Within three hours, they had cleared six facilities, rescuing nearly twelve mutant children from conditions that made Lucien's own imprisonment look humane by comparison.
Each location had been a carbon copy of hell—sterile white corridors, reinforced cells, and the lingering stench of fear and despair that seemed to permeate every surface.
Each rescue had felt like a small victory, but also a reminder of how many more children were suffering in similar conditions.
The grateful tears of freed prisoners, the way they clung to hope despite months or years of torture—it all fueled the cold fire burning in Lucien's chest.
This was the final location, and according to the intelligence they'd gathered, it was the main hub where all the blood samples and research data were being transported. The nerve center of an operation that had turned children into lab rats across multiple states.
Bucky and Natasha were exhausted after seven consecutive facility raids. The adrenaline that had carried them through the first few locations had long since faded, replaced by the bone-deep weariness that came from sustained combat operations.
Yelena had occasionally switched places with one of them during the brief flights between targets, giving them moments of rest, but even she was showing signs of fatigue.
"I can handle this one alone," Lucien said as they approached the final facility. Through the Quinjet's windows, it looked larger than the others—a sprawling complex that spoke of serious funding and long-term planning.
"You sure about that?" Bucky asked, though his voice carried relief rather than concern. "This place looks like it could house an army."
"After what I've seen you do tonight," Natasha added, checking her weapons one final time, "I'm more worried about the facility than I am about you. You've been tearing through their defenses like they're made of paper."
"Besides," Yelena called from the pilot's seat, "If you need backup, just say the word and we will come running. Simple plan."
"Simple plans work best," Lucien agreed, dropping from the Quinjet into the facility's courtyard.
He landed silently on concrete that showed no signs of recent activity. The place felt different from the others—too quiet, too clean, like a stage set waiting for actors to arrive.
The main entrance was unlocked, which should have been his first warning.
But anger was building in his chest with each step deeper into the complex, fueled by hours of seeing what these people had done to children.
Turns out that he and Anna were kept in relatively human conditions compared to some of the other mutants.
One of the girls was even tied up in chains, and was in a berserk state, and even tried to attack Lucien with her metallic claws, but Lucien knocked her out.
By the time he reached the central laboratory, he was ready to tear apart anyone responsible with his bare hands.
But contrary to what he thought, the lab was completely empty.
No guards, no researchers, no equipment—just pristine white walls and the antiseptic smell of a medical facility. It felt like walking into a trap, but Lucien was beyond caring about personal safety.
"Welcome."
The voice came from behind him, calm and cultured, carrying the kind of refined accent that belonged in university lecture halls rather than secret government facilities. Lucien spun around to see a figure that made his blood run cold.
The man was tall and pale, dressed in an expensive suit that looked completely out of place in the sterile environment. But it was his eyes that captured attention—completely red, even the whites, like pools of fresh blood set in a marble statue's face.
"Who are you?" Lucien demanded, his muscles tensing for combat.
"Nathaniel Essex," the man replied with a slight bow, as if they were being introduced at a dinner party. "Though some of my colleagues prefer more... dramatic appellations. Mister Sinister, they call me. Such theatrical flair, don't you think?"
Natasha's voice crackled through his earpiece, sharp with alarm. "That can't be possible. Mister Sinister was proclaimed dead after all his clones were destroyed—"
The transmission cut off abruptly.
"Oh, we don't need disturbances now, do we?" Nathaniel said with mild irritation, holding up a small device that was undoubtedly jamming their communications. "I do so prefer intimate conversations. So much more... productive than having others interrupt with their limited perspectives."
"So you were behind all those monstrous experiments?" Lucien asked, his voice carrying barely controlled rage.
Nathaniel's expression shifted to one of mild offense, as if Lucien had questioned his choice of wine rather than accused him of torturing children.
"Monstrous is such a strong word, don't you think? I prefer 'comprehensive research.' I was simply... curious to see if I could learn something about why certain mutants retained their abilities when so many others lost them."
He smiled then, the expression not reaching those blood-red eyes. "All for the greater good, of course. The advancement of human knowledge. The betterment of our species through careful observation and data collection. Surely you can appreciate the noble intent behind my research?"
"Noble?" Lucien's voice cracked like a whip. "You call torturing children noble?"
"Torturing?" Nathaniel tilted his head, as if genuinely confused by the characterization. "My dear boy, I prefer to think of it as applied biological research with willing participants. After all, you were already going to be put under government custody. I simply... collected you for myself."
The casual way he spoke about torture and imprisonment—as if they were discussing academic theory rather than the suffering of children—sent waves of fury through Lucien's system. Every word was calculated to sound reasonable while being absolutely monstrous.
"Willing participants?" Lucien snarled. "We were children locked in cages!"
"And look how much you've grown!" Nathaniel exclaimed with genuine enthusiasm. "The stress responses, the adaptation mechanisms, the remarkable increase in your capabilities—it's absolutely fascinating! You should be thanking me for providing such excellent developmental stimuli."
"Is there a problem?" Nathaniel continued, tilting his head with mock concern as he watched Lucien's expression darken.
"Your anger levels seem to be rising quite dramatically. The muscle tension, the elevated heart rate, the dilation of your pupils—all excellent indicators of fight-or-flight response activation. Would you perhaps like some water? A moment to collect yourself? I find that rational discourse works so much better when all parties are calm and centered."
"Cut the crap," Lucien snarled, his hands clenching into fists. "Give me the real reason. Why did you torture us? What was the goal of all this?"
It was a question that had been eating at him for months—the why behind their suffering.
The experiments had seemed random, purposeless, as if their captors were just inflicting pain for the sake of inflicting pain. But looking at this man's calculating expression, Lucien knew there had been a plan all along.
"You genuinely want to understand?" Nathaniel asked, his tone shifting to something that might have been academic interest.
"How refreshing. Most people are content to simply rage without seeking deeper knowledge. They lack the intellectual curiosity to appreciate the elegant complexity of my work."
He began pacing slowly, his movements deliberate and controlled, like a professor delivering a favorite lecture. "You see, the M-Day event, as people are calling it, was fascinating from a scientific perspective. Millions of mutants suddenly lost their abilities overnight—but not all of them. A small percentage retained their powers, seemingly at random. The question that naturally arose was: what made them different?"
Nathaniel's smile widened, becoming something predatory. "The blood, the genetic material, the very cellular structure of the remaining mutants—all of it held potential clues to understanding this phenomenon."
"Think of the applications! If understood fully, we might be able to change the world as we know it!"
"So you decided to cage children and treat them like lab animals," Lucien said, his voice dropping to something dangerously quiet.
"Animals? That's a bit extreme," Nathaniel replied with a dismissive wave. "Besides, you should be grateful. My experiments have made you stronger, haven't they? More focused? More capable?"
"The stress testing, the adaptation protocols, the carefully monitored enhancement procedures—I've helped you realize your true potential in ways that natural development never could have achieved."
So he thinks my power is due to his experiments, huh?
"You think turning us into weapons is a gift?"
"Weapons?" Nathaniel laughed, a sound like crystal bells mixed with breaking glass. "My dear boy, you're thinking far too small. Weapons break, wear out, and become obsolete."
"Your increase in strength was not my intention at all. What I've created is something far more elegant—evolution guided by intelligence rather than left to blind chance, and I just needed... resources from your and your fellow mutants' bodies."
The casual cruelty of it—the implication that their suffering had been a gift—pushed Lucien past the breaking point.
"Let's see if you can keep up that act after I beat you to a pulp and rip out your heart," he said, his voice carrying absolute promise of violence.
Nathaniel's expression shifted, and for the first time, the mask of calm civility began to crack. His red eyes gleamed with something that went beyond mere excitement—a kind of hungry anticipation that spoke of genuine madness lurking beneath the intellectual facade.
Nathaniel's expression shifted to something that might have been excitement. "Indeed, that would be an interesting development. Such passion! Such raw fury! I do so love observing emotional responses under stress."
He stepped back slightly, his red eyes gleaming with anticipation. "But only if you can get through it."
The wall to Nathaniel's right exploded inward with the sound of breaking thunder. Concrete and steel fragments flew across the laboratory as something massive forced its way through what had been a reinforced barrier moments before.
What emerged from the dust and debris made Lucien's enhanced reflexes scream warnings. It was a Sentinel, but not like the ones he'd been destroying all night.
This machine was larger, darker, its black armor plates seeming to absorb light rather than reflect it. The design was sleeker, more advanced, carrying the unmistakable aura of something built for a single purpose: the complete extermination of mutant life.
This was a Sentinel from the Days of Future Past timeline—a machine designed not just to capture or contain, but to hunt and kill with ruthless efficiency.
"Allow me to introduce my latest side project," Nathaniel said, his voice carrying the pride of a craftsman showing off his masterwork.
"This is still an incomplete version, you understand—merely a prototype based on future technology that hasn't been fully realized yet. But it should be more than sufficient to see exactly how much you've grown."
He stepped back, his red eyes practically glowing with anticipation as he raised his index finger, "To give you some motivation, other than ripping my heart out as you want, I shall give you one single incentive."
"Defeat it, and I shall tell you what I created using the genetic material I collected from the captured mutants. You have my word on that."
The Sentinel's optical sensors flared to life, bathing the laboratory in harsh red light as it focused on Lucien with mechanical precision.
"But if you can't..." Nathaniel's voice trailed off into laughter that contained no warmth, no humanity—just the sound of someone who viewed the potential death of a teenager as nothing more than an interesting data point.
"...then you will just be a waste like countless before you."
.....
POWER STONE GOAL: 700 ( 1 Extra Chapter)
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