William Stryker
The secure phone in William Stryker's office rang at 3:47 AM, its shrill tone cutting through the oppressive silence of the Weapon X facility deep within the Canadian wilderness. Stryker's eyes snapped open from his restless sleep on the office couch—he'd been pulling eighteen-hour days since the first facility went dark three days ago.
"Sir," the voice on the other end was Lieutenant Morrison, his communications officer, and the man's usual military composure was cracking. "We've lost contact with Research Facility 7 in Colorado. Complete communications blackout as of 0330 hours."
Stryker sat up slowly, his mind instantly sharp despite the lack of sleep. "Blackout or destruction?"
"Unknown, sir, but..." Morrison's voice wavered. "Sir, we've also lost contact with Facilities 12 and 15. Same pattern—all communications ceased within a two-hour window."
The phone creaked in Stryker's grip as his knuckles went white. Three facilities. In one night. Years of painstaking research, billions in black budget funding, hundreds of test subjects representing decades of genetic mapping—all potentially gone.
"Survivors?" Stryker's voice was deadly quiet.
"Positive, sir. Satellite imagery shows... extensive structural damage, but they are not killing indiscriminatley And sir, there's something else."
"What?"
"The subjects. They're all gone. Not dead—gone. Someone extracted them."
Stryker's jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached. He stood and walked to his wall of monitors, each one displaying feeds from the remaining active facilities. Red warning lights blinked across the displays like malevolent eyes.
"Mutants," he whispered, the word carrying all the hatred of a man who'd dedicated his life to their eradication. "They think they can wage war against humanity itself."
He slammed the phone down and began pacing his office like a caged predator. The wall-mounted monitors flickered to life at his gesture, displaying satellite feeds and what little security footage had survived from the attacked facilities. What he saw made his blood boil—the unmistakable signatures of mutant abilities. Massive ice formations that had flash-frozen entire sections of buildings, scorch marks from energy blasts that had carved through reinforced steel, and twisted metal that looked like it had been sculpted by an invisible hand.
"Sir?" Morrison's voice came through the intercom. "Your orders?"
Stryker stopped pacing and stared at the largest monitor, which showed aerial footage of Facility 7. The entire complex looked like it had been hit by a localized natural disaster—but he knew better. This was surgical, coordinated, and devastatingly effective.
"You want a war?" Stryker snarled at the screens, his reflection staring back from the dark glass. "You'll get one. But when the dust settles, every last one of you freaks will be either dead or strapped to my operating table."
He reached for his secure line to the Pentagon. If the mutants had escalated to this level, it was time to activate the Sentinel program ahead of schedule. The prototype units in the basement would need to be rushed into production, consequences be damned.
"Get me General Hathaway," he barked into the phone. "And wake up the Trask Industries board. We're moving to push forward the plan."
Political Reverberations
Bolivar Trask's Office - Trask Industries Headquarters, Washington D.C.
Bolivar Trask sat behind his mahogany desk, his normally immaculate appearance disheveled from a sleepless night. The classified briefing lay open before him, its contents more terrifying than anything he'd imagined in his worst nightmares about the mutant threat. The morning light streaming through his office windows seemed harsh and unforgiving, casting long shadows across the documents.
"Coordinated attacks," he murmured, his voice shaking slightly as he read the casualty reports. "They're not hiding anymore. They're... they're declaring war on the United States government."
Trask's mind raced through the political implications. He'd built his entire corporate empire on mutant detection and containment technology, warning of exactly this kind of escalation. But having his predictions proven correct in such a catastrophic way felt like a hollow victory. These weren't theoretical threats anymore—real facilities had been destroyed, real people were dead, and the perpetrators possessed abilities that conventional military forces couldn't counter.
"The American people need to know that their government won't bow to terrorist threats," Trask said finally, his voice growing steadier as his corporate instincts kicked in. "Regardless of the source or the... unique nature of the perpetrators."
He stood and walked to the window, gazing out at the Capitol dome. Somewhere in this city, other senators were having similar conversations. The Mutant Registration Act, which had been stalled in committee for months, would suddenly find new life. And with it, demand for his Sentinel technology.
"Schedule a press conference for this afternoon," he continued. "And get me meetings with the Joint Chiefs, the FBI Director, and the heads of the Intelligence Committee. If the mutants want a war, we'll give them one they'll never forget."
Margaret nodded, already dialing. "What about the Xavier Institute? They've been cooperative in the past—"
"The Xavier Institute?" Trask's laugh was bitter. "Margaret, for all we know, they're behind this. How do we know which mutants are 'good' and which are terrorists? They all have the same genetic markers, the same potential for mass destruction."
He turned back to his desk, his resolve hardening. "No, it's time we stopped pretending we can coexist with beings who can level city blocks with a thought. The Registration Act is just the beginning. And my Sentinels will be the solution."
Senator Stern's Office
Senator Stern read the same briefing with a very different expression—one of carefully concealed satisfaction masked behind a facade of appropriate concern. As his aide, a nervous young man named Peterson, briefed him on the "tragic events," Stern nodded gravely while internally celebrating.
"Terrible business," he said with practiced concern, his voice carrying just the right note of outrage. "These mutant terrorists must be stopped at all costs."
But behind his facade, Stern's mind was already working through the implications for Hydra's long-term plans. The attacks would serve their purposes perfectly—public fear would spike, government resources would be diverted to mutant-related threats, and in the chaos, Hydra's own operations could expand unnoticed. The mutants were doing Hydra's work for them, weakening the very institutions that stood in their way.
"Sir?" Peterson prompted. "Your statement for the press?"
"Draft something strong," Stern replied, settling back in his chair. "We stand with Senator Kelly on this. The mutant threat requires decisive action." He paused, allowing a slight smile to cross his lips. "Perhaps it's time we seriously considered more... permanent solutions. The public will support whatever measures we deem necessary now."
As Peterson left, Stern activated a secure communication device hidden in his desk drawer. The device looked like a standard tablet, but its encryption was light-years beyond anything the government used. His Hydra handlers would be very interested in this development.
A face appeared on the screen—angular, scarred, wearing the expression of a man who'd seen too much violence. "Baron Strucker," Stern said respectfully.
"Senator. I trust you've seen the reports?"
"Indeed. The mutant situation is escalating beyond our projections. This could be the catalyst we've been waiting for."
Strucker's smile was cold. "Chaos breeds opportunity. How quickly can you push through enhanced security measures?"
"Kelly's Registration Act will pass within the month now. But we can do more—expanded surveillance, detention facilities, special task forces. The American people will beg us to protect them."
"Excellent. And the enhanced individuals themselves?"
Stern's expression grew thoughtful. "Some will be useful. Others... well, accidents happen during wartime."
The Campaign Intensifies
Xavier's Mansion - War Room
The mansion's lower levels had been transformed into a sophisticated command center that would have impressed even Nick Fury. Banks of monitors displayed satellite feeds, facility blueprints, and real-time communications from rescue teams. Professor Xavier sat at the center of it all, his wheelchair positioned before a curved desk that gave him access to every system, while Dr. Hank McCoy worked frantically at multiple computer terminals.
"Cerebro has identified seventeen more facilities," Beast reported, his blue fur slightly disheveled from lack of sleep. "But the security is increasing exponentially. They're learning from our tactics."
Charles nodded grimly, his hands pressed to his temples. Maintaining psychic contact with multiple teams across vast distances was exhausting, but necessary. "What's the status on the Colorado facility?"
"Clean extraction," came Scott's voice through the comm system. "Fourteen mutants rescued, all research data destroyed. But Logan encountered something troubling."
Wolverine's gravelly voice cut through the static: "They had files on us, Chuck. Detailed ones. They know who we are, what we can do, maybe even where we live."
The implications hung heavy in the air. Their covert operations were becoming anything but covert.
"Professor," Jean's voice joined the conversation, calm despite the circumstances. "We have a problem. The young man—our coordinator—he's pushing himself too hard. His Pokémon are showing signs of exhaustion, and he's been maintaining his appearance illusion for hours without rest."
Charles turned to look at the young man in question, who stood at a tactical display, his appearance shimmering slightly around the edges. To anyone else, he looked like a man in his twenties with dark hair and angular features. But Charles could see through the illusion—could see the thirteen-year-old boy who carried the weight of this entire operation on his shoulders.
"Ash," Charles said gently. "Perhaps you should rest."
The illusion flickered for a moment, revealing tired brown eyes and a face far too young for such responsibility. "I can't, Professor. Every moment we delay means more mutants suffer. My Pokémon and I can handle it."
As if summoned by his words, Gardevoir materialized beside him, her elegant form shimmering with psychic energy. She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and Charles felt the depth of their bond—a connection that transcended species, built on mutual trust and shared purpose.
"The next facility is in Arizona," Ash continued, his voice steady despite his exhaustion. "It's heavily fortified, but Corviknight's reconnaissance shows possible entry points."
On cue, the massive steel-type Pokémon appeared in the corner of the room, its metallic wings folded against its body. It cawed once, a sound like grinding metal, and images flashed through the minds of everyone present—aerial views of the Arizona facility, guard rotations, defensive positions.
"Remarkable," Beast murmured. "The psychic link between trainer and Pokémon allows for information sharing that surpasses our most advanced communication systems."
Facility in Montana Mountains
The Montana facility clung to the mountainside like a metallic parasite, its brutalist architecture a stark contrast to the natural beauty surrounding it. Snow fell steadily, providing perfect cover for the approaching team.
Ash crouched behind a snow-covered boulder, his illusion making him appear as a twenty-something operative in tactical gear. Beside him, Charmeleon's flame tail burned low, the fire-type instinctively conserving heat in the cold environment. The evolved Pokémon had grown more powerful over the past weeks, its battles against facility security honing its abilities to a razor's edge.
"Iceman, can you mask our approach?" Ash whispered into his comm.
Bobby Drake, barely older than Ash's real age but infinitely more comfortable with his powers, grinned as he spread his hands. The falling snow began to swirl around them, creating a localized blizzard that would confuse thermal imaging and visual surveillance.
"Storm, we need cover," Scott's voice crackled through the comm.
High above, Ororo Munroe floated among the storm clouds, her white hair whipping around her face as she called upon the fury of nature itself. Lightning split the sky, and the wind howled with supernatural force, but it was controlled chaos—designed to mask their movements without alerting the facility's automated systems.
"Wolverine, Rogue, you're up," Ash coordinated, his tactical mind processing dozens of variables simultaneously.
Logan emerged from the snow like a predator, his adamantium claws gleaming in the artificial light from the facility. Beside him, Marie D'Ancanto moved with lethal grace, her bare hands a weapon unto themselves. Any guard who touched her would find their powers, their memories, their very life force being drained away.
"Pupitar, Rock Slide on my mark," Ash commanded.
The cocoon-like Pokémon, despite its immobile appearance, possessed incredible power. At Ash's signal, it unleashed a devastating attack that sent massive boulders tumbling down the mountainside. The rocks struck the facility's outer defenses with thunderous impacts, crushing automated turrets and creating breaches in the perimeter wall.
"Jean, are you reading the subjects?" Ash asked.
Jean Grey's voice came through the comm, strained with concentration. "Seventeen mutants, basement level. They're... they're terrified. The guards are talking about 'liquidating the assets' rather than letting them be rescued."
"Not happening," Logan growled, his claws extending with their familiar snikt sound. "Scott, light 'em up."
Scott Summers took position on a nearby ridge, his ruby quartz visor gleaming in the storm light. "Everyone clear the courtyard. Three seconds."
The optic blast that followed was precisely controlled but devastating in its power. The reinforced doors of the facility crumpled like paper, and the lights inside flickered and died as the energy surge overloaded the electrical systems.
"Pikachu, Thunder!" Ash called.
The electric mouse Pokémon, despite its small size, unleashed a lightning bolt that made Storm's natural lightning look tame by comparison. The facility's backup generators exploded in showers of sparks, plunging the entire complex into darkness.
"Honedge, guard the perimeter," Ash ordered, and the sword Pokémon floated into position, its blade gleaming with ghostly energy. Any guard who tried to flee would find themselves facing a weapon that could cut through both flesh and spirit.
The rescue itself was swift and efficient. Wolverine and Rogue carved through the facility's defenses while Iceman created ice barriers to protect the rescued mutants. Pyro, John Allerdyce, turned the facility's own flamethrowers against their creators, his pyrokinetic abilities transforming defensive weapons into instruments of liberation.
"Gardevoir, mass teleport!" Ash called as the last mutant was freed.
The psychic-type Pokémon appeared in the facility's central chamber, her form glowing with concentrated psychic energy. In a flash of light, all seventeen rescued mutants vanished, transported instantly to the safety of Xavier's mansion.
"Extraction complete," Ash reported. "All subjects rescued, facility neutralized."
But as they prepared to leave, Charmeleon suddenly roared a warning. Through the smoke and snow, shapes were moving—not human, but mechanical. Early Sentinel prototypes, their red eyes glowing like malevolent stars.
"New players," Logan observed, his claws extending. "Big ones."
The prototype Sentinels were massive but clunky, their movements mechanical and predictable. They tracked targets with primitive sensors and responded to attacks with programmed countermeasures, but they lacked the sophisticated adaptation that would make later models truly terrifying.
"They're learning our patterns," Ash observed as one Sentinel attempted to counter Charmeleon's flame attacks with a fire-suppressant spray.
Facility in Arizona Desert
The Arizona facility was a different beast entirely—a sprawling complex buried beneath the desert sands, its presence revealed only by the air vents and sensor arrays that dotted the barren landscape. The facility had been expecting them, its security upgraded significantly since the Montana raid.
Ash knelt behind a sand dune, his illusion shimmering in the heat haze. Beside him, a figure in advanced tactical gear adjusted high-tech goggles—their mysterious ally who'd been providing inside information for the past three raids.
"North wall has a blind spot," the figure said, his voice electronically distorted through a voice modulator. "Thermal imaging shows a ventilation shaft that bypasses their motion sensors. But there's something else—they've installed some kind of psychic dampening field."
"That'll interfere with Jean and the Professor's abilities," Ash realized. "And with my Pokémon's psychic attacks."
"Not necessarily," a figure replied, producing a device that looked like a high-tech tablet. "This should disrupt their dampening field, but only for a few minutes. You'll have to move fast."
Ash studied the device, his mind racing. The technology was far beyond anything he'd seen, even in the Professor's advanced laboratories. Something about the figure's posture, the way he moved, seemed familiar despite the disguise.
"Gary?" Ash asked quietly, recognition dawning.
The figure paused, then slowly reached up to remove his goggles. Familiar eyes met Ash's through the tactical mask.
"Thanks for all the help," Ash said sincerely. "I don't know how we would have managed without your inside information."
"Someone has to look after our idiot cousin," Gary replied, his voice no longer electronically disguised. After which he left with teleport.
Storm had created a massive dust storm to mask their approach, but the facility's automated defenses were still active. Laser turrets tracked through the swirling sand, and motion sensors swept the area with mechanical precision.
"Corviknight, Steel Wing formation," Ash commanded.
The massive steel-type Pokémon spread its wings and dove toward the facility, its metallic feathers gleaming as they hardened into steel. The improvised projectiles struck the laser turrets with precision, destroying them in showers of sparks and twisted metal.
"Cyclops, can you breach the main entrance?" Ash asked.
"Negative," Scott replied. "That steel is some kind of enhanced alloy. It would take everything I have, and I'd be drained for the rest of the mission."
"Then we go with the original plan. Wolverine, Rogue, take the ventilation shaft. Storm, keep that dust storm going. Jean, the moment that dampening field goes down, I need you to locate the subjects."
Logan and Rogue dropped through the ventilation shaft like shadows, their movements silent despite the facility's heightened security. The guards never saw them coming.
"Dampening field is down," their mysterious ally reported. "You have maybe four minutes before they get it back online."
"Jean?"
"I've got them," Jean's voice was tight with concentration. "Twenty-three mutants, sub-basement level. But there's something else—they're not just experimenting on them. They're... they're trying to weaponize them."
The implications were horrifying. Not just imprisonment and experimentation, but transformation into weapons against their own kind.
"Pupitar, Earthquake," Ash commanded grimly.
The cocoon Pokémon's attack sent tremors through the facility's foundation, causing structural damage that would make the building uninhabitable even if they failed to destroy it completely.
"Pyro, can you reach the main laboratory?" Ash asked.
"Already there, mate," John's voice crackled through the comm. "These bastards have been busy. Files on something called 'Weapon XI'—some kind of mutant-killing mutant."
"Destroy it all," Ash ordered coldly. "Every sample, every piece of equipment."
The extraction was more chaotic than Montana. The facility's security was learning, adapting, and the early Sentinel prototypes were faster and more aggressive than the first generation. But they were still prototypes, lacking the true adaptive capabilities that would make them nearly unstoppable.
"Gardevoir, emergency teleport!" Ash called as explosions rocked the facility.
Once again, the psychic-type Pokémon appeared in a flash of light, gathering the rescued mutants and transporting them to safety. But this time, the facility's self-destruct sequence had been triggered.
"Everyone out, now!" Scott shouted.
They escaped as the desert sand was lit by a massive explosion that could be seen for miles. Twenty-three more mutants were free, but the cost was getting higher.
Facility in Louisiana Bayou
The Louisiana facility was the trap that nearly ended everything.
They'd been inside for less than ten minutes when the alarms started screaming. Not the usual delayed response they'd grown accustomed to—this was immediate, coordinated, and devastatingly effective.
"It's a trap!" Jean shouted as blast doors slammed shut throughout the facility, separating the team. "They were waiting for us!"
Ash found himself cornered in a laboratory with Bobby, Pyro, and their masked ally, while Logan, Rogue, and the others were cut off in the detention block. The facility's lights flickered and died, replaced by the ominous red glow of emergency lighting.
"We're pinned down!" Ash called into his comm, but only static answered. "Communications are jammed."
That's when the real nightmare began. Sentinel prototypes—more advanced than anything they'd encountered—began emerging from hidden chambers throughout the facility. These weren't the clunky early models they'd fought before. These were sleeker, more responsive.
"Charmeleon, Flamethrower!" Ash commanded, and while the Sentinel's armor resisted the attack, it simply pushed through the damage and continued its programmed assault pattern.
"Pupitar, Rock Slide!" The cocoon Pokémon's attack struck the Sentinel but barely left a dent on its enhanced hull.
Bobby tried to freeze the machines, but their internal heating systems prevented ice from forming. Pyro's flames were absorbed by heat-resistant plating. Even Gary's advanced weaponry struggled against the Sentinels' heavy armor, though unlike later models, these prototypes couldn't adapt their defenses in real-time.
"These things are built to counter our standard tactics," Cyclops observed, his voice tight with concern. "They've programmed responses for most mutant abilities, it's like they are programmed to counter us."
"Then we need to use techniques they haven't seen before," Ash replied, his mind racing. "Honedge, Shadow Sneak!"
The sword Pokémon disappeared into the shadows, its ghostly nature allowing it to bypass the Sentinels' sensors. When it reappeared, it was inside one of the machines, its blade disrupting circuits and severing connections that no physical weapon could reach.
But for every Sentinel they destroyed, two more seemed to take its place. The facility was a maze of corridors and chambers, all designed to channel intruders into killing zones.
"Pikachu, Thunder!" Ash called desperately.
The electric attack struck the Sentinels, but their grounding systems dispersed the energy dealing a lot less damage. They were being pushed back, step by step, toward a corridor that had no exit.
That's when the metal walls began to buckle inward, and Ash felt a familiar presence—cold, calculating, and absolutely furious.
You children are making quite a mess, a voice echoed in his mind, speaking directly to his consciousness. Fortunately, I find your cause... temporarily aligned with my own.
The facility's metal infrastructure became a weapon. Steel beams twisted into spears, electrical conduits became whips, and the Sentinel prototypes found their own armor turned against them. In seconds, the trap became a rescue.
***
Erik Lehnsherr descended through a hole he'd torn in the facility's ceiling, his cape billowing dramatically in the smoke-filled air. The Master of Magnetism's presence was overwhelming—not just his mutant abilities, but the sheer force of his personality, his absolute confidence in his own power.
Behind him came the Brotherhood of Mutants in all their terrifying glory. Mystique's blue form shifted and flowed as she took on the appearance of facility guards, sowing confusion among the human defenders. Blob moved through the corridors like a cannon ball, his fat body turning security personnel into statistics. Callisto using her enhanced senses, agility, speed, and fighting prowess to dismantle the personels defenses.
"Erik," Charles Xavier's voice came through Ash's comm device, the Professor having reestablished psychic contact the moment the facility's dampening field was destroyed. "What are you doing here?"
"Saving your students from their own amateur tactics," Magneto replied, his voice carrying the weight of absolute authority. With a gesture, he crushed a Sentinel's head like an aluminum can. "Charles, we need to talk."
The rescue was swift and brutal. Where the X-Men operated with precision and restraint, the Brotherhood used overwhelming force and intimidation. Magneto didn't just incapacitate guards—he terrorized them so thoroughly that they fled rather than fight. Mystique didn't just infiltrate secured areas—she turned the facility's own personnel against each other through manipulation and misdirection.
"Ash," Magneto said, his helmet turning to regard the disguised teenager. "Interesting illusion, but unnecessary. I know who you are—who you really are."
"Your Pokémon are remarkable," Magneto continued. "Particularly the steel-type. I can sense the metal in its body, the electromagnetic fields it generates. Fascinating creatures."
Corviknight cawed once, its metallic wings spreading defensively. The bird Pokémon could sense the magnetic fields surrounding Magneto, recognizing a potential threat to its steel-type physiology.
"Relax, my metallic friend," Magneto said with what might have been amusement. "We're on the same side. For now."
Within minutes, the facility was secured. 19 mutants were freed from the detention blocks—the largest rescue yet. But the cost was becoming apparent. The government was learning, adapting, and escalating their response.
"Gardevoir, mass teleport," Ash called, his voice hoarse from exhaustion.
The psychic-type Pokémon appeared, her form glowing with concentrated energy. But as she prepared to transport the rescued mutants, Magneto raised a hand.
"Wait," he said. "Some of these individuals are too damaged, too traumatized for immediate integration. They need medical attention, psychological support. Charles, is your facility equipped for this?"
The question hung in the air. The Xavier Institute had been operating as a school, not a refugee center. But the scope of the crisis was beyond anything they'd imagined.
"We'll make it work," Charles replied through the comm. "We have to."
***
In the aftermath, as the rescued mutants were being evacuated to the mansion, Magneto and Xavier faced each other in the facility's central courtyard. The conversation was tense, conducted both verbally and telepathically, with undercurrents of decades of friendship and ideological conflict.
"Your motives, Erik," Xavier said carefully, his voice carrying layers of meaning. "This sudden assistance comes at a convenient time."
Magneto's expression was unreadable behind his helmet, but his thoughts were partially shielded, revealing only what he chose to share. "Perhaps I simply grew tired of watching children play at war while real mutants suffer in cages, Charles. Your methods are admirable, but they're insufficient."
"Or perhaps you see an opportunity to advance your own agenda," Xavier countered, his psychic probe meeting the familiar barriers of Magneto's mental defenses. "Using our mission as cover for something larger."
"Does it matter?" Magneto spread his arms wide, metal fragments from the destroyed Sentinels orbiting around him like a metallic solar system. "We both want the same thing—the destruction of these facilities and the freedom of our people. The difference is that I'm willing to do what's necessary to achieve it."
"The boy has been effective," Magneto said, nodding toward Ash. "His tactical mind, his unusual allies, his ability to coordinate complex operations—quite impressive for one so young. But effectiveness without power is merely delay. These facilities will be rebuilt, new ones constructed, more advanced countermeasures developed. You're treating the symptoms, Charles, not the disease."
"And your solution?" Xavier asked, though he already knew the answer.
"Make them too afraid to try again." Magneto's voice was cold steel wrapped in velvet. "Show them that mutants are not victims to be experimented upon, but a force to be reckoned with. Every facility we destroy should send a message that resonates through the halls of power in Washington."
"Fear and intimidation," Xavier replied. "The same tactics that have been used against us for decades."
"The same tactics that work," Magneto corrected. "How many mutants have died in these facilities while you've been trying to build bridges, Charles? How many children have been dissected in the name of 'understanding' our genetics?"
The question hung between them, heavy with the weight of accumulated tragedy.
"Your student understands," Magneto continued, his helmet turning toward Ash. "He's seen the files, the experimental logs, the casual brutality of 'scientific inquiry.' Tell me, young man, how many more facilities are you willing to see rebuilt while Charles pursues his dream of peaceful coexistence?"
Ash felt the weight of both men's attention, the burden of a choice that would affect far more than just the immediate mission. His Pokémon gathered around him—Charmeleon's flame burning bright, Pupitar's armored form immobile but ready, Corviknight's wings spread in protective stance, Pikachu's cheeks sparking with electric energy, and Honedge floating silently, its blade reflecting the lights.
"I've seen the files," Ash said finally, his voice steady despite his youth. "I've seen what they do to mutants, to anyone they consider 'different.' But I've also seen what happens when power is used without restraint, when fear drives policy instead of hope."
He paused, looking between the two most powerful mutants in the world. "Professor Xavier's way takes time, but it builds something lasting. Your way, Magneto, is faster, but it burns bridges we might need later."
"Wise words," Magneto said, and there was genuine respect in his voice. "But wisdom without power is merely philosophy. And philosophy doesn't stop scalpels or prevent dissection tables from being warmed up for the next subject."
The standoff lasted several long moments, two ideologies clashing in the space between words. Finally, Xavier nodded slowly.
"Very well," he said. "But we do this my way—minimal casualties, surgical strikes, and no unnecessary violence. These facilities are destroyed, but we don't become the monsters they claim we are."
Magneto's smile was sharp as a blade, but there was satisfaction in it. "Of course, old friend. After all, we're on the same side... for now."
***
The X-Men's precision and tactical expertise combined with the Brotherhood's raw power and ruthless efficiency created a force unlike anything the government facilities had faced before.
"Ash," Xavier said privately, his mental voice reaching the young coordinator. "Are you certain about this alliance? Erik's methods..."
"Are necessary," Ash replied, his mental voice carrying a weariness that belied his years. "I don't like it, Professor, but he's right about one thing—they're learning from our attacks. The next facility will be even more prepared, and the one after that will be worse. We need the Brotherhood's power."
"And the cost?"
Ash was quiet for a long moment, watching as Magneto used his abilities to the other X-Men, showing them how metal infrastructure could be turned into weapons, how electromagnetic fields could disrupt electronic systems, how the very environment become an ally.
"The cost is that we become something we never wanted to be," Ash said finally. "But if we don't, the cost is that more mutants die while we maintain our moral high ground."
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A.N. Damn! despite starting to upload this fanfic for almost a month now and with over 100k words this book barely crossed 100k views! Hope you are enjoying this, if not give suggestions for improvement.
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