Part 2: Collisions
Location: Outskirts of the City, wooded perimeter
Time: Same night, shortly after the underground lab escape
Riven hit the dirt hard, his back cracking through a thicket of brush and landing in the mud with a heavy thud. His tactical suit was torn and bloodied, the black fabric shredded across the shoulder and abdomen, exposing battered skin beneath. He coughed, rolled to his side, and pushed himself upright with a grimace.
The boy—no, the weapon Hydra made of him—staggered out from the forest shadows, hunched and heaving. His limbs were distended, his skin grayed and cracked, muscle swollen with grotesque, mutated strength. Eyes once human now glowed with fractured light, leaking energy and madness. The unstable telekinesis around him lashed at the trees, ripping branches from trunks in random pulses.
Riven's black hair was plastered to his face with sweat and blood. His breath came ragged, his chest rising and falling as he stared the boy down, his fingers twitching with restrained force. He could kill him. End this. But he didn't.
"You don't want this," Riven muttered, voice hoarse but steady. "I know you're still in there. I know they did this to you."
The boy screamed, voice like static through a broken radio, and surged forward. Telekinetic blasts shattered the trees between them. Riven raised a hand—not to attack, but to shield. A wall of invisible force met the blast, absorbing most of it before he was thrown back again, skidding across the ground. He gritted his teeth, rolled, and leapt back up, more instinct than plan.
Then came a sudden bolt of light.
Cyclops's beam cut through the air, forcing the boy to leap back. Jean Grey descended nearby, her hands glowing faintly as she reached toward the chaotic mind she could barely touch. Logan rushed in next, claws bared, and Ororo—Storm—hovered above, calling down a gust of wind to clear the debris.
Jean's eyes widened when she saw Riven, bloodied and bruised, holding himself upright by sheer will. "He's holding back," she said under her breath, shocked.
Riven didn't wait for pleasantries. "Don't kill him!" he shouted. "He's not gone! He's just... lost."
"We're not here to kill," Logan growled, eyes never leaving the boy. "But we won't let him tear you apart either."
The mutant child howled again, then launched into the air with a telekinetic burst. Storm flew up to intercept, lightning crackling around her. Jean's power flared, trying to reach into the mind beneath the monster. Cyclops and Logan moved with practiced coordination, pressing from both sides while avoiding lethal strikes.
Riven moved with them now, fighting not to destroy but to subdue. He used his telekinesis like a blade and shield both, redirecting attacks and pinning the boy briefly between floating debris. But the moment he hesitated, the child broke free again.
The ground shook from the mutant's telekinetic bursts. It was power without control. The child's body was deteriorating—too much strain, too much energy. And Riven saw it in his eyes: fear.
"Enough!" Riven shouted. His power surged, and this time he caught the boy mid-lunge, holding him suspended in midair, his own energy wrapping around the thrashing form.
The kid screamed again, raw and pained.
Jean stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. "Let me in. Let me reach him."
Riven nodded once and released the hold. Jean's mind touched the boy's.
The boy gasped, choked once—and passed out. His body shrunk slightly, muscles retracting, his monstrous form slowly beginning to fade.
Silence returned.
Riven fell to one knee, finally letting himself breathe. Storm landed beside him. Cyclops lowered his visor. Logan grunted.
No one spoke. But they all understood: Riven had chosen mercy over power.
And it had nearly killed him.