CHAPTER1:

BACK AT IT


"All is well."

Dr. Bolivar Trask grated through her ears. His disgusting face is even, steadfast, and stern. Eyes stone cold, giving away nothing. No emotion. While lies slipped between his teeth as he spoke to the American people.

"Yet. We need good order and discipline. Why we have implemented a curfew."

A curfew.

It always begins with a curfew, then arrest, and finally, concentration camps. It hasn't changed. And what are her old employers doing? Nothing except funding the government with the technology to advance their pockets.

She shoved her hands in her jeans pockets, boots splashing into a puddle as she removed herself from the diner. If a curfew is set, she must reach her destination quickly before someone causes her to make a scene. One they will not be able to come back from. Her mind was too muddled to think straight. To show restraint.

Lyla stepped between a tired mother struggling with a handful of groceries while her daughter was in her free arm. On the other side of her, the husband focused on his phone instead of his crying child and exhausted wife.

Behind, foot cops. No older than 21, probably fresh out of the academy. To keep herself dry and hidden from their snooping eyes, Lyla threw on a hoody and stepped into the road once permitted.

A steady beeping sound caused her to pale and quicken her pace.

Shit.

All she must do is get to the X-Mansion, and all will be fine.

A heavy hand dropped on her shoulder. She stared at the rookie cop with blonde hair and bright crystal blue eyes.

Once upon a time, she would've sensed his hand before it landed on her shoulder. She'll have to live with the consequences.

The rookie's partner circled her—intentions hidden behind his aviator sunglasses. The navy-blue Bayville uniform ordered a size too small to show off their muscular bodies. Men.

"Your ID, mutant." The one with the blonde hair snapped.

She squinted to look at his name.

Officer Jackson.

To her right, the partner rested a hand on his baton, ready for a fight.

Poor bastards have no idea what they're getting into.

"What seems to be the problem, officers?" Lyla asked politely. Her hands slid into her pockets to retrieve the wallet lodged in her jeans when the other officer grabbed her wrist. His hands rummaged over her body, looking for any weapons.

Play nice for a bit.

Don't provoke the police.

Oh, no. Kill him. He deserves it.

"ID." Officer Jackson repeated.

"Look, Officer—"

Officer Ray Bans reviewed her driver's license, showing she was unregistered.

Damn.

"Put your hands behind your head and get on your fucking knees, now!"

Officer Jackson pulled out his gun and then called for backup. Stating he and his partner aren't trained to take on a mutant.

She reminded herself to comply. Better for her than them.

Jackson walked around her and began to cuff her wrists together when Ray-Ban, the officer with the aviators, stepped in front of her.

"We are gonna kill all ya muties off the face of this planet. Starting with ya."

"Can't wait for the day," Lyla drawled, bored.

He shrugged, "Why wait?" his pistol pressed against her forehead, hammer ticked back. Jackosn tried calling him off, but help was arriving. But Lyla held a toothy grin.

"If yah shoot me, Ah promise yah won't have any workin' fingers after this." She pressed hard against the muzzle, "Make sure this is what ya want, pretty boy."

His finger pulled the trigger, and she was on the ground. A smile on her face, still. she warned him.


KITTY KITTY by Kim Dracula

Tonight's designated girl's night.

Maddie called, telling her and Wanda to stop by her new club. Odd, Maddie, the Red Queen of the Inner Circle, would lower herself and establish a club here in Bayville. But Bayville isn't the burlesque gentlemen's clubs and strip clubs type. Maddie created something new and casual, unlike the rest of the Inner Circle. Heavy metal blasted throughout the room while dark colors oozed down the walls. Giving a beautiful underworld aesthetic.

Wanda took a seat at a booth when Rogue's phone rang.

It never fails. She can't go five minutes without someone calling her. claiming an emergency.

Instead, she danced, drank, and enjoyed her night. She waited until she was on her way home, the time midnight, to glance at her phone.

Thirty missed calls, 20 text messages, and 12 voicemails. Tomorrow's issue after a good night's rest.

Relaxed and well-rested, she called Alison Blair back, ignoring the many voicemails.

"Where have you been?!" It took half a ring for Alison to answer.

Rogue grabbed her keys, "Havign my monthly day off."

"If you answered your phone," Alison snapped, "You would have known your sister, Lyla, was arrested yesterday."

Of course, it's about Lyla.

Rogue headed past the kitchen toward the car garage. Rarely does she sleep at the mansion. It was nice after she left the Brotherhood, but after a while, she felt crowded and decided to move out. Rogue, Laura Lex (x-23), and Wanda agreed on an apartment. They stay at the mansion only after a rough mission or night like last night.

"She still at the precinct?"

"Where else would she be?"

"The Circle didn't break her out?"

Alison stayed silent and then whistled, "I'd rather she tells you what happened than me. I'll see ya here."


She didn't expect to sit in a holding cell all night and well into the afternoon. But then, what did she expect? The inner circle cut her from everything: money, protection, a home. All her assets are gone. Except for the savings account, she kept hidden from them and her mother in case of rainy days like today.

Hidden away, with no powers, thanks to the dampeners throughout the building, Lyla's right foot tapped against the stained tiled floors. Her dead eyes looked through the two-way mirror.

Her mind was planning out the one officer's death by her hands.

Last night, she warned him what would happen when he used his gun against her. Now, she will make that promise once she figures out how to get out of here.

A click of the door turned Lyal's attention to Detective Danila Oritz. Back then, she was an up-and-coming cop. Let's say Lyla wasn't a child who stayed out of trouble. They ran into each other more than either would like to count. Later, they came to an agreement: Lyla moved to New York, and Ortiz sang praises.

The deal ended, thanks to them being in the same place again.

"Thought yah were in M'ssippi."

Ortiz slapped a thick folder on the steal table. Her hands on her hips. Amusement was gone from her face.

"You know," Ortiz started with a sigh, "I thought you weren't gonna be a thorn in my side any longer, and yet, here you are."

Lyla waved her chained hands at her.

"You're in a world of trouble, Creed," What for? The bastard shot her, "If it wasn't for Daniels shooting you execution-style in front of bystanders."

Oh, wonderful. So, if it weren't for the witnesses, she would be in trouble when she was minding her business.

"Why am Ah still in cuffs?"

"You are an unregistered mutant."

She should take her mother up on her offer. Genosha was and is the safest option. Yet there's no way the humans would let her go out there now. Register or get sent to an offshore prison where they'll work her until she can't work anymore.

"You need to register yourself, or we do it for you. Up to you."

"Ah'd rather no—"

A soft tap on the mirror stopped her from finishing. Ortiz politely excused herself and met with whoever was on the other side of the wall.

Is she crazy?

Registration is for those who have zero options. The Mutant response teams will come after said mutants and throw them in offsite prisons. Or the FOH, who are strong and kicking, will find a way to get the names on the registry and kill them. If they didn't finish the job, cops would arrest the registered mutants and take them to an offshore prison. It is a vicious circle Lyla has no thrill participating in.

Ortiz slipped back into the room, unamused, "Why didn't you tell the cops you're an X-Man?"

Lyla raised a brow and decided not to overthink about it. Play along.

"Umm, when did Ah have time to do that?" Lyal snapped.

Jackson, the kinder of the two officers who arrested her, entered the room and undid her cuffs.

Lyla rolled the tension from her wrists, following close behind Ortiz. She avoided the gazes of the many officers flooded around the room and the mutants they interrogated.

Disgusting.

Do the police have anything better to do than harass mutants daily?

At the front door, Ortiz handed back her weightless wallet. When she was getting paid regularly, there used to be cash in her ratty leather wallet. Now, her driver's license, a few twenty-dollar bills, and a picture of Malakai pouting in their designated sleeves.

Shoving the leather back into her pocket, a thumb ran over the picture.

Ortiz brought her back to reality, "Your powers should return once you step out of here." She paused as Lyla stepped forward, "Let's try and keep these get-togethers to a minimum, si?"

Smirking, Lyla shrugged, "Ah don't know, Ah kinda missed this."

Ortiz rolled her eyes and returned to her office, "Take care of yourself, Creed."

Stuck in a holding cell without sunlight felt like a century in the underworld. It's why she stood in the presence of the Sun, allowing its rays to give her soft kisses on her cheeks.

Life tends to play cruel games on her. like now, "Yah gonna bask in the Sun's presence all day, or are yah gonna get in?" She and Rogue returned to one another after three years of silence.

Joy.