Date: Tuesday, July 20, 2010.
Location: Tyson's subconscious, Alkali Lake Industrial Complex, British Columbia, Canada
Stepping through the door, Tyson found himself standing in a familiar white room. Two other figures stood inside; One was a petite young woman, and the other was a menacing figure, his frame covered in a mix of torn clothing and thick, shaggy fur.
Sabertooth's piercing yellow eyes stared maliciously at Tyson, and his lips pulled back into a feral snarl, revealing a set of razor-sharp fangs. Sabertooth extended his deadly claws. "I've been waiting for you, runt," he growled, his voice dripping with menace.
Rogue's face was painted with concern as her eyes darted between the two men. Ignoring her, Sabertooth lunged forward clearly intent on ending Tyson. Time felt like it was crawling, each second feeling like an eternity as Tyson studied the murderous intent in Sabertooth's eyes.
Images of Professor Xavier flitted through his mind. The wise old mutant's calm voice echoed in his thoughts, "It is your mind. You control what happens there."
Sabertooth's claws descended on him, Tyson felt the sting as they pierced his skin. However, as Sabertooth pushed further, his progress was abruptly stopped, the claws couldn't penetrate any deeper.
The sharp claws met Tyson's adamantium-reinforced skeleton and failed to pierce the indestructible barrier. Sabertooth growled in frustration, his face inches away from Tyson's, hot breath wafting over him.
Tyson stood firm, asserting his dominance over the mental space they occupied. Drawing himself to his full height, his voice echoed with unwavering certainty, "This is my mind, my body. You're nothing more than a shadow, an echo of a dead man."
Sabertooth snarled in response, but the fury in his eyes was tinged with uncertainty. The monstrous figure took a step back, watching as Tyson advanced, every bit the hunter Sabertooth himself once was. The first time he entered the white room, Tyson was the skinny teen he'd been when he arrived in this world. Now his inner appearance matched his outer size. Now he was a match for Sabertooth's height and bulk. He flexed his fingers and matching claws extended as well. The room seemed to grow colder as Tyson's voice lowered, the intensity building with every word, "You made the mistake of underestimating me. You're nothing but a fading memory. It's time you learned your place."
Sabertooth refused to bow down, he lunged at Tyson once more, claws slashing violently in a series of rapid, brutal strikes. The room took on a surreal hue as Sabertooth's claws clashed against Tyson's claws and indestructible bones, sending sparks and blood flying in every direction.
As they fought, Tyson met him blow for blow. At one point, Sabertooth, utilizing his incredible strength, slammed Tyson against a wall. He attempted to drive his claws through Tyson's abdomen to reach up under his reinforced ribcage. But Tyson kicked and thrust off the wall. Taking advantage of Sabertooth's momentary surprise, he quickly maneuvered himself and unleashed a flurry of counter-attacks. The final move saw him drive his adamantium-laden fingers straight into Sabertooth's chest, wrapping them around his heart.
The very essence of Sabertooth's being was at Tyson's mercy.
Gasping, with beads of sweat forming on his brow, Sabertooth looked deep into Tyson's eyes. "Do it," he rasped. "End it."
Tyson tightened his grip slightly, making Sabertooth wince in pain. "Submit," he hissed, "or I'll destroy whatever's left of you."
After a few agonizing moments, Sabertooth's once fierce eyes dulled, replaced by a begrudging acceptance. "Fine," he growled, his voice barely above a whisper, "You win."
With a final squeeze, just to emphasize his victory, Tyson released his grip and stepped back. Sabertooth, now a shadow of his former self, crumpled to the floor, utterly defeated.
Rogue's pale face and the horror in her eyes told more of a story than any words could. As Tyson moved towards her, her entire body stiffened. Reasoning she wouldn't want him close, Tyson chose a spot a few feet away, sitting down in an attempt to ensure that she felt no threat from him.
"I'm sorry you had to see that," he murmured, his voice laced with genuine regret.
She blinked back tears, taking a shaky breath. "We're all monsters," she whispered, her voice soft yet haunting. "You think you're bad. You should've seen what I did to Cody."
Tyson's brow furrowed. "Who's Cody?" he inquired gently.
Rogue hesitated for a moment, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on her jeans. "Cody Robbins," she began, a hint of nostalgia in her voice, "He was my boyfriend, back in Mississippi."
Her green eyes clouded with pain, "We were in love. It was the kind of love that you read about in fairy tales. One evening, Cody leaned in for a kiss. It was my first kiss, it was supposed to be magical.. But, I didn't know," she paused, choking on the memory, "I didn't know about my powers."
Rogue's confession hung in the air, heavy with sorrow. She gulped, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "That night, when our lips met, something inside me snapped. I felt a rush of energy, and Cody... he just crumpled in my arms. He went into a coma. Because of me," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath, breaking with emotion. A single tear escaped, tracing a path down her cheek.
Tyson felt a pang of empathy for her. Her pain, raw and deep, was almost tangible. He furrowed his brow, his mind scrambling to find words to offer solace. "It was an accident. You can't blame yourself for a power you didn't even know you had, much less control."
Rogue's resolve was evident, even as her voice trembled with the weight of her memories. She shook her head fiercely, refusing to accept Tyson's attempts at consolation. Her eyes, usually so full of strength, now shimmered with a vulnerability that made her seem even more formidable. They locked with Tyson's, conveying a depth of pain and conviction that words alone could never fully express.
"Even accidents have consequences," she insisted her voice firm but threaded with an undercurrent of raw emotion. Her gaze never wavered, holding Tyson's with an intensity that spoke of her inner turmoil. "Cody's life was taken from him because of me... it's a cost I have to bear." The words were heavy, laden with guilt that had been a constant companion since that fateful night.
Her expression softened slightly, but the firmness in her tone remained as she continued, "And every life you take, it'll have its cost too." It was a warning as much as it was a shared truth. The power they wielded came at a high price; a price paid in the currency of consequences and responsibility.
In those few sentences, Rogue laid bare the harsh reality of their existence. They were not just individuals with extraordinary abilities; they were also bearers of consequences. Tyson leaned slightly towards her, his brow furrowed in concern. "What kind of cost?" he asked, seeking to understand the depth of their burden.
Rogue hesitated for a moment, her eyes shifting away as if gathering her thoughts. Then, turning back to Tyson, she spoke with a cryptic yet sincere tone. "The kind of cost that's with us every day," she said, her gaze drifting towards Sabertooth. "Him being here. He's always there, If he's not trying to exert his will over us, he's in the background, listening, waiting for a moment of weakness," she gestured slightly towards Sabertooth, her voice tinged with a mix of disdain and resignation. "His constant needling, the violence, and threats... we deal with it every moment of every day."
Her admission was abruptly interrupted by a voice laced with aggressiveness and scorn. "Dealing with you all day is like being trapped in some sappy, sad novel," he grumbled, his voice heavy with disdain. He'd healed from the wound Tyson inflicted, and now his cold eyes fixed on Rogue. "If I could, I'd put an end to it... Maybe have a little fun first," he sneered, a twisted smirk curling the corner of his mouth. The implied threat in his words was unmistakable, sending a shiver down Rogue's spine.
He paced slightly like a predator sizing up its prey. "One day, I'll be able to stand that touch of hers," he mused aloud, more to himself than to anyone else. "Or maybe I'll just take what I want, consequences be damned." The casual cruelty in his words revealed the depth of his malice. An evil, fanged grin spread across his face as he suggested, "We could fuck each other to death… Wouldn't that be a good way to go?"
Rogue's voice now quivered with an undercurrent of fear as she confided in Tyson. "I'm always on guard, always ready to defend myself," she said, a hint of weariness seeping into her words. Her gaze shifted towards Sabertooth, lingering there for a moment before scanning the room as if seeking out invisible threats. "From him, and the others."
Tyson, observing her closely, could see the weight of her constant vigilance. He leaned in, concern etched on his face. "What others?" he asked, his voice gentle yet probing.
Rogue hesitated, her eyes flickering with a mixture of fear and resolve. "The ones who are only here for a little while," she began slowly, "they come and go." Her gaze drifted away, lost in thought. "The demons, the nice girls," she mumbled under her breath, "and the mean one." There was a heaviness to her words, a burden of experiences too complex to articulate fully.
"And the soldiers," Rogue added after a pause, her voice barely above a whisper. As she spoke, Tyson's mind raced, piecing together the puzzle. He realized she was talking about all those who he had touched since arriving.
The revelation hit Tyson like a wave. He understood now the extent of what Rogue had been facing. Not just Sabertooth, but the psychological toll of constantly encountering new people, and never knowing if they were transient, or would become a permanent threat. He opened his mouth, but before he could utter a word, a shrill, piercing alarm echoed throughout his mind, forcing him to clench his eyes shut and grip his temples.
The bright white of his mental landscape started to blur and shift. Rogue's form began to dissolve, and the ground beneath him felt unstable like sand being washed away by the tide.
Gasping, he was thrust back into reality.
The alarm continued its shrill blare, echoing off the walls. Tyson blinked, disoriented, trying to adjust to the harsh light. He glanced around and was greeted by the familiar metal bars, reminding him of his imprisonment.
~~ Rogue Replacement ~~
Storm sat in the pilot's chair at the helm of the Blackbird. She engaged the auto-navigation system. As the system came online, her deep blue eyes transformed into an opaque white, signaling her connection to the forces of nature.
The Blackbird zipped through the vast blue expanse of the sky. But, it wasn't alone. Closing quickly behind were two F-16 fighter jets. The roar of the F-16's engines grew closer, but Storm was intent on not allowing them a weapon's lock. Calling upon her mutant abilities, the sky around them darkened ominously as she invoked her elemental power. Twin tornadoes manifested from thin clouds, swirling with ferocity. One of the F-16 pilots, eyes widening in alarm, veered off course as the tornado's powerful gusts threatened to engulf his jet. He didn't have a choice - he hit the eject button, and his seat rocketed him safely away while his fighter jet became ensnared in the twister's grasp. It was hurled and spun, ultimately meeting its doom as it was torn apart by the violent winds.
The second pilot, with sheer determination and a hint of desperation, managed to avoid the second tornado. A swarm of tornadoes manifested in his path, and he too was forced to eject. But beforehand, he swiftly locked onto the Blackbird and released a missile. The deadly projectile sped through the air.
Storm's eyes flashed back to their blue hue. She yelled over the roar of the engines and the whistling wind, "Brace for impact!"
Within the tight confines of the Blackbird, panic spread like wildfire. Jean's emerald eyes widened as the weight of the situation bore down on her. The thought of losing her friends, and her family, was unbearable. There was no time for words or doubt; only raw, unchecked emotion. She reached out with her mind, trying to connect with the speeding missile. Her brow furrowed in concentration. The missile was a fleeting blip in her psychic landscape, moving at an unimaginable speed. As the missile neared, her connection to it solidified. With a final surge of her psychic energy, her telekinesis forced the missile off its trajectory. The change was minuscule but enough.
The missile detonated mere meters away from the Blackbird. The shockwave of the explosion rocked the jet violently. A fiery ball illuminated the sky, turning the evening into a brief, blinding day. The force of the explosion ripped a gaping hole in the back of the jet. The sudden decompression was violent and deafening, a cacophony of metal tearing and air rushing.
Jubilee was sucked out of the newly-formed hole in the back of the jet. Her scream was barely audible over the roar of the wind and the explosion's aftermath. She became a small silhouette against the vast backdrop of the sky, rapidly falling away from the tumbling Blackbird.
Amidst the chaos inside the Blackbird, a sudden burst of sulfuric blue smoke filled the cockpit. Kurt Wagner, also known as Nightcrawler, vanished in a flash. He reappeared in the vastness of the open sky next to the falling Jubilee. Her face was etched with pure terror, eyes wide and mouth open in a silent scream.
With the wind roaring around them, Kurt shouted, "Hold on!" His signature three-fingered hand clutched her tight, and with another puff, the cold wind of the freefall was replaced with the interior of the Blackbird.
Jubilee, disoriented and gasping for breath, clung onto Kurt, her eyes glazed with relief.
Back in the cockpit, the dire situation was palpable. The spiraling Blackbird roared, its alarms blaring, warning of an imminent crash. Logan, his features hardened with tension, looked at Storm, the weight of their shared history evident in their gaze. They grasped each other's hands, bracing for the impact that seemed inevitable.
But, as the ground drew terrifyingly close, a strange sensation enveloped the jet. The hole in the rear of the plane knitted back together as if the explosion occurred in reverse. The tumultuous descent of the Blackbird began to decelerate, becoming eerily calm. The loud warnings ceased, and the once violent shudders turned into a gentle hover.
The team looked out the main window. Unbelievably the ground lay just a few meters below. The Blackbird hung suspended, cradled in the outstretched palm of a figure clad in a deep maroon cape and helmet.
Magneto.
His eyes, visible below the edge of his helmet, gleamed with amusement. With the entire jet in his magnetic grasp, he smirked. "Ah, it's the X-Men, right on time." he declared with a hint of smug satisfaction.
~~ Rogue Replacement ~~
The soft crackling of the campfire filled the silence of the night, the flames dancing and flickering, painting the faces of the gathered mutants in hues of orange and yellow. John, with a sly grin, snapped his fingers, igniting the firewood with his pyrokinetic abilities.
Magneto began, "His name is William Stryker." The weight of the name hung heavy in the air.
Logan questioned, "What does Stryker want from us? And more importantly, what is it you're after, Magneto?"
Magneto let out a weary sigh, staring deep into the flames. "When Stryker and his men invaded your mansion, they weren't just there to wreak havoc. They took something crucial."
Illyana's blue eyes shimmered in the firelight, her tone urgent. "Tyson, right?" Her protective nature over her friends was evident.
Logan's eyes narrowed, remembering the previous encounters between Magneto and the young mutant. But Magneto waved away the accusation. "No. The boy is powerful, indeed. But what they were after is far more dangerous in the wrong hands."
Storm asked, "Cerebro?"
Magneto nodded gravely. "Charles and I conceived Cerebro as a beacon of hope. I envisioned it as a device that could bridge the gap between mutants and humans. But as always, Charles was too cautious. He never truly tapped into its enormous potential." his gaze turned darker. "In the wrong hands, Cerebro could spell doom for mutants worldwide."
Storm pressed, "But for Cerebro to be operational, Stryker would need the Professor."
Magneto's eyes met Storm's. "Which," he concluded, "is the only reason I believe Charles is still alive. And we need to rescue him before it's too late."
The night was still, punctuated only by the sound of crackling firewood and the low murmurs of the mutants gathered around the fire. Storm, her white hair flowing in the gentle breeze, turned her gaze to Magneto, her expression inquisitive. "How could Stryker possibly know about Cerebro? And even if he did, how would he know how to operate it?"
Magneto's lips tightened, his expression darkening with memories of his captivity. "Stryker has... ways to persuade, even someone as formidable as Charles." The very notion of someone manipulating Xavier's powerful mind was chilling.
Logan growled, "Even if we were to swallow this tale of yours, what do you need us for?"
Magneto met Logan's intense stare evenly. "Stryker has been conducting experiments and operations from a base for years. I know of its existence but not its location."
Logan's eyebrows furrowed in thought, memories of his painful past coming to the fore. "The adamantium they grafted onto my bones... that was Stryker's doing. Alkali Lake," he spat out. "I was just there. Found nothing."
Mystique interjected, "It's there. When I accessed Stryker's computer, I stumbled upon some files. 'Alkali Lake' was mentioned."
The weight of the revelation hung in the air as the mutants considered how to stop Stryker. As the morning sun dawned, the campsite was abandoned. What was left of the X-Men and the Brotherhood of Mutants boarded the Blackbird heading north toward Alkali Lake.
~~ Rogue Replacement ~~
A faint whimper caught Charles Xavier's attention. It sounded like a muted cry originating nearby. He traced the sound to an inconspicuous section of the wall. Upon closer inspection, he noticed a discreet panel. Pushing it gently, the wall slid away to reveal a hidden stairwell. Huddled in its shadowy recesses was a young girl, no older than ten. Her wide eyes were filled with tears, and her face was streaked with dirt and distress.
Seeing him, her eyes flashed with a mixture of hope and fear. "Are they gone?" she asked in a trembling voice, clinging to her worn teddy bear.
Xavier met her gaze with a compassionate smile, his eyes exuding warmth and kindness. "Yes, they are gone," he assured her.
Swallowing hard, she looked around, her confusion evident. "Where are all the others?"
He frowned slightly, but to comfort her, he replied, "I'm not sure. But," He paused for a moment slightly confused, before brushing it off and continuing, "I guess we'll have to find them, won't we?"
A spark of hope lit up the little girl's eyes. Xavier extended a welcoming hand toward her. She hesitated for a split second, then, gathering her courage, she gripped his hand firmly and stood up.
The massive door to Cerebro loomed before them. Professor Xavier wheeled closer to the retinal scanner, its blue light illuminating his face with a gentle glow. Just before he leaned in, he turned his head, catching the little girl's gaze. Their eyes locked, and he gave her a comforting smile, trying to assure her of the safety inside. She tentatively smiled back. As the scanner analyzed Xavier's retina, the mechanism whirred, and slowly the door began to part ways, revealing the futuristic interior of Cerebro. Just as Xavier was about to wheel in, the girl's soft voice stopped him. "Don't leave me alone, please," she pleaded, her voice echoing in the spacious corridor.
Xavier paused, realizing that after everything she had been through, he couldn't just leave her in the unknown. "Alright," he replied, nodding gently. "You can come inside. Just stay close to me."
The little girl's eyes brightened. Xavier began wheeling himself into Cerebro, the vast chamber stretching out before him. Curiosity replaced the little girl's apprehension as she followed closely. Together, the two of them journeyed down the long platform.
The vast chamber of what Charles believed to be Cerebro stretched out before him. However, the sterile shine of the original was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Stryker's version of Cerebro, with parts stolen from the institute had walls that bore a grimy texture, stained with blotches of brown and rust. Wires hung loosely in places, occasionally sparking, and the soothing hum of the machinery was replaced by an unsettling drone.
Charles was completely oblivious to this bastardization of his creation as he reached out and picked up the helmet. Its weight felt different, heavier, but he was so focused on his task that he dismissed his fleeting unease. The little girl, who had been so meek and afraid earlier, watched Xavier intently. Unbeknownst to the Professor, she was merely a mirage, an illusion created by Mutant 143, Jason, to manipulate Xavier's senses.
Xavier's mental barriers were strong, but the psionics inhibitor allowed Jason to worm his way through the professor's defenses. The power of Mutant 143 was such that once he had a foothold, even a mind as formidable as Charles Xavier's couldn't resist.
As Xavier prepared to place the helmet on his head, the massive door of the Dark Cerebro slammed shut with a force that seemed to reverberate throughout the space. Caught in the illusion, Charles paid it no mind, but the little girl behind him slowly allowed her innocent facade to crumble. Her mismatching eyes, one blue, one green, which had once seemed filled with tears and fear, now gleamed with a malevolent mischief. An unsettling smile curved her lips, revealing a hint of darkness that had been hidden just moments ago.
~~ Rogue Replacement ~~
Logan's boots made soft thudding sounds as he walked down the spillway corridor. The spillway was an essential component of the dam. It was designed to release excess water during periods of heavy rain or snowmelt, preventing the reservoir from overflowing. It protected the dam from water damage and the surrounding areas from potential flooding. Alkali Lake dam held back vast amounts of water, ensuring it was released in controlled amounts through its spillways.
As Logan approached the run-off tunnels, he glanced into the one on his right. Designed to direct the released water safely away from the dam's base, it stood eerily dry, evidence of the dam's current inactivity. Taking a deep breath, Logan's voice echoed powerfully, "Stryker!" His shout traveled through the vast, hollow tunnel, bouncing back from the cold, concrete walls. After a brief pause, he yelled again, stronger this time, "It's me. Wolverine!"
The echo of his voice was the only response. Logan's eyes scanned the length of the tunnel as he ventured deeper, the silence only amplifying the tension in the air.
Stryker stood rigidly in the control room, eyes fixated on the monitor displaying Wolverine's every move within the spillway corridor. The low hum of the room's machinery was interrupted by the muted tapping of the guard's finger on the flood button, awaiting a command.
Without diverting his gaze from the screen, Stryker's voice cut through the silence, "Send a team. Bring him to me in the north corridor." He took a brief moment to glance at the guard, emphasizing, "Carefully."
Inside the spillway, Logan's senses were on high alert as he cautiously trod forward. Just as he felt a shift in the air, a section of the wall in front of him slid open, revealing three soldiers. Their rifles aimed directly at him, expressions tense. Before Logan could react, another section of the wall behind him opened, revealing an additional trio of soldiers. The trap had been sprung.
In the dimly lit corridor, the team leader, a tall soldier with a scar running down his cheek, shouted with an authoritative tone, "Don't move! Hands in the air!"
Logan's eyes darted between the soldiers. In a move that surprised everyone in the corridor, and even Stryker watching remotely, Logan slowly raised his hands, claws retracted. The cold steel of the rifles and the anxious breaths of the soldiers were the only sounds that filled the tense silence.
Logan was shackled around his ankles and wrists. The heavy chains clinked with every step he took as he was led through the facility, guns trained on him the entire time. Waiting for him at the end of the corridor was William Stryker. As they approached each other, Stryker's face morphed from one of sheer arrogance to slight surprise and then, a touch of dread. He stood confidently, taking a moment to peer into Logan's eyes, seeking a hint of the animal he knew lay within. The cocky grin that previously played on his lips was now replaced by a line of concern.
Without a word, Stryker suddenly lifted a handgun, aiming it directly at Logan's temple. But as his finger began to apply pressure on the trigger Logan's rough features began to morph and change. The face transformed into a slimmer, more delicate visage, and the yellow eyes of Mystique replaced Logan's intense stare. Reacting almost immediately, Mystique's slimmer form slipped effortlessly from the bulky shackles that bound Logan. In a swift, fluid motion, she used the momentum of her movement to wrap the chains around the gun in Stryker's hand. Before he could process the sudden change of events, the gun was ripped away from him, and he was violently thrown into the nearby wall, dazed.
The soldiers, caught off guard by the sudden change of events, scrambled to react, but Mystique's smirk signaled that she was already two steps ahead. The corridor was plunged into chaos as the first two soldiers, still adjusting to the sudden change in their target, pulled their triggers almost simultaneously. But Mystique was quicker; she dropped low in a split second, and their bullets found each other. With a thud and a grunt, both guards fell, victims of friendly fire. With the grace and agility of an Olympic gymnast, Mystique performed a flawless handspring, propelling herself forward. Another guard quickly drew his pistol. However, as he tried to aim, Mystique's hand darted out, knocking his arm sideways just as he squeezed the trigger. The misfired bullet struck a pipe, and a sharp hiss filled the corridor as steam began pouring out, obscuring everyone's vision.
The corridor was now thick with a blinding fog, making visibility almost impossible. Stryker, dazed from the sudden assault, stood up, squinting, trying to catch a glimpse of Mystique through the veil of steam. But she was gone, her silhouette having vanished completely into the mist. Cursing under his breath, Stryker turned, his face twisted in anger. "Activate the alarm!" he snapped at the nearest guard. The guard nodded hastily and scrambled to follow the order as Stryker marched off into the mist.