One Month Later
The fallout from the warehouse raid was complicated.
Kingpin avoided arrest—his lawyers were too good, his connections too deep. But his organization was in chaos. The doubt I'd planted had taken root. He'd purged three of his top lieutenants on suspicion of betrayal (none of whom I'd actually touched). His operations were disrupted by constant security reviews. And most importantly, he'd stopped sending people to kill me.
The war wasn't over, but it had gone cold. For now, that was enough.
Meanwhile, I was evolving in other ways.
My skill collection had expanded significantly:
**From Elektra** (ongoing): Advanced combat techniques, weapons mastery (sai, sword, staff), assassination arts (which I hoped never to use), and most importantly—discipline. She'd taught me to push through pain, to fight when exhausted, to never quit even when outmatched.
**From a bomb disposal expert** (through SHIELD contacts): Electronics, explosives theory, and technical problem-solving. This one was fascinating—it changed how I saw physical systems, made me understand how things worked at a mechanical level.
**From a field medic**: Emergency medicine, trauma care, basic surgery. Potentially life-saving knowledge that had already proven useful when Maya took a knife wound during a routine patrol.
**From a parkour instructor** (convinced I was just an enthusiastic student): Free-running, urban navigation, escape and evasion. My body had finally built up enough conditioning to make this work—I could now traverse the city like Spider-Man minus the webs.
But the most significant growth was in my telepathy itself.
"You're plateauing," Emma Frost said during one of our training sessions.
I'd been working with Emma regularly now—not as part of my team yet, but as a teacher. She'd agreed to help refine my telepathic techniques in exchange for… well, we were still negotiating what exactly she wanted in return.
"What do you mean?"
"Your raw power is still growing, but your control and finesse have stalled." She tapped my forehead. "You're like a bodybuilder who only does heavy lifts. Strong, but not agile. You can smash through weak minds easily, but against someone with real training, you're vulnerable."
"I held off the Hand's enhanced soldiers."
"You disrupted them. There's a difference between disruption and control. Against someone like me, or Xavier, or any telepath with real skill, you'd be easily defeated."
"So teach me."
"I have been. But you're not listening." She created a psychic construct—a glowing sphere that floated between us on the mental plane. "You see this as a battle of strength. It's not. It's a battle of architecture. Watch."
The sphere shifted, folded, became a complex geometric pattern. "This is a proper shield—layered, redundant, with false passages that lead attackers into traps. What you've been doing is the equivalent of a brick wall. Strong, but easily circumvented by someone who knows how."
She demonstrated, her power flowing around my shields like water, finding cracks I didn't know existed.
"Now you try. Build a proper shield."
It took hours. Days, actually, of repeated attempts. But slowly, I learned to construct mental defenses that weren't just strong, but intelligent. Shields that adapted, that misdirected, that made attacking me more dangerous than effective.
"Better," Emma admitted after a particularly successful defense. "You're finally thinking like a telepath instead of a brawler."
"Does this mean I can finally beat you?"
She smiled—a dangerous expression. "No, darling. It means you might survive thirty seconds instead of ten."
While I trained, my women were having their own development.
Felicia had expanded her thieving operations with a new twist—she now only targeted criminals. Corrupt executives, money launderers, those who'd stolen from others. It was still illegal, but it felt more righteous. And the intelligence she gathered was invaluable.
Maya had connected with other deaf fighters in the city, building a network of information sources that most people overlooked. The deaf community saw and heard (in their own way) things that others missed. She'd become our best source of street-level intel.
Jessica had been promoted within SHIELD after her role in the warehouse raid. She now had more access, more resources, and more ability to help us from the inside. But the promotion came with increased scrutiny—she had to be more careful about her connection to us.
And Elektra… Elektra was still a wild card.
She trained with us, fought alongside us, even seemed to be developing genuine loyalty to the team. But I could sense the conflict in her mind—the pull toward redemption versus the comfort of her violent nature.
One night, after a particularly brutal training session, she approached me in private.
"I need to tell you something," she said.
"Go ahead."
"The Hand knows I'm with you. They've sent word—come back or be hunted."
"And?"
"And I'm not going back. But that means they'll come for me. For all of us." She met my eyes. "They'll send Kirigi. He's their best assassin. Better than me. Better than anyone."
"Then we'll deal with him."
"You don't understand. Kirigi doesn't just kill. He erases. Makes people disappear so completely it's like they never existed. If he comes for us…" She trailed off.
"Then we make sure we're ready." I put a hand on her shoulder. "You're one of us now, Elektra. We protect our own."
She looked surprised, then—for the first time since I'd met her—vulnerable. "Thank you."
The attack came two weeks later.
Not from the Hand. Not from Kingpin.
From someone I hadn't expected.
I was alone in the base's training room, working through forms Elektra had taught me, when I felt it—a massive psychic presence descending on the facility.
Not attacking. Just… announcing itself.
I dropped my practice sword and reached out with my mind. What I found made my blood run cold.
Charles Xavier. Here. In person.
I rushed to the entrance just as he rolled in, flanked by Storm and Cyclops. But they weren't here for a fight—their body language was non-threatening.
"Professor," I said cautiously. "This is unexpected."
"Apologies for the intrusion, Marcus. But we need to talk. And I'm afraid what I have to tell you can't wait."
His expression was grave. Whatever this was, it wasn't good.
"What's wrong?"
"There's been a development. A threat that concerns both of us." He glanced at Storm and Cyclops. "Could we speak privately?"
I led him to my office, my women appearing from various parts of the facility, alert and ready. Xavier waved them off gently.
"They can stay if you wish. This concerns them too."
"Tell me," I demanded.
"Do you know what Apocalypse is?"
My stomach dropped. I'd read the comics, knew the stories. Apocalypse was one of the most powerful mutants in existence—ancient, nearly immortal, with abilities that dwarfed even Omega-level threats.
"The first mutant," I said slowly. "But he's supposed to be dormant, sealed away."
"He was. But someone is trying to wake him. And they're using telepaths to do it." Xavier's expression was pained. "They've already captured three powerful psychics. Jean Grey is investigating, but the pattern is clear—they're targeting telepaths, draining their powers to break the seal."
"And you think I'm next."
"You're an Omega-level telepath who's appeared very publicly. Yes, I think you're a target." He leaned forward. "Marcus, I'm not here to recruit you into the X-Men. I'm here to warn you and offer an alliance. If Apocalypse rises, he won't discriminate between hero and independent operator. We'll all be targets."
I looked at my women. They were worried—they could feel my fear through our mental links.
"What do you need from me?"
"Help us find the people trying to wake him. Help us stop them before it's too late. And if it comes to a fight with Apocalypse himself…" Xavier paused. "We'll need every telepath who can stand against him."
This was it. The moment where I had to decide—stay in the shadows or step up to face a real threat.
I thought about everything I'd built. My team, my skills, my growing power. Was I ready for something like this?
Probably not. But ready or not, it was coming.
"I'm in," I said. "Tell me what you need."