NEXT DAY
The motel room smelled of cheap coffee and damp carpet. Neon from the sign outside bled through the thin curtains, flickering across the peeling wallpaper. Zack sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, a crumpled newspaper trembling in his hands. His jaw tightened as he stared at the headline splashed across the front page.
Zack: What the hell…
The black letters glared up at him: "X-Men, Cyclops Copy Cat – Mutant Hero or Mutant Menace?" A grainy photo of him lifting a child from the train wreck was plastered below it.
Laura leaned against the headboard, one knee drawn up, a remote in her hand. The corner of her mouth quirked up; she let out a short, rough laugh.
Laura: …seriously, "Copy Cat"?
Zack snapped his head toward her, eyes narrowing.
Zack: That is not funny!
He balled up the paper and hurled it to the carpet, then dragged a hand through his hair. His frustration spilled out in a long exhale. After a moment, he shifted closer and slung an arm around Laura's shoulders. She didn't shrug him off. The TV screen flickered with a live report about another flare-up of K.K.K activity somewhere in the South; angry crowds, burning signs.
Zack stared at the screen, voice dropping, more weary than angry now.
Zack: …Anyway. I wanna ask… why is the K.K.K still not disbanded?
Laura muted the TV, the sudden silence making the neon buzz louder. She looked at him, her expression losing its humor.
Laura: Some things… don't die easy. Not because they're strong, but because people keep letting them hide.
She reached for his hand resting on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
Laura: But it doesn't mean we stop fighting them.
Zack nodded slowly, eyes still on the screen, the reflection of the flames flickering in his visor.
The muffled hum of the TV filled the room. Laura was still half-watching the muted footage when a sudden knock rattled the door.
Zack groaned, pushing himself up from the bed.
Zack: I'm gonna open it…
He trudged across the creaky carpet, muttering as his hand reached the knob.
Zack: Housekeeping again? How many times do we have to tell you...
The door swung open, and Zack froze. His pupils widened behind the visor. Standing shoulder to shoulder, filling the narrow motel walkway, were thirty men in white hoods and robes. The Ku Klux Klan. Their lanterns flickered against the peeling paint, casting long shadows into the room.
Zack forced a crooked, nervous smile.
Zack: …Hello, gentlemen. What do we have here?
One of the Klan members stepped forward, shoving the crumpled newspaper inches from Zack's face. His voice was muffled but venom dripped through the cloth hood.
Klansman: Why did you save that Black child instead of a white one?
Zack glanced at the headline, then back at the masked faces.
Zack: Uhh… I don't know?
Inside the room Laura's ears pricked at the raised voices and muted the TV, frowning at the muffled voices. She swung her legs off the bed, claws already sliding from her hands.
Laura: Zack?
The Klan pressed closer, demanding more answers, their numbers blocking out the neon glow from outside.
Klansman: We demand answers from you, mutant freak!
Zack's jaw tightened.
Zack: …Uhh, forget it... you know what? Fuck it!
He tried to slam the door shut, but one of the Klan members shot out a thick hand, seizing Zack's arm in a crushing grip.
Klan Member: You have to come with us, mutant!
Zack winced, pain lancing through his shoulder.
Zack: Aghh!
A red glow surged behind his visor. With a furious shout, he unleashed a short-range optic blast straight into the hallway. The doorframe splintered as the beam hurled the Klan member backward into his comrades.
Zack: Back off!
But instead of scattering, the Klan kept advancing, boots thudding against the floorboards. Their sheer numbers pressed against the motel doorway, white robes filling Zack's vision like a tide of hate about to crash through.
The hallway erupted into chaos, robes swirling as the men stumbled but kept advancing, some reaching for him, others shouting. In the room, Laura was already moving, claws glinting as she ran for the door.
Zack braced himself in the frame, visor glowing as the mob's chants filled the hall.
Zack: I SAID BACK O—GHUK!
His words were cut short as one of the Klan members swung the butt of an axe into his shoulder, the impact slamming him into the wall. He cried out in pain, dropping to one knee.
The mob surged forward, axes raising high, their shadows stretching across the motel carpet.
But before the blades fell, a blur shot past Zack.
Laura.
She vaulted off the bed, twisting midair, and drove both boots square into the chests of the first wave. The flying kick sent several men crashing backward through the open doorway and into the others behind them like bowling pins.
She landed in a crouch, spun, and kicked the door shut with a bang. Then, with one quick slash of her claw, she shredded the door knob clean off.
Laura (grabbing Zack's arm, pulling him up): You okay, Zack?
Zack groaned, clutching his shoulder but forcing himself up.
Zack: Yeah… maybe…
But the relief lasted seconds.
The banging returned harder this time, a relentless drumbeat. Dust rained from the frame as the Klan battered the ruined door. Suddenly, glass shattered.
A hooded figure dove through the window with a jagged blade, plunging it into Laura's back.
Laura: GHHH!!
Snarling, she spun with animal reflexes, grabbing the man's wrist. Her claws unsheathed with a wet snap and plunged straight into his skull. He went limp instantly, collapsing at her feet.
The door burst apart in a rain of splinters.
Dozens of Klan members spilled into the room like a white-robed flood.
Zack roared, visor burning, and unleashed an optic blast that tore across the cramped motel space. Several were flung back out into the hall, three more reduced to smoking husks against the far wall.
But when Zack staggered toward the window for air, his stomach dropped.
Outside lined along the parking lot and sidewalk were at least a hundred more. They stared up at him, robes glowing in the streetlights, shotguns and rifles gleaming in their hands.
Zack: Oh… shit.
They opened fire.
Bullets screamed through the glass, wood, and drywall. Zack barely ducked in time, dragging Laura down with him. Shards rained as he pulled her across the floor, shoving her into the cramped kitchen behind a half-collapsed counter.
Zack: (panicking) What should we do?! I never dealt with this situation before!
Laura whipped her head toward him, ears twitching, eyes flashing.
Laura: What do you mean you never dealt with this?!
Zack: Let's just say… Superman thing?
Laura: WHAT?!
A sudden deafening shot rang past her head, tearing through her ear. She screamed, clutching it as blood poured.
Laura: MOTHERFUCKER!
Her breathing hitched, but then her body twitched muscle knitting back together, cartilage regrowing. Within seconds, a brand-new ear replaced the ruined one.
She glared at Zack, rage boiling in her voice.
Laura: Zack we need to kill them!
Zack: But!
Laura: NO BUT! KILL AS MANY AS YOU CAN!
The kitchen shook as bullets ripped through the walls. Laura crouched low, eyes narrowing.
Laura: Enough of this.
She sprang up onto the counter in one fluid motion, claws flicking out with a metallic snikt. With a growl she launched herself into the living room like a missile. She hit the first cluster of hooded men like a hurricane, slicing and kicking. Ten went down in seconds, robes slashed, weapons clattering on the carpet as she tore through them.
Zack took the opening. He leveled his visor at the floor, a thin beam cutting a glowing circle into the old wood. With a stomp the boards gave way, collapsing into the room below.
Zack: I'll clear the lower level!
He dropped through the smoking hole only to freeze as he landed.
Sixty white-hooded figures stood in a rough ring around him, axes and bats glinting in the dim motel light.
Klansman: ATTACK!
The mob surged forward, a wave of robes and steel.
Zack moved. His fists blurred, punching left and right, dropping attackers with sharp jabs to the jaw, elbows to the ribs. He ducked an axe swing, slammed his shoulder into a man's chest, spun and lashed out with a kick that sent another crashing into a wall.
An axe blade caught his sleeve, ripping fabric. He gritted his teeth and fired a short, concussive burst from his visor at the floor, sliding backward across the tiles on the recoil. In mid-slide he flipped backward over a charging man, landing behind him in a crouch.
He grabbed the Klansman's head with one gloved hand and yanked it back.
Zack: Look at me!
His visor flared bright. A thin, surgical beam erupted point-blank into the man's eye sockets. The body went limp instantly, dropping like a rag doll.
More axes swung. The circle closed again, dozens more rushing him, trying to bury him under their numbers. Zack raised his fists, visor glowing hotter, breath ragged.
Zack: (muttering) Come on then…
The room upstairs was a slaughterhouse. Wood splinters, broken chairs, and white hoods littered the carpet. Laura moved like a blur; her claws carved through another attacker's weapon and then his chest in the same motion. She pivoted, kicked a second Klansman in the knee so hard it bent sideways, then finished him with a backhand slash across his mask.
Another hooded man lunged from the side with a pipe. She ducked, rolled under his swing, and came up claws-first. Blood sprayed. She spun again just as the floor beneath her shuddered.
A stray concussive blast from below split the boards. The shockwave hurled her off her feet. She crashed through the cracked planks, landed hard on her hands and knees in the room below, debris raining around her.
She lifted her head and she saw the below that Zack was there in the middle of the wreckage, fists clenched, visor blazing, breaking men apart like a machine. Every swing of his arm dropped another hooded figure. He used his optic beam like a whip, carving bright arcs across the floor, blowing attackers back. His breathing was heavy, jaw tight he was snapping.
Laura's ears twitched. She heard more boots, more shouting, coming from the hallway behind her. Fresh Klansmen pouring in.
Her claws slid out with a "snikt". She bared her teeth and roared, a feral, guttural sound that cut through the noise. Then she launched herself at the incoming wave. She hit them like a cyclone, claws flashing. One hooded man's weapon clattered away as his hand came off with it. Another's mask shredded before her claws tore his throat. She moved from one to the next, no pause, no mercy slicing, chopping, knocking bodies aside like dolls.
From across the room Zack caught sight of her through the chaos, blood and splinters everywhere. For a heartbeat the two of them were just shapes in a maelstrom him blasting, her tearing two mutants holding the line in the crush of white hoods.
Zack twisted the last Klansman's neck with a "sharp crack". The body slumped lifeless to the blood-slick floor. His chest heaved as he wiped the sweat from his brow, his visor glowing faintly as smoke curled from the edges. Slowly, he pushed the door open, shoulder aching, boots dragging across broken glass and splintered wood.
He exhaled through his teeth, fists trembling from the adrenaline. Blood flecked his knuckles. His visor hummed faintly, still glowing red from overuse. Without another word he crossed the room, boots crunching over broken wood and glass, and pushed the door open.
Then he saw Laura stood there like something out of a war story, claws slick, hair stuck to her cheeks. She had one Klansman by the throat and flung him across the hall, his body thudding against the wall. In her other hand she gripped another by the hair and like an animal bit down savagely, ripping into his hood. She spat the man's head to the floor with a wet thud.
Zack blinked at her, voice dry.
Zack: …Really?
Laura wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist, eyes blazing.
Laura: Why not? You look beat to hell, covered in cuts. Why aren't you using the Phoenix Force?
Zack stepped out into the hall, shaking his head. The glow from his visor dimmed as he forced his breathing steady.
Zack (sigh): Can't. Not right now. That's for when things get worse… real danger. Not yet.
Zack and Laura stepped over broken furniture and bodies as they moved in silence, their boots crunching glass beneath them. The flicker of firelight from the destroyed rooms painted the walls in hellish orange.
Outside the ruined motel, the night air hung heavy with smoke and dust. Zack and Laura stepped over splintered doors and glass until they reached the parking lot. The glow of truck headlights cut through the darkness. A hundred white hoods turned in unison, shotguns and rifles raised. The smell of gasoline and sweat rolled off them like a wave.
Laura's claws slid out with a soft "snikt". She rolled her neck once, eyes narrowing to feral slits.
Laura: …Fuck it. Let's massacre them...
Zack exhaled slowly, visor humming as it powered up. His lips pressed into a hard line.
Zack: Kinda agree with you...
HOURS LATER...
The parking lot erupted in fire and screams as the two tore into the mob. Laura slashed through them with feral precision, blood spraying like paint across the asphalt. Zack's optic blasts carved through the ranks, ripping apart lines of Klansmen with devastating force. The air thundered with explosions, gunfire, and the brutal symphony of slaughter.
THE NEXT DAY
A new motel room. Cleaner. Quiet. The TV hummed with a news broadcast.
Reporter: "Breaking news over one hundred confirmed dead in what authorities are calling a massacre at the Red Pines Motel. Witnesses claim the infamous mutant 'Cyclops Copy Cat' and a "Wolverine with tits" accomplice were seen fleeing the scene…"
The camera cut to flashing images of the carnage dozens of covered bodies, scorched walls, crime scene tape fluttering in the morning breeze.
On the bed, Zack sat slouched forward, his black visor dimmed. Laura leaned against the headboard beside him, tearing into a bag of chips like nothing happened.
She glanced at him with a small smirk.
Laura: Well… we sure made the news.
Zack rubbed his temples and muttered under his breath.
Zack: …Yeah. But somehow, it doesn't feel like a victory.
Zack: Hey… I got a joke.
Laura lifted an eyebrow without looking away from the chip bag.
Laura: …What is it?
Zack's lips curled into a mischievous smirk.
Zack: King. Kong. Kock.
Laura blinked and finally sat up, squinting at him.
Laura: …What the hell is the "kock" part?
Zack leaned forward, grin widening, lowering his voice like he was sharing some dark secret.
Zack: Take the "K"... and put a "C."
There was a beat of silence.
Laura buried her face in her hands, groaning.
Laura: Oh my god. You're worse than Deadpool.
Zack chuckled, clearly proud of himself, tossing a chip from her bag into his mouth before she could stop him.
Zack: Admit it you laughed a little.
Laura: I laughed at how stupid you are.
Zack straightened up from the chair and look at Laura who still chewing the stolen chip, mock-offended.
Zack: Hey I am not stupid. Come here!
Laura was already sliding off the sofa, her smirk turning into a full grin.
Laura: Oh no, I know that tone.
She sprang to her feet and bolted toward the other side of the motel room, claws still retracted but hands up in mock surrender.
Zack: Get back here!
He lunged for her, but she was fast; she vaulted over the coffee table in one smooth motion, landing light on her feet. Zack stumbled around the table after her, laughing despite himself.
Laura (laughing): You'll have to catch me first, "not-stupid" Cyclops!
Zack reached out again, almost snagging the back of her jacket. She spun away, ducking low. The two of them circled the room like kids in a playground, Zack's visor glowing faintly while Laura's hair whipped behind her as she darted from corner to corner.
Zack: Oh, you're gonna regret this when I do catch you!
Laura: Big talk, slowpoke!
MEANWHILE...
A cold wind brushed across the empty field as the air began to distort. A faint hum grew louder, like a thousand gears grinding at once, until the sky ripped open in a jagged circle of light. A portal tore into reality, pulsing with unstable energy, and from it a figure shot out, slamming onto the dirt with enough force to crack the ground beneath his boots.
The boy slowly stood, steam hissing from the vents of his mask as his claws slid halfway out with a metallic scrape. His skintight suit, black with crimson streaks forming a star-shaped design across his chest, was torn and scorched, scarred with signs of past battles. The shoulder plates flared outward, sharp and jagged, throwing his shadow long and monstrous under the moonlight. Chains rattled faintly as they hung from his forearms, swinging like reminders of restraints broken or enemies defeated.
He exhaled, smoke drifting from the mouthpiece of his segmented helmet. The curved, ear-like extensions made his silhouette eerily familiar, a warped echo of Wolverine's iconic cowl. One set of claws glowed bright red-hot, the other gleamed cold and metallic, the contrast crackling with restrained violence.
Ethan Summers tilted his head up, scanning the world around him with silent contempt. His voice, when it came, was low and gravelly, almost as if it carried the weight of exhaustion and fury from countless timelines.
Ethan (growl): Now… let's find Mom and Dad...
He clenched his fist, claws retracting with a violent snap. His head lowered, and for a moment, his body shook with restrained irritation before he growled under his breath.
Ethan: I hate time traveling...