the quiet apartment like a knife. He leaned back against the couch, his head tilting up to stare at the ceiling.

    For a long time, he just sat there, the silence wrapping around him like a heavy blanket. Then, with a groan, he pushed himself to his feet and headed to the bathroom.

    The bathroom mirror wasn¡¯t kind. The fluorescent light overhead cast harsh shadows across his face, highlighting every line of frustration etched into his features. His eyes¡ªdark brown, intense¡ªdarted along his reflection, taking in the person he¡¯d become.

    He saw the long hours, the sleepless nights spent poring over textbooks in college. He didn¡¯t need to sleep¡ªhis powers gave him stamina far beyond that of a normal man¡ªbut he remembered forcing himself to stay still, to act like everyone else. He hadn¡¯t partied, hadn¡¯t gamed, hadn¡¯t even gone out much. While others had let loose, he¡¯d buried himself in his studies.

    It wasn¡¯t just discipline¡ªit was desperation. He wanted to be someone who didn¡¯t have to rely on his powers, someone who could stand on his own merit, who could be respected for his work, not feared for what he was.

    But here he was. The best shot he¡¯d ever had to be that person¡ªhis career at America Bank¡ªwas gone.

    His gaze lingered on his reflection, his jaw tightening. His hands gripped the edges of the sink, his knuckles white against the porcelain. ¡°What was it all for?¡± he whispered, his voice raw.

    The answer didn¡¯t come immediately, but deep down, he knew. He¡¯d been running. Running from who he was. Running from the truth.

    He thought back to his parents¡¯ house, to the chaos of that night. He remembered the Sentinels¡¯ glowing eyes, the cold, mechanical voices declaring his family complicit. He remembered the fear in his parents¡¯ faces, the wreckage left behind, the sense of helplessness that had gripped him as he realized that no matter how much he tried to hide, he would never be free of it.

    But then he thought about the fight. About standing his ground, about protecting the people he loved. About the fire in his chest when he ripped that Sentinel apart, when he defied the men and machines that wanted to destroy him simply for existing.

    ¡°What if that¡¯s the purpose?¡± The thought whispered to him, soft but insistent. He let go of the sink, standing up straighter as the idea took root.

    He moved to the small desk in the corner of his bedroom, flipping open his personal laptop. His fingers flew across the keyboard, searching for the files he¡¯d collected over the years. Some of them he shouldn¡¯t have had¡ªdocuments and reports from work, things he¡¯d copied onto a flash drive just in case. Others were news articles, interviews, and financial records he¡¯d dug up in his spare time, piecing together the tangled web of Carraro Industries and its shady dealings.

    There it was, in black and white: the connections, the contracts, the whispers of influence that tied Carraro to men like Graydon Creed and the Friends of Humanity. It had been right in front of him all along, but he¡¯d ignored it, too afraid to get involved.

    Not anymore.

    Duncan leaned back in his chair, the glow of the screen illuminating his face as he stared at the data. If no one else was going to do something about this, he would. He didn¡¯t have a badge or a title anymore, but he didn¡¯t need one. He had his powers, his mind, and a clear purpose.

    His parents had told him to avoid trouble, to stay safe. But trouble had found him anyway. He couldn¡¯t avoid mutant politics any longer¡ªnot when it was people like Creed and Carraro pulling the strings, spreading hate and fear.

    ¡°Mutants have the right to be free to live, to work, to choose,¡± he thought, his hands balling into fists. ¡°And I¡¯ll be damned if I sit by and let anyone take that choice away.¡±

    He started compiling a plan, digging deeper into the documents, cross-referencing the names and dates, building a case in his head. He didn¡¯t just want to expose them¡ªhe wanted to bring them to justice. Creed, Carraro, anyone tied to their efforts to suppress mutants¡­ they¡¯d learn what it meant to mess with someone who refused to back down.

    For the first time in days, Duncan felt a flicker of clarity. He didn¡¯t know where this path would lead, but he knew one thing for sure: he wasn¡¯t going to stop.

    He closed the laptop, stood, and walked back to the mirror. His reflection stared back at him, and this time, he saw something different.

    Not just a mutant. Not just a man.

    A fighter for Liberty. A defender of Choice.

    Where he didn''t have a choice, he would give mutants their freedom to choose.

    ¡°They picked the wrong person to mess with.¡±

    Duncan stared at his phone as it vibrated on the coffee table, the name "Dad" glowing on the screen. He let it buzz for a moment, debating whether he had the energy to talk, but there wasn¡¯t much of a choice. If he ignored it, his dad would just call back.

    He sighed and swiped to answer, bringing the phone to his ear. ¡°Howdy, Daddy.¡±

    ¡°Duncan, son,¡± Robert''s warm, familiar voice came through the line, laced with concern. ¡°How ya goin¡¯?¡±

    Duncan leaned back into the couch, his free hand rubbing his temple. ¡°Fine, I reckon,¡± he lied, his tone flat.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    ¡°Ya ain¡¯t fine,¡± his father said, his tone sharper now. ¡°I can hear it in yer voice. What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    Duncan paused, his jaw tightening. He¡¯d hoped to avoid this conversation, but there wasn¡¯t much point now. His father could always see right through him, even over the phone. ¡°I got fired.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± The word came out sharp, like a whip crack. ¡°How? Why? What happened?¡±

    Duncan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his voice bitter. ¡°Well, they thought that after that Creed incident, I wasn¡¯t worth keepin¡¯ ¡¯round anymore. Maybe Plasma¡¯s too much for ¡¯em.¡±

    There was a pause on the other end of the line before his dad spoke again, his voice softer now. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, son. I really am. How are ya holdin¡¯ up?¡±

    ¡°Good,¡± Duncan replied immediately, though the word felt hollow in his mouth.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think ya are,¡± his dad said gently. ¡°But I understand ya need time to think ¡¯bout it. Ain¡¯t nothin¡¯ wrong with that.¡±

    Duncan swallowed hard, his throat tight. He wasn¡¯t ready to talk about how he felt, so he veered the conversation away, his voice forced and casual. ¡°How¡¯s Iowa?¡±

    ¡°Well, it¡¯s plain and borin¡¯,¡± his dad said with a chuckle, playing along with the change in topic.

    ¡°So it ain¡¯t that different from Midland, huh?¡± Duncan quipped, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

    ¡°I mean,¡± Robert replied, a teasing edge to his voice, ¡°I don¡¯t think our city¡¯s that borin¡¯. But I¡¯ll give ya this¡ªthings are quieter here. We rented out the house back home. Damndest thing¡ªthe guy who came to look at it was an oil manager, came in with his daughter and¡­ his ex-wife. Turns out, they¡¯re back together now. Apparently, he¡¯d been livin¡¯ in a company house with his lawyer and engineer ¡¯fore they kicked ¡¯em out.¡±

    Duncan blinked, sitting up straighter. ¡°Jesus. Can they do that?¡±

    ¡°Well, it¡¯s a boomtown, son. You hear the darnedest things in these parts. Feel bad fer the lawyer and the engineer, though¡ªputtin¡¯ up with that kinda bullshit can¡¯t be easy. Anyway, me and your mama bought a house up here in Des Moines.¡±

    Duncan frowned, his brows knitting together. ¡°Y¡¯all need help with those payments?¡±

    ¡°What payments?¡± his dad replied with a scoff. ¡°I just bought the house. No mortgage.¡±

    Duncan¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°What? How the hell¡¯d y¡¯all manage that?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s from that money we got from sellin¡¯ the family land,¡± his dad explained, his tone casual.

    Duncan¡¯s stomach sank at the memory. ¡°Oh¡­¡± he murmured. ¡°That one time y¡¯all killed my cowboy dreams of havin¡¯ lil¡¯ horses runnin¡¯ ¡¯round and those Indian miniature cows.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t need no damn horses, Duncan,¡± Robert said with a laugh. ¡°You can fly, son.¡±

    ¡°Maybe not as a means of transportation,¡± Duncan muttered, rolling his eyes.

    For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched between them, not awkward but heavy, filled with unspoken thoughts. Duncan stared at the floor of his living room, his fingers twitching slightly against the edge of the couch.

    Finally, Duncan broke the silence. ¡°Dad,¡± he said, his voice quieter now, ¡°let me ask¡ªhow¡¯s the investigation goin¡¯ into those guys who assaulted y¡¯all? The ones who brought the Sentinels?¡±

    There was a pause, and Duncan could hear Robert sigh on the other end of the line. ¡°I spoke with the Sheriff,¡± his dad began, his voice measured. ¡°He said they¡¯re facin¡¯ charges for attempted murder, battery, assault, property damage¡­¡±

    Duncan¡¯s brows shot up. ¡°What? No terrorism? No WMD possession? That¡¯s what Sentinels are, right?¡±

    ¡°Well, they took the case to the state,¡± his dad replied. ¡°It¡¯s off the local prosecution now. The Sheriff and the Police Chief handed it over to the DPS and the CID.¡±

    Duncan froze, his grip on the phone tightening. ¡°CID? What the hell does the army have to do with this?¡±

    ¡°They classified the Sentinels as reported Department of Defense property.¡±

    Duncan shot to his feet, pacing the room now. His boots thudded against the floor as he ran a hand through his hair. ¡°What?!¡± he barked, his voice rising. ¡°They¡¯re clearly FoH! Those machines weren¡¯t from the federal government¡ªunless¡­¡± His thoughts trailed off, and a sick feeling churned in his gut.

    ¡°Son,¡± his dad said, his voice quieter now, almost apologetic. ¡°They¡¯re buryin¡¯ the investigation. Clear as day.¡±

    Duncan¡¯s pacing became more erratic, his boots scuffing against the floor as he turned sharply, his free hand gesturing wildly as he spoke. ¡°They¡¯re coverin¡¯ for ¡¯em, Dad! These bastards attacked our home¡ªyour home¡ªwith freakin¡¯ Sentinels! And the DPS and CID are just sweepin¡¯ it under the rug?!¡±

    ¡°I know, son,¡± his dad said, his voice calm but heavy. ¡°I don¡¯t like it either. But they¡¯re sayin¡¯ those Sentinels were government property, and that puts it outta the Sheriff¡¯s hands.¡±

    ¡°Government property, my ass!¡± Duncan snapped, his plasma flaring faintly at his fingertips as he paced faster. ¡°They¡¯re lettin¡¯ ¡¯em off easy, Dad! Creed and those bastards had goddamn war machines¡ªthey don¡¯t care who gets hurt! If they¡¯re not charged with terrorism, it just gives ¡¯em a free pass to do it all over again!¡±

    ¡°Son,¡± his dad said gently, ¡°calm down.¡±

    ¡°Calm down?¡± Duncan barked, spinning on his heel to face the empty room, his chest heaving. ¡°I can¡¯t calm down, Dad! They¡¯re coverin¡¯ for people who wanted to kill us! How am I supposed to just sit here and let that slide?¡±

    ¡°You ain¡¯t gotta sit and do nothin¡¯, Duncan,¡± his dad said firmly. ¡°But you need to think. Don¡¯t rush into somethin¡¯ reckless.¡±

    Duncan stopped pacing, his shoulders rising and falling with each heavy breath. He stared out the window, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. ¡°I can¡¯t let ¡¯em get away with this, Dad,¡± he said quietly, his voice trembling with anger. ¡°I can¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± his dad replied softly. ¡°Just¡­ be careful, son.¡±

    Duncan didn¡¯t respond. He stood there for a long moment, staring out at the city lights, his mind racing.

    ¡°They¡¯re buryin¡¯ it,¡± he thought, his jaw tightening. ¡°Fine. Let ¡¯em try. I¡¯ll dig it back up myself.¡±

    The words spilled out of Duncan like a flood, anger laced into every syllable, his pacing growing faster with each turn across the living room.

    ¡°Well, our goddamn mutant dollars are great when the IRS fuckin¡¯ comes fer the income taxes,¡± he snarled, ¡°but when the government¡¯s supposed to do somethin¡¯, it doesn¡¯t give a shit!¡±

    ¡°Son,¡± Robert said, his voice sharp but steady, trying to cut through the rising anger.

    But Duncan wasn¡¯t done. He spun on his heel, his finger jabbing at the empty space in front of him like he was speaking to every bureaucrat in Austin and Washington. ¡°I¡¯m done with this bullshit, Daddy,¡± he declared, his voice low and fierce. ¡°I¡¯m optin¡¯ out of the goddamn Social Contract.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Robert''s voice pitched higher, his tone baffled. ¡°What does that even mean, Duncan? Ya can¡¯t¡ª¡±

    ¡°It means,¡± Duncan interrupted, his voice rising, ¡°I¡¯m sayin¡¯ fuck ya to those bureaucrats in Austin and D.C. and goin¡¯ after Creed and the FoH myself. I¡¯m gonna rip¡ª¡±

    ¡°Ya won¡¯t do such a thing, Duncan Nenni,¡± his dad barked, his tone suddenly commanding. ¡°I won¡¯t have my son goin¡¯ ¡¯round murderin¡¯ people!¡±

    Duncan froze mid-step, his hands clenching at his sides. He turned toward the phone, his jaw tightening. ¡°The hell, Dad? Just one week ago, ya said ya¡¯d¡ªand I quote¡ª¡®put ¡¯em on the ground¡¯ when ya pulled yer gun.¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± his dad countered, his tone softening just slightly, ¡°I spoke with yer mother ¡¯bout it, and she told me it might not be a good way. And you were the one talkin¡¯ all ¡¯bout incentives and not killin¡¯ people.¡±

    Duncan let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair. ¡°Well, these people need some killin¡¯, Daddy.¡±

    ¡°No, son,¡± Robert said, his voice stern but steady. ¡°Listen to me. Where¡¯s this gonna go, huh? Do ya think they¡¯re gonna see my son¡ªthe person¡ªwhen ya fly away and rip people to shreds? Or are they just gonna see a superpowered freak with a vendetta, someone they can point at and say, ¡®See? He¡¯s dangerous. He¡¯s exactly what we¡¯ve been warnin¡¯ ya about.¡¯ Is that what ya want?¡±

    Duncan stopped pacing, his breath catching in his throat. His father¡¯s words hit like a hammer, but it wasn¡¯t just the logic that got to him¡ªit was the memory.

    ¡°Kill me!¡± the X-Cutioner¡¯s voice screamed in his mind. ¡°SHOW THEM WHO YOU ARE! MUTANT!¡± The scene from Dallas replayed in his head, the raw hatred in the man¡¯s voice, the taunt designed to push him over the edge. He could still feel the weight of it, the pull toward giving in, the temptation to prove him right.

    He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly as the tension began to drain from his shoulders. ¡°Ya¡¯re right, Daddy,¡± he said, his voice quieter now. ¡°This ain¡¯t the way to make a point. I won¡¯t stoop to their level.¡±

    There was a pause, and when his father spoke again, his voice was softer, almost relieved. ¡°Good, son. Don¡¯t have blood on yer hands.¡±

    Duncan allowed himself a wry smile. ¡°Well, I can¡¯t speak fer a body count¡­ but blood¡­¡±

    ¡°Duncan,¡± his father said, his voice stern again.

    ¡°I hear ya, Daddy,¡± Duncan replied, a faint chuckle escaping him despite the heaviness of the moment. ¡°I¡¯ll do my best.¡±

    ¡°So,¡± Robert said after a moment, ¡°what¡¯s next?¡±

    Duncan turned toward the painting hanging on his wall¡ªa lone cowboy standing under a full moon, his shadow stretching long across the desert floor. He stared at it for a long moment, the figure almost speaking to him.

    ¡°The Alamo is what¡¯s next, Dad,¡± he said finally, his voice firm, resolute.

    Robert was quiet for a moment, then let out a soft chuckle. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll let ya do yer thing then. Just¡­ be smart, alright? And remember¡ªme and yer mom love ya.¡±

    Duncan¡¯s voice softened. ¡°I love y¡¯all too, Daddy.¡±

    The line clicked, leaving Duncan alone again in the quiet apartment. He stood there for a moment, his hands hanging loosely at his sides as he stared at the phone.

    A soft chime pulled his attention to the screen¡ªa notification. It was from Leo¡¯s Tailor.

    The message was short but direct: ¡°We''re ready to take your custom request. Please come to the shop for measurements. 23rd Street, New York City.¡±

    Duncan let out a slow breath, setting the phone down on the counter. His gaze drifted back to the cowboy in the painting, the figure standing defiant, unmoving in the face of whatever was coming.

    ¡°Alright,¡± he thought to himself. ¡°Let¡¯s see what this tailor¡¯s got for me.¡±

 Chapter 13: A Bespoke Name

    Duncan touched down softly on 23rd Street in New York City, his boots clicking against the pavement as he folded his arms and looked around. The street bustled with New York¡¯s usual chaotic energy, but his eyes were drawn to the small, somewhat weathered storefront in front of him. Above the door hung a faded sign that read ¡°Leo¡¯s Tailoring¡± in elegant, old-fashioned script.

    ¡°Dang, that shop must be older than time itself,¡± he muttered to himself, adjusting his white straw cowboy hat as he approached. The wooden trim of the building showed signs of wear, the windows slightly clouded, but the shop carried a certain weight¡ªa sense of history. ¡°Little disheveled, but maybe it¡¯s the old-time charm of it.¡±

    He stepped inside, a small bell chiming above the door. The interior smelled faintly of leather, fabric, and something warm, like cedar. The lighting was soft, casting the room in a golden hue. Rolls of fabric lined the walls, and a workbench near the back was cluttered with tools of the trade¡ªspools of thread, scissors, and measuring tapes. The centerpiece was a wooden mannequin, currently draped with the beginnings of what looked like an armored suit.

    Behind the counter stood an old, wiry man, barely five feet tall, with sharp, intelligent eyes behind thick glasses. He had sparse white hair that barely clung to his head and wore a plain black vest over a white shirt, his sleeves rolled up. His hands, though aged, moved with precise confidence as he adjusted a piece of fabric on the counter.

    The man looked up as Duncan entered, his gaze immediately scrutinizing him from head to toe. ¡°You must be the Texan,¡± he said, his voice carrying a slight Eastern European accent.

    Duncan tipped his hat politely. ¡°Yessir.¡±

    The old man nodded. ¡°Duncan Nenni, is that right?¡±

    ¡°Yessir.¡±

    ¡°Come, follow me.¡± He motioned for Duncan to step further inside, his movements brisk despite his age.

    Duncan glanced around as he followed, his eyes scanning the walls. Framed photographs hung everywhere, each one depicting a different superhero¡ªor sometimes a villain¡ªwearing suits that were undeniably Leo¡¯s handiwork. There was Captain America, Captain Marvel, Spider-Man, and others, some of whom Duncan didn¡¯t immediately recognize. Mixed among them were a few less-than-reputable figures, their faces and costumes just as prominently displayed.

    ¡°You have quite a clientele, Mr. Zelinsky,¡± Duncan remarked, nodding toward the photos.

    Leo chuckled softly, not breaking stride. ¡°I¡¯ve been in this shop longer than most people have been alive. I¡¯m proud of what I do, Mr. Nenni.¡±

    Duncan nodded thoughtfully. ¡°I understand that. Though I see ya also have less-than-heroic customers.¡±

    Leo paused, glancing at a picture of what was unmistakably Doctor Doom in one of his more regal robes. ¡°They impose their will on me sometimes, but think about it, Mr. Nenni¡ªam I responsible for their actions?¡±

    Duncan shook his head. ¡°No, no, no¡­ not at all. Sir, I sympathize with you. A business is never right or wrong¡ªnot if it works like it¡¯s intended to. There¡¯s a demand, and you¡¯re supply. Ya create the best supply there is, so there¡¯s demand¡­ no?¡±

    Leo smirked, his sharp eyes sparkling behind his glasses. ¡°Simple economics, no?¡±

    ¡°Classical economics, timeless¡ªeven if it ain¡¯t the most accurate. Ya do what ya must. Ya provide quality goods and services.¡±

    ¡°As any tailor should,¡± Leo agreed, his voice carrying a hint of pride.

    ¡°Yet ya ain¡¯t an average tailor,¡± Duncan continued, his tone admiring. ¡°Ya have differentiation¡­ a niche. That¡¯s somethin¡¯ special.¡±

    ¡°My father was a tailor before me¡± Leo said, opening an old red drawer with precise and well maintained tools of his craft. ¡°He serviced the Angel¡±

    ¡°Warren Worthington?¡± Duncan asked, surprised. His eyes with a curious glint.

    ¡°Thomas Halloway¡± Leo responded, straightening his glasses as he looked down at his pouch picking a tape measure.

    ¡°Oh, damn, the original¡­ original Angel¡± Duncan responded even more surprised.

    ¡°He taught me the craft, since then¡­ I had many customers.¡± There was a slightly proud smirk to Leo¡¯s aged face.

    Leo nodded toward a raised circular platform surrounded by mirrors. ¡°Please, stand up here. Extend your arms.¡± He grabbed a tape measure from his workbench as Duncan stepped onto the platform.

    As Leo worked, his movements quick and methodical, he asked, ¡°Have you decided on a name, Mr. Nenni?¡±

    ¡°A moniker?¡± Duncan asked.

    ¡°Yes. What will they call you?¡±

    ¡°The Alamo.¡±

    Leo paused for just a moment, raising an eyebrow. ¡°The Alamo? Oh, this is quite the name. I¡¯ve never heard of someone naming themselves after a monument before. Or¡­ is it the tree?¡±

    Duncan smiled faintly. ¡°No, it¡¯s the Alamo in Texas, alright.¡±

    ¡°And what does it mean to you?¡± Leo asked, tilting his head as he adjusted the tape measure around Duncan¡¯s chest.

    Duncan¡¯s voice grew steadier, more deliberate. ¡°Freedom. In 1836, when Davy Crockett stood at the Alamo against Santa Anna and the Mexican Imperial troops, it meant defiance. It was about standin¡¯ firm against centralized authority that tried to take Texan lands from the Texians. The Mexican government broke their deal with the empresarios in Texas, but those men stood their ground. It¡¯s a defense of liberty and property, really.¡±

    Leo straightened, looking at Duncan thoughtfully. ¡°Quite heroic. But I¡¯ve never heard such a perspective on a name before.¡±

    Duncan shrugged. ¡°It looks obvious at first glance, but it means much more.¡±

    Leo nodded approvingly. ¡°As any name should be. Simple, effective, and original.¡± He motioned for Duncan to turn slightly, adjusting the tape around his waist. ¡°Alright, you can turn a bit here. Raise your chin.¡±

    Duncan complied, falling into silence as Leo continued his work with quiet focus.

    After a few moments, Leo gestured toward a chair near the platform. ¡°Can you sit for a moment? I need to take your head measurements.¡±

    Duncan sat down, removing his hat and setting it on his knee. Leo carefully wrapped the tape around his head, jotting down measurements as he worked.

    ¡°Yes, perfect. This will do nicely,¡± Leo said finally, stepping back with a satisfied nod.

    Duncan glanced at the notes Leo had scribbled on a pad. ¡°Well, Mr. Zelinsky, I can already tell I¡¯ll be gettin¡¯ my money¡¯s worth.¡±

    Leo smiled faintly, pushing his glasses up his nose. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t settle for anything less, Mr. Nenni. Now, let¡¯s talk materials¡­¡±

    Duncan adjusted his posture slightly as Leo Zelinsky paced around the platform, jotting notes in his well-worn leather notebook. The tailor, despite his age, moved with precision and purpose, his pen darting across the page with the speed of a craftsman who had seen it all. Around them, the shop was a blend of old-world charm and modern necessity¡ªrolls of fabric stacked high, display cases with costume pieces, and photographs of heroes and villains alike hung proudly on the walls.

    Leo tapped his pen against the notebook and looked up at Duncan. ¡°Let¡¯s start with the hat. Stetson, or do you have another preference?¡±

    Duncan tipped his head slightly, his white straw cowboy hat catching the light. ¡°Resistol, Mr. Zelinsky. It¡¯s George Strait¡¯s brand. Cattleman style. Black.¡±

    Leo scribbled quickly, nodding. ¡°Resistol. Excellent choice. And do you want any detailing on it? A little flair, perhaps?¡±

    Duncan considered for a moment before replying. ¡°A little star in the center.¡±

    Leo paused mid-note, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly in thought. ¡°Like the one on your chest?¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±

    The tailor tapped his pen against his chin, studying the idea before offering his perspective. ¡°Might I suggest its removal? By adding a third star, that is asides from the chest and the belt buckle, in alignment with these two, it might cloud the design. Make it repetitive. It could detract from the simplicity you¡¯re aiming for.¡±

    Duncan raised an eyebrow, nodding slowly. ¡°Good point, Mr. Zelinsky. Let¡¯s keep it simple. No star on the hat. Just the black Cattleman.¡±

    Leo smiled faintly, pleased with the decision, and continued his measurements, now moving to Duncan¡¯s hands. ¡°Let¡¯s talk gloves. Material preferences?¡±

    ¡°White, definitely. Adds a little personality to the look, don¡¯t ya think?¡±

    Leo nodded. ¡°White is an excellent choice. A bold contrast against the black. Adds elegance and distinction. Now, for materials, I¡¯d suggest something flexible and heat-resistant¡ªprobably Kevlar-lined goatskin. Durable enough to handle the impacts you mentioned.¡±

    ¡°Perfect,¡± Duncan replied, watching as Leo wrapped the tape around his palm. ¡°Needs to be able to withstand plasma burns too. Don¡¯t want ¡¯em fallin¡¯ apart in the middle of a fight.¡±

    Leo paused, his expression curious. ¡°Ah, yes, your powers. Tell me, Mr. Nenni, what exactly am I working with here?¡±

    Duncan leaned back slightly, his tone matter-of-fact. ¡°My body¡¯s got a plasmatic cellular structure, Mr. Zelinsky. Makes me tough¡ªreally tough. Super-strength, flight, and I can generate plasma energy. Heat vision too. Temperatures can get hot enough to melt steel, but I can dial it back. I can even use the plasma to fly faster. Supersonic, sometimes faster.¡±

    Leo¡¯s eyebrows raised slightly, clearly impressed. ¡°Fascinating. And you can maintain control of this energy?¡±

    ¡°Yessir. It¡¯s part of me. I can cast it like bolts, shape it, whatever. But it means my gear has to handle impacts, heat, and friction. Comfortable, but practical. I don¡¯t need overt support¡ªjust somethin¡¯ I can move in without it botherin¡¯ me.¡±

    Leo nodded, taking notes. ¡°Understood. For the uniform, I¡¯ll be pulling inspiration from what I designed for Sentry¡ªsturdiness and heat resistance¡ªwith elements I used for Captain Marvel. Flexible, breathable, but incredibly durable.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like a plan,¡± Duncan said, impressed.

    Leo continued. ¡°Now, let¡¯s talk about the mask. Chrome, yes?¡±You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    Duncan nodded firmly. ¡°Yup. Sleek. Somethin¡¯ that looks futuristic, almost like a solid piece. Smooth lines. Needs to be durable enough to handle impacts, maybe the occasional plasma flare, but I don¡¯t want it bulky.¡±

    Leo scribbled furiously. ¡°I¡¯ll use a titanium alloy with a chrome finish. Lightweight but strong. A polymer lining inside for comfort and to prevent overheating. It¡¯ll be seamless, almost like it¡¯s part of the uniform.¡±

    Duncan whistled softly. ¡°That¡¯ll do.¡±

    Leo set the notebook down for a moment, stepping back to assess Duncan¡¯s frame. ¡°The long coat. Let me guess¡ªblack?¡±

    ¡°Yessir. Long enough to flow but not so long it gets in the way. Needs to move well, be fire-resistant. Maybe add some reinforced padding on the shoulders.¡±

    Leo nodded. ¡°Understood. I¡¯ll use Nomex fibers for the coat¡ªfire-resistant and lightweight. As for the belt?¡±

    ¡°White, like the gloves. Needs compartments¡ªdon¡¯t know what I¡¯ll carry yet, but it¡¯s better to have options.¡±

    ¡°Of course. Modular design, with a sleek finish to match the rest of the uniform. And the boots?¡±

    ¡°Black, sturdy. Needs traction and protection for landin¡¯ hard.¡±

    ¡°Kevlar-reinforced leather, Vibranium-toe caps for extra protection. They¡¯ll last through anything.¡±

    Leo straightened, closing his notebook. ¡°Well, Mr. Nenni, I think we¡¯ve covered every piece. Your suit will be fitted to handle extreme heat, plasma emissions, and impacts, while maintaining flexibility and style. But I won¡¯t lie to you¡ªit¡¯ll be pricey. About $28,000.¡±

    Duncan exhaled sharply, but nodded. ¡°Figures. That¡¯s fine. Quality don¡¯t come cheap.¡±

    Leo smiled, extending a hand. ¡°That¡¯s the attitude of a man who knows what he wants. I¡¯ll have the first fitting ready in two weeks.¡±

    Duncan shook his hand firmly. ¡°Much obliged, Mr. Zelinsky. Lookin¡¯ forward to it.¡±

    Duncan lingered on the circular platform as Leo Zelinsky finished packing up his notebook and tools, the air between them settling into a calm, almost conversational rhythm. The faint hum of the shop¡¯s fluorescent lights and the rustle of fabric in the background were the only sounds for a moment. Duncan adjusted his Resistol hat, tipping it slightly before glancing toward the wall where photos of the X-Men were displayed alongside other heroes.

    ¡°Hey, I was wonderin¡¯¡­ do ya do the uniforms fer the X-Folk?¡±

    Leo paused, raising an eyebrow as he looked up from his tools. ¡°Xavier¡¯s Men?¡±

    ¡°Yup.¡±

    The tailor let out a soft chuckle, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. ¡°Oh yes. I¡¯ve done uniforms for them for quite a long time now¡ªtwenty years, by my count. Perhaps longer.¡± He showed Duncan an image with him and the X-Men, a framed picture by the side of the desk. Him, Angel. Cyclops, Jean Grey then Marvel Girl and Beast.

    Duncan nodded thoughtfully. ¡°So y¡¯know ¡¯em relatively well, then.¡±

    Leo straightened, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he crossed his arms. ¡°Well, I remember like it was yesterday. September 98¡¯.¡±

    <hr>

    September 1998 ¨C Zelinsky¡¯s Tailoring Shop

    The fall morning was crisp, with a chill that bit lightly at the skin but carried the unmistakable warmth of sunlight on its shoulders. The golden rays filtered through the slightly smudged windows of Leo Zelinsky¡¯s tailoring shop, catching dust motes that swirled lazily in the air. Inside, the shop carried its usual scent: leather, fabric, and the faint tang of cedar wood polish. Rolls of fabric lined the walls, some rich and vibrant, others muted and practical. A cluttered workbench in the back bore signs of a project in progress¡ªa Captain America suit, recently damaged in action, lay draped across the table.

    Leo Zelinsky, wiry and sharp-eyed despite his age, was bent over the suit with intense focus, his hands steady as he stitched a tear along the shoulder. He wore his usual attire: a black vest over a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His glasses sat low on his nose, and his expression was one of utter concentration.

    The familiar clink-clink of the shop¡¯s bell broke his focus. He straightened slightly, glancing toward the entrance. A chilly breeze swept through the room, brushing against his skin and carrying a hint of dried leaves and city air.

    ¡°Excuse me,¡± a voice called from the doorway.

    Leo set his tools down carefully, smoothing the fabric before stepping out from behind the workbench. As he approached the counter, his sharp gaze fell on the man entering his shop. The stranger wore a tailored suit, his features dignified and calm. But what caught Leo¡¯s attention most wasn¡¯t the suit or the polite, disarming smile¡ªit was the wheelchair.

    The man removed his hat with a practiced elegance, placing it carefully on a nearby hat stand. Then, as he wheeled closer, he extended a hand.

    ¡°I¡¯m Charles Xavier,¡± the man said, his tone warm but deliberate.

    Leo hesitated for only a moment before taking the hand and shaking it. ¡°Hello, Charles. I¡¯m Leo Zelinsky. How can I help you?¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± Charles said, his voice calm, almost serene, ¡°I¡¯m looking for suits.¡±

    ¡°American style, British, Italian?¡± Leo asked, already running through mental notes on cuts and fabrics.

    ¡°I meant superhero suits, Mr. Zelinsky.¡±

    The tailor¡¯s brows furrowed, his expression twisting slightly as he straightened, folding his arms. ¡°Forgive me, sir,¡± he said, his voice laced with skepticism. ¡°I might be too busy for humor, but you¡¯re in a wheelchair.¡±

    Charles didn¡¯t respond immediately. Instead, his calm smile remained as he placed his hands lightly on the armrests of his wheelchair. Then, without moving his lips, another voice spoke¡ªbut this one wasn¡¯t coming from his mouth.

    ¡°The suits aren¡¯t for me.¡±

    Leo jerked back slightly, his eyes widening as he looked around the shop, his gaze darting to the corners as if searching for the source of the voice. Then his eyes snapped back to Xavier.

    ¡°Hey¡­ I¡¯m sorry, Mr. Xavier. What is that?¡±

    Xavier tilted his head slightly, his expression remaining calm. ¡°I¡¯m a mutant, Mr. Zelinsky.¡±

    Leo¡¯s face hardened, and he took an unconscious step back. ¡°Well, I¡¯m sorry to tell ya, today ain¡¯t the day I service the Brotherhood. Come back on a Saturday night.¡±

    Xavier didn¡¯t flinch, his tone remaining steady. ¡°I¡¯m not in the Brotherhood.¡±

    Leo raised an eyebrow. ¡°You¡¯re not?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Xavier said simply. ¡°I am not.¡±

    ¡°So¡­¡± Leo hesitated, folding his arms again. ¡°What exactly do you want?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m building a team,¡± Xavier explained, his voice steady but with a spark of passion behind his words. ¡°An elite task force composed of the best mutantkind has to offer. A group designed to bridge the gap between mutants and humans, to ease the tensions between our kinds.¡±

    Leo stared at him for a moment, his sharp eyes studying Xavier¡¯s calm expression. Then, suddenly, he burst into laughter, a deep, hearty sound that echoed through the small shop.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he said, wiping his eye, ¡°but that was a good joke, Mr. Xavier.¡±

    ¡°It was no joke,¡± Xavier replied, his tone unwavering. ¡°I¡¯m here precisely because I need to sort out the uniforms for this group.¡±

    Leo shook his head, his laughter fading as he leaned on the counter. ¡°This¡­ this is very bold. Why are you doing¡¯ this? You do know how mutants¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m well aware,¡± Xavier interrupted gently, his tone soft but firm. ¡°The Brotherhood has done great damage to our image. Magneto¡¯s crimes against humanity have long stained the perception of mutantkind. I aim to mend that image¡ªto create a new one. One in which mutants are seen as allies, as people who can coexist with humanity.¡±

    Xavier¡¯s voice grew steadier, his passion shining through. ¡°I¡¯m a university professor, Mr. Zelinsky. My goal is to create an academy that doesn¡¯t marginalize mutants, but instead integrates them into a life of service. A life of purpose. I want to avoid the path the Brotherhood has taken.¡±

    Leo¡¯s face darkened at the mention of Magneto. He turned slightly, his eyes falling on the Captain America suit on his workbench before turning back to Xavier. ¡°Magneto killed many great heroes, Mr. Xavier. Many of them were clients of my father. Angel, Citizen V, Destroyer, Golden Girl, Fiery Mask¡­ Do I have to name others?¡±

    Xavier¡¯s expression grew somber. ¡°No, Mr. Zelinsky,¡± he said quietly. ¡°I¡¯m well aware of the heroes Magneto and his Brotherhood have killed. That is exactly why our mission is so important.¡±

    Leo¡¯s hand twitched slightly as his gaze grew distant, his voice quieter now. ¡°I saw Angel die on TV. I still remember the day¡­ Magneto gutted him like a pig, with the Statue of Freedom herself. He bled out on the floor of the Capitol. That was a terrible summer.¡±

    Xavier¡¯s voice softened. ¡°I¡¯m sorry you had to see that so young.¡±

    ¡°Yeah¡­¡± Leo muttered, shaking his head slightly as he straightened. ¡°Beats me.¡± He sighed, looking Xavier in the eye. ¡°Look, I¡¯ll do this. But I don¡¯t think this¡¯ll work out, Professor.¡±

    ¡°I trust in the capacity of my students, Mr. Zelinsky,¡± Xavier replied, his tone firm but kind.

    Leo scoffed lightly. ¡°Really? And what¡¯s an aging man in a wheelchair gonna teach children? How to save mutantkind? How to fight?¡±

    Xavier¡¯s calm smile didn¡¯t waver. ¡°I have help. Someone I know¡­ someone you know has allowed me to dive into his mind, to see how to lead men into battle, to know how to fight.¡±

    Leo¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°And who¡¯s that, exactly?¡±

    Xavier¡¯s smile grew slightly as pointed to the uniform in the back. ¡°Steve Rogers.¡±

    Leo froze. For the first time in their conversation, his sharp, confident demeanor faltered. His hand gripped the edge of the counter as his eyes widened. ¡°Steve Rogers? You¡¯re telling me¡­ Captain America himself¡­ gave you his strategies?¡±

    ¡°In a manner of speaking,¡± Xavier said, his tone calm but tinged with a hint of pride. ¡°I¡¯ve studied his mind, his tactics, his principles. I¡¯ve learned from the best, Mr. Zelinsky. My students will do the same.¡±

    Leo stared at him for a long moment, the weight of Xavier¡¯s words settling over him like a heavy blanket. Finally, he nodded slowly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

    ¡°Well,¡± he said, his voice quieter now, ¡°Come with me then.¡±

    <hr>

    Back to 2025

    ¡°So ya¡¯re tellin¡¯ me Captain America trained the X-Men?¡±

    ¡°In a way, Xavier learned a bit from what Captain America agreed to share about leadership and military strategy, passed down to Cyclops¡±

    ¡°So ya really know ¡®em.¡± Duncan¡¯s voice even raised a pitch in genuine surprise, his eyes wide.

    ¡°Of course, Captain America has been a regular since he got unfrozen back in the Reagan Era, and I already told you the story with Xavier¡¯s Men¡±

    Duncan smirked, leaning slightly against the mirror. ¡°Fair ¡¯nuff. I was fixin¡¯ to ask, really¡­ what are they like? The X-Men, I mean.¡±

    Leo rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his eyes narrowing slightly as if considering his answer. ¡°Ah, that depends, my boy. Each of them is unique in their own way. As a group? They¡¯re less polished than, say, the Avengers. The Avengers¡ªmen like Captain America, God bless him¡ªthey have a sort of¡­ polish. A sheen. They¡¯re public figures through and through. The X-Men? They¡¯re different. They don¡¯t come to me with a curated image. They¡¯re raw. Genuine. There¡¯s something¡­ endearing about that.¡±

    ¡°I see, what ¡®bout em¡­ personally?¡± Duncan asked leaning a bit more against the mirror.

    ¡°Watch the Mirror, Mr. Nenni¡­. Wolverine doesn¡¯t talk much. Neither does Cyclops, for that matter¡ªthey¡¯re¡­ very resolute. Focused men. Marvel Girl, now she¡¯s usually the more talkative of the group. Polite, kind, and thoughtful. But I¡¯ve met others, too. The southern girl¡ªtalks like you, actually.¡±

    ¡°Rogue?¡± Duncan asked, arching an eyebrow. ¡°And I¡¯m sorry, Mr. Zelinsky, but I don¡¯t talk like no Mississippi girl.¡±

    Leo laughed softly, shaking his head. ¡°Well, there are differences, of course. After so many years, you start to catch onto the nuances¡ªthe difference between a bayou belle and a Texan cowboy. But to New York ears, my boy, it¡¯s closer than you might think. New York is a vast jungle of accents, no?¡±

    Duncan¡¯s expression softened, his curiosity evident. ¡°Ya think they¡¯d have me? The X-Men?¡±

    Leo¡¯s eyes twinkled with a knowing look as he chuckled softly. ¡°Oh, no doubt. You seem quite fitting for their cause. Defiance. Resilience. A streak of independence. You¡¯d fit right in with Xavier¡¯s dream. Do you plan to join them, Mr. Nenni?¡±

    Duncan¡¯s reply was immediate and blunt. ¡°No.¡±

    But his lips curled slightly at the corners, betraying a smirk that didn¡¯t escape Leo¡¯s sharp gaze. The tailor smiled knowingly, saying nothing about it for a moment before offering, ¡°Oh, give time to time, Mr. Nenni. Many who walk through my door start with the same resolve. Time and circumstances have a way of bending even the firmest of plans.¡±

    Duncan shrugged, brushing the thought aside. ¡°Maybe. Maybe not.¡±

    Leo adjusted his glasses again, his movements precise. ¡°Well, regardless of where you stand now, Mr. Nenni, I have no doubt you¡¯ll make your mark. And if you ever do change your mind, I¡¯m sure the X-Men will be ready to welcome you with open arms.¡±

    Duncan straightened his hat and adjusted his gloves. ¡°Anything else I can help you with, Mr. Zelinsky?¡±

    The older man shook his head, his thin smile returning. ¡°No, my boy. I think we¡¯ve covered everything. Your suit will be a work of art, as it should be. And if you ever need anything in the future, you know where to find me.¡±

    Duncan extended a hand, his grip firm and steady as he said, ¡°Much obliged. Pleasure doin¡¯ business with you, Mr. Zelinsky.¡±

    Leo returned the handshake, his eyes twinkling with genuine respect. ¡°The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Nenni. Travel safe. And remember¡­ your name will carry weight, so wear it proudly.¡±

    Duncan tipped his hat in farewell, stepping out of the shop and into the bustling streets of New York. The hum of the city greeted him as he glanced back at the small, unassuming storefront.

    ¡°Time and circumstances, huh?¡± he muttered to himself before launching into the sky in a blue blur, leaving the world below to wonder who The Alamo really was.

    Duncan stepped out of Leo Zelinsky¡¯s shop, the cool Manhattan air brushing against his face. The sky above was a mix of fading sunlight and encroaching twilight, the perfect backdrop to the towering skyline. His thoughts churned as he adjusted his Resistol hat, the brim shading his eyes from the last rays of the sun.

    ¡°The Alamo, huh?¡± he muttered under his breath. The name had weight, tied to the legacy of men like Sam Houston, men who stood firm for freedom and independence. He thought of what those men, those founders of the Texas Republic, would think of him now. Would they approve? Would they see him as carrying the torch of their values? And then his mind wandered further: What would Washington, Jefferson, or Franklin think of Captain America? Could he ever be that kind of symbol¡ªa Texan parallel to the Star-Spangled Avenger?

    His lips curled into a faint smirk. ¡°Maybe I ain¡¯t supposed to be Texas¡¯ symbol. Maybe I¡¯m just¡­ freedom¡¯s.¡±

    Texas, he realized, wasn¡¯t the whole of him¡ªit was his motif, his aesthetic, his heart. But his mind? His mind was Liberty. Real freedom. He wasn¡¯t a man driven by emotion, nor one to act purely from the heart. He was a man of reason, logic, and purpose. The legacy he aimed to create wasn¡¯t about regional pride but about something far greater: individual liberty

 Chapter 14: Midnight Cowboy

    Duncan strolled through the chaotic streets of Manhattan, lost in thought. His sharp attire¡ªgrey suit pants, a crisp blue dress shirt, a neatly knotted tie, and the unmistakable wide-brimmed cowboy hat¡ªset him apart from the rushing tide of city dwellers. He looked as if he had stepped straight off the set of an old Dallas episode.

    The city around him pulsed with its usual energy¡ªhorns blaring, taxi drivers cursing, steam rising from subway grates¡ªbut something was different. Something was wrong. His wandering thoughts were yanked back into focus by the sound of heavy thuds, screeching tires, and the unmistakable wail of car alarms. The disruption echoed down the avenue, drawing a wave of spectators toward a heavily barricaded street corner. The flashing reds and blues of NYPD Ford Interceptors painted the scene in strobing chaos as officers worked to contain the scene.

    "Stay behind the line!" One of the officers shouted, he had his right hand hoveing over his holster.

    "Back up, Guys! Behind the line!" An older officer spoke, his tone was more forgiving than his younger counterpart.

    Uniformed officers, hands on their belts, held back the surging crowd, their voices barely cutting through the noise. Duncan stopped just short of the police perimeter, his sharp gaze scanning past the gathered civilians to the heart of the commotion. The barricade marked the boundary between order and destruction, and beyond it, the city had turned into a battleground.

    A grizzled old man in a ragged bomber jacket shook a frustrated fist at a fresh-faced rookie. "Why aren''t you doing anything? You¡¯re cops, don¡¯tcha? Ain¡¯t this why they call you New York¡¯s finest?! FINEST MY ASS!"

    The young officer stammered, uncertain how to answer, before an older, burly sergeant stepped in. The man, a textbook Italian-American New Yorker with no patience for nonsense, scoffed and waved the old man off.

    "Listen here, ya old brolic, why don¡¯t ya let us boys in blue do our job, huh? I¡¯m two weeks from retirement, and I ain¡¯t lookin¡¯ to spend ¡®em gettin¡¯ stomped by an overgrown zoo escapee. Here¡ª" He fished a crumpled five-dollar bill from his pocket and shoved it into the man¡¯s hand. "Get a cab, go home, and watch it on the news, old-timer."

    The old man took the wrinkled bill and stuffed in his pocket as he took his turn to leave. "Disgraceful" He muttered.

    Duncan barely registered the exchange. His eyes were fixed on the source of the chaos. As the crowd shifted, he caught sight of the monstrous form causing the havoc¡ªa hulking figure, broad as a truck and clad in an armored, grey hide-like suit. It was Rhino. The infamous brute had intercepted an armored truck, tearing into it like a can of tuna. He was pissed, his massive frame towering over the flipped vehicle as he bellowed in frustration.

    And across from him, moving with effortless agility, was a lithe figure in red and blue¡ªSpider-Man.

    Duncan had seen images of the hero before, but something was different about the suit. The red was darker, richer, like dried blood rather than bright crimson. The blue sections had taken on a shadowy navy tone, almost black under the city¡¯s artificial lights. Thin white and black lines traced the contours of his uniform, accentuating the lean, athletic build beneath. His lenses, typically wide and expressive, had a sharper, more tactical look to them now. The suit was modern, reinforced, designed for more than just flair¡ªit looked battle-ready.

    Duncan muttered under his breath. "So this must be the Spider-Guy."

    He moved forward, pushing past the bystanders and stepping up to the police line.

    "Hey! Midnight Cowboy, this is a police perimeter¡ªdon¡¯t cross!" one of the officers barked.

    "Midnight Cowboy?" Duncan arched a brow under his hat. "The hell kinda name is that? I ain¡¯t no man-whore." He immediately picked up on the reference of the policeman.

    The officer smirked. "Relax, Tex, it¡¯s a joke. Point is, if you cross that line, you¡¯re gonna get yourself killed."

    Duncan adjusted his hat. "I ain''t so sure ¡®bout that, partner."

    The sergeant scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. "Forget it, boys. Just let the idiot pass. Must be his first time in the big city if he¡¯s out here lookin¡¯ that ridiculous."

    Ignoring the warnings, Duncan stepped forward, his boots clicking against the pavement as he approached the unfolding battle. His presence barely registered against the backdrop of destruction.

    Spider-Man danced around Rhino¡¯s massive swings, flipping and weaving through the air with practiced ease.

    "Rhino, bro! Just let me do my job!" Spidey quipped, narrowly avoiding a chunk of pavement the brute ripped from the street. "You are the rudest animal I¡¯ve ever met, and I¡¯ve been in a subway car with a raccoon before!"

    "SHUT UP, BUG! THIS SCORE IS MINE!" Rhino roared, his deep voice vibrating the air around them.

    "Bro, listen, I get it. Times are tough. Maybe try not destroying the city, though? Just a thought!"

    "LIKE A JOB CAN EVEN PAY MY RENT!" Rhino said, his voice was more scoffing than a genuine concern for his cost of living. He threw a hot dog cart at the neighborhood friendly spider.

    "Okay, relatable, but this ain¡¯t the way, my guy!" Spider-Man swung back and made a hammock of webs, where the cart gently landed avoiding hitting a window.

    Duncan finally stepped into the hero¡¯s line of sight. His brown eyes scanning around the scene, his arms crossed.

    Spidey froze mid-quip. "TEX! Get back behind the line!" His lenses widdened in shock, this was more headache to his ever increasing list of troubles.

    "Ya¡¯re Spider-Man." Duncan said, his eyes narrowing.

    Spidey sighed. "Okay, look, if this is about pictures, we can take a selfie after I don¡¯t get pancaked." Spidey''s tone while lighthearted spewed his on concerns for the civilian''s safety.

    "Oh, no. I¡¯m here to help." Duncan said, but his certainty wasn''t fully there.

    Spidey blinked behind the mask. "Bro¡­ this is Rhino. Guns don¡¯t work on him, Clint Eastwood."

    Rhino turned, finally noticing the cowboy. "Wanna play hero, little man?!"

    With a guttural roar, the behemoth charged. Duncan didn¡¯t flinch. As Rhino swung a massive fist, Duncan sidestepped at the last possible moment, a blue blur in a sonic dash.

    BOOM!

    The concrete cracked where Duncan had stood. Before Rhino could recover, Duncan raised a hand¡ªhis fingers curling into the shape of an old-fashioned revolver. A flash of blue plasma erupted from the tip of his index finger, slamming into Rhino¡¯s chest with a burning CRACK.

    Rhino staggered back, clutching his chest, smoke rising from the impact. His face twisted in pain.

    Spidey landed lightly beside Duncan, eyes wide behind his mask. "Holy crap¡­ you¡¯re that Texas guy!"

    Duncan smirked, tipping his white hat. "Yup. The Alamo."

    Spidey gave an approving nod. "Nice. Welcome to New York, man. What are you doing here?"

    "Just came to buy a supersuit." He dusted his shoulder, concrete dust all over his once pristine shirt.

    Spidey tilted his head. "Leo¡¯s?"

    "Leo¡¯s." Duncan added in quiet confidence.

    "Solid choice. Guy does great work." Spider-Man even raised a thumb in approval, he knew Leo''s work, because he was wearing it right now.

    Their conversation was cut short as Rhino let out another enraged roar, pounding the ground.

    Duncan tipped his hat again. "Mind if I join in?"

    Spidey cracked his knuckles. "Well, I was gonna solo this, but hey¡ªjust don¡¯t die on me, alright? I promised my girlfriend a nice takeout night."

    Duncan smirked. "Acknowledged."

    The streets of Manhattan were no stranger to chaos, but tonight, it had escalated to a full-blown battlefield. With flashing police lights painting the asphalt in streaks of red and blue, sirens wailing, and civilians gasping in terror, it was just another day in the life of a superhero. But for Duncan¡ªThe Alamo¡ªthis was a whole different ball game.

    Rhino let out a guttural roar, his massive legs pounding against the cracked pavement as he sprinted toward them like a freight train with no brakes. The ground shook beneath his monstrous charge, car alarms blaring as he barreled forward with pure, unchecked fury. The very air seemed to warp around his speed, and for a moment, it looked as if nothing could stop him.

    But Alamo wasn¡¯t about to just stand there.

    With a single, controlled burst of energy, Alamo shot skyward, his plasma thrusters igniting beneath his boots as he rocketed into the air. His cowboy hat remained miraculously in place, held down by a subtle energy field he had trained himself to generate. From his elevated position, he zeroed in on Rhino¡¯s trajectory, eyes locked on the brute¡¯s weak points.

    Then, like a javelin missile zeroing in on its target, he shot downward at blinding speed.

    He crashed into Rhino mid-sprint, grabbing hold of the villain¡¯s armor with fingers that tore through the metal plating like wet cardboard. Sparks flew as his hands dug into the suit¡¯s reinforced surface, the sheer force of his descent bringing the rampaging beast to a grinding halt. The impact sent cracks splintering through the pavement beneath them.

    ¡°Buddy,¡± Alamo drawled, holding firm as Rhino struggled beneath him, ¡°ya should really leave people alone, y¡¯know.¡±

    Rhino snarled, his massive arms flexing as he swung a meaty fist the size of a wrecking ball at Duncan¡¯s head. But Alamo was faster. He caught the punch mid-swing, gripping Rhino¡¯s enormous fist in his own.

    "Look, this is just wrong," he continued, his voice almost calm despite the raw power radiating from his grip. "These guys are just tryin'' to do their job. Maybe, just maybe¡ª"

    Before he could finish, pain exploded in his stomach.

    Rhino¡¯s free hand plowed into his gut, the sheer force knocking the air from his lungs. The unexpected blow sent Duncan reeling, forcing him to release his grip on Rhino¡¯s fist. His body folded slightly from the impact, and for a split second, he lost focus.

    That was all Rhino needed.

    With a savage grin, the behemoth snatched Duncan by the legs and swung him downward with bone-crushing force. The cowboy barely had time to react before he was slammed into the pavement, the shockwave rippling through the ground like a miniature earthquake. The street beneath them cracked open from the sheer weight of the impact.

    Rhino wasted no time. Using his full bulk, he leaped into the air, his massive feet aimed directly at Duncan¡¯s chest.

    Boom!

    The moment his colossal weight came crashing down, Duncan barely managed to cross his arms in front of him for protection. Even so, the sheer pressure pressed him into the broken asphalt, his arms shaking from the effort of holding Rhino off. It was like trying to bench press a wrecking ball mid-crash.

    And then¡ªwhip!

    Just as Rhino prepared to grind Duncan further into the pavement, a single, well-aimed web-line latched onto his leg.

    ¡°Hey, Big Guy!¡± Spider-Man¡¯s voice rang out as he yanked Rhino¡¯s foot out from under him. The villain let out a confused grunt before his world tilted. With a heavy thud, he face-planted straight into the cracked street.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Duncan coughed, his ears ringing from the brutal exchange. His muscles ached, and there was a sharp¡ªbut quick¡ªpain in his ribs. He wasn¡¯t dead, but an average person would¡¯ve been turned into mist by those punches alone.

    ¡°Dude, are you okay?¡± Spider-Man landed beside him, crouching low.

    Duncan groaned as he pushed himself up, brushing the dust from his ruined dress shirt. He spotted his cowboy hat lying nearby, half-buried in debris. Reaching for it, he dusted it off before setting it back on his head.

    "Holy shit," he muttered, cracking his neck. "This Rhino guy is really strong.¡±

    Spider-Man sighed. ¡°Bro<i>.</i> First lesson of the job¡ªnever underestimate a villain. I see you got some cool powers, but don¡¯t play with these guys. They¡¯re dead serious. If they get the chance? They¡¯ll kill you.¡±

    Duncan straightened his hat. ¡°Understood.¡±

    Rhino, meanwhile, roared in frustration, tearing through the webbing that had momentarily restrained him.

    Spidey winced. ¡°Welp. That was short-lived.¡±

    "You alright?" Alamo asked.

    "Yeah, yeah, I''m dandy."

    With that, Alamo sprang back into action, raising his hands and firing off a volley of five rapid plasma bolts. The glowing blue shots struck Rhino¡¯s back in quick succession, each one searing into his armor with precise, calculated impact.

    "Just give up, Rhino," Alamo called out. "Ya¡¯re¡ª"

    Before he could finish, Rhino grabbed hold of one of Spider-Man¡¯s web-lines, yanked hard, and launched the hero straight at Alamo.

    ¡°Oh come on!¡± Spidey yelped as he sailed through the air.

    Thinking fast, Duncan caught the web-slinger mid-flight, steadying them both before setting him down.

    Spider-Man groaned, dusting himself off. ¡°Okay, second lesson¡ªdon¡¯t monologue. Usually, we kinda listen to the villains¡¯ monologues, but they don¡¯t return the favor.¡±

    "Dang it," Duncan muttered, rubbing his temples. "This is the second time I made that mistake."

    "Don''t make it a third," Spidey shot back. "Now, here¡¯s the plan, Tex. We¡¯ll lure him¡ª"

    Before he could finish, Rhino leaped toward them, his full weight crashing forward like a wrecking ball of muscle and rage.

    Alamo reacted instantly. With a single, devastating punch to Rhino¡¯s gut, he sent the beast flying backward. The impact dented Rhino¡¯s armor, leaving a gaping hole in the plating as the villain was launched across the street.

    Rhino¡¯s trajectory ended with a catastrophic crash into a nearby storefront. Glass shattered, bricks crumbled, and debris rained down as the building¡¯s structure groaned in protest.

    Spidey winced. ¡°Oof. Damage Control is gonna love that. The people? Not so much.¡±

    Alamo flexed his fingers. ¡°That wasn¡¯t even plasma charged.¡±

    ¡°Dude, focu<i>s. Try not</i> to destroy the neighborhood. Insurance companies go haywire when it comes to superhero fights, and without the right claims, Damage Control only covers public utilities.¡±

    ¡°Oh, trust me, I know that. I used to assess creditworthiness for Damage Control-certified buildings all the time.¡±

    Spider-Man¡¯s head snapped toward him. ¡°Wait. You were a banker<i>?</i>¡±

    "Yup. Investment banker. Was," Duncan admitted. "Mostly an economist, though."

    ¡°That¡¯s wild. Never heard of an economist becoming a superhero before.¡±

    Alamo chuckled. "I reckon I haven''t done much to be a hero just yet."

    Spidey cracked his knuckles. ¡°Then let¡¯s go change that right now.¡±

    Rhino charged again... this time with even more determination. His massive form in that grey armor he wore making small cracks on the pavement, his eyes furrowed in anger as he sprinted towards Spider-Man and Alamo.

    The battle was far from over. The moment Rhino¡¯s armored form crashed into the storefront, a deep, guttural hiss escaped from his suit, followed by steam venting from the exposed gap in his belly plating. The ground beneath him was littered with shattered bricks, broken glass, and mangled steel from what had once been a perfectly respectable corner store. His massive, barrel-like chest rose and fell with labored breaths, but his rage had not been tempered. If anything, it had multiplied.

    From within the cracked plating of his suit, a terrifying, almost animalistic growl rumbled through the night air.

    And then¡ª

    "I WILL KILL YOU!"

    Alamo exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "This guy just can¡¯t stand down."

    Spidey landed lightly beside him, giving a quick stretch before cracking his knuckles. "Oh yeah, I get that a lot."

    Alamo adjusted his hat. "What is this guy, anyway?"

    Spidey rolled his shoulders. "Oh, you know¡ªformer KGB experiment, Russian Mafia, Spetsnaz."

    Alamo¡¯s red glowing eyes flicked back to Rhino, who was already hauling himself to his feet. The brute¡¯s exposed torso gleamed red from the earlier impact, a grisly mix of bruises and swelling muscle. But it was his sheer size that really sank in now that part of his armor had been destroyed.

    "Well, that explains it."

    Rhino charged again. His gaping wound in the suit didn¡¯t slow him down at all. If anything, he seemed to have more power, fueled by pure rage as he sprinted toward them. His sheer mass should have made him slower, but he wasn''t. The man moved like a wrecking ball with rocket boosters.

    Alamo barely had time to mutter, "He¡¯s massive. I thought it was just the armor."

    "Oh no, he''s pretty big," Spidey quipped. "Also¡ªwatch out!"

    Without hesitation, Alamo launched himself into the sky as Spidey flipped backward, shooting a precise web-line that latched onto Rhino¡¯s exposed back. With a hard pull, Spidey redirected his momentum, slamming the brute face-first into the pavement.

    Rhino let out an enraged roar, his fists pounding the ground with enough force to send spiderweb cracks through the asphalt.

    Spider-Man didn¡¯t waste time, webbing both of his fists in an attempt to pin them down. "Okay, just stay right there, big guy¡ªno one needs to get pancaked tonight."

    But Rhino was too strong. With a single flex of his arms, he ripped through the webbing, sending sticky strands flying in every direction. The fibers snapped like rubber bands stretched beyond their limit.

    Spidey groaned. "You''re no fun, Alex."

    "DO NOT SPEAK TO ME, BUG!" Rhino bellowed, his voice like rolling thunder. "I JUST WANTED THE CASH! YOU RUINED ME!"

    "Dude, just get a job!" Spidey shot back. "I dunno, maybe¡­ construction? You could be really useful, Alex!"

    "SHUT UP! DIE SPIDER!"

    Alamo landed smoothly beside Spidey, arms crossed. "What a bum."

    "Seriously." Spidey dodged another wild swing, flipping over Rhino''s head. "Got any bright ideas, cowboy?"

    "I got a plan."

    "Any time now, bro!" Spidey grunted as he barely managed to dodge another ground-shattering punch.

    "Try to pin his whole body to the ground."

    "I''m trying¡ªhe kinda hates me right now."

    "Hands and legs. Trust me."

    Spidey didn¡¯t hesitate. "Got it."

    With rapid precision, Spider-Man fired multiple web-lines, layering thick strands over Rhino¡¯s arms, wrists, thighs, and legs. The brute fought against it, his muscles bulging as he struggled to free himself¡ªbut Spidey was faster. The sticky fibers built up layer after layer until Rhino was effectively mummified against the cracked pavement.

    "Okay," Spidey panted. "What now?"

    Alamo cracked his knuckles, his hands already glowing with a bright, swirling blue light. "Let¡¯s see how long he lasts without that ultramarine get-up."

    With a sharp whoosh, he took to the air, his energy trailing behind him like the Aurora Borealis, but in a rich electric blue. As he arced downward, his plasma-infused hands ignited, glowing even brighter as he grabbed hold of Rhino¡¯s back plating.

    The instant his fingers touched the armor, the suit reacted¡ªits energy core flickering wildly as Alamo''s power began interfering with it.

    "What are you doing?!" Spidey asked, holding Rhino down.

    Alamo clenched his fist. "Stealin¡¯ a bit of energy¡­ I was between that and an EMP, but this works fine."

    "Wait¡ªyou¡¯re sucking his energy?"

    "His armor¡¯s energy¡ªshit, this isn¡¯t a good idea."

    "Why not?!" Spidey¡¯s eyes widened as Rhino struggled even harder beneath them.

    "If I take too much, I might¡­ well, blow somethin¡¯ up. And not in a fun way."

    "Then what¡¯s the plan now, genius?"

    Alamo exhaled sharply. "I have an idea."

    The energy surged through him. His bones glowed beneath his skin, an eerie, pulsating blue light tracing his veins like electric currents. His hands trembled from the sheer power coursing through him.

    "Woah," Spidey murmured.

    Alamo gritted his teeth, then yanked¡ª

    With a final, bone-snapping pull, he ripped Rhino free from his armor. The sound of tearing metal and cracking bone filled the air as Aleksei Sytsevich¡ªnow stripped of his mechanical shell¡ªwas torn from the suit like a sardine from its can.

    Rhino screamed in agony as his collarbone snapped, his massive, actual body rolling onto the pavement. He was still huge¡ªstill terrifying¡ªbut without his armor, he was weakened.

    "Hold him, Spidey!" Alamo called, stepping back.

    Spider-Man wasted no time. He shot multiple web-lines, wrapping the now-weakened Aleksei in thick layers of reinforced webbing, keeping him completely immobilized.

    Alamo, meanwhile, wasn¡¯t done yet.

    He turned back to the hollow armor. Sparks fizzled from the wrecked suit, its internal systems flickering wildly. With one final charge, he placed his glowing hand on the metal surface, sending a controlled surge of plasma energy into the core.

    The reaction was instant.

    The suit¡¯s remaining lights flashed one final time before¡ªBOOM!¡ªa mini-EMP pulse exploded outward. The entire street went dark as the pulse disabled nearby streetlights, fried electronics, and sent parked cars into a frenzy of blaring alarms.

    But that wasn¡¯t all. A final wave of residual heat erupted from the armor, melting parts of the suit down to slag.

    Spidey winced. "Man, you''re burning up!"

    Duncan stumbled backward, his hands now glowing blindingly bright¡ªso bright that the pavement beneath them started to scorch.

    Then, with a heavy exhale, he collapsed onto the ground.

    "Alamo! Are you okay?!" Spidey crouched beside him.

    Duncan groaned, barely lifting a hand. "Just¡­ lemme lie here for a moment."

    "You and me then Big boy" Spidey-Man cracking his knuckles.

    Aleksei Sytsevich¡ªThe Rhino¡ªwas still a force to be reckoned with, even without his armor. His sheer size and raw power weren¡¯t just a product of the suit. He was a mutate of muscle and rage, the result of years of brutal experiments and genetic augmentation. Stripped of his mechanical shell, his skin gleamed with sweat beneath the cold glow of city lights, his grotesquely thick muscles flexing with every movement. A beast of a man, still standing despite the brutal punishment he had taken.

    Spider-Man landed in a crouch a few feet away, breathing heavily. The webs he had used to restrain Aleksei had already begun to snap, straining against the villain¡¯s sheer brute strength.

    And then¡ªit happened.

    With a guttural growl, Rhino yanked his arms free of the sticky restraints, strands of webbing tearing apart like overused duct tape. His chest heaved as he reached down to his side and¡ªsomehow¡ªpulled out a knife. A gleaming, wicked blade, reflecting the broken neon signs around them.

    Spidey froze. His masked lenses widened.

    "Oh, I definitely don¡¯t wanna get touched by that." He bounced lightly on his heels, hands raised defensively. "Where the hell have you been hiding that? That did not come from a safe space."

    Rhino¡¯s lips twisted into a grin, his yellowed teeth bared like a cornered animal.

    "Time to die, Spider-Man."

    Without hesitation, Rhino lunged.

    Spider-Man ducked, narrowly avoiding the slashing arc of the knife as it whistled through the air, missing his chest by mere inches. He twisted his body, shifting his weight as he countered with a precise kick to Aleksei¡¯s ribs. The impact sent a shockwave up Spidey¡¯s leg¡ªbut Rhino barely staggered.

    Aleksei roared and swung again.

    Spidey dodged left, flipping over the brute¡¯s next attack, then countered with a web-line. The silk wrapped around Rhino¡¯s thick wrist, but before Spidey could pull him off balance, Rhino grabbed the web instead.

    "Oh¡ª"

    With one savage yank, Rhino swung Spider-Man through the air like a ragdoll and slammed him into a crumbling brick wall.

    BOOM!

    Pain exploded through Spidey¡¯s back. His vision blurred for a moment as dust and shattered mortar rained down around him. He groaned, slumping against the wall, the wind knocked out of him.

    For a second, he thought he had the guy pinned. For a second.

    Then¡ªhis Spider-Sense flared.

    Instinct screamed at him to move.

    He barely rolled away in time as a massive chunk of debris came hurtling at him, missing his head by a fraction of a second. The chunk of concrete obliterated the wall where he had been just moments before, sending jagged shards skidding across the pavement.

    "Alright, Alex," Spidey panted, flipping to his feet. "Just take the L, man."

    "DIE, SUKA!"

    Rhino¡¯s bloodshot eyes burned with fury as he charged again.

    Spidey exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders. "You wound me, Rhino."

    He reacted in a split second, shooting twin web-lines toward two parked cars. With a hard yank, he swung both vehicles straight toward Aleksei like a pair of makeshift wrecking balls.

    CRASH!

    The two cars collided into Rhino with an earth-shattering impact. The force sent glass and metal flying in all directions, a billowing cloud of dust and smoke obscuring the area.

    Spidey waited, tense, crouched on the balls of his feet.

    And then, from the smoke¡ªmovement.

    Rhino burst from the wreckage, barely slowed. Punching his way free of the tangled steel, his muscles flexed as he ripped through the mangled remains of the cars like they were made of cardboard.

    "Oh, come on!" Spidey groaned.

    Without warning, Aleksei leaped¡ªa terrifying, inhuman leap for a man of his size. The veins in his arms bulged as he raised his gleaming adamantium knife, the blade catching the dim glow of the streetlights as it came rushing toward Spidey¡¯s face.

    Too fast.

    Spidey¡¯s reflexes screamed for him to move, but the angle was too sharp, and Rhino was too close.

    "I won¡¯t die by butt-knife!" Spidey yelped, raising his arms in a desperate block.

    Then¡ª

    "Ya¡¯re done, buster."

    The voice rang out, clear and unwavering.

    The Alamo stood in the middle of the street, battered and breathing heavily, his hand raised, his fingers curled into the unmistakable shape of a gun. A crackling blue glow hummed at his fingertip, illuminating the darkness.

    Rhino froze, turning his head slightly, just enough to cast a glare in Alamo¡¯s direction.

    "I¡¯M NOT SCARED OF FINGERGUNS!" Aleksei bellowed.

    Alamo smirked. "Well, this one¡¯ll scare ya."

    Then, with pinpoint precision, he fired.

    A concentrated plasma bolt erupted from Alamo¡¯s fingertip, slicing through the air like a bullet of pure energy. The shot was precise, calculated¡ªand it hit Rhino right at the elbow joint.

    BZZZZT¡ªCRACK!

    A horrifying ripping sound filled the air.

    Rhino screamed. A bloodcurdling, animalistic howl of pain as his arm¡ªhis entire forearm¡ªwas severed at the joint. The superheated plasma vaporized the flesh, leaving behind a cauterized, smoldering wound.

    The severed limb¡ªstill clutching the knife¡ªlanded squarely in Spidey¡¯s lap.

    For a beat, there was silence.

    Then¡ª

    "OH MY GOD¡ªGET THIS OUT OF HERE!"

    With a mixture of panic and disgust, Spidey hurled the severed arm away from him, flinging it across the street where it landed with a grotesque thump.

    Rhino collapsed onto his knees, cradling the burnt stump of his arm, his chest heaving in agony. His massive body shook from the sheer pain, his face twisted into an expression of pure, feral rage¡ªbut even he knew it was over.

    Alamo took a step forward, lowering his still-glowing hand, his breath coming out in exhausted puffs.

    "Dude you can''t rip people''s limbs like that!" Spider-Man protested as he grabbed Alamo''s hand to get up. "Eugh, your hand is hot"

    "I get that a lot" Alamo smirked as he helped Spider-Man regain his balance.

    "Alamo, man, we''re cool and all, but this was not it. This is messed up" Spidey said as he came closer to Aleksei on the ground bleeding.

    "Here" Alamo crouched his hand burning Aleksei''s skin again.

    "ARGH!" The big brute screamed in pain.

    "Don''t worry Spidey, I''m just cauterizin'' the wound" Alamo assured Spider-Man.

    "Alright... But let us not go around ripping people''s entire arms off" Spider-Man said as he took notice of the guards trapped inside the armored car.

    "I''ll see what I can do" Alamo muttered.

    Spider-Man landed beside the wrecked vehicle he swung a web at the trapped door and yanked away, the guards nodded desperately. Their suits all covered in sweet and blood from the wreckage as they jumped out. One muttered. "Thanks Spidey"

    "No worries, I had help... friend from down south. Now go to your families guys. You guys been through enough" He patted them in the back as they rushed behind the police line.

    Back in the police line the officers crossed their arms. The sergeant spoke first. "I''ll be damned, the Midnight Cowboy really done it"

    One of the officers approached. "Should we go arrest him now"

    The sergeant patted the young officer on his back as he turned away torwards the crowd. "He could have shot him in the head for all that I care. Let the boys have their fun."

 Chapter 15: Katzs Deli

    As the dust settled and the last remnants of battle faded into the background, Spider-Man and Alamo made their way back toward the police barricade. The air was still thick with the acrid scent of melted metal and burnt flesh, and the hum of distant sirens steadily grew louder.

    Spider-Man walked ahead, dragging the unconscious, heavily webbed Rhino across the shattered pavement. The massive brute groaned weakly, but he was out cold, his grotesque, battered form limp in the webbing.

    Behind him, Alamo strode forward at a measured pace, casually holding Rhino¡¯s severed arm by its thick wrist. Blood still dripped from the stump, forming a dark, uneven trail on the pavement. The brutal sight earned a mix of shocked expressions from the officers near the barricade. A few of them instinctively recoiled, some placing their hands near their holsters, others muttering to themselves.

    Alamo barely noticed. His focus was on the dismembered limb still twitching in his grip.

    With a small exhale, he raised his other hand, fingers glowing with that signature blue plasma. The energy concentrated in his palm, coalescing into a thin, controlled beam. Slowly, he pressed his searing-hot fingertips against the raw, exposed flesh where the arm had been severed. The smell of burnt meat filled the air as the flesh sizzled and seared shut.

    Spider-Man turned to see what he was doing and immediately winced.

    "Yeah, uh¡ªnope. Not watching that." He shook his head and looked away, muttering, "I did not need to add ¡®witness impromptu battlefield surgery¡¯ to my trauma playlist tonight."

    As the cauterization finished, Alamo flexed his fingers and shook off the residual heat. The stump was now a scorched, permanently sealed wound¡ªno blood, no mess. Just a clean, irreversible ending.

    Spider-Man exhaled, glancing at Alamo as they neared the police barricade. ¡°You know he won¡¯t get his arm back.¡±

    Alamo rolled his shoulders. ¡°Yep. That¡¯s the idea.¡±

    Spidey stopped walking for a moment, narrowing his lenses. "What? Why?"

    Duncan shot him a dry look. ¡°Well, y¡¯play stupid games, y¡¯get stupid prizes. I reckon losin¡¯ an arm¡¯s not as bad as losin¡¯ yer life.¡±

    Spidey groaned, rubbing his temples. "Dude, don¡¯t make a habit of tearing people¡¯s arms off."

    Alamo raised a brow. ¡°Why?¡±

    "Because it¡¯s terrible press!" Spidey threw his hands up. "People get scared of you, dude. You ever hear of branding? You need good PR if you¡¯re gonna be a hero."

    Duncan let out a quiet sigh. "Here we go¡­"

    But Spidey wasn¡¯t done. His head tilted toward the towering billboard above them¡ªan enormous Daily Bugle front page from yesterday. The headline was in massive, bold white letters:

    <i>¡°IS SPIDER-MAN A MENACE?!¡±</i>

    A smaller subheading below read: <i>¡°Masked vigilante causes city-wide destruction! Who pays for the damage?¡±</i>

    Even he had been getting bad press for just doing his job¡ªand now? Duncan was this close to getting painted as something far worse.

    Spidey¡¯s tone was more serious now. "Alamo, you¡¯re a mutant, right?"

    Alamo¡¯s jaw tensed slightly. ¡°What¡¯s it to ya?¡±

    "Listen," Spidey sighed, "people are already on edge when it comes to mutants. If you keep doing this violent stuff, it¡¯s only gonna get worse. The bad press catches up to you."

    Alamo¡¯s eyes flickered up toward the billboard, but his face remained unreadable.

    Spider-Man folded his arms. "Seriously. And what am I supposed to do? Just throw this guy back in jail so he can break out again?" He gestured at Rhino¡¯s unconscious, webbed-up form. "You do realize, Spidey, that even federal prisons can¡¯t contain these folks? Max security included."

    "I know," Spidey admitted, "but just because the system doesn¡¯t work doesn¡¯t mean you gotta throw yourself in the mud trying to vigilante it up. New York¡¯s got plenty of people like that already."

    Alamo shot him a knowing look. "Ya¡¯re talkin¡¯ ¡®bout¡ª"

    "The Punisher," Spidey confirmed. "Real gory stuff. Real violence. That guy doesn¡¯t pull any punches." His voice was quiet now. "And that scares people off, dude. New York doesn¡¯t need a Punisher. And I¡¯m pretty sure Texas doesn¡¯t need a mutant Punisher either."

    There was a long silence between them as the red-and-blue hero let his words sink in.

    Alamo exhaled slowly. "I understand the no killin¡¯¡­ but this¡¯ll prevent this bastard from ever doin¡¯ shit like this again. Call it reducin¡¯ the incentives."

    Spidey¡¯s gaze lingered on him for a beat before shaking his head. "Bro, I know. But this? It¡¯s just gonna escalate. If I¡¯ve learned anything, it¡¯s that violence only leads to more violence. You keep kneecapping people, ripping arms off, you¡¯re just gonna make more enemies. The cycle doesn¡¯t end that way."

    Alamo¡¯s expression was unreadable for a moment. Then, finally, he gave a slow nod. "I see. I¡¯ll take it into consideration goin¡¯ forward."

    "That¡¯s all I ask."

    They reached the police barricade just as the NYPD sergeant approached. The old Italian-American cop looked tired as hell but relieved to see the crisis had ended.

    "Hey, good job, Spidey. Good job, Midnight Cowboy."

    Duncan exhaled. "It¡¯s The Alamo."

    The sergeant squinted. "Like the landmark?"

    "Yup. Like the Alamo in San Antone."

    The NYPD sergeant waved a dismissive hand. "Whatever, kid. Just glad this guy¡¯s not givin¡¯ us more trouble. Coulda clipped him for good, but hey¡ªone gets what one gets." He clapped both of them on the back. "Don¡¯t worry, boss, my family thanks you for not lettin¡¯ me die out there. Not really what I¡¯d call a pleasant retirement surprise."

    Spidey gave a little salute. "Just doin¡¯ what I can, Sarge."

    "Keep up the good job, Spidey."

    Then, the sergeant turned to Duncan. "And you too, cowboy. But maybe try not leavin¡¯ so many loose limbs next time, huh? The paperwork on this is gonna be hell."

    Duncan gave a small smirk. "Reckon that¡¯s warranted."

    Spidey stretched his arms, already dreading what came next. "Tomorrow¡¯s just gonna be J.J. Jameson chewing me out for this whole mess¡­ and you too, probably."

    "Wouldn¡¯t be the first time a banker got chewed out by a media tycoon," Duncan quipped.

    "Yeah, yeah, let¡¯s get outta here." Spidey cracked his neck. "Now, how about dinner? Like I said, I need to bring my lady some takeout."

    Duncan tilted his head. "I don¡¯t need to eat."

    Spidey blinked. "Oh, uh¡ªmy bad then, I just figured¡ª"

    Duncan raised a hand. "Hey, hey. Don¡¯t worry. It¡¯s fine. I¡¯ll go have supper with ya."

    Spidey froze. "Supper? Bro, this is 2025, not 1975."

    Duncan sighed. "Fine. I¡¯ll go have<i> dinner</i> with ya."

    "Good. Katz¡¯s then."

    And with that, the two heroes disappeared into the neon-lit city, leaving the wreckage of the battle behind.

    The ride to Katz¡¯s Delicatessen was a seamless blend of old-school Texas grit and New York spectacle. Alamo soared above the streets, his plasma thrusters humming with controlled precision, while Spider-Man swung ahead, weaving between skyscrapers with effortless grace. Below them, the city was still awake¡ªhorns blaring, neon lights flickering, pedestrians craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the unlikely duo moving across the night sky.

    Alamo kept his speed steady, matching Spidey¡¯s lead, the scent of the city changing as they crossed neighborhoods¡ªthe tang of exhaust fumes giving way to the smoky, peppered aroma of pastrami carried on the breeze as they neared their destination.

    Not long after, they landed in front of Katz¡¯s, the legendary Jewish deli on the corner of Ludlow and East Houston. The iconic yellow-lit sign stood proudly against the night, buzzing faintly with the comforting hum of old-school neon. The giant red letters spelled out Katz¡¯s Delicatessen, their glow reflecting off the rain-slicked pavement. The interior lighting spilled onto the sidewalk, revealing a bustling late-night crowd inside. Even at this hour, people were packed at the counters, their voices blending into the symphony of clattering plates, sizzling grills, and the constant rhythmic chop-chop of knives against wooden cutting boards.

    Alamo looked up at the old-school marquee with its bold lettering. "Well¡­ this ain¡¯t<i> Whataburger</i>."

    Spidey flipped down next to him, adjusting his gloves. <i>"</i>No, it¡¯s not."

    Duncan exhaled, glancing at the window where he could already see thick, steaming piles of pastrami being sliced behind the counter. "What do ya recommend?"

    "<i>Pastrami. </i>Always. It¡¯s legendary for a reason." Spidey gestured toward the window, where the carvers were skillfully piling towering stacks of pinkish-red meat onto rye bread, smearing it with thick mustard. "Also, pastrami¡¯s made outta brisket, so you¡¯re practically in Texas."

    Duncan smirked. "Less truthful words couldn¡¯t have been muttered<i>.</i>"

    "Don¡¯t go busting balls, Lone Star."

    "Alright, my bad."

    <i>With that, they pushed through the glass doors, greeted immediately by a rush of warmth and the unmistakable aroma of smoked meat, freshly baked bread, and sharp mustard. The restaurant was just as Alamo had expected¡ªwalls adorned with decades of memorabilia, framed photos of celebrities who had dined here, and the unmistakable old-school diner-style lighting casting a golden glow over the packed tables.</i>

    Customers sat elbow-to-elbow at the long cafeteria-style tables, some hunched over plates stacked with thick-cut sandwiches, while others eagerly dipped crispy potato latkes into tiny plastic cups of sour cream. The air buzzed with a mix of Yiddish, English, and Spanish, blending into a uniquely New York atmosphere.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    Behind the counter, one of the veteran slicers¡ªan older man with thick arms, a white apron stained with meat juices, and a well-worn Brooklyn accent¡ªlooked up from his cutting board.

    "Spidey!" he called out, a grin spreading across his weathered face.

    "Hey there, Anthony!" Spidey waved.

    Anthony wiped his hands on his apron and leaned over the counter. "You want the usual, kid?"

    <i>"Yeah, let¡¯s go with three pastrami sandwiches, one to-go." Spidey shot a thumb toward Alamo. "Got a new guy with me tonight."</i>

    "Special Spider Discount," Anthony winked, already reaching for a brick-sized slab of pastrami, its outer layer dark and crusted from hours of slow-smoking.

    "Thanks, Tony!" Spidey said, giving a small salute.

    Duncan reached for his pocket. "I¡¯ll pay."

    Spidey waved him off. "Nah, don¡¯t worry, man."

    Duncan narrowed his eyes and pulled out a sleek black credit card. "Nope. I ain¡¯t lettin¡¯ ya pay."

    Anthony raised an eyebrow as he saw the card. "Ooooh, look at Mr. Fancy Pants over here!"

    Spidey whistled. "Damn, that¡¯s the fancy kind. What, you part of the Illuminati?"

    Duncan scoffed, sliding the card across the counter. "This? Comes with workin¡¯ in a bank. I ain¡¯t nearly as truly rich as most users of this kinda card. Perks, one must say. ''Cept now I¡¯m penniless¡ªunemployed."

    Spidey nodded. "Oh, that sucks, man. Been there, done that."

    Duncan signed the receipt. "Ain¡¯t all bad. Gives me time to pick up new hobbies¡ªlike rippin¡¯ the arms off supervillains."

    "See? Bad branding, bro!" Spidey shook his head as they grabbed their trays and found a seat. "Maybe Stark needs a guy like you, huh?"

    Duncan smirked. "I¡¯ll remember to fly to the Avengers¡¯ Tower and go beg fer a job."

    They sat down at a booth by the window, the light from the street filtering in over their plates. Duncan took a moment to take in the scene¡ªNew York in its purest form. The tables were packed with a melting pot of people: cops still in uniform, old Jewish men sipping<i> matzo</i> ball soup, college kids scarfing down sandwiches between beers, and a few tourists looking overwhelmed by the sheer size of their portions.

    Duncan lifted his sandwich, eyeing the mountain of pastrami spilling out between the two halves of rye bread. The mustard glistened under the warm lights.

    Across from him, Spidey simply tilted his head back slightly and rolled his sandwich into his mouth, taking careful bites while keeping his mask mostly on.

    Duncan raised a brow. "So¡­ ya just gonna keep yer mask on?"

    Spidey swallowed. "Yep. Look, I can just roll and eat it without showing much of my face."

    Duncan exhaled. "Right¡­ okay."

    They ate in relative silence for a few moments, the sounds of the restaurant filling the air. The chatter, the laughter, the occasional clank of plates and cutlery against the sturdy wooden tables.

    Then, Spidey broke the quiet. "So... ahem... why are you doin¡¯ this superhero thing, exactly?"

    Duncan paused mid-bite, setting his sandwich down. "Well¡­ mostly ¡®cause I got no other choice. The FoH indirectly took my job when they tried to kill me¡­ then later my family. So I reckon¡­ well, maybe this is what I¡¯m made for."

    Spidey nodded. "You did well tonight. Took that Rhino beatdown like a champ."

    "Much appreciated, Spidey."

    "Your folks¡­ did they make it?" Spidey¡¯s voice was quieter now.

    Duncan swallowed, looking out the window. "Yup. Made sure of it."

    "That¡¯s good, man. That¡¯s real good."

    A long pause. Then, Duncan glanced back at him. "How do yer folks feel ¡®bout this whole superhero thing?"

    Spidey didn¡¯t answer right away. Instead, his fingers absentmindedly played with the edge of his sandwich wrapper.

    Finally, after a beat¡ª

    "I don¡¯t know." His voice was softer now. "I never met them¡­"

    "I¡¯m sorry."

    Duncan¡¯s voice was low, steady, but there was weight behind it. His Texan drawl carried a rare sincerity, a directness that cut through the ambient noise. Across from him, Spider-Man sat hunched slightly, arms folded on the table, fingers idly tapping against the edge. He exhaled, the lenses on his mask narrowing slightly as he shrugged.

    "Don¡¯t worry, I have my aunt and uncle¡­ well, had."

    There was a shift in the air, subtle but there. Duncan didn¡¯t speak right away, his eyes studying the masked hero in front of him. Outside, the faint sound of a distant siren wove through the city¡¯s soundscape, blending with the occasional honk of a cab horn.

    "Ya lost both?"

    Spidey shook his head slightly.

    "Ya lost both?"

    Spidey shook his head slightly.

    "Oh, no¡­ I lost my aunt."

    Duncan nodded, his fingers lightly drumming against the tabletop. The deli¡¯s fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting a gentle glow over their table.

    The food hadn¡¯t arrived yet.

    They waited.

    "I¡¯m sorry, Spidey."

    This time, Spidey didn¡¯t respond immediately. His fingers stopped their idle tapping, his shoulders rising and falling with a measured breath. Outside, a group of night owls walked past the window, their laughter momentarily cutting through the subdued atmosphere inside.

    "A robber got her when she was doing groceries¡­ and y¡¯know."

    His voice was quiet, almost matter-of-fact, but there was a tension behind it, an old wound buried beneath layers of time and responsibility.

    Duncan tilted his head slightly, his blue eyes flickering with understanding.

    "How did yer Uncle¡ª"

    Spidey leaned back, one hand resting on the edge of the table. His masked gaze drifted toward the far end of the deli, where an old bald gentleman sat alone at a corner booth, reading a freshly printed copy of The New York Bulletin. The pages crinkled faintly as he turned them, his fingers stained slightly with ink. The old man looked at Spider-Man and he nodded and smiled, Spidey waved back. The whole restaurant had their eyes fixed on him.

    The bold headline on the front page caught Duncan¡¯s attention.

    <i>¡°SPIDER-MAN: A HERO NEW YORK HATES TO LOVE BUT DESPERATELY NEEDS¡±</i>

    Underneath the title, the name of the head editor stood out in clean, professional type:

    <i>Benjamin Parker.</i>

    Spidey smirked, Alamo thought it was because of the headline, little did he know it was because of the editor.

    "He was depressed for a while, it was his way of mourning, I guess¡­ But then he focused on his work, I suppose."

    Duncan exhaled slightly, watching as Spidey¡¯s gaze lingered on the newspaper for just a second longer before turning back to him.

    <i>"</i>And what is his work?"

    A beat passed. Then, with the same subtle smirk, Spidey answered.

    "Well, let¡¯s say he¡¯s in a good business."

    Duncan glanced back toward the old man, noting the way his eyes moved with sharp precision as he scanned the page, the occasional sip of coffee from a white ceramic cup the only break in his concentration.

    "Well, I¡¯ll take yer word fer it."

    The conversation shifted again, as naturally as the city outside never stopping, never pausing.

    "What about your powers¡ªyou can fly, shoot plasma¡­?"

    Duncan leaned back, stretching his shoulders slightly, the leather of the booth creaking under his weight. His fingers absentmindedly traced the rim of his empty glass, condensation from the ice leaving faint trails of water.

    "I can suck energy too. Or overload it."

    Spidey¡¯s head tilted slightly, intrigue sparking behind the masked lenses.

    "Suck energy? So, if a being is made out of energy, you could just¡­ suck their energy? And they¡¯d die? From your touch?"

    Duncan considered it for a moment, his jaw tightening slightly. Outside, a city bus rolled by, its headlights flashing briefly through the large front windows of the deli.

    "Yes, if I choose so."

    There was no hesitation in his answer. Just a simple, stark fact.

    Spidey exhaled through his nose, shifting slightly in his seat.

    <i>"</i>Like<i> Rogue."</i>

    Duncan furrowed his brow slightly, more lost in thought then he was bothered by the comparison.

    "What? No. I¡¯m not sure I¡¯m like her¡­ I reckon she doesn¡¯t have much of a choice. If she touches ya¡­ ya go cold. Regardless of what she thinks."

    Spidey nodded, the faintest trace of understanding beneath his usual lightheartedness.

    <i>"</i>That kick you took from Rhino? That should¡¯ve cracked a rib or two. Healing factor?"

    Duncan smirked slightly, stretching his fingers out in front of him.

    "Close to invulnerability, ¡®cause of plasma cellular shieldin¡¯."

    Spidey let out an impressed whistle, leaning back.

    "That¡¯s fire, dude. Nice one."

    Duncan tipped his battered hat.

    "Thank ya kindly."

    At that moment, the sound of a heavy tray sliding across the counter cut through their conversation. The waiter, an older man with salt-and-pepper stubble, set down their plates with a practiced ease. The aroma hit instantly¡ªthe smoky, peppery scent of freshly sliced pastrami stacked thick between warm rye bread, golden and slightly crisp on the edges.  Two cold glass bottles<i> </i>of<i> Coca-Cola</i> clinked slightly as they were placed beside the plates, condensation beading on the surface.

    For a moment, they just looked at the food.

    Duncan reached forward, picking up the sandwich with both hands, its weight substantial. He took a deliberate bite, the flavors exploding in his mouth¡ªthe saltiness of the meat, the spice of the crust, the tang of the mustard.

    He chewed, swallowed, then let out a satisfied exhale.

    "Not bad¡­ Coulda been Dr. Pepper, but I¡¯ll live."

    Spidey chuckled, reaching for his own sandwich.

    The night continued, the city thrived, and for a moment¡ªjust a moment¡ªtwo heroes sat in an old deli, sharing a meal, sharing words, and simply existing in the heartbeat of New York.

    The air inside Katz¡¯s had settled into a comfortable hum¡ªconversations blending together, the rhythmic slicing of meat from behind the counter, and the occasional clink of glasses meeting the tables. Outside, the neon lights reflected off damp pavement, turning the street into a shifting mirage of reds, blues, and yellows.

    Duncan leaned back against the booth, his fingers wrapped around the base of his sweating Coca-Cola bottle, condensation beading under his grip. Across from him, Spider-Man took another careful bite of his pastrami sandwich, rolling it slightly under his mask to avoid showing too much of his face. It was an odd sight¡ªNew York¡¯s masked vigilante, crouched in a booth at one of the most famous delis in the city, eating like some kid sneaking a snack in class.

    Duncan smirked slightly at the sight before Spidey spoke.

    "Best place in town. And talking about towns¡ªwhat will you do when you go back to yours? Unless you¡¯re staying here."

    Duncan exhaled through his nose, thinking for a moment. The sandwich was good¡ªgreat even¡ªbut it wasn¡¯t home.

    "Erm... No, I¡¯m due to Dallas when we wrap it up here."

    Spidey made an exaggerated motion of wiping imaginary sweat from his forehead. "Phew, okay, okay. You do have somewhere to be. Thought maybe we had another ¡®mysterious lone drifter hero¡¯ on our hands."

    Duncan smirked. "I¡¯ll take that as a compliment."

    Spidey took another bite, swallowing before speaking. "And then? I heard Texas has its own heroes. <i>The Rangers</i>. That a possibility for you?"

    Duncan shook his head. "Nope. Not a fan of teams that much. And, like you said, I¡¯m a mutant."

    Spidey cocked his head slightly. "So¡­<i> X¡ª</i>"

    "Nope." Duncan cut him off quickly, taking another sip of his <i>Coke</i>. "Different mission. I ain¡¯t wearin¡¯ an X<i>.</i>"

    Spidey shrugged. "Maybe you should keep your mind open."

    Duncan let out a quiet chuckle, resting his arm against the table. "I¡¯ll think ¡®bout it. But most likely no<i>.</i>"

    Spidey¡¯s masked eyes narrowed slightly. "Why? Why be against them?"

    Duncan exhaled, shifting slightly in his seat. "¡®Cause I¡¯m a man of freedom. The X-Men are ¡®bout collectives, ¡®bout mutants and mutant this, mutant that. I do care ¡®bout mutants¡ªbut I also care ¡®bout humans. Freedom¡¯s a universal concept. It shouldn¡¯t be limited to just one group."

    Spidey leaned back, chewing thoughtfully. "So you¡¯re like what? Captain Texas<i>?</i>"

    Duncan smirked, shaking his head. "I can¡¯t be like Cap. He¡¯s¡­ well, he¡¯s Captain America<i>. </i>That is a bar no one is qualified to reach"

    Spidey took a sip of his Coke, nodding slightly. "And what does <i>freedom </i>mean to you?"

    Duncan¡¯s fingers traced the condensation on his bottle. "The right to not be bothered by others. And the state. Especially the state<i>.</i>"

    Spidey whistled lightly. "That¡¯s some<i> libertarian s</i>tuff I¡¯m hearing."

    "Yup, pretty much."

    "I don¡¯t think I agree."

    Duncan raised a brow. "Why not?"

    Spidey tapped the side of his drink with his index finger. "Maybe there¡¯s more than just being left alone."

    Duncan exhaled. "I reckon there is. But¡­ that¡¯s why I¡¯m fightin¡¯ fer people¡¯s right to choose to be left alone if they wish."

    Spidey¡¯s lenses narrowed slightly. "That seems a bit vague."

    Duncan chuckled. "On the contrary, it¡¯s pretty explicit¡­ ya have rights. Liberty, life, property. That¡¯s what I¡¯m here to defend<i>.</i>"

    Spidey tilted his head slightly. "Aren¡¯t we all<i>?</i>"

    "Well, in a way."

    Spidey took another bite, chewing thoughtfully before speaking again. "You don¡¯t have to make it necessarily political."

    Duncan shook his head. "It ain¡¯t ¡®bout politics, it¡¯s ¡®bout, y¡¯know... doin¡¯ right from wrong<i>.</i>"

    Spidey exhaled, leaning forward slightly. "And what is that right now<i>?</i>"

    Duncan¡¯s fingers tightened slightly around his Coke. "I¡¯m goin¡¯ after Graydon Creed. The Carraro Company. Bolivar Trask... and of course, Friends of Humanity<i>.</i>"

    Spidey¡¯s posture straightened slightly. "<i>Bolivar Trask? </i>The CEO<i>?</i>"

    "Yup..."

    "So you¡¯re like working with the X-Men but not for them?"

    Duncan shook his head. "I haven¡¯t personally talked with any of ¡®em yet. I¡¯d rather do this alone."

    Spidey sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Dude, maybe help them<i>.</i>"

    Duncan shrugged. "I handled ¡®em some info. I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll be fine on their own<i>.</i>"

    "Maybe. But maybe it¡¯s faster if you help them."

    Before Duncan could answer, a sudden vibration on the table caught their attention. Spidey¡¯s phone, placed face-down, buzzed against the smooth laminate surface. He flipped it over, the screen flashing MJ.

    Spidey let it ring for a moment before sighing and turning it down, quickly typing a text back.

    "Well," Spidey exhaled, grabbing his to-go sandwich. "My girl is calling me. I gotta go home now. Pleasure to meet you Alamo"

    Duncan smirked. "Pleasure was mine, Spidey. And ya can call me Duncan."

    Spidey hesitated for a moment before reaching into his pocket and handing over his phone. "<i>H</i>ere¡ªput your number in. In case I ever need a pal to share <i>Katz</i> again<i>.</i>"

    Duncan took the phone, quickly typing his number in before sliding it back. "If ya ever find yerself in a pickle, call me."

    Spidey nodded, slipping the phone back into his suit. He adjusted his mask slightly, preparing to leave, before turning back one last time.

    "Hey, remember¡ªyou¡¯re not alone. Sometimes you gotta let people help you. And sometimes¡­ you gotta help them too. Don¡¯t be a stranger now."

    Duncan gave him a small nod, lifting his Coke slightly in acknowledgment.

    "See ya, Spidey<i>.</i>"

    With that, Spider-Man gave a casual two-fingered salute before stepping outside, his silhouette briefly outlined by the neon glow of Katz¡¯s sign. A moment later, he shot a web-line into the night and disappeared into the skyline, leaving Duncan alone with the half-empty deli, the hum of conversations, and the fading scent of pastrami in the air.

    Duncan leaned back, exhaling slowly, before taking another sip of his Coke.

    <i>New York sure was something else.</i>

 Epilogue: Puppets and Puppeteers

    The dimly lit office reeked of desperation. Graydon Creed leaned over the metal table, veins bulging in his neck as he stared at the holographic screen before him. The scowl on his face deepened with every syllable spat at him by the man on the screen¡ªBolivar Trask. Behind Creed, Carl Denti, the once-feared X-Cutioner, sat slumped in a wheelchair, his face marred with scars and his body weighed down by the damage inflicted by the Alamo. A cold, metallic brace hugged his neck, and his hands trembled as he clenched the armrests of his chair.

    The screen flickered, the stern visage of Bolivar Trask coming into sharper focus. His neatly trimmed mustache twitched with restrained anger, and his sharp suit seemed incongruous in the crude surroundings of the compound.

    "Creed," Trask began, his voice heavy with disdain. "Denti."

    Creed puffed his chest, attempting to mask his unease. "Trask."

    Trask¡¯s lips curled downward. "I see you are reeling from your failures."

    Creed shot a glance at Denti, who looked away, shame and rage competing in his eyes. "We didn¡¯t fail," Creed snapped.

    "You did," Trask retorted, his tone icy and unyielding. "In your pathetic crusade against a single mutant, you have jeopardized the whole cause! Humanity is weaker because of your mistakes."

    Creed slammed his fist on the table. "You are not my superior, Trask! Denti did as he was ordered to. He tried to protect our interests against a mutant saboteur!"

    "You call this protection?" Trask leaned forward, his expression darkening. "Your actions were reckless, undisciplined, and shortsighted. You¡¯ve made our mission harder by painting us as murderers and thugs. Do you understand the damage you¡¯ve done?"

    Creed growled, his teeth bared like a cornered animal. "He is dangerous, Trask! That mutant is a walking weapon."

    "I know, X-Cutioner," Trask said, his voice dripping with derision. "But here you are, alive and without a plan, because your stupid mistakes made everything worse. What went through your heads? Attacking a damn social worker and a retired warden in their home?"This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    "They were parents of a dangerous mutant!" Creed shouted, his face flushing with anger. "They raised him. They harbored him."

    Trask¡¯s laugh was humorless, a sharp bark that cut through the tension in the room. "And they were human. Do you know what that means? It means they were not our enemy. You morons have taken a sledgehammer to the already fragile image of our cause."

    Denti, his voice hoarse from disuse, finally spoke. "Trask, they supported a threat. We acted as we had to."

    Trask glared at him. "You provoked him, and you deserved that beating. Do you understand what the purpose of Friends of Humanity is?"

    "To destroy the mutant plague," Creed said, his tone defiant.

    Trask exploded. "It¡¯s to <i>protect humanity</i>, you idiot! Killing people indiscriminately is bad for business! The Sentinels were designed to neutralize mutant threats¡ª<i>when</i> they become a threat¡ªnot to act as executioners for your personal vendettas."

    Creed sneered. "All mutants are threats."

    "All mutants have the potential to be threats," Trask corrected, his voice measured but sharp. "There¡¯s a difference. If we summarily kill every mutant we encounter, what separates us from them? And more importantly, what separates us from the radicals who want to paint us as genocidal maniacs?"

    "We acted as protectors," Denti rasped. "That boy, he attacked us viciously."

    "You provoked him!" Trask¡¯s voice rose. "You stormed into his family¡¯s home and dragged his parents into this. What did you expect him to do? Write you a strongly worded letter?"

    Creed¡¯s face darkened further. "These violent and powerful Mutants must be exterminated."

    Trask leaned back, shaking his head in frustration. "Not because they¡¯re disgustingly unnatural that we should immediately kill them. Be sensible, Creed. Play the long game, or I will find someone who can."

    Creed¡¯s fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. "You wouldn¡¯t dare."

    Trask¡¯s smile was as cold as the fluorescent light in the room. "Oh, I would. And if you don¡¯t lose the heat you¡¯ve drawn, I will."

    "Trask," Creed said, his voice almost pleading now. "Are you abandoning us?"

    "I¡¯m giving you a chance to fix your mistakes. Lose the heat and sort out this X-Men mess. If you fail, there are other human groups¡ªmore competent ones¡ªwho would gladly take your place."

    The screen flickered, Trask¡¯s face frozen for a moment before it disappeared entirely. Creed¡¯s chest heaved with suppressed rage as he stared at the empty monitor. Behind him, Denti let out a low growl, his fingers tightening on his wheelchair¡¯s armrests.

    "What now?" Denti asked, his voice venomous.

    Creed turned to face him, his expression twisted into something between fury and resolve. "We do what Trask said. We clean up the mess. And we do it our way."

    The room fell into silence, save for the faint hum of the monitors. Outside, the wind howled over the Windy City, a fitting backdrop to the brewing storm within the office. The FoH had been humiliated, but their resolve had not been broken. The X-Men would come, but Creed and Denti intended to make sure they paid dearly for it.

 Chapter 1: The Mississippi Girl

    <i>Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters, Westchester County, New York</i>

    The old X-Mansion sat in quiet contrast to the bustling city life of New York, nestled in the vast greenery of Westchester County, a place of history and struggle, of battles fought and futures decided. The grand halls, the towering bookshelves in the study, the underground levels filled with technology beyond human comprehension¡ªit all stood as a testament to what the X-Men had built and what they continued to fight for.

    But at this very moment, inside one of the many common rooms, the battle being fought was one of frustration and sheer stubbornness.

    Jubilee sat cross-legged on the couch, intensely focused, her hands gripping an<i> Xbox </i>controller like a lifeline. The screen in front of her displayed a fog-drenched battlefield, the towering figure of <i>Radagon</i> looming ominously over her digital warrior. The golden-red hue of his attacks flashed across the room as she dodged, rolled, and just barely survived another devastating hit.

    ¡°Jeez, they don¡¯t play around¡­ I¡¯ve been stuck here for half an hour, and it¡¯s probably gonna be a full hour!¡± Jubilee whined, thumbs furiously mashing the buttons as she attempted to stagger her towering foe.

    On the opposite end of the room, Logan¡ªWolverine¡ªsat reclined in a large, well-worn leather chair by the window. His boots were propped up on the ottoman, a glass of <i>Buffalo Trace</i> whiskey in one hand and a half-smoked cigar clenched between his teeth. The night beyond the window stretched endlessly, dark and cold, the faint lights of distant towns flickering like stars.

    Without even glancing away from his drink, he grumbled, "Kid, can ya tone it down for a while? I¡¯m tryin¡¯ to have... a moment.¡±

    Jubilee scoffed. ¡°Uncle Wolvie, I can barely understand you with that stupid cigarette in your mouth.¡±

    Logan exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, the scent of tobacco and oak-aged whiskey lingering in the air. ¡°And I can barely hear ya yappin¡¯ over these stupid magical knights on the screen. Never understood the appeal of these things ya kids play.¡±

    Jubilee rolled her eyes, ducking under another god-sized hammer swing on-screen. ¡°Yeah, and I never understood the appeal of suckin¡¯ on a dry leaf.¡±

    Wolverine chuckled lowly, shaking his head. "This is art, kid. This is an <i>H. Upmann</i>. Y''know, I got this back before the Embargo. Kennedy used to smoke these like¡ª¡±

    ¡°Save the history lesson for Kitty, Wolvie. I¡¯m really busy.¡±

    ¡°Whatever ya say, kid. Ya don¡¯t appreciate life anyway, ya¡¯re always buried in these stupid games.¡±

    Jubilee smirked, barely dodging another attack. "I¡¯ll put<i> Jeopardy</i> on for you, Gramps, if you stop botherin¡¯ me."

    Logan let out a low growl but didn¡¯t argue further. Instead, he swirled the whiskey in his glass, watching the amber liquid catch the dim light of the room.

    Upstairs, in the quieter corridors of the mansion, Rogue stood alone in her room, staring at her reflection in the full-length mirror by the dresser. She wore a pair of <i>Wrangler</i> jeans and a snug-fitting green long-sleeved shirt, the sleeves slightly pushed up to her forearms. Her iconic white streak framed her face, falling over her shoulders like a ghostly reminder of everything she had been through.

    But what stared back at her wasn¡¯t just her. It was them¡ªthe pieces of people she had absorbed, the fragments of their voices still lingering in her mind.

    Every so often, it came back.

    The surge of memories that weren¡¯t hers¡ªMar-Vell¡¯s wisdom, her father¡¯s voice, her mother¡¯s disappointment, the pain of the ones she had drained,then there was those uniquely hers the haunting echoes of her time with Mystique and Destiny.

    Her jaw tightened. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides.

    Then¡ª

    CRACK.

    The sound of wood splintering beneath her fingertips brought her back. Her hands had dug into the edges of her dresser, leaving fresh dents beside the others she had already made.

    She exhaled sharply, shaking her head.

    "God dang it, not again."

    She lifted her fingers, looking at the new marks she had left on the worn wooden surface.

    "Ah have to stop thinkin¡¯ ''bout ''em¡­ It¡¯s drivin¡¯ me insane."

    She inhaled deeply, trying to refocus.

    "Focus... focus."

    Then, a voice¡ªgentle, yet strong.

    "<i>Rogue.</i>"

    She turned, startled for a moment.

    Leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, was Ororo Munroe¡ªStorm. The tall, regal woman stood with effortless grace, dressed in a sleek, black and silver bodysuit, the large white X on her chest marking her authority as one of the X-Men¡¯s core leaders. Her piercing blue eyes held understanding, yet a quiet sternness.

    "¡®Ro?" Rogue blinked, surprised. "Ah didn¡¯t know Ah left the door open."

    Storm offered a knowing smile. "Don¡¯t worry. I didn¡¯t aim to interrupt you at all."

    Rogue sighed, shaking her head. "Oh, don¡¯t make a fuss on it, ¡®Ro. Ah¡¯m thinkin¡¯ is all, y¡¯know how it goes, right?"

    Storm¡¯s gaze shifted, her eyes landing on the damaged drawer behind Rogue.

    "You¡¯re having problems with your memory again, young lady?"

    Rogue hesitated. "Ah wouldn¡¯t call it problems... more like... echoes of unwanted pasts."

    Storm tilted her head slightly. "Quite poetic."

    Rogue smirked faintly. "Well, Ah wasn¡¯t thinkin¡¯ ¡®bout poetry, but yeah, Ah reckon it might be."

    Storm stepped forward. "Have you worked on your compartmentalization?"

    Rogue crossed her arms, leaning against the dresser. "Yeah, it¡¯s comin¡¯ along just fine."

    Storm¡¯s gaze didn¡¯t waver. "Are you sure?"

    Rogue forced a smile. "Oh absolutely, don¡¯t worry ¡®bout it. Ah¡¯m peachy."

    Before Storm could respond, there was a knock at the door.

    Jubilee, still in her oversized hoodie, poked her head in, chewing gum like she was waiting for something entertaining to happen.

    "Stormy, Roguey¡ªOne-Eye wants us in the war room in fifteen minutes. Get your uniform and badge, he says¡­"

    Rogue raised a brow. "The costume?"

    Storm sighed. "Rogue."

    "What? Ah don¡¯t recall we goin¡¯ through the academy to get badges."

    Jubilee snorted. "<i>Technically</i>, we kinda did, Roguey. Mine is just shinier than yours, and you¡¯re mad about it."

    Rogue rolled her eyes. "Jubes, that ain¡¯t a badge. That¡¯s a... symbol. Anyone smarter than a box of rocks knows ya can¡¯t be a cop."

    "Well, I¡¯m not a cop."

    "So don¡¯t call it a badge, call it an insignia or somethin¡¯."

    "Whatever, girl, just get in your <i>costume</i> or whatever."

    Storm sighed. "Can you two ever behave?"

    Jubilee smirked. "Stormy, half of my life is annoyin¡¯ her, bein¡¯ badass and fun, bein¡¯ a great gamer, dancer, host, guest¡ªI mean, I¡¯m very good at multitaskin¡¯."

    Rogue groaned. "Jubes, shut up."

    Jubilee grinned. "Alrighty, Cranky Belle. Let¡¯s go before Fearless Leader comes for me, Stormy."

    Storm gave a knowing smirk. "I¡¯m right behind you, Jubilation."

    Jubilee threw her hands up. "Amazin''."

    And with that, the night at Xavier¡¯s continued.

    As the voices faded down the hall, Rogue found herself alone once more in the quiet of her room. The air inside was still, save for the faint hum of the mansion¡¯s heating system, the occasional creak of the wooden floors, and the muffled sounds of chatter from downstairs.

    She let out a slow breath, turning toward the full-length mirror again¡ªnot to dwell on her reflection this time, but to focus. One day at a time, she told herself. That was how she dealt with it.

    Reaching down, she peeled off her Wrangler jeans and slipped out of her green long-sleeve shirt, leaving them draped over the bed. The dim lamp cast a warm glow over the room, illuminating the subtle imperfections in the furniture¡ªthe small dents in the dresser, the scratches along the floorboards, all remnants of past frustrations.

    She turned to her closet and pushed aside a few casual jackets before pulling out her uniform¡ªthe dark green bodysuit with white stripes running down<i> the </i>sides and arms. The material was sturdy but flexible, designed for both protection and movement. Embroidered on the chest was the unmistakable white X insignia, a symbol of what she represented, even when she didn¡¯t always agree with it.

    She slid into the bodysuit, zipping it up smoothly before reaching for the next piece¡ªthe brown leather jacket. A classic, broken in from years of wear, with a red-on-black X-patch sewn onto the shoulder. It was more than just a part of the uniform; it was hers, something she¡¯d chosen to make her own.

    Then came the gloves¡ªlong, fitted, matching the suit. She stretched her fingers inside them, ensuring there were no gaps. Even after all these years, she still hated wearing them, but there was no room for mistakes.

    She took one last look in the mirror, adjusting the jacket over her shoulders.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

    <i>"One day at a time."</i>

    With that, she grabbed her belt, secured her communicator, and stepped out into the hall, her boots clicking against the polished hardwood floor as she made her way downstairs.

    As she descended, the sounds of conversation grew louder. The chatter from before had evolved into an exchange¡ªone that had Remy LeBeau¡¯s name written all over it.

    "Say, Wolverine, what is dat ya have dere?" Gambit¡¯s smooth, unmistakable Cajun drawl drifted through the room, laced with playful mischief.

    Logan, still in his recliner, grunted as he flicked his cigar between his fingers. "That, Gumbo, is none of your business."

    Gambit smirked, stepping forward in his usual long brown trench coat, his red-on-black eyes flicking toward the cigar with interest. "Is dat a<i> Cohiba</i>?"

    Logan scowled. "It¡¯s an<i> H. Upmann. </i>If ya¡¯re gonna jaw off, jaw it right¡­"

    "Cigarettes is where it¡¯s at, these big sturdy¡ª"

    "Ahem."

    The two men turned toward the interruption as Rogue stepped into view, crossing her arms.

    Logan¡¯s grin widened. "<i>G</i>reat, how much of that ya got, Stripes?"

    She rolled her eyes, brushing past them. "Ah don¡¯t know what an <i>Upmann </i>or <i>Cohiba </i>is, and Ah don¡¯t wanna know."

    "Cher, maybe ya shouldn¡¯t join us for de cigars, non<i>?</i>" Gambit teased, twirling a single playing card between his fingers like a magician preparing a trick.

    Rogue shot him a flat look. "Remy, Ah ain¡¯t gonna smoke with ya. Get a life.<i>"</i>

    "Why not, huh? We could be smoke partners."

    She let out a sharp laugh. "Outta all things ya could invite me to, that¡¯s yer idea of partnership, Remy?" She sighed, shaking her head before shifting the conversation. "By the way, Cyclops wants us in the War Room. Any idea what for?"

    Gambit shrugged, leaning against the counter with a lazy ease. "Hmmm, maybe it¡¯s ¡®bout dat info de Texan give us<i>.</i>"

    Rogue raised a brow. "The Alamo?"

    "Whatever," Gambit said, waving a dismissive hand. "Gambit don¡¯t care ¡®bout no cowboy."

    Rogue rolled her eyes but couldn''t help the faint smirk tugging at her lips.

    "Eugh." She shook her head.

    Logan, watching the interaction with a knowing look, leaned back in his chair. "Ya good, Stripes<i>?</i>"

    She exhaled, crossing her arms. "Sure, Logan. Ah¡¯m fine<i>.</i>"

    He studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a small nod, he grunted, "Suit yourself, darlin¡¯."

    She gave him a nod in return. "Thanks, sugah. Ah¡¯m fine."

    Then¡ª

    "Rogue! Gambit! Wolverine!"

    Jubilee¡¯s voice rang out from the hallway, loud and impatient.

    "We¡¯re goin¡¯, Sparkles," Logan muttered, pressing his cigar against his palm before dropping it into the ashtray. He knocked back the rest of his whiskey in one go, then rose from his chair with a slow, deliberate movement.

    He stretched his arms, cracking his knuckles. "Better not be another useless briefing, or I¡¯m gonna pop a claw at Summers for wastin¡¯ my time<i>.</i>"

    "Try not to stab our fearless leader, mon ami," Gambit quipped, slipping his hands into his coat pockets. "He still got work to do<i>.</i>"

    The three of them made their way toward the underground levels of the mansion, where the War Room was located. The long corridors were lined with artwork, bookshelves, and the occasional framed photograph of X-Men past and present. The lighting was dimmer here, softer, unlike the clinical brightness of the lower levels where the tech-heavy rooms awaited.

    As they approached the reinforced metal doors of the War Room, Rogue glanced at Gambit, who was casually flipping a playing card between his fingers.

    "So, ya really ain''t curious ''bout the The Alamo?" she asked, amusement in her voice.

    Gambit smirked. "Non, cher. Gambit just don¡¯t like Texas much<i>.</i>"

    "Oh, Ah¡¯m sure that¡¯s it<i>,</i>" she drawled.

    Gambit simply winked.

    The doors slid open with a soft mechanical hiss, revealing the large strategic operations center of the X-Men. The room was bathed in a blue glow from the holographic displays, casting shifting light against the metal surfaces.

    And there, standing at the head of the table, arms crossed in his signature battle-ready stance, was Cyclops. His visor gleamed under the overhead lights, his expression as serious as ever.

    "You¡¯re late<i>,</i>" he said.

    Logan smirked. "Had to finish my drink, Slim<u><i>.</i></u><i>"</i>

    "We got here, didn¡¯t we<i>?</i>" Rogue added.

    Cyclops exhaled, shaking his head. "Take a seat. We¡¯ve got intel to go over<i>.</i>"

    The War Room was dimly lit, the soft blue glow of holographic displays casting shifting patterns over the steel walls. The large, circular table at the center was surrounded by some of the most experienced members of the X-Men¡ªeach of them battle-worn yet ever-prepared for the next challenge. The air was thick with the scent of old paper and the faint hum of electronic systems running in the background. The room smelled of mission planning, of strategy, of war.

    At the head of the table stood Cyclops, his posture as rigid as always, arms crossed over his chest as he examined the briefing materials. His visor glowed faintly, the red hue reflecting off the metallic surfaces of the room.

    Dr. Hank McCoy¡ªBeast¡ªstood by the holographic projector, one large, fur-covered hand flipping through the digital slides with calculated precision. His glasses, despite their durability, sat slightly askew on his nose, and his expression was a mix of curiosity and concern as he prepared to relay the gathered intelligence.

    To Cyclops¡¯s right sat Jean Grey, her red hair catching the faint blue light of the displays. She sat with perfect posture, arms lightly resting on the table, her gaze calm but piercing.

    To the left, Storm sat in quiet regality, her white hair cascading down her back, her fingers steepled as she listened intently.

    Beside her, Rogue leaned back slightly, arms crossed, eyes flicking between the projector and Scott. Her jacket was unzipped slightly, the high collar framing her face as she observed with quiet intensity.

    Next to her, Jubilee twirled a pen between her fingers, bouncing her knee up and down impatiently.

    Across from them, Gambit sat slouched in his chair, one arm resting lazily along the back of the seat, a playing card flipping effortlessly between his fingers.

    Beast adjusted his glasses, his almost lion like face looked outworldly with the round small glasses giving the air of a sage from a fantasy book.

    "I spoke with Warren," Cyclops began, his tone measured and serious. "He gave an overview of the documents we found in Arkansas after that tip we got from¡ª"

    Before he could finish, Jubilee practically shot forward in her seat, grinning.

    "THE ALAMO!"

    The sudden outburst made Scott close his eyes momentarily, his patience visibly thinning.

    "Could you not interrupt me, Jubilation?"

    Jubilee leaned back, throwing her hands up. "My bad, fearless leader."

    Cyclops exhaled, shaking his head slightly before continuing.

    "As I was saying, the destruction burned off some important evidence and scattered the personnel from Carraro. Some ran, others are in police custody, and we¡¯re being blocked from interrogating them. So I¡¯m unsure whether this Alamo has actually helped¡­ or complicated our objectives."

    Beast nodded, tapping the control panel to change the slide. The hologram shifted, revealing a digital dossier of a man in his late forties¡ªChristopher Henderson. A lean, spectacled accountant with a rigid posture and a forced corporate smile, his image floated beside a map marking several locations.

    "As of right now, Warren was able to provide us with information about an accountant named Christopher Henderson. He was working for <i>Carraro</i> from his firm in Detroit. If we find him, he can point us to major interest points. There are known <i>Carraro</i> sites in locations like Houston and Chicago, but if we don¡¯t build a strong case against Trask, he¡¯ll burn the bridges and simply vanish."

    Jean, her eyes narrowing slightly, leaned forward. "And if that happens¡­"

    "The Sentinel project will continue¡ªat the hands of other factions, if not the Friends of Humanity."

    The room grew heavy with that realization.

    Gambit, ever the one to cut the tension, flicked his playing card into the air and caught it effortlessly.

    "So, wat do we do now, boss?"

    Cyclops folded his arms.

    "Well, as of right now, Jean and I will coordinate from here with two teams," he said, his tone never wavering. "I want Ororo to lead an incursion to Henderson¡¯s office. We must find what he knows and who exactly we can go after to stop the FoH and finally arrest Trask."

    His gaze shifted.

    "Storm, Wolverine, and Beast¡ªyou¡¯re heading to Detroit."

    Storm gave a firm nod. "Understood, Scott."

    Wolverine simply grunted, arms crossed. "Bout damn time we hit somethin¡¯ useful."

    Cyclops nodded before shifting his focus.

    "The second team is going to check on a depot we extracted from Alamo¡¯s data. There¡¯s a similar warehouse in Orlando to what we found in Arkansas. If the intel is accurate, they could be housing Sentinels and Sentinel equipment."

    He turned to Rogue.

    "Rogue will lead the team with Jubilee and Gambit."

    That got a reaction.

    Gambit¡¯s brow raised. "Rogue? But Gambit is older and more experienced."

    Before Scott could answer, Rogue smirked.

    "Remy, old ain¡¯t always better, sugah."

    Scott¡¯s visor gleamed as he turned toward Gambit.

    "Gambit, your reckless behavior and attitude in prior leadership missions has stopped me from choosing you, regardless of experience. Rogue is better suited to lead this time."

    Gambit let out a scoff, shaking his head. "Couyon."

    Jubilee leaned back in her chair, grinning. "Don¡¯t be sad, Remy, Ah¡¯ll treat ya nice an¡¯ all."

    Gambit muttered something in Cajun French under his breath. "Dis some bullshit if I ever heard some."

    Jubilee giggled. "Hah, Roguey leadin¡¯? Now I gotta agree with Remy here."

    Scott¡¯s patience was visibly wearing thin.

    "Jubilation."

    She winced. "Sorry, Scott."

    Rogue, despite her usual tough front, felt a spark of something she hadn¡¯t felt in a while¡ªrecognition.

    "Well, Ah¡¯ll show y¡¯all what leadership is."

    Across the table, Storm smiled softly.

    "That¡¯s what we are aiming for, Rogue. You¡¯ve proved yourself time and time again. You are strong, and we believe this is a good opportunity for improvement."

    Rogue hesitated only briefly before nodding. "Much appreciated, ¡®Ro."

    Jean leaned forward slightly. "And we are testing new field leaders. People that can inspire new generations. Do your best, and we will take notice. But if you fail, we¡¯ll also take notice."

    Jubilee scoffed, crossing her arms.

    "Remind me to not apply to be a leader."

    Gambit smirked, tilting his head toward her. "Petite, ya barely got out of diapers."

    Jubilee bolted up in her seat.

    "I¡¯M EIGHTEEN, YOU ASSHOLE!"

    Scott rubbed his temples.

    "JUBILATION."

    Jubilee sank back into her chair. "Sorry, Scott."

    Cyclops straightened.

    "I¡¯ll pilot the Blackbird and drop you at the possible <i>LZ</i>s, then monitor your performance. But remember¡ªthis mission is important. Mutantkind relies on us to protect them. If we fail, all mutants lose. But I trust your capacity to handle this."

    He looked at each of them.

    "Now, let¡¯s move."

    And with that, the X-Men stood, ready for war.

    The Blackbird was the pinnacle of advanced aircraft engineering¡ªa sleek, modern jet with its signature black exterior, streamlined for both stealth and speed. Its windows, tinted with a faint red hue, cast a dim glow over the interior as the aircraft hummed with quiet but immense power. It was a jet designed for war, not leisure, but for the X-Men, it had become as familiar as home.

    Inside, the cabin was illuminated by the soft glow of control panels, casting flickering lights against the metallic walls. The low hum of the engines thrummed beneath them, creating a steady rhythm of anticipation.

    Rogue sat toward the back, her arms crossed, her gloved fingers tapping lightly against her biceps. Jubilee was settled next to her, legs tucked under herself as she leaned back in her seat, chewing a piece of gum and absentmindedly kicking her foot against the base of the chair.

    Across from them, Gambit sat with his trench coat draped over the back of his seat, lazily flipping a single playing card between his fingers, letting it roll fluidly over his knuckles before making it vanish, then reappear between his fingers.

    Jubilee tilted her head toward Rogue, watching her for a moment before asking,

    "Are you nervous, Roguey?"

    Rogue blinked, as if pulled from her thoughts.

    "Nervous¡­?" Her green eyes flickered toward the cockpit, where Scott and Jean sat monitoring the flight systems. She exhaled, her gaze briefly unfocused. "Maybe a bit."

    Jubilee grinned, nudging her playfully.

    "We¡¯re goin¡¯ to the beaches, Roguey¡ªmaybe we can even get some Margaritas, like in that stupid Jimmy Buffett song."

    Rogue¡¯s brow lifted.

    "Margaritaville?"

    "Yeah! Wolvie listens to that shit sometimes."

    Rogue stared at her, unblinking.

    "No way Logan listens to <i>Margaritaville</i>."

    Jubilee threw her hands up.

    "I swear to God."

    Rogue shook her head in disbelief.

    "Jesus." Then she furrowed her brow. "Also, it¡¯s Orlando, Jubes¡ªthere ain¡¯t no beaches in Orlando. It¡¯s Central Florida, not Miami."

    Jubilee paused mid-chew, narrowing her eyes.

    "Wait, what?"

    Rogue smirked.

    "Yeah, Jubes, ya silly. It ain¡¯t Key Largo.... it''s like<i> Walt Disney World"</i>

    Jubilee let out a dramatic groan, throwing her head back.

    "Noooo! I don''t like Mickey Mouse! He''s so creepy."

    Gambit smirked, shaking his head as he continued flipping the card between his fingers.

    <i>"</i>Settle down, petite, Gambit can¡¯t hear his thoughts."

    Jubilee huffed, slumping in her seat.

    <i>"</i>Damn, I expected like a mini-vacation."

    Rogue chuckled.

    <i>"</i>No Jubes, no mini-vacations. Not even to <i>EPCOT"</i>

    Jubilee exhaled dramatically.

    <i>"</i>Damn it. Not even to the <i>Star Wars</i> rides<i>?"</i>

    "Afraid not, Jubes" Rogue patted her back.

    The steady hum of the jet filled the cabin, mingling with the occasional sound of buttons being pressed in the cockpit. The cabin lights flickered slightly as the aircraft adjusted altitude.

    Rogue leaned her head back against the seat, staring at the ceiling. It wasn¡¯t fear she felt¡ªit was something else. <i>Responsibility</i>, maybe. Scott putting her in charge wasn¡¯t something she had expected, and part of her still wasn¡¯t sure if it was a mistake or not.

    Jubilee, now occupying herself by blowing small pink bubbles with her gum, had curled into the seat slightly, her yellow tech wear jacket bunched around her.

    The silence was broken by the voice of Cyclops, firm and authoritative.

    "We are approaching Detroit. Storm, get your team ready."

    Storm¡¯s silver-white hair shimmered under the dim cabin lights as she stood smoothly, her black-and-silver uniform pristine, the X insignia displayed proudly on her chest.

    She turned toward Wolverine and Beast, her voice calm yet commanding.

    "Logan, Hank¡­ with me."

    Logan pushed himself up from his seat, cracking his neck with a roll of his shoulders.

    "Sure, darlin¡¯."

    Beast adjusted his glasses before rising as well.

    "We are with you, Ororo," he said, his deep voice as measured as ever.

    The three of them moved toward the hatch, preparing for their drop zone as the jet began its descent toward Detroit.

 Chapter 2: The Best There Is

    The Blackbird hovered over the Detroit skyline, its sleek black hull blending into the night, the only evidence of its presence being the soft distortion of air beneath it. Below, the city sprawled in a tapestry of industrial grays and the occasional glint of neon reflecting off the Detroit River. The rhythmic hum of machinery and distant sounds of traffic filled the air, but above all of it, the X-Men prepared for deployment.

    Inside the jet, Cyclops remained seated in the cockpit, his hands steady over the controls as he monitored their insertion point. <i>The Icon</i>, one of Detroit¡¯s modern landmarks, loomed in the distance, its illuminated structure casting faint glows over the water below. The mission was surgical¡ªget in, extract Henderson, and get out before Carraro or the Friends of Humanity could react.

    But Wolverine, of course, had other ideas.

    Already standing by the Blackbird¡¯s rear exit, Logan reached out and pressed the button to lower the ramp before Scott could even issue final orders.

    <i>"</i>Logan!<i>"</i> Scott¡¯s voice carried through the comms, edged with irritation.

    Wolverine didn¡¯t bother looking back. The metallic hiss of the ramp lowering filled the space as cold night air rushed in, rustling his yellow-and-black uniform. His claws flexed slightly, not out of aggression but instinct. He loved this part.

    <i>"</i>Don¡¯t worry, Slim," he muttered with a smirk. "¡®Ro will catch me on the fall, right, darlin¡¯?"

    "Logan¡ª"

    But before Storm could even finish her protest, he jumped.

    For a brief second, there was silence.

    Then a blur of black and yellow dropped like a missile toward the city below.

    Jubilee and Gambit, still seated, exchanged a glance. Jubilee, halfway through chewing a piece of gum, blinked in disbelief.

    "Y¡¯all know what they say," Gambit muttered, lazily shuffling a playing card between his fingers. "The best there is."

    Jubilee exhaled. "Uncle Wolvie¡¯s gonna kill himself one of these days."

    "He can¡¯t die, petite," Gambit replied with an easy grin.

    Rogue, still seated with her arms crossed, only smirked.

    Before another word could be spoken, Storm was already gone¡ªher regal figure slipping into the night like a ghost. The Blackbird¡¯s interior suddenly felt quieter without her presence.

    "Petulant little man," Storm muttered to herself as she glided effortlessly into the descent.

    Meanwhile, Beast, still standing calmly in the back of the jet, adjusted his parachute with a level of refined elegance that only Hank McCoy could manage. His uniform¡ªblack and blue with a massive golden X on his chest¡ªwas crisp, perfectly fitted, as if he were attending a formal event rather than plummeting into a potential combat zone.

    With a dignified nod, he turned toward Cyclops. "So uncivilized. I will return with good data, Mr. Summers."

    Cyclops gave a small nod, still monitoring the descent. "I trust you, Dr. McCoy."

    And with that, Beast stepped off the edge.

    Jubilee leaned over slightly, watching his form flip once midair before spreading out into a textbook-perfect skydiving position.

    "And there goes the Blue Lion," she muttered.

    Wolverine had always loved this feeling¡ªthe wind roaring past him, the sharp sting of air against his face, the thrill of free-falling without hesitation. It was freedom. Pure, unfiltered freedom. The world blurred past him as he dropped, his sharp eyes open wide, taking in every detail below. His muscles tensed, not in fear, but in anticipation.

    And then, Storm was there.

    She caught him effortlessly, her power guiding their descent like a natural extension of herself. Her platinum-white hair barely moved in the wind, her cloak billowing behind her as she maneuvered them through the air with surgical precision.

    "Logan, stop with these childish tricks," she chided, though there was no real malice in her voice¡ªjust that regal disappointment that only Storm could master.

    Wolverine smirked, arms crossed as she carried him. "Ain¡¯t no trick, darlin¡¯¡­ it¡¯s what we used to do in the 1st Airborne."

    Storm sighed, her eyes rolling just slightly. "Logan, save me the trouble of lecturing you and just please say ¡®Yes, ma¡¯am¡¯."

    He chuckled. "Alright¡­ Yes, ma¡¯am¡­ whatever ya say."

    As she reached their designated landing point, she lowered him with ease, his boots touching down on the rooftop of a nearby industrial building. He landed with a crouch, immediately surveying the area, his nose twitching as he caught the scents of oil, steel, and distant gunpowder.

    A few seconds later, Beast landed.

    Unlike Logan, his approach was calculated¡ªcontrolled. The parachute unfurled only seconds before impact, and rather than the landing being harsh or jarring, he tucked himself into a graceful roll, distributing the momentum perfectly before rising smoothly to his feet. Had it been anyone else, such a fall so close to the ground would¡¯ve broken every joint in their body.

    Not Hank McCoy.

    Storm landed shortly after, her feet touching the rooftop with the grace of a queen stepping onto marble.

    Wolverine tilted his head toward Beast, smirking slightly.

    "Couldn¡¯t ya just jump without this parachute, Hank?"

    Beast adjusted his sleeves, his expression perfectly composed. "Of course, but I prefer a landing that doesn¡¯t vandalize the public infrastructure or stress the body over unnecessary showmanship."

    Logan snorted, rolling his neck. "Yeah, whatever, just let¡¯s go see these people¡­"

    Storm ignored their banter, already turning toward the glowing lights in the distance. From their vantage point, they could see the Carraro-owned office building standing just a few blocks away, its windows reflecting the hazy glow of streetlamps and neon signs. It looked quiet, too quiet.

    That was always a bad sign.

    "The office is close by," Storm said, her voice carrying authority. "Logan, Hank¡­ be prepared. We could find resistance."

    Logan exhaled, popping his knuckles. His adamantium claws snikted out with a soft metallic whisper.

    "Good," he growled, a wolfish grin stretching across his face. "Hope we do."

    Beast adjusted his glasses. "Let¡¯s at least attempt to handle this civilly before we engage in one of your usual rampages, Logan."

    Logan smirked, tilting his head. "No promises, Blue."

    Storm took a step forward, her piercing blue eyes narrowing as she surveyed their objective. "Then let¡¯s move."

    The trio of X-Men¡ªStorm, Wolverine, and Beast¡ªstood outside the modest  office building, the afternoon Detroit air heavy with the faint smell of rubber and steel. The old industrial city, once the beating heart of American automotive innovation, felt like a ghost of its former self. The building in question was nondescript, a boxy brick structure with tinted windows and a faded sign that read "Henderson Accounting" in small, unimpressive lettering.

    Logan sniffed the air, his enhanced senses scanning for danger. "Detroit ain¡¯t the same it used to be," he muttered, lighting a cigar.

    Storm adjusted her cloak and glanced at the building¡¯s facade, her silver hair catching the weak sunlight. "Few companies still operate out of Detroit," she said, her voice calm yet commanding. "This location raises questions."

    Beast, ever the intellectual, stroked his blue-furred chin. His leonine face was thoughtful, his posture straight as a soldier''s. "A puzzling choice indeed," he remarked. "Detroit lacks the glamour of other cities and doesn¡¯t offer the kind of anonymity one might expect. There must be a logistical reason, perhaps proximity to certain supply chains or¡ª"

    "They don¡¯t wanna be bothered, furrball," Logan cut in gruffly, exhaling a plume of smoke. "They¡¯re hidin¡¯ out where no one thinks to look. It¡¯s obvious."

    "Whatever their reasoning, we must proceed with caution," Storm said. Her eyes glinted as she surveyed the area. "Our objective is clear: we need information on the Friends of Humanity¡¯s operations. Their accountant and lieutenants will have what we need."

    "Yeah, yeah, Stormy. Let¡¯s just get this over with," Logan growled, stubbing his cigar on his boot.

    The trio approached the glass doors, their footsteps echoing against the cracked pavement. Inside, the reception area was sterile and empty, save for a young woman sitting nervously behind a desk. She looked up, startled, as the imposing figures of the X-Men entered. Her eyes darted nervously between Logan¡¯s rugged scowl, Storm¡¯s regal demeanor, and Beast¡¯s towering, furred frame.

    "Greetings," Beast said with a polite bow, his voice a deep, rolling baritone. "My name is Dr. McCoy, and my associates and I wish to speak with Mr. Henderson and his associates."

    The receptionist blinked, clearly unnerved by his articulate manner. "I-I¡¯m sorry," she stammered, her fingers twitching toward the phone. "Mr. Henderson isn¡¯t available right now."Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

    Logan growled softly, his claws itching to spring out. "Listen, darlin¡¯. We ain¡¯t here for you. We¡¯re here for Henderson. So you can either let us in, or you can let us in. Your choice."

    The receptionist recoiled slightly, her chair squeaking as she instinctively leaned back. Her voice trembled. "Are you¡­ mutants?"

    Beast smiled, a warm yet intimidating expression given his appearance. "Yes, my dear, we are indeed mutants," he said, his tone soothing. "But rest assured, we mean you no harm."

    The woman¡¯s face paled. "You¡­ you should go. Please, I¡¯ll call the police if you don¡¯t leave."

    "Please don¡¯t do that," Storm said, stepping forward. Her voice carried a calm authority that filled the room like the first rumble of a distant storm. "We¡¯re not here to cause trouble. We need information, and then we will leave."

    "I-I don¡¯t know anything!" the receptionist insisted, her voice cracking.

    Logan had had enough. Without waiting for further discussion, he strode past the desk and pushed open the door to the inner office area. "Don¡¯t worry, we¡¯ll find him ourselves," he said over his shoulder.

    The woman let out a panicked squeak, reaching for the phone.

    "Please don¡¯t," Storm said gently, placing a hand on the desk. Her white eyes flickered ominously as if a storm were about to manifest indoors. "We do not wish to frighten you. There is no need to call anyone."

    The receptionist froze, her hand hovering over the receiver. "P-please don¡¯t hurt me."

    Beast offered her a small bow. "You have my word, dear lady. We are here to help, not to harm."

    Logan¡¯s gruff voice echoed from down the hall. "Found somethin¡¯. Office door says Henderson, but it¡¯s locked."

    Storm and Beast exchanged glances before following him. They found Logan standing in front of a door marked "Accountant," his fists balled and his claws just beginning to emerge.

    "Allow me," Beast said, pulling a small set of lockpicking tools from his belt.

    "No" Logan smirked, kicking the door down before Hank could proceed with the lockpicking.

    "So brutish" Dr. McCoy shook his head.

    Inside, the office was modest and unassuming, with a desk covered in papers and ledgers. A faint smell of stale coffee hung in the air. Beast immediately moved to the desk, his keen eyes scanning the documents.

    "What do we have?" Storm asked, standing near the door to keep watch.

    Beast¡¯s fingers moved deftly through the papers. "Ledgers, invoices, and¡­ ah, here we are. Payment records for Trask International. It seems Mr. Henderson has been quite diligent in his accounting."

    Logan snorted. "Diligent, huh? Let¡¯s see if he¡¯s diligent about keepin¡¯ his teeth when we find him."

    Storm frowned. "Logan, we¡¯re not here to harm anyone unnecessarily. Our goal is information, not retribution."

    "Yeah, yeah, I get it," Logan muttered, crossing his arms. "But I wouldn¡¯t mind makin¡¯ an example outta one of these creeps."

    As Beast continued sorting through the documents, a faint sound echoed from further inside the building¡ªa soft scuffle of footsteps. The trio froze, their senses on high alert.

    "Someone¡¯s here," Logan growled, sniffing the air. "Two, maybe three of ¡®em."

    "Then we proceed carefully," Storm said, her voice firm. "Logan, you take point."

    "Gladly," he said, unsheathing his claws with a menacing snikt.

    The X-Men moved silently through the corridors, their footsteps muffled by the worn carpet. The tension in the air was palpable as they approached the source of the noise. A door at the end of the hallway was slightly ajar, light spilling out into the dim corridor.

    Logan pushed the door open with one clawed hand, revealing three men huddled over a table covered in maps and schematics. They looked up in alarm, their eyes wide as they took in the sight of the mutants.

    "Evenin¡¯, boys," Logan said, his grin more feral than friendly. "We¡¯ve got some questions for ya."

    "You¡¯re not supposed to be here," one of the men stammered, his eyes darting between Logan¡¯s claws and the imposing figures of Storm and Beast.

    "Too bad I am," Logan growled, stepping further into the room, his claws gleaming in the fluorescent light. He cracked his neck, his feral grin widening. "Now, we can do this the easy way or¡ª"

    <b>Snikt.</b>

    "¡ªthe fun way."

    The accountant, a middle-aged man in a sweat-stained shirt, immediately threw his hands up. "Look, man, no need to¡ª"

    "Talk, bub," Logan interrupted, his voice low and menacing. He stepped closer, the claws on his right hand just inches from the accountant''s trembling chest. "We got questions, and you¡¯re gonna answer ¡®em. Start talkin¡¯, now."

    The accountant opened his mouth to respond, but before he could utter a word, the door to the office burst open. Several men in tactical gear, each bearing the distinct insignia of the Friends of Humanity, stormed in, weapons raised.

    "X-Men!" one of them barked, his voice laced with venom. "Take them out!"

    Storm¡¯s eyes began to glow white as she raised her hands, summoning wind to disarm their attackers. "You dare bring violence into this place?" she thundered. "Then you shall face the wrath of the storm!"

    The room erupted into chaos as the lieutenants of the FoH charged in. Logan didn¡¯t wait for anyone to make the first move. With a feral roar, he launched himself at the nearest man, claws slashing through his weapon like it was paper. The lieutenant screamed as Logan tossed him across the room, sending him crashing into a stack of filing cabinets.

    "Showtime," Logan muttered, diving into the fray.

    Storm unleashed a gust of wind that sent two more attackers flying against the walls. The force knocked their weapons from their hands, rendering them helpless. She turned to Beast, who had already leapt into action, his massive frame moving with surprising agility.

    "Hank, secure the accountant!" she commanded.

    "On it!" Beast replied, bounding across the room. He reached for the cowering accountant, who was trying to slip out through a side door. With a single leap, Beast landed in front of him, blocking his escape.

    "Going somewhere?" Beast asked, his voice calm but firm. He grabbed the man by the collar and hoisted him off the ground. "We have a few questions, and you¡¯ll find it most beneficial to cooperate."

    One of the lieutenants, a burly man with a shaved head, managed to recover his footing and charged at Storm with a combat knife. She turned just in time, her white eyes narrowing. With a flick of her wrist, she summoned a lightning bolt that struck the blade, sending a powerful jolt through the man¡¯s body. He collapsed to the ground, convulsing, but alive... barely.

    "Do not test me," she said coldly.

    "Ororo!" Dr.McCoy exclaimed, his tone carrying a warning.

    "The charge won''t be enough to execute him, Doctor" Storm added.

    "What if he has a pacemaker?" The blue doctor asked.

    "Then he picked one hell of a  career" Logan snarled.

    Another lieutenant aimed a rifle at Beast, who was still holding the accountant. Before he could fire, Logan appeared behind him, claws slashing through the rifle barrel. The weapon fell to the ground in pieces.

    "Don¡¯t even think about it, bub," Logan snarled, he grabbed the man''s head and slammed against the wall, teeth falling down as he did it.

    "Logan!"

    "Don''t worry, Doc... Somewhere there is a very happy dentist." Logan smirked.

    Beast set the accountant down but kept a firm grip on his shoulder. "Now then," he said, his tone almost conversational, "let¡¯s have that chat, shall we?"

    "Wait, wait!" the accountant pleaded, his voice high-pitched with fear. "I¡¯ll talk, I¡¯ll talk! Just don¡¯t let him claw me!"

    Logan smirked. "Start talkin¡¯, then. Who¡¯s funding this operation? What¡¯s Trask¡¯s role in all this?"

    The accountant hesitated, glancing nervously at the unconscious bodies of his comrades. "Trask¡­ Trask is using Carraro as a front. They funnel money and equipment through shell companies to avoid detection. The Everglades depot you hit was one of many. They¡¯ve got warehouses in Michigan, Kansas, and¡­ and Canada."

    "Canada?" Storm repeated, her eyes narrowing. "What are they doing there?"

    "I-I don¡¯t know!" the accountant stammered. "I just handle the numbers, I swear! But they¡¯re planning something big. Something involving¡ª" Before the accountant could finish, another man showed up with a shotgun, he aimed at Storm, but Wolverine jumped as he shot hit his chest on the padded yellow fabric.

    "Ya''re outta luck, bub" He sprung into action taking the gun from his hand and cutting it in half with his claws. "That is no way to treat a lady. Ya''re lucky I''m in a good mood" WIth that he punches the man squarely in the chin, the guard falls to the ground unconscious.

    Storm turned to the accountant, her white eyes still glowing faintly. "Now," she said, her voice calm but deadly, "finish your story. What is Trask planning?"

    Wolverine paced back and forth in the dimly lit office, the dull hum of fluorescent lights casting sharp shadows across the frightened accountant. His claws gleamed in the harsh light, catching every glimmer as he flexed his fingers. The man in the chair, middle-aged and dressed in a rumpled button-down, was sweating profusely, his glasses slipping down his nose. The clinking sound of Beast adjusting his reading glasses at a nearby desk offered a strange counterpoint to Logan¡¯s menacing growl.

    Storm stood by the window, arms crossed. Her presence, serene yet commanding, seemed to temper the air in the room, though the storm clouds she¡¯d summoned outside were a clear reflection of her mood. A low rumble of thunder rolled through the sky.

    ¡°Heck if I know,¡± the man stammered, his voice cracking under the pressure. ¡°I only do the accounting for <i>Carraro</i>... Some if... audits, third-party reviews on SEC documents. I don¡¯t know anything about Trask!¡±

    Logan leaned in, his claws scraping lightly against the desk, leaving deep gouges in the wood. ¡°Don¡¯t make me slice you, bub.¡±

    The man¡¯s breath hitched, and he threw up his hands in a desperate attempt to shield himself. ¡°Jesus, don¡¯t hurt me... I¡¯m telling the truth! This is a Carraro office, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    Beast stepped forward, his voice calm yet commanding, a stark contrast to Logan¡¯s gruff demeanor. ¡°Well, sir, let me rephrase what my associate has asked. Have you been hiding transactions between <i>Trask International</i> and the <i>Carraro Group</i> that might link both companies to each other?¡±

    The accountant glanced nervously between Beast and Wolverine, his eyes wide with panic. ¡°What? Who is this guy?!¡± He gestured at Logan, who only smirked, baring a single sharp canine. ¡°Look, I didn¡¯t do that.¡±

    Storm¡¯s voice cut through the tension, low and cool. ¡°Is there any connection between these two companies? Answer quickly.¡±

    The man fumbled with his tie, loosening it as he struggled for words. ¡°Yes, sure... Trask is a supplier for <i>Carraro</i>.¡±

    ¡°What do they supply?¡± Storm¡¯s eyes narrowed, her tone demanding but not cruel.

    The man hesitated, looking around the room as though an answer might materialize out of thin air. ¡°Hell... Alright, look, I don¡¯t know¡ª¡±

    Before he could finish, Logan¡¯s claws came down with a sickening thunk, piercing the edge of the desk just inches from the man¡¯s hand. The sound of splintering wood filled the room as the man recoiled, his chair tipping back slightly.

    ¡°Damnit! Fuck! Fuck!¡± the man screamed, clutching his hands to his chest. ¡°GUNS! BLASTERS! SENTINELS!¡±

    Logan tilted his head, his expression unreadable but for the faint twitch of a smirk. ¡°Sentinels, huh?¡± His tone was mocking, as though the word was a punchline to a dark joke. ¡°Weren¡¯t they supposed to be restricted to government use?¡±

    The man nodded frantically, sweat dripping from his chin. ¡°Fuck, yeah, I think so! They have them, alright? I don¡¯t know... I think they could be Trask¡¯s or maybe something else. I don¡¯t know! Look!¡±

    Logan leaned in again, the glint of his claws catching the accountant¡¯s panicked gaze. He let one claw graze the desk, drawing a slow, deliberate line toward the man¡¯s trembling hand. ¡°You sure about that? ¡®Cause I¡¯m not above takin¡¯ this a little further.¡±

    ¡°NOOO!¡± the man shrieked, yanking his hands back as far as the chair restraints would allow. ¡°FUCK!!! I DON¡¯T KNOW, SHIT... GO AFTER CREED!¡±

    Beast¡¯s blue fur bristled slightly at the name, his keen eyes locking on the accountant. ¡°Creed? Graydon Creed, I presume? Are you saying he¡¯s directly involved?¡±

    The man nodded rapidly, his head bobbing like a broken puppet. ¡°Yes! Yeah! I swear! I don¡¯t work for the Friends of Humanity, but I know Creed¡¯s pulling the strings here. He¡¯s the one you want.¡±

    Logan stepped closer, his claw poised near the man¡¯s face. ¡°Where is he?¡±

    The accountant shook his head violently. ¡°I don¡¯t know! I¡¯m not with the FoH! I swear I don¡¯t know!¡± He gasped for air, desperate to say something useful. ¡°Try Thomas Thompson! He works for the Arkansas branch!¡±

    Storm frowned, her posture stiffening. ¡°Wasn¡¯t it just destroyed?¡±

    ¡°Yes! Yes, I don¡¯t know what else to tell you! Just leave me alone, for God¡¯s sake!¡±

    Logan grunted, his claws retracting with a metallic snikt as he turned to Beast and Storm. ¡°Logan,¡± Storm began, her voice firm, ¡°this is enough.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re lucky, bub,¡± Logan growled, his tone dripping with menace as he jabbed a finger in the man¡¯s direction. ¡°So lucky.¡±

    ¡°That''s enough,¡± Beast added dryly, straightening his tie as he adjusted his glasses. ¡°But this information may prove valuable. We need to confirm what he¡¯s said and move quickly. Graydon Creed¡¯s involvement is not a revelation, but this Thompson lead may be actionable.¡±

    Storm glanced out the window at the darkening clouds. ¡°If what he says about the Sentinels is true, Trask and Creed are closer to open warfare than we anticipated. We must act.¡±

    Logan cracked his knuckles, his grin returning. ¡°Good. I¡¯ve been itchin¡¯ for a fight.¡±

    Beast sighed as he packed up the documents he¡¯d gathered. ¡°Yes, well, let¡¯s try to prioritize strategy over mayhem, shall we?¡±

    ¡°Where¡¯s the fun in that?¡± Logan retorted, heading for the door.

    Storm¡¯s voice rang with quiet authority as she followed. ¡°This is no game, Logan.¡±

    Logan''s eyes darkened and he scoffed. "Then why does it feel like we are losin''?"

    With that, the three X-Men departed, leaving the accountant slumped in his chair, pale and trembling as the thunder outside rolled ever closer.

 Chapter 3: A Fearless Leader

    The <i>Blackbird</i> soared away from Detroit, its sleek frame slicing through the night like a silent predator, the thrusters humming in a steady rhythm as it ascended higher into the atmosphere. Rogue sat near one of the side windows, her gloved fingers resting lightly against the armrest as she watched the lights of the city below shrink into a sea of distant, glowing dots.

    On the ground, Storm, Wolverine, and Beast had already begun their mission, their figures now nothing but small specks against the urban sprawl. Rogue found herself staring at the shrinking view for a little longer than necessary, her thoughts caught between admiration and apprehension.

    A sharp voice pulled her back.

    <i>"</i>We¡¯re on the move. ETA one hour<i>,"</i> Cyclops said from the cockpit, his voice calm, direct. The mission was far from over.

    Rogue sighed, rolling her shoulders as she settled back into her seat. A few seats down, Gambit leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him, his trench coat draped lazily over his lap. He let out a satisfied sigh before tipping his head back.

    <i>"</i>Gambit will get some shut-eye, non¡­ bonne nuit, mesdames<i>,"</i> he muttered toward Rogue and Jubilee before closing his red-on-black eyes.

    Jubilee, curled up in her seat with her knees pulled up, was already pulling out her phone, the blue light from the screen reflecting off her face as she scrolled.

    "I¡¯ll check X or somethin¡¯¡­ or <i>TikTok</i>," she mumbled, then grinned, turning toward Rogue. <i>"Y</i>ou wanna watch funny <i>TikToks</i>, Roguey?<i>"</i>

    Rogue gave her an unamused look, arms still crossed.

    "No, Jubes, Ah don¡¯t wanna watch<i> TikToks</i>, thanks."

    Jubilee shrugged, her attention already back on her screen.

    "Suit yourself."

    The cabin settled into a dull quiet. The humming of the engines, the occasional beep from the instrument panels, the soft rustling of fabric as Gambit adjusted his position¡ªRogue felt the weight of it pressing against her.

    She sat still for a few moments before pushing herself up from her seat, brushing some loose strands of hair behind her ear. Jubilee barely noticed, too absorbed in whatever chaotic whirlwind of content had taken hold of her phone.

    Rogue stepped lightly through the cabin, heading toward the cockpit where Scott and Jean were engaged in quiet discussion, their voices barely above a murmur.

    Jean¡¯s red hair caught the dim light from the control panels as she adjusted something on the holo-display in front of her. Cyclops, still monitoring the flight path, glanced sideways at her, shaking his head slightly.

    "<i>If only he learned¡ª</i>" Scott muttered before stopping mid-sentence as Rogue stepped in.

    Jean turned her head slightly, offering a warm, knowing smile.

    "Rogue."

    Scott adjusted his posture slightly, clearly switching from whatever conversation they were having to focus on her.

    "Hey, Boss," she greeted, feeling a little sheepish.

    Jean turned slightly in her chair, her expression gentle but attentive.

    "Anything you need, sweetie?"

    Rogue hesitated for half a second before shifting on her feet.

    "Nah, it¡¯s fine¡­ Ah was just wonderin¡¯ if y¡¯all could give me a tad-bit of advice on, y¡¯know."

    She trailed off, gesturing vaguely.

    Jean tilted her head, studying her for a moment.

    "Look, Anna Marie, me and Scott will be here all the way through. If you need help, we¡¯ll come. X-Men help each other."

    Rogue exhaled, nodding slightly, but Scott¡¯s voice pulled her attention back.

    "Protect the people, Rogue," he said, his tone firm but reassuring. "They¡¯re your family down there. No matter what happens, a leader must be willing to defend their team with their sweat, blood, and tears. We know you¡¯re new at this, and we understand why you might be nervous. But remember¡ªno mutant is weak together. You have a team, and if you take care of them, they¡¯ll take care of you."

    Rogue swallowed.

    "Thanks, Scott."

    Jean gave her a soft look, nodding.

    "We¡¯re here for you, Rogue. All of you."

    Rogue let that settle in, her fingers tapping absently against her thigh before she nodded again.

    "Thanks, guys¡­ It¡¯s just that y¡¯all have been doin¡¯ this fer so long, Ah ain¡¯t sure¡ª"

    Jean cut her off gently, her voice steady.

    "You will do great, Rogue. Remember¡ªprotect the team first, second the mission, third¡ªstick to our protocols. Avoid senseless violence. If you encounter armed people, try to de-escalate if possible. Protect the civilians¡­"

    She paused before adding, "You trained for this, Rogue. You know what to do."

    Rogue took a slow breath, absorbing the words, rolling them over in her mind.

    "Got it. Thanks y¡¯all."

    Jean gave her a reassuring smile before lightly squeezing Rogue¡¯s arm. The touch was brief but grounding, a simple, silent way of saying You¡¯ve got this.

    "You¡¯ll be fine, Anna Marie," Jean said softly.

    Rogue¡¯s green eyes met hers for a moment.

    "Ah¡¯ll try."

    Jean smiled at her, but Scott had already turned back toward the controls, eyes scanning the flight data.

    Outside, the clouds rushed past them, illuminated faintly by the glow of the moon. The Blackbird pushed forward, carrying them to Orlando, to whatever awaited them in the dark.

    As Rogue made her way back to her seat, she cast one last glance toward the cockpit. The Blackbird was dimly lit, the soft glow of the control panels flickering against the faces of Jean Grey and Scott Summers, who were now speaking quietly amongst themselves. It wasn¡¯t their conversation that caught Rogue¡¯s attention, though¡ªit was the way Jean¡¯s hand slid into Scott¡¯s<i> for a brief moment</i>, a small, intimate gesture shared between two people who had years of trust and understanding between them.

    Rogue exhaled, feeling something inside her chest tighten unexpectedly.

    She hadn¡¯t expected to feel this¡ªnot this soon, not in the middle of a mission, but there it was.

    The familiar ache of longing. The feeling of wanting to touch, to hold, to be held.

    But that wasn¡¯t a luxury she had.

    With a sharp breath, she pulled her gaze away, forcing herself to shake it off as she settled back into her seat.

    Jubilee was still hunched over her phone, grinning at the screen, her yellow coat bunched around her shoulders. The glow from her screen flickered against her face as she tried desperately to contain her laughter.

    Rogue arched a brow.

    "Jubes, what are ya watchin¡¯?"

    Jubilee didn¡¯t answer immediately¡ªshe just turned the screen toward Rogue, her face lit up with pure amusement.

    "Look!"

    Rogue squinted. On the screen was a video of some poor guy attempting to do a backflip off a car¡­ only to fail spectacularly and land flat on his face.

    The sound of a thousand air horns and distorted meme sounds followed, and Jubilee cracked up, slapping the armrest as she doubled over.

    "Jubes, ya worry me sometimes."

    "Nah, this is therapy."

    Rogue rolled her eyes, but her lips quirked just slightly at the corner before she leaned back into her seat, crossing her arms over her chest.

    The quiet of the cabin lasted only a few minutes before Scott¡¯s voice came through the comms.

    "Rogue, we¡¯re landing. Get the team ready."

    The air in the jet shifted.

    It was time.

    Rogue immediately straightened, reaching across the aisle and shaking Gambit by the shoulder.

    "Remy."

    Gambit grumbled something incoherent, shifting slightly but refusing to open his eyes.

    "Remy, wake up."

    Another groggy mutter.

    "Remy, Ah swear to God, if Ah have to¡ª"

    "Ah¡­ Dang¡­ I-mmm¡­ Let¡¯s go," he finally muttered, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm before dragging himself up.

    Rogue turned her attention to Jubilee.

    "Jubes."

    Jubilee clicked her phone off, stuffing it into her coat pocket before giving a quick salute.

    "I¡¯m here."

    The descent was smooth, the Blackbird¡¯s thrusters shifting as it lowered itself toward an open field near the Everglades¡ªfar enough from Orlando itself to avoid unwanted attention, but close enough to where they could move quickly to their objective. The land was flat, stretching outward into open marshland, fog rolling in from the tree line, carrying the distinct scent of wet earth and cypress.

    "Rogue, there¡¯s a property nearby¡ªdown the road," Scott said over the comms. "We believe it¡¯s a meeting ground for Friends of Humanity activities. Seize every piece of information you can find."

    Rogue exhaled sharply, nodding.

    "Will do."

    "We¡¯ll see you soon."

    The ramp of the Blackbird lowered, and the humid air of Florida rushed in, hitting them immediately. It was sticky, the kind of heat that clung to your skin and didn¡¯t let go.

    Without hesitation, Rogue reached out, grabbing both Gambit and Jubilee by the collar before lifting off, her powerful flight propelling them forward above the trees as she carried them toward the property.

    The wind whipped around them, the marshland below sprawling into a patchwork of grass, water, and twisted roots. The moonlight reflected off the murky pools beneath them, broken only by the occasional ripple of movement¡ªalligators, most likely.

    Jubilee shuddered.

    "I hate the swamp," she muttered.

    "Then don¡¯t fall," Rogue replied dryly.

    They finally spotted the property.

    It was just off the main road, a large ranch-style compound, but built like a bunker rather than a home. The perimeter was surrounded by chain-link fencing, the kind topped with barbed wire. A handful of spotlights lined the area, casting harsh, sterile beams across the yard, illuminating a few vehicles parked in the gravel lot out front¡ªmostly SUVs and trucks, nothing military, but certainly not civilian either.

    Rogue descended quietly, landing just behind a thick tree line where the fence line was partially obscured. She dropped Gambit and Jubilee carefully onto the soft moss-covered ground before pulling back behind the thick trunk of a tree, scanning the property carefully.

    From this distance, she could make out two armed men standing by the front gate, rifles slung lazily over their shoulders, talking amongst themselves. Another two men were stationed near a side entrance, one smoking a cigarette while the other leaned against a vehicle. The rest of the compound was quiet.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    For now.

    "Do you believe they have hostages?" Gambit murmured, keeping his voice low.

    Rogue¡¯s green eyes narrowed.

    "Wouldn¡¯t discard it," she admitted. "But unlikely. They¡¯re more into execution than imprisonin¡¯ people."

    Jubilee sucked in a breath.

    "So what¡¯s the move?"

    Rogue adjusted her gloves, her gaze locked on the gate guards.

    "We get closer," she said simply.

    She crouched slightly, shifting into stealth mode, her teammates following suit as they began moving quietly through the underbrush, using the dense foliage and tall grass for cover.

    As they neared the fence line, Rogue motioned for them to stop, pressing herself against a tree as she observed the patrol routes.

    Jubilee¡¯s fingers sparked briefly with plasmoid light, readying herself. Gambit, always cool under pressure, palmed a charged card, his fingers rolling it between his knuckles.

    The first stage of the mission had begun.

    No turning back now.

    "Let¡¯s move."

    The night air was thick with humidity, the swampy musk of the Everglades lingering even this far from the water. The faint rustling of palmetto fronds whispered through the air, blending with the sound of boots scuffling on gravel as the Friends of Humanity desperately moved crates, trying to erase their presence before it was too late.

    From above, Rogue hovered like a specter in the night, her sharp green eyes scanning the compound. The FoH grunts were panicked, their movements hurried as they struggled to load what little was left onto the black SUVs and trucks parked haphazardly in the yard. They knew they were out of time.

    "They¡¯re movin¡¯ things," Rogue muttered, her brows furrowing.

    Below her, Gambit stood half-hidden in the shadow of a twisted oak tree, his red-on-black eyes flickering as he observed the same thing. His fingers idly shuffled a deck of cards, the telltale pink glow of kinetic energy faintly illuminating the edges.

    "Dey¡¯re burnin¡¯ de trail," he murmured, flicking a glance toward Rogue.

    Jubilee, crouched nearby, chewed her gum loudly, cracking a bubble before exhaling sharply.

    "What do we do, Roguey?"

    Rogue¡¯s gaze hardened.

    "We stop ¡®em ¡®fore it¡¯s too late."

    She turned her head toward Jubilee, a smirk playing at her lips.

    "Jubes, light ¡®em up."

    Jubilee grinned, already stepping forward.

    "With pleasure, mon capitaine."

    Before the FoH knew what hit them, a blinding burst of fireworks erupted in the air, bright pinks, blues, and golds exploding in chaotic brilliance, the strobing lights temporarily blinding the men loading crates.

    "The hell¡ª!" One of them stumbled back, covering his eyes.

    The moment of confusion was all Gambit needed. With a quick flick of his wrist, he tossed a single charged playing card toward a stack of wooden crates, landing just inches from their boots.

    BOOM.

    The explosion was controlled, not deadly, but enough to send the men scattering like roaches.

    "Good job, y¡¯all," Rogue called, already in motion.

    A handful of FoH soldiers opened fire, their rifles barking in the humid night air, but they were too slow.

    Before the bullets could even reach their target, Rogue was already on them.

    She dropped from the sky like a missile, her arms extended, barreling through three of them at once. The impact sent them flying like ragdolls, their bodies hitting the dirt with heavy thuds.

    One of them groaned, struggling to push himself up¡ªonly for Rogue to grab his collar and yank him off the ground like a sack of potatoes.

    "Sugah, ya¡¯re rusty."

    "KILL THE MUTANT!"

    "KILL HER!"

    Rogue sighed, shaking her head.

    "Now that ain¡¯t no way to talk to a lady, y¡¯all."

    One of the FoH grunts fumbled for his rifle, trying to get a bead on her, but she was already moving. With a swift swoop, Rogue snatched the rifle right out of his hands.

    She gripped the barrel tightly and crumpled the weapon in her hand like it was made of tin foil, bending the steel barrel as easily as one would bend a drinking straw.

    "No toys fer y¡¯all, ya¡¯re bad boys."

    Another soldier, desperate, reached for his sidearm¡ªa 1911 pistol. He barely had time to aim before Rogue turned to him, arching a brow.

    "Sorry, sugah. Ah don¡¯t recall orderin¡¯ anything."

    The man¡¯s lips curled.

    "You wh¡ª"

    <i>WHACK.</i>

    With a single casual backhand, Rogue smacked him across the face, sending him spinning before he collapsed in a heap.

    Another grunt rushed forward, blade in hand, shouting in rage.

    Bad idea.

    With almost zero effort, Rogue sidestepped him, grabbed his wrist, and squeezed¡ªforcing the knife right out of his hand with a pained yelp. The weapon clattered to the dirt, and he barely had time to react before Rogue¡¯s grip shifted to his collar.

    "Do me a favor and tell your friends not to do this, will ya?"

    The grunt spat at her feet, eyes blazing with hatred.

    "What? Fuck you!"

    Rogue gave him an unimpressed look before gripping his shirt and launching him straight into a wooden fence post. The impact shattered the wood, sending splinters flying.

    "Your cornbread ain¡¯t done in the middle or somethin¡¯," she muttered, watching him crumple to the ground. "That¡¯ll teach ya some manners, corn-fed boy."

    Another explosion caught her attention.

    Up ahead, Gambit¡¯s cards were detonating midair, sending plumes of sparks and concussive force toward the incoming FoH reinforcements.

    Rogue smirked.

    "Not bad, Remy."

    Gambit twirled another card between his fingers, his smirk lazy but confident.

    "Gambit aims to please, cher. Ya¡¯re not so bad yourself, bon suave mademoiselle."

    Before she could reply, two more men appeared with rifles, aiming straight for them.

    "Get down!"

    Jubilee moved fast, flicking two plasmoid bursts directly into the barrels of their guns. The reaction was immediate.

    <b><i>BOOM.</i></b>

    Both rifles exploded from the inside, the force knocking the FoH grunts back onto the dirt. They scrambled to toss the useless weapons away, their hands slightly singed but otherwise unharmed.

    Jubilee clicked her tongue.

    "You guys are lucky it ain¡¯t one of those big sniper rifles," she teased, blowing a bubblegum bubble. "If it blew, it¡¯d rip your faces clean off."

    One of the soldiers barely had time to respond before Rogue flew forward and decked him square in the chest, slamming him to the ground so hard the dirt cracked beneath him.

    A brief silence settled over the field.

    Jubilee stretched her arms.

    "How many?"

    Rogue scanned the area, counting the scattered, groaning bodies of FoH grunts around them.

    "This oughta be eight."

    Gambit let out a low whistle.

    "Well, well. Ain¡¯t even breakin¡¯ a sweat."

    Rogue exhaled, placing her hands on her hips as she eyed the remaining crates. The Friends of Humanity had been trying to burn their evidence¡ªnow it was time to see what they were hiding.

    "Alright y¡¯all," she said, cracking her knuckles.

    "Let¡¯s see what these sons of bitches were up to."

    Jubilee smirked.

    "Sure, General Roguey."

    The air was thick with gunpowder and burning debris, the distant crackling of small fires and the heavy groans of defeated Friends of Humanity grunts creating a cacophony of war-torn tension. Rogue stood amidst the chaos, her sharp green eyes narrowing as she scanned the remnants of the battle. The scent of oil and scorched metal lingered in the humid Florida night, mixing unpleasantly with the swampy musk of the Everglades.

    The battle was nearly over.

    Nearly.

    She turned, her gaze landing on one of the FoH grunts, a middle-aged man with a sweat-slicked face, his eyes wide with the kind of pure terror that came from knowing he had been on the wrong side of history. His hands trembled, his uniform stained with dirt and blood, though none of it seemed to be his.

    Rogue grabbed him by the front of his vest, hoisting him up effortlessly until his boots dangled inches off the ground.

    "Look, sugah, ya can tell me what Ah want... or ya can let me take it," she said smoothly, tilting her head as she pulled off one of her gloves with deliberate slowness.

    Though her voice was laced with confidence, inside, a pang of guilt tugged at her. She hated using her powers like that. Every time she did, she could feel them¡ªtheir memories, their thoughts, their emotions violently flooding into her like an uncontrollable tidal wave.

    The man¡¯s face drained of color.

    "NO! NO! I DON¡¯T WANNA DIE!" he screamed, his voice breaking. "LOOK¡ªLOOK! THERE ARE FILES IN THAT VAN! COMPUTERS! <i>EVERYTHING</i>! JUST¡ªJUST DON¡¯T TOUCH ME!"

    Rogue studied him for a moment, then let out a low hum of approval.

    "Thanks, ya¡¯re real kind, sugah," she purred mockingly, reaching out to lightly caress his cheek with the back of her fingers. The touch was gentle¡ªan act of feigned affection, but mostly a reminder that she could take everything from him in a matter of seconds if she wanted to.

    But she didn¡¯t.

    And that, more than anything, made her feel a little bit better.

    She released him, letting him collapse onto the ground as she turned toward the van.

    "Alright, let¡¯s move¡ª"

    The words barely left her lips before the explosion hit.

    A deafening boom tore through the night as a shockwave of heat and metal sent them reeling. Rogue barely had time to react before her instincts kicked in¡ªshe lunged, grabbing both Jubilee and Gambit, shielding them with her body as a storm of debris, shrapnel, and fire rained down around them.

    Jubilee let out a cough, dust clinging to her jacket.

    "What the hell was that?"

    Rogue already knew.

    The heavy, mechanized voice confirmed it.

    [MUTANT DETECTED. ALPHA THREAT IDENTIFIED¡­ TERMINATION SEQUENCE INITIATED¡­ HUMANITY SHALL BE PROTECTED.]

    The air thickened with static as the dust began to settle, revealing the monolithic shape of a Sentinel emerging from the wreckage.

    Towering. Metal. Unforgiving.

    A gleaming mechanical behemoth, its red optics scanning the field, its arm-mounted cannons priming for another strike.

    "Dang it," Rogue growled.

    Gambit rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck.

    "Well, dis just got interestin¡¯," he muttered.

    "Stay behind me, Remy, Jubes," Rogue ordered.

    "No way, cher¡ªwe¡¯re a team," Gambit shot back, already charging a card.

    Rogue turned sharply.

    "Remy LeBeau, listen to me¡ªif these¡ª"

    Before she could finish, the Sentinel lunged forward, its massive metal hand wrapping around Rogue¡¯s waist, lifting her into the air like a child¡¯s toy.

    She grunted, twisting against its unforgiving grip.

    But Rogue wasn¡¯t just any mutant.

    With a fierce yell, she grabbed onto one of the Sentinel¡¯s fingers, using her raw strength to pry herself free. The metal groaned, joints straining under her pressure before she tore herself loose, flipping mid-air.

    <i><b>BOOM.</b></i>

    She came swinging back with full force, her fist colliding into the Sentinel¡¯s head with the force of a freight train.

    Metal shrieked and tore as she punched clean through the right side of its face, sending sparks flying as its optical sensors flickered wildly.

    Before the Sentinel could recalibrate, Gambit was already in motion.

    "Time to dance," he murmured, tossing three charged cards at its joint connections.

    <b><i>KA-BOOM.</i></b>

    The explosions rippled through the mechanical beast, disabling part of its shoulder rotation.

    It tried to grab Rogue again, but she was already ahead of it¡ªtwisting in midair, she brought both fists down on its neck, ripping its head clean off with a sickening metallic snap.

    The Sentinel collapsed, its limbs twitching before falling completely still.

    "How many more¡ª" Rogue started, but her words froze in her throat.

    More Sentinels emerged from the smoke.

    A wave of them¡ªolder models, their designs slightly outdated but still deadly, their optics glowing in the dark like mechanical reapers.

    "Alright, y¡¯all. Follow my lead," Rogue called, shifting into a combat stance.

    "Jubes, Ah need ya to blind ¡®em¡ªany exposed fuses, blow ¡®em up."

    "Gotcha, Roguey!"

    "Gambit¡ªjoints, sensitive spots, sensors¡ªy¡¯know the drill."

    Gambit smirked.

    "Oui, cher. Let¡¯s dance."

    As the first Sentinel charged, Rogue took flight, barreling straight into its chest, cracking the metal armor on impact.

    "These are ¡®90s models!" she shouted, throwing a punch that dented the chest plate. "Older than we are!"

    Jubilee ducked under a laser blast, sprinting forward.

    "Not older than Gambit," she teased.

    Gambit smirked, dodging another Sentinel strike.

    "Petite, Gambit not old¡­ Gambit experienced¡­ Gambit has savoir-faire, non?"

    Jubilee snorted.

    "Shut up, old fart."

    "Focus!" Rogue snapped.

    She drove both fists into the Sentinel¡¯s torso, creating a gap in its armor.

    Gambit seized the opportunity.

    A charged card slipped into the opening¡ªBOOM.

    The machine lurched, sparks exploding from its internal wiring as it convulsed wildly.

    Jubilee wasted no time.

    "Buh-bye, tin can!"

    With a blazing plasmoid blast, she fried the exposed circuitry, sending electric surges rippling through its body.

    Rogue grabbed its flailing limbs, twisting it mid-air before hurling it into another approaching Sentinel, sending both crashing into the dirt.

    But more kept coming.

    As they pressed forward, energy blasts rained down, cars exploded, and even the FoH nearby screamed and scattered.

    Rogue gritted her teeth, watching the destruction unfold.

    She hated this.

    But she had to finish the fight.

    She cracked her knuckles.

    "Alright, y¡¯all," she muttered, flexing her fists. "Let¡¯s end this."

    The battle raged on, but Rogue felt something shift inside her.

    A spark of pure anger, the kind that sat deep in her chest, the kind she usually kept under control. But seeing the destruction around her, the way the Sentinels moved like cold, calculating butchers, the thought of what could¡¯ve happened if they¡¯d arrived just a few minutes later¡ª

    She had had enough.

    With a snarl, she slashed her forearm clean through a Sentinel¡¯s arm, the impact shearing metal apart like aluminum foil. The massive limb collapsed to the ground, sparks and exposed circuitry spewing from the severed joint.

    Before the machine could react, Rogue grabbed the detached arm, the sheer weight of the thing nothing to her enhanced strength.

    She spun on her heel¡ª

    <i>SWING.</i>

    The Sentinel¡¯s own arm became a club, and in one clean, devastating arc, Rogue knocked its head clean off as if she were swinging for a home run. The mechanical skull flew through the air, crashing into the side of a truck, denting the frame beyond recognition.

    More Sentinels advanced, their optics flashing as they recalibrated strategies.

    Gambit, ever the showman, flicked his wrist, sending a cascade of charged cards into the legs of another machine, detonations ripping through the weak points of its joints.

    But Jubilee wasn''t about to let them have all the fun.

    "People kinda underestimate this," she muttered, stepping forward, her fingers crackling with energy behind the dark gloves of her black-and-pink bodysuit. Her yellow techwear jacket flared slightly as she raised her hands, her signature fireworks dancing between her fingertips.

    Her smirk deepened.

    "But no show is ever good without lights."

    Her hands flashed, her fireworks exploding in bursts of golden streaks, temporarily blinding two approaching Sentinels.

    "Remy! Hit that one, in the chest!" she called out.

    Gambit arched a brow.

    "Wat?"

    "Do it, Gumbo!"

    With a shrug, Gambit twirled a charged card between his fingers before flicking it with deadly precision.

    <b><i>BOOM.</i></b>

    The card hit the Sentinel¡¯s chest plate, tearing a small hole into the armor. The machine lurched, its exposed core glowing faintly through the damage.

    Rogue, meanwhile, was locked in another brutal grapple¡ªa Sentinel¡¯s hand clamped around her arm, trying to restrain her, but she had already wrapped her legs around its torso, forcing herself upward until she was positioned above its head.

    Then¡ª

    <b><i>RIP.</i></b>

    With pure strength, she tore its head free, the mechanical spinal column sparking wildly in her grasp.

    As the Sentinel collapsed, she dove into its chest, her fists hammering against the plating until she found its core.

    Below, Jubilee was already waiting.

    Her plasmoid energy burned bright blue, crackling like fireworks compressed into a lethal payload.

    "And this will be the cherry on top!" she declared, aiming her hand directly at the exposed core.

    She grinned¡ª

    But then¡ª

    <i><b>BOOM.</b></i>

    The Sentinel''s upper half detonated violently, a massive plasma explosion launching its entire torso skyward like a missile. The burning husk arched into the night, disappearing into the sky before crashing down with a resounding THUD.

    The ground trembled from the impact.

    For a moment, nobody moved.

    Jubilee¡¯s eyes were wide, her hands still charged¡ªbut she hadn¡¯t fired.

    She blinked.

    "Was dat you, petite?" Gambit muttered, stepping closer.

    Jubilee¡¯s lips parted.

    "Remy¡­ that¡­ that wasn¡¯t <i>me</i>."

    Then they heard it.

    The sonic boom.

    It ripped through the sky, a deep reverberating shockwave, the kind that made the air itself shudder.

    A streak of blue light tore across the battlefield, moving too fast to see, the crackle of plasma following in its wake. The momentum alone sent Sentinel parts flying, the residual force making the remaining machines hesitate, as if calculating the unknown variable.

    And then¡ª

    More plasma shots rained down from above, tearing through Sentinel chassis with surgical precision. One of the machines was mid-swing when it suddenly lost its entire arm, the energy blast having vaporized the joint before it could even register the impact.

    Another Sentinel took a shot directly through its optic sensors, its head rupturing in an instant before collapsing in a heap.

    Rogue barely had time to react before she felt the shift in the air, the presence of something¡ªor someone¡ªmoving faster than she could track.

    She shot toward her team, landing between them protectively.

    And then she saw it.

    Or rather¡ª

    She saw the blur.

    A blue streak, a plasma trail cutting through the sky, moving at impossible speed.

    Her breath hitched.

    Jubilee practically jumped on the spot.

    "Is that¡ª?"

    Then she grinned, eyes shining.

    "<i>THE ALAMO</i>!"

    Gambit¡¯s head snapped toward her, his Cajun accent thick with disbelief.

    "Wat!?"

    Jubilee¡¯s voice was almost frantic with excitement.

    "IT¡¯S HIM, HE¡¯S HERE!"

    The blur circled the battlefield, the plasma residue still crackling in the air¡ªbut they still couldn¡¯t fully see him.

    <i>Just movement.</i>

    <i>Just the speed.</i>

    But Rogue and Jubilee knew what they were seeing.

    They¡¯d seen it in Arkansas.

    They never saw him then.

    <i>But they were about to know him now.</i>

 Chapter 4: Birds of a Feather...

    The battlefield was momentarily still, the hum of Sentinel remains sparking in the night air, the scent of burning circuits and damp grass mingling with the ever-present humidity of the Florida wetlands. The last Sentinel had fallen, its chassis still smoldering, but before the dust even had a chance to settle, something moved.

    <i>Fast.</i>

    A blur of blue plasma and heat tore through the air like a comet, and in a single motion, another Sentinel collapsed. The massive machine convulsed as the force of impact caved in its chest, the energy overloading its power core in an instant before it finally fell silent, collapsing with a resounding crash.

    The blur slowed¡ª

    Then, with a solid impact, a figure landed on the wet grass, the sheer heat of his descent causing steam to rise from the dew beneath him.

    For a second, nobody spoke.

    Rogue narrowed her eyes, arms crossed as she watched the newcomer straighten, his silhouette almost ghostly against the hazy smoke and neon plasma residue flickering in the air.

    Jubilee¡¯s eyes widened in realization before her mouth dropped.

    "OH MY GOD¡ª"

    Before she could fully freak out, Gambit clamped a hand over her mouth, pulling her slightly back.

    "Cher, ya gonna spook de cowboy," he muttered, his voice amused.

    Jubilee made a muffled protest, glaring at him but unable to fully deny her excitement.

    Rogue, meanwhile, took a step forward.

    Her green eyes swept over him, taking in every detail.

    "Ya must be the Alamo," she finally said.

    The newcomer turned his head toward her, standing tall, his jet-black duster flaring slightly in the wind as he adjusted his coat. His chrome mask gleamed under the moonlight, smooth and unblemished, save for the glowing red optics that pierced through the dimness of the battlefield.

    Atop his head, a black cattleman-style cowboy hat sat, the brim casting a dark shadow over the top half of his face. His white cavalry gloves contrasted sharply against his otherwise black attire, the white star emblazoned on his chest glowing faintly¡ªa nod to Texas, his home, and, perhaps, to something greater.

    To Rogue, it was a subtle reminder of another man, of another star.

    Maybe not the same ideals, but the symbolism was still there.

    After a moment, he extended a gloved hand.

    "Pleasure to meet y¡¯all."

    Rogue tilted her head slightly, then smirked, reaching out to shake his hand.

    "Same here, cowboy," she said, gripping it firmly.

    The moment she touched him, she blinked.

    "Yer hands are warm, even with the gloves."

    Alamo rolled his eyes behind his mask, the motion subtle but not lost on her.

    "I get that a lot, trust me."

    Rogue crossed her arms again, regarding him.

    "So, what are ya doin¡¯ here, Alamo?"

    Alamo dusted off his coat slightly before answering, his voice calm but firm.

    "I reckon the same as y¡¯all," he said. "Lookin¡¯ fer evidence on my investigation."

    Jubilee finally managed to break free from Gambit¡¯s grasp, stepping forward with renewed excitement.

    "MAN! You¡¯re like taller than I expected!"

    Rogue arched a brow at her enthusiasm.

    Jubilee continued, gesturing wildly as she spoke.

    "I mean, I dunno, I thought you¡¯d be like under six feet for some reason, but you¡¯re just over it! Also, I love the mask¡­ It¡¯s so sleek! And the hat! It¡¯s so classic! And¡ªoh, right, uh¡ª"

    She paused for half a second, then stuck her hand out.

    "I¡¯m Jubilation Lee! You can call me Jubilee if you want. That¡¯s how most people call me. Yeah, call me Jubilee."

    Alamo, still adjusting his gloves, looked down at her extended hand for a second, then finally took it.

    "Pleasure, Jubilee," he said simply.

    As he released her hand, Gambit finally spoke up, his tone half-amused, half-wary.

    "Homme, ya look like a villain," he mused, arms crossed. "All black, chrome mask¡­ red eyes¡­ wat are ya, Cowboy Doom?"

    Alamo exhaled sharply, tilting his head slightly, the chrome catching the light.

    "Great. Just great."

    Before any of them could say more, Rogue cut in.

    "Alrighty, you two. Give the guy here a rest¡ªhe just arrived."

    Jubilee pouted slightly, but Gambit just chuckled, flipping a single charged playing card between his fingers before flicking it away casually.

    The momentary silence that followed was cut short¡ª

    In the distance, a loud metallic rumbling shook the air.

    The ground trembled slightly.

    The unmistakable hum of Sentinel engines echoed across the field.

    They all turned instantly, eyes snapping toward the distant horizon.

    <i>More Sentinels.</i>

    "Alright," Alamo said, his voice shifting into something sharper.

    He barely tilted his head before he blurred into motion.

    He launched himself into the sky, moving so fast it was almost like he teleported, his plasma trail cracking the air like a sonic boom.

    Jubilee almost tripped trying to watch him.

    "<i>Oh, hell naw</i>¡ª" Rogue growled, her wings of flight igniting as she shot off after him.

    Gambit let out a low chuckle, adjusting his trench coat.

    Jubilee, however, turned on him aggressively, elbowing him hard in the ribs.

    "<i>Remy</i>! I was tryin¡¯ to talk to him!" she hissed.

    Gambit rubbed his ribs, wincing slightly.

    "Argh! Ain¡¯t ya a bit young to have crushes on cowboys, cher?"

    Jubilee huffed, crossing her arms.

    "I have crushes on whoever I like, asshole."

    And with that, she turned sharply, watching as Rogue and Alamo disappeared into the night, rushing headfirst into battle.

    The humid Florida sky clashing with the heat of battle, a mix of plasma discharge and burning Sentinel circuitry tainting the wind. Rogue hovered beside Alamo, her green eyes locked onto the incoming wave of Sentinels, their massive metal bodies illuminated by the eerie glow of their red optics.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Her arms were crossed, but her mind was running at full speed.

    <i>"Do ya have a plan, cowboy?" she asked, voice casual but laced with curiosity.</i>

    Beside her, Alamo adjusted the grip of his gloves slightly, his black coat flaring in the wind from their flight. The chrome sheen of his mask was unreadable, but his voice was steady.

    "Yes."

    She arched a brow.

    "What is it?"

    A brief pause.

    "I¡¯m kinda elaboratin¡¯ as we fly."

    Rogue let out a sharp breath through her nose.

    "So ya don¡¯t have a plan."

    "It¡¯s ad-hoc, improvised."

    She smirked.

    "So no plan, got it."

    The Texas mutant tilted his head slightly, as if considering.

    "It ain¡¯t somethin¡¯ to be ashamed of, y¡¯know¡­ Ah don¡¯t have that much of a plan either." Rogue said.

    A beat of silence.

    Then¡ª

    "Oh. Then I don¡¯t have a plan."

    Rogue rolled her eyes, but there was a chuckle beneath it.

    As they closed in, Rogue noticed something that made her breath hitch.

    <i>Something that sent a shiver straight down her spine.</i>

    Alamo reached for his left glove.

    He pulled it back¡ªsmooth, practiced¡ªexactly like she did.

    Not just in movement, but in spirit.

    She stared, her mind flashing back to just minutes ago, when she had done the same thing to threaten the FoH soldier into talking.

    Her mouth felt dry.

    Alamo casually stowed the glove in his white belt, just like she did, before launching himself straight toward the Sentinel ahead of them.

    Rogue hesitated, for just a moment, caught in something she couldn¡¯t quite place.

    Then she shook herself out of it, forcing herself forward in pursuit.

    Alamo was already on the Sentinel¡¯s hull, his left hand glowing a deep, unnatural blue, like a flame had ignited beneath his skin.

    Then, in a single, brutal motion, he punched through the machine¡¯s armor.

    Metal shrieked at the force of the impact, the sound echoing over the battlefield.

    He dug inside, his hand gripping at something deep within the Sentinel¡¯s power core, but something wasn¡¯t right.

    The Sentinel jerked violently, its circuits spasming under the pressure, its massive frame beginning to slip beneath his grasp.

    Rogue''s heart lurched.

    She knew that kind of movement.

    She knew what was happening.

    Alamo¡¯s arm was cutting through the metal too easily¡ªhis hand wasn¡¯t just gripping, it was tearing through it, slicing it like hot steel through ice.

    She saw him try to adjust, his shoulders shifting slightly as he reduced the temperature of his hand, but it wasn¡¯t enough. The Sentinel was slipping, its chassis cutting apart beneath him like butter.

    That was when she realized¡ª

    He didn¡¯t have full control.

    Without thinking, she shot forward.

    "What are ya doin¡¯, sugah?"

    Alamo, still trying to keep hold, gritted his teeth beneath his mask.

    "I¡¯m tryin¡¯ to absorb it," he muttered. "I have a plan."

    Rogue¡¯s breath caught in her throat.

    Absorb.

    That word hit her like a punch to the gut.

    Her fingers twitched instinctively, but she didn¡¯t move.

    She stared at him, feeling something sink inside her chest, like watching a memory she had forgotten come rushing back to life.

    <i>Did he absorb energy?</i>

    <i>Was he¡­?</i>

    <i>Was he like her? At least in a way</i>

    The thought made her stomach tighten, but she shoved it down.

    "Here, let me help ya," she said, her voice level despite the storm raging in her mind. "Use more of yer arm¡ªthe surface area is too narrow. It cuts too easily like a knife if ya have super-strength. Use more of yer arm."

    Alamo froze for a second¡ªthen he nodded once, processing the words.

    "That¡¯s a very insightful observation, thank ya, Rogue."

    Then, without hesitation, he thrust his entire left arm into the Sentinel¡¯s core, pushing deeper into the heart of the machine.

    Rogue hovered just above him, watching closely.

    "There ya go," she murmured, eyes narrowed in fascination.

    Alamo chuckled, his voice shifting slightly, a hint of something more confident behind it.

    "I¡¯d like ya to watch this, Rogue."

    Her arms crossed, but she smirked slightly.

    "Oh, Ah¡¯m watchin¡¯, sugah."

    "Good."

    Then¡ª

    His eyes flickered <i>blue.</i>

    Not <i>red</i>.

    <i>Blue.</i>

    A strange, intense shade, glowing beneath the chrome of his mask.

    The Sentinel¡¯s entire system started failing, the glowing circuits flickering violently, its body jerking like a dying animal.

    Alamo¡¯s right arm suddenly snapped forward.

    For a moment, Rogue didn¡¯t understand.

    Then she saw it.

    His right hand ignited with plasma energy, his fingers trembling slightly before¡ª

    <b><i>BOOM.</i></b>

    A storm of plasma ripped from his palm.

    Not a single bolt, not a controlled shot, but a rapid, unrelenting barrage, spitting out at a speed so fast it was like a minigun had activated in his hand.

    The Sentinels flying toward them reacted immediately, raising their massive arms in defense, but it didn¡¯t matter.

    The sheer heat and density of the plasma barrage burned through their armor plating, the projectiles piercing through their hulls like they were made of paper.

    One Sentinel collapsed, its torso shredded.

    Another tried dodging, but plasma sliced through its core, leaving sparking, smoking holes across its body.

    A third barely had time to react before its head was gone.

    Rogue felt her stomach twist.

    Not out of fear¡ª

    But out of <i>recognition</i>.

    And as she hovered beside him, watching the battlefield turn into a graveyard of metal husks, she realized something unsettling.

    She didn¡¯t know what Alamo really was.

    And for the first time in a long time¡ª

    <i>That made her nervous.</i>

    The battlefield was quiet now, the air still humming with residual energy, the smell of burning metal and plasma hanging thick in the night. The glow of melted circuitry flickered dimly, casting an eerie light across the swampy clearing. The wreckage of the Sentinels lay scattered, their bodies torn apart, holes burned clean through their armor, wires sparking weakly like dying embers.

    Above it all, Rogue hovered, her arms still crossed, though her mind raced with thoughts she hadn¡¯t quite sorted yet.

    Her green eyes locked onto him as Alamo lowered his arm, steam hissing from the vents in his gauntlet, the glow of plasma slowly fading from his fingertips.

    She had seen a lot of things in her time with the X-Men¡ªfought machines, mutants, monsters, even aliens and gods¡ªbut this?

    This was something different. Or at least it was to her.

    Her lips parted slightly, her voice leaving her before she could even think about stopping it.

    "That¡ª" she exhaled, still trying to process the sheer destructive force he had just unleashed, "What was that?"

    Alamo let out a slow, measured breath, rolling his shoulders as he flung the dead Sentinel¡¯s husk aside, the heavy metal crashing into the swamp with a violent splash, sending murky water rippling outward.

    His mask tilted downward slightly, as if he was studying the wreckage¡ªmaking sure it wasn¡¯t going to get up again.

    "I redirected the Sentinel energy to my hand," he explained evenly, voice calm but firm, like this was just another day¡¯s work for him. "Usin¡¯ it to fire at ¡®em¡­ I technically didn¡¯t need it, but the Sentinel energy capacity is high. Call it killin¡¯ two birds with one stone."

    He stretched his fingers slightly, letting faint, flickering traces of plasma dissipate off his gloves before he clenched his fists, forcing the last of the residual energy to settle.

    Then he shrugged, his tone shifting slightly, almost amused.

    "That ¡®bout to leave ¡®em more fucked up than a soup kitchen."

    Rogue blinked.

    Her brain stalled for half a second before the corner of her mouth twitched¡ª

    Then she snorted, shaking her head as a short, genuine chuckle escaped her lips.

    She tilted her head slightly, watching him now with a new layer of curiosity, one that wasn¡¯t just about his powers.

    "Ain¡¯t just a real Texan, are ya?"

    Alamo¡¯s chrome mask glinted in the dim light, his red optics pulsing faintly as he adjusted the fit of his gloves. His posture was relaxed, but his voice carried something close to a smirk.

    "Y¡¯know what they say, ma¡¯am," he said smoothly, "Texas moves into ya¡­ it ain¡¯t a choice, it¡¯s just how it is."

    Rogue exhaled through her nose, shaking her head slightly, her expression a mix of amusement and thoughtfulness.

    "Ah reckon Ah heard somethin¡¯ like that ¡®fore."

    Her gaze flickered down to the still-smoking remains of the Sentinels below them before landing right back on him.

    "Now, what is it ya do?"

    Alamo paused, tilting his head slightly, as if he was measuring how much to say.

    "Powerwise?" he asked, voice carefully even as he hurled another Sentinel husk into the water below, its body sinking into the murky depths with a deep, gurgling splash.

    "Yup."

    Alamo adjusted his gloves again, rolling his shoulders, his voice slipping into something more technical.

    "Well¡­ it¡¯s a plethora of physiology-alterin¡¯ symptoms of plasma-encased cellular protection."

    Rogue¡¯s face went flat.

    She deadpanned.

    "Ah wasn¡¯t askin¡¯ Dr. McCoy, Ah was askin¡¯ ya."

    Alamo hesitated, then exhaled, adjusting the brim of his black hat slightly before responding.

    "Okay, by that¡ª"

    She cut him off, firmly and without hesitation.

    "In <i>English</i>, sugah."

    A beat of silence.

    "I go plasma," he said, flatly, "Plasma do many things."

    Rogue squinted slightly, her arms still crossed but her brow arching just enough to make it clear she wasn¡¯t letting him off easy.

    "Ah ain¡¯t dense, Alamo¡­"

    Alamo cleared his throat, shifting slightly.

    "Ahem. My bad. There¡¯s a lot of things¡­ I¡¯m still figurin¡¯ out some of ¡®em."

    His right hand flexed slightly, and Rogue watched closely as the faintest pulse of energy flickered beneath his glove before disappearing.

    That was control.

    Or maybe lack of it.

    "Look, I¡¯d be more than happy to explain later, but right now¡ªwe got a job to do."

    Rogue, however, wasn¡¯t done.

    She tilted her head slightly, her gaze dropping to his left hand, the one he had so carefully covered again, the same hand she had seen him use to absorb energy.

    "Ah¡¯m askin¡¯ ¡®cause o¡¯ that glove thing," she said, her tone pointed now.

    Alamo glanced at his own hand, fingers flexing slightly, before giving a simple, even answer.

    "Oh, this?" he said, "I can absorb energy. It¡¯s more like eatin¡¯ energy, since it becomes available fer me to use."

    Rogue¡¯s chest tightened slightly.

    "Like Bishop?" she asked, keeping her tone neutral.

    Alamo tilted his head slightly, his mask unreadable.

    "I don¡¯t know who that is."

    Rogue exhaled slowly, lips pursed.

    "Nevermind."

    Her green eyes locked onto him again, this time watching his every movement¡ªthe way he adjusted his stance, the way he rolled his fingers, like he was making sure the power he took was fully settled.

    She knew that feeling.

    That hesitation, that constant self-checking, that awareness of what was inside you¡ªof what could happen if you pushed too far.

    "Do ya have control over these powers?" she asked, her voice sharper now, more focused.

    Alamo hesitated.

    "Somewhat," he admitted, his voice quieter, but firm. "But I struggle if I¡¯m too overcharged. Haven¡¯t happened in a while, but y¡¯know."

    Rogue felt something cold settle in her stomach.

    That was too familiar.

    "So ya have problems controllin¡¯ yer powers when ya absorb stuff?"

    Alamo rolled his shoulders, adjusting his coat slightly.

    "Energy," he corrected, "But yes."

    Rogue exhaled sharply, tilting her head slightly, green eyes narrowing.

    "Well, where have Ah heard that ¡®fore?"

    Alamo froze for half a second.

    Then his head tilted slightly, as if something had just clicked in his mind.

    "Oh¡­ Oh," he muttered, his voice low, almost like he was talking to himself.

    His red eyes flickered slightly, dimming just for a moment before returning to their usual glow.

    "Maybe Spidey was right," he muttered under his breath.

    Rogue squinted. "What¡¯s that?"

    Alamo snapped back to attention. "Nothin¡¯," he said quickly. "Let¡¯s go down. I need to find some info."

    Rogue watched him carefully, then nodded. "Me too. Let¡¯s."

    Alamo gestured downward. "Ya first, ma¡¯am."

    Rogue smirked. "Ain¡¯t ya a gentleman."

 Chapter 5: ...Dont Always Flock Together

    The swamp air was thick with the remnants of battle, the scent of burnt circuitry, charred metal, and ozone still hanging in the air. The field around them was littered with the wreckage of destroyed Sentinels, their limbs scattered like broken statues, red optics now nothing more than dim, lifeless glass. The Florida night buzzed with life, the distant croaks of bullfrogs and the eerie whine of cicadas echoing over the battlefield, nature already reclaiming the land.

    As Rogue and Alamo landed back on the ground, Jubilee was practically vibrating with excitement.

    <i>"MAN, THAT WAS INSANE! IT WAS LIKE SOME DOOM GUY LEVEL CRAZY SHIT!"</i>

    She threw her hands up, grinning wildly, still high off the adrenaline of the fight.

    Alamo let out a soft chuckle, adjusting his gloves as he turned toward her.

    "I''m glad ya liked it, Jubilee," he said, his tone light.

    From the side, Gambit let out a low chuckle, flipping a playing card between his fingers before murmuring,

    "<i>Lagniappe</i>, non?"

    Alamo, however, didn¡¯t acknowledge him, simply continuing his stride toward the flattened van, hands clasped neatly behind his back as he walked.

    Gambit clicked his tongue, watching the Texan pass.

    "So," Alamo asked, voice even, "What y¡¯all are lookin¡¯ fer here?"

    Rogue, floating just behind him, gestured toward the ruined van, its entire body crushed under the weight of a fallen Sentinel. The frame was bent and warped, metal groaning slightly whenever the wind blew through the cracks.

    "We were told there was info in that van, important stuff¡ªdocuments, computers," she explained.

    Alamo glanced toward the wreckage, the chrome of his mask glinting slightly under the moonlight.

    "Computers are gone," he muttered, already scanning the damage, "but we can see if there''s any paper left."

    His feet lifted slightly off the ground, his black coat fluttering as he hovered toward the wreck, Rogue floating beside him.

    Behind them, Jubilee was still buzzing, her arms swinging as she turned toward Gambit.

    "He''s cool, huh?" she asked, grinning wide.

    Gambit, however, did not look impressed.

    "Gambit don''t think so," he muttered, "dat some Magneto <i>merde</i> right dere. Wit'' dat black coat, like he''s ''bout to <i>gris-gris</i> everyone."

    Jubilee squinted.

    "That means...?"

    Gambit exhaled sharply through his nose, eyes narrowing at Alamo¡¯s imposing silhouette.

    "Dat means de Gambit don''t like dis one."

    Jubilee groaned.

    "Remy. Stop bein¡¯ like this."

    Ahead, Alamo caught every word.

    His lips curled slightly beneath his mask, but he said nothing.

    Then, just as he reached the van, he paused slightly¡ªas if considering something¡ªbefore glancing back over his shoulder toward Gambit.

    "By the way, Gambit," he said, voice smooth, "I like yer coat. Real good color."

    Gambit blinked, clearly not expecting the compliment. His fingers twitched slightly on his deck of cards, his usual carefree smirk slipping for a brief second.

    Then, in true Gambit fashion, he rolled with it.

    "<i>Merci beaucoup</i>, cowboy," he said, lowering his voice slightly as he turned back to Jubilee.

    "Gambit takes back what he said¡ªmaybe de cowboy ain''t so bad."

    Jubilee scoffed, arms crossed.

    "Cap. You''re just sayin'' that because he stroked your fragile ego, Remy."

    Gambit let out an exaggerated gasp, pressing a hand to his chest.

    "Dat not true, petite."

    The night breeze rolled through the clearing, stirring the tall grass around the wreckage as the four mutants finally reached the van.

    The damaged vehicle groaned softly, the metal still settling under the weight of the damage, but surprisingly¡ªit had not caught fire.

    Which meant¡ª

    There was still a chance something inside had survived.

    The distant croak of alligators echoed from the swamps beyond, a reminder of how deep into the wilderness they really were.

    Rogue let out a slow breath, hands on her hips.

    "Now what?"

    She turned to Alamo, tilting her head slightly.

    "Alamo, be a friend and help a lady out?"

    Alamo folded his arms, watching her curiously.

    "Go on."

    Rogue gestured toward the van, her lips quirking up slightly.

    "Let''s try to open this van here."

    Alamo tilted his head, considering the wreckage.

    Then he nodded.

    "Oh, I have it."

    He reached for the edge of the metal, his hand glowing faintly, preparing to rip it open with brute strength when¡ª

    "Don''t."

    Rogue¡¯s brow furrowed.

    "Why?"

    Alamo¡¯s glowing hand hovered over the metal, but he didn¡¯t move.

    "Maybe somethin'' there snaps and hits Gambit or Jubilee," he pointed out. "Or any of us."

    Rogue blinked, then exhaled sharply.

    "Good thinkin¡¯."

    Instead of brute force, Alamo raised his hand again¡ª

    And this time, the palm of his glove glowed blue, heat radiating off of it in soft, pulsing waves.

    Slowly¡ªdeliberately¡ªhe dragged his fingers across the metal, and beneath his touch, the hull began to melt, hot liquid steel dripping away in smooth, glowing streams.

    The hiss of burning metal filled the air, hot steam rising as he sliced through the roof with ease.

    Within seconds¡ª

    The van was open.

    Inside, a piles of files.

    The computers were beyond saving, their screens shattered, circuitry fried beyond recognition¡ªbut the paper documents, by some miracle, had survived.

    Rogue immediately reached in, grabbing one of the intact boxes and hauling it out, setting it down on the dirt beside her.

    Alamo followed, grabbing another.

    They turned, handing them off to Jubilee and Gambit, who immediately began flipping through them.

    "I''ll ask Scott to let us pick this up," Rogue said, flipping open one of the files.

    Alamo tilted his head slightly, his optics flickering.

    "Let me see ¡®em."

    Rogue pulled the files closer, her green eyes narrowing slightly.

    "Why should we trust you, sugah?"

    Alamo was quiet for a second, his posture relaxed but unreadable.

    Then, beneath the chrome of his mask, his brows furrowed slightly.

    "¡®Cause I helped y¡¯all."

    His voice was calm, measured, but something in it carried a weight that hadn¡¯t been there before.

    "And I¡¯m directly impacted by the FoH¡¯s dreadful crusade against all mutants¡­ y¡¯know, I have skin in the game."

    Rogue¡¯s lips pressed together.

    She studied him for a long moment¡ªweighing his words, reading everything unspoken between the lines.

    "Fine. But we bring these to Westchester."

    Alamo nodded once.

    "I''ll just take pictures, ma''am."

    Rogue exhaled.

    "Good."

    The night air felt thicker as they sifted through the stacks of documents, the only sounds in the clearing being the distant hum of cicadas, the occasional croak of an alligator, and the soft rustling of papers being flipped through. The scent of burnt metal and plasma residue still clung to the wind, mixing uncomfortably with the damp musk of the swamp.

    They had spread the documents across the hood of what remained of the flattened van, using the dim glow of Jubilee¡¯s plasmoids to read under the dark sky.

    Rogue¡¯s brow furrowed as she skimmed through the files¡ªcash flows, financial statements, invoices¡ªnothing that immediately made sense to her, but when she looked at Alamo, he was completely locked in, his red optics scanning line after line with a focused intensity she hadn¡¯t seen before.

    "These don''t make a lick o¡¯ sense to us, but you look like ya understand ¡®em just fine," she muttered, crossing her arms.

    Alamo didn¡¯t look up.

    "They¡¯re financial statements," he murmured, flipping to another page. "Money trails. Paperwork meant to look clean but ain''t."If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Jubilee let out a groan, leaning against the van, looking bored out of her mind.

    "This is some nerd shit, man," she whined.

    But Rogue¡¯s attention was suddenly drawn elsewhere, her green eyes narrowing as she pulled another folder out from the stack, flipping it open. The names listed inside immediately made her stomach twist.

    She turned the page toward Gambit, her voice steady but laced with something cold.

    "Know these, Gambit?"

    Gambit had been idly flipping a playing card between his fingers, but the moment he saw the names, his entire posture shifted. The card stilled between his fingers, his normally relaxed demeanor tightening into something almost guarded.

    His red-on-black eyes skimmed over the list, and for the first time tonight, his signature smirk was nowhere to be seen.

    "Mon Dieu..." he muttered under his breath. His voice had a heavy weight to it, something close to guilt.

    "These people..." His jaw clenched. "Marauders... not good people, but¡ª"

    Rogue¡¯s arms tightened over her chest, her expression hard.

    She knew.

    She knew about his past¡ªhis involvement with Sinister, his leadership of the Marauders before the Mutant Massacre, before everything went to hell.

    And she didn¡¯t like thinking about it.

    Not one bit.

    Gambit hesitated, then tapped his fingers against one of the names, exhaling slowly.

    "Dat''s Robbie... Prism... and Kim Il-Sung."

    Jubilee¡¯s head snapped up.

    "The North Korean dictator?"

    Gambit sighed, shaking his head.

    "Non. Different guy¡ªScrambler. Arclight... dey''re all..." His voice trailed off. "Dead."

    Rogue¡¯s expression remained unmoved, her green eyes piercing into him.

    "Ya worked with ¡®em?"

    Gambit let out a slow, tired exhale, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

    "Yeah." His voice was quieter now. "Led de Marauders¡­ back den."

    Rogue didn¡¯t move.

    Didn¡¯t blink.

    "The guys who killed a bunch o¡¯ Morlocks?"

    The question hung in the air, heavier than the Florida humidity.

    Jubilee, sensing the shift in tension, glanced between them but didn¡¯t say anything.

    Gambit¡¯s jaw tightened, his fingers pressing harder against the van¡¯s surface.

    "Look, I''m not proud of everythin'' I done, alright?" His voice was low, almost rough. "I done it ''cause it had to be done... got my problems, homme. Ya¡¯d understand if ya were dere."

    "Well, Ah don¡¯t understand, Remy," Rogue shot back, voice steady but sharp.

    Gambit met her gaze, holding it for a moment before his eyes flicked downward.

    "Not de time, cher."

    A long, tense silence followed.

    Then¡ª

    "Doesn¡¯t matter," Alamo said abruptly, his voice cutting through the weight of the moment.

    They both turned to him.

    He hadn¡¯t paused in his reading, his gloved fingers flipping through pages at a near-inhuman speed, his red optics faintly glowing as he absorbed the information.

    "Let me analyze these statements."

    Gambit arched a brow.

    "Mon ami, dat¡¯s some accountant ting, ya won''t¡ª"

    But Alamo ignored him completely, still working his way through the financial records, flipping pages faster than anyone else could even process.

    He finally stopped on one particular sheet, his fingers tapping the page as he spoke out loud.

    "There are invoices fer payments," he muttered. "Cash flows from Trask, all perfectly covered by the regulations on statements and laundered properly."

    He flipped another page, his optics narrowing slightly.

    "This ain''t an all hat, no cattle operation. Trask was sendin¡¯ people to guard their facilities."

    Rogue frowned.

    "Here? There ain¡¯t no facility here."

    Alamo nodded.

    "Precisely."

    He tapped his finger against a line item, his tone certain.

    "It means he was indirectly and legally payin'' the FoH through Carraro. Folks got hired as security guards¡ªbut instead of guardin¡¯, they were out there killin¡¯."

    Jubilee¡¯s nose scrunched. "What would Trask do that for?"

    Alamo paused, then shrugged. "Because he''s a son of a bitch?" Jubilee supplied.

    Alamo let out a low chuckle. "And," he added, "he even could get some deductions too."

    Jubilee blinked. "Wait. What?"

    Rogue arched a brow, arms still folded. "So, ya''re an accountant?"

    Jubilee snapped her head toward her, elbowing her hard in the ribs.

    "Like he would have a borin'' job," she muttered.

    Rogue smirked slightly.

    "Don¡¯t ya remember the office, Jubes? Where he¡ª"

    Before she could finish, Alamo cut in.

    "I''m an economist."

    The words were simple, but they carried weight.

    Rogue blinked.

    "Least, I was," he corrected. "Worked fer America Bank."

    The moment of silence that followed was palpable.

    Jubilee just stared at him. "WHAT?!"

    She pointed an accusatory finger at him.

    "You were an economist?!"

    Alamo barely looked up.

    "Yeah."

    Gambit let out a low whistle, shaking his head.

    "Borin¡¯ desk jockey, non?"

    Jubilee, still processing, just muttered,

    "That¡¯s so weird, dude."

    Alamo finally looked up, crossing his arms.

    "It ain''t that weird."

    Rogue smirked slightly. "Y¡¯all done grillin¡¯ the poor boy?"

    Jubilee grinned. "Nope. Not even close."

    The night hung heavy over the ruined clearing, the scent of burnt metal and ozone still thick in the air, mixing with the damp, earthy musk of the Florida wetlands. The sky stretched wide and endless above them, a deep midnight blue, the stars barely visible through the low-hanging mist that clung to the swamps beyond.

    The only sounds left were the buzzing of cicadas, the occasional croak of an alligator, and the soft rustle of papers as the X-Men and Alamo sifted through the remaining documents, taking pictures as he did, under the dim glow of Jubilee¡¯s plasmoids. The once-active battlefield was nothing more than a graveyard of broken Sentinels, their hollowed-out chassis reflecting the moonlight, their shattered optics staring blankly into the night.

    Then Rogue¡¯s voice cut through the relative stillness.

    "So when are ya joinin¡¯ us, cowboy?"

    Alamo stilled, then slowly turned his head toward her, something in his stance shifting slightly.

    "What?"

    She smirked slightly, arms crossed, her green eyes sharp with challenge.

    "When are ya joinin¡¯ the X-Men, sugah?"

    There was a beat of silence, his red optics narrowing just a little, before he let out a slow exhale.

    "I ain¡¯t."

    Jubilee, who had been idly flipping through a file, suddenly perked up.

    "What? Dude, why? You would be awesome in the team!"

    Alamo shook his head.

    "Well, I won¡¯t join the X-Men ¡®cause I don¡¯t see myself agreein¡¯ with y¡¯all."

    Gambit, who had been watching silently, leaned forward slightly, tapping his fingers against a bent Sentinel plate.

    "What, survivin¡¯... protectin¡¯¡ª"

    Alamo¡¯s red optics glowed faintly, his voice steady.

    "Coexistin¡¯..."

    Gambit arched a brow.

    "Ya don¡¯t agree wit¡¯ coexistence, mon ami?"

    Alamo exhaled slowly, adjusting the glove on his left hand before responding.

    "I think it¡¯s a terribly misguided goal," he said evenly. "It¡¯s too optimistic. Xavier wants humans to accept mutants."

    Rogue¡¯s smirk faded immediately, her eyes sharpening with a familiar heat.

    "So what? Ya¡¯d rather see us as superior?" she snarled, stepping forward slightly.

    Alamo¡¯s optics dimmed slightly, his voice firm but not unkind.

    "No. Magneto is even worse¡ªhe¡¯s a megalomaniacal tyrant tryin¡¯ to pose as a liberator."

    Jubilee and Gambit exchanged glances as Alamo continued.

    "He¡¯s exactly what Lenin and Mao were. He¡¯s pretendin¡¯ to give a shit¡­ or maybe he even does. But his solution ends up bein¡¯ worse than the problem itself."

    Rogue¡¯s expression hardened further, her fists subtly clenching.

    "He had good intentions, Alamo."

    Alamo let out a sharp breath, shaking his head.

    "To <i>hell</i> with good intentions," he shot back. "Results is what matters, and in his crusade, he killed thousands of people¡­ heroes included. Y¡¯all know that."

    Gambit¡¯s smirk had fully faded now, his voice low.

    "But we ain¡¯t de Brotherhood, mon ami."

    There was a pause.

    Then, quietly, Rogue muttered¡ª

    "At least not anymore."

    The words hung in the air for a moment, the implication unspoken but heavy.

    Alamo didn¡¯t react immediately, but something about his stance shifted, like he was absorbing the weight of her words.

    "It doesn¡¯t matter," he finally said, shaking his head. "It¡¯s both sides o¡¯ the same coin. Collectivism."

    Rogue narrowed her eyes.

    "Y¡¯all see only mutants. It¡¯s all ¡®bout mutants this and mutants that¡ªit should be ¡®bout principles, not idealistic goals." The cowboy added.

    Gambit leaned forward again, arms crossed.

    "And what principles?"

    Alamo met his gaze evenly.

    "<i>Liberty. Individuality. Choice. Independence</i>."

    Jubilee blinked, looking between them.

    "Okay, <i>Captain America</i>¡­ what does that even mean?"

    Alamo¡¯s mask glinted as he turned slightly toward her.

    "It means that maybe some mutants don¡¯t want to be heroes, to be upstandin¡¯ beacons of Xavier¡¯s cause. Maybe they just wanna be left <i>alone</i>."

    Rogue¡¯s jaw tightened, but her voice was steady.

    "That¡¯s what we believe, too, Alamo."

    His head tilted slightly.

    "Well, sure heck is a weird way o¡¯ showin¡¯ it when y¡¯all play <i>mutant police</i>."

    The words landed hard, and Rogue¡¯s stomach twisted slightly.

    Gambit and Jubilee both looked toward her¡ªbecause they all knew.

    She knew exactly what he meant.

    The badges. The quasi-uniforms.

    The sense of duty that wasn¡¯t always chosen.

    Alamo¡¯s voice lowered slightly, his tone calm but pointed.

    "We are tryin¡¯, dude. We are helpin¡¯. What do you want us to do, huh? Fight for ourselves?" Jubilee said her tone harder now.

    Alamo didn¡¯t hesitate.

    "<i>YES</i>." His eyes flared slightly. "I reckon it¡¯s better than bleedin¡¯ an¡¯ dyin¡¯ for a cult of personality."

    Gambit suddenly stood up, his voice sharper now.

    "Look here, mon ami," he muttered, stepping closer. "Did ya come here to insult the<i> X-Men</i>?"

    Alamo didn¡¯t move, didn¡¯t flinch.

    "I didn¡¯t," he said calmly. "These are my thoughts as a mutant who¡¯s neither sacrificin¡¯ myself to <i>ol¡¯ buff Lenin</i> or<i> bald mind-readin¡¯ Jesus wannabe</i>."

    Rogue¡¯s eyes narrowed.

    "Ah think ya¡¯re wrong, Alamo." Her voice was firm. "We chose to be here. Ah know, ¡®cause Ah left the Brotherhood fer ¡®em."

    For the first time, Alamo¡¯s gaze softened slightly, the red glow dimming just a bit.

    Then Gambit exhaled, shaking his head.

    "Bold words comin¡¯ from a man who¡¯s also fightin¡¯."

    Rogue took a small step closer.

    "Why are ya even fightin¡¯, sugah?"

    Alamo hesitated.

    Then, softly he said. "A coll¡ªa <i>friend</i> told me it was okay to help, so I wanna help."

    A pause.

    "But I don¡¯t wanna sacrifice people fer the greater good. Many atrocities were committed in the name of greater goods, in the name of revolutions and great patriotic wars. I¡¯m not a soldier."

    Rogue watched him carefully.

    Then she nodded.

    "Well, we thank ya fer yer help."

    Alamo exhaled.

    "Look, all I¡¯m sayin¡¯ is¡­ free men don¡¯t buy promises of salvation."

    A small smirk returned to Rogue¡¯s lips.

    "It¡¯s fine, sugah. Ya helped us. Thanks fer that."

    Alamo took a step back.

    "I have what I need. It was a pleasure meetin¡¯ y¡¯all."

    His gaze landed on Rogue one last time.

    "¡®Specially you, Rogue. Ya ain¡¯t nearly as scary as people make ya. Also y''all are free to call me Duncan, if y''all please."

    Rogue chuckled.

    "Ah¡¯ll see ya ¡®round, Duncan."

    Alamo smirked behind his mask.

    "Ya will, Rogue. Ya will."

    Then, in a flash of blue plasma, he took to the skies, disappearing into the night

    The night air was still heavy, clinging to them like the last remnants of a storm. The swamp hummed with life¡ªcicadas buzzing in the trees, distant alligators breaking the water¡¯s surface with low, guttural rumbles. The battlefield they left behind was eerily silent, the wreckage of Sentinels still smoldering, the once-menacing machines now just scattered heaps of ruined metal.

    Above them, the sky stretched vast and dark, the deep blues and blacks almost swallowing the horizon, only broken by the faint, glowing blue trail that the Alamo had left in his wake. His flight path flickered once, then twice, before vanishing entirely, leaving nothing behind but the question Rogue couldn¡¯t shake from her mind.

    Who the hell was he?

    "So, what ya think now, petite?"

    Gambit¡¯s voice broke the quiet, and Rogue turned just in time to see him lean against the crumpled van, arms crossed, an easy smirk tugging at his lips. His red-on-black eyes flickered with mischief, but there was an edge of curiosity beneath the teasing.

    Jubilee, who had been watching the sky with a look somewhere between awe and mild irritation, let out a loud sigh, shoving her hands in the pockets of her yellow techwear jacket. "Well... I mean, he¡¯s cool..." she admitted, rocking back on her heels.

    Gambit arched a brow. "But...?"

    Jubilee made a vague, exasperated gesture.

    "But he¡¯s also a preachy, overpowered nerd... like, so preachy."

    She threw her arms up.

    "I get it, <i>freedom, individuality</i>, whatever¡ªbro, just<i> s</i><i>ay you don¡¯t like teamwork</i> and move on."

    Rogue snorted at that, shaking her head, but Jubilee wasn¡¯t done.

    She crossed her arms, tapping her fingers against her bicep thoughtfully before giving a dramatic sigh.

    "<i>I guess he¡¯s hot after all."</i>

    Gambit stared at her, completely deadpan.

    "<i>Petite</i>," he muttered, "ya never learn."

    Jubilee just grinned, unfazed.

    "Learnin¡¯ is for nerds, Remy. I have fun."

    Rogue rolled her eyes at their back and forth, her focus still on the horizon, on that vanishing blue trail. Her arms crossed a little tighter over her chest as she stood there, the humid air pressing against her skin, her mind turning over and over what just happened.

    The fight. The conversation.

    The arguments about freedom, individualism, principles.

    His words stuck with her in a way she didn¡¯t expect¡ª "<i>Free men don¡¯t buy promises of salvation.</i>"

    She let out a slow breath.

    "Who the hell are ya, Duncan?" she murmured, half to herself.

    Gambit had been watching her carefully from the side, and after a moment, he closed the distance between them.

    "Ya good, cher?" he asked, voice lower now, less teasing, more genuine concern.

    Rogue¡¯s fingers twitched slightly against her bicep, but she didn¡¯t turn toward him.

    Instead, she just kept watching the sky.

    "Ah ain''t sure, Remy," she admitted. Her voice was quieter than usual, thoughtful. "But Ah reckon Ah might be." Her green eyes still hadn¡¯t left the horizon.

    Gambit let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

    "Well, cher," he murmured, soft but certain, "it¡¯s goin¡¯ to be alright."

    There was a long pause, the night stretching quietly between them.

    "Yeah, sure."

    <i>"</i>Alright, can we go home now?" Jubilee suddenly whined, stretching her arms over her head. "I¡¯m hungry!"

    Before Rogue could respond, Cyclops¡¯ voice crackled through her earpiece, cutting through the quiet with its usual sharp professionalism.

    "Cyclops here. Rogue, do you copy?"

    Rogue clicked the communicator, sighing slightly.

    "Yup."

    "SITREP."

    Rogue glanced toward Gambit and Jubilee before responding.

    "We raided de FoH, we got documents waitin¡¯ for retrieval."

    There was a brief pause on the other end, before Cyclops spoke again.

    "I detected an anomalous energy signal in your area. Are you alright?"

    Rogue smirked slightly, shaking her head.

    "Yep, we¡¯re peachy."

    Another pause.

    "What was it?"

    Rogue exhaled, rolling her shoulders.

    "It¡¯s a long story. Ah¡¯ll tell y¡¯all durin¡¯ debrief."

    "Understood. We are descending."

    "Got it."

    "Cyclops out."

    As the comms clicked off, Rogue looked back toward her team.

    "Alright, y¡¯all," she said, clapping her hands together, "let¡¯s move these boxes to the LZ."

    Jubilee groaned but grabbed a stack of files. Gambit stretched lazily, tossing a card in his hand before picking up another box.

    But as they moved toward the landing zone, Rogue¡¯s thoughts weren¡¯t on the documents anymore.

    Her eyes lingered a little longer on the horizon¡ª On that empty, starless stretch of sky where Alamo had disappeared.

    She didn¡¯t understand him. Not fully.

    He wore gloves like her. He absorbed like her. He had that same urge to be free¡ª But he wasn¡¯t like her. Not in the slightest.

    His arguments, his skepticism, his criticism of Xavier¡¯s dream¡ªthey unsettled her in a way she didn¡¯t expect.

    Not because he was <i>right</i>.

    Because deep down... she wasn¡¯t sure if he was entirely <i>wrong</i> either.

    It was more than curiosity now.

    It was something else.

    Something she couldn¡¯t quite name yet.

    But she knew one thing for sure.

    This wasn¡¯t the last time she¡¯d see him.

 Chapter 6: Bad Faith

    The Blackbird¡¯s engines whined softly, heat still radiating from its sleek, black frame as it touched down on Florida dirt. The landing gear hissed as it locked into place, and the boarding ramp lowered slowly, allowing the night air to spill into the cabin.

    Rogue exhaled through her nose, running a gloved hand through her hair before she unstrapped herself from her seat. The moment she did, she saw him.

    <i>Wolverine.</i>

    The stocky Canadian mutant stood at the bottom of the ramp, arms folded over his chest, a freshly lit cigar clamped between his teeth. His adamantium-laced skeleton made him look heavier than he was, his thick boots planted firmly as if he had been standing there the entire time, waiting for them.

    His sharp, animal-like gaze scanned over them quickly¡ªassessing for wounds, checking for signs of trouble. That was just Logan. The man didn¡¯t need a damn report to know something was off.

    He took a deep breath, then¡ª

    "<i>Uncle Wolvie!</i>"

    Jubilee practically bounded down the ramp, arms spread wide before throwing them around his waist in a quick, forceful hug.

    Wolverine huffed, letting her do it.

    "Jubilee," he muttered, taking the cigar out of his mouth with two fingers. "How was it, kid?"

    Jubilee pulled back, grinning wide.

    "You wouldn¡¯t guess who showed up¡ª"

    "Jubes." Rogue¡¯s voice was firm, cutting through her excitement immediately.

    Jubilee froze, turning toward her.

    Rogue narrowed her eyes slightly, shaking her head. Not yet.

    Wolverine¡¯s eyes flicked up toward Rogue, then back to Jubilee.

    "Go on, kid," he encouraged.

    Rogue groaned.

    "Logan. It ain¡¯t the time."

    Wolverine grunted.

    "Alright, whatever. Cranky."

    Behind them, Remy walked down the ramp, stepping into the humid night air.

    Unlike Jubilee, he didn¡¯t announce himself.

    Instead, he stopped just beside Wolverine, leaned in slightly, and muttered under his breath.

    "De Texan showed up."

    Wolverine¡¯s entire posture stiffened.

    "What?"

    "Apparently to badmouth us."

    Wolverine scowled immediately, his grip on his cigar tightening slightly.

    "That son of a¡ª"

    "REMY."

    Rogue¡¯s voice cracked through the air like a whip, sharp and unwavering.

    Gambit winced, throwing his hands up.

    "Ah said Ah¡¯d handle it."

    "I¡¯m sorry, cher."

    Jubilee, arms still crossed, let out a loud sigh.

    "Dude, you¡¯re so lame sometimes."

    Inside the Blackbird¡¯s cockpit, Storm was already seated, her regal posture relaxed but composed as she quietly discussed something with Jean and Scott.

    The moment Rogue approached, however, the conversation halted.

    Scott turned his sharp blue gaze toward her.

    "<i>Rogue</i>."

    Storm¡¯s expression softened, a gentle smile forming as she reached out and gave Rogue¡¯s arm a reassuring squeeze.

    "So, how was it?"

    Rogue exhaled, arms still folded tight against her chest.

    "Ah reckon Ah handled it... but we had surprises."

    Scott¡¯s expression darkened slightly.

    "We picked up Sentinel readings in the area. Was it handled?"

    "Absolutely."

    Jean and Storm both relaxed slightly at that.

    But then Rogue added¡ª

    "But there¡¯s somethin¡¯ else."

    Jean leaned forward.

    "Please, Rogue¡ªgo on."

    Rogue inhaled slowly.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    "The Alamo showed up."

    The cockpit went silent.

    A heavy silence.

    For a moment, no one spoke.

    Even Scott, who was normally quick to cut through the noise, seemed to take a second longer to process that.

    "Why did he come?"

    "He¡¯s workin¡¯ on <i>Carraro</i> too. Has his own investigation."

    Rogue¡¯s mind churned as she replayed his words in her head¡ª

    <i>"Free men don¡¯t buy promises of salvation."</i>

    "Did he help your team?" Storm asked, her voice level.

    Rogue nodded.

    "He did. As a matter of fact, he mowed down Sentinels fer us."

    Scott¡¯s jaw tightened slightly, but it was Jean who spoke first.

    "Is that so?"

    "Yup," Rogue confirmed, shifting slightly. "He also made sense of those ol¡¯ documents we found."

    Storm¡¯s eyebrows raised slightly.

    "Really?"

    "Yup. He used to work fer a bank. Economist. Told us that <i>Trask</i> was payin¡¯ <i>Carraro</i> to guard stuff that didn¡¯t exist. Carraro folks were basically FoH, so Trask was indirectly payin¡¯ the FoH to kill mutants."

    Jean¡¯s face fell slightly.

    "Kill?"

    Rogue reached into her jacket, pulling out a folded sheet of paper before handing it to Scott.

    "Yup," she muttered. "Ah found a list of mutants they executed."

    Scott took the paper.

    His jaw clenched immediately.

    His eyes scanned the names, his fingers gripping the sheet tighter the longer he looked.

    "These are <i>Marauders</i>."

    "Yep." Rogue nodded. "Same people Remy worked with couple years ago, when Sinister paid ¡®em to massacre the Morlocks."

    Jean¡¯s eyes flickered with recognition, but her voice was softer.

    "They¡¯re dead."

    Rogue nodded.

    "Most of ¡®em, yes."

    Jean looked at Scott, then exhaled.

    "They didn¡¯t deserve to die."

    Her voice was firm.

    "Everyone deserves a second chance¡­ like we gave Remy."

    Scott said nothing.

    But his fist clenched slightly on the armrest.

    Finally, he exhaled.

    "You did a good job, Anna Marie."

    But then¡ª

    "I¡¯m curious, though¡ªwhat else did this Alamo tell your group?"

    Before Rogue could speak¡ª

    "Heh." Jubilee let out a snicker, grinning wide.

    "Oh, you won¡¯t like it."

    Scott tilted his head slightly, waiting.

    Jubilee leaned forward, hands on her hips.

    "He came in all plasma <i>pew pew</i>, like some <i>AC-130</i> with a cowboy hat¡ªhe has one, by the way¡ªand a chrome mask."

    Scott sighed.

    "<i>Jubilation</i>."

    "No, no, listen!" she insisted. "It¡¯s kinda edgy, but I guess it works, because he¡¯s not that edgy... but <i>boy</i>, he¡¯s preachy."

    She turned toward Beast.

    "He told us that we¡¯re a bunch of collectivists¡­ somethin¡¯ about bein¡¯ on the same coin as the Brotherhood. Liberty, Choice, Individuality and what not"

    Beast, who had been quietly reading a thick genetics tome, adjusted his glasses slightly before muttering¡ª

    "Ah. <i>Hayekian Individualism </i>or <i>Sartrean Existentialism</i>, the first most likely"

    All heads turned toward him.

    "What." Jubilee blinked.

    Scott sighed deeply.

    "What else did he say?"

    Rogue finally spoke up.

    "He said free men don¡¯t buy promises of salvation."

    Beast nodded approvingly.

    "Oh, that all sounds very similar to <i>The Road to Serfdom, </i>though it strikes a lot lik<i>e Sartre''s bad faith</i>"

    Jubilee groaned loudly, throwing her hands up.

    "Okay, cut the nerd talk! I¡¯m hungry, and the brain talk makes me even hungrier and worse¡­ bored."

    Scott sighed.

    "Understood, Jubilee."

    Beast smirked.

    "There¡¯s no bad time for learning, young Jubilation. Expand your horizons."

    Jubilee deadpanned.

    "How about you expand your horizons, Blue. Preferably away from me."

    The hum of the Blackbird¡¯s engines was steady, a low mechanical rhythm that filled the cabin as the team settled in for the flight back home. The tension from their mission still hung in the air, but Rogue felt something else lingering¡ªa weight she hadn¡¯t quite been able to shake since the moment Alamo left.

    His words echoed in her head.

    <i>"Free men don¡¯t buy promises of salvation."</i>

    <i>"Maybe some mutants don¡¯t wanna be heroes."</i>

    She didn¡¯t like how much it stuck with her. How much it bothered her.

    She exhaled sharply, rolling her shoulders before speaking.

    "He said Xavier¡¯s dream is too idealistic," Rogue murmured, her voice quiet but firm. "Said it can¡¯t work. That we focus too much on mutantkind¡­"

    She hesitated.

    She didn¡¯t want to say the next part.

    But it was there, stuck in her throat.

    "He said¡­" She paused again, then shook her head. "Doesn¡¯t matter now."

    But it did.

    Because she knew exactly what he called them.

    <i>Cops</i>

    And maybe he wasn¡¯t wrong.

    Not entirely.

    Scott¡¯s sharp  gaze flicked toward her, jaw tightening.

    "It doesn¡¯t matter," he said, firmly. "Because he¡¯s not right. He¡¯s full of himself. We¡¯re a family¡ªif he¡¯s scared of having someone¡¯s back, that¡¯s on him. He¡¯s just egotistical."

    Rogue¡¯s fingers twitched slightly in her gloves.

    "Maybe he¡¯s learning, Scott," Jean interjected, her voice gentle but firm.

    "Doesn¡¯t matter to me, Jean," Scott countered. "I won¡¯t allow anyone to lambast our family, our mission¡­ our duty. Not even if it¡¯s a mutant."

    Jubilee, who had sprawled out in her seat, let out a dramatic sigh.

    "Meh, he¡¯s just a nerd, Fearless Leader." She paused, then added with a smirk, "Well, a hot nerd. But a nerd nonetheless¡­"

    Then she slumped back, pulling her jacket tighter around her.

    Storm, who had been silent, finally turned to Rogue.

    Her warm, patient voice cut through the cabin.

    "And what do you make of it, Rogue?"

    Rogue hesitated for just a second.

    "Maybe he¡¯s lost¡­" she admitted. "Maybe he sees the world differently."

    She stood in silence, as if she had finished speaking¡ª

    But her own thoughts wouldn¡¯t let her stop.

    Because deep down, she knew there was more to it than that.

    And finally, she thought¡ª

    "Or maybe he does have a point."

    A silence stretched in the air.

    Then, Beast adjusted his glasses, his expression thoughtful.

    "Well, it¡¯s not entirely negative to have different perspectives in the struggle for our kind," he said. "While I do not look at his views entirely favorably, it is certainly less disruptive than Erik¡¯s stance on mutant superiority."

    Rogue tilted her head slightly.

    "Maybe he just wants people to be left alone, Doc."

    Beast hummed, nodding slightly.

    "Perhaps. But unfortunately, the world has chosen that mutants can¡¯t be left alone. Even if we wish so, he should know that."

    Rogue sighed.

    "Maybe he¡¯s fightin¡¯ fer that."

    Beast tapped his fingers against his knee.

    "Then it¡¯s not a different fight from ours," he mused. "And if he were to reconsider his views, he would fit well among us."

    Scott let out a sharp exhale, his fingers tightening slightly against the armrest of his seat.

    "I¡¯d rather not have some self-obsessed moralist in our team."

    Jean sighed, rubbing her temples.

    "Scott."

    "Maybe he can change, maybe he won¡¯t," Scott continued, shaking his head. "It doesn¡¯t matter. What matters is that we have enough information to follow the money trail."

    Rogue nodded, crossing her arms.

    "What y¡¯all got in Detroit?" she asked, shifting the subject.

    Storm leaned forward slightly.

    "We got a name¡ª<i>Thomas Thompson</i>," she said. "In Arkansas."

    Rogue¡¯s brows furrowed slightly.

    "Didn¡¯t the Alamo blow up the place and send half the people there to the hospital?"

    "Yes," Storm admitted. "But our hope is that Thompson has stayed in Arkansas, so we can find him and what he knows."

    Rogue glanced toward Scott.

    "So¡­ we goin¡¯ to Arkansas?"

    Scott nodded once.

    "Tomorrow."

    He leaned back slightly in his seat.

    "Today, we did our jobs. We need to rest and recharge."

    "Bit o¡¯ R&R don¡¯t hurt," Wolverine¡¯s voice suddenly grumbled from the corner, stepping further into the cabin. His arms crossed, his stubbled jaw tight, but there was something more relaxed in his expression.

    Then¡ª

    "Though I¡¯m itchin¡¯ to cut somethin¡¯, bub," he added, cracking his knuckles.

    Jubilee groaned, grinning anyway.

    "Ugh. You always say that."

    Wolverine smirked slightly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a fresh cigar, rolling it between his fingers.

    "Y¡¯know, there was this time in Australia, durin¡¯ the Vietnam War¡­"

    Rogue and Jubilee groaned at the same time, leaning back in their seats.

    "There he goes again."

 Chapter 7: Past, Present, Future

    The Xavier Institute was quiet that evening, the hum of the Blackbird¡¯s engines still echoing in the minds of those who had just returned from the mission. Outside, the grounds were bathed in soft moonlight, the faint rustling of trees carried by the cool breeze rolling over the estate. A handful of students milled about in the courtyard, their laughter and conversation a gentle backdrop to the otherwise peaceful night.

    Inside, however, the usual domestic chaos was unfolding.

    Jubilee was sprawled out on the couch in the common room, one foot resting on the coffee table, the other lazily propped up on the armrest. The television flickered in the background, some action-packed anime playing at low volume, but her focus was elsewhere¡ªspecifically, on the bag of Doritos she was currently shoveling into her mouth with zero remorse.

    Bright orange dust coated her fingers, staining them with artificial cheese residue, but she didn¡¯t care.

    "Oh yeah, baby, get in my belly." she muttered between bites, fully immersed in her junk food bliss.

    Then, just as she was about to grab another handful¡ª

    The bag vanished.

    Jubilee froze mid-bite, staring at her now empty hands as if she had just been personally betrayed by the universe itself.

    Then she looked up¡ª

    And there she was.

    Ororo Munroe. Storm. The literal goddess of the sky.

    Standing over her with an unimpressed expression, the stolen Doritos bag dangling from her fingers like it was radioactive waste.

    "Jubilation, you will not eat this."

    Jubilee¡¯s jaw dropped.

    "Seriously, Stormy?! I was savin¡¯ those for a while!"

    Storm didn¡¯t budge.

    Instead, she handed Jubilee something else¡ª

    A wrap.

    With grilled chicken and lettuce.

    Jubilee stared at it.

    Then back at Storm.

    Then back at the wrap of disappointment.

    "You cannot be serious right now."

    Storm arched a perfectly sculpted brow, her expression calm but unyielding.

    "No, young woman, I am quite serious. These¡ª" she gave the bag of <i>Doritos</i> a slight shake, "¡ªare terrible for your health. I cooked this for you."

    Jubilee¡¯s horror deepened.

    "You made this? By hand? Like, with your actual hands?"

    "I am quite capable in the kitchen, Jubilee."

    Jubilee groaned dramatically, throwing herself back into the couch.

    "Oh my God, I¡¯m being micromanaged by a literal goddess."

    Then, from the corner of the room, another voice grumbled¡ª

    "¡®Ro, let the kid live a little."

    All heads turned.

    There, in his usual seat by the window, sat Logan¡ªWolverine.

    He was leaned back in his chair, one boot propped up against the coffee table, a glass of whiskey in one hand, a half-burned cigar in the other. The window beside him was cracked open, allowing the sharp scent of tobacco and aged bourbon to mix with the cool night air.

    His sharp, animal-like gaze flicked over to Storm, smirking slightly before taking a slow sip of his drink.

    Storm¡¯s eyes narrowed slightly.

    "It is easy for you to promote such reckless behavior, Logan," she said coolly, "considering your healing factor allows you to consume an unsurmountable amount of alcohol and tobacco without any long-term damage."

    Logan let out a low chuckle, swirling the whiskey in his glass.

    "Well, darlin¡¯¡­" He took a slow drag from his cigar, exhaling toward the open window. "Maybe damage is what makes life worth livin¡¯."

    Storm¡¯s expression flattened.

    "Logan. Stop encouraging this behavior in the students."

    Logan just smirked, shaking his head.

    "It¡¯s just some nasty snacks, ¡®Ro. What evil there is in that? We used to drink straight whiskey and beer back in the day ¡®cause the water was so shit. And don¡¯t even get me started on war rations. Beans and bacon, all cooked up in lard."

    Storm crossed her arms.

    "We are not in the 19th century anymore, Logan. Nobody is feeding lard to anyone."

    Logan just took another sip of his drink, smirking against the rim of his glass.

    "Yeah. Everything today¡¯s so safe¡­ weak."

    From the couch, Jubilee finally chimed in, grinning.

    "Okay, Gramps¡ªgo back to eatin¡¯ banana puddin¡¯ and nap time."

    Logan side-eyed her.

    "I¡¯m pleadin¡¯ your case here, kid. Shut up."

    Just as Jubilee was about to retort, another voice entered the room.

    Rogue.

    "What y¡¯all bickerin¡¯ ¡®bout again?"

    She strolled down the stairs, dressed in her usual casual attire¡ªa pair of denim shorts, a loose white T-shirt, and her signature brown leather jacket draped over her shoulders. She had heard most of the conversation from upstairs and was already smirking to herself before she even reached the common area.

    Storm immediately turned to her.

    "Logan is trying to enable Jubilee to poison herself."

    "The earth gives plenty," she gestured gracefully, "and he wants to stimulate her to eat this¡­ processed slop."

    Rogue¡¯s eyebrows shot up.

    "Oh. <i>Doritos</i>?" She held out a gloved hand. "Gimme some."

    Jubilee¡¯s head snapped toward her, alarmed.

    "Hey, Roguey! That¡¯s mine!"

    But Rogue had already reached into the bag, grabbing a handful and popping them into her mouth.

    There was a pause.

    Then she grinned.

    "Mmm."

    She chewed slowly, enjoying every bite, before handing the bag back¡ª

    Directly to Storm.

    Storm looked vaguely smug.

    Jubilee looked betrayed.

    "Rogue."

    Rogue wiped the orange dust from her lips, smirking.

    "Y¡¯all happy?" she teased.

    Storm gave a small nod of approval, while Jubilee slumped dramatically against the couch.

    "Damn it. My Doritos."

    Before Jubilee could sink into full despair, Rogue grabbed one of the wraps, took a bite, then handed the rest to her.

    "When a goddess tells ya to eat healthy, ya eat healthy, Jubes."

    Jubilee glared at her.

    "I hate you."

    Rogue just winked, grabbing another wrap for herself as Logan chuckled from his seat.

    "Smart girl."

    Jubilee, still pouting, took a bite of the wrap.

    She chewed slowly.

    Then¡ª

    "...Okay, this is actually not bad."

    Storm simply smiled.

    Rogue threw herself onto the bed, her body sinking into the soft mattress, but her mind remained restless. The ceiling above her was dark, faint slivers of moonlight filtering through her window, casting long silver streaks across her room. The faint hum of the mansion at night¡ªmuted conversations from the hall, the distant sounds of students still up, and the occasional howl of the wind outside¡ªdid little to quiet her thoughts.

    She had gotten good at pushing back intrusive memories. The lingering echoes of people she had absorbed over the years had, at times, threatened to consume her, to warp her sense of self. But through discipline and sheer will, she had learned to lock them away, to compartmentalize the voices that weren¡¯t hers.

    Rogue threw herself onto the bed, her body sinking into the soft mattress, but her mind remained restless. The ceiling above her was dark, faint slivers of moonlight filtering through her window, casting long silver streaks across her room. The faint hum of the mansion at night¡ªmuted conversations from the hall, the distant sounds of students still up, and the occasional howl of the wind outside¡ªdid little to quiet her thoughts.

    She had gotten good at pushing back intrusive memories. The lingering echoes of people she had absorbed over the years had, at times, threatened to consume her, to warp her sense of self. But through discipline and sheer will, she had learned to lock them away, to compartmentalize the voices that weren¡¯t hers.

    <i>Most days, they stayed buried.</i>A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    <i>Most days.</i>

    <i>But tonight, it wasn¡¯t Carol Danvers'' voice creeping into her head. It wasn¡¯t the echo of Captain Marvel¡¯s thoughts or instincts.</i>

    <i>Tonight, it was her own past.</i>

    <i>Not the X-Men.</i>

    <i>Not her time as a hero.</i>

    <i>The Brotherhood.</i>

    <i>Mystique. Destiny.</i>

    <i>The only family she had ever known, before she chose a different path.</i>

    <i>Her thoughts spiraled back to that one mission, the one she could never forget.</i>

    <hr>

    <i>New York, 2016</i>

    She had been sixteen.

    A girl thrown into a world of war, fighting battles that were never really hers to begin with. She had known how to throw a punch, how to use her powers. But there was still hesitation in her, a feeling she never spoke of to Mystique or Destiny.

    She remembered standing in the Brotherhood''s hideout, a dimly lit warehouse near the Hudson, the air thick with the scent of oil and steel.

    Mystique stood before her, her yellow eyes unyielding, her hands on Rogue¡¯s shoulders.

    "Rogue, this mission is important. We must steal the schematics from Stark."

    Rogue remembered looking up at her adoptive mother, her voice small, uncertain.

    "Ah¡¯m scared, mama."

    Mystique¡¯s expression hardened instantly, her grip on Rogue¡¯s shoulders tightening.

    "Don¡¯t be scared." Her voice was sharp, commanding. "If you get scared, you will be weak. And if you are weak, the humans will kill you. Doesn¡¯t matter how scared you are¡ªnever show it. They will exploit it, they will hurt you¡­ they will kill you."

    The words had landed like cold steel in her gut.

    She had turned then, searching for Destiny, hoping for softer guidance.

    The older woman, wrapped in her usual flowing robes, had stepped forward, her blindfolded gaze unreadable.

    "Listen to Raven, Anna Marie," Destiny said, her voice calm but absolute. "She knows what she speaks of. Fear is a great motivator, but it is also a great hindrance. Make your enemies fear you, but never show that you fear them."

    Rogue had nodded, because what else could she do?

    She didn¡¯t have a choice.

    <i>The mission had been coordinated chaos.</i>

    <i>The Brotherhood had stormed the facility, and soon enough, the Avengers were waiting.</i>

    <i>She remembered the crackling energy in the air as Captain America flipped into action, his shield raised, barking the command that had made her stomach tighten¡ª</i>

    <i>"Avengers, assemble!"</i>

    <i>There had been no Thor that night, no Scarlet Witch, no Vision. They had thought they had a chance.</i>

    <i>They were wrong.</i>

    <i>Even without a god among them, the Avengers were a force to be reckoned with.</i>

    <i>She had watched as Mystique faced off against Captain America, her adoptive mother moving with graceful efficiency, her attacks calculated.</i>

    <i>She didn¡¯t match his strength, but Mystique had never needed strength¡ªshe had deception. She shifted form effortlessly, turning into Steve¡¯s mother, then Howard Stark, forcing hesitation where there should have been none.</i>

    <i>The battlefield was madness.</i>

    <i>Juggernaut vaulted across the facility, his massive form a wrecking ball.</i>

    <i>Pyro¡¯s flames lit up the sky, his fire turning corridors into infernos.</i>

    <i>Blob charged at the Hulk, the two titans colliding, shaking the very earth beneath them.</i>

    <i>Destiny evaded Iron Man¡¯s repulsor blasts, moving with an unnatural grace, as if she already knew where every attack would land.</i>

    <i>For a while, it had seemed like they were winning.</i>

    <i>Then¡ª</i>

    <i>She arrived.</i>

    <i>Carol Danvers.</i>

    <i>Captain Marvel.</i>

    <i>Rogue had known she was strong, but nothing had prepared her for what she witnessed that night.</i>

    <i>Carol cut through the battlefield like a storm, her fists glowing, her energy blasting Juggernaut back, sending him skidding across the concrete. She moved too fast, hit too hard, and suddenly¡ª</i>

    <i>The battle wasn¡¯t theirs anymore.</i>

    <i>Then came the moment she would never forget.</i>

    <i>Carol had Mystique in a headlock, her grip unrelenting.</i>

    <i>Destiny reached for her, but Carol was too fast, twisting Mystique¡¯s arm behind her back.</i>

    <i>And then¡ª</i>

    <i>"ROGUE! DO IT!"</i>

    <i>The order had pierced through the chaos, cutting through her hesitation.</i>

    <i>And for a split second, Rogue had hesitated.</i>

    <i>She had never been comfortable with everything the Brotherhood did.</i>

    <i>But when her adoptive mother called for her¡ª</i><i> She had complied.</i>

    <i>She had taken off her gloves¡ª</i>

    <i>And she had jumped.</i>

    <i>Her bare hands gripped Carol¡¯s face, pressing against her cheek, her temples, her fingers digging into her skin.</i>

    <i>Then came the rush¡ª</i>

    <i>The power flooding into her, the overwhelming surge of strength, of flight, of energy manipulation.</i>

    <i>She felt Carol¡¯s memories crashing into her, her life, her past, her dreams, her fears.</i>

    <i>And then¡ª</i>

    <i>Carol went cold.</i>

    <i>Her body slumped, unmoving.</i>

    <i>Rogue had let her go, but it was too late.</i>

    <i>Carol collapsed onto the pavement, her chest barely rising, her eyes vacant.</i>

    <i>She had left her in a coma.</i>

    <i>She had stolen everything from her.</i>

    <hr>

    Rogue snapped back to the present, her breath shallow, her hands clenched into fists against the bedsheets.

    It had been years since that night. Years since Carol had woken up, since the rift between them became permanent, an unspoken war neither of them could mend. Even now, after all these years, after she had left the Brotherhood, after she had become a hero¡ª

    Carol¡¯s memories were still there. Still locked inside her. Still a part of her that she never asked for.

    She rolled onto her side, pressing her forehead against the pillow, her thoughts still tangled in the past.

    No matter how far she ran, no matter how much she changed¡ª Some ghosts never let go.

    Rogue stood frozen, her breath uneven, her heart pounding in her ears. The mirror in front of her reflected the woman she had become, but tonight¡ªtonight, she barely recognized herself.

    The dim light in her room cast a soft, golden glow across her freckled skin, her wild auburn hair framing her face in loose waves, but her green eyes were clouded, unfocused, staring past her own reflection.

    Her uniform hung behind her¡ªdried, crisp, clean, the iconic green and white fabric a stark contrast to the thoughts storming in her mind.

    For a moment, she had smiled.

    She had thought of her journey, of how she had come here, how she had fought and bled to build something new¡ª

    Something better.

    <hr>

    <i>Back in 2017, She had lost.</i>

    <i>A fight, a battle¡ªagainst them.</i>

    <i>The X-Men had beaten her, and she had nowhere left to go.</i>

    <i>Not a week before, she had still been Rogue of the Brotherhood, still under Mystique¡¯s watchful eye, still following orders she wasn¡¯t sure she believed in anymore.</i>

    <i>But after that fight¡ªafter she had been defeated¡ªshe had been alone.</i>

    <i>Utterly, painfully alone.</i><i> She had felt manipulated, lied to.</i><i> Mystique had told her so many things, whispered so many promises¡ª</i>

    <i><b>"Mutants are better. The Brotherhood exists to show the world we are better than humans. Evolved."</b></i>

    <i>And for a time, she had believed it.</i>

    <i>She had believed in Mystique¡¯s cause, in Destiny¡¯s guidance, in the Brotherhood¡¯s vision.</i>

    <i>But she had also known doubt.</i>

    <i>And when Xavier opened his doors¡ª</i>

    <i>He hadn¡¯t rejected her.</i><i> Hadn¡¯t feared her.</i><i> Hadn¡¯t hated her.</i>

    <i>He had welcomed her.</i><i> He had accepted her, broken pieces and all.</i>

    <i>And then, after Xavier¡ªWolverine.</i>

    <i>She had followed him to Japan, fought beside him when he needed her, when Mariko had been in danger.</i>

    <i>And for the first time in her life¡ª</i>

    <i>She had felt like she belonged somewhere.</i>

    <hr>

    <i>But then she remembered him, Magneto.</i>

    <i>His words haunted her too.</i>

    <i>She had only known him briefly, back when she was young, back when Mystique had still been introducing her to the Brotherhood¡¯s allies.</i>

    <i>She could still hear his voice¡ªhis commanding presence, his unshaken certainty.</i>

    <i><b>"Young Anna Marie, you''re powerful. You''re strong. The humans might shun you, they might shun us. But one day, we will rise¡ªand in their ashes, we¡¯ll build a society that truly accepts us¡­ that truly understands us.</b>"</i>

    <i>"We¡¯ll save mutantkind."</i>

    <i>Then there was Xavier¡ªhis voice softer, but no less certain.</i>

    <i>She remembered when he had spoken to her, not long after she had joined the X-Men.</i>

    <i>"<b>Rogue</b>," he had told her, "<b>we built the X-Men to change the world, to protect it. Not as conquerors, not as warmongers, but as children of peace.</b>"</i>

    <i>"<b>To remind humans that we can coexist, that we can live together. That is the only way forward, the only way to save mutantkind</b>."</i>

    She had believed him. She still did.

    And that¡¯s why she had smiled¡ªat first.

    This was her family.

    This was her purpose.

    But then¡ª

    Then came the words that cut her like a knife.

    "Free men don¡¯t buy promises of salvation."

    Fuck.

    She felt it twist inside her, a slow and awful realization.

    She turned to her uniform, ran a hand over the stitched X on her chest¡ª

    And suddenly, she couldn¡¯t unhear it.

    <b>"Mutant Police."</b>

    Her fingers curled, gripping the fabric tighter.

    Her brows furrowed, her eyes stung with something unwanted.

    Superiority.

    Coexistence.

    Choice.

    <i>Were they just words?</i>

    <i>Or did they truly mean anything at all?</i>

    <i>Her chest tightened, and frustration surged up like wildfire.</i>

    <i>Her fist clenched.</i>

    <i>She wanted to hit something.</i>

    The mirror was right there.

    Her arm arched back, her muscles coiling, ready to strike¡ª

    <i>Why the hell did it bother her so much?</i>

    <i>Why did she care what someone she had barely met had to say?</i>

    <i>But she knew why.</i>

    <i>It wasn¡¯t just what he said¡ª</i>

    <i>It was who he was.</i>

    <i>The accent.</i>

    <i>The gloves.</i>

    <i>The absorption powers.</i>

    <i>So different, but also¡ªso alike.</i>

    <b><i>Too alike.</i></b>

    <i>Her teeth clenched.</i>

    "Fuck you, Duncan." She muttered it under her breath, but the anger didn¡¯t fade.

    Her arm tensed, her fist trembling, the urge to punch the mirror still there¡ª

    But then¡ª A voice.

    "Rogue."

    She froze. Her head snapped toward the door, her breath short, her heart still pounding in her chest.

    "Jean?"

    A pause.

    "<b>We have to talk."</b>

    Jean slipped into the room without knocking, her presence gentle yet firm. The soft click of the door behind her signaled that she wanted privacy; whatever Rogue was dealing with, Jean could sense it required both honesty and space. The lamplight cast long shadows on the walls, turning the bedroom into a cozy cocoon of oranges and golds in the late hour.

    She moved quietly across the room and perched on the edge of Rogue¡¯s bed, the mattress dipping beneath her weight. Tapping the spot next to her, she looked at Rogue with warm, understanding eyes.

    ¡°Anna Marie,¡± she began in her calm, melodic tone, ¡°you¡¯re hurt. I came to talk. I sensed your frustration.¡±

    Rogue was leaning against a dresser, half-turned away, her arms folded protectively over her chest. She flinched at Jean¡¯s words¡ªunsure if it was embarrassment or relief that she¡¯d been caught in her turmoil.

    ¡°Jean¡­ Ah¡¯m¡­ Ah¡¯m fine,¡± Rogue managed, though her words wavered.

    ¡°You are not.¡± Jean¡¯s voice was resolute but gentle.

    Rogue exhaled, a shaky breath escaping. ¡°Jean¡­¡±

    ¡°Anna Marie,¡± Jean pressed softly, ¡°you don¡¯t have to shield yourself from pain. You can tell me.¡±

    There was a long pause. Rogue¡¯s eyes flickered with conflict. Finally, she relented and walked over, settling on the bed next to Jean. Her shoulders slumped, and she looked at her gloved hands, twisting them in her lap.

    ¡°Ah¡­ Ah ain¡¯t sure anymore,¡± she said, voice hushed. ¡°Ah ain¡¯t sure of what we¡¯re doin¡¯ is goin¡¯ anywhere. We wear these uniforms¡­ these badges¡­ it feels like we¡¯re somethin¡¯, we¡¯re goin¡¯ somewhere. But the question is¡ªwhere?¡±

    Jean studied Rogue¡¯s face. In the soft light, she could see the strain etched into her features, the faint quiver in her lips. ¡°It can be tough, taxing to be an X-Man, Rogue,¡± Jean acknowledged. ¡°It¡¯s hard sometimes.¡±

    Rogue snorted softly, shaking her head. ¡°Haven¡¯t y¡¯all fought these Sentinels fer decades? Ah fought ¡¯em with the Brotherhood, an¡¯ now with y¡¯all. It never ends. Always some new threat.¡±

    Jean sighed, folding her hands together in her lap. ¡°It has been a long time we¡¯ve been fighting them, Rogue. But we¡¯ve made progress. This isn¡¯t the government hunting us down anymore¡­ it¡¯s the Friends of Humanity. That¡¯s a step forward. People have started to accept us, to tolerate us.¡±

    Rogue¡¯s expression darkened. ¡°Have they? Ah ain¡¯t so sure. Feels like we¡¯re just spinnin¡¯ in circles, same record over an¡¯ over. Is what we¡¯re fightin¡¯ fer even possible?¡±

    ¡°It is,¡± Jean said with quiet conviction, ¡°because it¡¯s a dream worth fighting for.¡±

    ¡°Ah¡¯m not sure,¡± Rogue admitted. ¡°What if¡­ what if this dream ain¡¯t for everyone? What if some folks out there have lost their belief in it¡­ what if they just want to be left alone?¡±

    Jean¡¯s brows knitted together. ¡°That¡¯s not possible, Rogue. Mutants have been alone for so long, and they rarely stood a chance by themselves. Hunted, executed, humiliated. It¡¯s good¡ªno, it¡¯s essential¡ªto believe that one day we can have normal lives. That we don¡¯t have to be villains or heroes¡­ or fighters.¡±

    Rogue¡¯s gaze dropped. ¡°But it¡¯s not the truth." Jean hesitated, then nodded. ¡°No, but one day it might be. That¡¯s why we exist.¡±¡°But do we have to? Do we really need the X-Men to protect mutants? Maybe¡­ maybe people can fend for themselves.¡±

    Jean shook her head, her fiery hair catching the lamplight. ¡°Of course we do, Rogue. We¡¯re stronger together. Unity is important because if we¡¯re not a community, alone we¡­ perish. Nobody is better off alone, Rogue. Not even you.¡±

    Rogue glanced over at the standing mirror near her closet, and for a moment, her eyes unfocused as she recalled the Alamo¡¯s words: Free men don¡¯t buy promises of salvation. The thought stung. She wondered if he really believed he could do everything on his own, if that lonely path truly made him feel free.

    ¡°Not even the Alamo,¡± Rogue murmured, ¡°as much as it seems he likes to believe that.¡±

    Jean smiled softly, following Rogue¡¯s line of sight to the reflection of the uniform hanging nearby. ¡°He needs a family too, whether he acknowledges it or not,¡± she said. ¡°We all do.¡±

    Rogue looked down, chewing the inside of her cheek. ¡°Ya right¡­ they need us.¡±

    Jean reached out, gently resting a hand on Rogue¡¯s arm. ¡°It¡¯s more than them, Rogue. It¡¯s us. We need each other. Me, Scott, you, Jubilee, even Logan. We might pretend we¡¯re better alone, freer alone, but in the end, this connection we share¡­ this family¡­ it¡¯s better than any solitude.¡±

    Rogue felt a stir of warmth in her chest, a reminder of why she had chosen this path and these people. ¡°Ah see that,¡± she admitted, giving Jean a soft smile. ¡°Ah agree. Thank ya fer comin¡¯.¡±

    Jean returned the smile. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Rogue. And remember¡ªyou¡¯re never alone. We¡¯re here for you.¡±

    Rogue nodded, a quiet sense of relief washing over her. ¡°Ah appreciate that.¡±

    Jean patted her hand, then rose from the bed, her gaze still lingering on Rogue in reassurance before she headed to the door. The light from the hallway illuminated her silhouette, and then the door clicked softly shut behind her, leaving Rogue in the warm hush of her room.

    For a long moment, Rogue simply sat on the bed, letting the conversation sink in, feeling a bit lighter now that her swirling thoughts had somewhere to land. Eventually, she stood, took one last glance at her reflection, and then turned off the lamp. Slipping under the covers, she pulled the blankets around her shoulders. The day¡¯s tension eased as she closed her eyes, her breathing steadying at last. No matter the doubts and questions that would inevitably return, for now, she had found a moment of peace¡ªa reason to keep fighting, a reminder of the family she had found and the hopes they shared. And in that comforting thought, she drifted off to sleep.

 Chapter 8: Hearts of Gold

    The Xavier Institute woke slowly, the golden morning sun creeping through the large windows of the mansion, casting warm streaks of light across the hardwood floors and the elegant, historic furniture. The air smelled of coffee, sizzling butter, and something dangerously over-seasoned, a scent wafting from the kitchen where the usual early risers had already gathered.

    The kitchen itself was a mix of modern and rustic, filled with stainless steel appliances but still holding a classic warmth, the wooden cabinetry painted a deep navy blue. The long island counter was already littered with an assortment of breakfast items¡ªhalf-toasted bagels, scattered fruit, and the questionable remains of Remy¡¯s latest "culinary masterpiece.¡± The old gas stove was alive with multiple pans hissing and bubbling, eggs frying, a pot of black-as-night coffee steaming on the side.

    Logan stood near the stove, arms crossed, already irritated before his coffee had even kicked in. He was wearing his usual denim jeans and a white tank top, his broad, muscular arms covered in scars that never lasted long enough to tell a story. His ever-present dog tag rested against his chest¡ªa relic from a war that depended on which day you asked about it. It could¡¯ve been WWII, Korea, Vietnam, or something before all of them. Logan never gave a straight answer.

    His sharp blue eyes watched Remy with suspicion as the Cajun flipped an omelet dramatically, his grin wide and cocky.

    "Cajun, if you burn the damn hashbrowns again, I swear¡ª"

    "I don¡¯t burn nothin¡¯, vieux," Remy cut in smoothly, stirring something with entirely too much enthusiasm.

    Unlike Logan, Remy looked like he had walked out of an alternative rock concert. He wore fitted black skinny jeans with the knees intentionally ripped, a cropped black T-shirt featuring some obscure rock band logo, and his fingerless gloves were tucked into his back pocket. His auburn hair was messy but in an effortlessly cool way, his red-on-black eyes glimmering with mischief.

    "Don¡¯t put the spice in there¡ª"

    "Too late, mon ami," Remy cut in again, smug as ever. "An¡¯ de holy trinity is comin¡¯ to de omelet too¡ª"

    Logan groaned, rubbing his temples. "Stop spicin¡¯ everything, ya idiot."

    "It¡¯s art, Wolverine. I expected ya not to appreciate it."

    Just then, the doorway creaked, and Rogue strolled in, looking half-awake but already amused by the kitchen bickering. She was dressed casually, wearing a loose pink top tucked into cut-off denim shorts, her usual brown leather jacket slung over her shoulder. Her hair was still slightly tousled from sleep, the white streaks framing her face.

    She barely got through the doorway when Scott¡¯s calm but firm voice called to her from the hall.

    "Rogue."

    She turned, spotting Scott already stepping out of the War Room, his visor glinting under the hallway lights. He looked exactly as he always did¡ªpolished, pressed, and radiating his usual leader-energy, wearing his dark navy tactical suit, the golden "X" insignia glimmering on his chest.

    "I spoke with Warren again," he continued, his tone all business. "The evidence you gathered is solid. We need to go after Thompson as soon as possible. Go tell the others to meet me in the War Room¡ª30 minutes max."

    "Got it, Scott."

    "And don¡¯t forget to eat breakfast. It¡¯s important to have energy."

    Rogue smirked, leaning against the doorframe. "Ah won¡¯t forget. Ya?"

    "Already had breakfast¡ªan hour ago. I¡¯ll go back to tracking Thompson with Jean."

    "Got it."

    Scott disappeared back down the hall, leaving Rogue to wander into the kitchen battlefield.

    <i>"</i>Hey, y¡¯all." Rogue greeted as she walked in, sniffing the air¡ªthen immediately regretting it.

    "Rogue, cher, come ''ere," Remy called over his shoulder, flashing his signature charming-but-definitely-up-to-something smirk. "Dere¡¯s somethin¡¯ Gambit needs ya to check."

    Rogue narrowed her eyes, immediately suspicious. "Ah don¡¯t like the sound o¡¯ that¡ª"

    "Don¡¯t worry, cher," Remy reassured, still stirring the mystery sauce. "When it comes to ya, Gambit has only de best intentions."

    "Don¡¯t listen to him, kid," Logan grunted, still scowling at the burning hashbrowns.

    Rogue, despite her better judgment, grabbed the spoon from Remy¡¯s hand and took a taste of whatever ungodly concoction he had been cooking.

    Her face instantly contorted, eyes watering.

    "What in the hell is in here?" she gasped, practically choking.

    "Special Cajun Butter Garlic Sauce," Remy announced proudly.

    "Remy, that tastes like the devil¡¯s asshole. What did ya put in here?!"

    "<i>¨¦pices et amour</i>."

    "Love? This ain¡¯t love¡ªthis is <i>pure </i>hatred."

    Logan burst out laughing, handing her a glass of milk.

    "Heh, told ya, kid. Don¡¯t trust this one."

    Rogue gulped it down, glaring at Remy.

    "Remy, ah hate yer ass. Ya annoyin¡¯ piece of¡ª"

    "Dat¡¯s charm, cher." He winked.

    "Eugh."

    She sat down heavily, still trying to recover from the crime against taste buds she had just experienced.

    Logan handed her a cup of coffee, and Rogue took a sip¡ªonly to grimace even harder.

    "IT¡¯S EVEN WORSE! WHERE¡¯S THE SUGAH IN THIS SHIT?!"

    Logan just smirked. "Don¡¯t flip over, kid. This is how people used to drink coffee. None of these lattes and ventis or whatever they make these days."

    Rogue slammed the cup down, dramatically gagging. "Ah hate y¡¯all. <i>Eugh</i>."

    Remy grinned smugly. "Dis is de charm, non?"

    Rogue¡¯s eyes narrowed dangerously as she grabbed him by the collar of his ridiculous crop top.

    "CHARM?! AH¡¯LL SHOW YA CHARM, REMY LEBEAU!"

    "<i>Ahem.</i>"

    A new voice entered the room¡ªcalm, regal, and lightly exasperated.

    Storm stood in the doorway, dressed in her usual gardening attire¡ªa flowing white tunic, paired with loose linen pants, her silver hair cascading elegantly down her shoulders. A pair of gloves rested in one hand, dirt still dusted across her fingertips.

    "What must one do to have some peace and quiet in this house?" she sighed. "You will scare the plants and the ghosts this way."

    Remy blinked. "Dere¡¯s ghosts here?"

    Logan scoffed. "¡®Course not, ya dumbass."

    "Rogue." Storm¡¯s tone turned lightly warning, and Rogue finally let go of Remy¡¯s shirt, though not before giving him a small shove.

    "Stormy just wants her peace, kids. Settle down."

    Then¡ª

    "<i>HELLOOOOO, EVERYONE</i>!"

    Jubilee burst into the kitchen, Kitty following close behind, both already in full chaotic energy mode.

    "Jesus Christ," Logan muttered, rubbing his temples. "Peace an¡¯ quiet, huh, ¡®Ro?"

    "Petites, sit down to eat," Remy offered dramatically, like a host at a grand feast.

    "Where¡¯s Bobby?" Storm asked crossing her arms.

    "Somewhere. Hard to find him these days," Kitty mused.

    Rogue cleared her throat.

    "Alright y¡¯all, Scott said to be in the War Room in half an hour. Remy, just gimme somethin¡¯ worth eatin¡¯, and Ah¡¯ll fetch the others."

    Remy winked. "<i>Oui, cher</i>."

    The War Room was a vast, dimly lit chamber deep within the Xavier Institute, its walls lined with state-of-the-art holographic displays, tactical readouts, and mission dossiers. The long metallic conference table in the center gleamed under the cool blue lighting, each chair occupied by the finest mutants Xavier had ever trained. The room carried a weight of history and responsibility, the air thick with the anticipation of what was to come next.

    Seated around the table were Cyclops, Phoenix, Beast, Storm, Wolverine, Rogue, Gambit, Jubilee, Shadowcat, and Iceman. They had gathered after a long night of missions, but today was the next step in the fight.

    Cyclops stood at the head of the table, arms crossed over his chest, his posture perfectly upright. His navy-blue uniform was crisp, the golden "X" emblem on his chest a reminder of who he was and the responsibility he carried. His visor glowed faintly, reflecting off the polished surface of the table as he spoke.

    "We¡¯ve gathered enough information to have solid evidence on Trask¡¯s financial ties to Carraro, but we still need more proof that he¡¯s directly working with the Friends of Humanity." His voice was firm, unwavering, but there was an undertone of frustration in his words.

    From her seat, Rogue leaned forward, arms crossed, her gloved fingers drumming against her leather-covered forearm. Her green and white uniform was snug against her frame, the brown bomber jacket slung over the back of her chair.

    "Ain¡¯t that ¡®nuff, Scott?" she asked, arching a skeptical brow.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    Cyclops sighed, adjusting his stance. "I¡¯m afraid not, Rogue. We need more evidence to build a case so strong that it can¡¯t be dismissed."

    Before Rogue could push further, Jubilee raised a hand, grinning mischievously.

    "Strong case? I dunno, maybe we could just¡ª" she shot both hands forward and mimicked rapid-fire plasma blasts, clearly imitating Alamo¡¯s stunt from the night before. "¡ªplasma Trask and Creed away. <i>Pew pew pew</i>, problem solved."

    Her antics earned her a sharp elbow from Rogue, who shot her a glare.

    "<i>Ouch</i>!" Jubilee winced, rubbing her ribs.

    Cyclops pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly. "Jubilation, if you want to continue attending these meetings, I expect seriousness from you."

    Jubilee shrugged, offering an apologetic grin. "Sorry, my bad, Fearless Leader. I¡¯ll behave. I promise."

    Cyclops gave her a pointed look before continuing.

    "We¡¯ll need a legal representative, since Dr. McCoy¡ªdespite his many qualifications¡ªis not a barred attorney. I¡¯ll consult with someone who can help us navigate this legally in the meantime."

    Wolverine made a face, leaning back in his chair. "Why do we need suits? Can¡¯t we just do things the <i>old-fashioned way</i>?"

    Then, a voice cut through the discussion, a voice they all knew and respected.

    <i>Charles Xavier.</i>

    The Professor wheeled into the room, his presence immediately commanding silence. He was dressed in his signature navy-blue suit, his hands resting atop the arms of his wheelchair, his piercing blue eyes sweeping across the assembled team.

    "Because, my students," he began, his tone calm yet weighted with experience, "we must pursue this through the institutions. It is the only way to ensure that the rights we have fought so hard for are protected and upheld."

    The room remained silent as Xavier continued.

    "Unlike the Avengers, we do not have the luxury of eliminating threats so easily without a public backlash. Nor do we have the luxury of always fighting enemies that the public sees as irredeemable. The truth is, many people still support the <i>Friends of Humanity</i> and see us as the villains. It would not surprise me if some courts refused to accept our evidence simply because it came from the <i>X-Men</i>."

    Jubilee¡¯s expression tightened, her jaw clenching.

    "It¡¯s so unfair," she muttered. "Cap and Iron Man come blastin¡¯ and kickin¡¯ doors down, and the world loves them. But when we do it, everyone hates us."

    Xavier nodded solemnly. "It is a sad reality, Jubilation. But years of damage from Erik, Sinister, and others have tainted our image in the eyes of the public. Distrust is deep-rooted, but I truly believe we are making progress."

    "After twenty years¡­?" Bobby muttered under his breath, only to be elbowed sharply by Kitty.

    Xavier let out a small, knowing smile. "Yes, Mr.Drake. Even after twenty years. But if today we have won the trust of a few, then perhaps, in time, we can win over most."

    Cyclops took the opportunity to redirect the discussion.

    "So, what now, Professor?" he asked.

    Xavier¡¯s gaze sharpened, his expression serious once more.

    "We will bring down Trask, Creed, and Denti by the book. And then we will move on to other threats."

    Cyclops turned to the team.

    "Our next step is Arkansas. We need to find <i>Thomas Thompson</i>¡ªthe man Henderson pointed us to."

    Storm, who had been quiet until now, nodded thoughtfully.

    "We must remain vigilant," she said, her voice regal and measured. "It is entirely possible he has fled the state or has company waiting for us."

    Jean folded her arms. "I¡¯ll try to sense his presence when we get there."

    Wolverine let out a low grunt, cracking his knuckles. "Hope this works, Red. I ain¡¯t a fan of runnin¡¯ in circles."

    Rogue sighed, her green eyes flickering with frustration. "Ah ain¡¯t either."

    Cyclops furrowed his brows, his arms crossing over the golden "X" on his chest.

    "Don¡¯t worry. I trust Jean to do the best she can. We¡¯ll find Thompson."

    Wolverine smirked. "Well, I¡¯ll be ready for a fight, Slim."

    Xavier¡¯s expression turned weary. "Logan, please try to control yourself. Not everything boils down to violence."

    Logan shrugged, lighting up a cigar between his fingers. "No, Chuck. Sometimes it¡¯s about good cigars and good whiskey."

    Jubilee grinned, kicking her feet up on the table. "And good company, which is¡ªy¡¯know¡ªwhy we do this, right?"

    Wolverine let out a low chuckle, placing a hand on Jubilee¡¯s shoulder.

    "Kid, if ya keep sayin¡¯ things like that, people might start thinkin¡¯ ya got half a brain."

    Jubilee gasped dramatically. "I have heart, old man. Which is more than your raggedy ass has."

    Wolverine laughed, crossing his arms. "I taught ya well, kiddo."

    Jubilee rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, whatever, Wolvie."

    Cyclops cut in, his tone authoritative.

    "For this mission¡ªStorm, Rogue, Jubilee, Wolverine, you¡¯re with me and Jean."

    Gambit perked up, grinning. "Wat ¡®bout me?"

    "You¡¯re on latrine duty."

    Jubilee burst into laughter. "<i>HAHA! LOSER</i>!"

    Gambit¡¯s smirk vanished. "Dis is punishment. Has to be."

    Cyclops nodded. "It is¡ªbecause of last Saturday night."

    Gambit looked genuinely confused. "Wat? Wat did de Gambit do?"

    Rogue smirked. "Remy, ya got shitfaced and puked all over the couch. Ya don¡¯t remember?"

    "Non¡­?"

    "That''s why you''re on latrine, duty, Remy. You have to take care of your image, discipline" Cyclops retorted.

    "And body" Storm added. "You''re too Irresponsible"

    "Ah, great, non, just great" Remy lowered his face, pinching the bridge of his nose.

    "We get no action?" Bobby asked

    "Not for now, Iceman" Cyclops answered.

    "Not even me" Kitty added.

    "I''m afraid not, Kate."

    Cyclops turned to the team.

    "X-Men, get ready. We meet at the Blackbird in fifteen minutes."

    The Blackbird continued its flight, a steady hum reverberating through the cabin¡¯s metal walls. The morning sunlight filtered through the narrow windows, painting soft golden streaks against the dark interior. Below them, the clouds rolled endlessly, a sea of white and blue stretching toward the horizon.

    Rogue shifted slightly in her seat, her gloved hands resting on her lap, fingers idly fidgeting with the hem of her bomber jacket. Something had been gnawing at her, a question she had been meaning to ask¡ªbut she wasn¡¯t sure she wanted to hear the answer.

    She glanced to her side, catching Logan leaning back in his seat, boots planted firmly on the floor, his arms crossed as he stared blankly ahead, probably already anticipating the mission ahead. His dog tag rested lightly against his chest, catching a glimmer of light with each subtle breath. He looked¡­ calm, but that was Logan. The man could be sitting in the middle of a warzone with bullets flying past his head, and he¡¯d still act like it was just another Tuesday.

    Taking a breath, Rogue finally spoke up.

    "Logan, can Ah ask ya somethin¡¯, sugah?"

    Logan¡¯s ear twitched slightly, a sign he had already heard her before she even finished her sentence. He turned his head, raising an eyebrow at her.

    "Sure, shoot it, <i>Stripes</i>."

    She hesitated for half a second before finally asking:

    "Ya been alone fer a long time. Ya seen a lot of stuff. Do ya think what we¡¯re doin¡¯ is¡­ right?"

    At that, Logan let out a low exhale, his lips pressing into a thin line. He adjusted slightly in his seat, the leather of his jacket creaking faintly, and tilted his head back, staring up at the ceiling.

    "Right?" he repeated, as if tasting the word in his mouth. There was a pause before he finally spoke, his voice lower, rougher than before. "Kid, I¡¯ve lived too long to see right stay right. What¡¯s acceptable one day is a crime the next, and vice versa. Right turns into wrong, wrong turns into right. It¡¯s the cycle of life."

    Rogue frowned slightly, mulling over his words as he continued.

    "Now, if ya ask me if I think what we do is necessary, that¡¯s a different question. And yeah, I do. We mutants did a lot of shit over the years¡­ your mom especially¡ªboth of ¡®em. Of course, I didn''t help it either... given my... past" He dry coughed.

    At that, Rogue¡¯s stomach twisted slightly, her expression darkening. She knew exactly what he meant. Mystique had been¡­ well, Mystique, always playing both sides. And Destiny? She had never been innocent either.

    Logan gave her a moment before finishing.

    "Chuck¡¯s tryin¡¯ to set the record straight. Maybe he ain¡¯t always right, but hell if he doesn¡¯t have a point."

    Rogue¡¯s green eyes lingered on him, studying his face. Logan had always been brutally honest, never one to sugarcoat things. But the way he said it¡ªlike he had been through it all, seen it all, and somehow still chose to be here¡ªthat hit differently.

    "That¡¯s why ya stick ¡®round?" she asked. "¡®Cause Xavier has a point?"

    Logan¡¯s lips curled slightly, his smirk tired but real.

    "Nah, I stick ¡®round ¡®cause I spent most of my life alone. And sometimes¡­ it ain¡¯t terrible to have folks around."

    That surprised her. She had expected some half-baked tough guy answer, but this? This was¡­ weirdly hopeful coming from him.

    Jubilee, who had been listening quietly, suddenly grinned wide, nudging Logan with her elbow.

    "That¡¯s surprisingly optimistic from you, Uncle Wolvie," she teased.

    Logan grunted, shaking his head as he pushed himself up from his seat.

    "Well, don¡¯t go spillin¡¯ it to others. I got an image to keep."

    Jubilee smirked. "Your secret¡¯s safe with us, Uncle Wolvie."

    Logan simply chuckled before making his way toward the front of the jet, where Storm sat in the copilot¡¯s chair, already deep in discussion with Scott and Jean.

    As Logan left, Rogue let her gaze drift back to the window, watching the way the sunlight reflected off the Blackbird¡¯s wings, the clouds rolling far below. Her mind wandered¡ªtoo much, maybe.

    "Ya think he¡¯ll come ¡®round?" she asked absently.

    Jubilee blinked beside her. "What? Who? Wolvie?"

    Rogue hesitated for a split second before shaking her head. "Course not, Jubilee. Duncan. Alamo."

    Jubilee paused, raising an eyebrow. Then a slow, mischievous grin stretched across her face.

    "Since when do you care what he thinks?" she asked, leaning in slightly.

    Rogue immediately turned her head away, suddenly very interested in the clouds outside.

    "Ah don¡¯t," she said quickly.

    Jubilee snorted. "You¡¯re such a <i>bad</i>, <i>bad</i> liar, Roguey. You<i> totally</i> do."

    "Oh, shut up, Ah don¡¯t care ¡®bout no <i>goddamn </i>pretentious office jockey with a cowboy fetish."

    Jubilee laughed outright, rocking in her seat. "Sure hell sounds like you do, Roguey."

    Rogue crossed her arms, scowling slightly. "Ah don¡¯t."

    Jubilee giggled, her eyes glinting with amusement. "I wonder what he looks like under that chrome mask. Maybe he¡¯s, like, super old."

    Rogue scoffed. "He don¡¯t sound old."

    Jubilee shrugged. "Hmm¡­ true. But maybe he looks old."

    "Or maybe," Rogue muttered, rolling her eyes, "he¡¯s, like, your age."

    Jubilee wiggled her eyebrows. "Nah, he¡¯s older. Otherwise, he wouldn¡¯t be such a nerd about finance. That ain¡¯t a young person thing, y¡¯know. Never met an eighteen-year-old talkin¡¯ about reports and cash flow statements."

    "Maybe he is mah age," Rogue said half-heartedly.

    Jubilee gasped dramatically, placing a hand on her chest. "<i>Ohhhh</i>, so you¡¯ve thought about it."

    Rogue¡¯s cheeks flushed, and she turned away sharply. "Don¡¯t matter now. He ain¡¯t here."

    Jubilee grinned, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Yeah, but you totally would like him to be."

    Rogue groaned, rubbing her temples. "Jubes, why don¡¯t ya go back to yer TikToks before Ah make ya?"

    Jubilee laughed, holding up her hands in surrender.

    "Alright, alright! Chill, Roguey. You¡¯re on edge."

    Rogue huffed, turning back to the window, staring at the sky but not really seeing it anymore. She wasn¡¯t on edge because of the mission.

    She was on edge because Jubilee wasn¡¯t wrong.

    The Blackbird descended through the crisp Arkansas morning air, its stealth engines humming low as it navigated through the rolling hills and dense forested terrain a few miles outside Little Rock. The landscape below was a patchwork of dirt roads, abandoned warehouses, and overgrown fields, the kind of place that made it easy for men like <i>Thomas Thompson</i> to disappear.

    Inside the cabin, the X-Men were already suited up, the tension palpable as Cyclops stood from the cockpit, turning toward the seated team.

    "We have arrived. Everyone, get ready." His voice was firm, composed, but there was an underlying urgency in his tone.

    His visor gleamed dimly under the overhead lights as he turned to Jean, who had been sitting with her eyes closed, her fingers pressed lightly against her temple, focusing.

    "Jean," he asked, his voice softer this time, "can you sense him?"

    Jean¡¯s eyes fluttered open, her irises glowing faintly before fading back to green.

    "Yes, Scott¡ªbut not here. He¡¯s definitely close¡­ a few miles out."

    Cyclops exhaled sharply, processing the information.

    "Alright, I¡¯ll change the <i>LZ.</i> How far?"

    Jean rubbed her temples, focusing again.

    "I can¡¯t tell exactly, but it¡¯s east."

    Cyclops immediately adjusted the flight controls, the jet shifting slightly as he prepared to maneuver toward the new location.

    "Alright, X-Men, just a few more moments, please. My apologies for that."

    From the back, groans and head shakes filled the cabin.

    "Ugh, Slim, ya ever heard of precision?" Logan grumbled, arms crossed.

    Jubilee sighed dramatically, flopping back into her seat. "Man, we coulda already been out there, doing cool stuff."

    Cyclops¡¯ jaw tightened slightly, his arms crossing over his chest as he turned back toward the team.

    "Nobody¡¯s perfect, team. <i>Behave</i>."

    Jubilee rolled her eyes. "Yes, sir, <i>Captain America</i>."

    Logan smirked. "Just get us there, Slim. Less yappin¡¯, more landin¡¯."

    Cyclops shot Logan a pointed glare, but chose not to engage. Instead, he focused on the controls, shifting the Blackbird toward the east, cutting through the clouds with an almost ghost-like silence.

    The minutes stretched as the team sat in silence, feeling the shift in altitude, the slow descent as the new landing zone (LZ) came into view. Below them was a vast clearing, the tall pine trees swaying slightly under the force of the jet¡¯s thrusters. The depot was still a few miles out, but this was as close as they could safely land without alerting whoever might be watching.

    Finally, with a subtle jolt, the Blackbird touched down, the landing gear hissing softly as it settled into place.

    Cyclops was already unbuckling, his tone brisk and commanding.

    "Blackbird landed. Let¡¯s go, let¡¯s go."

    The cabin erupted into movement. Wolverine was already on his feet first, stretching his arms out before cracking his knuckles, looking eager.

    "Finally," he muttered.

    Rogue swung her leather jacket over her shoulders, adjusting the gloves at her wrists. Jean and Storm shared a brief glance before rising together, their movements fluid, composed. Jubilee stretched dramatically, throwing her hands behind her head.

    "Alright, boys and girls, let¡¯s go be<i> superheroes</i>," she grinned.

    The hatch hissed open, and immediately, the fresh Arkansas air swept inside, cool and earthy, carrying the faint scent of damp pine and distant rain. The moment their boots hit the ground, the team was all business¡ªtheir eyes scanning the tree line, their senses already tuned to anything that felt off.

    Jean inhaled sharply, her brows furrowing.

    "He¡¯s close," she murmured.

    Cyclops nodded, lowering his visor slightly.

    "Then let¡¯s go find him."

 Chapter 9: Sins of the Father

    The Blackbird descended smoothly, its cloaking technology ensuring they remained undetected. As the jet approached the ranch, the team caught sight of their destination: a sprawling property surrounded by barbed wire fencing, stables, and a large farmhouse with pristine paint. In the distance, cattle grazed lazily, oblivious to the approaching mutants.

    Storm, ever observant, frowned as she surveyed the area from the cockpit. ¡°It looks quiet. Too quiet. Something doesn¡¯t feel right.¡±

    The Blackbird landed in a clearing just outside the property line, and the team disembarked, moving with practiced precision. Cyclops took the lead, gesturing for everyone to spread out but stay within range of each other.

    ¡°Jean, keep scanning,¡± he said. ¡°Rogue and Wolverine, take the east side. Storm, Jubilee check the west. Iceman and I will cover the north. Everyone stay sharp.¡±

    As they moved toward the ranch, the tension in the air grew thicker. Jubilee couldn¡¯t resist breaking the silence. ¡°So, uh¡­ what¡¯s the plan if we <i>do</i> run into the FoH?¡±

    Wolverine grinned, his claws extending with a soft <i>snikt</i>. ¡°Same plan as always, kid. Improvise.¡±

    The team exchanged wary glances as they approached the ranch, unsure of what¡ªor who¡ªmight be waiting for them.

    The X-Men approached the ranch cautiously, their boots crunching against the gravel path as they fanned out. Cyclops held up a hand to signal the team to slow their approach, but the warning came too late.

    <i>BANG!</i>

    A single rifle shot echoed across the open field, followed by the unmistakable sound of metal on bone. Wolverine staggered, his head snapping back as the bullet hit him square between the eyes. He growled, staggering briefly before righting himself, the wound already knitting together.

    ¡°God damnit,¡± he muttered, wiping the blood from his forehead. His claws extended with a sharp <i>snikt</i>, the gleaming blades catching the sunlight.

    A gruff voice called out from the porch of the house, cutting through the tension. ¡°Stay on your damn lane! This is my property!¡±

    Cyclops stepped forward, his hand hovering near his visor. ¡°Mr. Thompson,¡± he called, his voice firm but calm.

    The man on the porch, tall and broad-shouldered, kept his rifle trained on the group. He squinted, clearly nervous but determined. ¡°Who¡¯s askin¡¯?!¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re here to ask questions,¡± Cyclops replied.

    Thompson adjusted his stance, his grip tightening on the rifle. ¡°Y¡¯all are X-Men, aren¡¯t ya? I know who you are. Get away from my property! You already made me lose my job! One step closer, and I¡¯ll shoot the kid!¡±

    ¡°Wait, me?!¡± Jubilee blurted, her voice cracking as she instinctively ducked behind Beast.

    ¡°Don¡¯t move!¡± Thompson barked, his eyes darting between the mutants.

    Storm stepped forward, her voice calm and commanding. ¡°Mr. Thompson, we only have questions about the Carraro company. We mean no harm to you or your family.¡±

    From behind her, Wolverine muttered under his breath, ¡°Well, I do, bub.¡±

    Storm shot him a glare, her tone sharp. ¡°Not the time, Logan.¡±

    Thompson hesitated, his rifle lowering slightly. ¡°I don¡¯t got nothin¡¯ to do with any of this anymore. I got a family. I want y¡¯all off my property. Leave me and mine alone.¡±

    ¡°Please, Mr. Thompson,¡± Storm continued, her voice softening. ¡°People are suffering.¡±

    The man shook his head, his expression hardening. ¡°I got nothin¡¯ to do with that anymore.¡±

    Jean stepped forward, her eyes filled with empathy as she extended her telepathic senses toward the man. ¡°Mr. Thompson¡­ you¡¯re scared. I can feel it. You¡¯re scared for your family¡ªfor <i>Lily</i>, <i>Sophia</i>, and <i>Emily</i>. Please, Mr. Thompson, many people will suffer, and their families too, if you don¡¯t help us. Mutant families deserve peace too. I beg of you.¡±

    Thompson flinched at the mention of his wife and daughters, his grip on the rifle faltering. His eyes darted to the upstairs window, where two little girls peered out, their mother standing protectively behind them.

    ¡°Jean,¡± Cyclops began, his voice a warning.

    ¡°Please, Scott,¡± Jean interrupted gently, not taking her eyes off Thompson. ¡°Let me do this.¡±

    Cyclops hesitated, then nodded. ¡°Alright, Jean, just be careful.¡±

    Thompson let out a long sigh, lowering his rifle completely. He stepped down from the porch, moving cautiously toward the X-Men. His weathered boots scuffed against the dirt path, and his face was etched with worry and exhaustion.

    ¡°What do y¡¯all want?¡± he asked, his tone begrudging but no longer hostile.

    Jean stepped forward. ¡°Simple questions, Mr. Thompson,¡±

    Wolverine he said, his voice low and menacing. ¡°Yeah, bub¡­ or else.¡±

    <i>SNIKT.</i>

    Thompson froze, his eyes widening as the claws gleamed in the sunlight. ¡°What did you¡ª¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t care for him, sugah,¡± Rogue interrupted. ¡°He¡¯s just a meanie. He won¡¯t do anythin¡¯¡­ right, Logan?¡±

    Wolverine grunted but didn¡¯t retract his claws.

    ¡°Logan, stop,¡± Storm said firmly, her piercing gaze locking onto him.

    ¡°He <i>shot</i> me,¡± Wolverine grumbled, jerking his thumb at his forehead.

    ¡°Logan,¡± Cyclops barked.

    With an exaggerated sigh, Wolverine finally retracted his claws. ¡°Fine. But he¡¯s lucky, bub.¡±

    Thompson¡¯s eyes darted between the mutants, his shoulders tense. ¡°Fine,¡± he muttered, turning back toward the house. ¡°Come in.¡±

    The X-Men exchanged glances, then followed Thompson up the creaking porch steps. The house was small and modest, the front door swinging open with a faint squeak. Inside, the living room was sparsely furnished, with well-worn furniture and toys scattered across the floor. The scent of coffee lingered in the air, and a faint hum of tension hung over the house.

    Thompson gestured toward the couch. ¡°<i>Sit</i>. Don¡¯t touch nothin¡¯.¡±

    The X-Men complied, spreading out across the room. Wolverine leaned against the doorframe, his sharp eyes scanning every corner. Cyclops stood near the window, his arms crossed, and Jean sat beside Rogue, her focus still on Thompson.

    Thompson remained standing, his rifle now propped against the wall. He crossed his arms defensively. ¡°Alright. Y¡¯all got five minutes. Ask what you¡¯re gonna ask.¡±

    Cyclops nodded. ¡°We want to know about Carraro. Specifically, their connection to Trask International and the Friends of Humanity.¡±

    Thompson stiffened, his jaw tightening. ¡°I told y¡¯all¡ªI don¡¯t work for them anymore. I lost my job after the Arkansas mess. I don¡¯t know nothin¡¯ about what they¡¯re up to now.¡±

    Cyclops leaned forward, his tone gentle but firm. ¡°Maybe not, but you may know enough to help us follow the trail. Financial records, supply chains, anything that ties <i>Carraro</i> to Trask or the Friends of Humanity.¡±

    Thompson hesitated, glancing toward the window where his daughters were still watching. Finally, he let out a long breath and nodded. ¡°Alright. I might know somethin¡¯. But if y¡¯all think I¡¯m puttin¡¯ my family in danger, you can forget it.¡±

    Jean smiled faintly, her voice soft. ¡°We won¡¯t let that happen, Mr. Thompson. I promise.¡±

    With a reluctant nod, Thompson began to speak, the tension in the room easing slightly as he shared what he knew.

    The tension in the room felt like a storm ready to break as the X-Men sat around the small, modest living room. Thompson, despite his initial bluster, now sat slumped in his chair, the weight of the conversation dragging him down. His rifle was propped against the wall, forgotten for the moment, as he held the financial reports Rogue handed him in his calloused hands.

    The papers crinkled slightly as he squinted at them. ¡°Hmm¡­ let me see,¡± he muttered, his Texan drawl slow and deliberate. ¡°Nah, this is financial mumbo jumbo. I¡¯m no accountant. I was a former cop, not a numbers guy.¡±

    Cyclops frowned, his arms crossed tightly as he leaned forward. ¡°The accountant in Michigan told us to find you. He said you might know more about Trask¡¯s involvement.¡±

    Thompson scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. ¡°He told y¡¯all off, huh? Figures. Well, I¡¯m just a supervisor. Was, anyway. Before y¡¯all took away my job.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not here to take anything else from you,¡± Jean said, her voice soft and empathetic. ¡°Anything you can tell us will help, Mr. Thompson.¡±

    Thompson hesitated, glancing toward the hallway where his wife stood partially hidden, holding their daughters close. He sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. ¡°Alright. What do y¡¯all wanna know?¡±

    Wolverine stepped closer, his claws itching to pop out again. ¡°Does the X-Cutioner work for Carraro?¡±

    ¡°Carl Denti,¡± Storm clarified, folding her hands in front of him.

    The name seemed to spark recognition in Thompson. ¡°Oh, yes. Yes. Denti was the acting operations manager when I got hired. He was the one who personally recruited me. Took me away from the Arkansas State Troopers to work for Carraro. Former FBI. He was really serious.¡±

    Storm¡¯s piercing gaze locked on Thompson. ¡°What was his goal with mutants?¡±

    Thompson rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. ¡°Heck, it changed a lot over time. <i>Carraro</i> started as a regular private security company headquartered in New York. Then Creed got involved¡ªbought the company outright. That¡¯s when things changed. Denti whipped it into shape, bringing in ex-special forces, FBI guys, real hardcore operators. It got¡­ intense.¡±

    ¡°You were part of this?¡± Cyclops asked, tilting his head curiously.

    ¡°Oh, yeah,¡± Thompson replied, leaning back in his chair. ¡°I was with the 36th Army Infantry Division, 136th Military Police Battalion. Served in Iraq in 2008.¡± He rolled up his sleeve to show a tattoo on his forearm¡ªcrossed pistols with the words <i>Semper Vigilans</i> beneath them.

    ¡°So you were a military policeman?¡± Cyclops asked.

    ¡°Yup,¡± Thompson said, nodding. ¡°When I got out, I joined the state troopers. Carraro made me an offer I couldn¡¯t refuse. They paid real well to train their people.¡±

    Rogue raised an eyebrow. ¡°Was it ¡®cause of mutants?¡±

    Thompson let out a sharp laugh. ¡°Mutants? I don¡¯t give a shit about mutants. I joined ¡®cause the money was good. Paid well enough to send my daughter to med school, finally take my wife on a honeymoon worth a damn.¡±

    Jubilee looked incredulous. ¡°You trained people who wanted to kill us for <i>money</i>?¡±

    ¡°Money?¡± Thompson shot back, his voice rising slightly. ¡°Nah. <i>Quality of life</i>. I paid off all my debts, bought a house, gave my family a life worth livin¡¯. All I had to do was train some kids in CQB, tactical response, firearms repair, and maintenance. So yeah, it was for money, bub.¡± He met Wolverine¡¯s glare head-on, unflinching."The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Wolverine growled, his claws half-extended. ¡°Protectin¡¯ your family don¡¯t give you a free pass to train a hate group, Thompson.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not judging you,¡± Jean interjected, placing a calming hand on Logan¡¯s arm. ¡°We just need to know the truth.¡±

    ¡°Judge me if you want,¡± Thompson replied coldly, looking at Jean with tired eyes. ¡°My family needed that cash, and I¡¯d do anything to protect them. Simple as.¡±

    Cyclops leaned forward again, his voice cutting through the tension. ¡°What about Denti? Did he do it for the money too?¡±

    Thompson let out a bitter chuckle. ¡°Oh, hell no. That man hated yer kind.¡±

    ¡°Mutants?¡± Storm pressed.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Thompson said. ¡°But not at first. Denti didn¡¯t wanna kill all mutants when I met him. He wanted to ¡®punish¡¯ the bad ones. Y¡¯know, the real assholes: <i>Mystique, Magneto, Pyro, Blob</i>¡­ all them.¡±

    ¡°Punish,¡± Storm echoed, her brow furrowing. ¡°What changed?¡±

    ¡°<i>Hellfire Club</i>,¡± Thompson replied. ¡°He uncovered some kinda corruption within their ranks and got burned bad for it. Then he had a run-in with y¡¯all X-Men and decided all mutants were rotten.¡±

    Cyclops¡¯s voice was tight. ¡°And you? What do you think of mutants?¡±

    Thompson shrugged. ¡°Couldn¡¯t give two shits. There¡¯s good people and bad people everywhere, doesn¡¯t matter if they¡¯re <i>human</i>, <i>mutant</i>, <i>mutate</i>, <i>inhuman</i>, or whatever the hell y¡¯all call yourselves. I protect my family. That¡¯s my priority.¡±

    Jean stepped in again, her voice gentle but firm. ¡°We understand, Mr. Thompson. But please, one last question¡ªwhat about Bolivar Trask? What¡¯s his connection to <i>Carraro</i>?¡±

    Thompson¡¯s face darkened slightly. ¡°We were on their payroll. Supposed to secure their facilities, but I never saw a single <i>Trask</i> employee. Not once. Guess he didn¡¯t wanna be tied down to the FoH. Maybe he wanted plausible deniability. Who knows?¡±

    ¡°Is there anyone who knows more?¡± Jean asked, her telepathy brushing lightly against his mind.

    Thompson hesitated, his gaze darting toward the hallway. His wife and daughters were still there, watching with wide, fearful eyes. He sighed heavily, running a hand through his graying hair.

    ¡°Fuck,¡± he muttered. ¡°Alright, there¡¯s a hub¡­ in <i>Houston</i>. <i>Carraro</i>¡¯s got a¡ª¡±

    <i>CRACK!</i>

    The shot rang out like thunder. Thompson¡¯s head snapped back, blood spraying against the wall behind him. His lifeless body slumped forward onto the table, his face a mangled ruin. Half of his head blown over, it was a .50 Cal, there was barely any face left, all that remained was parts of his brain, flesh and bone. A hole on the wall behind him and a living room covered in blood.

    ¡°<i>DADDY!</i>¡± one of the girls screamed, her voice shrill with terror.

    ¡°Tom!¡± his wife cried, rushing forward but stopping short, her hands pressed against her mouth in horror.

    The X-Men sprang into action, Jean pulling the family behind the couch with her telekinesis while Cyclops barked orders.

    ¡°Positions! Find the shooter!¡±

    Wolverine was already moving, his claws extended and a feral snarl ripping from his throat. ¡°I¡¯m gonna gut whoever did this!¡±

    Storm rushed to the window, her eyes glowing white as she summoned a gale to sweep the area. ¡°We¡¯re under attack!¡±

    The X-Men fanned out, the mission taking a grim and urgent turn.

    The X-Men froze for a moment as the chaos outside grew louder. Through the windows of the ranch house, they could see the tactical squads moving into position, their movements precise and rehearsed. In the distance stood the woman in charge¡ªa cold, commanding figure wearing a chrome mask. She wore a sleek black power armor, something the X-Men had never seen. She radiated menace as she observed her forces with an air of complete control.

    The family¡¯s cries filled the room, the raw grief cutting through the X-Men like a blade. Tom¡¯s wife knelt on the floor, her hands gripping his bloodied shirt as she sobbed uncontrollably. Their two daughters clung to her, their faces buried in her shoulders, screaming for their father to wake up.

    ¡°<i>Daddy, please! No, Daddy</i>!¡± one of the girls wailed, her voice cracking with desperation.

    ¡°Tom! <b><i>NO!</i></b>¡± his wife screamed, her grief turning into anger as her tear-streaked face snapped toward the X-Men. ¡°You did this! You damn mutants! You killed my husband!¡±

    Jean flinched as the accusation hit her, but she quickly stepped forward, her voice trembling with emotion. ¡°No! No, we didn¡¯t¡ªplease believe me, we¡¯re not responsible for this.¡±

    ¡°You brought this here!¡± the woman spat, her voice rising with fury. ¡°If you hadn¡¯t come, he¡¯d still be alive!¡±

    Cyclops turned away from the grieving family, his jaw clenched. ¡°Logan, secure the perimeter. Storm, keep us covered.¡±

    Outside, the tactical squads were moving with ruthless efficiency, positioning rocket launchers and automatic weapons around the ranch. Their leader, the chrome-masked woman, raised a hand, signaling her soldiers to hold fire. All of them in similar black power armors.

    ¡°Hold fire!¡± her voice rang out, cold and commanding. ¡°Our target is down. Do not engage any more humans. Focus on the mutants. Wait for them to come out, then execute them.¡±

    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am,¡± one of the soldiers replied, his voice steady.

    The woman¡¯s masked face tilted slightly as she stared at the ranch. She took a step closer, her boots crunching against the gravel path. ¡°Mutants!¡± she called, her voice amplified by some kind of speaker embedded in the mask. ¡°We have you surrounded. Come out with your hands raised above your head, and I¡¯ll consider sparing the humans inside. If you refuse, we¡¯ll blow the entire house to hell.¡±

    She gestured toward the squads, and several soldiers moved forward with rocket launchers, taking aim at the house.

    ¡°You have thirty seconds,¡± the woman continued, her voice eerily calm. ¡°Thirty¡­ twenty-nine¡­ twenty-eight¡­¡±

    Inside, the X-Men scrambled to form a plan.

    ¡°Cyclops, we¡¯re surrounded!¡± Beast said, his voice urgent as he peeked through a gap in the curtains. ¡°These are heavily armed professionals. Whoever they are, they mean business.¡±

    ¡°Daddy!¡± one of the girls sobbed again, clutching at Tom¡¯s unmoving body.

    Rogue knelt beside the family, her voice soft but firm. ¡°Ah¡¯m so sorry, ma¡¯am. But we need to protect y¡¯all now. Please, stay back.¡±

    Storm moved toward the window, her eyes glowing white as she began summoning the wind. ¡°I can create a barrier to buy us some time,¡± she said. ¡°But with rocket launchers¡­¡±

    ¡°We need to neutralize those squads before they fire,¡± Cyclops said. ¡°Jean, can you locate their leader?¡±

    Jean nodded, her hands going to her temples as she reached out telepathically. ¡°She¡¯s outside,¡± she said. ¡°Her mind is¡­ hard to reach. It¡¯s like it¡¯s shielded by some kind of interference. But she¡¯s confident. She doesn¡¯t think we¡¯ll fight back.¡±

    ¡°Then she¡¯s about to get a surprise,¡± Wolverine growled, his claws extending with a familiar <i>snikt</i>. ¡°Let me at ¡®em, Slim.¡±

    ¡°Not yet, Logan,¡± Cyclops snapped. ¡°We need a coordinated plan, not another brawl.¡±

    Storm¡¯s voice cut through the tension. ¡°I¡¯ll draw their attention with a storm. If I can force them to take cover, it might give us a chance to get the civilians out of here.¡±

    ¡°Civilians?¡± Jubilee blurted. ¡°You mean <i>them</i>?¡± She gestured toward the sobbing family, her voice cracking. ¡°They hate us!¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Rogue said firmly. ¡°We protect people, no matter what.¡±

    Jean knelt beside Tom¡¯s wife, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. ¡°Please,¡± she said softly, her voice trembling with empathy. ¡°I know you don¡¯t trust us, but you have to let us help. Your girls need you to stay strong right now.¡±

    The woman looked up at Jean, her tear-streaked face twisted with rage and sorrow. For a moment, it seemed like she might lash out, but then her gaze shifted to her daughters, who were still crying against her chest. Slowly, she nodded.

    Outside, the masked woman¡¯s voice echoed again. ¡°Twenty-seven¡­ twenty-six¡­ twenty-five¡­¡±

    Storm¡¯s eyes flashed as the wind outside began to pick up, swirling dust and debris around the house. ¡°Cyclops, we¡¯re running out of time.¡±

    Cyclops nodded. ¡°Alright. Storm, create a diversion. Logan, take the south side and deal with their heavy weapons. Rogue, Jubilee take the east flank. Jean, keep the family safe.

    ¡°Ah''ll keep ¡®em off y¡¯all, sugah,¡± Rogue added, her voice steady despite the tension.

    ¡°Let¡¯s move,¡± Cyclops said, his voice sharp with authority.

    ¡°Twenty-four¡­ twenty-three¡­ twenty-two¡­¡±

    As the countdown continued, the X-Men sprang into action. Storm raised her arms, and the wind howled with increasing intensity, forming a protective barrier around the house. Lightning crackled in the darkening sky, forcing the soldiers to take cover as the first bolts struck the ground around them.

    The masked woman watched the storm with calm detachment, her hands clenched into fists. ¡°Hold your positions,¡± she ordered. ¡°Prepare to fire on my command.¡±

    The battle for the ranch was about to begin.

    The X-Men stepped cautiously out of the ranch house, the storm swirling above them in a furious vortex summoned by Storm¡¯s power. Dust and debris whipped through the air as the tactical squads opened fire, their energy blasters lighting up the darkened sky with streaks of blue and red. The team scattered, each member falling into formation as bullets and plasma bolts ripped through the ranch yard.

    Cyclops led the charge, his visor glowing red as he fired precision optic blasts, taking out one of the heavy weapons operators perched on a nearby truck. ¡°Everyone, stay sharp! They¡¯re not amateurs!¡±

    The battle erupted into pure chaos as the X-Men fought to protect the family and push back the enemy forces. Dust and debris filled the air, the ground shaking from explosions and concussive blasts as the masked woman commanded her troops with ruthless precision.

    Wolverine was the first to engage, launching himself from the window straight at the nearest power-armored soldier. His claws sliced through reinforced metal like it was butter, severing the soldier¡¯s arm before plunging deep into his neck. Blood splattered across the gravel, but before the body even hit the ground, the armor dissolved into a nanotech cloud, reforming like a swarm of metallic insects.

    Before Logan could react, the nanites swarmed his arms and legs, wrapping around his bones, locking him in place. Then, with a sudden burst of propulsion, they fired him downward with crushing force, slamming him into the dirt like a meteor.

    "<i>T</i><i>arget acquired</i>."

    The masked woman didn¡¯t hesitate. She raised her hand and signaled.

    "<b><i>FIRE!</i></b>"

    A rocket-propelled grenade streaked across the battlefield, detonating on impact with Wolverine¡¯s body. A blinding fireball erupted, sending shockwaves through the ground. The smell of burning flesh and molten metal filled the air as half of Logan¡¯s body was reduced to charred muscle and exposed adamantium bone.

    "Take that, you <i>animal</i>," sneered one of the soldiers.

    Storm¡¯s voice cracked through the comms like a thunderclap. "LOGAN!"

    Jubilee¡¯s scream followed, panic-stricken. "WOLVIE!"

    For a moment, everything went still.

    Then, from the smoking crater, a skeletal adamantium hand rose from the fire¡ªgiving a slow, stubborn thumbs-up.

    "He¡¯s alive," Rogue muttered, gritting her teeth. "That¡¯s all that matters right now."

    A second rocket whooshed through the air, but before it could land, a single crimson beam cut across the battlefield, detonating it mid-flight. The explosion knocked one of the power-armored soldiers backward, his body flipping through the air before his nano-enhanced armor adjusted and stabilized his landing.

    Cyclops grimaced. "Damn it¡ªthes suits are adapting!"

    The masked woman laughed coldly, adjusting the sleek sniper rifle in her hands.

    "You mutants think you have all the advantages, but the greatest feat of humanity is adaptation. No matter how many cards you hold, we still manage to control the table!"

    Her rifle cracked, sending a high-caliber round directly for Cyclops¡¯ head.

    He barely had time to react before¡ª

    CLANG!

    The bullet stopped mid-air, just inches from his forehead, quivering as it hovered in place.

    Jean had caught it telekinetically. With a flick of her fingers, she sent it hurtling back toward its owner.

    The masked woman activated an energy shield, and the bullet shattered into molten shards on impact.

    <i>"</i>Not bad<i>,"</i> she mused.

    The power-armored troops opened fire, sending a storm of bullets toward the house. The X-Men scrambled for cover, dodging between the collapsing porch and the torn-up terrain.

    Jean dashed back inside, extending a force field around the family, stopping the gunfire inches from their heads.

    <i>"</i>They¡¯re targeting the house!<i>"</i> she warned.

    Outside, Cyclops unleashed another optic blast, but the masked woman sidestepped, her energy shield absorbing the brunt of the force. In return, she pulled a smaller energy pistol the blast straight at his shoulder, the bolt punching through his armor, then his flesh.

    "Scott!" Jean¡¯s voice echoed in his mind, filled with alarm.

    Cyclops gritted his teeth, clutching his burning shoulder.

    "I¡¯m fine!" he barked, but the pain flared hot.

    The masked woman reloaded her rifle. "You X-Men are always so predictable. Just one good hit, and you start falling apart."

    From the second floor, Rogue burst through the ceiling, rocketing straight at the masked woman with a furious snarl.

    "Not so fast, <i>bitch</i>"

    Her fist slammed into the woman¡¯s armor, denting the plating. Rogue followed up with another devastating punch, cracking the mask slightly. Showing a burned skin below.

    "Kid, you¡¯re gonna have to do worse than that,<i>"</i> the woman sneered.

    She twisted her wrist, deploying a booster module, and before Rogue could react, a high-intensity thruster ignited against her chest, hurling her violently into the sky.

    As Rogue tumbled, another rocket whooshed toward her, but before it could connect¡ª

    BOOM!

    A lightning bolt arced through the sky, detonating the missile mid-air. Rogue quickly righted herself, adjusting her flight path.

    "Thanks, ¡®Ro!" she called.

    <i>"</i>Just stay focused, Rogue." Storm¡¯s voice was cool, but Rogue could sense her concern.

    Down below, Jubilee sprang into action, sending bright plasmoids straight into the visors of one of the soldiers. The man stumbled blindly, firing wildly in panic. One of his missiles struck the side of the ranch house, the explosion sending wooden beams and debris crashing down.

    Inside, Jean¡¯s eyes widened in horror as she saw the ceiling collapse above the famil<b>y</b>.

    "No!"

    She extended both hands, catching the debris with her telekinesis, holding it mid-air before launching the rubble straight at one of the power-armored soldiers, crushing him beneath the weight.

    "Man down!" one of the enemies called over the comms.

    Another soldier locked onto Jubilee, his rocket launcher whining as it powered up.

    "Oh shit¡ª!" Jubilee yelped.

    But before he could fire, Rogue dropped out of the sky, grabbing the missile out of the launcher and hurling it skyward.

    The missile exploded mid-air, sending a shockwave rattling the ground.

    <i>"</i>Thanks, Roguey<i>!"</i> Jubilee grinned.

    Rogue hovered mid-air, panting. Her fists were shaking as she took in the chaos. The ranch was in ruins, Wolverine was half-burned, Thompson¡¯s lifeless body was sprawled on the floor, his blood pooling beneath him. The masked woman stood there, completely unfazed.

    Something inside Rogue snapped.

    Her eyes darkened, her breathing hitched. She clenched her fists so tightly that her knuckles turned white under her gloves.

    <i>"These people¡­ they hurt them. They hurt </i><i>us.</i><i> They killed him, blew up Logan¡ª" </i>She thought.

    Her rage bubbled up, her fingers twitching toward her gloves.

    Then, Jean¡¯s voice cut into her mind¡ªgentle, but firm.

    <i>"Rogue, calm down. Breathe."</i>

    <i>"No, Jean¡­ they¡ª"</i>

    "Anna Marie, control yourself. You¡¯re better than that."

    Rogue¡¯s fingers hovered over her gloves.

    For a second, she wanted to tear them off.

    To touch. To drain. To punish.

    But then, from the distance¡ª

    <i><b>"We were late, but we did what we came to do. League, retreat."</b></i>

    The masked woman raised a hand, signaling her troops.

    Rocket thrusters ignited, and the soldiers launched into the sky, flying away in tight formation.

    Rogue¡¯s muscles tensed, ready to give chase.

    <i>"</i>Rogue¡ªno."

    Storm¡¯s hand gripped her wrist, stopping her mid-air.

    She turned to see Storm¡¯s piercing gaze¡ªfirm, unyielding. A silent plea.

    "Let them go, Rogue."

    Rogue swallowed hard, her fists still clenched.

    Finally, she exhaled shakily, closing her eyes.

    "Fine."

    The battlefield fell silent, the retreating soldiers now just dark specks in the sky.

    Whatever came next, they knew it wouldn''t be pretty.

 Chapter 10: Pain

    The battlefield was eerily silent now. The masked woman and her forces had vanished into the sky, leaving nothing but ruins, fire, and the dead.

    Storm landed gracefully, her white cape billowing as she knelt beside Wolverine. He was already pulling himself together, his skin and muscle slowly knitting back over his exposed adamantium. The wound was healing, but it had been a brutal hit. The flesh around his ribs and jaw was still charred and raw.

    "Thanks, Stormy. That was one hell of a hit," Logan muttered, his voice rough, more gravel than usual.

    Storm placed a hand on his shoulder, concern written across her regal face. "Logan, you will survive. But you must be more careful."

    Wolverine smirked, wiping blood from his mouth. "What would I do without ya, ¡®Ro?"

    "Rest now," she said, gently guiding him toward the porch. He didn¡¯t resist, allowing her to help him up the steps.

    Rogue landed near the collapsed debris, her boots crushing broken wood and concrete beneath her. Dust still hung thick in the air, mixing with the acrid scent of burnt metal and explosives. Beneath the rubble, one of the power-armored soldiers was barely breathing. His suit was wrecked, his helmet half-crushed, his exposed face covered in blood and grime. He wheezed with every breath, his ribs likely shattered.

    Rogue loomed over him, her green eyes burning with fury.

    "Ya better start speakin'', asshole," she growled, slowly pulling off her right glove. The leather peeled away with a soft creak, revealing her bare hand, fingers twitching with anticipation.

    The soldier grinned through bloody teeth.

    "FUCK YOU! DO YOUR WORST!" he spat, his voice gurgling.

    She clenched her fist, her patience hanging by a thread.

    "Don¡¯t test me, Sugah."

    She raised her bare hand, holding it inches from his exposed skin.

    The moment stretched, thick with tension. Her fingertips tingled, the energy coiling inside her, desperate to be let loose.

    The soldier suddenly barked a laugh, his body shuddering.

    <b>"GOT YOU, WHORE!"</b>

    Before she could react¡ª

    <i>BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.</i>

    Her eyes widened.

    The armor was rigged. The self-destruct sequence had already started.

    For one horrifying second, she saw her life flash before her eyes.

    Then, the soldier was yanked violently upward, suspended in the air, his entire body locked inside a glowing pink bubble of telekinetic energy.

    Jean Grey stepped out of the ruined house, her blue-and-gold uniform dusted with debris, her red hair whipping in the wind. She held one finger against her temple, her glowing eyes focused entirely on the soldier.

    "Jean¡ª" Rogue started, stepping back.

    The soldier snarled inside the bubble, his face contorted in pure hate.

    The beeping from his armor grew faster, louder.

    Then it happened.

    His body detonated, the force of the explosion contained entirely inside Jean¡¯s bubble.

    Blood. Bone. Mist.

    It was all that remained. Tiny, crimson droplets splattered against the inside of the telekinetic field before the containment bubble flickered out of existence.

    The remains fell like dust, silent, insignificant.

    Rogue staggered back, eyes wide.

    "Damnit," she muttered, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

    Jean lowered her hand, exhaling softly, her expression unreadable.

    "I told you to calm down, Rogue," she said gently.

    Rogue¡¯s jaw tightened, her hands curling into fists at her sides. She wasn¡¯t mad at Jean.

    "Ah''m sorry, Jean, it''s just that¡ª" her voice wavered.

    Jean stepped closer, lowering her voice.

    "It¡¯s okay, Rogue. It¡¯s okay to be angry. It¡¯s okay to feel¡ª"

    But Rogue wasn¡¯t ready for comfort. She felt like she was drowning in rage.

    She clenched her fists even tighter, her nails digging into her palms.

    Jean watched her carefully, sensing the storm building inside her friend.

    "Rogue, where are you going?"

    Rogue took a step back, shaking her head.

    "<i>Ah need a moment</i>..." She moved to the porch, sitting at the blasted stairs.

    "Take your time, Rogue," she whispered.

    The air was thick with smoke and sorrow. The firefight was over, the masked woman and her troops had retreated, but the damage had been done. The blood of Thompson had already stained the wooden floorboards, soaking into the cracks of the ranch house, an ugly reminder of their failure. The echoes of gunfire had faded, leaving behind only the anguished sobs of his wife and daughters.

    Rogue stood frozen, her shoulders trembling, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She had seen a lot of violence in her time. She had seen the worst of both humanity and mutantkind. But this?

    This wasn¡¯t just another battle.

    This was an execution.

    Her mind kept replaying the moment. Thompson had been speaking. He had been cooperating.

    Then came that sickening CRACK¡ªthe shot that had ended it all.

    That woman, that cold machine of a person, had executed him without hesitation.

    <i>"Because we were here."</i> She  thought

    Jean was beside Scott, kneeling as she pressed a glowing hand over his shoulder, the bullet wound still fresh.

    "Scott," she murmured, her voice steady despite the pain she felt radiating from him.

    He exhaled sharply, grimacing as her telekinetic energy sealed part of the wound.

    "Careful, Jean," he muttered, his voice tight.

    "I''m here, Scott," she reassured him, her fingers hovering gently over the wound.

    Scott let out a slow breath, sweat beading on his forehead. He looked pale, but he was still standing. His resilience had always been both admirable and frustrating.

    <i>"</i>Thank you... I''ll be fine."

    Jean shot him a look that clearly said You¡¯re lying, but I¡¯ll let it slide.

    "We¡¯ll treat you once we¡¯re back."

    Scott shook his head, rolling his shoulder experimentally. The pain was still there, but he ignored it. He always ignored it.

    "Yeah. It¡¯s fine. Let¡¯s proceed with the mission. We got something."

    Rogue¡¯s head snapped toward him so fast it could have cracked her spine.

    <i>"Got somethin¡¯? Got somethin¡¯."</i> She thought, thought of saying. But held back.

    Her lips pressed together in a hard line, biting back the explosion of rage bubbling inside her.

    Scott had a bullet in his shoulder. Logan had been blown apart. They had nearly been killed. And yet, all he could say was We got something like this was just another mission.

    She refused to look at him.

    Instead, she turned on her heel and walked back into the house¡ªthe ruined, blood-stained house¡ªwhere a family had just lost its father.

    Rogue barely noticed the wreckage around her.

    She saw the broken furniture, the blood spattered across the floor, the smashed windows letting in the cool Arkansas night air. But her mind was elsewhere.

    She could still hear the girls crying, their wails raw and endless. She saw the wife, collapsed onto her knees, gripping her dead husband¡¯s shirt with both hands, as if she could somehow pull him back to life.

    Jubilee was standing in the corner, her usual chatter replaced by stunned silence. Her eyes were wide, filled with something Rogue hadn¡¯t seen before.

    It was fear.

    Not of the enemy, not of the fight.

    But of what they had failed to stop.

    Logan leaned against the far wall, arms crossed. His face was unreadable, but his claws were still out. He hadn¡¯t even realized it. Half of his body mangled, but regenerating as he watched his muscles grow back.

    Rogue''s gaze flickered back to Thompson¡¯s body.

    He was helping us.

    And they killed him for it.

    Storm entered just as Rogue felt her rage spike again. The taller woman moved with quiet grace, her white hair catching the dim light from the shattered lamp. She found Rogue¡¯s gaze and held it, her expression calm but firm.

    <i>"</i>They killed ¡®im, ¡®Ro!<i>"</i> Rogue¡¯s voice cracked, her fists trembling at her sides. "They killed that man in cold blood!"Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!

    Storm¡¯s eyes flickered toward the body before she looked back at Rogue. Her voice was steady, filled with quiet authority.

    "Rogue, calm down."

    <i>"CALM DOWN</i>?!" Rogue took a sharp step forward, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She couldn¡¯t calm down. How could she?

    Storm didn¡¯t flinch. She simply tightened her grip on Rogue¡¯s shoulder.

    "Ah could have gone after em''..." She said low, but her voice was filled with anger.

    "You would be alone against them, Rogue," she said evenly. "And I will not lose you to your anger."

    The words hit her like a truck.

    <i>Alone.</i>

    That¡¯s exactly how Rogue felt right now.

    For all her strength, all her abilities, she was still powerless to stop what had happened. She could fly faster than the speed of sound, lift cars over her head, tear Sentinels apart with her bare hands<b>.</b>

    But she hadn¡¯t been able to save one man.

    She swallowed hard, her voice quieter now.

    "It ain¡¯t right, ¡®Ro.<i>"</i>

    Storm¡¯s gaze softened, just a little.

    "No. It isn¡¯t."

    Rogue exhaled sharply, her anger dimming just enough for her to breathe again.

    Jean finally entered, standing beside Storm.

    Tom¡¯s wife clutched his lifeless body, her trembling hands gripping his bloodstained shirt as though her touch could bring him back. Tears streamed down her face, her chest heaving with sobs. The two girls, Sophia and Emily, clung to their mother, their voices cracking as they called out for their father.

    ¡°<i>Daddy¡­ please</i>,¡± Sophia, the younger girl, couldn''t be older than twelve, whimpered, her voice barely audible. She shook his arm, her tearful eyes searching his still face. ¡°<i>Daddy, wake up</i>.¡±

    Emily buried her face in her mother¡¯s shoulder, her small body wracked with sobs. ¡°<i>Daddy, don¡¯t go¡­ Please don¡¯t go.</i>¡±

    Their mother¡¯s voice broke as she tried to soothe them, though her own grief overwhelmed her. ¡°<i>Sophia, sweetie¡­ Damnit! Tom¡­ Oh, God, Tom¡­</i>¡± Her words dissolved into choked sobs, her head bowing over her husband¡¯s body.

    Jean knelt a few feet away, her hands pressed to her temples as she fought back her own tears. She reached out telepathically, trying to offer some measure of comfort, but the woman¡¯s mind was closed off, her pain and anger too great.

    ¡°Ma¡¯am¡­¡± Jean began softly, her voice trembling. ¡°We¡¯re so sorry. We didn¡¯t mean¡ª¡±

    The woman¡¯s head snapped up, her eyes blazing with fury. ¡°<b>LOOK WHAT YOU¡¯VE DONE!</b>¡± she screamed, her voice raw and filled with rage. She pointed a trembling finger at Jean, then at the other X-Men. ¡°<b>MY HUSBAND IS DEAD! MY HOME IS DESTROYED! THAT¡¯S WHAT YOU MUTANTS DO! YOU BRING DESTRUCTION WHEREVER YOU GO!</b>¡±

    Jean flinched as if struck, her hands dropping to her sides. ¡°We¡­ we didn¡¯t mean for this to happen,¡± she stammered.

    ¡°<i>Don¡¯t talk to them, Ma</i>!¡± Sophia said, her voice trembling as she clung to her father¡¯s arm. ¡°<i>Don¡¯t let them near Daddy</i>.¡±

    Cyclops stepped forward, his visor glowing faintly in the dim light. His tone was firm, though his posture betrayed his guilt. ¡°Ma¡¯am, we didn¡¯t bring those soldiers here. We¡¯re here to¡ª¡±

    ¡°<i>DADDY!</i>¡± Sophia screamed, cutting him off. She turned back to her father, shaking him desperately. ¡°Please, Daddy, wake up! Wake up!¡±

    ¡°Leave em'' alone, Cyclops¡± Rogue whispered to Cyclops. Her expression was pained as she watched the family¡¯s grief unfold.

    Tom¡¯s wife cradled her daughters, her fury undiminished. She glared at the X-Men, her voice rising again. ¡°DON¡¯T TALK TO ME!¡± she screamed, her body trembling with rage. ¡°LEAVE US ALONE, YOU MONSTERS!¡±

    Storm stepped forward, her calm demeanor intact though her eyes were filled with sorrow. ¡°Ma¡¯am, we¡¯re not your enemies,¡± she said softly. ¡°We came here to protect people, to stop¡ª¡±

    ¡°STOP?!¡± the woman roared, cutting her off. ¡°YOU DIDN¡¯T STOP ANYTHING! YOU BROUGHT THIS HERE! MY HUSBAND IS DEAD BECAUSE OF YOU!¡±

    ¡°Ma¡¯am,¡± Cyclops said gently, his voice low but steely, ¡°we understand your anger, but please believe us when we say this was not our doing. Those men¡ª¡±

    ¡°THOSE MEN WOULDN¡¯T HAVE COME IF NOT FOR YOU!¡± the woman shouted, her voice breaking. ¡°GET OUT! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!¡±

    Cyclops opened his mouth to respond, but Jean placed a hand on his arm, shaking her head. ¡°Scott,¡± she said softly, her voice barely a whisper. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±

    ¡°But¡ª¡±

    ¡°Please,¡± Jean insisted, her eyes pleading.

    Tom¡¯s wife clutched her daughters tightly, her voice trembling but resolute. ¡°LEAVE! NOW!¡±

    The X-Men exchanged heavy glances, their expressions a mix of guilt and sorrow. Slowly, they began to back away, making their way toward the door.

    ¡°Ma¡¯am¡­¡± Rogue started, her voice breaking.

    ¡°DON¡¯T TALK TO ME!¡± the woman screamed. ¡°JUST GO!¡±

    Outside, the distant wail of police sirens grew louder, cutting through the oppressive silence of the aftermath. Storm glanced toward the horizon, her sharp eyes catching the faint glimmer of flashing lights.

    ¡°We need to move,¡± she said quietly, her tone clipped.

    Cyclops hesitated, his fists clenched at his sides. ¡°This isn¡¯t our fault,¡± he muttered more to himself than anyone else.

    Jubilee lingered at the doorway, her lip quivering as she looked back at the grieving family. ¡°I didn¡¯t¡­ I didn¡¯t want this to happen,¡± she whispered.

    Rogue gently guided her away. ¡°None of us did, Jubes,¡± she said softly. ¡°But we can¡¯t fix this now.¡±

    Jean was the last to leave, her telepathic presence lingering in the house even as she stepped outside. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry,¡± she murmured, her voice almost too quiet to hear.

    The X-Men regrouped outside, their usual confidence shattered. As they climbed back into the Blackbird, the sirens grew louder, the flashing lights now visible on the dirt road leading to the ranch.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Cyclops said grimly, his voice hollow. "Our presence here will only worsen their pain."

    The X-Men, moved to the Blackbird.

    The Blackbird lifted off, the ranch shrinking below them as they ascended into the night sky. Inside the cabin, the team sat in heavy silence, the weight of their failure pressing down on them.

    No one spoke as they flew away, leaving behind a family broken by grief, a home in ruins, and the bitter reminder of the cost of their fight.

    <hr>

    <i>Moments Later inside the Blackbird</i>

    The Blackbird hummed softly as it soared through the morning sky, the quiet rhythm of the engines a stark contrast to the chaos the X-Men had just left behind. Inside, the cabin was filled with tension so thick it was suffocating. No one had spoken for several minutes, the weight of the failed mission hanging over them like a storm cloud.

    Storm broke the silence first, her voice soft but insistent. ¡°Logan¡­ talk to me.¡±

    Wolverine sat in his usual seat, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees. His hair was still singed from the rocket blast, and though his body had mostly healed, he moved with a stiffness that betrayed his injuries. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his voice low and gruff.

    ¡°I¡¯m fine, ¡¯Ro. Don¡¯t worry.¡±

    Storm studied him for a moment, her sharp eyes catching the faint tremor in his hands, but she didn¡¯t press. ¡°Good,¡± she said simply, though her tone held a weight that lingered in the air.

    The quiet was shattered by Jubilee, who leaned back in her chair and let out a long, frustrated sigh, her eyes filled with tears. ¡°This is so fucked up,¡± she muttered, shaking her head.

    Wolverine shrugged, his claws tapping idly against the edge of his seat. ¡°It happens, kiddo. It¡¯s war.¡±

    Rogue snapped her head around, her green eyes blazing with fury. ¡°<i>It doesn¡¯t have to happen, Logan!</i>¡± she shot back, her accent thickening with her anger.

    She gestured sharply toward him, her voice rising. ¡°<i>War</i>? What damn side was he on, huh? What damn cause was he tryin¡¯ to stand up fer? ¡¯Cause the way Ah see it, he was just tryin¡¯ to protect his family, god damn it!¡±

    ¡°We fucked up,¡± Jubilee said, her voice quieter this time, but no less bitter.

    Logan leaned back in his seat, his expression dark. ¡°Look, darlin¡¯, he enlisted. He fought. He signed up with <i>Carraro</i>, didn¡¯t he? <i>Stripes</i>? Or do ya think he wasn¡¯t aware of the risks?¡±

    Rogue¡¯s fists clenched at her sides. ¡°We brought em'' straight to their door, Logan! Straight to his family! He didn¡¯t deserve this!¡±

    Cyclops turned to face them, his tone firm and unyielding. ¡°We did our mission, Rogue. We went there to get information, and we got it. What happened to Thompson is tragic, but let¡¯s not act like he didn¡¯t make choices that led him there. This is a way for us to learn moving forward."

    Rogue stared at him, her voice trembling with disbelief. ¡°Seriously, Scott? Logan? How can y¡¯all be so <i>damn insensitive</i>?¡±

    ¡°Darlin¡¯,¡± Logan said, his voice low and rough, ¡°it¡¯s the real world. Messed up things happen. It ain¡¯t about bein¡¯ insensitive¡ªit¡¯s about seein¡¯ things for what they are.¡±

    The tension grew even thicker as Jubilee. Her voice was small but edged with raw emotion. ¡°Guys, this is still messed up. His kids¡­ they were younger than me.¡± She pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging them tightly. ¡°I mean, come on. We¡¯re supposed to be heroes, right? This didn¡¯t feel like a <i>win</i>.¡±

    Jean reached out to place a hand on Rogue¡¯s arm, but stopped short, sensing the storm of emotions swirling inside her. Instead, she turned to Cyclops, her voice quiet but firm. ¡°Scott, you¡¯re right. We have to learn from this. But that doesn¡¯t mean we can just move on like it¡¯s another mission completed. People died today. Families were broken.¡±

    Scott nodded, his expression grim. ¡°I know. And I won¡¯t forget that, Jean. But if we let it paralyze us, more people will die. We don¡¯t have that luxury.¡±

    The cabin fell silent again, the only sound the soft hum of the engines and the occasional rustle of movement. Each member of the team was lost in their own thoughts, the weight of the day¡¯s events pressing down on them.

    Storm glanced around the cabin, her sharp gaze lingering on each of her teammates. ¡°We will carry this with us,¡± she said, her voice low but steady. ¡°As we always do. But we will also carry on, because the world needs us to.¡±

    The Blackbird continued its flight, the ranch now miles behind them, but the memory of what had happened there remained, etched deeply into the hearts of the X-Men.

    The cabin of the Blackbird was thick with tension, the weight of the mission¡¯s failure pressing down on everyone like a suffocating fog. The hum of the engines filled the silence, but it did nothing to drown out the voices in their heads¡ªgrief, anger, guilt¡ªall swirling and threatening to boil over.

    Storm¡¯s voice broke the silence first, steady but tinged with frustration. ¡°The world needs us, Rogue,¡± she said, her tone calm but firm. ¡°Do you not see that? If not us, then who will stand for those who cannot stand for themselves?¡±

    Rogue snapped her head around, her green eyes blazing with a mix of pain and anger. ¡°The world <i>needs</i> us, ¡¯Ro? Huh? Did Tom need us? Did his family? Did he ask fer us to show up on his porch and bring hell to his door? Maybe his wife was right. Maybe we don¡¯t bring nothin¡¯ but trouble wherever we go!¡±

    Cyclops stood abruptly, his fists clenched at his sides as his voice rose. ¡°We didn¡¯t cause his death!¡± he barked, his usually controlled demeanor fraying. ¡°Those soldiers did. Don¡¯t put this on us!¡±

    Rogue shot to her feet, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. ¡°Since when did we start lookin¡¯ like <i>mutant cops</i>, Scott? Huh? That¡¯s what scares people¡ªus actin¡¯ like we¡¯re their damn judges and jailers!¡±

    Scott turned on her, his visor glowing faintly as his temper flared. ¡°We are not¡ª¡±

    Then it came to Rogue''s mind again

    <i>"Sure heck is a weird way o¡¯ showin¡¯ it when y¡¯all play mutant police"</i><i> </i>In that damn West Texan accent.

    <i>"Free men don¡¯t buy promises of salvation"</i>

    Was this what mutant salvation was, dead bodies? A family who lost their father? Death? Destruction? Pain?

    ¡°What?¡± Rogue cut him off, stepping closer. ¡°A <i>militarized police force</i>? We wear badges, Scott! That¡¯s how they see us! That¡¯s what throws people off, that¡¯s what scares the hell outta them! No wonder some mutants don¡¯t wanna touch us with a ten-foot pole!¡±

    ¡°She is talkin¡¯ about the Alamo,¡± Jubilee muttered, though her tone lacked any of her bubbliness.

    Rogue spun toward him, her voice sharp. ¡°<i>No</i>, Ah ain¡¯t talkin¡¯ ¡¯bout him!¡±

    Storm raised an eyebrow, her expression skeptical. ¡°You¡¯re thinking about it, Rogue. We all know you are.¡±

    Rogue clenched her fists, her teeth grinding as she turned back to Storm. ¡°That ain¡¯t what this is about! Don¡¯t twist my words!¡±

    Storm¡¯s voice remained calm, though there was a hint of frustration in her tone. ¡°Is it not? Perhaps what truly gets under your skin is that he¡¯s a mutant who doesn¡¯t need to wear our badge to make a difference. Perhaps he represents something you think we¡¯re missing.¡±

    ¡°And what if he does?¡± Rogue shot back, her voice trembling with emotion. ¡°What if the fact that he can do what he does without any of this <i>mess</i> is proof we¡¯re doing somethin¡¯ wrong?¡±

    Cyclops took a step forward, his voice cutting like a whip. ¡°And you think he¡¯s the solution to the problem? A lone wolf who runs around making everything worse?¡±

    ¡°<i>NO!</i>¡± Rogue shouted, her accent thick with anger. ¡°Duncan has nothin¡¯ to do with this, Scott! What¡¯s got me worked up is that we always end up hurtin¡¯ someone, whether we mean to or not! It¡¯s always the same thing! We show up, people die, families get broken, and we call it a mission accomplished. What the hell kind of heroes are we supposed to be?¡±

    Cyclops took a deep breath, trying to steady his voice, though it was clear he was still fuming. ¡°Do you think he would¡¯ve done this any better? That if we left it to him, it would¡¯ve ended any differently?¡±

    Rogue hesitated for a moment, her anger faltering. ¡°Ah don¡¯t know,¡± she admitted, her voice softer now. ¡°Maybe not. Maybe he¡¯d¡¯ve blown it all to hell. But Ah do know we messed up, Scott. War or no war, we¡¯re supposed to be here to protect people. Not just¡­ win.¡±

    Jean stepped in then, her voice calm but with an undercurrent of urgency. ¡°We all feel this, Rogue,¡± she said gently. ¡°None of us are okay with what happened back there. But blaming ourselves for things we can¡¯t control isn¡¯t going to help anyone.¡±

    ¡°Jean¡¯s right,¡± Storm added, though her tone was heavy. ¡°We are not infallible, Rogue. And we are not immune to the consequences of our actions. But that is the burden we carry¡ªthe burden of trying to make a difference in a world that does not always understand us.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the problem, Ororo!¡± Rogue snapped. ¡°We keep tellin¡¯ ourselves it¡¯s okay to carry that burden, like that makes it any better for the people we hurt along the way. We act like it¡¯s just part of the job, but it don¡¯t feel right. Not anymore.¡±

    Wolverine, who had been quietly listening, finally spoke, his voice low and gravelly. ¡°Look, darlin¡¯. You¡¯re not wrong. We do screw up. Hell, sometimes we screw up big. But you know what? So does everyone else tryin¡¯ to fight the good fight. It¡¯s not about bein¡¯ perfect¡ªit¡¯s about gettin¡¯ back up and tryin¡¯ again.¡±

    Rogue shook her head, her voice tinged with bitterness. ¡°That¡¯s easy to say, Logan, but it don¡¯t make it feel any less wrong.¡±

    ¡°Maybe it don¡¯t,¡± Logan replied, his eyes meeting hers. ¡°But sittin¡¯ here beatin¡¯ yourself up over it ain¡¯t gonna fix a damn thing.¡±

    The cabin fell into silence again, the weight of the conversation pressing down on everyone. Rogue slumped back into her seat, crossing her arms tightly across her chest.

    ¡°Fine,¡± she muttered, her voice barely audible. ¡°Fine. Let¡¯s just move on then.¡±

    Storm exchanged a glance with Cyclops, her expression troubled but resigned. ¡°We will carry this with us,¡± she said softly, echoing her earlier words. ¡°But we will also carry on. Because we must.¡±

    The Blackbird continued its flight, the lights of the Xavier Institute growing faintly visible on the horizon. Each of the X-Men sat lost in their own thoughts, the burden of their mission heavier than ever.

    But to Rogue it was a long road. It was her family, yes.

    But was the dream worth it? What if she just kept it to herself, what if she gave up on it all, fought for herself.

    <i>No Brotherhood</i>

    <i>No X-Men</i>

    <i>No Xavier</i>

    <i>No Rogue</i>

    <i>Just Anna Marie.

    </i>

    <i>Would there be so much pain?</i>

 Epilogue: Return of the Damned

    Carl Denti rolled his wheelchair down the dimly lit hallway, his hands gripping the wheels so tightly that his knuckles turned white. The metallic hum of fluorescent lights above flickered in and out, casting eerie shadows against the cold steel walls. This facility¡ªone of Trask¡¯s many hidden strongholds¡ªwas unfamiliar, but the same sterile atmosphere and clinical detachment from human warmth remained.

    Denti¡¯s body ached. A deep, gnawing pain that never really left. His bones felt like brittle glass, his nerves screamed in protest with every movement. His body wasn¡¯t what it used to be, and he knew who to blame.

    A mutant.

    A boy.

    A damn kid.

    He gritted his teeth, wheeling himself into the office he had been summoned to.

    The room was far too grand for what it was. A massive mahogany desk, lined with old books, framed certificates, and artifacts of a bygone age¡ªa deliberate contrast to the cold, scientific reality outside these doors. It was meant to be imposing. It was meant to show legacy.

    Sitting behind the desk, Bolivar Trask leaned back in his chair, hands folded over his stomach.

    "Ah, Mr. Denti," Trask greeted with that same smug, calculated smile he always carried.

    Denti hated it.

    "It¡¯s good to see you here," Trask continued, his voice cool and professional.

    "Yeah, great, really," Denti muttered, sarcasm dripping from his tone as he adjusted his thick-framed glasses.

    His brown hair, now streaked with premature white strands, was disheveled. His face was lined with deep creases, the kind that didn¡¯t come from age but from stress, from war. He was somewhere in his late forties, maybe early fifties, but he felt twice as old.

    Denti sighed, rubbing his temples. "Do you know why I¡¯m here?"

    Trask¡¯s smirk didn¡¯t falter. "I brought you here because I want to give the Friends of Humanity a chance."

    Denti¡¯s brow furrowed. "A chance?"

    "You¡¯re less extreme than Creed," Trask explained smoothly, his fingers drumming against the desk.

    Denti snorted, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, Creed... Creed is Creed, you know how he is."

    He spat the name out like it was poison. Creed was a rabid dog, unpredictable and barely controlled. He made for a great weapon but a terrible leader. That much had been obvious for years.

    Trask nodded. "That¡¯s exactly why you¡¯re here¡ªto protect mankind. To save the Friends of Humanity... from Creed."

    Denti let out a sharp laugh. "This seems desperate, Trask."

    Trask simply smiled. "It¡¯s not. It¡¯s necessary."

    He stood up, walking slowly to the side of the room, where a glass case held a Sentinel''s robotic hand, mounted like some kind of war trophy.

    "We have to stop the mutants," Trask said, his voice growing colder, sharper. "They just killed one of Carraro¡¯s men."

    Denti''s eyes flickered upward at that. His stomach twisted.

    "Who?"

    "Thompson."Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    Denti froze.

    His fingers gripped the armrests of his wheelchair. "What about his family?"

    "Hurt," Trask said simply, his voice devoid of emotion. "Destroyed. All because of the X-Men."

    Denti¡¯s pulse pounded in his ears. He had worked with Thompson. He knew the guy. A straight-laced former MP. A family man.

    A good man.

    "It can¡¯t be," Denti muttered, shaking his head. "Thompson was¡ªhe was a soldier, but he wasn¡¯t a fanatic. He wasn¡¯t one of Creed¡¯s attack dogs. He¡ªhe just wanted to provide for his family."

    "Well," Trask said, walking slowly back to his desk. "Mutants don¡¯t care."

    He sat down again, leaning forward.

    "Good, bad, in between¡ªit doesn¡¯t matter to them," he continued, his voice dripping with venom. "All they want is to ensure they will rise and conquer. That is their goal, Carl. Not coexistence. Not peace."

    He let the words sink in.

    "Dominance."

    Denti felt his nails dig into the leather of his chair.

    He wanted to deny it. He wanted to say that Trask was exaggerating. But the pain in his body, the humiliation he had suffered at the hands of a mutant, was a permanent reminder of just how dangerous their kind was.

    <i>Thompson was dead.</i>

    <i>Another casualty.</i>

    <i>And if they didn¡¯t act now, how many more would there be?</i>

    Trask watched Denti carefully, then leaned back, clasping his hands together.

    "You know I¡¯m right."

    Denti¡¯s jaw clenched.

    "What do you need from me?"

    Carl Denti¡¯s hands curled into fists as he sat in his wheelchair, his eyes locked onto Bolivar Trask with a mix of contempt and disbelief. The very idea of returning to the field was a sick joke.

    "I want you to go back to the field," Trask repeated, his voice steady, unwavering.

    Denti let out a bitter, humorless laugh. "Are you blind, Trask?"

    His voice was sharp, laced with barely-contained anger as he gestured to the empty space where his legs used to be.

    "I¡¯m a damn cripple. A broken man."

    Trask didn¡¯t flinch. Didn¡¯t waver. His expression remained calculated, as if this was merely another equation that needed solving.

    "Well, I¡¯m sorry for that," Trask said coolly. "But being in a wheelchair doesn¡¯t define who you are, Denti. You¡¯re a fighter. A man of justice."

    Denti¡¯s hands gripped the leather armrests of his chair so hard they creaked under the pressure.

    "You," Trask continued, his voice dripping with manipulation masked as inspiration, "are our Captain America. A man of principle. A man of justice. For Mankind."

    Denti snapped.

    "Don¡¯t." His voice was dangerously low, like a blade unsheathing from its scabbard. "Don¡¯t you dare compare me to Captain America. I¡¯m long past that point."

    His lips curled into something between a grimace and a smirk. Bitter. Hollow.

    "I¡¯ve done too much," Denti muttered, more to himself than to Trask. His voice was laced with something heavy¡ªregret, maybe? Or just exhaustion.

    Trask¡¯s eyes darkened. His fingers drummed against his desk in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

    "<i>IT IS A WAR,</i>" he said suddenly, his voice rising, sharp and commanding. The sudden outburst made Denti flinch. "It was needed. Everything we have done¡ªeverything you have done¡ªwas for the greater good."

    Denti clenched his jaw.

    Trask leaned in, his sharp gaze pinning him in place.

    "Do it for Thompson," Trask pressed, his voice softening, almost persuasive now. "Do it for his family."

    Denti¡¯s breath hitched.

    <i>Thompson. </i>

    <i>A good man. A family man.</i>

    He could still hear his voice.

    "I don¡¯t give a shit about mutants, man. I just wanna put food on my family¡¯s table."

    "The pay¡¯s good, Carl. I mean, hell¡ªwhere else am I gonna get money to send my daughter to med school?"

    And now he was dead. Because of them.

    <i>Mutants.</i>

    <i>The X-Men.</i>

    Denti felt his hands shaking.

    "To save the future¡­" Trask¡¯s voice slithered into his ears like a snake whispering in Eden. "<i>From mutant domination</i>."

    Denti closed his eyes for a brief moment, exhaling through his nose.

    When he opened them, something inside had hardened.

    "Alright," he said. His voice was steady now. Cold.

    His eyes bore into Trask¡¯s.

    "What do you want?"

    Trask¡¯s lips curled into a small, knowing smile.

    He didn¡¯t respond¡ªnot immediately. Instead, he turned away, his crisp, pristine lab coat rustling faintly as he walked to the far end of the room.

    A low mechanical hum filled the air as Trask approached a reinforced, armored glass window.

    With a tap of a biometric scanner, the window¡¯s security shutters slid open<b>.</b>

    The moment they did, Denti¡¯s breath hitched. His eyes went wide.

    Beyond the glass lay a sprawling lab, filled with scientists, machines, and something¡­ something massive.

    Denti felt his heart pound against his ribs. His fingers twitched involuntarily.

    Whatever he was looking at¡­ it was big.

    Trask turned slightly, his expression unreadable.

    <i>"I want the X-Cutioner back."</i>

    Denti¡¯s breath shuddered.

    He felt it. The weight of the moment.

    Something inside him whispered, This is your second chance.

    <i>A chance to finish what he started.</i>

    <i>A chance to end them. </i>

    <i>End him, the one who put him in this state.</i>

    A chance to make the mutants pay.

    Denti¡¯s lips curled into a slow, almost feral grin.

    "<i>Then let¡¯s get to work."</i>

 Chapter 1: Relics

    The quiet of the early morning was a rare commodity in Avengers Tower. Most of the team preferred to sleep in after grueling missions or late-night work in the labs, but for Steve Rogers, the day always began early. At 4:30 AM sharp, he swung his legs off the bed, ran a hand through his hair¡ªshorter now, peppered lightly with gray¡ªand pulled on a simple training outfit: gray sweatpants, a plain navy-blue t-shirt that hugged his broad chest, and a pair of white sneakers. The ensemble was as practical as the man himself.

    Padding silently through the hallways, he made his way to the kitchen. The tower was still, save for the faint hum of machinery from Tony Stark¡¯s workshops below. The sunrise barely touched the horizon, casting faint orange hues over the skyline visible through the tower¡¯s vast windows. Steve relished this time alone, a moment of peace before the weight of the world inevitably fell onto his shoulders again.

    In the kitchen, he set about preparing his breakfast with quiet efficiency. He measured out coffee grounds and started the drip coffee maker¡ªnone of that pod nonsense Tony kept insisting on. While it brewed, he cracked a few eggs into a bowl, whisking them by hand before pouring them into a pan already sizzling with butter. Thick sausages browned in another skillet nearby, filling the room with the savory aroma of a hearty breakfast.

    As the food cooked, Steve reached for the remote and turned on the small kitchen television mounted in the corner. The news anchor¡¯s calm but somber tone filled the space.

    <i>¡°Developments continue in the aftermath of what some are calling a catastrophic encounter between the X-Men and anti-mutant forces in Arkansas. Among the casualties, former police officer and Army veteran Thomas Thompson, whose death leaves behind a widow and two daughters, both under the age of eighteen¡­¡±</i>

    Steve¡¯s jaw tightened as he set his plate on the counter and poured a cup of steaming black coffee. He leaned against the counter, his gaze fixed on the screen as images of the devastated ranch and Thompson¡¯s grieving family played.

    ¡°Jesus Christ,¡± he muttered, shaking his head. His heart ached for the family, for the daughters who had lost their father and the wife who had lost her partner. He couldn¡¯t help but feel the weight of the situation¡ªa man who had served his country and community, now another casualty in a conflict spiraling out of control.

    ¡°Poor man,¡± he said softly, his voice tinged with regret.

    Captain America set there for a while watching as he saw the aftermath from the Arkansas ranch a dilapitaded ranch house, once a pristine family house now nothing more than an smoldering ruin, half rubble, half terrible memories. It had reminded him of so many ruins in the past in the countless wars he fought from World War II to Desert Storm, from Just Cause to Enduring Freedom, he had been there in the field. Even if many times he didn''t agree with the conflict he was involved.

    Steve fought men, aliens, demons and gods and here he was sitting at the table his heart aching as he saw the three women from Thompson''s life, destroyed by the loss of their husband and father, by the wrecking of their family.

    The news broadcast continued, shifting from on-the-ground reporting in Arkansas to a panel discussion featuring two prominent figures. The screen split into three sections: the news anchor in the middle, an older, stern-looking man in a crisp navy-blue suit to the left, and a younger, more polished blonde man in an elegant but modern charcoal-gray suit on the right. The chyron at the bottom of the screen read:

    <i>"MUTANT VIOLENCE ESCALATES: ARE THE X-MEN A PUBLIC DANGER?"</i>

    The news anchor, a composed woman in her late 40s with short auburn hair, turned to the first guest.

    "Joining us to discuss this pressing issue is New York Police Commissioner Harvey Ellis and CEO of Worthington Industries, former X-Men member Warren Worthington III. Commissioner Ellis, let¡¯s start with you. In light of what happened in Arkansas, does this reinforce the argument that mutants¡ªparticularly organized groups like the X-Men¡ªpose a risk to public safety?¡±

    Harvey Ellis leaned forward, his expression severe. He was a broad, imposing man in his late fifties, a career lawman with neatly trimmed gray hair and sharp blue eyes. His voice was deep, measured, and full of conviction.

    ¡°<i>Absolutely, Linda. What happened in Arkansas was nothing short of a catastrophe. A father, a military veteran, gunned down in his own home. A family left shattered. And who was there? The X-Men. This isn¡¯t the first time we¡¯ve seen a situation like this escalate into violence. Time and time again, the X-Men claim they¡¯re here to ¡®protect¡¯ us, but let¡¯s call it what it is: vigilantism at best, outright terrorism at worst.¡±</i>

    Warren shifted slightly in his seat, his blue eyes narrowing just enough to signal his irritation. <i>¡°With all due respect, Commissioner, that¡¯s an oversimplification. The X-Men didn¡¯t kill Thompson. They were there investigating the connection between Trask, Carraro, and the Friends of Humanity. You know as well as I do that the FoH isn¡¯t just some advocacy group¡ªit¡¯s an extremist organization with a body count that rivals actual terrorist cells.¡±</i>

    Ellis scoffed. ¡°<i>And yet, it¡¯s Thompson who¡¯s dead, isn¡¯t it? A human man with no powers, no fancy abilities to protect himself from the mutants who stormed into his home.¡±</i>

    Captain America nodded in disagreement he had helped train the X-Men back in the early 2000''s knowledge he gave Xavier, passed down to Cyclops. To have such a sad outcome made him question himself for a bit. But he knew that every war came with its costs. He had fought Doom, Ultron, Loki, Galactus and more in the past. People had died, this was no different. But still, the loss of life made him uncomfortable, it always did. More so was the growing mutant-human tension.

    ¡°<i>Cap</i>,¡± a voice broke the quiet behind him.

    Steve turned, unsurprised but still mildly amused to see Tony Stark leaning against the doorframe. Stark looked every bit the billionaire genius woken far earlier than he preferred, his designer pajama pants patterned with little Iron Man helmets and a loose black t-shirt that bore the faded logo of <i>Black Sabbath</i>. His hair was tousled, and his expression hovered between curiosity and mild annoyance.

    ¡°Tony,¡± Steve greeted, his tone warm but measured. ¡°Good morning. Didn¡¯t expect to see you up this early.¡±

    Tony raised an eyebrow, stepping into the kitchen and heading straight for the espresso machine. ¡°Could say the same for you, but then I remembered you¡¯re a human sunrise. What¡¯s got you up? Besides your eternal war with modern coffee makers.¡±

    Steve chuckled lightly. ¡°Old habits. I like the quiet.¡± He gestured toward the TV with his coffee mug. ¡°Though it doesn¡¯t stay quiet for long.¡±

    Tony glanced at the screen as he began fiddling with the espresso machine, his fingers quick and precise. The news segment replayed footage of the X-Men¡¯s confrontation in Arkansas, emphasizing the death of Thompson and its fallout. Tony frowned but didn¡¯t comment immediately, waiting for the machine to hiss and pour out a shot of espresso.

    ¡°Hell of a mess,¡± he finally said, taking a sip of the dark liquid. ¡°But then, isn¡¯t it always with them? They¡¯re walking PR disasters.¡±

    Steve¡¯s gaze hardened, though his tone remained calm. ¡°They¡¯re fighting a war on two fronts¡ªagainst fear and hate, not just the enemies in front of them.¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± Tony said, waving a hand dismissively. ¡°But they don¡¯t exactly help themselves, do they? Big dramatic fights, collateral damage everywhere, and now this.¡± He nodded toward the TV. ¡°Family man gets caught in the crossfire. That¡¯s not gonna win them any sympathy points.¡±

    Steve set his coffee cup down carefully, his expression tightening. ¡°That family man served his country. He worked hard to provide for his daughters. He didn¡¯t deserve to die like that.¡±

    Tony tilted his head. ¡°I didn¡¯t say he did. But the X-Men showing up didn¡¯t help his odds, did it? That¡¯s the problem with their whole operation¡ªtoo much collateral. Makes people question whether the cure¡¯s worse than the disease.¡±

    ¡°Careful, Tony,¡± Steve warned, his voice quiet but firm.

    Tony leaned back against the counter, unbothered. ¡°I¡¯m just being realistic. Mutant struggles aren¡¯t the same as what we deal with, Steve. They¡¯ve got the whole world against them, and sometimes it feels like they¡¯re their own worst enemy. Take a step back and look at the optics.¡±

    Steve¡¯s gaze was steady, his voice carrying the weight of decades of leadership. ¡°Optics don¡¯t matter when lives are at stake. You know that. What matters is doing the right thing, even when it¡¯s hard.¡±

    ¡°Sure, sure,¡± Tony said, raising his hands in mock surrender. ¡°But doing the right thing doesn¡¯t always look good, and looking good is half the battle these days. You think the American public¡¯s gonna line up to support the X-Men after this? Hell, I¡¯ve got enough PR problems with the Avengers as it is.¡±

    Steve sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. ¡°That¡¯s the difference between us, Tony. You¡¯re always thinking about how things look. I¡¯m thinking about what¡¯s right.¡±

    Tony smirked, though it didn¡¯t quite reach his eyes. ¡°And that¡¯s why you¡¯re the moral compass, Cap. Keeps the rest of us on track. But maybe that compass needs a bit of recalibrating for the modern age.¡±

    Steve¡¯s expression softened slightly, his voice taking on a gentler tone. ¡°It¡¯s easy to get cynical, Tony. I¡¯ve been there. But you don¡¯t fix the world by sitting back and criticizing. You fix it by standing up, doing the work, and showing people there¡¯s a better way.¡±

    Tony studied him for a moment, then shrugged, turning back toward his espresso. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll leave the better-way speeches to you. I¡¯ll stick with making sure we don¡¯t all get blown up.¡±

    Steve watched him for a moment, then turned his attention back to the television. The footage of Thompson¡¯s family played again, and he felt that pang of sorrow in his chest.

    ¡°Poor man,¡± he murmured again.

    Tony glanced at him sideways. ¡°Don¡¯t take it all on yourself, Cap. You¡¯re not Atlas. You don''t have to carry the world... or at least... not America¡±

    Steve offered a faint smile. ¡°I know.¡±

    The two men fell into a companionable silence, the weight of the world lingering in the quiet space between them.

    The peaceful kitchen of Avengers Tower was growing livelier by the minute, a gradual but familiar morning ritual for its residents. Steve Rogers, standing near the counter with his coffee in hand, glanced up as a cheerful voice cut through the quiet.

    ¡°Cap, Tony. Good morning.¡±

    Janet Van Dyne¡ª<i>The Wasp</i>¡ªwalked into the kitchen with her signature effortless grace. Her sleek dark bob framed her face, and even in casual attire, she exuded the sharp elegance that had earned her a place in the fashion world. Today, she wore a light sweater with a stylized wasp logo, paired with tailored joggers that somehow looked runway-ready.

    ¡°Good morning, Janet,¡± Steve said with a polite smile.

    Tony Stark turned from his espresso machine with a smirk. ¡°Morning, Van Dyne. Looking sharp as always. Love the Wasp PJ¡¯s. Ever thought of sending those to H&M? Bet they¡¯d make a killing with a Janet Van Dyne line.¡±

    Janet arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into a sly smile. ¡°Tony, please. I prefer other designs. Pajamas are¡­ childish. Dresses? Now, that¡¯s where it¡¯s at.¡±

    Tony leaned casually against the counter, raising his espresso cup in a mock toast. ¡°The star of Milano Fashion Week, ladies and gentlemen. Janet Van Dyne¡ªqueen of couture.¡±

    Janet inclined her head as if acknowledging applause. ¡°Thank you, Tony. And may I say, Mr. Forbes cover, your humility is as charming as ever.¡±

    ¡°Hah!¡± Tony barked a laugh. ¡°Always.¡±

    The exchange was interrupted by a thunderous voice that reverberated through the walls.

    ¡°GOOD MORNING, MORTALS! MAY ODIN BLESS THIS DAY AND YOUR MEAGER EFFORTS TO SUSTAIN IT!¡±

    Thor strode into the kitchen, his golden hair flowing and his cape billowing dramatically as if he¡¯d conjured a personal wind machine. He was already dressed in his armor¡ªcomplete with Mjolnir in hand¡ªbecause, of course, he was.

    Steve turned to him with a bemused look. ¡°Morning, Thor.¡±

    ¡°Thor,¡± Tony said, raising his espresso cup again. ¡°Always a pleasure. Planning to go into battle before breakfast, or is that just your version of casual wear?¡±

    Thor grinned broadly. ¡°A warrior must always be prepared, Stark! However, I did smell the enticing aroma of mortal cuisine.¡± He pointed toward Steve¡¯s plate. ¡°Might I partake in this wondrous meal?¡±

    ¡°Help yourself,¡± Steve said, sliding the pan of eggs toward Thor.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    As Thor piled his plate high, Bruce Banner shuffled into the kitchen next, looking like he¡¯d barely slept. His hair was a mess, and his glasses were askew. He wore a threadbare sweater over plaid pajama pants, carrying a tablet tucked under his arm.

    ¡°Morning, Bruce,¡± Steve said warmly.

    Bruce muttered a distracted, ¡°Morning, Steve,¡± as he headed straight for the coffee maker. He gave Tony a side-eye. ¡°Please tell me you didn¡¯t break this one again.¡±

    Tony feigned offense. ¡°I¡¯ll have you know that I saved this coffee maker from its own mediocrity. If anything, you should be thanking me.¡±

    Bruce grunted as he poured himself a cup. ¡°Sure, Tony. Thanks for ¡®fixing¡¯ things that aren¡¯t broken. Again.¡±

    ¡°Now, now, Banner,¡± Thor said, clapping a heavy hand on Bruce¡¯s shoulder, making him nearly spill his coffee. ¡°You should embrace the morning with vigor! The sun rises, and so should you!¡±

    Bruce gave Thor a flat look. ¡°I need coffee before vigor, Thor. And maybe after.¡±

    ¡°Morning, everyone,¡± Natasha Romanoff said as she entered, her voice smooth and low. The Black Widow was already dressed in workout gear, a sleek black ensemble that made her look like she was ready to scale a building. She grabbed a piece of fruit from the counter and leaned casually against the fridge, surveying the scene.

    ¡°Natasha,¡± Steve greeted. ¡°You¡¯re up early.¡±

    She smirked. ¡°Mission prep. Besides, someone¡¯s gotta keep an eye on this crew.¡±

    Tony spread his arms dramatically. ¡°We¡¯re perfectly capable of handling ourselves, Romanoff. <i>Stark-tested</i>, <i>Avenger-approved</i>.¡±

    Natasha gave him a wry smile. ¡°Sure. That¡¯s why we have a kitchen fire suppression system¡­ because you¡¯re all so capable.¡±

    ¡°Touch¨¦,¡± Tony said, raising his cup in mock surrender.

    Clint Barton strolled in next, barefoot and wearing a faded t-shirt that read <i>This is my superhero costume</i>. He rubbed the back of his neck and blinked blearily at the group. ¡°Morning, team. What¡¯s for breakfast?¡±

    Steve gestured toward the eggs and sausage. ¡°Help yourself, Clint.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t mind if I do.¡± Clint piled a plate high and dropped into a chair at the table. ¡°Thor, can you pass the salt?¡±

    Thor grinned and slid the shaker down the table with an unnecessary flourish. ¡°Salt, as you mortals request!¡±

    Finally, Sam Wilson entered, looking polished as ever despite the early hour. He wore a fitted gray hoodie and track pants, his sneakers pristine. He clapped Steve on the shoulder as he passed. ¡°Morning, Cap. Everyone.¡±

    ¡°Sam,¡± Steve said with a smile. ¡°Didn¡¯t think I¡¯d see you this early.¡±

    Sam grinned. ¡°Came to check on you. And, you know, make sure Tony didn¡¯t reprogram the toaster.¡±

    Tony raised an eyebrow. ¡°You wound me, Wilson. I¡¯m more of a waffle iron guy anyway.¡±

    As the group settled into their morning routines, the kitchen buzzed with quiet energy. Steve¡¯s gaze returned to the TV, still tuned to the news, but now muted. His mind lingered on the report about Thomas Thompson and the X-Men¡¯s mission in Arkansas. The room grew quiet as the others noticed his expression.

    ¡°Something on your mind, Cap?¡± Natasha asked, her tone softening.

    Steve hesitated, then nodded. ¡°Just thinking about the news this morning. That family in Arkansas. A man¡¯s dead. Two little girls lost their father.¡±

    The group fell silent for a moment. Even Tony, usually quick with a quip, didn¡¯t interrupt.

    ¡°It¡¯s not just about what happened,¡± Steve continued. ¡°It¡¯s about what it means. The distrust, the fear¡­ it feels like the world¡¯s tearing itself apart.¡±

    Sam stepped closer, his voice steady. ¡°That¡¯s why we¡¯re here, Cap. To help hold it together.¡±

    Steve nodded, though the weight on his shoulders didn¡¯t seem any lighter. ¡°Yeah. That¡¯s the hope.¡±

    The Avengers shared a quiet moment of reflection, the camaraderie in the room underscored by the unspoken understanding of the burdens they all carried. The morning had started like any other, but the day ahead promised challenges they could already feel on the horizon

    The Avengers'' quiet morning routine was interrupted again when the TV¡¯s news cycle shifted to a new story, the ticker at the bottom scrolling with provocative headlines. Steve Rogers, still nursing his coffee, stood by the counter, his brow furrowing as the newscaster¡¯s voice filled the room.

    ¡°<i>Are the Avengers losing touch with the younger generation? Recent polls show a surge in support for younger heroes like Ms. Marvel, Nova, and Brawl, while trust in established teams like the Avengers has stagnated. Critics say the Avengers represent outdated ideals that no longer resonate with today¡¯s youth. At a California Youth Activism Event last night, Captain America was openly called a ¡®fascist¡¯ by attendees, sparking heated debate on social media. Meanwhile, Tony Stark, also known as Iron Man, is accused of reinforcing the so-called ¡®capitalist patriarchy.</i>¡¯¡±

    Tony, lounging at the counter with his espresso cup, let out a sharp laugh. ¡°Oh, <i>that¡¯s</i> rich. The capitalist patriarchy? I¡¯m not even gonna argue with that¡ªbecause, you know, <i>capitalism works.</i> But come on, fascist? Really? That¡¯s what we¡¯re doing now?¡±

    "Really Tony, not even patriarchy?" Janet retorted.

    "Ha, patriarchy? Women love me Janet, they love to listen to me, to be with me... Also Potts is the acting President of Stark Industries, isn''t she? I employ women and men. They''re just mad I''m not giving free stuff at this point... Which I do by the way, through <i>Howard Stark Foundation</i>" Tony sarcastically added.

    Steve¡¯s face didn¡¯t change, but the tightening of his grip on the coffee mug betrayed his feelings. He didn¡¯t look away from the screen as the story transitioned to another segment.

    Steve ignored the banter he never cared much about politics, left, right or center. His principles were still the same Liberty, Justice and Hope. He didn''t care what Republicans or Democrats had to say. But he was growing bothered with the usage of ''fascism'' to name an ever increasing number of opinions. Opinions that in his view were not even close to Fascism.

    Steve sighed, setting the mug down with care. ¡°A <i>relic</i>. That¡¯s what they think of us now.¡±

    Sam Wilson stepped beside him, his expression earnest as he placed a hand on Steve¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Don¡¯t do that to yourself, Cap. You¡¯re a true hero. An inspiration. Not some fascist.¡±

    Steve glanced at Sam with a tired smile. ¡°Thanks, Sam. But sometimes it feels like people don¡¯t even know what that word means anymore.¡±

    Thor, who had been happily working through a plate of eggs and sausage, stopped mid-bite and furrowed his brow. ¡°What is this <i>¡®fascist¡¯</i> of which they speak? Is it a title of honor in this land?¡±

    Bruce Banner cleared his throat. ¡°Uh, no, Thor. Quite the opposite. It¡¯s¡­ complicated.¡±

    ¡°Overused is what it is,¡± Natasha Romanoff added dryly from her perch near the fridge. ¡°People throw it around for anyone they don¡¯t agree with these days. But you, Cap? That¡¯s just ridiculous.¡±

    ¡°Who''s <i>Brawl</i>?¡± Clint Barton asked around a mouthful of toast, breaking the somber tone.

    ¡°Amadeus Cho,¡± Sam replied, sitting down at the table. ¡°Kid¡¯s got brains, brawn, and an attitude. He¡¯s running with the younger crowd¡ªMs. Marvel, Nova, that whole crew.¡±

    Tony raised an eyebrow. ¡°Cho? That kid¡¯s brilliant. I tried to recruit him once. He told me I was a ¡®<i>corporate sellout</i>.¡¯ Never got over it.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a real inspiration to the youth, Tony,¡± Natasha quipped.

    The room chuckled lightly, but Steve¡¯s attention stayed fixed on the screen as the next segment played.

    The news segment transitioned smoothly, the ticker at the bottom updating with fresh text:

    <i>"WHO IS ''THE ALAMO''? THE MYSTERIOUS MUTANT VIGILANTE MAKING WAVES IN TEXAS AND BEYOND"</i>

    The camera cut to an aerial shot of Orlando, Florida, zooming in on the aftermath of a recent conflict¡ªthe ranch house, its roof half-collapsed, burn marks and debris scattered around, with authorities swarming the area. Some of the fires still smoldered in the night as emergency responders worked to secure the scene.

    The segment cut to a street interview in Houston, where a man in his mid-30s, wearing a work uniform with a "Lone Star Mechanics" patch, spoke to the camera.

    <i>¡°I ain¡¯t got a problem with The Alamo. He¡¯s the only one who¡¯s actually doing somethin'' about these damn extremists. They burned my cousin¡¯s business to the ground just ¡®cause his wife¡¯s a mutant. Where was the law then?¡±</i>

    Another clip showed a young mutant woman, her face partially obscured by a hood, speaking quickly to the reporter.

    <i>¡°The X-Men are great and all, but we need people like him. He¡¯s not waiting for permission to protect us.¡±</i>

    Back in the studio, Rachel Vasquez sighed. ¡°<i>Public sentiment is shifting. People are tired of waiting for the government to do something about anti-mutant violence. The Alamo represents something new¡ªdirect action. That¡¯s why he¡¯s becoming a symbol, even if he¡¯s an unpredictable one"</i>

    Captain America changed the channel again, he opened his mouth to speak before he was cut by Tony.

    "People hate mutants or people love mutants? I don''t even know anymore"

    "Hard to know, it used to be that everyone hated them, after what happen with <i>Angel</i> and the <i>All-Winners... </i>When you know" Sam started.

    "Magneto butchered him?" Tony asked.

    "Those were another times, another mutants. The X-Men are not the same as the Brotherhood." Steve said crossing his arms as he watched the TV.

    "Are they, Captain?" A voice came from down the hall. Disciplined, powerful but also weary.

    All heads turned down the hallway. To Captain Marvel, she stepped in wearing cargo pants and a white tank top, her own <i>dog tag </i>around her neck.

    "Should we forget what <i>Rogue</i> did to me?"

    "Carol it is not like that, that has been in the past, she was manipulated."

    "Was she Steve? Because I still have trouble remembering a lot of things, I''m sure she does not."

    "Mutants are not the problem-"

    "I''d like to believe that, Steve. I really do. But it''s hard seeing their growing forces, the X-Men, they are not Avengers, you know. They are reckless..." She pointed at the TV towards footage of the Alamo.

    "He''s not an X-Man"

    "How long until he is one. Like Wolverine... a killer, a-"

    "Carol that is enough. Get your breakfast and do not insult people who served to defend your liberties."

    "Understood, Captain." She silenced herself moving to the kitchen to have breakfast.

    Steve remained in silence, he thought. He looked at the footage. It was grainy and his face was never in frame, always blinded by the red glow of his eyes.

    "<i>I want to meet this kid. These people need guidance not just criticism, it will just make them more radical, more extreme. That what made Erik snap." </i>

    The television screen flickered, bathing the dimly lit room in a muted glow. The channel changed again, this time landing on a national broadcast¡ªa panel discussion hosted by one of the most divisive voices in New York media.

    The large, bold banner at the bottom of the screen read:

    <i><b>¡°HEROES OR MENACES? THE MUTANT QUESTION & VIGILANTISM DEBATE¡±</b></i>

    And there they were¡ªtwo rivaling titans of journalism, both deeply ingrained in the New York media machine:

    <b><i>J. Jonah Jameson</i></b>, the loud, boisterous, and ever-infuriated editor-in-chief of the Daily Bugle. He was leaning forward, his fists clenched, his gruff, cigar-stained voice rattling through the speakers as he ranted endlessly.

    <i><b>Ben Parker</b></i>, the respected, measured, and widely admired chief-editor of the New York Bulletin. A stark contrast to Jameson, Parker sat calmly, hands folded in front of him, speaking with a quiet confidence that commanded respect rather than demanded attention.

    The debate was already in full swing.

    <i>"It¡¯s outta control, Parker! I¡¯ve been saying it for years! These vigilantes¡ªthese so-called heroes¡ªare operating above the law, unchecked, unrestricted, and don¡¯t even get me started on the mutants!"</i>

    Jameson gestured wildly, his thick mustache twitching with every syllable. He slammed his fist on the table for emphasis.

    "We got a menace swingin¡¯ around New York, leavin¡¯ a trail of destruction! We got mutants who think they can just fly through the sky, throwin¡¯ around their fancy powers like confetti at a parade! You tell me, Parker, why should the average, hardworking citizen have to be afraid to step outside because some mutant or masked lunatic might throw a car at ¡®em?"

    The moderator, a composed woman in a navy suit, turned to Ben Parker.

    "Mr. Parker, your response?"

    Ben adjusted his tie, exhaling softly before speaking. His voice was steady, warm, the voice of a man who had seen both the best and worst of people.

    "Jonah, I understand your concerns, but let¡¯s stick to the facts rather than jump to hysteria."

    <i>Jameson opened his mouth to argue, but Ben held up a hand calmly, stopping him before he could even start.</i>

    "Let¡¯s talk about Spider-Man, since you love discussing him so much."

    Jameson grumbled under his breath, crossing his arms.

    "The statistics don¡¯t support your claim that he causes mass destruction. In fact, if you actually read the incident reports, you¡¯d find that Spider-Man has kept civilian casualties at an all-time low compared to other large-scale crime events in this city. He¡¯s prevented collapsing buildings, saved police officers, and stopped multiple terrorist attacks."

    Ben turned slightly toward the camera, his expression firm but composed.

    "Now, you say he¡¯s ¡®above the law,¡¯ but the law is flawed, Jonah. The justice system is slow, bureaucratic, and at times, completely broken. Criminals walk free on technicalities, corporations destroy lives, and people like Norman Osborn are allowed to buy their way out of accountability."

    Jameson gritted his teeth but didn¡¯t interrupt¡ªyet.

    "So tell me, Jonah, would you rather have a city where no one fights back? Where no one puts on a mask and says, ¡®I can make a difference¡¯? Because I think we both know how that story ends."

    "Oh, please, Parker," Jameson finally exploded, leaning forward aggressively. "That webhead is just one case! What about the mutants, huh? What about the X-Men?"

    Ben sighed, as if he had been waiting for this.

    "The X-Men," he repeated. "A group of highly trained individuals dedicated to saving people¡ª"

    Jameson cut him off with a loud scoff.

    <i>"HAH! Saving people? More like playing judge, jury, and executioner! They think just ¡®cause they¡¯ve got laser eyes and weather powers, they get to decide what¡¯s right and wrong! We got registered superheroes, we got federal law enforcement, we got S.H.I.E.L.D., and yet these guys run around unchecked! You know how dangerous that is, Parker?!"</i>

    Ben didn¡¯t flinch.

    "Jonah," he said calmly, "The X-Men aren¡¯t the ones bombing mutant neighborhoods. They aren¡¯t the ones making life harder for mutant children trying to go to school. The X-Men are reacting to a world that refuses to let them exist peacefully."

    His voice, though calm, had a rare edge to it¡ªa deep conviction that resonated in his words.

    "You like to paint them as this militant army, but have you ever actually interviewed one?"

    Jameson hesitated just for a second, his brow furrowing.

    "I¡ª"

    "Have you ever sat down and asked why they fight? Have you ever talked to a mutant who was beaten in the streets for existing? Who was denied a job because their DNA didn¡¯t match the status quo? Because I have, Jonah. And what I¡¯ve found is that they don¡¯t want war. They just don¡¯t want to be erased."

    A brief silence hung in the studio, the weight of his words sinking in.

    Jameson, however, was never one to be quiet for too long.

    "All I know is," he said gruffly, "if you let people run around unchecked, eventually someone gets hurt."

    Ben shook his head.

    "And if you do nothing, people get hurt anyway."

    The morning energy shifted in an instant, the casual camaraderie of breakfast giving way to the business of being Earth¡¯s mightiest heroes. The news broadcast had barely finished when Sam Wilson, ever the sharp and steady hand, stepped forward with his tablet in hand, the screen glowing faintly as he scrolled through a series of updates. His expression was calm but focused, his years of working alongside Steve Rogers giving him a knack for delivering news without unnecessary drama.

    ¡°<i>Captain</i>,¡± Sam said, glancing up. ¡°We¡¯ve got reports of activity here in New York. NYPD just flagged a potential lead on an AIM cache in Staten Island. They¡¯re requesting Avengers assistance to secure the site.¡±

    Steve¡¯s eyes narrowed slightly as he processed the information. He straightened, already shifting into mission mode, his earlier weariness replaced with the quiet determination that defined him. ¡°Alright,¡± he said, his tone firm. ¡°It seems we have a place to go.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll get the jetpack ready for you, sir,¡± Sam said, already tapping commands into his tablet to relay the necessary instructions to the tower¡¯s systems.

    Steve nodded, his gratitude evident in his voice. ¡°Thank you, Sam.¡±

    Sam gave a small smile, the kind that spoke of respect and camaraderie. ¡°My pleasure, Steve. I¡¯ll always have your back.¡±

    Before Steve could respond, Janet Van Dyne stepped forward, her usual confident stride carrying her to Steve¡¯s side. Her dark bob swayed as she looked up at him, her expression a mixture of eagerness and determination.

    ¡°I¡¯ll go with you,¡± she said simply, her voice light but steady.

    Steve turned to her, his brow lifting slightly in surprise. He hadn¡¯t expected anyone to volunteer so quickly, but Janet¡¯s resolve was unmistakable. He nodded, appreciating her willingness to jump in. ¡°Alright, Janet,¡± he said. ¡°Let¡¯s move.¡±

    Janet smiled, a spark of excitement flickering in her eyes. ¡°Good. I¡¯ve been itching for some action, and it sounds like this AIM lead could be interesting. Besides, I can¡¯t let you hog all the fun.¡±

    Tony leaned back against the counter, swirling the last dregs of his espresso with a smirk. ¡°Staten Island, huh? Thrilling. AIM lab, that''s my kind of gig. I''ll go with you guys. Let just me... finish the cereal here."

 Chapter 2: Bureaucrats

    The morning¡¯s casual energy had fully faded, replaced by the familiar hum of preparation as Earth''s Mightiest Heroes shifted into mission mode. The kitchen, once filled with the simple comforts of breakfast and conversation, now buzzed with the undercurrent of urgency.

    Steve turned toward Thor, who was devouring the last scraps of his mountainous breakfast, a feast fit for an Asgardian warrior. The golden plate before him was nearly spotless, save for a few lingering crumbs of what was once an absurdly large omelet, stacked bacon, and at least five pancakes.

    <i>"</i>Thor<i>,"</i> Steve called, arms crossing over his chest. "I trust you¡¯ll keep an eye on things here while we¡¯re gone?"

    Thor, ever dramatic, pounded his chest, his voice booming through the kitchen.

    <i>"</i>Rest assured, Captain! Should any foe dare challenge this tower in your absence, they shall face the wrath of Thor!<i>"</i>

    Steve couldn¡¯t help the small chuckle that escaped.

    "That¡¯s what I like to hear," he said, shaking his head slightly as Thor gave a proud nod, reaching for one last mug of coffee, which seemed ridiculously small in his massive hands.

    Meanwhile, Natasha Romanoff had made her way toward the center island, where Clint Barton was finishing the last of his toast, flipping through an old-school notepad¡ªone of the few in the team who still insisted on writing things down instead of using a tablet.

    "We¡¯ll monitor the situation from here," she informed him, her tone practical, no-nonsense. "If anything escalates, you¡¯ll be the first to know."

    Steve nodded in appreciation, his voice steady. "Appreciate it, Nat. We shouldn¡¯t be gone long, but keep me posted if anything changes."

    From the doorway, Sam Wilson reappeared, a compact but powerful jetpack in hand, its sleek black design gleaming under the artificial lights. The vibranium core pulsed faintly, indicating it was fully charged.

    "Here you go, Cap," Sam said, handing it over. "Fully charged, ready to go."

    Steve took it without hesitation, running his fingers over the familiar straps, adjusting them with precise movements honed over decades of fieldwork.

    "Good work, Sam," he said, securing the pack against his back. "You coming along?"

    Sam grinned, tapping his chest where his own flight harness was already secured beneath his tactical gear.

    "Like you even gotta ask."

    Janet Van Dyne had already moved to stand beside Steve, her signature smirk in place, dark bob shifting slightly as she adjusted the controls on her gloves.

    "You ready?" Steve asked, giving her a once-over to make sure she was suited up.

    Janet tilted her head with a playful smirk, the excitement flickering in her eyes. "Always."

    The Wasp suit hummed softly, its biotech plating aligning perfectly, forming a seamless blend of cutting-edge technology and combat efficiency. The tiny wings folded into place along her back, the nanofiber mesh shimmering for a brief second before settling.

    "You know, Cap," she quipped, glancing up at him. "You¡¯re gonna need to lighten up and let me have some of the fun."

    Steve gave her an amused look. "Long as your definition of fun doesn¡¯t get us blown up, we¡¯re good."

    "Oh, I make no promises. Tony?" Cap turned to Iron Man.

    Across the room, Tony Stark remained seated, the last of his espresso in hand, swirling the dark liquid with unbothered elegance. He had been listening the whole time, of course, but his expression remained casual, as if he had all the time in the world.

    "<i>AIM</i>, huh?" Tony finally spoke, standing and stretching lazily. "Always great to have some corporate espionage going on."

    Janet shot him a look. <i>"</i>Oh, <i>now</i> it¡¯s interesting<i>?"</i>

    Tony smirked, placing his cup down and cracking his knuckles. "Oh, I was already coming. I just wanted to make you all beg a little."

    Steve sighed, shaking his head as Tony casually made his way toward the workshop exit, already tapping commands into his holo-watch.

    "I¡¯ll meet you guys at the Heliport. Just need to slip into something a little more repulsor-friendly."

    "Don¡¯t be late, Stark," Steve called after him.

    "Never am," Tony called back. Then, after a pause, "Fine. Maybe a little. But I like to make an entrance."

    As the team finished their final preps, Bruce Banner, who had been quietly nursing his coffee, finally glanced up from where he had been reading through a news report. His brow furrowed slightly, the kind of expression that meant he had been thinking things through carefully.

    <i>"</i>Staten Island¡¯s industrial zones can be a maze," he warned. "AIM loves to set up decoy caches. Be careful not to get lured into a trap."

    Steve turned toward him, nodding.

    "We¡¯ll stay sharp."

    Bruce¡¯s eyes flickered between them, then narrowed slightly. "Just saying¡ªAIM doesn¡¯t like to lose assets. If they know you¡¯re coming, expect resistance."

    "Duly noted," Sam said, crossing his arms.

    "Alright, team," Steve finally announced, stepping forward. "Let¡¯s move."

    With their gear secured and their roles in place, the Avengers moved as one, heading toward the elevator leading to the hangar bay.

    The doors slid open, revealing the expansive deck where the Quinjet waited, its sleek black frame gleaming under the overhead lights. The subtle hiss of hydraulic systems filled the air as the engines idled, ready for departure, but not today, today they would fly individually.

    Inside Tony''s armor,<i> F.R.I.D.A.Y</i>.¡¯s voice greeted them over the comms.

    "All systems are running at peak efficiency. Flight trajectory locked in. Ready when you are, boss."

    "Thank you, sexy. F.R.I.D.A.Y can you check Cap''s jet pack, I don''t want my favorite old man to meet his creator so soon at the young age of one-hundred and seven"

    <i>"All systems at peak efficiency, safety drivers updated."</i>

    <i>"</i>Nice, you''re ready, Cap"

    "Thanks Tony"

    Steve led the way up the ramp, adjusting his shield on his forearm

    Sam followed, securing his flight harness as he moved to his usual position, where he could deploy into flight mode quickly if needed.

    Janet checked her wings.

    And, naturally, Tony was the last one in, stepping on the pad with zero urgency, already halfway through another conversation with F.R.I.D.A.Y. about adjusting the armor HUD interface.

    "Alright, Avengers," Steve said. <i>"</i>Let¡¯s see what AIM¡¯s up to.<i>"</i>

    Cap''s Jetpack roared to life as he took to the skies. Not long after, Falcon, then Wasp, and then Iron Man.

    "No need to rush, people. Enjoy the ride!" Tony said over the comms, his red and yellow armor with gray details glinting under the morning light.

    The team flew over the New York Harbor, the city¡¯s iconic skyline giving way to the sprawling industrial zones of Staten Island in the distance. Steve Rogers kept his shield with steady hands, his gaze fixed on the horizon, while Janet Van Dyne flying beside him, checking over their briefing on the HUD of her black and yellow helmet. Sam Wilson was behind them, leaning forward slightly to join in their conversation. Not far back Tony was running diagnostics and checking Market news.

    It had been a while since Steve had flown into Staten Island for anything significant, and though the mission was pressing, the flight offered a rare moment of relative calm.

    ¡°So, Cap,¡± Sam started, leaning back with an easy smile, ¡°how¡¯s that project with the bike going? Has Tony finally convinced you to use a modern version?¡±

    Steve let out a soft chuckle, his tone tinged with the kind of quiet stubbornness that came from long-held principles. ¡°Never. He¡¯s tried, believe me, but he¡¯ll never convince me to trade in my <i>Harley</i> for some Japanese-made bike.¡±

    Tony chimmed in, a teasing smirk on his face behind the sleek helmet. ¡°Old grudges much, Steve?¡±

    Steve shook his head, keeping his eyes on the controls. ¡°It¡¯s not personal, Tony. I respect the ingenuity of Japanese designers and engineers¡ªthey¡¯re some of the best in the world. But there¡¯s something about the <i>Harley</i>¡­ the sound, the feel. It¡¯s not just a bike; it¡¯s history. You don¡¯t replace history with a modern knockoff.¡±

    Sam leaned forward, clearly intrigued. ¡°Not about the war, then?¡±

    Steve¡¯s expression softened, and his voice carried a tone of quiet conviction. ¡°All the Japanese leaders who issued those orders during the war¡ªthey¡¯re gone. They rotted away in prisons or graves decades ago. Japan¡¯s changed. The people today had nothing to do with what happened then. There¡¯s no point holding grudges against the dead or their descendants. That kind of bitterness only festers.¡±

    Janet tilted her head, giving him an appraising look. ¡°Huh. So it¡¯s not just about being old-fashioned¡ªit¡¯s about loyalty to what feels right.¡±

    Steve smiled faintly. ¡°That¡¯s part of it. Not everything needs to look aggressive and edged to work well.¡±

    Sam raised a brow, smirking, his red goggles catching the morning sunlight. ¡°What about you Janet, any bikes you like... maybe a certain Italian<i> Vespa</i>.¡±

    ¡°Me?¡± Janet laughed lightly. ¡°Not really. I don¡¯t even like bikes.¡±

    Sam leaned over, grinning. ¡°So what do you like?¡±

    ¡°Cars,¡± Janet replied, leaning back in her seat with a touch of elegance. ¡°Classy ones. Rolls-Royces, for example. Something timeless.¡±

    "A girl after my own heart this Janet Van Dyne" Tony chuckled approaching the group.

    ¡°Too chic for me,¡± Sam said, shaking his head. ¡°But I¡¯ll admit, I do like Lamborghinis and Ferraris. Sleek, modern, and the revving? Absolutely mad.¡±

    Steve chuckled, glancing briefly at Sam. ¡°Muscle cars are better. When I came back, President Reagan gifted me a 1969 <i>Dodge Charger RT</i>. Best car I¡¯ve ever had. I still have it.¡±

    "Classy Car" Tony said. "But nothing beats a good Lamborghini Countach"

    "Or an Audi R8" Janet chimmed in.

    "Janet, this is why we keep you around. You are the voice of reason in this desolate world." Tony said smiling behind the helmet.

    Janet smiled back, flustering a bit. Before she could respond, Cap spoke.

    "Heads Up, Avengers, we are arriving"Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    The conversation settled as they approached the Staten Island Police Precinct. Steve brought the jet to a smooth landing in a designated area not far from the station. The group disembarked, the sharp morning air carrying the faint smell of salt from the harbor.

    Detectives in plainclothes and uniforms were already waiting near the station¡¯s entrance. One of them, a middle-aged man with graying hair in a stained olive shir, stepped forward, his badge clipped to his belt.

    ¡°<i>Captain Rogers</i>,¡± the detective said, extending a hand. ¡°Detective James Corbett, NYPD Major Crimes Unit. Glad you could make it.¡±

    Steve shook his hand firmly. ¡°Detective. Thanks for reaching out.¡±

    Corbett gestured toward the station. ¡°We¡¯ve got the intel on the AIM cache inside. It¡¯s a big lead¡ªif what we¡¯ve got is accurate, this could be a major sting.¡±

    Janet chimed in, her tone sharp and focused. ¡°Any indication of traps or decoys? AIM loves to misdirect.¡±

    Corbett nodded grimly. ¡°We¡¯ve considered that. There¡¯s chatter about multiple caches in the area, but this one came from a reliable informant. We¡¯ve got officers ready to move, but¡­¡± He glanced at Steve. ¡°Let¡¯s just say AIM¡¯s tech is way out of our league. We need your expertise.¡±

    Steve gave a curt nod. ¡°We¡¯ll take it from here. Lead the way.¡±

    The team followed Corbett into the station, where a briefing room was set up with maps, schematics, and files. Janet and Sam immediately began analyzing the data, while Steve listened intently to the detectives¡¯ reports. The sense of purpose in the room was palpable¡ªthe mission was just beginning.

    The briefing room was abuzz with activity, maps spread across the table, and digital projections outlining Staten Island¡¯s industrial zones. Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, and Janet Van Dyne stood alongside Detective Corbett and his team, piecing together the threads of evidence that confirmed AIM¡¯s presence. The mood in the room was serious but focused¡ªuntil the sharp click of heels echoed from the doorway.

    ¡°That won¡¯t be a problem,¡± came a familiar voice from the back of the room.

    All heads turned to see Sharon Carter, clad in her pristine white SHIELD uniform, the tailored lines of her jacket crisp against her figure. Her blonde ponytail swung lightly as she strode in with the poise of someone who owned the room.

    ¡°Sharon?¡± Steve¡¯s voice carried a mix of surprise and familiarity, his brow furrowing slightly.

    ¡°Steve,¡± she replied evenly, her tone professional but with a hint of warmth.

    ¡°Agent Carter,¡± Janet said, offering a curt nod.

    ¡°Van Dyne,¡± Sharon replied, her tone neutral. Her gaze flicked to Sam. ¡°Wilson.¡±

    ¡°Carter,¡± Sam replied, crossing his arms.

    "Hey, Sharon! My favorite blonde bureaucrat..." Tony smiled, his helmet receding.

    "Stark"

    Sharon turned to Detective Corbett, her demeanor shifting seamlessly into command mode. ¡°Detective, give us a minute, will you?¡±

    Corbett nodded quickly, recognizing the hierarchy in play. ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am,¡± he said before signaling his officers to step out of the room.

    As the door closed behind them, Sharon moved closer to the table, scanning the information with a critical eye. ¡°Well, Avengers, it seems AIM has built a bunker here. Right under our noses.¡±

    Steve¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°You want to dismantle them?¡±

    ¡°Precisely,¡± Sharon replied, her tone clipped. ¡°More importantly, I want that tech.¡±

    ¡°The tech?¡± Janet said, raising an eyebrow. ¡°You¡¯re interested in AIM tech?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Sharon replied without hesitation. ¡°AIM¡¯s operations in the United States were officially prohibited after their ties to HYDRA were exposed. You all know the history.¡±

    Steve folded his arms across his chest. ¡°We do. What we don¡¯t know is how they¡¯re here now, operating in Staten Island of all places. This isn¡¯t exactly the outskirts of nowhere.¡±

    ¡°Staten Island is hardly the heart of the country,¡± Sharon said, glancing at the map. ¡°But you¡¯re not wrong. Here¡¯s the thing: not all AIM cells were villainous.¡±

    Sam tilted his head, his skepticism clear. ¡°By ¡®not villainous,¡¯ you mean they worked with SHIELD.¡±

    Tony smirked getting some coffee from the table, before putting it back with a disgusted face. "You know, just old SHIELD pragmatism, <i>Kissinger </i>style. Also, what is the supplier the commissioner is getting for these beans, they taste awful."

    Sharon gave him a sharp look but didn¡¯t deny it. ¡°Technology knows no allegiance. AIM developed cutting-edge innovations, and some of their teams were contracted to work on classified SHIELD projects. But things changed. Some of those personnel went rogue. At first, it seemed like isolated incidents¡ªmissing persons, strange shipments¡ªbut now we know this cell is fully operational and acting outside any legal framework.¡±

    Janet crossed her arms, a skeptical smile tugging at her lips. ¡°Of course. SHIELD had to have something like that in the works. AIM as your private R&D team? Seems on-brand.¡±

    Steve raised a hand slightly, his tone calm but firm. ¡°If SHIELD knew about this, why didn¡¯t they dismantle the lab themselves? Why call us in?¡±

    ¡°In legal matters, we already ¡®dismantled¡¯ them,¡± Sharon replied, making air quotes. ¡°We absorbed their assets, reassigned their personnel, and used what was useful. But the truth is, we didn¡¯t destroy everything. The people who were too valuable to lose? They stayed on. And now¡­ they¡¯re AIM again.¡±

    Sam let out a low whistle, shaking his head. ¡°So, they were SHIELD¡­ until they weren¡¯t useful anymore. Now that they¡¯ve gone rogue, they¡¯re just AIM again?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s an overtly simplistic view, Wilson,¡± Sharon shot back, her tone sharper now.

    Steve frowned, his voice heavy with disapproval. ¡°Simplistic or not, it sounds like a pretty big oversight. You kept AIM personnel active, working on projects, and now they¡¯re running rogue operations on U.S. soil?¡±

    "It is seems like a good simplification, Sharon. Fly-Boy here is right, SHIELD has a penchant to <i>Manhattan Project</i> AIM and Hydra people." Tony added, crossing his armored arms over his chest.

    "It is a gross oversight, Sharon" Captain America shallowed dry. He was used to this kind of goverment shadowy deals, where the goverment would find questionable ''temporary allies'' that they could gloss over the fact that they might as well be terrorists and war criminals. It never sat right with him, not during the <i>Contras</i>, not with the <i>Mujahideen </i>and several states the US had supported over the years for the sake of defending ''Freedom and Democracy''.

    Sharon met his gaze unflinchingly. ¡°It¡¯s not that simple, Steve. You know how SHIELD operates. We¡¯re tasked with defending the world. That means making compromises. Calculated risks.¡±

    ¡°Calculated risks,¡± Janet echoed with a dry chuckle. ¡°And now Staten Island has a bunker full of rogue scientists who used to work for you.¡±

    Sharon¡¯s jaw tightened, but she kept her composure. ¡°It was always a possibility. But we underestimated how deep their old loyalties ran¡ªor how far they¡¯d go without oversight. They¡¯ve moved on to something bigger now, capturing people. We don¡¯t know why, but we can¡¯t afford to let it continue.¡±

    Steve¡¯s face darkened at the mention of captives. ¡°<i>Capturing people</i>? And you¡¯re just now connecting the dots?¡±

    Sharon nodded, her tone lowering slightly. ¡°It wasn¡¯t clear until now that these incidents were linked. But trust me, Steve¡ªwe¡¯re acting as soon as we can. That¡¯s why you¡¯re here.¡±

    Tony looked between Sharon and Steve, his voice tinged with sarcasm. ¡°Let me get this straight. SHIELD kept AIM on payroll, let them keep working, and now that they¡¯re running wild, we¡¯re supposed to clean it up?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re not ¡®on payroll,¡¯¡± Sharon snapped, her patience thinning. ¡°They were integrated into SHIELD¡¯s structure. When they went rogue, they became a liability. It¡¯s as simple as that.¡±

    Steve¡¯s expression was stoic, but his words carried weight. ¡°This isn¡¯t just about cleaning up a liability, Sharon. People¡¯s lives are at stake. You should¡¯ve shut this down before it got to this point.¡±

    Sharon straightened, her tone icy. ¡°I don¡¯t disagree. But we¡¯re dealing with it now. That¡¯s what matters.¡±

    Janet raised her hands in mock surrender. ¡°Alright, alright. No need to bite each other¡¯s heads off. We¡¯ve got rogue scientists, a secret bunker, and missing people. That¡¯s more than enough to focus on.¡±

    Steve nodded, his resolve hardening. ¡°Agreed. Let¡¯s move forward. Sharon, what¡¯s the layout of this bunker?¡±

    Sharon gestured to the map on the table, pointing out key areas. ¡°It¡¯s located beneath a decommissioned shipping yard. Multiple access points, heavy fortification. AIM doesn¡¯t do anything halfway, so expect advanced defenses¡ªautomated turrets, drones, maybe worse. We¡¯ll need to coordinate carefully.¡±

    Sam sighed, pulling his gloves on. ¡°Sounds like a party. Let¡¯s just hope their tech isn¡¯t as glitchy as Tony¡¯s prototypes.¡±

    "Haha, the bird comes with jokes too. Let''s see how long you fly without those wings, <i>Robin</i>" Tony says his helmet closing back again.

    Janet smirked. ¡°If it is, maybe we¡¯ll get lucky and it¡¯ll blow itself up before we get there.¡±

    Sharon ignored the jab, her gaze locked on Steve. ¡°We¡¯ll handle this efficiently, Captain. No unnecessary risks.¡±

    Steve met her eyes evenly. ¡°Good. Because the people they¡¯ve taken don¡¯t have time for anything less.¡±

    The room fell silent, the weight of the mission settling over the team as they finalized their plans. The calm before the storm was short-lived, but the Avengers were ready for whatever came next.

    The Avengers team moved through the quiet streets of Staten Island¡¯s industrial outskirts, the early morning sun casting long shadows over the crumbling warehouses and rusted shipping containers. The area was desolate, the kind of place where secrets could hide in plain sight. Steve Rogers led the way, his shield strapped to his back and his gaze sharp, scanning the area for any signs of movement. Sam Wilson hovered just above the group with his wings, providing aerial surveillance, while Janet Van Dyne flitted nearby, her Wasp suit¡¯s wings emitting a soft hum. Sharon Carter walked beside Steve, her posture rigid, every bit the efficient SHIELD operative. In the air Iron Man covered the air with Falcon, his armor and its A.I ever present of the surroundings.

    "Sharon this better not happen again" Steve said.

    "I''ll make sure of it, Steve" Sharon retorted.

    But Captain America didn''t trust it, not entirely. He knew Sharon, he knew she meant well, but she followed orders, from Fury, just like Maria Hill. Still he sensed that she wouldn''t give her word to him just to let go of it later.

    ¡°This is it?¡± Tony asked as they approached a nondescript warehouse on the edge of the lot. "We walk in just like Chuck E. Cheese?"

    Sharon nodded, pulling a sleek device from her pocket and tapping its screen. ¡°Yes. The facility is beneath this warehouse. There¡¯s a hidden access point inside.¡±

    Steve glanced at the warehouse, his expression wary. ¡°Let¡¯s be careful here, alright?¡±

    Sam smirked, landing beside him. ¡°You mean like SHIELD was careful?¡±

    Sharon shot him a sharp look. ¡°No time for jokes, Wilson. Focus.¡±

    The group moved inside, their footsteps echoing on the concrete floor. The warehouse was empty save for some discarded crates and broken equipment, but Sharon led them to a small elevator hidden behind a rusted panel. She keyed in a code, and the elevator doors opened with a soft ding.

    ¡°Down we go,¡± Sharon said, stepping inside.

    Steve hesitated, his instincts prickling. ¡°Keep your guard up. Something about this doesn¡¯t feel right.¡±

    ¡°Noted,¡± Janet said, shrinking down to her wasp form and perching on Steve¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I¡¯ll be your eyes from up close.¡±

    The elevator descended silently, the air growing cooler and heavier as they went deeper underground. When the doors opened, they were greeted by a sterile white corridor lined with fluorescent lights. A group of people in yellow lab coats stood waiting for them, their hands raised in a gesture of surrender.

    ¡°Welcome,¡± said a middle-aged man with thinning hair and glasses. He stepped forward, his tone calm but slightly nervous. ¡°I assume you¡¯re here to shut us down.¡±

    The group exchanged wary glances. Steve stepped forward, his voice steady but firm. ¡°That depends. Who are you, and what exactly is going on here?¡±

    Steve didn''t like, they didn''t fire, they didn''t control their minds. Where they actually with SHIELD? Was Sharon lying and she was just here to get rid of the project because the collateral grew to costly for SHIELD to keep up. Was AIM simply now a sticker they can put on every rogue SHIELD scientist. Cap''s gut was telling him there was more to this than he wanted to be part of.

    The man adjusted his glasses, glancing at Sharon before answering. ¡°We¡¯re scientists, Captain Rogers. Our work here is¡­ complicated, but I assure you, it¡¯s for the greater good.¡±

    ¡°Complicated?¡± Sam asked, his voice dripping with skepticism. ¡°That¡¯s never a good sign.¡±

    The man gestured for them to follow. ¡°Please, let me show you. It will be easier to explain.¡±

    The team exchanged another set of looks before cautiously following the group of scientists deeper into the facility. The corridor opened into a sprawling lab filled with advanced equipment, glowing screens, and rows of cylindrical tanks filled with an eerie green liquid. The scientists moved with quiet efficiency, but their demeanor lacked the hostility or panic the Avengers had expected.

    ¡°This is our main laboratory,¡± the man explained. ¡°Our research is focused on creating the next generation of robotic soldiers. We aim to develop technology that can protect lives and enhance military operations.¡±

    Steve¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°And what exactly are these robots?¡±

    The man hesitated for a moment before leading them to a console. He tapped a few keys, and a holographic projection appeared, showing schematics of humanoid robots with sleek, armored designs. ¡°These robots will be powered by a revolutionary neural interface. The most advanced AI¡­ built from human neural patterns.¡±

    Sam¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°Built from <i>what</i>?¡±

    The scientist didn¡¯t flinch. ¡°We¡¯re using neural data extracted from human brains. With these patterns, we can create robots capable of intuitive decision-making, emotional reasoning, and unparalleled combat efficiency.¡±

    Sharon¡¯s face paled slightly, though she kept her tone even. ¡°You¡¯re using human brains? From live subjects?¡±

    The man avoided her gaze. ¡°The donors were volunteers, at least initially. But circumstances¡­ evolved. We¡¯ve had to procure additional specimens through less conventional means.¡±

    Steve¡¯s expression darkened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. ¡°You¡¯re capturing people. Turning their minds into weapons. And you think that¡¯s for the greater good?¡±

    The man looked to Sharon for support. ¡°Agent Carter, surely you understand the value of this technology. SHIELD knows the potential here.¡±

    Sharon stiffened, her eyes narrowing. ¡°SHIELD¡¯s involvement ended when you went rogue. Whatever you¡¯re doing here is unauthorized, and it stops now.¡±

    Steve turned to Sharon, his voice low and edged with anger. ¡°SHIELD was involved in this? You knew about it?¡±

    Sharon¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°Steve, I¡ª¡±

    ¡°Of course SHIELD knew,¡± the man interrupted, smiling faintly. ¡°We were SHIELD operatives. This project was sanctioned from the start.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s enough,¡± Sharon snapped, her voice sharp. ¡°You¡¯re not SHIELD anymore. This facility is rogue, and this project is over.¡±

    The scientist stepped back, raising his hands. ¡°What? This is not right... we are still SHIELD¡±

    Steve''s eyes darkened as he snapped his head towards Sharon.

    Tony let a low whistle. "Well, this is some nice recipe for chaos and lack of accountability."

    "Agent Carter, you must understand that these robots are necessary to keep the street safe, we only used criminal specimens"

    "Specimens?" Falcon muttered. "Damn"

    "Ahem" Sharon failed to keep her composure. "Look, Doctor. This project ends now, SHIELD or no SHIELD... Your project is over."

    "Agent Carter, this is a gross mistake. We are having several breakthroughs! It''s for science, progress, national security."

    "It''s a goddamn nightmare fuel" Tony muttered, his voice amused but equal parts annoyed.

    "Agent Carter, I will not comply"

    "Well, then you will do this the hard way, doctor."

    "Suit yourself"

    "You will turn this project off, immediately, Doctor. I won''t say it again." Captain America moved closer to the Doctor, his blue eyes piercing against the doctors'' hazels. The frail man still stood his ground.

    "I''m afraid I won''t, Captain America."

    The room went silent for a heartbeat before the tension exploded.

    ¡°Of course,¡± Janet muttered. ¡°It was too good to be true.¡±

    Sharon¡¯s relief at the admission was palpable, but it didn¡¯t last. Steve¡¯s piercing gaze cut through her. ¡°You still let this happen,¡± he said, his voice hard. ¡°This was under SHIELD¡¯s watch. People are suffering because of it.¡±

    Sharon opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, alarms blared, and the lab¡¯s lights shifted to an ominous red.

    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have come here,¡± the scientist said, his voice cold now. ¡°You¡¯ve forced our hand.¡±

    With a series of loud hisses, the cylindrical tanks began to open, and hulking humanoid robots stepped out. Their metallic forms glowed faintly with green energy, their movements unnervingly fluid as they turned toward the Avengers.

    ¡°Avengers, get ready!¡± Captain America barked.

    Iron Man raised his armored hands.

    Falcon prepared himself.

    Wasp shrunk down to gain the advantage, lost from sight.

    Agent Carter pulled her pistols.

    Captain America held his shield. His eyes burning with intensity.

    "<i>You should have chosen peace, doctor.</i>"

 Chapter 3: Se vis Pacem Para Bellum

    The moment the scientist¡¯s smug words left his mouth, Steve Rogers reacted. No hesitation. No drawn-out speeches. Just a clenched fist and a devastating right hook.

    CRACK.

    The sound of impact echoed through the sterile lab as the doctor¡¯s body twisted mid-air before crashing hard onto the floor, his glasses flying off, shattering as they hit the ground. He was out cold before he even hit the floor.

    As the dust settled from the moment, Steve reached down, pulling a set of handcuffs from a pouch in his darker, more tactical uniform, its matte navy-blue and black tones giving him a more somber, battlefield-ready appearance. His jaw was set like stone as he crouched, securing the cuffs onto the unconscious doctor¡¯s wrists.

    His voice was ice.

    <b>"</b><i>Se vis pacem para bellum</i>, Doctor. I''m a man of peace, not war. But war... that is what you asked for."

    Tony Stark, still standing a few feet away, smirked behind his helmet, despite the situation escalating.

    "Nice one, Cap. How very <i>John Wick</i> of you."

    The levity was short-lived. Suddenly, the walls themselves came alive¡ªthe humanoid robots crawled like spiders, their mechanical limbs scraping against the metal infrastructure of the lab. Sickly green energy glowed from the cores embedded in their chests, illuminating the dimly lit corridor as they moved with eerie, unnatural fluidity. They weren¡¯t just programmed machines. They were something else.

    Steve barely had time to shout orders before the first wave struck.

    "Tony, can you hack them?"

    Iron Man had already raised his gauntlets, repulsors charged, as he prepared for the onslaught. The first of the grotesque, brain-wired constructs lunged at him with clawed hands, but he blasted it mid-air, sending it flying back into a row of computer terminals.

    "I''m trying... Five seconds<i>."</i> Tony said as he dodged another attack, his HUD running calculations at lightning speed.

    Across the room, Sharon Carter had already drawn her pistols, her expression grim but focused.

    "Sharon, get the exits. Don¡¯t let the scientists escape."

    "On it, Steve."

    She moved with the deadly precision of a SHIELD agent, weaving through the chaos toward the nearest corridor. A scientist was mid-sprint, trying to flee, but Sharon¡¯s boot connected hard with his ribs, sending him crashing into the metal frame of the exit door. She spun, training her pistol on another scientist just as he reached for an emergency alarm.

    "Try it. I dare you." Her voice was cold, sharp.

    The scientist froze.

    "Janet, can you take down their computers?"

    A miniature-sized Wasp zipped overhead, dodging laser fire as she flitted between control panels.

    "On it, Cap," she said over comms, shrinking even further to avoid a robotic hand that tried to swat her like an insect. She maneuvered between the circuitry of the mainframe, shoving an energy charge into the console.

    Electric sparks exploded outward.

    The room dimmed for a second, a few of the robots twitching violently, but they were still coming.

    The horrors of the battlefield came all at once.

    Captain America spun into motion. He vaulted over one of the crawling machines, ricocheting a shield throw straight into its glowing green "eye," causing it to detonate in a shower of sparks. Another machine leaped at him mid-air, but he pulled his shield in time, blocking a blast that rebounded straight into the face of two more enemies, sending them crashing into the walls.

    Meanwhile, Sam Wilson landed beside Cap, his mechanical wings snapping back into place, the red and silver vibranium glinting under the emergency lighting.

    "Cap, these things are fast¡ªlike, freakishly fast."

    Sam¡¯s dual pistols roared, sending precise armor-piercing rounds straight into the exposed joints of one of the machines. The robot collapsed mid-leap, its legs severed, but it kept crawling, reaching out for him like some nightmarish thing.

    Sam stomped his boot onto its head, crushing the delicate brain-like core.

    "I can''t hack them."

    Iron Man¡¯s voice came over the comms, frustrated but still calculating.

    "They''re using the brains as processors. The rest is just simple circuit work. I''d have to get to the main console."

    Steve clenched his jaw.

    "Can you do it?"

    "It¡¯ll take longer."

    He could hear the hesitation in Tony¡¯s voice. The scientist¡¯s words replayed in his mind. They had captured people. Real people. And now, their minds were trapped inside these mechanical husks. Steve hated everything about this.

    "Jesus, this is horrifying." Sam said his voice disgusted by the brains pulsing inside the broken machines.

    Sam had stopped for a brief second, his eyes scanning the battlefield. They weren¡¯t just fighting machines. These things might have been people once.

    "It''s inhumane." Cap added.

    Another robotic soldier lunged at him, green energy crackling in its fingertips. Sam sidestepped and sliced its leg off with his wings, the precision of his flight harness allowing him to move like a ghost between the chaos.

    "What should we do?"

    Janet¡¯s voice came in urgently.

    Steve made his decision.

    "We can¡¯t kill them. If there¡¯s even a chance they have consciousness, we would be killing them."

    Tony Stark had already been blasting apart several of the robots with precise repulsor shots, but at Steve¡¯s words, he paused, adjusting his trajectory.

    "Be mindful, Tony."

    Tony exhaled sharply inside his helmet, reluctantly modulating his blasts. He fired at non-lethal points, disabling legs, arms, and power sources without destroying the brain cores.

    His voice was tense.

    "Cap, I think these people are already dead."

    Steve¡¯s expression darkened.

    "I won¡¯t kill a single living thing until we find out if there¡¯s a chance to save them."

    Tony¡¯s HUD flashed red, alerting him to a dozen new hostiles incoming from a secondary hallway.

    "Cap¡ª"

    "This is not an argument, Stark. It¡¯s an order."

    The silence in the comms lasted only half a second.

    "Understood, Cap."

    Tony fired two precise EMP blasts, sending three more constructs into shutdown mode without destroying them.

    "Do it, Stark. Van Dyne, I need you with us."

    Janet reappeared, growing in size mid-air, her once tiny form suddenly expanding to giant proportions. She reached out with massive hands, yanking two of the machines straight off the walls like fruit from a tree, slamming them into the ground.

    The impact left craters.

    She was now the largest thing in the room, and the robots seemed to register it immediately.

    Several swarmed her, clambering up her body like ants on a giant, clawing and digging into her armor plating.

    "Wilson, go to Van Dyne!"

    Sam hesitated briefly¡ªhe had been covering Cap¡¯s back. But one look at Janet struggling was enough.

    "But you, Cap?"

    Steve deflected two more energy blasts, knocking down another enemy with a well-placed shield bash.

    "I''ll be fine. Do it."

    Sam turned, activating his wing thrusters, cutting through the air like a blade.

    "Wilco, sir."

    With the battlefield now split into three chaotic fronts, the Avengers fought on.

    Captain America didn¡¯t hesitate. His body was a blur of movement, a perfect storm of speed and strength as he vaulted over the robotic monstrosities, his shield slamming into their torsos with the force of a battering ram. He wasn¡¯t killing them¡ªnot yet, not when he wasn¡¯t sure if there was still something human left inside. But he was dismantling them, tearing off arms, breaking legs, ensuring they couldn¡¯t fight back without completely destroying what remained of their forms.

    With a brutal efficiency honed over decades of battle, he twisted mid-air, catching a robot by its wrist before using his own momentum to rip its limb clean off. Sparks and hydraulic fluid sprayed from the exposed joint. Another enemy lunged, its grotesque metal fingers clawing for his face, but Steve ducked, slamming his shield upward into its head with enough force to send it flying back into its mechanical brethren. He slid low, boots skimming across the cold floor, kicking out the legs of another before rising with the precision of a trained fighter, catching another enemy¡¯s swinging arm and tearing it away in one fluid motion.

    If anyone had ever doubted that the so-called man out of time could still outfight the best of today¡¯s special forces, they would¡¯ve been proven dead wrong in this moment.

    And still, they just kept coming.

    "How many of these damn things are there?" Wasp¡¯s voice crackled through the comms, her massive form swiping at the robotic swarm clambering over her. Even at her towering size, they were like insects, crawling up her arms and legs, their clawed hands leaving deep gouges in her armor.

    "Too many." Captain America¡¯s voice was clipped, his breath measured even as he fought.

    Falcon was cutting through them like a red-and-silver blur, his wings slicing through metal with razor precision. He twisted mid-air, a combat knife flashing in his grip as he severed the wiring of one machine¡¯s head. It convulsed violently before collapsing.

    "If these are criminals, they must have gotten an entire federal prison out of people," Sam muttered. He wasn¡¯t out of breath¡ªhe was just angry.

    "We¡¯ll shut down this facility."

    Steve was already moving before he finished the sentence. He caught sight of Sharon Carter out of the corner of his eye, surrounded by a small battalion of these perverse mechanical husks. Her pistols flashed as she took precise shots, each bullet aimed at non-lethal yet debilitating points¡ªjoints, servos, critical wiring. She wasn¡¯t wasting a single round.

    Still, she was getting overwhelmed.

    Before she could be fully swallowed by the horde, Steve propelled himself forward. He launched his shield ahead of him like a missile¡ªit slammed into the torso of the nearest robot, sending it flying back into the others, knocking them down like dominos. Sharon didn¡¯t even flinch as the vibranium disc spun back to Steve¡¯s waiting hand.

    "Thanks, Steve."

    It was just two words. Simple. Efficient.

    But Steve caught the smallest flicker of a smile, barely there, almost imperceptible¡ªbut it was there.

    "Carter, is there anyone else in the facility?"

    Sharon immediately tapped her earpiece, switching to the SHIELD emergency frequency. Her voice was sharp, commanding. "Come in, this is Agent Carter to all local SHIELD operatives, do you copy?"

    There was a brief moment of static before a voice came through, urgent and strained.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

    "CARTER, THIS IS MARSHALL. WE ARE PINNED DOWN IN THE SECOND LEVEL. WE NEED IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE."

    Steve¡¯s jaw tightened.

    "Understood, Marshall, we''re moving over."

    "Godspeed."

    "Carter out."

    She turned to Steve, her expression deadly serious. "Cap, we need to go. There are agents in the second floor."

    Steve took stock of the battlefield in seconds. Wasp had just shrunk down, zipping through the chaos, firing off bio-electric stings that disabled the nearest threats. Sam had taken to the skies again, cutting a clean arc through the battle, his weapons shifting to precision strikes instead of kill shots. Tony had already blasted through a small pile of decommissioned machines, his armor¡¯s systems whirring as he worked to hack into the facility¡¯s mainframe.

    They needed to split up.

    "Van Dyne, Wilson, stay here and try to turn these things off."

    "Understood, Cap," Wasp responded, kicking another robot down before disappearing into the air.

    Sam hovered briefly, his wings adjusting for stability. "Steve¡ª"

    "It''s an order, son." Steve¡¯s tone left no room for debate.

    Sam hesitated for only half a second before nodding.

    "Got it."

    With that settled, Steve turned on his heel. He and Sharon were already moving before another word was spoken.

    "Sharon, with me. Let¡¯s save your men."

    Together, they disappeared into the corridors, the sounds of battle fading behind them. The mission wasn¡¯t over yet.

    The air in the corridor was thick with the scent of gunpowder and ozone, a testament to the sheer volume of ammunition being unloaded. The rhythmic crack of machine-gun fire echoed through the halls as the SHIELD agents fought back against the tide of robotic husks. Muzzle flashes strobed in the dim light, illuminating grim faces set with determination and fear.

    Captain America and Sharon Carter moved fast, weaving between the battered remains of combatants, both human and machine. The moment Steve spotted the entrenched SHIELD agents, he barked out the order.

    ¡°HOLD FIRE!¡±

    A pause. The gunfire didn¡¯t stop immediately, but hesitation flickered through the ranks. One of the senior agents¡ªa man in his late thirties, with a cut jawline and a battle-hardened presence¡ªturned to face him.

    ¡°Cap?¡±

    Steve stepped forward, lowering his shield slightly in a gesture of authority but not relaxation. His blue eyes locked onto the agent. ¡°Who are you, son?¡±

    ¡°Agent Myers, sir. I¡¯m senior field commander in this op.¡±

    ¡°Alright, Agent Myers. Tell your men to hold fire. No more headshots¡ªgo for the limbs. These things still might be people.¡±

    Myers hesitated. His hands curled into fists. ¡°Sir, I¡­ I¡¯m afraid they¡¯re long gone.¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t know that yet,¡± Steve said, his tone steady but unwavering. ¡°Not until we¡¯re absolutely sure.¡±

    The silence stretched for a full two seconds. A heartbeat. A decision. Then¡ª

    ¡°Understood, sir.¡±

    Myers turned, barking at his men. ¡°Focus on the limbs!¡±

    A younger agent, Briggs, visibly confused, looked up from his reloading. ¡°What? Why? We need to¡ª¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a damn order, Briggs. Do it.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±

    Steve nodded. ¡°Thank you, Agent. I¡¯ll put the word out across the comms.¡±

    Myers gave him a tight nod. ¡°Thank you, sir.¡±

    There was a momentary lull, as if the battle itself paused for this decision to take hold. Then a robotic shriek echoed down the corridor¡ªanother wave was coming.

    ¡°Hold the fort here,¡± Steve ordered. ¡°We¡¯re heading down below.¡±

    Myers exhaled, then squared his shoulders. ¡°Alright, but things are awful down there, sir. It¡¯s like a slaughterhouse.¡±

    ¡°Thankfully, Captain America is here,¡± Sharon said, her voice edged with just enough dry humor to lighten the moment, if only barely.

    Steve didn¡¯t crack a smile. ¡°Let¡¯s move.¡±

    As they advanced, the halls became narrower, the lighting flickering from the structural damage sustained in the battle. Sparks burst from broken panels, casting jagged shadows against the walls.

    More SHIELD agents were pinned down by enemy forces further in the corridor. They fought in controlled bursts, keeping the machines at bay, but it was clear they were struggling.

    Without hesitation, Steve surged forward. Sharon was right beside him, moving with practiced efficiency, her dual Glocks raised. Her shots were surgical, each bullet finding its way through the slits in the robots¡¯ armor. She didn¡¯t waste a single round.

    Steve noticed. ¡°You got better with those pistols, Sharon.¡±

    She didn¡¯t even pause as she reloaded in one smooth motion. <b>¡°</b>These puppies? These are <i>Bella</i> and <i>Edward</i>.¡±

    Steve frowned slightly. ¡°I think I¡¯ve heard those names before.¡±

    Sharon smirked, ducking behind cover and popping off another shot. ¡°I hope you didn¡¯t.¡±

    Steve let out a low breath. ¡°Let¡¯s move on.¡±

    Ahead of them, a stairwell led deeper into the facility, the metal steps illuminated by dim red emergency lights. Smoke curled up from somewhere below, mingling with the distant screams of metal grinding against metal.

    Without missing a beat, Steve vaulted over the railing. He twisted mid-air, one hand catching onto a pipe to slow his descent before landing with barely a sound.

    Sharon leaned over the railing, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. ¡°I¡¯m not a super soldier, remember?¡±

    Steve was already moving. ¡°Lives won¡¯t wait, Sharon.¡±

    She muttered something under her breath but followed, taking the stairs three at a time.

    The lower level was a mess of blood and steel.

    Three SHIELD agents lay sprawled against a thick blast door, their bodies torn apart, their tactical gear shredded like paper. The metallic stench of iron was overpowering, but what made it worse was the precision of the wounds¡ªthese weren¡¯t mindless killings. They were surgical.

    Steve immediately knelt, pressing his fingers to the first agent¡¯s neck. Nothing.

    He exhaled sharply, then reached out to close their eyelids, whispering something under his breath.

    Then¡ªmovement.

    Steve barely had time to react before three of the cybernetic husks vaulted over the debris, moving unnaturally fast, their clawed hands reaching for him.

    His instincts took over.

    The first lunged, but Steve sidestepped, catching it mid-motion and tearing a hole in its arm with his bare hands. Sparks and tubing burst free like blood vessels. The second came immediately after, but Steve ripped the first robot¡¯s severed arm from its socket and swung it like a club, slamming the metal limb against the second attacker¡¯s head so hard it dented inward.

    The third, however, was smarter. It had waited, tracking Steve¡¯s movements before launching itself onto his back, its reinforced fingers clawing at his face, reaching for his eyes.

    A gunshot cracked through the air.

    The third machine jerked violently, its head exploding in a shower of mechanical shards and circuitry before it went still.

    Steve turned, breath heaving.

    Sharon stood there, her <i>Glock</i>, <i>Bella</i>, still raised, smoke curling from the muzzle.

    She lowered it, cocking an eyebrow. ¡°Sorry, Steve. To make an omelet¡ª¡±

    Steve wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his face unreadable. ¡°Not all blood spilled is senseless.¡± He exhaled sharply, picking up his shield. ¡°Let¡¯s move.¡±

    They didn¡¯t hesitate. There were lives to save.

    The air was thick with the smell of burnt ozone and scorched metal, the scent of war waged in a laboratory instead of a battlefield. The SHIELD soldiers were hunkered down behind whatever cover they could find¡ªbroken machinery, overturned crates, scorched remnants of once-sterile workstations. Energy blasts screamed through the air, hammering against walls, sending sparks and shrapnel flying.

    One of the soldiers groaned, his face contorted in pain as blood oozed from a deep wound in his abdomen, his tactical suit dark with it. Sharon and Steve dove for cover beside him, their backs pressed against the makeshift barricade.

    "Sharon, assistance, now!" Steve barked.

    Sharon was already moving, reaching behind her plate carrier and unfastening her med-kit pouch. Her fingers moved with precision, pressing down on the wound, working quickly to stem the bleeding. The wounded soldier gritted his teeth, a strangled groan escaping him as she applied pressure.

    The only other agent still holding ground was firing bursts from an energy MG, the light from the weapon flashing violently against his grim face.

    Steve turned to him. "Marshall?"

    The agent gave a grim shake of his head, nodding toward the center of the circular room. "No, sir. <i>That¡¯s Marshall</i>."

    Steve followed his gaze. His breath caught for a fraction of a second.

    In the middle of the room, sprawled lifeless, was a headless corpse¡ªa SHIELD uniform torn, blood pooling across the sterile floor.

    Steve¡¯s jaw clenched. His grip on his shield tightened.

    "Jesus Christ," he muttered under his breath.

    The surviving agent looked at him, his expression barely concealing the weight of everything that had just happened. He hesitated, then scooted over slightly.

    "Scoot over, soldier," Steve commanded.

    "Yes, sir."

    The agent relinquished the energy MG, his hands shaking slightly as he passed it to Captain America. Without hesitation, Steve slung his shield onto his back and took the heavy weapon into his grasp.

    His eyes scanned the battlefield. Assess. Plan. Execute. He wasn''t going for lethal shots. Not yet. Not until he was absolutely certain.

    Then, he let loose.

    The energy MG roared to life, the concussive blasts hammering through the air, lighting up the chamber in flashes of blue and orange. Steve¡¯s aim was surgical¡ªhe didn''t target the torsos or heads of the machines, but their legs, their arms. He tore them apart piece by piece, forcing them to crawl, neutralizing without fully destroying.

    The sound of the MG hummed down into silence.

    For a moment, only the ragged breathing of the wounded soldiers filled the room.

    "Sharon," Steve ordered, voice firm. "We need Medvac. Immediately. Call Fury."

    Sharon was already pulling out her communicator, her fingers moving quickly over the encrypted frequency.

    Then¡ªa sound.

    A deep metallic thud, shaking the very foundation of the underground chamber.

    Steve barely had time to react before a vault door came flying through the air.

    "DOWN!" he bellowed, shoving the wounded soldier and Sharon into cover, his shield snapping up as the massive metal slab slammed into the wall behind them, embedding itself into solid concrete.

    Silence. A sharp ringing in the air. Then¡ªthe ground trembled.

    A behemoth stepped forward.

    Emerging from the gaping hole where the vault door once stood, it loomed. Its massive frame was cast in shadows, its towering figure just barely scraping the ceiling. The glow of its internal energy core pulsated within its torso, but the most unnerving part?

    Its face.

    Not a standard robotic visage.

    Not a cold, steel construct.

    But a skull.

    A metallic skull, its surface stitched with grotesque fleshy bits, like remnants of something that had once been human. The eyes¡ªif they could be called that¡ªglowed a sickly red, soulless, artificial, but deeply unsettling.

    Its left arm was a cannon, glowing with volatile energy.

    Its right arm was a massive steel claw, servos grinding as it clenched and unclenched.

    And its legs¡­

    There were none.

    Instead, it rolled forward on heavy tank treads, grinding against the blood-streaked floor, slow, deliberate, an apex predator that knew it didn¡¯t need to rush.

    It stopped, looming over the battlefield, casting its ominous shadow over Steve, Sharon, and the wounded SHIELD soldiers.

    Then, its voice rang out, a harsh, digitized growl laced with something almost¡­ organic beneath it.

    <b>¡°IDENTIFYING HOSTILES¡­ MUTAGENIC SIGNATURE DETECTED¡­ ENHANCED COMBATANTS CONFIRMED¡­ INITIATING TERMINATION SEQUENCE.¡±</b>

    Steve exhaled sharply, adjusting his grip on his shield.

    "Everyone stay behind me." Captain America said.

    The air was thick with smoke and the acrid scent of scorched metal, the battlefield a chaotic symphony of crackling energy and grinding machinery. Captain America¡¯s grip tightened on the energy MG as he let out another controlled burst, the searing blue bolts hammering against the iron behemoth¡¯s reinforced plating. The shots barely left dents, but he wasn¡¯t aiming to destroy it yet¡ªonly to draw its fire.

    He glanced back toward Sharon, voice sharp over the chaos.

    "Is he stabilized?"

    Sharon, crouched low behind cover, pressed a final clotting agent onto the wounded agent¡¯s abdomen, sealing the worst of the bleeding before adjusting her grip on her sidearm. Sweat beaded at her temple, but her hands were steady.

    "Yes, sir."

    "Move to the MG," Steve ordered. "I''ll drag its attention away."

    Sharon didn''t hesitate. "Got it." She scrambled low and fast, keeping her head down as she moved toward the mounted heavy machine gun the fallen SHIELD agents had used in their last stand. The weapon was still operational¡ªbullets spilling from its feed, the barrel still hot from suppressing fire. It was their best bet for concentrated firepower.

    Steve vaulted over his cover, his powerful legs launching him forward in a single fluid motion. The moment his boots hit the ground, he yanked his shield from his back and braced it against his chest, a moving wall of vibranium against the monstrous firepower now hammering toward him.

    The massive iron behemoth roared, its cannon-arm unleashing a storm of plasma rounds, the sheer force of them searing the air around him. Steve zig-zagged, weaving between the incoming blasts, his speed and instincts razor-sharp, anticipating every strike before it landed. The concussive force of the shots still rattled his bones, but he never faltered.

    From behind, Sharon opened fire with the MG, a steady stream of energy rounds slamming into the machine¡¯s weaponized limb, focusing on its energy cannon to disrupt its firing system. Sparks flew from the impact points, but the monster still advanced, undeterred.

    Steve hit the ground into a slide, his shield angled just right to deflect the next blast, sending the redirected energy straight back into the machine¡¯s shoulder joint. The impact was enough to cause a momentary stutter in its targeting systems.

    That was all he needed.

    In one swift motion, Cap reached to his belt and drew his adamantium combat knife.

    Steve rolled to the side and lunged¡ªhis blade plunging deep into the exposed joints near the machine¡¯s treads. He twisted the blade sharply, severing a key set of circuits, causing the machine to spasm violently. Its treads locked up, jerking forward erratically, its sensors struggling to recalibrate.

    Wasting no time, Cap climbed onto the machine, straddling it like a bull rider, gripping onto whatever plating he could as it began to thrash beneath him.

    A heavy metal fist swung upward, aiming to crush him like an insect¡ª

    ¡ªbut Steve ducked at the last second, using the momentum of the swing to maneuver around the machine¡¯s back, driving his knife deep into its reinforced spine-like support system.

    Sparks exploded from the gash he had just created.

    Using his incredible strength, he tore open a larger gap in the plating, exposing the tangle of wires and circuits beneath.

    The machine roared in a distorted, synthetic screech as Steve reached inside, grabbing a handful of cables and ripping them free with a forceful jerk.

    The machine spun wildly, its cannon arm firing erratically¡ªenergy beams tearing into the walls, obliterating half of the room as it struggled to maintain control.

    Steve held on tightly, gripping the exposed machinery near its neck, just as a secondary weapon unfurled from its other arm¡ªa high-energy laser cannon glowing bright.

    It turned toward the battlefield.

    It was about to unleash devastation on Sharon and the other agents.

    Steve acted instinctively.

    Using the exposed wires as leverage, he reached higher, toward the thing¡¯s head, and yanked hard.

    With a metallic screech, the machine¡¯s entire skull-like faceplate tore free, revealing¡­ something grotesque beneath.

    Steve froze.

    His stomach dropped as he looked inside.

    At first, it was just wires. Circuits. Tech.

    But then¡ªhe saw it.

    A brain.

    Encased inside a pulsating, cybernetic core. Still alive.

    And then¡ªit spoke.

    A horrifying, ragged voice, a distorted plea, one that cut deeper than any wound ever could.

    "KILL ME."

    Steve¡¯s heart clenched.

    He had seen this before. He had heard it before. But never here. Never at home.

    This wasn¡¯t just AIM¡¯s doing. This wasn¡¯t just another faceless villain using tech to terrorize the world.

    This was something more sinister.

    The voice gurgled, more desperate now.

    "PLEASE. KILL ME."

    His grip tightened around the exposed circuitry.

    "We can help you, son." Steve said, voice steady. "Just hold on¡ª"

    "KILL ME. JUST KILL ME."

    Steve¡¯s expression darkened. His breath came slow. Heavy. He clenched his jaw.

    He looked at the grenade on his belt.

    The man¡ªthe thing inside¡ªbegged again.

    "ARE YOU SURE?" Steve asked, his voice pained.

    "KILL ME!"

    There was no hesitation in its words.

    Steve took the grenade.

    His fingers shook only slightly.

    "I''m sorry I couldn''t save you." His voice was heavy with regret.

    And then¡ªhe shoved the grenade inside.

    "GRENADE! FIND COVER!" Steve bellowed, diving behind his shield as the others did the same.

    The explosion was deafening, a shockwave ripping through the chamber, sending shrapnel flying in all directions.

    The mechanical screeching of the abomination came to an abrupt halt.

    When the smoke cleared, the machine was gone. What remained of its monstrous form lay in ruined, twisted pieces.

    Silence.

    "WE DID IT!" one of the recruits shouted, his voice shaky but triumphant.

    Then¡ªanother sound.

    A sickening metal-on-metal scraping.

    Steve turned sharply.

    From the walls¡ªmore crawling.

    Robotic limbs tearing through concrete, more of them emerging from hidden access points. Hundreds of them.

    They swarmed forward, ready to continue the slaughter.

    Steve raised his shield.

    Sharon readied her pistols.

    The agents steeled themselves for another fight.

    Then¡ª

    BZZT.

    One by one¡ªthe green lights in the machines'' cores flickered.

    Then died.

    Their mechanical bodies seized up, collapsing like lifeless puppets¡ªall at once, the monstrous wave of machines fell silent.

    Steve exhaled sharply, his heart still pounding.

    Then, Iron Man¡¯s voice crackled over the comms.

    "Cap, I got it. The machines are down."

    The battle was over.

    But the horror remained.

    <b><b></b></b>

 Chapter 4: Mutant Affairs

    The room hung in thick silence, the only sound being the hum of power still lingering in the walls, the faint flickering of emergency lights casting eerie shadows over the ruined facility. The weight of what had just happened settled heavily in the air¡ªbodies on the ground, mechanical husks torn apart, wires hanging like severed arteries. The acrid scent of burned circuitry and blood mingled, a sickening reminder of the battle they had just won.

    Captain America turned toward Sharon, his features unreadable beneath the mask, but she could feel the weight of his disapproval even before he spoke. His voice, when it came, was quiet but firm.

    "Are you okay, both of you?"

    The SHIELD agent beside her swallowed hard, nodding, his face pale and streaked with grime. "We are, sir. Thanks to you."

    Sharon exhaled, pressing a gloved hand to her temple before nodding as well. "We''re alive, Steve."

    His blue eyes hardened slightly as he studied her. "Sharon, I''m really disappointed. But we''ll speak later."

    Her expression barely shifted, but there was something tense in the way she swallowed, her gaze briefly flickering away. "Yes, Steve."

    He turned from her, pressing his fingers against the communicator in his mask. "Tony, are you positive the entire building is clear?"

    A brief static-filled pause before Iron Man¡¯s voice crackled back. "I''m positive, Cap. Come upstairs."

    "Sharon, soldier¡ªyou''re with me."

    They made their way up the ruined corridors, stepping over shattered remnants of robots and scattered debris. The halls were eerily silent now, devoid of the mechanical screeches and screams that had filled them only minutes before. When they reached the upper level, Captain America was met by Myers and the remaining SHIELD squads, their weapons still raised, scanning for any lingering threats.

    Steve took a deep breath, trying to push away the anger building in his chest. This entire situation reeked of something bigger, something more dangerous lurking beneath the surface.

    "Stay here," he ordered the agents, adjusting his shield back onto his forearm. "I''ll find the Avengers."

    Before he could even move, the familiar hum of repulsor thrusters filled the air, and Iron Man, Falcon, and Wasp flew in through a gaping hole in the ceiling. Janet, still in her Wasp suit, carried the unconscious scientist in her arms, her expression unreadable as she set him down with something close to distaste.

    "He''s out cold, Steve," she said, brushing debris off her gloves.

    Steve stared at the scientist, then back at the rest of the team. "We''ll talk to him later." He turned to Tony, his expression serious. "What do you make of this tech? Is it yours?"

    Tony¡¯s helmet retracted with a small hiss, revealing his sharp, scrutinizing gaze as he scanned the ruined remains of the machines. He knelt beside one of the fallen husks, pressing a gauntleted hand against its shattered chest plate, the sensors embedded in his suit glowing as they analyzed the remnants.

    "Not mine," Tony confirmed, exhaling. "Not even close. But¡­" He tapped something on his forearm display, scrolling through data. "There are¡­ pieces here that don¡¯t add up."

    Steve¡¯s brow furrowed. "Hammer?"

    Tony snorted. "Please, Steve. Hammer couldn¡¯t engineer his way out of a paper bag. This isn¡¯t his work."

    "Oscorp?"

    That made Tony pause. He exhaled through his nose before glancing up. "Now you¡¯re getting warmer. There¡¯s definitely some Oscorp parts in here. Some of these processors? Pure Norman Osborn vintage."

    Steve¡¯s stomach turned. "But that¡¯s not the only thing, is it?"

    Tony shook his head, lips pressing into a thin line. "No. And here¡¯s where it gets real interesting¡ªsome of this tech? It¡¯s Trask."

    The room went deathly silent.

    "Trask?" Steve repeated, the name weighing heavy in the air. "Trask International?"

    Tony leaned back, arms crossed over his chestplate. "Yep. Same guys who make Sentinels for the DOD. Y''know, just in case Magneto wants to show up again¡­ or if the X-Men ever decide to go rogue. No offense to our favorite Southern Belle."

    Steve¡¯s jaw tightened. He knew full well that Trask¡¯s Sentinels were designed with one specific purpose in mind¡ªto hunt mutants. The idea that their technology was being repurposed into bio-hybrid monstrosities like the ones they had just fought sent a cold chill through his veins.

    "Why is Trask tech relevant to SHIELD or AIM?" Steve asked.

    Tony shrugged, but there was no humor in his voice. "That¡¯s the million-dollar question, Cap. Their specialty is genetic scanning, bio-adaptive AI, that sort of thing. It¡¯s not exactly ideal for combat droids like these. The best in the market for that kinda tech?" He smirked, tapping his chest. "You¡¯re looking at him."

    Janet folded her arms, unimpressed. "So you¡¯re saying they didn¡¯t use your tech, and that somehow surprises you?"

    Tony flashed her a grin. "I mean, I¡¯m just relieved. Not that I¡¯d be responsible for how my tech gets used or anything."

    Steve gave him a hard look.

    Tony sighed, raising his hands. "Fine, fine. Not the time. Geez."

    Steve turned to the unconscious scientist. Something about the way he lay there¡ªtoo still, too aware¡ªmade his instincts scream. His expression darkened.

    Without hesitation, he slapped the scientist hard across the face.

    The man jolted awake, gasping. "What¡ª?"

    Steve grabbed his ID badge, scanning the name. "Doctor Adler." He crouched, his voice steady but carrying an edge of cold authority. "Your technology cost the lives of a lot of people today, Doctor. Show some decency and answer my questions."

    Adler groaned, rubbing his jaw. "Fine, fine."

    "What are these machines?" Steve demanded.

    Adler hesitated, then sighed. "They''re¡­ bio-hybrid machines. We use human brains with simple computers to enhance data processing. It¡¯s an unhackable system, a novel solution."

    Steve¡¯s stomach churned. "You''re saying you put people inside these things."

    "Their brains, yes," Adler admitted. "It¡¯s efficient¡ª"

    Steve¡¯s fist clenched. "What¡¯s their purpose?"

    The scientist hesitated. "Honestly? I don¡¯t know. The whole project file was redacted. The purpose was¡­ undefined."

    Steve¡¯s eyes narrowed. "Undefined?" His voice was razor-sharp now. "And when that happens, Doctor, what does it mean?"

    Adler exhaled slowly, glancing away. "It means¡­ it was just a prototype. Build it now, find a purpose later."

    Tony let out a low whistle. "Those tax dollars could be better spent at Stark Industries."

    "Tony." Janet shot him a glare.

    "Just saying, Jan. Just saying."

    Steve turned his gaze back to Adler. "Were these meant to hunt mutants?"

    Adler¡¯s mouth pressed into a thin line. "I¡¯m¡­ not sure. Maybe. Maybe not. We used Trask¡¯s technology to identify genetic anomalies. Mutants, mutates, Inhumans, aliens¡ªany life form that deviated from the Homo sapiens baseline."

    Steve¡¯s gut twisted. "And this Trask tech¡ªwhere did you get it?"

    Adler licked his lips nervously. "We couldn¡¯t get it directly from Trask. We didn¡¯t have the right¡­ backing for that. So we bought it on the black market."

    Steve¡¯s eyes hardened. "From whom?"

    Adler swallowed. "A man from Houston. He was connected to¡­ Carraro Security."

    That name hit like a hammer.

    Steve stilled.

    Carraro. The same private security firm that the X-Men were investigating. The same name that kept appearing in shady operations across the country.

    This wasn¡¯t just about rogue SHIELD scientists anymore.

    There was something bigger at play.

    Steve took a slow breath, his mind racing.

    "Where did you meet him?" His voice was sharp.

    Adler hesitated. "I¡ªI don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t remember his name¡ª"

    Before he could finish, the hiss of the elevator doors filled the air.

    Steve¡¯s entire body went tense.

    Captain America¡¯s entire body was coiled tight with tension as the hiss of the elevator doors echoed through the ruined facility. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burnt metal, coolant fluid, and something deeper, something wrong. His hand tightened around his shield, ready for whatever new horror might emerge.

    But instead of another mechanical nightmare, <b>t</b>wo men stepped forward.

    The first was <i>Nick Fury.</i>

    He was dressed in a dark navy tactical coat, the high collar turned up against the stale underground air. The ever-present eyepatch sat over his left eye, but his right¡ªthe cold, piercing blue¡ªheld the same sharpness, the same unreadable weight of someone who had seen too much, done too much, and come back standing. But something was different. <b>T</b>he Fury that Steve remembered, that he once trusted, wouldn''t have been behind something like this.

    At his side stood John Walker, the <i>USAgent</i>.

    He cut an imposing figure in the low light, standing tall and broad, clad in his black and red uniform¡ªa dark mirror of Steve¡¯s own. His helmet sat snug over his head, obscuring most of his features except for his jaw, strong and squared, clenched tight. In his left hand, he carried a shield of his own¡ªsimilar in size and shape to Steve¡¯s, but where Steve¡¯s bore the star-spangled symbol of America¡¯s ideals, Walker¡¯s bore the letters "US". The bold, militaristic black and red design stripped away the hopeful inspiration of Captain America, leaving only a cold, pragmatic statement of force.

    Steve saw red.

    His body moved before he could think¡ªbefore he could rationalize, before he could process. His feet dug into the cracked ground as he closed the distance between them in a single stride, his muscles tensing like coiled steel.

    Then, with the full force of a century of battle and principle behind it, Steve Rogers threw a right hook straight into Nick Fury¡¯s face.

    The impact was brutal, solid, the kind of hit that could drop an ordinary man instantly. Fury staggered back, his head snapping to the side as blood spattered against the cold metal walls. The Director of SHIELD was sent to the ground, landing on his backside with a smirk, wiping the blood from his nose.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    Walker moved immediately, stepping forward, his shield raised, muscles flexed and ready for a fight.

    Before he could take another step, Tony Stark¡¯s hand snapped up, the whine of a fully charged repulsor blast flaring to life, aimed directly at Walker¡¯s chest. Falcon¡¯s wings unfurled beside him, and Janet, still in her Wasp suit, hovered at Walker¡¯s flank, her bio-stingers already glowing with charged energy.

    ¡°Don¡¯t think about it, <i>Tennessee Whiskey</i>,¡± Stark said, his voice smooth but laced with warning. "I''ve got a fully loaded, billionaire-funded, arc reactor-powered hand cannon pointed at your ugly SWAT helmet, and trust me, you won¡¯t like what happens next."

    Walker gritted his teeth, his fingers twitching around his shield¡¯s grip, but he didn¡¯t advance. He knew better than to test Stark when he was already pissed off.

    Fury, still sitting on the ground, let out a gravelly chuckle, spitting a bit of blood to the side before he extended a hand toward Steve.

    "Nice right hook, Rogers."

    Steve glared at him for a moment before gripping Fury¡¯s forearm and pulling him to his feet, his expression deadly serious.

    "Captain," Fury said, brushing off his coat, "I take it that punch means you don¡¯t approve of the operation here?"

    Steve didn¡¯t even blink. "No, Fury. This is detestable. I won¡¯t condone human experiments of such brutality¡ªeven by SHIELD."

    Fury exhaled, rolling his jaw as he dabbed at the blood beneath his nose. "Cap, Cap. This is just Homeland Security. Sometimes you have to get dirty to deal with the dirtier."

    Steve¡¯s fist clenched around his shield, his knuckles white against the vibranium edge. "Your agents are dead, Fury."

    The smirk on Fury¡¯s face faded. His good eye darkened slightly, and for the first time since he walked in, there was a flicker of something almost¡­ regretful. "Yes," he admitted, his voice lower. "That was a terrible oversight. You can rest assured we¡¯re doing the best we can to ensure their families are compensated, and this won¡¯t happen again."

    Steve¡¯s jaw tightened, his teeth grinding against each other. "It better not, Fury. It better not, because if I have to hear ¡®Kill me¡¯ come from a tortured man suffering inside a machine again¡ªI will come and end this myself."

    The room went dead silent.

    Fury nodded slowly, brushing the dust off his coat. "Duly noted, Captain." He turned toward the unconscious scientist still slumped against the wall. "Doctor, you¡¯ve been a dirty man. Nobody asked you to do this."

    The scientist, still in a dazed state, muttered something incoherent before his head lolled forward.

    "I didn''t," Adler mumbled. "We put inhibitors in their brains. It was¡ª"

    "Enough talking," Fury cut him off sharply, before turning toward Walker. "<i>USAgent</i>, arrest this man."

    Walker didn''t hesitate. He strode forward, fist clenched, then slugged Adler across the jaw, knocking him out cold again before hoisting his unconscious body over his shoulder.

    Walker looked back at Steve, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Bet it felt great doing it the first time, Cap."

    Steve didn¡¯t react.

    Walker shifted the weight of Adler¡¯s body, already cuffed, and stepped back toward Fury.

    "What are you doing with him, Fury?" Steve asked, his voice like stone.

    Fury straightened his coat. "We¡¯re taking him into custody, by the book. We¡¯ll get to the bottom of this. This wasn¡¯t supposed to happen."

    "You weren¡¯t aware of this?" Steve asked, narrowing his eyes.

    Fury¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change. "Not at the scope of present operations, no."

    Steve¡¯s fingers tightened against his shield. "Fury, don¡¯t lie to me."

    Fury met his gaze, unreadable as always. "I¡¯m not, Rogers. I¡¯m wiser than that." He exhaled. "This was meant to further our understanding of bio-mechanical hybrids. That¡¯s all."

    "Fury, this ends here." Steve¡¯s voice was low, unwavering.

    Fury gave a small, tired shrug. "I promise, no more putting brains in robots to suffer."

    Steve¡¯s eyes burned into him. "This isn¡¯t a joke, Fury."

    Fury finally sighed, waving a dismissive hand. "Relax, Rogers. We¡¯ll handle it from here. Avengers¡ª" He glanced toward the team, smirking. "You¡¯re dismissed."

    Steve¡¯s fingers curled at his sides, his muscles rigid as steel.

    "We¡¯ll talk, Fury." He turned toward his team, his voice steady, "Avengers, let¡¯s move."

    As the team started toward the exit, Walker¡¯s voice rang out, dripping with amusement.

    "See you around, Avengers."

    Steve didn¡¯t turn back.

    He just kept walking, his shield heavy on his back, as they left the nightmare behind.

    The roar of the Quinjet¡¯s engines hummed low and steady against the tarmac, a mechanical beast waiting to ferry the Avengers to their next fight. The high noon sun glinted off its dark exterior, reflecting the gathered SHIELD operatives working to secure the scene behind them.

    As Steve Rogers and his team emerged from the facility, the air was thick with the scent of scorched metal, burned circuits, and the unmistakable chemical residue of energy weapons. Even outside, the weight of what they had just witnessed pressed heavy on their shoulders.

    Captain Marvel, Black Widow, and Hawkeye stood waiting at the Quinjet¡¯s open ramp.

    Carol Danvers, clad in her red, blue, and gold uniform, arms crossed over her chest, her expression unreadable behind the gleam of her golden sash. Natasha Romanoff¡¯s icy green eyes flicked over the team, taking them in with the same efficiency she¡¯d use to scan a battlefield. Hawkeye¡ªClint Barton¡ªchewed absently on a toothpick, his casual stance at odds with the sharpness of his gaze, taking in every detail.

    Tony Stark was the first to break the silence.

    ¡°Good of you to come pick us up, Nat.¡± He quipped, shaking off the dust from his armor¡¯s shoulder plates, his helmet retracting with a soft hiss. "I was beginning to think I''d have to hitchhike back to civilization. Not like I could fly or something."

    Natasha smirked slightly but said nothing, her attention shifting to Steve.

    Carol Danvers took a step forward, her brows furrowed slightly as she assessed the tension radiating from the group. ¡°What do you got, Steve?¡±

    Steve took a breath, his jaw still tight from the confrontation with Fury. He met Carol¡¯s gaze with the grim resolve of a soldier who had just seen something that shouldn''t exist.

    ¡°SHIELD was using AIM personnel to build robots using human brains.¡± The words hit the air like a hammer, stark and unfiltered.

    There was a heavy pause.

    Carol¡¯s golden glow flickered briefly around her fingers before she clenched her fist, forcing it back down. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ very disturbing.¡± Her voice was controlled, but the edge of disgust was unmistakable.

    Natasha, ever unreadable, simply exhaled sharply, her eyes darting toward Clint.

    Clint let out a low whistle, shaking his head. ¡°Damn. That¡¯s a whole new level of screwed up.¡±

    Tony, running a hand through his dust-covered hair, shrugged with mock exasperation. ¡°Oh, you know. Just your standard government-funded mad science experiment gone wrong. Very HYDRA-like behavior.¡± His voice was dripping with sarcasm, but the way his eyes darkened behind the joke made it clear how serious he was.

    Natasha¡¯s fingers twitched at her side. ¡°Did Fury show up?¡±

    Steve nodded once, his expression grim. ¡°Yeah. With Walker.¡±

    At that, Carol¡¯s posture stiffened slightly. ¡°And?¡±

    ¡°He said he would handle it.¡± Steve¡¯s voice was neutral, but the lack of conviction behind it spoke volumes.

    Carol arched a brow, but it was Natasha who asked the next question, her voice sharp and to the point.

    ¡°Do you trust him?¡±

    Steve hesitated for only a fraction of a second before answering.

    ¡°No.¡±

    That one word hung in the air like a live wire.

    Tony sighed, running a gloved hand over his face, smearing some dust across his cheek. ¡°Which is why we¡¯re heading to Houston.¡±

    Clint tilted his head, popping the toothpick from his mouth and flicking it away. ¡°Texas, huh? And here I thought we were done with cowboy problems after dealing with Walker.¡±

    ¡°<i>BBQ</i>, anyone?¡± Tony asked, ever the opportunist, a cocky smirk creeping onto his lips.

    Janet rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. ¡°You know what? I¡¯m actually in. Haven¡¯t had good Texas brisket in a while.¡±

    Carol, however, wasn¡¯t smiling. ¡°Where¡¯s Thor and Hulk?¡±

    Natasha turned to her. ¡°Thor had to handle a problem in Asgard. Some Frost Giant nonsense. He apologizes¡ªsaid he¡¯d be back by the end of the day.¡±

    ¡°Understood.¡± Steve nodded. "Hopefully, it doesn''t escalate."

    But then Carol¡¯s expression hardened as she reached into her suit¡¯s side pouch and handed Steve a tablet.

    ¡°Also, about Houston. There¡¯s something you might want to know.¡±

    Steve took the tablet, his brow furrowing as he tapped the screen, and a live news broadcast flickered to life.

    "This morning, protests erupted all over Houston as new information surfaced regarding Carraro Security¡¯s alleged involvement with the extremist anti-mutant organization, the Friends of Humanity."

    "The revelation spread rapidly across social media, triggering mass demonstrations outside City Hall by mutant rights activists."

    "However, just hours later, counter-protests by anti-mutant factions emerged miles away. Tensions between the groups have escalated throughout the morning, with eyewitness reports indicating that the situation has devolved into full-blown riots across the city. Law enforcement officials are currently struggling to maintain order, as looters and opportunistic gang violence have compounded the crisis.¡±

    <i>"The Governor has reportedly considered deploying the National Guard</i><i> <i><b></b></i>to quell the violence, though no official decision has been announced yet¡ª"</i>

    The video abruptly cut out.

    Steve exhaled slowly, his grip tightening on the tablet.

    Carol crossed her arms. ¡°Mutants.¡± The way she said it wasn¡¯t an accusation¡ªit was a statement of fact, tinged with something unspoken.

    Steve¡¯s jaw tightened further. ¡°Carol, not now.¡±

    She gave a slight nod, not pushing further.

    Natasha, however, was already thinking two steps ahead. ¡°Who do we have on the ground?¡±

    ¡°The Rangers.¡± Steve replied immediately.

    Carol tilted her head slightly. ¡°Still active?¡±

    ¡°Always.¡±

    The Rangers were your usual SHIELD backed, Avengers trusted, regional superhero team,a registered, loosely affiliated group of enhanced individuals operating out of American Southwest.

    Natasha¡¯s brows raised slightly. ¡°Who¡¯s leading them these days?¡±

    Steve let out a small breath, almost smirking despite the situation.

    <b>¡°</b><i>Texas Twister.¡±</i>

    Carol sighed, shaking her head. ¡°Of course it¡¯s Texas Twister.¡±

    Tony clapped his hands together, grinning. <b>¡°</b>Ah, yes. The human tornado. That guy is way too into the whole cowboy thing.¡±

    "Says the guy who tried to make a repulsor-powered mechanical horse once," Janet deadpanned.

    Tony held up a finger. ¡°First of all, that was science.¡±

    Steve ignored the banter, already moving toward the Quinjet¡¯s ramp. ¡°Tony, call Twister. I need to talk to him.¡±

    Stark gave a mock salute as he tapped into his suit¡¯s holo-interface. ¡°Ok, let me see... hmmm... Daredevil, Captain Britain, Guardian, Mr. Fantastic, Namor...¡±

    Wasp rolled her eyes "Yuck"

    "Can you go faster Tony, don''t you have a search option?" Sam snorted.

    "Sentry... Aha! <i>Texas Twister</i>"

    As the Quinjet¡¯s engines roared to life, Steve stepped aboard, his expression unreadable. The weight of the mission ahead pressed heavy on his shoulders, but he wasn¡¯t about to let Houston burn¡ªnot today.

    The Quinjet''s holographic display flickered as the call connected, and suddenly, the familiar face of <i>Drew Daniels¡ªTexas Twister</i>¡ªappeared on the screen. His thick blonde mustache curled slightly, a signature part of his rugged cowboy aesthetic. The brim of his pristine white cowboy hat cast a shadow over the blue mask that covered his eyes, giving him a look that was equal parts classic Texan lawman and seasoned superhero. His voice carried the warm twang of the South, a tone polite yet firm, ever the image of a man who took his responsibilities seriously.

    "Howdy, Captain America," Daniels greeted, tipping his hat slightly with a knowing grin. "It''s a pleasure to see ya."

    Steve, arms crossed over his broad chest, nodded respectfully. "Pleasure is mutual, Daniels."

    Daniels leaned in slightly, his blue-gloved hands resting on what looked like the control panel of his own aircraft. "How can the Rangers help ya, sir?"

    "Are you in Texas?" Steve asked, already bracing for a response he wouldn''t like.

    Daniels hesitated briefly, adjusting the angle of his hat before shaking his head. "I reckon we ain''t, Cap. We¡¯re in Arizona right now¡ªthere¡¯s been some real bad business with cartels down here. Nasty stuff involving some kinda proliferation of Sentinel tech. We¡¯re handlin¡¯ it as we speak."

    Still, Cap focused on the problem at hand. "Have you seen what''s going down in Houston?"

    Daniels'' expression turned serious, the easy-going drawl in his voice losing some of its lightheartedness. "We heard, sir, but we¡¯re mighty busy out West. Ain''t much we can do right now."

    Steve sighed, running a hand over jaw in frustration. <i>The Rangers</i> were a valuable team, but they couldn¡¯t be everywhere at once.

    "Do you have any men on the ground?" he asked.

    Daniels seemed to consider that for a moment before nodding. "Well, the kid is there."

    Steve frowned slightly, tilting his head. "Kid? What kid?"

    Daniels smirked faintly. "The Alamo, sir."

    The room went silent for half a second before Carol Danvers groaned audibly, crossing her arms over her chest. Her frustration was palpable.

    "Another mutant maverick," she muttered under her breath, her tone heavy with disinterest.

    Tony Stark, standing beside her, smirked as his helmet retracted with a metallic hiss, exposing his smug expression. "Carol, that¡¯s not very politically correct of you."

    Carol turned to him with a sharp glare. "Cry about it, Stark."

    Tony grinned. "I would, but I think my emotional range doesn¡¯t allow it."

    Steve ignored the exchange, keeping his focus on the screen. "Thank you for the heads-up, Daniels."

    Daniels gave a slight, respectful nod. "It ain''t nothin'', Cap. Rangers are here to help, y''know that."

    Steve exhaled through his nose, knowing there wasn¡¯t much more they could ask of them right now. "Good luck in Arizona."

    "And good luck in Texas, Cap." With that, Texas Twister¡¯s image flickered out, leaving only the mission briefing on the screen.

    There was a beat of silence before Carol scoffed, shaking her head. "We¡¯re really doing this?"

    Steve turned to face her, already sensing the incoming argument. "Carol?"

    Carol¡¯s blue eyes were sharp, her lips pressed into a tight line. "I¡¯d rather not, really. Mutant issues are none of my concern, especially if the X-Men and their little <i>pet absorber</i> shows up."

    That last remark earned her a few pointed looks. Sam Wilson¡¯s jaw tensed slightly, but it was Janet Van Dyne who spoke first.

    "Carol, that¡¯s¡ª" Janet started.

    Steve cut her off with a firm look. "Carol, more respect, please."

    Carol turned to him fully now, and for a moment, her usual confidence seemed to darken into something colder. She took a step closer, her tone lower but brimming with something raw. "Try being in a coma for<i> three months</i> and almost losing all your memories forever, Captain."

    Steve didn¡¯t break eye contact. He understood the weight of what she meant¡ªwhat Rogue had done to her all those years ago. The trauma of that event had been imprinted in her very being, and no amount of diplomacy could erase it.

    Still, this wasn¡¯t about that. This was about Houston, about people who needed help.

    Carol must have realized that too, because she sighed heavily, rolling her shoulders back as if physically shaking the conversation off. "Forget it. I¡¯ve got other things to do."

    She turned on her heel. "I¡¯ll head out to meet with Ms. Marvel and the young ones, train them a bit. Meet you back here later."

    Steve watched her go, exhaling slightly once she disappeared down the ramp.

    Natasha Romanoff stepped forward next, arms still crossed. "What about us?"

    Steve turned to her and Clint. "Nat, Clint¡ªI¡¯ll need you two to stay here. Keep an eye on SHIELD, monitor satellite feeds, and watch for anything unusual. If anything escalates, notify us immediately."

    Clint gave a lazy salute, ever the laid-back soldier. "Got it, Cap."

    Natasha nodded, her expression unreadable but focused. "Understood."

    With that, Carol, Natasha, and Clint stepped off the Quinjet, their figures disappearing into the busy SHIELD airstrip.

    Steve turned back to the remaining team, rolling his shoulders back.

    "Avengers, looks like we¡¯re going south."

    The hatch of the Quinjet sealed shut behind them, the engines roaring louder as the aircraft began its ascent. The next stop¡ªHouston, Texas. And whatever chaos awaited them there.

 Chapter 5: Order Through Law, Justice With Mercy

    The early morning in Houston was supposed to be quiet, the type of day where the city¡¯s heartbeat had yet to pick up. The sky still had a muted grayness to it, the sun hidden behind a layer of thick clouds, casting a dim, pale light over the streets. The air was humid, thick with the kind of moisture that clung to the skin and made everything feel heavier than it should be.

    Inside a small jewelry store, a woman worked behind the glass counter, her delicate fingers carefully polishing a diamond necklace that rested on a velvet stand. The rhythmic whirr of a small buffer tool hummed in the shop¡¯s background, a steady, familiar sound that helped keep her nerves calm. A small television sat on the far corner of the counter, muted but still showing the morning news¡ªlive footage of the escalating protests downtown.

    Her eyes flickered toward the screen, watching as the anchor narrated the situation with a mixture of urgency and unease.

    <i>"This morning, pro-mutant demonstrators have taken to the streets in downtown Houston, calling for action against Carraro Industries and Trask International¡ª"</i>

    She sighed, shaking her head. She had seen the footage already¡ªa sea of protestors, their signs raised high, their voices loud and impassioned. The phrase ¡°<i>Freedom for Mutants</i>!¡± flashed across the screen in bold white letters, with footage of marchers waving mutant flags and some dressed in makeshift versions of the X-Men¡¯s iconic uniforms.

    More sirens wailed outside.

    Her stomach twisted. It wasn¡¯t uncommon for Houston to have protests, but this? This was different. The streets were packed, the sheer size of the movement larger than anything she¡¯d seen before. The streets were practically swallowed by bodies¡ªmutants and human allies alike, marching, chanting, and waving flags of all kinds.

    Some were waving the American flag, others carried mutant-rights banners covered in Xs and slogans. Some even had flags from other causes¡ªenvironmental groups, anti-corporate activists, and even a few anarchist symbols mixed into the chaos. It was a tangled mess of voices, all fighting for something, but the energy in the air felt volatile.

    She wiped her hands on a cloth, stepped out from behind the counter, and moved toward the front of the store. The glass windows vibrated slightly as the protest crowd surged past, the ground rumbling beneath their marching feet.

    "I should close up," she thought, moving toward the door. She reached for the ¡°<i>OPEN</i>¡± sign and flipped it to ¡°<i>CLOSED</i>¡±, locking the bolts with a quiet click.

    "Jesus," she murmured, still staring out onto the street.

    A group of teenagers in hoodies ran past, spray cans in their hands, and she watched as one of them tagged her window with red paint. Large, hurried strokes formed the word ¡°<i>CARRARO SCUM</i>¡±, followed by a hastily drawn X symbol underneath.

    She gasped, stepping back.

    "This is getting out of hand..."

    She turned away from the window, her hands trembling slightly as she tried to push down the fear creeping up her spine.

    Then she heard it¡ªa sudden, violent <i>CRASH!</i>

    Her head snapped back toward the entrance just as the front door splintered apart, the hinges twisting from the force of the impact. Shards of glass exploded into the store, scattering across the floor with an eerie tinkling sound.

    Her heart pounded in her chest.

    A figure stepped through the broken doorway, and her breath hitched in terror.

    A man with blue skin and glowing yellow eyes strode inside, his boots crunching over the shattered glass. He wore a ragged denim jacket, the sleeves torn off, revealing lean but muscled arms, his skin marked with faded scars. In his right hand, he held a revolver, the dark metal catching the dim morning light.

    Behind him, a woman followed, her sharp teeth gleaming in the dim lighting of the shop. Her red eyes burned with feral excitement, her wild black hair streaked with white. She was tall and wiry, dressed in a dark hoodie and ripped jeans, the baseball bat in her hands stained with old scratches and dents.

    "Give the money, lady," the blue-skinned man growled, tapping the revolver against his thigh. His voice was rough, his accent Houstonian but tinged with something older, something bitter.

    "It''s for a good cause!" the woman sneered, her voice high and grating as she lifted the bat onto her shoulder.

    The woman behind the counter froze, her hands instinctively flying up in front of her chest. Her legs felt weak, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

    The man took another step forward, pressing his revolver against the glass counter with a sharp thunk.

    "Fast, bitch!" the red-eyed woman barked, her grip on the baseball bat tightening.

    Her hands shook as she turned toward the cash register, her fingers fumbling over the buttons. With a beep, the drawer slid open, revealing stacks of twenties and hundreds nestled inside.

    The blue-skinned man watched her closely, his gun now pointed directly at her head.

    "Faster," he said, his voice dangerously low. "We know there''s more."

    The woman behind the counter whimpered, grabbing fistfuls of cash and shoving them toward the pair. Her hands moved frantically, bills slipping from her grasp as she trembled uncontrollably.

    "FASTER," the man snapped.

    "<i>GIVE THE GOLD, BITCH!</i>" the woman hissed, her sharp teeth flashing as she raised her bat menacingly.

    The woman let out a quiet sob, her knees nearly buckling beneath her.

    "Please," she choked out. "Please don''t hurt me, I swear, please!"

    The blue-skinned man¡¯s expression darkened, his patience wearing thin. He leaned forward, pressing the cold muzzle of the revolver against her forehead.

    The barrel was cold, its weight heavy with intent.

    "I was nice so far," he said, his voice disturbingly calm. "Please, lady¡­ <i>faster</i>¡­ or I''ll blow your brains out and get everything myself."

    And then¡ª

    <i>BANG.</i>

    The moment the gunshot rang out, it shattered the fragile tension in the air.

    The female mutant¡¯s head snapped backward, her skull bursting open from the impact of a slug round, sending a gruesome spray of blood and bone splattering across the counter and floor. Her lifeless body crumpled instantly, twitching violently for a few seconds before she finally stilled, her arms sprawled awkwardly.

    Her baseball bat clattered onto the tile with a hollow clunk, rolling slightly before settling beside her corpse.

    The blue-skinned mutant¡¯s eyes went wide, his pupils shrinking in absolute terror as his chest tightened. He sucked in a ragged breath, his lungs burning, his instincts screaming at him to run¡ªbut his legs wouldn¡¯t move.

    His trembling hands gripped his revolver tighter, his entire body going stiff as he stared through the thick smoke that still hung in the air.

    Through it, he saw the shooter emerge.

    A towering figure, 6¡¯4, broad-shouldered, his presence imposing as a storm front. He moved with purpose, slow and methodical, his steps deliberate, heavy boots thudding against the tile.

    The smoke began to clear, revealing his uniform¡ªa dark, padded tactical suit, armored across the chest and shoulders, the silver star of a badge gleaming just above his heart. It wasn¡¯t Houston PD.

    A massive shotgun rested in his gloved hands, the metal still smoking from the shot, the barrel thick and customized¡ªa weapon built for absolute lethality. The pistol grip was worn, molded to fit his grip perfectly, the pump-action smooth as he chambered another round with a deliberate clack-clack.

    His face was hidden behind a mask¡ªchrome-plated, reflective, and completely featureless. No mouth, no eyes, no nose¡ªjust an eerie, expressionless void.

    Atop his head sat a black eight-point police hat, adding to the grim, authoritarian presence he carried.

    The robber¡¯s breathing became erratic, his fingers twitching as he scrambled back, his revolver jerking upward in desperation.

    ¡°Goddammit!¡± he cursed, his voice cracking with fear.

    His back hit the glass display counter, the surface cold and unforgiving against his spine.

    The towering figure took another step forward, his boots crushing the scattered shards of broken glass beneath his weight.

    ¡°Drop the weapon.¡±

    The voice came distorted, metallic, filtered through a modulator embedded inside the mask. It was deep, commanding, utterly devoid of emotion.

    The robber¡¯s hand shook violently, his gun bouncing slightly in his grip as he aimed at the figure¡¯s chest.

    ¡°Fuck off, man!¡± he shouted, his voice a mixture of panic and raw desperation.

    The chrome-masked enforcer remained unmoved, his trigger finger steady, his stance unshaken.

    ¡°Three.¡±

    The countdown was calm, unflinching, like a judge passing sentence.

    The robber sucked in a sharp breath, his mind racing, his muscles frozen in indecision.

    ¡°Fuck¡ª¡±

    ¡°Two.¡±

    The barrel of the shotgun never wavered, held steady like an executioner¡¯s axe.

    The robber¡¯s heartbeat thundered in his ears, his forehead dripping sweat, his lungs tight.

    ¡°What are you?!¡± he demanded, his voice cracking.

    The answer came without hesitation.

    ¡°One.¡±

    The shotgun roared.

    A thunderous blast ripped through the air, the force so powerful that it nearly shook the glass cases.

    The slug struck the robber square in the face, the sheer impact obliterating his skull in an instant. Bone, flesh, and brain matter sprayed across the counter and walls, a grotesque splatter of crimson and gray.

    His mangled headed corpse jerked backward, his arms limp, the revolver slipping from his fingers and clattering to the floor. His legs gave out, and his body collapsed into a lifeless heap, pooling in the rapidly expanding puddle of blood beneath him.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    The store fell deathly silent, save for the soft drip, drip, drip of blood trickling from the shattered glass counter.

    The chrome-masked figure stood over the body, his grip unwavering on the shotgun, his presence still and cold, like a specter of judgment.

    "I''m the<i> Americop</i>"

    The jeweler gasped for air, her body trembling violently, her knees buckling beneath her as she collapsed to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably.

    <i>"AHHHHHH!"</i>

    Her cries echoed in the hollow silence, her hands shaking so badly that she could barely keep herself upright.

    The figure turned toward her, his helmeted head tilting slightly, as if observing her reaction. Then, finally, he spoke.

    ¡°You are safe, lady. Call the police.¡±

    His voice was calm, almost mechanical, unfazed by the bloodshed around him.

    She lifted her tear-streaked face, her eyes wide with shock and horror, her breath coming in broken sobs.

    ¡°And¡­ what do I even tell them?!¡± she stammered, her voice cracking.

    The masked figure slowly turned away, his shotgun resting at his side, the dim morning light glinting off the featureless chrome of his helmet.

    Then, in a voice as cold as steel, he answered.

    <i>¡°Tell them justice was served.¡±</i>

    Americop stepped into the sunlight, his heavy boots clicking against the pavement as he emerged onto the street. The morning air was tense, sirens echoed in the distance, but there was no immediate police presence here. Instead, there was chaos¡ªshattered glass, overturned newsstands, and broken store signs littered the sidewalks as rioters moved in and out of looted shops.

    Across the street, a convenience store had just been ransacked, the door still swinging open as three robbers sprinted out, their arms weighed down by stolen merchandise and hastily grabbed cash. Their faces were covered in bandanas, but their panicked movements betrayed their lack of experience. They weren¡¯t professionals¡ªthey were opportunists.

    From the far side of the sidewalk, a woman¡¯s voice rang out, desperate and pleading.

    ¡°Someone stop them! Police!¡±

    Americop¡¯s grip on his shotgun tightened, the polymer handle cool against his gloved hands. His head tilted slightly, the chrome mask reflecting the chaotic scene around him like a warped funhouse mirror. The city was lawless this morning, the line between protest and riot already blurred beyond recognition.

    His voice, deep and distorted through his modulator, came out as a calm declaration of absolute judgment.

    ¡°Gladly.¡±

    Before any of the robbers could even react, Americop raised his shotgun, the movement smooth, practiced, lethal¡ªand fired.

    BOOM!

    The first robber¡¯s spine arched unnaturally as a slug tore through his back, punching straight through his chest and bursting out the other side in a gruesome spray of crimson. His body collapsed mid-stride, momentum sending him skidding forward before he came to a halt, lifeless.

    The second man screamed, flinching as blood splattered across his face, but before he could turn¡ª

    BOOM!

    The second shot ripped through his ribcage, sending him crashing onto the curb, his stolen goods spilling across the ground in a useless pile.

    The third man barely managed to let out a single breath before¡ª

    BOOM!

    A slug slammed into the back of his skull, his head snapping forward violently as he crumbled into a heap next to his accomplices, his lifeblood pooling onto the pavement.

    The street was silent.

    Americop slowly lowered his shotgun, smoke still drifting from the barrel as he stepped forward, his boots splashing through warm, fresh blood without hesitation.

    He bent down, retrieving the bag of stolen goods, and walked toward the woman who had cried out for help.

    She stood frozen, eyes wide with horror, but when he held out the bag to her, she hesitated before taking it. Her fingers trembled against the fabric, but she swallowed dryly, nodding.

    ¡°Th¡ªthank you.¡±

    Americop¡¯s voice, strangely warm despite its cold distortion, responded simply.

    <i>¡°You¡¯re welcome, ma¡¯am.¡±</i>

    He turned sharply, striding away as the hushed murmurs of bystanders filled the space behind him, whispers of shock and approval mingling in equal measure.

    Americop moved swiftly, ducking into a nearby alley, his path leading to a sleek, heavily modified police-inspired motorcycle parked in the shadows. The bike was a beast¡ªall matte black plating, reinforced frame, with police siren lights subtly embedded along the sides and a reinforced holster for his shotgun mounted on the handlebars.

    But he wasn¡¯t alone.

    Standing near the mouth of the alley, arms crossed over his chest, was another masked figure.

    shorter, draped in black, not much differently from him.

    His wide-brimmed cowboy hat cast a shadow over his chrome mask, the reflective surface glowing faintly in the light. Unlike Americop, this mask had eyes¡ªred, piercing, flickering like embers beneath the brim of his hat. A white star adorned his chest, bold and gleaming, stark against the dark coat he wore.

    <i>The Alamo</i>

    His white gloves flexed slightly, fingers curling and uncurling as if resisting the urge to move toward his weapons.

    Americop stared back, his own chrome mask unreadable, but he already knew who this was.

    ¡°Killin¡¯ ain¡¯t the answer, partner,¡± the Alamo said, his voice young but guttural in that West Texan accent,  heavy with disapproval.

    His stance was relaxed, but there was a tense readiness beneath it¡ªan unspoken understanding that violence was one wrong move away.

    ¡°The hell are ya?¡±

    Americop studied him for a moment before replying.

    ¡°I¡¯m the <i>Americop</i>.¡±

    There was a beat of silence.

    The name lingered in the air, heavy, charged with meaning.

    Alamo¡¯s jaw tensed beneath his mask. The name rang with the weight of something more than just a title¡ªsomething symbolic, something twisted from its original meaning. But also something amazingly cheesy, like it was taken from a comic book itself, maybe it even was.

    He swallowed dryly.

    Then, finally, he spoke.

    ¡°The hell kinda name is <i>Americop</i>? Who came up with that?¡±

    Americop didn¡¯t answer.

    Instead, he lifted his shotgun, resting it against the side of his motorcycle, keeping it within easy reach.

    Alamo¡¯s posture didn¡¯t change, but his stance shifted just slightly, just enough to be ready for whatever came next.

    ¡°Ahem, well,¡± Alamo muttered, tilting his head slightly. ¡°I sure as hell don¡¯t appreciate this whole killin¡¯ people left and right.¡±

    Americop finally responded, his voice calm, unwavering.

    ¡°Go back to Midland, Nenni.¡±

    The name hit harder than a bullet.

    Alamo stiffened.

    His muscles tensed, his hands flexed slightly, but he didn¡¯t move.

    He knew.

    This bastard knew his name. His hometown.

    Maybe he¡¯d done his research, maybe he¡¯d heard it from the news, maybe it was just simple detective work¡ªbut it still stung. The fact that someone like this knew who he was¡­

    Alamo exhaled slowly, forcing himself to push past the anger.

    ¡°Sorry, I won¡¯t do that, Americop.¡±

    Americop didn¡¯t react. He simply tilted his head, as if studying him.

    ¡°If you¡¯re here to defend mutantkind, first¡ªyou¡¯re late. Secondly, I have nothing against your kind. Just criminals.¡±

    Alamo¡¯s brow furrowed beneath his mask.

    ¡°I ain¡¯t here fer mutantkind. I¡¯m here to defend Texan businesses, Texan lives¡ªhuman and mutant alike.¡±

    Americop¡¯s voice was matter-of-fact.

    ¡°Too bad. You''re late¡±

    Alamo exhaled through his nose, his voice lowering just slightly.

    ¡°Hell, I ain¡¯t here fer a joke. I¡¯m tryin¡¯ to make sure this don¡¯t blow up in our faces.¡±

    Americop finally moved, shifting his weight slightly as he reached for his bike.

    He swung one leg over the seat, settling in comfortably as he grabbed the handlebars. The engine rumbled slightly, a deep, guttural growl waiting to be unleashed.

    Alamo took a step closer, boots scuffing against the pavement.

    His voice was quieter now, but dead serious.

    ¡°What are ya doin¡¯ here?¡±

    Americop¡¯s hands tightened slightly on the grips.

    ¡°Same as you. Making sure criminals pay.¡±

    Alamo¡¯s glowing red eyes flickered beneath his hat, his shoulders squaring slightly.

    ¡°In the process killin'' em'' too?¡±

    Americop¡¯s head tilted just a fraction.

    ¡°It¡¯s the only process that works.¡±

    Alamo didn¡¯t move, didn¡¯t blink.

    His jaw clenched beneath the mask.

    ¡°I can¡¯t let ya go ¡®round bein¡¯ judge, jury, and executioner here, partner.¡±

    Americop¡¯s hand flexed slightly on the throttle.

    The bike rumbled, as if responding to the silent tension between them.

    And for a long, long moment¡ªneither of them moved.

    Then, Americop spoke.

    "Listen here Nenni, I don''t give two shits on who you are... I don''t care if you were birthed from damn <i>Sam Houston</i> himself, don''t give this sanctimonious crap to me. You want to defend the city of Houston, it''s fine. Do it. But if you''re going to stand in my way, I''ll put you down... not because I want to or because I like it... but because people need it, the more you talk, the more people die."

    "Well, ya certainly ain''t keepin'' em'' alive, either."

    "These are not people, they are violent criminals, animals. Mutant and Human alike"

    He spoke just like Alamo had spoke seconds ago.

    "Dang it."

    "If you want to help me, fine, do it... just don''t stand around doing nothing."

    "Alright, I''ll... help. Just don''t expect me to go all in and kill people."

    "You do things your way, I do mine."

    Americop¡¯s bike roared beneath him, the engine¡¯s deep growl reverberating off the buildings as they tore through the war-torn streets of Houston. The city, his city, was burning¡ªnot in flames, not yet¡ªbut in something far worse.

    <i>Hatred. Chaos. Lawlessness.</i>

    Americop heard the police chatter over his scanner.

    "There''s is some gang violence spilling in Midtown. We''re headed there."

    The streets were filled with marchers, protestors, rioters, and opportunistic criminals¡ªall tangled together in a toxic whirlwind that blurred the lines between right and wrong.

    And here he was.

    The only thin blue line that mattered.

    Beside him, Alamo hovered just above the pavement, his dark form illuminated by the morning Texas sun. His plasma signature burned faintly, leaving a soft blue contrail behind him, but he kept his pace steady with Americop¡¯s.

    There was an uneasy silence between them.

    Both men rode toward war, but they weren¡¯t soldiers on the same side¡ªnot yet.

    Alamo glanced at Americop, taking in the heavy Kevlar plating, the tactical rig, the unmarked badge on his chest, the reflective chrome mask that concealed every emotion.

    Then, he finally spoke, his voice smooth but cautious.

    ¡°So, ahem¡­ ya a local?¡±

    Americop didn¡¯t turn his head.

    ¡°Yes, Nenni.¡± His voice was matter-of-fact, firm, almost robotic. ¡°I was a police captain for fourteen years.¡±

    Alamo exhaled sharply, raising an eyebrow behind his mask.

    ¡°Jesus Christ. Ya got a name, Captain?¡±

    For the first time, Americop hesitated. It wasn¡¯t hesitation out of weakness¡ªit was something else. Something darker.

    Then, with a voice as cold as steel, he answered.

    ¡°<i>Bartholomew Gallows</i>. And don¡¯t call me Captain.¡±

    Alamo rolled the name in his mind for a second. It was old school. Harsh. Heavy. It fit him.

    But the name itself wasn¡¯t what mattered. It was the way he said it.

    It was a name from another life.

    ¡°What happened?¡± Alamo finally asked.

    Americop¡¯s knuckles tightened on the throttle, the leather of his gloves creaking under the pressure.

    For the first time in their conversation, his voice lowered, but not in anger.

    In something else. Something worse.

    ¡°The justice system is rotten, Nenni. That¡¯s what happened.¡±

    Alamo frowned, his red eyes narrowing slightly behind his mask.

    ¡°I reckon that¡¯s not untrue¡­ Took ya fourteen years to realize that?¡±

    Americop¡¯s silence was deafening.

    Then he spoke.

    ¡°Took the life of my daughter.¡±

    Alamo¡¯s chest tightened. His throat went dry.

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    Americop didn¡¯t slow his bike, didn¡¯t react, didn¡¯t even turn his head.

    But his voice changed.

    There was no fury in it¡ªjust a hollow, bottomless void where something else used to be.

    ¡°She was twelve. Just a little kid. When they took her life.¡±

    Alamo felt his fingers twitch.

    He wasn¡¯t even sure why¡ªwas it anger? Was it sorrow? Was it guilt?

    It didn¡¯t matter. None of it mattered.

    Because then, Americop said the words that cut deeper than any knife ever could.

    ¡°They had their way with her.¡±

    Alamo¡¯s stomach turned violently. His whole body went stiff, a sickening feeling creeping into his bones.

    For the first time in a long time, his mind didn¡¯t have a response.

    <i>No philosophy.

    No bravado.

    No conviction.</i>

    Just cold, gut-wrenching horror.

    ¡°Oh my God¡­¡± Alamo muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

    Americop kept talking, and that was the worst part.

    ¡°The bastard was connected.¡± His voice was still flat, emotionless, like he was just reciting a police report from years past. ¡°Local politicians. Attorneys. The D.A¡­ He had all of them in his pocket. I was a Captain, and even then, the bastard got away.¡±

    Alamo swallowed hard, forcing himself to speak.

    ¡°Did ya¡ª¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    Americop¡¯s answer was immediate.

    He didn¡¯t explain. He didn¡¯t hesitate.

    He just said it.

    Because it was fact.

    ¡°I killed him. Slowly and painfully.¡±

    Alamo felt the weight of that confession hit him like a freight train.

    And for the first time since meeting him, he understood.

    This wasn¡¯t a man with a vendetta.

    This wasn¡¯t some psychopath playing judge, jury, and executioner.

    This was a father¡ªa father who had lived through something no man should ever live through.

    This was a man who had lost faith in everything¡ªthe system, the laws, the idea that justice even existed.

    And so he became the law himself.

    Alamo felt his fists clench.

    ¡°I see now¡­ I reckon any father would have done the same¡­¡± He exhaled through his nose, carefully choosing his next words. ¡°But these people¡­ they ain¡¯t rapists, are they?¡±

    Americop didn¡¯t answer immediately.

    Then, after a moment, he spoke.

    ¡°No.¡±

    Alamo held onto that.

    ¡°So¡­ is this about vengeance? Like the <i>Punisher</i>?¡±

    Americop actually scoffed, but there was no humor in it.

    ¡°I¡¯m not Frank Castle.¡±

    His gloved fingers curled around the throttle of his bike.

    ¡°This isn¡¯t about vengeance. This is about keeping trash off the streets. And making sure they stay away¡­ forever.¡±

    Alamo set his jaw.

    ¡°I understand that. But ya don¡¯t have to outright kill. I don¡¯t¡ª¡±

    Americop cut him off immediately.

    ¡°I don¡¯t give a shit about what you do or don¡¯t, Nenni.¡±

    Alamo¡¯s red eyes flickered sharply.

    Then he fired back.

    ¡°Mutants can¡¯t have the luxury of killin¡¯ people like that.¡±

    Americop finally turned his head slightly toward him.

    The chrome mask reflected the blue plasma of Alamo¡¯s flight trail, giving him an almost ghostly glow.

    His voice hardened like concrete.

    ¡°I¡¯m not a mutant.¡±

    Then he turned back to the road.

    ¡°And I don¡¯t give a shit about bad press.¡±

    Alamo felt his own frustration rise, but he pushed it down.

    They rode in silence for a few moments before he finally spoke again.

    ¡°Well.¡±

    Americop didn¡¯t respond.

    Alamo exhaled sharply through his nose, then pushed further.

    ¡°Kid, not everything is about mutants.¡± Americop¡¯s voice was measured, calculated. ¡°You mutants think that your individual right to express your powers supercedes people¡¯s safety.¡±

    Alamo bristled.

    His voice came out low and sharp.

    ¡°Y¡¯know¡­ those who give up freedom for safety deserve neither.¡±

    Americop actually laughed.

    It wasn¡¯t amused.

    It wasn¡¯t friendly.

    It was mocking.

    ¡°Save that mantra for young, impressionable mutants who give a damn. Don¡¯t be a smartass around me, Nenni.¡±

    Alamo¡¯s eyes burned.

    ¡°I ain¡¯t. This is conviction. Why should I be forced to comply?¡±

    Americop¡¯s voice didn¡¯t waver.

    ¡°Laws exist to protect people. You have dangerous powers, so follow the law and shut up.¡±

    Alamo¡¯s jaw clenched.

    Then, finally, he threw the question back at him.

    ¡°Are you followin¡¯ the law, Gallows?¡±

    Americop didn¡¯t answer.

    And the silence was louder than any siren in Houston.

 Chapter 6: The Son of Texas

    The silence between them was thick¡ªthe kind of silence that weighed heavy on the chest, the kind that carried the unspoken truth that neither man was willing to fully admit.

    Then, the gunfire erupted.

    Sharp cracks of automatic weapons split the early morning air, the echoes of rapid bursts rattling against the hollow steel of abandoned buildings and street signs. The rhythmic pop-pop-pop of pistols mixed with the deeper, more guttural reports of shotguns and rifles.

    The city was already bleeding, and now it was screaming.

    Alamo took to the skies in a flash of blue plasma, his silhouette a streak against the smoky dawn light. Americop didn¡¯t need to take to the skies. He owned the ground.

    His police-modified motorcycle screeched as he swerved onto the sidewalk, the deep rumble of its engine growling like an animal on the hunt. He barely slowed as he barreled straight toward the chaos, weaving between abandoned vehicles and shattered glass, the weight of his tactical armor unyielding as he reached down to his thigh holster.

    The gangs were in full combat¡ªbullets flying from both sides, bright muzzle flashes illuminating the pale, gray morning.

    Americop didn¡¯t hesitate. He never did.

    He pulled up hard on the handlebars, braking abruptly as his tires screeched against the cracked concrete, stopping just a few yards from the firefight. His helmeted gaze swept over the young men, all too eager to spill each other¡¯s blood.

    "Punks, drop the guns. I give you five seconds."

    Some of them turned, startled by the sudden intrusion. Their eyes darted toward the towering black-armored figure, his chrome mask gleaming in the gunpowder-stained morning light.

    Then, one of them sneered.

    <i>"Fuck you, vato!"</i>

    <i>"Time to die, cop!"</i>

    Americop sighed.

    "I warned you. Playtime is over."

    He raised the shotgun¡ªa customized riot model, its barrel sawed-off just enough to keep the spread tight but the power devastating.

    The first slug thundered from the chamber, sending a brutal shockwave through the alleyway.

    The gangbanger¡ªno older than twenty¡ªjerked backward violently, his skull snapping back before his body crumpled to the pavement, lifeless.

    One shot. One kill. No hesitation.

    Alamo watched from above, his red eyes flickering against the morning glow.

    His hands tightened into fists.

    He wasn¡¯t disgusted.

    But he was shaken.

    It wasn¡¯t the violence that disturbed him¡ªit was the truth behind it.

    He¡¯d spent most of his adult life behind books and computers, fighting with words, numbers, logic, and strategy. Now, he was out here, in the dirt, where the world was uglier, rawer, and infinitely more real.

    And the worst part?

    He didn¡¯t feel sad for the dead man.

    He felt like¡­

    It was just.

    And that scared him.

    Because once you start feeling like justice is just a bullet away¡ªwhere does it stop?

    But he wasn¡¯t about to let Americop turn Houston into an execution ground.

    Alamo dove, a flash of electric blue light cutting through the haze of smoke and gunfire, striking like lightning into the center of the chaos. He landed hard in the middle of the gang members, fists clenched.

    His plasma-charged punch connected with three men in an instant¡ªone in the chin, the other across the jaw, the last catching an uppercut that sent teeth flying in a spray of red and white. The crack of breaking bone echoed over the gunfire as they collapsed, their weapons clattering against the pavement.

    Americop watched from where he stood, his mask giving away nothing.

    "You judge me for killing, but you don¡¯t exactly shy away from brutality, Nenni."

    Alamo exhaled sharply, shaking out his fists.

    "I went too hard. I¡¯m still gettin¡¯ used to this."

    Americop pumped the shotgun.

    "Ain¡¯t no better target to practice on than gang members."

    Alamo snapped his gaze toward him, his voice suddenly sharper.

    "These people are not targets."

    Americop¡¯s tone was ice-cold.

    "You made your first mistake by considering them people."

    Alamo felt his stomach tighten.

    He stepped closer to Americop, lowering his voice, but keeping it firm.

    "What¡¯s the point in killin¡¯ ¡®em, Gallows?"

    Americop didn¡¯t lower his weapon.

    "The reeducation method has failed." His voice was calm, methodical, like he was reading a report, not debating human lives. "In this day and age, a petty drug dealer comes out a violent cartel enforcer. Prison isn¡¯t punishment anymore¡­ it¡¯s<i> boot camp.</i>"

    Alamo frowned.

    "And the solution is to punish em'' yerself?"

    Americop tilted his head slightly, his mask unreadable.

    "They feed off the taxpayer. Food, shelter, entertainment, exercise, healthcare¡­ Not even our veterans get those benefits. But these people?"

    Alamo¡¯s voice hardened.

    "So you expect ¡®em to just die in jail?"

    Americop¡¯s grip tightened on his shotgun.

    "In jail. Before. After. It doesn¡¯t matter."

    Alamo¡¯s blood ran cold.

    "Jesus."

    "I don¡¯t expect them to die. I hope they don¡¯t commit crimes. But, Nenni¡ª" Americop¡¯s voice didn¡¯t waver. "They knew the risks of their decisions. And they took it anyway."

    Alamo¡¯s pulse thundered in his ears.

    "And you fancy yourself as bein¡¯ the consequences of their actions?"

    Americop turned his helmet slightly toward him.

    "Yes."

    His voice was final. Absolute. Uncompromising.

    "You break the law, you get its enforcers. But it¡¯s not just about the law, Nenni¡ªit¡¯s about Justice. Right and wrong."

    He stepped closer.

    "And to do that, you don¡¯t need a badge. Just common sense."

    Then, the sudden roar of approaching engines shattered the moment.

    Both men turned sharply as a fleet of black SUVs screeched around the corner, their tinted windows glinting under the rising Texas sun.

    Then¡ªgunfire erupted again.

    Alamo¡¯s fists crackled with plasma.

    Americop racked his shotgun.

    "Well, Nenni. Looks like we¡¯re not done yet."

    The roar of Americop¡¯s engine filled the air as his modified police bike tore through the chaos, the heavy-duty tires gripping the pavement as he maneuvered through the wreckage of the gang war unfolding in the streets of Houston. The rising sun barely cut through the thick haze of smoke left behind by gunfire and burning vehicles, the city¡¯s usual morning rhythm replaced by the violent pulse of lawlessness.

    Up above, Alamo soared, his plasma aura leaving faint blue contrails in the morning sky, eyes locked on the approaching convoy of black SUVs barreling down the avenue. The dark-tinted windows reflected the golden dawn, but Alamo could already see the figures inside¡ªguns in their hands, fear in their eyes, desperation in their movements.

    They weren¡¯t here for a fight. They were here to kill.

    Americop¡¯s voice came through the static of Alamo¡¯s earpiece.

    "Can you get rid of those cars, Nenni?"

    Alamo hesitated.

    "Yes. But¡ª"

    "I¡¯m not asking something you don¡¯t want to do, Nenni. I¡¯m asking for you to do something for the people of this city."

    There was no righteousness in his tone, no grand speech, no emotion¡ªjust the cold expectation of action. A simple demand to do what had to be done.

    Alamo exhaled sharply through his nose. He didn¡¯t like this. Didn¡¯t like the blood already soaking into the pavement.

    But Americop was right.

    He nodded once, then shot forward like a streak of lightning, plasma energy flickering from his fingertips as he dived toward the first vehicle.

    The lead SUV lurched as the driver caught sight of the blue blur descending toward him. His eyes went wide with panic, his hands jerking the wheel in a blind attempt to avoid what he couldn¡¯t understand.

    It was already too late.

    Alamo raised his right hand, index and thumb extended in a finger gun. A faint blue glow built at the tip of his thumb, barely more than a flickering ember¡ªuntil it exploded forward in a concentrated blast of energy.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    The driver¡¯s hands wrenched the wheel hard, sending the SUV careening toward the curb before it collided headfirst into a steel light pole. The impact crushed the hood like an accordion, the metal groaning as airbags deployed, glass shattering across the asphalt.

    The SUV¡¯s doors burst open, figures spilling out in a tangle of limbs and adrenaline.

    Alamo descended in a flash, his boots slamming onto the pavement as one of the men¡ªa wiry figure with blue tattoos curling up his neck¡ªripped a compact Uzi from under his coat.

    He barely had time to raise it.

    Alamo caught his wrist mid-motion, twisting sharply, the sickening crunch of snapping bone ringing out over the chaos. The gun clattered uselessly to the ground as the gang member howled in pain, clutching his shattered wrist.

    Alamo clenched his fist around the discarded weapon, metal crumpling like cheap tin foil in his grasp before he tossed it aside, shards of useless scrap skidding across the pavement.

    The second gang member¡ªyounger, barely more than a kid¡ªstumbled back, his breath ragged with fear, the cheap pistol in his hand shaking violently.

    Alamo took a step toward him.

    He didn¡¯t want to do this.

    "Just get out of here."

    His voice lacked the usual edge of confidence. It was low, worn, almost¡­ defeated.

    The kid didn¡¯t hesitate. He turned on his heel and bolted down the street, his weapon discarded behind him, footsteps fading into the growing sounds of sirens.

    Then, the crash.

    A second SUV veered hard to the left, windows splintering from stray gunfire as its tires squealed against the pavement.

    From the smoke, Americop emerged like a shadow of steel and black armor, his bike accelerating down the sidewalk, a relentless, unflinching force.

    He cut across the oncoming SUV¡¯s path in an instant, his gloved fingers clenching the reinforced steel handlebars before he twisted the throttle with brutal efficiency.

    The bike surged forward, slamming against the SUV¡¯s front quarter panel in a bone-rattling collision. The driver jerked the wheel in panic, but the momentum had already sealed their fate.

    The vehicle lurched sideways, its frame twisting as it slammed into the brick wall of a nearby storefront. The force of the impact launched the occupants forward, their bodies flung through the shattered windshield like ragdolls hurled from a catapult.

    Alamo could only watch in stunned silence as they collided with the unyielding concrete, the wet crunch of breaking bones reverberating across the empty street. Their bodies slumped awkwardly, limbs bent at impossible angles, the life already fading from their eyes before they even hit the ground.

    Americop didn¡¯t even slow down.

    Still astride his bike, he reached down with his left hand, drawing his sidearm in a single fluid motion.

    A lone survivor¡ªone of the gang members who had been thrown from the SUV but miraculously avoided a fatal landing¡ªwas already scrambling to his feet, panic twisting his features as he sprinted toward an alleyway.

    His fingers barely brushed the brick wall, his body already shifting to vanish into the maze of backstreets.

    Americop raised his pistol.

    One shot.

    The gun snapped like a firecracker in the morning air.

    The fleeing man collapsed mid-stride, his skull exploding in a fine red mist, his body skidding lifelessly across the pavement.

    Alamo stared.

    His hands clenched.

    His stomach churned.

    Americop holstered his weapon without a word.

    The tension between them thickened like the humidity, a heavy weight pressing against the city¡¯s cracked asphalt as the rising sun cast long shadows over the bodies littering the pavement. The smell of gunpowder and burnt rubber still clung to the air, mixing with the distant echoes of sirens and the growing unrest in the city.

    Alamo stood his ground, his gloved fists clenched at his sides, the residual heat from his plasma aura still faintly flickering off his knuckles. His glowing red eyes beneath the shadow of his hat were locked onto Americop¡¯s chrome-masked face, but there was no reflection there, no sign of humanity¡ªjust cold, featureless steel.

    Americop, standing tall beside his still-purring, heavily modified patrol bike, had already reloaded his shotgun, the distinct chhk-chhk of the pump-action a mechanical punctuation mark to his ideology.

    "Stop killin¡¯ people, goddamnit." Alamo¡¯s voice cut through the silence, his usual calm Texas drawl carrying an undercurrent of anger he wasn¡¯t even sure he knew he had. "I won¡¯t stand fer this damn bloodshed, Gallows."

    Americop didn¡¯t flinch.

    "You break the bones," he said, his voice a deep, unwavering monotone, the distorted modulation from his helmet¡¯s built-in comms making it sound almost inhuman. "What do you think they will do? Huh? They will hate you, forever. You took their ''jobs'' away. In every mutant, they will see The Alamo and they will want revenge."

    Alamo exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. "Well, not every mutant is me."

    "But it won¡¯t matter." Americop¡¯s head tilted slightly, the gleaming visor giving nothing away¡ªbut his words dripped with absolute certainty. "Then what? Send them to prison? So they can continue their violence there? They don¡¯t stop, Nenni. The justice system has failed to keep America just and safe."

    Alamo¡¯s jaw tightened. "So the solution is to kill all criminals?"

    Americop let out a short, sharp breath, more mockery than amusement. "Not all. The violent ones. The ones who will never stop. What¡¯s your solution? To trust the government?"

    Alamo¡¯s glowing red eyes dimmed for a fraction of a second, a reflex of frustration. "I don¡¯t trust nor like the government. A lot problems are only made worse by addin¡¯ the government into the mix."

    "Exactly." Americop¡¯s tone was steel-edged certainty. "Bureaucracy kills, Nenni. Every goddamn son of a bitch here should be rottin¡¯ in a federal penitentiary. But here they are... still breathin'', still killin¡¯, while innocent people die from their violence and their drugs."

    Alamo took a step forward, his boots scuffing against the pavement littered with spent shell casings. His fists unclenched, then clenched again, a war raging inside him, one he wasn¡¯t sure he knew how to fight.

    "But they¡¯re not animals, Gallows. You can¡¯t go puttin¡¯ ¡®em down like this."

    Americop stood unmoving. "I know," he admitted after a pause. "They have families... crying mothers pleading to Virgin Mary that their sons will see it right. And I sympathize with them... but actions get consequences, Nenni. This is theirs."

    Alamo ran a hand over his mask, a deeply human gesture from someone trapped between his morals and the reality before him. He looked around¡ªthe bodies on the ground, the dried blood staining the cracked pavement like an irreversible mistake.

    "This ain¡¯t what heroes are supposed to do."

    Americop let out a soft scoff, shaking his head as he crossed his arms. "Do you still believe in this ''hero'' crap?"

    "I do."

    "Then you¡¯re a fool." Americop gestured around them, to the bullet-riddled vehicles, the bloodied corpses. "Heroes and villains are social constructs, Nenni. Do you think Magneto sees himself as a villain? Or Doom? Or HYDRA?"

    "They don''t, they think they''re heroes." Alamo¡¯s voice was steel, his fists still clenched at his sides. "That¡¯s the danger of their ideologies."

    "And heroes are the same way." Americop took a step forward now, his towering frame cutting an imposing figure under the rising Texas sun. "Not everyone thinks Rogers is a hero. Otherwise, why would those California kooks call him a fascist?"

    Alamo bristled, the red glow in his eyes flaring faintly. "Cap ain¡¯t a fascist, and we both know it."

    "We do. But it only proves my point." Americop¡¯s voice was a measured growl, slow and methodical. "No matter what you do, even a saint like Steve Rogers gets sacrificed at the altar of public opinion. So stop giving a shit about it and start acting. Actions matter. Not what a bunch of career students think of you."

    Alamo¡¯s breath came sharp through his teeth, his heartbeat steady but loud.

    <i>"It matters."</i>

    Americop remained silent, letting the words hang between them.

    "Heroes are symbols," Alamo continued, his voice heavy, like carrying something that didn¡¯t belong to just him. "People don¡¯t only think ¡®bout actions. They also think of ideas. And I ain¡¯t sure you¡¯re bringin¡¯ ¡®em a good idea to believe in."

    Americop stood still, the morning breeze rolling through the bullet-riddled streets, shifting the dust and discarded debris. The city was waking up¡ªsirens in the distance, voices rising from alleyways, the fading echo of gunfire replaced by the murmurs of a city always on edge.

    For a long moment, neither of them moved.

    Alamo wasn¡¯t sure if they were at a standstill or a battlefield.

    The streets of Houston roared with the deafening mix of chants, sirens, and revving truck engines. It was chaos barely held together by thin strands of police lines and rising tension thick enough to choke the morning air.

    Americop''s scanner blared with updates as he weaved through the streets, his custom patrol bike growling like a caged animal ready to strike.

    "Both protestors are closing in on the Carraro Office in the city. If they clash, people will die."

    His voice was calm, detached¡ªcold steel in the face of impending disaster.

    Alamo, flying above like a specter of fire and fury, looked down at his partner in this uneasy alliance. "What will ya do, kill ¡®em all?"

    "Don''t patronize me, Nenni. I want both of these people alive, I don¡¯t care if they¡¯re humans or not."

    Alamo let out a breath. "Thank you."

    "Let''s move."

    Americop twisted the throttle, his bike roaring forward like a charging stallion, weaving between incoming police cruisers and ambulances flashing red and blue. Alamo followed above, his plasma aura flickering faintly around his hands, his mind a storm of conflicting thoughts.

    "<i>What are these people even fightin'' fer?</i>" He thought.

    Then he saw it.

    The Friends of Humanity parade was making its way through downtown¡ªa sea of lifted F-150s and F-250s, roaring diesel engines, American flags flapping violently in the Texas heat. Interspersed among them were Thin Blue Line banners, POW/MIA flags, and military patches.

    And then, there it was.

    The <i>Gadsden flag</i>.

    His stomach coiled tight at the sight.

    To him, the Gadsden flag was a sacred emblem, a symbol of defiance, of individual liberty against an overreaching state. It was a warning to tyrants, a call for independence.

    But this?

    This wasn¡¯t that.

    This was different. The coiled snake wasn¡¯t hissing at oppression¡ªit was hissing at people. At mutants. At anyone who wasn¡¯t like them. The meaning had rotted, twisted into something ugly, something venomous.

    Alamo couldn¡¯t stand it.

    He dove like a missile, tearing the Gadsden flag from its pole, then ripping down the Lone Star, the Texas flag, from another truck. His hands clenched them like a vice, his breath coming sharp and uneven through his mask.

    "These are symbols of liberty, not hate."

    The moment the words left his mouth, the crowd turned.

    Eyes locked onto him, faces twisted in anger and something deeper¡ªsomething uglier.

    One burly man in a cutoff flannel and trucker hat pushed forward, his sun-reddened face twisted in contempt.

    "Texas is not a land of mutants. Mutants have no place in this state, in this nation."

    That was it.

    That was when something inside Alamo snapped.

    "THIS IS MY FUCKIN¡¯ HOME!"

    Before the man could spit another word, Alamo shot forward like a bullet.

    His knee struck the man¡¯s face with a sickening crack¡ª the unmistakable sound of bone shattering under raw, unfiltered force. Blood splattered onto the pavement as the man crumpled, his body hitting the asphalt in a heap.

    Then¡ªchaos.

    "KILL HIM!"

    Alamo barely had time to think. Two men pulled handguns from their belts.

    With one violent swing, Alamo ripped the driver¡¯s side door off the truck and hurled it at them like a makeshift missile. The metal crunched against their bodies, sending them sprawling, unconscious before they even hit the ground.

    Another man leveled an AR-15 at him.

    Alamo¡¯s eyes narrowed.

    With the Texas flag still clutched in his hand, he shot forward, closing the gap in an instant. He grabbed the barrel of the rifle and bent it effortlessly, twisting the metal like it was made of soft clay.

    The man stumbled backward, his eyes wide with terror.

    "What the hell are you?!"

    "Doesn''t matter what I am"

    Alamo yanked the rifle away, flipping it around in his hands. He slammed the stock into the man¡¯s face, sending him sprawling into the pavement.

    Then¡ªmovement.

    His head snapped to the side, and he saw another man digging into the back of a truck.

    His hands wrapped around something.

    Alamo''s stomach dropped.

    The man turned¡ªand in his grip was something monstrous.

    A Sentinel blaster.

    The barrel glowed an eerie blue, the whining charge-up of mutant-seeking technology filling the air.

    How did these people get that?

    The moment stretched into eternity.

    His instincts screamed to move. To dodge. To fire back.

    Then¡ªcrack.

    The FoH goon felt the impact before he heard it.

    A searing-hot pain tore through his chest, knocking the wind from his lungs as the world tilted sideways.

    He felt himself falling.

    Falling fast.

    Then¡ªdarkness.

    The last thing he saw as he turned, before his vision blurred, was Americop standing at the end of the street, his shotgun raised, smoke still curling from the barrel.

    ¡°I see you pulled a number on them, Nenni. Offended you, I can see.¡±

    Alamo exhaled sharply, his red-glowing eyes dimming a little beneath the shadow of his dark cowboy hat. He was tired. Tired of the same damn song and dance, the same damn arguments.

    "I''m sick and tired of puttin'' up with the FoH''s bullshit," he muttered. His fists clenched at his sides, the Texas flag still in his grip, crumpled but unbroken. "I won''t be treated as a god damn second-class citizen in my own land. I''m a son of Texas, and I won''t let ¡®em define what I am just ¡®cause I have different genes.¡±

    Americop nodded slightly, silent for a beat. He knew that kind of anger. He¡¯d felt it before, years ago. It had shaped him into what he was now. A cold hand of justice. Not a hero. Not a villain. Just consequences.

    "Ya didn¡¯t have to kill em''," Alamo said, finally. His voice had lost its fire, replaced with something quieter, wearier.

    Americop¡¯s head tilted slightly as he regarded the younger man, his featureless chrome mask reflecting the chaos of the street. "They want the summary execution of your kind. Was it wrong to tell US soldiers to stop killing SS officers? Or maybe tell the French Resistance to stop killing their invaders?¡±

    Alamo¡¯s jaw tensed. He hated how much sense it made in the moment.

    The Friends of Humanity would kill mutants without hesitation if given the chance. And yet, wasn¡¯t that the whole reason people feared mutants in the first place? Because men like Magneto had justified the killing of humans who hated them?

    <i>A cycle.</i>

    <i>A damn bloody cycle.</i>

    And the worst part? He wasn¡¯t sure it would ever stop turning.

    He let out a slow, measured sigh. ¡°It¡¯s a slippery slope, Gallows." His voice was quiet, firm, laced with a tension he couldn''t quite shake. "They hate us precisely ¡®cause men like Magneto thought it was justified to kill humans who hated mutants."

    "If you say so, Nenni."

    Americop wasn¡¯t interested in philosophy. He had seen too much violence, too much failure of the system. All he cared about was results. Whether Alamo wanted to admit it or not, this fight was already set in stone.

    The men lying in the street¡ªsome dead, some injured¡ªthey had made their choices. Choices had consequences. Simple as that.

    Americop took a step back toward his bike, mounting it in a single fluid motion. ¡°These will be down for a long time. And if you don¡¯t kill them with your hands, they¡¯ll surely die when they see the medical bill.¡±

    Alamo snorted, shaking his head. ¡°I hope it¡¯s<i> real </i>expensive.¡±

    Americop gunned the engine, the sleek, matte-black machine purring beneath him. His gloved fingers tapped against the scanner mounted on his forearm, the police band blaring reports into his earpiece.

    "Let''s move, Nenni. They''re closing in at Carraro, we have to stop them before innocent people get hurt.¡±

    Alamo rolled his shoulders, the plasma flickering faintly around his fists. His body still ached, but he had work to do.

    "Got it.¡±

 Chapter 7: Culture War

    The sleek glass facade of Carraro Security''s Houston headquarters loomed over the streets like a monolith of corporate power, pristine and untouched by the chaos swelling beneath it. The tension in the air was thick, buzzing like static before a thunderstorm, the kind of charge that made the hair on the back of a man¡¯s neck stand up. A city on the edge, and this was its breaking point.

    The three factions in the streets below were distinct, each a separate world colliding at the doorstep of Carraro¡ªa symbol, an enemy, a shield, depending on which side you stood on.

    The first crowd was militaristic, disciplined in its rage, a mass of men in tactical vests and camo pants, their boots scuffing against the pavement as they paced, shifting in restless anticipation. The blue and red eagle crest of the Friends of Humanity was stitched onto their sleeves, some raising flags bearing its insignia, their allegiance to the anti-mutant cause unmistakable. But it wasn¡¯t just hardliners in fatigues; behind them were family men and women, working-class faces lined with worry or cold determination, holding picket signs scrawled with phrases that cut through the humid air like knives:

    <i>¡°NO MORE MUTANTS¡±</i>

    <i>¡°MUTANT FREE AMERICA¡±</i>

    <i>¡°PROTECT HUMANKIND¡±

    ¡°JUSTICE FOR THOMAS THOMPSON"</i>

    Some faces were twisted in pure hate, while others held a quieter, almost resigned certainty¡ªas if they weren¡¯t here for violence but simply because they believed, truly believed, that they were fighting for their survival.

    Opposing them, on the other side of the street, was a different kind of fervor.

    The pro-mutant activists stood in a chaotic, defiant mass, young, energized, diverse in ways that went beyond human concepts of race and background. Here, biology itself was a statement. Mutants of all shapes and sizes¡ªsome almost indistinguishable from humans, others bearing bright blue skin, feathered wings, luminescent eyes, antennae sprouting from their foreheads¡ªstood shoulder to shoulder with humans who wore Xs on their shirts, jackets, or painted across their faces.

    Their signs clashed ideologically, an explosion of beliefs beyond just mutant rights. Some were American flags, others Texan, but mixed in were anarchist banners, anti-corporate slogans, ideological statements that veered far from Xavier¡¯s dream.

    <i>¡°FREE MUTANKIND¡±

    ¡°X FOREVER¡±

    ¡°PROTECT MUTANT RIGHTS¡±

    ¡°DOWN WITH CARRARO¡±

    ¡°NO PEACE WITHOUT JUSTICE¡±</i>

    The crowd pulsed like a living thing, shouting, chanting, waving their banners and fists, and it was impossible to ignore the underlying frustration, the exhaustion of a struggle that never seemed to end.

    And standing between them all, blocking off the gated entrance to Carraro HQ, was the Houston Police Department and the Texas Department of Public Safety.

    The HPD officers were there in force, riot shields and batons ready, their faces set in rigid discipline. The black uniforms of the city force mixed with the tan, broad-brimmed hats of the Texas troopers, whose distinct light blue accents and Lone Star badges gleamed under the rising sun. Some of them were clad in full riot gear, shields glinting as they formed a barricade. Others stood in regular duty uniforms, hands resting near their firearms, their eyes darting between the two warring sides.

    There were even plainclothes officers in the crowd, blending into the tension, their badges clipped inside their jackets, watching, listening, waiting.

    Americop¡¯s bike purred as he pulled up to the street¡¯s edge, stopping just before the crowd. Alamo hovered just above him, his dark coat rippling in the wind created by his descent.

    ¡°We¡¯re late, Nenni.¡±

    Alamo landed softly, his boots tapping against the cracked pavement, his gaze sweeping over the scene.

    ¡°They¡¯re not fightin¡¯¡­ let ¡®em protest.¡±

    Americop turned his head toward him, his chrome mask betraying no expression, but his voice was edged with something close to derision.

    ¡°Are you going to paint an X on your face too, Nenni?¡±

    Alamo¡¯s glowing red eyes flickered under the shadow of his hat.

    ¡°No.¡± His voice was measured, firm. ¡°Bein¡¯ a mutant shouldn¡¯t define yer whole personality. Nor should hatin¡¯ ¡®em.¡±

    Americop exhaled through his nose, but he didn¡¯t press the issue. His scanner was already tracking movement, noting the shifting aggression in the crowd.

    ¡°You think they¡¯ll fight?¡±

    Alamo¡¯s hands clenched at his sides. He could feel the energy here, the charged air, the sense of something terrible creeping in from the edges.

    ¡°I hope not.¡±

    Americop shifted slightly in his seat, his head tilting slightly as if weighing something unspoken.

    <i>¡°Hope is not worth much without action, Nenni.¡±</i>

    Alamo didn¡¯t answer. He just stared ahead at the storm brewing before them, at the fault lines splitting their land down the middle. He crossed his arms, the tension in his shoulders tightening like a coiled spring, his mind already calculating his approach. Carraro was right there, the towering corporate building just past the barricades, its polished steel and glass exterior reflecting the chaos below like some indifferent god.

    He could feel it¡ªthe weight of something crucial buried inside those walls.

    Information. Documents. Something tangible to expose Trask, Creed, and the connections that tied Carraro to the dark underbelly of the mutant-hunting machine.

    And he had to get inside.

    The moment his knees bent, preparing to take flight, a powerful grip latched onto his forearm. Hard.

    Alamo snapped his head sideways, his glowing red eyes narrowing beneath the brim of his hat. Americop¡¯s gloved hand clamped down with unyielding strength, his fingers locking around the reinforced fabric of Alamo¡¯s coat sleeve like a vice.

    The sound of their confrontation was swallowed by the chants of the crowd, by the ceaseless exchange of shouted slogans and counter-slogans. But between them, in this tense moment, there was only silence.

    Alamo¡¯s voice was low, sharp.

    ¡°Where are you going, Nenni?¡± Americop¡¯s tone was colder than before, calculated, cutting through the ambient noise like a straight razor.

    Alamo jerked his arm, but Gallows didn¡¯t budge.

    ¡°I need to get inside,¡± Alamo bit out, his frustration rising. ¡°There¡¯s information in there we need. Documents, records¡ªstuff on Trask, on Creed¡ª¡±

    Americop didn¡¯t move, didn¡¯t react. Just held him there, like a cop holding a suspect before they did something stupid.

    Then he asked it.

    ¡°You¡¯re doing this for mutantkind?¡±

    Alamo¡¯s breath hitched.

    His pulse pounded against his ribs, the noise of the crowd fading, the weight of the question settling like a heavy stone in his gut.

    ¡°No, it¡ª¡±

    ¡°It is.¡± Americop¡¯s grip tightened just slightly. ¡°You<i> lied.</i> You¡¯re not here for Texan businesses. Not Texan lives.¡±

    The words landed like a gunshot to the chest.

    Alamo¡¯s lungs clenched.

    ¡°You¡¯re here on your vendetta against the FoH. On your desire to save mutantkind.¡±

    The words stung.

    Because they were true.

    Alamo¡¯s jaw locked.

    He felt it deep in his bones¡ªthe hypocrisy twisting inside him like rusted iron. He had stood before Rogue, before the X-Men, before himself, and he had said it with conviction:

    <i>Free men don¡¯t buy promises of salvation.</i>

    And yet here he was, standing at the threshold of a riot, ready to throw himself into it because he believed he had to.

    His breath shortened, his chest tightened.

    ¡°No¡­ no. It¡¯s ¡®bout¡ª¡±

    Americop cut him off.

    <i>¡°You go in there, the crowd will erupt.¡±</i>

    Alamo¡¯s glowing red eyes widened slightly.

    <i>¡°The humans and mutants will fight.¡±</i>

    Americop¡¯s voice was absolute, final.

    <i>¡°The policemen will be caught in the crossfire. Innocent people will die.¡±</i>

    Alamo¡¯s fingers curled into fists.

    He turned his head, looking over the crowd, his mind racing.

    The mutants would see him. A fellow mutant¡ªmasked, mysterious, powerful. They¡¯d see his presence as a declaration, a signal to act.

    The humans would see him. A threat. A dangerous super-powered force standing against them. They¡¯d react¡ªviolently.

    The police, already strained, already standing between two ticking time bombs, would be caught in the explosion.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    It was all too easy to see how it would unfold.

    Alamo swallowed.

    ¡°I¡¯m not rallyin¡¯ anyone.¡±

    Americop finally released his arm, but he didn¡¯t step back.

    He loomed there, unwavering.

    ¡°You told me people were more than actions.¡± His tone wasn¡¯t mocking, wasn¡¯t cruel. Just factual. ¡°They¡¯re symbols.¡±

    Alamo knew where this was going, and his stomach twisted.

    ¡°And you are right.¡±

    Americop gestured¡ªnot at the building, not at Carraro, but at the mass of people gathered before it.

    ¡°What symbol will you be to these mutants?¡±

    Alamo¡¯s throat went dry.

    ¡°Defiance? Rebellion?¡±

    Americop tilted his head just slightly.

    ¡°They will see you, and they will act.<i>¡±</i>

    Alamo¡¯s breath was shallow.

    ¡°They will try to get in.¡±

    <i>The words hung there, the inevitable conclusion barreling toward him like a runaway freight train.</i>

    ¡°And they will fight the police.¡±

    <i>The moment shattered in his mind. A baton smashing against a skull. A mutant firing back. A riot exploding in the streets.</i>

    ¡°Then the FoH will fight them.¡±

    <i>Gunfire. Screams. Blood.</i>

    ¡°Everyone will be hurt. Good men and women will die.¡±

    Alamo¡¯s heart pounded.

    He opened his mouth, desperate to form an argument, a justification, something to make this moment tilt in his favor.

    Instead, all he got was:

    ¡°Ya don¡¯t understand, Gallows¡­ I need to get inside.¡±

    Americop¡¯s helmet barely moved, but his voice was iron.

    ¡°No.¡±

    Alamo wrenched his arm free, his muscles tensing like steel cables beneath his jacket as he hovered just beyond Americop¡¯s reach. The former officer¡¯s grip was firm, but Duncan Nenni was faster, lighter, his plasma-infused physiology giving him the advantage of momentum.

    Americop didn¡¯t hesitate.

    His pistol came up in a smooth, practiced motion, the muzzle gleaming under the Houston sun, steady, unwavering. A lawman¡¯s stance.

    Alamo hovered higher, staring down the barrel, his voice flat. Unshaken.

    ¡°Shoot at me. I won¡¯t stop.¡±

    A gust of wind whipped between them as Alamo adjusted his altitude, the wind snapping at the hem of his duster. His red eyes burned bright beneath the shadow of his hat.

    ¡°I don¡¯t take orders from you. Or anyone else.¡±

    His fingers curled into fists, blue plasma crackling around his knuckles like coiled lightning.

    ¡°I¡¯m getting in.¡±

    Americop¡¯s finger hovered on the trigger.

    For a brief moment, he almost pulled it.

    But then, he lowered the pistol.

    He could shoot. He could. But a bullet wouldn¡¯t stop Duncan Nenni. Words might.

    Americop exhaled slowly, his voice like a gavel striking wood.

    ¡°You¡¯re no Texan.¡±

    The words cut through Alamo like a brand searing flesh.

    His glowing red eyes narrowed, and he turned fully toward Americop, his fists still charged with energy.

    ¡°Rip that star from your chest.¡± Americop¡¯s voice didn¡¯t rise, but it didn¡¯t need to. It was a judge passing sentence.

    ¡°You¡¯re a boy. A mutant boy with no sense of responsibility.¡±

    The crowd, both sides, fell into a hushed tension.

    Even the police, standing at the barricades, gripping their batons, watching every movement, had turned their full attention to the moment unfolding.

    Americop continued.

    ¡°You mask it all under that freedom talk, but you¡¯re just like the X-Men.¡±

    Alamo¡¯s fingers twitched.

    ¡°Mutantkind first.¡±

    Alamo¡¯s blood went cold.

    That word. The way he said it. Like an accusation.

    Like he wasn¡¯t part of this land. Like he wasn¡¯t Texan.

    All his memories of Texas¡ªhis love for the land, for the culture, the history, the struggle, the beauty¡ªeverything he had built himself upon came crashing against those words, against the old <i>"You''re a mutant"</i> speech<i>.</i>

    His heart hammered against his ribs, and his body moved before his mind could stop it.

    A crack of wind. A blur of motion.

    Alamo shot forward like a bullet, his plasma trail streaking behind him, shoulder first, a sudden blast of force that sent Americop flying backwards.

    The street erupted in gasps.

    The protests paused.

    Americop¡¯s body slammed into the pavement, his armored suit scraping against the asphalt, kicking up sparks.

    Cars screeched to a halt. Cameras turned.

    The police reached for their radios.

    Alamo hovered above him, his hands still trembling with heat, plasma curling from his knuckles like smoke from a gun barrel.

    His voice was low, but it carried.

    ¡°Don¡¯t insult me, Americop.¡±

    Americop¡¯s breath steadied, his pulse slow, controlled.

    He rose from the pavement with practiced efficiency, rolling back to his feet, dusting off his tactical gear with an eerily calm precision.

    The sun glinted off his chrome mask, an impassive reflection of the world around him.

    His voice was steady. Unshaken. Absolute.

    ¡°You want me, Alamo?¡±

    He squared his stance, his arms flexing beneath his armor, his pistol holstered, replaced by his fists.

    <i>¡°Come and take it.¡±</i>

    Alamo¡¯s fists clenched tighter.

    And then¡ªthey collided.

    Two forces¡ªtwo men who believed themselves right, both unwilling to let the other¡¯s ideology stand unchallenged.

    Alamo moved first, his plasma-coated knuckles swinging forward, an arc of blue light striking toward Americop¡¯s chest.

    Americop sidestepped at the last second, his movements almost inhumanly precise, before retaliating with a bone-rattling right hook.

    Alamo barely blocked the strike with his forearm, the sheer force sending him skidding backward before he shot forward again, his booted foot aimed squarely at Americop¡¯s ribs.

    Americop caught the kick, twisting Alamo¡¯s leg mid-air, using the younger man¡¯s own momentum against him, sending him spinning toward the pavement.

    Alamo twisted, planting his hands against the street, catching himself just before impact, flipping backward into a ready stance.

    Again, they charged.

    A brutal exchange, fists and precision meeting plasma and speed.

    Alamo pulled his punches.

    He didn¡¯t want to hurt Americop.

    He didn¡¯t want this fight.

    But Americop didn¡¯t hold back.

    Not because he hated the Alamo.

    But because he knew, in his heart, he had to stop him.

    Because if he didn¡¯t¡ªpeople would die.

    Alamo shot plasma bolts, small enough to disable but not to kill. Americop dodged each one, his movements surgical, precise.

    He aimed for Alamo¡¯s weak points, the places where his armor was thinner, his balance not yet perfected.

    Alamo took to the air, but Americop countered, firing grappling lines from his gauntlets, anchoring himself to light poles, moving with a speed that no ordinary man should have.

    The street shook beneath their fight.

    And the crowd saw everything.

    The Friends of Humanity saw a protector of humankind, battling against a dangerous, defiant mutant.

    The mutant protesters saw a warrior, standing against a symbol of oppression, refusing to let them be silenced.

    Both sides moved closer.

    The pot began to boil over.

    And then¡ªthe cheers, the shouts, the voices rose.

    The police officers tensed, hands hovering over batons, tasers, sidearms.

    They weren¡¯t just watching a fight.

    They were watching a spark, hanging over a field of dry grass, waiting for the first ember to ignite the flames.

    And it would.

    If they didn¡¯t stop.

    Americop¡¯s voice was gritted, strained.

    ¡°You¡¯re making a mistake, Nenni.¡±

    Alamo¡¯s teeth clenched.

    His mind raced, drowning in the noise of the crowd, the fire in his veins, the certainty that what he was doing was right.

    That Americop was wrong.

    And yet¡ªdeep inside, in a place he wasn¡¯t ready to acknowledge¡ª

    He feared that maybe, just maybe¡­ Americop wasn¡¯t.

    But his convictions didn¡¯t waver.

    Not now. Not here.

    His voice came out sharp, cutting.

    ¡°Ya made the mistake, Gallows. Too many people dead<b>.</b>¡±

    His breathing was heavy, controlled.

    ¡°This is unconstitutional.¡±

    He could hear the shouting behind him. The rallying voices.

    ¡°Unjust.¡±

    The police were tightening their lines.

    ¡°This is cruel and unusual punishment.¡±

    Americop exhaled, shaking his head.

    His voice was low, but absolute.

    ¡°There¡¯s nothing cruel about a quick death.¡±

    Alamo¡¯s jaw tightened.

    ¡°And nothing unusual about firearms.¡±

    The cheers from the mutant crowd grew.

    The growls from the anti-mutant protestors deepened<b>.</b>

    ¡°It¡¯s justice. Plain and simple.¡±

    The police stepped forward.

    ¡°It¡¯s dangerous.¡± Alamo Retorted.

    The air grew thick, heavier than the Houston humidity that clung to every surface. It wasn''t the heat. It was the weight of realization.

    It had been there, beneath the surface, simmering and waiting. But now it had boiled over.

    The crowd wasn¡¯t just angry anymore. It was enraged.

    It was the cries that did it. The words. Words that carried the force of ideology, of history, of war.

    <i><b>"FASCIST!"</b></i>

    The word cut through Americop like a bullet through Kevlar. His breath hitched, his body tensed¡ªnot in anger, but in something worse.

    Doubt.

    For just a moment, Bartholomew Gallows hesitated. His fists clenched harder than steel, not from the fight, but from the accusations hammering at his sense of self.

    He wasn¡¯t a fascist. He knew that.

    He wasn¡¯t some jackbooted enforcer of state power. He didn¡¯t believe in a supreme leader, in worshiping authority. He despised those things.

    He had read Giovanni Gentile, Julius Evola, the madmen who had written the blueprints of tyranny. He had studied Mussolini, the rise of Franco, the failures of Per¨®n.

    He fought against those ideas.

    He didn¡¯t believe in the absolute authority of the government. He wasn¡¯t one of those idiots demanding total state control in the name of law and order.

    He believed in America. In law. In justice.

    And yet¡ªhere he was. And there they were.

    Waving banners he didn¡¯t recognize. Some he did. Some he hated.

    And then, before he could even process the burn of that first word¡ª

    <i>"ANARCHIST!"</i>

    It was Alamo¡¯s turn to feel it like a gut punch.

    His fingers twitched, the plasma around his knuckles flickering violently.

    He wasn¡¯t an anarchist. He wasn¡¯t some utopian fool who believed in tearing everything down, that people could somehow just exist in harmony without leadership.

    Authority existed for a reason.

    Without it, tyranny still thrived. It would always thrive¡ªwhether under ruthless corporations who would wear the mask of "freedom" to crush the weak in what was a state in all but in name, or under mindless mobs, wielding slogans of equality while destroying the very idea of liberty under collective tyranny.

    Without leadership, someone would always rise to take control.

    Alamo wasn¡¯t naive. He knew this.

    But they didn¡¯t care. The word had been thrown at him like a slur, like a weapon, like a damnation.

    Neither of them had asked for this. Neither of them had chosen to be symbols.

    And yet¡ªhere they were.

    The crowd surged. The fight should have stopped there.

    But they couldn¡¯t.

    They had started something. And now¡ªthey had to see it through.

    The police lines inched closer. Shields braced. Batons ready. Gas masks in place.

    The protesters pressed in. On both sides.

    The cameras rolled. The world watched.

    But the worst was yet to come.

    Because then¡ªthey heard it.

    The words. The words that twisted everything.

    <i>"KILL ALL MUTANTS!"</i>

    Alamo¡¯s breath caught in his throat.

    His head snapped toward the voice. He scanned the crowd.

    It wasn¡¯t a chant. It wasn¡¯t even loud. But it was there. It had been said.

    And it was real.

    Americop turned too. His stomach twisted.

    The man who had shouted it wasn¡¯t some masked extremist.

    He was just a man. In a flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up, beer gut stretching against his belt buckle. A Texan. A regular man.

    And he had said it without hesitation.

    Americop¡¯s fists unclenched.

    <i>No. No, no, no.</i>

    That wasn¡¯t what this was about.

    It wasn¡¯t about extermination. It was about law, order, safety. It was about punishing criminals. Not this.

    His throat went dry. He wanted to say something. Wanted to correct it. To explain. To condemn.

    But they didn¡¯t let him.

    The words had already spread.

    And from the other side¡ªthe answer came.

    <i>"MAGNETO WAS RIGHT!"</i>

    Alamo felt a shiver crawl up his spine.

    A sinking feeling. A sickness. A horror.

    He turned, scanning the other side of the crowd. He saw who had said it.

    It was a young mutant. Couldn''t be older than twenty. Blue skin, black hair, piercing yellow eyes.

    And he was holding a sign.

    A sign with Magneto¡¯s helmet.

    Like a martyr. Like a saint.

    Alamo¡¯s mind reeled.

    <i><b>No, not this.</b></i>

    Magneto wasn¡¯t right.

    Magneto was a terrorist. A mass murderer.

    He had toppled governments. Had killed heroes. Had tried to turn the world into a mutant ethno-state.

    He had wanted to wipe out humanity.

    He had stood against everything Alamo believed in.

    His hands trembled. His plasma flickered and waned.

    <i><b>"No!."</b></i>

    His voice came out strained, broken.

    "Magneto was a tyrant. Y¡¯all are in¡ª"

    But they didn¡¯t let him finish. The chant had already started.

    "MAGNETO WAS RIGHT! MAGNETO WAS RIGHT!"

    It echoed like a war cry.

    Americop¡¯s gaze darkened. His fingers curled into fists again. He couldn¡¯t believe it.

    This wasn¡¯t about justice anymore. It wasn¡¯t about law and order.

    This wasn''t about Freedom either. It wasn''t about Life and Liberty.

    Then Americop looked at Alamo, they looked at each other and there they understood.

    Justice without Liberty is Tyranny.

    Liberty without Justice is Chaos.

    The crowd began to move.

    For a single second, they shared the same thought.

    <i>What the hell had they done?</i>

    The first push.

    The first shove.

    The first sign of collapse.

    <i>"ENOUGH!"</i>

    The single word ripped through the chaos like a cannon blast. It wasn¡¯t just a voice.

    It was a presence. A force. A symbol.

    And in that moment¡ªit was hope.

    The crowd froze.

    The chants died in their throats.

    The protests, the rage, the fire stilled.

    Because he was there.

    The shield.

    The stars and stripes.

    The unwavering resolve.

    Standing tall amidst a city teetering on the edge of war, Steve Rogers had arrived.

    And the people saw.

    They saw <i>Captain America.</i>

    And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, they breathed.

 Chapter 8: Dark Crusade

    The tension that had gripped the air, thick as a storm brewing over the Gulf, began to thin.

    The heat, the anger, the clenched fists and the seething glares¡ªthey softened.

    All around, the weight of Steve Rogers'' words took root.

    Alamo¡¯s fists¡ªonce cloaked in blue energy, primed for battle¡ªdimmed. His fingers uncurled from their tight hold. The fight in him ebbed like the outgoing tide, leaving only a stark realization in its place.

    Americop¡¯s grip on his shotgun loosened. The polished metal glinted under the Texas sun before he finally¡ªdeliberately¡ªlowered the weapon.

    Captain America nodded, his presence unshakable, his voice steady as bedrock.

    "Good."

    He stepped forward, the muted clang of his boots against the pavement like the chime of a bell in the silence that followed.

    The crowd¡ªsplit like two warring tides, both equally charged, equally furious¡ªfinally stilled.

    Every eye was on him.

    Every soul listened.

    Falcon watched from above, his sharp gaze sweeping the crowd, making sure nothing would spiral out of control.

    Wasp hovered at the ready, her form shrinking and growing between breaths¡ªa silent deterrent.

    Iron Man, standing with arms crossed, let the tension drain from his systems, the repulsors on his palms no longer humming with energy.

    And Steve¡ªhe spoke, not as a soldier, not as a hero, but as a man.

    "Good morning, people of Houston."

    His voice, low and firm, carried over the heads of the gathered masses.

    "This isn¡¯t the way."

    No shouting. No orders. Just the quiet truth.

    "I see you."

    His gaze swept the crowd.

    "All of you."

    He met the eyes of a middle-aged man gripping a "NO MORE MUTANTS" sign in shaking hands¡ªa father, his worry written in deep lines on his face.

    He saw the teenage girl with iridescent skin clutching a homemade banner that simply read: "WE ARE PEOPLE TOO."

    He saw the young mother holding her son close, her gaze flicking between both groups, her expression caught between fear and hope.

    And in the back¡ªa man in a tan uniform, a Houston police officer, sweat beading on his brow, fingers tight on his baton. Waiting.

    Steve breathed in deeply.

    "You¡¯re all Americans."

    The words settled like dust in the wind, like something so simple, so obvious¡ªyet so often forgotten.

    "I see fine men and women. Parents. Children. Husbands. Wives. Workers. Neighbors."

    His voice remained steady, unwavering.

    "Why fight each other?"

    The crowd stirred, the weight of his words cracking something deep inside the tension that had held them all hostage.

    "Hasn¡¯t this division plagued our nation long enough?"

    The picket signs tilted slightly downward.

    Some of the younger protestors glanced at each other, uncertain now, shifting in place.

    A man in camo, his tactical vest tight against his frame, cleared his throat, looking at the asphalt.

    The moment was shifting.

    Steve pressed forward.

    "I understand some of you are scared."

    He looked into the heart of the crowd, his blue eyes piercing yet gentle.

    "Scared of what mutants can do. Scared of what this means for your homes, your families, your way of life."

    A murmur rippled through the anti-mutant protestors.

    Some nodded, a few mumbled agreement.

    And then¡ªSteve turned.

    He faced the mutants, the ones who had marched with pride, with anger, with hope.

    "And I understand some of you are tired of running. Of hiding. Of being blamed for the actions of others¡ªpeople you¡¯ve never even met."

    The young girl with the iridescent skin bit her lip, looking down.

    A man with small horns clenched his fist but nodded.

    Steve let the words settle before he continued.

    "You might see each other as enemies. As mutants. As humans. As two sides of something that can¡¯t be reconciled."

    His voice lowered¡ªalmost gentle.

    "But all of you¡ªevery single one of you¡ªare people."

    "American people."

    His words settled deep into their bones.

    "With dreams. With families. With feelings. With lives."

    A breeze swept through the street, lifting flags that moments ago had been symbols of division.

    "You all love. You all believe in something."

    "You all survive."

    A heavy silence blanketed the crowd.

    Steve¡¯s next words cut through the very heart of it.

    "And if each and every one of you truly understood how much it means to be alive, you¡¯d never wish to take that from another."

    Somewhere in the mass of people¡ªa man lowered his sign.

    Another let go of his clenched fists.

    A woman shifted, glancing at the people beside her with uncertainty.

    And then¡ªthe final plea.

    "So, please."

    His voice was quiet now.

    "Go home."

    A stillness held over the moment¡ªa delicate thread ready to snap in either direction.

    Then¡ªthe first hand clap.

    Just one.

    Then another.

    And another.

    The sound spread, slow at first, then growing like a wave.

    There were smiles. Hugs. A cautious understanding.

    No grand reconciliations. No overnight changes of heart. But the fires had died down.

    Maybe the beliefs hadn¡¯t changed. Maybe the sides would remain divided.

    But today¡ªtoday, the violence had been stopped.

    Because Captain America had stood before them.

    Because he reminded them of who they were.

    Not enemies.

    Not monsters.

    Just people.

    it seemed like the worst was over, the crowds began to dissipate aided by the TX DPS and the HPD. Captain America turned to the two chromed rivals, the one in the police cap and the other in the cowboy hat.

    "What''s your name, son?" Captain America offered a hand to Americop.

    "I''m Bartholomew Gallows, sir. Americop" Americop answered shaking the war hero''s hand.

    "Pleasure to meet you, Gallows."

    "Pleasure is all mine." His voice was tinged with respect, something not very present in the otherwise cold former policeman.

    Then he approached Alamo who landed softly on the pavement.

    "You must be the kid Twister talked about, the Alamo."

    "Duncan Nenni, sir. And did Twister talk ''bout me." Alamo tipped his hat.

    It was an important moment to Duncan, he had always admired Captain America, since he was a little child. Much more than the other Avengers, meeting him was indeed an honor. He was also happy that Texas Twister, a personal Texas favorite would tell of him to Captain America himself, he felt proud and even happy.

    "Yes, he did."

    "It''s an honor sir"

    "It''s good to finally meet you, Duncan."

    "Feelin'' is mutual, sir."

    Though Duncan tried to hide his excitment, he twitched a bit and his smile, even behind the sleek chrome mask was palpable in his voice.

    "I understand we had quite a bit of trouble here, didn''t we?"

    "We did, Captain." Americop said.

    "Has your dispute been settled?"

    "Yes, sir."

    "Good, this is a blank slate. Whatever you two done in the past it doesn''t matter, you are working with the Avengers now, you will work clean. No kills, No Violence."

    "Understood, Captain" Americop said.

    "Yes sir" Alamo nodded.

    "Oh chrome buddies, who are you Chip & Dale?" Iron Man approached, crossing his arms after the quip.

    "Tony, I''ll talk to-"

    Before Cap could finish there was a rumble, a roar. An unmistakable engine sound. Huge.

    The ground trembled beneath the sheer weight of the towering machine, dust and shattered concrete erupting into the air from its forceful landing. A monstrous black sentinel, reinforced with armor that gleamed ominously under the Houston sun.

    The red pauldrons on its shoulders burned like embers, contrasting against the deep obsidian plating that wrapped around its frame like a walking war machine. Its dome-shaped head bore a chrome decal, sculpted into the likeness of a raven¡¯s beak, sleek and polished yet eerily featureless, save for the two piercing white eyes that glowed with cold, analytical fury.

    At the center of its broad chest, bold and defiant, was the unmistakable insignia of the Friends of Humanity.

    It was a symbol of hatred.

    It was a declaration of war.

    And then, it spoke.

    "NENNI!"

    Its voice was an unnatural synthesis of rage and mechanical distortion, a digital growl that resonated like thunder across the plaza.

    Alamo¡¯s breath hitched. His heart slammed against his ribs.

    The crowd¡ªthe civilians, the officers, the protestors¡ªfroze.

    Captain America turned to Alamo, his expression sharp, calculating the situation in real-time.

    "Son, who is that?"

    Alamo clenched his fists, his muscles taut.

    "It¡¯s the¡ª"

    A voice interrupted him.

    "THE X-CUTIONER IS BACK!"

    The shout came from the panicked crowd. Chaos erupted in an instant.

    Gasps, screams, people scrambling backward, pushing and shoving in a desperate attempt to flee. Parents shielding their children. Officers gripping their sidearms. Mutants preparing for a fight.

    The X-Cutioner moved.

    From its right forearm, a sword emerged¡ªmassive, black as midnight, pulsating with crackling energy. The blade was jagged, thrumming with a power that made the very air around it distort and waver like a mirage.

    Its left hand shifted, plating retracting and reshaping into a colossal plasma cannon, its core already glowing a violent crimson.

    Alamo¡¯s eyes widened.

    "Oh no."

    He felt it before he even heard it¡ªthe sheer concentration of energy building within the cannon. He didn¡¯t need to be told what would happen next.

    "MOVE!"

    Without a second thought, Alamo blasted forward, grabbing Captain America, Americop, Wasp, and Falcon¡ªpushing them away just as the cannon detonated.

    A blinding crimson beam exploded from the X-Cutioner¡¯s arm, tearing through the air like the wrath of a vengeful god.

    The heat was unbearable. The sound¡ªa deafening crescendo of annihilation.

    Alamo shot upward, dragging Cap and the others to safety. Iron Man followed, thrusters flaring as he narrowly dodged the oncoming energy wave.

    But Alamo knew.

    Something was wrong.

    The X-Cutioner¡¯s aim had veered off-course.

    And then¡ªthe screams.

    The awful, gut-wrenching screams.

    Alamo¡¯s stomach plummeted.

    He turned mid-air, eyes snapping to the source of the devastation.

    The crowd.

    Where once stood protestors, bystanders, officers¡­ now there was only ruin.

    The beam had cut through them like a scythe through wheat.

    Bodies lay scattered.

    Some were nothing more than charred husks, their existence erased in an instant.

    Six people.

    Six innocent people, human and mutant alike.

    Dead.

    A heavy, horrifying silence followed.

    Then, the cries of those left behind.

    Mothers weeping over blackened corpses.

    Children clutching at their fathers, shaking them, begging them to wake up.

    The police stood frozen, some in shock, some cursing under their breath.

    And above it all¡ª

    The X-Cutioner faltered.

    It staggered backward slightly, its massive shoulders heaving, its white glowing eyes flickering.

    "No¡­"

    The synthetic voice, once so sure, now wavered.

    "That¡¯s¡ª not what I wanted."

    A terrible realization dawned.

    It hadn¡¯t meant to hit them.

    The X-Cutioner, as ruthless and monstrous as it seemed, had not intended to slaughter civilians.

    But it had.

    And now it couldn¡¯t take it back.

    Alamo¡¯s fists trembled.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    His vision blurred with rage, with grief, with the kind of fury that burned deep in the soul.

    "NO!"

    Americop, still recovering from the blast, stood firm¡ªhis shotgun raised, his grip white-knuckled.

    "GOD DAMNIT!"

    Falcon, hovering above the street, looked down¡ªhis eyes heavy with sorrow, his expression twisted in frustration.

    "OH NO."

    Wasp, fists clenched, let out a sharp, shuddering breath.

    "FUCK."

    Iron Man¡¯s helmet snapped shut, concealing his face, but his voice came through the comms raw, seething.

    "You son of a bitch."

    Alamo¡¯s chest rose and fell in rapid succession. His heartbeat slammed against his ribs.

    The air crackled around him.

    His hands burned bright blue.

    The power inside him surged, roaring, demanding action.

    And then¡ª

    The first shot rang out.

    Americop fired without hesitation.

    A slug straight to the monster¡¯s chest.

    The impact barely phased it.

    But it was enough.

    The X-Cutioner turned its massive head toward them, eyes now blazing white with renewed focus.

    "Fucker." Americop growled, pumping another round.

    The air was charged with a singular, undeniable truth.

    This was war.

    "Wasp, Falcon!" Cap barked, instantly snapping back into command. "Protect the civilians and get the officers to evacuate!"

    "Understood!" Falcon shot forward, his wings spreading as he dove toward the panicked crowd, already working to guide them away.

    Wasp shrank down, zipping between rubble and bodies, her voice sharp and commanding. "Come on, people, move! MOVE!"

    "Iron Man, Alamo, Americop¡ªWITH ME!"

    Iron Man¡¯s repulsors flared.

    Alamo¡¯s hands burned blue.

    Americop¡¯s gun clicked as he chambered another round.

    Captain America¡¯s shield gleamed.

    The X-Cutioner let out a deafening mechanical roar.

    The battle erupted in a fury of motion and energy, the skies above Houston becoming an arena of fire and steel.

    Alamo shot through the air, his blue plasma trail streaking behind him like a comet. His right hand pulsed, building up a concentrated blast of energy, the light so bright it momentarily painted the entire battlefield in eerie neon hues.

    With a sharp flick of his wrist, he fired.

    The searing blue energy ripped through the air, scorching toward the X-Cutioner¡¯s chest like a meteor.

    The Sentinel¡¯s monolithic hand snapped up.

    A crackling, almost invisible energy barrier formed around it. The plasma blast struck it head-on¡ªonly to sizzle out of existence.

    Alamo¡¯s stomach dropped.

    Iron Man hovered beside Alamo, his repulsors humming softly in the tense air. Below them, Captain America and Americop had already begun their assault on the X-Cutioner, moving with brutal efficiency against the towering war machine.

    The X-Cutioner turned its glowing white gaze upward, tracking Alamo and Iron Man with cold, calculating precision. Its magnetized field crackled, an unseen force radiating from the mech¡¯s armored chassis, repelling debris, bullets, and plasma alike.

    Alamo gritted his teeth, his hands burning bright blue, still crackling from the failed blast.

    "Magnetic field, huh?" Alamo muttered, adjusting his posture midair.

    "People adapt, you mutants can''t always win."

    The X-Cutioner¡¯s voice was a mechanized snarl, emotionless yet dripping with a distinct, unsettling certainty.

    Iron Man scanned the Sentinel-Mech hybrid with his HUD, his visor glowing with data streams.

    "Yeah, yeah, buddy, I¡¯ve heard this one before. Next, you¡¯ll tell us about the ¡®superior race¡¯ and how Magneto and Trask should totally get a room together."

    "I don¡¯t listen to mutants."

    Alamo barely had a second to react before the X-Cutioner lunged.

    The colossal black energy sword arced through the air like a whip of pure destruction, its blade leaving a rippling red contrail as it slammed into Alamo¡¯s chest.

    A crash like thunder filled the sky.

    Alamo hurtled backward, his body twisting through the air as he tumbled end over end. He barely corrected himself mid-flight, grinding to a halt just feet away from Iron Man.

    Pain flared in his ribs. Not broken. He could take it.

    Iron Man raised a brow inside his helmet, scanning Alamo with his battle analytics.

    "Huh."

    Alamo exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the pain.

    "That all you got?" he muttered, spitting off to the side.

    "That¡¯s a Sentinel-strength energy blade, Nenni. Not exactly a pillow fight."

    "I¡¯ll live."

    Iron Man tapped the side of his helmet, his repulsors flaring with a brief surge of energy.

    "Hey, cowboy. Not John Wayne hour, stick to us."

    Alamo smirked behind his chrome mask.

    "Fair, fair."

    Below, Captain America vaulted between collapsing debris, his shield deflecting another concussive blast from the X-Cutioner¡¯s arm cannon. Americop unloaded his shotgun into the mech¡¯s knee joints, trying to destabilize its balance.

    But the X-Cutioner was unfazed. It simply turned its head slightly, processing.

    Americop emptied his entire drum magazine into the towering machine¡¯s legs, but the high-caliber shells barely made a dent. Each slug ricocheted uselessly off the Sentinel¡¯s reinforced plating, sparking on impact but leaving no sign of real damage.

    Captain America gritted his teeth, eyes hovering around the battlefield as his mind raced.

    "Bullets won''t work on him, Gallows."

    Americop reloaded with practiced efficiency, slamming a fresh drum into place.

    "What can we do, Captain?"

    Steve Rogers, ever composed in the chaos, adjusted his grip on the shield and locked eyes with the towering war machine.

    "Improvise."

    Captain America broke into a sprint, his boots pounding against the pavement as he rushed directly toward the Sentinel''s massive stance.

    The X-Cutioner twisted slightly, adjusting its stance with surprising speed for something so massive. The black energy sword flared, pulsating with raw power as it swung in a devastating arc toward Cap and Americop.

    But Steve Rogers was already moving.

    At the last second, he raised his shield, the legendary vibranium disc absorbing the full force of the swing. The impact resonated through the street, a sonic shockwave rippling outward, shattering nearby glass windows and sending dust and debris cascading from the surrounding rooftops.

    Americop was right behind Cap, ducking low, his black tactical armor absorbing the shock as he braced against the street.

    From above, Alamo¡¯s red glowing eyes flickered with recognition.

    This was no ordinary fight.

    The X-Cutioner¡¯s deep mechanical voice resonated across the battlefield, its tone eerily measured, almost¡­ remorseful.

    "I am not a villain, Captain Rogers. I''m truly sorry for those people."

    Captain America held firm, his shield pressing against the energy blade, the pavement beneath him cracking under the sheer weight of the pressure.

    "You can give up, Denti."

    The man who once hunted mutants under the guise of justice.

    A man who now piloted a Sentinel of his own design.

    Alamo clenched his fists tighter. The red glow of his eyes intensified.

    "I''m sorry, Cap." Denti¡¯s voice remained eerily calm, even as his massive war machine bore down on the Avengers. "But there''s a mutant terrorist with you¡ªa mutant terrorist who put me in a wheelchair."

    Alamo''s fingers twitched. His plasma energy surged at his fingertips.

    "The kid did it right¡­" Americop muttered, his own voice cold and matter-of-fact. "If it was me, I¡¯d have put you in a grave."

    Captain America gritted his teeth, adjusting his stance against the towering foe.

    "Gallows, a hand."

    Americop reacted instantly.

    As soon as Steve shoved the energy sword aside, its massive blade smashing into the pavement, Americop braced himself, lowering his arms to create a makeshift launchpad.

    "Jump assist."

    Steve planted his boot onto Americop¡¯s cupped hands, and with a powerful lift, he was launched skyward.

    In mid-air, Steve twisted his body, catching the edge of the Sentinel¡¯s massive weapon, using it as a stepping stone.

    With fluid motion, he extended a hand back down to Americop, hoisting the vigilante up with raw super-soldier strength.

    Together, they scaled the behemoth, climbing onto its massive plated shoulders.

    The X-Cutioner¡¯s white optics flickered, tracking their movements.

    "Captain, don¡¯t make me do this."

    Steve pressed forward, his grip tightening on his shield as he prepared to disable the mech.

    "I can¡¯t let you hurt anyone else, Denti."

    Then came the retaliation.

    The Sentinel¡¯s enormous left hand swung, attempting to crush the two heroes like insects.

    But then¡ª

    BOOM.

    A massive repulsor blast struck the Sentinel¡¯s arm, halting its attack mid-swing.

    Smoke rose from the impact site.

    Iron Man hovered above, his arc reactor pulsating.

    "You have to work better on your defense capacities."

    Denti¡¯s voice remained eerily measured.

    "I did."

    The next repulsor blast was met with resistance.

    The Sentinel¡¯s left arm shifted, deploying a crackling energy barrier that absorbed the full force of the blast.

    Iron Man narrowed his eyes inside the HUD.

    "Huh. You¡¯re full of surprises."

    The X-Cutioner retaliated.

    Its massive sword arm twisted, slashing in a broad, sweeping arc toward Iron Man¡¯s position.

    Tony barely had time to dodge.

    The black energy sword sliced through the air¡ªand then¡ª

    RIIIIIPPPPP.

    The top floors of the Carraro Building were sliced clean off.

    A massive explosion erupted as concrete and steel collapsed in a fiery cascade, sending glass shards and flaming debris raining onto the streets below.

    The crowd screamed in terror. As Wasp and Falcon moved them to a safer distance, picking rubble as they could. Wasp shifted to a massive size to take the crowd in her arms and drop them to safer locations. Falcon flew to catch debris and remove people from impact zones.

    Denti¡¯s voice hissed through the speakers.

    "Damnit!"

    Iron Man and Alamo tore through the air, dodging falling debris as their conversation continued. The Carraro building¡¯s top floors collapsed into themselves, the impact shaking the surrounding streets, but thanks to Tony¡¯s quick thinking and Alamo¡¯s plasma blasts, no civilians were harmed.

    ¡°Tony, make sure nobody is hurt.¡± Cap said over the comms.

    ¡°Already on it, Cap,¡± Tony replied, weaving through the smoke-filled air, his repulsors scanning the area for heat signatures.

    Alamo flew beside him, his hands glowing blue as he blasted chunks of concrete and steel mid-air, vaporizing them before they could land on fleeing civilians. His movements were precise, controlled¡ªlike an artist painting in the sky with streaks of energy.

    Iron Man glanced over at him, watching him work.

    ¡°So, kiddo, plasma powers, huh?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, they¡¯re usually more stable when some psycho ain¡¯t disruptin¡¯ my ions and electrons¡­¡±

    ¡°Sounds like science talk. You a science nerd?"

    ¡°More like finance and economics nerd.¡±

    Tony paused in mid-air, dodging a flaming office chair spiraling past. Then he let out a low whistle.

    ¡°Oh shit. I know who you are.¡±

    Alamo glanced at him. Taken aback from being recognized by damn Tony Stark out of all people. There was a smirk to his face as he expect to hear what followed.

    ¡°You¡¯re Duncan Nenni.¡±

    Alamo didn¡¯t answer immediately, but Tony didn¡¯t need confirmation.

    ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re the guy who made those credit risk models. Damn, kid, you made my life easier.¡±

    ¡°Yup.¡±

    ¡°Nice one, kid. I got ¡®em for Stark Industries, perfected them, of course.¡±

    Alamo raised an eyebrow under his mask.

    ¡°Ya perfected my models?¡± He said almost offended, but respectfully so, he knew he wasn''t exactly a genius like Tony Stark or Reed Richards, if anything he was proud Tony even considered his model

    ¡°Absolutely. You know what they say¡ªnothing is perfect until Stark makes it.¡±

    Alamo let out a dry chuckle.

    ¡°Never heard that in my life.¡±

    ¡°Well, you should. Maybe I should start branding it. Anyway, I got a proposal after we¡¯re done here. When Tony Stark offers you something, trust me¡ªit¡¯s to topple the competition.¡±

    Alamo smirked beneath his mask.

    ¡°I like the sound of that.¡±

    ¡°Good. But before we sign any contracts, let¡¯s figure out what else you can do.¡±

    Tony gestured to the X-Cutioner below.

    ¡°Because right now, your plasma blasts ain¡¯t doing squat against Magneto-lite down there.¡±

    Alamo flexed his fingers, staring at his palm as memories surged. Rogue. Florida. The stunt they pulled together.

    ¡°I can absorb that damn thing¡¯s energy.¡±

    Tony¡¯s visor blinked with interest.

    ¡°Go on.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯ll suck the life outta it. I think.¡±

    ¡°Like Rogue?¡±

    Alamo smirked again. Remembering the comparison made by Spider-Man back at Katz and of course, his own encounter with the southern belle back in Florida.

    ¡°Yeah, like her.¡±

    Tony nodded. ¡°Alright, but I sense a caveat.¡±

    ¡°Yeah. I can''t exactly control the output. I¡¯d have to burn it off. Maybe do a huge explosion. Maybe¡ª¡±

    ¡°Maybe?!¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know! It¡¯s never been tested in this scale!¡±

    Tony tilted his head, considering the options.

    ¡°Well, here¡¯s an idea¡ªhow do you fly?¡±

    Alamo raised an eyebrow. ¡°With the plasma, naturally.¡±

    Tony snapped his fingers. ¡°Boom. Answer. Why don¡¯t you just fly around town, burn off some of that buildup, and then come back?¡±

    Alamo¡¯s eyes widened behind his mask.

    ¡°Jesus¡­ how come I never thought of that?¡±

    ¡°Because you don¡¯t have a genius brain like mine, kid.¡±

    Alamo grumbled. ¡°And you tell yourself that before you sleep, huh?¡±

    Tony smirked. ¡°Sort of."

    Down below Americop gripped the metal plating tightly, using the Sentinel¡¯s shifting shoulders as leverage to keep from being thrown off.

    ¡°We need to take that sword off his hands, Gallows!¡± Captain America called out.

    Americop reached into his tactical belt and produced a small, red, cylindrical grenade. He handed it to Cap.

    ¡°Here. Thermite.¡±

    Steve eyed it warily.

    ¡°Why do you have this?¡±

    ¡°Mostly to bust through defenses. Cut through reinforced walls.¡±

    Steve¡¯s expression tightened.

    ¡°Are you positive¡ª¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t burn people alive, Captain.¡± Americop said without hesitation.

    Steve nodded.

    ¡°Understood.¡±

    Without hesitation, he leaped from Americop¡¯s position, flipping mid-air and landing on the X-Cutioner¡¯s right shoulder.

    Denti¡¯s mechanical voice hissed.

    ¡°Captain, don¡¯t¡ª¡±

    Steve pulled the pin on the grenade.

    The X-Cutioner twisted violently, trying to shake him off, but Captain America held on tight, wedging the grenade into a vulnerable section of the wrist joint.

    He kicked off, vaulting backward, just as the thermite charge ignited in a blinding flash.

    Flames erupted, liquid fire melting through the servos and hydraulics of the X-Cutioner¡¯s sword-wielding hand.

    Denti let out a distorted roar as his grip faltered, the massive black energy sword sparking violently.

    Captain America landed on the pavement, shield raised, watching as the Sentinel¡¯s massive blade-hand sputtered and sparked.

    Americop dropped down beside him.

    ¡°Good throw, Cap.¡±

    ¡°Thanks.¡± Steve adjusted his shield. ¡°Now let¡¯s take him down.¡±

    The X-Cutioner¡¯s left hand shield convulsed, twisting into a pulsating orb of energy. With a single pulse of kinetic force, it sent both Captain America and Americop flying backwards, their bodies hurtling through the air before crashing hard onto the pavement below. Steve¡¯s shield clattered beside him, rolling in a slow spiral before coming to a stop. Americop, ever durable, was already getting back onto his feet, pumping his shotgun and leveling it toward the towering machine.

    The Sentinel¡¯s domed head tilted downward, the white glow of its optics pulsating with cold intensity.

    ¡°You¡¯re making a terrible mistake, Captain. This mutant is dangerous. He¡¯ll betray you the first chance he gets!¡±

    A voice crackled through the comms, sharp with exasperation.

    ¡°By the way, I won¡¯t do that.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, kiddo,¡± Tony added dryly. ¡°Very reassuring.¡±

    Steve exhaled, already back in position, shield raised.

    ¡°Sorry, Denti. We can¡¯t give you anyone.¡±

    The response was immediate¡ªa guttural mechanical snarl from the X-Cutioner.

    Alamo didn¡¯t hesitate. He rocketed forward, a blazing blue comet in the sky. His fists clenched, plasma crackling around them, and with all the speed and force of a missile, he collided with the shields. The impact sent a resounding BOOM across the battlefield, sending waves of kinetic force rippling outward. The air wavered like liquid, and for a moment, the very fabric of reality seemed to distort as his plasma fought against the energy field.

    But the shield held.

    Alamo hovered backward, eyes narrowing behind his mask. He had felt it flicker¡ªjust for a split second¡ªbut that was enough.

    ¡°I¡¯ll get you, Denti. No shield is gonna stop me.¡±

    The X-Cutioner¡¯s voice spat back through its mechanical filter, raw with rage.

    ¡°Fuck you, Nenni. You¡¯re a terrorist! A villain!¡±

    Alamo glanced down, his teeth gritting against his own frustration. He had heard those words before, but never had they rung so hollow.

    ¡°Denti,¡± he said, his voice cutting through the static-laden comms, ¡°you just killed six people. Please don¡¯t insult them.¡±

    The machine lurched slightly, its frame shuddering with something disturbingly close to hesitation.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to,¡± the voice muttered, as if trying to convince itself. ¡°But you¡­ you will kill with a smile on your face.¡±

    Alamo¡¯s fingers flexed, plasma thrumming through his fingertips.

    He surged forward again, fists hammering into the shield in rapid succession. Every impact sent shockwaves rippling through the protective field, causing cracks of unstable energy to flicker across its surface. But it still held.

    Iron Man, watching from above, his HUD running countless algorithms, analyzed the flickering patterns in the energy field. His fingers danced over his gauntlet controls, adjusting his repulsor configurations. His mind worked at breakneck speed, identifying microsecond-long vulnerabilities.

    Then¡ªhe saw it.

    ¡°Kid, back off on my mark. Three, two¡ª¡±

    Alamo slammed his fists against the barrier one last time, watching as the distortion flared bright red for just a fraction of a second.

    ¡°¡ªOne! Move!¡±

    Alamo flipped backward, just as Tony Stark fired an overcharged repulsor blast directly into the weak point. The energy shields flickered violently, the oscillating frequencies shifting into chaos before finally¡ª

    A BOOM echoed, and the shield collapsed entirely.

    The exposed projector sparked wildly, its once-protective field now a volatile heap of overloaded circuitry.

    Alamo didn¡¯t wait. He lunged forward, gripping the shield projector in both hands and wrenching it free from the Sentinel¡¯s arm with a sickening metallic screech. Sparks showered down like fireworks as the device ripped apart, leaving exposed wiring and ruptured energy cores.

    A half-second later, a white-hot repulsor blast from Iron Man tore through the X-Cutioner¡¯s raised left arm cannon, sending a cascading explosion of blue energy arcing through the mech¡¯s limb. The entire structure shuddered violently, its servos grinding in protest.

    Alamo moved like a streak of burning blue light, his form a blur as he darted through the sky, circling the X-Cutioner like a predator sizing up its prey. The air hummed with kinetic energy, the very molecules trembling as he built momentum, his mach-speed flight patterns forming a swirling vortex of charged particles in his wake.

    Then, Denti saw it.

    Alamo reached to his right hand and pulled off his glove.

    For the first time since the fight began, Carl Denti¡¯s organic eye widened with something beyond anger, beyond hate¡ªgenuine fear.

    "What are you doing?!"

    Alamo didn¡¯t answer immediately. Instead, he hovered just above the X-Cutioner¡¯s domed head, his fingers crackling as raw energy coiled and danced around his exposed skin.

    Then, finally, he muttered:

    "Little trick I learned a while ago."

    And he slammed his bare hand down on the machine¡¯s crown.

    The results were immediate.

    A deafening surge of energy erupted, the sheer force of it splitting the sky with a thunderous CRACK, sending waves of blinding blue plasma outward in a spectacular display of destruction and raw power. The Sentinel¡¯s entire framework began to tremble violently, its circuits frying as Alamo drained every last drop of energy from its core, feeding off the machine¡¯s lifeblood like a supernova collapsing in on itself.

    The X-Cutioner twitched and spasmed, its towering frame slowly losing integrity. But Alamo wasn¡¯t finished yet.

    He took off, using the very energy he had stolen, and began to fly at speeds unheard of¡ªMach 5, Mach 6¡ªhis body becoming nothing more than a searing blue comet streaking across the battlefield. He circled the falling machine like a living hurricane, whipping up debris, guiding its descent, ensuring that when it fell, it wouldn¡¯t crush civilians or raze the entire block to the ground.

    And then, with one final calculated movement, he released the built-up energy, burning off the excess like a miniature sun imploding in midair.

    The Sentinel collapsed.

    But it didn¡¯t explode.

    It didn¡¯t obliterate the streets of Houston in a catastrophic wave of destruction.

    It simply landed with a soft, defeated thud.

    The fight was over.

    Alamo descended slowly, landing atop the wreckage with a graceful ease, his white gloves lightly dusted with singed metal residue.

    He exhaled sharply before pressing his fingers beneath the edge of the domed headpiece. With a firm grunt, he tore it off, ripping away layers of scorched steel and shattered plating.

    And beneath it, sitting battered and broken in the cockpit, was Carl Denti.

    The once-proud X-Cutioner was a ruined man.

    His lower legs had been nothing but charred stumps since the last time they fought in Dallas. His once-intact face was burned down the right side, a permanent disfigurement from his previous battle with Alamo. His once-righteous fury, the deep-seated hatred that fueled him, had dimmed into something exhausted and empty.

    His head lolled to the side, the weight of his cybernetic helmet pressing into his sunken shoulders. He didn''t even try to fight.

    Alamo stood over him, hands clenched into trembling fists.

    "Time to pay up, you mother¡ª"

    He raised his finger like a gun, the same way he had before. A quiet yet devastating motion.

    Americop, standing at the edge of the wreckage, crossed his arms and said nothing. He didn''t expect Alamo to hold back. He figured the kid had already decided how this was going to end.

    But then, before he could act, before he could make a decision that would permanently define the symbol of what "The Alamo" stood for, he heard the one voice that could still cut through everything.

    "It¡¯s okay, son."

    Captain America.

    His voice wasn¡¯t loud. It wasn¡¯t commanding. It wasn¡¯t even forceful. It was steady, calm, filled with quiet certainty. The kind of voice that could stop a war simply by speaking into the heart of it.

    Alamo stopped. His finger trembled for half a second before he lowered his hand.

    Captain America stepped forward, his blue uniform streaked with dust and sweat. He gently placed a hand on Alamo¡¯s shoulder, not as a superior, not as an order¡ªbut as an understanding presence.

    Then he turned his gaze toward the broken wreck of Carl Denti, the infamous X-Cutioner.

    "Carl Denti. You are under arrest."

    The words hung in the air like a gavel striking a judge¡¯s bench.

    Denti didn¡¯t resist.

    Didn¡¯t fight.

    Didn¡¯t even blink.

    He had lost.

    And for the first time, he seemed to accept it.

    Captain America hoisted Denti from the wreckage, lifting him out of his ruined cockpit. The man barely weighed anything, even with the cybernetic augmentations that kept him functional.

    As he was pulled free, SHIELD agents emerged from the crowd, their tactical gear crisp and their movements precise.

    At their forefront, a man with long dark hair and sunglasses stepped forward.

    "Agent Jack Monroe."

    Steve turned slightly, keeping his grip on Denti firm.

    "Monroe. Take him in." His voice hardened slightly. "But no funny games."

    Monroe nodded once.

    "Understood, Captain."

    Denti let out a breath, barely audible, barely anything at all.

    And with that, the X-Cutioner¡¯s war was finally over.

    Captain America turned to Alamo, the golden afternoon sun casting long shadows over the battlefield they had left behind. The air was still thick with the acrid scent of scorched metal, ozone, and the remnants of destruction wrought by the X-Cutioner. But the city itself was still standing. The people¡ªthose who had survived¡ªwould remember this day, but they would live to tell the story.

    And that was what mattered.

    As Cap was about to speak, he heard it¡ªthe unmistakable low hum of approaching engines, their sleek design cutting through the air in a way that was both surgical and imposing.

    Alamo and Americop turned their heads simultaneously as the aircraft came into view, its silhouette dark against the golden sky. The infamous Blackbird, the X-Men¡¯s signature jet, descending from the heavens like a harbinger of something yet to be determined.

    Alamo sighed audibly.

    Americop crossed his arms, the reinforced padding of his tactical gloves creaking against his plated chest. His chrome mask glinted in the waning sunlight, unreadable as ever, but his tone carried a familiar weight of sarcasm.

    "Great. The X-Men."

    Alamo, mirroring his posture almost instinctively, shook his head with a similar exasperation.

    "Yeah. Fantastic."

    The sarcasm in their voices was so in sync that for a split second, it almost sounded rehearsed.

    Americop exhaled sharply, as if shaking off the last few hours of battle like dust from his shoulders. He looked over at Captain America, who stood tall with his shield at his side, unwavering as always.

    "It was a good arrest, Captain." His voice was firm, steady, but there was an undeniable weight behind it, as if something unspoken lingered between them. Something Captain America chose, for now, not to push.

    Americop then turned to Alamo, tilting his head slightly in acknowledgment.

    "I''ll see you around, kid. Good job today." He paused, the hesitation brief but noticeable. "It was a pleasure working with you."

    Alamo raised an eyebrow beneath his mask. The words weren¡¯t empty. He could tell that much.

    He crossed his arms tighter. "Just no more killin'', yeah?"

    Americop didn¡¯t answer right away. He stood there for a moment, his posture rigid. His fingers twitched slightly at his sides, as if running through some invisible calculation in his head.

    Then he glanced between Alamo and Captain America, the weight of their words pressing on him like an anvil.

    Finally, with a small nod, he simply said:

    "I''ll think about it."

    And with that, he turned sharply on his heels and strode toward his modified police bike.

    The powerful engine rumbled to life, a deep mechanical growl that sent small vibrations through the pavement. The red and blue lights flickered for a split second before he twisted the throttle and peeled off, his chrome mask catching one final glint of the sun before he disappeared down the road.

    Captain America and the Avengers watched him go.

    Iron Man let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. ¡°Guy¡¯s got a real old-school Robocop vibe going. All that ¡®Justice Above All¡¯ talk. I¡¯m half-surprised he didn¡¯t arrest us for loitering.¡±

    Falcon chuckled. ¡°Maybe next time.¡±

    Captain America said nothing. He simply watched as Americop¡¯s bike disappeared into the distance, his expression unreadable.

    Then he turned back to Alamo.

    The young mutant vigilante was still standing there, his gaze lifted toward the descending Blackbird, watching as the jet¡¯s sleek body carved through the sky. The landing gears extended, the thrusters adjusting as it prepared to touch down just outside the perimeter of the battle-worn street.

    Cap studied him for a moment before asking, ¡°Your friends?¡±

    Alamo¡¯s jaw tightened beneath his mask.

    He didn¡¯t answer immediately.

    The Blackbird loomed closer.

    The truth was, he didn¡¯t know.

    He wasn¡¯t sure yet.

    So instead, he simply muttered, just loud enough for Cap to hear:

    "I ain''t sure yet."

 Chapter 9: Children of the Atom

    Captain America turned to Alamo, the golden afternoon sun casting long shadows over the battlefield they had left behind. The air was still thick with the acrid scent of scorched metal, ozone, and the remnants of destruction wrought by the X-Cutioner. But the city itself was still standing. The people¡ªthose who had survived¡ªwould remember this day, but they would live to tell the story.

    And that was what mattered.

    As Cap was about to speak, he heard it¡ªthe unmistakable low hum of approaching engines, their sleek design cutting through the air in a way that was both surgical and imposing.

    Alamo and Americop turned their heads simultaneously as the aircraft came into view, its silhouette dark against the golden sky. The infamous Blackbird, the X-Men¡¯s signature jet, descending from the heavens like a harbinger of something yet to be determined.

    Alamo sighed audibly.

    Americop crossed his arms, the reinforced padding of his tactical gloves creaking against his plated chest. His chrome mask glinted in the  sunlight, unreadable as ever, but his tone carried a familiar weight of sarcasm.

    "Great. The <i>X-Men</i>."

    Alamo, mirroring his posture almost instinctively, shook his head with a similar exasperation.

    "Yeah. <i>Fantastic.</i>"

    The sarcasm in their voices was so in sync that for a split second, it almost sounded rehearsed.

    Americop exhaled sharply, as if shaking off the last few hours of battle like dust from his shoulders. He looked over at Captain America, who stood tall with his shield at his side, unwavering as always.

    "It was a good <i>arrest</i>, Captain." His voice was firm, steady, but there was an undeniable weight behind it, as if something unspoken lingered between them. Something Captain America chose, for now, not to push.

    Americop then turned to Alamo, tilting his head slightly in acknowledgment.

    "I''ll see you around, kid. Good job today." He paused, the hesitation brief but noticeable. "It was a pleasure working with you."

    Alamo raised an eyebrow beneath his mask. The words weren¡¯t empty. He could tell that much.

    He crossed his arms tighter. "Just no more killin'', yeah?"

    Americop didn¡¯t answer right away. He stood there for a moment, his posture rigid. His fingers twitched slightly at his sides, as if running through some invisible calculation in his head.

    Then he glanced between Alamo and Captain America, the weight of their words pressing on him like an anvil.

    Finally, with a small nod, he simply said:

    <i>"I''ll think about it."</i>

    And with that, he turned sharply on his heels and strode toward his modified police bike.

    The powerful engine rumbled to life, a deep mechanical growl that sent small vibrations through the pavement. The red and blue lights flickered for a split second before he twisted the throttle and peeled off, his chrome mask catching one final glint of the sun before he disappeared down the road.

    Captain America and the Avengers watched him go.

    Iron Man let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. ¡°Guy¡¯s got a real old-school<i> Robocop</i> vibe going. All that ¡®Justice Above All¡¯ talk. I¡¯m half-surprised he didn¡¯t arrest us for loitering.¡±

    Falcon chuckled. ¡°Maybe next time.¡±

    Captain America said nothing. He simply watched as Americop¡¯s bike disappeared into the distance, his expression unreadable.

    Then he turned back to Alamo.

    The young mutant vigilante was still standing there, his gaze lifted toward the descending Blackbird, watching as the jet¡¯s sleek body carved through the sky. The landing gears extended, the thrusters adjusting as it prepared to touch down just outside the perimeter of the battle-worn street.

    Cap studied him for a moment before asking, ¡°Your friends?¡±

    Alamo¡¯s jaw tightened beneath his mask.

    He didn¡¯t answer immediately.

    The Blackbird loomed closer.

    The truth was, he didn¡¯t know.

    He wasn¡¯t sure yet.

    So instead, he simply muttered, just loud enough for Cap to hear:

    "I ain''t sure yet."

    Captain America stood firm as the Blackbird completed its descent, its engines humming with precision as the landing gear settled onto the pavement. The sleek jet, a staple of the X-Men¡¯s operations, cut a stark contrast against the wreckage-strewn battlefield where the massive X-Cutioner Sentinel lay lifeless, a testament to the fight that had just concluded. Smoke still rose from scattered fires, the air tinged with the acrid scent of burnt metal and ozone.

    Nearby, Alamo kept his distance, his arms still crossed over his chest, posture rigid. The metallic blue of his suit caught the setting sun, but his gaze was locked firmly on the jet¡¯s opening hatch. He had no reason to be nervous. None. And yet, as the hydraulic ramp extended and figures began to emerge, a certain tightness settled in his gut.

    "Shy, cowboy?" Wasp asked, tilting her head slightly, amusement flickering behind her dark lenses.

    Alamo quickly raised a hand to his mask, brushing it as if adjusting something, though it was more a nervous reflex than anything else. His voice was clipped, but the forced nonchalance was evident.

    "Ahem, no."

    From within the Blackbird, two figures watched the scene unfold through one of the side windows. Jubilee leaned in, pressing her hands against the glass with an amused smirk.

    "Well, that wasn¡¯t exactly unexpected."

    Rogue sat beside her, arms folded, one gloved finger tapping against her bicep. She had a clear view of the battlefield¡ªof the Avengers standing in a loose formation, and just a little behind them, Alamo, standing as still as a statue.

    "Did they just take down that massive Sentinel?" Jubilee asked, squinting.

    Rogue tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable, though a small smirk tugged at her lips.

    "Ah think so."

    Jubilee chuckled under her breath. "That¡¯s so hot."

    Rogue shot her a look. "Jubes!"

    Jubilee just grinned. "What? It totally is."

    Her eyes drifted back toward the lone Texan. His stance was defensive, like he was physically bracing himself for this encounter.

    "Is he hidin'' from us?" Jubilee mused.

    "Maybe he¡¯s just shy, Roguey."

    Rogue rolled her eyes. "Of what?"

    Jubilee¡¯s smirk grew mischievous. "Seein'' you again?"

    Rogue visibly stiffened. "Don¡¯t¡ªdon¡¯t say that."

    Jubilee just waggled her brows. "Mmmhmm."

    The Blackbird¡¯s hatch finally lowered completely, and one by one, the X-Men descended.

    First was Cyclops, his blue uniform crisp, he wore a tactical harness with an X-Badge fixed on a strap on the right part of his chest. The three lines in his visor glowed faintly, his expression set in its usual stoic resolve. Beside him, Jean Grey moved with an effortless grace, her red hair catching the last light of the sun, emerald eyes taking in the scene with quiet intensity.

    Behind them, Storm emerged, tall and regal, her silver-white hair flowing in the light breeze. Even in the aftermath of battle, she carried an air of authority and serenity that made her presence impossible to ignore. Her suit was almost like a dress, black with silver accents, with a slight cleavage.

    Then came Wolverine, gruff as ever, his cigar already between his teeth, the faintest hint of smoke curling up from the corner of his mouth. His eyes locked onto the downed Sentinel for a brief moment before flicking toward Captain America and the others.

    Finally, Jubilee and Rogue stepped out, side by side. Jubilee walked with an easy swagger, hands tucked into her yellow tech-wear jacket pockets, her pink shades getting the light of the sun, while Rogue¡¯s posture was more measured, composed, though her sharp green eyes landed unerringly on Alamo. She tugged her jacket, her bodysuit not the same from Florida, this one was a lighter green with black stripes.

    Alamo barely shifted, but he knew the exact moment she saw him. He felt it. That same look she always had when she was trying to figure someone out, like she was peeling back layers without asking a single question. It was unnerving.

    But before anything could be said between them, Cyclops addressed the Avengers directly. His voice was firm, even, as he extended a hand to Captain America.

    "Captain America, thank you for handling the X-Cutioner."

    Steve Rogers took the offered handshake, his grip firm as ever.

    "It was the right thing to do." His gaze flickered to the wreckage behind them. "Though I imagine this is just the beginning of something bigger."

    The tension in the air was palpable. The battle had ended, but the real confrontation was just beginning.

    Captain America gave Alamo a knowing glance before shifting his attention back to the assembled team. The weight of the moment settled between them all¡ªthe battle was over, but the implications of what had transpired still hung thick in the air.

    ¡°I couldn¡¯t have done it without the Avengers and the local backup,¡± Cap continued, his voice steady, gesturing toward Alamo, who stood just off to the side. ¡°Alamo and Americop provided crucial support.¡±

    Jubilee snorted softly, crossing her arms. ¡°<i>Americop?</i> Really?¡± Her tone was filled with skepticism, amusement even, but Rogue nudged her sharply with her elbow.

    ¡°He''s gone now, I''m afraid,¡± Cap added, throwing a brief glance toward where Gallows had disappeared into the streets of Houston, swallowed by the city as quickly as he had emerged from it.

    ¡°Oh, so the X-Crew is late for the show.¡± Stark¡¯s voice cut through the moment, casual as ever, his helmet retracting with a metallic hiss as he smirked toward the X-Men.

    Cyclops exhaled sharply, his stance unwavering even as the corners of his mouth twitched ever so slightly. ¡°Hello to you too, Stark.¡±

    ¡°Summers, don¡¯t be such a rigid guy.¡± Stark tilted his head, his tone dripping with playful sarcasm. ¡°I¡¯d think you were Cap with how stiff you¡¯re standing right now.¡±

    Falcon gave Cyclops a nod, the silent but mutual respect passing between them. ¡°Cyclops.¡±

    Jean acknowledged Sam with a warm but brief nod before Wasp chimed in, her tone lighter. ¡°Hey, Mr. Summers.¡±

    Cyclops, despite himself, gave a small nod back. Then, with purpose, he turned his attention fully toward Alamo, stepping forward and extending a hand.

    ¡°Thank you for helping, Alamo.¡±

    The younger mutant hesitated for a split second before taking the offered handshake. His grip was firm, but not aggressive. His gloved fingers, still warm from the energy he had absorbed from the X-Cutioner¡¯s systems, pressed against Summers¡¯ palm.

    ¡°Yeah, yeah. I can''t let y''all keep a monopoly on mutantkind.¡± His voice carried that same wry edge, but there was something else underneath it¡ªsomething unspoken. A quiet weight.

    Cyclops was about to respond when he blinked, tilting his head slightly. He squeezed the handshake just a little, a momentary note of curiosity slipping into his voice.

    ¡°Your hands¡ª¡±

    Alamo immediately pulled back, shaking his head. ¡°They¡¯re warm, get over it, I know.¡±Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

    That was the last thing he needed¡ªanother comment about it. He had heard it so many damn times.

    From teachers and doctors when he was a kid.

    From researchers trying to figure out what was his mutant classification.

    From the people who had tested his abilities.

    From people who hadn¡¯t yet learned the cost of plasma.

    And yet, here it was again. Casually noticed. Pointed out. Like a fun fact. Like it wasn¡¯t tangled up with everything that defined him.

    Captain America smirked slightly, arms crossed. "I noticed that too." His voice was light, teasing even, but Alamo wasn¡¯t in the mood.

    It settled into his chest, that tight feeling¡ªone he had buried so deep for so long.

    It wasn¡¯t just the comment. It wasn¡¯t even about his mutation, not entirely. It was what it reminded him of. The weight of something he had spent a long time pushing to the back of his mind. A memory that he didn¡¯t want here. Not now.

    Alamo let out a sharp exhale, shifting uncomfortably. He moved his fingers slightly as if shaking off the tension, rolling his shoulders before muttering:

    ¡°Ahem, can we get back to the topic at¡ª¡±

    And then his words cut off.

    Because he saw her.

    For just a moment, his brain went static.

    Not because he hadn¡¯t expected to see her.

    Not because they hadn''t crossed paths.

    But because it was different now.

    Because seeing Rogue, in this moment, hit somewhere deeper than he thought it would.

    He smirked under his mask, his attention drawn toward her without even meaning to. Just for a moment, barely anything. But enough. Enough that he felt it settle in his gut.

    His body reacted before his mind caught up, a flicker of something like familiarity, like recognition, like comfort. Not because it was entirely a good thing. Not because it was something he had resolved.

    But because it was familiar.

    Because she understood. The danger of touch. The power of it. The cost of it.

    Alamo snapped back to reality, shaking his head as if brushing it off, but the moment had already happened.

    There was some strain in his voice now, deeper than the usual awkwardness when he spoke again.

    ¡°Ahem, great, great, yeah¡ªcan we move past that?¡± His voice was casual, but it didn¡¯t land right. It carried something weightier beneath the surface.

    A note that wasn¡¯t just frustration.

    But something older. Something he didn¡¯t want to put into words.

    And Rogue was looking at him now.

    Really looking at him.

    Like she had caught something in the way he had reacted.

    Like she had seen through the mask.

    And Alamo felt that tightness in his chest again.

    Rogue stood quietly, her arms crossed, eyes flickering toward Alamo from beneath her auburn bangs. Since Florida, he had lingered in her mind in ways she hadn¡¯t expected. There was something about him¡ªsomething about the way he had spoken.

    "Free men don¡¯t buy promises of salvation."

    She had heard a lot of philosophies in her time, from Mystique, from Destiny, from Magneto, from Xavier. But his? His words weren¡¯t some grand ideology. They were just him. A belief that seemed to be carved into his very existence.

    She had been afraid he would be alone. That his stubborn pride, his distrust of both sides¡ªmutant and human alike¡ªwould leave him isolated in a world that wasn¡¯t kind to those who stood between lines. But seeing him here, standing with the Avengers, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Steve Rogers, of all people¡­

    She exhaled softly, relief settling in her chest. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn¡¯t as alone as she had feared.

    Her gaze drifted downward, toward his gloves. The faint light that had flickered in his fingertips was fading now, the last remnants of energy draining from his body. She knew what that meant.

    He had absorbed something. Not just heat, not just light¡ªraw power.

    And that was something she understood better than anyone.

    Before she could say anything, Storm stepped forward, her presence as commanding as ever.

    "It is good to see you, Captain," she said, her voice carrying its usual regal calm.

    "Mutual, Ororo," Cap responded, offering her a respectful nod.

    Storm¡¯s sharp gaze turned toward the fallen X-Cutioner mech, its massive blackened form sprawled across the pavement like a toppled titan. "How did you manage to bring it down?"

    Before Cap could respond, Tony Stark¡ªever the showman¡ªstepped in.

    "Oh, let me chime in on that one." He stretched, rolling his shoulders. "Cap and the Chrome-Faced RoboCop handled the big guy¡¯s sword situation¡ªvery dramatic, very heroic, very on-brand for our boy scout."

    Jubilee¡¯s eyes widened, her hands clapping together. "So cool."

    "Jubilation," Storm warned, but there was no real heat in it.

    "And then, of course, yours truly handled some of the heavy lifting," Tony continued. "But you know who really stole the show?" He threw an arm around Alamo¡¯s broad shoulders, patting him like they were old drinking buddies.

    Alamo didn¡¯t react, didn¡¯t stiffen, just stood there and let Stark talk.

    "This big boy here sucked all the energy out of that thing, just drained it like a mutant battery pack."

    Rogue¡¯s head snapped up, her green eyes locking onto Alamo instantly.

    "Like¡­ in Florida."

    The air shifted. A quiet passed over them.

    Alamo nodded, his voice level. "Yup. What works, works."

    She smirked, but there was something else in her expression. Something knowing. Something almost¡­ challenging.

    "Glove an¡¯ all?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.

    Alamo nodded again, his mask hiding whatever he was thinking. "Yes, ma¡¯am."

    Her smirk deepened, just a little. "Ah wanted to be here to see it."

    He shrugged. "There will be other opportunities."

    Jubilee groaned dramatically, throwing her hands in the air. "Oh man, I wanted to see too!"

    Stark laughed, nudging Alamo playfully. "Oh yeah, you guys should¡¯ve seen it. He was all in, took the gloves off and everything¡ª" he placed a dramatic hand over his heart, "¡ªa real homage, really." Tony Stark winked to Alamo.

    Rogue raised an eyebrow, but before she could say anything else, Jean Grey shot Stark a look.

    "Mr. Stark."

    He put his hands up. "Alright, alright. I¡¯ll behave."

    Cap exhaled, shaking his head. "Shall we head inside?"

    Storm nodded. "Yes, Captain."

    With that, the Avengers, the X-Men, and the Alamo turned toward the towering gates of Carraro.

    The protest crowds had mostly dispersed now, thanks to Cap¡¯s earlier speech, but there were still murmurs, still whispers. The battle had been won, but the fight¡ªthe real fight¡ªwas only beginning.

    And as they stepped forward, Rogue cast one last glance toward Alamo.

    He wasn¡¯t looking at her.

    But she could feel it.

    That weight between them. That understanding. That unspoken thing that neither of them quite wanted to name yet.

    But it was there.

    The room fell into a heavy silence. The weight of the day¡¯s losses pressed down on them all, from the Avengers to the X-Men to the lone mutant in the middle of it all¡ªAlamo. It was the reality of what they did. No matter how fast they were, no matter how powerful, no matter how righteous their cause¡ªsometimes, they lost. And today, they had lost people. Mutant and human alike.

    Captain America¡¯s voice was steady, but there was an unmistakable gravity to it as he spoke. "There were casualties."

    Storm¡¯s expression darkened. "How many?"

    "Mutant and human," Cap clarified.

    Storm inhaled sharply, her regal composure momentarily shaken. "By the goddess..."

    Jean Grey shut her eyes, feeling the weight of every life lost in the psychic echoes that lingered in the air. The cries, the pain, the final thoughts of people who would never go home again. She had trained herself to shield from the worst of it, but even through her barriers, she could feel the loss.

    Rogue swallowed hard. She had seen too much death, but it never got easier. Even if it wasn¡¯t their fault, it was still blood spilled. And it would still be blamed on them.

    Iron Man exhaled, shaking his head. "That¡¯s terrible."

    Cyclops, ever pragmatic, ever the leader, squared his shoulders. "Where are the bodies?"

    Captain America hesitated for a moment before answering. "I¡¯m afraid their retrieval was impossible."

    Jean¡¯s brows furrowed, an unsettled look passing between her and Storm. "Impossible?"

    Tony Stark, who had already been running calculations in his head, spoke the words that turned their stomachs.

    "They were vaporized."

    The room went cold.

    Wolverine let out a sharp exhale, shaking his head. "Damn shame. Should¡¯ve gutted the bastard when we had the chance."

    Cap turned toward him, his face impassive but his voice firm. "Sergeant Howlett, that¡¯s not the way the Avengers do things."

    Logan¡¯s eyes flickered toward him, sharp and challenging, but not disrespectful. "Well, Cap, war is war. You an¡¯ me both know that."

    Steve¡¯s jaw tightened, but he didn¡¯t argue. He did know that. Knew it too well.

    It was Cyclops who broke the silence. His voice was measured, but there was an unmistakable edge to it. "Captain, why is this the concern of the Avengers?"

    Steve had expected the question. He didn¡¯t blame Scott for asking it¡ªhe would have asked the same if the roles were reversed. But that didn¡¯t make it any less frustrating.

    He had seen too much.

    He had heard those words in New York. That voice, trapped in the cold shell of a metal prison. "Kill me," it had begged.

    His hands curled slightly at his sides. The same experiment, the same horror¡ªfirst on humans, then on mutants. Or maybe it had been the other way around. Maybe it had always been both.

    He hated the idea that there had ever been a distinction. That they had ever been treated as anything but people.

    He exhaled through his nose and answered plainly.

    "We found evidence to suggest that there might be some connection between Trask and some experiments with humans in New York. The scientist we interrogated pointed out this particular facility."

    Jean¡¯s head snapped up, eyes sharp with concern. "So it goes beyond mutants."

    "Possibly," Cap admitted. "But we have yet to confirm. Maybe it¡¯s unrelated, but I find that unlikely."

    Cyclops crossed his arms, his face unreadable behind his visor. He had spent years fighting Trask¡¯s creations. Sentinels. Mutant-killing machines. If Trask was experimenting with humans now, it raised an unsettling question.

    What was the purpose? And how long had it been going on?

    The weight in Steve¡¯s gut only grew heavier. Trask had never cared about humanity. Not really. His only concern was control. If he was turning his experiments on humans now, it meant one of two things: Either his machines were no longer effective at wiping out mutants¡­ or he was looking for a more permanent solution.

    And then, something else came to mind. Something Cyclops had tried to brush past, but Steve wasn¡¯t about to let it go.

    "What happened in Arkansas, Summers?"

    The X-Men tensed. There was no mistaking it¡ªthe way their expressions shifted, the way Rogue¡¯s hands clenched into fists at her sides, the way Jubilee bit her lip and looked away.

    Steve narrowed his eyes slightly. "You didn¡¯t kill Thomas Thompson, did you?"

    Cyclops squared his shoulders. "No, Captain. We didn¡¯t. There was someone else."

    Jean, ever the diplomat, stepped in. "It was a terrible loss."

    "We messed up," Jubilee admitted, her voice uncharacteristically quiet. "We couldn¡¯t save the guy."

    "There was some woman in power armor. She killed him." Rogue added. "Ah couldn''t save him, none of us could."

    Alamo felt his blood run cold.

    The X-Men hadn¡¯t done it. But that didn¡¯t mean anyone would believe them.

    His mind raced. He had seen the news coverage, the way the Friends of Humanity had twisted the story before the body had even cooled.

    <i>"Thomas Thompson, the martyr."</i>

    <i>"Murdered by the X-Men."</i>

    It didn¡¯t matter that it wasn¡¯t true.

    To the people marching in the streets, it didn¡¯t matter who had pulled the trigger. They chose to believe who the villain was, regardless of facts.

    Alamo remained quiet, his arms crossed as he processed everything. The X-Men had never been his enemy, not really. But they weren¡¯t his team, either. He had always been wary of them¡ªof their cause, of their ideology, of what he perceived as their willingness to fight battles that weren¡¯t theirs to fight.

    But standing here now, in the middle of Houston, looking at the people who had bled today, looking at Captain America himself standing side by side with them¡­ he wasn¡¯t sure what to think.

    Maybe he¡¯d been wrong about them.

    Cyclops turned to face him fully, his posture still stiff but not hostile.

    "I presume you¡¯re here for Trask too, Alamo."

    His name¡ªhis title¡ªfelt different coming from Summers¡¯ mouth.

    Alamo nodded. "Yup, I started the investigation."

    There was a beat of silence. Then, to his surprise, Cyclops nodded with something almost like respect.

    "We never thanked you for the data you gave us."

    That made Alamo pause.

    He hadn¡¯t expected that. Not from them.

    He had expected hostility, skepticism¡ªanything but gratitude.

    "Oh¡­" He was caught off guard, struggling for a response. "Ain¡¯t nothin¡¯, really."

    But then Rogue spoke, her voice softer than he had anticipated.

    "Ya did a good thing fer us, Du¡ª" She stopped herself, but the slip was there. His name. His real name.

    She knew it. She hadn¡¯t forgotten.

    Alamo smirked behind the mask, but his heart stuttered for just a second.

    "No worries, y¡¯all." He tried to keep his voice even, tried not to let it show. "I reckon it¡¯s¡­ important to help."

    Jubilee grinned, stepping up beside Rogue. "Oh, come on, dude. Don¡¯t downplay it. You were awesome."

    He blinked. "Huh?"

    Jubilation Lee was practically bouncing on her feet now.

    "Jubilee and Rogue spoke highly of you," Storm clarified.

    Alamo turned his head slightly toward the two women, caught off guard again. They had?

    "Y¡¯all did?"

    Jubilee threw her arms in the air dramatically. "Oh yeah! That thing with the Sentinels in the swamp? That was insane! You totally ripped them apart!"

    Alamo remembered that night well. He hadn¡¯t been alone in that fight. Rogue had been there. He could still hear the sound of Sentinels breaking apart, of metal screaming as he absorbed and redirected energy with reckless abandon.

    It had been¡­ a good fight.

    Rogue nodded, her voice carrying something different. Something deeper. "Ya helped us a lot, Alamo."

    She meant it.

    He felt that.

    And for once, he wasn¡¯t sure what to say.

    There was a beat of silence before he finally exhaled through his nose, smirking again under the mask.

    "Don¡¯t worry ¡®bout that none."

    "Yet you are highly critical of us." Storm cut the moment.

    Rogue hadn¡¯t expected Storm to question him so soon. She had expected a more measured approach, maybe even a softer attempt to understand him. But Ororo Munroe, in all her quiet grace, could command a storm just as fiercely as she could calm one.

    Alamo stopped floating mid-air, his plasma dissipating softly at his feet. He smiled behind the mask, though they couldn¡¯t see it.

    "A little bit of diversity of <i>thought</i> ain¡¯t much fer the X-Men, I hope."

    Storm¡¯s gaze was steady. "It didn¡¯t seem like diversity of thought. It seemed like animosity."

    That made him pause, just for a second.

    "Against y¡¯all?"

    "You called us ¡®<i>Mutant Police</i>,¡¯ did you not?"

    Alamo tilted his head slightly, his arms crossing over his chest.

    "Y¡¯all are wearin¡¯ badges."

    Storm narrowed her eyes just slightly.

    "We¡¯re not policemen."

    "Even if we were," Jean added, her voice calm but firm, "it doesn¡¯t seem like you cared working with... Americop."

    Alamo let out a soft, almost amused breath through his nose. <i>They caught that, huh?</i>

    His response was immediate, as natural as a reflex. "Bartholomew Gallows spoke fer himself and himself only. There¡¯s no Americorps, there¡¯s no group. It¡¯s him, alone."

    He floated back down to the pavement, hands resting on his belt.

    "And even then," he added, "I have more disagreements with him than with y¡¯all X-Men."

    That seemed to give them pause.

    Because it was the truth.

    For all his wariness of the X-Men, for all his skepticism about their methods and their role in mutantkind''s future¡­ he understood them. They believed in something bigger than themselves, and they fought for it.

    <i>Americop? Americop was different.</i>

    He didn''t disagree with Americop just in philosophy. His methods highly disturbed him too.

    Alamo¡¯s issues with the X-Men weren¡¯t about personal vendettas. They weren¡¯t even about whether or not they meant well.

    It was about what they represented. More than method, more than philosophy.

    <b>"</b>Okay, can we, like, lower down the tension here a bit?"

    Jubilee, ever the voice of chaotic neutrality, raised her hands in surrender, breaking the stare-down with an exaggerated eye-roll.

    Alamo sighed, letting his shoulders relax just slightly.

    "I''m sorry if I have stoked fires on those who wanted to hear what I had to say," he admitted, his voice steady. "I didn''t mean to make yer job harder... Not at all. But we must question ourselves a bit to grow... I know it. Everyone seems to question me on somethin¡¯ or the other... It''s good, good to listen to other opinions."

    Iron Man let out a short chuckle, crossing his arms over the glowing reactor in his chest.

    "The kid is right. Not all opinions are right, though."

    Jean sighed, but she didn''t press the issue further. Captain America gave Alamo a small nod, not necessarily in agreement, but in quiet acknowledgment.

    They had reached the gates.

    The Carraro security guards, who had initially braced for confrontation, froze in place as they took in the sheer force of the group standing before them.

    The Avengers. The X-Men. Captain America himself.

    They were trained professionals¡ªhardened men, most of them military veterans. But this wasn¡¯t just any squad of mutants or enhanced individuals.

    It was one thing to deal with a rogue super or some powered troublemakers. It was another thing entirely to face Steve Rogers standing at your doorstep.

    The moment they saw the shield on his back, a quiet understanding rippled through them.

    Cap wasn¡¯t just a superhero.

    To them, to men who had served, who had sworn oaths, he was an ideal. A leader. A brother-in-arms.

    The hesitation was immediate.

    The older guard at the front, a man with a graying buzz cut and a scar running down his cheek, gave a slow, deliberate nod.

    No words were exchanged. None were needed.

    He turned, motioning to his team. The heavy metal gates groaned as they swung open.

    Beyond them, the Carraro headquarters loomed, eerily untouched despite the absolute warzone that had erupted outside.

    There were no sirens. No alarms blaring.

    The people inside were still working, moving as if nothing had just happened.

    As if the top of their damn building hadn''t been ripped off.

    Alamo narrowed his glowing red eyes beneath the mask.

    <i>Something about that wasn¡¯t right.</i>

 Chapter 10: Lone Reflections

    The air inside Carraro Headquarters was unnaturally still as the heroes moved deeper into the building. The tension in the room hadn¡¯t yet settled, but the presence of Captain America and the X-Men had rendered resistance futile. The guards stood aside, some casting wary glances at each other, others simply relieved they wouldn¡¯t be caught in the middle of what could have been a bloodbath.

    Steve Rogers walked with purpose, his boots echoing on the pristine tiled floors. The hallways were sleek, modern, lined with glass-walled offices and corporate artwork meant to exude power and sophistication. The cool, sterilized air of Carraro¡¯s corporate affluence was an odd contrast to the war zone just outside its doors.

    Scott Summers matched his pace, walking alongside him, his voice calm, but pointed.

    "Captain, what exactly are you looking for?"

    Steve¡¯s eyes didn¡¯t waver.

    "Parts, manifestos, everything we can get our hands on."

    Scott exhaled, already suspecting the answer but still feeling the weight of the situation.

    "Wouldn¡¯t SHIELD be better suited to handle this?"

    Steve¡¯s steps didn¡¯t slow, nor did his expression shift. His voice was firm but carried no anger. Captain America knew that SHIELD was partially responsible for this mess and he wasn''t willing to give them the benefit of the doubt right now, but he didn''t have to stoke flames on Cyclops, without enough evidence was too easy for them point fingers.

    "I think I''m doing fine enough, Summers. Thank you for your concern."

    Behind them, Iron Man, Falcon, and Wasp followed. The trio exchanged glances, having worked under SHIELD¡¯s influence long enough to recognize the tension in the air. Captain America had a long past with the government, with Fury, but he wasn''t their pawn, not at all. His loyalties lied on America, the nation and its people, not bureacrats in DC.

    Then Wolverine approached, the gruff, battle-hardened mutant moved with that distinct casual confidence only he could pull off. He was clad in his black on yellow uniform¡ªnot entirely practical, but no less made for war.

    He moved in beside Captain America, and for a moment, the years faded away.

    "So, big blue." Wolverine¡¯s voice was gruff, but there was something familiar in the way he said it. "Seems like we have common enemies again."

    Steve couldn¡¯t help the small, knowing smile that tugged at the corner of his lips.

    "It¡¯s good to see you, Logan."

    "Likewise, Cap. It¡¯s been a long time."

    "Long, yes."

    And just like that, memories surfaced.

    The scent of damp earth in the forests of France. The blistering heat of the North African desert. The sharp crack of gunfire in the streets of Italy.

    The Howling Commandos.

    Nick Fury. Dum Dum Dugan. Rebel Ralston. Percival Pinkerton. Eric Koenig.

    And James Howlett.

    There had always been something different about Logan back then. A soldier, yes¡ªbut a man who carried a weight far heavier than even war could explain.

    And yet, despite their differences, there had been camaraderie.

    Steve had been a man of principle, leading with duty and discipline.

    Logan had been a man of instinct, raw and untamed, a warrior through and through.

    Two soldiers¡ªopposite in philosophy, but bound by the battlefield.

    But the moment was short-lived.

    Because Scott Summers was a man who kept things moving.

    "Let¡¯s see what we can find."

    Steve gave a short nod, his mind snapping back to the present.

    Behind Rogue, Alamo and Jubilee moved in sync, but the air between them was thick with an unspoken tension that neither Rogue nor Alamo fully understood. It was an unusual silence¡ªone that settled heavier on Jubilee, who had never been fond of the quiet.

    She threw up her hands, frustration evident in her tone.

    "Hey, why is no one sayin'' anything? Are we good, or like, did you two fight or something?"

    Neither of them immediately answered.

    Alamo, for once, found himself at a loss for words.

    And that wasn¡¯t something he was used to. He had expected to see Rogue again, sure, but he hadn¡¯t expected to feel anything about it.

    Yet, here he was, hyper-aware of her presence, the small shifts in her expression, the slight glance she gave him as if expecting him to say something.

    Rogue, on the other hand, was mildly irritated. He had been so adamant about bringing up every argument in Florida, but now, when she was standing right beside him, the guy suddenly had nothing to say?

    Something had changed.

    She just wasn¡¯t sure what.

    The silence stretched for a beat too long, and finally, Alamo cleared his throat.

    "Ahem... Well, I was just thinkin¡¯ is all."

    Rogue crossed her arms, looking at him sideways.

    "Yeah, everythin¡¯ is right."

    Jubilee, not one to let tension fester, scoffed loudly, stepping in between them as she threw her arms up dramatically.

    "Nothin¡¯ sassy to say, Roguey? And you, Mr. Lone Star, should be borin¡¯ my ears off with that whole philosophical bit you do"

    Alamo chuckled, shaking his head.

    "I ain¡¯t always philosophical, alright. You barely know me."

    Jubilee rolled her eyes, dramatically flipping her short black hair.

    "I know enough that you¡¯re booooring."

    Alamo smirked, crossing his arms.

    "I ain¡¯t borin¡¯ at all. You just hate knowledge."

    Jubilee gasped, pressing a hand over her chest as if he had gravely offended her.

    "Never, I love... knowin'' and stuff! Unless If it¡¯s your useless nerd talk, then I do!"

    Rogue, amused but keeping her voice casual, chimed in.

    "Everythin¡¯ is nerd talk ta ya, Jubes."

    Jubilee turned dramatically, pointing at her.

    "Rogue!"

    Rogue grinned, shaking her head.

    "All ya wanna do is eat Doritos and play games."

    Jubilee threw up her arms as if making a grand declaration. Every bit aware of her own theatrics.

    "That¡¯s what EVERYONE wants to do!"

    Alamo snorted, shaking his head.

    "Not all the time, no."

    Jubilee shot him an incredulous look. Retorting right back with Alamo''s argument.

    "You don¡¯t know me, alright."

    Rogue smirked. Shaking her head as to recall the past, every single bit of Jubilee''s erratic behavior, much like an older sister remembers the more chaotic younger one''s deeds.

    "Ya know the other day she got mad ¡®cause Storm took away her Doritos and gave her actual food. That very same day we came from Florida."

    Jubilee gasped again, this time with real offense.

    "Look, first of all, I was savin¡¯ that for a while! Secondly¡ªYOU ATE ¡®EM TOO!"

    Rogue tilted her head smugly.

    "Not as much as ya, sugah."

    Alamo, watching the back-and-forth, shook his head with amusement.

    "I can¡¯t blame her. Doritos are good."

    Jubilee spun to him, pointing enthusiastically.

    "Right? Right?"

    Rogue rolled her eyes, laughing.

    "They are, but Jubes, ya live off snacks. Ain¡¯t nobody livin¡¯ to 80 eatin¡¯ what ya eat."

    Jubilee shrugged, completely unfazed.

    "I don¡¯t have to live to eighty. I just wanna have fun!"

    "Talk ''bout ain''t here fer a long a time, I''m here fer a good time."

    "Yes! Yes- Wait is that a cheesy country song?"

    "By George Strait, yup"

    Alamo, leaning back slightly, gave her a skeptical look, now taking her figure a bit more seriously, his eyes darting around her more athletic frame.

    "Heck, how do you even keep yerself in shape?"

    Rogue, without missing a beat, answered for her.

    "Have ya seen this gal, Duncan? She runs ¡®round all day when she¡¯s not playin¡¯ games or eatin¡¯."

    Alamo, smirking behind his mask, caught the subtle way Rogue had said his name.

    "Oh yeah? Danger Room for the win, babes?"

    Jubilee, grinning, flexed her arms dramatically. Her biceps weren''t particularly big, but she was leaner than expect for someone who allegedly

    "So it ain¡¯t a power?"

    She shook her head, still flexing.

    "No sir, I¡¯m just physically active like that."

    Alamo nodded, arms crossed, his smirk widening.

    "She likes to keep it lively."

    And just like that, the weight in the air lifted slightly.

    Whatever unspoken tension had been hanging over the three of them had given way to something lighter¡ªsomething familiar.

    Jubilee grinned wide, flicking her wrists as small bursts of fireworks popped and fizzled in the air around them, colorful and vibrant.

    "Oh yeah!" she said, tossing another playful display of pyrotechnics into the air. "Too bad I wasn¡¯t here to entertain the crowd when you guys took down that big-ass Sentinel."

    Alamo gave a soft chuckle under his mask, shaking his head.

    "The X-Cutioner," he corrected.

    Jubilee¡¯s brow furrowed. "What? The X-Cutioner was on that thing?"

    Rogue, arms crossed, nodded. "Yup."

    Jubilee¡¯s eyes widened. "Why?"

    Alamo exhaled, his voice steady but laced with something unreadable. "''Cause he lost his legs."

    Jubilee blinked. "Oh damn. Oh, shit... It was you, wasn¡¯t it?"

    Alamo¡¯s jaw tensed slightly behind the mask. He didn¡¯t regret what happened in Dallas. He had been defending himself, defending civilians. But still, something about the way she said it made his gut twist.

    "I¡¯m not sure that¡¯s somethin¡¯ to be proud of," he finally said, his tone quieter.

    Jubilee tilted her head, a skeptical look on her face. "What? You took down a bad guy. What¡¯s not to be proud of?"

    Alamo hesitated, his eyes momentarily drifting down to his gloved hands.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!

    "Well, I didn¡¯t exactly take him down... he killed six people today, didn¡¯t he?"

    And just like that, the atmosphere shifted.

    Jubilee and Rogue went pale.

    The weight of that statement settled between them like a lead brick.

    Rogue had seen it firsthand¡ªthe burning blast, the screams that never came because the people never got the chance to scream. Six lives gone, just like that.

    And Alamo... Alamo had spent years running numbers, calculating risks, probabilities, trying to make sense of chaos through finance and mathematics. But there was no way to quantify this.

    Six lives.

    Six people who weren¡¯t supposed to die today.

    She watched him, the way his posture stiffened just slightly. He wasn¡¯t blaming himself outright, but she knew that feeling.

    She had lived that feeling.

    "It ain''t yer fault, Duncan," Rogue said, her voice softer now.

    Alamo exhaled through his nose, nodding. "No, it ain¡¯t. But... then again, maybe if I had¡ª"

    Rogue cut in, her voice firmer. "Maybe ya should¡¯ve."

    Alamo¡¯s eyes flickered toward her, unreadable beneath his mask.

    Jubilee groaned, throwing her arms up dramatically. "Or maybe not, because that is not a nice thing, okay? Chill out, guys."

    Rogue sighed, shaking her head. "Oh, no... Ah ain¡¯t a fan of murder or anythin¡¯."

    "It¡¯s hardly murder if it¡¯s savin¡¯ lives," Alamo muttered, his voice carrying that low, weighty conviction he always spoke with.

    Rogue nodded slowly, processing. "But Ah reckon ya¡¯re right... it ain¡¯t the right thing to do."

    Jubilee nodded along, more than happy to change the subject now that things had gotten too heavy for her liking.

    "Yup!" she chirped, her tone pointedly lighter.

    There was a moment of silence before Rogue glanced at Alamo again, something softer in her expression. "It¡¯s good that ya¡¯re here."

    Alamo blinked, the simple statement catching him off-guard.

    He wasn¡¯t exactly used to hearing that.

    "It¡¯s good to be here," he admitted, and Rogue swore she heard the tiniest bit of hesitation behind his words, like maybe he didn¡¯t fully believe it himself yet.

    Jubilee, standing slightly behind Rogue, shot her a look¡ªone of suspicion, but also amusement.

    Rogue noticed, rolling her eyes. "Ah mean, to help us."

    Alamo coughed lightly, nodding. "Sure, ahem, yeah... Y¡¯know, I started the thing with Carraro. Have to see it through."

    "Damn right, Cowboy," Rogue said, smirking just slightly.

    Jubilee giggled.

    Rogue snapped her head toward her. "What¡¯s so funny, Jubes?"

    Jubilee grinned, shaking her head, her voice dripping with mock innocence.

    "Nothing. Nothing at all."

    But Rogue could tell.

    Jubilee had noticed something.

    But before she could say it.

    Captain America spoke, he looked at the blue sign on the wall to the server room.

    "Iron Man, Falcon go to the server room we need to make sure what they have, in your way try to find anything about those AIM prototypes."

    "Alright, Cap." Iron Man nodded and flew upstairs.

    "Understood sir." Falcon added before following Tony Stark.

    Then Cyclops spoke, his tone even and authoritative, as always.

    "Jubilee, Storm, Jean¡ªcould you follow the Avengers to the server room? Rogue, Wolverine, with me."

    Jubilee huffed dramatically but gave a mock salute. "Yes, fearless leader."

    Storm simply nodded, "Yes, Scott."

    Jean, her gaze flickering between the team, gave a reassuring smile before stepping toward the departing group. "We''ll rendezvous back at the main office, Scott."

    Captain America turned to Wasp. "Van Dyne, with me."

    Wasp smirked. "Yes, Captain."

    And just like that, the teams split.

    The server group, led by Cyclops, followed the Avengers. The others, including Logan, moved with Cap deeper into the facility, leaving behind two figures in the vast, cold hallway.

    Rogue and Alamo.

    The air between them shifted.

    For the first time since Florida, they were alone. Just the two of them.

    Alamo exhaled, shifting his weight onto one foot before glancing sideways at her. "She always like that?"

    Rogue arched a brow. "Jubilee? Oh, she''s usually worse."

    Alamo let out a soft chuckle. "I can¡¯t imagine havin¡¯ so many roommates at once."

    Rogue smirked, arms crossed as she leaned slightly against the wall. "It ain''t as bad as it seems."

    Alamo narrowed his eyes slightly behind the mask. "You sure?"

    Rogue sighed, shaking her head with a reluctant smile. "Okay, it''s pretty bad sometimes."

    "Knew it." Alamo said, looking ahead. "Peace and tranquility is somethin¡¯ you can¡¯t put a price on."

    Rogue hummed thoughtfully. "Yeah, things get real rowdy. But, family is family... It¡¯s complicated, but it¡¯s also supportive. We take care of each other."

    "Family."

    Alamo repeated the word, like he was testing it, as if the concept itself was something distant to him.

    "Ya have yers, don¡¯tcha?" Rogue asked, her voice curious, but not prying.

    Alamo nodded, but hesitated. "I do. My mom and dad."

    Rogue¡¯s expression softened. "Must be nice."

    His lips pressed together behind the mask. "You lost yours?"

    "Long time ago," Rogue admitted, her tone casual, but there was something beneath it¡ªsomething guarded, She felt the weight of her parents leaving her even if she was just a baby, her aunt Carrie had no idea of how to handle a mutant, the past didn''t bring good memories to Rogue, it never did. "Grew up with my aunt fer a while. Until..."

    Alamo didn''t need her to finish. He already knew.

    "The Brotherhood took ya in."

    "Yup. Then it was Mystique and Destiny."

    Alamo nodded, recalling what he had read on the internet, what he had heard. Mystique and Destiny weren¡¯t just leaders of the Brotherhood¡ªthey had been her parental figures.

    "Oh yeah," he murmured. "Read that before."

    Rogue tilted her head, watching him. "Does it feel any different? Y¡¯know¡­ with the X-Men?"

    There was a pause before she answered.

    "Oh... It does," Rogue said, a faint smile crossing her lips. "It¡¯s¡­ calmer. More trustworthy. Y¡¯know, doesn¡¯t feel like Ah¡¯m alone anymore. They support me¡­ Jean, ¡®Ro, Logan¡­ Ya also have to support people, Jubes, Kitty."

    Alamo absorbed her words. Support.

    He mulled it over for a moment before answering, his voice slower, more thoughtful. "I see."

    Rogue narrowed her eyes slightly. "Ya don¡¯t think that¡¯s nice?"

    He hesitated.

    "It¡¯s... complicated."

    Rogue leaned in slightly, her eyes sharp. "Why?"

    Alamo exhaled. "I never was much a fan of people. I like bein¡¯ alone."

    Rogue gave him a long look.

    Then, her voice came out quieter, but strong.

    "Yet ya ain¡¯t. Ya never been alone. Truly... alone."

    Something about the way she said it cut through him.

    To Rogue it seemed hollow, Duncan pretended to be this high and mighty spirit of the frontier, yet here he was, someone who never had the opportunity of actually be in the frontier, and as for much as his own words made him feel like he was alone.

    Alamo opened his mouth, ready to refute it, ready to argue¡ªbut then he stopped.

    Because she was right.

    Duncan Nenni only pretended to be alone.

    He told himself he was a lone wolf, a man who didn¡¯t need anyone, who could handle his own battles, live by his own rules, answer to no one.

    But the reality?

    From the moment he left Midland, from the second he stepped into the world as Alamo, he had never truly been alone.

    His parents were always there. His friends back in Dallas, even if they had abandoned him.

    Even when he fought, he was never fighting alone.

    Spider-Man. The X-Men. Americop. The Avengers.

    Even now, standing beside Rogue in this quiet hallway, he wasn¡¯t alone.

    And that realization? That truth?

    It bothered him.

    It made him feel cheated.

    Because if he wasn¡¯t alone now¡­ if he had never truly been alone¡­

    Then what would it feel like if one day he was?

    Would it be peaceful? Or would it be hell?

    He shook the thought from his head, it was more curiosity. He claimed to be alone, in a way that he seemed like he fought alone, but maybe deep down that was never what he had truly meant.

    Rogue''s words lingered between them, hanging like thick heat.

    "But Ah wondered what it¡¯s like... Maybe ya do have a point. The things we do¡­ ain¡¯t always the best. It hurts people."

    Her voice was softer now, tinged with the weight of memory. If she had been alone, truly alone... Like she thinks the Alamo pretended to be, if she were this alone could have she not suffered. Could have the people she drained be alive and well, would she have hurt those in her past.

    She remembered Arkansas.

    Thomas Thompson¡¯s children.

    The look in their eyes, the way grief twisted their faces as they cried over his mangled body. A father, torn from them in an instant, collateral damage in a war they never asked to be part of.

    Rogue swallowed hard, trying to shove the image back down, but it clawed at her.

    "Maybe bein¡¯ alone takes away the pain of seein¡¯ others suffer."

    Silence.

    The argument flipped, never in his life had he been prouder from not being alone, from not pulling himself from his bootstraps. And he felt that Rogue was feeling down from what happened.

    "You were right, Rogue. I was never alone an'' honestly, that''s a good thing. People support us, tell us our mistakes, help us change... if we are alone there''s no change, there''s no questionin''... people wither and die from stagnation."

    Alamo''s words broke through her thoughts.

    She was glad to listen to them, it remembered her of what Jean had told her, that she had a family, she had a place... And remembered her of her own words.

    "Nobody is better off alone, Rogue. Not even you.¡± Jean''s words echoed in her mind.

    ¡°Not even the Alamo," She recalled in her own voice, "as much as it seems he likes to believe that"

    She saw him behind the mask then, and she was right.

    "Ah know.... But... Ah thought ya believed in bein¡¯ alone." Her smirk was proud, even sarcastic.

    She tilted her head slightly, watching him.

    "No, that¡¯s... That¡¯s... Not what I meant."

    And it wasn¡¯t.

    Maybe he meant it for himself, but not for others.

    Or at least he thought that way, in reality he never wanted to be alone, he just really thought he could.

    Rogue studied him for a moment, her green eyes sharp and thoughtful.

    She smiled, it was nice to hear that maybe he wasn''t as isolated as he pretended to be.

    To her this brought a sense of warmth, her powers long brought her isolation. Inabiliy to touch, she longed for it.

    And though the Alamo, someone who could touch, someone who could feel, claimed to not care for being isolated. She knew that deep down he would feel this isolation as badly as she felt it, he could be powerful, just like she was, but people are people and even if you can asborb powers or energy, you can''t escape your own feelings.

    "You can be free, ya can be an individual without bein¡¯ lonely." Alamo started.

    She glanced at him, a confirmation that he wasn''t who he claimed to be.

    "It¡¯s ¡®bout valuin¡¯ yerself, not devaluin¡¯ others. It¡¯s knowin¡¯ someone¡¯s worth, through their skills¡­ Their labor¡­ Their¡­ Principles, not just pretendin¡¯ ya can isolate yerself from society."

    Alamo let out a small, sharp breath, the corners of his mouth twitching beneath the mask.

    "Ah thought... Ya made it sound like ya don¡¯t need anyone." She smiled as the words escaped her mouth.

    He hesitated, his voice quieter this time.

    "Maybe in terms of needin'' assistance, on bein'' overeliant on others... but not isolation." He took a sharp breath.

    "It ain''t ''bout never needin'' anyone, is ''bout bein'' accountable to yer own decisions, ''bout bein'' able to try to handle yerself. Doesn''t mean ya always will, just means ya can try... before ya let others help."

    Rogue smirked, crossing her arms. "Y¡¯know, ya ain¡¯t as bad as Ah thought."

    Alamo arched a brow. "What? You thought I was evil?"

    She rolled her eyes. "No, nothin¡¯ like that. Just a pretentious pain in the ass."

    Alamo laughed under his breath. "Oh wow, that¡¯s one way to say ¡®I was wrong ¡®bout you.¡¯"

    Rogue gave him a side glance, grinning. "Duncan, sugah. Ya can be very annoyin¡¯."

    Alamo smirked behind his mask. "You barely know me."

    "Exactly." She added.

    The two of them kept walking side by side, the tension between them lighter now.

    Rogue had expected the conversation to go differently. She¡¯d expected him to be his usual argumentative self, firing back with some philosophical retort about individuality, about standing alone in the world.

    But instead?

    He was honest.

    "Y''know, Ya might not be evil, Alamo. But ya ain''t doin'' yerself any favors bein'' all black with chrome mask and red glowin'' eyes."

    "It''s subversion of the expectations ok? You might expect a big bad, but he''s like... here to help."

    "Like what a vigilante who uses appearance to strike fear on the hearts of criminals?"

    "Yeah, cowboy ghost works fine... maybe an animal like a shark or a bat."

    "A Bat? Bless yer heart, sugah. But that ain''t a good idea."

    "What? Why that''s a mighty respectable idea."

    "Who''s even scared of bats?"

    "Who''s scared of wolverines?"

    "Who ain''t? They''re plumb-crazy animals."

    "Spiders ain''t scary either. Didn''t stop em'' gettin'' a hero too."

    "The hell they ain''t."

    The conversation was abruptly stopped as they arrived at the main office.

    "Can ya two kids, quit your yappin''?"

    Captain America knocked on the door.

    "Allow me, Rogers" Wolverine said, kicking down the door. "Just like ol'' times, bub."

    Inside the Carraro Executive Office

    The air inside the office was stifling. The guards had raised their firearms the second the Avengers and X-Men entered, their fingers twitching over the triggers, their training screaming at them to stand their ground.

    But then, Steve Rogers spoke.

    "Stand down."

    His voice was calm, but it carried the full weight of authority. Not just as Captain America, but as a man who had seen more battlefields than any of them could fathom.

    There was hesitation at first¡ªOne second, then two¡ªbefore the guards slowly, reluctantly, lowered their guns.

    Maybe it was Captain America, they respected him as a fellow soldier. Or maybe it was the thousand of ways they could be all dead before they even fire, whether by adamantium claws, optic blasts, bone shattering punches or plasma bolts. Regardless, they lowered their weapons anyway.

    No shots fired. No blood spilled.

    Rogue let out a small breath, watching as the office guards exchanged uncertain glances, looking for orders that weren¡¯t coming.

    Behind her, Wolverine let out a low whistle. "Well, Cap. Never knew ya had such a sweet presence."

    Steve exhaled slightly, but his face remained unreadable. "A soldier¡¯s greatest weapon is its power to inspire."

    Rogue turned to Alamo, raising a hand to her mouth, barely stifling a laugh. "Bet he rehearses that ¡®fore he goes to sleep."

    Alamo smirked under his mask, whispering back. "We both know who''s carryin¡¯ the Avengers brand here."

    "Heh."

    Logan gave them a sharp glance. "I told you two to quit yappin¡¯."

    At the desk, the office worker¡ªpale, sweating, his tie loosened¡ªlooked at the scene unfolding before him and just¡­ sighed.

    Defeat.

    He slumped back in his chair, exhaling sharply through his nose. "Y¡¯know what? Screw it. Not even worth fightin¡¯ at this point. You want information? You can have it."

    He motioned toward the glowing screens on the sleek Carraro desk. "Server¡¯s got what you want. I ain''t getting shot for this damn company."

    Steve, ever the tactician, pressed forward with his own questions. "Tell me about the drone parts you sold AIM."

    The office worker scratched the back of his head, clearly caught off guard. "Uh¡­ which parts?"

    "The ones linked to Dr. Adler. New York."

    At the name, the office worker''s eyes flickered¡ªa sign of recognition.

    "Oh¡­" His voice dropped slightly. "Now, Captain. We sold him parts for a SHIELD project. Didn¡¯t know much about it."

    Steve''s face didn''t change, but his voice hardened. "Not about his victims."

    The office worker had no response.

    Silence.

    Steve waited, giving him time to say something¡ªanything¡ªthat might help him salvage an ounce of his integrity.

    Nothing came.

    "Do you know where those parts were manufactured?" Steve continued, pressing forward.

    The worker shook his head. "Sir, no idea. But they came from Oregon. We barely had any contact with them during transport."

    "Who sold them to Adler?"

    This time, the worker didn¡¯t hesitate. "Albert Hoss."

    "Who is that?"

    "He used to be our manager here, but he was relocated to Oregon."

    Steve''s expression darkened slightly. "Understood. What else is in Oregon?"

    The worker swallowed. "Similar office, but¡­ out of town. On the coast. Less oversight. That¡¯s all I know."

    Cyclops, standing nearby, had been listening carefully. His jaw clenched slightly before he finally spoke up. "And what about mutant-related operations?"

    The office worker hesitated.

    The shift in his body language was immediate¡ªhis fingers clenched, his back stiffened. This was the question he didn¡¯t want to answer.

    "I¡ªlook, I don''t know much about that¡ª"

    SNIKT.

    A sharp, metallic sound.

    A set of gleaming Adamantium claws extended from Logan''s knuckles, the points resting just against the desk, inches from the worker¡¯s shaking hands.

    "Try again."

    The worker gulped.

    His voice shook slightly now. "A-alright, alright¡­ There were operations. Contracted by Trask International. Eliminating dangerous mutants."

    Rogue¡¯s fingers curled into a tight fist.

    Cyclops stepped forward, voice sharp. "Who did you use?"

    The worker hesitated.

    "FoH personnel," he admitted, barely above a whisper. "Carraro employees. But¡ª he raised his hands as if in defense "¡ªthese were bad people. Mutants, I mean. Dangerous ones."

    The air in the room shifted.

    Scott¡¯s visor glowed just a little brighter.

    Rogue¡¯s fists trembled.

    Logan¡¯s claws flexed, his lip curling.

    Even Captain America, ever the composed soldier, tightened his stance.

    Alamo just stared.

    Wasp too, remained mostly watching.

    "Bullshit." Wolverine¡¯s voice was low, guttural. "Bad people? Or just mutants?"

    The office worker shook his head violently. "No, no, you don¡¯t get it! These weren¡¯t normal mutants, these were Maraudera¡ªmutants who attacked humans! Mutants who¡ªwho¡ª"

    Cyclops cut him off. "And who decided that? You? Trask? Friends of Humanity? Who handed down the death sentence before they even saw trial?"

    The worker had no response.

    Rogue knew about it, they got the list in Florida. Alamo, Cyclops and Wolverine knew it too. The FoH took down the Marauders.

    Alamo wouldn''t cry over the bodies any time soon, neither would Rogue or any of the X-Men, maybe Gambit felt bad, but not the rest of them. As much as they hated it, the man was right, the Marauders were dangerous mutants, not only to humans but to other mutants, specially the Morlocks.

    But still it felt wrong, it felt like this wasn¡¯t about eliminating threats. This was about eliminating mutants.

    Steve Rogers inhaled deeply, his eyes locked on the office worker with steel-cold intensity.

    "I fought a war once. A war against people who called themselves the ''Master Race.'' They justified their killings the same way you just did."

    The worker''s face paled. But he stood his ground.

    "We''re are not the Master Race, humans are the victims, Captain. Not the other way ''round."

    Silence.

    It weighed on the room.

    Cyclops was the one to finally break it. "Anyone else?"

    The office worker hesitated, his Adam¡¯s apple bobbing. "If there''s any, They''re¡­ on the servers."

    "Good," Cyclops said, his voice razor-sharp. "Because I swear to you¡ªif we find out you lied, you won¡¯t have to worry about us. You¡¯ll have to worry about them."

    He gestured toward Logan.

    Logan just grinned, flashing his teeth.

    The office worker swallowed hard. "T-they''re all there, I swear."

    Captain America turned slightly, pressing against his comm device "Tony?"

    "Almost done," Stark replied over the comms. "Once I have the files, we¡¯ll know what we can get."

    "We''ll be heading there," Steve said.

    "Ok"

    "Let''s move."

    With that Captain America, Cyclops, Wolverine, Wasp, Alamo and Rogue were on the move to link up back to the other team.

 Chapter 11: Precipice of Nothingness

    Captain America, Cyclops and their respective teams moved with purposes, with them the Alamo, though he wasn''t an Avenger, deep inside Duncan trusted Captain America''s judgment, far more than he trusted any X-Man. Within a minut ethey were already in the server room, not a word spoken during their way to the room, where they met back with Iron Man and Storm''s teams.

    The group stood in the sterile glow of the server room, the hum of machinery filling the space with an eerie, rhythmic pulse. Towering racks of servers stretched along the walls, blinking with streams of encrypted data. The room itself was cold, a deliberate design choice to keep the machines running at optimal efficiency, but it did little to cool the growing tension among the assembled heroes.

    Steve Rogers, standing firm and steady, turned toward Tony Stark. "Alright, Tony. What do you got?"

    Tony¡¯s faceplate slid back, revealing his usual smirk. "Alright, after so much debate, I¡¯ll finally say what we found¡­" He glanced around at the gathered heroes, his tone laced with something between amusement and exasperation.

    But there was no amusement on the faces of Storm, Jean, or Jubilee. Their expressions were tense, Storm¡¯s sharp, regal features taut with discontent, Jean¡¯s emerald eyes narrowed with frustration. Even Falcon, usually calm and composed, raised an eyebrow at Stark¡¯s apparent stalling.

    "Why do all the ladies seem bothered by ya, Stark?" Logan¡¯s gruff voice cut through the room. "Ya didn¡¯t touch ¡®em, did ya?" His claws half-extended, a subconscious warning.

    Tony recoiled slightly. "What?! Are you insane? The hell is this guy, Cap?" He gestured toward Wolverine, looking genuinely bewildered.

    Cyclops, ever the mediator, sighed. "Logan, behave."

    Storm folded her arms. "We are simply unsatisfied with Stark¡¯s decision to wait so long to tell us what he found."

    Logan snorted, clearly unimpressed. "Jeannie, just read the guy¡¯s mind, fer fuck¡¯s sake."

    Jean shot him a glare. "I am not invading someone¡¯s privacy without cause, Logan."

    Tony huffed, crossing his arms. "And I am very thankful for that. Also, seriously, is no one gonna talk about the fact that our Canadian murder machine just accused me of¡ªnever mind. You know what? Let¡¯s move on."

    "Enough!" Steve¡¯s voice cut through the noise like a knife. "All of you, we¡¯re working together. This is not debate hour."

    A reluctant silence settled over the room.

    Logan rolled his eyes but muttered, "Sure, Cap."

    With a dramatic flick of his wrist, Tony projected a glowing holographic display above the servers, filled with lists, financial records, and detailed documents. Names, locations, numbers¡ªeverything Carraro had tried to hide.

    "Alright, here¡¯s what we got," Stark began. "We have several lists, including locations, financial records¡­ I know that¡¯s the kid¡¯s expertise field"¡ªhe nodded toward Alamo¡ª"even though I¡¯m probably more qualified to talk about it¡­ on account of being a genius and all."

    Jubilee let out a loud groan, throwing her hands in the air. "Oh my God, I can¡¯t believe we¡¯re getting ads during a mission."

    Steve shot Tony a look. "Tony. Get to the point."

    Tony raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, Cap. No need for the super-serious shield stare. Here¡¯s the deal¡ª" he swiped his hand, enlarging part of the display. "We found the location of several Carraro offices, what could be safe houses, and¡ª" he hesitated just slightly "¡ªa very nasty list."

    Jean¡¯s stomach tightened. "What list?"

    Tony zoomed in, the holographic text scrolling downward. "Names. Powers. Addresses. Family members. Habits. Everything you¡¯d need to track, isolate, and take out mutants."

    The room shifted. A collective unease spread through them all.

    "What?" Rogue¡¯s voice was sharp, disbelief flickering in her eyes.

    "They had that?" Scott¡¯s jaw clenched.

    Storm¡¯s entire posture shifted, her fingers curling into fists. "This must be destroyed. Every trace of it."

    "Whoa, whoa, hold up, folks," Tony held up a hand, glancing at Alamo for support. "There¡¯s a lot of important data here. We can¡¯t be so eager to destroy stuff, right, cowboy?"

    Alamo crossed his arms, his tone firmer than before. "Well, I ain¡¯t an X-Man, but I reckon they got the point here, Mr. Stark. The list has to go."

    "Oh yeah, that¡¯s what I meant," Tony backpedaled. "The list goes, the rest is good to know."

    Storm¡¯s piercing gaze softened only slightly. "Agreeable terms, Stark."

    Tony smirked. "Thanks, Cloud Girl."

    Logan chuckled, eyes glinting. "Ya got some balls callin¡¯ her that, bub."

    Cyclops was already rubbing his temples, exhausted. "Logan, it¡¯s not necessary."

    Tony, of course, doubled down. "My apologies to the Weather Goddess. I simply jest, your majesty." He bowed dramatically.

    Storm narrowed her eyes, shaking her head. "You should be aware, Mr. Stark, that while fortune favors the bold, the elements hardly consider bravado as an intelligent virtue."

    Steve exhaled sharply. "Moving forward. We have other servers. What happens if we destroy this one?"

    Tony tapped at his holographic interface. "The information here will be lost, yes. But also? It can be backed up in the other servers. We¡¯d have to destroy all of them. And even then, if they have saved backups on SSDs, HDDs, flash drives¡ªGod forbid floppy disks¡ªwe¡¯d have to get rid of those, too. But from what we saw, there¡¯s probably just one more primary backup."

    Cyclops adjusted his visor. "Where?"

    "Oregon."

    A heavy silence followed.

    "Good, good," Steve muttered, nodding slightly. "Then we go to Oregon."

    "Wait, hold on, Cap," Tony interjected, "we still need to take care of local databases. Like I said¡ªdisks, external drives, hard copies.¡± He gestured to the neatly organized filing cabinets on the far side of the room.

    Jean stepped forward, eyes glowing softly as she scanned the area with her telepathy. "I can detect additional sources of information in locked cabinets, secured vaults, and¡­" she paused, tilting her head. "¡­an encrypted safe beneath the floor."

    Jubilee scoffed, crossing her arms. "Oh great. Even more secret evil files. What do these guys do all day, sit around brainstorming ways to be the absolute worst?"

    Alamo let out a small chuckle but said nothing.

    Steve turned back to Tony. "Can you purge the list remotely?"

    "Already on it," Stark replied, flicking his fingers across the holo-screen. "Deleting now. That¡¯s one less genocide wishlist floating around the internet."

    The list vanished from the hologram.

    Jean released a small breath of relief.

    Storm nodded approvingly.

    Cyclops looked at the data that remained, his expression unreadable. "Then we leave the rest intact. We¡¯ll need it to go after everyone responsible."

    Then they heard it, the loud high-pitched alarm sounds, the emergency lights turning the whole room red, casting a menacing glow over the hallway, the screeching siren ringing through the building in an almost deafening cacophony. The sharp staccato of gunfire and energy blasts echoed from the floors below, reverberating through the metallic interior like the distant thunder of a brewing storm.

    "What the hell?" Cyclops muttered, instinctively shifting into a combat stance, his hand hovering near his visor.

    "Avengers, we need to move!" Captain America commanded, his shield already raised.

    "X-Men, with me!" Cyclops ordered, his voice clear and unwavering.

    But before anyone could take another step, Alamo was gone.

    A streak of brilliant blue plasma energy trailed behind him as he shot down the corridor, moving faster than humanly possible. The heat from his propulsion left faint scorch marks along the walls, the air around him shimmering with ionized energy.

    "Damn, boy," Wolverine muttered, impressed despite himself.

    The team rushed after him, their collective footsteps pounding against the floors, moving with urgency as the alarms continued to scream. They followed the blue trail, heading downward toward the main floor. The metallic scent of burnt ozone and fresh blood filled the air, mingling with the acrid smoke from recently discharged energy weapons.

    As the Avengers and X-Men burst into the lobby, they found Alamo already there, standing at the center of the room with both hands raised in a defensive stance. His palms glowed dimly, energy humming at his fingertips, ready to fire at a moment¡¯s notice.

    And then¡ªthey froze.

    The X-Men stopped cold behind the Texan, their expressions shifting from battle-ready to something else entirely.

    Because standing on the opposite side of the blood-slicked floor was her.

    The chrome-masked woman from Arkansas.

    The one who had killed Thomas Thompson.

    The one who had shattered a family, left children without a father, and ignited an entire city into violent riots.

    She was here. Again.

    Her sleek black armor gleamed under the pulsing red lights, the metallic plating form-fitting but reinforced, designed for both mobility and durability. The suit¡¯s surface was marred by small scorch marks and scratches, proof of prior combat. Her helmet was featureless, smooth, reflecting the glow of the alarms like a distorted mirror.

    In her right hand, she held a sleek energy pistol, angled down but not idle¡ªher finger rested near the trigger, just waiting for a reason.

    And at her feet¡­

    A pool of blood.

    Carraro security guards lay scattered across the floor, their bodies motionless, uniforms torn and scorched. Some had gaping energy wounds in their chests, while others bled from jagged slashes, the polished floors reflecting their lifeless gazes in the crimson puddles forming beneath them.

    One single guard remained alive, kneeling before her, his body trembling, hands gripping the deep wound in his abdomen. It was the same man who had spoken to Captain America earlier. The one who had stood his ground, honored his duty, and agreed to let them pass. And now? He was at the mercy of the chrome-masked killer.

    Her energy pistol was leveled at his head, the soft whine of the weapon charging up indicating it was primed to fire.

    The moment stretched, the air in the room growing heavy.

    Then¡ªshe spoke.

    Her voice, modulated and distorted by the suit¡¯s built-in speakers, dripped with cold amusement.

    "Hello, ''heroes.''"

    The air grew heavier, thick with tension as the two teams closed in, the X-Men on one side, the Avengers on the other. The glow of the emergency lights cast long shadows, the red tint making everything feel more dangerous, more dire.

    Alamo stood his ground, his body tense, his muscles coiled, every fiber of his being ready for what came next.

    Captain America and Cyclops stepped forward, their presence a wall of command as the rest of their teams fell in behind them. Jean Grey¡¯s eyes flickered with concern, her telepathic instincts already reaching out, but she knew better than to probe too deep¡ªnot yet. Storm¡¯s hands flexed, a faint crackle of electricity pulsing at her fingertips, ready to strike. Wolverine¡¯s claws unsheathed with a sharp, metallic snikt, his stance low and predatory. Jubilee and Rogue¡¯s hands were clenched, their faces twisted in a mix of worry and readiness.

    And on the other side, the Avengers were equally poised for action. Iron Man¡¯s repulsors hummed, blue light gathering in his palms, ready to fire at the slightest provocation. Wasp hovered, her biotech wings beating softly as she prepared to dart into action. Falcon¡¯s wings unfurled, his Redwing drone already scanning the room for an opening, a tactical advantage.

    But the center of it all? Alamo.

    He hadn¡¯t moved, not yet. He was calculating, trying to read the situation.

    He looked past the bodies on the floor¡ªthe slain Carraro guards¡ªthen to the one still alive, the veteran security officer kneeling, shaking, his blood pooling at his knees. The gun was still to his temple, a cruel promise of what was to come if someone didn¡¯t act fast.

    And so, he did.

    "Let him go," Alamo¡¯s voice cut through the silence, calm, even, but firm.

    The chrome-masked woman tilted her head slightly, amused. The movement was inhuman, like the slow, deliberate motion of a predator toying with its prey.

    "Make me," she said, the words carrying a mechanical distortion, making her sound even colder, more detached.

    Alamo didn¡¯t hesitate.

    "No problem."

    He shot forward, a blue streak of plasma energy blazing in his wake. In an instant, he reached the kneeling guard, his hands grasping the man by the shoulders and throwing him aside, shoving him out of the line of fire.

    The security guard hit the ground hard, rolling away with a grunt of pain but alive¡ªsafe.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!

    But then¡ª

    Then he felt it.

    The moment his feet hit the ground again, something changed.

    Something was wrong.

    His chest seized up¡ªhis stomach churned¡ªhis legs felt weak¡ªhis blood ran cold.

    The plasma that burned inside of him, the constant hum of energy coursing through his veins, the very thing that made him the Alamo¡ª

    Was gone.

    "Fuck," he muttered under his breath.

    His body staggered, his balance thrown off. His vision swam for a moment, like he had been drained of his strength in an instant.

    And then¡ª

    She grabbed him.

    In a blur of inhuman speed, the chrome-masked woman seized him by the collar of his jacket, yanking him off his feet like a ragdoll.

    His boots barely scraped the floor before she pressed the cold barrel of an energy pistol against his skull.

    She turned to face the assembled heroes, holding Alamo in front of her like a trophy, a human shield, a warning.

    The X-Men and Avengers tensed instantly.

    "ALAMO!"

    The shouted name came from multiple voices, a mix of panic, anger, and disbelief.

    Rogue¡¯s eyes went wide. Her breath caught in her throat, her muscles instinctively tensed to rush forward¡ªbut she knew she couldn¡¯t.

    Jean gasped. Her hand flew to her temple, a reaction more than a conscious movement, as though she might reach out for him¡ªbut she stopped herself.

    Jubilee clenched her fists. Fireworks sparked at her fingertips, but she was frozen, her eyes darting toward Rogue, looking for her reaction.

    Falcon adjusted his stance. His wings twitched, a signal that he was seconds away from launching forward.

    Wasp hovered higher, fists clenched. She was ready to shrink down and strike, but the risk was too great¡ªone wrong move, and Alamo was gone.

    Iron Man¡¯s repulsors glowed even brighter. His HUD calculations were firing rapidly, searching for an opening, a way to disable her weapon before she could pull the trigger.

    Wolverine¡¯s claws flexed. His teeth gritted. He was so close to losing control, but he knew¡ªhe knew¡ªthat a single wrong move could cost the kid his life.

    And Captain America?

    His jaw tightened, his grip on his shield firm.

    He took one slow step forward. Measured. Controlled. Careful.

    His eyes locked onto hers through the mirror-like mask.

    His voice low, commanding, unshakable.

    "Let him go."

    The chrome-masked woman didn¡¯t budge. She only tilted her head slightly, considering the weight of his words, before her pistol pressed harder against Alamo¡¯s skull.

    "Try and stop me."

    The room was drenched in red light, the sound of the alarm distant but oppressive, like an ever-present heartbeat hammering in the background. The X-Men and the Avengers stood frozen, every muscle in their bodies coiled tight, every instinct screaming at them to act¡ªto move¡ªbut they couldn¡¯t. Not yet. Not when the life of one of their own was hanging by a thread.

    Alamo could feel the cold steel of the energy pistol digging into the side of his head, the pressure firm, deliberate, a message all on its own. The chrome-masked woman didn¡¯t waver, didn¡¯t show an ounce of hesitation, her grip steady, her stance unshakable. She held him like he was nothing, like the Alamo¡ªthis self-proclaimed lone star of Texas¡ªwas just another nameless casualty waiting to happen.

    But it wasn¡¯t the gun that terrified him.

    It was the inhibitor.

    The black, hockey-puck-shaped device latched onto his chest, a parasite feeding on his very essence. He could feel it, draining him, suffocating his power, his life. He looked down at it, trying to process what was happening, but the more he stared, the more his mind screamed in panic.

    He had never felt this weak before. Never felt this... human.

    No plasma burning in his veins.

    No energy surging at his fingertips.

    No power.

    ¡°What the hell is goin'' on?¡± His voice came out shakier than he wanted, his bravado faltering against the creeping terror climbing up his spine.

    The woman¡¯s helmeted face turned slightly, as if she were smirking beneath the metal. Mocking him.

    "Well, as you can see, sweetie," she said in that eerily calm, almost playful tone, "the wonders of modern human technology... this is an inhibitor."

    The words slammed into him like a freight train.

    "No, no, no." His mind raced, spiraling.

    "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

    This wasn¡¯t supposed to happen.

    He was a force of nature, he wasn¡¯t supposed to be powerless. Not now. Not when it mattered.

    "Let him go! NOW!"

    Rogue¡¯s voice rang out like a gunshot, cutting through the tension with sheer, unfiltered rage.

    But the chrome-masked woman didn¡¯t flinch. Instead, she tilted her head again, reaching into her belt with her free hand. She pulled out a small flash drive, holding it between two fingers, the sleek silver casing glinting under the emergency lights.

    "That list you got?" she said smoothly, her voice sickly sweet, like she was enjoying this. "Well, deleted."

    A ripple of confusion and anger shot through the room.

    Iron Man¡¯s HUD scanned for signals, Falcon''s drone locked onto the device, but the masked woman merely twisted the drive between her fingers, a taunting gesture, her grip on Alamo never loosening.

    "I have it right here."

    She held it up higher, like it was a damn golden ticket.

    "I''ll upload it," she continued, "to the internet... It''ll be on every server. Destroying this one will mean nothing.

    She let the words linger, letting them sink in, watching as the realization washed over them all.

    "Every anti-mutant warrior in the nation... in the world... will have access to it."

    Jean¡¯s face twisted in horror.

    Storm¡¯s breath caught in her throat.

    Cyclops¡¯ fists clenched so hard his knuckles went white.

    Even Iron Man¡¯s repulsors dimmed, as if the weight of the moment had crushed even his usual sarcasm.

    They knew what that meant.

    Addresses. Names. Powers. Family members.

    A blueprint for every mutant-hating fanatic on the planet to hunt them down.

    To kill them.

    And then, she added one more thing.

    A bargain.

    "Or..."

    She pressed the barrel of the gun harder against Alamo¡¯s temple, the heat of the charged energy humming against his mask.

    He froze. He had been in fights before. Had taken bullets to the chest, blades to the ribs. Had been hit by Sentinels, had dodged explosions, had felt pain.

    But this was different.

    This was death.

    And for the first time in a long time, Alamo had to confront his own mortality.

    If he died... where would he go?

    Was it heaven? Hell?

    Or was he right all along?

    Was there nothing? Just darkness. Just silence.

    Nonexistence.

    That idea¡ªthat absolute, inescapable void¡ªterrified him more than anything.

    The chrome-masked woman¡¯s voice snapped him back.

    "I''ll give you X-Men this little flash drive, how about that?" she said, almost cheerfully.

    "In exchange, you let me have this one."

    She shook Alamo slightly, her fingers tightening on his jacket.

    A clear demand. A trade.

    "One mutant life for the lives of thousands. Worth the trade, no?"

    The room went still.

    And then Alamo, in a voice low, quiet, his Texan drawl coated in defiance, spat out his answer.

    "No, it ain''t, bitch."

    The pistol pressed harder against his mask.

    "What did you say, sweetie?" she cooed. "Wanna go earlier?"

    Alamo didn¡¯t waver.

    But he still had his goddamn dignity.

    "Fuck you."

    The masked woman laughed.

    "Now that''s not nice, sweetie," she purred, shifting her grip slightly, re-centering the pistol on his forehead. "Be kind... or die."

    Alamo went silent.

    His breathing steady, but slow. His heart pounding, but his face unreadable beneath the mask.

    His eyes locked onto hers through the chrome reflection.

    He wasn¡¯t going to beg. He wasn¡¯t going to plead.

    Yes, Duncan was terrified, but he wasn''t about to humiliate himself, not even for his own life. Maybe this decision was unreasonable, maybe it was arrogant. But he wasn''t going to cry for mercy under the watchful eyes of the Avengers and the X-Men.

    The room was drowning in tension, thick and suffocating like the heat before a storm. The blaring alarm still echoed in the background, but no one was paying attention to it anymore. Not when the life of one of their own was hanging on the balance.

    Alamo could feel the gun pressing harder against his temple, the hum of energy vibrating through his skull. He wasn¡¯t sure if it was his pulse pounding in his ears, or the inhibitor sapping away the last of his strength, but either way¡ªhe was stuck. And all around him, chaos was about to erupt.

    "LET HIM GO, AH AIN''T SAYIN'' AGAIN!"

    Rogue¡¯s Southern drawl rang out like a whip-crack, her voice sharp, fierce, filled with nothing but unfiltered rage. Her gloved fingers curled into fists, her muscles coiled like a viper ready to strike.

    But the chrome-masked woman? She didn¡¯t flinch.

    She tilted her head slightly, that same mocking amusement lacing her words as she lifted the flash drive higher. Dangling it like bait.

    "Alright, no problem," she said smoothly. "I''ll just post this over the internet."

    The words hit the room like a bomb.

    The tension doubled, tripled, spiraling into something volatile. The X-Men and the Avengers exchanged quick, panicked glances, the weight of the threat slamming into them all at once.

    Mutant addresses.

    Mutant identities.

    Mutant lives.

    A death sentence for thousands.

    "Wait!" Cyclops suddenly called out, his voice tight, controlled¡ªbut edged with hesitation.

    The woman paused, her grip on Alamo not loosening, but her head snapping toward Cyclops.

    Alamo furrowed his brow behind the mask, confusion and frustration colliding in his mind.

    "Wait¡ª"

    Rogue¡¯s head whipped toward Cyclops, her green eyes burning with disbelief.

    "What ya mean, wait, Scott?! She''s goin'' to kill him!"

    Alamo gritted his teeth. "Fuckin'' X-Men, I swear," he thought bitterly.

    There it was¡ªhesitation. Indecision. The constant, endless debate of the X-Men.

    They were so obsessed with doing the right thing, with finding the moral high ground, that when it came time to make the call¡ªthey hesitated.

    Alamo had seen it before.

    And right now, it was going to get him killed.

    "If she posts this information," Cyclops continued, his jaw tightening, "thousands of mutants could die."

    "She''s goin'' to kill Duncan, god damnit!" Rogue snapped back, her voice cracking with frustration.

    A cold chuckle.

    The woman tilted her head slightly, her voice mocking.

    "Captain, I really can''t believe you even fathom walking with these people."

    Captain America¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change, his blue eyes locked on the situation, calculating.

    The woman¡¯s helmet turned toward him. "They barely know what to do," she mused, voice dripping with condescension. "I thought the X-Men were supposed to be a team."

    Rogue was shaking now, her rage barely contained.

    "Rogue," Cyclops warned, voice low, but she didn¡¯t care.

    "Ah ain''t lettin'' ya do that, Cyclops!"

    "We can''t let him die, he''s a mutant!" Jubilee yelled, her hands crackling with faint sparks, her usual playful energy completely absent.

    The woman sighed, shaking her head.

    "See, sweetie," she muttered, her voice casual, like she was chatting over coffee. "This is what you mutants are good for. Bickering. Fighting. Irrationality."

    Alamo stayed quiet.

    Because as much as he hated to admit it, she wasn¡¯t entirely wrong.

    They were all at each other¡¯s throats instead of focusing on the actual enemy.

    Jean tensed, her hands glowing faintly, her eyes flickering with power.

    "Nuh-Uh," the woman warned smoothly, pressing the gun harder into Alamo¡¯s skull. "No light shows. No telekinesis, telepathy, or whatever¡­ anything gets out of control, this sweet little child gets it."

    The glow in Jean¡¯s hands faded instantly.

    The room was deathly silent.

    Cyclops¡¯ fingers hovered over his visor.

    Captain America¡¯s shield was still on his arm, ready.

    Iron Man¡¯s repulsors dimmed, but primed.

    Rogue was breathing hard, her hands trembling from sheer restraint.

    Alamo couldn¡¯t breathe.

    The inhibitor was suffocating him, not just physically¡ªbut mentally. No powers. No escape. No plan.

    Worst of all, if he died right now... who would he be? Just another casualty, someone who did too little, too late?

    Mediocrity

    The thought itself filled him with rage, not fear, but anger. His agency, his freedom completely stripped away from him. It was horrifying but also just as enraging.

    The tension shattered like glass the moment Captain America spoke with certainty.

    "You won''t kill him," he said, voice calm but firm. Unshakable.

    The woman tilted her head, considering him, then chuckled under her breath. The amusement in her voice curdled Alamo¡¯s stomach.

    "Sure hell ya won''t."

    Rogue¡¯s voice carried fire, her body coiled to spring, her eyes burning with fury.

    The masked woman shifted slightly, still keeping her grip firm, the pistol pressing harder against Alamo¡¯s skull.

    "The girl and the Avenger speak for your team, Cyclops?"

    Silence.

    A silence so thick it made the air feel heavier, hotter.

    Cyclops'' jaw clenched, his visor tilting slightly toward the floor, as if he was calculating, measuring the situation.

    Alamo could barely move, but his mind was racing.

    All of heroes, ready to move, but stuck in place.

    And their hesitation was about to cost them everything.

    The woman¡¯s grip tightened around the pistol.

    "Make a decision," she said, her tone almost bored. "I''ll give you all ten seconds."

    Alamo''s pulse slammed against his ribs.

    Rogue''s fists twitched.

    Jean''s hands glowed faintly.

    Cyclops'' visor brightened, but he still didn''t fire.

    Captain America''s eyes never wavered.

    Wolverine had his claws at the ready.

    The woman began to count down.

    "Ten."

    The world narrowed. The sounds of the blaring alarm faded.

    "Nine."

    Rogue''s breathing sharpened.

    "Eight."

    Alamo''s jaw tensed.

    "Seven."

    Captain America readied his shield, his stance shifting ever so slightly.

    "Six."

    Iron Man''s repulsors hummed, just a fraction louder.

    "Five¡ª What the¡ª?!"

    The woman barely had time to react before a blur of movement crashed into her side.

    The security guard¡ªthe one she thought was knocked out cold just minutes ago¡ªwasn''t out at all.

    With a grunt of effort, he threw his full weight into her, his fist smashing into the side of her helmet.

    It didn''t do any real damage¡ªnot against reinforced combat armor¡ªbut it staggered her. And that was all it took.

    A split second was all they needed.

    And everything erupted at once.

    Jean whipped her hand up, and suddenly all the other soldiers were hurled to the ceiling, trapped by invisible hands.

    Cyclops'' visor flared, and he fired a precision optic blast at the masked woman¡¯s gun arm.

    The force of the hit sent her weapon flying from her grip, crashing somewhere down the hallway.

    And then came the shield.

    Captain America''s vibranium disk cut through the air, a blur of red, white, and blue, before slamming into her chest.

    The impact knocked her back, sending her skidding across the polished floor.

    In that moment, Rogue was already moving.

    She darted toward Alamo, her hands grasping the black, circular device latched onto his chest.

    Alamo felt the inhibitor¡¯s weight, its deadening effect suffocating him¡ªhe felt powerless, vulnerable, human.

    With one, brutal yank, Rogue ripped the device away.

    The second it left his body, Alamo felt it.

    His powers surged back, rushing through him like wildfire, filling every inch of his body with heat, strength, life.

    He gasped, his blue-lit hands crackling with raw energy, his body weightless again.

    Rogue smirked, tossing the useless inhibitor aside.

    "There ya go, sugah."

    Alamo let out a breath, rolling his shoulders as the warmth settled in his bones again.

    "Much appreciated."

    His tone was thankful, but there was something else buried beneath it. Something almost... bitter.

    Alamo felt it.

    The raw, unfiltered power surging back into his veins, filling every inch of his body with pure, undiluted energy. It was like breathing again after nearly drowning. His fingers flexed, his muscles tightened, and he smirked behind his mask.

    Too late.

    The woman reached for her gun, her armored fingers closing around the grip, but she never got the chance.

    Alamo moved first.

    A blue blur of light and force, faster than even Rogue could react.

    He materialized before her, an instant later his hand wrapped around her throat, fingers locking in an unbreakable vice.

    And then he lifted her, hoisting her high above his head like she was nothing.

    The X-Men and Avengers barely had time to register the fight was over.

    The League¡¯s forces had been decimated, their operatives scattered or unconscious, the battle¡¯s aftermath eerily silent.

    But Duncan wasn¡¯t done.

    He stood, a tower of fury and power, his grip tightening around the woman''s throat.

    Her legs kicked uselessly in the air, her hands clawed at his wrist, trying to pry him off.

    She was helpless.

    And he stared down at her, his eyes glowing red, his fingers twitching with the temptation of raw destruction.

    "You should have killed me."

    His voice was cold, hollow.

    The woman choked, her lips twisting into a sneer even as she struggled for breath.

    "Freak..."

    Duncan¡¯s grip tightened further, cutting off the last of her words.

    "I''ll take everythin'' from ya."

    His voice shook with certainty.

    The room felt heavier, the air itself thicker.

    Every hero present felt it¡ªsomething was happening inside him.

    Something snapping.

    But the woman just laughed, a strangled, gurgling sound, despite the pain, despite the terror.

    "It doesn''t matter..." She wheezed. "Nothing matters, child."

    "What you mean, nothing matters?!" He thought, he wanted her to be scared for her life, but she didn''t seem to. It almost felt hollow, it made his ees widen in surprise.

    Duncan¡¯s fingers burned hotter, the glow in his palms intensifying, his mind screaming for justice, for retribution, for finality.

    "ALAMO!"

    Rogue''s voice cut through the room, sharp as a blade.

    Her green eyes were wide, her hands tensed, ready to grab him if she had to.

    "Oh my God." Jean murmured, her own powers flickering at the edges of her consciousness.

    "He''s going to kill her." Wasp muttered to Falcon.

    "DUNCAN! DON''T DO IT."

    Jubilee¡¯s hands clenched, her fireworks sparking unintentionally, fear and disbelief painted across her face.

    Cyclops stepped forward, his visor narrowing, his stance one of a man prepared to intervene by force if necessary.

    "Back down!"

    But Duncan didn¡¯t listen.

    Their voices were distant, drowned out by the thundering pulse of his own power, the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears.

    She deserved this.

    Every bone in his body told him she deserved this.

    She had killed innocents.

    She had slaughtered mutants and humans alike.

    But what mattered the most to him was how terrifyingly weak she made him feel.

    She didn¡¯t deserve mercy.

    The woman''s eyes flickered down at him, full of contempt even as she dangled from his grip.

    "Just do it, mutant."

    And then¡ª

    "Son, don''t."

    It was Captain America¡¯s voice.

    And that cut through everything.

    Duncan¡¯s head snapped toward him, his red-glowing gaze locking onto the super soldier.

    Captain America¡¯s face was calm, but his blue eyes held a weight that few could match.

    A man who had seen war, seen death, seen the worst of humanity¡ªand still chose to believe in something better.

    Duncan gritted his teeth.

    The tension crackled in the air, thick as storm clouds before a lightning strike.

    "I don¡¯t kill."

    The words were cold, final.

    And then the woman screamed.

    Duncan didn¡¯t kill her.

    But he sure as hell made sure she¡¯d never fight back again.

    Her free hand jerked upward, reaching for a hidden weapon, a last resort¡ª But Duncan¡¯s hand moved faster.

    With a single brutal flex, his superheated fingers crushed the gun in her grasp, warping the metal like wet clay. The firearm¡¯s frame buckled in his grip, the internal mechanisms melting under the sheer heat of his power.

    The woman shrieked, but she wasn¡¯t fast enough to pull her own hand away. Her bones shattered, her flesh sizzled, her tendons seared apart, the smell of burning metal and scorched skin filling the air.

    With a sharp, wet tear, Duncan ripped his hand back, and what remained of her right arm was nothing but a charred stump. She howled in agony, her legs kicking wildly as she writhed in his grip.

    Gasps rippled through the room.

    "Oh my God."

    "Dear Lord."

    "That¡ª"

    "Enough, Alamo!"

    Cyclops'' voice rang with command, but it was Captain America''s voice that held weight.

    Duncan finally let go.

    The woman crashed to the ground, clutching the ruined remains of her arm, her body curled inward as she let out shaking, pain-ridden gasps.

    Duncan looked down at her.

    She wasn¡¯t dead. But she wasn¡¯t a threat anymore.

    "Try threatenin'' people now."

    He had kept his word.

    He didn¡¯t kill.

 Chapter 12: Odd Man Out

    Even after the fight was over, even after the woman¡¯s screams had faded into strangled sobs, even after the smell of burning flesh was replaced with the faint acrid stench of melted circuits¡ªthe room wasn¡¯t quiet.

    Because silence didn¡¯t mean absence of noise.

    It meant tension.

    It meant anger simmering beneath the surface, a storm ready to break.

    And in the center of it stood Alamo.

    He looked down at the still-smoking flash drive in his gloved palm.

    The little, fragile piece of data that held the fate of thousands of mutants¡ªthe piece of data their enemies had planned to use as a weapon.

    And without a second thought, without waiting for input, without permission or discussion, he destroyed it.

    The blue flames surged in his grip, eating away at the plastic and metal in seconds, leaving nothing but ash.

    Gone.

    Just like that.

    Cyclops took a sharp step forward.

    "Alamo, it''s good. You can hand it over¡ª"

    But Alamo didn''t let him finish.

    His red-glowing gaze snapped up, cutting Scott off mid-sentence.

    His voice, cold and razor-sharp, cut through the air like a blade.

    "Ya ain''t my boss, Cyclops."

    Scott¡¯s jaw tightened, but he didn''t move.

    Alamo turned his back without hesitation, his boots echoing against the floor as he walked toward the exit.

    "I don''t follow yer orders. I ain''t an X-Man."

    The finality in his words hung there, a weight that filled the room as he pushed the door open and stepped out.

    <h4>And then he was gone. The moment the door swung shut, Rogue was on Cyclops in a second.</h4>

    She stormed up to him, her voice dripping with fury, her gloves clenching into fists.

    "How could ya, Cyclops!?"

    Her Southern accent thickened with every syllable, her green eyes burning with anger.

    Scott met her glare, keeping his posture rigid, his tone even.

    "I was buying time, Rogue."

    "Ah don''t believe ya."

    Her voice was low, almost a growl.

    Her chest heaved, her breath coming fast as she shook her head, disgusted.

    "Neither does he."

    The X-Men, the Avengers, even the security guards¡ªthey all watched.

    But no one intervened.

    Because no one could disagree.

    Cyclops narrowed his eyes behind the visor.

    "He isn''t one of us."

    That was all he said.

    And it was enough.

    Rogue took a step closer, her voice shaking, not from fear¡ªbut from the sheer frustration, the weight of betrayal.

    "He''s a mutant, Cyclops."

    She didn''t yell it.

    She didn''t have to.

    Because the words hit harder than any scream could.

    "Not a damn pawn ya can use."

    Her words slammed into him like a punch, but Scott didn''t flinch.

    "I was not going to let him die."

    His tone was sharp, clipped, controlled.

    But Rogue wasn''t having it.

    "But ya were willin'' to let him think ya would."

    That stopped him. Scott exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening even further.

    "The safety of the team comes first."

    That was his answer.

    That was his defense.

    That was why he did what he did.

    And Rogue laughed.

    It wasn¡¯t amused.

    It wasn¡¯t happy.

    It was a sharp, humorless sound, one that dripped with disbelief.

    <b>"</b>The team? The team, Scott?"

    Her voice cracked, the frustration boiling over.

    She stepped forward again, her gloves trembling at her sides.

    "He ain''t just some stranger¡ªhe''s someone who stuck his neck out fer us! He¡¯s a mutant like us! And ya threw him under the bus!"

    Jean Grey stepped forward, her expression pained, as if she wanted to say something¡ª

    But she didn''t.

    No one did.

    Because Rogue was right.

    Cyclops held his ground, but his silence spoke louder than words.

    "He ain''t the Brotherhood."

    Rogue¡¯s voice was quieter now, but somehow it hit even harde<b>r</b>.

    Cyclops took a slow breath.

    "I made a call."

    His voice was measured, but there was something else in it.

    Something faint.

    Something uncertain.

    "I made the best choice for everyone involved."

    "Ya made a choice fer him."

    Her voice was like a whipcrack, sharp and stinging.

    "But ya never gave him a choice."

    She turned away before he could answer, her expression hard, unreadable.

    "Ah''ll go talk ta him."

    Scott didn''t stop her.

    Jean took a tentative step forward.

    "Rogue..."

    She didn''t look back.

    "This better not happen again."

    Her voice was firm.

    She didn''t need to yell.

    Her words held all the weight they needed.

    Scott exhaled through his nose, his stance rigid.

    "You have my word."

    Rogue paused at the doorway.

    She turned her head just slightly, her voice low, tired, sharp as a blade.

    "Ah hope yer word is worth a damn."

    And then she left.

    Cyclops stood in place, his fists clenched, his jaw tight.

    No one spoke.

    Because there was nothing left to say.

    <hr>

    The air in Houston was thick¡ªnot just with the evening heat, but with something heavier, something unspoken. The kind of weight that clung to a person¡¯s chest long after the battle was done.

    Alamo stood at the edge of the sidewalk, watching the city breathe in the aftermath of everything that had happened. His boots were stained with blood¡ªnot his own, but blood nonetheless. The dull ache in his chest, the phantom feeling of that inhibitor device stealing his very essence, still gnawed at the back of his mind.

    He had almost died today.

    And not in some grand, heroic sacrifice. Not in some noble last stand.

    He was just a man. Powerless. Fragile. Weak.

    For the first time in over a decade, he felt human again¡ªand he hated it.

    He exhaled, heavy and tired, his arms crossed tight over his chest. The thought of leaving crossed his mind, walking away from it all, before that familiar voice cut through the quiet.

    ¡°Duncan!¡±

    His back stiffened at the sound of her voice.

    Rogue.

    He turned slightly, not quite meeting her eyes, but enough to acknowledge her.

    ¡°What? Rogue?¡±

    She was right there. Close, but not too close. Her green eyes were searching him, scanning his face beneath the mask, like she was looking for something¡ªsomething she wasn¡¯t sure she would find.

    ¡°Ya can¡¯t go¡­¡±

    The words hung there between them, unsteady and raw.

    He wanted to argue. Wanted to tell her that he could go wherever the hell he damn well pleased. That he wasn¡¯t an X-Man, that he didn¡¯t take orders from her, or Summers, or anyone else. But something in her voice stopped him.

    It wasn¡¯t commanding. It wasn¡¯t demanding.

    It was pleading.

    ¡°¡­I¡¯ll.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t a full protest, because he wasn¡¯t sure what he was going to say next.

    Rogue stepped closer, her gloved hands flexing at her sides like she was trying to ground herself before speaking.

    ¡°Look, Ah¡¯m sorry fer what Cyclops tried to pull,¡± she said, voice firm, but her tone held something else¡ªguilt, maybe. Regret. ¡°But we wouldn¡¯t let ya die¡­ Ah wouldn¡¯t let ya die.¡±

    He inhaled sharply through his nose.

    He believed her.

    But that didn¡¯t mean it made things any better.

    He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face, as if trying to wipe away the lingering frustration clinging to his skin.

    ¡°I appreciate that,¡± he said, quieter than he meant to. His voice was steady, but inside, he was still reeling.

    ¡°Ah understand if ya¡¯re mad.¡±

    His hands curled into fists at his sides.

    ¡°I am.¡± He looked up at her, his crimson eyes glowing faintly in the dimming light. ¡°I truly am.¡±

    There was a beat of silence.

    She didn¡¯t flinch.

    He took a slow breath, forced himself to untangle the knot in his chest, before he spoke again.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    ¡°I think y¡¯all X-Men prided yerselves on protectin¡¯ mutants¡­¡± His voice was quieter, but there was a sharp edge to it, like a blade just barely being kept in its sheath.

    Rogue¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change. She stood her ground, her shoulders squared, but there was something softer behind her eyes.

    ¡°We do,¡± she said, firm but not defensive. ¡°Look, he says he was tryin¡¯ to buy time¡­ Ah ain¡¯t sure we can believe that.¡± She looked at him, eyes locking onto his. ¡°But please¡­ Ah wouldn¡¯t let ya die, Duncan.¡±

    That shouldn¡¯t have meant as much as it did.

    But it did.

    He sighed, pressing a hand to the back of his neck.

    ¡°It¡¯s just that¡­¡±

    He hesitated.

    Rogue tilted her head, her brows furrowing slightly. ¡°What is it?¡±

    He thought long and hard about whether or not to say it.

    The words were there, sitting heavy in his chest, but letting them out felt like giving away something personal, something private.

    But he was tired.

    And maybe he just wanted someone to understand.

    He swallowed dryly, his throat tightening before he forced the words out.

    ¡°¡­I felt <i>terrible</i>. Really did.¡±

    Rogue¡¯s expression shifted, her body language softening just slightly.

    ¡°Ah understand that,¡± she said gently. ¡°Ah¡¯m so sorry ya had to go through that.¡±

    He let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head.

    ¡°Well, it is what it is¡­¡± His voice trailed off, but then he exhaled sharply through his nose, closing his eyes for a second. ¡°¡­But¡­ I never thought I¡¯d die. Not this soon. Not this¡­¡±

    His jaw tightened.

    <i>¡°¡­Pathetically.¡±</i>

    Rogue¡¯s eyes widened just a bit.

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t pathetic, Duncan.¡±

    There was conviction in her voice, unwavering and solid. ¡°Ya were tryin¡¯ to protect people.¡±

    But that wasn¡¯t it. That wasn¡¯t what was eating at him.

    He wasn¡¯t just thinking about today.

    He was thinking about everything.

    His failed career. His parents almost dying because of his enemies. His fight against Trask, Carraro, the FoH¡ª what had it amounted to?

    <i>Nothing.</i>

    He was still chasing ghosts.

    Still losing.

    Still trying to prove to himself that he was worth a damn.

    And today, when that inhibitor was slapped on his chest, and he felt his powers drain away like water down a drain¡ª

    He wasn¡¯t.

    His throat felt tight. He didn¡¯t tell her that part.

    But maybe she already knew.

    ¡°¡­I didn¡¯t want to die,¡± he admitted quietly. ¡°At least, not yet.¡±

    Rogue¡¯s face softened. ¡°Ya won¡¯t, sugah.¡±

    He inhaled slowly. ¡°It¡¯s just that¡­¡±

    He looked at his hands, flexing his fingers as if expecting the plasma to flicker out again.

    ¡°It¡¯s so weird to be¡­ so¡­ fragile.¡± His words were slow, deliberate. ¡°It¡¯s hard to be powerless. It¡¯s been a decade¡­ more than one since I felt this¡­ normal. Human.¡±

    His eyes flickered up to hers. ¡°Maybe that¡¯s what we¡¯re afraid of, Rogue.¡±

    She tilted her head. ¡°What?¡±

    His gaze darkened, voice quieter.

    <i>¡°Bein¡¯ human.¡±</i>

    She was quiet for a second, then shook her head.

    ¡°Ya were strong, even without powers.¡± She took a slow step closer. ¡°Ya stood up, didn¡¯t let her bully ya. That defiance¡­ it is strength.¡±

    He scoffed lightly, looking away. ¡°I¡¯m not so sure.¡±

    ¡°Ah am.¡±

    Her tone was final.

    And for a moment, he believed her.

    She smirked, just a little, shifting on her feet.

    ¡°And thanks fer takin¡¯ that damn thing off me, Rogue.¡± Alamo said.

    She hesitated. Just for a second.

    Then she exhaled. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s fine, Duncan.¡±

    She looked at him. And then she said it.

    ¡°And¡­ Ah reckon ya can call me Anna Marie.¡±

    His brows raised slightly behind the mask.

    ¡°After Ah just went ¡®round callin¡¯ ya by yer first name,¡± she added with a small smirk.

    He let out a short laugh, shaking his head. ¡°Not like my name is a secret, Anna Marie.¡±

    ¡°No, it ain¡¯t.¡±

    For a moment, they just stood there.

    Two mutants. Two people. Two souls who had been alone for a long, long time.

    The sun dipped lower behind them.

    And Duncan Nenni, for the first time in a while, didn¡¯t feel so damn cold.

    Then a hand reached Rogue¡¯s shoulder¡ªCaptain America. He stood there under the dimming sun of Houston, his blue eyes sharp and attentive, even after the presence of wrinkles around them. It gave Captain America an air of experience no other Avenger had.

    ¡°Rogue.¡± He said, his voice warm but still steely.

    ¡°Cap.¡± Rogue turned back, her green eyes locking on Steve''s blues.

    ¡°Can I have him for a moment?¡± Captain asked, his tone composed with barely a hint of any amusement.

    ¡°Ahem... it ain¡¯t like he¡¯s mine or anything¡¯. So yeah, ahem, sure.¡± She smirked, flushing slightly.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean it like that.¡±

    ¡°Ah¡¯ll just go back to the team. Don¡¯t fly off, cowboy.¡± She turned her gaze to Alamo, pointing a finger and narrowing her eyes.

    ¡°Sure, sure.¡± Alamo nodded back, his voice a little warmer.

    Captain America crossed his arms, his stance firm, unwavering. He ignored any lingering awkwardness, focusing entirely on Alamo, who met his gaze without flinching.

    ¡°Thank ya fer comin¡¯, Cap,¡± Alamo said after a beat, adjusting the brim of his black cattleman hat.

    ¡°Listen, Alamo. I have to thank you for helping the Avengers fight the X-Cutioner and the League.¡±

    Alamo¡¯s masked face tilted slightly. ¡°League¡­ League of what exactly?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re still working on finding out their full identity,¡± Steve admitted. ¡°But they¡¯re organized. And dangerous.¡±

    Alamo gave a small nod, arms crossed beneath his coat. ¡°Well, I¡¯m glad to be of assistance, Cap.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d like to make you aware that the Avengers don¡¯t leave people behind. That includes you. I believe the X-Men feel the same way.¡±

    Alamo let out a humorless chuckle. ¡°Didn¡¯t seem like the intention fer most of ¡®em.¡±

    Captain America exhaled slowly. ¡°Cyclops makes tough calls. He has to. But he learns from his mistakes. I¡¯ve fought alongside the X-Men before. They trust their leader. That doesn¡¯t mean they never question him.¡±

    Alamo¡¯s fingers drummed against his arm. ¡°I get that, Cap. I do. Ain¡¯t no leader perfect. But bein¡¯ used as bait for a pen drive? That ain¡¯t sittin¡¯ right with me.¡±

    ¡°Reasonable,¡± Steve agreed. ¡°But try to see his side. Cyclops cares about his people. He takes a utilitarian approach¡ªsometimes it means making sacrifices for the greater good.¡±

    Alamo scoffed, shaking his head. ¡°I reckon I understand that. I lean utilitarian myself. Maybe a bit consequentialist. But there¡¯s a line.¡± He adjusted his gloves, tilting his head. ¡°A little deontology here and there... I''m still figurin'' out as a go.¡±

    Steve¡¯s expression softened slightly. ¡°I¡¯m not here to engage in a philosophical debate, Alamo. I just wanted to make sure you understood the bigger picture.¡±

    ¡°Sorry, Cap.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be. I¡¯m sure others would love to discuss it. What concerns me is the safety of the American public. And in that regard, you¡¯ve been of immense help.¡±

    Alamo¡¯s stance shifted slightly. ¡°I¡¯m sorry fer what me and the Americop have caused, sir. I didn¡¯t mean to stir the flames of revolution¡­ I see myself more of a reformist.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not responsible for how people react to what you say or do. But you are responsible for your own actions.¡±

    <i>¡°True.¡±</i>

    Captain America took a step closer, his voice lowering slightly. ¡°That woman back there¡ªshe was vile. But violence begets violence.¡±

    Alamo¡¯s jaw tensed. ¡°I understand, that¡¯s why I didn¡¯t kill her.¡±

    Steve¡¯s eyes narrowed slightly. ¡°But you tortured her.¡±

    ¡°Hardly torture, sir,¡± Alamo said flatly. ¡°And hardly undeservin¡¯.¡±

    Steve didn¡¯t break eye contact. ¡°I understand. But don¡¯t start taking pride in that. Trust me. I¡¯ve seen what happens when you do.¡±

    Alamo was silent for a long moment before he spoke. ¡°I¡¯d rather not have to fight at all, Cap. But here I am. Burnin¡¯ hands and watchin¡¯ people die.¡± His voice was lower now, almost distant. ¡°I got dragged into this¡­ partially by my own damn self.¡±

    Captain America¡¯s expression remained steady. ¡°You feel it¡¯s your duty to protect mutantkind?¡±

    ¡°<i>No</i>. Not in some grand Magneto-or-Xavier way. It¡¯s bigger than that. Freedom for all. No matter who or what you are.¡±

    Steve¡¯s brow furrowed slightly. ¡°And what would that look like?¡±

    Alamo adjusted his coat. ¡°I do my thing, you do yers. Long as ya ain¡¯t hurtin¡¯ anybody, then it ain¡¯t bad.¡±

    ¡°The world¡¯s more complicated than that, son.¡±

    Alamo chuckled lightly, but there was no humor in it. ¡°Yeah, I know. That¡¯s just the benchmark. The perfect world. I don¡¯t believe in utopias. But I believe we can be better. Freer than we are now.¡±

    Captain America nodded slowly. ¡°Progress has been made. And it¡¯ll keep being made.¡±

    Alamo crossed his arms, but Captain America continued.

    ¡°There will be more time to talk in the future, Alamo. As of right now, we''ll take the League into SHIELD custody. And we''ll be in touch.¡±

    ¡°I appreciate that, Cap. It is a real honor to work with you, sir, and the Avengers.¡±

    ¡°You fought well. It was a pleasure to fight alongside you, soldier.¡±

    ¡°I ain¡¯t a soldier, sir. But I understand the sentiment. My parents will be very happy with this.¡±

    ¡°Send your parents my regards.¡±

    ¡°I most definitely will.¡±

    The Avengers walked out from the building.

    In the distance, Rogue could see Iron Man approaching Alamo rather enthusiastically.

    Then Jean, Jubilee, and Storm approached her.

    ¡°Is he¡ª¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s fine, Jubes. Kinda.¡±

    ¡°Man, it sucks to almost die¡­ I¡¯d feel like shit. Well, I do when that almost happens. But losin¡¯ your powers? That sucks ass.¡±

    Rogue thought about it for a moment, putting herself in his place.

    ¡°He didn¡¯t cave.¡±

    ¡°No, instead he called her a bitch. Pretty ballsy, not gonna lie. Kinda hot if you ask me.¡± Jubilee popped the gum bubble on her lips. "Metal too, burnin'' hands and all. Gets all gal all hot and bothered." She crossed her arms over her chest.

    ¡°Jesus, Jubes. Get yer mind outta the gutter.¡± She shook her head, half amused with the whole deameanor from the younger mutant.

    "What? Just sayin''."

    Then Cyclops approached the team.

    ¡°You talked to him?¡±

    ¡°Ah did.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I really am. I¡¯ll talk to him.¡±

    ¡°Ah ain¡¯t sure that¡¯s a good idea." Rogue advised against it, in her head she knew how Alamo felt and Scott talking to him so soon would only stoke fires both men didn''t want to have.

    ¡°I need to.¡± Cyclops'' voice was final, his expression steely.

    ¡°Dang it.¡±

    Cyclops made his way to Alamo and Iron Man, the X-Men following close behind, overhearing their conversation.

    ¡°Think about that spot, cowboy. Stark could use a good macro econ guy. You know, I¡¯m a genius, but I¡¯m still just one person.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll give consideration to it, Mr. Stark.¡±

    ¡°Avengers, we''re done here. Cyclops, we¡¯ll talk soon. For now, we must return to New York. We have important matters to attend there.¡±

    ¡°See you, Captain.¡±

    Cyclops waved back at Steve, who saluted him. The tension grew thicker as the Avengers made their departure. Now, only the X-Men and the Alamo remained. There was a sense of bitterness from Duncan towards Scott¡ªhis more relaxed body language around Captain America immediately faded. His posture straightened, his glowing red eyes intensified behind the sleek chrome mask that reflected Scott¡¯s image back at him. His arms crossed again, his jaw tightening behind the metal piece over his face. The way the red eyes flickered beneath his mask gave him an almost spectral appearance, like a specter looming in the aftermath of battle, all under the shadow of his black cowboy hat.

    He took a slow, deliberate step forward, the click of his boots against the cold floor the only sound between them.

    ¡°Cyclops,¡± he said, his tone dry and blunt, carrying the weight of disappointment.

    Scott, standing firm, met his gaze. He exhaled, the tension in his shoulders evident. ¡°Alamo, I¡¯m sorry. I had no plans to let you die, but it might have sounded like it.¡±

    ¡°Might¡¯ve?¡± Alamo¡¯s tone was sharp, accusatory.

    Scott¡¯s lips pressed into a thin line before he nodded. ¡°It did, and for that, me and my team are sorry.¡±

    Alamo looked back at the X-Men behind Scott, reading their faces. Jean¡¯s concern, Rogue¡¯s frustration, Jubilee¡¯s conflicted expression. His body language relaxed slightly, but only just.

    ¡°I understand,¡± he said after a pause, his voice lower but still edged. ¡°I don¡¯t care if ya had been buyin¡¯ time or if ya think it was needed. I understand it. Ya protect yer own. No time fer outsiders.¡±

    Scott shook his head. ¡°That is not what I said or thought. Our mission is to protect the innocent, safeguard mutantkind, fight for coexistence.¡±

    Alamo let out a quiet chuckle, though there was no humor in it. ¡°It¡¯s fine, really. I reckon... a pen drive that couldn¡¯t possibly have a copy somewhere was worth a mutant life.¡±

    Scott¡¯s expression hardened. ¡°Don¡¯t be disingenuous. It wasn¡¯t a decision that was easy to make, so much so I didn¡¯t take it.¡±

    ¡°Which is fair,¡± Alamo admitted. ¡°But I didn¡¯t appreciate the hesitation is all.¡±

    Scott took a breath, steadying himself. ¡°The X-Men stand for something bigger than ourselves. We have responsibilities, not just to ourselves.¡±

    Alamo tilted his head. ¡°Ya think that¡¯s what I¡¯m about? Myself only?¡±

    ¡°You seem to be against teams,¡± Scott countered.

    ¡°I¡¯m against yer team. Not even against what ya do... it¡¯s just... too idealistic.¡±

    Scott¡¯s gaze sharpened. ¡°And you think you¡¯re not idealistic, in the slightest?¡±

    ¡°I ain¡¯t recruitin¡¯, ain¡¯t I?¡± Alamo shot back.

    ¡°What we fight for is important, it matters. We have a family, and we have a duty. If you thought beyond yourself, you¡¯d know,¡± Scott pressed.

    Alamo¡¯s fists clenched for a brief second before he forced them to relax. ¡°There he goes. It didn¡¯t take long fer ya to put me on the spot again. I¡¯m startin¡¯ to think it wasn¡¯t a hard decision at all¡ªit was rather an easy one.¡±

    The tension rose again, thick like an approaching storm. Both men stared each other down, almost the same height¡ªAlamo only an inch taller. The flickering red glow of his mask made Scott¡¯s reflection in it look ghostly, distorted.

    ¡°Alamo.¡± Rogue said, not far behind Scott, almost like a call to restrain.

    ¡°I¡¯m just sayin¡¯,¡± Alamo muttered, voice low.

    ¡°You don¡¯t like us,¡± Scott said. It wasn¡¯t a question.

    ¡°As people?¡± Alamo shook his head slightly. ¡°I have nothin¡¯ against y¡¯all. I even like y¡¯all¡ªsome at least, not all. As a team? I have disagreements. Don¡¯t mean I oppose yer work or anythin¡¯.¡±

    ¡°You know, one day... when you realize there¡¯s something bigger than yourself, you might be worthy of the X-Men. We¡¯d be happy to have you.¡±

    Alamo narrowed his eyes slightly. ¡°Ya¡¯re suggestin¡¯ I ain¡¯t worthy?¡±

    ¡°I think you are. You just can¡¯t see it yet.¡±

    Alamo exhaled, shaking his head. ¡°Look, I respect yer ideals and even yer goals. But don¡¯t mean everyone has to be sucked into Xavier¡¯s army.¡±

    Scott¡¯s voice was quieter, but still firm. ¡°Not everything is about him. And not everything is about you. Think of others for once.¡±

    Alamo sighed, deep and measured, his arms finally dropping from his chest.

    ¡°Lone mutants don¡¯t do as much as they do with family. And liberty isn¡¯t everything.¡±

    Alamo looked up at the dark sky outside, the weight of everything settling on his shoulders.

    ¡°Neither is coexistence,¡± he said, his voice distant.

    There was a long uncomfortable silence between the two mutants, before Alamo looked at the group behind Cyclops and then up to the sky.

    "I¡¯ll see y¡¯all, eventually. X-Men, Rogue.¡±  His tone was warmer, respectful even, a far cry from his colder disagreement with Scott Summers.

    Then he snapped his head back at Cyclops.

    "Just remember Cyclops, not all of us are fightin'' fer old men''s dreams... some of us have dreams of our own."

    Without another word, he took to the skies in a blue blur, disappearing in an instant.

    ¡°Dang it, Scott. Ya didn¡¯t have to antagonize him.¡± Rogue crossed her arms.

    ¡°He pushed us too far."

    Jean moved to his side, planting a gentle hand over his shoulder.

    "He''s bitter, but he respect us, I can sense it. He will understand eventually. Let go of his prejudices."

    "Ah don''t think it''s prejudice, he... he just thinks differently." Rogue added.

    "Whatever it is, I''m sure we haven''t heard the end of it, yet." Cyclops added.

    "Ain''t that right" Rogue smirked as she looked to the faint blue trace up in the dusk sky.

 Epilogue: Prodigal Son

    In the dark office of Graydon Creed, he sat overlooking the night sky, fingers curling around the neck of a whiskey bottle. His office, perched high above the city, was silent, save for the hum of streetlights below and the faint crackling of the ice in his glass. He poured himself a drink, eyes narrowing as the amber liquid sloshed against the rim.

    He had been defeated. Again.

    The X-Cutioner had failed. The Friends of Humanity had been humiliated. And the one responsible? That damn mutant boy. Alamo. Once again, Duncan Nenni had stepped into the fray and walked away victorious, leaving Creed¡¯s best men broken and scattered. And now, he was left nursing the bitter taste of failure.

    Then, out of nowhere¡ªa call.

    Creed stared at the vibrating phone on his desk. He took it, pressing it to his ear.

    ¡°Hello, Trask.¡±

    ¡°Creed, everything not going good, I assume.¡±

    Creed exhaled through his nose, swirling his glass. ¡°We lost it, Trask. I lost the best of the FoH to that fucking mutant boy. Again.¡±

    A brief pause. Then, Trask¡¯s voice, smooth and calculating. ¡°You want to get rid of him?¡±Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    Creed¡¯s grip tightened around the glass. ¡°I want to kill him. Then the X-Men. Then every goddamn freak on this fucking Earth.¡±

    ¡°What if I offered you something better?¡±

    Creed scoffed. ¡°I don¡¯t believe you, Trask. You offered Carl something, and he lost it.¡±

    A soft chuckle on the other end. ¡°Well, admittedly, it was a mistake on my part to put Denti in that armor. He wasn¡¯t prepared. He let too much of his pride dictate how that went. He hurt people.¡±

    Creed shrugged. ¡°It happens. People get caught in the crossfire. More importantly, he didn¡¯t kill any mutants.¡±

    ¡°Yes¡­¡±

    Creed¡¯s tone sharpened. ¡°You betrayed us, Trask. You sent the Sapien League into Carraro¡­ They weren¡¯t authorized. They killed Carraro¡¯s men. Then again, they also helped Captain America and the mutants.¡±

    A long pause. Then, Trask spoke, voice measured. ¡°Unfortunately, that was a mistake. The Leper Queen was weak. She made errors. And I didn¡¯t count on the Avengers being there, just the X-Men and the kid.¡±

    ¡°The Avengers are supporting them now,¡± Creed snarled. ¡°They¡¯re not meant to do that! They¡¯re humanity¡¯s mightiest heroes! Not fuckin¡¯ mutie lovers¡ª¡±

    ¡°Earth¡¯s Mightiest Heroes, Creed,¡± Trask corrected. ¡°I don¡¯t think they fully support the mutants yet. Many Avengers have their own beef with them¡­ Some more personal than others.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re not allies.¡±

    ¡°But they never have been.¡±

    Trask¡¯s voice dropped lower, more deliberate. ¡°Now, back to what I called you for. I want to give you another opportunity. Another shot.¡±

    ¡°At what?¡±

    ¡°Vengeance.¡±

    ¡°Against?¡±

    ¡°Forget Alamo. He has nothing to do with this. I want to give you the opportunity to get rid of those you hate the most¡­ Your parents.¡±

    Graydon Creed¡¯s expression darkened. His breath hitched, a cold fury settling in his chest. Then, a smirk curled his lips.

    ¡°I¡¯d like that, Trask,¡± he murmured, swirling his whiskey. ¡°I¡¯d like that very much.¡±

 Chapter 1: American Treasure

    <i>Mount Hood, Oregon ¨C 4:00 AM</i>

    The night air was crisp and biting, rolling down from the slopes of Mount Hood like a whisper of ice against the landscape. The modified olive Harley, adorned with a single white star on its body, cut through the empty highways with effortless precision, its deep, steady rumble the only disturbance in the slumbering wilderness. Behind the handlebars, Steve Rogers remained focused, his sharp blue eyes locked onto the winding road ahead. His uniform, a deep navy blue with white stripes behind the white star on his chest and a single red stripe adorning each shoulder, rippled slightly in the wind. His golden hair¡ªnow fading into a soft silver under the moon¡¯s glow¡ªflowed freely, untouched by the confines of a helmet.

    A crackle from his earpiece broke the quiet solitude of his ride.

    "I''m almost at the AO, Tony. Do you copy? Over."

    A pause. Then, Stark¡¯s voice came through, layered with his usual sarcasm.

    "Cap, I¡¯m not a soldier, also do you know that driving without a helmet is very dangerous?"

    Steve smirked slightly, shaking his head. "It is a personal risk I''m taking, Tony. But thank you for your concern, I''ll use one next time."

    "Pinky promise?"

    Steve sighed, shaking his head once more as he turned off onto a more rugged trail leading deeper into the Oregonian wilderness.

    "You have my word, Tony."

    The road grew rougher, his Harley barely making a sound over the damp forest floor as he approached his destination. As soon as he reached a clearing with a good vantage point, he shut off the bike, secured his gear, and pulled out a pair of military-grade binoculars from his tan backpack.

    "I''m monitoring the target right now."

    As he spoke, he pulled out a small device, and from his bag, a compact drone whirred to life, lifting smoothly into the air, its silent propulsion barely audible against the rustling leaves. Tony had taken control before Steve even fully opened his palm, his voice carrying an unmistakable smugness.

    "Very nifty technology."

    "I¡¯m a very nifty man, Cap."

    Through his binoculars, Steve scanned the target: a heavily secured research facility nestled among the towering pines. The building was white, clinical, more of a laboratory than a weapons depot. He could see security cameras perched at strategic corners, the glint of infrared sensors barely visible under the moonlight.

    "What can you see?"

    The drone¡¯s optics fed directly into Stark¡¯s systems, granting him a detailed infrared and night vision scan of the facility¡¯s perimeter.

    "Well, couple of guards, y¡¯know. Armed, possibly some rifles."

    Steve adjusted the focus of his binoculars. "Tangos? How many? Rifles, you say¡ªARs, AKs, energy-based? Work with me here, Tony."

    "Alright, six." A brief pause as Stark analyzed the feed. "They¡¯ve got Colt M4A1s, standard issue, black rifle slings. Looks like they¡¯re wearing¡­ 5.11 vests, nothing too heavy."

    Steve processed the information quickly. Standard security detail, not elite but trained. The facility wasn¡¯t designed to hold off an army, but it wasn¡¯t defenseless either.

    "Got it. Entry points?"

    "Well, there¡¯s a road leading up to the front, and the place itself is looking more lab than storage facility. Lotta windows. White paint. Looks sterile, real high-security science-y stuff." Tony¡¯s tone grew wistful. "Honestly, this spot? Prime real estate. Woods give great cover. Secluded. Perfect for a Stark Resort. You get a deck bar on that lake, maybe a fine dining restaurant with a mountain view¡ª"

    "Tony. Focus."

    "Fine, fine. Main entrance is through the front, like a proper welcoming door for all those scientists. Then there¡¯s a back entrance, service personnel only, real discrete."

    Steve nodded, already deciding his approach. "Understood. I¡¯m on the move."

    With that, he adjusted his gloves, took one last look at the facility, and melted into the shadows of the trees. The mission had begun.

    Captain America parked the bike deep within the woods, taking extra precautions to ensure it remained hidden beneath the thick brush. He checked the pistol in his holster, securing it tightly before running a final check on the gas grenades and fragmentation grenades clipped onto his harness. Every tool accounted for. Every weapon in its place.

    "Cap, you sure you want to do this alone? We could be there in a second."

    "You needed time to relax. Every team needs relaxation."

    "And you, Cap?"

    "They call me super-soldier for a reason, Tony. Now, can you kill the lights?"

    "Yes, sir."

    In an instant, the entire facility plunged into darkness. Inside, alarms chirped as guards scrambled, moving urgently to secure their posts. More armed personnel funneled outside, scanning the perimeter with mounted flashlights. Steve reached for his cowl-helmet from his backpack, the green lenses flickering as the night vision activated.

    From the darkness, he listened.

    "Check the perimeter, cameras, everything. Move, move, move!" One of the guards barked as three soldiers maneuvered beneath the glow of their rifle-mounted lights.

    Steve calculated his next move, lining up the perfect trajectory for his shield. A snap echoed in the dense brush¡ªdeliberate, controlled. The guards turned, their lights darting toward the disturbance.

    And then the shield struck. A blur of vibranium, bouncing off a wall before colliding into all three. They crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

    "Three tangos down."

    "Nice one, Cap."

    Steve retrieved his shield, pressing forward toward the gates. More movement¡ªa duo making their way down the main path. Steve lurked behind the outer wall, waiting for the opportune moment. The first never saw him coming. A swift, calculated strike rendered him unconscious. The second barely had time to react before Steve caught him in a headlock.

    "Is this a Carraro or Trask facility?"

    A wheeze. "Carraro."

    Steve tightened his grip. "Are you lying to me?"

    The guard coughed. "I''m not saying. You''re just going to hit me anyway."Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    Steve smirked. "You¡¯re smarter than most." The soldier slumped unconscious in his arms.

    "Just don¡¯t kill anyone, Cap."

    "I won¡¯t. And remember, Tony, I was doing this before you were even conceived."

    "Yeah, Cap. I know. You¡¯re old."

    Another guard approached. Steve barely looked before his shield flew, knocking the man out cold.

    "Old, but never obsolete."

    "Alright, T-800, we got it."

    More personnel emerged, only for Steve to take them down in complete silence, one punch each, precise and effortless. He jumped and swung at the first, then taking his rifle from his hand, then with the butt of his stock he hit the second in the chin, down. The third was down with a simple left hook. Thuds, almost silent as each of them fell down the concrete road.

    "Remind me why we have Natasha again?"

    "Because if she were here, she¡¯d already be inside."

    "Oh yeah, of course."

    Then Cap heard a car approaching.

    Steve had already spotted the vehicle before it even neared the facility. From his vantage point, he saw armed men inside. Before he could move, something¡ªor rather, someone¡ªmoved first.

    In an instant, the top of the car was ripped open like a tin can, and the guards inside were knocked out before they even had the chance to react. One by one, their unconscious bodies were pulled from the vehicle and stacked neatly beneath a tree. The car itself? Lifted effortlessly and shoved into a more secluded spot. As one of the guards began to stir, a shield flew through the air, striking him square in the back. He collapsed instantly, out cold again.

    Steve exhaled, stepping forward.

    "Rogue."

    She dusted off her chestnut hair, the signature white streaks gleaming faintly in the dim light. A smirk played at her lips as she adjusted her brown leather jacket, the green uniform now visible under the artificial light.

    "Well, if it ain''t America''s Top Cop. All by his lonesome."

    "I didn¡¯t expect to see you here. At least not alone."

    "Y¡¯know, the crowd was busy today, but Ah reckon Ah¡¯m just the gal fer the job." She casually picked up Steve¡¯s shield from the ground, tossing it once in her hand.

    "You''re here for the facility too. The Trask parts."

    "Oh yeah, Cap. But also to get that ol¡¯ mean sonuvabitch what he deserves. Now, why are ya here?"

    "Same." Steve hesitated for a moment. "The technology we found with... AIM came from Trask."

    Rogue¡¯s smirk faded slightly. "And that has anythin¡¯ ta do with mutants?"

    "Unsure now, but so far, none."

    Captain America extended his hand for his shield. Rogue gripped the strap tightly before slowly handing it over. As Steve went to grab it, she held on for just a second longer.

    "We need yer help, Cap. If there¡¯s any chance this thing ever gets to the court, we need Avengers support."

    Steve¡¯s jaw tightened. "Rogue, it''s not so simple. The Avengers represent America¡ªnot just mutants."

    Her emerald eyes narrowed. "So ya¡¯d rather see more people die, or at least these people who died be in vain, than compromise the mighty ¡®Avengers¡¯?"

    "No, what I am saying is¡­ I''m the leader of the Avengers, not their dictator. We vote on these decisions."

    "Not everyone would be on board. Especially Captain Marvel."

    "She has bad blood with you, but that doesn¡¯t mean she wouldn¡¯t understand your plea."

    Rogue scoffed. "Ah don¡¯t think she would. Ya¡¯d have to promise me¡ªpromise us¡ªyou¡¯d see this through, Cap."

    Steve sighed. "I can¡¯t promise anything. It doesn¡¯t depend on me alone, Rogue. It depends on the team, on the circumstances¡­ my hands are tied."

    Rogue¡¯s eyes flashed with something unreadable. "Well, if yer hands are tied, ya won¡¯t need this."

    With that, she spun on her heel and, without hesitation, hurled his shield toward Mount Hood.

    Captain America narrowed his eyes, clearly upset.

    Then they heard it.

    A loud clank, followed by a sharp curse.

    "Goddamnit!"

    Rogue¡¯s head snapped around instantly, her sharp instincts recognizing the voice before her eyes could confirm it. She inhaled sharply, her stomach tightening.

    "DUNCAN!"

    She shot forward in a blur, wind rushing past as she flew low to the ground, closing the distance in a heartbeat. There he was¡ªAlamo¡ªhovering just above the dirt path, his body relaxed, but his hand firmly clutching something.

    Steve¡¯s shield.

    Her eyes widened as she took in the details¡ªhis chrome mask now bore a fresh scratch, thin but unmistakable, running diagonally across the reflective surface. Her heart leapt, a momentary fear gripping her.

    "Duncan, are ya alright, sugah?"

    He let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders before shifting his gaze to meet hers.

    "Hell of a welcomin¡¯ gift, Anna Marie. No, I ain''t hurt."

    Still unconvinced, she reached for his arm, fingers pressing against his bicep, checking for any sign of injury.

    "Ya sure?"

    "I''m sure." His voice was steady, reassuring.

    Rogue exhaled, relief washing over her, but guilt creeping in right behind it.

    "Ah¡¯m so sorry, Duncan. Please forgive me. Ah wouldn¡¯t forgive mahself if Ah killed Buc-ee¡¯s poster child."

    Alamo sighed, adjusting the shield in his grip. "Ain¡¯t a laugh riot, Rogue."

    "Gotta have a lil¡¯ charm." She offered a small smirk, though her eyes betrayed her guilt.

    "Terrific charm. Throwin¡¯ shit at people" He chuckled a bit "Talkin¡¯ ¡®bout throwin¡¯ shit at people, why in hell did ya do that?"

    She huffed, crossing her arms. "Ah got a little carried away. Explain it later."

    He squinted at her before shaking his head. "Fine. Where¡¯s yer people?"

    "Busier than a cat on a tin roof."

    "With what?"

    "X-Men stuff. Ya know how it goes¡­"

    "No, but I reckon it¡¯ll be long ¡®fore I¡¯m interested in that¡­"

    She smirked at his usual dry wit. "Ah didn¡¯t expect ta see ya here."

    "Expect the unexpected. We oughta skin our own buffaloes, so I¡¯m here fer that."

    Rogue shook her head, a small laugh escaping her lips. "Come, let¡¯s talk."

    But Alamo lifted a hand, stopping her. "Now hold yer horses, Rogue. Listen to me¡ªare you mad at Cap?"

    She hesitated, her expression darkening slightly. "Kinda, ain''t gonna lie."

    He exhaled. "Why?"

    Rogue folded her arms, looking off into the distance for a moment before turning back to him. "He said if we want their backin¡¯, the Avengers gotta vote first. This is important to us, ta me and ta ya too, Duncan. If we can¡¯t put Trask behind bars, what does it mean fer us? Fer the mutants who died because of his machines? How can they ever trust Xavier¡¯s dream if the trial fails? They¡¯ll¡ª"

    "Radicalize." Alamo finished for her. "It¡¯d make ¡®em certain the justice system don¡¯t work. That humans don¡¯t work. It¡¯d make livin¡¯ free among ¡®em seem like an utopian dream¡ªone they can¡¯t reach without violence¡­ without folks like Magneto."

    She nodded solemnly. "That¡¯s what Ah was fixin¡¯ to say, but yeah, that works too."

    Alamo rubbed his chin. "But ya know, Cap ain¡¯t a dictator. He ain¡¯t their owner. He can¡¯t just order ¡®em to do somethin¡¯."

    "He said that. But we have ta try. The Avengers have ta try."

    Alamo sighed, shifting his grip on the shield. "Alright, I¡¯ll talk to him. But no more throwin¡¯ his shield ¡®round¡­ do ya hear?"

    Rogue grinned, teasing. "Ah¡¯ll think ¡®bout that."

    Alamo¡¯s tone grew firmer. "No. I wanna hear a promise, Rogue"

    She rolled her eyes but relented. "Fine. Ah won¡¯t throw his shield ¡®round no more."

    He nodded, satisfied, patting the shield with pride. "This is a national treasure, y¡¯know. This puppy¡¯s seen more service than the M2 Browning."

    She blinked. "That what, a plane?"

    He stared at her. "It¡¯s a machine gun."

    She smirked. "Oh, how Texan of ya."

    He laughed dryly. "Alright, ¡®nuff of this. Let¡¯s go meet the man in blue. And unfortunately hand his shield back to him." He chuckled, still patting the Shield like it was prized possession as he descended.

    "Alamo." Captain America said, crossing his arms in a small smirk.

    Steve Rogers stood tall, his piercing blue eyes locked onto the young mutant. Alamo held out the vibranium shield strapped on his right forearm, his grip firm but respectful. The air between them was thick, but not with hostility¡ªmore like an unspoken understanding between a man and his childhood hero.

    "Cap, sir. Here''s yer shield."

    Steve reached out, taking the shield back with a nod. "Thank you."

    Alamo hesitated for a second before speaking again. "Now my¡­" He paused, considering his words carefully. "Colleague."

    Beside him, Rogue raised an eyebrow before delivering a sharp elbow to his ribs.

    "Ahem¡ªmy friend."

    She nodded, satisfied.

    "Well, my friend here is very sorry. Ain¡¯t ya sorry, Rogue?"

    Rogue let out a huff, crossing her arms but eventually sighing. "Ah''m sorry, Cap, Ah overstepped mah boundaries."

    Steve nodded, but Alamo leaned in, whispering something into Rogue¡¯s ear. She gave him a sharp look in response.

    "No way Ah''m sayin¡¯ that."

    "Ya will, ya promised."

    She groaned, rubbing her temples before finally muttering, "Ah¡¯m sorry Ah violated yer property rights and disrespected such an important piece of American history."

    Alamo grinned, giving her a thumbs up. "That¡¯s more like it."

    She shot him a glare. "Ya happy now, Duncan?"

    He smirked. "Happiest man in the world, Anna Marie."

    Steve watched the exchange with mild amusement before returning to the matter at hand. "Thanks for the thought, both of you. I believe Rogue has updated you on the situation?"

    "In a way, yes. We¡¯ll patiently wait fer the Avengers¡¯ vote. But ya could put out the good word for mutants, sir."

    Steve nodded solemnly. "This can be done. Carol understands that this goes beyond a species issue¡ªit is a broader fight for liberty, justice, and a better tomorrow."

    Alamo scoffed playfully. "How can ya do this to this <i>sweet sweet</i> ol'' man, Rogue?"

    Rogue rolled her eyes, but smirked anyway. "Alamo, can ya not?"

    Steve cleared his throat. "As I said, I¡¯ll do my best to ensure the Avengers remain committed to protecting the people of Earth. Mutants included."

    Rogue gave him a firm nod. "That''s all Ah ask, Cap."

    Steve extended his hand. "For that, you have my word, Rogue."

    Alamo raised his thumbs up. "Pretty as a peach. Can we move on to the investigation now, y''all?"

    Steve smirked slightly. "Yes."

    Rogue cracked her knuckles. "Yup, sugah. Let''s roll."

    Alamo motioned forward. "Ya lead, Cap."

    Steve adjusted his grip on the shield and took the first step forward. "Thank you, Alamo."

    And with that, they moved deeper into the mission, opening the door that leads to facility.

 Chapter 2: Heroes and Shadows

    The hallway stretched long and sterile, the polished white walls reflecting the dim emergency lighting, making it feel even more claustrophobic than it already was. The lobby behind them had been deceptively small¡ªthis place was built to hide its true size from the outside world.

    "Eugh, creepy," Rogue muttered as she leaned in slightly, surveying the blank expanse ahead.

    "It ain''t pretty, I''ll tell ya that much," Alamo replied, scanning the walls for any sign of movement.

    "Let''s move. We have to find as much information as possible," Cap ordered, his voice calm but firm.

    "Cap, what exactly are we expectin'' to find here?" Alamo asked, his voice quieter now, as if speaking too loud would invite whatever horrors lay ahead.

    Steve¡¯s gaze was unwavering. "Trask parts. Used in inhumane experiments with live innocents."

    Alamo took a deep breath, his mind racing with thoughts of what that could mean¡ªand who was responsible.

    "What sort of experiment, Cap?"

    Steve¡¯s face hardened. "They used human brains to integrate with computer circuitry, make machines that couldn''t be easily hacked."

    A cold chill ran through Alamo¡¯s spine. "You believe they can be here, sir?"

    "Yes, I do."

    They walked down the hallway, carefully checking doors as they passed. Each was sealed shut, their labels nothing more than coded numbers. No clear signs, no descriptions.

    "This is eerily silent, never a good sign," Alamo muttered.

    "Quiet before the storm," Cap agreed.

    Then, they spotted a map mounted on the wall¡ªa layout of the facility.

    "Alright, so there¡¯s a lab here. Unmarked. The rooms all have codenames," Steve noted, running a gloved finger over the diagram.

    "Which means they prolly didn¡¯t expect visitors. ''Cause this would just make reachin¡¯ places harder," Alamo added.

    "It is supposed to be a secret facility. We¡¯ll find out soon enough what they were trying to hide."

    Then, from the shadows, they heard it.

    Heavy thuds.

    They barely had time to react before armed personnel appeared at the T-intersection ahead. Two squads, one on each side, raising rifles.

    "HANDS UP!" one of them barked.

    Captain America looked between Alamo and Rogue, assessing the situation.

    "We got this, Cap," Alamo said coolly.

    "Yup," Rogue added.

    In a blur of movement, both of them shot forward. Alamo launched himself right, a streak of plasma energy illuminating the dark as he plowed through the guards. He shattered the barrels of their guns and sent them sprawling like ragdolls.

    On the left, Rogue tore through the other squad with equal force. Their gunfire was useless¡ªSteve, standing in the center, deflected each stray bullet with his shield, ensuring no one else got hit in the crossfire.

    Seconds later, ten men were on the ground, groaning or unconscious. Rogue and Alamo inspected their gloves, satisfied.

    "Not bad, Rogue."

    "Handled yerself pretty well, Alamo."

    Alamo tipped his hat. "Much appreciated, ma''am."

    Steve exhaled. "We need to head to the lab. They came from somewhere."

    They pressed forward, finding an elevator at the end of the hallway.

    "This must be the access to the lab. Rogue, Alamo, with me."

    "Alright," Alamo said, cracking his knuckles.

    They stood inside, the sterile air thick with the scent of antiseptic, the fluorescent lights casting an almost clinical pall over the long white hallway stretching before them.

    Rogue leaned in, arms crossed. "So, free thinker. Ya have no problem followin¡¯ Cap¡¯s orders?"

    Alamo smirked but swallowed dryly. "I mean, ya want me to go against him?"

    "No, no. Ah¡¯m just curious why ya don¡¯t seem to wanna argue or lecture him¡­ like ya did when ya met me in Florida?"

    Alamo let out a small chuckle. "Rogue, he¡¯s over one hundred years old. Ain¡¯t nothin¡¯ I have to say he hasn¡¯t heard before."

    She eyed him with skepticism. "Ya sure?"

    He sighed, looking at the shield on Cap''s back.

    "He¡¯s my childhood hero. I don¡¯t wanna antagonize him."

    Rogue grinned. "So there¡¯s the real answer."

    Alamo tilted his head slightly. "Does that answer bother ya?"

    "No, Cap¡¯s a decent guy."

    "By ¡®decent guy,¡¯ ya mean a war hero."

    "I look up to him, in a way. Same way y''all X-men look up to Xavier, only difference my hero has hair. Minus the whole cult of personality y''all have goin'' on with baldie"

    Rogue continued, nudging Alamo. "Stop, Duncan, we ain''t no cult of personality. Also don¡¯t let the Professor hear that comment ¡®bout his hair¡­ or lack thereof."

    Alamo grinned. "What if he reads my mind?"

    Rogue smirked. "Then good luck, sugah. That¡¯s a mess Ah ain¡¯t cleanin¡¯¡­ just don¡¯t call him bald an¡¯ ya know¡­"

    Steve, who had been only inches away, caught wind of their conversation. He thought about saying something but instead just smiled to himself. It warmed him that even younger generations¡ªeven mutants, who often viewed the Avengers with skepticism¡ªcould still see him as a hero.

    Before she could finish, the elevator doors slid open with a soft hiss.

    Beyond them lay the lab.

    It was massive¡ªfar larger than the external structure suggested. White-walled corridors stretched out in all directions, sterile and pristine, yet beneath the perfection was something deeply unsettling. This wasn¡¯t just a research lab. It was a production facility. Conveyor belts hummed softly in the distance, robotic arms moving in unison as parts were assembled¡ªparts they could all recognize. Not just tech, but cybernetic enhancements, exoskeletal plating, neural interfaces. The pieces of something sinister being built on a large scale.

    Alamo¡¯s eyes darkened. "This ain¡¯t just a lab, labs don''t have conveyor belts all that I''m aware, it''s a state-of-the-art factory. Sure hell buildin'' stuff here"

    Steve gripped his shield tighter. "We find out what, and we shut it down."

    Rogue cracked her knuckles. "Ah was hopin¡¯ ya¡¯d say that."

    And with that, they stepped inside.

    Rogue, Captain America, and Alamo moved like shadows through the massive expanse of the underground lab-factory. The overhead lights cast a dim industrial glow over the vast assembly lines and conveyor belts, while the dull hum of machinery filled the air. They kept low, slipping between support beams and crates stacked high with metallic components.

    "This is a very big facility," Alamo muttered, glancing up at the catwalks overhead. "They must have a main elevator to bring these manufactured parts up top."

    "Yup, a platform lift." He exhaled. "Cap, I reckon this is where they make Sentinels. When I was in Arkansas and Florida, Sentinels attacked us¡­"

    Rogue picked up where he left off. "Usually, these things have an American flag on ¡®em¡­ or whatever rude host wants to get rid of us."

    Steve¡¯s eyes narrowed as he processed their words.

    "Yup, like Rogue said, but these models seem similar to what the FoH has sent on us."

    Steve clenched his jaw. "Then this is possibly an illegal plant, manufacturing arms with Trask schematics and resources they buy from the market¡ªor from Trask directly."

    Alamo nodded. "That¡¯s what I was thinkin¡¯, sir. If we find the invoices, orders, and inventory, we could prove the building¡ªwhich is theoretically Carraro¡¯s¡ªis in fact manufacturin¡¯ Sentinels for the FoH."

    "Which would explain why they¡¯re older models," Rogue added, glancing at the rows of partially assembled machines.

    "Yes, ma¡¯am."

    Steve set his shoulders. "Good. Then we stop the factory. But I want to be sure we have all the information we can."

    Alamo adjusted his gloves. "That¡¯d be optimal, yes."

    Steve nodded. "Then follow me. We¡¯ll take them down."

    With that, Captain America leaped from the shadows, his movements precise as he landed against a corner. He spotted two guards talking¡ªa stocky man leaning against the wall and another smoking casually, his face turned away. In one smooth motion, Steve threw his shield at an angle. It ricocheted off the metal wall, striking both men just beneath the chin, knocking them unconscious before they could react.

    Before the bodies even hit the ground, Alamo surged forward in a streak of blue light, tackling a third guard who had just rounded the corner.

    Rogue landed lightly behind him, hands on her hips. "Ya¡¯re leavin¡¯ me no fun, cowboy."

    Alamo grinned, adjusting his coat. "I promise the next one¡¯s yers."

    She smirked. "Ah¡¯ll hold ya to that."

    They stepped over the fallen guards, pressing forward toward the control room where the real evidence would be waiting.

    Steve retrieved his shield, glancing at the unconscious guards. "You made too much noise."

    Alamo¡¯s eyes widened behind his chrome mask. "Dang, I messed up."

    "Don¡¯t worry, sugah. Leave it to the professionals." Rogue teased, smirking at him.

    Alamo scoffed, adjusting his gloves. "Ain¡¯t no way I¡¯m lettin¡¯ ya outcompete me."

    "This is serious. It¡¯s not an excuse to bond." Steve cut in, his voice firm.

    "Sorry, Captain."

    "Our bad, Cap." Rogue echoed.

    More soldiers came, already firing, but that wasn¡¯t the real problem. The scientists rushed toward the elevator, and then the rumbling started.

    Tony¡¯s voice crackled over the comms. "Steve, I¡¯m hearing loud noises outside. Can you turn on your feed?"

    Steve grimaced. "Where were you, Tony?"

    "Sorry, Janet came to talk to me¡­ Wait, Rogue and Alamo are there?"

    "Yes."

    "What¡¯s going on?"

    "We have more hostiles¡ªpossibly Sentinels."

    A pause. "That¡¯s not good. Do you need help?"

    "No. I trust their abilities to see this through. Thanks, Tony."

    The comms went silent.

    Alamo frowned. "I¡¯m sorry, Cap."

    Steve shook his head. "You made a mistake. It was understandable. But we can fix it. Now focus."

    The soldiers burst in, weapons raised. Steve hurled his shield, knocking two over before rushing in, striking them down. One soldier grabbed the shield, attempting to use it.

    "Learn how to use it first."

    In one swift motion, Steve pulled his pistol, shot the man in the foot, stowed the gun, and reclaimed his shield with a brutal punch.

    Meanwhile, Alamo and Rogue turned their attention to the Sentinel now rising from the shadows.

    "This one¡¯s gonna cause trouble, sugah." Rogue said, eyeing the towering machine.

    "Not that much."

    Alamo shot forward, slamming his fist into the machine, tearing into its chest. Then, he removed his gloves.

    Rogue¡¯s eyes widened before she smirked. "Oh, this is gonna be good."

    Alamo¡¯s eyes shifted from red to blue as he absorbed the Sentinel¡¯s energy. The machine¡¯s systems flickered, then went dark.

    "Lot of pent-up energy in this one. Just a second."

    The excess power surged through him. He looked around, considering his options. He couldn¡¯t just fly around or explode. Instead, he directed the energy back into the Sentinel, releasing it as intense blue heat. Metal groaned, melting under the sheer heat of his energy. For thirty seconds, the machine burned from the inside out, its core liquefying.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Then it was done. He exhaled heavily, pulling his gloves back on.

    Rogue grinned. "Not bad, Duncan. Gloves an¡¯ all."

    Alamo smirked. "Learned from the best, no?"

    "Y''know, if Ah didn''t know any better, Ah''d say ya''re doin'' this to impress me."

    Alamo shrugged. "I hope that ain''t against yer X-Men rules."

    "They call me Rogue fer¡ª"

    "Ahem." Captain America cleared his throat, bringing them both back to focus. "Tony, tangos down. We''re moving on with the data collection. Scientists ran. Keep an eye on them." He said pressing to the side of his helmet.

    The trio moved deeper into the facility, carefully navigating toward a lab.

    "You have control over those powers, Alamo?" Steve asked as they walked.

    Alamo sighed. "Not entirely, Cap. Trade-offs, a lot of ¡®em. I suck energy. If it''s more than I need, my body has to purge it somehow¡ªif not intentionally, then unintentionally."

    "How exactly does that work?"

    "Medical research calls it a physiological coronal mass ejection, like in the sun. ¡®Cept, in this case, I¡¯d be the sun. If my energy levels rise beyond what my body can safely store, it expels the excess in plasma waves."

    "That could hurt people?"

    Alamo hesitated before answering. "It has. In the past... never intentionally, though."

    Rogue glanced at him, a flicker of understanding passing between them. She, more than most, understood the unintended consequences of mutant powers.

    "Understood." That was all Steve said as they entered the lab.

    Inside, they found a lone scientist, trembling as he pointed an energy weapon at them.

    "Don''t move, I''ll shoot!"

    The man¡¯s hands were shaking, his knuckles white.

    "Im¡ª" He stopped mid-word, eyes widening. "Captain America!? What are you doing here?"

    Steve¡¯s expression remained unreadable. "We came to investigate. You will answer our questions."

    "Or¡ª"

    In a blur, Rogue appeared beside him. She plucked the weapon from his hands with ease and, with a simple squeeze, crushed it into a useless hunk of metal.

    "Or else, sugah."

    The scientist gulped. "Damnit."

    Captain America pulled a chair as Alamo set the scientist down, ensuring he was stable. The three stood before him, their collective presence intimidating yet controlled. The dim glow from the overhead lights cast sharp shadows across the sterile lab.

    "You understand you are under arrest?"

    The scientist shifted nervously, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. "Why?"

    Steve folded his arms. "Should I be specific about the nature of the crimes committed inside this facility?"

    The man looked down, defeated. "No, I understand it."

    Alamo stepped forward. "Well, fer starters, I¡¯d like to ask¡ªwhat exactly is this factory, this lab?"

    Captain America didn¡¯t like the interruption but understood Alamo¡¯s intent. Rogue smirked and nodded, letting him proceed.

    The scientist exhaled, hesitating. "We work for Carraro."

    "Do you?" Alamo¡¯s right hand shimmered blue, the faint glow reflecting off the scientist¡¯s terrified face.

    The man¡¯s eyes widened as he saw the plasma flicker across Alamo¡¯s fingertips. "I¡ªI swear. I just do my job."

    "Y''know, maybe Ah can do this faster," Rogue said, pulling off her glove and stretching her fingers menacingly.

    "Rogue." Steve¡¯s tone was firm, but she ignored it.

    "Rogue, wait!" Alamo called, but she touched the scientist anyway.

    A surge of energy rushed through her as his memories flooded into her mind. The scientist groaned, his body weakening instantly before he collapsed into unconsciousness. Steve caught him, setting him back in the chair. Alamo moved quickly to steady Rogue, but she waved him off.

    "Ah appreciate the thought, but Ah¡¯m used to it. Thanks." She patted his hand before turning to Steve. "So?"

    "What did you get?" Steve asked.

    Rogue closed her eyes for a moment, sorting through the information. Her breath was heavy as she pieced together the fragmented thoughts she¡¯d pulled from the scientist¡¯s mind. "It¡¯s a factory, alright. They develop experimental modifications fer Creed. No Trask here. Everythin¡¯ from Sentinel blasters that can be scaled up, to ¡®budget-friendly¡¯ mutant pacification units. Cheaper ways to control us."

    Steve¡¯s face darkened. "Sentinels?"

    "Sorry, that¡¯s how they call ¡®em. Ah picked up that term from his head. Write this down, Ah¡¯ll forget the more technical stuff soon enough."

    Alamo nodded, taking notes. "What about the AIM robots?"

    Rogue¡¯s brows furrowed, the weight of the knowledge pressing against her mind. "Oh yeah, those? They were sold off by the facility overseer, Albert Hoss. He¡¯s outta state now."

    "Where?"

    "Somethin¡¯ ¡®bout Alaska. He mentioned it to Riviera." She pointed to the unconscious scientist. "That¡¯s the guy we just knocked out. He might know more."

    Steve¡¯s expression tightened. "Understood. What else?"

    Rogue exhaled sharply. "Trask¡¯s inhibitors¡ªthey were based on MacTaggert¡¯s designs."

    Steve¡¯s jaw clenched. "What? She¡¯s supposed to be dead."

    Rogue nodded grimly. "Well, maybe not. Or at least, her research ain¡¯t dead. Oscorp had its hands on it first. Turns out when she was workin¡¯ on a so-called ¡®cure,¡¯ she found a way to suppress the X-Gene without injection. Instead, it works like a magnetic disruption, an EMP for mutant abilities."

    Alamo felt a pang in his chest, almost like the inhibitor was still there. "Damnit"

    Rogue exhaled slowly. "The inhibitors they¡¯re makin¡¯ now aren¡¯t original tech. They¡¯re based on a stolen Oscorp prototype. Trask and his people reverse-engineered it."

    Steve¡¯s brows furrowed, his mind racing with the implications. "So Oscorp was developing mutant suppression tech?"

    "Not originally for suppression," Rogue corrected, the scientist¡¯s memories still swirling in her head. "It started out as a detection system for Sentinels¡ªsomething to help them find mutants faster, in real time, without a database. But the deeper they got into the research, the more they realized they could flip the switch, make it turn powers off instead of just detecting ¡®em."

    Alamo crossed his arms. "Is there any limitation to this inhibitor, anythin'' at all?"

    Rogue continued. "From their empirical tests some powers can¡¯t be shut off, dependin¡¯ on how they work. But most? Yeah. It¡¯d probably even work on me. Like they worked on ya too, Alamo."

    Alamo inhaled sharply at that thought, his mind flashing back to the inhibitor that had nearly killed him. "Damn."

    Steve¡¯s grip tightened around his shield. "We can¡¯t let this technology spread. If this gets out, every anti-mutant faction in the world will have an arsenal of weapons to wipe out mutantkind."

    Rogue nodded. "Ah agree. There''s somethin'' else."

    "What?" Steve asked.

    She hesitated before answering. "Creed¡¯s office is in Chicago. He¡¯s the one pullin¡¯ the strings there, not Trask. They might be workin¡¯ together, but this ain¡¯t just Trask¡¯s operation. Creed has his own agenda, it doesn''t seem to align always with Trask."

    Steve let out a slow breath. "Then we start with Chicago."

    Alamo cracked his knuckles. "We bringin¡¯ the Avengers, Cap?"

    Steve hesitated. "We¡¯ll have to discuss it first. But my intention is to help, protect American citizens mutants and humans alike."

    The room fell silent. They had uncovered more than they expected, but there was no time to process it fully. The mission wasn¡¯t over yet. Not even close.

    "Let''s take the technology down, I''ll upload what I can to Tony and the rest we send to Xavier" Captain America moved to the mainframe console inside the lab, he planted an USB device on it, soon enough the virus Stark created took hold of the computer, from the distance Alamo and Rogu saw Cap going over some details with Stark.

    "We got the mainframe, Tony. Get what you need and send it to Xavier."

    "Sure, Cap?"

    "Affirmative"

    The computer was soon wiped out of its data, soon enough the files would be on the X-Men hands. When it was over, Captain America turned to Alamo.

    "You''re free to destroy their equipment, Alamo."

    "Got ya, Cap." Without hesitation, Alamo raised his hand toward the computers, tables, consoles, and machines. A single controlled plasma beam erupted from his palm, engulfing the entire array of hardware in a blinding inferno. The extreme heat melted metal, shattered circuits, and sent cascades of sparks flying as smoke and the acrid scent of burning plastic filled the room.

    Within seconds, the facility¡¯s entire operational infrastructure was reduced to molten slag.

    "Done. Inoperational." He exhaled, lowering his arm. "I¡¯ll take care of the rest as we go."

    With that, they turned and made their way toward the exit. As Alamo systematically burned down the remaining equipment, the files they had retrieved were secured and sent to their respective locations¡ªcopies were transmitted to the Avengers Tower, the X-Mansion, and Alamo himself, ensuring the evidence was preserved for further investigation.

    As the last embers died down behind them, the mission in Mount Hood was complete. They headed to the Elevator back up, leaving the facility.

    The first morning light air carried the scent of burning electronics and scorched metal as Captain America, Rogue, and Alamo emerged from the now-compromised facility. Smoke curled from broken equipment deep inside, Alamo¡¯s handiwork ensuring the operation would never recover. The stolen data had already been uploaded to the Avengers Tower, the X-Mansion, and Alamo¡¯s own secure line. The mission was successful.

    But someone was waiting for them.

    A figure clad in red, white, and black stood at the treeline, gripping a shield of his own. The letters ¡°US¡± emblazoned in place of Steve¡¯s traditional star marked his allegiance. John Walker, the USAgent.

    "Captain Rogers," Walker said, his voice clipped and professional, though his tone carried its usual edge.

    Steve narrowed his eyes. "Walker."

    Walker gave a curt nod. "Pleasure to see you, sir."

    Steve simply nodded back, his expression unreadable.

    "We¡¯re here on SHIELD¡¯s behalf. This facility is now under our jurisdiction."

    Steve crossed his arms. "Where are the other security guards?"

    Walker gestured towards a nearby tree. "Some idiot tied em'' up with zip ties. One of them had a knife and managed to cut loose. They ran, but we apprehended them."

    Rogue scowled. "Some idiot? The nerve."

    Steve glanced at her. "Calm down, Rogue."

    Walker chuckled. "Oh, it was you? Sorry, pretty girl. X-Men don¡¯t usually have the best care for protocol. You¡¯re not professionals."

    Rogue¡¯s expression darkened. "Don¡¯t¡¯cha dare call me ¡®pretty girl¡¯ again, ya creep."

    Walker smirked. "I didn¡¯t mean to offend your delicate Dixie heart, sweetheart."

    Alamo stepped forward, his voice cold. "Partner, you¡¯re playin¡¯ a mighty dumb game right now."

    Walker tilted his head, looking Alamo up and down. "You must be the Texas kid. Pretty ballsy callin¡¯ yourself ¡®The Alamo,¡¯ dressing all edgy like that."

    Alamo kept himself steely behind the mask, his tone didn¡¯t waver. "Ya have some damn mouth fer a glorified lapdawg."

    Walker let out a low chuckle. "Oh, you¡¯re snappy. Tough crowd, Rogers."

    Steve¡¯s face remained neutral, but his tone turned firm. "I¡¯d rather you didn¡¯t insult them, Walker."

    Walker held up a hand in mock surrender. "Alright, my fellow southern friends. I didn''t mean to offend you, not at all. I''m here for the mission, same as Captain America, I''ll leave you to your mutant sensibilities, God bless."

    Alamo¡¯s fists clenched for a moment, but he exhaled slowly, reigning his distaste in. Rogue¡¯s glare remained fixed on Walker, but Steve took a step forward, subtly placing himself between them.

    "Our mission here is over," Steve said, his tone final. "Walker, SHIELD can handle cleanup. But watch yourself."

    Walker gave a salute. "Yes, sir."

    With that, he turned and walked back toward his squad. Steve exhaled, shaking his head.

    Rogue crossed her arms. "Ah hate that guy."

    Alamo nodded. "Yup."

    Outside the facility, a familiar presence made himself known. Standing tall, his brown hair neatly combed, its white sides catching the light, was Nick Fury. Beside him stood a man who exuded an air of bureaucratic arrogance¡ªa boastful presence wrapped in a grey suit with a red tie. His red hair was neatly slicked back, and his sharp green eyes studied the scene behind thick, framed glasses.

    "Fury."

    Fury nodded. "Captain Rogers. Thank you for assisting SHIELD. And thank you to the mutants, as well. I understand this cause is important to you. The facility will be contained now."

    Steve¡¯s gaze flicked toward the man beside Fury. "Who¡¯s that?"

    The man adjusted his tie. "I''m Henry Gyrich, Superhuman Affairs Subcommittee. I''m here to observe, Captain America. Rest assured, my intentions are only the best for the American people."

    Alamo leaned closer his voice dropping low. "¡®Nother damn regulator. All the state knows to do is regulate an'' tax, tax an'' regulate."

    Rogue crossed her arms. "He don¡¯t look like the kinda person who¡¯d be supportin¡¯ any mutant cause soon."

    "This subcommittee is a joke," Alamo muttered. "Bunch of ol¡¯ farts without any damn knowledge on the subject they¡¯re supposed to regulate."

    Fury ignored the comments and turned back to Steve. "Well, Captain, we have much to discuss. Can you follow me?"

    Steve held up a hand. "Just a moment, Fury."

    Turning to Rogue and Alamo, his expression softened. "Thank you for helping me."

    Alamo nodded. "Ain¡¯t a problem, Cap. Always good workin¡¯ with ya, sir."

    Rogue''s voice turned serious. "Cap, Ah just want ya ta remember what we told ya. Think ¡®bout it, think ¡®bout us. Mutants are people too. We can¡¯t live scared forever."

    Steve met her gaze. "I understand, Rogue. Don¡¯t worry. I will work to the best of my ability to bring the Avengers to support your cause."

    Rogue¡¯s face softened. "Thanks, Cap."

    Alamo nodded, tipping his hat. "Much appreciated, Cap."

    Steve nodded back. "No problem."

    Fury folded his arms. "Done there, Rogers?"

    Steve turned sharply. "Don¡¯t rush me, Fury."

    Fury smirked. "Whatever you say, Steve."

    Steve took a deep breath before stepping forward. "We¡¯ll talk. See you soon, soldiers."

    Rogue smirked. "Yeah, Cap."

    Alamo nodded. "See ya, sir."

    As Steve walked off, Alamo turned to Rogue with a knowing look, a tone of humor to his voice. "I told ya he¡¯s a sweet ol¡¯ man."

    Rogue sighed. "Ah hope he¡¯s the man ya make him up to be, Alamo. Ah really do."

    As they finally left the facility behind, the cool night air rushing past them, Alamo and Rogue ascended into the sky, their flight steady as they maintained course side by side.

    "Just let us go home." ALamo exhaled, looking at the horizon.

    "Ya headin¡¯ to Texas?" Rogue asked.

    "Yes, ma¡¯am. Ya?"

    "Westchester, ya know the drill... If ya were an¡ª"

    "Nuh-uh, missy. I ain¡¯t debatin¡¯ ya."

    "Alright, cowboy. Just fly with me till Nebraska or somethin¡¯. Or Ah could drop ya in Texas."

    "Oh, ya¡¯re takin¡¯ me home?"

    "Do ya need a ride?"

    "I can fly."

    "Ah can fly better."

    "Yeah, no."

    They took off, adjusting their speeds, trying to maintain an even course.

    "Ya flight¡¯s stiffer than a wet cat."

    "Ya steer too much to the left."

    "Ah can handle mah flight perfectly fine, cowboy."

    "Ain¡¯t seein¡¯ that, belle. From here ya look like an aimless bird."

    "Ya have to be more free. Fer someone who talks big ¡®bout liberty, ya fly like a drone, on Jubilee¡¯s hand."

    "Oh, I don¡¯t know how bad she flies, but after that I reckon it ain¡¯t pretty."

    "It¡¯s just stiff."

    She flew around him, doing barrel rolls, opening her arms, swinging with grace.

    "All that pretty plasma trail so ya can fly like an ol¡¯ crop duster."

    He replicated her flight pattern with less finesse.

    "Show planes are nice, but they ain¡¯t fast."

    He took off faster than her, leaving a plasma trail from his feet and hands.

    "Damn, boy," she struggled to keep up.

    Until he slowed, allowing her to catch up.

    "Alright, Ah get it, Alamo. Ya¡¯re pretty fast, sugah."

    "Do you admit yer inevitable defeat?"

    "Ya¡¯re dreamin¡¯, cowboy."

    He remained silent for a moment, his eyes dimming slightly.

    "Yer eyes, they come and go in that mask of yers."

    Then, his glow disappeared entirely.

    "Duncan?"

    He closed his eyes and took off his mask. The red glow faded into a dark brown.

    Rogue¡¯s breath hitched. "Oh... Oh... Yer eyes... They ain¡¯t red?"

    "They¡¯re red, but just when I make ¡®em glow. Otherwise, they¡¯re brown."

    With that he took off the chrome mask, revealing his face. He was young, younger than Rogue expected, not quite as young as Jubilee, but he seemed a bit younger than someone around twenty three years old would be, but there was something about the eyes, the intensity from the eyebrows to a almost pitch black color of his iris, a stark contrast to his paler skin, almost made him look like a vampire under the morning light. His face, like him seemed full of contradictions, from the intensity to the softness, she had expected some gruffer exterior, maybe it was the cowboy motif, maybe it was the conviction, still caught her off-guard how unexpected he looked.

    She studied his eyes for a moment. "Not a bad set."

    "Thank ya, kindly." He flushed a bit awkwardly, it seemed like he had a hard time keeping eye contact.

    Her voice softened. "Yer face... Ya¡¯re younger than Ah expected."

    "How old ya expect me to be?"

    "Ah dunno. In mah head, ya looked like ya were pushin¡¯ thirty or somethin¡¯... Y¡¯know, not far from Remy."

    "I look younger?"

    "Yeah"

    "That bad?"

    She nodded, blushing lightly. "No, no. Ah like that. Thank ya fer... y''know, not hidin'' behind the mask this time."

    "Yeah, no problem." He put the mask back on, the red glow returning. "I¡¯ll put it back ¡®fore I eat a bug or somethin¡¯."

    "We fly too high fer bugs, silly."

    He looked down, his gaze remaining fixed in silence. The mask meant more than hiding his face, he knew that.

    "Well, I like the mask on, anyhow."

    They soared through the night sky, the stars above twinkling as Rogue and Alamo adjusted their flight speeds to match each other. The cold wind brushed against them, but it wasn¡¯t enough to quiet the thoughts swirling in Duncan¡¯s mind.

    "Ya''re thinkin''."

    "I am."

    "It''s fine, ya can tell me. Is this ''bout Houston?"

    He sighed. "Yes, it''s ''bout Houston... It''s just that, I didn''t know what to make of my own mortality back there."

    "Ah know, ya felt like it led nowhere."

    "Yes."

    Rogue nodded, her voice carrying a quiet understanding. "Ah understand what ya''re sayin'', really am... It''s just... It''s been years. Jean and Scott been doin'' this almost longer than Ah been alive, ya been alive. An'' still it feels like it goes nowhere."

    "It''s just, ya fight Sentinels, ya fight Sinister, Hellfire Club -¡®cause why not- fight the FoH, Marauders, fight hell knows what fer so long... The Brotherhood, the X-Men¡ªit just feels like it goes nowhere. It''s always a new thing..."

    She sighed before she continued.

    "This whole Moira bein'' back to the picture, somehow it comin'' back to her... Which, lemme tell ya, Professor Xavier won''t be happy to hear that... It just... Just feels like it''s nowhere, just like-"

    "Shearin'' a pig." He chuckled dryly behind the chromes mask after he interrupted

    "Yeah, like that. Like we keep doin'' things that lead nowhere."

    Alamo sighed, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, I know. It can be real frustratin'' runnin'' ''round in circles like that."

    "Ya don''t have some answer fer that in that big ol'' brains of yers?"

    "Hardly old... But if it serves as any consolation... These things, they take a while. The rights of men, Magna Carta, it all took a while. Slavery was a globally accepted practice up until the 19th century, legal in some places almost up to this century. It took thousands of years fer men to realize people kinda deserved to be free, somehow took longer to realize it was contradictory to own people when ya believed em'' to be  equal... I reckon things have been movin'' faster from then. So one day, they might start acceptin'' us better, but it''ll take time."

    "Why? It''s just so¡ªeugh, infuriatin''. Ah just want ta be treated normally¡ª" Her voice almost sounded defeated, her memory swirling with pasts that weren''t only hers.

    "Well, we ain''t normal Rogue. It''s easier to respect folks when they can''t bend metal to their will, light ya up to ashes, read yer mind, blast ya off with their eyes... Kill em'' with yer very touch. Ya an'' I know that very well."  Alamo cut through her thoughts.

    "It''s...." She sighs. "True."

    "I don''t think it''s right that mutants don''t have the freedoms humans have, and have to be in constant surveillance. But they don''t have the powers we do, it''s the same with aliens really. They''re out there, down here we can''t wait fer em'' to be the good guys to defend ourselves, can we?"

    "Ah reckon, ya''re right, Duncan. Ah reckon ya''re right."

    "I just can hope one day we can be free, no surveillance, no threats of death, no burnin'' our shit or invadin'' the offices of our employers"

    "That''s the dream, no?"

    "Well, if y''all say so." He chuckled.

    They finally closed in on Dallas, the city lights glimmering beneath them.

    "This yer spot?"

    "My spot. Thanks fer the company, Anna Marie."

    "Ya were great, sugah." She leaned in, planting a light kiss on the side of his chrome mask, her lipstick leaving a faint imprint on the metal.

    Alamo smirked beneath the mask, tipping his hat. "I''ll see ya ''round, Rogue."

    She hovered for a moment, smirking back. "Ya will, Alamo. Ya will."

    And with that, they parted ways into the night sky.

    He touched the side of his chrome mask, her lipstick smudging his white gloves. Then he looked back to where she departed.

    "I hope so, I really do"

 Chapter 3: No Wars for Old Men

    Captain America stepped off the elevator for the second time, the heavy metal doors sliding open to reveal a chaotic scene. SHIELD agents swarmed the underground facility, meticulously cataloging evidence, securing classified materials, and sweeping the area for any remaining threats. The dim glow of floodlights illuminated the cavernous space, casting long shadows over the wreckage of the Sentinel that Alamo had destroyed just moments before. The machine''s twisted remains lay sprawled across the factory floor, scorched and still smoking from the plasma energy that had torn through it.

    Behind Steve Rogers, three men followed him into the room¡ªNick Fury, Henry Gyrich, and USAgent. Their footfalls echoed through the chamber as they walked in tense silence, Fury¡¯s usual composure unreadable beneath his ever-present eyepatch, while Gyrich''s expression was one of controlled calculation. USAgent, John Walker, kept his gaze forward, his presence exuding quiet authority.

    Fury was the first to break the silence.

    "Captain Rogers, what we have here seems to have been kept very under wraps. If the FBI catches wind of this before we do, they won''t be happy."

    Steve turned, arms crossed, his stance firm. "You let it fly under our noses, Fury. Now people are dead."

    Fury exhaled through his nose, his voice steady but laced with an edge of regret. "I know. And I''m sorry for that. We''ll act accordingly, Steve."

    Steve¡¯s expression remained unreadable, but his voice was sharp. "You better see this through, Fury. Otherwise, my disposition to work with SHIELD might be affected."

    Henry Gyrich, ever the bureaucrat, stepped in. "I¡¯d like to remind you, Captain Rogers, that you are still part of the United States Army."

    Steve turned his gaze on him, steel in his eyes. "I¡¯m a reservist. My branch now is the Avengers, Gyrich."

    Gyrich remained unfazed. "Yes, which is why I must remind you of your liaison."

    Steve¡¯s brow furrowed. "Colonel James Rhodes?"

    "Yes, sir."

    The group walked further into the facility, past SHIELD operatives combing through documents and data terminals, carefully extracting whatever intelligence they could salvage. Steve¡¯s jaw tightened as he glanced at the scene before turning his attention back to Gyrich.

    "How is he involved?"

    Gyrich adjusted his glasses. "The Superhuman Activities Subcommittee has determined that the relationship between Tony Stark and Colonel Rhodes is too personal. Due to that conflict of interest, Colonel Rhodes was dismissed from his position as government liaison to the Avengers."

    Steve¡¯s fists clenched at his sides, his patience wearing thin. The bureaucratic interference was nothing new, but this decision felt pointed, a move meant to tighten the leash around the Avengers.

    As they stepped out of the corridor into the vast factory floor, the sight of the disassembled Sentinel greeted them¡ªa stark reminder of the battle fought only minutes before. SHIELD scientists examined its remains, taking readings and analyzing what was left of its technology.

    Steve exhaled sharply. "I assume you are the new liaison, Gyrich?"

    "That is correct, Captain."

    Gyrich adjusted his stance, his tone measured but firm. "I must say, your work with mutants concerns me. It is not the role of the Avengers to interfere with mutant affairs. We have the Mutant Affairs Committee for that. That¡¯s Val Cooper¡¯s jurisdiction. You should refrain from engaging in their affairs without her knowledge."

    Steve remained unmoving, his blue eyes locked onto Gyrich. "All entanglements I¡¯ve had with the X-Men and other mutants have been entirely with shared goals to protect the American public, Gyrich."

    Gyrich nodded as if considering the statement. "I understand that, Captain. And I respect that. That¡¯s why I¡¯m just letting you know¡ªif there¡¯s any decision regarding how the Avengers deal with mutants going forward, I¡¯d like to be informed, as the liaison from the Subcommittee."

    Steve¡¯s jaw tightened. "You¡¯re not an Avenger. You¡¯re not part of our decision-making."

    Gyrich remained calm. "Was Colonel Rhodes?"

    Steve stopped walking. The air grew heavier between them. Slowly, he turned his full attention to Gyrich, his stance unwavering, his presence commanding.

    "We let Rhodes know of our decisions because we trusted him. Right now, you have not earned my trust¡ªmuch less the privilege of telling me what to do."

    Gyrich held his ground, but there was a flicker of something in his expression¡ªperhaps irritation, perhaps a recognition of the fight he had just picked. "I didn¡¯t mean to antagonize you, Captain. I¡¯m only doing my job."

    The room remained silent, the tension thick between them. Fury rubbed his temple, clearly aware that things were going to get worse before they got better. Meanwhile, John Walker watched the exchange without a word, his expression steely but there was something about Rogers that Walker looked up to, something about his unwavering committment to protect people.

    Fury, watching the growing hostility between Steve and Gyrich, pinched the bridge of his nose before speaking up. "Walker, Gyrich, take a walk. I need a word with Rogers. Now."

    John Walker hesitated for a second, his gaze flickering between Fury and Steve before nodding silently. Gyrich, however, looked less pleased.

    "Fury, I should remind you¡ª" Gyrich started, but Fury cut him off with a sharp glare.

    "Gyrich, don¡¯t make me remind you who actually runs things in the field. Take the damn walk."

    Gyrich clenched his jaw, clearly seething, but he turned on his heel and strode away, Walker following him. Only when they were out of earshot did Fury let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck.

    "Alright, Steve. Let¡¯s talk, off the record."

    Fury walked with Steve to a more secluded spot.

    "What''s going on, Steve?"

    "What do you mean?"

    "Steve, you let the mutants here. Rogue and Alamo¡ªwhy were they here?"

    "Rogue was doing an operation for the X-Men. The initial lead on the Trask involvement with the FoH was found by Alamo."

    "Steve, I respect your judgment, but these mutants¡ªthey can go haywire at any moment. They¡¯re not loyal to the Avengers or SHIELD."

    Steve¡¯s eyes sharpened as he turned to Fury, his voice dropping just slightly, but not losing an ounce of its weight. "What about you, Nick? Have you been loyal to the American people? Have they earned your trust? Because I heard a machine beg¡ªnot ask, beg¡ªfor me to kill it."

    Fury''s face darkened. "That was an oversight. I didn¡¯t¡ª"

    "Nick, people are dying. Humans. Mutants. They¡¯re American citizens. They don¡¯t deserve to be hunted down like rabid animals."

    Fury exhaled sharply. "I don¡¯t disagree with you, Steve, but what do we do if Rogue decides it¡¯s time to attack us instead? What if Alamo decides we¡¯re a threat to liberty, huh? What then?"

    Steve¡¯s lips pressed into a firm line. "You know it?"

    Fury folded his arms. "Of course we know it, Steve. The guy put the X-Cutioner in a wheelchair, he smashed the hand of that woman like it was a cherry¡­ absorbed the energy from multiple Sentinels. What happens if these two absorbers go around thinking the world is their rodeo? Who do we send? Are you calling in Thor? Carol? Or will it be on me to clean up, on Robert?"Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

    Steve clenched his fists. "Robert is unstable. He¡¯s barely an adult. I told you not to use him."

    Fury¡¯s expression hardened. "Yes, I know. He¡¯s under surveillance, due to the Void. But what if? Are you stepping in to cover for the mutant trouble? What if Logan goes on another rampage?"

    Steve shook his head. "He served with us, Nick. You know him."

    Fury let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. "He''s a changed man, Steve. Since Weapon X."

    "And so are you." Steve¡¯s tone was sharp now. "You''re not the same Sergeant Fury anymore."

    Fury clenched his jaw, his muscles tensing. His voice came out harsher than he meant. "I¡¯M A DIRECTOR."

    The words echoed through the space, and for a moment, all the SHIELD agents nearby turned their heads. Fury breathed in deeply, lowering his voice.

    "I''m a director, Steve. I don¡¯t get to fight in the trenches anymore. I don¡¯t get to charge in with a rifle and a cigar. I sit behind desks, I make decisions that you don¡¯t have to. I make the hard calls, and I live with them."

    Steve studied him for a long moment. "Is that what you tell yourself? That you don¡¯t have a choice?"

    Fury¡¯s eye flickered with something unreadable before he turned away slightly. "Look at us, Steve. We¡¯re both over one hundred years old. How many wars have we fought? How much shit have we seen? Dealt with?"

    Steve exhaled through his nose, his own memories surging. Brooklyn. A scrawny kid swinging at bullies with everything he had. The war. World War II. But then, since he¡¯d been thawed, war after war after war. Conflicts, battles, fights that never seemed to end. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the silver streaks more than ever.

    "We¡¯re old men now, Fury. You and me. We¡¯re elders. We lead by example. And you¡¯re slipping, my friend."

    Fury hesitated. His lips pressed together as he looked at the ground, the weight of Steve¡¯s words settling in. "I¡ª" He stopped himself, sighed, then continued. "The world is ugly, Steve. There are things out there beyond our understanding, things that are out to kill us. I just want to have stability where I can get it."

    "We shouldn''t control mutants, Nick. They''re people, our nation is past these mistakes. Past seeing people as less than they are¡­ They''re Americans, and we know our value. We fought for freedom, for equality, and that has to mean something."

    "I know that, Cap. But people need protection¡ªfrom mutants too. You weren''t there when Halloway was killed, but I was. You didn''t hear his screams, didn''t see the way Magneto tore through the security team like paper. It was a thing you can''t take away from your mind¡­ Not at all. It scarred our people, made us fear mutants even more, and that fear isn''t going away overnight."

    "We have new heroes now, Fury. The world has changed. Mutants aren''t the enemy anymore. Like the ones in Xavier¡¯s school trying to make a difference. If we keep treating them like ticking time bombs, we¡¯re only going to push them towards people who really are threats."

    "You don''t remember the Brotherhood? The chaos they caused?"

    "Fury, the Brotherhood has gone silent for years now. You think maybe that¡¯s because mutants have found other ways? Maybe they don¡¯t feel the need to fight back like that anymore."

    "The Sentinel Program, it... it''s not just about them, Steve. The world isn''t black and white. We both know that. Some threats don¡¯t wear a uniform, don¡¯t march in front of cameras. Some of them blend in, waiting for the right moment. Do you really think we can just let our guard down?"

    "Give them a chance, Fury. They¡¯ve earned it. More than we ever gave them credit for."

    Cap looked at the elevator, he remembered Alamo''s words to Rogue, about how he was his hero.

    "The kid, the Alamo... he¡¯s different."

    "What about him? You worried about another loose cannon?"

    "He told Rogue he looked up to me, not Xavier or Lehnsherr¡­ Me. Not some revolutionary, not some extremist, not even the professor. He sees something in me that makes him think this fight is worth having without losing himself."

    Fury was mildly surprised but not that much.

    "That''s good. You''re a good example, Steve. But what if one day he stops looking up to you? What if he decides the world isn¡¯t what you promised him it would be?"

    Steve swallowed dry. "I hope so, Fury. I hope I haven¡¯t let him down already."

    "Well, we have to get back to work. Those two, Denti and the woman¡ªthe Leper Queen. They were at the heart of this operation. We need to interrogate them."

    "That¡¯s how they call her? Sounds fitting enough."

    "Yes. You¡¯ll be able to talk to them if you want. But don¡¯t expect them to roll over just because you ask nicely."

    "I want the X-Men to be with me. They¡¯ve earned the right to hear what these people have to say."

    "Steve, don¡¯t be unreasonable. We barely have control over this situation as it is."

    "It is reasonable, Fury. They deserve this more than me. The X-Men have been fighting this war longer than we have, longer than SHIELD, longer than the Avengers. This is their fight, too."

    "Fine. I¡¯ll arrange for them to be let in. Just key personnel."

    "Just Phoenix, Cyclops, and Logan. They need to be here."

    "Phoenix, I can''t¡ªSteve, you know what she¡¯s capable of."

    "It¡¯s important that she goes. Trust me. She¡¯s not just muscle. She sees things others don¡¯t."

    "Alright, fine. Marvel Girl goes. But if this goes sideways, it¡¯s on you."

    "Thank you, Fury. For trusting me on this."

    "Let¡¯s go before you stir up any more trouble, Rogers. I can already feel the headaches coming."

    They stood back now closer to the elevator.

    "I''ll tell Walker to bring Gyrich to New York, I''m sure you''d rather not have a ride home with him."

    Steve remained silent.

    "By the way Rogers, you should dye your hair again, you''re looking old."

    "Like you dye your sides?"

    "Oh, you have jokes, Captain America?"

    Steve stepped inside the elevator, smiling.

    "I''ll will be in touch, Fury."

    "Yeah, get out of my face, jokester."

    Captain America made his way out of the facility, the cold morning air thick with the hum of SHIELD activity. Dozens of SHIELD trucks lined the perimeter, agents moving in practiced formation as they secured the site. Floodlights cut through the dim light of early dawn, casting long shadows against the dense Oregon treeline.

    Then he heard it.

    A sharp thud of impact, a rush of displaced air. A silhouette against the rising sun.

    Captain Marvel had arrived.

    Steve exhaled through his nose as she descended, her golden hair catching the morning light, her blue-and-red uniform pristine despite the miles she had likely crossed in an instant.

    "Steve!"

    He adjusted his gloves, turning to face her. "Carol, why are you here?"

    She landed with practiced ease, her expression unreadable. "Just making sure everything goes smoothly, Cap."

    Steve nodded, his expression neutral. "Understood. I was just about to leave."

    Carol¡¯s arms crossed, her stance shifting slightly. "Wait. Something''s bothering you."

    Steve paused, sitting down on his bike, his eyes shifting to the horizon. The first hints of light were breaking over the treetops, the sky a canvas of deep blues and warm golds. He tapped his fingers idly against the bike¡¯s handle before finally speaking.

    "Rogue and Alamo were here."

    At the mention of Rogue, Carol¡¯s expression hardened. Her arms remained crossed, but her fingers clenched slightly, as if gripping something invisible.

    "What for?"

    Steve met her gaze evenly. "They came to help."

    Carol shook her head, her tone edged with skepticism. "They have their own agendas, Steve."

    Steve gave a small nod. "And so do we."

    Carol sighed, shifting her weight onto one foot, her boots pressing against the gravel beneath them. "Steve, I trust you. But I don¡¯t like it."

    Steve tilted his head slightly. "Carol, I want the Avengers to support the X-Men in arresting Trask and bringing him to justice."

    Carol¡¯s frown deepened. "That¡¯s hardly our fight, Cap."

    His jaw tightened. "Maybe it¡¯s not the fight of the Avengers, but I¡¯m making it my fight."

    Carol let out a slow breath, shaking her head. It wasn¡¯t disappointment¡ªit was concern. Floating slightly, she hovered just above the ground before lowering herself completely, leaning against his bike as if trying to ground the conversation.

    "I don¡¯t hate them, you know."

    Steve turned to look at her, his voice calm. "I know."

    Carol¡¯s expression remained conflicted. "But they¡¯re dangerous, Steve. What Rogue did to me¡ªthat can¡¯t be ignored."

    "No."

    Steve¡¯s voice was steady, unwavering. He wasn¡¯t dismissing her concerns, but he wasn¡¯t validating them either.

    Carol studied him carefully. "Do you trust the X-Men?"

    Steve didn¡¯t answer immediately. Instead, he exhaled, glancing toward the treetops. "Not entirely."

    Carol pressed on. "Do you trust this Alamo kid?"

    Steve hesitated. Then, with quiet certainty, he said, "I¡¯d like to think he trusts me. And that¡¯s enough."

    Carol¡¯s lips pressed together, her gaze shifting. "That¡¯s a risk."

    Steve straightened, gripping the bike¡¯s handles. "Everything we do is a risk, Carol."

    Carol let out a dry laugh, shaking her head slightly. "This would take away from our neutrality. People might start to think the Avengers support the X-Men and mutantkind as a whole."

    Steve¡¯s brow furrowed. "Is that so bad?"

    Carol¡¯s expression turned more serious. "No. But maybe it might work against them. People might double down on the Sentinels. Humans might dig in, politicians might push harder. You stand with the X-Men, and suddenly it¡¯s a full-blown war of ideals. And that¡¯s not something we can take back."

    Steve sat with that thought for a long moment, the weight of the conversation settling into his shoulders. The sun continued its slow rise, the world around them caught in that fragile moment between night and morning.

    "I made a promise to Rogue, that I''d try, Carol."

    Carol furrowed her eyebrows, clearly considering his words. Then, almost unexpectedly, a faint smile crossed her lips. "You want to help people, Steve. All of us do. Maybe the X-Men aren¡¯t the people who need our help the most, but I understand why you¡¯re doing this. What do you need from me?"

    Steve looked at her, his expression softening slightly. "I want you to support me on a vote. I want us to give mutants a better chance, trust them a bit more."

    Carol sighed, her arms still crossed. "What about the Sentinel Program? We just scrap that?"

    Steve glanced at the wreckage behind them. "We¡¯re here, aren¡¯t we, Carol? It¡¯s not the ¡®80s and ¡®90s anymore. Maybe we don¡¯t need Sentinels."

    Carol considered his words, the internal conflict evident in her face. "Maybe."

    She pushed off from his bike, straightening herself. "I¡¯ll have to go now. I¡¯ll see you soon."

    As she turned to leave, she glanced back, a smirk playing at her lips. "Don¡¯t you want a ride, Steve?"

    He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. "I don¡¯t appreciate being cradled, Carol."

    She laughed, floating a little higher. "I can carry you by the arms, no?"

    Steve mounted his bike, adjusting his gloves. "I¡¯d rather just drive there."

    Carol shrugged. "Whatever you say, Captain America."

    She hesitated a moment, then added, "I¡¯ll think about the vote. You have my ear, Steve. Just¡­ don¡¯t expect everyone to be on board."

    Steve nodded, appreciating the small step forward. "That¡¯s all I ask."

    With that, Steve revved the engine, the low rumble breaking the quiet morning air. As Carol lifted off into the sky, he steered onto the highway, the road stretching ahead of him, endless and uncertain.

 Chapter 4: Trials & Deliberations (Part 1)

    <i>Three Days after the Events in Mount Hood, Oregon.</i>

    The early May morning in New York City was quiet. The crisp air seeped through the windows of the Avengers Tower, contrasting with the hum of the city below. Captain America sat at the large round table, the Avengers¡¯ emblem embossed at its center, sipping a cup of plain Folgers coffee. His fingers tapped against the printed documents in front of him¡ªbriefs detailing Carraro, Trask International, and the Sentinel Project.

    A kill list. He had seen many in his time, but this one? This was different. These weren¡¯t spies or enemy combatants. These were American citizens. Men, women, and even children, targeted simply because they were born mutants, well at least some of them. Others were known criminals, human/mutant traffickers, murderers, clinical psychopats.

    The door slid open, and Tony Stark strolled in, clad in dark gym shorts and a black Stark Industries t-shirt, his signature coffee mug in hand. His eyes scanned the room, then settled on Steve.

    "Alright, before you say anything, Cap¡ªgood morning."

    Steve¡¯s gaze lifted. "Good morning, Tony."

    "Secondly, before you judge me for not wearing the armor, it¡¯s ready. I just wanted to sit on something more comfortable." Tony gestured at the chair before plopping down into it, leaning back like it was his personal lounge.

    "Acknowledged." Steve kept his tone neutral, but his eyes drifted back to the papers.

    Tony exhaled and took a sip from his mug. "This about that mutant thing, Steve?"

    Steve¡¯s expression remained unreadable. "Yes, I¡¯m afraid so."

    Tony let out a sharp breath, setting his mug down on the table with a soft clink. "Didn¡¯t Carol tell you to go comb the desert or something? I¡¯m surprised she¡¯s even entertaining this at all."

    Steve took a sip of coffee before responding. "She has been spoken to."

    Tony gave him a look, but didn¡¯t press the issue. Instead, he folded his arms. "Alright, let¡¯s get to the point¡ªwhat¡¯s the end goal here?"

    Steve leaned forward slightly, lacing his fingers together. "To safeguard the rights of mutants, as protected by the Constitution¡ªor at least, as it should be."

    Tony raised an eyebrow. "By that, you mean?"

    Steve¡¯s voice was measured, deliberate. "The connection between Trask and Carraro has been proven. There¡¯s a kill list of mutants. A hit list."

    Tony sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Many of them are violent criminals, Steve."

    "That doesn¡¯t absolve them from the innocent mutants killed," Steve countered without missing a beat.

    "Sure," Tony relented, lifting a hand. "I didn¡¯t mean it like that."

    "Trask has to answer for his funding of a domestic terrorist organization." Steve¡¯s voice had an edge to it now. "One that¡¯s responsible for the deaths of dozens¡ªhumans and mutants alike. Including those in Houston." His eyes darkened as he mentioned the city. "People like Thompson, too."

    Tony exhaled, nodding slowly. "I see. And what¡¯s the strategy then, Cap?"

    Steve sat up straighter. "I¡¯d like the Avengers to take a more passive role. We use our contacts to get to the truth, but the X-Men are the heavy lifters, not us."

    Tony studied him for a long moment before giving a small smirk. "That is¡ªif we vote in favor of the motion."

    Steve met his gaze, unwavering. "I¡¯m confident we have the moral fiber to support mutants in this time of need. Most of the X-Men are U.S. citizens. We should not ignore their plea any more than we would ignore human citizens."

    Tony leaned back, tapping his fingers against the table. "Gonna be a tough sell to some of them, Cap."

    Steve nodded, his eyes shifting toward the door as the sounds of footsteps echoed down the hall.

    The door slid open, and Carol Danvers stepped into the room, her presence immediately commanding attention. She was in full uniform¡ªher red, blue, and gold suit pristine, her boots clicking lightly against the polished floor as she strode toward the round table.

    "Captain. Stark."

    Steve gave her a firm nod. "Carol."

    Tony barely glanced up from his coffee, smirking as he took a sip. "Blondie."

    Carol¡¯s eyes flickered toward him with thinly veiled amusement, though her tone remained sharp. "If you want to make it out of this meeting alive, Tony, I¡¯d shut up."

    Tony raised his hands in mock surrender. "Oh, fiery. Always a pleasure."

    Carol exhaled sharply, turning her focus back to Steve. "Captain, is this about the issue we discussed?"

    "Yes, Colonel Danvers."

    Carol folded her arms, leaning slightly against the table. "I take issue with some aspects of this plan, but I believe we can reach certain agreements."

    Steve nodded, appreciating the willingness to engage.

    The door opened once again, and two more figures stepped inside. Bruce Banner and Natasha Romanoff.

    "Banner. Nat," Steve greeted as they entered.

    "Big guy, Red, take a seat," Tony said, nodding toward the coffee jug on the side counter. "We¡¯ve got Colombian roast if that¡¯s your thing."

    Banner lifted a small cardboard box, shaking it slightly. "Got the donuts you asked for, Tony. And that paper you wanted¡ªon the structural integrity of biological plasma manifestation."

    Steve¡¯s eyes narrowed slightly as he looked toward Stark. "Really, Tony?"

    Tony shrugged. "I¡¯m just trying to understand our friend¡¯s powers."

    Steve exhaled, but before he could say anything, Hawkeye and Wasp entered. Clint Barton stretched his arms above his head, cracking his neck as he took a seat, while Janet Van Dyne slid into a chair effortlessly, her perfectly manicured nails drumming against the table.

    "What¡¯s on the agenda today?" Hawkeye asked casually, before reaching for the coffee.

    "Something tells me this isn¡¯t just a team brunch," Wasp quipped, crossing her legs.

    Falcon arrived next, offering Steve a nod before settling into a chair.

    Then, Thor entered.

    The room almost seemed to shift as the Asgardian strode inside, his crimson cape billowing slightly, Mjolnir clutched in his right hand. His golden hair cascaded past his shoulders, and his expression was one of noble curiosity. He took a moment to survey the room before addressing them.

    "Many greetings, Avengers. I trust this meeting shall serve as a means to advance the interests of Midgard?"

    Tony smirked, leaning back in his chair. "That¡¯s more or less the gist of it, Goldilocks."

    Thor¡¯s gaze turned toward Steve, his voice carrying the weight of ages. "Captain, I have pondered deeply upon this matter. Dost thy allegiances now lie with the mutants of Midgard?"

    Steve met Thor¡¯s gaze evenly. "It¡¯s not about allegiance, Thor. It¡¯s about giving people the benefit of the doubt. Allowing them to live their lives freely, without persecution."

    Thor stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Ah, very much so. I have heard whispers of this ¡®Sentinel Project.¡¯ It does not trouble me overmuch. It appears that these so-called ¡®mutants¡¯ have caused much discord upon Midgard before. If they be reputable warriors, then they shall find their way to Valhalla once the battle is done."

    Steve¡¯s brow furrowed. "Thor, we¡¯re not sending mutants to die. We¡¯re trying to protect them."

    Before Steve could say more, Tony cut in.

    "I¡¯ll stop you right there, Goldilocks. I know Earth politics are a little obtuse for you, but we¡¯re not fighting against the mutants. Not all of them, anyway."

    Thor tilted his head, his blue eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Are they not akin to the Frost Giants? A people separate from the rest, known to bring destruction upon their own lands?"

    Steve shook his head. "No, Thor. Mutants are not Frost Giants. They are not by nature unlawful or destructive. They are people¡ªpeople who have been hunted, forced into hiding, and made to suffer simply for existing."

    Thor considered this. "Pardon my ignorance, Captain Rogers, but I believed the duty to safeguard these ¡®mutants¡¯ was bestowed upon the warriors of Xavier¡¯s Order."

    Steve sighed. "That¡¯s not an official role, Thor. The X-Men are not an official organization, nor are they recognized by any governing body. They act because they must. Because no one else does."

    Thor nodded, resting Mjolnir on the table with a soft thud. "And what do these mutants seek of thee, Captain? Do they ask for vengeance, or do they seek sanctuary?"

    Steve took a deep breath. "They seek justice. They want Trask and Carraro to answer for their crimes¡ªtheir funding of a domestic terrorist organization, their hand in developing weapons to be used against American citizens."

    Thor¡¯s eyes darkened slightly. "If what thou speakest is true, then these men have committed grave injustices against the people of Midgard. In Asgard, such dishonorable acts would demand retribution."

    Steve nodded. "Then you understand why we need to act. But not as warriors. Not as Avengers sweeping in with fists raised. We must act in a way that ensures long-term protection, not just temporary safety."

    Thor¡¯s expression was thoughtful as he leaned back, considering the weight of Steve¡¯s words.

    Carol exhaled, her arms still folded. "You¡¯re asking the Avengers to take a political stance, Steve. And that¡¯s not something we do lightly."

    Steve¡¯s jaw tightened. "It is not of our concern to politicize our roles, but this is about protecting lives, not politics, Carol."Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    Carol nodded slowly, clearly still considering her stance. "Then let¡¯s hear the full plan before we decide."

    Steve glanced around the table, scanning the faces of his teammates. "Let''s move to it"

    Captain America moved to the side of the projector, adjusting his stance as the dim light cast long shadows across the room. His shield, usually a steadfast symbol of defense, now rested against his chair, his helmet beside it. The silver strands in his hair gleamed briefly under the artificial light before the room darkened to accommodate the first slide.

    He inhaled, steady and deliberate. "First, we must assess the threat and remind ourselves of the importance of this matter¡ªnot just to national security, but possibly on a global scale."

    With a press of a button, the first slide appeared on the screen.

    <h4>Carraro Security ¨C A Cover for Extremism</h4>

    The image displayed Carraro Security¡¯s corporate insignia alongside a timeline of its founding and operations.

    "This is Carraro Security. A company created in 2006 by then-CEO Walter Maddox, a former Navy SEAL from Alabama. The intent was to create a corporate security firm specializing in elite protection¡ªdesigned to safeguard assets against technologically advanced criminals, such as those we encounter in New York."

    The next slide appeared, showing images of known criminals¡ªAleksei Sytsevich, better known as Rhino, and Otto Octavius, the infamous Doctor Octopus.

    "Carraro initially maintained its image as a high-risk security contractor. It dealt with situations requiring firepower and precision against enhanced threats. However¡ª"

    Another slide appeared¡ªthis one from September 2020. It showed a photograph of Maddox shaking hands with another man¡ªa figure with piercing blue eyes and reddish-brown hair.

    "In September of 2020, the company was purchased by Thomas Kane. Now, we know for a fact that Thomas Kane is an alias for Graydon Creed."

    The next slide appeared, a montage of Graydon Creed over the years, standing at rallies, microphones in hand, a sea of supporters behind him. The timestamps ranged from 2010, 2013, 2015, 2017, 2018, 2020, and 2022.

    <h4>Graydon Creed ¨C The Political Face of Hate</h4>

    "Graydon Creed founded the Friends of Humanity in 2000, an anti-mutant militant group. What started as fringe extremism gained legitimacy through the internet¡¯s rapid expansion. Initially, it spread across early social media and forums, but today, the group thrives in specific online circles, often within communities already harboring extremist ideology. But make no mistake¡ª"

    The next slide appeared. Friends of Humanity protest marches. Armed rallies. Street clashes. Coordinated attacks.

    "They are more than just an online presence. They have established themselves physically as well¡ªboth in America and abroad."

    A few murmurs passed through the room.

    Then, the next slide came up.

    <h4>Carl Denti ¨C The X-Cutioner</h4>

    The screen displayed a haunting image¡ªa man cloaked in darkness, a crow-like chrome mask obscuring his face, a short red cape draped over his shoulders, and a Sentinel blaster in his grip.

    To the right of this ominous photo was a SHIELD mugshot labeled Carl Denti, alongside an older FBI personnel file from years prior.

    "This is Carl Denti, better known as the X-Cutioner. He is the primary enforcer of the Friends of Humanity."

    Steve let that settle before continuing, his voice steady but filled with restrained frustration.

    "Formerly FBI, Denti was involved in multiple black ops missions targeting mutant cartel leaders in Guatemala, working in collaboration with the DEA. That was before his official departure from the Bureau."

    The next slide showed a classified timeline from SHIELD¡¯s investigative records, marking his disappearance and subsequent resurfacing in conflict zones.

    "After leaving the Bureau, he returned to Central America¡ªnot as an agent, but as an executioner. Reports suggest he engaged in unofficial operations against mutant warlords in Colombia, Brazil, Mexico, and across the southwestern United States¡ªincluding Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona."

    A map of confirmed and suspected X-Cutioner sightings flashed across the screen, red dots highlighting each confirmed kill zone.

    "We know little about his activities during those years. The evidence remains circumstantial, but field reports indicate Denti was operating as a violent anti-mutant vigilante¡ªoutside the law, but with extreme efficiency."

    Another click. The screen shifted.

    It now displayed his more recent exploits in America.

    "Once back in the States, he aligned with the Friends of Humanity, becoming their chief enforcer. His targets ranged from known threats¡ªlike the Marauders¡ªto innocent mutants caught in his crusade. He was also Chief of Operations for Carraro"

    Steve exhaled, glancing around the room before pausing on Tony.

    A brief silence passed before Clint Barton finally spoke up. "Have we interrogated this guy?"

    Steve turned back toward the group, his tone even.

    "Not yet. But we will. Soon."

    With a steady motion, Captain America flipped to the next slide.

    The screen displayed a woman clad in black power armor, her chrome mask giving her an almost spectral presence. The surrounding images showed her in various military gear¡ªBDUs, tactical vests, always armed, always flanked by similarly dressed guards, their white masks obscuring their faces.

    Steve¡¯s voice carried a weight of authority as he introduced her.

    "This is the Leper Queen, leader of the Sapien League. We know little about her¡ªnothing, in fact, beyond what we¡¯ve gathered after her arrest in Houston."

    The next image shifted to her SHIELD mugshot, and the reaction around the table was immediate.

    The woman¡¯s face was grotesquely scarred¡ªburned beyond recognition. Her lips were nearly gone, her skin a ruined canvas of melted flesh and old wounds. But what drew even more attention was her right arm¡ªor rather, the stump where her hand had once been.

    Alamo had crushed it beyond saving.

    "Her name is Clara Page. All records of Ms. Page appear to have been destroyed, and she was presumed dead in 2006."

    Steve looked across the table, meeting the eyes of each Avenger in turn.

    "We will conduct an interrogation, if we are all in agreement."

    No one spoke, but there was an unspoken understanding among them.

    Then, another slide.

    The image was unmistakable.

    Bolivar Trask appeared on the screen¡ªCEO of Trask International, his aging face sharp and shrewd.

    "Most of you are aware of Bolivar Trask," Steve continued. "He is the CEO of Trask International, the creator and chief designer of the Sentinels. Born in 1945, Trask was a pioneer in automation and AI technology."

    Another slide appeared, showing a timeline of government contracts and military approval forms.

    "The Sentinel Program was first sanctioned after Magneto¡¯s attack on Washington, D.C. in 1963¡ªan event that resulted in the deaths of several great heroes, including Thomas Halloway. Men who had served during the war. Good men."

    The slide showed the ruins of the Capitol, the wreckage that had taken years to repair.

    "The project took roughly twenty years to complete, culminating in one of the most expensive defense programs in American history. Since its inception, every sitting president has either expanded or maintained funding for the program."

    Tony let out a low whistle. "Bet that was a fun budget meeting."

    Natasha Romanoff, who had remained silent so far, tilted her head slightly.

    "Didn¡¯t the Russians have a similar project?"

    Steve nodded toward her. "Natasha?"

    Nat crossed her legs, thinking back. "Yes. The Soviet government launched a program called People¡¯s Defense in 1971 after Magneto nearly destroyed the Kremlin and wiped out the Soviet Super-Soldiers. Crimson Dynamo spearheaded a project similar to the Sentinels, but it was abandoned after the Oil Crisis in 1973."

    Steve nodded, processing the information. "Noted."

    The next slide displayed modern Sentinel models, the schematics familiar but dated.

    "The Sentinel program endures today, but no new models have been purchased by the Department of Defense since 2014. After pressure from Congress, acquisitions were halted in favor of more defensive countermeasures rather than active deployments."

    A voice cut in from across the table.

    "Yeah, you can thank me for that."

    All eyes turned to Tony, who leaned back, sipping from his mug.

    "The Sentinel program was inefficient," he continued. "I testified before Congress about cost inefficiency and practicality issues. I might not be the biggest mutant advocate, but even I knew those things were an overfunded disaster."

    Steve nodded but quickly moved forward.

    "This brings us to the central issue at hand."

    The next slide displayed financial records, including offshore accounts, internal memos, and classified funding requests¡ªall linking Trask International to Friends of Humanity and Carraro Security.

    "Evidence gathered by Alamo and the X-Men suggests that Trask has been funding the FoH through Carraro Security to continue Sentinel operations illegally."

    The following slide showed a transaction log¡ªTrask transferring funds to Graydon Creed, using Carraro Security as an intermediary.

    "We also believe Trask was the one who financed Creed¡¯s acquisition of Carraro Security. Further, he likely commissioned the modified Sentinel Titan that X-Cutioner deployed against us in Houston."

    The screen now displayed a familiar face¡ªThomas Thompson.

    "And we suspect Trask was the one who paid the Leper Queen to murder Thomas Thompson, a veteran who was cooperating with the X-Men before his death."

    The atmosphere in the room shifted¡ªmore than a few hardened gazes now locked onto the screen.

    Steve moved to the next slide.

    This time, the screen showed classified SHIELD documents, blurred redactions covering portions of the pages. Beside it, scientific diagrams of an advanced Sentinel system.

    "Furthermore, Carraro employees have been caught selling Trask¡¯s technology to former AIM scientists, who are currently working for SHIELD on Staten Island."

    That got a reaction.

    Hawkeye leaned forward. "Wait¡ªSHIELD?"

    Steve¡¯s voice was controlled, but heavy. "Technology that was used in illegal cybernetic experiments¡ªforcing citizens to function as processing units for anti-superhuman threats."

    Tony exhaled. "That is some next-level cyberpunk horror."

    Clint frowned. "Why the hell would they use human brains for that?"

    Steve switched to a slide showing classified SHIELD memos alongside biological schematics.

    "They believed a biological brain would be harder to hack than a cybernetic one."

    Tony let out a low whistle. "Questionable methodology and results, also really creepy."

    Clint elbowed Natasha. "Almost Ultron creepy."

    Tony mock laughed. "Haha."

    Nat only gave Clint a deadpan smirk in response.

    Steve didn¡¯t break his focus. "This is not the time to joke."

    Tony held up his hands. "Sorry, Steve."

    Clint nodded. "My bad, Cap."

    Steve flipped to a final slide¡ªimages of Graydon Creed, Bolivar Trask, and Albert Hoss side by side.

    "Creed¡¯s whereabouts remain unknown. He has gone completely off the grid. Meanwhile, Albert Hoss, the man responsible for selling Trask technology to rogue scientists, has also disappeared."

    He clicked off the projector, the room darkening for a moment before the main lights came back on.

    Steve turned toward his fellow Avengers, hands resting on the table as he looked at each of them in turn.

    "That concludes the briefing." He straightened his posture, taking in a deep breath. "So I now put forward the motion¡ªthat we, the Avengers, should officially aid the X-Men in uncovering the truth behind this case."

    He let that sink in.

    "Our role should be primarily legal¡ªhelping expose the corruption and ensuring that Trask¡¯s funding of terrorist organizations is shut down. Furthermore, we ensure that mutants who abide by the law are protected under the law."

    Silence.

    Carol was the first to speak, her arms crossed over her chest, her expression unreadable as she processed everything laid out before her.

    "This is a lot, Steve."

    Steve met her gaze, his tone steady. "It is not much to ask, Carol."

    Tony sighed. "What about the people, Cap? They''re already on edge after Houston. If we expose ourselves too much, they might start targeting us too."

    Steve turned to Tony, whose fingers tapped idly against his coffee mug. "Does that bother you, Tony? That doing the right thing might upset people?"

    Tony¡¯s smirk faltered slightly. He straightened in his seat. "Ahem, no, I just... Not everyone reads Time Magazine to know I¡¯m the Person of the Year. Some people might live under a rock and, uh, not like what they see when we stand next to the X-Men."

    Carol gave him a knowing look, but it was Natasha who followed up.

    "Tony is right, Steve," she said, arms folded, expression neutral but sharp. "There are elements here that could make it difficult to work with certain organizations in the future. People like Wolverine have a lot of enemies."

    Steve turned to her. "And that¡¯s supposed to stop us from doing the right thing?"

    Natasha shrugged slightly. "I¡¯m just laying out the facts. Not all X-Men even like us, Steve. A lot of them think we¡¯re government stooges."

    Thor, silent until now, leaned forward, resting his hands on the table. "I deem Xavier¡¯s Order as fierce fighters, noble warriors. If they face oppression, we should come to their aid."

    Bruce Banner, who had remained quiet up until this point, exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. "Being an outcast is hard on anyone," he admitted. "It was hard on me. Still is. People trust me the least as an Avenger. The Hulk scare is always going to be real, and they''re not completely wrong."

    His fingers drummed against the table. "But they¡¯re not right either. We should give mutants a chance. Not all of them are Magneto¡¯s Brotherhood."

    Carol shifted in her chair before she spoke again. "But some of them were in his Brotherhood."

    The room fell silent.

    Steve inhaled deeply. "Carol. We talked."

    Carol looked at him, then away. "We did. And I won¡¯t go back on my word." A pause. "But Rogue still¡­ bothers me."

    Steve studied her, then softened. "What happened between you isn¡¯t easy to mend. But with time, understanding will come. I¡¯m sure it haunts her just as much as it haunts you."

    Carol¡¯s fingers curled slightly before she let out a breath. "Thanks, Captain."

    Janet Van Dyne, who had been listening intently, leaned forward, her voice sure and warm. "We fought with them in Dallas¡ªme, Tony, Cap. And I think they¡¯re good people. All of them. Rough, yeah, but good. And they deserve love and kindness just like any of us."

    Tony smiled. "This Janet Van Dyne, you should be called ¡®Bee¡¯... with all that sweetness of yours."

    Janet smirked. "Aww, thanks, Tony."

    Then Sam Wilson spoke. "Jan¡¯s right. I understand what it means to be ignored, to have people doubt you, to keep fighting to make the world better even when no one believes in you. Cap believed in me once, and if he believes in Alamo and the X-Men, they have my trust."

    All eyes turned to Tony.

    He sighed theatrically. "Well, all the way to Bombay, I guess."

    Steve¡¯s gaze shifted. "Nat? Clint?"

    Natasha exhaled. "I don¡¯t believe it¡¯s the best approach. But I¡¯d be a hypocrite not to believe in second chances."

    Clint Barton smirked. "Me too. Just¡­ keep Wolverine away from me. He scares me."

    Steve nodded, satisfied.

    "Great. We¡¯ll need legal counsel, too." Steve finally nodded.

    Bruce nodded, pulling out his phone. "I¡¯ll talk to Jennifer."

    Tony grinned. "Yes, we need some gorgeous green help here, Dr. Banner."

    Bruce ignored him, already dialing.

    Steve stood up, placing his shield back onto his arm. "Call her now. I¡¯ll reach out to the X-Men and Alamo."

    The vote had been cast. The Avengers had chosen their side.

    And the fight was just beginning.

 Chapter 5: Trials & Deliberations (Part 2)

    The video call screen flickered to life, revealing Jennifer Walters, the sensational She-Hulk, in a crisp white blouse¡ªwhich, in true Jennifer fashion, showed just enough cleavage to remind everyone she was both professional and effortlessly glamorous.

    Behind her, an immaculately arranged office came into view: bookshelves lined with thick legal tomes, a shining law degree framed neatly, and of course, a small statue of Lady Justice standing proudly on her desk.

    Her smile widened at the sight of the Avengers.

    "Did anyone order a lean, mean, sexy, and green lawyer?"

    Tony Stark was the first to respond, grinning as he leaned forward.

    "Jenni! My favorite green lawyer from this side of the galaxy."

    Jennifer smirked, tilting her head. "Is there any other green lawyer gal you¡¯re seeing, Tony?"

    Tony hesitated. "Oh."

    Janet Van Dyne laughed. "Jen, you look amazing with that long hair, oh my God."

    Natasha Romanoff, ever composed, shook her head with an amused smirk. "Jennifer."

    "Hey, Jenny," Clint Barton chimed in.

    Jennifer grinned. "Clint, looking good."

    Clint sat up straighter, adjusting his jacket. "Yeah, I¡¯ve been training, you know. New¡ª"

    Her eyes flicked to the towering blonde Asgardian in the room.

    "THOR!"

    Thor Odinson beamed. "Hello, Jennifer of Midgard! It has been far too long since we last spoke! Tell me, shall we recall our most virile battles?"

    "Totally," she replied with a wink.

    Then her gaze settled on Bruce Banner, her cousin.

    "Cousin!"

    Bruce folded his arms, his tone dry but affectionate. "Jennifer."

    Jennifer pouted. "No love for your kind?"

    Bruce sighed. "You¡¯re making quite an entrance."

    She winked. "Oh yes, sorry. I¡¯m glamorous like that." Then she turned back to Sam and Steve, flashing them a playful grin. "Now, let me say hello to the pretty boys¡ªSam, Steve, you¡¯re both looking sharp. Steve, elegant as ever, sir."

    Steve, ever the professional, nodded with a small smile. "Thank you, Jennifer. But now, I¡¯d like to proceed with what we discussed."

    Jennifer raised an eyebrow. "So, you actually got the Avengers to support mutant rights?"

    Tony smirked. "We already did, Jen. We¡¯re just cooperating with the X-Crowd now."

    Her eyes lit up. "Oh really? Are they here? I need to talk to Storm¡ªI was making Mandazi the other day, but I totally messed up the recipe. I need her to give me some tips."

    Steve nodded. "We will put them in the call soon. I understand you have the documents in hand?"

    Jennifer held up a thick stack of papers. "Neatly organized, filtered by relevance, date, and location. All categorized and cross-referenced, Cap."

    Steve nodded approvingly. "Good job, Jennifer."

    Jennifer flashed a smug smile. "Discipline is important, Steve."

    Then Steve¡¯s tone became more serious.

    "Before we press forward with the X-Men, there¡¯s a person I¡¯d like you to meet."

    A second screen popped up, revealing The Alamo.

    Dressed in his black cattleman hat, chrome mask, red glowing eyes, and black uniform adorned with a white star, he looked every bit the mysterious vigilante. Behind him was a massive corkboard covered in newspaper clippings, financial statements, photographs, red string connecting them in a chaotic, web-like formation.

    It was as disorganized as Jennifer¡¯s was pristine.

    Steve gestured to the screen. "Jennifer, this is Duncan Nenni, also known as The Alamo. He¡¯s been working with us and the X-Men."

    Alamo nodded politely. "Thanks, Cap. Pleasure bein¡¯ here with the Avengers, Miss Walters."

    Jennifer¡¯s flirtatious smirk returned instantly.

    "Sweetie, are you shy, or is that mask to cover how handsome you are?"

    Alamo snorted behind the mask, flustered, but kept his cool.

    "Ahem. It¡¯s a personal statement, ma¡¯am."

    Jennifer tilted her head, studying him. "I like it. Little edgy. But I like my men sharp."

    Steve sighed deeply. "Jennifer, please can you not?"

    Jennifer grinned unapologetically. "Sorry, Cap." Then she leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm. "So you¡¯re my lawyer contact from Texas, Alamo?"

    Alamo adjusted his hat slightly. "I¡¯m an economist, actually."

    Jennifer¡¯s flirty expression instantly dropped into one of barely-contained distaste.

    "A dismal scientist."

    Alamo crossed his arms, his voice even but firm. "A proud one too. I ain¡¯t takin¡¯ the bait."

    Jennifer smirked. "Too bad. I bet you wanna liberate the mutants so freedom will trickle down or something."

    Alamo¡¯s tone went cold.

    "Very, very cultured comment. Astoundin¡¯ homework you¡¯re doin¡¯."

    Jennifer leaned back, enjoying the challenge. "Oh? When do the lessons on methodological individualism start, Mr. Economics?"

    Alamo¡¯s voice didn¡¯t waver. "I can be very precise if you wanna actually know what that is."

    Jennifer rolled her eyes, grinning wickedly. "Says the man with the corkboard, hat, and coat. Where¡¯s your inkblot mask? Maybe you should dress all in white instead, Mr. Alamo."

    Alamo tilted his head, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

    "Oh, bless yer heart. I¡¯m very sure there are other socially just heroes in green who¡¯d quiver from laughin¡¯ at yer poignant humor."

    Natasha pinched the bridge of her nose. "Can you both not?"

    The two stubborn intellectuals glared at each other through their screens before simultaneously sighing.

    "Fine," Jennifer relented.

    "Mighty fine," Alamo echoed.

    Jennifer pulled out a printed sheet covered in highlighted financial balances and comments.

    "So, you did this?" She held it up.

    Alamo nodded. "Yeah, I did."

    Jennifer studied it, eyebrows raising slightly. "Not bad work, Mr. Alamo."

    Alamo gave a small nod. "Much obliged, ma¡¯am."

    Jennifer smirked. "I am surprised you didn¡¯t put a graph in here, given your background."

    Alamo chuckled dryly. "Yer a lawyer. Puttin¡¯ a graph there would be about as useful as lipstick on a pig."

    Jennifer blinked. "Never heard that in my life. That a Texan thing?"

    Alamo tilted his hat slightly. "Sorta, it''s shared among some state lines, trust me ya''ll know soon nuff"

    Jennifer laughed, shaking her head. "Alright, fine. Moving forward, I¡¯ll reach out to the X-Men."

    Steve nodded. "All good here, Jennifer? Duncan?"

    Jennifer grinned. "Perfectly fine, Captain."

    Alamo smirked behind the mask. "Mighty fine with me, Cap."

    The stage was set¡ªnow, all that remained was to bring the X-Men into the conversation.

    Alamo and She-Hulk sat in an uneasy truce, both of them silently acknowledging that their earlier sparring would have to be set aside¡ªat least for now. Neither seemed too eager to reignite their debate, though it was clear from their body language that neither had forgotten it either.

    The call opened up, and soon, another meeting table appeared on the screen. It was not unlike the one the Avengers had gathered around, except this time, it was occupied by a different set of heroes¡ªmutants. Professor Charles Xavier, Cyclops, Phoenix, Storm, Wolverine, Beast, Rogue, and Gambit sat around the polished surface, their postures ranging from serious to casual, depending on the individual. The younger members of the X-Men were noticeably absent¡ªthis was a conversation for leaders, not students.

    Professor Xavier, ever composed, inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment of Captain America¡¯s presence.

    ¡°Professor.¡±

    ¡°Captain.¡±

    His gaze flickered over the assembled Avengers, then settled on the masked figure next to She-Hulk.

    ¡°I see you have company.¡±

    Captain America nodded. ¡°Professor, I know you are acquainted with Alamo here.¡±

    Xavier smiled, though there was a certain curiosity in his expression. ¡°Yes, I know of Mr. Nenni. Unfortunately, not personally¡ªyet.¡±

    Alamo didn¡¯t react at first, but from the opposite side of the screen, Rogue smirked, her sharp green eyes taking in the company. She hadn¡¯t expected him to be here, not with the Avengers, not on a call with the X-Men. And yet, there he was, looking as sharp and mysterious as ever in his signature black coat and chrome mask.

    Alamo noticed the smirk, and though his face was hidden behind the mask, he knew a simple smile wouldn¡¯t communicate much. So, he did something else¡ªhe reached up and rubbed the spot on his mask where she had kissed him three days ago.

    Rogue blinked. Her breath caught for a split second.

    She shook her head lightly, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips despite herself. She bit the inside of her cheek, turning her eyes away slightly, shaking her head as if to clear it.

    Nobody else had noticed.

    Nobody except Captain America.

    Steve narrowed his eyes slightly at the silent exchange but said nothing. He let the conversation continue.

    ¡°This is Jennifer Walters, Professor, X-Men.¡±

    Xavier turned his attention toward She-Hulk and nodded politely. ¡°We know of her too, Captain. She-Hulk, is it not?¡±

    Jennifer smiled broadly. ¡°The one and only.¡±

    Across the X-Men¡¯s side of the screen, Gambit shuffled a deck of cards between his fingers absentmindedly, but his attention had definitely shifted to the tall, green-skinned woman on the other end of the call. His red-on-black eyes lingered, studying her.

    Jennifer was perceptive¡ªshe always had been¡ªand she caught the look immediately. Instead of brushing it off, she brushed her hair back behind her ear, fidgeting slightly with the ends of her locks, and smirked.

    Alamo, watching this unfold, rolled his eyes hard behind his chrome mask.

    ¡°Jennifer Walters, attorney-at-law,¡± she continued with an air of confidence. ¡°Meanest, greenest... sexiest lawyer in all of New York.¡±

    Tony Stark arched an eyebrow in amusement. Natasha let out a quiet, exasperated sigh. Bruce simply shook his head.

    Gambit grinned, flicking a card between his fingers before setting it down on the table.

    ¡°Dat right, ch¨¦re?¡± he asked, the words slipping out almost unconsciously.

    A brief silence fell over the room.

    Jennifer¡¯s smirk widened, her gaze locking onto Gambit. ¡°Oh, yes, Cajun. That is very right.¡±

    The pause hung heavy for a split second.

    Then Gambit leaned back, folding his arms with a satisfied expression.

    ¡°Tr¨¦s bien. Gambit was lookin¡¯ for a lawyer anyway.¡±

    Jennifer hummed, clearly enjoying the attention. ¡°Oh, I so like your accent.¡±

    Alamo tilted his head slightly, muttering to himself.

    ¡°This can¡¯t be real right now.¡±

    Tony Stark chuckled, but Natasha merely rolled her eyes. Bruce, expression unamused, simply shook his head again.

    Captain America cleared his throat, bringing the conversation back on track.

    ¡°Professor, we believe that since this is a mutant issue, we¡¯d like to bring the X-Men to the forefront of the operation.¡±

    A flicker of surprise passed over some of the X-Men¡¯s faces. This was not the usual way these things went.

    And then, there was the moment Rogue and Captain Marvel locked eyes.

    The tension was immediate.

    Carol¡¯s jaw clenched slightly. Rogue¡¯s smirk disappeared.

    For a brief second, Rogue looked like she wanted to say something. But then, she turned her eyes away, as if she couldn¡¯t face Carol directly.

    Carol watched her for a moment longer before looking away as well, her expression unreadable.

    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    If anyone noticed the exchange, they didn¡¯t comment on it.

    Instead, it was Xavier who spoke.

    ¡°I¡¯m surprised and thankful, Captain.¡± He nodded slightly. ¡°You have been with us since the beginning, when we first discussed the creation of the X-Men. And we are very glad to have your help now.¡±

    Cyclops, seated beside Xavier, remained rigid. His jaw was tight, his expression controlled¡ªbut the tension was there.

    Steve¡¯s presence wasn¡¯t the issue. Alamo was.

    Scott hadn¡¯t forgotten how Alamo had criticized the X-Men in Florida. Or in Houston. And moving forward, he didn¡¯t expect anything different.

    There was something about this that didn¡¯t sit right with him.

    And there was something else, too. The way Rogue had smirked at Alamo earlier. The way she had flushed slightly, just for a moment.

    Scott didn¡¯t know what was going on, but he didn¡¯t like how it looked.

    Then, She-Hulk spoke.

    ¡°We believe in a just, equitable, and bright future for mutantkind, where the oppression of humans might be left behind, and we can repay the bigotry we caused.¡±

    Wolverine and Rogue raised their eyebrows at that. Jean nodded thoughtfully, but Storm¡¯s agreement came slower, more deliberate.

    Behind his mask, Alamo rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn¡¯t fall out.

    Then, he scoffed.

    It was quiet¡ªbut it was still heard.

    Xavier turned his gaze toward him.

    ¡°Any problem, Mr. Alamo?¡±

    The masked Texan exhaled through his nose, his fingers tapping lightly against the desk.

    ¡°Naw.¡± His voice was even, controlled. ¡°Go on, She-Hulk.¡±

    Jennifer raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

    The conversation was about to get interesting.

    She-Hulk dove into legal details with the precision of a seasoned attorney, outlining the Sentinel Project Directive from 1986 and the numerous regulations that followed¡ª1995, 1999, 2001, 2005, 2009, and 2014. She elaborated on how military-controlled Sentinels required explicit congressional approval before deployment and how any private ownership or unauthorized usage of Sentinels was highly illegal.

    Her tone was sharp, confident, and methodical, laying out the regulatory framework as if she were arguing a case before a judge.

    But then Alamo cut in.

    His voice was just as precise, but instead of legal jargon, he spoke in financial terms.

    He pointed out that special addendums could be made to allow private military companies (PMCs) to operate under Department of Defense (DoD) authority. The real question was:

    Did Carraro have DoD authorization?

    Then, he segued into financial details, tying Carraro¡¯s funding to former high-ranking officials from the Department of Defense and the Department of Justice. But those individuals were no longer in government¡ªthey had left their posts just before these transactions started.

    Carraro had been careful, keeping their direct connections to Trask hidden, but the numbers didn¡¯t lie.

    Alamo broke down financial statements, returns, cash flows, and risk-adjusted yields that made little sense¡ªinvestments that were paying out far above a reasonable Internal Rate of Return (IRR). These were the kinds of figures that only made sense if they were getting secret backing.

    It was a corporate shell game, designed to obfuscate the real money trail, but to a trained eye, the irregularities stood out.

    That¡¯s when Cap stopped them both.

    ¡°We can go into the financial and legal details later. Right now, we need to let the X-Men know our next steps.¡±

    She-Hulk took a breath, glancing at Alamo, before nodding.

    ¡°We understand, Captain. Go on, please.¡±

    Steve nodded, his expression firm.

    ¡°In SHIELD custody, we have Clara Page and Carl Denti¡ªthe Leper Queen and the X-Cutioner.¡±

    The air in the room grew heavier at the mention of their names.

    ¡°The Leper Queen,¡± Steve continued, ¡°the one who attacked both teams in Houston. And the X-Cutioner himself. We can try to use them as witnesses to Trask¡¯s crimes. Confessions.¡±

    Jennifer nodded in agreement.

    ¡°Yes, we could use them as direct evidence in the case. If we can get them to talk, we might be able to tie Trask directly to the illegal Sentinel activity.¡±

    Cyclops had been listening carefully, but now he leaned forward, his expression serious.

    ¡°Would this better our position to achieve coexistence?¡±

    His question hung in the air, the word coexistence carrying more weight than just a legal victory.

    Steve met his gaze evenly. ¡°We believe so, Cyclops. With this, we could also introduce new regulations to ensure fairer treatment of mutants.¡±

    Alamo¡¯s posture shifted slightly, his arms crossing tightly over his chest. Something in She-Hulk¡¯s words didn¡¯t sit right with him.

    Then she spoke.

    ¡°Mutants are an oppressed minority. We want to make sure that if this unequal treatment happens, mutants are given protections to compensate for years of oppression.¡±

    The room fell silent.

    Even the X-Men, who had fought against oppression for years, said nothing.

    Then came the sound of a sarcastic chuckle.

    Alamo¡¯s low, dry laugh broke the quiet, followed by mock applause.

    His slow, deliberate claps echoed through the conference room, his tone thick with disdain.

    It unsettled Captain America. It unsettled Professor Xavier.

    Everyone was watching him now.

    Then he spoke.

    ¡°Well, ain¡¯t that mighty fine. You ain¡¯t even a mutant, and here you are, moralizin¡¯ ¡®bout the oppressed.¡±

    She-Hulk¡¯s green eyes narrowed, her expression shifting from professional confidence to a hint of irritation.

    Alamo leaned back in his chair, his voice sharper now, cutting through the tension in the air like a blade.

    ¡°This ain¡¯t ''bout no damn minority. This is about liberty.¡±

    The weight of his words settled on the room, his Southern drawl making each syllable feel deliberate, forceful.

    ¡°Our individual rights ain¡¯t bein¡¯ respected. Little does it matter if people like us or not. Bigotry or not, what matters is that we can¡¯t keep our damn jobs or keep our families safe.¡±

    His words weren¡¯t an appeal for sympathy¡ªthey were a condemnation.

    ¡°Mutants ain¡¯t simply from a different ethnicity or sexual orientation. This ain¡¯t just some civil rights movement.¡±

    His voice lowered slightly, but it was no less intense.

    ¡°These people have damn powers. Powers that can kill.¡±

    He turned his head toward She-Hulk, though his chrome mask gave no expression.

    ¡°Don¡¯t pretend to understand mutants so you can do this highfalutin speech ¡®bout bein¡¯ a savior of oppressed people.¡±

    The room was silent once more, but this time, the tension was thicker.

    She-Hulk¡¯s green eyes flashed, her patience finally wearing thin.

    "Oh yeah? And what do you want me to do? Ignore the lives of the mutants lost? Huh? Those who died because of the fascist FoH? Because of the fascist X-Cutioner?"

    Alamo let out a sharp exhale, shaking his head slightly.

    "Fascist this, fascist that... Everythin¡¯ is fascism. Y¡¯all are just damn makin¡¯ straw men at this point. They''re authoritarian anti-mutants, sure, but not everyone in the FoH has a portrait of Mussolini on their wall."

    Jennifer scoffed, throwing up her hands in frustration.

    "You know exactly what I mean by fascist. Don''t pretend to be an idiot. The cult of personality"

    Alamo leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering, deliberate.

    "This is a cult of personality they have around¡ªwhat? Creed? Denti? Seriously? How many mutants out there are wearin¡¯ ¡®Magneto Was Right¡¯ shirts and other edgy shit like that?"

    The room shifted, the tension palpable now. Rogue inhaled sharply but said nothing, her eyes flickering between them. Wolverine merely folded his arms, but his expression hardened.

    Alamo pressed on.

    "Magneto killed a lot of people. Just ¡¯cause innocent mutants died, it don¡¯t absolve bad mutants from the shit they done. Two wrongs don¡¯t make a right."

    Jennifer didn¡¯t back down, her expression tightening.

    "Exactly. That¡¯s why we should push for further protections for mutants. Protect their new rights. Their lives. The role of the state should be to protect these targeted minorities, to assure they¡¯re not being targeted¡ª"

    Alamo interrupted her with a dry, bitter chuckle.

    "We should have rights protected ¡¯cause we¡¯re mutants¡¯? No. We should have our rights protected ¡¯cause we¡¯re individuals under the law., Ideally. Rights are not given, they''re only taken. The role of the state is to settle disputes and protect individual rights from those tryin¡¯ to violate ¡¯em."

    Jennifer narrowed her eyes, leaning forward now, the challenge clear.

    "Eugh, you should brush up on your Rawls. There¡¯s a duty to those who are oppressed¡ª"

    Alamo tilted his head slightly, his tone mocking.

    "Well too bad, ya should read Nozick then. The state¡ª"

    Then it hit them both.

    A sudden, piercing pain shot through both She-Hulk and Alamo¡¯s heads, sharp and immediate.

    The room went dead silent.

    Jennifer winced, her teeth clenching as she instinctively pressed her fingers to her temple.

    Alamo stiffened, his gloved hand twitching slightly, his chrome mask still hiding whatever grimace had crossed his face.

    Their argument stopped instantly.

    And then, all eyes widened as they realized what had happened.

    Seated at the X-Men¡¯s table, Professor Charles Xavier¡¯s expression was unreadable. His right index finger was pressed against his temple, the air around him thick with psychic energy.

    His voice was sharp, commanding, and echoed within their minds like a bell tolling in the distance.

    "ENOUGH!"

    It wasn¡¯t just spoken¡ªit reverberated through their very consciousness, like a hammer striking against stone.

    Alamo and She-Hulk both froze, the sheer force of Xavier¡¯s voice overpowering their thoughts for that single moment.

    Then, his tone shifted, lower now, but no less heavy with authority. Now in real words, to everyone.

    "I will not allow the fight for coexistence and the lives of our people to become soapboxes for your personal political ideologies."

    The words cut deep¡ªnot just for them, but for everyone in the room.

    Xavier¡¯s piercing blue eyes swept over both of them, unblinking.

    "Your petty political differences have no bearing if you are squandering our fight with your squabbles."

    Jennifer exhaled slowly, the psychic pressure lifting from her mind.

    She cleared her throat, composing herself before she spoke again.

    "Ahem¡­ sorry, Professor Xavier."

    Alamo sat in silence for a moment, his jaw tightening beneath his mask before he gave a small nod.

    "My apologies, Professor Xavier."

    The room remained quiet¡ªbut the weight of Xavier¡¯s words still hung thick in the air.

    Captain America¡¯s voice cut through the tension, steady and firm, carrying the weight of decades of experience.

    ¡°Heroism is not about politics.¡±

    The room fell completely silent as he spoke, his words deliberate.

    ¡°It¡¯s about trying your best to protect others, to protect your nation, your community. Politics can divide. It can create friction among families, among communities. But what we do¡ªwhat all of us do¡ªshould not be about drawing lines. It should be about protecting the innocent, no matter who they are.¡±

    He let those words settle for a moment.

    Then, Alamo raised a hand slightly, tilting his head toward Cap.

    ¡°Cap, I¡¯m sorry to interrupt, y¡¯all have to forgive me here, but may I speak again?¡±

    Steve¡¯s gaze settled on him, unreadable.

    ¡°Control yourself, and you shall.¡±

    Alamo nodded, taking a measured breath before continuing. His voice was calmer, but no less passionate.

    ¡°Well, just a finishin¡¯ argument here. I¡¯m sorry I politicized this conversation, but this needs to be said.¡±

    Jennifer folded her arms, watching him carefully. Rogue¡¯s expression was hard to read, her eyes flickering between Alamo and Professor Xavier. Wolverine exhaled quietly, not taking his eyes off the man in the chrome mask.

    Alamo continued.

    ¡°I respect Jennifer¡¯s view. I really do. But this ain¡¯t ¡®bout race, or sexual orientation, or gender. Mutants ain¡¯t black people, they ain¡¯t gay people... mutants have powers. Powers that can hurt other folks.¡±

    His voice remained steady, but his words carried a blunt, cutting weight.

    ¡°You could give an M249 SAW to every damn house in this nation, a Sentinel blaster to every person, some mutants would still shrug it off. This will never be ¡®bout equality ¡®cause mutants will never be equal. Hell, we ain¡¯t even equal amongst ourselves. Wolverine there¡¯s got a healin¡¯ factor and claws. Cyclops has optic beams. Storm can control the damn weather. That ain¡¯t just ¡®diversity¡¯¡ªthat¡¯s somethin¡¯ else entirely.¡±

    Scott Summers¡¯ jaw tightened slightly, but he remained silent. Storm simply nodded once, acknowledging the point.

    ¡°So don¡¯t make this just another issue like all the others. It ain¡¯t.¡±

    Alamo¡¯s voice lowered, though it still carried across the room.

    ¡°You only disrespect the memory of humans who actually died from mutant violence by puttin¡¯ a blanket statement over all this. Mutants ain¡¯t ¡®oppressed¡¯ in the same way. We¡¯re feared. And there¡¯s justification ¡¯nuff for that.¡±

    He let the words settle, glancing at the X-Men.

    ¡°Most of us don¡¯t deserve violence, but some of us chose it as their way of life. So there¡¯s no such thing as ¡®mutants¡¯ in the way y¡¯all are talkin¡¯ about. Ain¡¯t no monolith. Ain¡¯t no ¡®we.¡¯ There¡¯s just a mutant. One at a time. A group can¡¯t be good or bad. A species can¡¯t be good or bad.¡±

    His chrome mask tilted slightly toward She-Hulk.

    ¡°Individuals are good or bad. So don¡¯t patronize us with this sanctimonious speech like we¡¯re all victims. Some of us are.¡±

    His red-glowing eyes narrowed slightly.

    ¡°Some of ''us'' are damn terrorists.¡±

    The room was heavy with silence.

    Even the X-Men were quiet.

    Even the Avengers.

    She-Hulk, normally quick with a snarky retort, simply exhaled, her brows furrowed in thought.

    Her voice was quieter now, but measured.

    ¡°Can I answer that, Captain?¡±

    Steve looked between the two of them, then nodded once.

    ¡°Go on. But no replies. We move forward from here. No more politics.¡±

    Professor Xavier nodded in agreement.

    Jennifer turned back toward Alamo, her expression softer than before, but her conviction unchanged.

    ¡°Well, I respect your opinion, even though I¡¯m not a huge fan.¡±

    Alamo tilted his head slightly, waiting.

    ¡°I understand that mutants have powers. That mutants are individuals, not just a group. But if we focus only on individuals, if we expect everyone to just pull themselves up by their bootstraps, this anti-mutant campaign will never end.¡±

    She shook her head.

    ¡°And more people will die.¡±

    Alamo remained silent, listening.

    Jennifer continued.

    ¡°Mutants are oppressed. Not because some of them are, but because most of them have no chance not to be in the first place.¡±

    Jean Grey¡¯s lips pressed together at that. Xavier¡¯s gaze remained steady.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Jennifer admitted. ¡°A lot of them aren¡¯t victims. But that¡¯s because they have the powers to make sure they aren¡¯t. What about the ones who don¡¯t? The ones who can¡¯t fight back? The ones whose mutations don¡¯t give them an edge?¡±

    She sighed, shaking her head.

    ¡°I know the X-Men are trying. I know they fight for their own. But we have to do more. We have to correct the injustices. Even if only for the memory of those who passed.¡±

    Alamo narrowed his eyes slightly behind the mask.

    Then, he nodded.

    ¡°Fair¡ªBut¡ª¡±

    Captain America¡¯s voice cut him off.

    ¡°No, Duncan. Enough.¡±

    Steve¡¯s tone was firm, leaving no room for argument.

    ¡°You¡¯ll have time to finish this later.¡±

    Alamo stopped, exhaled, and gave a short, almost reluctant nod.

    ¡°Understood, Cap.¡±

    Steve turned toward Jennifer.

    ¡°Understood, Jennifer?¡±

    She held Alamo¡¯s gaze for a moment longer, then leaned back, crossing her arms.

    ¡°Yes, Captain.¡±

    Captain America stood firm, his posture unwavering, as he addressed the gathered heroes. The tension from earlier had settled into a more focused determination¡ªthe weight of the mission ahead replacing ideological friction.

    ¡°Like I stated previously, SHIELD has custody over the Leper Queen, the killer of Thomas Thompson, and Carl Denti¡ªthe X-Cutioner..¡±

    The mention of those names, again, cast a shadow over the room.

    Cyclops¡¯s jaw tightened immediately. His voice was even, measured, but there was a distinct edge of cold fury.

    ¡°Yes, Captain.¡±

    The others weren¡¯t as restrained. Wolverine¡¯s upper lip curled slightly in disgust, his hand flexing just enough for the metallic gleam of his claws to be visible before he reined himself in.

    Jean¡¯s expression remained collected, but her eyes flickered slightly, a flash of something dark¡ªa memory, perhaps, or just the sheer weight of what these names meant.

    And then, there was Rogue.

    She didn¡¯t say a word. But she didn¡¯t have to. The incident in Arkansas still echoed in her mind¡ªthe screams of Thompson¡¯s family, the devastation of the aftermath, the sight of the Leper Queen standing outside with a rifle outside, smoke rising from its barrel.

    She wasn¡¯t the only one remembering.

    Jean and Scott glanced at her briefly, and though no words were exchanged, there was an understanding. They had all been there.

    Steve continued.

    ¡°All information we have on them will be important. I already spoke with Fury about it¡ªhe hasn¡¯t taken it fondly to bring the X-Men into this, but I convinced him to allow it.¡±

    He glanced at Sam Wilson, who nodded in acknowledgment.

    ¡°Sam will be with me. He¡¯s an Avenger, but also a skilled social worker. He¡¯ll be able to get something from them.¡±

    Xavier listened carefully, then nodded.

    ¡°And as for the X-Men?¡±

    ¡°Phoenix, Wolverine, and Cyclops will be the only ones following me to D.C.¡±

    Scott exhaled sharply, nodding. ¡°Reasonable enough, Captain.¡±

    Xavier agreed. ¡°It is a sound decision.¡±

    Steve didn¡¯t let the moment linger.

    ¡°There is also the pressing matter of Graydon Creed.¡±

    That got everyone¡¯s attention.

    ¡°After what happened with Denti in Dallas, he came armored to Houston. Creed is still out there. Every second he¡¯s not found, he¡¯s active somewhere.¡±

    The urgency in Steve¡¯s voice wasn¡¯t lost on anyone.

    ¡°He is the prime connection to Trask. If we find him, it is likely we will find Trask.¡±

    Then, Tony Stark chimed in, arms crossed.

    ¡°Couldn¡¯t Xavier find him? Don¡¯t you have that helmet that allows you to listen to all thoughts around the globe?¡±

    Xavier remained composed. ¡°Cerebro, yes. But we have found that Trask has technology that blocks my ability to reach him¡ªor any telepath.¡±

    Tony¡¯s eyes narrowed slightly.

    ¡°Not unlike the helmet Magneto wore.¡±

    Xavier nodded solemnly. ¡°Precisely.¡±

    Tony exhaled sharply. ¡°Very convenient.¡±

    ¡°It is not a coincidence, Mr. Stark.¡± Xavier¡¯s voice was calm but firm. ¡°Trask knows the X-Men would reach for him the moment his name was spoken in this investigation.¡±

    Steve leaned forward slightly.

    ¡°Which brings us to Creed. Could you find him, Professor?¡±

    Xavier shook his head. ¡°Similar to Trask, we couldn¡¯t locate him.¡±

    Tony sighed. ¡°It¡¯s likely they either have the same tech, or they¡¯re together wherever they are.¡±

    Wolverine huffed. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t surprise me none.¡±

    Steve nodded.

    ¡°Yes. After Denti was arrested, the FoH lost its field leader. They¡¯re too weak to strike.¡±

    She-Hulk spoke up next.

    ¡°We should work on warrants against the FoH.¡±

    Steve nodded again. ¡°Yes, Jennifer. That would be wise.¡±

    Then Rogue leaned forward, resting her arms on the table.

    ¡°Cap what ''bout that office in Chicago¡±

    Steve turned to her. ¡°Goo reminder, Rogue. Rogue found that Creed has an office in Chicago¡±

    ¡°Yup. Ah got some memories from a scientist in Oregon. Like Ah told Cap an¡¯ Alamo ¡®fore, Ah know where it is. Sorta.¡±

    That solidified their next move.

    Steve took a breath. ¡°That¡¯s why we have to find him¡ªor find a way to find him there.¡±

    Then Cyclops interjected.

    ¡°We should send a team. Since you¡¯re heading to Washington with us, let Storm, Rogue, Jubilee, and Gambit go.¡±

    Steve considered it for a moment. It was a good tactical balance.

    ¡°Yes.¡± Then he turned toward his own team. ¡°Janet and Tony should go with you.¡±

    Tony smirked. ¡°Road trip with the X-Men? Count me in.¡±

    Then, Alamo spoke up.

    ¡°I¡¯ll go.¡±

    Everyone turned toward him.

    ¡°If there¡¯s any invoice, transfers on payments, emails Trask sent to Creed¡ªit¡¯s there. I oughta know.¡±

    She-Hulk nodded once.

    ¡°Well, I need legal documents too. I¡¯ll go with them.¡±

    Thor, who had remained mostly silent until now, turned to Steve, his deep voice filling the space.

    ¡°And what of us, Captain Rogers?¡±

    Steve looked at Carol Danvers.

    She had been aloof for most of the discussion, lost in thought.

    She noticed his gaze, straightened, then nodded.

    ¡°Steve.¡± Her voice was clear now.

    "Carol could you fill my position here?"

    ¡°Yes. Hulk, Thor, Black Widow, Hawkeye remain?¡±

    Steve nodded. ¡°Yes, that would be the roster.¡±

    Hawkeye leaned back, grinning slightly. ¡°That team could stop a Chitauri invasion.¡±

    Steve didn¡¯t react. ¡°That is my hope.¡±

    Then Natasha leaned forward, arms crossed.

    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t I go too, Steve? Information is part of my job. I¡¯m confident the others can handle an invasion more than I can.¡±

    Steve met her gaze, calm but unwavering.

    ¡°I¡¯d prefer you stay, Nat. You are an extremely resourceful operator. If there are layered cyber threats or less obvious enemies, you¡¯d be the best pick.¡±

    Natasha nodded once, understanding.

    Xavier, having listened to all of this, offered an alternative.

    ¡°Would you like your team to host these operations in Westchester, Captain?¡±

    Steve shook his head. ¡°I would not like to burden you, Professor.¡±

    Xavier smiled slightly. ¡°It¡¯s never a burden. You¡¯re welcome here. Same for Jennifer and Duncan.¡±

    Jennifer grinned. ¡°Oh, Professor. I¡¯d be delighted to know all about the mansion and your institute of higher learning¡­ and its most honorable members.¡±

    Her eyes flickered briefly toward Gambit.

    Bruce rolled his eyes.

    ¡°Professor, my cousin has a very unprofessional behavior sometimes. You must forgive me.¡±

    Xavier only smiled. ¡°I don¡¯t take offense, Dr. Banner.¡±

    Gambit leaned back, his smirk returning.

    ¡°Gambit thinks de company will be merveilleuse.¡±

    Rogue nudged him. ¡°Well, cowboy, ya comin¡¯ too?¡±

    Alamo exhaled, smirking slightly behind his mask.

    ¡°Oh, I¡¯ll be there. Don¡¯t worry.¡±

    Steve nodded. ¡°I think that wraps it up for now. I¡¯ll see you soon¡ªX-Men, Alamo, She-Hulk.¡±

    Cyclops nodded. ¡°Thanks, Avengers. Duncan. Jennifer.¡±

    Jennifer grinned playfully.

    ¡°Bye-bye, my lovely pretty boys and girls¡­ aluminum face.¡±

    Alamo tilted his head.

    ¡°Well, see y¡¯all soon, Cap, Avengers, X-Men¡­ She-Larry the Cucumber.¡±

    The call ended as Tony and Clint started laughing, at the other side, Rogue, Gambit and even Wolverine held back their laughter with Storm shaking her head in disapproval.

    They all knew what to do next.

 Chaper 6: Vicarious Revenge

    The underground room was dimly lit, the faint hum of fluorescent bulbs casting a sterile glow over the cold, concrete walls. The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and industrial cleaner. A single, narrow sink stood against the far wall, accompanied by a simple, tarnished mirror. The reflection it offered was far from flattering¡ªharsh, unfiltered, and brutally honest.

    Graydon Creed leaned heavily on the edge of the sink, his knuckles white as his hands gripped the cold metal. His dark blue eyes stared back at him from the fogged surface of the mirror, searching for something he couldn¡¯t quite name. His face was gaunt, more drawn than it had been months ago. The weight of recent events showed in the slight sag of his shoulders and the dark circles under his eyes. His brown hair, always perfectly dyed, hung damp over his forehead from the water he had splashed onto his face moments ago. The warm droplets clung to his skin, mixing with the fog from the mirror, as though the room itself exhaled with him.

    He raised a hand, brushing the hair back from his face, exposing just a hint of the blonde roots beginning to show¡ªa color he despised. Blonde, like his father¡¯s. Blonde, like the man who haunted his memories.

    The warm water trickled from the tap, the steady sound filling the silence around him. He stared into the mirror, searching those familiar yet alien eyes. Dark Blue, not yellow from his mother, Mystique. Raven Darkh?lme. The woman who abandoned him without a second thought. She had time for everyone else¡ªfor Rogue, for her demon child. But for him? Nothing. Not a word. Not a glance. Not a moment spared. He was the one left behind, discarded because he wasn¡¯t ¡°special.¡± Because he wasn¡¯t a mutant.

    He gritted his teeth, staring harder at his reflection. His jaw tightened, the muscles twitching as he leaned closer, fog briefly obscuring his features before dissipating again. There was no comfort in his reflection¡ªonly reminders. His lips thinned into a hard line.

    Then came the memories. Unbidden, unwanted, but relentless.

    His eighth birthday. The orphanage. The smell of cheap cake and candles that barely stayed lit. Laughter echoed from the other children¡ªlaughter not for him, but at him. They mocked him, taunted him. <i>"Mutie blood! Freak¡¯s son!" </i>Words they didn¡¯t even understand, but repeated from what they¡¯d heard from adults who should have known better. And then the screams.

    The laughter stopped.

    Victor Creed had come.

    Sabretooth.

    The man he only knew from whispers and nightmares. Massive. Wild. Smelling of blood and death. His blonde mane wild and unkempt, his yellow eyes glinting with amusement¡ªand hunger.

    He hadn¡¯t come to celebrate his son¡¯s birthday. He had come for fun.

    The bodies of the children lay sprawled in the main hall of the orphanage. Blood splattered the walls. Small, limp forms¡ªinnocents who hadn¡¯t understood the weight of their cruelty. On the wall, written in blood with a casual cruelty that still made Graydon¡¯s stomach churn, were the words:

    <i>¡°Got Powers Yet?¡±</i>

    A birthday gift from a father who couldn¡¯t care less.

    Graydon¡¯s breathing grew ragged. He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his palms into the cold porcelain of the sink. The words still echoed in his mind. The question. The accusation. The disappointment. Sabretooth¡¯s twisted idea of fatherhood¡ªtesting his son, tormenting him, laughing at his weakness.

    But there were no powers. There never had been. He was human. Ordinary. In his father¡¯s eyes, worthless.

    And the "gifts" kept coming. When he was twelve, another reminder. The severed head of the one teacher who had dared to discipline him. Sent in a box, no note. None needed. The message was clear: You¡¯re my blood, you''re always going to be my blood.

    But Sabretooth never came in person again. Not after he was certain Graydon would never manifest a mutation. Not after he realized his son was nothing but human. And Mystique? She had never tried at all. Too busy raising others¡ªadopting a little southern girl, fighting for causes that had no place for him.

    He wasn¡¯t a son. He wasn¡¯t a mutant. He wasn¡¯t anything.

    Graydon opened his eyes, staring once more into the mirror. The fog had mostly cleared now, leaving his reflection sharp and cold. He reached toward a small metal cabinet mounted beside the mirror. The hinges creaked softly as he opened it.

    Inside, a small white box sat beside other daily necessities. The label on the box read: <i>Sertraline.</i>

    He stared at it for a moment, unmoving. Then, with practiced ease, he took the bottle from the box, twisting the cap off. The rattling of the pills inside echoed too loudly in the small room. He tapped one into his hand¡ªsmall, white, unassuming. He held it there, studying it for a moment longer than usual.

    This, he knew, was the only thing that kept him balanced. The only thing that dulled the memories, the anger, the questions. The only thing that quieted the voice in his head that sounded too much like Sabretooth¡¯s laughter.

    With a sharp breath, he popped the pill into his mouth and cupped his hand beneath the running tap. The water tasted faintly metallic, but he swallowed the pill without hesitation. The bitterness lingered on his tongue. He closed his eyes, letting the water run, listening to the steady rhythm.

    But the past didn¡¯t fade. It never did.

    Denti is gone. The thought struck him with fresh force.

    For years, Carl Denti¡ªThe X-Cutioner¡ªhad been his right hand. His most trusted lieutenant. The man who didn¡¯t just understand the cause of the Friends of Humanity, but lived it. Denti had been more reliable than any of the fools who flocked to Creed¡¯s banner. Where others saw a movement, Denti saw a mission. A mission that Creed had convinced himself was righteous.

    But now he was gone. Disabled. Beaten. Humiliated.

    Because of them.

    Because of Captain America. Because of that damned mutant called The Alamo. Because of <i>Rogue</i> and the damn X-Men.

    And that speech.

    Creed¡¯s fingers tightened against the sink¡¯s edge. The veins on his forearms bulged slightly.

    He remembered standing there in Houston, watching the broadcast. Listening as Steve Rogers¡ªCaptain America¡ªaddressed the crowd. His voice steady, filled with conviction. His words cut through the hate and fear the Friends of Humanity had built their movement on.

    For years, the FoH had claimed to stand for the protection of America¡ªreal America. For humanity. They had always believed they were safeguarding the nation from the mutant threat. From the others. The dangerous ones.

    But when Captain America¡ªthe symbol of American virtue¡ªstood there and denounced them, questioned their motives, their values, their cause...

    Doubt had crept in.

    Not just in the rank and file¡ªbut in Creed himself.

    If Captain America¡ªwho had dedicated his life to fighting for freedom, for justice¡ªbelieved the FoH were wrong, what did that say about their mission? About him?

    Graydon looked up at his reflection again. The question stared back at him from those dark blue eyes.

    What are you even fighting for anymore?

    His grip slackened. His shoulders sagged. The righteous fury that had driven him for years felt... hollow.

    For so long, he believed he had a cause. A reason. But was it ever truly his? Or was it all just an echo of Sabretooth¡¯s violence? A desperate attempt to find meaning in the shadow of a father who never cared and a mother who never looked back?

    The FoH had given him power, purpose. But now? With Denti gone, Captain America¡¯s words lingering in the minds of his followers, and the X-Men still standing...

    It all felt like sand slipping through his fingers.

    A sharp knock at the door shattered the quiet.

    Graydon stiffened, turning his head toward the sound.

    The door creaked open, revealing a tall, expressionless man in a black suit¡ªone of the guards stationed throughout the underground complex. His voice was flat, professional.

    ¡°Mr. Creed, Mr. Trask is expecting you, sir.¡±

    Graydon stared at him for a moment, blinking as he shook off the weight of his thoughts. The guard stood still, waiting.

    Finally, Graydon straightened. His fingers brushed once more through his damp hair, ensuring no trace of the blonde roots showed. His suit, tailored and precise, felt heavier than usual as he adjusted his cuffs.

    The mask slipped back into place¡ªthe mask he wore for the world. The polished, controlled leader of the Friends of Humanity. The face of a movement. The son of no one.

    He gave the mirror one last look.

    The fog had cleared. The reflection was sharp. Cold. Determined.

    ¡°I¡¯m going,¡± he said quietly.

    His voice didn¡¯t waver. Not anymore.

    With one last deep breath, Graydon Creed turned away from the mirror and stepped through the door, leaving the past¡ªand the man who stared back at him¡ªbehind.

    The hallway beyond was just as sterile as the room he left, dim lights humming overhead. The complex stretched deeper underground, built for secrecy and security. The guard walked a few paces ahead, leading him through winding passages. The air grew colder, the scent of metal and machinery growing stronger with each step.

    Ahead, a large steel door came into view. Guarded. Secure.

    Trask.

    Graydon squared his shoulders.

    It was time to see what Bolivar Trask had planned.

    The hallway stretched long and cold, its sleek, metallic walls reflecting the dim blue lighting embedded in the ceiling. It was eerily quiet, the only sounds being the soft hum of machinery somewhere deep within the facility and the faint echo of footsteps. The place didn¡¯t look like a laboratory¡ªit looked like something pulled straight from the corridors of a spaceship, sterile and soulless. The further Graydon Creed walked, the more he felt the weight of the atmosphere press against him.

    His throat felt dry. He swallowed hard, glancing briefly at the man walking beside him¡ªa scientist clad in a tailored white lab coat. The scientist¡¯s face was pale and expressionless, his gaze hidden behind a pair of sleek AR glasses reflecting endless streams of data. His footsteps were precise, mechanical. Everything about this place felt wrong.

    They stopped before a massive door, its smooth black surface devoid of any visible seams or handles. The door looked impenetrable, like the vault to a tomb. Above it, a small panel glowed faintly. A face scanner.

    "You will need to scan your face too," the scientist said, his voice clinical, lacking any warmth. "If it detects two people present, the door will only open if both are authorized. Security protocols."

    Creed didn¡¯t respond. His jaw clenched, and he stepped forward. The scanner emitted a soft beep, and a thin blue beam passed over his face. A faint click echoed through the hallway, followed by a slow hiss as the door slid open.

    As the doors parted, the scent of antiseptic and machine oil washed over them.

    The room beyond was vast¡ªfar more expansive than Creed had expected. The ceiling stretched high above, lost in shadow. The walls were a blend of polished steel and dark glass, reflecting the blinding white of the illuminated workstations scattered throughout. The lab seemed to stretch endlessly in all directions, divided into sections by thick glass partitions.

    Creed¡¯s eyes narrowed as he stepped inside.

    He saw rows of advanced mechanical engineering stations, each occupied by technicians and engineers clad in black lab coats, their faces hidden behind masks and augmented-reality visors. Robotic arms whirred and clicked as they assembled complex machinery at an inhuman pace. Conveyor belts carried half-finished components¡ªcybernetic limbs, neural processors, exoskeletal frames¡ªtoward deeper sections of the lab.

    But it wasn¡¯t just machines.

    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    On the far side of the lab, Creed spotted something that made him pause.

    Vats.

    Large, cylindrical vats lined the walls, their glass walls illuminated by soft blue lights. Inside some of them, he could see biologists and chemists at work, their gloved hands handling vials of luminous liquid. Some vats were empty, but others bubbled with a translucent serum. The contents shimmered faintly, casting an eerie glow on the surrounding walls.

    Creed¡¯s stomach twisted. Whatever they were doing here, it wasn¡¯t just engineering. There were things in this place that went beyond machines. Things that shouldn¡¯t exist.

    Then, amid the expanse of the lab, he saw him.

    Bolivar Trask.

    The architect of the Sentinels. The man behind so much death¡ªand salvation, as Trask would say.

    Trask stood tall in a crisp white lab coat that seemed too clean for someone with so much blood on his hands. His dark hair was perfectly combed, and his sharp features were softened only by the easy smile he wore as he approached Creed. His hands were clasped behind his back, and he moved with the confidence of a man who believed himself to be the smartest person in the room.

    "Creed," Trask said warmly, his voice carrying easily across the lab. "It¡¯s great to see you here."

    Creed said nothing. His expression remained unreadable, his jaw tight.

    Trask closed the distance between them, raising a hand in greeting. His smile didn¡¯t falter.

    "Welcome to the future."

    As Trask reached out to pat him on the shoulder, Creed stiffened slightly but didn¡¯t pull away. The gesture felt wrong¡ªtoo familiar, too forced. He didn¡¯t trust Trask. Not entirely. The man spoke of salvation, of protection, of humanity¡¯s future, but Creed had seen enough manipulation in his life to recognize it when he heard it.

    Trask¡¯s hand lingered a moment too long before he withdrew it. His smile remained fixed.

    "There¡¯s someone I¡¯d like you to meet."

    Creed¡¯s brow furrowed slightly. He hadn¡¯t expected company.

    From the shadows of a nearby partition, a figure emerged.

    He was slightly overweight, his stomach straining against the buttons of his dark shirt. His thinning hair, combed over in a futile attempt to hide his balding scalp, gleamed under the harsh lights. But what drew Creed¡¯s attention were the metal appendages protruding from his back¡ªsleek, mechanical arms that moved with unsettling precision, each ending in a wickedly sharp claw. They glinted under the sterile light, shifting with a serpentine grace as if they had a mind of their own.

    Dark glasses obscured the man¡¯s eyes, but the smirk on his face was unmistakable.

    "This," Trask said, "is Dr. Otto Octavius."

    Creed stared, his eyes narrowing.

    "Dr. Octopus," he said flatly.

    Octavius laughed¡ªa low, rich sound that echoed in the vast space.

    "Ah, yes. That is the name the New York public has given me. Unflattering, perhaps, but I do not resent it. Octopodes are fascinating creatures, after all. Highly intelligent. Adaptive. Resilient."

    One of the metal arms clicked softly, curling in the air behind him.

    Creed¡¯s stare didn¡¯t waver. His voice was cold.

    "I didn¡¯t come here to hear animal facts."

    Octavius¡¯s smirk didn¡¯t fade. If anything, it widened.

    "Ah, direct. I like that."

    He stepped forward, the metallic arms shifting to maintain perfect balance. They clicked and whirred with every subtle movement. Creed watched them carefully. The way they moved was too natural¡ªtoo precise. These weren¡¯t mere tools.

    Octavius gestured with one of the mechanical limbs toward the center of the lab.

    "Come, Graydon. Let us show you something... special."

    Trask smiled again, placing a hand on Creed¡¯s shoulder. This time, Creed didn¡¯t flinch. His gaze remained locked on the vat in the center of the lab.

    As they approached, the size of it became clearer. The vat stood at least fifteen feet tall, its reinforced glass gleaming under the lights. Unlike the others, this one was empty¡ªno liquid, no serum. Just an empty chamber, waiting for something.

    Or someone.

    Creed stopped a few feet away, staring at the glass.

    "What is this?" he asked, his voice low.

    Trask stepped beside him, his expression calm, almost reverent.

    "This," he said softly, "is a chance."

    Creed turned his head slowly, his eyes narrowing.

    "A chance?"

    Trask¡¯s smile widened.

    "A chance for you to be what you were always meant to be."

    Creed didn¡¯t respond immediately. His gaze shifted back to the vat.

    Trask continued, his voice smooth and persuasive.

    "I offered you revenge, didn¡¯t I? And here we are."

    Creed turned to face him fully now, his expression unreadable.

    "What do you want from me, Trask?"

    The smile didn¡¯t falter.

    "I want to make you better."

    Creed¡¯s jaw tightened.

    "In exchange for what?"

    Trask¡¯s eyes gleamed.

    "Making sure mutants don¡¯t destroy our world."

    He stepped closer, lowering his voice.

    "This is what we do, Creed. We protect humanity. We protect people from beings with dreams of domination, of subjugation. Beings who believe they are above us simply because they were born... different."

    Creed¡¯s gaze remained cold, but something flickered in his eyes.

    "Violence," he muttered. "All they know is violence. They¡¯ll kill more people. Make us kill more people."

    Trask nodded approvingly.

    "Exactly. They will never stop unless someone makes them. Someone strong enough to stand against them."

    He gestured toward the vat.

    "And that¡¯s where you come in."

    Creed stared at the empty chamber, his reflection staring back at him in the glass.

    "What are you going to do to me?"

    Before Trask could answer, Octavius stepped forward, the metallic arms shifting and clicking behind him.

    "Ah, allow me to explain, Mr. Creed."

    Creed turned his gaze to the doctor, his eyes narrowing slightly.

    Octavius smiled, though there was no warmth in it.

    "We have developed a serum. A very special one. A serum that will elevate you to the level of a super soldier. Faster. Stronger. More durable. Comparable, in some ways, to Captain Rogers himself."

    Creed¡¯s expression remained unreadable.

    "And that¡¯s not all."

    Octavius raised one of his mechanical arms, the clawed end glinting in the light.

    "I have personally designed a series of cybernetic implants. Enhancements that will make you more than human. On par with certain... individuals."

    His gaze seemed to sharpen behind the dark lenses of his glasses.

    "Individuals like Sabretooth."

    Creed froze.

    The room seemed to go still.

    Octavius¡¯s smirk widened slightly.

    "Or Mystique."

    Creed¡¯s jaw tightened, the muscles in his neck straining. His fists clenched at his sides.

    Octavius watched him carefully, the smile never leaving his face.

    "I know who your parents are, Mr. Creed. I know the legacy you come from."

    Creed¡¯s voice was low. Dangerous.

    "They are hardly parents."

    He took a step forward, his eyes hard.

    "They¡¯re freaks."

    The word echoed in the vast space of the lab.

    For a moment, no one spoke.

    Octavius said nothing. The smirk faded, replaced by something more calculating. His mechanical arms shifted behind him, clicking softly.

    Trask stepped between them, raising a hand.

    "Enough."

    He turned to Creed, his expression once more calm and persuasive.

    "This is your chance, Graydon. A chance to surpass them. To become what they never thought you could be."

    The cold metallic hum of the lab seemed to deepen as Graydon Creed approached the vat. His footsteps echoed across the pristine floor, each step slower than the last until he came to a full stop, his gaze locked onto the empty chamber before him. The glass reflected his face¡ªdark blue eyes clouded with uncertainty and rage, brown-dyed hair carefully concealing the blond he hated. For a moment, he stood still, the soft glow of the lab lights illuminating the sharp angles of his face. Then, without warning, he turned sharply on his heel, his voice slicing through the sterile air.

    "Is this your plan, Trask?"

    Trask paused mid-step, his smile faltering for the first time. He turned slowly to face Creed, confusion creasing his otherwise calm expression.

    "I... I don¡¯t understand¡ª"

    Creed¡¯s eyes blazed with fury as he gestured wildly toward the vat.

    "Your plan is to make me a mutant?!"

    The room fell silent. The technicians in the background glanced at one another, some pausing in their work. Even the ever-composed Dr. Otto Octavius narrowed his eyes slightly, his mechanical appendages curling in the air behind him, sensing the rising tension.

    Trask stepped forward, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "What? No, Creed, you¡¯re not¡ª"

    Creed¡¯s voice thundered, drowning out Trask¡¯s calm tone.

    "Why do we fear mutants, Trask? Huh? Why?"

    Trask opened his mouth to answer, but Creed didn¡¯t give him the chance.

    "I¡¯ll tell you why." Creed¡¯s voice dropped lower, but it carried a venom that chilled the room. "We fear them because they destroy. Because it¡¯s their nature to destroy. They don¡¯t need a reason. They don¡¯t need provocation. They were born to ruin everything they touch."

    He took a step toward Trask now, eyes wild, voice rising with each word.

    "Mystique and Sabretooth didn¡¯t choose to be evil! They didn¡¯t choose to be monsters! They simply are! They¡¯re destructive time bombs! And you¡ª" Creed jabbed a finger toward Trask¡¯s chest¡ª"you think the answer is to turn me into one of them?!"

    Octavius¡¯s metal arms hissed as they shifted behind him. The doctor¡¯s smirk had vanished, his lips pressed into a thin line as he observed Creed¡¯s outburst with a cold, calculating gaze. When he spoke, his voice was razor-sharp.

    "Enough with this childish temper tantrum."

    Creed snapped his head toward Octavius, his face contorted with rage.

    "What did you just¡ª"

    But Octavius didn¡¯t let him finish. The mechanical arms behind him twitched, glinting in the harsh lights.

    "You are not a mutant, you fool. Your DNA remains entirely homo sapien. Your molecular structure remains untouched. You will not lose your precious humanity."

    He stepped forward, his voice lowering to a cold whisper that seemed to echo louder than any shout.

    "If you truly despise mutants, you should behave accordingly. But look at you now¡ªweak. Pathetic. Mentally and emotionally fragile. I can smell the sertraline in your bloodstream from here."

    Creed¡¯s breath caught in his throat. His eyes widened¡ªfirst in horror, then in fury. His hand twitched toward the pocket where the pill bottle had been just an hour ago. How?

    Octavius¡¯s smirk returned, curling slowly at the edges.

    "Ah, yes. Your little crutch. Chemical courage. You can¡¯t even face your own demons without it."

    "Shut... up..." Creed growled, his voice shaking.

    Trask sighed, running a hand through his neatly combed hair.

    "This revenge consumes you, Creed," he said, his voice quieter but no less forceful. "It blinds you. It makes you erratic. Weak. Depressed. You are sabotaging yourself."

    "THIS IS NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!" Creed roared.

    "Lower your voice," Octavius snapped. "You sound like a child."

    "YOU¡ª!"

    "Enough, Creed!" Trask¡¯s voice boomed across the lab, silencing everyone. His calm facade had cracked just enough for a sliver of anger to show through. He stepped forward until he stood toe-to-toe with Creed, his gaze sharp and unrelenting.

    "This is your chance¡ªto atone for your failures. To hunt Sabretooth. To hunt Mystique. To end your suffering."

    Trask reached into the pocket of his lab coat and withdrew a small vial. The glass caught the overhead lights, illuminating the viscous, deep red liquid inside. It shimmered faintly, almost alive.

    "Be free," Trask said softly.

    Creed stared at the vial. His breathing slowed. The fury in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something else¡ªsomething deeper. Fear.

    "I... I can¡¯t become a monster," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

    Trask didn¡¯t move. Didn¡¯t blink.

    "Only monsters can hunt monsters," he said.

    Octavius stepped closer, his arms clicking ominously behind him.

    "The X-Men are too weak to do what needs to be done," the doctor added, his voice like silk laced with poison. "They hesitate. They preach coexistence. But you?"

    He grinned, and the metal claws glinted.

    "You could be the cure."

    Creed¡¯s gaze flickered between the two men. His fists clenched and unclenched. His reflection stared back at him from the glass of the vat¡ªordinary, human. Weak.

    "The X-Men..." he muttered. His eyes narrowed, cold fury returning. "Their silence. Their inaction. They¡¯re part of this."

    He turned back toward Trask, his expression hardening.

    "When I¡¯m done with them¡ªwhen Sabretooth and Mystique are dead¡ªthey¡¯re next."

    Trask smiled faintly.

    "One step at a time, Creed. Relax."

    He gestured toward the vat.

    "Step inside."

    For a long moment, Creed didn¡¯t move. The room was silent, the hum of machinery the only sound.

    Then, slowly, he reached for the buttons of his shirt. His fingers trembled slightly as he undid them, one by one. The scientists nearby approached quietly, taking the clothing as Creed removed them. His frame, though somewhat strong, was not the peak of human conditioning. There were scars¡ªold and new¡ªacross his torso. Reminders of the years spent chasing ghosts. Reminders of a childhood stained by blood and abandonment.

    Creed took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on the empty vat.

    I can¡¯t become a monster, he thought.

    But Trask¡¯s words echoed in his mind.

    <i>"Only monsters can hunt monsters."</i>

    The glass chamber loomed before him¡ªcold, clinical, inevitable.

    Slowly, he stepped forward.

    The cold steel floor beneath his feet sent a shiver up his spine as he crossed the threshold into the vat. The scientists secured the hatch behind him with a low hiss.

    Creed stood still in the center of the chamber. He closed his eyes, his breathing steady.

    This is the only way.

    Outside the glass, Trask and Octavius stood side by side.

    "Begin the sequence," Trask ordered.

    The lights dimmed.

    The hum of the machines deepened, a low mechanical growl reverberating through the chamber. Hydraulic arms descended from above, each movement precise, practiced, cold. A sleek, metallic mask lowered from the ceiling, its smooth surface reflecting the sterile glow of the lab''s lights. The tubes attached to the mask extended forward, inching toward Creed''s face like serpents.

    With a final click, the mask locked into place over Creed''s mouth and nose. The tubes slithered down his throat, forcing themselves inside. His body tensed instinctively, a primal response to the invasion. Oxygen hissed through the lines, keeping him breathing, keeping him alive¡ªfor now.

    Then came the snap.

    A sharp mechanical limb extended from behind, tipped with a gleaming, surgical needle. It hovered for a fraction of a second, almost as if savoring the moment, before driving itself into the base of Creed''s neck with a brutal thunk. A powerful anesthetic surged through his bloodstream. His muscles spasmed. His vision blurred.

    And then, the real nightmare began.

    Dozens of thick needles descended¡ªgleaming, sharp, unrelenting. Each one punctured his skin with precision, burying themselves deep into muscle, bone, and nerve. They stabbed into his shoulders, chest, spine, arms, legs¡ªeverywhere. Searing, blinding pain exploded in his mind.

    Creed¡¯s mouth opened in a silent scream, but no sound came out. The mask muffled everything. The tubes in his throat gagged him. He couldn¡¯t even choke properly.

    He could only feel.

    His eyes widened in horror, bulging against the glass. His body convulsed violently against the restraints. The crimson fluid in the vat rippled with each spasm, swirling as the needles injected their terrible payload¡ªserums, nanomachines, catalysts engineered to rewrite him from the inside out.

    "Breathe, breathe... you will... be... alright."

    Trask¡¯s voice echoed through the intercom, cold and detached. It was meant to reassure, but it sounded more like a command. Like an order. The words fell flat against the backdrop of agony that consumed Creed¡¯s mind.

    The pain didn¡¯t stop. It grew. Nerves lit up like wildfire. His spine felt like it was being shattered and rebuilt simultaneously. Every bone, every tendon stretched and strained to its limit. The serum burned like molten metal in his veins, rewriting his biology, his chemistry, his very being.

    But still, he breathed.

    The oxygen pumped relentlessly. The machines kept him alive. His chest rose and fell against the pressure. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

    But the pain wasn¡¯t the worst part.

    It was the helplessness.

    He wanted to scream. He wanted to tear the mask off, to rip the needles from his flesh, to fight. But the anesthetic took that from him. The paralysis took that from him. All he could do was feel.

    "Breathe, breathe... you will... be... alright."

    The voice faded, becoming distant, like an echo from another world. The humming of the machines deepened into a dull roar in his ears. His vision blurred further. The crimson fluid climbed higher, reaching his face, submerging the mask, submerging him.

    His heartbeat slowed.

    Breathe.

    The pain dulled, not because it had lessened, but because his mind could no longer process it. His consciousness was slipping, fading into darkness. His eyes fluttered once, twice. The last thing he saw was a faint reflection of himself in the glass¡ªdistorted, broken, changing.

    Breathe.

    His eyelids grew heavier with each breath. The crimson liquid was warm now, almost comforting, like a blanket pulling him under.

    Breathe.

    He exhaled slowly. His eyes closed.

    Breathe.

    The world went dark.

    And in that darkness, only one thought remained:

    "I can¡¯t become a monster."

    Outside the vat, Trask stood with Octavius, watching the slow rise and fall of Creed¡¯s chest behind the glass. The machines hummed steadily, the serum doing its work, the transformation beginning.

    Octavius adjusted his glasses, his metal appendages curling behind him like the legs of some great predator.

    "He¡¯s unconscious. The serum is integrating nicely," Octavius murmured, watching the readouts on a nearby console. "In a few hours, he¡¯ll wake up... changed."

    Trask stared at the vat, his expression unreadable.

    "Good," he said quietly. "Because when he wakes up, I want him ready."

    "Ready for what?" Octavius asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

    Trask didn¡¯t look away from Creed¡¯s submerged form.

    "To hunt monsters."

 Chapter 7: Good Morning Westchester

    The morning light filtered lazily through the wide windows of the Xavier Institute¡¯s kitchen, casting golden rays on the worn wooden floors and gleaming countertops. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling sausages mingled in the air, creating a familiar comfort that hung over the room like a warm blanket.

    Wolverine sat alone at the far end of the long wooden kitchen table, his broad shoulders hunched forward slightly. His calloused fingers wrapped tightly around a chipped white mug filled with black coffee¡ªno sugar, no cream. Steam rose from the mug in soft tendrils, but Logan didn¡¯t seem to notice. His sharp, amber eyes were locked onto the yellowed pages of the New York Bulletin, the faint rustle of the paper accompanying the occasional hiss from Gambit¡¯s frying pan nearby. The headline: ¡°Federal Government to start senate hearings on Houston protest.¡±

    A thick puff of smoke rose as Wolverine drew deeply from his cigar, letting the tobacco burn slow and steady. The old black radio perched precariously on the corner of the counter crackled with static. The thing looked like it hadn¡¯t been touched since 1989¡ªdust clung stubbornly to its edges, and the tuning knob had long since broken off, leaving it stuck on a single station.

    "GOOOOD MORNIN'' WESTCHESTER. YOU''RE LISTENING TO 107.8 FM, THE PEAK OF MUSIC!"

    ¡°And now for Sympathy for the Devil by The Rolling Stones,¡± the announcer¡¯s voice buzzed through the radio¡¯s speakers. The iconic opening chords filtered through the kitchen.

    Wolverine glanced at the radio, his lips curling into the faintest smirk.

    ¡°Now that¡¯s a song.¡± His gravelly voice carried the weight of decades, the deep timbre betraying a history few could comprehend.

    Gambit, standing at the stove, turned his head with a grin. The smell of beef and veal sausages wafted through the kitchen as he flipped them expertly in the pan.

    ¡°Mon ami, is dis one o¡¯ your Vietnam songs?¡± The Cajun¡¯s red-on-black eyes gleamed with mischief, and his signature smirk played on his lips.

    ¡°Damn right it is,¡± Wolverine replied without missing a beat, taking another slow puff of his cigar. ¡°Ya kids have it easy these days. Ya ain¡¯t gettin¡¯ hauled to a war anymore.¡±

    ¡°And dere he goes again,¡± Gambit chuckled, shaking his head as he returned his focus to the sizzling sausages. ¡°Old man Logan with his war stories.¡±

    Wolverine didn¡¯t respond. His gaze returned to the newspaper, brow furrowed as he scanned the reports. The shadows under his eyes seemed deeper than usual.

    Suddenly, there was a whoosh sound, and from the wall directly in front of Gambit, Kitty Pryde phased halfway through¡ªher upper body emerging with a cheerful grin on her face.

    ¡°HOLY SHIT!¡± Gambit nearly jumped out of his skin, dropping the spatula onto the stovetop with a loud clatter. The sausages sizzled dangerously close to the edge of the pan.

    Kitty grinned wider, unbothered by the startled reaction. Half of her body remained inside the wall as she reached out casually and snatched a sausage from the pan.

    ¡°Sorry, Mr. LeBeau.¡± She examined the sausage briefly, pausing mid-bite. ¡°These are kosher, right?¡±

    Gambit, still wide-eyed, recovered quickly, brushing off his vest. ¡°Yeah, petite. Beef and veal sausages. Kosher as they come.¡±

    ¡°Thanks!¡± Kitty flashed a thumbs-up, grabbing another sausage for good measure. With a playful wink, she phased completely into the kitchen and strolled over to the table. On her way, she tossed one sausage toward Wolverine.

    Without looking up from his paper, Wolverine¡¯s claws snikt out in a flash, skewering the sausage cleanly in mid-air. His eyes never left the headlines.

    ¡°Thanks, kid,¡± he muttered, retracting the claws with a slick metallic sound as he took a bite from the still-steaming sausage.

    Kitty plopped down in the chair beside him, chewing thoughtfully.

    ¡°You better get more sausages, Gumbo,¡± Wolverine muttered, glancing briefly at Gambit.

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t ready yet,¡± Gambit grumbled, glaring at the now half-empty pan.

    ¡°It is now,¡± Wolverine growled back, taking another drag from his cigar.

    Before Gambit could respond, a loud voice echoed through the kitchen.

    ¡°HELLOOOO X-MEN!¡±

    Jubilee came sliding into the room atop a slick ice slide, her signature pink sunglasses glinting in the sunlight. Fireworks popped from her fingertips in a burst of colorful sparks.

    Behind her, laughing and effortlessly maintaining the ice track, was Bobby Drake¡ªIceman¡ªhands pointed to the ice track, smirking as he coasted along.

    ¡°See? I got plasma tricks too!¡± Jubilee grinned triumphantly, striking a pose mid-slide as the sparks fizzled out around her.

    ¡°Plasmoid, Jubes,¡± Bobby corrected with a playful grin. ¡°Technically speaking.¡±

    ¡°Whatever, dork.¡± Jubilee stuck out her tongue as she landed gracefully next to the fridge.

    Bobby rolled his eyes, opening the fridge and grabbing a carton of milk. He reached into the cupboard for chocolate syrup, juggling both in one hand.

    Meanwhile, Jubilee fished a slightly crumpled box of Pop-Tarts from the fridge''s side compartment.

    Bobby sat down at the table beside Kitty and Wolverine, plopping a single cube of ice into a protein shaker. He squeezed a generous helping of chocolate syrup inside, topped it with milk, and shook the container vigorously.

    Wolverine gave him a side glance. ¡°Eugh. Ya drink that, kid?¡±

    ¡°Better than plain coffee,¡± Bobby replied with a shrug, taking a long sip. The cold condensation beaded along the side of the cup.

    Wolverine grunted but said nothing, returning to his paper.

    Jubilee turned toward the microwave triumphantly, Pop-Tart in hand, only to be intercepted by a sudden gust of wind.

    FWOOOSH!

    Storm entered the kitchen, her regal posture unmistakable. Clad in a flowing white robe, her silver hair cascaded down her shoulders, gleaming in the morning light. Her bare feet were dusty from the garden, and in her arms, she carried a fresh bundle of vibrant orange carrots, their leafy green tops still intact.

    ¡°NO, STORMY, NOT AGAIN!¡± Jubilee wailed, clutching her Pop-Tart to her chest like a precious jewel.

    Storm plucked the pastry from Jubilee¡¯s hands with effortless grace, inspecting it with mild disapproval. ¡°These are full of chemicals and processed sugars, Jubilee.¡±

    ¡°But¡ªmy lil'' Pop-Tart!¡± Jubilee pleaded dramatically, falling to her knees.

    Storm handed her three carrots, freshly plucked and dirt-speckled. ¡°I just picked these. You may eat as many of these as you¡¯d like. Far healthier than that confection.¡±

    Jubilee stared at the carrots in horror. ¡°But I don¡¯t want to eat as many carrots as I can. I want to eat ONE Pop-Tart! One!¡±

    Storm¡¯s calm gaze didn¡¯t waver. ¡°You had one yesterday already, little miss. No more Pop-Tarts this week.¡±

    ¡°NOOOOOOO!¡± Jubilee collapsed in exaggerated despair onto the kitchen floor.

    Wolverine took another puff of his cigar, eyeing the scene with mild disinterest. ¡°Jesus, kid. Tone it down.¡±

    The room buzzed with life¡ªthe usual chaos of the X-Men¡¯s morning routine. Gambit sighed and flipped the last few sausages onto a plate, mumbling in Cajun under his breath. Kitty snacked on her sausage, kicking her legs idly beneath the table. Bobby laughed at Jubilee¡¯s dramatics, while Storm simply shook her head with quiet amusement.

    Wolverine sipped his coffee, the familiar rhythm of the morning settling back into place. The black radio in the corner kept playing, Mick Jagger¡¯s voice crooning through the crackling speakers:

    "Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name..."

    Wolverine exhaled a long stream of smoke, his gaze distant, unreadable.

    The morning at the Xavier Institute continued to unfold in its usual rhythm¡ªequal parts chaotic and comforting. The scent of fresh coffee, sizzling sausages, and garden herbs lingered in the air. Conversations overlapped, laughter echoed, and the hum of daily life in a house full of mutants resonated through the sunlit kitchen.

    Then came the familiar sound of padded footsteps¡ªsteady, deliberate, with a faint rhythm that suggested both power and grace. Henry McCoy, better known as Beast, entered the kitchen with his usual air of intellectual curiosity. His blue-furred frame was as imposing as ever, yet softened by the gentle smile that played on his lips. In one hand, he held a well-worn book: Are We Smart Enough to Know How Smart Animals Are? by Frans de Waal. The edges of the pages were frayed, and several sticky notes peeked out from between chapters.

    Beast paused for a moment, absorbing the scene¡ªa kitchen alive with youthful banter and routine. He gave a small nod of approval before carefully closing the book with a soft thump and heading toward the refrigerator after he gently laid the book on the table.

    Wolverine glanced up from his newspaper, the corner of his mouth twitching. "What is this, Henry?" he grunted, eyeing the book¡¯s title.

    ¡°Oh, just a little gift from a friend,¡± Beast replied with a casual shrug, his deep voice carrying a warm timbre. His clawed fingers brushed along the handle of the fridge before opening it slowly.

    Kitty, always curious, reached across the table and picked up the book where Beast had left it. She held it up, squinting at the cover. "Are We Smart Enough to Know How Smart Animals Are?" she read aloud, her brow furrowed. ¡°Interesting title.¡±

    Jubilee leaned over, peering at the book with mild disinterest. ¡°Pfft, of course we are. We talk, animals don¡¯t. Case closed. I¡¯m a genius.¡±

    Beast turned his head slightly, a bemused expression crossing his feline features. ¡°Ah, but what if the means of communication for certain animals are non-verbal?¡± He gestured elegantly with one clawed hand. ¡°What if they have developed systems of communication that do not rely on spoken language but on non-verbal cues, frequencies, or behaviors beyond our immediate comprehension?¡±

    Jubilee blinked. ¡°What?¡±

    Kitty, catching on faster, leaned forward. ¡°He means, what if they¡¯re mute?¡±

    ¡°Oh¡­¡± Jubilee said, nodding slowly before pausing again. ¡°Oh. Oh.¡±

    Beast gave a patient smile. ¡°A gross simplification, but yes, precisely. What if they cannot communicate through vocal means, yet possess intricate systems of conveying meaning? Perhaps chemical signals, body language, or ultrasonic frequencies?¡±

    Jubilee furrowed her brow. ¡°Well... then they can communicate. So... they¡¯re not animals?¡±

    Beast chuckled softly. ¡°An interesting conclusion, though I must gently correct you¡ªcommunication does not necessarily equate to self-awareness. The question at hand is far more nuanced. Consciousness, self-reflection, the ability to recognize oneself as an individual within the greater tapestry of existence¡ªthat is what defines intelligence on a broader spectrum.¡±

    ¡°I think it¡¯s more about being conscious,¡± Kitty added thoughtfully. ¡°Like¡­ being able to know that you are you. The ability to understand that you can understand. That kind of thing.¡±

    ¡°Very astute, Kate,¡± Beast replied with a nod. ¡°Indeed, metacognition¡ªthe awareness and understanding of one¡¯s own thought processes¡ªis a crucial marker.¡±

    Jubilee tilted her head. ¡°Uh¡­ you lost me again.¡±

    Bobby, sipping his chocolate milk concoction, chimed in with a grin. ¡°He means thinking about thinking.¡±

    ¡°Oh...¡± Jubilee dragged out the word, nodding slowly but clearly still confused. ¡°Right.¡±

    Beast pressed on, clearly enjoying the philosophical tangent. ¡°Consider this: are we less intelligent than a squirrel because we cannot remember the precise location of dozens of buried caches of food, essential for survival through winter?¡±

    Jubilee pointed lazily at the fridge. ¡°The fridge is right there.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not what he means,¡± Kitty groaned, rolling her eyes.

    Beast smiled indulgently. ¡°Indeed, young Katherine. The point stands that intelligence manifests in many forms, some of which may not align with our anthropocentric definitions. Or consider the bat¡ªare we inferior simply because most of us cannot echolocate, navigating complex environments in complete darkness with pinpoint accuracy?¡±

    ¡°I have no idea what half of those words mean,¡± Jubilee admitted with a shrug.

    ¡°I like that concept, Dr. McCoy,¡± Kitty said, flipping through the first few pages of the book. ¡°It makes you think about intelligence in a totally different way.¡±

    Beast¡¯s eyes sparkled with approval. ¡°I will gladly lend you the book when I¡¯ve finished, Kate.¡±

    ¡°Thanks,¡± Kitty replied with a smile, still thumbing through the chapters.

    The kitchen seemed to settle for a brief moment, the quiet broken only by the soft sizzling of the last sausages in Gambit¡¯s pan and the rhythmic rustling of Wolverine¡¯s newspaper. The smell of freshly tilled earth still clung faintly to Storm¡¯s robe as she resumed tending to a potted plant near the window, her silver hair catching the morning light like strands of moonlight.

    But then the atmosphere shifted.

    The soft hum of a wheelchair echoed down the polished hallway, approaching the kitchen with slow, deliberate grace. Conversations quieted almost instinctively.

    Professor Charles Xavier entered, his familiar presence commanding the room without a word. Behind him, walking in measured steps, were Scott Summers¡ªCyclops¡ªand Jean Grey. Cyclops moved with his usual controlled demeanor, his ruby-quartz visor gleaming faintly as he pushed the professor¡¯s wheelchair. Jean followed closely, her fiery red hair cascading over her shoulders, her serene expression betraying the faintest trace of concern.

    ¡°Good morning, all,¡± Xavier greeted, his voice calm and composed, resonating with authority and warmth.

    The X-Men responded almost in unison, each greeting carrying its own unique tone.

    ¡°Mornin¡¯, Chuck,¡± Logan grunted without looking up from his newspaper, though a respectful nod accompanied his words.

    ¡°Mornin¡¯, professor,¡± Gambit added, still tending to the now perfectly browned sausages.

    ¡°Good morning, Charles,¡± Storm said with a soft smile, placing a freshly clipped blossom in a small vase by the window.

    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Hey, Professor X!¡± Jubilee waved enthusiastically, having fully recovered from her Pop-Tart tragedy.

    ¡°Professor,¡± Kitty said simply, nodding her head in greeting.

    ¡°Prof,¡± Bobby added casually, raising his cup of chocolate milk in a mock toast.

    ¡°Charles,¡± Beast greeted with his usual refinement, offering a slight bow of his head.

    Cyclops stepped forward with Jean at his side. ¡°Morning, everyone,¡± he said, his tone firm yet approachable.

    ¡°Slim. Jeannie.¡± Wolverine¡¯s gravelly voice acknowledged them without fanfare, a little softer towards Jean, but no less respectful.

    ¡°Logan,¡± Cyclops replied, curt and respectful.

    ¡°Good morning, Scott,¡± Ororo said, nodding at the team¡¯s field leader.

    ¡°Ororo,¡± Scott replied with a slight smile.

    Professor Xavier glanced over the assembled team, his piercing blue eyes lingering on each face as if taking a silent headcount.

    ¡°There¡¯s something I¡¯d like to remind you all,¡± Xavier began, folding his hands neatly in his lap. His tone shifted, becoming more serious, drawing the attention of every mutant in the room. ¡°Captain America and the Avengers will be arriving today.¡±

    The room fell into a momentary hush at the mention of the Avengers.

    ¡°We will be working closely with them,¡± Xavier continued, ¡°to bring Bolivar Trask to justice. This is an opportunity for cooperation, a chance to show the world that unity is possible between humans, mutants, and enhanced individuals alike.¡±

    Xavier turned his gaze toward the younger members of the team.

    ¡°Jubilation. Bobby. I trust you will be on your best behavior?¡±

    Jubilee puffed her cheeks and gave a dramatic salute. ¡°Yes, fearless leader,¡± she said with a grin, earning a chuckle from Bobby.

    ¡°Yeah, Mr. Summers,¡± Bobby echoed, giving Scott a thumbs-up.

    Cyclops adjusted his visor, unfazed. ¡°Good. We¡¯ll need everyone focused. When are they coming, Scott?¡± Kitty asked, glancing between the professor and the team leader.

    Scott looked at his watch briefly before replying. ¡°Soon. They should be here any moment.¡±

    The kitchen buzzed with a new kind of energy¡ªanticipation, readiness, and perhaps a little anxiety.

    ¡°Hey,¡± Bobby said, looking around, ¡°has anyone seen Rogue?¡±

    The question hung in the air.

    Wolverine glanced up from his paper, finally folding it and setting it aside. He took one last drag from his cigar before answering in his low, rumbling voice.

    ¡°Stripes got some bread and left. God knows where she is now.¡±

    <hr>

    Through the soft glow of the morning skies, a lone figure glided effortlessly¡ªa Mississippi girl with a streak of white in her hair and a heart weighed down by memories. Rogue drifted high above the world, trailing a commercial plane for a moment, her emerald eyes reflecting the golden dawn. Then, with a playful grin, she tipped forward and dove.

    The clouds parted around her like silk curtains, mist clinging to her leather jacket before vanishing in the wind. Her arms stretched wide, fingers splayed as though she could hold the whole sky. The wind tugged at her auburn hair, whipping it behind her like a banner. Up here, there was no past. No broken promises. No fears of a deadly touch. Only boundless blue, the cool rush of air, and the soft, golden light of the sun peeking over the horizon.

    For Rogue, this was freedom. Pure, unshackled freedom.

    Below her, the landscape of Westchester County sprawled out¡ªrolling forests, winding roads, and rooftops glinting in the morning light. As she flew lower, the quiet town of Scarsdale came into view. Quaint houses, sleepy streets, and tiny parks gave the town a peaceful air. She hovered there for a moment, letting herself take it in.

    With a soft sigh, she slipped a small, worn leather notebook from inside her jacket. Its edges were frayed from years of handling. Tucked inside its cover was a pen, silver and sleek¡ªa gift from Jean, who had once told her that writing might help lighten the burden she carried.

    Rogue perched on the edge of a low-hanging cloud, legs crossed in the air, and stared down at the town below. She clicked the pen once, twice. Then paused.

    Her mind wandered¡ªas it always did. Back to places and faces that refused to fade. She thought of the Brotherhood¡ªthose chaotic days of rebellion and uncertainty. Mystique¡¯s cold words and colder stares. Destiny¡¯s soft predictions of a future Rogue could never quite believe. Magneto¡¯s grand visions. Charles Xavier¡¯s unshakable belief that there was something good in her.

    And Carrie. Sweet, tragic Aunt Carrie.

    Her grip on the pen tightened.

    She thought of the things she¡¯d done. Of the people she couldn¡¯t touch. Of the moments lost to fear. And more recently¡ªHouston. Arkansas. Thomas Thompson. His death, so sudden, so brutal, still haunted the edges of her mind. She thought of him too¡ªThe Alamo. Duncan Nenni. His sharp words about the X-Men, his frustrating philosophy, as human as it was.

    They gnawed at her. His voice still echoed in her head. His criticism, his stubborn refusal to believe in unity. In them.

    But not here. Not now. Up here, she was weightless, far from all of it.

    Her pen touched the paper.

    And slowly, she began to write.

    <hr>

    The sky don¡¯t mind the troubles below,

    It stretches wide, a silver flow.

    The river rolls, the cotton grows,

    And dreams drift soft where the red wind blows.

    The road runs long from bayou to peak,

    With tales to tell and hearts to seek.

    A soul might wander, a soul might roam,

    But the sky¡¯ll always guide you home.

    Hands may hurt, hearts may break,

    But dawn still comes with the wide daybreak.

    So let the earth hold its heavy stone,

    The sky¡¯s for souls who fly alone.

    <hr>

    Simple. Honest. The words reminded her of old stories read on dusty porches back in Mississippi¡ªMark Twain¡¯s river tales and Walt Whitman¡¯s open roads. She read it over once, twice, her fingers trailing along the lines. A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

    This¡¯ll do, she thought.

    She slipped the notebook back into her jacket, feeling lighter for having written it. For a brief moment, the world seemed still, the past tucked away between those pages.

    But then¡ª

    Her eyes caught something. A glint in the far distance. Small at first, barely noticeable against the morning haze.

    Two silhouettes.

    Moving fast.

    Real fast.

    She squinted, hovering in the air, adjusting her gloves as she leaned forward.

    The first trail was long, vibrant¡ªa streak of blazing plasma cutting through the sky with controlled precision. The second, shorter trail shimmered faintly¡ªa sleek repulsor burst barely visible under the golden dawn. The hum of high-tech engines carried faintly on the wind.

    Her eyes widened.

    The Quinjet. And ahead of it¡ªthose unmistakable shapes.

    ¡°Ah¡¯ll be damned,¡± she whispered to herself, brushing a strand of white hair from her face.

    High above Westchester, the sky was clear and painted in the pale hues of morning. The hum of repulsors and the low thrumming of the Quinjet engines echoed across the vast expanse of air. The Alamo flew steadily alongside Iron Man, the iconic red-and-gold armor glinting in the sunlight. Behind them, the sleek Quinjet maintained a steady course toward the Xavier Institute.

    Their conversation cut through the hum of the engines, casual but tinged with the weight of complicated realities.

    "Since the year 2000, the insurance premiums in New York City have risen an average of 3000%," Alamo said, his Southern drawl steady, analytical. "Specifically in property and car insurance."

    Tony Stark tilted his armored head slightly, glancing at him mid-flight. "And you¡¯re telling me that¡¯s because of superheroes?"

    "Not directly," Alamo replied. "But indirectly? Absolutely. Villains see New York as the main stage. When you¡¯ve got all the big names livin'' in one place¡ªAvengers Tower, the Baxter Building, and all the rest¡ªit makes this city a target. Too much risk means higher premiums."

    Iron Man gave a thoughtful hum. "Alright, what else does that little economic brain of yours have in that paper?"

    Alamo adjusted his flight path with ease, his plasma trail flaring briefly. "Health insurance premiums doubled above inflation in the last twenty-five years. Not as bad as property insurance, though¡ªunless you¡¯re an ex-con."

    "Let me guess," Tony said with a smirk in his voice, "five thousand percent hike?"

    "Since 1985," Alamo confirmed with a nod. "Funny enough, around the time Captain America thawed out."

    Tony let out a short laugh. "You¡¯re saying Cap¡¯s a contributing factor to insurance premiums?"

    "Reckon he might be. I¡¯d factor it in as a variable in the regression model."

    Iron Man went quiet for a moment, banking slightly as the wind buffeted them. Below, the green landscape of Westchester stretched endlessly.

    "So... essentially, we¡¯re bankrupting the state and the city," Tony said at last. "Even with the Stark Foundation buying junk-status municipal bonds and HFA notes."

    "Yup. Pretty much charity buying those risky bonds."

    "And the government probably foots some of the bill too. Damage Control helps with the rebuilds, but it¡¯s barely enough."

    "There oughta be a better way," Alamo said.

    Tony was silent for a beat. Then, his voice turned thoughtful. "What about a sovereign wealth fund?"

    "A sovereign fund managed by Stark?" Duncan echoed, raising an eyebrow behind his chrome mask.

    "Why not?" Tony shrugged mid-flight. "Wall Street''s got funds, sure, but nothing like this¡ªonly 15% of private disaster relief is targeted at Manhattan alone."

    "You could offer subsidized credit at lower rates, buy up distressed assets outright," Alamo added, his mind racing through economic models.

    "You''re telling me to pull a Quantitative Easing?" Tony shot back with a grin. "Wouldn''t that be inflationary?"

    "Not necessarily," Alamo replied, shrugging. "If the demand for money''s high enough¡ªwhich it usually is after crises¡ªthen inflation wouldn¡¯t skyrocket. From 2008 to 2012, inflation barely ticked up, even with the Fed pumping out QE."

    "Aha!" Tony pointed a gauntlet-clad finger at him. "But there would be price distortions."

    "Yes," Alamo conceded. "That is true... Wait, I¡¯m supposed to be the economist here."

    Tony laughed. "You¡¯re good, kid. But I¡¯m the genius."

    Alamo let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. The banter was light, but beneath it lay the kind of conversation few could have¡ªabout economics, power, and responsibility.

    Then Alamo stopped mid-sentence. His red, plasma-glowing eyes under the chrome mask narrowed.

    In the distance¡ªjust a speck at first¡ªhe saw a silhouette cutting through the morning light.

    "Is that... Rogue?" he muttered, voice trailing off.

    Tony glanced toward where Alamo was staring. "What?"

    But Alamo was already gone. With a sudden burst of plasma energy, he surged forward, leaving a streak of vibrant red in the sky. His speed caught Tony off guard.

    "Jeez, kid!" Tony called after him, accelerating quickly to catch up.

    Rogue hovered just above Scarsdale, her leather jacket fluttering in the wind, a small smile on her face. She was lost in thought, notebook tucked away, the skies her only companion. The peaceful moment didn¡¯t last, she smriked as she saw the fast flying silhouette approaching her.

    "Alamo!" She voice called.

    Her eyes widened slightly. She turned, and there he was¡ªThe Alamo¡ªflying straight toward her, the red glow of plasma trailing behind him. He extended his hand toward her.

    "Rogue," Alamo, his voice soft, softer than even he expected.

    She smirked, cocking her hip in the air and crossing her arms. "Is that all, sugah? All ya got to pour?"

    Without warning, she yanked his extended hand and pulled him in. The sudden motion caught him off guard, and before he could react, she wrapped him in a tight hug.

    Alamo froze for a moment, stunned. He wasn¡¯t used to warmth like this. But behind the chrome mask, he smiled. Just a small one¡ªbut a real one.

    When Rogue finally let go, she floated back with a teasing grin. "What? Cat got yer tongue?"

    Alamo adjusted his hat slightly, regaining his composure. "No, ma¡¯am. Just wasn¡¯t expectin¡¯ that."

    "Ya an Avenger now, Duncan?" she asked, her tone playful.

    "No, ma¡¯am," Alamo replied. "I hitched the ride. Flyin'' with the Avengers? Can¡¯t beat that with a stick."

    Rogue laughed softly. "Ah¡¯ll be damned. Y¡¯all here fer the investigation?"

    "Reckon that¡¯s right."

    Iron Man finally caught up, hovering beside them with an exaggerated sigh. "Rogue."

    "Iron Man," Rogue replied, with a half-smile.

    Tony scanned the two of them with his sensors. "Alright. You guys following me? Rogue, you leading this little convoy of ours?"

    "Right here," Rogue said with a wink.

    Tony rolled his eyes behind the mask, muttering lowly. "Tony Stark. Genius billionaire. Reduced to third-wheel status. Unbelievable."

    As they flew together¡ªRogue and Alamo side by side, Iron Man trailing slightly behind¡ªRogue turned serious.

    "Ah been thinkin¡¯, Duncan," she said after a while, glancing at him. "¡¯Bout what ya said in that stunt ya pulled with She-Hulk. About us bein¡¯ dangerous."

    Alamo didn¡¯t hesitate. "I meant every word."

    "Ya really think like that?" Her voice was quiet now. The teasing edge was gone.

    "Yes," Alamo said, voice firm. "Things ain¡¯t that simple. It can¡¯t be boiled down to right or wrong. Some humans are bigots, yeah. But others? They¡¯re scared. And can you really blame ¡®em?"

    Tony, listening in, cut through the conversation. "Kid¡¯s right. People were terrified of the Hulk. Hell, I even built an armor just to take him down. Doesn¡¯t mean I hate him, but doesn¡¯t mean I trusted him either."

    Rogue turned her gaze sharply to both of them. "So y¡¯all think the Sentinels are entirely justified?"

    The question hung heavy in the air.

    Iron Man and Alamo exchanged glances.

    "Somewhat," Alamo admitted.

    "It¡¯d be better," Tony added slowly, "if they were in the hands of someone who wouldn¡¯t use ¡®em to hunt down mutants."

    Rogue narrowed her eyes. "Like you, Stark?"

    Her voice dripped with sarcasm and disbelief.

    Tony hesitated. "Yes¡ªNo? I mean¡ª"

    "Unbelievable," Rogue muttered, shaking her head with a smirk creeping onto her lips.

    Alamo chuckled softly. The conversation wasn¡¯t resolved¡ªnot by a long shot¡ªbut flying side by side like this, with the wind rushing past and the morning sun rising higher, it felt like¡ªfor now¡ªthings were moving forward.

    The bright morning sun bathed the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning in a warm golden glow, casting long shadows across the well-manicured lawn. The mansion loomed large in the background, regal and timeless, standing as a symbol of hope, struggle, and resilience for so many.

    A gentle breeze rustled the trees surrounding the grounds as Rogue, Alamo, and Iron Man descended from the sky, the hum of repulsors and plasma fading with their landing. Rogue touched down with her signature ease, boots gently brushing the grass. The Alamo landed beside her, his black cattleman hat still perfectly in place, his chrome mask glinting in the sun. The faint blue glow of his plasma energy faded slowly from his gloves. Iron Man landed last, repulsors hissing as he touched down with a confident stance, arms crossed as he surveyed the scene.

    Awaiting them on the mansion''s front lawn was the full might of the X-Men. Professor Charles Xavier sat at the forefront in his hoverchair, calm and composed as ever, his sharp blue eyes scanning the arrivals with a mixture of curiosity and guarded expectation.

    Behind him stood Cyclops, straight-backed and precise as always, his ruby quartz visor gleaming. His arms were folded, and though his face remained stoic, there was a flicker of skepticism in his posture.

    Jean Grey stood beside him, her red hair catching the light as a soft breeze passed. Her emerald eyes briefly flickered with warmth at the sight of Captain America, though her expression hardened when it fell on The Alamo. She knew him¡ªknew he had opinions about the X-Men¡ªand yet wasn¡¯t sure what to make of him.

    Storm stood tall and regal, her long white hair cascading over her shoulders. The morning light seemed to shine a little brighter around her, as though nature itself bent toward her majesty. Her serene gaze rested momentarily on Rogue and The Alamo, reading something unspoken between them before shifting toward the arriving Quinjet.

    Wolverine leaned against a nearby tree, a lit cigar clenched between his teeth. His sharp gaze followed the arrivals with cautious disinterest. The smell of tobacco mixed with the fresh morning air. He gave a slight nod to Rogue when she caught his eye, but his gaze lingered longer on Alamo¡ªcurious but wary.

    Beast stood next to Jubilee and Kitty Pryde. The big blue mutant wore a tailored coat, his hands folded neatly behind his back, a book still tucked under one arm. His golden eyes twinkled with curiosity.

    "Ah," he murmured, adjusting his glasses, "the gathering of the decade, if not the century."

    Jubilee chewed gum loudly, blowing a bright pink bubble as she elbowed Kitty Pryde.

    "Yo, look at Stark. Rich guys always show off," Jubilee whispered.

    Kitty snorted. "You say that like you wouldn¡¯t fly around in that suit if you had the chance."

    "Okay, fair point," Jubilee admitted with a grin.

    Iceman, arms crossed and a confident smirk on his face, leaned casually on a nearby railing, his body still faintly coated in frost from a quick morning workout. He gave a playful wave toward Iron Man.

    "Hey, Mr.Stark. You finally decided to come hang with the cool kids?" Bobby Drake joked.

    Tony lifted his faceplate briefly, flashing his trademark grin. "Only if you stop with the ice puns, kid."

    Bobby chuckled. "Ice what I can do."

    Standing slightly apart from the group was Gambit, flipping a single playing card between his fingers. His red-on-black eyes gleamed as he observed Rogue¡¯s arrival. His gaze drifted to the Quinjet, he was awaiting someone with bated breath.

    The low roar of the Quinjet engines grew louder, drawing all eyes toward the sky. The sleek aircraft hovered for a moment before lowering itself onto the lawn with a practiced, controlled descent. The landing gear touched down with a metallic thud, and the rear hatch slowly lowered with a hiss of hydraulics.

    From within the Quinjet, the next wave of arrivals emerged.

    Captain America¡ªSteve Rogers¡ªstepped down first, shield strapped to his back. His steady, purposeful gait exuded confidence and quiet authority. He paused for a moment, taking in the mansion and the assembled X-Men. His sharp blue eyes were calm, yet alert. The weight of history hung between him and this place¡ªhe knew what it represented, what it stood for.

    Behind him came Falcon¡ªSam Wilson¡ªhis wings folded neatly against his back. He wore a confident smile but stayed observant. His sharp eyes took in the various members of the X-Men, reading the room even from a distance.

    Next was Wasp¡ªJanet Van Dyne¡ªher stylish black and red suit pristine as always. She adjusted her oversized designer sunglasses and flicked her bobbed hair back.

    "And there it is," Janet whispered to She-Hulk, who followed close behind her.

    Jennifer Walters¡ªShe-Hulk¡ªtowered beside her, emerald skin gleaming in the sunlight. She wore her signature white and purple bodysuit, her expression half-amused as her sharp eyes fell upon Storm.

    "Ororo is always so majestic," Jennifer muttered under her breath to Janet. "What the hell."

    Janet gave a knowing nod. "I swear to God, she makes it look easy."

    Storm, hearing them despite the quiet tone, offered a soft smile¡ªregal, gracious, but distant.

    Professor Xavier rolled his hoverchair forward, his expression calm but warm. His voice, smooth and commanding, broke the brief silence.

    "Captain."

    "Professor," Steve replied with a firm nod, stepping forward to shake Xavier¡¯s hand. "It¡¯s good to be here."

    "And it is good to have you here," Xavier responded. His words carried more weight than simple pleasantries. The history between the X-Men and the Avengers had always been complicated¡ªsometimes allies, sometimes at odds¡ªbut this meeting carried an air of something more significant.

    Cyclops stepped forward next. His gloved hand extended toward Steve Rogers, though his posture remained tense.

    "Captain Rogers," Scott Summers said, his voice even but guarded.

    "Summers," Steve replied, grasping the offered hand with a firm shake. Their eyes met¡ªone behind the red visor, the other sharp and unwavering. Respect was there, but so was skepticism. Cyclops wasn¡¯t one to trust easily, especially when it came to outsiders meddling in mutant affairs.

    As the rest of the Avengers exited the Quinjet and mingled briefly with the X-Men, smaller conversations bloomed.

    Jennifer Walters flashed a wide smile at Storm as she approached. "You¡¯re looking amazing, girl."

    Storm inclined her head slightly, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Thank you for the beautiful words, Jennifer. The skies have been kind this morning."

    Jennifer laughed. "You are the weather goddess. I swear, you make even the sun look like it¡¯s showing off."

    Meanwhile, Tony Stark had disengaged from his nano-tech helmet, standing beside Falcon with his nano-tech sunglasses perched on his nose. "Xavier¡¯s got style, I¡¯ll give him that. Mansion looks as good as ever."

    Falcon grinned. "Better than your penthouse."

    Tony waved him off. "This is old town chic, I''m Big Tech, sleek and modern."

    Steve Rogers glanced around, noting the conversations sparking up¡ªAvengers and X-Men mingling, some easier than others. He turned back to Xavier.

    "Shall we head inside?" Steve asked, gesturing toward the grand entrance of the mansion.

    Xavier nodded, glancing at the assembled heroes behind him. "Yes, please. Everyone, you¡¯re welcome at our institute."

    He turned, his hoverchair gliding effortlessly toward the front doors.

    Cyclops gave a nod to his team. "Let¡¯s move."

    Wolverine grunted, falling into step behind them. "Hmph. Let¡¯s get this over with."

    As the group began to move toward the entrance, Rogue glanced sideways at The Alamo. For a moment, their eyes met. She offered him a half-smile, somewhere between teasing and curious. Duncan, hidden behind his chrome mask, gave a slight nod.

    No words were exchanged.

    But something unspoken lingered between them.

    The morning sun continued to shine brightly, illuminating the gathering of heroes as they walked toward the mansion¡¯s towering double doors.

    The stage was set. Though the morning was casual, the afternoon would be anything but.

 Chapter 8: Friends, Enemies and Something Else

    The group continued moving through the wide hallways of the Xavier Institute, the air thick with unspoken tensions and underlying curiosity. The polished floors reflected the morning light that filtered through the tall windows. The path to the War Room was quiet, save for the soft hum of conversation, footsteps echoing as Avengers and X-Men walked together, uneasy yet united by the gravity of their mission.

    As they progressed, Gambit slipped away from the main group, his trademark grin spreading across his face. His trench coat fluttered slightly as he closed the distance between himself and She-Hulk, who was chatting idly with Janet Van Dyne.

    "Made a good trip, ch¨¨re?" Gambit purred, his Cajun accent rich and deliberate.

    She-Hulk glanced at him, arching a perfectly shaped green brow. "Oh yes, Monsieur LeBeau. The skies were pleasant, company was entertaining¡ªwell, mostly."

    Gambit¡¯s grin widened, eyes gleaming with mischief. With a dramatic flourish, he pulled a small, elegant box from inside his coat¡ªdark velvet with gold trim. He held it out, opening it with a flick of his wrist to reveal a collection of fine chocolates, each piece delicately crafted.

    "Here''s a little somethin'' I got you, ch¨¨re. Finest from New Orleans. Thought a lady of taste like y''self would appreciate it."

    Jennifer Walters looked down at the chocolates, a slow smirk forming. "Oh? Do you do this for every guest, Monsieur LeBeau? I didn¡¯t see Aluminium Face get any chocolate." She nodded casually toward The Alamo, who floated lazily a few inches above the ground nearby. "Not even Cap got the sweet treatment."

    Gambit chuckled, shrugging with exaggerated nonchalance. "I¡¯m sure de Texan will get attention from someone else."

    He jerked his thumb toward Rogue, who walked side by side with The Alamo as Jubilee joined them. Gambit¡¯s eyes lingered for a moment, a flicker of something more serious passing through his playful gaze before he smiled again.

    Meanwhile, Jubilee bounced beside Rogue and Alamo, a mischievous grin plastered on her face. She glanced at the two of them¡ªAlamo still floating a few inches above the ground, his plasma aura faint but present, and Rogue, who seemed to subconsciously mirror him, her boots hovering just above the polished floor.

    "Ayo! What is this Magneto crap you two pullin''?" Jubilee laughed, pointing at their feet. "Why you guys floatin''? You tryna flex or somethin¡¯?"

    Alamo glanced down, realizing he was still hovering. "Maybe my boots are dirty, Jubilee," he replied in his usual dry, Southern drawl.

    Rogue looked at him, blinking as she noticed her own feet not touching the floor. She flushed slightly, crossing her arms. "Are yer boots dirty, sugah?" she shot back, a teasing smirk tugging at her lips.

    Alamo cleared his throat, dropping gently to the ground. Rogue followed suit a moment later, shaking her head.

    "Ahem, ya''re doin'' it too, Rogue."

    Jubilee burst out laughing. "I knew it! Man, y''all been spending way too much time together. Bet you¡¯re floatin¡¯ ''cause you wanna look taller than Cap."

    "That''s not true," Alamo replied, but his tone lacked conviction.

    "Hehehe. It is Dunkie."

    Alamo froze for a moment. "Dunkie?"

    "Oh yeah! Like Dunkin'' Donuts. No?"

    Rogue laughed, her Southern drawl sweet and melodic. "As in Duncan?"

    "Yeah!"

    Alamo sighed behind his mask. "Is that how she''s gonna call me now?"

    "Don''t blame me," Rogue said, smirking. "It''s the first time Ah''m hearin'' it mahself."

    "Fair ''nuff."

    At the front of the group, Captain America walked beside Cyclops and Professor Xavier. Wolverine had closed the distance, his cigar now resting behind his ear as he joined them, the scent of tobacco lingering faintly.

    "Sergeant Howlett," Cap greeted with a small nod.

    "Captain Rogers," Logan replied, smirking. "Just missin'' Fury and the old crew now."

    Cap inhaled deeply, his jaw tightening. The mention of Nick Fury stirred old memories¡ªsome good, most complicated. "Are you planning a second coming of the Howling Commandos, Howlett?"

    Wolverine snorted. "Nah. I don''t trust damn Fury anymore."

    Steve¡¯s lips thinned in a line of understanding. He knew exactly what Logan meant. "But I wouldn¡¯t complain workin'' with ya again, Cap. Like the good ol'' days."

    "Good ol'' days," Cap echoed. "Like that time in North Africa."

    Logan chuckled darkly. "With the history professor¡ªwhat was his name again? Dammit, I just had it."

    "Dr. Henry Jones Jr.," Steve replied, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

    "Indy. Oh yeah. Do ya remember what he used to say?"

    Steve smirked, repeating the familiar words with perfect clarity. "Jimmy, these are museum pieces, not your personal toys to destroy."

    Wolverine grimaced. "I hated bein'' called Jimmy."

    "Dr. Jones didn¡¯t care."

    "Damn historians," Logan grumbled, though the fondness in his voice betrayed him.

    Further back, Jean Grey noticed Cyclops glancing repeatedly toward Rogue and Alamo. His posture had stiffened, the tension in his shoulders unmistakable. Jean reached out, squeezing his shoulder gently.

    "Steve stood up for us, Scott. Rogue made a big deal about how he supported us. You should take some comfort in that."

    Scott gave a humorless chuckle, his gaze still fixed on Rogue and Alamo. "It''s hard to compete with Captain America, really."

    "Don''t forget who you are, Scott," Jean whispered. "Because we won¡¯t forget. We know what you¡¯re capable of."

    Scott didn¡¯t respond immediately. His eyes narrowed slightly behind his visor, watching as Alamo walked with Rogue¡ªJubilee still teasing them both. The ease with which they talked, how Rogue smiled at the masked Texan, the way she seemed... lighter around him.

    It bothered him.

    "He¡¯s young," Jean said softly, reading Scott''s unease. "Hasn¡¯t lived what we did."

    "Yet he talks like he¡¯s better than us," Scott muttered. "Like he knows more. Like he¡¯s figured it all out."

    Jean smiled, squeezing his arm again. "He¡¯s not better than us. He¡¯s just like us. Maybe he needs you to remind him of that. That we could be his family if he needs us."

    Scott looked away, crossing his arms. "I¡¯m pretty sure the very word ''family'' would upset him."

    "Nobody¡¯s perfect, Scott. Give him time. Rogue is strong. She fights back. If he cares about her¡ªif he cares about himself¡ªhe¡¯ll listen."

    Scott finally looked at her, nodding slowly. "You¡¯re right, Jean. But I won¡¯t be disrespected. Not here."

    "Then tell him that. Tell him this is your home, and what a guest does is be courteous in the host¡¯s home."

    Scott¡¯s jaw tightened. "I¡¯ll do it."

    "Scott, you can wai¡ª"

    But before Jean could finish, Scott was already moving. His strides were long and purposeful, cutting through the groups without hesitation. His expression was unreadable, his back straight and unwavering.

    Rogue and Jubilee stopped talking as soon as Cyclops approached. The Alamo turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing behind his chrome mask. His posture remained relaxed, arms loosely crossed behind his back.

    "Fearless Leader," Jubilee joked, trying to cut the tension.

    Cyclops ignored her. His gaze locked onto Alamo.

    "Scott?" Rogue asked, tilting her head, surprise clear in her voice.

    "Can I borrow you for a moment?" Cyclops asked, his tone flat but firm, his eyes never leaving The Alamo.

    Alamo didn¡¯t move for a second. The red glow of his visor-like eyes dimmed slightly as he seemed to weigh his options. After a long pause, he gave a slow nod.

    "I reckon ya can."

    The air grew heavier. The rest of the group slowed their pace, sensing the tension building between the two men. Conversations faded. Even Wolverine, who rarely cared for such theatrics, glanced back with mild curiosity.

    Jean Grey watched carefully, her expression shifting to concern. She had hoped Scott would wait¡ªbut Scott Summers rarely waited when his authority was in question.

    Rogue crossed her arms, standing between them for a moment before stepping aside, giving them space. Her green eyes darted between Alamo and Scott, uncertainty flickering in her gaze.

    The corridor felt narrower now.

    The distance between Cyclops and The Alamo had shrunk to a mere few feet.

    And the conversation that followed would determine everything

    The air between Cyclops and The Alamo was thick with tension. The hallway, wide and elegant, seemed narrower with the intensity of their confrontation. The soft hum of conversation elsewhere in the mansion faded into the background as the two men squared off, their postures rigid, their gazes locked. Rogue and Jubilee stood nearby, glancing between them, unsure whether to intervene or let the confrontation run its course.

    Cyclops took a step forward, standing tall, his arms crossed, the red glow of his visor reflecting faintly off the polished floor. His voice was cold, controlled, but there was no mistaking the edge in his tone.

    "You''re in the X-Mansion now, Alamo. There''s some respect you have to have here, to us. This is not Houston. You''re not here to question. You''re here to help."

    Alamo, hovering just slightly above the ground before his boots touched down with a soft thud, tilted his head. His chrome mask reflected the corridor lights, red eyes dim but focused. His tone was calm, almost lazy, but beneath it lay a steady defiance.

    "I¡¯m always there to help, but also to question. There ain¡¯t nothin¡¯ wrong with intellectual debate, Cyclops."

    Cyclops¡¯ jaw tightened. His gloved hand twitched slightly by his side.

    "There is, when you¡¯re eroding the trust within our team."

    Alamo shifted his weight, folding his arms across his chest. The air around him shimmered faintly with the residual hum of plasma energy.

    "Maybe you¡¯re not bein¡¯ able to maintain that trust yerself."

    The words hung in the air like a challenge. Neither man moved. For a long moment, the silence between them said more than words could. Rogue glanced at Jubilee, who widened her eyes, mouthing "Oh no" but staying quiet.

    Cyclops stepped in closer, the tension between them palpable. His voice lowered, cold and direct.

    "If you keep like that, you won¡¯t be here for long."

    Alamo didn¡¯t flinch. Slowly, deliberately, he uncrossed his arms, letting them fall to his sides. His masked face tilted, red eyes narrowing behind the chrome.

    "This is yer property. Xavier¡¯s property. Y¡¯all make the rules. I abide or I leave. I don¡¯t want to leave just yet, but I might¡­"

    A pause.

    "So, fer now, I¡¯ll do as y¡¯all say."

    Cyclops exhaled slowly. Some of the tension bled from his posture, but his gaze remained hard.

    "Good. You don¡¯t have to like me¡ª"

    "I don¡¯t," Alamo cut in smoothly.

    The sharpness of the interruption made Cyclops'' mouth tighten into a hard line. His fingers flexed slightly by his side, and Jean Grey, watching from afar, tensed, ready to step in if things escalated.

    "But," Alamo continued, "you have to respect me."

    Cyclops took another breath, slower this time.

    "I was never disrespectful. But if ya understand it that way, I won¡¯t question ya¡­ not here¡­ not now. But eventually, y¡¯know how it goes."

    The mask¡¯s reflective surface revealed nothing of the expression beneath, but his tone said enough¡ªcalm, but unwilling to concede more than necessary.

    Cyclops narrowed his visor, leaning forward slightly. His voice lowered into something more personal.

    "Also, watch out what you say to Rogue."

    Alamo didn¡¯t hesitate. His voice came out sharper this time, cutting through the moment like a blade.

    "Rogue¡¯s a smart and capable adult. She don¡¯t need ya bossin¡¯ her ''round."

    A flicker of something crossed Cyclops face. He stepped back half a pace, squaring his shoulders.

    "Are you speaking for her?"

    Before Alamo could reply, Rogue stepped in between them, raising her hands.

    "Alright, ya two," she drawled, her Southern accent softening the tension in the air. "Y¡¯all done? Let¡¯s not make this thing worse than it has to be."

    The two men stared at each other for another moment. Finally, Cyclops turned on his heel, walking back toward Jean Grey, who had been watching with silent concern.

    "I¡¯ll be watching you, Duncan," Cyclops said over his shoulder.

    Alamo didn¡¯t miss a beat.

    "Good thing ya have eyes, Scott."

    The retort hung in the air as Cyclops reached Jean, who placed a steadying hand on his arm. He didn¡¯t look back.

    Rogue turned to face Alamo, arms crossed over her chest. Jubilee stood beside her, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, clearly still processing the tension.

    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    "Why can¡¯t ya two just get along?" Rogue asked, her voice laced with exasperation.

    Alamo exhaled, shaking his head.

    "I don¡¯t like bein¡¯ ordered ''round."

    Rogue gave him a pointed look, placing a hand on her hip.

    "Like Ah said, Cap¡¯s over there. Ya ain¡¯t buttin¡¯ heads with the old man."

    Alamo glanced toward Captain America, who was deep in conversation with Professor Xavier, Wolverine and Storm across the room. He shrugged.

    "I like Captain America."

    Jubilee groaned loudly, throwing her arms in the air.

    "Alright, that was totally not cool, dudes. Relax. This is too much. I can¡¯t with all this macho drama. Honestly."

    Rogue laughed softly at Jubilee¡¯s theatrics, her gaze returning to Alamo. Her smile faded slightly, replaced by something softer.

    "He¡¯s tryin¡¯ to keep us in one piece, Alamo."

    Alamo looked at her for a long moment. Behind the chrome mask, his expression remained hidden, but his voice softened, just a touch.

    "Fair. I''ll behave."

    He turned his head slightly, his red eyes lingering longer on Cyclops, who now stood beside Jean Grey. The tension between them had faded, but the unspoken challenge still lingered in the air.

    "I simply say what I see," Alamo muttered.

    Rogue sighed, shaking her head with a smile that didn¡¯t quite reach her eyes.

    "Alright, Y¡¯all done? Let us not make this thing worse than it has to be."

    Alamo tilted his head slightly, still watching Cyclops from a distance.

    "We¡¯ll see, Rogue. We¡¯ll see."

    The standoff had ended, but the tension hadn¡¯t lifted. Not entirely. Not yet.

    And somewhere deep inside the mansion, they all knew the real challenges were still ahead.

    The War Room was a marvel of modern technology. Sleek steel walls reflected soft, ambient lighting, and the large, circular table at the center bore a bold X etched into its surface¡ªa symbol of unity, resilience, and responsibility. Surrounding the room, a network of holographic displays and advanced computers hummed faintly, their screens showing satellite feeds, legal documents, and detailed schematics of **Sentinels**. It was a far cry from the messy corkboard Alamo kept back home.

    As the group filtered in, chairs scraped against the floor, and conversations buzzed in low murmurs. The Avengers and X-Men rarely shared spaces like this; there was a quiet curiosity in their interactions. Some casual. Some cautious.

    Iron Man surveyed the room, helmet retracted, his sharp gaze lingering on the tech.

    "Not a bad setup," he muttered.

    Alamo, who floated a few inches above the floor before landing with a soft thump, looked around with folded arms.

    "Ya don¡¯t have one of these, Mr.Stark?"

    Tony Stark smirked.

    "Oh yeah, but even better. Worthington got nothing on me, I can assure you. But sometimes you just need a corkboard and it''s enough, if that''s your thing."

    Jubilee, popping her gum, leaned back in her chair beside Rogue.

    "Yeah, Dunkie. Thought you were all about that corkboard life. Heard you¡¯ve got one of those detective boards with pins and string."

    Alamo tipped his hat slightly, voice carrying his usual Texan drawl.

    "Cool, right?"

    Jubilee raised an eyebrow.

    "Kinda weird, not gonna lie. But... it does have that old-school charm."

    Gambit, reclining nearby, gave his signature grin.

    "Non? Maybe Duncan¡¯s corkboard got more answers than all these computers combined."

    "Oh yeah, Cajun. That''s the spirit." He broke a bit of his usual mask of restraint.

    Rogue elbowed Alamo playfully.

    "Ah¡¯m startin¡¯ to think ya are actually human, sugah."

    Alamo shrugged with a small grin behind his chrome mask.

    "Well, let me know when I start soundin'' too personable."

    The light banter faded as Captain America, Professor Xavier, and Cyclops moved to the front of the room. The atmosphere shifted¡ªseriousness settling in. Cyclops'' visor glinted as he kept a steady gaze on Alamo, the tension from their earlier conversation still lingering.

    Then, She-Hulk strutted to the front, papers in hand. She wore her usual confident smirk, though it softened when she glanced at Captain America and Cyclops, ready to present the legal strategy they had devised.

    Gambit, always charming, leaned toward Alamo with a conspiratorial grin.

    "One hell of a party, non?"

    Alamo glanced at the polished surroundings.

    "Yeah, crossover of a lifetime"

    Gambit gave a low chuckle.

    "Somethin¡¯ like that, cowboy."

    Alamo narrowed his glowing red eyes behind the mask as She-Hulk began flipping through her documents. He watched her with suspicion.

    "What she knows of finance? I started this case." He muttered in disappointment.

    Gambit caught the tone.

    "Little jealous, mon ami?"

    Alamo shot him a look.

    "Of yer girlfriend?"

    Gambit laughed.

    "She ain''t Gambit''s girlfriend."

    Alamo tilted his head.

    "Don¡¯t tell me ya ain¡¯t goin¡¯ after her, though."

    Gambitsimply winked.

    "Never said dat."

    Before the conversation could continue, Captain America spoke, his voice commanding the attention of the entire room.

    "Attention, everyone. Avengers. X-Men."

    The room fell silent. All eyes turned to Steve Rogers, standing tall in his iconic suit, the weight of leadership clear in his voice. Beside him, Professor Xavier sat in quiet dignity, his hands folded in his lap, while Cyclops stood rigid, arms crossed, visor gleaming.

    The table was filled: Storm, regal as ever; Rogue, watching the front but occasionally glancing at Alamo, Iron Man, relaxed yet attentive; Falcon, sharp-eyed and thoughtful; Wasp, fingers drumming lightly on the table; Beast, hands folded over the book he brought in; Jean Grey, serene but perceptive; Gambit, casual but listening; Jubilee, playing with a strand of her hair but fully engaged; and Alamo, shifting restlessly in his seat.

    She-Hulk stepped forward, confident and poised.

    "Let¡¯s break this down. Legally, we have an opening. If we can secure proper evidence tying Trask International to the illegal Sentinel operations, we¡¯ll have a strong case under federal law. Specifically, Section 775 of the Superhuman Activities Act would be our best angle. The Sentinels weren¡¯t just property¡ªthey were weapons deployed without congressional approval."

    Despite her clear delivery, most in the room seemed detached. Storm maintained polite attention, but her distant gaze suggested doubt. Jean seemed more focused on Cyclops, sensing his growing frustration. Beast adjusted his glasses thoughtfully, but even he appeared skeptical.

    The only one who couldn¡¯t sit still was Alamo. He shifted in his chair constantly¡ªcrossing and uncrossing his legs, tapping his fingers, leaning forward then back. His movements were small but relentless.

    Jubilee, finally unable to ignore it, turned toward him.

    "Jeez, Dunkie. Settle down."

    Alamo stopped tapping but didn¡¯t look at her.

    "He¡¯s fixin¡¯ to say somethin''," Rogue said knowingly.

    Iron Man leaned toward Wasp, whispering with a smirk.

    "Watch this."

    Finally, Alamo straightened. The faint hum of plasma energy buzzed as his voice, sharp and unwavering, broke through the room¡¯s calm.

    "Y¡¯all are obsessed with the government solvin¡¯ this thing."

    All heads turned toward him.

    "But Trask? He prolly goin¡¯ to buy the judge, the jury, and in the worst case, the damn system. No matter how robust yer prosecution is, it¡¯s goin¡¯ to fail. Y¡¯all are trustin¡¯ a government that has never really worked in our favor. As y¡¯know... the government does."

    She-Hulk lowered her papers, arching a brow.

    "If we find the right prosecution, the right judge, they will do what¡¯s right. Those who understand the situation of the oppressed¡ª"

    Alamo raised a hand.

    "Oh no."

    The word hung heavy, dripping with disdain.

    "It¡¯s bullshit, is what it is. What if the government¡¯s involved? Y¡¯all think they won¡¯t try to clear their name? Assumin¡¯ they didn¡¯t do it already?"

    The room tensed.

    Wolverine, silent until now, took a long drag of his cigar. His narrowed eyes flicked toward Rogue and Gambit. The Mississippi girl gave him a knowing look. They understood Alamo¡¯s point better than most. Logan had lived it¡ªWeapon X had seen to that.

    Cyclops crossed his arms tighter. His jaw clenched. Jean, sensing his frustration, placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, but it didn¡¯t loosen his posture.

    Professor Xavier finally spoke, his voice calm yet resolute.

    "I understand why you¡¯re skeptical of government action, Mr. Nenni. But given America¡¯s common law status, this case could set a powerful precedent. Institutional justice¡ªreal justice¡ªcan be achieved. Not just for mutants. For everyone."

    Captain America nodded. His expression was firm but patient.

    "There are good judges. Bad judges. But Professor Xavier is right. If we do this by the book, everyone benefits. If we go black ops, execute this without backing? Trask makes himself a martyr. Mutant rights? They only worsen. You told me you¡¯re a reformist, Alamo. Not a revolutionary."

    Alamo leaned back, arms crossed, silent for a moment. His mask reflected the polished table.

    "I ain¡¯t a revolutionary," he admitted finally. "But y¡¯all have an overtly positive view of the government. I ain¡¯t sure robust evidence is enough to put Trask behind bars."

    Wolverine gave a low grunt, nodding.

    "Kid¡¯s right, Cap. After all the bull the feds pull, can we even trust ¡¯em?"

    Gambit tapped the table with a card.

    "Can¡¯t say I disagree."

    She-Hulk shot Gambit a glare. He coughed, looking away.

    "Oh ''nother note, maybe de mademoiselle has a point."

    "Thanks" She-Hulk muttered soundless just her lips making movement and a smirk at the end.

    Rogue rolled her eyes at Gambit and his poor attempt to pretend he wasn''t appeasing to the emerald lawyer.

    "The legal backing is essential," Jennifer insisted. "We want systemic change. Not a one-time solution. It¡¯s a bandaid otherwise."

    Alamo looked toward Captain America, his voice softer but filled with conviction.

    "Are you confident in this method, Cap?"

    Steve Rogers didn¡¯t hesitate. His blue eyes met Alamo¡¯s mask, unwavering.

    "I¡¯m confident in people¡¯s ability to see overwhelming evidence of evil¡ªand refuse to condone it."

    Alamo sighed, lowering his head for a moment.

    "I don¡¯t think the incentives are good ¡¯nuff, but I¡¯ll defer to yer judgment, Cap. But if this goes sideways¡ª"

    Cap nodded once.

    "We¡¯ll find a way. We always do."

    Wolverine finally smiling a grim smile, raised his cigar.

    "Damn right, bub."

    The War Room settled into silence once more. The lines were drawn. The plan was set. The mission had begun.

    The War Room fell into a contemplative silence after Wolverine''s gruff affirmation. All eyes turned to Captain America, who stood at the head of the table, shield resting against the wall behind him. His blue eyes scanned the room, measuring each person present. After a moment, he spoke, his voice steady and commanding.

    "What¡¯s next, Cap?" Iron Man asked, crossing his arms, his metallic armor reflecting the overhead lights.

    Steve Rogers didn¡¯t answer immediately. Instead, he turned slightly.

    "Ororo, could you come here?"

    Storm moved with her trademark elegance, gliding across the room with the grace of a queen. Her white hair shimmered under the soft lighting. The silver trim on her black outfit caught the light as if the goddess of the skies herself was answering a royal summons. All conversation ceased as she took her place beside Captain America.

    Meanwhile, She-Hulk smoothly took a seat beside Gambit, who greeted her with his usual roguish smile.

    "May I sit here?"

    "Mademoiselle Walters, the pleasure be all mine."

    "Charmed," Jennifer replied with a playful smirk, adjusting the sleeve of her white suit jacket.

    Steve gave a nod toward the room, his voice rising with clarity and resolve.

    "Iron Man. Wasp. Rogue. Gambit. Jubilee. She-Hulk. And Alamo¡ªyou will head to Chicago under Storm¡¯s leadership. Your objective is clear: find Graydon Creed or, at the very least, track his whereabouts."

    A murmur rippled through the team. Rogue, arms crossed but intrigued, gave Alamo a sidelong glance. Jubilee, popping her gum, leaned closer to Rogue, whispering with a grin:

    "Road trip with Dunkie, huh? This¡¯ll be somethin¡¯."

    Alamo, floating an inch above the floor again, slowly descended, his arms folded. His mask¡¯s red glow didn¡¯t flicker as he spoke.

    "Chicago. Haven''t been there in a minute. Could be interestin''."

    Storm raised her hand, instantly silencing any further banter. Her eyes, sharp and commanding, swept over the group.

    "As Rogue previously mentioned, there¡¯s an office linked to Creed in Chicago. It¡¯s possible Creed is still there, though more likely he¡¯s fled. We are not to engage unnecessarily. Our goal is intelligence. We gather information¡ªany piece of data that can lead us closer to Creed or Trask."

    Her gaze intensified.

    "I expect the entire team to be on their best behavior. I will not tolerate dissent for the sake of dissent. I do not care if you are an Avenger, an X-Man, or neither. On this mission, we are all family. We are all people, working together. I demand respect, care, and empathy. Is that understood?"

    Her voice, firm and unwavering, echoed through the room.

    Rogue nodded without hesitation.

    "Understood, Ororo."

    Alamo, after a slight pause, dipped his hat with a respectful nod.

    "Understood, ma¡¯am."

    She-Hulk crossed her legs, looking relaxed yet attentive.

    "Crystal clear, Storm. Best behavior. Promise."

    Iron Man gave a mock salute.

    "Yes, ma¡¯am. Fully loaded, emotionally stable, best behavior¡ªStark style."

    Storm narrowed her eyes slightly at Tony¡¯s sarcasm but chose not to engage.

    Jubilee, grinning, leaned back in her chair.

    "We got this, Stormy. No worries."

    Gambit gave a lazy two-fingered salute.

    "Oui, my D¨¦esse . Gambit always behaves... mostly."

    Storm gave a final glance around the room before turning.

    "We leave in five minutes. I expect you all in the hangar. Let¡¯s move."

    The group began to disperse.

    As the main group made their way out, Captain America turned to the remaining X-Men.

    "Cyclops. Wolverine. Phoenix¡ªyou¡¯re with me."

    Cyclops adjusted his visor, standing tall.

    "Understood, Captain."

    Wolverine, cigar clenched between his teeth, gave a low grunt.

    "Guess the old crew''s back in action, huh?"

    Jean Grey, with her serene presence, nodded.

    "Let¡¯s make sure we¡¯re ready."

    Bobby Drake (Iceman) and Kitty Pryde lingered by the doorway.

    "Hey, what about us?" Bobby asked with a raised brow.

    Cyclops, already striding forward, looked back briefly.

    "We¡¯ll talk when we¡¯re back."

    "Not again," Bobby groaned.

    "Patience, Bobby," Kitty said with a shrug, though the disappointment was evident in her voice.

    On the way to the hangar, **Gambit** sidled up next to Alamo, his trench coat billowing with each stride.

    "Ever been to Chicago, mon ami?"

    Alamo gave a curt nod.

    "Oh yeah. Did a three-week program at the University of Chicago back in the day."

    She-Hulk, overhearing, turned with a teasing smirk.

    "Chicago? Very fancy." She said sarcastically.

    Alamo, never missing a beat, adjusted his hat.

    "Gotta keep up with the best."

    Jennifer Walters scoffed lightly.

    "And Chicago¡¯s the best?"

    Alamo gave a knowing smile behind his mask.

    "In terms of economics? Absolutely. Home of Milton Friedman, Gary Becker, Robert Lucas Jr. the Chicago School¡ªtop-notch thinkers."

    She-Hulk rolled her eyes.

    "Typical. Of course you¡¯d say that, given your... proclivities."

    Jubilee, glancing between them with confusion, tugged at Rogue''s sleeve.

    "What are they even talkin¡¯ about, Roguey?"

    Rogue, floating briefly before touching back down beside Alamo, shrugged with a grin.

    "No clue, Jubes. But ah¡¯m sure Duncan here thinks he sounds real smart."

    Alamo turned slightly, mock offense in his voice.

    "Oh bless yer heart, Rogue. I always sound smart... At least I try to."

    Iron Man, flying low in his armor beside them, chimed in.

    "Kid thinks he''s a genius economist and a hero. Confidence levels: Stark-approved."

    Rogue smirked.

    "Well, sugah, confidence don¡¯t mean yer right."

    The team finally reached the hangar, where the Blackbird awaited them¡ªsleek, black, and prepped for launch. Its engines hummed quietly, eager for flight. Storm was already checking the systems, her expression focused and unwavering.

    "All aboard," she said without looking back.

    "We leave immediately."

    She-Hulk stretched her arms.

    "Let¡¯s make this trip interesting. Chicago awaits."

    Jubilee, hopping excitedly beside Rogue, grinned.

    "Road trip! But, you know, with less snacks and more danger."

    Gambit, flicking a charged card between his fingers, winked at Alamo.

    "Ready to find our monster, cowboy?"

    "I''m not sure we''ll."

    The team gathered before the hangar, the sleek Blackbird humming softly, its engines warming up for the journey ahead. The underground bay bustled with automated systems and dim floodlights reflecting off the jet¡¯s polished frame.

    Alamo, standing tall with his black cattleman hat casting a shadow over his chrome mask, glanced up at the ceiling as the massive hangar doors slowly creaked open to reveal the morning sky. The faint scent of jet fuel mixed with the crisp air from above.

    "I ain''t a fan of flyin'' inside cans," he said, his voice echoing slightly in the cavernous space. "Y''all mind if I fly like... naturally?"

    Tony Stark, already in his Iron Man suit, turned with a metallic shrug.

    "Well, I second the cowboy. I''ll do the escort too¡ªif you don¡¯t mind me."

    Rogue, standing beside Jubilee with her arms crossed, raised an eyebrow.

    "Y¡¯all know, this oughta have an X-Man out there too."

    Jubilee snorted.

    "Of course you¡¯d say that, Roguey."

    "Shush, Jubes," Rogue shot back with a grin. Then, turning back to Alamo, "Ah''m goin'' with y¡¯all."

    Tony floated toward the Blackbird, jets hissing as he lowered beside Janet Van Dyne, who was checking systems in her suit.

    "Something wrong, Tony?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

    "Oh, y¡¯know," Tony replied with a smirk. "I don¡¯t wanna steal Texas Noir and Southern Gothic¡¯s show. Figured I¡¯d have better company if you know what I mean."

    Janet raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

    "Don¡¯t flatter yourself, Stark."

    Tony laughed, "Ouch. Fair."

    Inside the Blackbird, the team took their seats.

    Gambit casually slid into a seat beside She-Hulk, offering her a charming grin.

    "Let''s have a good trip, ch¨¦re, right?"

    "Behave, Cajun," Jennifer replied, smirking but not looking up from her legal briefs.

    Jubilee rolled her eyes dramatically.

    "Get a room, you two."

    She plopped down beside Ororo in the cockpit, peeking out at the opening skies.

    "At least someone is getting fresh air." The weather goddess smiled softly.

    As the hangar doors fully opened, Rogue and Alamo stepped forward. Without hesitation, Rogue rose into the sky, her leather jacket billowing. Alamo followed, a trail of glowing blue plasma shimmering behind him as he lifted with ease, his boots skimming the concrete before leaving it behind.

    Iron Man hovered close, jets roaring as he drifted beside them.

    "Let¡¯s see if ya worked on yer flight, cowboy," Rogue teased, glancing at Alamo from the corner of her eye.

    "I still fly faster, Rogue."

    Rogue smirked. "Ah fly prettier."

    There was a pause.

    Duncan considered his words carefully, but then spoke anyway.

    "That you do, that you do."

    The sincerity in Alamo¡¯s tone caught Rogue off guard. She glanced at him quickly, a soft blush creeping up her cheeks. She looked away, brushing a loose strand of white hair behind her ear.

    For a moment, there was silence. The wind whistled past them, high above the sprawling terrain below.

    "Fer someone who said didn¡¯t like teams, ya sure seem likin¡¯ ta talk," Rogue quipped, her voice softer now.

    "People are people, Rogue," Alamo replied. "I ain¡¯t puttin¡¯ an X on my chest. I¡¯m just talkin¡¯."

    Rogue slowed her pace slightly to fly side by side with him.

    "It don¡¯t harm ya to talk, does it? It ain¡¯t so bad not bein¡¯ alone."

    Alamo glanced her way, his mask hiding any expression, but his voice betrayed a rare warmth.

    "Well, the company is memorable."

    Rogue arched a brow. "Oh really?"

    "Really."

    There was a brief silence, before Rogue spoke.

    "Ya liked the mansion."  Rogue smirked from the side of the her lips.

    "It''s better than I expected, I really expected y''all to pull a number and make it like a worsened version of a college dorm room."

    "''Ro likes it tight and clean, organization is her love language or somethin''."

    "And what is yer love language?"

    Her smile faltered for just a moment as her eyes drifted down to her gloved hands. She flexed her fingers slightly, staring longer than she meant to.

    Touch.

    The word echoed in her mind, unspoken. That¡¯s all she wanted sometimes.

    But she didn¡¯t say it aloud.

    Alamo, perceptive even through the mask, noticed the pause. He said nothing, letting the silence stretch as they continued gliding through the open sky.

    After a moment, Alamo finally broke it.

    "Well, if he¡¯s there, it¡¯ll solve a whole mess of problems. If he ain¡¯t, we¡¯ll find out soon enough."

    Rogue shook the thoughts from her mind and nodded, her southern drawl returning.

    "Yeah, that¡¯s right."

    ¡°Race ya!¡± Alamo said, the smirk was felt even in his voice. He wanted to cheer her up.

    Rogue laughed, flipping backward through the air before diving into a tight barrel roll.

    "Ah thought y¡¯all said ya were faster, Dunkie!"

    Alamo, not one to back down, followed suit¡ªexecuting a clean corkscrew spin, plasma trailing in perfect symmetry behind him.

    "Don''t call me that... But yeah, I''m takin'' my sweet time enjoyin'' the company, ma''am."

    Rogue glanced sideways at him again, biting her bottom lip before rolling her eyes.

    "Flatterin'' don''t get ya first place, cowboy."

    They continued their playful aerial dance, weaving through clouds and over the rural expanse below.

    Minutes Later

    As the group leveled out, the Chicago skyline finally came into view. The Willis Tower stood tall among glass-and-steel giants, glinting in the early afternoon sun. The Chicago River cut through the city, winding like a silver snake beneath them.

    Alamo slowed slightly.

    "Well, there it is."

    Rogue, hovering beside him, stared down at the sprawling metropolis.

    "Chicago, huh? Been a while since Ah¡¯ve been here."

    "Me too, but not long ''nuff."

    "Not a fan?"

    "Not really." His voice came dry.

    "So here''s is where we find our man"

    "Or nothin'' at all."

    "Ain''t ya just a sun of positivity"

    As the city approached the questions lingered, would they find Graydon Creed, or would they just chase ghosts?

 Chapter 9: Gone

    The Blackbird descended smoothly onto the rooftop heliport of the Chicago tower, its landing struts hissing as they met the concrete. The sleek jet¡¯s matte-black surface shimmered faintly under the midday sun, reflecting the glass of surrounding skyscrapers. Alamo and Rogue were already waiting near the landing pad, having arrived minutes earlier. Rogue floated a few inches off the ground with her arms crossed, her white streaks fluttering in the breeze. Beside her, Alamo stood tall, hovering slightly with his usual calm, the faint blue glow of plasma energy trailing from his boots. His black cattleman hat shaded the red glow of his mask¡¯s lenses as he surveyed the area.

    As the Avengers and X-Men stepped out of the Blackbird, a commotion broke the steady rhythm of their coordinated mission. A woman, dressed in a sharp gray suit, emerged from the building¡¯s access doors onto the heliport. Three security guards flanked her, all looking far more nervous than their stern expressions suggested.

    "You can¡¯t land here! You can¡¯t land here!" she shouted, her voice carrying desperation as she marched toward the group. Her clipboard rattled in her hands, and the guards looked equally hesitant.

    Before anyone else could respond, Iron Man stepped forward. The sun gleamed off the crimson and gold of his suit, Tony Stark¡¯s voice echoing from the helmet with his signature confidence.

    "Sorry, lady. We¡¯re here on official Avengers business," he said, raising both hands in mock surrender.

    The woman adjusted her glasses, exasperated. "Official or not, you had to notify us before landing here. There are protocols, landing fees¡ªregulations."

    Tony tilted his helmet slightly. "How much?"

    She blinked. "What?"

    "How much to stay here?" Tony repeated, as if asking for the price of coffee.

    "Sir¡ª"

    "Does five thousand dollars work?"

    Her mouth opened and closed, uncertain.

    "Uh¡ª"

    "Great. What¡¯s your account address?"

    The guards exchanged glances. Tony took a step closer, lowering his voice. "Trust me, five grand is far better than nothing. And, boys¡ªseriously¡ªthere¡¯s no paycheck in the world that justifies fighting both the Avengers and the X-Men today."

    The guards looked at each other, then at the imposing figures of Storm, She-Hulk, and Wasp standing behind Tony. They didn¡¯t move.

    Meanwhile, the rest of the team was already heading toward the building¡¯s entrance. Storm led the way, her white hair gleaming, flanked by Gambit, She-Hulk, and Wasp in one group. Rogue, Alamo, and Jubilee followed in the second elevator.

    "I¡¯ll wrap it up here and catch up," Tony said, gesturing casually.

    As the doors to the elevators slid open, Jubilee cracked her knuckles dramatically.

    "When we find that bastard, I¡¯m gonna blow his face up," she muttered.

    "Jubes, calm down," Rogue replied, placing a gloved hand on her friend¡¯s shoulder. "Ain¡¯t nobody blowin¡¯ anybody¡¯s face up, sugah."

    "No fun," Jubilee pouted, kicking the floor lightly.

    Alamo glanced at Jubilee, his voice calm. "I¡¯m sure you wouldn¡¯t like that."

    Jubilee¡¯s cocky grin faltered for a split second. A flicker of something darker crossed her face¡ªvulnerability, perhaps. Her eyes clouded for a moment, distant.

    Rogue noticed. "Ya good, Jubes?"

    "Yeah, Roguey. I¡¯m fine," Jubilee replied quickly, brushing off the moment with a forced smile.

    The elevator chimed. The doors slid open to reveal a sleek corridor with polished wooden floors leading to a modern office door framed by minimalist art. The rest of the team regrouped as Iron Man finally caught up.

    "This should be it," Storm said, glancing back at everyone.

    "Everyone here? Yeah? Let¡¯s go." Tony Stark¡¯s voice echoed from the back.

    Rogue approached the sleek wooden door and cracked her knuckles. "Ah¡¯ll just kick it down."

    "A little patience, non?" Gambit grinned, removing round sunglasses he wore, he lowered himself to one knee as he retrieved a lockpicking kit from his coat. With practiced ease, he inserted the tension wrench and began working the pins.

    The team watched in silence. Forty seconds later, a satisfying click echoed through the hallway.

    "Voil¨¤," Gambit said, standing and pushing the door open with a flourish.

    She-Hulk raised an eyebrow. "Where did you learn that, Monsieur LeBeau?"

    "Oh, ch¨¦re," Gambit smiled roguishly, "it¡¯s a long story. But Gambit tells ya if you want to hear, non?"

    "I¡¯d like that," Jennifer replied, smirking.

    The team entered.

    The office was sleek, modern, and¡ªunexpectedly¡ªa complete mess. The sharp lines of the minimalist furniture were buried beneath wrappers from fast food joints, scattered clothing, and shredded documents.

    It was clear Graydon Creed had left in a hurry.

    "Ew, man, this place stinks," Jubilee said, waving a hand in front of her nose. "I could be at home right now playing COD Zombies or somethin¡¯, but this? This is nasty."

    "Oh, you play COD Zombies?" Alamo asked, glancing at her.

    "Wait¡ªyou do too?"

    "Sure."

    Jubilee¡¯s eyes widened. "Oh, so cool, man. Finally, you¡¯re not some lame-o nerd."

    Alamo scoffed, crossing his arms. "I ain¡¯t lame."

    Storm raised a hand for silence. The group split to search the space.

    Rogue¡¯s voice rang out moments later. "Hey, there¡¯s somethin¡¯ y¡¯all gotta see."

    The team converged on a small bathroom at the back of the office.

    The smell hit them first¡ªstale air, unwashed clothes, and a faint medicinal tang. The bathroom was filthy, more rundown than the rest of the office.

    Rogue stood by the sink, holding a prescription bottle. The label was clear: Sertraline.

    "Sertraline," she read aloud.

    Iron Man stepped beside her, glancing at the bottle. "Oh, that¡¯s strong."

    Storm picked up another bottle from the floor. "Seems like he was having emotional problems. The sheer number of these bottles suggests addiction."

    Gambit leaned closer, lifting a bottle to read the label. "It¡¯s got his name on it... prescribed by some doctor."

    Jennifer straightened, her tone firm. "Clinical depression. But it¡¯s no justification for his actions."

    Alamo said nothing, his gaze lingering on the cluttered bathroom before turning back toward the main room.

    The team regrouped near a makeshift sleeping area set up in the corner of the office. A mattress, wrinkled clothes, and half-eaten fast food containers littered the floor.

    "He was eatin¡¯ a lot of fast food," Alamo observed, picking up a crumpled burger wrapper. "Definitely not in the state to cook."

    Gambit leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Think he gave up?"

    Alamo opened a drawer. Most of the clothing inside was gone. He shook his head. "Unlikely. He just ran away. The question is¡ªwhere to?"

    She-Hulk re-entered the room, holding a glossy brochure between two fingers.

    "Alaska," she said.

    "What?" Alamo turned.

    She held up the brochure, the words ¡®Explore Alaska¡¯ printed in bold over images of mountains and glaciers.

    "You believe he¡¯s in Alaska because of a brochure?"

    "You got any better ideas?" Jennifer asked, arching a brow.

    Alamo stared at the brochure, unconvinced. "It ain¡¯t good enough. Probably doesn¡¯t mean nothin¡¯."

    "You¡¯re wrong," She-Hulk replied, folding her arms. "I¡¯m sure it means something."

    Alamo remained silent, red eyes narrowing behind his mask. The room, though chaotic, left more questions than answers. Creed was on the run, that much was clear¡ªbut whether he was heading north or laying a false trail, he wasn''t sure, even if he seemed like that.

    "He¡¯s gone," Gambit muttered, crouching beside a tall wardrobe-like piece of furniture. His red-on-black eyes narrowed as he leaned closer, his gloved fingers brushing against the dust-coated floor inside. He swiped a thin layer of dust between his fingertips before turning to the others with a small, knowing grin.

    She-Hulk and Alamo stepped closer. Jennifer tilted her head, arms crossed over her chest, while Alamo remained still, his hand resting against the edge of his chrome mask.

    "The dust," Gambit began, standing with his usual effortless grace. "You can clearly see the small wheel tracks here. Large luggage. Heavy one too. He left in a hurry."

    Alamo peered at the faint indentations on the dusty floor. "Oh, it makes sense. He wasn¡¯t plannin¡¯ on comin¡¯ back."

    "Smart man,"She-Hulk added with a smirk. "He knew we''d come after him."

    "Or maybe it was somethin'' else." Alamo said, crossing his arms as he looked around the room.

    "So," Gambit dusted off his hands with a casual flick, "maybe he¡¯s in Alaska after all?"

    Jennifer shot a smug glance at Alamo."Told you the brochure wasn¡¯t just for show."

    Before Alamo could respond, Tony Stark¡¯s voice echoed from the adjacent room.

    "Hey! I found a computer."

    The entire team converged quickly into the main office, where Iron Man stood beside a sleek black monitor, its cables tangled among empty energy drink cans and discarded paperwork. The room had the stale scent of cold takeout and machinery.

    "Alright, let¡¯s see if this is a treasure trove... or just pure, unadulterated crap," Tony quipped.

    With a flick of his armored wrist, a small interface port extended from Iron Man¡¯s gauntlet, which he connected directly into the side of the desktop. Holographic projections of code flashed in the air, green lines of encrypted data streaming past.

    "And... I¡¯m in."

    The team watched in tense silence as lines of data scrolled faster.

    "Hmmm." Tony leaned back. "Well, look at that¡ªhe wiped the whole damn thing. Factory reset. Clean as a whistle."

    "Nothing?" She-Hulk stepped forward, squinting at the empty directories appearing on the screen.

    "Nada. He either smashed the hard drive or took it with him. Given the luggage theory? My money¡¯s on the latter," Tony said.

    "Smart enough not to leave evidence," Gambit said, leaning against the wall.

    "Hey, Mr.Stark," Jubilee called from the corner, holding up a crumpled paper bag. "I found this receipt. DoorDash order, three days ago."

    Tony turned. "Nice work, kid."

    "Heh, thanks!" she beamed.

    "Very good, petite," Gambit added with a wink.

    "Alright," Tony said, returning to the screen. "Three days ago, huh? Let me tap into the airport databases."

    Iron Man¡¯s gauntlet glowed faintly as he worked. Data scrolled rapidly across the floating holograms, filtering passenger lists and travel manifests.

    "Let¡¯s see... Graydon Creed," Tony murmured. "Three days ago. Chicago O¡¯Hare International departures to Anchorage."

    Everyone leaned in. The screen flashed: "No Results Found."

    "Nothing for three days ago," Tony confirmed. "Not two, not yesterday. Creed didn¡¯t fly outta here¡ªat least, not under his own name."

    "Damnit," Jubilee groaned.

    A pause followed. The group stared at the screen in silence until Alamo broke it. His gloved hand tapped his mask¡¯s chin thoughtfully.

    "Kane."

    The room turned toward him.

    "What?" Tony asked, glancing up from the console.

    "Try Kane," Alamo repeated. "I reckon it was Thomas Kane. He used that name back when he tried movin¡¯ corporate bonds at America Bank. Sounded like a legitimate front."

    Tony stared for a beat, then a slow grin spread under the helmet¡¯s reflective faceplate.

    "Kane, huh? Let¡¯s see..."

    The data filtered again, this time faster. Then¡ªbing¡ªa match appeared.

    "Thomas Kane. Took a flight at three in the morning. Destination¡ªAnchorage, Alaska."

    "Told ya," Alamo said simply, leaning back with arms crossed.

    She-Hulk turned to him with a wide, smug grin. "Who¡¯s wrong now, cowboy?"

    Gambit chuckled from the doorway, crossing his arms.

    Alamo stuffed his hand inside his coat pockets "Alright, alright, alright. Ya got it. My bad, okay? Yer Green Eminence."

    "That¡¯s right." Jennifer beamed. "I¡¯m good at my job. Maybe when you grow up, you can be glorious and green like me."

    "Jennifer. Duncan. Behave." Storm¡¯s voice sliced through the banter with regal precision.

    "Sorry, Ororo,"Jennifer replied with a shrug.

    "My bad, Storm," Alamo added with a faint nod.

    Before another word could be spoken, a low rumble echoed through the building.

    Not just one¡ªmultiple rumbles, rolling like distant thunder. The windows trembled.

    Everyone froze.

    "What the hell was that?" Jubilee whispered.

    The rumble intensified.

    Iron Man¡¯s helmet snapped shut."Jarvis, scan the perimeter."

    Storm¡¯s eyes glowed faintly, sensing a shift in the air pressure.

    Alamo¡¯s plasma shimmered at his hands, Rogue floated half an inch off the ground, fists ready.

    "Company," Alamo said quietly, his voice steady but low.

    Another, louder boom echoed¡ªthis one closer.

    "Yep," Tony said grimly, his voice filtered through the Iron Man armor. "Definitely company."

    The parade of Sentinels emerged from the horizon, their towering forms cutting through the city skyline with precision. But these weren¡¯t the rusted-out models the X-Men and Avengers had encountered in Florida or Arkansas.

    These Sentinels were sleek, modern, and pristine¡ªtheir obsidian-black frames lined with subtle red and blue highlights that pulsed faintly, almost as if they were alive. Advanced and intimidating, they moved with eerie synchronization, their footfalls sending tremors through the city blocks.

    "What the hell..." Jubilee whispered, eyes wide.

    "These ain¡¯t the same Sentinels we fought," Gambit growled, narrowing his red-on-black eyes.

    "Everyone¡ªX-Men, Avengers¡ªGET READY!" Storm commanded, her voice echoing with authority. "They¡¯ll level the building. We MUST leave. Now!"

    No hesitation. Rogue acted first.

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    With a surge of power, she blasted through a window, the glass shattering around her as she took to the skies. Her white streak of hair trailed behind her as she soared upward, fists clenched and ready for battle.

    "Ah ain''t lettin'' these bastards wreck the city!"

    Behind her, She-Hulk grabbed Gambit with one hand¡ªlifting him like a toddler.

    "Whoa, ch¨¦re! What are ya¡ªWOAAAH!"

    With a mighty leap, she launched out of the window, Gambit flailing for a moment before regaining his composure mid-air with a grin.

    "Next time, at least gimme a warnin¡¯!"

    Wasp spread her wings, glinting in the sunlight as she shrank and zipped into the sky.

    "Showtime, people!" Iron Man quipped, thrusters roaring as he blasted off, Storm rising beside him with grace, her white hair flowing as the clouds above began to darken at her will.

    "I CAN¡¯T FLY!" Jubilee¡¯s panic echoed in the now-empty room. "DAMNIT!"

    "Gotcha, Jubes."

    Jubilee turned just in time to see Alamo hovering outside the shattered window, plasma energy glowing faintly around his boots and hands.

    "DUNKIE!" she screamed as he grabbed her effortlessly, lifting her into the air. She clung to him, eyes wide with terror and exhilaration.

    "Holy shit! This is the best thing ever¡ªbut I¡¯m scared as hell! Don¡¯t drop me, Dunkie!"

    "I won¡¯t."

    "I¡¯m holdin¡¯ tight just to be sure!" She practically wrapped herself around him.

    "Just don¡¯t be weird about it, okay?"

    Jubilee looked down¡ªher face immediately drained of color.

    "TOO LATE. I¡¯M ALREADY IN LOVE WITH THIS PLACE... but also about to lose my breakfast."

    Alamo shook his head, a smirk hidden behind the chrome mask.

    As they ascended, the battle began.

    Rogue charged first. She soared straight at the lead Sentinel, aiming a devastating punch square at its chest. The impact echoed like a thunderclap, the massive machine staggering back, metal denting beneath her strength.

    Storm¡¯s voice rang through the skies, deep and commanding.

    "The skies turn grey because judgment is near."

    Electricity crackled above as the clouds swirled, drawn by Storm¡¯s power.

    Alamo and Jubilee flew past Storm and Iron Man.

    "To err is human, to forgive is divine," Jubilee began to sing nervously. "Now I ain¡¯t forgivin¡¯, and the err ain¡¯t mine..."

    "JUBES. Are ya singin¡¯ right now?" Alamo asked, flying beside her with a Sentinel looming in the distance.

    "HELL YEAH, I AM! I CAN¡¯T LOOK DOWN!"

    "Wait¡ª" Alamo paused mid-flight. "Is that the Deadshot Daiquiri jingle? From COD Zombies?"

    "YEAH, DUDE. IT HELPS ME FOCUS!"

    Alamo shook his head with a low chuckle. "Guess it¡¯s human enough."

    Jubilee grinned wildly, clinging tighter as they streaked past the others.

    On the ground, She-Hulk moved with thunderous power.

    A Sentinel¡¯s massive hand swung down toward her, but with a roar, Jennifer Walters caught its wrist mid-swing, stopping the blow in its tracks. The metal groaned under her grip.

    "C¡¯mon, big guy¡ªgimme your best shot!"

    With a feral yell, She-Hulk yanked hard. The Sentinel¡¯s arm cracked at the shoulder joint, sparking and grinding. But it didn¡¯t fully give.

    "Mon Dieu," Gambit muttered, running up beside her. "Lemme help you, ch¨¦re."

    He flicked a handful of playing cards, charging them with kinetic energy. The cards glowed purple before exploding at the weakened socket.

    The arm severed completely, crashing to the ground.

    "Whoo! Not bad, Cajun," She-Hulk grinned, hefting the entire mechanical limb over her shoulder like a trophy.

    But then¡ªthey both froze.

    The Sentinel began to regenerate.

    Tiny metallic tendrils emerged from the severed joint, rebuilding the arm using nanotech.

    "Wat in the...?"Gambit stepped back. "Dese ain¡¯t like de others. They¡¯re fixin¡¯ demselves!"

    "Say no more!" Jennifer tossed the severed arm toward Gambit.

    With a devilish grin, Gambit touched the limb, charging it until it glowed bright purple, surging with explosive kinetic energy.

    "Time to blow, b¨¦b¨¦!"

    With all her strength, She-Hulk hurled the charged limb back at the regenerating Sentinel.

    BOOM.

    The explosion tore through the machine, shredding it into pieces too small to reassemble.

    "Oh YEAH!" She-Hulk whooped, slapping Gambit playfully on the butt.

    "Not bad, Cajun."

    Gambit stumbled for a moment, caught off guard, but quickly recovered with a sly smirk.

    "Heh... ch¨¦re, you flirtin¡¯ with danger."

    Above the battlefield, Iron Man and Storm flew side by side.

    "Well, Weather Goddess," Tony said, scanning the enemy with his helmet¡¯s HUD. "You just made the weather angry. Care to share what you¡¯ve got planned?"

    Storm¡¯s eyes were glowing white, hair whipping wildly in the winds she commanded.

    "I will let the elements decide their fate," she intoned, her voice resonating with power. "Perhaps they have asked for more than they can possibly fathom."

    Tony cocked his head. "Okay... ominous. I like it."

    The clouds above them thickened, swirling into a vortex. The air buzzed with static electricity as the wind howled.

    And then¡ªlightning struck.

    A single, massive bolt of lightning arced from the heavens, striking the lead Sentinel¡¯s head with surgical precision.

    The machine¡¯s eyes dimmed instantly. Smoke poured from its chassis, circuits fried beyond recovery. The metallic titan staggered, its towering form crashing to the ground, lifeless.

    Tony whistled.

    "Wow. Effective."

    Storm floated beside him, her eyes returning to their natural color as she simply said:

    "They asked for a storm. They got one."

    Alamo and Jubilee streaked through the sky, plasma and light trailing behind them. The air vibrated with the roar of battle. Jubilee hurled plasmoids¡ªbright, explosive bursts¡ªbut they fizzled uselessly against the sleek black frames of the new Sentinels.

    "Dude, I''m not doin'' ANYTHIN''!" Jubilee shrieked, her eyes wide as she looked down at the city below, the towering machines looming closer.

    "These bolts would tear a regular Sentinel." Alamo¡¯s voice came through gritted teeth as he fired a concentrated plasma bolt from his right hand. The small blue beam splashed against the Sentinel¡¯s hull, doing little more than singe the sleek metal.

    Jubilee turned to him, panic starting to creep in. "They''re like¡ªfreakin'' indestructible!"

    "I have an idea." Alamo¡¯s voice steadied, the drawl thick but sharp. Don''t you have a way to make these bigger... yer fireworks?"

    Jubilee''s face lit up as realization dawned. "A disk. A plasmoid disk¡ªyeah, I can try that!"

    "Good. You remember Florida?" Alamo glanced at her with a smirk behind the chrome mask.

    "Hell yeah. You BLEW that sentinel up after I sent a firework right to its gut!"

    "Right. Let¡¯s do it again."

    Jubilee grinned wide, eyes gleaming. "Ohhh yeah, baby!"

    Alamo dropped in altitude, flying low, blue plasma thrumming from his boots.*

    "NOW, JUBES!" he shouted.

    Jubilee summoned all her energy. Her hands glowed, and then she hurled a sizeable plasma disk, spinning with brilliant neon colors. It cut through the air with a high-pitched hum, slicing through the neck armor of the approaching Sentinel like a buzzsaw, exposing the inner circuitry.

    "LIGHT IT UP, DUNKIE!" she yelled.

    Alamo¡¯s right hand ignited. The blue plasma glowed brighter, a concentrated beam forming at his palm. With his left arm still wrapped around Jubilee to keep her in the air, he fired.

    The plasma beam struck the exposed neck joint¡ª

    ¡ªand the entire Sentinel EXPLODED.

    The shockwave rattled nearby buildings. Smoke and debris rained down. Flaming chunks of metal spiraled toward the ground as the Sentinel¡¯s head separated, crashing into a rooftop below.

    Jubilee screamed with glee. "OH YEAH! WE GOT THE GUNS, AND WE GOT THE BOMBS!"

    Alamo, still holding her aloft, laughed. "IN DEADSHOT HEAVEN WE POP SKULLS FER FUN!"

    "HELL YEAH, DUNKIE! PLASMA RANGERS, LET¡¯S GOOOOO!"

    The two locked eyes for a moment, adrenaline pumping, before turning to lock onto the next target.

    "Let¡¯s go, Dunkie¡ªTO WAR!"

    Not far away, Iron Man hovered in the sky, raising his repulsors.

    "Alright, let¡¯s see how you handle some real firepower."

    Twin repulsor beams blazed out from his gauntlets, striking a Sentinel dead-on.

    But the impact fizzled.

    The sleek black hull of the Sentinel shimmered faintly with a glowing red shield, absorbing the energy like a sponge.

    "You gotta be kidding me." Tony¡¯s voice crackled over the comms. "They¡¯re ABSORBING my repulsors."

    "Annoyed, Stark?" Storm¡¯s voice came through, calm but edged with tension.

    "Profoundly. But don¡¯t worry¡ªI¡¯m not a one-trick dog."

    Iron Man pivoted in mid-air. From his back, a javelin-like spike launched upward into the sky. It glinted as it spun, then locked onto a Sentinel¡¯s head with pinpoint precision.

    SHUNK

    The spike embedded itself in the back of the Sentinel¡¯s skull.

    "Watch this," Tony murmured.

    From the spike, a small, spider-like robot deployed, its legs drilling into the Sentinel¡¯s outer shell. It burrowed in with a series of mechanical screeches.

    Storm hovered nearby, her white hair whipping in the wind. "I assume there¡¯s more to this than turning their heads into pincushions?"

    "Patience, goddess."

    The Sentinel staggered, its eyes flickering.

    Red.

    Blue.

    Red again.

    Then¡ªsolid blue.

    Storm arched an eyebrow. "Changing their eye color wasn¡¯t exactly the result I expected."

    "Any second now..." Tony said confidently.

    Suddenly¡ªthe Sentinel moved.

    It raised its fist, mimicking Iron Man¡¯s own motion perfectly.

    "Done."

    Tony punched the air.

    The Sentinel mirrored him, smashing its massive fist into the face of a neighboring Sentinel.

    Storm¡¯s eyes widened. "You... you took control?"

    "Jarvis always delivers. Remote override via neural infiltration. Clean and easy."

    The commandeered Sentinel lunged forward.

    It grabbed the arm of another approaching Sentinel. The enemy machine stiffened, seemingly confused by the betrayal.

    "Oh, don¡¯t look so surprised," Tony chuckled.

    The controlled Sentinel twisted, pulling hard.

    One punch.

    Two punches.

    Three rapid-fire punches right into the other Sentinel¡¯s face, denting its armor plate with each blow.

    Then¡ªthe finishing move.

    The controlled Sentinel rammed its elbow into the socket of the other¡¯s arm with a metallic screech.

    BAM

    The arm ripped clean off, sparks flying.

    Tony grinned behind his helmet. "And now... the grand finale."

    The controlled Sentinel lifted the severed arm, wielding it like a club.

    With relentless brutality, it swung¡ª

    WHAM!¡ªacross the head of the second Sentinel.

    WHAM!¡ªa second blow, caving in the side of its face.

    WHAM!¡ªagain and again, smashing until sparks and debris flew in every direction.

    Finally, the enemy Sentinel collapsed, its head a crushed wreck.

    Above them, Alamo and Jubilee soared.

    Jubilee clung to Alamo, wide-eyed. "Yo¡ªTony just Mortal Kombat Fatality''d that thing!"

    Alamo laughed. "Guess Stark knows how to put on a show."

    But the moment was short-lived.

    Storm¡¯s voice crackled across the comms:

    "Don¡¯t celebrate yet. They¡¯re still coming."

    In the distance, more Sentinels emerged, walking in perfect synchronization. Their sleek black hulls reflected the dim light, their glowing red eyes locking onto the team as they advanced.

    "Round two," Alamo said grimly.

    "PLASMA RANGERS NEVER DIE, DUNKIE!" Jubilee whooped.

    "Let¡¯s prove it then, Jubes. Let¡¯s make some noise."

    Wasp towered above the battlefield, her form colossal against the Chicago skyline. The wind whipped through her hair as she delivered a powerful kick, her boot slamming into a Sentinel¡¯s chest. The metal giant stumbled backward, the sheer force of her strike sending shockwaves through the rooftop.

    "HA! Take that, you tin can!" Wasp bellowed, her voice booming from her enlarged form.

    The Sentinel crashed into an adjacent building, debris raining onto the streets below. But it wasn¡¯t finished. Red sensors glowed in its eyes as it stabilized itself. Raising both metallic arms, it caught Wasp¡¯s descending foot before it could stomp down.

    "You gotta be kidding me!" Wasp grunted, trying to push through.

    Before the machine could retaliate, a blur of green and white streaked through the air.

    "HEY, WASP, NEED ANY HELP?"

    Rogue rocketed in, her fist cocked back, momentum building behind her. With a thunderous CRACK, she delivered a devastating punch to the Sentinel¡¯s knee joint.

    The impact was seismic.

    Metal shrieked and buckled. The Sentinel¡¯s knee shattered, its lower leg splitting clean in two under the force of Rogue¡¯s blow. Sparks and wires snapped, and the towering machine collapsed, screaming in synthetic agony.

    Wasp seized the opportunity. With a triumphant grin, she stomped hard.

    BOOM.

    The Sentinel¡¯s upper torso caved in completely, the crushed metal sending smoke and sparks upward.

    "Thanks, Rogue!" Wasp said, shrinking back to her regular size midair, giving Rogue a thumbs-up.

    "No problem, Janet!" Rogue winked before shooting back into the fray.

    High above the streets, Alamo and Jubilee cut through the smoky sky.

    "C''mon, Dunkie! Let¡¯s make some noise!" Jubilee¡¯s voice rang with excitement as her fingers glowed with plasma energy.

    Another Sentinel appeared, sleek and dangerous, its glowing red eyes tracking them. It raised a repulsor cannon, charging with ominous hums.

    "Disk!" Alamo barked.

    "On it!"

    Jubilee summoned a massive, spinning plasma disk, larger than before. It glowed with a vibrant pink and gold hue as she hurled it with everything she had.

    The disk spun through the air like a deadly buzzsaw, slicing through the Sentinel¡¯s gut armor with a shrill metallic screech. Sparks erupted from the exposed internals.

    "Light it up, Dunkie!"

    Alamo¡¯s right hand ignited¡ªglowing blue plasma surged in his palm. He extended his hand, holding Jubilee firmly with the other.

    FWOOOOOSH!

    A concentrated plasma beam shot straight through the opening Jubilee created, piercing the Sentinel¡¯s power core.

    BOOM!

    The explosion was massive, sending a shockwave of heat and light through the air. The Sentinel¡¯s limbs blew apart, twisting metal raining down on the street below.

    "LET¡¯S GOOOOO!" Jubilee screamed, punching the air.

    Alamo gave a small nod, his plasma still glowing.

    "You''re way too excited."

    Jubilee turned to him with a grin. "Bro, we¡¯re basically superheroes in a Call of Duty Zombies bonus round¡ªthis is the BEST day!"

    "More coming."

    Storm¡¯s voice echoed through the comms, calm but sharp.

    Dark clouds loomed overhead, the wind whipping stronger. In the distance, more Sentinels¡ªthree, no, four¡ªstomped into view, their synchronized movements sending tremors through the city.

    "Great. Round two."

    Rogue zipped into formation beside Alamo and Jubilee, the wind trailing behind her like a comet¡¯s tail.

    "Havin'' fun, y''all?" Rogue¡¯s green eyes sparkled with challenge.

    "I AM!" Jubilee shouted, still buzzing from the explosion.

    Alamo simply nodded, silent as he tried to focus on the battle.

    Rogue floated beside him, flashing a mischievous grin. "Why don¡¯t ya join me, Alamo? Let¡¯s see what you can really do."

    Alamo hesitated. Then¡ª"End of the ride, Jubes."

    "WAIT¡ªWHAT? NOOOO!"

    Before Jubilee could react, Alamo gently lowered her to a nearby street She stumbled slightly, eyes wide, still gripping his coat.

    "See ya soon, Jubes." Alamo said, tipping his hat slightly before blasting off toward Rogue at high speed.

    Jubilee stood there, stunned.

    "NOOOOO! DAMN YOU, ROGUEY! YOU STOLE MY COWBOY!"

    Rogue glanced back with a smirk. "He wasn¡¯t yers, Jubes!"

    "NOOOOOO!" She screamed in mock drama.

    Jubilee shook her fists dramatically at the sky as Alamo and Rogue disappeared together into the clouds, plasma and power trailing behind them like twin streaks of blue and white lightning.

    Alamo and Rogue tore through the sky, plasma and wind leaving blinding trails in their wake. The battle raged beneath them, but up here, it felt like a deadly dance, just the two of them against giants of steel. Behind them, the towering Sentinel commandeered by Iron Man followed, its movements swift, almost human-like, as it locked onto its target.

    The Stark-controlled Sentinel lunged, grabbing another machine from behind, metallic fingers crushing into the chassis. Rogue and Alamo circled it with surgical precision, each strike from them tearing at the exposed plates of armor.

    "Nice job, mistuh," Rogue teased, the adrenaline of battle lighting her face with a fiery grin.

    "Always a pleasure, ma¡¯am." Alamo tipped his hat mid-flight, the plasma glow from his palms reflecting on his chrome mask.

    Rogue winked. "Is this yer idea of a date?"

    "Only if ya¡¯re enjoyin¡¯."

    "Ya bet Ah¡¯m."

    But then the sky shifted.

    The clouds darkened not from Storm¡¯s command¡ªbut from what emerged above. Three Sentinels¡ªsleek, modern, and deadly¡ªhovered into view, their glowing optics locked in on the Stark Sentinel.

    "Rogue... get ready," Alamo warned.

    Three beams of searing energy cut the sky, converging on the Stark Sentinel.

    "Shit¡ª" Tony¡¯s voice crackled through the comms.

    The combined blast ripped through the commandeered Sentinel, burning through its armor, obliterating the hijacked engine. The machine groaned, sparks flying, before plummeting in a fiery descent.

    "Damnit! I lost it," Tony growled.

    "We have to stop the fall," Storm said, already manipulating the winds.

    "On it," Tony replied, diving after his broken creation.

    But in the skies, a more immediate nightmare unfolded.

    Rogue flexed her fists, knuckles crackling with power. She knew the signs. The Sentinels were preparing something. Their arms lifted in perfect synchrony.

    "Rogue, WAIT!" Alamo¡¯s voice cut through the wind, sharp with urgency.

    It came too fast.

    A cluster of inhibitor devices launched from all three Sentinels, tracking Rogue with relentless precision.

    Alamo moved, plasma surging from his palms. He blasted several inhibitors mid-air¡ªfive disintegrated in bursts of blue light. Rogue, fast as lightning, managed to smash three more.

    But one got through.

    Click.

    The device latched onto her chest.

    Everything changed.

    For the first time in years, Rogue felt... heavy.

    Her flight ceased. Panic surged through her. Her body, usually light and powerful, felt fragile and powerless.

    "No, no, no!" She clawed at the inhibitor, but it wouldn¡¯t budge. "DUNCAN!"

    "ROGUE!"

    As Rogue plummeted toward the earth, one Sentinel adjusted its trajectory, closing in fast, metallic claws ready to snatch her mid-fall.

    Alamo turned.

    Another Sentinel approached him, its fist glowing with power, ready to crush him.

    But Alamo didn¡¯t flinch.

    He took off his gloves.

    The blue plasma on his fingertips intensified, crackling violently. He reached into the Sentinel¡¯s chest, plunging his bare hands into the machine¡¯s core, the heat sizzling on the core of the mechanical beast.

    The moment his skin made contact, his eyes glowed bright blue, plasma energy surging through his body.

    The Sentinel screamed in metallic agony, its systems short-circuiting as Alamo absorbed its energy.

    The machine collapsed, crashing down.

    Alamo clasped his hands together, the raw plasma swirling between his palms. His vision narrowed¡ªRogue was still falling.

    And the other Sentinel was still coming for her.

    "I''m sick of this inhibitor shit."

    The sky itself seemed to split as Alamo unleashed the beam.

    A colossal streak of blue plasma tore through the clouds, the sheer heat melting the upper atmosphere, turning half of the Sentinel¡¯s body into molten slag.

    "ROGUE!"

    He dove, a comet of plasma and speed.

    Seconds before impact, he caught her mid-air.

    "Take it off, Duncan!" Her voice cracked with desperation.

    Without hesitation, Alamo ripped the inhibitor from her chest, the metal scorched from his plasma-charged grip.

    Rogue gasped, feeling the strength flood back into her veins.

    She hovered mid-air, chest heaving.

    Her eyes glistened¡ªtears she wiped away immediately.

    But what remained in her gaze was pure, unfiltered rage.

    "YA HAVE NO RIGHT TO TAKE MAH POWERS!"

    Her voice thundered louder than the storm.

    "NO RIGHT TO CONTROL ME!"

    With a feral scream, Rogue rocketed toward the last airborne Sentinel, a brown and green blur against the smoke-darkened sky.

    She ripped the Sentinel¡¯s arm clean off, the screech of metal echoing across the battlefield.

    CLANG! A brutal backhand dented its faceplate.

    The machine staggered.

    "You wanna know what Ah can do?!"

    Rogue raised her forearm. With a final war cry, she swung like a batter hitting a home run.

    The Sentinel¡¯s head tore clean off, the metallic skull spinning into the river below.

    "FUCK YOU!"

    Alamo hovered nearby, watching her burn with fury.

    "Anna Marie¡ª"

    She turned, breathing hard.

    "Ah¡¯m fine, Duncan. Thank ya, sugah."

    Her voice softened.

    "Let¡¯s go to the others."

    Together, they descended, streaks of blue and white trailing behind.

    On the ground, She-Hulk stood atop a ruined Sentinel head, fists still glowing from the battle. Gambit leaned casually on his staff, though his posture was tense, eyes watching the sky.

    There was one Sentinel left.

    It had seen everything.

    It knew it was alone.

    And it was absolutely aware of it.

    The moment the ominous mechanical voice echoed through the battered Chicago skyline, the air grew heavy with dread.

    [TERMINATION SEQUENCE INITIATED]

    A brief silence followed.

    "What?" Rogue¡¯s voice cracked in disbelief.

    Iron Man¡¯s scanners flared red. "It''s going to blow up."

    Panic hit immediately. "No, no, no¡ªI can hack it¡ª" Tony rushed forward, connecting his armor systems to the Sentinel. "C''mon, c''mon¡ª"

    The countdown continued without mercy.

    [TEN]

    [NINE]

    Gambit cursed under his breath. "Mon Dieu..." His normally confident voice wavered, eyes wide as the reality dawned.

    Jubilee looked around, terror gripping her. "What do we do?! What do we¡ª"

    [EIGHT]

    Amidst the panic, Alamo moved.

    He didn¡¯t say a word.

    With quiet determination, he flew forward, his black coat whipping violently in the wind. His chrome mask reflected the flickering red lights from the Sentinel¡¯s core.

    "DUNKIE?!" Jubilee screamed after him.

    [SEVEN]

    Rogue turned instantly. "DUNCAN!"

    Alamo didn¡¯t respond. His plasma-tinged hands gripped the massive Sentinel by its mangled chestplate. The machine creaked under his strength, its systems whirring in anticipation of detonation.

    [SIX]

    He took off.

    The shockwave of his acceleration shook the rooftop, the blue plasma trail he left behind slicing across the gray sky. Wind howled.

    "DUNCAN, NO!" Rogue screamed, voice breaking.

    [FIVE]

    The city below began to shrink, streets and buildings becoming distant lines and dots. The air thinned as Alamo pushed harder, faster than he ever had before. His plasma burned brighter, his own energy surging to propel both himself and the explosive mass clutched in his arms.

    [FOUR]

    Iron Man''s HUD lit up in alarm. "Kid¡ªNO! You can¡¯t¡ª"

    [THREE]

    Alamo glanced at the Sentinel¡¯s core. Could he absorb its energy?

    The thought came and went.

    He knew the truth. There wasn¡¯t time. If he tried, it could detonate before he finished. The energy could consume him, or worse¡ªdetonate mid-city.

    [TWO]

    So he flew higher.

    Faster.

    The edges of the atmosphere began to blur. The sky darkened from blue to indigo, and beyond that, black.

    From the city, the team watched.

    Rogue stared upward, her fists clenched, knuckles white. The blue trail Alamo left behind was all she could see.

    "No... no... NO!"

    [ONE.]

    Silence.

    For a moment, the whole world seemed to hold its breath.

    BOOM.

    A colossal explosion ignited far above the Earth, barely visible in daylight. But then it came the sky lit up¡ªa brilliant flash of blue and white, light mixing with clouds, a fiery bloom at the very edge of orbit.

    The shockwave rolled across the city, rattling windows and shaking buildings. But no harm came to the people below.

    The explosion had been far enough.

    Alamo had made sure of that.

    Rogue fell to her knees.

    "No..." she whispered.

    Her eyes locked on the distant remnants of the explosion, the fading trails of blue that had once marked his flight.

    "Oh¡ªDamnit¡ª"

    She sprang to her feet, her body surging with power and fear.

    "Ah''m goin'' after him!"

    But before she could take off, Storm appeared, descending swiftly, landing beside her.

    "Rogue¡ª"

    Rogue shook her head violently. "No. Don¡¯t, ''Ro. Ah can¡¯t let him go. Not like this."

    Storm¡¯s eyes softened, but her grip on Rogue¡¯s shoulder tightened. "Rogue."

    "No! Ah can still see the trail¡ªAh can get there, Ah have to get there¡ª"

    "Rogue."

    "He saved me, Ororo! He saved all of us!" Her voice cracked with desperation. "Ah can¡¯t¡ªAh won¡¯t¡ªlet him be gone. Not him."

    Her eyes filled with tears. "Not Duncan."

    "Anna Marie."

    Storm¡¯s voice was steady now. Firm.

    Rogue froze.

    Storm rarely used her real name. Unless it was meant seriously.

    The wind around them stilled.

    "It¡¯s done."

    "But¡ª"

    "It¡¯s done, Rogue." Storm repeated, softer this time. "He made his choice... for us."

    Rogue¡¯s shoulders trembled. She looked up at the fading sky, where just moments ago blue plasma had blazed so brightly.*

    The trail was gone.

    No sign of him.

    No sign of Duncan Nenni.

    No sign of the Alamo.

    "Ah can¡¯t... Ah can¡¯t..."

    Her voice broke entirely.

    And then, she crumpled.

    Storm held her.

    The team stood silently behind them¡ªGambit with his head low, She-Hulk¡¯s fists trembling at her sides, Jubilee frozen in disbelief.

    "Ah promised mahself..."Rogue whispered against Storm¡¯s shoulder.

    "Ah promised Ah wouldn¡¯t lose anyone else."

    No one had an answer.

    The sky remained quiet.

    He was gone. It appeared like so.

 Chapter 10: Into the Unknown

    The vast emptiness of near-orbit stretched endlessly in every direction. The Earth below glowed faintly, a shimmering canvas of blue and white, distant and indifferent. Up here, there was no sound, no air¡ªonly the suffocating silence of space. And in that silence, Alamo floated alone, his plasma-charged boots dimming as he hovered a few clicks from the Sentinel as he swung it away from him.

    The countdown had ended.

    <b>One.</b>

    The moment had come.

    He had prepared himself for the worst¡ªthe worst. His mind raced. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, deafening despite the mask¡¯s seal. A cold sweat dampened his brow beneath the chrome surface. Every instinct screamed at him to let go, to turn back. But he didn¡¯t. He couldn¡¯t.

    <i>"This is it."</i>

    <i>"It¡¯s gonna blow, and I¡¯m too damn close."</i>

    His plasma flared desperately around him, a subconscious defense. But deep down, Duncan Nenni feared plasma wouldn¡¯t be enough against a nuclear payload. The kind of payload that vaporized flesh in a millisecond.

    The weight of fear settled hard in his chest.

    <i>"I¡¯m not ready."</i>

    <i>"I don¡¯t wanna die."</i>

    He hated that thought. Hated how loud it had become. It gnawed at the edges of his mind with sharp teeth. He had always been ready to fight, ready to maim, ready to stand¡ªThe Alamo didn¡¯t retreat. But this? This was different.

    He wasn¡¯t afraid of pain. He wasn¡¯t afraid of the fight.

    But death?

    Death was something else.

    The thought of oblivion¡ªnothingness¡ªsent a cold chill down his spine. The final end. No comebacks. No second chances.

    No more plasma. No more sky. Just... gone.

    He closed his eyes tightly behind the chrome mask.

    "You ain''t dyin¡¯ today. Not like this. Not alone in this cold damn sky."

    He braced for the blast.

    A heartbeat passed.

    Then another.

    "Any second now..".

    But instead of a blinding flash of annihilation¡ª

    BANG!

    The Sentinel erupted in a violent explosion of shrapnel and debris. Metal shards scattered in all directions, some glowing faintly with residual energy, others jagged and black against the backdrop of the stars.

    Alamo''s eyes shot open, wide and wild behind the mask. His breathing was ragged.

    <i>"Oh... oh God..." </i>His mind trembled laced with relief¡ªand something raw beneath it<i>. "Thanks... I was really thinkin¡¯ they put a damn nuclear warhead there..."</i>

    But the relief was short-lived.

    As the debris spread, it moved with frightening speed. Tiny fragments, each a potential bullet, rocketed toward a line of satellites. Television relays. Internet nodes. GPS arrays. All the trappings of modern life hung in space, vulnerable.

    <i>"Anti-climatic,"</i> he thought.

    With a groan of frustration, Alamo shot forward, plasma surging from his boots. His silhouette cut a blue trail across the void as he weaved between debris, snatching larger pieces of metal mid-flight with plasma-hardened hands. Each fragment he grabbed sent vibrations up his arms¡ªa reminder of the kinetic force each shard carried.

    <i>"Can''t have folks missin'' their Netflix or GPS goin'' haywire. Wouldn''t that be somethin''?"</i>

    But then, in the corner of his vision, he spotted it¡ªa sleek, black satellite, gleaming with a faint insignia barely visible in the sunlight.

    A government satellite.

    Alamo slowed, hovering beside a jagged piece of Sentinel armor heading straight for it. He narrowed his eyes behind the chrome mask, reading the faint markings on the side of the satellite.

    <i>"Gov satellite¡­ this gotta be some NSA shit."</i>

    He turned the piece of debris lazily in his hand, pondering.

    <i>"I could just¡­"</i> His voice trailed off, the plasma aura around his boots dimming as he stared at the government device. <i>"Hmmm. Maybe blind Uncle Sam fer a while..."</i>

    His hand hovered over the shard, considering the arc he could throw it at to disable the satellite without making it obvious.

    <i>"Would Cap be mad at me?"</i>

    Alamo rolled his eyes behind the mask.

    <i>"Yeah. He¡¯d be pissed. Can''t let Cap down."</i>

    With a reluctant sigh, he clenched the fragment, plasma surging as he vaporized it in a flash of blue light.

    <i>"I can''t believe I''m savin'' a damn government satellite," </i>he thought, watching the cleared path between the debris and the device.<i> "What if they use this against villains? What if it¡¯s on the taxpayer dime? We¡¯re gonna have to pay fer this again, I bet. Yeah. Dang it."</i>

    Still muttering, he flew toward another cluster of debris. His plasma aura intensified as he boosted forward, intercepting metal shards before they could collide with the delicate machinery.

    But then¡ªanother satellite came into view.

    This one was different.

    Sleek. Angular. The letters stenciled across the side in Chinese characters were unmistakable.

    <i>"Now China..."</i>

    He hovered beside the debris hurtling toward the satellite. His hands rested casually on his hips as he watched it spin, gleaming like a knife in the sunlight.

    <i>"What a shame would be if this CCP satellite got fucked up... so sad..."</i>

    He made no move.

    The debris struck the satellite head-on.

    The collision sent a bloom of sparks into the void, and the satellite shuddered violently before losing its stable orbit. Alamo watched with an almost casual interest, tilting his head.

    <i>"</i><i>Oops. Sorry, Cap. I like Taiwan better. See this as... I''m doin''  the industrious people of China a favor by takin'' the government from their backs, least fer a while"</i>

    He extended his hand, releasing a faint burst of plasma to stabilize the satellite just enough that it would remain in orbit but non-operational.

    <i>"Fair compromise,"</i> he muttered.

    He didn¡¯t linger. The next object caught his eye¡ªa familiar design glinting far ahead.

    A Stark satellite.

    <i>"Okay, this is definitely worth savin''."</i>

    Alamo accelerated, plasma trailing behind him like a comet¡¯s tail. He reached the satellite just as a sharp-edged fragment of Sentinel plating spun dangerously close. His plasma-charged fingers sliced through the debris with ease, severing it into harmless pieces. The Stark satellite remained untouched, its glowing panels flickering faintly.

    <i>"Y¡¯know, Tony¡¯s got enough surveillance crap up here. But hell, at least he makes good tech."</i>

    Alamo drifted alongside the satellite for a moment, peering at the sleek Stark Industries logo embossed on its hull.

    But then¡ªhe saw it.

    A shard of the Sentinel, larger than the others, tumbling slowly in space. His plasma aura dimmed as he approached, boots brushing the edge of the void¡¯s silence.

    There was a marking.

    Burned faintly into the metallic surface, but clear enough under the sunlight:

    <i>USAF-3484RTN</i>

    Alamo¡¯s brow furrowed beneath his chrome mask.

    And then¡ªhe saw it.

    A tiny, almost imperceptible globe logo ethched beneath the code.

    <i>DARPA.</i>

    He stared at the emblem for a long moment, the void around him silent except for the faint hum of plasma energy.

    <i>"What?"</i>

    The word escaped him, barely a whisper.

    He turned the debris in his hands, inspecting every angle.

    <i>"DARPA..."</i>

    Sarcasm dripped from his voice as realization dawned.

    <i>"This... explains this. I thought they stopped makin¡¯ new ones since 2014."</i>

    He floated in silence, the chunk of metal glinting cold and dark in his grip.

    <i>"Who would''ve thought that Congress is completely untrustworthy?"</i>

    His voice echoed hollow in his mind.

    He turned the debris again, squinting at the faint lines along its edges¡ªwhat looked like schematics, or circuitry embedded deeper within.

    <i>"This ain¡¯t just a Sentinel piece..."</i>

    <i>"Experimental tech. DARPA¡¯s fingerprints all over it."</i>

    He exhaled a long breath.

    <i>"Government contracts. Military-grade enhancements. And they said the Sentinel program was mothballed after 2012. Right. Like I¡¯d believe that."</i>

    He drifted slowly, turning the fragment over and over in his hand.

    The faint glow of Earth loomed large behind him. The curvature of the planet stretched endlessly¡ªblue oceans, swirling white clouds, and the faint twinkle of city lights from distant continents.

    And here he was. Floating with a piece of evidence that said everything.

    The Sentinels weren¡¯t just a Trask thing.

    It seems the conspiracy was deeper than most thought, but precisely within the realm of Duncan''s expectations.

    <i>"Well... shit."</i>

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    Alamo closed his hand around the fragment. The plasma hummed louder, threatening to burn through the metal, but he forced the energy to still.

    No.

    Not this piece.

    This one needed to make it back.

    <i>"Cap¡¯s gonna love this conversation,"</i> he muttered in his mind.

    He tucked the fragment securely into a compartment along his belt, sealing it with a faint hiss of plasma-soldered metal.

    As he turned back toward Earth, the sun¡¯s glare caught the side of his chrome mask.

    <i>"Guess the government¡¯s been busy."</i>

    The hum of plasma energy intensified around him as he angled downward.

    <i>"Busy lyin''."</i>

    He gave one last look at the satellites¡ªsome intact, some less fortunate¡ªbefore accelerating. His body became a blue comet slicing through the edge of the atmosphere.

    As the sky darkened from black to deep blue, he could already hear it¡ªthe faint echo of city alarms, distant helicopters, and the hum of energy signatures from the Sentinels that remained.

    The streets of Chicago were a mess of flashing lights, twisted metal, and lingering smoke. The aftermath of the Sentinel attack stretched for blocks¡ªgutted buildings, scorched asphalt, and shattered glass glinting in the afternoon sun. Yet, despite the destruction, there were no deaths. EMTs worked diligently, treating bruises and cuts. SHIELD agents coordinated with local law enforcement, securing the area. Civilians, shaken but alive, whispered among themselves, staring at the wreckage of machines that had nearly obliterated them.

    High above the scene, Wasp hovered beside Iron Man, her wings buzzing faintly as she surveyed the damage.

    "Well," she sighed, glancing down, "at least nobody died. Credit where it''s due."

    "Yeah," Iron Man replied, his helmet reflecting the ruined skyline. His tone, usually light and sarcastic, carried an unfamiliar weight. "But... he didn¡¯t make it back."

    Below them, She-Hulk spoke with SHIELD officers, her towering green form standing out against the human crowd. Her usual confident smirk was missing. Even Storm, regal and calm as ever, glanced repeatedly at the sky, her white hair fluttering in the wind.

    But it was Rogue who looked the most broken.

    She sat on the ground beside the shattered head of a Sentinel, her knees drawn to her chest. Her gloved fingers gripped her arms tightly as her shoulders trembled. Her face, streaked with tears, stared blankly ahead. The white streak in her hair framed her downturned face, blowing gently in the wind. Beside her, Jubilee sat with her head buried in her arms, crying softly.

    Gambit leaned against the ruined Sentinel head, his staff resting on his shoulder. His usual smug grin was gone. His red-on-black eyes were hard with something deeper¡ªgrief, maybe, or regret. His jaw clenched as he tried to process it all.

    "Look," Gambit finally said, his voice low but steady, "Gambit is sure de guy can take it."

    Rogue didn¡¯t lift her head. Her voice was barely a whisper, cracking under the weight of her emotions.

    "He¡¯s gone, Remy... Ah didn¡¯t even... Ah didn¡¯t get to tell him... just, fuck¡ªgoddamnit."

    Jubilee sniffled beside her. "He was just here with us, man... that sucks... that sucks so bad."

    "Hey..." Gambit crouched beside the two women, his gaze softening. "He was tryin¡¯ to protect people at least. Maybe ol¡¯ Remy judged him wrong. Maybe he does care ¡®bout others after all."

    "He was tryin¡¯..." Rogue whispered. "Nobody¡¯s perfect."

    Jubilee could barely hold back her sobbing. "He was a dork... but he was our dork."

    The trio sat there, surrounded by the remains of their battle, consumed by the quiet grief of believing they had lost The Alamo. The streets buzzed with activity around them, but their world felt eerily silent.

    Then it happened.

    A faint blue glow appeared on the horizon.

    At first, it was just a speck¡ªa shimmer against the pale afternoon sky.

    Storm turned, her eyes narrowing.

    Wasp lowered her altitude, squinting.

    Iron Man¡¯s sensors beeped. "What the¡ª?"

    The blue glow grew brighter, moving faster, leaving a plasma trail streaking through the air.

    Jubilee lifted her tear-streaked face, blinking.

    Gambit stood slowly, eyes wide. "Non..."

    Rogue¡¯s breath caught in her throat.

    "Duncan?"

    The blue blur closed in at breakneck speed. Wind whipped through the street as the figure descended¡ªa streak of plasma energy blazing behind him. The team backed away instinctively from the gusts stirred by his landing.

    With a powerful thud, he touched down. The plasma faded, leaving a man standing there¡ªhat in place, chrome mask glinting in the sun.

    It was him.

    The Alamo.

    Alive.

    Rogue stood frozen for a heartbeat. Her green eyes widened. Then, without thinking, she ran.

    "DUNCAN!" she screamed, her voice breaking.

    Alamo barely had time to react as Rogue barreled into him, wrapping her arms tightly around his chest. The force of the hug made him stumble back a step.

    He stood there, stunned for a moment, before hesitantly wrapping his arms around her in return.

    "Rogue¡ª?" His voice was softer, confused.

    But Rogue wasn¡¯t done.

    With trembling hands, she yanked his chrome mask from his face and threw it onto the cracked pavement with a loud clank. The red glow of his eyes fading into natural brown, revealing tired but alive eyes staring back at her¡ªwide with surprise.

    Without a word, she cupped his face¡ªcareful to keep her gloved fingers between their skin¡ªand kissed him.

    Alamo¡¯s eyes widened. His whole body stiffened.

    For a moment, time seemed to stop.

    Rogue¡¯s eyes were closed, her face soft, as if this moment could fix all the fear, all the pain she¡¯d just felt. She held the kiss for a few precious seconds, deep in her own head, imagining how it would feel if she could touch him without the barrier of gloves or her powers.

    When she finally pulled back, her green eyes fluttered open.

    Alamo stared at her, stunned.

    "That was... unexpected," he finally said, voice cracking slightly.

    "Ah thought ya died," Rogue whispered, her voice shaking.

    "I didn¡¯t," he said, forcing a small smile. "Ain¡¯t that big a fan of sacrifices."

    "Yet, ya were willin'' to do it."

    He paused. His gaze shifted away from her, settling on his chrome mask lying in the dirt.

    "It was... I didn¡¯t want y¡¯all to get hurt," he said, voice quieter now.

    Rogue stepped back slightly, searching his eyes.

    "Ya got scared?"

    For a moment, the confident smirk he wore like armor faltered. He looked over her shoulder at Jubilee, Gambit, and the others approaching. His gaze lingered on the chrome mask.

    "Yeah," he admitted. "Almost shat myself."

    He forced a laugh, but there was no humor in his eyes. They were tired. Haunted. The fear he had felt up there¡ªalone in the cold silence of space¡ªstill lingered in his expression. Rogue saw it. She saw him.

    "But more on that later," he added, trying to wave it off. "I just don¡¯t wanna go right now."

    Rogue shook her head and smiled despite herself. "Dumbass."

    "DUNKIE!" Jubilee screamed as she ran toward them, wiping her face on her sleeve. She threw her arms around his neck. "PLASMA RANGERS NEVER DIE, I TOLD YOU!"

    Alamo chuckled, the tension easing from his shoulders as he hugged her back.

    "Can I kiss you too?" Jubilee grinned, wiping away the last of her tears.

    "What the hell, Jubes. No"

    "Another time then, when Rogue ain¡¯t lookin¡¯."

    "Ah¡¯m right here," Rogue growled.

    "Jubes. Settle down," Gambit added with a smirk, though relief softened his usual sarcasm.

    Jubilee grinned widely. "I¡¯m just so glad you didn¡¯t die, Dunkie. I was scared. We were scared. I think even Tony felt bad."

    "HEY! KID!" came a voice from above.

    Iron Man hovered down beside them, thrusters hissing as he landed with a metallic thud.

    "I was thinking I¡¯d run out of people to talk about boring topics with," Tony quipped, but there was a grin on his face.

    "Good to see ya again, Mr. Stark," Alamo replied with a nod.

    "So, how was it?" Tony asked, crossing his arms. "The far expanse of space?"

    Alamo looked thoughtful for a moment. Then, without a word, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small piece of metal. He handed it to Tony.

    Tony¡¯s helmet retracted, revealing his wide-eyed stare.

    "Oh..." Tony¡¯s voice lost its usual levity. "This is bad."

    "What is it?" Rogue asked, stepping closer.

    Jubilee peered over Tony¡¯s shoulder. "Yeah, what is that?"

    Tony turned the metal fragment in his hand, revealing the faint logo stamped on its surface.

    "Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency," he said grimly.

    "Wait... wat?" Gambit frowned.

    "It¡¯s DARPA," Alamo clarified. "Government agency. Makes tech fer the military."

    The group fell silent.

    "The government sent those Sentinels?" Jubilee asked, her voice cracking. "No way."

    "I¡¯m not sure," Tony said, eyes narrowing. "Why would they send them after us now? They had chances before."

    "Maybe this wasn¡¯t a sanctioned op," Alamo said, folding his arms. His voice had lost all humor. "But someone with access to government tech wanted us dead."

    "Dang..." Rogue whispered, her fists tightening. "So the government¡¯s in on this?"

    "Not necessarily the whole government," Tony said, still studying the fragment. "But someone with deep pockets and no oversight."

    Alamo glanced back toward the sky, his face unreadable.

    "Cap¡¯s gonna love this conversation," he muttered.

    Rogue laid a hand on his arm.

    "Let¡¯s just rest fer a moment, sugah," she said softly. "We¡¯ll figure it out. Together."

    For the first time, Alamo looked at her¡ªreally looked at her. The fear in his eyes dulled, replaced by something warmer. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

    "Together, huh?" he echoed.

    "Yeah," Rogue said with a grin. "Ya ain''t gettin'' rid of me that easy."

    Jubilee nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! Plasma Rangers for life!"

    The group had gathered at the remains of a toppled Sentinel, its head partially embedded in the street like a grotesque monument to the day¡¯s conflict. The metal giant¡¯s lifeless red optics reflected the figures standing before it. Alamo stood at the center, his plasma aura faintly crackling around his boots, his black cattleman hat shadowing his face. He grabbed his mask from the ground, but didn''t wear it just yet. His face¡ªyoung but lined with exhaustion.

    The air stirred, carrying a faint scent of rain. The temperature dropped slightly as a figure descended from the sky, borne on a gentle wind. Storm landed gracefully beside the group, her white hair flowing like silk in the breeze. The fading sunlight cast a soft glow around her, almost framing her as a goddess descending to address mortals.

    Her blue eyes locked onto the Alamo.

    "Duncan," she began, her voice calm, rich with authority yet touched by a subtle warmth. "It¡¯s refreshing to see you have made your way back. But then again, given your stubbornness..." She paused, allowing a faint smile to tug at the corner of her lips. "...it was quite expected."

    Rogue, still standing close to Alamo after her emotional reunion with him, shot Storm an incredulous look, brushing her white-streaked hair behind her ear. Her green eyes narrowed playfully.

    "Ya didn¡¯t think of sayin¡¯ that to us, ''Ro?" she asked, her Southern drawl carrying just a hint of accusation.

    Storm turned her serene gaze toward Rogue. Her expression softened further, though a teasing arch of her brow remained.

    "It surprises me you didn¡¯t consider it, Rogue. Duncan Nenni is many things¡ªbut fleeting has never been one of them."

    Rogue rolled her eyes, though her smile betrayed her relief.

    "Guess Ah¡¯m still learnin¡¯."

    Storm stepped closer to Alamo, her blue gaze meeting his.

    "Regardless of expectations, you have protected us all. For that, I am truly thankful. You may not be an X-Man¡ª" her voice grew firmer here, laced with something almost philosophical, "¡ªbut you have my respect, despite our vastly different opinions."

    Her words hung in the air for a moment. Respect from Storm wasn¡¯t something easily earned. It was deliberate, meaningful¡ªespecially given her role as both a leader and moral compass for the X-Men.

    Alamo dipped his hat slightly, his West Texan drawl breaking the silence with a touch of humility.

    "Much appreciated, ma¡¯am. Ain¡¯t gonna lie¡ªI wasn¡¯t lookin¡¯ to cause a ruckus."

    Storm¡¯s expression remained composed, though the faintest smirk hinted at amusement.

    "This¡ª" she gestured broadly to the wreckage surrounding them "¡ªwill be addressed at another date. There are... larger matters at hand."

    Before anyone could respond, She-Hulk approached with her usual confident swagger, towering over the others. Wasp, in her smaller form, buzzed beside her, landing neatly on Jennifer Walters¡¯ broad shoulder. With a playful grin, Jennifer swung a muscled arm around Gambit¡¯s shoulders. The Cajun mutant barely reacted, simply flicking a card between his fingers and offering a lazy smirk.

    "Not bad for an economist, huh?" She-Hulk teased, glancing at Alamo with an expression somewhere between admiration and challenge.

    Alamo tipped his hat back slightly, revealing tired eyes that still sparkled with amusement.

    "Well, not bad for a lawyer either, She-Hulk" he shot back, the corners of his mouth lifting into a dry grin.

    Jennifer paused, her brow arching in genuine surprise.

    "Jennifer."

    "Jennifer," Alamo corrected softly, his voice losing its usual sharpness. "Look, I reckon we started on the wrong foot. I was an asshole to ya¡ªI''ll own that. We¡¯ve got differin¡¯ views, like Storm just pointed out. But... we''re on the same side. More or less." His gaze shifted toward Storm, and then Rogue. "Focus on less here, but the end goal¡¯s the same."

    The group stood quietly for a beat. Wasp folded her arms, studying Alamo closely, while Gambit¡¯s red-on-black eyes flicked between the two, intrigued.

    She-Hulk broke the silence with a short laugh.

    "Well, for all that''s worth, it was pretty honorable of you¡ªwhat you did." Her tone softened, losing its usual sardonic edge. "I still think some of your opinions are... well, let¡¯s just say they¡¯re colorful, to put it nicely. But I can respect the man behind them."

    Alamo shrugged, a small, self-deprecating grin playing at his lips.

    "Feelin¡¯s mutual, ma¡¯am. Some of yer opinions are rather... utopic. But I reckon ya got a pretty wrinkled brain inside that green skull of yers."

    The teasing jab earned a wide smile from She-Hulk.

    "Oh, wrinkled brain? That¡¯s your best line, cowboy?"

    Wasp rolled her eyes dramatically.

    "Okay, okay. Let¡¯s settle down with the veiled compliments here, you two. We get it¡ªyou both secretly adore each other."

    Gambit snorted with amusement.

    "Like siblings dese two"

    Before Alamo could reply, Tony Stark spoke. His faceplate retracted with a hiss, revealing a serious expression¡ªa rare sight for the billionaire genius.

    "Alright, kids, playtime¡¯s over." His voice carried its usual sharpness, but there was a distinct tension beneath it. He held something in his hand.

    The team¡¯s attention shifted immediately.

    It was the fragment¡ªthe twisted piece of metal Alamo had recovered from orbit.

    Alamo glanced sideways at Tony, his posture straightening.

    "Oh, right. He found this."

    Tony raised the fragment higher, turning it so that the faint insignia could catch the light.

    Storm¡¯s silver eyes narrowed.

    "Oh."

    Wasp floated closer, peering at the etching on the metal. Her face lost its usual playfulness.

    "Wait. That logo¡ª"

    She-Hulk stepped forward, her expression darkening as she recognized the symbol.

    "No way. That¡¯s¡ª"

    "DARPA." Tony¡¯s voice cut through the group¡¯s murmurs.

    The word seemed to drain the air from the street.

    "The Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency," Tony confirmed grimly. "U.S. government¡¯s best friend when it comes to next-gen military tech."

    Jubilee, still standing beside Rogue, gawked at the fragment.

    "Figures"

    Tony shook his head.

    "Ok, this could be worse than we expected"

    "Could be something left from older projects," She-Hulk speculated, her legal mind already racing. "DARPA¡¯s worked on everything from AI to experimental weapons. But this?" She gestured at the fragment. "This means they¡¯re either still making Sentinels or someone with deep enough pockets¡ªand clearance¡ªgot their hands on government tech."

    Alamo crossed his arms, his plasma aura flickering faintly with agitation. His face hardened.

    "We thought they shut down Sentinel production after 2014. Congress made a big ol¡¯ show of it. Maybe just maybe we should consider the possibility that the government lied to us, as it usually does, and they didn''t stop jackshit. It''s just under that ''plausible deniability'' territory."

    "Yeah, well," Tony said, examining the piece closely. "Congress lies."

    Storm¡¯s gaze remained steady.

    "If the government¡ªor a faction within it¡ªis still producing Sentinels, then this was no simple attack."

    "It¡¯s a message," Gambit said darkly, flipping a card between his fingers. The kinetic charge made it glow faintly before he extinguished it with a snap. "Ain¡¯t no accident."

    "Or a cover-up," Alamo added. His voice had grown colder. He looked at the fragment again, this time with something more personal behind his gaze. "Trask might not be the only one funding these hunts."

    Tony handed the fragment back to Alamo. The Texan caught it, tucking it into the inside of his coat.

    "Cap¡¯s gonna wanna see this," Tony said, rubbing his chin. "This changes things."

    Alamo nodded, his jaw tightening.

    "Yeah. I reckon it does."

    Storm¡¯s gaze drifted back toward the skyline, where the sun was dipping low. The air hummed with tension¡ªunspoken questions, half-formed suspicions.

    The day had been won.

    But something deeper was just beginning.

 Chapter 11: Lions Den

    The Quinjet sliced through the skies, its engines humming with steady precision. The clouds parted before the sleek aircraft as it pushed toward Washington, D.C., the city looming in the distance like a silent witness to countless histories¡ªsome remembered, some deliberately forgotten.

    Inside the cabin, the atmosphere was taut with uneasy anticipation. The hum of the engines filled the otherwise quiet space, only interrupted by the soft beeping of instruments. Falcon sat at the controls, his eyes locked on the flight instruments, though his mind was elsewhere.

    "Cap, ETA ten minutes."

    His voice was calm, professional. But beneath the surface, there was a note of uncertainty.

    From his seat, Captain America¡ªSteve Rogers¡ªnodded, his gaze fixed on the city skyline drawing closer. The familiar weight of responsibility rested on his shoulders, his star-spangled shield gleaming beside him.

    "Understood, Sam. I''ll reach out to Fury when we get into D.C. airspace."

    The words came automatically, carried by decades of leadership and duty.

    "Understood, Cap."

    But Sam Wilson, the Falcon, hesitated. His fingers tapped lightly against the controls before he leaned in, lowering his voice¡ªalmost as if unsure whether the question should be asked at all.

    "Sir... do you trust the X-Men?"

    The question hung in the air. For a moment, Rogers didn¡¯t respond. His blue eyes drifted over his shoulder, where Cyclops, Jean Grey, and Wolverine sat in the rear of the cabin, their silhouettes quiet but unmistakably imposing. Years of fighting, sacrifice, and loss radiated from them like a silent aura.

    Rogers finally answered, his voice steady:

    "I trust them enough, Sam."

    He let the words settle before continuing.

    "These people have fought hard¡ªharder than most¡ªfor the right to coexist. They¡¯ve bled for a world that¡¯s still afraid of them. That kind of struggle earns trust."

    Falcon gave a slow nod but kept his eyes forward.

    "Yeah... still. For a regular guy? They scare me."

    Steve smiled faintly¡ªan expression touched with sadness.

    "It''s more than just mutants, you know. It¡¯s also about doing what¡¯s right. Fear¡¯s always been a part of it. But we don¡¯t get to pick the battles that matter."

    He leaned back in his seat, his gaze distant.

    "My mother used to sing lullabies to get me to sleep back when I was a kid in Brooklyn. But in the 20th century... some stories were meant to scare kids into behaving."

    Falcon turned his head, curiosity in his voice.

    "Yeah? What kinda stories?"

    Rogers looked away, almost embarrassed.

    "She used to say that if I didn¡¯t eat my vegetables or didn¡¯t sleep early, the blue lady with the bloody hair would come and eat me."

    Falcon blinked, glancing back.

    "Wait¡ªMystique?"

    "Mystique." Rogers confirmed with a grim nod.

    "Mutants were myths to most people back then. Monsters, some said. The media loved to make them out to be nightmares. Even to kids."

    "Damn." Falcon exhaled, shaking his head.

    "Yeah, Cap. I get it. If I was a kid from Brooklyn, I¡¯d be scared too." Falcon said, with an amused smirk in the corner of his lips.

    Before Rogers could respond, a gruff voice broke through the conversation.

    "Heh. ¡®Skinny kid from Brooklyn.¡¯ Ain¡¯t that the truth?"

    The raspy tone, dripping with sarcasm, belonged to Logan¡ªWolverine. He leaned casually against Cap''s seat, his arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His wild hair and rugged demeanor contrasted sharply with Rogers¡¯ clean-cut appearance.

    "Howlett." Rogers greeted him with a small nod.

    Logan sniffed the air. "Mystique, huh? Tough shit, that one. But I¡¯m sure Boy Scout here can handle a stray woman or two. Hell, I saw this one blow up tanks with a shield and pineapple grenades back in the day."

    "That was a long time ago." Steve replied, his tone softer now.

    "Not for me, it ain''t." Logan grunted, his yellow-tinged gaze darkening.

    "I remember it just fine."

    There was a pause. A long one.

    "You miss the war?" Falcon asked, his voice low.

    Logan didn¡¯t answer immediately. He stared out the Quinjet¡¯s window for a moment, watching the clouds streak by. His reflection stared back at him¡ªa man who had survived too much.

    Finally, he spoke:

    "No."

    Then, almost immediately after:

    "Yes."

    The contradiction wasn¡¯t lost on anyone. Logan took a deep breath, his tone harder when he continued:

    "We¡¯ve been involved in too many wars. Watched too many folks die¡ªpeople who shouldn¡¯t have. But... I gotta admit, some of the folks who did die?"

    He looked back at Steve, eyes narrowing.

    "Piece of shit<i> SS </i>officers. Dirty Commissars. People who deserved worse than what they got."

    Steve¡¯s jaw tightened.

    "I don¡¯t take pride in the deaths of those men."

    "Course ya don¡¯t." Logan scoffed.

    "Always the righteous one, Rogers. But lemme tell ya somethin''¡ªya can¡¯t be a soldier if you¡¯re afraid to break some skulls. The war? The war didn¡¯t care if we were happy about it or not."

    "I did what I had to do." Steve said firmly. "I do what I have to. But never with a smile. Never with pride in the killing. Only in the cause."

    Logan¡¯s eyes glinted¡ªsomething feral behind them.

    "But you did take pride in victory."

    Rogers didn¡¯t flinch.

    "That¡¯s different." He looked Logan dead in the eye. "I¡¯m not ashamed of what we fought for. The nation I serve. The ideas I uphold. The brothers I fought beside. But killing? That¡¯s not something you celebrate. It¡¯s something you survive."

    Logan held his gaze for a long moment before finally backing off with a rough laugh.

    "Heh. Always the same ol¡¯ Steve Rogers."

    The cabin settled into uneasy silence, tension hanging thick in the air.

    But then, another voice¡ªcalm, soothing, almost ethereal¡ªbroke the stillness.

    "You both carry your past like shields. But also like a burden."

    It was Jean Grey. She had been sitting quietly beside Scott Summers, her hands folded neatly in her lap. But now, as her voice drifted across the cabin, both men turned their heads. Her eyes¡ªgreen, deep, and knowing¡ªmet theirs.

    "Always with that philosophizin¡¯, Jeannie." Logan grumbled, though his tone lacked any real bite.

    "Maybe." Jean smiled faintly. "But it doesn¡¯t make it wrong."

    She leaned forward slightly, the soft red of her hair catching the dim light in the cabin.

    "We¡¯re heading into something none of us fully understands. Something bigger than all of us. I don¡¯t need telepathy to sense the weight you two carry. The past has lessons to teach us, yes¡ªbut don¡¯t let it blind you to what¡¯s in front of us now."

    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    Her gaze flickered between Steve and Logan, lingering for a moment before softening.

    "Don¡¯t let your ghosts decide the future."

    The words hung in the air like a prayer.

    For a moment, the cabin was quiet again.

    Then, Cyclops finally spoke, his voice calm and precise.

    "Wise words, Mrs. Summers." He adjusted his visor slightly, his gaze fixed forward.

    "You always knows what to say"

    Jean didn''t say anything but she smiled softly back at Scott.

    Steve nodded slowly.

    "Agreed."

    The Quinjet began its descent. The skyline of Washington, D.C. stretched wide before them¡ªthe Capitol Dome, monuments, and government buildings bathed in the orange glow of the setting sun.

    The Quinjet hummed steadily as it descended through the clear skies over Washington, D.C., the sprawling cityscape of power and politics stretching beneath them. The concrete and steel structure of S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters came into view¡ªa fortress of brutalist design, standing tall with its insignia gleaming under the fading light of day. The jet¡¯s sleek frame reflected the sunset as it prepared to land.

    Inside the cockpit, Falcon leaned forward, fingers gliding expertly over the controls. The radio crackled to life as he initiated contact with the base. His voice was calm, professional¡ªa soldier''s discipline underlying every word.

    "S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ, this is Alpha Quebec. Do you copy?"

    A moment''s pause. Then static, followed by a clear, clipped response.

    "Alpha Quebec, solid copy. Over."

    Falcon exchanged a glance with Captain America, who stood behind him, watching the approach through the cockpit window.

    "Requesting authorization to land. Over." Falcon continued, his tone steady.

    There was another brief silence before the reply came through, sharp and procedural.

    "Request authorized. Proceed to port three. S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ out."

    With a faint smirk, Sam Wilson leaned back in his seat.

    "We''re landing. Everyone seated and fasten your seatbelts."

    Logan''s gravelly voice broke the momentary silence.

    "Gotcha, birdie." He leaned back lazily, arms crossed, though his sharp gaze remained fixed on the descending skyline.

    "No funny business, Logan." Cyclops muttered, adjusting his visor.

    "Yeah, yeah, One-Eye. I¡¯ll behave." Logan replied with a toothy grin that didn¡¯t reach his eyes.

    Jean Grey smiled faintly at the exchange, though her posture remained poised. The tension in the cabin was palpable, even after the fight they''d just endured. The past weighed heavy on everyone here¡ªand they all knew it.

    "Approach steady. Touchdown in thirty seconds." Falcon¡¯s voice broke the tension as the landing struts deployed with a soft hiss.

    The Quinjet descended smoothly onto Port Three, its landing gear touching down with a soft thump. The engines powered down with a low whine, and the metallic hiss of the ramp lowering echoed inside the cabin.

    "Showtime." Rogers said simply, stepping toward the ramp.

    The team rose¡ªeach carrying their own burdens, their own histories¡ªready to face what lay ahead.

    The ramp lowered with a hiss of hydraulics, revealing the wide expanse of S.H.I.E.L.D.¡¯s landing bay, bustling with agents in tactical gear, technicians moving equipment, and the hum of nearby aircraft. But it wasn¡¯t the activity that caught the eye¡ªit was the waiting figures standing at the base of the ramp.

    There, in his signature black trench coat and eye patch, stood Nick Fury. His stance was as authoritative as ever, one hand resting on his hip, the other clasped behind his back. The sharp lines of his face bore the weight of secrets and wars few others could imagine. Maria Hill stood to his right, dressed in her standard tactical uniform, her posture rigid, expression unreadable. Beside her was Sharon Carter, composed and alert, offering the faintest nod when she caught Rogers¡¯ eye.

    As the Avengers and X-Men descended the ramp, Captain America took point, his broad shoulders squared, shield slung confidently across his back. The afternoon light gleamed off the polished star at its center.

    Fury didn¡¯t move. He simply waited.

    "Fury." Steve greeted, his tone polite but clipped.

    "Rogers." Fury nodded once.

    "Good to see you." He glanced past Steve at the others disembarking behind him¡ªLogan, Jean, and Scott. His eye narrowed faintly. "Admittedly, I''d prefer a better company, but this will do."

    The subtle jab wasn¡¯t lost on anyone.

    Before anyone could react, Steve¡¯s voice cut through the air¡ªcalm, controlled, but carrying the unmistakable edge of warning.

    "Watch it, Fury. They''re with me."

    The landing pad seemed to still for a moment. Even the hum of engines in the distance seemed to fade as Fury turned his full attention back to Rogers.

    For a moment, only silence.

    Then, slowly, Fury lifted his chin, offering the faintest smirk¡ªa gesture as much of challenge as it was of acknowledgment.

    "My apologies, Captain."

    His tone didn¡¯t soften, but the tension eased by a fraction. "Business, not personal."

    From behind Steve, Logan stepped forward, his adamantium claws retracted but the danger in his eyes ever-present. His gaze locked with Fury¡¯s, the two men sharing a silent, unspoken history that didn¡¯t need retelling.

    "Fury." Logan growled.

    "Howlett." Fury replied, as if tasting the name. "Still hard to kill, I see."

    "Takes more than Sentinels and governments to put me down." Logan grunted.

    "Yeah. I figured." Fury said with a slight nod.

    Steve glanced briefly at Sharon Carter, who met his gaze evenly. No words passed between them, but her subtle nod said enough. Maria Hill, meanwhile, kept her arms crossed, her sharp eyes scanning the group like a field commander measuring her soldiers.

    Fury finally stepped forward. His boots echoed against the steel of the landing pad.

    "Rogers." He gestured toward the sprawling structure of S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ, its concrete walls oppressive as it looked sturdy. A massive brutalist bunker under the Washington sun.

    "I¡¯ve got business to take care of. Important business. For now, Deputy Director Hill will take you from here."

    He glanced at Hill, who simply gave a curt nod in response.

    "You¡¯ll find what you¡¯re looking for soon enough." Fury added, his voice dropping just slightly. There was something else behind those words¡ªa warning? A promise? It was hard to tell.

    Steve watched him for a moment, reading the man who had been both ally and obstacle countless times. But Fury gave no more. His face was stone, his single eye cold with secrets.

    Finally, Captain America turned toward Maria Hill.

    "Shall we move, Deputy Director?"

    Hill gave him a crisp nod.

    "We shall, Captain" she echoed, voice clipped and professional.

    Without another word, she turned on her heel, striding toward the entrance of S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ. The group fell in step behind her, their footsteps echoing through the landing bay. As they walked, the shadows of the past seemed to lengthen behind them¡ªwars fought, alliances broken, and truths long buried.

    The towering S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters loomed around them¡ªa fortress of brutal utilitarian architecture and bureaucratic authority. The Quinjet''s engines had barely cooled when Sharon Carter and Maria Hill took the lead, their stride purposeful, expressions as unreadable as the secrets buried within these walls.

    The X-Men and Avengers followed, moving through the vast, echoing lobby of the headquarters. The place buzzed with activity¡ªagents typing furiously at terminals, officers briefing politicians, armed security. Yet, all movement slowed when the group entered.

    Dozens of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents turned their gazes, eyes narrowing in unison. Their stares weren¡¯t simply curious¡ªthey were guarded, suspicious, as if Mikhail Gorbachev himself had just stepped into the White House during the Cold War. Their hands lingered a little too close to holstered weapons.

    The hostility in the air was palpable.

    Logan took note first.

    Then Scott

    "They don''t look happy to see us."

    His voice was low, but the gravel in it echoed, his sharp gaze sweeping the place. The tension in his stance was subtle but unmistakable.

    Logan, walking beside him, didn¡¯t even bother to hide his scowl.

    "It''s S.H.I.E.L.D., Slim. It''d be funny if they did."

    Jean Grey stayed silent, her green eyes watching the agents carefully. A flicker of telepathic concern brushed lightly over her teammates¡ªa silent reassurance that she was monitoring the thoughts in the room, should things escalate.

    Captain America, ever composed, took a step closer to Maria Hill.

    "Hill, I thought military protocol dictated prohibited carry inside secure facilities."

    Hill didn¡¯t break stride or glance back. Her clipped voice cut through the tension like a blade.

    "These agents are internal security forces, our very own military police corps. It¡¯s a necessary precaution."

    Steve Rogers furrowed his brow but said nothing.

    The group continued down a long corridor, passing security checkpoints guarded by agents who stared them down with barely concealed hostility. The metallic hum of the facility buzzed in their ears. The air smelled faintly of gun oil and sterilized metal.

    Finally, they reached a secured door, flanked by armed guards. As the doors slid open with a hiss, the holding cell area came into view¡ªa cold, sterile place lined with reinforced glass cells and dim overhead lights.

    The atmosphere grew heavier.

    Suddenly, a crackling sound erupted from Cap''s comm. He instinctively raised a gloved hand, pressing the side of his helmet.

    "Cap, it''s Tony."

    "Sitrep, Tony." Steve''s tone sharpened immediately.

    "Well, Creed was in Alaska¡ªat least, that¡¯s where he went three days ago." There was a pause on the line. "We were attacked. But we are all stable"

    Captain America¡¯s steps slowed. His gaze hardened.

    "FoH?"

    "No. Sentinels. All of them marked with DARPA logos."

    A tense silence filled the corridor. The only sound was the faint hum of the lights. Steve Rogers''s expression darkened, his jaw tightening.

    "DARPA?" he repeated, more to himself than to Tony. His mind immediately ran through possibilities, none of them good.

    Falcon leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper.

    "Sir?"

    Steve turned to him.

    "Government-designed Sentinels. DARPA tech."

    Falcon cursed under his breath.

    "Damnit."

    "Calm down, Sam." Steve¡¯s voice remained steady, the tone of a leader holding his ground in the face of uncertainty. "We''ll sort this out."

    Logan, who had been trailing behind, stepped forward. His sharp gaze narrowed.

    "What''s goin¡¯ on there, Cap?"

    "Tony said they didn¡¯t find Creed, but they were attacked by Sentinels."

    "The kids good? Storm?" Logan''s tone softened, if only slightly. Beneath the gruffness, there was genuine concern.

    "Tony says everyone¡¯s stable."

    Logan gave a small nod.

    "Good. They''re good at what they do. Was just makin'' sure."

    Steve turned back toward the hallway. The news gnawed at him. DARPA? Government Sentinels? Something wasn¡¯t right.

    Sharon Carter reappeared from a side hallway, her face composed but her tone firm.

    "Denti is ready for you, Steve."

    Captain America straightened.

    "Understood."

    But as the group began to move, Sharon raised a hand.

    "He said he would see you and Falcon. Not a single X-Man."

    Cyclops took a step forward immediately, his tone sharp.

    "Are you sure about that?"

    "Absolutely." Sharon¡¯s gaze didn¡¯t waver.

    Jean Grey placed a calming hand on Scott¡¯s arm, her touch gentle but firm.

    "Scott. Let them handle it."

    Scott hesitated, red visor glinting under the harsh lights. He didn¡¯t like it¡ªbut Jean¡¯s steady gaze anchored him.

    "Just tell us what you find, Captain." Cyclops said at last, stepping back.

    "I will." Steve nodded. "Trust me."

    Logan snorted from the back.

    "Hmph. Trust. That''s a tall order around here. But I can make that exception for ya, soldier boy"

    As Captain America and Falcon followed Sharon Carter deeper into the holding cell wing, the tension in the air thickened. Behind them, the X-Men remained behind glass doors, under the scrutiny of armed S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, while the distant hum of energy shields echoed faintly.

    The sterile interrogation room was cold, bathed in harsh white light that reflected off its steel surfaces. The air was stiff with disinfectant and tension. There were no windows¡ªonly thick, gray walls and a single metal table in the center.

    Seated at that table, Agent Denti cut a frail but defiant figure. The wheelchair he sat in gleamed with new alloy supports. His brown hair, streaked with white along the sides, framed a sharp, angular face. His blue eyes, hidden behind aviator prescription glasses, held a cold bitterness that even time hadn¡¯t dulled. The man wore a pressed button-up shirt with rolled sleeves, his posture stiff but proud despite his confinement.

    Whatever they had to ask, it seemed Carl Denti already had an answer.

 Chapter 12: The Agent

    Captain America stepped in first, his figure tall and composed in his star-spangled uniform. His shield was absent¡ªleft at security¡ªbut his commanding presence remained. Falcon, clad in his standard tactical gear with the folded EXO-7 wings resting at his back, followed closely.

    Denti¡¯s gaze immediately lifted.

    "Captain Rogers," he said, his voice flat. His tone was calm, but the bitterness was unmistakable.

    "Sergeant Wilson."

    There was no warmth in the greeting.

    Steve Rogers inclined his head respectfully, motioning for Sam to stand beside him.

    "You¡¯re familiar with the Falcon, Denti?" Steve asked, keeping his voice measured.

    Denti adjusted his glasses with slow precision.

    "I am, Captain."

    His lips curled slightly¡ªnot quite a smile.

    "Air Force Sergeant. Social worker. Harlem¡¯s so-called protector."

    His tone was dripping with condescension.

    "I know of him. I¡¯m an investigator, after all."

    Sam Wilson didn¡¯t flinch. He folded his arms, staring Denti down. His calm was practiced.

    "FBI."

    "One of Quantico¡¯s best in criminal psychology, if the reports are true," Steve added, his blue eyes narrowing slightly. "May I sit, Agent Denti?"

    Denti gave a curt wave of his hand.

    "Sure, Captain. Sergeant Wilson," he added, his tone begrudging.

    Steve and Sam took their seats opposite Denti. The room grew even quieter. The hum of the air filtration system was the only sound.

    "I take it you¡¯re recovering." Steve gestured vaguely toward the wheelchair.

    Denti leaned back, his fingers tapping the armrests.

    "From the burns, yes."

    He paused. His expression hardened.

    "But your Texas mutant friend has confined me to a wheelchair for the rest of my life."

    The words dropped like lead in the room.

    Steve Rogers lowered his head briefly.

    "I¡¯m sorry, Denti."

    "It¡¯s not your fault, Captain."

    Denti¡¯s voice grew cold, sharper now.

    "It just appalls me that you would work with a freak like him¡ª"

    His gaze flicked between Steve and Sam.

    "¡ªor those so-called X-Men."

    Falcon leaned forward slightly, voice calm but firm.

    "Mr. Denti, please. We¡¯re here to protect as many lives as we can¡ªhuman and mutant alike."

    Denti¡¯s blue eyes gleamed with something darker. He took off his glasses slowly, folding them with a snap before placing them on the table.

    "Mutants aren¡¯t humans, Sergeant."

    Sam¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change, but a muscle tightened in his jaw.

    "With all due respect," Denti continued, "they¡¯re not even people. They shouldn¡¯t be granted citizenship as such."

    "Why not?" Steve¡¯s voice cut through the room.

    Denti leaned forward now, hands clasped on the table, his knuckles whitening.

    "Because they completely disregard our laws, our foundations. Our very nature."

    His voice rose slightly.

    "They spit in the face of the American people. They make a mockery of everything this nation was built on. They have powers¡ªabilities¡ªbeyond human comprehension. And with that power, they believe they¡¯re above our rules."

    The room fell still.

    Steve Rogers watched him carefully, his hands folded in front of him.

    "Tell me, Mr. Denti," Steve said quietly, "why do you hate mutants so much? Help me understand. Me and the Sergeant¡ªwe want to help you."

    Denti¡¯s face twisted, something cold flashing in his eyes.

    "I don¡¯t want your help."

    The words dripped with venom.

    "You both helped that dirty cowboy freak humiliate me. I lost my legs. I lost my honor."

    Sam Wilson leaned in, voice low.

    "Mr. Denti, what we did was stop your rampage in Houston. You murdered innocent people¡ªhuman and mutants alike."

    His gaze was unwavering.

    "You used to be a federal agent. You must understand the importance of accountability."

    Silence.

    For a long moment, Denti said nothing. Then, slowly, he removed his glasses again. His blue eyes¡ªno longer shielded¡ªlooked distant, almost haunted.

    "I didn¡¯t want that to happen."

    His voice was barely above a whisper.

    Steve Rogers narrowed his eyes.

    "You got carried away by hate."

    "No." Denti shook his head slowly. "I was trying to protect people."

    "That wasn¡¯t protection." Sam¡¯s voice was firmer now. "That was slaughter."

    Denti¡¯s hand clenched into a fist on the table. He took a long, deep breath.

    "It was a mistake."

    The words sounded bitter¡ªlike swallowing broken glass.

    "An honest, sad mistake. I overstepped my pursuit of justice..."

    Steve Rogers sat back slowly.

    "What do you mean, justice for what?"

    Denti exhaled sharply, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, they were cold.

    "Fred Duncan."

    The name lingered in the room.

    "Fred Duncan was an honest cop. An FBI agent through and through. My mentor."

    Steve exchanged a brief glance with Sam. They knew the name. Fred Duncan¡ªone of the first federal agents assigned to mutant affairs during the late 20th century. A man who believed that mutants and humans could coexist. Or at least that was what they read.

    "He was the head of the mutant crimes division." Denti continued.

    "We investigated the Brotherhood. The Hellfire Club. Every mutant group that posed a threat to humanity."

    His fingers drummed against the table. His eyes darkened.

    "We were on the hunt for her."

    "Who?" Steve asked, though he had a guess.

    "Raven Darkholme. Mystique."

    The name echoed in the sterile room.

    "She¡¯s been a plague on humanity since before the United States even had police forces." Denti''s voice was filled with venom now. "She came from Europe to terrorize our people."

    Steve Rogers leaned forward.

    "Mystique¡¯s killed a lot of people. But not all mutants are like her. You know that."

    Denti ignored him. His voice dropped to a cold, haunted whisper.

    "Back then, she was working with Erik Lehnsherr¡ªMagneto."

    A sharp pause.

    "Fred and I were assigned to bring her in. We struck a deal with Sebastian Shaw and the Hellfire Club. They gave us intel on a warehouse where Mystique and her Brotherhood were hiding."

    Sam Wilson frowned.

    "Wait, Shaw sold her out?"

    "Shaw never plays fair. But we were desperate." Denti clenched his fists. His voice grew harsher.

    "Fred insisted we lead the operation ourselves. Said it was our duty. So we went."

    He took a deep breath.

    "It was an ambush."

    The room grew colder.

    "The moment we walked through the door, they attacked. The Blob. Pyro. Mystique herself."

    His jaw tightened.

    "Fred didn¡¯t stand a chance. They tore him apart. Right in front of me."

    Steve Rogers remained silent, listening intently.

    "I was the only survivor." Denti whispered.

    "They let me live. As a message. To the FBI. To humanity."

    Sam Wilson looked at him with a mixture of pity and understanding.

    "And after that, you vowed to kill them all."

    Denti didn¡¯t respond immediately. His gaze dropped to his lap, to the motionless legs that The Alamo had left him with.

    When he looked up, there was a fire in his eyes¡ªcold, dangerous.

    He leaned forward.

    "Not all."

    Denti¡¯s voice shattered the silence, defensive and sharp.

    "Not all mutants, Captain."

    His gaze shifted between them, sharp and unwavering.

    "Just the criminal ones."

    He leaned forward, pressing his palms against the table as though daring them to challenge him.

    "I gave the others the benefit of the doubt. I did. But it became clear they¡¯re all in cahoots. Emma Frost manipulated the Bureau into dropping investigations into her crimes, and it cost me my job. And the X-Men? They¡¯re chummy with her. Didn''t bat an eye. Just like they accepted a Brotherhood''s own. You tell me, Captain¡ªdoes that sound like justice?"

    The accusation hung in the air.

    Sam Wilson narrowed his eyes but kept his voice low, steady.

    "So you started killing."

    Denti¡¯s jaw tightened.

    "I didn¡¯t want to kill."

    His words came fast, almost defensive.

    "But what can a man do when these¡­ things destroy everything they touch?"

    His voice cracked with the last word. His eyes flicked downward¡ªto his paralyzed leg

    Steve Rogers sat forward, folding his gloved hands on the table. His voice remained even, but the steel in his tone was unmistakable.

    "You were attacked because you endangered innocent lives. You threatened a civilian, shot at others, and endangered his co-workers."

    Denti¡¯s head snapped up, his blue eyes flashing with rage behind the glasses.

    "I had a long career in law enforcement, Captain!"

    His voice echoed off the walls.

    "And it ended because I was trying to do my job, but mutants didn''t want to face accountability for their actions."

    He then rested his hands over his legs, the same which the Alamo made sure he was unable to use.

    "Then to add insult to injury, I was humiliated by a boy with too much power-"

    Steve Rogers sat forward, folding his gloved hands on the table. His voice remained even, but the steel in his tone was unmistakable.

    "You tried to kill him, Denti. You are very aware of that, he wasn''t the only that was endangered that day. You could''ve harmed people."

    Denti¡¯s head snapped up, his blue eyes flashing with rage behind the glasses.

    "No Captain, that¡¯s what mutants do, Captain. They don¡¯t protect. They don¡¯t serve. They take. They destroy. And no one stops them."

    The words were like venom, and for a moment, Steve Rogers said nothing. His blue eyes remained fixed on Denti, unreadable.

    "We stop them, Denti."

    Steve¡¯s voice was quiet but carried the weight of conviction.

    "When they cross the line, we stop them. And when humans cross the line, we stop them too."

    Denti let out a hollow, bitter laugh.

    "You don¡¯t get it, Captain."

    He leaned back, arms crossed over his chest.

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    "Absolute power corrupts absolutely. No one¡ªno one¡ªshould have that kind of power."

    Steve exchanged a glance with Sam.

    The room seemed to tighten, the weight of Denti¡¯s words settling between them.

    Then, Steve Rogers leaned forward again, his voice dropping into a softer, but firmer tone.

    "I¡¯m sorry, Denti. But this is not the right way to defend humanity. Who gave you the authority to kill people?"

    Carl Denti, restrained but unbroken, met Steve''s gaze with chilling calm.

    "Captain, you must really reevaluate your question."

    Steve Rogers tilted his head slightly, his blue eyes narrowing.

    "Is that so?"

    Denti¡¯s lips twisted into a thin smile.

    "That is so."

    His gaze flicked toward Sam Wilson before returning to Steve.

    "You¡¯re both military men. I take it you¡¯ve killed before?"

    The room froze.

    Sam Wilson leaned back, eyes narrowing.

    "I was in the Air Force¡ªrescue missions. I never killed."

    Steve Rogers remained still. His voice dropped a fraction¡ªquiet, burdened.

    "I did."

    The admission carried a heaviness that seemed to press down on the room.

    "More times than I ever wanted."

    Denti¡¯s smile faded into something graver. He leaned forward again, his fingers tapping the cold steel table.

    "Then listen to me, Rogers."

    The room seemed to hold its breath.

    "In the wars you fought¡ªin Germany, Italy, France, Kuwait, Afghanistan, Iraq¡ªevery deployment you had, Captain."

    Denti¡¯s voice grew quieter, more deliberate.

    "I take it you killed bad men? Rapists, war criminals, murderers¡­"

    Steve Rogers nodded slowly, his face hardening.

    "Yes."

    "But consider this."

    Denti¡¯s voice dropped¡ªalmost a whisper now.

    "Not the terrorists. Not the murderers or the rapists. Not the SS, not HYDRA. Not the monsters who deserved it. But the young enlisted¡ªthe conscripts in the Wehrmacht. The scared 18-year-old with no love for Hitler, no hatred for America. The boy who wanted to survive."

    The words hit hard, resonating in the stillness.

    "Did they deserve to die?"

    A long pause.

    Steve Rogers closed his eyes. The ghosts of the past flickered behind his mind¡¯s eye. Faces blurred by time¡ªenemy soldiers, too young for war.

    "No."

    The word came, soft but sure.

    "Then why did they die, Captain?"

    Denti leaned forward, his voice pressing.

    "Why?"

    Steve Rogers opened his eyes. They were tired but resolute.

    "Because it was a war."

    The room seemed to shift at those words.

    "We fought to secure freedom, democracy, and justice¡ªto protect people from tyranny."

    Denti¡¯s lips curled into a grim smile.

    "Exactly."

    He pointed at Steve.

    "And this, Captain, is a war."

    He looked down at his paralyzed legs, then back up. His voice dripped with certainty.

    "It''s ugly, and it hurts innocent people. But our goals are the same: freedom, democracy, and justice for mankind. For people who will be crushed by mutants¡ªjust as I was."

    Steve Rogers stood.

    His fists clenched at his sides.

    "These are innocent people, Denti. Not every mutant is an enemy."

    "And not every dead soldier deserved to die, but they did."

    Denti shot back without missing a beat.

    "Because wars aren¡¯t clean. I¡¯m not proud of every mutant I¡¯ve killed, Captain. But I know I do this for humanity¡¯s defense. If people like me don¡¯t do it¡­ humanity falls."

    Sam Wilson, silent for long minutes, finally spoke. His voice was cold, cutting through the rising tension.

    "What about the X-Men?"

    He stepped forward.

    "Are they looking to destroy us too? Humans?"

    Denti scoffed.

    "Do you think they¡¯re innocent?"

    He leaned forward, eyes gleaming with conviction.

    "How many people has James Howlett killed? How many has Scott Summers led into battle? How many more have to die before we realize mutants can¡¯t be roaming free?"

    He looked directly at Steve Rogers.

    "Look at Jean Grey. Look at that kid, Duncan Nenni¡ªthe one who crippled me. You know what they¡¯re capable of. You remember what Rogue did to Colonel Danvers. How many lives is too many? How many more before you admit I¡¯m right?"

    Steve¡¯s expression darkened.

    "Denti, we understand your fears. But you¡¯ve crossed a line. You¡¯ve killed people who didn¡¯t deserve it."

    "I know."

    Denti¡¯s voice softened¡ªbut it was the most chilling tone yet.

    "But hard decisions have to be made. Wars aren¡¯t won by the soft-hearted. They¡¯re won by those willing to do what¡¯s necessary."

    "Jesus" Sam muttered, shaking his head.

    Steve Rogers stepped forward, resting his hands on the metal table. His shadow loomed over Denti.

    "You talk about hard decisions like you¡¯re the only one who¡¯s made them. But I¡¯ve seen what happens when men think the ends justify the means."

    Denti looked up, calm but unrelenting.

    "Captain, you don¡¯t believe a word of what you just said. If you did, you¡¯d be a pacifist. But you¡¯re not."

    His voice dropped into something cold and final.

    "Because you know the eggs we have to crack to make the omelet."

    Steve Rogers straightened, his blue eyes hard as steel.

    "Don¡¯t patronize me, Denti."

    Denti smiled grimly. "Captain, I know. And I can relate."

    Steve exhaled heavily, his hands pressing into the table. "There¡¯s still time to do the right thing, Denti."

    Denti shook his head slowly, his expression resolute. "This is the right thing."

    The room fell into a tense silence, the weight of the exchange palpable as the conversation lingered unresolved.

    Falcon interjected, breaking the heavy silence with a voice that cut through the tension like a blade.

    "Do you really believe this is the right thing, Denti?" Sam asked, leaning forward, his tone sharp but measured. "What about the Carraro employees who got hurt by those who claimed to defend humanity?"

    Denti raised an eyebrow, his expression briefly flickering with confusion. "What do you mean?"

    "Thomas Thompson," Sam said firmly. "The guards the Leper Queen killed in Houston. Those were humans¡ªmen who served. Were they not?"

    The name hit Denti like a punch to the gut. His posture stiffened, and his composure cracked. "Damnit!" he growled, slamming a restrained fist on the table. "I thought the X-Men killed Thompson. That bitch! Those were good people! Thompson was a good man, he didn¡¯t deserve to die!"

    Sam exchanged a quick glance with Steve before continuing. "But more will die if we don¡¯t stop Creed and Trask."

    Denti leaned back, shaking his head as if trying to shake off the weight of the realization. "Shit," he muttered, running a hand over his face. For the first time in the conversation, his confidence faltered, replaced by something resembling regret.

    "Think about it, Denti," Sam pressed. "This is more than human versus mutant. It¡¯s about safeguarding the lives of both humans and mutants. This war you¡¯re fighting¡ªit¡¯s not as black and white as you think."

    Denti stared at the table, his jaw tight, the cracks in his resolve growing larger by the second. "Alright," he said finally, his voice rough. "What would you have me do, huh?"

    Steve leaned in, his expression softening but his tone firm. "We need you to tell us what you know about Trask¡¯s operations so we can bring him to justice. No more hiding behind your rhetoric. No more excuses."

    Denti¡¯s eyes snapped up to meet Steve¡¯s, defiance flashing briefly before being tempered by weariness. "I can¡¯t say, Rogers. We¡ªUnless... Well, there''s one thing"

    "And that is?"

    "Plea bargain. They will send me away, I just want to have time to rest, not die in prison. I''m too old for this."

    Steve looked to Sam trying to find an answer.

    "Give us a moment."

    Steve and Sam got up from the chair and leaned against the wall.

    "I know the X-Men are here" Denti said from the table. "Don''t talk to them, decide it here..."

    "But I thought you wanted to spend less time in jail..." Falcon said, his tone was bitting and confident, questioning Denti''s prior motivation.

    "I don''t want my fate to be decided by mutants, not again."

    Steve nodded and looked back at Sam.

    "Sam, what do you think."

    "I hate to say it, Cap. But this is the best we have, he has a lot of information, if Jennifer is able to bring this to court it will be enough to put Trask behind bars."

    "This is making life easier, even after his crimes" Steve rubbed his chin, his shoulder pressed against the wall, his voice low as a whisper.

    "Or maybe he goes to trial, Trask pays the judge and the jury and he doesn''t pay for his crimes at all. Or worse, he dies, can''t be protected and we lose his testimony."

    "I''m not sure."

    "Cap, the more we know, the harder we can make for these people to hunt down mutants in the future, think of systemic change this case could bring."

    "The X-Men trusted me to not betray the justice they seek."

    "If Denti dies like Thompson what justice will there be?"

    "God..." Steve closed his eyes briefly and inhaled deeply. "I hope we are doing the right thing, Sam."

    "He will face justice, Cap. We''ll make sure of that."

    With that they came back to the table.

    Denti let out a long sigh, leaning back in his chair. "So is that reached a decision?" he said, his voice tired. "You want me to testify, no?"

    Steve nodded. "Yes, there will be a plea bargain, only if you testify"

    For a moment, Denti was silent, his gaze dropping to the table. When he spoke, his voice was softer, almost resigned. "Well, I will. There¡¯s no more fight in me, Captain. I¡¯m defeated. Look at me. My legs are gone, my face is scarred. I¡¯ll let other people fight now¡­ I¡¯ve earned my retirement."

    Steve leaned forward again, his voice quiet but heavy with meaning. "If you testify against Trask, you¡¯d be helping to shift this entire conflict toward justice¡ªreal justice. Not vengeance. Not hate."

    For a long moment, Denti was silent, his jaw working as he stared at the table. His hands, restrained by cuffs, clenched and unclenched in rhythm, betraying the storm of thoughts raging behind his eyes. Finally, he exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his decision.

    "Alright," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I¡¯ll bite."

    Steve nodded, a hint of relief crossing his face. "That¡¯s the right call, Denti."

    Sam straightened, his arms crossed, watching as Denti¡¯s gaze flickered between them. "You¡¯re doing the right thing," he added.

    Denti snorted softly, his smirk returning, though it lacked its earlier edge. "We¡¯ll see about that."

    As the room settled into silence once more, the sense of resolution hung precariously, fragile but present. This wasn¡¯t the end, but it was a step forward. A crack in the armor of a man who had spent years fighting a war he was no longer certain he could win.

    And for Steve and Sam, it was the hope they needed to keep pushing forward in their fight for justice.

    Carl Denti¡¯s gaze flickered with something between resignation and determination as he leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a low, almost conspiratorial tone. "What you want to know?"

    Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson exchanged a brief glance before Steve spoke up, his voice steady and authoritative. "Trask. What is Trask¡¯s relationship to Carraro?"

    Denti let out a long breath, leaning back in his chair. "Okay. Trask bought the Carraro company five years ago, in 2020. The idea was to create a legal front for Friends of Humanity operations, launder the money brought in by Trask International. On paper, it looked perfect¡ªa tech company hiring a security firm. Nothing unusual about that, right?"

    "But that wasn¡¯t what was happening, was it?" Steve asked, his voice calm but unrelenting.

    Denti hesitated, his jaw tightening. "Yes and no," he admitted. "There were a few Carraro guys who worked in Trask¡¯s labs, but not most. The majority of them were kept in the dark. Just good ol¡¯ security staff with no idea what they were really guarding."

    "Creed took over as CEO after Trask bought the company¡ªor, more accurately, after Creed bought the company. Trask was funding it, but Creed was the face. He ran the day-to-day operations, made sure the money kept flowing, and kept everyone in line."

    "Trask owned Carraro" Steve pressed.

    "In a way..."

    "What about you?"

    "I trained the troops and was head of operations," Denti replied, his voice taking on a matter-of-fact tone. "I gave the green light on shipments. Did some black ops to retrieve stolen company property."

    "Like those Mexican cartel members rumored to be killed by Carraro on the border?" Steve asked, his voice low and sharp.

    Denti¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change, but his silence spoke volumes. "I¡¯ll keep my Fifth Amendment rights at hand, Captain," he said finally, his voice tinged with defiance.

    Sam leaned in, his expression intense. "What about the government? Was there any involvement with the government, connections with the Military, DARPA?"

    Denti hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. "I¡¯m not sure about DARPA, but," he admitted. "We talked with General Ross once, but he was more talkative with Creed than with me. Maybe Trask had something with him."

    "Damn," Sam muttered under his breath.

    Steve¡¯s jaw tightened. "This is a significant development," he said, his voice grave.

    Denti shrugged. "It¡¯s natural, Captain. A lot of people are scared of mutants. Some mutants are stronger than the Hulk. With Ross¡¯s experience, the government would certainly enlist his efforts to keep humanity safe. You think SHIELD doesn¡¯t have its own secret files on mutants?"

    "What about the Leper Queen?" Steve asked, his tone sharp.

    "I don¡¯t know who this bitch is," Denti said, his voice dripping with disdain, "but from what you said, she killed a bunch of good men. She¡¯s the leader of the Sapien League, yeah? What they want or how they operate... I don¡¯t know. But¡­" He paused, leaning forward slightly, his voice lowering. "Trask threatened to replace the Friends of Humanity with them. Said they were more efficient, more dedicated. But I¡¯m telling you, Captain, the Sapien League couldn¡¯t last a week against what the FoH built."

    "So Trask wasn¡¯t loyal to the FoH?" Sam asked, incredulity creeping into his voice.

    "Like the FoH isn¡¯t loyal to Trask," Denti shot back, his tone bitter.

    Sam frowned. "But Carraro¡ª"

    "Means to an end, Sergeant Wilson," Denti interrupted. "We both want humanity safe. That¡¯s what it always comes back to. For all of Trask¡¯s posturing, that¡¯s what he claims to want."

    Steve Rogers exhaled heavily, the weight of the conversation pressing down on him like a physical burden. He exchanged a glance with Sam Wilson, whose expression mirrored his own weariness. Carl Denti, seated across the table, shifted slightly in his chair, his damaged frame a stark reminder of the cost of the path he¡¯d chosen.

    "We¡¯ll talk to the Leper Queen then," Steve said, his voice steady despite the tension in the room.

    Denti raised an eyebrow, his gaze sharpening. "She¡¯s here?"

    "Yes," Steve replied.

    Denti¡¯s lips curled into a grim smirk. "I hope she rots here. Does it well for her."

    Sam tilted his head, curiosity creeping into his tone. "How so?"

    Denti leaned back slightly, his arms crossing over his chest. "I would never have killed Thompson," he said, his voice quieter now, almost reflective. "We could¡¯ve just gotten him and his family out of the country, away from the prying eyes of the X-Fucks. But she killed him¡­ in cold blood." His voice hardened with anger at the end, his fists clenching.

    Steve leaned forward slightly. "Well, she won¡¯t do any more killing," he said, his tone firm.

    Denti snorted softly, shaking his head. "I¡¯m sure people like her find a way," he muttered.

    "Ahem," Sam interjected, clearing his throat. "She lost her right hand."

    Denti blinked, looking genuinely surprised. "What?"

    Sam glanced at Steve before continuing. "The Alamo. He crushed her hand."

    "Samuel," Steve said, his tone a warning.

    "Sorry," Sam replied, lifting his hands defensively. "I just wanted to point it out."

    Denti chuckled under his breath, a low, bitter sound. "Serves her right," he said, shaking his head. "Still¡­ Captain, you see how these mutants are dangerous, no? Today it¡¯s the Leper Queen¡¯s hand. Tomorrow, it¡¯s the president¡¯s head."

    Steve¡¯s expression hardened, his tone resolute. "I don¡¯t think that¡¯s the goal of most mutants. Same way is not the goal of most humans."

    "It''s not a matter of desire, it''s a matter of power." Denti said, his voice carrying the certainty of a man who believed he was right, even if the world disagreed. "You¡¯ll see"

    Steve straightened, his hands resting firmly on the table. "Is that all, Denti?"

    "That is all, I''ll say before that plea bargain."

    Denti looked between them, his smirk returning, though it carried no real warmth. "Just promise me something, Captain."

    Steve¡¯s eyes narrowed slightly. "What?"

    "When the mutants turn on us," Denti said, his voice cold and measured, "you¡¯ll fight for America. For the average people. Not them. Not Xavier, not the X-Men, not the Alamo¡­ Us. People. People who believe in Captain America."

    Steve¡¯s jaw tightened, and for a moment, silence filled the room. Then, his voice came low and resolute. "I¡¯ll fight for what¡¯s right. Freedom, justice and hope. I don¡¯t care if I have to fight mutants or humans for it."

    Denti stared at him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Then your heart is in the right place, Captain America."

    Steve rose from his chair, adjusting his gloves. "We¡¯ll talk again, Denti."

    Denti nodded, a faint trace of a smirk on his face. "We will, Captain. Sergeant."

    Sam stepped closer, his voice softer. "You¡¯re doing the right thing, Carl."

    Denti chuckled again, but there was no humor in it. "Yeah, yeah¡­ Just leave me alone now."

    Steve and Sam turned toward the door, their boots echoing in the small interrogation room. As the door shut behind them, Denti leaned back in his chair, staring at the empty table in front of him. For a man who had spent his life fighting, the quiet of the room felt heavier than any battle he¡¯d faced.

    Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson stepped out of the interrogation room, their expressions weighed down by the heaviness of what had transpired. The tension of the conversation with Carl Denti clung to them like a shroud, and even the faint echo of the closing door seemed to underline the gravity of the moment.

    Logan was waiting for them in the dimly lit hallway, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his ever-present scowl deepening as he sniffed the air. "Got anythin¡¯, bub?"

    Steve stopped, his face betraying only the faintest flicker of frustration. "We got him to tell us about Trask, Creed¡­ and more," he replied evenly.

    Logan tilted his head, his sharp eyes narrowing. "He¡¯ll testify?"

    Steve nodded. "He will."

    Logan huffed a dry laugh, his tone laced with skepticism. "Really? I wonder what price you paid to make a man like him talk."

    "Logan," Jean Grey interjected softly, stepping forward to place a calming hand on his arm.

    But Cyclops, standing nearby with his arms folded, wasn¡¯t as quick to de-escalate. He turned his gaze sharply to Steve. "No, Jean. Logan¡¯s right. What happened there, Captain?"

    Steve met his glare with one of his own, his voice calm but firm. "We talked. We offered him a plea bargain."

    Cyclops¡¯ visor tilted upward as his expression hardened. "Really, Rogers? Tell me about it."

    Steve straightened his posture, his tone steady. "We''ll see, but this is the best way to bring Trask to justice."

    "Maybe bring his sentence from life to a couple decades. Some few years in parole, before he can die old and alone." Falcon added, though his voice carried a hint of empathy.

    The words hung in the air like a thunderclap.

    "Parole?!" Cyclops exploded, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

    "Captain," Jean said, her voice a mix of anger and disbelief, "this man has been a problem for the X-Men for years. The amount of people he killed¡­ You can¡¯t let him be free."

    Logan¡¯s claws scraped the wall behind him as he growled low. "Steve, this man is dangerous. Great, bub. Just great. I vouched for ya, Steve."

    Steve¡¯s lips tightened into a thin line, his jaw clenched.

    "Captain, you betrayed us," Cyclops said, his voice cold as ice.

    "Captain America didn¡¯t betray any of you," Sam snapped, stepping in defensively. "Do you think this is easy? Do you think we like this?"

    Cyclops turned to him, his voice sharp and cutting. "The man is a killer, Falcon."

    "Yeah? What about Wolverine? Is he a saint?" Sam fired back.

    Logan¡¯s head snapped up, his eyes flashing dangerously. "You wanna play that game, kid?"

    With a sudden SNIKT, Logan¡¯s claws slid out, gleaming in the low light.

    "Logan, please," Jean said, stepping between him and Sam.

    Logan¡¯s gaze didn¡¯t waver, his teeth bared. "Oh, Red, the kid is askin¡¯ for it."

    Sam stepped forward, his tone cold and measured. "Is this how you solve problems, Wolverine? You tear a hole through them?"

    Logan turned to face Cyclops, his claws twitching. "I¡¯m happy to show you how I do it, bub."

    "ENOUGH!" Steve¡¯s voice thundered through the hallway, cutting through the rising tension like a blade. All eyes turned to him as he took a deliberate step forward, his commanding presence instantly silencing the group. "All of you. We have good evidence to incriminate Trask. We will stop him and the Friends of Humanity. This is what matters."

    Cyclops shook his head, his posture stiff with frustration. "How can we keep trusting you, Captain?"

    "I promised Rogue I''d see this through, we need to have justice for the people who died. Put an end in this domestic terrorism issue. We need Trask to be accountable for his crimes. The best way to truly change this is with changes to the law." Steve responded.

    "We need case where they''re prosecuted, we need to make sure this won''t be a one time thing." Sam added. His tone defensive.

    "And the best way to do this is be lettin'' this fucker walk free?" Wolverine retorted, a deep scowl in his face.

    "He''s not walking free, he''s going to do time. We only said he won''t die in prison." Falcon corrected.

    "Too bad that''s were he should die."

    "Captain, this is not the way." Jean looked at him, they could see the strain in her voice.

    Logan gave his back to the group, his fists clenching as his claw retracted.

    "The kid was right, trustin'' this damn government won''t lead anywhere."

    The sound of footsteps broke the moment as Sharon Carter appeared from the far end of the hallway, a file tucked under one arm. She stopped a few steps away from Steve, her expression unreadable. "Steve," she said briskly, "do you want to talk to the Leper Queen?"

    Steve nodded without hesitation. "Yes."

    "We¡¯ll go," Sam said, stepping up beside him.

    "No¡ª" Steve started, but Sam cut him off.

    "Steve, the X-Men are with us. They can come."

    "Yeah, we¡¯ll," Cyclops said firmly, stepping forward.

    Logan scoffed under his breath, his arms crossing over his chest. "Great. Just great."

    Steve turned to face him directly, his voice taking on a sharp edge. "Logan."

    Logan¡¯s eyes narrowed dangerously. "You don¡¯t order me around anymore, boy scout," he growled.

    "Logan," Jean said softly, placing a hand on his arm again.

    For a moment, it seemed like Logan might argue further, but then he shrugged off her hand and stepped back with a disgruntled huff. "Fine. Let¡¯s get this over with."

    Steve nodded and turned back to Sharon. "Lead the way."

    The group followed Sharon down the hallway, the tension palpable as they prepared to face the Leper Queen. Behind them, only the humming of the ACs echoed in the hallway, a bitter reminder of the cost of their choices.

 Chapter 13: The Mother

    Once more Captain America and Falcon found themselves in the cold interrogation room, by their side Cyclops, Jean Grey, and Wolverine. The walls were a lifeless gray, the overhead light a sterile glare casting harsh shadows over the stark metal table. Across from them, shackled at the wrists¡ªone wrist, at least¡ªwas Clara Page, the Leper Queen.

    For the first time, she sat without the bulky black armor of the Sapien League, without the face mask that had hidden her from the world, and her appearance struck harder than any words could. It did not shake Wolverine, who had seen far worse. It did not shake Captain America, who had spent a lifetime witnessing war¡¯s cruel touch. It did not shake Cyclops, whose heart had long since been hardened by experience.

    But Jean Grey and Falcon? They hesitated.

    Her face was a roadmap of suffering. Burned beyond recognition. Her once-proud features had melted under the heat of a fire she had not been able to escape. Scar tissue stretched over her forehead and cheekbones, her lips reduced to thin, cracked lines barely covering yellowed teeth. Her arms, exposed for the first time, bore the aftermath of old wounds and fresh ones alike¡ªscars upon scars, burns upon burns.

    And of course¡ªher right hand was gone.

    Reduced to a seared stump, the flesh long since cauterized, a permanent reminder of the day Alamo took from her the hand that had held countless weapons, that had pulled countless triggers.

    Clara Page sat stiff-backed, her remaining hand clenched into a tight fist, as if she could still feel her missing fingers curled into a phantom grip. Her jaw was locked, her scorched lips pressed into a thin, immovable line. She would not speak first. She would not give them anything.

    Cyclops stepped forward, but it was Captain America who spoke first. His voice was even, commanding but measured.

    "Clara Page."

    The woman did not move. She barely blinked.

    "Ain¡¯t ya sayin¡¯ somethin¡¯, lady?" Wolverine''s voice was gruff, biting, but still, there was no response.

    And then, slowly, as if acknowledging them was an afterthought, her burnt, ruined face lifted ever so slightly, her scarred, sunken eyes locking onto Logan with something that almost resembled amusement¡ªif it weren¡¯t so cold.

    "I have nothing to tell you," she said. Her voice was hoarse, rasping like old parchment, like a throat that had been screaming too long in the dark.

    Logan exhaled sharply through his nose. His fingers twitched, but he didn¡¯t move. "Oh, but ya do, lady. Ya owe us a lot."

    Captain America lifted a hand, cutting off Logan before he could press further. "Logan."

    Cyclops moved forward now, closing the distance between them. His arms were crossed, his posture unwavering.

    "We need your help, Miss Page."

    Her gaze flickered toward him, and for a moment, there was silence. Then she gave a short, sharp laugh, her scarred features twisting into something bitter.

    "Mrs. Page," she corrected. Then, her voice filled with venom, she spat, "And you can shove my help deep inside your mutie ass,<i> sweetie</i>."

    Behind Cyclops, Falcon furrowed his brow, but Cap gave a slight shake of his head, a silent command: let it go.

    Cyclops exhaled, tightening his jaw. "I¡¯m not going to play games with you, Page. I¡¯m tired of seeing people die." He glanced at Captain America then, his voice sharpening. "I¡¯m tired of crimes going unpunished."

    Falcon¡¯s gaze darkened at that, but he kept quiet. Cap simply sighed, arms still crossed. "It¡¯s fine, Sam. Thank you."

    Cyclops turned back to Page. "You better speak."

    Clara Page lifted her chin, her burnt lips curling in a sneer. "Or what?" she hissed. "You¡¯ll kill me? Take off my other hand so I can¡¯t even clean myself, is that it?"

    Cyclops exhaled sharply. His fingers flexed at his sides. He knew this game. He had played it before.

    <i>"She¡¯s been through a lot, Scott</i>," came Jean¡¯s voice inside his mind, soft, understanding. <i>"Try to work around it, not through it."</i>

    Scott clenched his teeth but gave a slight nod. He hated this¡ªhated that empathy was necessary for someone like her. But Jean was right. They couldn¡¯t strong-arm her into cooperation.

    He sighed, his voice lowering. "We want to help people, Mrs. Page."

    Something in her eyes flickered then¡ªsomething raw, something wounded, something that had been buried beneath layers of hatred for too long.

    And then¡ªrage.

    "Help?" she whispered, and then, louder, <i>"Help?!"</i>

    She jolted in her seat, her remaining hand slamming against the table. The stub of her other arm trembled, twitching in the open air, as if her body was still trying to reach for something¡ªsomething she could never have again.

    "All you mutants do is destroy," she hissed. Her voice was shaking now, but not with fear. With fury. With grief. With something that had rotted inside of her long before she had ever sat in this chair.

    Her breath came sharp and ragged, her ruined face twisting as her body trembled with restrained emotion.

    "You destroy, you kill, you maim, you burn¡ªthat is all you do."

    She lifted the stub of her right hand, shaking it in front of them like a cruel, grotesque joke.

    "You take," she whispered, her voice raw. "You never give. You just take."

    A heavy silence fell over the room.

    Jean stepped forward. Her heart ached¡ªnot for Clara Page¡¯s sins, but for the grief behind them.

    "I sense you¡¯re in pain, Clara."

    Jean¡¯s voice was gentle, sincere¡ªand it was real.

    "We can help you. I can help you. Please."

    For a moment, Page¡¯s face broke. It was a flicker, a flash of something fragile and exhausted, something so tired of carrying the weight of its own hatred.

    And then she scoffed. The moment was gone.

    Her ruined lips pulled into something mocking, bitter, jagged like broken glass.

    "You want to get inside my mind, do you?" she rasped. "You think you can handle it? You think you can survive inside my head?"

    Jean remained steady. "I can try," she said softly. "I can try to help you. If there are things you wish to forget¡ª"

    "Forget?"

    The word came out in a whisper, and then, suddenly, a scream.

    "Forget?!"

    She jerked forward, the chair scraping against the floor, her breathing ragged, wild.

    "I don¡¯t want to forget!"

    Tears swelled in her ruined eyes now, trailing down her scarred face like rivers carved into scorched earth.

    "I want them back."

    Cyclops inhaled sharply. His voice was quiet. "Who?"

    Clara Page¡¯s lips trembled. Her breathing came in uneven gasps.

    Her tears burned as they fell.

    Her voice was so small.

    "Doesn¡¯t matter."

    She swallowed hard, shaking her head furiously. "Not to you."

    Jean stepped closer, slow and careful, as if approaching a wounded animal.

    "Please, Clara," she murmured. "Let me help you."

    For the first time, Clara Page did not sneer. She did not curse. She did not fight.

    She only breathed.

    And then, in a voice so hollow it could have been a ghost¡¯s whisper, she said, "It doesn¡¯t matter."

    She exhaled sharply, the tears still falling.

    And then, her burned, scarred face lifted, and she looked Jean Grey in the eye.

    "You want to see what you mutants do?"

    She let out a sharp, broken breath.

    "Yeah. Do it."

    She tilted her head back slightly.

    Her scarred lips curled into something close to a smirk.

    "Do it."

    Jean didn¡¯t wait for further permission. Her fingertips pressed against Clara¡¯s cheek, and with a soft gasp, she linked with the woman¡¯s mind.

    The flood of emotions was immediate and overwhelming. Jean¡¯s breath hitched as the torrent of Clara¡¯s life¡ªher pain, her anger, her memories¡ªrushed into her mind like a tidal wave.

    "My God," Jean whispered, her voice trembling as tears spilled freely from her eyes.<hr>

    <i>Clara¡¯s memories played out with brutal clarity, each scene searing itself into Jean¡¯s consciousness. At first, it was mundane, even joyful. Clara¡¯s life had been so ordinary, so human. She saw Clara as a child, growing up in a loving home with doting parents. She saw Clara¡¯s teenage years, her first crush, her first heartbreak, her graduation. Then her job as a secretary¡ªa young woman stepping into the world with ambition but a grounded heart.</i>

    <i>And then she saw Peter.</i>

    <i>Clara¡¯s memories lingered on her husband with such vivid detail that Jean could almost feel the love emanating from her. She saw their wedding day, the way Peter looked at Clara as if she were the center of his universe. She saw them buying their first home together, struggling to make ends meet but always finding joy in the little things.</i>

    Stolen story; please report.

    <i>Then she saw Lucia, their daughter, and the warmth that came with parenthood. Birthday parties. School plays. Bedtime stories. A family built on love and trust, each memory a testament to the ordinary beauty of Clara¡¯s life.</i>

    <i>Jean wept as she felt the love Clara had carried for her family. And then, like a thunderclap, everything shattered.</i>

    <i>The memory shifted to that fateful day, the one Clara had tried so desperately to bury beneath her hatred.</i>

    <i>Lucia came home from school, her voice bright and cheerful. "Mommy! This is Nat! She¡¯s from school."</i>

    <i>"Hello, sweetie," Clara said, her smile warm and welcoming. "I¡¯m Clara, Lucia¡¯s mother. This is her father, Peter."</i>

    <i>"Hello, Nat," Peter added, his tone friendly. "Welcome to our home."</i>

    <i>"Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Page," Nat said shyly, her hands clutching the straps of her school bag.</i>

    <i>"Can she stay for homework, Mommy, Daddy?" Lucia asked, her voice filled with excitement.</i>

    <i>Clara chuckled. "Sure, sweetie."</i>

    <i>"Come on, Nat! I¡¯ll show you my dolls!" Lucia exclaimed, grabbing her new friend¡¯s hand and pulling her toward her room. The two girls disappeared down the hall, their giggles trailing behind them.</i>

    <i>"I¡¯ll cook dinner," Clara said, heading toward the kitchen.</i>

    <i>Peter followed her, shaking his head. "Honey, don¡¯t worry. I can order pizza."</i>

    <i>"No, hon," Clara replied with a playful smile. "The girls need some real food. She¡¯s a guest. She¡¯d want home-cooked food, no?"</i>

    <i>Peter shrugged, laughing. "Fine. But I¡¯ll help you."</i>

    <i>"Yes, please. Get the table ready," Clara said, her tone teasing.</i>

    <i>The memory played out in warmth and laughter, a snapshot of a perfect family moment. But Jean could feel it¡ªthe creeping dread in Clara¡¯s subconscious, the knowledge of what was coming.</i>

    <i>"Thanks, honey," Clara said, brushing a strand of hair from her face as she finished setting the table. "For having my back."</i>

    <i>"Always, Clara," Peter replied, kissing her cheek.</i>

    <i>"I love you," she whispered.</i>

    <i>"I love you too," Peter said, his voice warm and steady.</i>

    <i>Then came the scream.</i>

    <i>"DADDY!"</i>

    <i>Peter froze, his face twisting with concern. "Honey, the kids¡ª"</i>

    <i>"Don¡¯t worry," Clara said, her tone steady but uncertain. "I¡¯ll see them. It¡¯s probably nothing."</i>

    <i>"DADDY! DADDY! NAT IS BURNING! SHE¡¯S ON FIRE!" Lucia''s voice crackled from her room, pain, fear, panic.</i>

    <i>Jean¡¯s breath hitched as the memory spiraled into chaos. She could feel the overwhelming anguish that Clara felt and still feels. For a brief moment their feelings intermingled, she could feel the overwhelming guilt and grief Clara feels now, but also the absolute desperation she felt at that moment, her motherly instict flaring immediately as she rushed to move after her husband.</i>

    <i>"MR. PAGE! I¡¯M SO SCARED!" Nat¡¯s voice echoed through the house, high-pitched and frantic.</i>

    <i>Peter bolted toward the hallway. In the distance Clara could see her husband rushing inside her daughter''s room, smoke and flames escaping from the frame.</i>

    <i>"HONEY, GET THE FIRE EXTINGUISHER!"</i>

    <i>Clara¡¯s hands fumbled as she grabbed the extinguisher, her heart pounding in her chest. The smell of smoke hit her nose, acrid and sharp, as she turned the corner.</i>

    <i>And then she saw it.</i>

    <i>Nat was ablaze, her small body engulfed in uncontrollable flames. The fire licked at the walls, devouring the room in seconds. Clara screamed, a blood-curdling </i>

    <i>"MOMMY!"</i>

    <i>"LUCIA!"</i>

    <i>"DADDY!"</i>

    <i>Peter tried to reach the children, his arms outstretched, but the flames surged, cutting him off. He was caught in the blaze, his body consumed in moments.</i>

    <i>"PETER! NO! PETER!" Clara screamed, her voice raw with grief and desperation.</i>

    <i>"DADDY!"</i>

    <i>Clara¡¯s hands trembled as she aimed the extinguisher at the fire, spraying frantically, but it was no use. The fire was alive, ravenous, unyielding.</i>

    <i>"MOMMY! IT HURTS, MOMMY! IT HURTS! MOMMY, HELP ME!"</i>

    <i>"NO, LUCIA! BABY! NO!"</i>

    <i>Lucia¡¯s screams echoed in Clara¡¯s mind, the sound tearing through her like a blade. Jean could feel it too, the agony, the helplessness.</i>

    <i>And then Lucia was gone.</i>

    <i>Nat¡¯s flames consumed everything¡ªLucia, the room, herself. The fire raged on, swallowing Clara in its merciless heat. Clara¡¯s screams became Jean¡¯s as the memory burned itself into her mind.</i>

    <i>The scene ended with the sound of sirens, flashing red and blue lights illuminating the charred remains of a once-loving home. Clara, disfigured and broken, lay crumpled on the floor, her world reduced to ash.</i><hr>

    Jean staggered back, breaking the connection, tears streaming down her face. Clara sat motionless, her eyes cold and empty.

    "Now you see," Clara said, her voice hollow. "Now you understand."

    Jean¡¯s tears fell freely, each one tracing a path down her face as the weight of Clara¡¯s memories bore down on her. She clutched her hands to her chest, as if trying to physically hold in the anguish she now shared with the scarred woman across the table. Her voice broke as she spoke, trembling under the strain of the pain she had absorbed.

    "I¡¯m so sorry¡­"

    "Jean!"

    Scott Summers was at her side immediately, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. "What did you see, Jean?" he asked, his voice soft but tinged with concern.

    Jean shook her head, unable to form words. Instead, she turned into Scott¡¯s embrace, burying her face in his chest as her sobs came in unsteady waves. He held her tightly, his jaw tightening as he glared at Clara across the table, his patience wearing thin.

    "What did she see?" Logan growled, his voice low and sharp, his claws itching for release as he leaned forward, his eyes boring into Clara.

    Clara remained silent for a moment, her own tears tracing the jagged scars on her ruined face. Finally, she wiped at her eyes with the fabric of her prison uniform, her expression hardening once more. "She saw the day my husband and daughter died," Clara said, her voice devoid of emotion, as if recounting someone else¡¯s tragedy.

    Logan froze, his claws retracting with a quiet Schlikt as the room fell silent again. Even Falcon, who had been standing at the back of the room, crossed his arms and looked down, his usual optimism buried under the weight of Clara¡¯s story.

    Clara¡¯s voice broke the silence, low and bitter. "It¡¯s easy to stand for something," she began, her tone cutting like a blade, "when that <i>something</i> didn¡¯t take everything from you. It¡¯s easy to stand for justice when your loss has nothing to do with justice. It¡¯s easy to care when you have something to lose."

    Her voice cracked, but her expression remained steely, her lips trembling as she continued. "I lost everything. My humanity¡­ it doesn¡¯t matter to me anymore. I lost all of my humanity that day. All I want now is to feel something, even if it¡¯s hate. Even if it¡¯s only hate."

    "Clara," Steve said, his voice gentle but firm. "You¡¯ve been through hell, but holding onto this hate¡ªit¡¯s not helping you. Let us help you."

    Clara¡¯s gaze flicked to him, cold and unyielding. "No," she said flatly. "I won¡¯t say anything else. Don¡¯t make me relive anything else. I just want to be left alone."

    Jean lifted her head from Scott¡¯s chest, her voice barely a whisper. "I¡­ I could make you forget," she said, the words trembling as they left her lips. "Forget their deaths¡­"

    Clara¡¯s face twisted with fury, her hand slamming onto the table with a loud <i>THUD</i>. "No! Don¡¯t you dare!" she snarled, her voice rising. "They were my everything¡ªthe only reason my  life was worth something! Don¡¯t take that away from me, freak!"

    Jean stepped back, her hands trembling as Scott moved in front of her protectively.

    "Go after Trask," Clara spat, her voice thick with venom. "Go after Creed. Go after whoever you want. It won¡¯t make a difference. More people will show up. More people like me. Because mutants always do this. They always hurt. They always take."

    Steve leaned forward, his hands resting on the table. "Clara, it doesn¡¯t have to be like this. You don¡¯t have to be like this. You can still make a difference."

    Clara let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "Make a difference?" she repeated mockingly. "Don¡¯t you get it, Captain? Mutants don¡¯t understand the pain they cause. It wasn¡¯t Magneto. It wasn¡¯t Mystique. It wasn¡¯t some big, bad villain. It was a little girl." Her voice cracked, and for a moment, the bitterness was replaced by raw, unfiltered grief.

    Jean closed her eyes, her own tears spilling anew as the memory replayed in her mind.

    "You¡¯re a sickness," Clara said, her voice quieter now but no less venomous. "A virus. A virus doesn¡¯t understand why it hurts people¡ªit simply does. That¡¯s what mutants are. They think they don¡¯t hurt people, but they simply do. That¡¯s their nature."

    The room fell silent, the weight of Clara¡¯s words pressing down on everyone like a physical force. Logan¡¯s fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles white, but he didn¡¯t speak. Falcon looked away, his jaw tight as he struggled to process the vitriol Clara had unleashed.

    Steve¡¯s voice finally broke the silence, calm and steady but filled with conviction. "Clara," he said softly, "I can¡¯t pretend to understand your pain. I can¡¯t pretend to know what it¡¯s like to lose everything. But I do know one thing: this hate¡ªit¡¯s not who you are. It¡¯s what¡¯s been done to you. And if you let it, it¡¯ll destroy whatever¡¯s left of you."

    Clara didn¡¯t respond, her gaze fixed on the table in front of her. Her hands trembled, her steely mask cracking ever so slightly. But she didn¡¯t lift her eyes.

    Jean¡¯s voice was barely a whisper, thick with emotion. "Clara¡­ we just want to stop this from happening to anyone else. Please. Help us."

    But Clara¡¯s silence answered louder than any words could.

    Clara Page¡¯s scarred face remained still as her venomous words hung in the air, chilling the room with their bitterness. Her gaze fixed itself somewhere beyond the walls, distant and unreachable.

    "It doesn¡¯t matter," she said, her voice hollow but steady, each word dripping with despair. "Nothing matters. Maybe not even my vengeance matters. It can¡¯t bring back the people I lost."

    Jean flinched as she heard the words, her heart aching for the broken woman before her.

    "But I did what I had to do," Clara continued, her voice gaining an eerie calm. "This isn¡¯t a war. It¡¯s purification. Cleansing. Mutants are the viruses festering in the world, and we¡¯re the immune response."

    Cyclops, his arms crossed and his jaw tight, broke the tense silence. "She won¡¯t talk," he said flatly, his tone colder than usual. "She¡¯s suffered enough. Let¡¯s leave it."

    Steve Rogers nodded solemnly, stepping back from the table. "Go, Captain," Clara spat, her voice rising slightly, though it was tinged with exhaustion rather than anger. "Go live your lies while we crawl in the mud of reality. There¡¯s no justice in this world, no freedom in this prison we all live in."

    Jean¡¯s voice broke as she spoke, her guilt and sorrow written across her face. "I¡¯m so sorry. I really am," she whispered, her hands trembling at her sides.

    Clara¡¯s lips twisted into something that might have been a sneer if not for the emptiness in her eyes. "Maybe you are, freak," she replied coldly. "But that doesn¡¯t matter. It won¡¯t make a difference. It never does."

    The team slowly turned to leave, the weight of the encounter pressing heavily on their shoulders.

    As they exited the interrogation room and the door clicked shut behind them, Logan was the first to break the silence. "So that was worth bull," he grumbled, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.

    Jean turned to him, her voice sharp but pained. "She¡¯s hurt, Logan. Badly."

    Logan¡¯s expression hardened, his eyes narrowing. "We¡¯re all hurt, Red," he said, his voice low and edged with frustration. "Doesn¡¯t mean we go out there killin¡¯ a buncha people."

    Falcon, walking just behind the pair, glanced at Logan. His tone was even, but there was a pointed truth in his words. "Are you sure about that, <i>Wolverine</i>?"

    Logan stopped walking for a moment, his shoulders tensing. His jaw worked as if he wanted to argue, but he said nothing. There was no point. Falcon wasn¡¯t wrong, and everyone knew it.

    Steve kept his focus ahead, his voice cutting through the tension. "We need to focus on the mission," he said, his tone firm and commanding.

    Cyclops nodded, his visor catching the dim light of the hallway. "We¡¯ll regroup and go over everything when we make back to the others in Westchester."

    "Then our work here is done," Steve said, adjusting his gloves. "Let¡¯s head back."

    The team started walking down the hallway, their boots echoing faintly against the sterile walls. They passed three SHIELD agents moving briskly in the opposite direction, their faces unreadable. No one gave them more than a passing glance¡ªexcept for Logan.

    He slowed his pace, his head tilting slightly as he glanced over his shoulder to watch the agents disappear around a corner. Something about them didn¡¯t sit right. His instincts, honed by years of combat and survival, screamed at him.

    "This smells fishy... like fear and anxiety" Logan muttered under his breath, stopping in his tracks.

    Cyclops, already a few steps ahead, turned back with a frustrated look. "Come on, Logan," he said, exasperation dripping from his voice. "We overstayed our welcome here."

    Logan¡¯s scowl deepened, his arms crossing. "welcome or not, I know shit when I can smell it, Slim," he growled.

    "Logan, please," Jean said, her voice soft but insistent.

    Logan looked at her, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he sighed, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. "Fine, I¡¯ll follow ya, kids." he muttered, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

    The group continued walking, though Logan¡¯s sharp eyes lingered on the corner where the SHIELD agents had vanished. He couldn¡¯t shake the nagging feeling that something was off, but for now, he stayed silent.

    As they made their way toward the exit, the tension between them was palpable. Jean walked close to Scott, her hand brushing his arm occasionally as if seeking reassurance. Steve and Sam led the group, their postures straight and determined, though the weight of their decisions clearly weighed on them. Logan trailed behind, his steps heavy but his mind alert.

    They turned another corner, the dim lighting casting long shadows against the walls. Logan¡¯s nose twitched slightly as he caught a faint scent lingering in the air¡ªsomething chemical, acrid, and out of place. His jaw tightened as his instincts flared again, but he said nothing, not yet.

    Ahead, Steve glanced back at the group, his expression unreadable. "Once we¡¯re back at the mansion, we¡¯ll debrief," he said. "Denti gave us enough to start taking real steps against Trask and the Friends of Humanity. This isn¡¯t over yet."

    "Yeah," Cyclops replied, his tone clipped. "There''s a lot of things to talk about."

    Steve nodded. "Agreed. That¡¯s why we need to act fast. Every second we waste gives them more time to prepare."

    Logan¡¯s eyes narrowed as they approached another hallway intersection. His gut told him something was coming, something bad. He slowed his pace again, his hand hovering near his side.

    "Logan," Jean said softly, noticing his change in demeanor.

    He shook his head, his voice a low growl. "Something ain¡¯t right, Red," he muttered.

    Then the lights flickered red and an alarm started wailing, an oppresive air raid like siren.

    <i>WHEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOO</i>

    "Told ya" Logan said almost yelling under the noise of the siren.

    Sharon Carter ran with some agents, all of them carrying rifles.

    "Sharon, SITREP" Captain ran beside her, with the others following suit.

    "There has been a breach, some of our automated mandroids are attacking agents."

    "We''re following her." Cap said.

    Falcon simply nodded, the X-Men looked at each other, hesitation passing through them before Cyclops nodded.

    "We''ll do it."

 Chapter 14: A Not so Impenetrable Fortress (Part 1)

    Captain America, Falcon, and the X-Men sprinted after Sharon Carter as she led them down the labyrinthine halls of S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters. The facility was already in high alert, its security protocols in full effect. Red emergency lights flashed across the walls, while the blaring wail of sirens drowned out the usual hum of the facility''s machinery. Automated steel doors locked down different sectors, ensuring no breach could spread too far¡ªbut something was already wrong.

    The halls were a bottleneck of S.H.I.E.L.D. soldiers, their weapons trained toward unseen threats, barricades hastily erected at key junctions. The tension in the air was thick with confusion and unease. These weren¡¯t agents responding to an attack¡ªthey were waiting for something.

    Sharon approached a squad of armored S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives, their uniforms bearing the insignia of internal security forces.

    "Sergeant, what the hell is your team doing here?" she barked, slowing her pace but keeping her hand dangerously close to her sidearm.

    The sergeant, a grizzled soldier with a reinforced combat vest, turned toward her, his rifle still trained forward. "Orders from higher up, ma¡¯am," he responded gruffly. "We¡¯re to hold this corridor and secure the upper levels."

    Sharon¡¯s eyes narrowed. "Who gave that order?"

    The sergeant hesitated for a split second before answering. "Deputy Director Hill."

    Sharon¡¯s expression immediately hardened. "Son of a¡ª"

    Steve Rogers stepped forward, his voice edged with controlled frustration. "What is going on here, Sharon?"

    Sharon took a deep breath, shaking her head. "I have no fucking idea, Steve."

    Steve stared at her, his blue eyes searching for any sign of dishonesty. "I want to believe you, Sharon¡­"

    Before he could finish his sentence, a metallic roar echoed through the corridor behind them.

    A Mandroid battle unit burst through a containment blast door.

    The door hissed open, clearly requiring some kind of high-level clearance¡ªand yet, no one had authorized its release.

    Sharon whipped around, her eyes wide. "What?! Who the hell gave that clearance!?"

    The S.H.I.E.L.D. soldiers behind the barricades exchanged uneasy glances before the sergeant finally spoke. "We¡ªwe don¡¯t know, ma¡¯am."

    Sharon cursed under her breath. "Damnit."

    The Mandroid was enormous. Nearly eight feet tall, its sleek gold and black armor gleamed under the emergency lights, its HUD visor flickering red as it scanned the room. A product of Stark-Tech repurposed for government use, these machines had been designed to fight high-tier threats.

    And now one had been let loose inside a S.H.I.E.L.D. facility.

    Its targeting system locked onto them.

    Steve Rogers didn¡¯t hesitate. "Sam¡ªon me!" he barked, already sprinting forward.

    Falcon vaulted over a railing, wings half-deployed, as he matched Steve¡¯s pace. "I hate close-quarters fights," he muttered, retracting his wings to avoid snagging them on the narrow walls.

    "Focus on the weak points, be aware of the corners," Steve said, his movements calculated as he analyzed the machine¡¯s stance. "They''re just machines."

    "And?" Falcon responded, drawing his sidearm.

    Steve unsheathed an adamantium combat knife from his belt and flipped it, catching it by the blade. With a single fluid motion, he tossed it to Sam.

    "It means don''t hold back."

    Sam caught the blade midair, twirling it once between his fingers. "Well¡ªnot bad, Cap."

    Logan smirked under his frown, his claws popping with a familiar metallic SNIKT. "Hell, now we¡¯re talkin¡¯."

    The Mandroid charged, its servos screaming, a plasma gauntlet lighting up as it surged toward Steve. He dodged to the side just in time to avoid a devastating plasma fist strike, the energy discharge melting a chunk of the steel wall behind him.

    Without breaking his stride, Steve swung his shield up, catching the next strike and redirecting the force, sending the Mandroid staggering backward.

    Before the machine could regain its footing, Logan vaulted over Cap¡¯s shoulders like a predator mid-pounce. His claws slammed into the Mandroid¡¯s neck, piercing straight through its reinforced plating with a horrific screech of metal. Sparks erupted from the wound, but Logan wasn¡¯t done.

    With a guttural snarl, he twisted his body midair and ripped downward.

    The machine shuddered violently as its torso was nearly torn in half.

    With a final metallic groan, the Mandroid collapsed to its knees, its HUD flickering as it tried to reboot.

    Steve didn¡¯t hesitate. He drove his shield into the machine¡¯s core, the impact sending a ripple of kinetic energy through its systems.

    A second later, the Mandroid slumped forward, dead.

    Steve took a single step back, nodding in approval.

    "Nice work, Logan," he said.

    Logan nodded, there was no banter, no quip, just a nod.

    Sharon had already turned back toward the hall, motioning frantically. "We need to get to the hangar¡ªnow!"

    Cyclops, Jean, and Falcon were already moving. Steve and Logan fell in line.

    As they sprinted down the corridor, Falcon kept pace with Cap. "You think this was just an accident?" he asked, voice low.

    Steve¡¯s expression remained grim. "Unlikely, S.H.I.E.L.D employs the best in the country, there''s something wrong here."

    Cyclops, running just behind them, frowned. "If someone has access to S.H.I.E.L.D. security, that means¡ª"

    "It''s more shit we don''t know." Logan finished, scowling.

    Falcon tightened his grip around his knife. "Great."

    Sharon pulled ahead, leading them through another security checkpoint. The blast doors were already open¡ªbut not from the inside. They had been remotely accessed.

    "Sharon," Steve said, his tone demanding answers. "Who is giving clearance?"

    Sharon shook her head as they entered a long tunnel leading to the hangar. "I don¡¯t know, I just don''t know."

    The tunnel ahead was eerily empty.

    Too empty.

    Jean suddenly stiffened. "Wait," she said, throwing a hand up. "Something¡¯s¡ª"

    Before she could finish, the entire tunnel rumbled.

    The sound of metal grinding against metal echoed through the air.

    And then¡ªthe walls broke open.

    From either side of the tunnel, three more Mandroids emerged, their HUD visors glowing a deep crimson. Their plasma gauntlets hummed to life.

    Cyclops lowered his visor. "Jean," he said, his voice dangerously calm. "Let''s handle this, you and I."

    Jean backed up, her hands raised defensively, but her smile eased the tension. "Forever and always."

    The Mandroids didn¡¯t wait.

    They attacked.

    Two charged at Steve and Falcon. The third went straight for Logan.

    Steve met the first blow head-on, raising his shield just as a plasma punch connected. The force sent him skidding backward, but he kept his footing.

    Falcon ducked low, dodging a second energy blast and vaulting over a railing. His wings snapped open mid-air, flipping backward to gain distance.

    Logan?

    Logan didn¡¯t move. He let the Mandroid hit him.

    Or at least it registered as a hit.

    Instead, Logan sidestepped the strike and gave the middle claw, the unsuspecting robot punched straight through, its arm being ripped in half by the adamantium blade.

    He cracked his neck. Then he grinned.

    "Watch whaddya punch, bub"

    Logan jumped on the back of the Mandroid, ripping it''s metal insides with animalistic brutality.

    When he was done he backflipped from the hull of the fallen robot, landing on his feet, a smirk to his face.

    As the dust settled from the first wave of fallen Mandroids, a deep mechanical hum reverberated through the tunnel. Then, more came.

    Jean Grey sensed them before she saw them.

    Her emerald eyes snapped up as she felt the weight of incoming mechanical minds pressing against the edges of her telepathy¡ªa cold, calculated presence devoid of emotion but brimming with raw, uncompromising intent.

    "Incoming!" she shouted.

    The emergency lights overhead flickered wildly as ten more Mandroids emerged from the distant shadows of the tunnel. They moved with unnerving precision, their metal feet clanking against the reinforced floor in synchronized rhythm.

    Jean could feel the sheer weight of them, the force in their steps, the synchronized targeting systems locking onto her team.

    "Not today."

    Her eyes flared red.

    She thrust out both hands, palms wide, and a pulse of telekinetic force surged outward like a shockwave.

    The Mandroids shuddered violently, their servos screeching in protest as they were suddenly yanked off their feet.

    One by one, they slammed into each other, forming a grotesque metallic heap as Jean forced them into a tangled pile. Limbs locked, torsos twisted, their once-fluid movements now nothing more than a chaotic mess of steel and sparking circuits.

    For a split second, the battlefield was still.

    Then¡ª

    BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

    A series of small turret compartments suddenly opened along their armored backs, revealing hidden autocannons.

    Jean''s breath hitched.

    Before anyone could react, a blinding red beam split the air.

    FWOOOOOM!

    A precise, devastating optic blast tore through the entire cluster, cutting across the tunnel like a razor-sharp guillotine.

    The Mandroids were cleaved in half.

    Their turrets barely had time to deploy fully before they collapsed in a heap of burnt, severed metal, their internal wiring exposed, their reinforced plating melted clean through. Sparks hissed as their targeting systems flickered and died.

    Cyclops lowered his visor.

    His face remained calm¡ªbut his breathing was heavy. Precise control like that took effort.

    Beside him, Sharon Carter''s head snapped toward Captain America. Her concerned gaze spoke volumes without uttering a word.

    Steve understood. The sheer power Cyclops had just demonstrated wasn¡¯t something to take lightly.

    "How many more?" Cyclops asked, his voice level, but firm.

    Sharon hesitated for a moment, before shaking her head. "Not many."

    Steve stepped forward, moving carefully over the wreckage of the Mandroids. Falcon followed close behind, his adamantium combat knife still in hand.

    As they advanced, Steve''s eyes narrowed.

    Something wasn''t right.

    He crouched down next to the pile of fallen Mandroids, inspecting their damaged interfaces, their exposed circuitry.

    "Do they seem hijacked, Sam?" he asked.

    Falcon knelt beside him, running a gloved hand over one of the now-lifeless bodies. His keen eyes scanned over their optical sensors, their servo motors, their hardened exoskeletons. He tapped a small button on his gauntlet, activating a brief diagnostic scan.

    There was a long pause.

    Then, finally, Falcon shook his head. "Can''t tell." His voice was careful. "They appear normal, Cap."

    Steve clenched his jaw. "I don''t like the sound of that."

    Something was off. He could feel it.

    A bit behind them, Cyclops exhaled sharply and turned toward Jean. His expression, though still the picture of discipline, softened ever so slightly.

    "Thanks, Jean." His voice was low, but genuine. "Outstanding work, as always."

    Jean, still catching her breath from the intense exertion of her telekinetic onslaught, allowed herself a faint smile. She reached up, lightly rubbing her temples as she steadied herself.

    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    "I had the best of help." she murmured.

    Cyclops actually smiled¡ªsmall, barely noticeable, but it was there.

    Then, a thought occurred to him.

    "Now Logan¡­"

    He turned his head, expecting to see Wolverine standing somewhere nearby, impatiently tapping his claws against the wall.

    But he wasn¡¯t there.

    Cyclops'' expression darkened.

    "Logan?"

    Jean''s brows furrowed as well, her telepathy instinctively reaching outward¡ªbut she found nothing. Just the lingering, faint imprint of Wolverine¡¯s presence¡­ but it was already fading.

    She turned, her voice rising. "Where is he?"

    Falcon let out an irritated huff.

    "Damnit." He ran a hand over his face. "Guy¡¯s worse than a stray dog."

    "I''ll go after him," Captain America said, already moving toward one of the branching corridors.

    Cyclops whirled around to face him.

    "We should go," he said firmly.

    Steve paused mid-step, glancing back over his shoulder. "There are more Mandroids."

    Cyclops'' visor glinted under the dim lighting. His stance remained rigid, his arms crossed over his chest.

    "This is S.H.I.E.L.D.''s problem, not ours."

    Jean, standing just behind him, reached out and gently squeezed his arm.

    "Scott." Her voice was soft, but steady.

    Cyclops turned his head slightly toward her.

    "We agreed to help, Scott." she reminded him.

    There was a beat of silence.

    Then, finally, Scott nodded. His grip on his own arms relaxed, just slightly.

    "Fine." His voice was gruff, reluctant¡ªbut he meant it. "Me and Jean will help S.H.I.E.L.D. But we need to know everything about this, Captain."

    Steve gave him a solemn nod. "Don''t worry, Summers." His voice was firm. "I''ll dig as much as I can."

    He turned to Sam.

    "Sam, follow them. I¡¯ll go after Logan."

    Sam''s expression tightened. He wasn''t thrilled about splitting up¡ªbut he trusted Steve.

    "Fine, Cap." He exhaled, rolling his shoulders before nodding toward Jean and Scott. "Let¡¯s move."

    Scott gave Steve one last look, before turning toward the next corridor leading deeper into S.H.I.E.L.D. territory.

    Jean followed without hesitation.

    Sharon, who had been quietly observing, sighed and adjusted the grip on her sidearm. "This whole day¡¯s turning into a goddamn disaster," she muttered.

    Steve gave her a small, weary smirk. "It will be over son, Sharon."

    Sharon smirked, her eyes landing back on Captain America. "With you on it, I''m sure."

    Then he turned and sprinted down the hall, disappearing into the dimly lit tunnels of S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters in pursuit of Wolverine.

    <hr>

    Wolverine moved swiftly, his boots silent against the cold, polished floors of S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters as he stalked through the dimly lit corridors. The red emergency lights flickered erratically overhead, casting sharp, jagged shadows against the steel walls.

    But Logan wasn¡¯t focused on the lights.

    He was focused on the smell.

    It wasn''t the usual stale scent of metal, sweat, and gun oil that hung in the air of every secure facility he''d ever broken into¡ªor, in this case, was currently helping defend.

    This was different.

    This was blood.

    Fresh.

    And it was coming from the interrogation area.

    "That ain''t right," Logan thought, his instincts flaring like a live wire. His nostrils flared slightly as he picked up the scent, his sharp eyes darting down the empty hallway ahead.

    The alarms were still blaring, the base in total lockdown, yet the blood wasn¡¯t coming from the hangar, where the main firefight had been.

    It was coming from back here.

    From Denti¡¯s holding cell.

    Something was happening.

    Logan stayed low, his body moving with silent precision as he weaved through the hallways. Armed S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were moving toward the hangar bay, reinforcing the barricades, holding the line against more rogue Mandroids.

    They didn¡¯t see him.

    Didn¡¯t hear him.

    And he made sure they didn¡¯t.

    But then, just ahead, two figures moved against the flow of traffic¡ªtwo S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives, their movements calculated rather than rushed.

    They weren¡¯t heading for the hangar.

    They were heading for the opposite side of the building.

    Straight toward Denti¡¯s cell.

    "Goddamn it."

    Logan¡¯s mind pieced it together instantly. Too convenient. Too neat. The attack, the chaos, the sudden appearance of hostile Mandroids at just the right time¡ªall of it had given someone the perfect window to clean up loose ends.

    And Carl Denti?

    He was the biggest loose end in this whole damn mess.

    Logan slipped into the shadows, trailing the agents without a sound. His heightened senses honed in on every detail¡ªthe creak of their boots, the slight shifting of their gear, the faint whisper of their hushed conversation.

    Then, as he neared the interrogation area, the stench of fresh blood hit him like a brick.

    There.

    Just around the corner, sprawled near the entrance to the holding cells, was a dead S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

    A single, neatly placed bullet wound to the head.

    No struggle.

    Execution-style.

    Logan¡¯s jaw clenched, his adamantium claws twitching beneath his skin, waiting to be unsheathed.

    He snarled low under his breath.

    "Knew it."

    Ahead, the two agents reached Denti¡¯s cell. They stepped inside.

    Logan inched forward, staying low, his ears tuned to their voices.

    "So you''re just gonna betray us, Carl?"

    "I''m fucked, can''t you see!?"

    "You''re a coward, Carl."

    There was a pause.

    Then¡ª

    "Y''know what¡ªwe should just get rid of you before you send any of us to jail."

    Logan shook his head, exhaling through his nose.

    <i>"I can''t believe I''m savin'' this fucker."</i>

    Then he moved.

    Without hesitation, his claws shot out.

    <i>SNIKT!</i>

    With three quick thrusts, his claws sank deep into the reinforced steel door of the interrogation room, punching through with terrifying ease.

    Inside, the two agents whirled around, their weapons half-raised¡ªbut before they could react, Logan¡¯s claws sliced downward, ripping the door apart.

    It burst open violently, the reinforced metal slamming against the wall like a battering ram.

    And then Logan was inside.

    A whirlwind of fury and muscle, he lunged.

    The first agent barely had time to react before Logan''s claws found his thigh.

    "AAARRRGHHH!" The agent screamed as Logan tore through muscle, sinew, and bone, his leg separating completely from his body with a sickening<i> SCHLIKKT</i>

    The agent collapsed, blood gushing from the ruined stump where his leg had once been. His eyes bulged with shock, his mouth hanging open in a soundless scream as the pain caught up to him.

    "Jesus Christ!" the second agent shouted, raising his weapon in a panic.

    The first agent, through sheer agony-fueled instinct, tried to lift his sidearm, his trembling hand struggling to aim at Logan.

    But Logan was already there.

    <i>SNAKT</i>

    Three claws sank into his forearm before he could even pull the trigger.

    "AAAARGHHH!"

    With a savage pull, Logan dragged the blades outward, splitting the agent¡¯s forearm into three jagged, mangled pieces.

    The man¡¯s scream turned into a choking sob, his shattered limb hanging uselessly at his side.

    Logan bared his teeth in a snarl.

    "Try shootin'' now, boy."

    The second agent, face white with terror, emptied his entire magazine into Logan¡¯s chest at point-blank range.

    The bullets punched through his uniform, one after another, tearing through muscle and flesh, lodging themselves deep into his organs.

    Logan didn¡¯t flinch.

    He stood there, towering over the man, unmoving.

    His body absorbed every round, the pain barely registering as his regenerative factor kicked in.

    The agent¡¯s gun clicked empty.

    Then, one by one, the spent bullets began to drop from Logan¡¯s chest wounds, clinking against the floor.

    Tiny, misshapen lumps of fully expanded hollow-point rounds.

    Logan glanced down at them.

    "Hollow-points, huh?" He grinned, cracking his neck. "Neat."

    The agent¡¯s hands shook as he scrambled to reload.

    "You with the FoH, bub?" Logan asked, his voice low, dangerous.

    The agent scowled through his fear. "Fuck you, freak."

    Logan smirked. "Yeah, thought so."

    The agent¡¯s trembling fingers finally gripped a new magazine¡ªbut before he could reload, Logan closed the distance.

    Faster than the man could register¡ª

    Just one claw came out.

    The agent screamed as Logan drove one claw into his left eye socket.

    His head snapped back violently, his body jerking as his vision was swallowed in white-hot agony.

    Logan twisted the blades slowly.

    "Now ya can be just like Ol'' Nick," he growled.

    Behind him, chained to the table, Carl Denti watched in mute horror, his face twisted in disgust.

    "Freak," Denti muttered under his breath.

    Logan heard it.

    And he ignored it.

    He turned his attention back to the agent, ready to pop his other eye, when¡ª

    "Logan!"

    The sharp, commanding voice cut through the room.

    Logan¡¯s head snapped toward the doorframe.

    Captain America stood there.

    His silhouette framed by the flickering red emergency lights, his blue eyes locked onto Logan¡¯s with a look of pure disapproval.

    He moved fast.

    Before Logan could react, Cap¡¯s strong hands gripped him by the shoulders and wrenched him away from the half-blind agent.

    "Don''t ya dare, Rogers." Logan snarled, twisting under the grip.

    Steve held firm.

    "Stop this madness." His voice was low, steady¡ªbut commanding.

    Logan¡¯s body tensed.

    His claws shrank back, retreating into his knuckles with a soft <i>SNIKT</i>.

    "Tch." Logan pulled himself free and moved away, stepping toward the metal table where Denti still sat, shackled.

    Denti¡¯s face twisted in disgust.

    Logan plopped himself onto the table, arms crossed, his breathing calm but measured.

    His sharp blue eyes flicked toward the half-blind agent, who lay shuddering on the ground, one eye socket an empty, ruined mess.

    His lips curled into a smirk.

    Captain America held the agent by the collar, his grip like iron. The man¡¯s body was limp, barely staying conscious, his lips bloodied from the hard right cross Steve had delivered.

    His blue eyes burned as he stared the agent down, his voice low and controlled, but filled with restrained fury.

    "I will give you one chance to explain yourself."

    "What is going on here, soldier?"

    The agent, barely able to focus, spat blood onto the cold steel floor, his expression curling into a sneer. His breathing was ragged, but his hatred was unwavering.

    "You¡­ you have betrayed humanity, Captain."

    The words landed like a slap to the face¡ªbut Steve didn''t flinch. Instead, his jaw tightened, and without another moment¡¯s hesitation, he sent a crushing punch to the man¡¯s jaw.

    The agent¡¯s head snapped back from the force, his body going limp as he slumped unconscious onto the floor.

    Steve exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking out his fist as he turned back to Carl Denti, still restrained in his seat. The X-Cutioner¡¯s eyes flicked from the unconscious man at Steve¡¯s feet back to the Captain¡¯s hardened gaze.

    ¡°They''re here to get us out,¡± Denti muttered, his tone unreadable. ¡°Didn¡¯t take lightly the idea of me helping you, Captain. They wanted me dead.¡±

    "Logan saved your life," Steve said, stepping toward the table, his voice like granite. "Think about it, Denti."

    Denti snorted bitterly, rubbing his wrists where the shackles had held him. "Don¡¯t make me laugh, Captain. You saved my life. He was gonna gut me."

    Logan''s teeth ground audibly, his eyes locked on Denti like a predator debating whether to pounce. His hands curled into white-knuckled fists, his claws itching just beneath the surface.

    "I should just rip ya from the inside," Logan muttered, his tone filled with barely contained rage. His body tensed, every muscle coiled tight with anger and disgust.

    Denti didn¡¯t flinch. He held Logan¡¯s glare, his lips twisting into a cruel smirk.

    "Then you have no testimony, mutant."

    The word dripped with disdain, and the tension in the room became thick enough to cut with a blade.

    A long silence.

    Logan¡¯s nostrils flared. His claws almost burst forth.

    But before things could escalate, Steve cut through the tension like a blade.

    "Enough."

    The word held authority, a weight so heavy even Logan exhaled through his nose, letting some of his aggression simmer down.

    "The promise holds, Cap," Denti said after a beat, his tone slightly softer but no less self-serving. "Get my plea deal, and I''ll talk."

    Steve held his gaze for a long moment, searching for any sign of deception, before giving a slow, reluctant nod.

    Logan just huffed in frustration, rolling his shoulders and looking away.

    Then Steve''s attention snapped to another priority.

    "What about the Leper Queen?"

    Denti shrugged, shaking his head. "No idea."

    Steve¡¯s stomach twisted with the sudden realization.

    <i>"Damn it."</i>

    His head turned toward the door, his entire body shifting into high alert.

    "We need to check her cell. Now."

    They moved quickly, urgency in every step, their boots echoing off the facility¡¯s cold, metallic floors. The alarms still blared, but their minds were focused on one thing.

    When they reached Clara Page¡¯s holding cell, Steve¡¯s gut dropped.

    She was gone.

    The chair was empty.

    Her cuffs lay discarded on the table, open¡ªthe key still inside the lock.

    Steve inhaled sharply, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of struggle. But there was none. No blood. No forced exit.

    This wasn¡¯t a breakout.

    Someone had let her go.

    Captain America immediately reached for his comms.

    "Falcon, I need you in Denti''s interrogation room now."

    There was a brief pause before Sam¡¯s voice crackled through the radio.

    "Understood, Captain."

    Steve clenched his jaw. He turned to Logan, who was already scowling, his claws halfway unsheathed.

    "Damn it," Logan snarled, his nose twitching as he took in the air. Then, suddenly¡ªhis entire body went rigid.

    "Wait," he muttered, nostrils flaring.

    "I can smell it."

    Steve¡¯s head snapped toward him. "Smell what?"

    "Her."

    Logan¡¯s eyes sharpened, his face grim.

    "Yeah," he confirmed, his voice lowering into a growl. "She walked through here. Recently."

    Without waiting, Logan bolted out the door, his movements quick and precise, following the scent trail like a bloodhound.

    They rushed through the base, past rows of locked-down corridors, past the secured holding areas, past the barricaded guards who barely gave them a glance as they stormed through.

    Logan was silent, moving purely on instinct, his boots barely making a sound as he led them deeper into the facility.

    The scent trail was getting stronger.

    "We¡¯re close," Logan muttered.

    Steve stayed sharp, watching every corner, every shadow, every blind spot. He didn''t trust anything about this situation.

    Then, suddenly¡ª

    Logan stopped.

    His entire posture stiffened.

    They had reached an emergency exit.

    Steve''s eyes flicked to the heavy security doors¡ªthey had been propped open, the locks overridden. Sunlight spilled into the dim corridor, harsh and bright compared to the artificial lights inside.

    Beyond the door, the afternoon sun of Washington, D.C. bathed the empty pavement outside in a golden glow.

    The S.H.I.E.L.D. emergency exit opened onto a large vehicle bay, a stretch of reinforced pavement leading to a series of garages, security checkpoints, and a fenced-off lot filled with armored transport vehicles.

    Beyond the open hangar doors, the sun bore down on the chaotic scene before them.

    There were guards. There were trucks. There was a convoy.

    And at the center of it, surrounded by a flurry of motion, was Clara Page¡ªthe Leper Queen.

    Logan¡¯s eyes narrowed as he took in the sight, his nostrils flaring.

    She was being escorted by a squad of men in black combat gear, their uniforms lacking the standard S.H.I.E.L.D. insignia.

    Something was wrong.

    They weren¡¯t just leading her to another secured section of the base.

    They were loading her into a heavily armored S.H.I.E.L.D. transport truck.

    The reinforced prisoner transport vehicle¡ªits hull lined with titanium plating, thick bulletproof windows, and a reinforced door with biometric locking mechanisms¡ªwas something meant for high-value extractions, not just simple prisoner transfers.

    The second Steve saw the truck, his stomach dropped.

    "This isn¡¯t right."

    The Leper Queen didn¡¯t look restrained¡ªat least, not in the way she should have been. The guards moved efficiently, but they weren¡¯t just following standard security protocol.

    They were moving fast.

    Too fast.

    Like they weren¡¯t supposed to be seen.

    Like they weren¡¯t supposed to be here.

    Then, from the opposite end of the lot¡ª

    Gunfire.

    Automatic bursts.

    Muzzle flashes lit up the shadows between two buildings as a separate S.H.I.E.L.D. security team engaged in a firefight.

    The sharp cracks of rifles mixed with the rapid thuds of boots hitting the pavement. S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives were pinned down, trading fire with unknown gunmen dressed in identical black combat uniforms.

    Logan growled.

    "This stinks, Rogers."

    Steve gritted his teeth, scanning the situation. His instincts screamed that this wasn¡¯t just an internal S.H.I.E.L.D. operation gone rogue.

    This was an extraction.

    A cover-up.

    And the Leper Queen was being taken out of here, now.

    The convoy was already starting to pull out.

    The transport truck carrying the Leper Queen was the lead vehicle, followed by two armored SUVs and a pair of S.H.I.E.L.D. tactical support Humvees¡ªthe kind usually assigned to high-risk operations.

    "Someone inside the agency planned this," Steve muttered.

    Then, suddenly¡ªfrom the left, tires screeched.

    A black jeep barreled into the open, kicking up dust as it slid to a stop just a few feet from them.

    Behind the wheel¡ªJohn Walker.

    U.S. Agent.

    Wearing his standard black tactical suit, his expression was as hard as granite, his jaw clenched as he snapped his head toward Steve and Logan.

    "Walker?!" Steve barked.

    Walker¡¯s gloved hands tightened on the wheel as he looked toward the convoy, his eyes scanning the unfolding chaos.

    "Cap, House Cat¡ªget in."

    Logan¡¯s head snapped toward him, scowling. "Who ya callin'' House Cat, you bootlickin''¡ª"

    "Get. In. The damn. Jeep." Walker cut him off, his voice sharp.

    Steve didn¡¯t hesitate.

    He vaulted into the passenger seat, his combat boots landing firmly on the metal floor.

    Logan let out a low growl but followed, climbing into the backseat with an annoyed grunt, his claws still partially unsheathed.

    Walker threw the jeep into gear and slammed his foot onto the accelerator.

    The tires screeched, sending up a spray of loose gravel as the vehicle lurched forward.

    Steve¡¯s grip tightened on the dashboard as Walker took off, weaving through the S.H.I.E.L.D. lot, dodging abandoned barricades and scattered personnel as they closed in on the convoy.

    Steve¡¯s voice was sharp, demanding.

    "What the hell is going on, Walker?!"

    Walker¡¯s eyes flicked toward him, but his grip on the wheel didn¡¯t loosen.

    "Problematic story, Cap. Tell you later."

    "Now, Walker."

    "Trust me, Steve. You want to stop this convoy, or do you wanna sit here and chit-chat?"

    Steve¡¯s jaw clenched. Walker¡¯s usual cocky arrogance grated on him, but he could tell¡ªwhatever Walker knew, it was bad.

    For now, getting to that truck was priority one.

    "Fine." Steve exhaled. "But you and I are going to have a long talk after this."

    Walker just smirked, gripping the wheel tighter.

    "Sure thing, Captain America."

    They accelerated, the engine roaring as the jeep gained on the convoy.

    The transport truck was already nearing the outer security checkpoint, its turrets unmanned¡ªsuggesting whoever was in charge of this operation wasn''t expecting pursuit.

    Then¡ª

    A hatch on the transport truck''s roof swung open.

    A gunner emerged, hauling up an M249 SAW¡ªthe belt-fed, fully automatic light machine gun.

    The gunner locked eyes on them.

    And then¡ªthe barrel began to spin.

    "Shit!" Logan snarled.

    The gunfire erupted, sending a hail of bullets toward them.

    Rounds ripped through the air, tearing into the pavement around them. A storm of brass clattered onto the road as the SAW operator unleashed hell.

    Walker yanked the wheel hard right, dodging the first volley of gunfire as bullets tore into the pavement behind them.

    "These guys aren''t S.H.I.E.L.D." Steve muttered, his eyes narrowing.

    "I hope so too, Captain." Walker shot back, his tone respectful as he veered the jeep sideways to avoid another barrage of rounds.

    Steve¡¯s expression was hard, calculating.

    "They don¡¯t move like S.H.I.E.L.D. agents." His voice was firm, absolute. "They¡¯re trained, but this isn¡¯t standard. This is an extraction team."

    Logan let out a low growl from the back seat.

    "Too hard to believe your precious agency is rotten, bub?" he scoffed.

    Steve didn¡¯t rise to the bait. He knew S.H.I.E.L.D. had its problems¡ªbut this was something bigger.

    "Get closer, Walker!" Logan barked.

    Walker snorted. "What, I don¡¯t take orders from Canadians¡ª"

    "Do it, Walker!" Steve snapped.

    "Yes, Captain!" Walker gritted his teeth, yanking the wheel hard left, pulling the jeep alongside the transport truck.

    The SAW gunner adjusted, preparing to fire again.

    Logan crouched, his muscles coiling like a spring.

    The second the jeep lined up, he launched himself into the air.

    His adamantium claws flashed in the sunlight as he landed hard onto the top of the armored truck¡ªhis snarl lost in the roar of gunfire.

    And just like that¡ªLogan was in the fight. And soon enough chaos would ensue in the streets of D.C.

 Chaper 15: A Not so Impenetrable Fortress (Part 2)

    Logan lunged forward, his muscles tensing as he leaped over the first Humvee, bullets whizzing past him in a storm of lead. The SAW operator tracked him, squeezing the trigger as another burst of automatic fire tore into Logan¡¯s torso.

    The 5.56mm rounds had more stopping power than the 9mm pistol rounds he had shrugged off earlier. His body jerked mid-air as the bullets ripped into him, leaving smoking entry wounds in his flesh.

    But Logan just gritted his teeth, his growl turning into a snarling battle cry.

    He landed hard on the armored transport vehicle, his boots slamming against the reinforced steel plating. The SAW gunner, eyes wide, barely had time to react before Logan lunged at him.

    With a feral snarl, Logan¡¯s adamantium claws drove straight through the man¡¯s chest.

    A wet, sickening <i>shlickt </i>echoed through the convoy.

    The gunner gasped, his breath catching as his body seized, his hands twitching uselessly around the mounted weapon. Logan didn¡¯t let go¡ªhe lifted the man high above his head, impaled like a ragdoll on cold metal.

    The soldier choked, blood frothing from his lips. His eyes darted wildly, locking onto Logan¡¯s snarling face.

    Logan¡¯s lips curled into a grim sneer.

    "Any last words, bub?"

    The soldier¡¯s jaw clenched. His face twisted in pain and fury, his voice a rasping snarl.

    "Fuck you, mutie."

    Logan tilted his head, letting out a short, humorless chuckle.

    "Poetic."

    With one brutal swipe, Logan¡¯s right-hand claws tore through the man¡¯s gut, ripping him open from the navel up. His insides spilled out, intestines slopping onto the roof of the truck before gravity dragged them down, dangling over the side.

    The dying man let out a final, wheezing breath before Logan unceremoniously dropped his body back down into the gunner¡¯s hatch.

    The corpse hit the interior of the vehicle with a wet thud, disappearing from view.

    "LOGAN!"

    Captain America¡¯s voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

    "STOP KILLING THESE PEOPLE!"

    From the pursuing jeep, Steve watched the blood splatter across the top of the Humvee, his stomach twisting at the sight. His shield was in his grip, but right now, it felt heavier than ever.

    Logan didn¡¯t answer immediately.

    He whirled around, eyes burning with savage rage, blood dripping from his claws.

    But before he could fire back a response, Walker suddenly yanked the wheel.

    "Cap, watch out!"

    A second Humvee veered sharply to the right, cutting across lanes to flank them.

    The turret on its roof swung toward the jeep, and in a split second, a burst of gunfire roared from its mounted M240B machine gun.

    Steve reacted instantly, lifting his shield just as bullets hammered against the front windshield.

    Glass exploded, shards raining inside the jeep.

    Steve gritted his teeth, deflecting a spray of rounds before twisting his body and launching himself out of the jeep.

    With calculated precision, he vaulted through the air, his shield leading the way as he landed directly onto the Humvee¡¯s roof.

    The gunner whipped around, bringing his weapon to bear, but Steve was already in motion.

    He grabbed the gunner by the tactical vest, yanking him up and out of the hatch.

    The man¡¯s eyes widened as Steve held him suspended in the air for just a second, his grip tight. For the briefest moment, Steve hoped¡ªhoped that the man wasn¡¯t really part of this.

    That maybe, just maybe, he was a real S.H.I.E.L.D. agent forced into a bad situation.

    "I hope you¡¯re not S.H.I.E.L.D.," Steve muttered.

    The soldier¡¯s face contorted into a sneer.

    "Muties are all the same, Cap."

    Steve¡¯s heart sank.

    "Goddamn it, soldier."

    He didn¡¯t hesitate. His fist slammed into the man¡¯s jaw, sending shockwaves through his skull.

    The gunner reeled, his body going limp from the force of the blow.

    But as his head lolled forward, he still managed a bloodied, defiant smirk.

    "We¡¯re protecting America, Cap."

    Steve¡¯s stomach tightened. His grip on the man¡¯s tactical vest wavered for half a second.

    "Don¡¯t make me do this," Steve warned.

    The man just laughed weakly, blood trickling from his busted lip.

    "You are choosing the wrong side, Cap."

    Steve closed his eyes for a fraction of a second.

    Then, with grim determination, he knocked the man out cold with a second punch to the temple.

    His unconscious body slumped against Steve¡¯s grip.

    Steve inhaled sharply, then exhaled, his face hardening.

    With controlled effort, he turned and tossed the gunner¡¯s limp body off the vehicle, sending him crashing onto Walker¡¯s jeep.

    The impact rocked the vehicle.

    Walker glanced up at Steve through the shattered windshield.

    "Couldn¡¯t have thrown him down the road instead?" Walker smirked.

    Steve shot him a deadpan glare.

    "No time for jokes, Walker."

    Walker sighed, his hands tightening on the wheel. "Ahem¡ªyes, Cap."

    Steve didn¡¯t wait for a response.

    He turned, lowering himself into the Humvee¡¯s turret hatch.

    Inside, the driver and two more agents turned in alarm.

    Their hands snapped to their sidearms.

    But Steve was faster.

    He lunged forward, his shield raised, and slammed his forearm against the first soldier¡¯s chest, sending him sprawling against the passenger door.

    The second agent whipped out his rifle, but Steve twisted his body, gripping the barrel and forcing it upward just as the trigger was pulled.

    <i>BANG!</i>

    The shot ripped through the cabin, deafening everyone inside.

    The sound rang like a bomb blast in the cramped quarters.

    Steve gritted his teeth, shaking off the ringing in his ears. He had taken enough gunfire in his life to push through the temporary disorientation.

    The agent wasn¡¯t as lucky.

    He was already groaning, clutching the side of his head as he reeled from the close-range gunfire.

    Steve seized the moment.

    With one swift motion, he grabbed the soldier by the collar, yanked him forward, and drove his fist hard into his gut.

    The man wheezed, his pistol falling from his grasp as he collapsed onto the floor.

    Steve¡¯s eyes snapped to the driver.

    The man was frozen, his hands still gripping the wheel.

    For a second, they locked eyes.

    The driver¡¯s voice was barely above a whisper.

    "Captain America?"

    Steve nodded once.

    "This is the wrong fight, son."

    The driver¡¯s face contorted with rage, his fingers tightening on the wheel.

    His voice was filled with venom.

    "Long live the League."

    Steve¡¯s expression darkened.

    He didn¡¯t hesitate.

    His fist crashed into the man¡¯s face, knocking him unconscious.

    The driver slumped forward, his head resting against the wheel.

    Steve exhaled sharply, shifting into the driver¡¯s seat.

    He grabbed the wheel, his mind racing as he tried to process just how deep this infiltration went.

    Who the hell was really pulling the strings?

    And how much of S.H.I.E.L.D. had already been compromised by anti-mutant radicals?

    With a steadying breath, he pressed his foot onto the gas.

    The Humvee surged forward, engines roaring.

    The tires screeched as Captain America angled the Humvee into position, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. The armored transport truck ahead swerved, its reinforced frame grinding against the guardrails as it barreled forward, struggling to maintain control.

    Steve¡¯s expression was set in stone, his blue eyes locked onto his target.

    "Walker!" he barked into the vehicle''s radio, his voice sharp and commanding. "Get in position¡ªPIT maneuver, now!"

    From the other vehicle, John Walker¡¯s voice crackled over the comm.

    "Yeah, yeah, I got it, Cap."

    Walker¡¯s modified Jeep Wrangler gunned forward, its front bumper slamming into the rear of the transport truck at just the right angle. The vehicle jerked violently, its tires skidding against the asphalt as the metal screeched in protest.

    Inside the truck, Logan grinned ferally, his gloved fingers tightening as he watched the chaos unfold.

    "''Bout time, Rogers. Let''s end this."

    Before Steve could respond, Logan vaulted forward¡ªhis boots slamming against the turret hatch as he leaped from the Humvee.

    "Logan!"

    Steve¡¯s voice was drowned out by the wind as the mutant soared through the air, his silhouette a dark blur against the rushing city lights.

    Logan landed hard, his adamantium claws piercing through the roof of the transport truck. The metal groaned, buckling under his sheer strength.

    "Hey, boys!" Logan snarled, his claws digging deeper. "Miss me?"

    Inside the vehicle, the two drivers panicked.

    "Oh, shit!" One of them reached for his sidearm, but Logan had already ripped open the roof with a savage swipe.

    The driver barely had time to scream before Logan lunged inside.

    His claws tore through Kevlar and flesh alike, and the cabin was immediately filled with the sound of guttural, wet gurgling as the first driver convulsed, blood gushing from his chest.

    The second driver tried to draw his gun, but Logan grabbed his wrist mid-motion, his adamantium fingers crushing bone like paper.

    "Tch. You shoulda known better, bub."

    With a violent yank, Logan ripped the man¡¯s arm from its socket, tossing it aside like trash.

    The transport truck shuddered as its drivers twitched in their seats, life draining from their eyes. Their hands slipped from the steering wheel, and the vehicle lurched, its trajectory spiraling into chaos.

    From behind, Captain America watched in horror as Logan dismantled the drivers in seconds.

    <i>"NO, LOGAN!"</i>

    The armored truck swerved, tires screeching, metal grinding against concrete barriers. Sparks erupted as the vehicle veered out of control, colliding against the side railings before flipping onto its side.

    A thunderous crash shook the highway as the truck skidded to a brutal halt, smoke billowing from its crumpled remains.

    Steve and Walker slammed on the brakes, their Humvees coming to a screeching stop just a few yards from the wreckage.

    The moment Steve¡¯s Humvee halted, he was out the door, his boots pounding against the asphalt.

    Walker followed, adjusting his grip on his shield, his expression grim.

    "Jesus Christ." Walker muttered, staring at the wreckage.

    The truck¡¯s side door was blown clean off, a jagged hole where Logan had ripped through it.

    Smoke and dust clouded the air, mixing with the stench of gasoline.

    From inside the wreckage, a deep, guttural growl echoed.

    Then¡ªmovement.

    A shadow emerged, stepping over the mangled corpses.

    Logan.

    His claws dripped with fresh blood, his breathing heavy, his yellow-and-black suit stained red.

    He licked the blood off his knuckles, his eyes burning with something primal.

    "Settle down, bub." Logan grinned darkly, rolling his shoulders. "I took care of it."

    Steve¡¯s jaw clenched. His fingers tightened around his shield.

    "Logan." His voice was low, tense.

    Logan simply stretched his arms, flexing his clawed fingers.

    "What? You were takin¡¯ too long."

    Steve stepped forward, his blue eyes dark with frustration.

    "You butchered them."

    Logan¡¯s grin didn¡¯t waver.

    "Yep."

    Walker shifted uneasily, glancing between them.

    "I hate to break up this little lovers¡¯ quarrel, but we should check the damn cargo."

    Steve exhaled sharply, forcing himself to focus.

    He turned toward the transport wreckage.

    The wreckage of the armored truck hissed and groaned, the scent of burnt rubber and gasoline lingering in the air. The thick plumes of smoke rising from the collapsed vehicle stung at the eyes, an acrid reminder of how quickly the situation had spiraled into chaos. The metal frame, once built for fortified security, was now a twisted ruin, its reinforced side doors peeled open like the shell of a crushed insect.

    Captain America moved first, his steps measured, each bootfall echoing in the near-silent aftermath of the battle. His shield was slung across his back, the weight of responsibility heavier than the vibranium on his arm.

    Behind him, Wolverine and USAgent followed.

    Logan was still rolling his shoulders, the faint sound of his joints popping as his healing factor stitched up the bullet wounds he had tanked earlier. His uniform was torn and soaked in blood¡ªmostly not his own¡ªand his claws still glistened with fresh crimson. He didn''t bother cleaning them. He just grinned slightly, the expression somewhere between satisfaction and a snarl.

    USAgent, meanwhile, had his hand resting on his belt, his shield casually held at his side, but his posture was stiff. The events of the last few minutes hadn''t sat right with him, but he wasn''t about to start questioning Captain America. Not yet.

    Then, in the distance, a figure appeared, moving fast.

    Jean Grey.

    She was flying, her long red hair streaming behind her as she descended with Cyclops held in her arms.

    Steve barely had time to process their arrival before Jean landed, touching down softly a few feet from the wreckage. Scott Summers stepped out of her grasp, adjusting his visor with a practiced flick of his fingers.

    The first thing Steve noticed was that Falcon wasn¡¯t with them.

    That meant the issue with the Mandroids was likely contained¡ªotherwise, Scott and Jean wouldn¡¯t have left. But it also meant Sam had stayed behind, possibly dealing with the fallout of the attack or making sure S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn¡¯t trying anything else.

    Steve inhaled slowly, exhaling through his nose.

    It had been a long day.

    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    A very long day.

    And he was too tired to antagonize the X-Men any further.

    "You didn¡¯t follow orders, Summers." Steve finally said, his voice neutral, but there was no real reprimand in his tone.

    Cyclops stood firm, his arms crossed, his red visor flashing slightly in the setting sun.

    "You didn¡¯t order us not to come." Scott replied, his tone just as measured.

    Steve sighed.

    "Fair enough." He shook his head slightly, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

    Jean stepped forward, her emerald-green eyes flickering between the wreckage of the truck and the bloodied Logan, before settling on Steve.

    "Did Falcon stay?" she asked, her voice soft but edged with concern.

    "I ordered him to stay with Denti."

    Jean nodded, but Steve could tell she wasn¡¯t entirely satisfied with the answer.

    There would be questions later. But for now, there was a more pressing issue.

    <i>The Leper Queen.</i>

    The whole group stood there now, gathered before the wrecked armored truck, their eyes fixed on the torn-open doors.

    Jean swallowed hard. She could already feel the remnants of psychic pain lingering in the air, the echo of suffering and madness still clinging to the site like a ghost.

    Wolverine sniffed the air, his nose wrinkling slightly. "She''s in there." His voice was gravelly, low, but certain.

    Steve took another step closer, his jaw tightening.

    The armored truck¡¯s doors creaked as Captain America pulled them open, the hinges groaning under the strain of damage. The dim light from the setting sun cast a long, eerie shadow across the interior, revealing the woman standing inside.

    Clara Page. The Leper Queen.

    She stood motionless, her back pressed against the cold interior wall of the truck. Her prison uniform was torn, singed from the wreckage, revealing the burned, ruined skin beneath. Her eyes were vacant, hollow pools of grief buried beneath years of hatred, her once-proud posture reduced to something fragile¡ªa woman who had lost everything.

    But her voice remained sharp.

    "You''re going back with us, Page." Captain America¡¯s tone was firm, but not unkind. His expression was unreadable¡ªno anger, no pity. Just the duty-bound certainty of a man who had seen too many endings like this.

    She let out a quiet breath, slow and heavy.

    "And spend my life in jail?" she asked, voice hoarse. "In ridicule?"

    There was no defiance in her words, no venom¡ªjust exhaustion. The weight of too many losses, too many failures, hung on every syllable.

    Cyclops stepped forward, his red visor reflecting the light from the burning wreckage. "You caused enough damage, Page," he said. "It¡¯s time you pay for it."

    But before he could say more, Jean reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm. She stepped past him, her expression pained but understanding.

    "Clara," Jean¡¯s voice was softer, more pleading. "Please, this won¡¯t change anything. You need to be strong. For them¡­ They won¡¯t¡ª"

    She hesitated.

    She didn¡¯t finish the sentence.

    Because she already knew the answer.

    And so did Clara Page.

    A bitter, broken smile flickered across the Leper Queen¡¯s scarred lips, her eyes welling with tears, but her posture remaining rigid, unmoving.

    "Come back?" Clara finished for her.

    Jean fell silent.

    Even Wolverine, who had been standing at the ready, his claws half-drawn, muscles coiled with barely-contained aggression, paused.

    Because in that moment, there was no need to fight.

    There was nothing to fight against.

    Clara nodded, her face set in resignation. "Yes," she whispered, more to herself than to anyone else.

    "You''re right."

    A single tear trailed down her cheek, disappearing into the burned creases of her face.

    <i>"It doesn''t matter."</i>

    And then she moved.

    Before anyone could react, she reached into her tattered uniform with her remaining hand.

    A pistol.

    Captain America¡¯s eyes widened, his body already in motion, but he was too far.

    "Clara!" Jean gasped, reaching out with her telekinesis, but hesitating¡ªbecause a part of her already knew.

    Nothing could stop this.

    Nothing.

    Clara¡¯s grip tightened.

    Wolverine lunged.

    But it was too late.

    With haunting calm, Clara pressed the barrel of the pistol against her chin.

    <i>"Nothing really matters."</i>

    She pulled the trigger.

    <i>BANG!</i>

    The gunshot tore through the stillness, a deafening crack that reverberated through the ruined convoy.

    A fine mist of blood and bone sprayed against the metal walls of the truck as Clara¡¯s body crumpled, her legs giving out as she slumped onto the cold floor.

    The echo of the shot faded into silence.

    For a long, terrible moment, no one moved.

    Even Wolverine¡ªwho had seen death more times than he could count, who had been the hand of death himself¡ªstood rigid, his claws still half-drawn, his breath coming slow and ragged.

    Jean staggered back, her hands trembling, her mind overwhelmed with the final, devastating flash of emotion that had radiated from Clara in her last second of life.

    <i>Despair.</i>

    <i>Relief.</i>

    <i>Acceptance.</i>

    Cyclops stood frozen, his posture locked in place, his fists clenched so tightly that his gloves groaned under the pressure.

    USAgent took a step forward, his jaw clenched, eyes unreadable beneath his helmet, but his lower face revealed discomfort.

    Captain America was the first to move.

    He walked toward the truck, his steps deliberate, but his expression gave nothing away.

    He crouched beside Clara¡¯s body, looking down at what was left of the woman who had, for so long, been an enemy.

    Now, she was just another casualty.

    Just another name on a long, long list of the dead.

    The blood pooled beneath her head, spreading outward in dark rivulets across the cold steel floor.

    Steve reached down, his gloved fingers brushing against her wrist, checking for a pulse.

    There was none.

    Slowly, he exhaled.

    Then he reached up, brushing his hand over Clara¡¯s eyes, closing them.

    A moment passed.

    Then another.

    And then, finally, Steve Rogers spoke, his voice low and somber.

    "I hope she can finally rest."

    Jean turned away, pressing her hands to her face, her body shaking with silent grief.

    Cyclops remained stone-faced, though his shoulders tensed.

    Wolverine merely stood there, silent, before finally retracting his claws with a quiet snikt.

    There was nothing left to fight.

    Nothing left to fix.

    Nothing left to save.

    Just a broken woman who had lost everything¡ªand had chosen the only escape she saw fit.

    Captain America stood, glancing over the group, his eyes landing on Jean.

    "She was hurting, Cap." Jean¡¯s voice was quiet, trembling. "More than we ever knew. She¡ª" Jean stopped herself, shaking her head, unable to finish.

    Steve swallowed hard.

    "I know."

    Wolverine¡¯s voice was low, bitter.

    "Damn waste."

    No one argued.

    Because he was right.

    It was a waste.

    Clara Page had been twisted by grief, her mind warped by hatred and suffering. But in the end, all that rage had collapsed in on itself, leaving only emptiness.

    And now, she was just another ghost.

    Another name etched into the never-ending war between mutants and humans.

    Captain America looked down one last time, his jaw tight, his fists clenched at his sides.

    Then, finally, he exhaled.

    "Let¡¯s go."

    The air was heavy, thick with the stench of gunpowder and blood, as the dust settled around the wreckage of the convoy.

    And then, from the skies, she appeared.

    A silhouette against the sun, descending with effortless grace, the fading embers of her cosmic energy still flickering at her fingertips.

    Carol Danvers. Captain Marvel.

    Her yellow-glowing eyes flickered back to blue as her boots touched the cracked asphalt. The tension in the air was already unbearable, but her arrival only added fuel to the fire.

    She barely took a moment to glance at the wreckage before her gaze settled on the one man who had always stood as her equal in leadership and principle.

    Captain America.

    "Captain." Her voice was calm, measured.

    Steve turned, his blue eyes hard, his jaw tight. He didn¡¯t speak right away.

    Carol¡¯s gaze swept over the scene, her expression shifting as she took it all in¡ªthe bullet-riddled vehicles, the still-smoking wreckage, the bodies, and then¡­

    The truck.

    And what lay inside.

    Her features softened, barely, the casual confidence she always carried faltering for just a second.

    She exhaled. "Colonel, you''re late," Steve finally said, his voice low but carrying an edge sharper than his shield.

    "Too late."

    "I was having lunch with Simon, I¡ª" Carol hesitated, her words feeling hollow, useless. She glanced around, finally understanding what had transpired.

    She met Steve¡¯s gaze again, her voice softer now, carrying the weight of genuine regret.

    "I''m sorry, Captain. I really am. I shouldn''t have been late. I promised you¡ª"

    "It''s fine, Carol."

    His tone was flat, but his eyes betrayed him.

    It wasn¡¯t fine.

    It was anything but fine.

    Carol could tell, and it stung.

    Before another word could be spoken, the sound of screeching tires cut through the air.

    A black SUV.

    Behind it, D.C. police cruisers, their sirens flashing, their arrival bringing even more weight to an already impossible situation.

    And then he stepped out.

    Nick Fury.

    Dressed in his signature dark trench coat, his expression unreadable, but his body tense with barely contained fury.

    But as his one good eye swept across the carnage before him, something flickered¡ªnot just anger, but something dangerously close to horror.

    His jaw clenched. His gloved hand trembled slightly as he brushed his fingers through the white streaks of his dark hair.

    And then¡ªhe snapped.

    "<i>No. No, no, no.</i> This is a joke. This has to be a joke."

    He took a staggering step forward, his breathing rapid, unsteady.

    "<i>Fuck!</i> Right under my backyard!" His voice almost trembly.

    Then his one eye locked onto Rogers.

    With absolute rage.

    Fury marched forward, moving with purpose, with anger, until he was inches away from Steve¡¯s face.

    "Rogers, I <i>told</i> you. I <i>knew</i> it." His voice dropped into something far more dangerous than shouting¡ªa deadly, controlled growl.

    "This was a terrible idea. Bringing the mutants <i>here</i>? Involving them in this mess? It was a goddamn<i> disaster</i> waiting to happen!"

    Steve¡¯s expression didn¡¯t waver, but something darkened in his gaze.

    "This is not their fault."

    Fury¡¯s face twisted with frustration, his hand curling into a tight fist at his side.

    "MY ASS, STEVE!" Fury roared, stepping even closer, his face just inches from Captain America¡¯s.

    "This is a fucking nightmare! S.H.I.E.L.D. was compromised! They breached the fucking HQ!" Fury jabbed a finger into Steve¡¯s chest, his voice hoarse with fury.

    "Do you understand what this means?!"

    Steve didn¡¯t even blink.

    "Enlighten me, Fury."

    Fury¡¯s nostrils flared as he ran a shaky hand down his face.

    "It means, we¡¯re all fucked, Rogers. You fucked me over. I failed my directives, and you¡ª"

    His voice hitched with frustration. "You fucked everything, Steve. I told you bringing the merry mutant band would get us burned. And now look. Look!"

    He gestured wildly at the wreckage, the bodies, the gunfire still being extinguished in the distance.

    "How do you expect me to clean this up?! Huh?! How do you expect me to explain to the goddamn President and the Congress that my organization let terrorists operate under my own<i> fucking</i> nose?! That I let the X-Men inside a S.H.I.E.L.D facility and they brought <i>hell</i> with them!"

    And then¡ªa new voice cut through.

    One far rougher. Lower. Darker.

    "Why don¡¯t ya say that to my face, Fury."

    Fury¡¯s gaze snapped sideways.

    Wolverine stepped forward, his clawed fists clenched, his eyes narrowed into slits, his entire posture screaming violence.

    The air thickened with tension.

    For a second, it seemed like Fury might actually take the challenge.

    But then, Carol moved.

    A glow of golden light flickered around her body as she stepped forward, positioning herself between Wolverine and Fury.

    Her voice was calm, but unyielding.

    "You¡¯ve caused enough trouble, X-Man. Please, let us deal with this."

    Wolverine¡¯s sharp, dangerous grin spread across his face, his claws glinting under the evening sun.

    "Step out of my way, lady."

    Carol¡¯s eyes flickered yellow again, her hands sparking with barely-contained energy.

    "Or what?"

    Her tone was low, dangerous.

    The air crackled between them.

    Another voice.

    This time, colder.

    "Or what, Captain Marvel?"

    Carol¡¯s eyes snapped sideways.

    Cyclops.

    His arms crossed, his visor gleaming ominously, his posture unshaken.

    For the first time, Jean didn¡¯t intervene.

    For the first time, she didn¡¯t try to calm him down.

    Because, for the first time¡ª

    She didn''t want to.

    And that made all the difference.

    The air grew heavier.

    The tension became suffocating.

    Fury¡¯s gaze darted between Wolverine and Cyclops, then back to Captain America.

    Carol didn¡¯t flinch.

    Wolverine didn¡¯t move.

    Cyclops stood his ground.

    And in the middle of it all Captain America stood still, watching as the line between heroes blurred, as the cracks between mutant and human alliances deepened.

    As the divide grew wider than ever before.

    This was a powder keg.

    And it was about to explode.

    Every word, every glare, every clenched fist only added more fuel to the fire.

    Carol¡¯s eyes burned into Cyclops, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her golden glow still flickering faintly beneath her skin.

    "You X-Men always want to be right, don¡¯t you?" she bit out, her voice sharp, almost a snarl.

    Scott didn¡¯t flinch. Didn¡¯t even blink.

    "Look who¡¯s talkin¡¯, Danvers," Wolverine growled, stepping forward, his knuckles tight, his claws half-drawn, gleaming in the light.

    Carol¡¯s jaw tightened.

    "I¡¯m not the one always ready to go to war over every goddamn thing,<i> Logan</i>."

    Wolverine grinned, but there was nothing friendly in it. His body was coiled like a predator ready to pounce.

    "Nah. You¡¯re the one always ready to punch a problem ¡®til it stops movin¡¯."

    Fury¡¯s patience snapped.

    "That¡¯s it! You¡¯re <i>banned</i>."

    His voice cut through the noise, as sharp as any blade.

    "None of you X-Men are ever setting foot in S.H.I.E.L.D. again, do you understand? Especially you, Howlett."

    Logan tilted his head, mocking.

    "Oh, I¡¯m real broken up about that, Nick. Lemme just go cry about it in my beer."

    Fury took a step forward, his boots hitting the pavement hard.

    "You used to be a better man, Howlett."

    Logan¡¯s eyes narrowed, his nostrils flaring.

    "Oh yeah? When was that, bub? When the government suits controlled me? When I was just a weapon?"

    Fury didn¡¯t hesitate.

    <i>"Yes."</i>

    The words hit like a bullet to the gut.

    For a long moment, nobody spoke.

    And then¡ª

    <i>SNIKT.</i>

    Logan¡¯s claws fully extended, shining inches from Fury¡¯s face.

    "I¡¯ll show ya a goddamn weapon, you dirty goon sellout piece of¡ª"

    Cyclops and Jean lunged at him, grabbing his arms, yanking him back before he could close the gap.

    "Logan, stop!" Jean¡¯s voice was urgent, desperate.

    "Enough, Logan!" Scott snapped, his grip tight.

    Carol hadn¡¯t moved an inch.

    She just watched. Waiting. Ready.

    Her glow grew brighter, just enough to show that if Logan went for Fury, she¡¯d intervene in a heartbeat.

    It was a standoff.

    And Steve Rogers?

    Steve Rogers stood in the middle of it all, the pressure pounding against his skull, the faintest edge of a headache creeping into his temples.

    His fingers found the bridge of his nose, pinching it between gloved fingertips.

    He needed to think.

    The weight of it all¡ªS.H.I.E.L.D. compromised. The attack. Denti. The Leper Queen. The X-Men. The Avengers. The goddamn politics of it all.

    His mind was a battlefield, and for the first time in years, it felt like he was losing ground.

    A mission was supposed to end with clarity. With answers.

    But all this gave him was more chaos.

    More divisions.

    More rage.

    "Captain?" Carol¡¯s voice broke through his thoughts.

    He didn¡¯t answer right away.

    "Nothin¡¯ to say, soldier boy?" Wolverine pushed, his voice low, biting.

    "Steve."

    Fury¡¯s tone was demanding now.

    Waiting for an answer.

    Waiting for judgment.

    Steve exhaled sharply. His fists clenched. His lungs felt tight.

    He was about to speak when another voice cut in.

    <i>"Stop with this crap."</i>

    It was sharp. Angry. Unexpected.

    "You pieces of shit."

    The group froze.

    They all turned¡ª

    And saw John Walker.

    <i>USAgent.</i>

    He stood beside the wreckage, his stance tense, his gloved hands curling into fists, his face red with frustration.

    He looked between all of them¡ªFury, Carol, Cyclops, Logan, Steve¡ªhis glare hard.

    "Captain America is trying to do his goddamn best here, can''t you see?!"

    His voice rose, his frustration boiling over.

    "Can¡¯t a veteran have a goddamn second to think?!"

    Silence.

    For the first time, even Fury had nothing to say.

    Steve lifted his head. His eyes met John¡¯s.

    And for once¡ª He saw no rivalry. No bitterness. Just understanding.

    Steve nodded once, his expression softening just slightly.

    "Thank you, John."

    Walker gave a curt nod, his arms still crossed tightly over his chest.

    "No problem, Cap."

    The air was still thick with tension, but the worst of the storm had passed.

    The wreckage of the convoy lay behind them, a smoldering testament to the chaos that had unfolded, while the distant hum of sirens and the occasional crackle of distant S.H.I.E.L.D. comms filled the uneasy silence.

    Steve Rogers took a measured step forward, his eyes locked onto Nick Fury, his voice firm but calm.

    "I¡¯m sorry it had to come to this, Fury."

    His tone wasn¡¯t apologetic in the way a defeated man would sound¡ªit carried a weight of responsibility, a man who bore the burden of command and regretted the consequences of the choices made.

    He lifted a gloved hand, pointing lightly at Fury, not in accusation, but in understanding.

    "Whatever happens with you and S.H.I.E.L.D., know that you have my help." His words were clear, steady. "You¡¯re overworked, and you¡¯re doing the best you can with the assets you have. I see that."

    Fury¡¯s shoulders loosened ever so slightly. The anger, the fire that had been blazing in his single eye, diminished just a fraction. His arms crossed, and he let out a long exhale, his lips tightening into a thin line.

    For a moment, just a brief one, he looked like a man exhausted by too many battles, too many knives in the dark, too many compromises that never seemed to pay off.

    But then¡ªhe nodded, once, sharply.

    A silent acknowledgment.

    Steve turned his attention to Carol Danvers.

    "Carol, we Avengers have a responsibility." His tone didn¡¯t waver, carrying the full weight of his experience, of the expectations placed upon them all.

    "We have a duty to do the best we can for the people we serve. That means protecting the world¡ªthe people of America. Mutants and humans alike."

    Carol held his gaze, her golden glow flickering before fading entirely. She exhaled slowly, then placed her hands behind her back, standing at attention.

    "I understand that, sir."

    Her voice was measured, respectful, but there was a tinge of regret in it¡ªthe kind that came from realizing an error.

    She straightened her posture, squaring her shoulders.

    "My apologies."

    Steve studied her for a moment, then gave a small nod.

    "You¡¯re forgiven."

    Simple. Direct. Final.

    Carol said nothing more, but Steve could tell that her mind was still working through everything¡ªthe tensions, the missteps, the emotions.

    Then¡ªhe turned to the X-Men.

    He knew what came next wouldn¡¯t be easy.

    His eyes swept across the team. Scott. Jean. Logan. Each of them standing in different states of emotion¡ªCyclops, guarded, arms crossed; Jean, quietly contemplative, her expression a mixture of exhaustion and deep thought; Logan, tense, restrained only because the people around him held him back.

    "It¡¯s hard being a mutant."

    The words came carefully, not as a platitude, but as a genuine acknowledgment.

    "I won¡¯t take that away from any of you."

    Logan snorted quietly, his arms still tense at his sides.

    "<i>Damn right.</i>"

    Steve continued.

    "I want to help. I really do."

    Cyclops narrowed his gaze slightly, clearly expecting a ¡®but.¡¯

    And it came.

    "But things aren¡¯t always simple." Steve exhaled sharply. "Not the way I wish they were."

    His expression remained steady, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his blue eyes¡ªregret. Frustration. A soldier who wished the world was kinder than it was.

    "Understand that this is the way to bring systemic change to the issues we face."

    There was a pause.

    Then¡ªLogan scoffed, shaking his head.

    "Two wrongs don¡¯t make a right, Rogers. Denti should be dead, and ya know it."

    Steve stiffened just slightly, but before he could answer, Cyclops spoke next.

    "There were promises made, Captain."

    A reminder.

    A challenge.

    Steve nodded once. "I promise to honor them."

    Scott¡¯s jaw remained tight, his fingers twitching slightly at his sides.

    Then, finally¡ªhe exhaled, closing his eyes briefly.

    "We understand your commitment, and we¡¯re grateful, Captain. But¡­"

    He opened his eyes, his gaze steady, firm.

    "But we all need a moment to take this decision in. We weren¡¯t asked. We weren¡¯t consulted. Or even acknowledged."

    There was no venom in his voice. Only truth.

    "And that¡¯s how we¡¯ve felt for far too long."

    Jean nodded subtly, a flicker of sadness in her expression.

    Steve didn¡¯t argue.

    Didn¡¯t push back.

    Instead¡ªhe nodded.

    "I apologize for that."

    Another beat of silence.

    Scott sighed.

    "We¡¯ll talk in Westchester."

    He glanced at Jean, who nodded in agreement.

    "There¡¯s more we need to know first."

    Steve gave a small nod of understanding.

    "That would be wise."

    USAgent stepped forward.

    His boots thudded against the pavement, his stance still casual, but his words?

    Sharper than before.

    "I don¡¯t like you X-Men types."

    Logan¡¯s head snapped up immediately, his fists twitching again, but John kept talking.

    "But if Cap stands with you, that¡¯s something you wanna keep, not throw away."

    Scott¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change.

    Jean stayed silent.

    But Logan?

    He let out a rough exhale, his jaw tightening.

    Steve turned toward Walker, his expression softening just slightly.

    He took a step closer, walking up to him, his voice lowering slightly.

    "Thank you, John."

    Walker held his ground, but there was no challenge in his stance now.

    Only understanding.

    "I¡¯m sorry I¡¯ve been harsh on you before."

    There was a pause.

    Steve¡¯s next words were calm, deliberate.

    "You¡¯re doing what you can for our nation."

    His voice wasn¡¯t dismissive. It wasn¡¯t condescending.

    It was genuine.

    "Even if I don¡¯t always agree."

    John nodded once, slowly.

    His eyes flicked toward the wreckage, then back to Steve.

    "I never stopped believing in you, sir."

    He gave a faint smirk, one that was almost humorless, but not quite bitter either.

    "But someone¡¯s gotta do the dirty work."

    His smirk faded into something harsher, something colder.

    "Better be me than you."

    Steve studied him for a moment, then gave a curt nod of appreciation.

    He turned.

    Back toward Fury.

    Nick Fury was pacing now, his hands moving too much, his fingers twitching in agitation.

    The man looked ready to burst, his one good eye darting between the wreckage, the X-Men, the Avengers.

    His jaw worked.

    His breath was short, sharp.

    And when Steve approached, Fury finally stopped pacing, fixing him with an unreadable stare.

    His lips curled into a deep scowl.

    "This is <i>FUBAR</i>, Rogers."

    The tension was still thick.

    The wreckage still burned in the distance.

    The wreckage of the convoy, the bodies strewn about, the scent of burnt rubber and gunpowder mixing with the distant sound of approaching sirens¡ªit was all a grim reminder of how quickly things had spiraled.

    Nick Fury stood rigid, his face partially shadowed by the fading light, his coat swaying slightly in the wind. His expression was unreadable, save for the tightness around his jaw and the flicker of stress behind his one good eye.

    Steve Rogers turned to him, adjusting his stance, his hands briefly resting on his hips before crossing over his chest.

    "Time will tell, Fury."

    The words weren¡¯t comforting. They weren¡¯t reassuring. They were honest, a soldier¡¯s answer¡ªone that neither promised nor denied anything.

    Fury let out a long exhale, dragging a hand down his face before pinching the bridge of his nose.

    "Hope you''re right, Steve." His voice was lower, rougher now, like he was speaking more to himself than to anyone else. "More than just my job hangs in the balance."

    Steve nodded slowly.

    He knew exactly what Fury meant.

    This wasn¡¯t just about a S.H.I.E.L.D. breach, or rogue agents, or even the ongoing war against anti-mutant extremism.

    This was about trust.

    And tonight had fractured what little remained between the Avengers, S.H.I.E.L.D., and the X-Men.

    Steve turned away from Fury, giving him space as he reached up to the side of his helmet, tapping into his comms.

    "Sam, come in. Do you copy?"

    A brief crackle,

    "Solid copy, over."

    Steve exhaled. Good. At least something was going right.

    "Is Denti secured?"

    "Yeah. He¡¯s fine. Still chained up, still breathing. Doesn¡¯t seem happy about it, though." Sam¡¯s voice held that familiar dry edge, the kind that usually accompanied his frustration at the moral compromises they always had to make.

    Steve closed his eyes briefly, inhaling deeply before responding.

    "The Leper Queen is dead."

    The comm fell silent for a few seconds.

    "What happened?" Sam¡¯s voice was quieter now.

    "She shot herself."

    Another pause.

    Steve could picture Sam on the other end, standing with his arms crossed, looking down with that contemplative expression he always had when he was processing something he couldn¡¯t fix.

    When Sam spoke again, his voice was softer.

    "Poor woman..."

    Steve felt his jaw tighten as he looked back toward the wreckage, his blue eyes lingering on the truck where Clara Page had made her final choice.

    "She suffered. A lot." His voice was low, steady, but the weight behind it was unmistakable. "Maybe death brought her comfort."

    "Maybe." Sam¡¯s voice held a quiet sorrow, a regret for an enemy he never liked but still felt empathy for.

    The wind blew cold against Steve¡¯s face. The distant wails of police sirens grew louder. Somewhere behind him, Jean was still standing in silence, her gaze cast downward. Logan hadn¡¯t moved. Scott¡¯s hands remained clenched at his sides.

    They were all still processing what had happened.

    Sam¡¯s voice came back through the comms, this time more resolute.

    "What next?"

    Steve turned his back on the wreckage, squaring his shoulders.

    "I''ll question some of the men here." His eyes swept across the gathered S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, some already lining up bodies, others coordinating the damage control. The he glanced over at the one he threw on Walker''s Jeep, still unconscious.

    "After that, we secure Denti and head back to Westchester."

    "You sure? The X-Men seem upset."

    Steve¡¯s gaze flickered toward Cyclops¡ªwho, even now, stood rigid in his stance, his lips pressed into a tight, thin line.

    Jean wasn¡¯t looking at Steve.

    Logan still had that permanent scowl, but his fingers had finally stopped twitching toward his claws.

    Steve knew exactly what Sam meant.

    The X-Men had risked everything for this mission. They had followed Steve¡¯s lead¡ªtrusted his word. And now?

    It was hard to say if that trust remained.

    Steve exhaled.

    "They are."

    He wouldn¡¯t pretend otherwise. Wouldn¡¯t sugarcoat it.

    "But I''ll finish what we started. No halfways."

    That was the only thing he could promise. The only thing he had left to offer.

    Sam¡¯s voice came through.

    "I''m with you, Cap."

    Steve felt a small flicker of relief at that.

    "Good." His voice was quieter now, more personal. "I''ll need all the help I can get right now."

    Another silence, but this one was lighter.

    Then Sam let out a small exhale, almost a chuckle¡ªtired, but genuine.

    "<i>Yeah</i>. We always do."

    The comm clicked off.

    Steve lowered his hand, looking at the wreckage, at the soldiers, at the X-Men, at the fallen Leper Queen.

    The world wasn¡¯t going to stop spinning.

    He knew it wasn''t over yet, now he would have to explain it to Storm, Xavier, Rogue and Alamo. God knows what kind of reactions they would have.

 Chapter 16: The Tale of Two Beasts

    In the cold Yukon landscape, the night stretched endless and unforgiving. A quaint little chalet stood in defiance of the elements, its aged wood creaking beneath the relentless assault of howling winds. Snow blanketed the ground in an endless white, swallowing the footprints that led up to the sagging porch where a thick-furred Siberian husky lay curled, its breath misting in the frigid air. Its ears twitched, alert even in its rest, its tail flicking idly as it nestled against the frost-stiff boards. Then, a sound. Not the usual groaning of the old trees or the distant cry of a scavenger, but something heavier, something deliberate. The husky¡¯s head snapped up, its blue eyes glinting in the dim moonlight as a growl rumbled in its throat.

    Inside the chalet, the contrast was stark. Warm, humid air filled the space, steam curling toward the ceiling from the wide metal bathtub in the center of the rustic bathroom. The air was thick with heat and the sharp scent of cigar smoke, which coiled in lazy tendrils from between Victor Creed¡¯s jagged teeth. Sabretooth stood motionless in the water, his massive, scar-riddled frame submerged up to his waist, muscles rippling under the amber glow of the lanterns that flickered against the aged wooden walls. His golden mane clung wetly to his shoulders, and though his body was still, his predator¡¯s instincts never dulled.

    Birdy stood behind him, her delicate hands kneading the dense knots in his shoulders with practiced precision, her touch careful but firm. She wore a form-fitting black and pink bodysuit, the fabric hugging every curve, the high collar zipped halfway as if she couldn¡¯t quite decide between comfort and readiness. Her platinum blonde hair was twisted up in a neat updo, loose strands clinging to her damp forehead. It was an odd thing, tending to a beast like this, but she was one of the few people on Earth who could. Not because she was unafraid of Victor Creed, but because she understood him in a way few dared to.

    ¡°Woman, this is just what was needed,¡± Victor rumbled, his deep voice reverberating through the steamy room, his cigar glowing bright as he took a slow, indulgent drag.

    ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re tight as <i>hell</i>,¡± Birdy murmured, her fingers pressing deeper into the muscle, rolling out the tension. ¡°This oughta help.¡±

    Victor let out something that wasn¡¯t quite a sigh, nor a growl. He didn¡¯t acknowledge her words, didn¡¯t thank her, because that wasn¡¯t his way. He was a man of instincts, of indulgence, of primal need, and right now, he needed this. Needed the hands working the fire out of his muscles, needed the heat melting into his bones, needed something to keep his ever-present rage from boiling over into something ugly.

    ¡°You really need to stretch more,¡± Birdy commented, tilting her head as she pressed into a particularly stubborn knot.

    Victor¡¯s lips curled, his sharp teeth bared. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me what to do.¡±

    Without warning, his hand shot up, seizing her wrist in a crushing grip before his other hand clamped around her waist. In one effortless motion, he flung her across the room as if she weighed nothing. Birdy twisted midair, landing in a crouch against the far wall, her gloved hand bracing her impact.

    ¡°Eugh,¡± she grunted, shaking her arm out, feeling the dull ache of bruises forming beneath her suit. ¡°You oughta stop doing this to people who can give you an aneurysm.¡±

    Victor laughed, a deep, guttural thing. ¡°Ha! Ya don¡¯t got the balls to kill me, Birdy.¡± His grin widened, feral and gleeful. ¡°Ya know you can¡¯t finish the job, and even if ya tried, I¡¯d gut ya first.¡±

    Birdy exhaled sharply, pushing to her feet, brushing herself off as she rolled her shoulders. ¡°You¡¯re a real piece of shit, Victor.¡±

    ¡°Yeah? That¡¯s why ya don¡¯t do this for free, woman.¡± He took another long drag from his cigar, blowing the smoke lazily toward the ceiling, utterly unconcerned.

    Then, a sound cut through the moment. Low, guttural barking from the husky outside. Not the lazy, warning barks of a dog disturbed by a rustling branch, but deep, urgent, unrelenting. Something was out there. Something that didn¡¯t belong.

    Victor¡¯s grin faltered for a fraction of a second before he rolled his head toward the noise, nostrils flaring. ¡°Go see what the dog found, Birdy.¡±

    She arched a brow at him, arms crossed. ¡°If it¡¯s another bear?¡±

    ¡°Get a gun and kill it, blondie.¡±

    She scoffed. ¡°Can¡¯t you kill it?¡±

    Victor stretched lazily, rolling his broad shoulders. ¡°Will ya give me a blowjob?¡±

    Birdy snorted. ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Then get the<i> fuck</i> out there. I ain¡¯t payin¡¯ ya to yap. Less words, more blood.¡±

    Birdy let out an exaggerated sigh, muttering something under her breath as she strode across the room, grabbing a heavy coat off the rack. She pulled it on, the fabric still warm from the fire, and grabbed an Ithaca 37 shotgun that leaned against the wall. The dog¡¯s barking hadn¡¯t stopped.

    Victor remained in the bath, cigar in hand, watching her go with an amused smirk, waiting to see what fresh hell the Yukon night had brought to their doorstep.

    The night was thick, the Yukon wind whispering through the treetops like a distant, mournful howl. Snow crunched beneath Birdy¡¯s boots as she followed Magnus deeper into the dark. The dog was still barking, a guttural, frenzied sound that made the hair on the back of her neck prickle. The shotgun was firm in her grip, her finger resting on the trigger guard, her breath a fog in the cold air.

    "What is it, buddy? Another bear?" she muttered, eyes narrowing as she scanned the treeline, the vague silhouettes of branches twisting against the sky like skeletal fingers.

    Magnus didn¡¯t stop. He kept barking, his body stiff, his stance rigid with something beyond the usual alertness of a dog in the wild. Birdy felt the shift in the air, the way it grew dense, hidden with something unseen but deeply wrong.

    ¡°<i>Magnus</i>, what¡¯s gotten into you?¡±

    Then, suddenly, the dog bolted.

    ¡°MAGNUS!¡± she yelled, lunging forward, but the husky was already a blur, vanishing into the thick woods.

    She took off after him, boots sinking into the snow, the weight of the shotgun slowing her. The trees swallowed her whole, their gnarled roots forcing her to move with caution, but she didn¡¯t stop. Somewhere up ahead, Magnus had gone silent.

    That was worse. That was so much worse.

    Then¡ªa whimper.

    A wet, shuddering whimper that turned into a soft, painful sob.

    ¡°Magnus?¡± Her voice was barely above a whisper now, her pulse thundering in her ears.

    A sharp snap rang out through the woods.

    She froze.

    ¡°MAGNUS!¡±

    Her legs moved before her brain caught up. She tore through the undergrowth, the crunch of frozen branches under her boots barely registering in the back of her mind. The shotgun was up now, her body tensed, every instinct screaming at her to stop, think, listen, but she didn¡¯t.

    And then she saw it.

    Movement.

    A blur of something shifting between the trees.

    She raised the shotgun, exhaling sharply.

    <i>BANG.</i>

    The blast echoed through the silence, illuminating the dark for the briefest moment, and then¡ªnothing. Just the trees. Just the wind.

    She clenched her jaw, took another breath.

    ¡°I¡¯ll <i>destroy</i> you if you hurt that dog!¡± she snarled.

    <i>BANG.</i>

    Another shot, tearing into the void.

    Still nothing.

    No sound, no movement. Just the whisper of the wind weaving through the frozen canopy.

    And then¡ª<i>clink.</i>

    Metal.

    A sharp, high-pitched ricochet that made her gut sink like a stone in black water.

    Her grip on the shotgun tightened.

    ¡°What the¡ª¡±

    And then she felt it, a shift in the air, a sudden presence, something unnatural.

    She turned, her heart plummeted instantly.

    The moon cast silver light over the clearing, and there, emerging from the darkness, was a man.

    Tall. Broad. His silhouette unnervingly still, unnervingly wrong. His skin gleamed, catching the light in a way that flesh shouldn''t. His right eye flickered red, burning in the dark like a molten ember.

    Birdy held her breath.

    She raised the shotgun.

    <i><b>BANG.</b></i>

    The shell fired straight at him.

    <i><b>Clink.</b></i>

    The same sharp, metallic sound. No impact. No wound. Just¡­ a clink.

    Her stomach churned.

    She fired again.

    <i><b>BANG.</b></i>

    <i><b>Clink.</b></i>

    ¡°Fuck.¡± Her voice cracked, her breath coming out ragged. ¡°Fuck.¡±

    Then, he stepped forward.

    The shadows peeled away from him like living things retreating in fear. His features came into view¡ªsharp, familiar, twisted into something cold and inhuman.

    Birdy¡¯s fingers went numb around the shotgun.

    Her throat tightened.

    Because she knew that face.

    Even with the enhancements, even with the glistening metal sheen to his skin, even with the eerie, unholy glow in his eye¡ªshe knew him.

    <i>Graydon Creed.</i>

    A thing that was supposed to be dead.

    A thing that should not be standing in front of her.

    Her breath hitched in her chest.

    <i>¡°Oh no." </i>She muttered, panic in her voice.

    Before she could even process, she was already being held up by her neck.

    Inside the cabin Sabretooth flicked the ash off his cigar, watching as the ember tumbled down into the soapy bathwater before hissing out of existence. His muscles were loose, the heat of the water still clinging to his skin, steam curling up in lazy tendrils around him. The Yukon wind rattled against the wooden frame of the house, but inside, it was warm, the scent of whiskey and burning tobacco heavy in the air.

    He exhaled through his nose, thinking, "If this bitch gets mauled by a bear, I swear..."

    Outside, however, the night was filled with something far worse than any bear.

    Birdy struggled, thrashing like a fish caught on a hook, her feet kicking at empty air as Graydon Creed held her aloft with one hand. His grip was unrelenting, fingers like steel bands wrapped around her waist, keeping her dangling like a broken doll. Her body jerked as she clawed at his arm, her breath coming in panicked, choked gasps.

    "Is your boss home, <i>Birdy?</i>"

    His voice was calm, almost amused, as if he were asking about dinner plans.

    "Fuck you, Graydon."

    A sneer curled over his lips, the red glow of his mechanical eye pulsing slightly, reflecting off the cold white snow beneath them.

    "Whatever you say, mutant."

    With a sudden jerk, he grabbed her right arm¡ªthe one still gripping the shotgun¡ªand ripped it from her socket.

    The sound was wet and awful, a sickening combination of tearing muscle, snapping bone, and the obscene squelch of flesh being ripped apart like cheap fabric.

    Birdy¡¯s scream tore through the forest, raw and primal, echoing against the trees, her mind incapable of processing what had just happened.

    Her vision blurred, her body convulsing, hot blood spurting down Graydon¡¯s arm as he held the severed limb in his free hand, shotgun still clenched in its twitching fingers.

    Inside the cabin, Sabretooth¡¯s ears twitched.

    He sniffed.

    <i>Blood.</i>

    <i>Fresh.</i>

    <i>A lot of it.</i>

    His nose wrinkled, irritation flickering across his face. "That dumb bitch actually got herself killed." He muttered, tossing his cigar into the bathwater as he stood up, water cascading off his massive frame.

    Outside, Birdy was dying.

    She could feel it. She could taste it.

    Her body trembled violently, breath hitching in sharp, shallow gulps, her nerves still trying to process the pain. The cold air was searing against her exposed flesh, her blood steaming as it poured into the snow below, staining it a deep crimson.

    Graydon tightened his grip on her throat, lifting her higher, watching as her body went limp for a moment before twitching again.

    "Don''t cry, little Birdy," he said, voice almost gentle, mocking. "It''ll be over soon."

    She snarled.

    Her left hand curled into a fist¡ªweak, trembling, but still filled with defiance¡ªand she punched him square in the face.

    The impact hurt her more than it hurt him.

    She felt her knuckles break on his cheekbone.

    No¡ªnot cheekbone, that was something else, hard like steel.

    Her mind was foggy from blood loss, but she still felt it.

    Metal.

    He didn¡¯t flinch.

    Didn¡¯t even blink.

    Instead, he smiled.

    And then, with the same eerie calm, he grabbed her left arm¡ªand ripped it off as well.

    She screamed.

    A deep, visceral sound, one of sheer agony and horrific realization as her body lurched violently, a fresh spray of hot arterial blood coating Graydon¡¯s chest as he casually tossed the limb aside.

    Her entire body shook uncontrollably, the nerves in her shoulders still firing signals to limbs that no longer existed. She was caught in a terrible purgatory of pain and loss, her vision narrowing into a dark tunnel, her heartbeat pounding like war drums in her ears.

    Now she was held only by her neck, dangling weightless in the air as Graydon carried her toward the cabin.

    His boots crunched through the snow, leaving behind a thick, glistening trail of blood that snaked behind him like a red river, leading straight to Victor Creed¡¯s doorstep.

    Inside, Sabretooth grabbed a towel, rubbing his wet hair with one hand as he stepped onto the porch, naked and annoyed.

    "Birdy?" He muttered, sniffing the air again.

    He paused.

    His golden eyes narrowed. His gut twisted, instincts screaming at him just before his mind caught up.

    Then he saw it.

    The trail of blood.

    The shape in the dark.

    Graydon Creed stepping into his father''s view, his mechanical frame glinting beneath the cold white glow, his red eye burning like a demon¡¯s ember, his grip still firm on what was left of Birdy.

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    She was barely conscious, her head lolling, eyes rolling back, her body limp and ruined, blood still dripping onto the snow.

    Sabretooth¡¯s jaw clenched.

    His muscles tensed, the rage boiling up so quickly that for a moment, he thought the air itself had gotten hotter.

    Graydon smiled, sharp and slow, something twisted in his expression¡ªequal parts amusement and venom.

    "Hello, Father." His voice was smooth, cold, mocking.

    Sabretooth didn¡¯t move.

    For once in his goddamn life, Victor Creed didn¡¯t know what the fuck he was looking at.

    Sabretooth stood there, his massive frame still, golden eyes narrowed, calculating, processing what his senses were telling him. His nostrils flared, drawing in the thick, metallic scent of fresh death, his ears tuned to every subtle sound¡ªthe wet squelch of pooling blood, the shifting of Graydon¡¯s boots on the snow, the faint, pathetic wheeze that was still somehow slipping past Birdy¡¯s shattered throat.

    She was dying, hanging from Graydon¡¯s grip like a discarded puppet, her head lolling, her chest barely rising. The front of her bodysuit was soaked in crimson, her arms gone, leaving only ragged, exposed flesh where her shoulders had been.

    Her lips parted, a whisper of breath escaping.

    "<i>Help me¡­ Vic¡ª</i>"

    She couldn¡¯t finish.

    Graydon¡¯s left hand clamped over her face, his fingers curling slowly, possessively.

    Sabretooth watched, his clawed hands balling into fists.

    Graydon''s red mechanical eye flickered, scanning the woman in his grip like she was nothing more than meat. His real eye¡ªstill dark, still human¡ªheld nothing. No anger. No remorse. Just a quiet, mocking emptiness that made Sabretooth¡¯s gut twist.

    Then, without warning, he tilted his head forward and pressed a kiss against Birdy¡¯s trembling lips.

    It was slow. Deliberate.

    A mockery of intimacy, something sick and unfathomable.

    Birdy¡¯s fingers twitched weakly, but her mind was already slipping beyond the veil of understanding. She didn¡¯t know why. She didn¡¯t know what was happening. She barely knew who she was anymore.

    <i><b>CRACK.</b></i>

    Graydon¡¯s grip tightened.

    Her skull buckled inward, the soft wet pop of her left eye bursting spilling warm fluid down her ruined cheek.

    Sabretooth¡¯s ears twitched.

    He could hear her bones giving way, the sickening sound of cranial plates collapsing under relentless pressure, the final spasmodic shudder of her body as it tried¡ªand failed¡ªto reject the impossible pain.

    Then, nothing.

    Nothing but silence.

    Graydon held what was left of her, the corpse still twitching in its final death throes, his fingers buried inside what had once been a skull. He lingered a second longer, savoring the moment, before unceremoniously releasing his grip.

    Birdy¡¯s headless body crumpled to the snow like a broken doll, blood pooling instantly, steaming in the cold.

    Graydon lifted his left hand, wiping it lazily on the sleeve of his coat before dragging his wrist across his lips, as if scrubbing away the mutant filth from his mouth.

    His expression barely shifted.

    "Mutants taste the same¡­ like <i>shit</i>."

    His voice was flat, almost bored. He kicked her body over with his boot, rolling it face-down in the snow, letting the last of the crimson warmth seep into the frozen ground.

    Then, finally, he looked up.

    Sabretooth hadn¡¯t moved.

    His eyes, usually filled with something cruel and wicked, were empty now, still¡ªa strange, dangerous stillness, the kind that came before a storm tore through a valley and erased everything in its path.

    "You killed her, boy." His voice was a low rumble, the kind of sound that came from deep in his chest, almost a growl. His claws flexed. His breathing slowed. His muscles coiled like a wound spring.

    "Why?"

    Graydon¡¯s expression snapped, his entire body jerking forward, veins in his forehead and neck bulging, voice twisting into something venomous and raw.

    <b>"WHY!?"</b>

    He threw his arms out, spattered blood flicking from his fingertips onto the snow, the red drops bright and glistening under the moonlight.

    "Have you EVER asked why you killed anyone in your life, you<i> piece of shit</i>!?"

    His voice cracked with something that wasn''t anger, wasn''t hatred¡ªit was deeper, older, more broken than either of those things. Trauma, unrelenting, unforgiving trauma, once a happy boy turned into a spectator of his father''s sadism, too many twisted "gifts". In Graydon''s mind, this was his own twisted gift to his hateful father.

    Sabretooth launched himself forward, his body a coiled spring of pure predatory instinct, his claws curved like the scythes of a reaper, aimed straight for Graydon¡¯s throat.

    "Well, boy, it seems ya finally outgrew those weak human genes ya have."

    His voice was a deep, guttural snarl, thick with something twisted¡ªpride, mockery, anticipation.

    Graydon sidestepped at the last second, Sabretooth¡¯s razor-sharp talons missing his arm by mere inches, slashing through the air with a sickening hiss.

    "Shut your damn mouth, Sabretooth."

    Graydon¡¯s voice was cold, seething, filled with something that had been festering for decades. He pivoted, his mechanical joints whirring slightly as he drove a right hook straight into Sabretooth¡¯s face, the impact echoing like a gunshot through the empty Yukon night.

    The force of the hit was immense.

    Victor stumbled back, his head snapping to the side, blood spitting from his lips into the snow.

    Graydon smirked, pleased.

    But the look didn¡¯t last long.

    Sabretooth wiped the blood off his chin with the back of his hand, then grinned. A slow, wolfish expression, teeth bared like a man who had just found his favorite prey.

    "It seems ya¡¯re the same shit as yer old man."

    His voice dripped with mockery, his stance adjusting, muscles tightening as his fury truly kicked in. The first hit was nothing¡ªnow the real fight was about to begin.

    Graydon came in for another punch¡ªfaster, harder¡ªbut this time, Sabretooth was ready.

    The instant Graydon¡¯s arm extended, Sabretooth slashed upward with blinding speed, his claws tearing into Graydon¡¯s forearm, splitting synthetic skin and reinforced tissue like peeling back the layers of a machine.

    A sharp gash opened, the flesh beneath it dark, metallic, unnatural.

    Graydon hissed through clenched teeth, stumbling back, clutching his arm. His rage flared, something snapping in him as his entire body tensed.

    "<i>YOU</i> MADE ME LIKE THIS!"

    His left hand jerked upward, and from his wrist, a blade shot forward, the metal gleaming in the moonlight before he drove it straight through Sabretooth¡¯s right hand, pinning it to his own chest.

    Sabretooth snarled, his body jerking, his free hand instinctively moving to rip the weapon free¡ªbut Graydon didn¡¯t give him the chance.

    The blade twisted.

    Sabretooth¡¯s muscles locked, nerves searing in raw agony as the jagged edge dug into his tendons, slicing through bone and ligaments with sickening ease.

    For a brief second, the Yukon wind howled around them, the fight paused in an eerie silence¡ªblood steaming in the snow, Graydon and Sabretooth locked in a violent, motionless tableau.

    Then, Victor laughed.

    A low, guttural, bloodied laugh, a sound so cruel, so maddening, that for a moment, even Graydon hesitated.

    Sabretooth¡¯s yellow eyes gleamed with something sick and twisted, his lips curling back.

    "Ha! I wish, ya made yerself like this, runt."

    Then, with monstrous strength, he ripped his own hand free, tearing the blade out with a violent jerk.

    Blood sprayed across the snow in wide arcs, some of it splattering against Graydon¡¯s face.

    Sabretooth¡¯s claws flexed, the healing process already beginning, tendons knitting themselves together, flesh stitching back into place with a gruesome, wet sound.

    Then he moved again.

    Faster. Meaner. Unforgiving.

    His fist shot forward, slamming into Graydon¡¯s chest like a battering ram, the sheer force lifting him off the ground for a split second before he was sent skidding backward, his boots carving deep trenches in the snow.

    Graydon staggered, coughing, his body convulsing from the impact.

    "Fuck you!"

    His arm snapped upward, and before Sabretooth could close the gap again¡ª

    <i>BOOM.</i>

    A shotgun slug fired directly from Graydon¡¯s wrist.

    The blast hit Sabretooth square in the face, his head jerking violently backward, flesh tearing, bone cracking as the force sent him crashing onto his back in the snow, arms sprawled, steam rising from the massive wound on his skull.

    For a second, there was no movement.

    Then, slowly, Victor¡¯s body twitched, his fingers curling, his wounds sealing back together, bone reforming, flesh knitting over itself in rapid bursts of cellular regeneration.

    Graydon watched, breathing heavily, his mechanical eye flickering, scanning Sabretooth¡¯s vital signs, registering the grotesque recovery speed.

    His lip curled.

    "You¡¯re rusty, old sack of shit."

    He cocked his wrist, another shell loading into place.

    Victor¡¯s eyes snapped open, his golden irises gleaming like an animal in the dark.

    His lips peeled back, revealing bloody, regrowing fangs.

    Then he smiled.

    A smile of murder. A smile of hunger. A smile that said this was only the beginning.

    Graydon¡¯s mechanical eye glowed, the red light pulsating like a heartbeat, locked onto his father with an intensity that could shatter steel. His breath came in short, heated bursts, his mechanical systems recalibrating, adjusting to the damage Sabretooth had already done.

    His lip curled.

    "You disgust me."

    He raised his arm, the shotgun whirring as it primed another round, the barrel shifting, adjusting for the kill shot.

    Sabretooth moved before he could pull the trigger.

    A blur of raw muscle and instinct, a monstrous force of nature, tearing across the snow in a feral lunge. His claws sank into Graydon¡¯s chestplate, metal shrieking as he ripped through it like it was paper, puncturing the reinforced armor beneath, sinking into flesh and synthetic muscle.

    Graydon hissed, jerking backward, his systems screaming warnings in his skull, the damage reports flashing across his retinal display.

    Sabretooth grinned, breath heavy, hot with amusement and madness.

    "Ya are lyin'', boy," he growled, his voice thick with mockery. "Ya love me. Ya love what I am. Love what ya became."

    Graydon snarled, grabbing Sabretooth by the forearm before the claws could dig deeper, before his father could carve him apart like a slaughtered hog.

    With a burst of energy, his feet ignited, the jet thrusters in his legs activating with a deafening roar, propelling them both into the sky.

    Sabretooth growled, his hair whipping in the wind, his massive body dragged violently upward. Graydon¡¯s grip tightened around his arm, twisting, trying to rip the limb from its socket, trying to tear his father apart the way he had ripped Birdy to pieces.

    The metal groaned, servos and pistons whirring under the strain, every mechanical fiber in his body focused on one thing¡ªripping Victor Creed in half.

    But Sabretooth was faster.

    His free hand shot forward, claws sinking into Graydon¡¯s side, tearing through reinforced plating, punching a gaping wound into his torso.

    Graydon roared, pain flashing through his nervous system, every alarm in his cybernetic body screaming red warnings.

    With a feral snarl, he threw Sabretooth downward, hard.

    Victor crashed into the roof of the cabin, the wooden structure splintering like matchsticks, a cloud of debris and snow exploding outward.

    Graydon¡¯s voice tore through the sky, ragged, filled with something close to desperation and hatred entwined.

    "NO!"

    He plummeted after him, ripping through the ruined ceiling, landing directly atop his father, driving him straight through the bathtub below.

    The tub shattered instantly, water erupting across the cabin floor, steaming against the heat of blood and battle, the last symbol of peace in this hellhole shattered beyond repair.

    Victor lay there for a moment, sprawled in the wreckage, soaking wet, bloodied, his golden eyes gleaming with twisted amusement.

    Then¡ª

    He laughed.

    A deep, gravelly cackle, low and cruel, filled with a sick kind of joy.

    His fangs glinted in the dim light, his breath thick with the scent of blood and whiskey.

    "Oh boy, but ya do¡­ this man ya are¡­ this beast¡­ that¡¯s pure Creed goodness."

    His voice was mocking, dripping with wicked delight, the kind of satisfaction only a monster could have.

    Then, in an explosive burst of movement, he lunged forward, claws out, a blur of motion and bloodlust.

    Graydon caught his wrist mid-swipe, his muscles straining, servos whining under the pressure, stopping his father¡¯s razor-sharp talons mere inches from his left eye¡ªhis only human eye.

    "I¡¯m not your son," Graydon hissed through clenched teeth, his jaw tightening, his voice trembling with rage. "I¡¯m free from your grasp. Free from your insanity."

    Sabretooth grinned, his fangs gleaming.

    "BOY!" His voice was a growl, a thunderous roar of defiance, his breath hot and thick against Graydon¡¯s face. "This ain¡¯t freedom."

    His fingers flexed, pressing against Graydon¡¯s mechanical grip.

    "Ya¡¯re indulgin¡¯¡­ indulgin¡¯ in what ya are."

    His voice dropped, eyes narrowing, filled with something dark and knowing.

    "A monster."

    For a brief second, Graydon¡¯s breath caught in his throat.

    Something echoed in his mind. A voice not his own¡ª

    <i>Trask.</i>

    "Only monsters can hunt monsters."

    Graydon¡¯s eyes widened, his body tensing, his grip tightening so hard he felt Victor¡¯s bones strain against the force.

    "SHUT UP!"

    With a savage twist, he grabbed Victor¡¯s fingers, wrenching them backward at an unnatural angle.

    <i>SNAP.</i>

    Sabretooth¡¯s hand crumpled, the sound of shattered bone ringing out, his fingers bent into twisted, ruined angles.

    Victor didn¡¯t scream.

    He smirked.

    "This the best ya got, runt?"

    Graydon¡¯s snarl deepened, his cybernetic arm priming, the plasma building at his wrist, the energy humming like a restrained hurricane.

    <i>PEW</i>

    The plasma detonated from his left wrist, the shot blazing bright as fire, like the heat of a dying sun compressed into a focused blast, like the Alamo''s anger slamming directly into Victor¡¯s face.

    The impact was devastating, the flesh burned and the muscle charred,

    The left side of Sabretooth¡¯s face melted away, searing down to the skull, his eye burning out in a flash of crimson and white, his cheekbone charred beyond recognition. Victor staggered, his head snapping to the side, his breath ragged, steam rising from the exposed tissue, his muscles convulsing as his healing factor struggled to keep up.

    Graydon stepped back, chest rising and falling, watching as his father¡¯s face was still smoldering, his golden eye replaced with a blackened, empty socket.

    Sabretooth wiped a charred hand across his jaw, flicking burned flesh from his fingers, rolling his neck like it was nothing but an inconvenience.

    Then he grinned.

    A blackened, bloodied, feral grin.

    "Not bad, boy."

    His voice was hoarse, but still dripping with amusement.

    His body twitched, his muscles tightening again.

    Graydon hovered above the floor, his mechanical frame humming with residual energy, his hands still clenched into tight, trembling fists, every fiber of his being screaming at him to finish this, to tear his father apart the way he had dreamed of doing since he was old enough to understand what hatred really was.

    "You deserve death, for those people who died... in the orphanage, at school. You''re a plague, Victor Creed."

    Victor spoke, and the words¡ªthose cursed, impossible words¡ªmade something in Graydon stagger.

    "Maybe I was wrong with ya, a poor dad."

    His breath hitched, his eye flickering, not just his mechanical one¡ªbut his human one, the one he had never let feel anything but rage and fire.

    <i>"What?"</i>

    Graydon¡¯s voice quivered, not with fear, not with anger¡ªbut with uncertainty.

    It had been so long since he had heard anything from this monster that wasn¡¯t taunting, cruel, dripping with sadistic pride. He was prepared for hatred. Prepared for mockery.

    But not this.

    Victor approached, his steps slow, measured, the kind of movement only a predator trying not to spook wounded prey would make. His massive frame was shattered in places, burnt beyond recognition, but his voice¡ªhis voice was low, raw, carrying a weight that Graydon had never heard before.

    "Maybe I was wrong, too savage, too sadistic¡­ But I just wanted to take care of ya. Make ya strong."

    Graydon tensed, his gut twisting violently.

    No, no, no.

    This wasn¡¯t real. It couldn¡¯t be real.

    Victor Creed didn¡¯t talk like this. Sabretooth didn¡¯t reflect, didn¡¯t feel remorse, didn¡¯t care about anything other than himself.

    Graydon¡¯s human eye burned, his throat clenching, but his mind was at war with itself.

    "And I can see ya grew strong and don¡¯t need help anymore."

    Victor lifted his head, his golden predator eyes dulling just slightly.

    "Makes me proud, son."

    The words hit Graydon like a bullet to the chest.

    His breathing stuttered, his legs felt weak, his mechanical body registering changes in his vitals, flashing warning signs about elevated heart rate, erratic stress responses, increased neurological activity in the emotional cortex.

    But he wasn¡¯t focused on any of that.

    He was staring at Victor, at the man who had shaped every moment of his life, the man who had haunted his childhood, broken his spirit, carved wounds into his soul that could never heal¡ªand yet¡­

    And yet somehow, this moment had shattered him more than all of it combined.

    "Father?"

    The word slipped out before he could stop it, before he could catch it and strangle it in his throat the way he had done with all other emotions for years.

    A foreign, unfamiliar heat burned behind his eye, the numbness that had settled over his soul for so long suddenly cracked, splintering, crumbling under the weight of words he had never imagined hearing from this man.

    Victor Creed had called himself a lot of things in his life. A monster. A killer. A predator.

    But never a father.

    Graydon had been so sure, so certain, that the only thing his father had ever felt for him was hate.

    He was supposed to be a mistake, a failed mutation, a disgrace to everything Creed was supposed to be.

    And yet, standing here, among the ruins of blood and battle, Victor Creed had said something that Graydon had never once let himself believe was possible.

    "Proud."

    The word rattled around his skull, echoing, bouncing between the memories that had built him into what he was. He didn¡¯t know how to feel it, didn¡¯t know if he wanted to feel it.

    He had built his entire life on this hatred, had defined his every waking moment on making sure that he would never become his father, that he would never be like the thing that had raised him in blood and nightmares.

    The warmth that Graydon had felt¡ªthe fleeting, fragile ember of something almost human¡ªdied the moment he felt the claws punch into his chest.

    His body jerked violently, nerves screaming, his mind barely registering the pain before the betrayal sank in, deep and twisting.

    Sabretooth¡¯s claws ripped through his side, piercing synthetic muscle, metal reinforcements, and still-living flesh, cutting through his core like butter. The warmth of his own blood spread across his torso, thick, hot, wrong¡ªthe first real blood he had spilled in years, real, human blood, not the sterile oil of his augmentations.

    His mind stuttered, locking up for a moment as his father¡¯s voice slithered into his ears, guttural and cruel.

    "Ya¡¯re still the same ol¡¯ <b>pathetic</b>, <b>sad</b>, <b>weak</b> little boy... Graydon."

    The words hit harder than the wound, and for a moment, just a moment, something inside Graydon broke again, cracked wide open, the wound festering from childhood splitting at the seams.

    Rage

    A flood of it.

    More than he had ever felt in his entire miserable fucking life.

    His teeth clenched, his flesh eye burning, his metal one flickering like a wildfire consuming itself, the red glow pulsing erratically.

    A drop of blood rolled down his lip, slow, taunting, and he moved.

    His fist cracked against Sabretooth¡¯s jaw, full force, a blow that would have caved in a normal man¡¯s skull, sending his father hurtling back, his massive body crashing through the wooden wall, splintering it on impact before he landed across the kitchen counter, breaking through it in an explosion of debris.

    Graydon¡¯s breathing was ragged, his body shaking, his fingers twitching as adrenaline and rage merged into something monstrous.

    "I¡¯LL DESTROY YOU, FREAK¡­ MONSTER!"

    He charged forward, closing the distance in a blink, his mechanical frame overclocking itself, every servo, every piston, every piece of tech buried under his ruined skin working overtime.

    He crashed onto Sabretooth like a hurricane of flesh and steel, his fists driving down like sledgehammers, the sound of impact after impact reverberating through the ruined cabin.

    "I¡¯LL KILL YOU!"

    His fists slammed into Sabretooth¡¯s ribs.

    "I¡¯LL KILL MYSTIQUE!"

    A crunch¡ªVictor¡¯s cheekbone fractured under the blow, his face twisting, blood spitting from his mouth.

    "I¡¯LL KILL ALL FUCKING MUTANTS!"

    He grabbed Sabretooth by the shoulders, his grip unrelenting, and with a roar of absolute fury, he ripped his father¡¯s arms straight from their sockets.

    Blood sprayed across his face, hot and thick, the limbs coming free with a sickening wet pop, torn flesh and shattered bone dangling uselessly from Graydon¡¯s dripping hands.

    Sabretooth snarled, his body jerking violently, his healing factor already working overtime, his muscles twitching as fresh tissue struggled to mend itself.

    Graydon was panting, blood on his lips, his chin, his rage and tears mixing into a terrible, blinding storm.

    Then¡ªhis gaze snapped to something else.

    Something small. Flickering. Innocuous.

    A phone.

    His fingers twitched, his brain recalibrated, his mind processing what this could mean, and then he grabbed it, his breath still coming out heavy, uneven, unstable.

    He turned, looking at Victor, who was groaning, half-laughing, his body still shaking from the loss of his arms, blood dripping in thick, steaming pools onto the floor.

    Graydon held up the phone, his expression blank, his voice flat.

    "Is this your phone?"

    Victor barely managed a half-smirk, his breathing uneven.

    "Fu¡ª"

    <b>BANG.</b>

    Graydon shoved the barrel of his wrist-blaster against his father¡¯s face and fired.

    The shot obliterated his eye, the blast searing away skin, revealing bone beneath, Victor grunted, his body shuddering, his face now half-charred, the left socket hollow, bleeding, raw.

    Graydon¡¯s fingers tightened on the phone, his knuckles whitening, his breath still coming out hard and broken.

    <i>"Password."</i>

    Victor huffed a bloody chuckle, shaking his head.

    <i>"No."</i>

    <i>"PASSWORD!"</i>

    Another shot. This time it tore into the other socket, blinding him completely, the force snapping his head backward, his teeth grinding together as his body spasmed in agony. For a moment, he didn¡¯t speak.

    Then, finally, his lips parted, the words coming through clenched teeth, his voice strained, low, bitter.

    "081977."

    Graydon entered it.

    The phone unlocked instantly.

    His breathing slowed, his vision refocusing. His heart stopped.

    There it was.

    A secure encrypted app. Highly specialized. Yheoretically untraceable.

    It had  one name attached to it, from the list of many.

    <i>Mystique.</i>

    Graydon¡¯s blood ran cold.

    Victor¡¯s head lolled, his vision ruined, but his lips curled, sensing the shift in the air.

    Graydon didn¡¯t respond.

    His fingers hovered over the screen, opening the conversation thread. There were no messages., not a single one. But that didn¡¯t matter.

    Graydon stared at the empty chat for a moment, his mind a whirlwind, then¡­

    Then he typed.

    He lifted the phone just slightly, angling it downward, and with his free hand, he grabbed Sabretooth by the hair, yanking his ruined, armless body upward, and took a photo.

    Victor Creed.

    Broken. Bleeding. Defeated.

    The cabin a ruined wreck around him.

    Then, slowly, Graydon typed the words:

    <i>"I¡¯m coming for you, Mother."</i>

    He hit send.

    The message vanished into cyberspace, a digital ghost hunting its prey.

    Then, with a sharp motion, he crushed the phone in his grip, the glass shattering, metal twisting under his augmented strength, before tossing it to the side like garbage.

    His gaze lowered, staring at what remained of his father, watching as the once-mighty beast of a man twitched, blood dripping from his mouth, his once legendary regeneration struggling against the trauma he had endured.

    "Ya can''t kill me, Graydon. I''m immortal. Once I recover, I''ll skin ya alive an'' make ya taste yer own piss and shit from the nightmare I''ll make ya endure, boy"

    "That''s where you''re wrong, father."

    Graydon pulled from his back, latched like a flea, a small hockey puck shaped device. A inhibitor, just like that use by the Leper Queen against the Alamo in Houston or the Sentinels in Chicago against Rogue. He pressed against Sabretooth''s chest and immediately, Victor could already feel weaker. He could feel his mortality, the weight of his own death.

    "I hate you, father. But tonight, I''ll be happy to kill you"

    "What is this, runt-"

    Before Victor could press any further, Graydon pulled an explosive device and shoved inside his mouth, his face already dripping with blood, he gave Sabretooth his back, glancing one last time at the broken mutant.

    "The greatest gift you gave me was your death."

    With that he took to the skies in a red trail, in the distance the explosion that could easily level a block, the Yukon wilderness tainted by he bad blood of the Creeds, once where stood a house, where Birdy, Magnus and Victor called a home, a rare sanctuary in a brutal life, now just a pile of ash and rubble engulfed in a fireball in the night.

 Chapter 17: Impasse

    Back in Westchester, the night had finally set in. The air was thick with an unusual stillness, an anticipation that crept through the grand halls of the X-Mansion. The X-Men had been waiting for what felt like hours now, their patience wearing thin as they anticipated the return of Cyclops and Captain America. For all their differences, tonight, they were united in a common cause, dedicated entirely to their mission.

    Rogue sat around the round table in the main hall, her gloved fingers tapping gently against the polished surface. The rhythmic motion was absentminded, a reflection of the restless energy coursing through her. Her olive-green gloves, dark as the forest at midnight, covered her hands completely. A sigh escaped her lips as she pulled her gaze away from them, taking in the scene around her.

    Jubilee had made herself comfortable on a chair, talking animatedly with Iceman and Kitty Pryde. The trio laughed between mouthfuls of snacks, their phones glowing in their hands as they scrolled through their feeds, trading jokes and memes. For a moment, Rogue envied them¡ªthe ability to tune out, to enjoy a fleeting moment of normalcy in a life that had been anything but.

    In a shadowed corner of the room, Gambit was locked in deep conversation with She-Hulk. Rogue didn¡¯t have to guess what the topic was; Remy LeBeau had a way of making every conversation drip with charm, and She-Hulk was more than a willing participant. Jennifer¡¯s lips curved into a teasing smile, a spark of interest flashing in her green eyes as she bit her bottom lip. Rogue almost rolled her eyes¡ªit was an old act by now. Remy flirted with anything in a skirt, and Jennifer? Well, she wasn¡¯t one to turn down the game. What surprised Rogue was that they were still here, still talking, instead of slipping away to some private corner where the real dance could begin.

    Across the room, Wasp was absorbed in her phone, her delicate fingers tapping at the screen with intent. She hadn¡¯t spoken in hours, too engrossed in whatever conversation held her attention. Rogue wondered if she was texting Hank Pym or maybe someone else entirely. Either way, she was gone in a world of her own.

    But at the heart of the room, voices clashed in heated debate.

    Professor Xavier sat at the head of the discussion, his wheelchair positioned beside Dr. McCoy. Beast, ever the scholar, was passionate as always, his frustration evident in the way his large blue hands gestured sharply in the air. Across from him, Iron Man leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable behind his ever-present arrogance. And then there was Alamo.

    The Alamo, clad in his signature chrome mask, his sharp dark attire still bearing the dust of battle, was as animated as ever. His voice carried over the conversation, loud, unfiltered, and unwavering. He moved with sharp, aggressive gestures, his body language a mirror to his tone. He had no qualms about pushing back against any argument he deemed foolish, and tonight, he was matching Stark¡¯s energy blow for blow. Alamo never stopped moving, he didn''t sit still. He floated, he walked, he gestured intensively clutching the brim of his hat like he was riding a bull, but his demeanor seemed more hostile towards Xavier and Beast than to Iron Man.

    It hadn¡¯t gone unnoticed that lately, he was siding more and more with the Avengers, maybe not philosophically but in terms of closeness, he seemed to lightly gravitate towards them.

    Rogue inhaled deeply, letting the air settle in her lungs before releasing it in a slow exhale. Her mind drifted, unbidden, to the hours before in Chicago. The memory played in her head with irritating clarity¡ªthe way his voice had softened, just for a moment, the way his body had tensed when she got too close. The way she had kissed him, even with her glove over his lips. The feeling was still there.

    Was she too eager?

    A part of her wanted to push him away entirely, to keep him at arm¡¯s length where he couldn¡¯t frustrate or intrigue her any further. And yet, another part longed for his presence. There was something about him¡ªhis relentless questioning, his recklessness, his power¡ªthat made him feel familiar. Too much like her. A rogue in his own right.

    She exhaled again, shaking her head as if to clear it, when she felt a soft hand settle on her shoulder. The warmth was immediate, grounding, and when she turned, she was met with the kind, regal presence of Storm.

    Ororo Monroe offered a gentle smile, her ethereal beauty as effortless as ever. Without a word, she pulled out a chair and took a seat beside Rogue, a silent reassurance in her presence.

    Rogue didn¡¯t have to say anything.

    Storm sat down, her movements graceful, unhurried.

    "Rogue," she said softly.

    "''Ro?"

    Storm took a long look at the ongoing debate, brushing a stray strand of her white hair away from her forehead.

    "Men," she murmured, almost to herself.

    Rogue followed her gaze. Iron Man. Beast. Alamo. Xavier. All locked in conversation, all speaking, arguing, counter-arguing. Ideas clashing in a room filled with people who, despite their differences, all believed themselves to be on the right side of history.

    "Men and their ideas," Ororo repeated, her voice carrying a quiet wisdom.

    She exhaled lightly before continuing, speaking not just to Rogue, but as if she were laying out a quiet truth to the world itself.

    "Innovation."

    Rogue looked at Iron Man, who now stood with his arms crossed, his helmet retracted, revealing a smirk that carried the weight of half-serious amusement and half-buried frustration. He scoffed at something Beast had said, shaking his head slightly before chuckling sarcastically. That aura of superiority, that unshakable certainty¡ªTony Stark had the answer. Or, at least, he believed he did.

    "Ego maskin¡¯ insecurity," Rogue thought. He wore confidence like a second skin, but she had seen doubt in men like Stark before. The kind they hid under bravado.

    "Progress," Storm continued.

    Rogue turned her attention to Beast, ever the scholar. His brow was furrowed in polite disagreement as he raised a finger, shaking his head in dissent. Then, in his usual fashion, he extended his hands, tapping each finger methodically as he counted his arguments, ever the lecturer, ever the scientist.

    He was engaging with logic, structure, reason. A rebuttal measured in data and probability. He had faith in the idea that the best argument could win¡ªnot just the loudest voice. But Rogue had seen enough of the world to know it wasn¡¯t always the case.

    "Coexistence," Ororo murmured.

    Rogue¡¯s gaze shifted again, this time to Xavier, seated in quiet thought. His fingertips were pressed together, his expression neutral¡ªat first glance. But the slight downturn of his lips, the subtle furrow of his brow¡ªhe disapproved of what he was hearing.

    Rogue watched as his head nodded ever so slightly when Beast spoke, and then ever so slightly disagreed when Stark and Alamo did.

    He was measured. He was careful. He believed in coexistence, in peace. But she also knew¡ªcoexistence wasn¡¯t perfect. Not for them. Not for mutantkind

    "Freedom," Storm finally said.

    Rogue let her eyes fall on Duncan.

    His arms were crossed tight. Restless. Even behind the chrome mask and the dark hat, his frustration was visible¡ªit was in the way his shoulders tensed, in the way he shifted slightly, his weight adjusting with every sentence spoken as if he were one step away from jumping into the fray outright.

    But he didn¡¯t. Not yet.

    He was holding himself back, policing himself, she realized. He wanted to speak¡ªwanted to tear into every argument he disagreed with. But instead, he was playing the game carefully, respecting the rules of decorum he clearly didn¡¯t fully believe in. It was¡­ strange, to watch him restrain himself in a way that seemed unnatural to him.

    Then, in the middle of a back-and-forth, he gave Iron Man a thumbs-up. Dramatic. Theatrical.

    Rogue tilted her head slightly. How much of this was Duncan¡¯s ¡®Alamo¡¯ persona? How much of it was just¡­ Duncan?

    She had seen glimpses of both¡ªthe man and the symbol. She wasn¡¯t sure where one ended and the other began.

    Her thoughts drifted again, her mind pulled elsewhere.

    Then Storm spoke once more.

    "They miss the point of it all," she said softly, shaking her head. "The point of ideas. The point of planning. The point of execution¡­"

    Rogue glanced at her.

    "Results?" she asked, recalling what Duncan had told her once in Florida. Intentions don¡¯t matter. Results do. It seemed natural in this scenario.

    Storm smirked slightly, but shook her head.

    "People," she corrected.

    Rogue frowned. "People?"

    "Lives. Friends. Family," Storm elaborated. "That is what matters. All ideas¡­ if they are worth fighting for, it is in the service of people. To protect. To care. To nurture. If we forget about people¡­ ideas can barely hold their own weight."

    Rogue listened.

    "The wind comes and the wind goes," Storm continued, her voice like the breeze itself¡ªcalm, flowing, steady. "It can be alone. But we are not the wind. We are not water. We are flesh and blood. Why does it matter to be right¡­ if you end up alone?"

    Storm¡¯s eyes flickered toward Alamo.

    Rogue followed.

    "Maybe it¡¯s ¡®cause ya want to help people," Rogue mused, "ya just can¡¯t agree on how."

    Storm nodded slowly. "I believe that is the case. But little does it matter if it breaks us. We are not stronger with the divide. We are only weaker with the distance."

    Rogue exhaled slowly.

    "Ya think their ideas make ¡®em more distant?"

    "I know so, Rogue," Storm said simply. She glanced back at the debate, watching the way each man dug their heels into the ground. "When one thinks too much, it is hard to feel what needs to be felt."

    Silence settled between them.

    "They believe that intelligence comes from knowledge. From raw ability to understand the nature, power, society... matter" Storm spoke softly, another gentle smirk creeping the edge of her lips.

    "It ain''t?" Rogue raised an eyebrow.

    "It is merely one way in which intelligence manifests... but it is not the only way."

    "And what is the other way, ''Ro?"

    "Feeling... Emotions"

    "Emotion is intelligence?"

    "Of course, Anna Marie. To feel is to know, it is easy to feel... easier to pretend you can''t.... what is hard is to understand emotion, confront it... That? That the smartest of men are scared of Stark, Richards, Xavier, McCoy... Nenni"

    Rogue leaned back on her chair, not knowing how to answer it. At least not yet.

    "There is power in knowing your feelings. There is power in not holding back, but also there is power in not lashing out... that is also intelligence"

    It was one thing to hear something like that from a person like Jean Grey, but from Storm? It meant something different. Ororo wasn¡¯t prone to idle philosophy¡ªwhen she spoke, it was because she had thought about it. Lived it.

    Then there was a hiss, the known noise of the War Room''s metallic blast door. Heavy. Cold.

    The room grew still as Captain America walked further in, the bloodstains on his uniform subtle but present, remnants of whatever battle had taken place before they arrived. His expression was tight, his jaw set like stone¡ªthis wasn¡¯t a man returning with a clear victory. This was a man who had seen something that disturbed him.

    Cyclops, ever the soldier, was composed, his posture rigid as his visor gleamed under the overhead lights. Jean Grey, beside him, was visibly tired¡ªthough whether from exertion or from reading the minds of people she didn¡¯t like, Rogue couldn¡¯t tell. Falcon stayed close to Steve, his wings folding behind him with a metallic click, his face shadowed with a look Rogue recognized all too well.

    A look of reluctance.

    The door hissed shut behind them, sealing off the outside world, leaving only the tense air inside the war room.

    Then there was Wolverine.

    Unlike the others, Logan¡¯s uniform was soaked¡ªin blood, in dirt, in sweat. His cowl was pulled back, revealing his face, his blue eyes sharp and tired all at once. If there was one thing Rogue had learned about Logan, it was that he could kill a hundred men and still carry it like a weight on his back¡ªeven if he¡¯d never admit it.

    And right now?

    She could tell this one was heavier than most.

    Storm descended smoothly from her chair, her feet touching the ground with an elegance that felt unnatural in such a brutal moment. Her presence had a way of softening sharp edges, of calming storms that no one else could touch.

    She walked up to Logan, her voice measured but filled with concern.

    "Logan, what happened?"

    Logan exhaled sharply through his nose, his scowl relaxing just a fraction.

    "I¡¯m fine, ¡®Ro."

    Storm arched a brow, unconvinced.

    "I¡¯ve learned to expect that from your physiology, Logan. That was not what I asked."

    A pause.

    Then, Logan shrugged.

    "We killed¡­" He rolled his shoulder back, stretching the soreness out. "Well, I gutted a bunch of anti-mutant bureaucrats, darlin¡¯. That¡¯s what happened."

    The silence that followed was thick.

    Rogue knew the X-Men had always played the moral line close, but what Logan was saying? That wasn¡¯t a battle. That was a purge.

    Storm let out a soft breath, reaching for a piece of fabric, pristine white against the dark stains of Logan¡¯s uniform. She brushed against his cheek gently, wiping away a stray drop of blood.

    "Have you gone berserk, Logan?"

    Her voice wasn¡¯t accusing. It was concerned. It was real.

    Logan¡¯s scowl twitched.

    "I had to, darlin¡¯." His voice was lower now. Rougher. "They tried to break out X-Cutioner. Tried to break out Leper Queen.

    Storm tilted her head slightly, a knowing sadness in her gaze.

    "Logan, we¡¯ve talked about this."

    He didn¡¯t answer.

    She smiled¡ªsoft, knowing, understanding.

    Her hand brushed lightly against his cheek, a silent act of comfort.

    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    Rogue watched from her seat, her lips twitching into a thoughtful smile.

    She understood now.

    What Storm meant.

    Storm was right¡ªit wasn¡¯t intelligence that made who she was. It wasn¡¯t logic.

    It was feeling.

    It was emotion.

    And Logan? For all his brutality, for all his savagery?

    He felt deeply.

    Even if he didn¡¯t want to.

    Her gaze flickered to Alamo, who was watching silently, his chrome mask unreadable, but something about his posture¡ªhis stillness¡ªmade her wonder.

    Had he ever let himself feel the way Logan did?

    Had he ever let himself just be?

    Without the weight of what he expected of himself?

    What he deemed as rational?

    A moment later, Logan stepped back, the moment passing between them as he glanced toward Steve.

    "Cap let us down, darlin¡¯. He wanted us to strike a deal with the creep."

    Storm turned to face Captain America fully now, her expression unreadable.

    "The X-Cutioner?"

    Cyclops finally stepped in, voice firm.

    "We¡¯ll talk, Storm. Let¡¯s have a seat."

    Storm studied him for a moment before turning to Steve, and when she spoke his name, it wasn¡¯t just a greeting.

    It was a question.

    "Steve."

    Captain America exhaled through his nose, his fists clenching at his sides.

    He was angry.

    Not just in the way he always was when things didn¡¯t go right¡ªthis was deeper. This was frustration. This was something that had been building for a long, long time.

    Iron Man and Alamo finally stepped forward, closing the gap.

    Stark, always quick on his feet, cut in.

    "Steve?"

    Alamo, arms crossed, nodded once.

    "Cap."

    But Steve Rogers wasn¡¯t in the mood for small talk.

    His eyes were sharp, his posture tense, and for once, he looked tired of playing peacemaker.

    "Tony, Duncan... we¡¯ll talk. Get back to your seats."

    Iron Man hesitated.

    Alamo?

    He didn¡¯t move.

    "Hey, Cap... I understand but¡ª"

    Steve didn¡¯t let him finish.

    His voice came harder now, the command of a man who had spent his life leading men through wars both past and present.

    "Alamo. Take a seat. We¡¯ll explain everything."

    There was a pause.

    Alamo¡¯s jaw tightened beneath the mask, his stance shifting ever so slightly.

    Rogue could tell he didn¡¯t like this.

    Didn¡¯t like being left in the dark. Didn¡¯t like being told to wait.

    Didn¡¯t like being given orders.

    But after a moment, he nodded.

    Stepping back toward the table, he took his seat beside Rogue, his arms still crossed, his body language rigid and reluctant.

    Rogue looked at him, offering a small, knowing smile.

    But there was wariness in her expression.

    "Ah hope this ain¡¯t bad."

    Alamo¡¯s shoulders stiffened.

    His voice was flat. Low.

    "Don¡¯t keep yer hopes up, Rogue."

    Silence.

    Captain America exhaled slowly.

    "Attention Everyone"

    Captain America stood firm, his hands clasped behind his back, his posture unwavering, but his expression¡ªhis eyes¡ªrevealed a frustration he was trying hard to keep buried.

    But it was Cyclops who took the lead.

    Scott¡¯s jaw was set, his face unreadable beneath the visor, his presence just as commanding as Steve¡¯s. In another life, in another world, maybe Cyclops would have been wearing the stripes and the shield while Steve led the charge for mutants. Maybe.

    But this was their world, and in this world, Cyclops was the one who spoke now.

    "We went to D.C. Denti only wanted to speak to Captain America and Falcon."

    There was a beat of silence. Cyclops was measured, his tone carefully controlled, but Rogue could see the tension in the way his fingers curled slightly at his sides. He wasn¡¯t happy. None of them were.

    "He told us that there is indeed involvement from the federal government. More explicitly¡ª" Cyclops hesitated, not because he wasn¡¯t sure, but because he knew the weight of the name he was about to drop.

    "From General Thaddeus Ross."

    The reaction was immediate.

    Alamo exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

    "Fuckin¡¯ knew it," he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Rogue to hear.

    Rogue, her arms crossed, nodded once, her expression tight.

    "Hard ta not believe that."

    The words weren¡¯t loud, but they carried weight, enough for Captain America to cast them both a look.

    A look that said: Not now. Let me finish.

    They fell silent.

    Cyclops continued, unfazed.

    "He is possibly tied to the DARPA Sentinels we discovered in Chicago."

    Alamo stiffened.

    "We?"

    Scott hadn¡¯t been there.

    Scott hadn¡¯t been the one in space unsure if he would even survive when he sentinel blew up.

    Scott hadn¡¯t been the one to uncover the first real breadcrumb that connected this mess to something much, much bigger.

    Alamo¡¯s jaw tightened beneath his mask, but he didn¡¯t say anything. Not yet.

    Across the table, She-Hulk raised a hand, her sharp green eyes focused and unreadable.

    She was sitting next to Gambit, her arms resting against the table, her gaze flickering briefly toward Steve before settling back on Cyclops.

    "So, did he talk? What did he say?"

    She leaned forward slightly.

    "Did Cap ask him to be a witness?"

    Cyclops nodded once.

    "Yes. Captain America offered to sit down for a plea bargain."

    The atmosphere in the room changed instantly.

    It was like the very mention of the words had set off an invisible explosion.

    A wave of disbelief, disappointment, and barely contained rage rippled through the X-Men.

    Rogue¡¯s stomach twisted.

    Her eyes snapped to Captain America, sharp, accusing, furious.

    "A plea bargain."

    The words repeated in her mind like a slow, sinking weight.

    Across the table, Jubilee¡¯s face had gone pale, her mouth slightly open. She barely knew what the plea bargain meant, but she didn¡¯t need to understand legal jargon to recognize the way the room reacted.

    Gambit let out a slow, bitter scoff, arms crossing over his chest, his fingers tapping against his biceps in a slow, almost mocking rhythm.

    The tension was instant.

    "What the hell, Cap?"

    Rogue¡¯s voice cut through the silence like a blade, the anger in it sharp and unrestrained.

    Alamo turned to her immediately, his mask hiding his expression, but his posture stiffened, his fingers drumming against the table before forming a loose fist.

    His voice was even.

    "Calm down, Rogue."

    She turned toward him sharply.

    "Ah ain''t gonna¡ª"

    "We have to listen to what Cap has to say."

    There was something in his tone, something calculated, that made her stop.

    She exhaled sharply, biting back another retort.

    The room was watching her now, waiting.

    Captain America¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change.

    He was used to people disagreeing with him.

    But Rogue wasn¡¯t sure if he was used to this.

    She clenched her jaw.

    Then, finally, she sat back, her fingers curling against her forearm, her nails pressing against the leather of her glove.

    "Go on."

    The words came out tight, controlled.

    "Captain America believes we can achieve more by having Denti''s testimony."

    Cyclops¡¯ words were met with a weighty stillness. The reaction wasn¡¯t immediate, but Rogue could feel it in the way shoulders tensed, in the way jaws clenched, in the subtle shifts of posture. This wasn¡¯t just a tactical disagreement¡ªthis was a moral one.

    Storm¡¯s expression was lined with concern, her regal features touched with the slightest downturn of her lips. She wasn¡¯t one to let injustice pass unchecked. Letting a man like Denti evade proper consequences felt like betrayal¡ªbetrayal to the people who had suffered under him, to the mutants who had lost their lives because of men like him.

    But she also understood Steve Rogers.

    Understood why he made this decision.

    Storm knew that Steve wasn¡¯t a man who cut deals lightly. That wasn¡¯t his nature. He was a man of conviction, a man of principle. But he was also a man who fought wars¡ªand sometimes, in war, the line between justice and necessity blurred.

    Across the table, Wolverine¡¯s scowl deepened, his eyes shadowed beneath his furrowed brow. His arms remained folded, his bloodied gloves leaving faint stains on his forearms.

    He hated Denti.

    Despised him.

    And honestly? In Logan¡¯s mind, Denti should be dead.

    He should have been left to rot in some back alley, a bloodstain on the pavement, another name to cross off the list of monsters this world had spat out. That was how Logan saw justice¡ªswift, unrelenting, final.

    But now?

    Now he was being asked to accept a world where a man like Denti walked free in exchange for information.

    Wolverine exhaled sharply, the sound closer to a growl than anything else. He didn¡¯t say a word¡ªdidn¡¯t need to.

    His silence was its own statement.

    Across from him, She-Hulk nodded.

    She had heard the others reacting poorly, but for her? This wasn¡¯t some unthinkable betrayal¡ªthis was a calculated move.

    Justice was a machine, and machines needed to be maintained. Sometimes, you didn¡¯t get the outcome you wanted¡ªbut you played within the system, because that¡¯s how you changed it.

    She could almost ignore the disapproval from the other mutants.

    She had worked with plea bargains before. She had seen criminals turn into informants. If this meant taking down something bigger, something more entrenched, then wasn¡¯t it worth it?

    A small price to pay.

    And yet¡ª

    Even Tony Stark, for all his usual detachment, was baffled by the reaction from the mutants.

    Sure, he understood that they didn¡¯t like Denti. No one liked Denti.

    But this?

    Every single mutant at the table looked anywhere from deeply displeased to borderline furious.

    Even Beast, normally one of the most level-headed members, looked troubled. Hank¡¯s fingers were pressed together, his gaze thoughtful, but there was a hint of something more beneath it¡ªdiscomfort, perhaps? Maybe even reluctance.

    Tony didn¡¯t get it.

    This was pragmatic. This was how things were done.

    Didn¡¯t they want a way to dismantle the system screwing them over? Didn¡¯t they want a clear shot at the people who actually ran these programs?

    The body language around the table told him no.

    All they wanted as revenge... or Justice, that was what Tony thought.

    And yet, in the middle of it all, there was one weird exception.

    Alamo.

    Duncan remained still, arms crossed, leaned back slightly in his seat. He didn''t appear angry or irritated.

    If anything, he looked¡­ curious.

    Or at least, that¡¯s what his body language suggested.

    And that was strange.

    Duncan was never one to hold back his thoughts. If he thought something was stupid, he would say it. If he thought something was wrong, he¡¯d be arguing already.

    But here?

    Here, he was just watching.

    And that? That wasn''t normal for him.

    Beast finally exhaled, his furred fingers tapping lightly against the surface of the table.

    He looked pensive, his expression more troubled than outright angry.

    The weight of everything¡ªthe compromises, the betrayals, the revelations¡ªsettled like lead in the chests of those seated at the table.

    Then came Jennifer¡¯s question.

    "What about the Leper Queen?"

    Cyclops didn¡¯t hesitate. His voice was steady, but there was something hard beneath it.

    "She is dead."

    The reaction was instantaneous.

    A collective gasp rippled through the room. Not necessarily from grief¡ªClara Page had never been a friend to any of them¡ªbut from shock, surprise, a quiet sort of disbelief.

    Jubilee¡¯s breath hitched.

    She looked at Logan, at his blood-stained uniform, at the deep scars and rips in the fabric. Her voice wavered slightly when she asked¡ª

    "Did Uncle Wolvie¡ª?"

    The words hung in the air.

    Logan met her gaze.

    He shook his head.

    It was a simple denial, but it was enough.

    Jubilee let out a breath, but her relief was small, hesitant. Seeing him covered in blood still made her think of Arkansas, when she saw Thompson''s daughters cry over their father''s dead body, of the violence Logan unleashed when he saw it too¡ªof the nights when he lost control, when the line between man and beast blurred.

    The times when she had seen him go feral.

    It scared her.

    "No," Cyclops added, his tone firm but heavy, his expression unreadable. "Clara Page took her own life. We didn¡¯t want her to, but that was her choice."

    Jean Grey shifted beside him.

    Her face was tight, pale, her posture uncharacteristically rigid. Rogue noticed the way her hands rested on her lap, fingers interlocked, as though grounding herself.

    "She was in pain," Jean said softly, her voice like a thread ready to unravel. "Her... family. They passed away when a mutant girl¡¯s powers manifested."

    There was a weight behind her words¡ªmore than sympathy, more than sadness. She had seen it.

    She had felt it.

    Rogue didn¡¯t need Jean to explain further. She knew what had happened the moment she saw the way Jean¡¯s expression darkened, the way she blinked as if trying to shake off the memories that weren¡¯t hers.

    Jean had looked into the Leper Queen¡¯s mind before she died.

    And she had seen everything.

    At the other end of the table, Alamo¡¯s shoulders shifted slightly, as if he was about to speak¡ªabout to comment, challenge, argue, something.

    But after a second, he didn¡¯t.

    He simply exhaled through his nose, leaned back, and said nothing.

    Cyclops cleared his throat, as if to reset the room, as if to remind them that this wasn¡¯t the time to dwell on the dead.

    His visor turned toward Storm.

    "Your findings?"

    Storm¡¯s gaze lifted.

    "We found that Creed took a flight to Alaska," she said evenly, her voice smooth, controlled, despite the weight of what she was saying. "What exactly his business was there remains unclear. The Sentinels we fought, however, were advanced. They couldn¡¯t have been made before 2014, and the DARPA marking¡ªit is clear now. The government never stopped working on the project like Congress promised."

    Silence.

    Not the kind of silence that was empty, but the kind that burned¡ªthe kind that came when people had already expected the worst but hoped they were wrong.

    Beast leaned forward slightly. His voice was quieter than before, but no less important.

    "The willing participation of General Ross in the scheme reveals that the government is, indeed, still active in Sentinel production. And not just active¡ªhigh-ranking members are fully aware of it."

    It wasn¡¯t just a theory anymore.

    It was fact.

    Rogue sat forward, her gaze sharp.

    "We have to find Creed..."

    Cyclops nodded. That much was obvious.

    But then Rogue pressed further.

    "What ''bout M.M?"

    Rogue¡¯s voice cut through the room, her Southern drawl thick, her words direct.

    "The project Cap, Duncan, and Ah found in Oregon"

    Captain America hesitated.

    It was brief¡ªso brief most people wouldn¡¯t have noticed it. But Rogue did.

    She saw the way his fingers twitched slightly, the way his jaw tightened just enough to be visible.

    "We¡­ we have not asked Denti about it."

    The disappointment hit like a slap.

    Rogue stiffened.

    She shook her head, more in frustration than disbelief.

    "Ah can''t believe it," she muttered, her voice thick with resentment, with disappointment. "Y¡¯all should¡¯ve written this down."

    Captain America remained silent, but his expression was grim.

    Cyclops crossed his arms.

    His gaze flickered toward Steve, cool, unreadable.

    "We¡¯ll have plenty of questions to ask Creed when we find him."

    But before anyone could reply, another voice¡ªLogan¡¯s voice¡ªcut through.

    "Well, we won¡¯t."

    A beat of silence.

    All eyes turned toward him.

    Iron Man¡¯s head tilted slightly, his expression hardening.

    His tone was less than friendly.

    "And why is that?"

    Logan sighed, arms still crossed, his body relaxed in a way that felt deliberate¡ªlike he was forcing himself not to look as pissed as he felt.

    "Fury banned us from SHIELD."

    The words landed like a hammer.

    "What?" This time, it wasn¡¯t just one voice¡ªit was several.

    "He told Cap that we shouldn¡¯t be there in the first place," Logan continued. "Said we were never supposed to be involved in this. It was a mistake to let us in."

    For the first time, the debate at the table paused¡ªbecause for all the arguments, for all the ideological clashes, this was different.

    This was Fury cutting them out.

    This was Fury making it clear that the X-Men didn¡¯t belong in this fight.

    Beast let out a slow breath.

    "So SHIELD itself was compromised?"

    Cyclops nodded once. "Yes. We confirmed that there were people aiding both the Leper Queen and the X-Cutioner."

    Gambit let out a low, muffled chuckle.

    He shook his head, leaning back in his chair, looking thoroughly unsurprised.

    "Ain''t dat a surprise."

    Wasp blinked, her expression filled with something between disbelief and realization.

    "Wait, wait, hold on," she said, looking around the table. "You¡¯re telling me S.H.I.E.L.D had people inside working with these monsters?"

    Gambit smirked.

    "Is dat so hard to believe, ch¨¦rie?"

    Wasp hesitated.

    "No, but¡ª"

    "Well, if y''all ask me, this is more than expected," Alamo interjected, his voice flat.

    His arms were still crossed, but there was no anger in his voice¡ªjust a tired, knowing sort of cynicism.

    Because to him?

    This was just how the government worked.

    Logan nodded.

    "Damn right it is, kid."

    The weight of it all settled over the room, pressing down on them like a storm about to break.

    Rogue had been trying to hold back, trying to give Steve the benefit of the doubt, but this?

    This was beyond messed up.

    Her chair scraped against the floor as she shot to her feet, the sharp sound cutting through the thick silence in the room.

    "So let me get this straight," she said, voice rising, thick with anger, disbelief, frustration. "Y¡¯all didn¡¯t ask ''bout a possible weapon, ya wanna cut a plea deal with Denti, an'' we got our asses banned from workin'' with S.H.I.E.L.D!?"

    Her voice cracked slightly on the last word, but not from weakness¡ªfrom the sheer weight of how wrong this all was.

    Captain America stood his ground, but there was something off about his stance¡ªa hesitation, a regret, but not one he would allow himself to acknowledge openly.

    "Rogue, it¡¯s not so simple," he said, his voice low, like he already knew it wouldn¡¯t be enough to calm her down.

    But she wasn¡¯t done.

    She pointed a gloved hand directly at him, her words shaking with betrayal.

    "Cap, ya promised me. Ya promised Duncan ya would see this through!"

    Beside her, Alamo shifted slightly, then reached for her arm.

    It was a small movement, a silent attempt to ground her, to pull her back before she said something she¡¯d regret.

    But she wasn¡¯t going to regret this.

    She pulled her arm away.

    "Nah, sugah. This is beyond messed up. Why ain''t ya sayin'' anythin''?" Her voice dropped, quieter now, but just as sharp. "Ain''t ya supposed to be the one askin'' the hard questions?"

    Alamo exhaled, his fingers curling slightly at his side.

    "Rogue, Cap is¡ª"

    "Ah heard enough of this Cap bullshit," she snapped. "Ya betrayed us, Rogers!"

    The words hit the room like a gunshot.

    Storm shook her head, she had just spoke about emotions to Rogue. But now maybe it seemed like it wasn''t the wisest topic to debate at the time.

    Silence.

    Falcon stood up.

    "Captain America didn¡¯t betray any of you," Sam Wilson said, his voice calm, but firm¡ªbut also defensive.

    He placed both hands on the table, leaning forward slightly, his gaze narrowing.

    "He even brought Wolverine along¡ªwho, mind you, killed a bunch of agents, because he can¡¯t stop thinking about killing for a damn minute."

    The shift in energy was instant.

    Logan¡¯s chair scraped against the floor as he stood abruptly, his clawed hand flexing at his side, his other hand jabbing a finger directly at Falcon.

    "What the hell?" His voice was a growl, thick with barely restrained fury. "They wanted us dead, bub. I killed ''em. And I¡¯d do it again."

    Sam¡¯s expression remained firm, but there was something cold in his stare now.

    "Yeah, no wonder."

    Logan¡¯s eyes darkened, and for a moment, it looked like he was about to lunge.

    Jean moved slightly, already anticipating the worst.

    "Can we calm down?"

    But no one was listening.

    Logan let out a low, amused chuckle, shaking his head.

    "Blue boy scout couldn¡¯t even keep track of his own agency."

    Iron Man snorted.

    "Wait, hold up there, Tim Horton¡¯s small size."

    The room twisted toward him, eyes narrowing as Stark pushed himself up from his seat.

    He pointed directly at Logan, his usual smirk absent now.

    "Cap¡¯s not an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.," Stark said flatly.

    "Well, he sure seemed like their buddy in Oregon," Rogue snapped back, her green eyes flashing.

    "Guys, can we calm down? Cap made a hard decision... But this will benefit us in the long run, benefit mutant rights."

    It was She-Hulk this time, her voice controlled, but tense.

    Her expression was neutral, but her posture wasn¡¯t. She was tightly wound, holding back an argument she knew wouldn¡¯t go anywhere.

    Rogue rolled her eyes, but before she could say anything, it was Jubilee who spoke next.

    One the youngest mutants in the room, with a humor to match her age.

    "I know what kind of mutant ¡®rights¡¯ you were thinkin¡¯, Jen." Jubilee pointed lazily at Gambit.

    The weight behind it made Jennifer¡¯s face darken, a faint flush of green creeping onto her cheeks.

    A flicker of something vulnerable.

    Gambit smirked.

    Iron Man chuckled but not for long.

    He sighed, tilting his head slightly.

    "Cap did the right thing."

    His voice was firm, but not defensive.

    Just¡­ matter-of-fact.

    "If you ask me, I¡¯d even pay the guy to testify."

    The moment the words left his mouth, Logan let out a bitter laugh.

    He shook his head, teeth gritting slightly.

    "Of course ya would, bub. Every problem ya ¡®solve¡¯ is by throwin¡¯ money at it, just like the politicians."

    Stark barely reacted, just lifted a brow.

    "And every problem you X-Men wanna solve is with violence."

    Logan¡¯s jaw clenched.

    "Oh, fuck ya, Stark."

    The words came from Rogue.

    She didn¡¯t hesitate.

    Didn¡¯t care how it sounded.

    Didn¡¯t care who was watching.

    Tony¡¯s eyes widened slightly, but he quickly covered it with a chuckle, shaking his head.

    "Woah. Villain vibes from the girl called Rogue."

    Alamo rose from his seat beside Rogue, his fists clenched.

    "Mr. Stark, fer fucks-"

    But before he could say another word¡ª

    A voice cut through the chaos.

    Louder than anyone else.

    Stronger.

    "ENOUGH!"

    The room froze.

    Professor Xavier rolled forward, his usually composed face hardened with rare frustration.

    His fingers clenched slightly on the arms of his wheelchair, his blue eyes sharper than usual.

    He let the silence sit there for a moment, forcing the weight of his words into the room before speaking again.

    "Enough, all of you. Out. We need time to think."

    His tone was final.

    "X-Men, stay here. Avengers, out."

    Iron Man raised a brow, about to object¡ª

    But Xavier¡¯s gaze hardened.

    "I won¡¯t tolerate this mindless fighting."

    There was no arguing with that.

    The room remained silent as, one by one, the Avengers began to move toward the door. Alamo was already gone.

    Captain America exhaled, his jaw tight, his disappointment clear¡ªbut unreadable.

 Chapter 18: The Divide

    The War Room was still tense, the echoes of the previous shouting match still reverberating in the silence left behind by the Avengers¡¯ departure. The X-Men stood in various states of frustration, some barely containing their anger, others lost in thought, processing everything that had just transpired. The energy in the room was suffocating, a storm of unspoken words hanging over them, waiting to break.

    Logan leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, his bloodstained gloves still dark from the night¡¯s events. His jaw was tight, his teeth grinding together as he replayed Falcon¡¯s words in his head. The accusation that he couldn¡¯t stop killing, the way Rogers had stayed silent instead of defending him¡ªit all sat wrong in his gut. He¡¯d been in too many wars, on too many battlefields, and if there was one thing he hated more than anything, it was when someone who had never been knee-deep in blood tried to lecture him about morality. It was the same old song. When the enemy played dirty, when people like the X-Cutioner and Leper Queen threatened their lives, the world wanted Wolverine to be a monster on their behalf. But the second the war was over, the same people who relied on him looked at him like a rabid dog that needed to be put down. He was sick of it.

    Rogue, standing near the table, was just as furious, but her anger burned in a different way. It wasn¡¯t raw and explosive like Logan¡¯s, but simmering, deep, a betrayal she had felt too many times before. Her arms were crossed, her fingers digging into her biceps, her shoulders stiff. Her mind churned, trying to make sense of everything. Captain America had promised her. Promised Alamo. And now? Now he was doing what every other authority figure had done to her since she was a child¡ªdeciding for her what was best, withholding information, breaking trust, treating her like her feelings didn¡¯t matter in the grander scheme of things.

    Across the room, Gambit had his hands in his pockets, his normally lazy smirk gone, his eyes sharp beneath the shadow of his bangs. He wasn¡¯t one to throw himself into arguments unless it was absolutely necessary, but even he had to admit that this whole thing felt rotten. He had seen enough of government dealings back in New Orleans, knew enough about how power worked to recognize when someone was getting played. And right now? It felt like the X-Men were the ones getting the raw end of the deal.

    Jubilee, Bobby, and Kitty stayed toward the back of the room, their expressions shifting between concern and uncertainty. They were younger, and while they had seen plenty of ugliness in their time with the X-Men, there was something about tonight that felt different. The room had been split, not just between teams, but between ideologies. Trust had been fractured. And in a war like this, that was a dangerous thing.

    At the center of it all sat Xavier, his fingers interlocked as he processed the weight of the conversation. His expression was carefully neutral, his mind already working through the different angles, trying to salvage what he could from the situation. He understood the anger in the room, even sympathized with it, but he couldn¡¯t allow this to spiral further.

    "I understand the degree of the emotional response," he finally said, his voice calm but firm. "But Captain America¡¯s decision has provoked responses I cannot tolerate."

    Storm gave a slow nod in agreement, her presence steady, regal as ever. She was the only one in the room whose emotions didn¡¯t seem to cloud her judgment, though Rogue could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers curled slightly against her lap.

    Xavier continued, his gaze sweeping the room, resting on Logan and Rogue in particular. "I did not teach you to lash out violently like this, Anna Marie. Logan."

    Logan¡¯s teeth clenched. He pushed off the wall, stepping closer, his hands on his hips. "Chuck, Stark thinks he owns the damn world. He comes down here and disrespects me? Stripes? The X-Men? I¡¯m sorry, Chuck, but I don¡¯t take trust fund baby bullshit."

    "He thinks the sun comes up just to hear him crow," Rogue added, her accent thicker with emotion. "He¡¯s lucky Ah didn¡¯t slap him silly."

    Logan smirked slightly at that, his anger still bubbling beneath the surface. "Yeah, ya an¡¯ me both, Stripes."

    Xavier let out a slow, measured breath. "I find Tony Stark¡¯s arrogance as upsetting as both of you do, but this is no way to treat guests."

    "They ain''t no guests," Rogue shot back. "Heck, Duncan is a guest, he just brought ''em along, an¡¯ even then, Ah''m startin'' to think he grew too damn comfortable ''round ''em, lookin'' at Cap all starry-eyed like he''s the best thing since sliced bread."

    Jubilee let out a short snicker at that, though she quickly covered her mouth when Storm shot her a glance.

    "They¡¯re all guests, Rogue," Storm corrected gently. "And we should treat them with decorum."

    Rogue exhaled sharply. "Well, Ah don¡¯t have ta like it."

    Cyclops finally spoke, his voice as controlled as ever, but there was a sharpness to it, a quiet frustration simmering beneath the surface. "Storm is right, Rogue. I don¡¯t agree with Captain America. I even resent his decision. But this was a circus. You and Logan stepped out of line."

    Rogue¡¯s eyes snapped to him. "What?"

    Jean Grey, who had been silent up until now, spoke softly but firmly. "Scott¡¯s right, Rogue. We are better than this."

    Rogue shook her head, her fingers tightening on her arms. "Cap promised me he¡¯d do somethin¡¯. He didn¡¯t promise y¡¯all, he promised me. An¡¯ honestly? Ah¡¯m pretty mad he didn¡¯t hold on to his promise. Ah thought it was worth somethin¡¯."

    Xavier sighed, a weariness creeping into his expression. "Captain America was pivotal to the creation of this team. I¡¯m sure his intentions were the noblest possible."

    Rogue¡¯s lips curled bitterly. "Well, Professor, Ah once heard the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Maybe we should be lookin¡¯ fer some results."

    Storm¡¯s gaze flickered toward her at that, a knowing look in her eyes. She had a strong suspicion of who might have told Rogue something like that.

    "Maybe... Maybe we should not be so eager to judge Captain America and the Avengers," Beast finally spoke, his tone thoughtful. "Their contributions to our team are indeed essential. We must not disregard their help. We must cool down our emotions now, but take more consideration from their point of view."

    "Henry is right," Storm added. "We must consider carefully our emotions. It is essential to be open, but also, to be understanding. And I believe you should remember your ability to empathize."

    Rogue¡¯s expression hardened, her eyes dark beneath the weight of her frustration. "Ah understand that, ''Ro. But Ah sure as hell don¡¯t like bein¡¯ lied to. Not again."

    For a brief moment, the room was silent.

    Xavier understood. Storm understood. But neither of them had lived Rogue¡¯s life. Neither of them had been raised on false promises, manipulated into loyalty, only to have the truth pulled out from under them time and time again. But Logan understood, maybe he understood it all too well.

    Logan shifted beside her, exhaling a breath that was more of a growl. "Yeah, Stripes got a point. This sentinel crap is just ¡®nother one of ¡®em."

    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Storm met both their gazes, calm but unwavering. "We understand. But now we must recollect. Breathe. And slowly come to our senses."

    The room remained tense, but the storm¡ªat least for now¡ªhad passed.

    Outside the X-Mansion, the Avengers gathered beneath the cold glow of security lights. The crisp night air did little to settle the lingering tension that clung to them like static, the aftermath of the War Room confrontation still fresh. For all their battles, for all the respect they had for the X-Men, there was a divide¡ªa chasm of ideology, of experience, of fundamental mistrust¡ªthat had never fully closed. And tonight? Tonight, it felt wider than ever.

    One group was a family, the other was an institution.

    Falcon was the first to speak, his voice steady, his presence solid as ever. "We fully support you, Captain." His hand found Steve¡¯s shoulder, a gesture of reassurance, of loyalty. "You made the right call."

    Steve barely reacted at first, his eyes trained somewhere in the distance, lost in thought. He wasn¡¯t sure if Falcon¡¯s words were true, wasn¡¯t sure if anything about tonight had been the right call. Rogue¡¯s reaction had struck a nerve¡ªnot because of the anger, not because of the defiance, but because he understood it.

    "I''m still unsure if this was the best decision," he admitted at last, his voice lower than usual.

    "Why? Because Rogue threw a temper tantrum?" Iron Man scoffed, folding his arms over his chest. His irritation was apparent, his frustration barely veiled beneath the casual condescension that came so easily to him.

    "Tony," Wasp warned, her voice carrying the weight of caution.

    But Tony Stark didn¡¯t care to be careful. Not tonight. He rolled his shoulders, shaking his head. "No, no, Jan. Look, we''re trying to help. Cap went out of his way to help them. He even got Carol to help, damn it. We know how much of an asshole she can be at times." His tone was dismissive, exasperated, as if he couldn¡¯t fathom why they were the ones being treated as the villains in all this.

    Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling a slow, controlled breath. "Enough, Tony. You already pissed off Logan and Rogue. That¡¯s enough for one night, no?"

    Tony huffed, shaking his head. "Sorry, Steve. But, honestly? The X-Men are just a bunch of ingrates. We''re really trying here, Cap. And all we get is hostility."

    Falcon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Tony¡¯s right, Steve. We are doing our best here, and we burned bridges with Fury, for them."

    It wasn¡¯t bitterness in Sam¡¯s voice, but frustration¡ªan honest frustration that, in some ways, was justified. They had risked a lot by backing the X-Men in this, had Fury cut ties with them, with an agency that, for better or worse, had been an asset in many of their fights. But what the Avengers saw as an act of faith, the X-Men saw as too little, too late.

    She-Hulk finally spoke up, her tone carrying the weight of experience and a legal mind that had spent years understanding injustice. "We need to have a little empathy for them," she said, glancing around at the group. "Mutants have been oppressed for years, decades, centuries."

    Tony groaned. "Okay, Jen, I understand the whole ¡®help the underdog¡¯ thing, but it just doesn¡¯t work here. A lot of mutations would put some mutants above planetary level threats. You know that, right?"

    She-Hulk¡¯s brow furrowed. "What?"

    Iron Man rolled his eyes, but his stance was firm. "I mean, let¡¯s be real here. You¡¯ve got Omega-level mutants who can rewrite reality, telepaths who can control minds, beings who could snuff out entire cities with a flick of their wrist. And yet, they still want to act like they¡¯re the world¡¯s most persecuted minority."

    She-Hulk¡¯s eyes flashed, something sharp and dangerous simmering beneath the surface. "Because they are," she snapped. "It doesn¡¯t matter how powerful some mutants are, Tony. The system hates them. Society fears them. They don¡¯t get the same luxury you do. You can take off your suit. I can turn back to Jen. But most mutants? They can¡¯t turn off what they are. The world doesn¡¯t let them."

    Falcon nodded, exhaling through his nose. "She¡¯s right, Tony."

    But Tony wasn¡¯t ready to concede. He scoffed, crossing his arms. "I¡¯m not saying they don¡¯t get a raw deal. I get it. But you can¡¯t have it both ways. You can¡¯t be one the most powerful beings on Earth and still claim to be helpless victims. Pick one."

    Wasp sighed, her expression pinched with conflict. "Tony has a point," she admitted carefully. "People like Jean and Ororo are strong. I sympathize both with them and the people who fear them."

    Tony snapped his fingers, pointing at her. "Thank you, Jan. Exactly. It¡¯s really hard to be an oppressed minority when you can bend metal, steal powers, control the elements, and shoot death rays from your fingertips, if you ask me."

    Falcon¡¯s gaze darkened. "Tony, you are scared. Just admit it."

    Iron Man scoffed, but there was something defensive in the way he squared his shoulders. "Woah, Sam. I never said I was scared. More like¡­ concerned."

    She-Hulk folded her arms, unimpressed. "Yet, the vast majority of mutants don¡¯t have those kinds of powers, do they?" Her voice was sharp, cutting through the conversation like a blade.

    Tony hesitated for a fraction of a second, but his ego wouldn¡¯t let him admit it. "Well," he finally muttered, "that¡¯s why we¡¯re trying to help."

    Steve had been listening quietly up until now, letting the conversation unfold, but he finally stepped forward, his voice low, steady¡ªmeasured.

    "We are asking them to believe in a government that has never trusted them," he said. "A government that created a program to put them in line. Lied to them. Controlled them. And now we expect them to fully trust a state that never trusted them? That still doesn¡¯t?"

    The group fell silent.

    Steve¡¯s expression darkened. His hands curled into fists at his sides. "Rogue and Logan might have been disrespectful, but they¡¯re hardly unjustified."

    The words hung heavy in the air.

    For all their arguing, for all their posturing, none of them could deny that.

    The silence stretched, uncomfortable but necessary.

    And for the first time that night, Tony Stark didn¡¯t have a quick retort. He thought carefully what to say, what to give up on saying and what to consider.

    "So what¡¯s the end goal here, Cap? Because from where I¡¯m standing, it looks like the X-Men aren¡¯t interested in playing ball with the system. It seems like they¡¯re willing to throw the whole thing out."

    Steve turned slightly, meeting Tony¡¯s gaze with quiet steel. He knew this conversation was coming¡ªit was inevitable after the argument inside. "It¡¯s about changing the structure of government laws, like we discussed previously," he said, his voice steady but firm. "I want mutants to be seen like any other citizen of this nation."

    Tony scoffed, shaking his head. "Well, every other citizen of this nation is also monitored. You can thank the NSA for that."

    "I meant not being hunted just for existing," Steve corrected, his voice edged with something harder now.

    She-Hulk, standing beside them with her arms crossed, exhaled sharply. "This has happened in this country far too many times," she muttered. "People hunted, lynched, executed just for being themselves or doing things that ¡®society¡¯ of the time didn¡¯t deem natural or pure."

    Sam nodded, his lips pressed into a firm line. "It¡¯s true," he admitted. "This country has oppressed people before¡ªmany people. But now? Now it¡¯s mutants."

    She-Hulk sighed, running a hand through her dark green hair. "America isn¡¯t a perfect nation. Never has been, never will be."

    Steve''s voice came in response, carrying a gentle pride, but elder wariness.

    "Perfect or not, it is our home. And the principles we stand for? They¡¯re the principles that built this nation. Men might not be perfect, but the dream is. And I¡¯ll stand for it. Mutant or human, we¡¯re together in this."

    She-Hulk studied him for a moment, then nodded. "I can live with that."

    Falcon, who had been quiet up until now, crossed his arms over his chest. "Yeah. And Cap is doing his hardest, aren¡¯t you, Cap?"

    Steve exhaled, shaking his head. "Maybe not enough."

    "Steve," Wasp said, stepping closer, her voice gentle. "You¡ª"

    But Sam cut her off. His expression was heavy, his voice lined with something more than just concern¡ªit was responsibility. "It was me," Sam admitted. "I convinced Cap to do it. It shouldn¡¯t be him taking the flak¡ªit should be me."

    Steve turned toward him, his expression unwavering. "Sam, I took the decision out of my own volition," he said. "You helped me, but this isn¡¯t on you."

    "It is, Cap." Sam¡¯s shoulders tensed, his jaw clenching slightly. "They¡¯re¡ª"

    "No." Steve¡¯s voice was firm, unwavering. "I shoulder the blame because I lead this team. If there¡¯s a mistake, it¡¯s my duty to fix it."

    For a moment, no one spoke.

    Then Tony exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Alright. There¡¯s no mistake, Cap. We¡¯ll just talk to the X-Men, clear the air."

    Wasp nodded. "Yes. The mutants are angry now, but hopefully, we can sort this out when we get back inside."

    "Wait," Tony said suddenly, glancing around the group. "Did the kid stay back?"

    There was a pause.

    Then Steve answered. "No. Alamo left before we did."

    Steve¡¯s brow furrowed slightly. "Let¡¯s find him. I want to hear what he thinks of this."

    Falcon frowned slightly. "You think he¡¯s with us?"

    Cap raised a hand, signaling for silence. "I¡¯ll talk to him."

    The group exchanged glances, but none of them objected.

    "Okay..." Tony muttered, though his expression was uncertain.

    Steve exhaled, turning away from the group, scanning the surrounding area. The night was quiet, the tension of the argument still lingering in the air. But there was something else, something Steve couldn¡¯t quite put his finger on.

    The Alamo wasn¡¯t just another fighter. He wasn¡¯t just another voice in the room. He was something else entirely.

    Steve had seen it in him from the start.

    A man caught between principles.

    A young fiery soul who had trouble weighting his own independence, the X-Men and the Avengers.

    Not an X-Man.

    Not an Avenger.

    And right now? Steve needed to know where that fire would burn next.

 Chapter 19: The Patriot, The Rebel and The Thinker

    Captain America walked down the winding stone path of the X-Mansion gardens, his shield strapped tightly to his back. The moon above was bright, illuminating the greenery with a soft silver glow. The cold air bit at his skin, but he barely noticed it. His mind was too full.

    He found the Alamo in one of the more secluded corners of the garden, floating a good ten feet above the ground. His arms were crossed, his body still as a statue, save for the occasional shift of his fingers. He was staring up at the moon, the chrome mask on his face reflecting the celestial light, his red eyes glowing beneath the shadow of his hat.

    He looked like a specter.

    A ghost of something lost in time.

    Steve paused for a moment before speaking.

    ¡°Duncan.¡±

    It was a simple greeting, nothing more. But the way Alamo twitched¡ªjust slightly, just enough for Steve to catch¡ªtold him that he had startled him. And that was rare.

    Alamo turned in the air, his body rotating smoothly, his arms still crossed against his chest. The mask made him unreadable, but Steve could feel the weight behind those glowing red eyes. And then there was the star¡ªthe bright, white star emblazoned on his chest, the same kind of symbol Steve himself wore. While for Steve it meant America, for Duncan it was evident it meant Texas.

    For just a second, Steve¡¯s gaze flickered to it.

    A part of him had always wondered what it meant¡ªto him. To Duncan. He had no doubt the star was a statement, but what kind? Was it a pledge? A reminder? A burden?

    Knowing him it probably meant pride, something philosophical, something vice-president John Nance Garner, Ol'' Cactus Jack, would be proud of. Something that would warm Stephen F. Austin''s heart.

    Or maybe it was something simpler, Steve made a mental note to remind him to ask Duncan about what the star meant to him.

    Duncan floated there, silent.

    Steve took a breath.

    "I''m sorry for what happened to Denti," he said, his voice low, even. "I understand you were the person he tried to kill. Twice."

    Alamo didn¡¯t flinch.

    ¡°Yup.¡±

    There was no hostility in his voice. No emotion at all, really. Just a simple acknowledgment.

    Steve let the silence hang for a second before continuing.

    ¡°I wanted to hear your input on this development.¡±

    Alamo sighed.

    His arms slowly uncrossed, and for the first time since Steve had stepped into the garden, his posture shifted.

    ¡°I ain¡¯t Wolverine, Cap. I ain¡¯t Rogue,¡± he said, his voice even, measured, but there was something just beneath the surface. Something restrained. ¡°An¡¯ right now, I wanna hear ya say what happened.¡±

    Steve glanced up at the moon behind Alamo. It hung heavy in the sky, the same way this conversation felt heavy between them.

    He inhaled through his nose.

    "When I arrived in D.C., I expected to interrogate Denti. Instead, he interrogated me."

    "Is that so? What did he ask?" Alamo pressed his tone was curious, his voice was coarse but not deep. There was always this guttural nature to his accent, like he was constantly chewing Tobacco, even though it was likely he never even tasted it. His vowels sounded like they leaned on each other, there was an almost whispery end to it. He sounded more western than your average West Texan at his age, whether this was on purpose or not, it was entirely unknown to Steve.

    "The war, he asked about the war. He told me if I had killed soldiers, conscripts in which had little personal stake in the war." Cap answered, his tone swifted from the usual steely commanding voice to a more approachable tone, but hidden below it a sense of grief, regret.

    "An'' ya did?"

    "Yes"

    Alamo held silence for a while, the words hitting him in thought.

    "War is war, Cap." He justified himself, but Steve noticed it didn''t come from experience, it came from an attempt at empathy.

    "He said that in war sometimes people die, even if they don''t deserve to. We went to Europe to defend the principles of our nation, of the West. Democracy, Liberty, Justice."

    "Sacrifice" Alamo muttered thinking back to Chicago how he went to orbit, how for a quick moment he expected everything to end. A single final waltz to a short life, a light that had burned too brightly too quickly. The word sacrifice itself escaped his lips almost like a forbidden curse, a slur. Not tinged with disgust, but fear of what came after.

    "Yes, but it was our own too. We could see that." Cap added. "We made the choice to go there, sacrifice ourselves to defend these principles, defend Europe from a great evil."

    Steve remembered of the lines of volunteers, young man who wanted to prove themselves to their loved ones, serve their nation. But also men who had no career prospect, men blinded by a promise of adventure, men who didn''t know any better.

    "Choice."

    "Jean told me what bothered her in me offering a plea deal to Denti was the fact that they weren''t consulted, not asked, not approached."

    "Ya stripped em'' from their choice"

    Captain America swallowed dry.

    "Denti didn''t want his fate to be decided by mutants, he said he didn''t want the X-Men involved, he told us to decide immediately"

    "Hmm"

    There was a long silence as Alamo rubbed the chin of his chrome mask. He was deep in thiought. Duncan didn''t know what to say, but he knew what to think. The X-Men wanted to do things Cap''s way. They wanted the structural change, not his Ad Hoc solution. To Duncan he could have solved this by hunting Creed to the ends of earth and then Trask, breaking their bones, destroying their assets, make sure the incentives would be to low to even consider another crusade.

    But the X-Men wanted systemic change. They wanted to fix the machine. Cap was playing the long game, working within the system, trying to mold it into something that could function for mutants.

    Duncan wasn¡¯t sure if he even believed in this plan.

    It had too many variables.

    Too many outsiders to trust.

    And yet, he was still here, listening to Captain America, contemplating the weight of his decisions instead of walking away entirely.

    Duncan thought for a minute, recalling past experiences of human history. The tales in the treadmill of he individual rights, it took forever. He knew it did, from the books he had read, from the classes on history and economics, high-school, college and beyond. He knew that these things wouldn''t come from a single punch to the face of a so-called ''oppressor''.

    "Look, Cap," he finally said, lowering his hand from his mask. "Maybe this wasn¡¯t done in the way I¡¯d have wanted. But the X-Men? They chose this path. They asked for this¡ªthis whole ¡®systemic change¡¯ deal. I know the game you¡¯re playin¡¯."

    Steve¡¯s eyes narrowed slightly. "And what game is that?"

    Duncan tilted his head. "The long game."

    There was something about the way he said it¡ªlike it was both an acknowledgment and a challenge.

    Cap exhaled, nodding once. "The long game."

    "Short-term costs for long-term benefits," Alamo continued. "Like a cash flow, really. Ya invest today, ya get the returns in the future."

    Steve studied him for a moment. Duncan could tell he was listening, really listening.

    Duncan¡¯s voice dropped slightly, thoughtful. "The question is¡­" He let the words linger in the cold air between them. "Is it worth investin¡¯?"

    Steve swallowed, the gears in his mind turning.

    Then he met Alamo¡¯s gaze.

    "What do you think?" Captain America asked, almost like a challenge.

    "Well, fer starters, I ain''t sure." Duncan exhaled, crossing his arms as he floated slightly lower, his body hovering just a few feet above the ground now. "But I know someone gotta try. I respect ya for that, Cap. I see ya¡¯re tryin¡¯¡ªya made the X-Men go to S.H.I.E.L.D., brought Stark in, heck, even Captain Marvel ain''t freakin¡¯ out. That¡¯s good leadership, if ya ask me."

    Steve nodded once, his expression firm but appreciative. "Thank you."

    Duncan tapped a finger against his forearm, thoughtful. "I also think that maybe¡ªjust maybe¡ªthere¡¯s a point to the civil rights approach. I¡¯d believe in more direct action, but that ain''t exactly a gold standard for long-term solutions."

    Steve glanced up at him, his gaze unreadable for a moment before he spoke. "No, it would be a band-aid," he admitted. "Maybe we¡¯d arrest or even hurt Trask and Creed today. But they would still find a way to make them martyrs, to replace them with someone with more vitriol. Trust me, I have seen it happen."

    Duncan chuckled dryly, shaking his head. "Well, there¡¯s a reason why ya are leadin¡¯ and not me."

    Steve smirked slightly at that, his shoulders relaxing just the faintest bit. "Thank you for your trust, Duncan."

    Alamo waved a hand lazily through the air. "No, thank you¡­" He let the words hang for a moment, as if trying to find the right way to phrase what he wanted to say. His red eyes flickered in the dim light. "I wasn¡¯t expectin¡¯ the Avengers to get involved at all. Ya brought ¡®em here. For that, I¡¯m very thankful, sir. Thanks fer playin¡¯ the long game."

    He sighed, his posture shifting slightly as he finally let his feet touch the ground. "I¡¯m sorry that Rogue sees it like betrayal," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "But I see it like a man tryin¡¯ his best."

    "Rogue has suffered a lot¡­" Captain America said, his voice dipping into something quieter, something softer. He glanced down at his gloved hands, the deep red muted under the moonlight, as if he could still feel the weight of every battle, every difficult choice. "She has been through a lot. She tries a lot. She¡¯s a good woman, Duncan. Deep down, I always knew it."

    Duncan remained silent, watching him carefully. There was something introspective in Cap¡¯s tone, something heavy.

    "She¡¯s hurt," Steve continued. "Because she believes there wasn¡¯t justice for the people who died."

    He sighed, tilting his head slightly, eyes distant as he spoke again. "I still remember when we first fought her, back when she walked with the Brotherhood."

    Duncan raised an eyebrow behind his mask, finally lowering himself fully to the ground. "Really, ya remember that?"

    "Yes." Steve nodded. "You could see it in her eyes¡ªshe didn¡¯t want to be there. She didn¡¯t want to hurt people." His gaze grew distant, caught in a memory. "She was just a girl back then. Couldn¡¯t have been older than Kate Pryde."

    Alamo frowned slightly, folding his arms as he considered that. It was strange to picture Rogue that way. Vulnerable. Caught in a cause she didn''t quite believe in.

    "She didn¡¯t want to be there," Steve repeated, his tone thoughtful, reflective. "But she always committed. Even when she didn¡¯t believe in Magneto. Or Mystique. Or Destiny." He let the names hang in the air, heavy with history. "She was there because they were the only ones who took her in at the time."

    Duncan looked down, shaking his head. "She could''ve left earlier. Stood up fer herself, individuals have agency."

    Steve¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change. "She was a child, she didn¡¯t have a choice," he said simply. "She had nowhere else to go. And when you have no choices, even the wrong path looks like the only way forward."

    Duncan was quiet for a moment, letting that sink in.

    "But the way she got Carol¡¯s powers," Duncan finally said, his voice lower.

    Steve exhaled through his nose. "She didn¡¯t want to hurt Carol, but she still committed. She believed in the cause¡ªthe intentions behind it. But she couldn¡¯t always stomach the costs."

    Duncan let out a slow breath. That made sense. More sense than he wanted it to.

    "That¡¯s why she came to the X-Men," he said.

    Steve gave a small nod. "I¡¯d like to believe that. I¡¯m sure of it." His voice was firmer now, more certain. "She didn¡¯t want to be manipulated into being a villain anymore."

    Alamo sighed, tipping his head back slightly to look at the sky. The moon was high, bright, cold. His mind wandered, unbidden, back to his own childhood. It wasn¡¯t perfect¡ªno childhood was¡ªbut it hadn¡¯t been like that. He had never been abandoned. Never been stripped of choice. He had loving parents, people who despite their mistakes and flaws, loved him, truly and deeply and tried their best.

    For him, standing for choice, for reason, had always been easy. Because he had the luxury of agency.

    She never did.

    "She didn¡¯t deserve that," he muttered.

    Steve¡¯s jaw tightened slightly. "No child does," he agreed, his voice tinged with something just short of anger. "It¡¯s terrible to not have anyone to support you. To be alone because everyone around you is afraid. And when you finally do find people who aren¡¯t, they mold you into something you¡¯re not."

    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    Alamo exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Dang it, Cap."

    For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The night stretched around them, vast and quiet, the weight of the conversation settling in their bones.

    And for the first time in a long time, Duncan wasn¡¯t sure how to argue against that.

    Instead, he didn''t want to argue. He had nothing to argue, Captain America was right.

    Duncan exhaled, crossing his arms as he shifted his weight slightly. His gaze flickered from the stars back to Captain America, his tone thoughtful but steady.

    "Bein'' a kid is thinkin'' Captain America is cool," he said, tilting his head slightly. "Bein'' an adult is knowin'' he''s right."

    Steve blinked at that, his lips twitching into a small smile. It wasn¡¯t a cocky or smug grin¡ªit was one of quiet understanding, of appreciation. He knew Duncan wasn¡¯t the type to throw out compliments lightly.

    "I¡¯m only a man, Duncan," Cap said, shaking his head slightly. "A man with too much history. I make mistakes too."

    Duncan let out a low chuckle. "Everyone does, Cap," he said simply. "But ya ain''t a victim of yer mistakes. Fer that, I admire ya." He inhaled slowly before continuing, his voice quieter but firm. "I always did. It''s an honor servin¡¯ with ya, sir."

    Something shifted in Cap¡¯s expression then. A brief flicker of something deep¡ªgratitude, respect, maybe even something close to pride.

    "Honor is mutual, Alamo."

    Steve extended his hand.

    Duncan looked at it for half a second, then clasped it eagerly, shaking firmly. There was no hesitation, no doubt¡ªjust mutual recognition, two men who had come to understand each other in a way few could.

    The handshake was solid, a quiet reaffirmation of their beliefs, their trust in each other. This? This felt real.

    Then¡ª

    "Ahem."

    A soft but pointed clearing of the throat cut through the quiet night.

    Duncan¡¯s spine straightened slightly, the sound familiar in a way that sent something twisting in his gut before he even turned around.

    Captain America turned as well, his gaze landing on the approaching figure.

    There, standing at the edge of the gravel path, arms crossed, emerald-green eyes sharp beneath the dim moonlight¡ª

    Rogue.

    She was still upset. It wasn¡¯t loud, wasn¡¯t explosive, but it was there, simmering beneath the surface. Her lips were pressed together, her posture stiff, her body language restrained but tense.

    Duncan swallowed, shifting slightly.

    She locked eyes with Cap, her expression unreadable for a long moment.

    "May Ah talk with him, Rogers?"

    Her voice was steady, but there was an edge to it. A weight.

    Duncan felt something tighten in his chest.

    Cap studied her for a second longer, then gave a slow nod.

    "Of course," he said simply.

    He cast one last glance at Duncan before stepping away, his boots crunching lightly against the gravel as he took his leave, disappearing back toward the mansion.

    Duncan let out a slow exhale.

    Rogue remained standing there, unmoving, watching him.

    Duncan shifted, his arms uncrossing as he let out a slow breath, his gaze locked onto Rogue¡¯s. There was something in her stance¡ªanger, disappointment, but also something else, something she wasn¡¯t saying outright.

    "Rogue," he said, and his voice was soft. Soft in a way that felt unfamiliar even to himself. It was restrained, controlled¡ªbut there was a depth to it. Something genuine. Something real.

    Rogue blinked at that, as if she hadn¡¯t expected it. Maybe she thought he¡¯d be defensive, maybe she thought he¡¯d match her fire with fire. But he didn¡¯t¡ªnot yet.

    Her arms stayed crossed tight against her chest, her weight shifting slightly.

    "Alamo," she said, her voice taut with frustration, but laced¡ªjust barely¡ªwith an undertone of something else. Affection.

    Duncan stiffened slightly.

    He heard it. She probably didn¡¯t even mean for it to slip out, didn¡¯t mean to let it color the edges of her anger, but it was there. It sat between them, unspoken, undeniable.

    And then, she went for the kill.

    "Ya know," Rogue said, tilting her head slightly, her emerald eyes burning into him, "once, a real smart boy told me that free men don¡¯t believe promises of salvation."

    Duncan¡¯s stomach twisted.

    He knew exactly where she was going with this.

    "Rogue¡ª" he started, but she didn¡¯t let him finish.

    "Now Ah see him, all in on America¡¯s savior."

    Her voice dripped with something bitter, something hurt. Still smooth, the Mississippi belle accent was the opposite to his West Texan, her accent was smooth, gallant. Like molasses to a dry tumbleweed.

    Duncan¡¯s jaw clenched behind his mask.

    "Rogue, let me¡ª"

    But she wasn¡¯t done. Not yet.

    She took a step closer, her glare unwavering, her voice dropping just slightly, the weight of her words cutting deep.

    "Ah''m startin¡¯ ta think ya¡¯re all hat an¡¯ no cattle ''bout this liberty business of yers."

    Duncan felt the words hit.

    Hard.

    His fingers twitched slightly at his sides, his body going rigid, his eyebrows furrowing behind the cold chrome of his mask.

    That one? That one got to him.

    Because it wasn¡¯t just an insult¡ªit was a challenge. A wound. She was calling him a hypocrite. Calling into question everything he stood for, everything he believed.

    And Alamo?

    He wasn¡¯t happy about it. At all.

    Duncan¡¯s eyes flickered in the moonlight, the weight of Rogue¡¯s challenge settling between them like a pressure drop before a storm. His fingers curled slightly at his sides, but he didn¡¯t lash out. Not immediately.

    Instead, his voice came smooth, dripping with aggressive sarcasm, but with an edge that was barely restrained.

    "Ya ain''t gonna find Mississippi alligators in a West Texan plain, Bayou princess."

    Rogue¡¯s lips parted slightly, her expression shifting from anger to mild confusion.

    She blinked. "What does that even mean?"

    Duncan exhaled sharply through his nose, his tone still laced with the lingering frustration from their argument¡ªbut he held back.

    Because of Cap.

    Because of the conversation they just had.

    Because, deep down, he wasn¡¯t trying to hurt her.

    He lifted his chin slightly, voice lower now, but still firm.

    "It means ya¡¯re lookin¡¯ fer the wrong thing in the wrong place."

    Rogue didn¡¯t hesitate.

    Her weight shifted, her hands still resting on her hips, her green eyes sharp under the glow of the garden lanterns.

    "Then tell me, sugah," she challenged, her voice softer but no less intense, "what should Ah be lookin¡¯ fer?"

    She took a step closer, her gaze locking onto his.

    "Help me understand what Ah''m missin'' here, mistuh."

    Duncan was ready to answer.

    He had his words loaded¡ªhad the response ready to fire back.

    But Rogue?

    She cut him off before he could even draw.

    "Ya don¡¯t have to hide behind The Alamo ta talk with me, Duncan."

    Her voice softened slightly at the end, but the impact was undeniable.

    It wasn¡¯t just a sentence¡ªit was another challenge.

    And then, she pointed her dark olive gloves right at the mask.

    At the thing that had become part of him.

    The chrome shield he never took off in a fight.

    His practical acessory to hide his emotions, hide any sign of vulnerability.

    Duncan felt a flash of something¡ªhesitation, resistance, instinctive denial¡ªbut Rogue?

    She didn¡¯t let him dodge.

    She didn¡¯t let him retreat.

    And somehow, somehow, he listened.

    With a measured slowness, Duncan removed his mask.

    The air was cooler against his skin, the weight of metal lifted as he let out a quiet exhale, his sharp features finally revealed under the moonlight.

    His eyes¡ªdark like Texan oil¡ªmet hers.

    Green meeting dark brown. His irises seemed black under his hat and the faint moonlight..

    His gaze was intense.

    But then, Duncan spoke.

    And this time, there was no mask to hide behind.

    "Ya don¡¯t have ta hide behind Rogue either, Anna Marie."

    His voice was lower now, steady.

    Unapologetically real.

    "I know ya¡¯re hurt."

    And that?

    That landed harder than any punch.

    Rogue faltered. Just for a second.

    Her lips parted slightly, as if a rebuttal had been forming, but instead of words, there was only hesitation.

    She looked down, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, her weight shifting slightly as if she suddenly felt exposed. Vulnerable.

    Her gaze averted.

    "Ah¡ª" she started, then sighed, her voice dipping lower.

    "Ah thought Cap would keep his promise," she admitted, shaking her head lightly. "Ah''m lookin¡¯ mighty foolish fer believin¡¯ in him."

    Duncan frowned, his own arms still loosely crossed, his fingers lightly tapping against his bicep.

    "First of all, ya ain''t foolish," he said, his tone firm but gentler than before.

    Rogue huffed, still refusing to look at him.

    "Secondly," Duncan continued, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping an octave, "he didn¡¯t break his promise."

    Her head snapped up, green eyes narrowed, her face twisting in disbelief.

    "He did, Duncan. He broke his promise to me, ta ya¡­ ta us!."

    And there it was.

    That last word.

    Us.

    Duncan caught it immediately, and despite the tension hanging in the air, despite the heated frustration still lingering between them, a small, knowing smile crept onto his face.

    Rogue blushed.

    It was subtle¡ªbarely there¡ªbut Duncan caught it anyway.

    She rolled her eyes, turning her head slightly, her voice coming out flustered but sharp.

    "Don¡¯t be silly now," she muttered, her usual sass flickering back, a shield for the warmth creeping into her chest. "This is serious."

    Duncan chuckled, his expression softening just a bit.

    "I know," he assured her. "Listen, Anna Marie¡ª"

    She exhaled heavily through her nose at the sound of her full name. He always said it differently than the others. He didn¡¯t sugarcoat it. Didn¡¯t make it soft.

    He said it like he meant it.

    Like it was something strong.

    "He''s tryin¡¯ his best," Duncan continued, more serious now. "He really is. He hasn¡¯t abandoned mutantkind, he brought the Avengers at the cost of their reputation ta be here, he even got y¡¯all inside S.H.I.E.L.D¡ª"

    "Duncan," Rogue interrupted sharply, her voice cracking slightly, "the X-Cutioner killed a bunch of mutants, fer years! Ya saw it happen in Houston!"

    Her eyes flared with anger, pain, passion.

    "We can¡¯t jus¡¯ offer him a plea bargain like he deserves it."

    Duncan¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change.

    His gaze remained steady, dark eyes locked onto hers, unwavering.

    "It¡¯s a game."

    Rogue blinked.

    Then she scoffed, the frustration mounting again.

    "Ya gotta be kiddin¡¯ me."

    Duncan shook his head.

    "No," he said simply. "Listen ta me, please."

    Rogue stared at him for a moment, her lips pressing into a thin line.

    Then, finally¡ªreluctantly¡ªshe sighed.

    "Fine."

    Duncan nodded, his arms unfolding, his fingers gesturing lightly as he spoke.

    "If ya don¡¯t give him a good reason ta talk, he won¡¯t," he explained, his tone measured. "After all, why would he? Anna Marie, he¡¯d rot in prison anyway."

    She held still, watching him carefully.

    "He¡¯d only make things easier on us an¡¯ harder on him," Duncan continued, voice steady.

    "But it¡¯s the right thing ta do," Rogue pressed, her voice quieter now, but no less determined. "Ya can see right from wrong, Duncan. Ah know Ah did¡­ maybe too late, but Ah did."

    Her expression wavered, the anger shifting into something else.

    Something guilt-ridden.

    Something buried.

    Duncan didn¡¯t hesitate.

    "I know," he said softly.

    His eyes held hers¡ªdark and firm, but filled with something real, something soft.

    "And ya¡¯re great fer thinkin¡¯ like that," he added.

    His words weren¡¯t empty.

    They weren¡¯t the kind people threw out just to make someone feel better.

    "Ya really gave all ya could¡­ ya still do."

    His voice softened, the Texan drawl pulling at the edges, making the words heavier.

    "Ya¡¯re a good person," he said.

    Rogue blinked.

    "Better than most people I¡¯ve ever met," he admitted.

    Rogue felt her breath catch.

    Her lips parted slightly, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice.

    "Ya saw the wrong an¡¯ took action ta change," Duncan continued, his expression unwavering. "Seein¡¯ yer mistakes an¡¯ changin¡¯¡ªthat¡¯s good."

    His voice dropped lower.

    "Ya¡¯re good."

    The words settled in the space between them.

    Rogue smiled.

    It was small¡ªsoft¡ªbut it was real.

    She could see it in his eyes¡ªthe truth behind his words.

    And it felt¡­ good.

    So much better when he wasn¡¯t hiding.

    No mask. No deflections. Just Duncan. Just them.

    Rogue exhaled a slow breath, her expression shifting from anger to something more contemplative. The frustration still lingered in her eyes, but Duncan could see the gears turning, the way she chewed on his words, processing them.

    She smiled softly, a quiet, hesitant thing. Not quite surrender, but not outright defiance either.

    "Ah neveh believed this would work fer us, Duncan."

    Alamo raised an eyebrow, curiosity flickering in his dark eyes.

    "What wouldn¡¯t work?"

    She hesitated, her lips pressing together for a moment. Then, she exhaled, shaking her head.

    "The system," she finally admitted.

    He breathed out a quiet sigh of relief.

    "Wait," she said, narrowing her eyes slightly. "What were ya thinkin¡¯ ¡®bout?"

    He waved a gloved hand dismissively. "Don¡¯t matter now..." His voice trailed off, and he cleared his throat. "Erm, ¡®bout the system¡­ No, yeah¡­ I agree with ya. The government has never been a real friend of mutants. Or anyone else if ya ask me."

    Duncan nodded slowly. That, at least, was something they both knew to be true.

    "So why ya agree with this?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, watching him carefully.

    He sighed, rubbing his gloved fingers together, considering his words.

    "If I had my way, Rogue," he said, voice low and even, "I¡¯d find Creed, break his shit, and put him in a coma. Same with Trask. Make sure they live but never forget it. An¡¯ then I¡¯d destroy every single Sentinel, every damn factory¡­"

    Rogue didn¡¯t even flinch. Instead, her eyes brightened¡ªa fire lighting in them as she nodded firmly.

    "An¡¯ that¡¯s great, Duncan. Ah agree with it 100%, maybe that¡¯s what we should do. Do things our way."

    But Duncan shook his head.

    "But our way is wrong, Anna Marie."

    Rogue¡¯s brows furrowed, her expression twisting in confusion.

    "Wrong? But ain¡¯t this what ya''d do?"

    "It is," Duncan admitted. "But my way ain¡¯t always the best way. It lacked foresight. Cap told¡ª"

    "Here ya go again," she interrupted, crossing her arms.

    "Listen ta me, Anna Marie."

    Her posture stiffened at the way he said her name¡ªfirm, deliberate, not pleading but demanding.

    She sighed, rolling her shoulders.

    "Naw, yeah. Sorry."

    Duncan nodded before continuing.

    "As I was sayin¡¯¡­ What if we do this, huh? Then they become martyrs¡ªlike Thomas Thompson. People will have their names on protest signs. More will show up, it¡¯ll only radicalize people."

    She blinked, the weight of that sinking in.

    "Ya think so?"

    "I know so," he said, his voice steady. "I¡¯ve been there, in Houston. People sometimes need just a nudge to do bad things. An¡¯ there I saw how easily people will twist yer symbols ta become whatever they want it ta be."

    Rogue exhaled through her nose, tension settling in her shoulders.

    "So they would become symbols?"

    "Idols, stripped from their humanity. Highlighted in their virtues, forgotten in their vices. It¡¯s happened before, Rogue. People get elevated to martyrs, an¡¯ sometimes? The cause ain¡¯t even good ta start with."

    She stayed silent, lips pursed, absorbing his words like a sponge soaking up hard truths.

    "Ah see," she said at last.

    She looked at him carefully now, like she was seeing him differently.

    "But then, what¡¯s the game here, Duncan?"

    He didn¡¯t hesitate.

    "Systemic change." His voice was firm. "That¡¯s what y¡¯all X-Men wanted, right?"

    Rogue exhaled sharply, shaking her head.

    "Well, Cyclops an¡¯ Professor Xavier led us ta it. Ah didn¡¯t really get that much of a sayin¡¯¡­"

    "But that¡¯s what you signed up fer," he reminded her. "The X-Men. A team. That¡¯s exactly why I do things without a team. Ya either are part of the team, or ya ain¡¯t. Ya signed up ta be an X-Man, ya oughta follow these decisions."

    Rogue¡¯s lips parted slightly, as if to argue, but then she closed her mouth.

    For now, he wasn''t wrong.

    Instead, she studied him carefully¡ªmeasuring his resolve.

    "And ya?" she asked finally, tilting her head. "Why are ya followin¡¯?"

    Duncan sighed, rubbing his chin.

    "Because I proposed myself to," he said.

    Rogue blinked.

    "We¡¯re workin¡¯ with teams, Anna Marie," he explained. "I can¡¯t superimpose my views an¡¯ decisions on y¡¯all. Ain¡¯t that exactly what I fight against?"

    Rogue looked at him for a long moment, her sharp mind working through his words, fitting the pieces together.

    She rubbed her chin in thought.

    "So we follow the end goal ¡®cause we decided we¡¯d do it."

    "Exactly."

    He leaned slightly closer, voice dropping to a low, certain tone.

    "We¡¯re not even halfway there yet, Anna Marie. Steady as she goes."

    She exhaled deeply, processing it all.

    Then, she nodded.

    "Alright," she murmured. "So what¡¯s the play here?"

    Duncan¡¯s eyes gleamed with certainty.

    "The long game."

    Rogue frowned slightly, waiting for him to elaborate.

    "We expose their manipulations, their corruption," Duncan explained. "Their capture of state power. We showcase the crimes of every dirty anti-mutant bureaucrat an¡¯ private backer we can find. Then they¡¯ll understand."

    "Understand what?"

    Duncan¡¯s lips curled slightly¡ªnot a smirk, not arrogance, but certainty.

    "They¡¯re not martyrs, Anna Marie," he said. "They¡¯re humans makin¡¯ mistakes, hateful mistakes."

    Rogue inhaled, her breath steady, but her thoughts racing.

    She thought about everything¡ªthe way mutants had been treated, the way they had fought back, the endless cycle of violence, betrayal, and mistrust.

    She thought about Chicago.

    About how she thought Duncan died.

    How she had kissed him, at least tried to.

    How it still lingered in the back of her mind, every second they were together.

    She bit her lip, then slowly, finally, nodded.

    "Alright, Duncan," she said, her voice softer now. "Ah can live with that."

    She tilted her head, smiling slightly.

    "We had worse plans ''fore."

    Duncan smirked, a genuine one this time.

    "That¡¯s the game," he confirmed.

    A comfortable silence settled between them.

    Then, after a moment, Rogue exhaled.

    "Let¡¯s get back inside now."

    Duncan gave her a lazy salute, his smirk still playing at the edge of his lips.

    "Let¡¯s."

    The night air was crisp as they walked side by side, gravel crunching under their boots. The mansion loomed ahead, its windows aglow with the warm light of the War Room, where the X-Men and possibly the Avengers were waiting.

    Rogue let out a low chuckle, shaking her head.

    "Y''know, Duncan," she drawled, tilting her head to the side as she looked at him, "Maybe ya''re not so bad at this team business. Ah reckon ya''d make a mighty fine X-Man."

    Duncan let out an immediate snort of protest.

    "Absolutely not."

    Rogue smirked at his instant rejection, nudging him slightly with her elbow.

    "Oh yeah, Ah forgot," she teased, her accent getting thicker as she mocked him playfully, "Ya are tryin¡¯ to get Cap to pass the shield down to ya."

    Alamo let out a dramatic scoff, crossing his arms as he shook his head.

    "Ya think he¡¯d do it?" he fired back, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

    Rogue raised a brow, mischief twinkling in her green eyes.

    "Come on now, Duncan Nenni: Captain America?"

    He exaggerated the name, stretching out each syllable as if it were a title.

    Rogue let out a soft melodic laugh.

    "Sugah, ain''t anyone askin'' fer a white-collar, smartass, Texan Captain America..."

    Duncan gasped in mock offense, clutching his chest as if he¡¯d been mortally wounded.

    "Wow, Anna. Just go ahead an¡¯ eviscerate me right here, why don¡¯t ya?"

    She laughed, rolling her eyes.

    Rogue tapped her chin, pretending to think. Then, with a deliberate pause, she let a slow smirk cross her lips.

    "Ya¡¯re just fine as Alamo," she finally said, wrapping one arm around his, pulling him close. Her voice was softer now, warmer.

    "Just fine."

    Duncan stilled slightly at the contact, at her closeness, before he let out a quiet chuckle.

    "Well, I suppose I¡¯ll settle fer that," he muttered.

    They walked together, neither rushing, neither pulling away.

    And with that, they headed back toward the mansion¡ªtoward the team, toward the fight ahead.

    Toward whatever came next.

 Chapter 20: Not a Goodbye

    The night had settled heavily upon the Xavier Institute, casting long, silver shadows across the grounds. Inside, the weight of the day''s battles¡ªboth physical and ideological¡ªhung thick in the air, pressing against the minds of those who had gathered in the war room.

    Captain America strode inside first, his posture composed but firm, the weight of command sitting heavily upon his broad shoulders. The Avengers had followed, their expressions ranging from calculated to contemplative. The X-Men were already assembled, standing in a loose formation around the expansive holographic table at the room¡¯s center. Cyclops, Storm, and Professor Charles Xavier stood at the front, facing him, their expressions unreadable but expectant. Around the table, the rest of the team sat or leaned against various surfaces, the energy in the room a mixture of exhaustion and tension.

    But there were notable absences¡ªRogue and Alamo were missing.

    The absence of Rogue and Alamo was expected. Captain America knew it, she was probably still in the gardens talking to Duncan.

    Steve exhaled quietly before speaking.

    "I apologize for the conflict, Professor," he said, his voice even.

    Xavier studied him for a long moment before lifting a hand in a calm, deliberate motion, signaling that there was no need for concern.

    "Worry not, Captain," Xavier said, his tone soothing but steady. "This was wholly justified, given the spirits of the conversation."

    Steve nodded once, acknowledging the sentiment. But he wasn¡¯t finished. He turned his gaze to Cyclops, the field leader of the X-Men, the man who had stood at the forefront of the earlier debate.

    "Going forward," Steve continued, "I¡¯d like to ensure that the X-Men are always a part of the decisions regarding mutant affairs. It was my mistake not to consult you beforehand, Cyclops."

    Cyclops'' eyes narrowed slightly behind his ruby visor, considering the words before giving a slow nod.

    "We meant no disrespect, Captain," Scott responded, his tone measured but sincere. "What my wife brought up was important, but I understand it was a necessity of the time. I only hope you can understand Jean¡¯s point."

    Steve Rogers'' expression remained unreadable for a moment before he finally gave a slow, firm nod.

    "Of course," he said. "Of course."

    A beat of silence passed between them.

    Then, Storm took a step forward, her gaze unwavering as she spoke, her voice carrying the weight of both authority and grace.

    "We''re still friends here, Steve," Ororo said, her tone unwavering. "You have my respect, as you always had. I''m happy that you brought the Avengers here to help. That was no small feat. If we succeed, mutantkind will have an eternal debt to Steve Rogers."

    Steve¡¯s lips pressed into a thin line, and he shook his head slightly.

    "I charge no debts, Ororo," he said, his voice steady. "This is the right thing. Mutants are people. American citizens. I swore an oath to serve and protect the principles and the people of this nation. I''m just following the oath I swore to."

    A quiet stillness settled over the room at those words.

    Xavier¡¯s gaze softened, the corners of his lips lifting into something that almost resembled a knowing smile.

    "Protect," Xavier echoed. "You said the right word, Captain. And I believe we will be able to protect more people with your decision than with vengeful, swift justice."

    Steve held his gaze for a moment, nodding.

    "I believe that too, Professor."

    The hum of quiet conversation in the war room came to an abrupt halt as the doors swung open.

    Stepping inside, engaged in a conversation too low for anyone to fully catch, were Alamo and Rogue. They moved with a certain casualness, an ease that wasn¡¯t usually seen in the two of them¡ªat least, not together. It wasn¡¯t hostility that marked their interactions, nor was it a forced professional politeness. It was something else.

    Something unfamiliar.

    Alamo, for once, wasn¡¯t wearing his chrome mask. His hat still sat low on his head, casting a faint shadow over his face, but his expression was plainly visible. His usual sharp-eyed focus had been replaced by something looser, something unguarded.

    But if anyone expected him to enter with humility, they had miscalculated.

    He scanned the room, noting the weight in the air, the quiet tension that lingered from prior discussions. He exhaled through his nose, then, with that familiar Texan drawl, spoke.

    "I hope we didn''t get late to nobody''s funeral."

    A beat of silence.

    Then, a flat, unimpressed voice.

    "Duncan."

    Rogue shot him a warning look, crossing her arms.

    Alamo sighed, tipping his hat slightly.

    "Ahem, sorry. Where are my manners?" His lips quirked into a faint smirk. "I''ll just sit down."

    As he moved further inside, Rogue gave him a sharp nudge with her elbow, her expression both chastising and amused.

    It was strange¡ªseeing them like this. Seeing Alamo without his mask, walking into a room full of people without his usual aura of distance.

    Jubilee leaned over to Logan, her voice a whisper but full of mischief.

    "Y''know, he might be weird and all. But he''s cute when he smiles at least."

    Wolverine gave her a side-eye, barely shifting his head.

    "Kid, why don¡¯t ya go poke ''nother hornet¡¯s nest?"

    Jubilee grinned.

    "What fun there¡¯s in that, Uncle Wolvie?"

    Logan huffed, but his eyes flickered toward Alamo for a moment. There was no hostility there¡ªjust quiet calculation, an assessment being made.

    "He better be kind to Stripes," Logan muttered, crossing his arms, his voice low and rough. "Or I''ll gut him like fish. She¡¯s been through ''nuff already."

    Jubilee rolled her eyes, grinning.

    "You¡¯re like the best dad a gal can have, but like¡ªsettle down."

    Wolverine scoffed.

    "She ain''t my¡ª I''m just tryin¡¯ to say. I take to no bullshit from this bad boy types."

    Jubilee raised an eyebrow.

    "Bad boy? Seriously? Have you talked to Duncan? The only thing he''s bad at is being a normal human."

    Logan narrowed his eyes slightly.

    "He¡¯s a mutant."

    "A normal mutant, whatever that is." Jubilee shrugged, kicking her boots up onto the edge of the chair she was leaning against.

    Logan didn¡¯t respond immediately. His gaze flickered back to Duncan and Rogue as they finally took their seats at the table. His expression had shifted¡ªsubtly, but noticeably. The easygoing smirk he had walked in with was gone, replaced by a deep frown, artificial in its severity.

    The others noticed.

    His posture stiffened just slightly, his fingers moving toward the inside of his coat. In a practiced motion, he reached for the chrome mask, prepared to slip it back into place.

    Before he could, Rogue caught his wrist.

    Her grip was firm but not forceful, her fingers wrapped around his forearm in a way that made it clear this wasn¡¯t a suggestion.

    He recoiled at bit not expecting the touch, but then he relaxed, awaiting her to speak first.

    "Naw, sugah." Her voice was gentle but unwavering. "No masks fer ya fer the rest of the day."

    For a moment, he just looked at her.

    There was no immediate protest, no sharp retort. Just a slight furrow of his brows as his dark eyes searched hers, gauging how serious she was.

    And she was serious.

    A slow exhale left him, and then, at last, he nodded.

    "I understand," he murmured, lowering his hand. "Honesty is appreciated here."

    Rogue held his gaze for a beat longer, her expression softening into something almost fond.

    "Trust me, it is."

    Tony Stark leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, his gaze flicking lazily around the room as the murmurs of discussion continued. He had the look of a man who had already worked out the problem before anyone else even knew what the question was. Nearby, She-Hulk lowered herself into a seat beside Gambit, the green-skinned lawyer-turned-powerhouse giving him a sideways glance as he offered one of his signature smirks. Falcon, ever the quiet observer, had taken a seat not far from where Captain America stood, his posture relaxed but attentive.

    Then, the doors swung open again, and Janet Van Dyne stepped inside. The Wasp had the easy grace of someone used to walking into a room full of the world''s most powerful people without an ounce of hesitation. She scanned the room with quick, perceptive eyes before strolling toward Tony, her expression carrying the kind of amused exasperation that only long-time familiarity could breed.

    "Jenny is taking a liking to the Cajun boy, it seems," Janet remarked, tilting her head slightly toward She-Hulk and Gambit.

    Tony snorted, his lips curling into a knowing smirk.

    "Can you blame her?"

    Janet shot him a look, raising an eyebrow.

    "Wait, you like him too?"

    Tony placed a hand over his chest, feigning offense.

    "No, Tony." Janet rolled her eyes. "But I can see the appeal."

    Tony made a face, his smirk deepening into something playfully self-indulgent.

    "What appeal? He''s not a billionaire, genius, and philanthropist like me."

    Janet let out a short laugh, shaking her head.

    "Tony, the world doesn¡¯t revolve around you."

    Without missing a beat, Tony shot back with deadpan sarcasm, "I swore to God it did, Jan."

    Janet smirked, but there was an underlying seriousness to her tone when she spoke again.

    "You think we¡¯ll be able to handle this whole thing?"

    Tony''s expression flickered for the briefest moment¡ªso fast that most wouldn''t have caught it. That flash of calculation, the weight of knowing what was truly at stake.

    "The Sentinels?" he asked, his voice losing some of its playful edge.

    Janet nodded. "Yes."

    Tony exhaled slowly through his nose before pushing off the wall, standing straighter. Then, he smiled.

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    "I have just the plan."

    Janet narrowed her eyes. "Really?"

    "Yeah."

    "What is it?"

    Tony tapped his temple, his smirk widening.

    "Oh, but Jan¡ªa magician never reveals his tricks."

    Janet crossed her arms, her expression unimpressed.

    "Oh, keep your secrets." She leaned slightly closer, voice dropping into a mock whisper. "I''m sure they totally don¡¯t involve creating a solution that will become a problem later... y¡¯know, like Ultron."

    Tony¡¯s smirk faltered for half a second, just enough for Janet to catch it.

    "Woah, Jan. I learn from my mistakes. There¡¯s no Ultron coming." He waved a dismissive hand before adding, "And let me remind you... your husband helped me with that one."

    Janet let out a short scoff, shaking her head.

    "Hank is too smart for his own good."

    Before Tony could fire back, a clearing of the throat cut through the room¡ªa sound that commanded immediate attention.

    "Ahem."

    Captain America stood near the center of the room, his posture straight as ever, his eyes sharp with quiet authority.

    "A moment of quiet, please."

    His tone was calm, but it carried weight. The room, once filled with scattered murmurs and playful banter, fell silent in an instant.

    Tony gave a short nod, his usual smirk still in place, though there was a hint of something more serious behind it.

    "Sure, Cap."

    Cyclops stepped forward, his authoritative presence immediately drawing the room¡¯s attention. His expression was firm¡ªcalculated, as always¡ªbut there was a sharpness to his gaze that made it clear he wasn¡¯t looking for passive agreement.

    "Well, after all of that," Scott began, his voice carrying the weight of expectation. "Moving forward, I expect some mutual respect."

    His eyes flickered to Rogue first, then Logan, then Tony, and finally Sam.

    "Understood?"

    There was a pause.

    Then, Rogue gave a simple, casual nod.

    "Gotcha, Cyclops."

    Logan scoffed, arms crossed over his chest.

    "Yeah, yeah, Slim. Ya ain''t my ol¡¯ man."

    Sam simply gave a short nod of acknowledgment, choosing not to add anything further.

    Tony Stark, on the other hand, leaned back ever so slightly, raising a single finger in protest.

    "I never did anything wrong."

    A dry sigh came from Steve Rogers, who immediately turned his head toward Stark, a silent plea in his eyes.

    "Tony."

    Tony lifted both hands in surrender.

    "Okay, okay, ahem. Sorry," he said, voice only marginally less smug than before. "I didn¡¯t mean to offend anyone. It¡¯s just my way of expressing¡­ charm."

    Across the room, Rogue muttered lowly under her breath.

    "Oh god, can¡¯t ya like shoot him down with yer fingertips or somethin¡¯?"

    Alamo, seated beside her, tilted his head slightly, clearly entertained.

    "No," he interjected smoothly. "What if he offers me a job at Stark Industries?"

    Rogue turned to face him fully, unimpressed.

    "Of course ya¡¯d say that."

    Alamo smirked, leaning back slightly.

    "Maybe I could like get ya Stark Resort tickets," he added, voice carrying just the right amount of teasing.

    Rogue narrowed her eyes, tilting her head in mock skepticism.

    "Oh¡­ Is that a promise Ah¡¯m hearin¡¯?"

    Alamo¡¯s smirk didn¡¯t waver.

    "Maybe."

    Before Rogue could respond, Cyclops stepped forward again, his focus returning to the mission at hand.

    "We¡¯ll work on locating General Ross and interrogating him, as well as finding Creed," he stated, his voice steady and firm. "That¡¯s our top priority."

    His gaze swept across the assembled team, ensuring everyone was following.

    "If there¡¯s any remaining FoH cell we need to strike, we will. But as we know so far, their forces are scattered. We struck Carraro facilities in Arkansas, Texas, Florida, and Oregon. We severely damaged their heavy weaponry, but it¡¯s possible that less-prepared, local chapters might strike mutants, so we¡¯ll be watching."

    He turned slightly, addressing Steve directly.

    "Captain."

    The unspoken weight of command passed between them, and the room fell into a brief silence¡ªone of anticipation, preparation, and something else lingering just beneath the surface.

    "Thank you, Scott."

    Captain America¡¯s voice was steady, carrying the weight of responsibility as he acknowledged Cyclops¡¯ leadership. The tension in the war room, which had lingered even after their earlier disagreements, had begun to ease¡ªbut there was still work to be done, still wounds, both old and new, left to mend.

    Steve took a step forward, letting his eyes sweep across the gathered heroes¡ªX-Men and Avengers alike.

    "Well," he continued, his tone measured but firm, "I''m sorry for what happened with Carl Denti. I promise that the Avengers will keep the X-Men aware of our decisions regarding mutants. But know this¡ªour mission remains the same. We defend Earth, no matter who lives here. We defend America, and I believe in an America for both mutants and humans. Together, in coexistence."

    There was a flicker of something across Professor Xavier¡¯s face¡ªperhaps a hint of relief, perhaps gratitude. He gave an appreciative nod.

    "In harmony," Steve added.

    Storm gently shook her head in approval.

    "In liberty," Steve said, one final aim, one final goal.

    From the other end of the table, Alamo shook his head, his proud smirk¡ªvisible now that his mask was gone¡ªwas unmistakable.

    The small exchange didn¡¯t go unnoticed, but it was Xavier who rolled forward, positioning himself at the heart of the room. His expression was contemplative yet warm, his gaze shifting between Captain America and the assembled X-Men.

    "I appreciate that, Captain," Xavier said, his voice deep with quiet conviction. "When I started the X-Men over twenty-five years ago, I believed we could change the future of our species. That we could be brothers, not enemies. That for mutants to be free, it didn¡¯t mean that humans had to be slaves."

    A pause.

    "And even after so many battles, so many struggles, and so many failures¡­ we still fight. We will always fight."

    His words hung heavy in the air, weighted by the decades of hardship the X-Men had endured.

    "The X-Men are a family." His gaze swept over his students¡ªhis children, in many ways. "And the Avengers are our friends. I hope to see more of you here in the future, Dr. Banner, Ms. Romanoff, Colonel Danvers."

    At the mention of Captain Marvel, Rogue winced¡ªso small a motion that most wouldn¡¯t notice, but it didn¡¯t escape Xavier¡¯s perceptive eyes. She didn¡¯t speak, but her jaw tightened, her arms crossing ever so slightly. The old wounds from Carol Danvers were still there, still unresolved.

    Xavier met Rogue¡¯s gaze briefly, his voice soft but firm.

    "There is much we can accomplish together, much we can learn," he said, pausing before adding something more deliberate. "Much we can forgive."

    Rogue didn¡¯t respond¡ªnot out loud. But something flickered in her expression, something unreadable, unresolved.

    Captain America gave a small nod, his expression one of respect.

    "Thank you, Professor."

    Xavier inclined his head. "Thank you, Captain."

    Steve turned back to his team.

    "Avengers, our mission is accomplished for now. It¡¯s been a long day. We must let the X-Men rest."

    At that, both the Avengers and the X-Men rose from their seats, some stretching, some murmuring to one another as the tension in the room slowly dispersed. The night had been long, the battles had been brutal, and the weight of the future still loomed over them all.

    But for now?

    For now, the war room was quiet.

    The crisp night air greeted them as the heavy doors of the Xavier Institute opened, spilling the gathered heroes back into the open. Above, the Quinjet stood idle, its sleek metallic surface reflecting the soft glow of the moon, awaiting its passengers. The Avengers, their mission complete, prepared to take their leave.

    Farewells were exchanged, some warm, others strained. There was still lingering bitterness in some hearts, a reluctance to let go of past grievances. But among others, there was the quiet beginning of understanding, the first steps toward something resembling true alliance.

    Captain America shook hands with Cyclops and Storm, exchanged quiet words with Xavier, and offered a small nod of respect to Logan, who returned it with a silent but knowing glance.

    Nearby, Iron Man clapped Falcon on the shoulder, speaking in hushed tones about some future contingency plan. Janet Van Dyne and Sam Wilson exchanged a few last words with Beast and Jean Grey, their conversation one of mutual curiosity rather than parting hostility. Gambit and She-Hulk nowhere to be seen.

    Rogue approached Captain America.

    Her boots barely made a sound against the gravel path, but Steve noticed her the moment she stepped forward. His expression, ever composed, softened slightly as she came to a stop beside him.

    She hesitated for just a second, then exhaled, folding her arms loosely across her chest.

    "Ah''m sorry from before, Cap," she admitted, her voice carrying a quieter sincerity than before. "Ah spoke to Duncan. He made a mighty fine case fer ya. Again."

    Steve studied her for a moment before offering a small, knowing smile.

    "I understand why you had that reaction, Rogue. I don¡¯t hold this against you, not one bit."

    She gave a short nod, glancing down for a moment before looking back at him.

    "Thanks, Cap."

    A pause settled between them¡ªnot an awkward one, but one filled with a kind of mutual understanding.

    Steve¡¯s gaze softened slightly. "You¡¯ve been through a lot, Rogue," he said, his voice even. "But deep down, you¡¯re a good woman. I can see that. But it appears I¡¯m far from being the only one."

    Rogue blinked, then followed his gaze.

    She turned, casting a glance back toward the rest of the X-Men.

    They were scattered across the courtyard, engaged in conversations of their own, some laughing, some contemplative. This was her family, through thick and thin¡ªpeople who had stood by her, believed in her, fought beside her.

    Then, her gaze landed on Alamo.

    He stood a few feet away, deep in conversation with Iron Man. Even without hearing their exchange, Rogue could tell it was one of those half-serious, half-playful goodbyes. His posture was relaxed, his expression unreadable, but she could see the flicker of sharp amusement in his dark eyes.

    She smirked.

    Then, she looked back at Steve, her expression shifting into something softer, something vulnerable.

    "Ah have good people ''round me, Cap." She let out a quiet chuckle, shaking her head slightly. "It¡¯s hard bein¡¯ bad with such nice folk close by."

    Steve smiled at that, a quiet approval in his eyes.

    No more words were needed.

    The night stretched around them, and the Quinjet stood waiting. But in that moment, something had settled. Not just between the Avengers and the X-Men, but within Rogue herself.

    Then.

    Alamo finally approached.

    His stride was slow but certain, his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his duster, the ever-present weight of decision lingering behind his sharp, thoughtful gaze. He looked first to Captain America, then to Rogue, his expression carrying something between certainty and reluctance.

    "Well, I reckon this is goodbye, Cap. Rogue."

    Steve regarded him carefully, tilting his head slightly.

    "You won¡¯t be going with us?"

    Duncan let out a short chuckle, shaking his head.

    "Texas awaits its son. High time I get back home."

    But before Captain America could respond, Rogue cut in¡ªswift, firm, and utterly unyielding.

    "Well, naw-uh."

    Alamo blinked. "What?"

    Rogue smirked, crossing her arms. "Ya ain''t goin'' nowhere, cowboy. There¡¯s a lot of stuff we have ta show ya right here."

    Alamo furrowed his brows. "What?"

    "Yup, stay the night," Rogue said with an air of finality. "Tomorrow Ah show ya the institute."

    Duncan visibly hesitated, glancing toward the Quinjet, then back at her.

    "I can''t, Rogue. I have duties, the investigation¡ª"

    "Sugah, it¡¯s one night."

    His lips pressed together in a thin line. "I don¡¯t even got clothing, toothbrushes, y¡¯know¡ª"

    "Oh, we have stuff fer the students," Rogue cut in smoothly. "It¡¯ll fit ya."

    Alamo let out a short, incredulous laugh. "I can''t accept that. I don¡¯t wanna be rude."

    Rogue arched an eyebrow, her smirk unwavering. "Oh, it ain''t rude, an¡¯ Ah ain''t givin¡¯ ya a choice, Duncan."

    That made him freeze slightly, his gaze narrowing, the flicker of something almost defensive crossing his features.

    "Hol¡¯ up, it¡¯s my choice."

    His voice was firm¡ªnot angry, but laced with a subtle resistance to being stripped of agency, even in something as small as this. But even as he spoke, he could tell Rogue wasn¡¯t serious¡ªat least, not in a way that actually threatened his autonomy.

    He let out a slow exhale, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

    "I¡¯m goin¡¯ ta regret this, but¡­ fine. I¡¯ll stay. One night. No funny recruiter business. I won¡¯t buy it."

    "Ah pinky swear," Rogue said, her smirk turning into something more playful.

    Duncan sighed again. "Fine."

    But before he could even fully process what he had just agreed to, Rogue cupped her hand to the side of her cheek and shouted¡ª

    "JUBES!"

    From the other side of the courtyard, Jubilee¡¯s head popped up like a firecracker. She sprinted over, sliding to a stop dramatically, her yellow jacket flaring behind her.

    "What? Is Dunkie already goin¡¯? No plasma rangers anymore?" She made an exaggerated pout, her best attempt at puppy eyes.

    Duncan raised an eyebrow at her antics.

    "Much on the contrary, Jubes."

    Rogue grinned. "He''s stayin''."

    There was a brief, stunned silence.

    Then¡ª

    "No freakin¡¯ way," Jubilee breathed, eyes wide. "You an X-Man now?"

    Duncan immediately shook his head, firm and absolute.

    "No, not at all. I¡¯m just stayin¡¯ the night."

    Jubilee blinked once, then twice.

    Then her entire face lit up.

    "HELL YEAH, IT¡¯S AN X-PARTY LET¡¯S GO!!!!"

    Before Duncan could react, she had already spun around mid-air, landing smoothly on her feet as she started sprinting back toward the mansion, her trench coat flapping behind her like a superhero cape.

    "Jubes, no parties!" He shouted as she headed inside.

    "Too late, Dunkie. We¡¯ll buy the snacks! Just let me get Kitty and Bobby!"

    She disappeared into the mansion, her voice already echoing excitedly down the hallways¡ª

    "KITTY! BOBBY!"

    Duncan exhaled slowly, shaking his head as he turned to Rogue.

    "I already regret this."

    Rogue smirked, hooking her arm around his.

    "No ya don¡¯t."

    As the last of the farewells wrapped up, the night grew quieter, save for the hum of the Quinjet¡¯s waiting engines. Most of the Avengers had already boarded, their figures vanishing into the sleek metal frame of the aircraft. The mission had been completed, for now.

    But one figure lingered outside.

    Wolverine.

    His broad silhouette stood firm against the cool night air, the dim lights from the mansion casting long shadows across the ground. He wasn¡¯t in a hurry. He never was when something was left unsaid.

    And so, with slow, measured steps, he made his way toward Captain America.

    Steve Rogers had been about to board the Quinjet himself, but he stopped when he saw Logan approaching. There was no tension in his stance, no hostility¡ªjust the quiet understanding that this conversation had been waiting to happen.

    Wolverine exhaled, rubbing his knuckles against the inside of his palm before finally speaking.

    "Steve."

    Captain America turned fully to face him, his blue eyes steady.

    "Logan."

    A pause.

    Then Logan smirked, just slightly, the roughness of his voice carrying a familiar edge.

    "Well, Army Boy. I got mad at ya, y''know that."

    Steve nodded once, never looking away.

    "I do."

    Another pause. Logan looked past him, his sharp eyes flicking toward the Xavier Institute.

    "Ya were just doin¡¯ yer job, Brooklyn Boy." His voice was calmer than before, but still rough with an undercurrent of something else. "I was doin¡¯ mine."

    Steve''s gaze remained unwavering.

    "And what is your job, Sergeant Howlett?"

    Logan let out a slow breath. He didn¡¯t answer immediately, letting his gaze drift back toward the mansion¡ªthe place that, against all odds, he had come to consider home.

    Finally, he spoke.

    "Takin¡¯ care of these people."

    Steve followed his gaze, understanding the weight behind the words.

    "And you saw me as a threat to that?"

    Logan hesitated, but only for a moment.

    "Maybe." He crossed his arms, his jaw tightening briefly before he exhaled. "I sure as hell would¡¯ve liked to rip Denti apart. But¡­ maybe ya CO¡¯s have a point."

    Steve tilted his head slightly.

    "Officers aren¡¯t always right, Sergeant."

    A small chuckle escaped Logan.

    "That¡¯s why ya got the NCOs."

    Steve gave a short huff of amusement¡ªa shared understanding between two men who had lived too many lifetimes on the battlefield.

    Then, his voice turned quieter.

    "You have to be careful, Logan. Violence is not always the answer."

    Wolverine¡¯s smirk faded slightly, his expression shifting into something more thoughtful, more personal.

    "It¡¯s a language, Cap. An¡¯ outta all I speak, I speak this best."

    Captain America sighed. He understood that more than most.

    "You¡¯re a warrior, Logan." His voice was steady but firm, carrying the weight of both admiration and warning. "Just don¡¯t become a beast."

    For the first time in the conversation, Logan¡¯s eyes softened.

    He held Steve¡¯s gaze for a long moment, then gave a small, slow nod.

    "I¡¯ll do my best to keep the monster leashed."

    Steve took a breath, studying the man in front of him¡ªthe soldier, the survivor, the protector. Then, he placed a firm hand on Logan¡¯s shoulder, his voice carrying absolute certainty.

    "You¡¯re no monster, Logan."

    His grip tightened just slightly, reinforcing the weight of his words.

    "You¡¯re one hell of a soldier. And deep down, even a better man."

    Logan held his gaze for a beat longer, then let out a low chuckle, shaking his head slightly.

    "Don¡¯t go makin¡¯ a habit of sweet-talkin¡¯ me, Cap."

    Steve smirked.

    "No promises."

    With that, Logan gave him a small nod, then turned back toward the mansion, disappearing into the night.

    Steve watched him go for a moment before exhaling slowly, turning toward the Quinjet.

    It was time to head home.

 Chapter 21: Grocery Store X-Men

    The New York Moon hung high on the horizon, as the convertible 1991 Toyota Celica hummed down the highway. The cold air whipped through Rogue¡¯s hair, the scent of asphalt and pine drifting in from the endless stretches of road ahead.

    Alamo shifted uncomfortably in his seat, adjusting the tight jeans Rogue had snagged from Cyclops¡¯ stash. He had the black shirt with the red X-Men logo stretched snug across his torso, but it was the damn jeans that were the real problem.

    ¡°These damn jeans,¡± he muttered, trying to tug at the waistband.

    Jubilee, lounging in the backseat with Kitty and Bobby, smirked.

    "That''s what you get for havin'' a thick-booty, Dunkie." Jubilee snorted.

    Alamo shot her an incredulous look, tipping his cowboy hat up slightly. "What the hell, a lil'' respect here."

    Jubilee wasn¡¯t done.

    "Dude, you gotta stop workin'' those glutes, you''re givin'' Roguey here a run for her money."

    Rogue, eyes still locked on the road, let out a small snort, but didn¡¯t comment. She wasn¡¯t about to deny it outright.

    Alamo twisted in his seat, turning to glare at the back row where Jubilee, Iceman, and Kitty Pryde were already cracking up.

    "Jubes, what the fuck."

    Kitty was laughing so hard she had to cover her mouth, while Bobby looked utterly conflicted between amusement and discomfort.

    "I''m just sayin'' our southern friends here got nice legs and asses. Right, Bobby?" Jubilee continued, her tone far too smug.

    Bobby¡¯s face immediately turned three shades redder.

    "Ahm, yeah no, like yeah... but y¡¯know not in a weird way," he stammered, clearly regretting being dragged into this.

    Jubilee nodded sagely, leaning back like she had just made a profound point. "Y''know, Bobby likes it, I think."

    Before Bobby could even react, he elbowed Jubilee hard, nearly knocking her into Kitty.

    "What the hell, Jubes. I''m not looking at his butt, or any man''s butt that is. You weirdo."

    Rogue, who had been silent up until now, finally cut in, her voice half-exasperated, half-amused.

    "Yeah, Jubilee, stop bein'' a horny lil¡¯ gremlin."

    Jubilee gasped theatrically, clutching her chest like she¡¯d just been mortally wounded.

    "I''m not horny, swamp bug... I''m bein'' funny and whimsical."

    "Jubilee, that is not what whimsical means," Kitty said between stifled giggles.

    "Whatever, it''s funny gnome shit, I saw it on TikTok. The funny green hat gnome, whimsical little creature" Jubilee shot back, utterly unapologetic.

    The car roared forward down the open highway, the sound of their laughter echoing into the warm evening air.

    The car pulled into the massive parking lot, the Walmart sign glowing against the early evening sky. Rogue cut the engine, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel as she turned to face the others.

    "Walmart? Couldn''t it be H-E-B?" Alamo muttered, adjusting his hat as he stepped out.

    "We are in New York, Duncan," Rogue shot back, shaking her head. "Ain''t no H-E-B ''round here."

    "Shit, yeah," he grumbled, rubbing his chin. "I wanted their ice cream an'' their Mi Tienda stuff. We could get like, do-it-yerself tortillas an¡¯ make tacos."

    "Oh yeah, tacos would be awesome," Bobby agreed immediately, looking over at Rogue with hopeful eyes.

    "Damn straight," Alamo said, pointing at him approvingly.

    "No tacos," Rogue said firmly. "Too much trouble. Get snacks and drinks¡ªparty stuff. Couple beers to shut Logan up and some cheap liquoh fer Remy."

    "Rogue," Kitty cut in, shaking her head, "Scott totally told us not to buy Remy alcohol."

    "Yeah, he''ll absolutely get drunk and puke on the couch again," Bobby added.

    "Worse than that, he''ll get shit-faced, and She-Hulk will puke on the couch," Jubilee corrected, wagging a finger.

    Alamo blinked. "Wait, wait. She didn''t go with the Avengers?"

    Jubilee smirked. "No, Dunkie, she disappeared with Remy."

    "Oh shit."

    "As long as they don¡¯t break anythin¡¯," Rogue sighed, already imagining the possible disaster awaiting them back at the mansion.

    With that, they finally stepped inside the Walmart, the automatic doors sliding open with a low hum.

    "I''m gonna check the Legos and the action figures," Jubilee announced excitedly.

    Rogue groaned. "Jubilee, we¡¯re here fer snacks and drinks, not damn toys."

    Jubilee only grinned before darting off into the aisles.

    "Y''know, I kinda want to check it out too," Alamo muttered, glancing toward the toy aisle.

    Rogue snapped her head toward him, giving him the most disappointed look possible.

    "No way, Duncan, ya''re an adult," she deadpanned.

    Alamo scoffed, crossing his arms. "What, since when can''t adults like Legos?"

    "Mah God," Rogue sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. She turned to Kitty and Bobby, pointing them toward the snack aisle. "Kitty, Bobby, go get the snacks. Ah¡¯ll get the drinks while the children go see their Legos."

    "Very funny, Rogue," Alamo muttered under his breath, already heading toward the toy section.

    By the time he got there, Jubilee was already in deep contemplation, staring at the Lego display like a general strategizing a battlefield.

    "Dude, there''s like 501st Legion Battle Packs here," she said, eyes gleaming. "I think I''m gonna buy them."

    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    Alamo raised an eyebrow. "Did you bring money?"

    Jubilee froze for half a second, then coughed awkwardly. "Ahem... no. I was kinda hoping you''d buy ''em for me."

    Alamo sighed, shaking his head. "What? No, Jubilee, I ain''t buyin'' ya no Legos."

    Jubilee immediately turned on the puppy eyes, lower lip quivering like a pro manipulator.

    "Pretty pleeeaaase..." she pouted.

    Alamo exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. Damn it. He could feel his resolve crumbling already.

    "Whatever," he grumbled. "But just the 501st Battle Pack, nothin'' else."

    Jubilee gasped dramatically, throwing her hands in the air. "Not even a Captain America figure?"

    "No," Alamo said flatly, before grabbing one of the action figures himself. "That I''m buyin¡¯ fer myself."

    Jubilee burst out laughing. "You glorious jerk."

    Alamo tipped his hat, giving her a self-satisfied smirk. "Let''s get outta here ''fore Rogue mauls us to death."

    Jubilee clutched her Lego box like a prized possession. "Wise words, Jedi Master."

    And with that, the two turned toward checkout, hoping they didn¡¯t get caught slacking.

    They made their way back to the snack aisle, where Kitty and Bobby were locked in a heated debate over chip selection.

    "Bobby, we''re not getting Funyuns," Kitty declared, arms crossed.

    "Kitty, please," Bobby groaned, gesturing toward the bag. "They''re the best snack here."

    "What? No, Funyuns are horrible."

    "What about¡ª"

    "Doritos, Bobby," Jubilee cut him off like a judge slamming a gavel. "Doritos or Flamin¡¯ Hot Cheetos, no exception."

    Bobby threw up his hands in frustration. "Great. Just great."

    Before he could continue protesting, his eyes landed on the Lego box Jubilee was cradling like a precious artifact.

    "Wait, why are you holding a Lego?" Bobby asked.

    Jubilee grinned. "Dunkie¡¯s buyin¡¯ for me, right, Dunkie?"

    Alamo shot her a look but said nothing, choosing to pick his battles wisely. Instead, he straightened his hat and exhaled.

    "I''m goin'' to find Rogue," he said, already stepping away. "Y''all settle down and don¡¯t destroy the buildin'' or freeze it."

    Kitty raised an eyebrow. "Us? Never."

    "We''ll be nice," Bobby assured, though his smirk suggested otherwise.

    Alamo narrowed his eyes at Jubilee specifically. "Better be. Jubilee, No funny business."

    "Gotcha, Captain," she said, giving a mock salute.

    Alamo sighed and turned, walking toward the drink aisle, distancing himself from whatever chaos was brewing behind him.

    As he disappeared, Kitty¡¯s gaze drifted back to Jubilee. Her eyes squinted.

    "Wait¡­ was that a Captain America toy?" Kitty asked, pointing at the box in Alamo¡¯s other hand.

    Jubilee grinned. "So cool, right?"

    Kitty shook her head in disbelief, turning to Bobby. "You have the weirdest of friends, Jubilee."

    Jubilee shrugged. "You two are my friends."

    Kitty deadpanned immediately. "Exactly."

    Finally, Alamo made his way back to Rogue, who was already balancing three stacks of 12-packs of soda¡ªCoca-Cola, Sprite, and Dr. Pepper¡ªlike it was nothing.

    He raised an eyebrow. "Want some help?"

    "Yeah," Rogue huffed. "Go get the beer and the cheap whiskey."

    Alamo glanced at the sodas. "Ya got Dr. Pepper."

    Rogue smirked. "Of course, sugah. Ain¡¯t that what y¡¯all Texans bleed?"

    "Not all of us," Alamo mused, adjusting his hat, "but I do."

    "Great, so Ah wasn¡¯t wrong."

    Alamo sighed. "No¡­"

    Rogue nodded in satisfaction. "Now just the booze fer the drunks."

    Alamo turned toward the liquor aisle but paused when Rogue¡¯s sharp green eyes flicked downward.

    She squinted.

    "...Would ya be a gentleman¡ªwait, is that a toy ya got?"

    Alamo glanced at the Captain America figure in his hand like he had completely forgotten about it.

    "Yup."

    "Jesus, Duncan."

    "Don¡¯t worry ''bout it none," he said smoothly, already backing away before she could make another remark. "I¡¯ll go get yer booze."

    Rogue rolled her eyes, shifting the soda stacks in her arms.

    "Go, go," she waved him off.

    Eventually, they all found their way back to the cashier, their haul stacked up on the conveyor belt.

    "Alright, so we got the cokes, the snacks¡ªJubilee, ya got candy bars?" Rogue asked, glancing at her expectantly.

    Jubilee grinned and held up a handful of chocolate bars. "Oh, yes."

    Rogue sighed but nodded. "Alright, fine... That¡¯s it."

    Bobby suddenly perked up. "Could we order pizza, Rogue?"

    Rogue tilted her head in thought. "Not sure, Bobby. Gotta check with Storm, ya know how she is."

    Bobby winced slightly. "Fair, fair."

    She then turned to Alamo. "Duncan got the booze?"

    Alamo held up the beer pack with one hand and the whiksy bottle with the other. "Yep, I got the beer and the whiskey."

    Rogue shook her head and sighed. "An'' of course y¡¯all got yer toys."

    "Hell yeah," Jubilee said proudly, hugging her Lego box before giving it to the cashier to scan.

    The cashier, barely looking up, started scanning the items.

    "Your total is 253 dollars," they said flatly.

    Rogue reached for her wallet. "Just let me¡ª"

    Alamo stepped forward, shaking his head. "No, Rogue. I got this."

    Rogue paused, eyeing him curiously before shrugging. "Okey."

    Without hesitation, Alamo pulled out a black card, casually sliding it over the counter.

    Kitty¡¯s eyes went wide. "Woah, I didn¡¯t know you were rich, Dunkie."

    Bobby whistled. "Cowboy with the fat stacks."

    Jubilee smirked. "And a fat ass."

    Alamo snapped his head toward her, deadpan. "Jubilee, what the hell."

    Rogue just shook her head, suppressing a laugh. "Jus¡¯ let him live a bit, Jubes."

    Jubilee threw up her hands in surrender. "Right-O, ma¡¯am."

    With the bill paid, they gathered up their bags and headed back out to the parking lot, the cool night air greeting them as they made their way to the car.

    They left the store and headed back to Rogue¡¯s Celica, the night air cool against their skin as they loaded up the trunk with their Walmart haul. The parking lot was mostly empty, save for a few scattered cars and flickering streetlights.

    Then, as Kitty closed the trunk, two burly men approached.

    They were the type you¡¯d find loitering outside a gas station at midnight¡ªbeer-brand t-shirts stretched tight over their stomachs, faded baseball caps, and the distinct scent of cigarettes and cheap alcohol trailing behind them.

    They stopped just short of the group, eyes narrowing as they looked the mutants up and down.

    "Got yourselves lost, muties?" one of them sneered.

    Kitty lifted her hands slightly, keeping her voice even. "We don¡¯t want any trouble, Mister."

    Alamo, who had been standing near the trunk, stepped forward. Two steps. Just enough to put himself between the guys and the others.

    His voice came out calm, but firm. "Why don¡¯t y¡¯all take a hike?"

    The first man let out a nasty chuckle. "Oh, Dixie boy lost his way home¡­"

    The other spit onto the pavement, eyes locked on Alamo¡¯s X-logo shirt. "We don¡¯t take kindly to mutant confederates in our town."

    Alamo¡¯s eye twitched. "Oh, fuck off."

    The two men clenched their fists, and for a long, tense moment, it looked like a fight was about to break out.

    Then¡ª

    "Syke!"

    Fireworks exploded directly in their faces.

    A burst of colorful sparks and flashing light, blinding them instantly.

    "ARGH!" one of them stumbled back, hands grabbing at his eyes.

    "You little¡ª"

    "We¡¯ll kill you!" the other roared.

    "JUBES!" Rogue whirled around, already glaring.

    Jubilee popped her gum, blowing a small bubble before it snapped. "What? It¡¯s called conflict resolution."

    Before the men could regain their footing, the ground beneath them turned to ice¡ªBobby had casually flicked his wrist, sending a thin sheet of frost across the pavement.

    The two men instantly lost their balance and hit the ground hard, their boots slipping uselessly.

    "Jesus Christ," Alamo stared at them like they had all lost their minds. "Is this how y¡¯all X-Men solve problems?!"

    Rogue had already grabbed him by the arm, dragging him toward the car. "Duncan, shut up an¡¯ get inside the damn car."

    Kitty, now fully done with this situation, simply phased through the car door and into her seat without another word.

    Jubilee and Iceman, giggling like maniacs, dove into the backseat after her.

    Alamo groaned, rubbing his temples. "God damn it, ya two."

    "It¡¯s mindless fun, Dunkie," Jubilee sang, already reclining.

    "It¡¯s just mindless," Alamo muttered, pulling his hat lower over his face as he slid into the passenger seat.

    Kitty, adjusting her seatbelt, glanced at him in the rearview mirror. "They¡¯ll be fine, Mr. Alamo."

    Alamo sighed, shaking his head. "I can¡¯t believe I stayed here fer this."

    Rogue started the car with a sharp smirk, shifting gears. "Buckle up, an'' no more of this shit, alright?"

    The red Celica roared to life, and with one last glance at the two men still sprawled on the pavement, Rogue hit the gas.

    "Jesus Christ woman, stop drivin'' like a maniac."

    "Ya scared of a little speed, Duncan?" Rogue smirked, her eyes still focused on the road as she sped along the streets.

    "No... I''m scared of yer insanity."

    "Hit the gas Rogue!" Bobby pratically jumped from his seat in excitement

    And Rogue did just that, the car now hitting over hundred miles as she merged onto he highway.

    "Let''s go!" Bobby raised his arm above his head, like he was in a rollercoaster.

    "My god, y''all X-Men are just crazy idiots."

    "Have some fun, Dunkie!" Jubilee grabbed the back of his seat as she stood up in the from hers, arms opened under the cool moonlight air.

    "Jubilee get down here ''fore we get pulled over" Rogue pulled her down back to the seat, her left arm pulling down her jacket.

    "Please just get there fast, Rogue." Alamo crossed his arms, shaking his head in clear disapproval.

    "Shut up an'' enjoy the ride, don''cha be square now, Duncan... This is the freedom ya like so much." She looked to the side, winking at him for a brief second.

    "Oh God, I should have stuck ''round Cap. Now I''m stuck with a bunch of insane asylum rejects."

 Chapter 22: Jubilees X-Party

    Back at the Institute, the chaos was already setting in. Bobby had conjured up a massive ice cooler in the middle of the rec room, filling it to the brim with soda cans, each clinking softly against the frozen surface.

    He stepped back, admiring his work. "That''ll do."

    Jubilee, meanwhile, was eyeing the center of the living room like a mad scientist.

    "Ayo, Bobby, what if we, like, made a slide in the middle of the living room?"

    Bobby paused, clearly intrigued by the idea, but before he could answer¡ª

    "You will do no such thing, Jubilation Lee."

    Storm¡¯s voice carried through the room with effortless authority. She stood with her arms crossed, regal and unamused, the very picture of a disappointed parental figure.

    Jubilee groaned. "But Stormy¡ª"

    "No buts, young lady. This is a respectable place, not your chaotic amusement park."

    Jubilee, halfway through a king-sized Hershey¡¯s bar, turned to Storm with wide, sugar-fueled puppy eyes.

    "But I only had half of it¡ªlet me have this."

    Before Storm could respond, a gruff voice cut in from behind.

    "¡¯Ro, give the kiddo some room. It was a tough week."

    Logan stepped into the room, beer already in hand, his usual scowl in place but with the faintest hint of amusement in his expression.

    Storm sighed, turning her piercing gaze toward him. "Logan, do not enable her. This is bad for her health."

    Logan shrugged, taking a casual sip. "C¡¯mon, ¡®Ro, once a week never killed anyone. This can¡¯t be worse than raw bison liver."

    Jubilee froze mid-bite, looking up at him in pure horror. "Ew. You ate that, Uncle Wolvie?"

    Logan glanced at her, nonchalant. "It¡¯s not nearly as bad as it sounds."

    Before the conversation could go any further, Jubilee¡¯s eyes flickered toward the hallway¡ªand there they were. Alamo and Rogue, walking side by side, heading somewhere with clear intent. She wasted no time, sprinting toward them.

    "Goin¡¯ somewhere, huh?" She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

    Both Rogue and Alamo narrowed their eyes in unison.

    "Ah got Mr. Butt here a new pair of jeans," Rogue said, tilting the shopping bag in her hand.

    Alamo huffed, adjusting his hat. "Thank ya fer the consideration, huh?"

    Jubilee grinned like a fox. "Where you two headed?"

    "We¡¯re goin¡¯ after Remy and She-Hulk," Rogue replied, rolling her shoulders. "Nobody seems to know where they are."

    Jubilee tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Have you guys tried the Danger Room?"

    Alamo and Rogue exchanged glances.

    "Who trains¡ªOh¡­ Oh." Rogue started, the realization slowly hitting her. "No way."

    Jubilee giggled. "Yes way."

    Alamo pinched the bridge of his nose. "What are y¡¯all suggestin¡¯ here?"

    Jubilee gave Alamo a knowing look. "Oh, you <i>already</i> know, Dunkie."

    Without another word, they rushed down the halls, past the various training rooms, through the sleek, sterile metal corridors leading to the Danger Room. As they approached, faint thuds could be heard through the walls.

    Alamo sighed. "Oh no."

    Rogue reached the console, the green lights on the display flickering: <b>OCCUPIED.</b>

    "Occupied mah ass." She cracked her knuckles before typing in the override codes.

    With a low mechanical hiss, the door slid open¡ª

    ¡ªand immediately they regretted it.

    "OH SHIT!" Jubilee howled with laughter, nearly doubling over.

    "REMY!" Rogue shrieked, her eyes going wide.

    Inside, Gambit was scrambling to pull his trench coat over himself, looking incredibly disheveled. His signature smirk was nowhere to be found. He had green lipstick marks all over his face. She-Hulk shot them a look, not a happy one either.

    "ROGUE, GET OUTTA ''ERE!"

    Alamo tipped his hat up and smirked. "Y¡¯know, I find the name ¡®Danger Room¡¯ criminally misleadin¡¯."

    Gambit, face still flushed, grabbed a playing card from the trench coat pocket and threw it at them on reflex. The pink-glowing card sizzled as it hurtled toward the door.

    Alamo casually stepped forward, snatching it mid-air. The kinetic charge flickered and dimmed as his hand absorbed the energy.

    Jubilee was howling at this point. "Not again, Gambit!"

    She-Hulk¡¯s brow shot up, her head snapping toward Remy.

    "AGAIN?" she growled, crossing her arms. "What they mean again, Remy?"

    Gambit froze.

    "You bring people here often?"

    "No, chere, don¡¯ listen to dem, dey just throwin¡¯ shade is all¡ªGET OUT, GET OUT NOW!"

    Rogue didn¡¯t need to be told twice. She grabbed Jubilee by the wrist and yanked her back down the hallway, dragging her still-cackling friend along.

    "What the hell was that position." Jubilee asked.

    "The shut the fuck up an'' don''t ask position." Rogue answered she tried to keep a composed look, but she was barely able to hold her own laughter.

    Alamo followed, arms crossed, shaking his head.

    "<i>Goddamn </i>X-Men."

    Back in the living room, the atmosphere had only grown rowdier. The cooler Bobby had conjured was now filled with drinks, music played from the speakers, and half the younger mutants were already getting into some sort of unnecessary competition.

    Before they could fully rejoin the madness, Jean approached them, her usual composed demeanor tinged with mild exasperation.

    "Rogue, have you found Gambit and She-Hulk?"

    Rogue sighed, rubbing her temples. "Yeah, they¡¯re busy."

    Jean gave her a suspicious look. "What kind of busy?"

    Rogue held up a hand. "Jean, look¡ª"

    Jubilee grinned wickedly. "They¡¯re havin¡¯ fun with each other in the Danger Room."

    Jean blinked. Then blinked again. "What? Again?"

    Alamo turned his head sharply, looking increasingly exasperated. "Wait, how many times did Gambit do this?"

    Rogue waved a dismissive hand. "Don¡¯t worry ¡®bout it, sugah. Remy can¡¯t keep it inside his pants."

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Alamo let out a long sigh, tipping his hat back slightly. "Well, ain¡¯t that just¡­ somethin¡¯."

    Jubilee, still grinning, leaned in. "You know he¡¯s technically still married, right?"

    Alamo blinked. "What?"

    Jean facepalmed. "Jubilee, stop being nosy."

    Jubilee shrugged. "I mean, c¡¯mon, that¡¯s pretty juicy gossip."

    Jean sighed and turned to Alamo. "I¡¯m sorry this is your first experience in the Institute, Duncan."

    Alamo smirked, adjusting his hat. "Well, I reckon it could¡¯ve been worse¡­ least ain¡¯t nobody tryin¡¯ to read my mind or anythin¡¯." He shot her a knowing look. "If y¡¯know what I mean."

    Jean rolled her eyes but smiled. "I respect people¡¯s boundaries, don¡¯t worry." Then she turned back to Rogue. "Rogue, Hank needs help with the Blackbird in the hangar. He said it would be quick. Could you¡ª"

    "Ah¡¯m on it." Rogue stretched her arms, already heading toward the exit. Before she left, she shot Duncan a glance over her shoulder. "Y¡¯all don¡¯t go ¡®round breakin¡¯ everythin¡¯ now. See ya soon, Cowboy."

    Duncan nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets. "Oh yeah, sure. I¡¯ll be here."

    Rogue smirked. "Ya better don¡¯t run away now."

    Alamo leaned back slightly, giving her a casual grin. "Wouldn¡¯t miss it fer the world."

    Jean gave them both a knowing look before stepping away. "I¡¯ll get Scott."

    As soon as she left, Jubilee narrowed her eyes at Alamo.

    "Dude, you¡¯re droolin¡¯. Stop it."

    Alamo snapped his head toward her, deadpan. "Oh, fuck off. Also get me one of em'' Dr.Peppers, Jujubee"

    Jubilee just cackled, already digging through the cooler for another soda.

    "Did you just call me Jujubee?" She handled him the soda.

    "Yup" He opened it, non-chalantly drinking it.

    Jubilee looked away and blushed slightly, rubbing her right arm slightly.

    Alamo simply raised an eyebrow.

    "Does it bother you?"

    "No, You big goof. It doesn''t bother me."

    Bobby appeared, skating effortlessly across the ground, leaving a thin layer of frost in his wake. He came to a sharp stop near Jubilee and Alamo, grinning like a kid with a plan.

    "Alamo, Jubes¡­"

    Jubilee tilted her head. "Bobby, what is it?"

    Bobby waggled his eyebrows mischievously. "I thought of something fun we can do¡­"

    Jubilee immediately perked up. "Oh, hell yeah."

    Alamo, however, narrowed his eyes. "I already regret this."

    Bobby¡¯s grin widened. "Follow me."

    And with that, he slid off down the hall, leaving behind a faint trail of frost.<strike>

    </strike>

    <hr>

    <i><b>Few Moments Later</b></i>

    In a secluded wing of the mansion, far from the noise of the party, Ororo Munroe took a moment for herself. She stood before a mirror, gently applying a cooling gel to her face. The years had been kind to her¡ªher skin, kissed by time yet untouched by weariness, glowed under the soft lighting.

    She knew she¡¯d be on alert duty tonight, as she always was when the younger X-Men got too rowdy. Normally, she saved her skincare routine for before bed, but tonight, she saw fit to indulge in it now. A moment of peace before the storm.

    Then came a knock.

    She exhaled softly and moved toward the door. As she opened it, her sharp blue eyes met Logan¡¯s.

    No longer covered in blood, no scent of violence clinging to him¡ªjust the faint musk of cigars, leather, and something familiar. He stood in the doorway, dressed in jeans and a plain white tank top, holding a glass filled with a dark green liquid.

    "''Ro, I brought some of that juice ya asked for. ¡®Fore the kids took over the kitchen."

    Ororo arched a brow, taking the glass from his hand. "I didn¡¯t prepare any of this juice, Logan. How did you¡ª"

    "I made it for ya."

    A small smile played on her lips. "So kind, Logan." She brought the glass to her lips, taking a small sip. Then she paused. "Logan, did you spike this?"

    Logan shrugged, barely suppressing a smirk. "Just a bit of vodka, ¡®Ro. A lil¡¯ bit of edge."

    Ororo sighed, shaking her head. "You silly little man."

    Logan chuckled, his rough voice warm with amusement.

    "Come in."

    Logan hesitated, waiting for her to motion him inside. When she did, he stepped through the doorway.

    Ororo moved to sit on the edge of the bed, crossing one long, graceful leg over the other. She gently put her drink away on her nigtstand.

    Logan remained standing for a moment before she gave him a small nod. He sat beside her, resting his elbows on his knees.

    For a moment, neither spoke. The distant hum of the mansion filled the silence. Then, softly, Ororo asked¡ª

    "Tell me¡­ did you go berserk in D.C.?"

    Logan¡¯s jaw tightened. His gaze flickered toward the window, distant, unreadable.

    "I might have gone¡­" He exhaled slowly. "I did."

    Ororo¡¯s fingers, soft and steady, rested gently on his shoulder.

    "Logan, we¡¯ve spoken about this." Her voice was calm, measured. "You have to hold your breath. Remember the people who need you. Kitty. Jubilee. Anna Marie¡­" She paused, her eyes searching his. "Me."

    Logan let out a gruff chuckle, shaking his head. "Since when ya need anyone, ¡®Ro?"

    Her fingers pressed slightly against his shoulder.

    "Nobody is alone, Logan."

    Before he could respond, there was a sharp <i>crack</i> outside.

    Logan¡¯s head snapped toward the door, instincts on edge. His fingers flexed slightly, as if readying for a fight.

    Then he exhaled, shaking his head. "Jus¡¯ the kids."

    Storm sighed, shaking her head at the inevitable chaos. Then, without missing a beat, she continued.

    "I need you too." Her voice was softer now, almost imperceptible. "You¡¯re not alone, Logan. You¡¯re never alone."

    Logan crossed his arms, staring at the floor.

    "People here look up to you," she continued, her voice steady. "They see you as a good man. A man they can trust."

    Logan let out a low breath. "I just wanted to make sure they paid. These people took too many good lives, ¡®Ro."

    Storm¡¯s gaze didn¡¯t waver.

    "You can¡¯t hold the weight of the world alone."

    Logan sat in silence for a long moment. Then, finally, he gave a slow nod.

    Outside, the muffled sounds of laughter and music continued. The party raged on. But in this small, quiet corner of the mansion, a different of tension was going on.

    Logan sat in silence, his thoughts drifting through the decades, through blood-soaked battlefields and broken promises. The weight of it all settled in his chest like a heavy stone. He had seen too much, done too much. Some days, he wondered if it would ever leave him.

    Storm¡¯s hand, warm and deliberate, gently caressed his cheek, her fingers tracing just above the edge of his chops.

    "You¡¯re a good man, Logan."

    The words were soft but firm, a quiet certainty in a world of doubt.

    <i>CRACK.</i>

    Both of them froze, the sudden sound pulling them out of the moment. Logan tensed, already rising from the bed, but Storm reached out, catching his wrist.

    "I¡¯m not done."

    Logan let out a slow breath and sat back down. "Go on, Stormy."

    Her eyes never left his. "Next time you feel the lust for blood, remember the people who love you."

    His smirk was faint, almost hesitant. He pressed his lips together in thought.

    And then, without a word, she leaned in.

    Her fingers trailed along his jaw, her touch feather-light but steady, pulling him closer. He didn¡¯t resist.

    Their lips met¡ªsoft at first, but charged, like the first rumble of thunder before the storm. A shiver ran down his spine, an electric current coursing through them both.

    <i>CRACK.</i>

    Storm and Wolverine immediately pulled back, turning toward the window. Instincts took over as they moved in sync, barely making a sound as they parted the blinds just enough to see outside.

    There, illuminated under the glow of the moonlight, were three figures in the courtyard.

    Jubilee. Alamo. Iceman.

    Iceman was tossing ceramic plates into the air, launching them three at a time in a precise arc.

    Alamo stood with his legs apart, shoulders loose, his fingers curled into the shape of a gun. He raised his right hand, cocking his left palm against his thumb in rapid succession¡ªlike the hammer of an old-school single-action revolver.

    Each time, a plasma shot fired from his fingertip, shattering the plates midair with pinpoint accuracy.

    "Dude, it¡¯s like that guy who can split playing cards with his bullets!" Bobby gasped, practically bouncing in excitement.

    Alamo tipped his hat slightly, never breaking concentration. "Bob Munden."

    "Hell yeah! Your turn, Jubes!" Bobby motioned to the next row of plates.

    Jubilee grinned wide.

    Inside, Logan let out a slow exhale, shaking his head.

    "Goddamn kids."

    Storm smirked, crossing her arms. "At least they aren¡¯t blowing up the mansion. Yet."

    Logan chuckled lowly. "Yet."

    Then out of nowhere Storm¡¯s eyes widened in horror.

    "Wait¡ªare those my decorative porcelain plates?!"

    The air shifted. The night darkened. A thick veil of clouds rolled over the moon, casting long shadows over the courtyard. The temperature dropped.

    Then, before any of them could react, Storm threw the window open and flew out, her eyes glowing an unearthly white.

    A deep rumble of thunder cracked overhead.

    "What?" Alamo muttered, feeling a sudden sense of dread.

    Storm¡¯s voice boomed like the heavens themselves.

    "DUNCAN NENNI! JUBILATION LEE! ROBERT DRAKE¡­ WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH MY PLATES?!"

    Jubilee¡¯s jaw dropped as she turned to Bobby.

    "Those were Storm¡¯s dishes?!"

    Bobby, still holding an extra plate in his hand, shrugged and smiled.

    Alamo¡¯s face twisted into sheer frustration.

    "Ya two are Fuckin¡¯ assholes."

    Without hesitation, he grabbed Jubilee and Bobby by the waist, his plasma igniting beneath him in a blinding trail of fire and light as he launched into the sky.

    The world blurred around them as they shot across the courtyard at breakneck speed, the sheer force of the takeoff nearly ripping Jubilee¡¯s sunglasses off her face.

    Behind them, Storm rose into the air, a swirling tempest forming around her, rain starting to drizzle in icy needles.

    In a blur of movement.

    Logan leapt from the window, claws extended, his silhouette cutting against the flickering lightning above.

    "Jesus Christ, y¡¯all X-Men are insane!" Alamo shouted as they rocketed toward the treetops.

    Jubilee just laughed. "FASTER, COWBOY!"

    Bobby, still dangling under Alamo¡¯s grip, let out a nervous chuckle. "Hey, uh¡­ do we have a plan for landing?"

    Storm was gaining, but Alamo was faster.

    After a while, he thought he had lost her and returned to the mansion.

    Alamo landed smoothly in a quiet corner of the mansion grounds, his plasma trails dimming as he touched down. He carefully set Jubilee and Bobby down, making sure they landed on solid ground before stepping back, stretching his shoulders.

    The distant crackling of thunder told him Storm was still coming.

    He let out a slow breath. "I¡¯ll talk to her. No more of this¡­ y¡¯all understand?"

    Jubilee gave a lazy salute. "Yessir."

    <i>"</i>Yeah!" Bobby nodded quickly, definitely not wanting to feel the wrath of Storm.

    Alamo nodded, then ignited his plasma once more, lifting off into the air, flying back to meet Storm head-on.

    As he disappeared into the sky, Jubilee put her hands on her hips, watching him go.

    "So <i>hot</i>, man."

    Bobby, still watching the sky, absentmindedly nodded. "Yeah."

    Jubilee turned her head toward him, her grin growing slowly.

    "What?"

    Bobby suddenly froze, blinking rapidly as his brain caught up with his mouth.

    "Oh¡­ erm¡­ I mean, on the account of him being plasma, y¡¯know. I¡¯m ice, his grip was indeed hot, y''know like temperature... and that alone¡­" He struggled with words, waving his hands wildly as if he could physically push the awkwardness away.

    Jubilee raised an eyebrow, her smirk unrelenting.

    "Ahem, Bobby, are you interested?"

    Bobby flinched. "What? No, no. I¡¯m totally into women, y¡¯know, not men at all. Don¡¯t be ridiculous, Jubes."

    Jubilee hummed, tapping her chin.

    "Yeah¡­ <i>sure</i>..."

    Bobby crossed his arms, suddenly very focused on not making eye contact.

    Jubilee just grinned wider, already mentally filing this moment away for future teasing opportunities.