The X-Jet settled onto the manicured lawn of a stately manor in the quiet suburbs of D.C., the engines whining down to a whisper. As the ramp lowered, a figure emerged from the grand house, having to stoop to get through the doorway. He was massive, covered head-to-toe in thick, blue fur, yet he wore a pair of delicate spectacles and a lab coat, a walking contradiction of brute strength and gentle intellect.
"Charles!" Hank McCoy's voice was a deep, warm baritone. "Thank God. I heard what happened. Are you alright?"
"I am now, old friend," Professor X said with a tired smile as Ethan pushed his wheelchair onto the grass. "And it's thanks in large part to this young man." He gestured to Ethan. "Hank, this is Ethan. He has a… scientific query for you."
Ethan stepped forward, feeling slightly dwarfed by the towering, furry scientist. "Hello, Professor McCoy. It's an honor."
"Please, call me Hank," Beast replied, his eyes, so surprisingly kind and intelligent, crinkling in a smile. "Charles tells me you were instrumental in his rescue. What can I do for you, young man?"
"Well, Professor Hank," Ethan began, choosing his words carefully. "My ability… sometimes it lets me manifest a specific tool. A sort of weapon. It has unique properties that help me channel my energy. I was hoping you could maybe analyze it, see if its characteristics could be… replicated, and applied to another object."
Hank listened intently, his massive head tilted. "Fascinating. A bio-organic energy focus. It's not theoretically difficult, but I would need to run a full diagnostic on the object itself to understand its principles. When we get back to the school, bring it to my lab. We'll see what we can do."
"Thank you, Professor," Ethan said, his eyes lighting up. The plan was in motion.
"It's no trouble at all, son," Hank said with a wave of his large, blue-furred hand. "Helping our students understand and enhance their gifts is my life's work."
"Well, well, Henry," a new voice, dripping with condescending amusement, cut in. "It seems you've finally given up on that dreadful serum of yours and embraced your true, beautiful self."
Hank's entire demeanor changed. The gentle scientist vanished, replaced by something primal. A low, guttural roar rumbled in his chest, his lips peeling back to reveal impressive fangs. He visibly fought it down, his massive fists clenching at his sides. "Erik," he growled, his voice now a low threat. "I'm warning you. Don't start anything here."
"Hank. It's been so long." Mystique glided forward, her voice a silky purr. She reached up and trailed a blue finger along his furry cheek. "Is that any way to greet an old friend?"
Hank flinched as if burned, his expression a storm of unresolved pain and longing. "Raven…" he breathed, his voice cracking. "I… damn it, Raven." He had loved her, the vibrant, passionate woman she had been. But the creature she had become after Magneto had gotten his hooks in her… that was a different person entirely. A killer.
"You haven't walked in my shoes, Hank," she said, her voice hardening as she sensed his judgment. She withdrew her hand. "You don't know the pain they inflicted."
Ethan watched the raw, painful history play out between them and knew exactly what she meant. Trask, he thought. Bolivar Trask. The real monster, the man who had hunted and vivisected her, whose experiments had twisted her pain into an all-consuming hatred. A future of giant, mutant-hunting robots, a timeline so dark they had to break reality to fix it… all of it started with that man. Another name for the list, he decided grimly.
"We should go," Hank said after a heavy silence, his professional demeanor returning like a shield. "I have a car waiting. It's over an hour's drive to the Triskelion."
At that same moment, high in the Director's office of that very building, Nick Fury stared out at the panoramic view of Washington, D.C., his hands clasped behind his back.
"Status report, Hill," he commanded.
Maria Hill tapped on the tablet in her hand, and a satellite image projected onto the wall. "They landed at a private estate in Fairfax County thirty minutes ago, sir. A vehicle has just departed. Based on their trajectory, ETA at the Triskelion is approximately forty-five minutes."
Fury's expression was grim. He was walking into a meeting with a telepath who could rewrite a person's mind, a terrorist who could turn his own headquarters into a metal coffin, and a kid who could transform into a literal kaiju.
"Activate the wide-spectrum psychic dampeners. Full coverage of the entire facility," he barked. "Evacuate all non-essential personnel from the lower levels. I want every combat-ready agent on high alert. Full, seamless surveillance the second they step foot in the building. I want to know if one of them so much as sneezes out of sync." His gaze hardened. "And assign Barton to the kid. I want him on Ethan's ass from the second he's inside. That kid used an invisibility cloak. I want an archer who can track a ghost. Barton sticks to him like glue, even if he goes to the damn toilet."
"Nick, you're worrying too much," Maria Rambeau said softly, coming up behind him and placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Charles Xavier doesn't strike me as a villain. Besides," she added, her hand glowing faintly with a warm, golden light, "you've got me."
He relaxed a fraction of an inch under her touch. Before he could reply, Hill coughed politely.
"Director," she said, "the Secretary of Defense is on line three again. About Colonel Stryker."
Fury's face soured. He let out a weary sigh, rubbing his temples. "Tell the Secretary I will hand over Colonel Stryker, completely intact, in two weeks. Not a day sooner."
He was caught in a political vise grip. His original plan was to bury Stryker in the deepest, darkest hole he could find after his agents had squeezed every last drop of intel from him. But Stryker's old connections at Trask Industries had friends in high places, friends who were now leaning on him through the Secretary of Defense. As the still-new Director of SHIELD, he needed the government's support for his future plans. For now, he had to play their game. It left a bitter taste in his mouth.