Scott didn't like a lot of things about the way this had unfolded.
Least of all the way it made him seem like the one manipulating Hank by letting Conquistador attack him and take his parents captive. That didn't sit right with Scott in the slightest, but he had no idea where Hank lived and no one in the town had said anything when he asked. Though opinions on him were split, it was equal parts frustrating and relieving to see that the people of Dunfee didn't want to put Hank or his parents in harm's way.
They all seemed to be aware of how some people could react to a Mutants mere existence and while not certain where he and Amelia stood, didn't risk anything. If only such sentiments could continue into the future as Mutants became more present, more powerful and in some cases, more radical and extreme in their fight for survival.
Perhaps if they did, many Mutants wouldn't have flocked to Magneto.
However, Scott despite having believed himself to have all the answers on how to recruit Hank, in this moment became abundantly clear that these memories were by no means perfect. But what became even more clear was that this was not by chance, instead, it was by design.
Cyclops wasn't simply giving him all the answers and tools he needed to succeed, he was also purposefully depriving him of information that would force him to act on his own. Scott was being pushed to make his own decisions, absent of the memories or instincts to guide him and without aid from Cyclops, come up with an answer on his own.
Yet Scott didn't like the wall he had forced himself against.
Perhaps if he had realised sooner, not being blinded by the way in which the memories helped him and looked for hidden drawbacks he might have realised sooner. It was minor, what he was doing, but it was something Cyclops had done later on in his career, just as Magneto had done.
Wait and let a situation develop until a Mutant was on the brink of death or desperation and then appear like a knight in shining armour. Arriving at that last moment and making their arrival and presence more impactful. Then manipulate those feelings of gratefulness to their own means.
Cyclops had learned many things from his allies and enemies alike.
Scott did not want to be like that, he did not want to manipulate the people around him in such a way. He wanted to be different to Cyclops, better than him in every way and he did not want to rely on manipulation to get people to join the X-Men. Yet by relying upon the memories and the instincts in the way he had, led Scott to do the very thing he did not want to do.
'This is the last time.' Scott swore to himself. 'The last time.'
There was no changing it now and Hank was already on the verge of walking into a trap, all Scott could do was keep moving forwards. But he knew now that what Cyclops wanted him to become and the type of man Scott wanted to become was similar, but different in many ways.
He would have to remember that.
"Amelia, the truck." He stated, watching Hank stumble down a side street, leaning against the walls of houses that ran parallel to an empty construction site. At the very end of the road when Hank was walking towards, a large dump truck was sitting, seemingly abandoned, yet Scott could make out the movement within. "Blind them."
Bursting into mist, Amelia rushed forwards, passing Hank's frame just as the lights on the truck switched on and the tyres spun on the floor. Their intention was not to run Hank over though, the speed at which they move was too slow and by Hank's tense frame, even while drunk he was ready to move.
Yet the truck came screeching to a halt as the mist seeped in through the slightly wound-down window and surrounded the driver and passenger. Neither was able to see and the driver quickly slammed on the brakes, both trying to swat the mist aside so they could see.
Yet as the mist quickly left the truck, Scott had already stepped out into view, hood pulled up over his baseball cap and black face mask pulled up to cover the lower half of his face. It was by no means armoured nor did it afford any proper protection, they were just normal clothes. However, they covered his skin and made his features indiscernible, masking what he looked like nearly perfectly.
The only thing that could give him away was the Optic Blasts that fired out from his eyes and slammed into the truck with the force of a speeding car. The front of it crumpled in and the truck rolled back, those inside rocked back violently, their heads smashed against the backs of their seats with enough to knock them out cold.
Hank looked upon the truck in shock, not really sure of what was going on or what he had just seen. Then he turned, tracing the trajectory of the energy blast to see Scott moving forwards. At this point though, he noticed the presence of over a dozen men coming from both sides of the alley.
"Hank McCoy." A woman's voice appeared beside him, the young man in question spinning around to look upon Amelia who rested one hand upon his shoulder. "We're here to help."
-X-
Confusion.
Shock.
Worry.
Fear.
Awe.
A whole host of emotions came upon Hank at the moment as he looked upon the masked figure of Scott who fired a thin Optic Blast on the running figure of the strangely medieval-dressed man. Even then, despite lacking the width and brightness of the Optic Blast that slammed into the truck, it still picked the man off his feet and flung him down the alley where he skidded to a stop.
He did not get up again.
Then as the emotions came crashing down upon him, gaze flickering between the dozen unconscious bodies scattered across the alley, Hank turned and quickly emptied his stomach. He didn't know what was going on or why, but Hank wished that he had decided to stay with his friends, perhaps if he had continued partying things would have not turned out like this.
"It's a bit overwhelming, isn't it?" Amelia asked from his side, Hank looking at her, seeing a tissue being offered to him. "Don't try and hold it in, let it out."
Nodding his head, Hank took the tissue, wiping his mouth and just remaining bent over, stomach twisting and turning in a way that felt like he was about to be sick again. Yet, as seconds ticked by, his stomach began to calm down and Hank slowly rose up, once more looking upon the alley.
"What..." He took a look at Scott and Amelia, unable to make out any discernible feature from either of them besides Amelia's red hair. "Who are you?"
"We can't give you our real names at the moment," Scott spoke up. "But you can call me Cyclops and this is Mist. We're Mutants, like you and we came to Dunfee to offer you a position on a team of Mutants that will fight to protect Mutants and ensure peaceful coexistence between humans and Mutants in the future."
Considering Hank was still drunk, keeping things short and simple would be the best to ensure he retained it. The more Scott talked, the less likely Hank was to remember things when he sobered up.
"So, these guys?"
"Nothing to do with us," Mist answered quickly. "We, how shall we put it?"
Scott shrugged. "There's no real good way to put it. We followed you from your game to the party, to here. We would have preferred to know where you lived and speak to you there, but no one would tell us. So, we had no choice but to follow you where we would have then spoken to you tomorrow. Thankfully, we did because otherwise, you might have been captured."
From what Scott remembered, that's what did happen, but these guys were just average thugs. There was nothing special about them, no real training or anything of the sort so how they captured Hank, Scott did not know. Even without the training he gained from being an X-Men, the training he got as a football player should have been more than enough to beat these guys up when combined with his mutation.
Which meant something else happened.
Perhaps the Conquistador himself showed up, Scott did not know.
"However, while you might not trust us at the moment, you need to get home. There's no guarantee that they do not know where you live like we don't. If that's the case, they might have prepared a backup plan should they have failed to capture you." Scott did not need to say anymore than that, Hank quickly beginning to sober up as adrenaline began pumping throughout his body.
"My parents!"
-X-
Sniffing the air, Victor smiled viciously. "So, this is where he came?" He murmured to himself, looking down upon the town below, lips slowly twisting into a frown of disdain. "It looks disgustingly plain."
"I heard about this place," Prism spoke up. "There's a Mutant here, a kid named Hank McCoy."
"So, he's here to meet a fellow Mutant," Blockbuster grunted arms crossed over his chest as glared down at the town. "Then let's take the kid as well, Sinister might pay us extra for the additional subject."
"Possibly." Prism agreed.
Victor scoffed. "You have to be able to beat the kid first." He smirked, nose picking up a second scent, one, even more, familiar than Scott's and it made his smile widen. "But I'll give you a chance to redeem yourselves, I've got something far more interesting to take care of while we're here."
Blockbuster frowned, one hand gripping hold of Victor's shoulder. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Looking over his shoulder, Victor narrowed his eyes dangerously. "Exactly what I said, Blockbuster." He replied. "Besides, even if you wanted to take the kid, there's someone even more dangerous here. If we don't take care of him first then we won't have a chance of taking that kid, let alone if they team up."
"Then we take care of him first," Blockbuster stated.
"No, if we did, the kid would probably know about it and escape from right beneath our noses for a second time," Victor responded. "You lot go handle the kid. I'll deal with the old friend of mine."
-X-
Lowering the beer from his lips, Logan slowly sat upright on his bed, raising his nose into the air and taking in a deep whiff of the scent that assaulted his nose. It was a scent he remembered vividly, had become intimately familiar with over the course of the years and one that made the hairs on his body stand on end.
Fists slowly curled into fists, Logan rose to his feet, three metal claws bursting from between his knuckles as he glared out the window. "Victor!"