A Remote Estate Outside Washington D.C.
The X-Jet slowly descended onto the wide, well-maintained lawn of a secluded estate far removed from the main districts of Washington, D.C. Its engines gradually quieted as the aircraft touched down and the cloaking systems disengaged.
As soon as the ramp extended, Mark stepped out and carefully guided Professor Charles Xavier's wheelchair down the platform. A moment later, a large, broad-shouldered man covered in thick blue fur approached with energetic strides. His tailored suit fit perfectly, glasses sat neatly on his nose, and his confident posture was complemented by a warm, genuine smile.
"Professor, I'm truly relieved to see you safe and sound," he exclaimed, leaning down to give Xavier a brief, affectionate hug.
Charles returned the gesture with familiar warmth and added with a chuckle, "It's thanks to our newest student, young Mark, that I'm not sitting in a S.H.I.E.L.D. prison cell right now."
He turned toward the boy standing beside him. "And as it happens, he's seeking your help with a rather interesting situation."
The blue-furred mutant faced Mark and greeted him with a bright, thoughtful smile.
"Hello there, Professor Hank," Mark said politely, maintaining a respectful tone.
"Hello, young man. What can I assist you with?" Hank asked, his eyes examining Mark with curiosity and subtle admiration.
Charles had already mentioned Mark's contribution to the recent mission during a brief call the day before, so Hank wasn't walking in blind. He knew a little about Mark's capabilities and how instrumental the young man had been in a high-stakes scenario.
Mark began to explain, choosing his words carefully.
"When I activate my abilities, a specific weapon appears. It feels bonded to me, connected at a level I can't fully explain. It improves my focus and makes everything work more efficiently. I was hoping you might analyze it and maybe even replicate some of its properties. Something we could apply to other gear or tools, maybe."
He avoided complex or overly magical language, trying to keep his explanation practical.
Hank listened with interest and then gave a thoughtful nod.
"That's not particularly difficult in theory," he replied.
"But I'd need to return to the school in a few days to run a full diagnostic. With the right scanning equipment, I can break down the weapon's structure and see what we're working with. If it's as you describe, we might be able to duplicate some of its effects."
Mark's eyes brightened with excitement. "Thank you so much, Professor."
Hank laughed and gave a dismissive wave. "This kind of thing falls squarely into my line of work. Helping students develop gear that complements their powers is part of the mission."
Just then, a familiar voice entered the scene.
"Well, look who's back to normal. I see you finally ditched that serum and accepted who you were meant to be."
It was Erik. His tone was casual, but there was a sharpness to it that couldn't be missed.
Hank's posture stiffened. He bared his teeth in a moment of animal reflex before consciously relaxing and replying coldly,
"Erik, I would strongly recommend you avoid doing anything behind Charles's back. If I catch wind of it, I won't let it slide."
Erik raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Hank, is that really the kind of welcome you give an old friend?"
Before Hank could answer, Mystique stepped forward. She placed a gentle hand on his cheek and spoke with soft affection. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"
Hank's expression shifted. His face, usually so composed, revealed a quiet pain. "Raven, I... sigh."
Back when he first knew her, Mystique had been Raven, vibrant, unapologetically herself, strong-willed in a way that fascinated him. Even when she chose to leave Charles and follow Erik's path, his feelings never changed.
But years had passed. And so had Raven. She had transformed. No longer simply disillusioned, she had grown radical, hardened by the world. Her hatred of humanity had deepened. The mercy she once had was gone. She didn't hesitate anymore. Not even when the innocent were in her path.
"You've never been through what I have, Hank," she said, quietly removing her hand.
"You've never seen what they do to people like us."
Mark stood silently nearby, watching them. He was beginning to understand what Mystique meant by "pain." He suspected she was referring to the years she spent as a prisoner in Bolivar Trask's secret programs.
Trask, founder of Trask Industries and former superior to Colonel Stryker, had conducted a vast and covert operation of human experimentation. Where Stryker had always been blunt in his hatred, Trask had been subtle and insidious, operating with the quiet arrogance of a man who believed he was saving humanity from extinction.
Trask saw mutants not as humans but as a new, dangerous species. His solution had been mechanical: the Sentinels. Machines built to track and destroy mutants with ruthless efficiency. But before they were machines, they were data, data harvested from people like Mystique, who had been captured, violated, and dissected.
In a future timeline Mark had once read about, those machines evolved. They didn't just target mutants. They expanded their criteria to include ordinary humans carrying latent X-genes. The resistance, a fractured coalition of survivors led by Charles and Erik in a rare alliance, barely managed to delay extinction long enough to send someone back through time and undo it.
Mark knew his current timeline might not follow that exact path, but the warning remained. If someone, somewhere, resumed Sentinel development, he would have no choice. He'd have to find and destroy it before it became unstoppable.
Returning to the moment, Hank sighed and cleared his throat.
"Let's get going. Transportation is already waiting. The drive to S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters will take a while."
He led Charles, Mark, Erik, and Mystique down a paved path to a row of sleek black vehicles waiting near the estate gates. Their destination was the Triskelion, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s towering headquarters, located along the Potomac River between Washington D.C. and northern Virginia.
~~~~~~~
Inside the Triskelion, S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters
Within the executive suite of the Triskelion, Director Nick Fury stood in front of a large wall display, his one eye fixed on the digital map being updated in real time. His hands were behind his back, his shoulders square.
"Have we found them yet?" he asked, voice steady but focused.
Agent Maria Hill stood nearby, dressed in standard S.H.I.E.L.D. black. She tapped commands into her tablet, and a series of high-resolution images flickered to life on the screen.
"Yes, Director. They were spotted about thirty minutes ago at a private estate outside the city. Our satellite feed shows them entering vehicles. Based on their current speed, they'll reach the main gate in approximately forty minutes."
The feed displayed clear images of Charles, Erik, Mark, and Mystique stepping into one of the cars, with Colonel Stryker visibly restrained and in tow.
Fury's jaw tightened. "Activate the full neural interference grid. I want it across the entire compound. Pull out all non-essential personnel. And alert every tactical unit. No exceptions."
He paused just long enough for Hill to nod before continuing.
"Once they're inside our perimeter, I want them tracked across every spectrum. Visual, thermal, audio. I don't want so much as a whisper unrecorded. These aren't diplomats. They're potential weapons."
He leaned forward slightly.
"And that boy Mark, he might have stealth-based powers. Assign Barton to follow him directly. I don't care if he just wants to breathe fresh air. Barton stays with him."
Fury wasn't guessing. He had seen the recordings. Xavier, Magneto, and Mark together had stopped armies. If they turned hostile, no building, no system, no shield would hold them.
From the far side of the room, Captain Marvel stepped forward and gently placed a hand on Fury's shoulder.
"You're overthinking it. Xavier isn't the enemy. Besides, you've got me."
Hill let out a small breath and cleared her throat to redirect the conversation.
"Director, about the matter raised by the Secretary of Defense?"
Fury's face darkened.
"Tell him it's not going to happen. I'll hand Stryker over personally in two weeks. Alive. But not until I get what I need."
Behind that promise was a quiet truth. Fury didn't plan to release Stryker. He wanted to extract every piece of information he could. Stryker's actions had crossed every moral and legal boundary. There would be no second chance.
The interference from Trask Industries complicated things. Their influence reached high places. And if the Secretary of Defense himself was applying pressure, Fury knew it wasn't just politics. It was protection. Trask had friends in powerful positions.
Still, until he was forced to act otherwise, Stryker was staying right here. And Fury would make sure he talked.
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