General (POV)
The dust from the mock battle was still settling, lingering in the air like the aftermath of a storm. The training grounds were a mess—scorched grass, faint wisps of smoke curling up from where ice shards had grazed the ground, and a few scattered objects left in the heat of the moment. Sarah stood with her arms folded, brushing dirt from her palms, her face the picture of casual ease. She looked as though the intense mock battle had been someone else's problem entirely.
"That was... something," Alex muttered, shaking his head as he picked up a water bottle from the bench. "You've got a real flair for the dramatic, you know."
"Dramatic?" Sarah arched a brow, flexing her fingers as if testing her grip. "I think you mean effective."
"Effective's one word for it," Sean piped up, still catching his breath after dodging stray ice shards. "Terrifying works, too."
Hank, the resident scientist, stepped in. "You have to admit, she knows how to keep us on our toes."
"And off the ground," Alex added dryly, massaging his shoulder where he'd been slammed into the dirt.
Darwin, wiping the sweat from his forehead, still wore a smug grin. "Not bad," he said, stretching his limbs with a trace of satisfaction. "You actually managed to find my weakness. That was… interesting."
Sarah gave him a dry look. "Not bad, huh? For someone who barely kept up with me."
Darwin chuckled. "Hey, I adapt. Unfortunately, you're too versatile and calculating!"
Sarah rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the flicker of approval in her gaze. She was still testing the limits of his adaptability. "Sure. But don't get cocky. I wouldn't mind putting you back in your place."
Before Darwin could fire off another quip, Charles's voice cut through the air, sharp and dry. "All right, enough with the compliments. Darwin, you did well, but you're overextending yourself. And Sarah…" He paused, a sidelong glance cutting toward her. "You're too nonchalant. You should've had him wrapped up five minutes ago."
"And what kind of challenge would that have been? Neither of us would've been tested. Prolonging the encounter made things more interesting," Sarah quipped, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Besides, if I'd gone full force, he'd still be picking himself up off the ground. I like to let the underdogs have their moment."
Raven, leaning against a nearby tree with arms crossed, shot Sarah a look equal parts skepticism and amusement. Her lips twitched into a smirk. "Maybe you're just afraid of some competition."
"Competition, huh? You're welcome to try, Raven. I wouldn't mind a make-out session—purely accidental, of course." The comment, referencing their previous sparring session, left both women slightly flushed.
Raven rolled her eyes but didn't respond further, her gaze flicking to Erik, who had been silently watching the scene unfold. His gaze was intense, arms crossed over his chest, eyes locked on Sarah as if measuring her every move. "You fight like someone who's used to being outnumbered."
Sarah's lips quirked upward in a wry smile. "Outnumbered, underestimated... it's all the same game. Just means I get to win creatively."
"Creative destruction," Erik replied, his tone carrying a hint of approval. "You'd do well to refine it further. However," he added, "you're far too confident for your own good."
"Well, Erik. If you know yourself and have a battle plan, what's wrong with being confident?"
Erik's expression didn't shift, but the brief flicker in his eyes told Sarah she was onto something.
Charles, standing nearby with arms crossed, added thoughtfully, "There's merit in control, Sarah. You don't always need to go for maximum impact."
"Actually, I didn't, Charles. Besides, the only way to overcome Darwin's adaptation is to overwhelm him," Sarah replied with a smile, drawing a flicker of amusement from Erik.
Just then, Alex's grin was all teeth as he slapped Sean on the back, clearly eager to make the most of the situation. "So, Sarah," he called out, stretching his arms. "When are you gonna let us give you a real run for your money? You've been showing off for a while now, but I think we deserve a chance to spar with the 'great' Sarah Vasilissa."
Sarah couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of her. "You two? Really?" she asked, her voice incredulous. "I mean, sure. If you want to get humiliated, I'm always happy to crush the dreams of eager boys."
Sean, who'd been uncharacteristically quiet up until now, spoke up, his tone playful but tinged with challenge. "We've been dying for a chance to see if we can take you down. You've been dodging us for weeks."
"Dodging you?" Sarah placed a hand over her heart in mock offense. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize I was running from a pair of wannabe gladiators. Fine. You want a show? I'll give you a show."
She cracked her knuckles dramatically. "But don't say I didn't warn you. I'm not responsible for any bruises. Or broken egos."
Raven smirked and stepped aside, clearly entertained by the back-and-forth. "This should be fun."
Hank, who had been observing the entire exchange, rolled his eyes. "I think the word you're looking for is 'disastrous,'" he muttered, though there was no malice behind the words—just his usual dry humor. "I'm just glad I won't be the one cleaning up the mess."
"Mess? No mess," Sarah replied, rolling her neck as she faced Alex and Sean, preparing for whatever they had in store. "But I'll make it interesting. You might even get a few good hits in if you're lucky."
Alex's grin widened, an eager gleam in his eyes. "We'll see about that."
Sarah gave him a playful shrug. "I'm waiting."
The three of them took their positions. The air shifted again, this time lighter, charged with anticipation and a touch of mischief. Darwin stepped back, arms crossed and a grin spreading across his face. "You two are nuts," he chuckled, clearly relishing the spectacle. "This'll be fun to watch."
Sarah's eyes sparked as she got in her stance, ready for whatever Alex and Sean threw at her. The tension from the mock battle evaporated, replaced by a new energy. It wasn't about saving the world or dealing with the chaos of their lives—it was about training, and for once, having fun.
Sarah cracked a smile. "Let the games begin." But before their sparring could even start, a voice broke through the charged atmosphere.
"Hey, everyone—the President's about to give a speech. You might want to tune in," Moira announced as she stepped onto the training grounds, her voice taut with concern over the escalating U.S.-Soviet tensions.
The team exchanged uneasy glances, their earlier banter forgotten as they headed toward the common room. Hank stepped up, grumbling about outdated tech as he wrestled with the rabbit-ear antenna on the TV. Raven perched on the arm of a chair, her arms folded tightly across her chest, while Alex and Sean settled onto the couch, both unusually quiet. Erik lingered in the doorway, his expression unreadable. Charles moved to stand beside him, his features taut but composed.
Sarah, standing in the corner, leaned casually against the wall, her arms crossed as her sharp eyes flicked between the team. "Anyone else feels like this is going to be a whole lot of fluff to say nothing's changed?" she quipped, her tone dry but tinged with curiosity. She glanced at Raven and added, "I mean, I'm down for a little Cold War theater, though."
Raven smirked, but the tension in the room muted any retort she might have had.
The screen flickered to life, revealing the familiar blue-and-white logo of the Presidential Seal. Static buzzed for a moment before the image sharpened, and all eyes focused on the screen.
The team gathered around the TV, the room falling into a heavy silence as the broadcast began. The screen crackled to life, and President John F. Kennedy's familiar Boston-accented voice filled the air, calm but resolute.
"This Government, as promised, has maintained the closest surveillance of the Soviet military buildup on the island of Cuba. Within the past week, unmistakable evidence has established the fact that a series of offensive missile sites is now in preparation on that imprisoned island. The purpose of these bases can be none other than to provide a nuclear strike capability against the Western Hemisphere. Only last Thursday, as evidence of this rapid offensive buildup was already in my hand, Soviet Foreign Minister Gromyko told me, in my office, that Soviet assistance to Cuba, and I quote, 'pursued solely the purpose of contributing to the defense capabilities of Cuba,' unquote."
The President's words were punctuated by black-and-white reconnaissance photos displayed on the screen: grainy but unmistakable images of missiles lined up on Cuban soil, aimed squarely at the United States.
"We will not prematurely or unnecessarily risk the costs of worldwide nuclear war in which even the fruits of victory would be ashes in our mouth—but neither will we shrink from that risk at any time it must be faced."
The weight of his declaration settled over the room like a thick fog, the words hanging in the air long after they were spoken.
The weight of his words settled like a storm cloud over the room.
Raven leaned against the wall, her expression unreadable, while Erik's jaw tightened imperceptibly. His gaze flicked to the screen, then to Charles, as though daring him to find hope in the President's declaration. Sean, Armando and Hank remained transfixed as Kennedy concluded his address.
"Our goal is not the victory of might, but the vindication of right—not peace at the expense of freedom, but both peace and freedom, here in this hemisphere, and, we hope, around the world. God willing, that goal will be achieved."
The final image of the President's address flickered off the screen. The air crackled with tension as thick as Berlin Wall mortar dust. Outside, the world held its breath, a collective pawn in the nuclear chess game. A Soviet freighter, a harbinger of Armageddon bristling with ballistic missiles, steadily sliced through the Caribbean Sea, a steel shark closing in on the established Cuban quarantine line.
"Well," Erik finally said, his voice low and sharp, "if humans can't manage peace among themselves, what chance do we have?"
"Perhaps," Charles replied evenly, "it's our responsibility to show them it's possible."
US doctrine was brutally clear: any vessel packing that kind of heat crossed that line, it was considered an act of aggression, a potential checkmate. The stakes were ass-clenchingly high. Both sides, the US and the USSR, were like cowboys in a nuclear standoff, each with a hair-trigger temper and enough firepower to turn the planet into a radioactive wasteland.
A full-blown nuclear war would be a global catastrophe. A nightmare scenario that would play right into the hands of Sebastian Shaw, a mutant with a knack for manipulating and absorbing energy like a human capacitor. This Shaw, he believed a nuclear fallout would be like mutant evolution on overdrive, birthing a whole new dominant species.
But here's the rub: even a full-scale meltdown wouldn't be a mutant picnic. Sure, a few freaks like Shaw (with his energy absorption), Azazel (the teleporting Houdini), or Magneto (who could potentially manipulate all that radioactive material) might have some tricks up their sleeves. But the vast majority of mutants would be toast alongside humanity. In the face of that kind of leveling force, everyone was equal opportunity collateral damage.
Shaw's whole mutant supremacy spiel was a tangled mess anyway. The guy talked a big game about mutant-kind, but his actions, like snuffing out Darwin, seemed more like twisted tests of who could survive. Survival of the fittest, not mutant brotherhood, seemed to be his motto.
Motivations aside, the situation in Cuba was a pressure cooker on the verge of exploding, and Shaw likely had his greasy fingerprints all over it. The Soviet freighter, his not-so-subtle pawn, was on a collision course to breach the quarantine. Current intel placed its arrival and potential line-crossing at some time tomorrow, which basically meant the whole world was about to be playing a game of Mutually Assured Destruction.
Time was a luxury they couldn't afford. If they were going to stop this whole thing from snowballing into a nuclear winter, they needed to be on that damn quarantine line within the next 24 hours. The fate of the world, mutants and all, hung in the balance. A heavy silence pressed down on the room as Charles, his voice grim, addressed the team. "We all need to be prepared. Tomorrow's mission is critical."
The potential for a nuclear war hung heavy in the air. Humanity, ill-equipped to handle mutants, had placed the burden on mutants themselves. The CIA's mutant team was a desperate gamble, and tomorrow would be their moment of truth.
Sarah's gaze flickered between the television screen and the faces of her team members, her mind racing with contingencies for the coming battle with Shaw. She knew, intellectually, that Charles and Erik possessed the combined power to defeat their adversary. Yet, her presence introduced an undeniable wildcard – the butterfly effect, as it were.
With a final refinement to their strategy, the well-trained team dispersed for the night. Sarah intended to follow suit, but a subtle shift caught her eye – Erik heading out first.
Sarah couldn't ignore the growing rift between Charles and Erik, a consequence of her own actions. A fragment of their argument, overheard outside Charles' quarters yesterday, echoed in her mind. This was the fissure, the beginning of their ideological split.
Preventing their fallout was paramount. A fractured team, a future where Erik descended into villainy – such a course of events would bring only suffering. Sarah held a deep respect for both men. Charles, her mentor, had guided her. Erik, a kindred spirit perhaps due to their shared magnetic abilities, offered a sense of camaraderie. Their kindness towards her wasn't lost on her.
Sarah navigated the moral grey areas with ease, returning cruelty with retribution, but also repaying kindness in kind. A united front against the coming threats – Days of Future Past, Apocalypse, and beyond – was essential. With Charles and Erik at odds, however, victory would be a far steeper climb.
"Erik," Sarah called out softly, her voice barely a whisper above the tense silence.
She found him on the balcony, his gaze fixed in the distance. The weight of the impending battle, and the ethical complexities it presented, seemed etched on his features.
"Sarah?" Erik was startled, his voice laced with surprise as he turned to face her. "What troubles you?"
"It's about…" Sarah hesitated, searching for the right words. Honesty was paramount, but she also didn't want to inflame tensions further. "I couldn't help but overhear you and Charles arguing yesterday. Shaw…."
Erik stiffened, his jaw clenching ever so slightly. "So, you're here to side with Charles and tell me not to kill Shaw?" he inquired, a hint of bitterness creeping into his tone.
"No, not at all!" Sarah interjected, shaking her head vigorously. Siding with Charles on this issue was impossible. In fact, in her opinion, when someone kills your loved one, they must pay with their life.
She understood that Charles didn't want Erik to become another Shaw and wanted him to realize that not everything could be solved with violence.
But Charles was wrong about not killing Shaw.
Even with his telepathic abilities, Charles could never fully grasp the pain of the person experiencing such loss. The sorrow he sensed was only a fraction of what the person truly felt.
Charles's views can sometimes be a bit too idealistic. The real world isn't a perfect utopia, and hatred isn't so easily resolved.
"I won't help Charles stop you from killing Shaw. I understand that Shaw killed your loved ones, and that's a grudge you can't simply let go of."
Sarah understood Charles's perspective. He didn't want Erik to succumb to vengeance, to become another Shaw.
But Charles was wrong about not killing Shaw. He believed in redemption, in the possibility of overcoming darkness. But Sarah harbored doubts.
Charles, with his telepathy, could only ever glimpse the raw edges of another's pain. The true depths of loss, the searing hatred that could fester in the aftermath of tragedy, remained beyond his grasp.
Charles, who had grown up in a privileged family, held noble ideals, though his views sometimes bordered on the idealistic. The real world, however, was a harsh teacher, not a utopian classroom. Hatred didn't dissipate with gentle words; it demanded a reckoning.
"Listen, Erik," Sarah began, her voice softening. "I won't try to stop you from doing what you feel you must. Shaw took your loved ones from you," she acknowledged, her voice tinged with empathy, "and that's a wound that festers, a pain that demands retribution."
Erik's laughter echoed across the balcony, a welcome release from the tense atmosphere. He placed a friendly hand on Sarah's shoulder. "Sarah, I truly appreciate your support. Your insights are remarkable."
Sarah met his gaze, a wry smile playing on her lips. The urge to retort with "Women can't have their own perspective?" flared, but she quelled it. There were bigger things at stake.
"What I really wanted to say," Sarah began, her voice firm, "is that regardless of Charles's actions, please don't leave. We need you. I don't want to see you walk away."
Erik stared at her, surprised by the depth of her plea. This young woman, who possessed such maturity in her gaze, had seen right through him. He saw the sincerity etched on her face, and a genuine smile softened his own features. He didn't offer a direct answer, but a slight nod conveyed his understanding.
Either way, Sarah had resolved to take down Shaw in his stead, solving the point of divergence between Erik and Charles. He might hate her for it, but as his "student," she was quite sure he wouldn't mind.
Killing Shaw wasn't a burden. With the death and destruction she'd left behind in several universes, she had, so far, been an angel. Consciousness, PTSD—yes, she had those, initially. And she paid for them with her own death in those universes, so her consciousness was clean. Isn't that what some scriptures state? Death will clear you of all your sins. Either way, it turned out that ending the lives of evil people was only frowned upon by the 'holier-than-thou' superheroes. She didn't share their self-righteous ideals—and she never would.