Laura lay curled up on the bed, one arm dangling off the edge, her breathing slow and steady. The faint glow of morning light leaked through the motel curtains, dust floating lazily in the beam.
Out on the street, Zack walked with his hood up and a black visor hiding his eyes. He carried a crumpled shopping list in one hand, scanning the vendors and small stores for food. The early morning buzz of the city surrounded him car horns, coffee stands, newsboys shouting headlines.
He turned a corner too fast and bumped hard into someone.
Zack: Oh... I'm sorry sir, are you ok—ok—okay?!
He reached down to steady the man, and when the stranger's face came fully into view, Zack froze.
Zack: …No way. Charlie Kirk?
Charlie Kirk adjusted his jacket, slightly surprised by the young man's reaction.
Charlie: Yeah, I'm fine, young man.
Zack's jaw dropped in pure shock. He quickly extended his hand, still half-stammering.
Zack: My name is Zachary Summers, sir! I'm a huge fan huge fan of your work!
Charlie Kirk shook his hand firmly but with a curious look.
Charlie: Okay? Well, thank you for saying that?
Zack, now grinning nervously under his visor, nodded rapidly.
Zack: I'm a big follower of your politics too!
Charlie's expression softened into a smile.
Charlie: Thank you, Zachary.
Zack rubbed the back of his neck and gave a sheepish chuckle.
Zack: Call me Zack… hehe.
Charlie: Okay, Zack. How about we grab a coffee and have a little chat?
Zack blinked, still stunned.
Zack: Sure! I'd love that.
The two walked side by side down the busy morning street toward a small café, Zack trying hard not to look like an overexcited fanboy while his mind raced with everything he wanted to ask.
Charlie and Zack sat across from each other at a small table, steam rising from their mugs.
Charlie tilted his head, studying Zack over the rim of his cup.
Charlie: By the way, kid… you seem familiar. I know I've seen you somewhere.
Zack took a slow sip of his coffee, trying to stay casual.
Zack: Really? Huh. I think you might've just read about me in the news… or maybe a newspaper?
Charlie narrowed his eyes, rolling the thought around.
Charlie: News or newspaper…
His brow furrowed. Then it clicked. He set his cup down with a soft clink.
Charlie: Wait. The train incident. That photo. You're that copycat on the news from the train, aren't you?
Zack froze, the mug halfway to his lips. His shoulders slumped and his eyes dropped to the table. He set the cup down, fingers trembling slightly.
Zack: …Well, yes. I am.
His voice cracked, frustration and hurt leaking out.
Zack: But don't call me a copycat.
Zack leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes steady on Charlie.
Zack: Let's talk about politics.
Charlie raised an eyebrow, his hand around his coffee mug.
Charlie: What kind of politics you wanna know?
Zack's fingers tapped on the table.
Zack: I wanna know… is racism still politics or not?
Charlie blinked, leaning back. He put a finger under his chin, thinking.
Charlie: Hmmm… no idea. For me, it's kinda a propaganda for the white people using it against black people...
He shrugged a little, as if it were both obvious and complicated.
Charlie: Any other question?
Zack's gaze didn't waver.
Zack: How about… giving mutants the right of freedom? This is a free country after all, right?
Charlie sat back, thoughtful now. His expression shifted from casual to fatherly, weighing his words.
Charlie: Maybe… but as a father and a husband who goes deep into politics… it'd be hard to convince the people of America, or the world, that mutants must have equal rights at all. For them, mutants are a threat a danger that might make humanity extinct.
He shook his head slowly, fingers drumming on the mug.
Charlie: Some of them are heroes. Some of them are villains. But for most people, all they see is danger. That's why they're afraid… and why they lash out.
Zack sat there quietly, absorbing every word, his jaw tight but his eyes thoughtful as Charlie stopped mid-sip, setting his coffee cup down with a soft clink. He leaned forward until his elbows rested on the table, his eyes narrowing just a little. For the first time, the easy smile was gone.
Charlie: How about I ask you a question, Zack.
Zack raised his head from his cup, sensing the weight behind Charlie's voice.
Charlie: If a mutant like you… saw a stranger you considered a friend someone like me get killed in public… would you avenge them? Would you put the killers behind bars? Or would you kill the killers?
The café noise seemed to fade. Charlie's gaze locked onto Zack's visor, eye to eye despite the black lenses.
Charlie: Now answer my question.
Zack felt his hands tighten around the warm mug. For a heartbeat, his jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tensing. He opened his mouth, closed it again, then stared at the coffee swirling in his cup.
Zack: …
Zack froze with his cup halfway to his lips. His brow furrowed; his mouth opened, then closed.
Zack: Can I… say both? I… I don't know what to do with that question.
Charlie leaned back slightly, but his eyes never left Zack's.
Charlie: Follow your feelings, Zack. Once you know your path… you'll absolutely know your place. For the good. For the bad. Same time. Same weeks.
He pushed back his chair, the legs scraping softly against the floor, and stood. He extended his hand across the table.
Charlie: Nice meeting you, Zack.
Zack stood too, a little hesitant but taking the hand firmly.
Zack: Yeah… you too, Mr. Kirk.
Charlie's expression softened; a faint smile appeared.
Charlie: Call me Charlie. That's what my friends call me.
Zack gave a small smile back, gripping his hand just a bit tighter before letting go.
NEXT-DAY...
Zack and Laura sat on the narrow strip of concrete outside a small KFC, plastic trays between them, the smell of fried chicken hanging in the air.
Laura chewed slowly, mumbling into her food without looking up.
Laura: Sooo… you're saying you met Charlie Kirk yesterday… and you never bothered to tell me?
Zack shifted uncomfortably on the curb, taking a bite of his drumstick.
Zack: Yeah… I tried to… but I was busy. You gave me that random anime DVD called Berserker.
Laura looked up at him, eyebrows raised.
Laura: Seriously? Berserker? That's your reason?
Zack smirked nervously, but before he could answer, both of them caught snippets of conversation drifting from a group walking past.
"…they said it happened at Utah University…"
"…shot in the neck, point-blank…"
"…Charlie Kirk's dead…"
The words hit Zack like a punch. His jaw went slack; the drumstick nearly slipped from his hand.
Zack: Wait… what?
Laura stopped mid-chew, eyes flicking to him, then to the people whispering. She swallowed hard.
Laura: Zack…
Zack stared at the pavement, his fingers trembling slightly.
Zack: I… I just saw him yesterday...
Zack sat frozen, then his eyes locked on Laura's phone.
Zack: Laura… can I borrow your phone?
Laura blinked at him, confused, but slid it across the table.
Laura: …sure.
Zack's thumb flicked fast through social media posts tagged "Utah University." Angry comments, shaky videos of the aftermath, headlines screaming "Charlie Kirk Dead." Zack let out a dry, sharp laugh.
Zack: This is bullshit…
Then he stopped scrolling. One photo filled the screen a man in a baseball cap, black shades, a shirt with a bald eagle draped in a U.S. flag. His face was turned slightly but the image burned into Zack's mind.
Zack's voice dropped to a low, deadly whisper:
Zack: …on jail huh…
He stood suddenly, handing the phone back to Laura with a strange smile.
Zack: I'll be back tomorrow.
Laura frowned, halfway through her soda.
Laura: Wait, what?
Before she could rise, Zack's fist shot out and drove into her gut just hard enough to knock the wind out of her. Laura gasped and folded to her knees on the pavement, eyes wide with shock and betrayal.
Laura: Z-Zack… y-you bastard…
She looked up, clutching her stomach, as Zack sprinted into the crowd without looking back, his figure vanishing into the blur of morning traffic.
LATER.
Night had settled over the FBI field office, the kind of deep, heavy quiet that only comes after hours of routine paperwork and muted chatter. Agents moved between cubicles with coffee mugs, some finishing reports, others staring at glowing monitors.
Then a harsh klaxon tore through the silence. Red lights strobed across the corridors.
PA System: Security breach! Detention Wing Delta. Unauthorized access to Tyler Robinson's cell.
Chairs scraped and papers flew as agents jumped to their feet. Weapons were drawn from lockers; the muted buzz of routine turned into a storm of boots on tile.
Lead Agent: Move, move, secure the prisoner!
They swarmed down the hall toward the reinforced detention wing, rifles up, fingers steady on triggers. The heavy steel door to Tyler Robinson's cell slid aside with a grinding hiss.
Inside was chaos: concrete dust hung in the air like smoke, flickering lights cast jagged shadows across the cell floor. The cot was empty. Chains lay slack.
And in the far wall a massive, jagged hole gaped outward, the edges blackened and crumbling as if something had torn through both concrete and steel.
Agent 1 lowered his weapon slightly, staring at the opening.
Agent 1: Jesus… somebody didn't just break in. They broke him out.
Agent 2 flicked on a flashlight and peered into the tunnel beyond, which led into darkness.
Agent 2: No footprints. No debris trail. Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing.
The lead agent keyed his radio, jaw tight.
Lead Agent: Lock down the entire block. I want eyes on every exit, every camera feed now. Whoever's responsible is still out there.
The red lights kept flashing, painting the room in pulses of warning as the agents spread out, weapons raised, staring into the yawning hole in their own fortress.
MEANWHILE...
Rain dripped through holes in the corrugated roof. Rusted chains swung slightly in the damp air. In the centre of the floor Tyler Robinson was tied to a chair, sweat running down his face, eyes darting around.
A shadow moved. Two red slashes of light gleamed where eyes should be. Zack stepped out, black visor glowing faintly in the dark. A crowbar hung loosely in his hand.
Zack: Give me one good reason… why you killed Charlie Kirk… before I decide you deserve the "Joker treatment."
Tyler: J–Joker what? Look, I— I hated him, okay? He was—
Zack's jaw tightened. The crowbar slammed into the chair's arm, splintering wood inches from Tyler's ribs. Tyler screamed.
Zack: Wrong answer. Try again.
Tyler: I–I don't know! He exposed us—
Zack's visor glowed brighter, his breathing ragged.
MEANWHILE WITH LAURA.
Laura crouched low, inhaling deeply. She'd been tracking Zack's scent for hours; it was faint, erratic. She caught another trace, but mingled with something else something oddly familiar.
Leaves rustled. A figure stepped out from behind a tree a young man, feral eyes, claws glinting under the moonlight. He looked like Wolverine but younger, leaner.
Laura's claws snikt out instinctively.
Laura: Who are you supposed to be?
The boy raised his hands slowly.
Ethan: My name's Ethan Summers. I came from a… pretty shitty future.
Laura blinked, thrown off.
Laura: Summers?
Ethan: I'm your son.
Laura: S–son?
Before she could recover, Ethan grabbed her wrist urgently.
Ethan: We have to find Dad before the worst happens!
Laura: What do you mean "worst"?!
BACK AT THE WAREHOUSE
The rain hammered harder. Zack's crowbar clanged to the floor, bent. He was trembling, visor glowing like a furnace. Tyler gasped for
breath, bound and bruised.
Zack: Last chance…
Thunder cracked outside, lighting the room for an instant. Tyler's breath came in short, panicked bursts. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth; the chair he was tied to creaked under his weight.
Tyler: I… I did it because we yes, we couldn't stand Charlie Kirk's politics anymore. I'd had enough of his hatred, so I decided to kill him.
Zack took one slow step forward, visor glowing like molten metal. His voice dropped to a low growl.
Zack: You killed a man. A politician. A father. A husband. In front of his wife and children. And you show no remorse?
Tyler flinched at the words.
Zack's gloved hands tightened on the crowbar.
Zack: I've heard enough.
He swung the crowbar once, hard, splintering the floorboards beside Tyler's chair with a metallic crack. Tyler yelped. Zack raised it again and again each blow smashing the chair's armrests, the concrete floor, shattering the space around Tyler but stopping short of a killing strike. Sparks from the visor flickered with every movement; the air seemed to vibrate with restrained power.
Tyler squeezed his eyes shut, trembling.
From outside, hurried footsteps splashed through puddles. A voice Laura's echoed faintly through the warehouse door:
Laura: Zack! Stop!
The crowbar hovered inches from Tyler's face, Zack's whole body shaking, jaw clenched.
Rain pattered against the corrugated metal roof. The red glow from Zack's visor cut a line across Tyler's terrified face.
Zack's knuckles were white around the crowbar. His voice cracked as he shouted:
Zack: For what, Laura? This murderer deserves to die! He killed a man who agree with him or not stood for something! A father. A husband. He shot him like an animal.
Laura stepped closer, each footfall slow, deliberate. Her claws stayed retracted, palms open.
Laura: Zack… murderer doesn't need to die. Only the system can do that. Don't be such an asshole, Zack. Do you think Charlie would want this?
She reached him, gently wrapping her fingers around his hands. The crowbar trembled between them. She tilted her head up until her eyes locked with the faint glow behind his visor.
Laura (whispering): Look at me. I'm begging you. Right now. Listen.
For a heartbeat, all Zack heard was the rain and his own breathing. The visor flickered; his jaw clenched, muscles shaking with rage.
Zack: I… I can't…
Laura pressed his hands down until the crowbar lowered to the floor with a dull clang.
Laura: Yes, you can. Let the system handle him. Don't let this be the thing that makes you like the people you hate.
Zack's chest rose and fell. Slowly, reluctantly, he released the crowbar. The red light from his visor dimmed as he backed away a step, staring at Tyler, then at Laura.
Zack (hoarse): …Please, don't let go of me right now.
Laura kept one arm around Zack's waist, steadying him. Her voice was low, urgent.
Laura: Let's get out of here, Zack. The FBI's going to be on this place any second.
Zack didn't answer at first. His visor glowed faintly as he stared at Tyler, jaw tight, breathing hard. Laura tugged gently at his sleeve, pulling him a step toward the door.
Laura (softer): C'mon. Now.
Zack glanced back one last time at Tyler.
Zack (Muttered): You should be grateful she was here...
Laura tightened her hold, pulling him forward.
Laura: C'mon. That's enough. We leave him for the system. That's the line, Zack.
Zack's fingers twitched, then slowly curled into a fist at his side. Without looking back, he let her guide him. They stepped over broken bits of concrete and a toppled chair, boots echoing in the empty space.
At the doorway Laura glanced back once. Tyler was still on the ground, moaning, blood pooling under him but alive. She tightened her grip on Zack's arm and pushed the door open into the rainy night.
Outside, the alley was slick and cold. Sirens wailed faintly in the distance. Laura set a brisk pace, half dragging Zack along.
Laura (whispering): We leave him for the system. We leave this whole mess behind tonight.
Zack kept his head down in shame, visor glinting under the streetlight, and followed her into the darkness, away from the warehouse and the approaching law-enforcement.
Zack (thoughts and clench his fist): Im slowly becoming... The same man who beat Jason... With a crowbar...
Laura half-carried Zack until she found a stack of crates and eased him down against it.
Laura: Sit. Just... Breath for a second.
Zack (hoarse): Leave me alone… I wanna think about what I did today, Laura.
Laura crouched in front of him, hands still on his shoulders. Her eyes searched his face.
Laura: Which one? Punching me in the stomach earlier… or kidnapping and torturing the killer?
Zack tilted his head back against the crate, staring at the dripping fire escape above.
Zack: Both. So please… I wanna be alone for now.
Laura hesitated, jaw tight, then nodded slowly.
Laura (quiet): Fine. But remember, I'll be back in a minute.
She stood, brushed the dirt off her palms, and walked out toward the mouth of the alley, her footsteps fading into the city noise.
Zack stayed slumped on the ground, visor dim. Rain pattered on his gloves as he rubbed his temples. His thoughts circled: Tyler's face, Laura's voice, Charlie's name.
A faint wet sound came from behind him.
Zack (muttering): What the—
Something black and viscous touched his back. He jerked upright, twisting to see a slick tendril of gloo sliding across his shoulder.
Zack (shouting): HELL! Let go!
He clawed at it, but the black substance climbed faster, wrapping around his chest and arms. It pulsed, alive, pulling itself over his suit.
Zack (panicked): My visor! My… my eyes! But… I can still see?
The last of the gloo sealed over his head, smoothing into a mask of black with a giant yellow X spreading across the faceplate, no mouth, only red lines slashing where his eyes glowed. Yellow gloves formed over his hands, the X on his chest burning bright.
The symbiote straightened his posture. Zack's voice echoed, deeper now, filled with power.
Zack (roaring): I CAN SEE!
Rain splashed on the pavement around him as the alley fell silent, the new form breathing in the city night.