[SHIELD Observation Site – Perimeter of Research Site Theta]
Smoke curled from the shattered remains of the facility.
"What the hell happened here?" Commander Maria Hill's voice cut through the comms.
Celia Monroe stood at the crater's edge, eyes fixed on the molten rubble below. SHIELD drones hummed overhead, scanning. There were no survivors.
"Site Theta's gone. Total containment failure," Monroe said, her tone flat. "One hostile breached. Subject 016. Name: Tristin."
Hill's voice tightened. "I thought Theta was off-grid."
"It was. Stryker buried it. Deep."
"Then how the hell did we miss a mutant with that level of power?"
Monroe turned to the floating display hovering beside her. Footage from a surviving hallway cam flickered. A white figure moved like lightning. Four massive tendrils tore through steel. Men screamed. Walls melted in blood.
The screen froze on Tristin's face — masked, monstrous, eyes glowing red.
"Because they never reported he was a mutant," Monroe muttered. "They were experimenting. Trying to weaponize him."
Hill exhaled slowly. "And now he's loose."
[SHIELD Helicarrier – Command Deck]
"Classify him as Omega-level until proven otherwise," Hill ordered. "We need assets on the ground. Satellite tracking, infrared sweeps, neural signatures—everything."
An agent beside her hesitated. "Ma'am, there's something else…"
He tapped the display. A live feed showed a civilian rooftop in Queens. A local news chopper zoomed in on the skyline—then the footage jolted. A black figure moved across the screen, leaping over rooftops, silhouetted against the sun.
Hill leaned in. "That's him."
The agent nodded. "He's not hiding."
[Xavier's School – Cerebro Chamber]
Charles Xavier's fingers tightened on the Cerebro console as the world streamed through his mind.
Then — pain.
Searing, directionless, like a cry for help wrapped in a roar of rage.
He pulled back with a gasp.
"Charles?" Jean Grey asked, already stepping closer.
"I found him," he whispered. "Tristin."
Jean's brow furrowed. "That's the one who—?"
"Yes. He's angry… but beneath that, there's a mind. One in agony."
Then—silence.
A psychic backlash slammed Charles back in his chair. Jean caught him as he trembled.
"I had him," he gasped. "And then… nothing. He vanished. Not just cloaked — severed. Like someone slammed every mental door at once."
"He's getting stronger," Jean said.
"No," Charles whispered. "He's changing. Rapidly. And not alone."
[SHIELD War Room]
"We can't let Xavier get to him first," Hill said. "He'll try to reason with him. That thing killed an entire base of armed men."
Monroe didn't blink. "And we'll do what? Bring him in with a dart gun?"
"No. But we'll try."
She turned to the ops board. "Deploy Taskforce Echo. I want him contained, conscious, and transported. If that fails—lethal force is authorized."
"Understood."
Hill glanced once more at the paused footage of Tristin — standing alone amid ruin.
"Let's pray it doesn't come to that."
"Lock that feed in!" Hill snapped. "Do not let him out of sight."
On the drone's monitor, Tristin stood at the edge of a crumbling rooftop. Wind swept through his hair. Tendrils curled and faded into his back. His glowing eyes scanned the city below.
Then—
A sudden flash of distortion, like light folding inward.
And he was gone.
Not running. Not cloaking.
Teleportation.
Monroe stared, stunned. "Did we just see him—?"
"Rewind it!" Hill barked.
The footage played again, frame by frame. A pulse of energy, a shimmer — and Tristin blinked out of existence. No portals. No devices. Pure displacement.
"Was that mutant-based?" Monroe asked.
The tech at the terminal was already shaking his head. "No known teleport signal. No tech signature. Psionic shielding went up the moment he left."
Monroe narrowed her eyes. "You think he might be Omega-level?"
Hill didn't answer immediately.
But she was thinking it.
[Location: Rooftop – Tristin's POV]
> SYSTEM BOOT COMPLETE.> Adaptive Interface Online.
The voice was calm, smooth, almost sterile.
> Greetings, Host. I apologize for the delay in introducing myself. Your awakening conditions were hostile — immediate activation could have jeopardized your survival.
A shimmering screen materialized before his eyes.
[SYSTEM STATUS WINDOW]
Active Template: Gojo Satoru
Energy Absorption (Lv1 – 78/100): Absorb most forms of energy; current speed and capacity limited.
Six Eyes (Lv1 – 1/100): Long-range 360° vision, can see and analyze energy flow, extreme perception, supports precise energy control.
Template Fusion Rate: 1%Increase fusion rate to unlock new skills.
Energy Points: 0
Locked Template: Kanki (Complete)Status: Frozen – No further progression possible.Note: This template was a one-time gift — bestowed by a pleased Watcher from the Audience. It cannot evolve, but remains permanently bound to your core. Removal is impossible without terminal consequence.
Tristin's eyes narrowed. "Audience... Watcher? Who the hell is watching me?"
The system paused — and then replied:
> You have been seen. Your survival, your awakening — it stirred attention. Some watch idly. Others… invest.
> The Kanki strain was one such investment. An act of favor.
He exhaled slowly, digesting the weight of those words.
> From this point on, progression will follow a more structured path. Fusion. Evolution. Mastery. The Gojo Template is your next stage. A new challenge. A new performance.
> Grow stronger… and perhaps more Watchers will take interest.
Tristin stared into the dark skyline, jaw clenched.
"…So I'm a show to them."
>You were chosen. Not by chance. But by curiosity. The Kanki was their offering. A favor. You survived — and now, you perform.
The Gojo template is your next trial. Growth. Fusion. Ascension.
He clenched his fists, eyes scanning the skyline. "So I'm entertainment?"
No. You are the unknown. The wildcard. And the Audience loves unpredictability.
Grow stronger. Impress. Survive.
Now perform.
[Location: X-Mansion – Cerebro Chamber]
Alarms didn't go off. No sirens screamed. But Charles Xavier's body suddenly tensed as if a void had swallowed the world whole.
Inside Cerebro, his connection to the mental plane wrenched sideways—then snapped.
He gasped, flinching violently as he was thrown back from the chair, nearly toppling over. Jean Grey rushed forward, catching him.
"Charles!"
He gripped her arm, eyes wide with something between shock and dread.
"I... I can't feel him," he said, his voice trembling. "He's gone."
Jean froze. "Gone?"
Charles shook his head. "No—not dead. But completely beyond reach. Like someone shut a door on every part of him at once."
He reached for Cerebro again, struggling to focus, but it was like clawing at smoke.
"I could feel him moments ago—wild, fractured, in pain—but now... it's as if something has sealed him off."
Jean helped steady him. "What does that mean?"
Charles Xavier jerked back in his seat, an involuntary cry escaping him as Cerebro's feedback surged like a static shock to the mind.
Jean Grey was at his side in an instant. "Professor!"
He held a hand to his head, disoriented. "He's... gone."
Jean blinked. "Gone?"
Charles nodded slowly, breathing heavily. "I was tracking him. Even through the chaos, there was still a thread—some part of his consciousness I could reach. But now—" he paused, searching with his mind again and finding only emptiness, "—it's vanished."
"You think SHIELD got to him?" Jean asked.
Charles shook his head. "No. It wasn't interference. It felt like something internal. Like a door closing from the inside."
She frowned. "What does that mean?"
"I don't know," Charles admitted. "But it's possible... he's evolving. Changing so quickly that Cerebro can no longer categorize him. Or something else is shielding him."
He looked toward the flickering readings, now static.
"Either way," he murmured, "we've lost sight of him. And that makes him more dangerous than ever."
[Location: Xavier Institute – Charles' Private Study]
The screen flickered to life.
Nick Fury's face filled it — stern, worn, all business. Behind him, the SHIELD insignia rotated slowly in holographic display.
"Charles."
"Director," Xavier greeted, voice low, unreadable. "I assume this is about Tristin."
Fury didn't waste time. "He's no longer your concern."
Charles raised an eyebrow. "He's a mutant. That makes him exactly my concern."
Fury's one eye narrowed. "Mutant, meta, monster—call it what you want. What I saw in that lab? He doesn't belong in a school."
He tapped a control. The screen shifted.
Footage played — raw, uncut.
Tristin moving through the lab like a shadow made of knives. The slow, casual way he stalked technicians, letting them run, scream, beg. The way his Kagune toyed with them — slicing the air around their heads, tracing their throats — before finally striking.
He wasn't killing to survive.
He was enjoying it.
Like a predator that had grown bored with cornered prey.
The feed cut.
Fury leaned forward. "That thing isn't crying out for help, Charles. It's playing."
Charles said nothing for a long time.
Then, quietly: "And you believe you can control him."
Fury didn't blink. "If I can, I've got a weapon that makes nukes look like firecrackers. A springboard to build something bigger."
"The Avengers?" Charles asked, reading between the lines.
Fury didn't deny it. "I need leverage. Power that doesn't answer to flags or councils. If we can turn him…"
"And if you can't?" Charles said.
Fury was silent.
Charles leaned back in his chair, eyes cold. "Then you've just given the world a reason to burn every mutant off the face of it."
Fury ended the call without another word.
The screen went dark.
Outside, storm clouds gathered.