Sasuke snapped out of his stupor, noticing that he had been mindlessly stirring his now cold green tea for several minutes. Uchiha couldn't even remember when he had sat down at the empty kitchen table in Xavier's school. Such "blackouts" had become more frequent in recent days—time simply slipped through his fingers while his consciousness sank into emptiness.
The clink of the spoon against the cup echoed strangely in his head. Attempts to recall the events of the previous hours proved unsuccessful. Researching information online? A conversation with Naruto? Faces and events blended together like watercolors in the rain. Reality was becoming increasingly unstable—sometimes it was impossible to say with certainty what day it was.
Outside the window, the sun was already setting. This meant lunch was over. Not that it mattered. Food had long lost its taste, and sleep came only from exhaustion. The only thing that remained constant was the need to keep up appearances in front of his best friend, to play the role of his former self. But even that required more and more effort.
The crash of doors bursting open made him flinch. At the kitchen threshold stood an agitated Naruto, his summer-sky blue eyes wide open.
"Quick, something's happened!" the blond blurted out, his voice trembling with tension.
With obvious irritation, Sasuke left his untouched tea and rose from the table. "What is it this time?" the weary thought flashed through his mind. On the way to the director's office, they were joined by concerned Rogue and Jean.
When the group burst into the office, their eyes fixed on the center of the room. Professor Xavier, pale and covered in perspiration, nervously gripped the armrests of his wheelchair. The other X-Men members had already gathered around the telepath.
Scott stepped forward, breaking the oppressive silence. His voice was firm, though notes of anxiety slipped through:
"Professor, what happened?"
Charles slowly raised his gaze, filled with concern. After a deep breath, the mentor said:
"Haven of Hope..." his voice faltered. "I can no longer feel... anyone."
These quiet words rolled through the room like thunder. The red-haired telepath standing next to Scott sharply inhaled.
"Oh God," Jean exhaled, horror reflected in her green eyes.
Logan's face darkened, and a wave of anxiety passed through the X-Men.
"Go there and find out," the school's founder said firmly, looking at Cyclops.
"Yes, Professor."
"We're coming too!" Naruto stepped forward, his eyes burning with determination.
The jinchuriki glanced at his friend, seeking support, but Sasuke merely stood impassively by the wall, arms crossed. The empty gaze of the last Uchiha betrayed complete indifference to what was happening. The uncertainty about returning home was clearly weighing on him more than he showed, though pride would never allow him to admit such weakness.
All eyes turned to them. Xavier looked carefully first at the shinobi from another world, then at his friend. Relief flashed in the telepath's eyes, but he quickly concealed it, limiting himself to a nod:
"Very well. Scott, show them the way."
"Follow me," the mutant leader said, heading for the exit.
In the corridor, Summers suddenly stopped. Everyone froze, silently waiting for an explanation. He turned to Uzumaki, his face taking on the expression of someone accustomed to making strategic decisions in critical situations.
"Naruto, leave a few clones here. As backup."
The shinobi formed the familiar hand sign without unnecessary words. The air around him trembled slightly, and the next moment, the corridor was filled with two dozen exact copies of him. Wolverine gave them an appraising glance, raising an eyebrow slightly. The other team members nodded silently, acknowledging the tactical value of the decision.
The clones silently spread out across the school grounds.
"Let's move," Cyclops commanded. "Every minute counts."
Descending to the lower levels of the school, the team found themselves in a part of the complex unfamiliar to Naruto. The sterile white walls characteristic of the medical wing here neighbor militarized equipment glowing with multicolored indicators. Uzumaki looked around curiously, noting the differences from the rooms he knew. Beside him walked Sasuke, carefully studying every detail of the new environment.
Noticing the interest of the visitor from another world, Scott smirked slightly:
"This is our operations sector. Here we prepare for missions and store special equipment."
After passing through several automatic doors that opened with a soft hiss, they arrived in a spacious room with glass compartments along the walls. Naruto froze in front of one of them, examining an elegant black and yellow suit. His hand unconsciously reached for the glass, while his eyes gleamed with admiration.
Behind the transparent barrier hung a true work of modern technology – an X-Men uniform, strikingly different from the typical shinobi clothing. The matte-black fabric intertwined with yellow lines flowing like lightning in a stormy sky. In the center of the chest was the symbol familiar to every mutant – a stylized "X". In his imagination, scenes were already forming: an army of clones in these impressive suits, the very thought taking his breath away.
"Awesome!" the young shinobi exhaled.
The mutants quickly dispersed to their rooms. The two visitors from another world remained in the center of the room, waiting for the others. Rogue appeared first, lingering by the mirror. The dark fabric of the suit hugged her body tightly, accentuating her attractive figure.
Soon the other team members gathered – Cyclops with his ever-present visor, Jean in a dark green suit, Logan and others in functional uniforms. Kurt, true to his nature, appeared in a cloud of smoke.
The female mutant felt the energetic jinchuriki's gaze on her when she joined the others. His genuine admiration was so evident that she involuntarily blushed – an unusual feeling for someone who typically keeps people at a distance. A light flush touched her cheeks, and Rogue was glad for the dimness of the room.
"Kso! I want a suit like that too, dattebayo!" exclaimed the visitor from Konoha.
The red-haired telepath approached the young ninja:
"We'll figure something out later," she promised with maternal warmth. "I'm sure Hank would be thrilled with the opportunity to create something new."
Naruto beamed, and Rogue caught herself smiling at his joy. At that moment, she felt the weight of her gloves particularly acutely.
Summers stood motionless at the entrance, his visor reflecting the cold light of the lamps. Behind his apparent strictness lay a shadow of a smile – in the young shinobi's enthusiasm, he saw echoes of his own youth, when he first donned the X-Men uniform. But the time for reminiscing was over.
A step forward, and the entire group involuntarily straightened up. Years of training were reflected in their movements – coordinated, precise. The leader looked over each person, lingering on the newcomers. In Uzumaki's eyes burned a familiar determination, but something in Uchiha's gaze made him inwardly alert – behind the perfect mask of composure lurked emptiness, which he had learned to notice over years of command.
"Ready?" his voice carried the confidence of a person accustomed to leading others into battle. The team responded with silent nods. "Haven of Hope might hold surprises. Stay alert."
The fun evaporated like morning mist. Even the irrepressible shinobi grew quiet, his face taking on an uncharacteristic seriousness. The metal walls swallowed the sound of footsteps as the squad advanced to the hangar.
At the entrance, the hyperactive guest froze. A huge aircraft towered before them – an embodiment of power and technological perfection. The matte black hull absorbed light.
"This is..." the young man's voice trembled with admiration.
"Blackbird," Logan said with that special intonation that betrayed his attachment to the machine.
"Cool!" the enthusiastic ninja couldn't take his eyes off the aircraft.
Sasuke gave the plane an appraising look. A raised eyebrow momentarily disrupted his usual mask of indifference – the only sign that even the clan heir was not indifferent to this creation of an alien world.
Inside, the cabin greeted them with two rows of seats with five-point safety harnesses. In the cockpit, dozens of screens and indicators flickered. When everyone took their places, the ramp rose, sealing the cabin.
The hangar doors parted, revealing the night sky over the Vermont mountains. The turbines hummed, spinning up to operating speed. The aircraft rose smoothly into the air.
Uzumaki pressed against the window, observing for the first time in his life how mountains and forests turned into a dark mass below. Next to him, his companion sat with his eyes closed, but his tense shoulders and furrowed brows betrayed readiness for any surprise.
The blond continued to fidget in his seat, glancing into the cockpit now and then. His twitching fingers and barely noticeable smile gave him away. The last Uchiha remained motionless, his gaze fixed ahead.
"Yo," the energetic shinobi nudged his friend with his elbow. "How long do you think it takes to learn to fly this thing?"
Uchiha sighed irritably, leaning back in his seat.
"We're not here for entertainment."
"Come on!" the blond teenager moved closer again. "Imagine how cool it would be..."
"Shut up," the Sharingan owner cut him off. "We have a mission."
Naruto snorted and leaned back. He knew his companion was right but couldn't contain his excitement. A minute later, the hyperactive shinobi was again gazing spellbound at the instrument panel in the pilot's cabin.
The dark-haired young man took a deep breath, trying to suppress growing irritation. His fingers momentarily clenched into a fist before he forced himself to relax and regain his impassive appearance.
About an hour had passed since takeoff. Suddenly, cutting through the quiet hum of instruments, the leader's voice broke the tense silence:
"We've arrived."
The jinchuriki instantly became alert, the cheerfulness on his face replaced by the focus of an experienced shinobi. He quickly moved to the windshield, his eyes widening at the scene.
Sasuke silently approached the others.
Through the glass, they saw a massive building, similar to Xavier's school, nestled between cliffs and dense forests. Now it had become an arena of battle – fire engulfed the roof and walls, turning the refuge into ruins. Black plumes of smoke rose to the night sky, concealing the true scale of destruction.
The natural landscape no longer concealed the complex. Shattered parts of the building, broken walls, and smashed windows clearly showed the brutality of the attack.
"What... what happened here?" whispered the young shinobi. His heart beat faster, and he looked at his partner. Sasuke maintained outward calm, but his dark eyes carefully studied every detail of the destroyed building.
Silence hung in the cabin. Shock and anxiety were written on their faces, even the always reserved Wolverine's jaw muscles tensed.
Cyclops slowly turned his gaze to the burning building:
"This is Haven of Hope," his voice sounded steady, but barely contained rage could be felt in it.
"Damn it!" swore Logan, his fists clenched, and at that moment, claws with a metallic clang burst out.
"We need to check for survivors," Jean added quietly but confidently.
Uchiha nodded almost imperceptibly. Activating his Sharingan, he surveyed the ruined surroundings. The young man tilted his head slightly, concentrating on details. His gaze penetrated through smoke and flames, analyzing every movement, every shadow.
His eyes narrowed, focusing on one point among the ruins.
"There's one," said the owner of the crimson eyes, noticing movement among the debris.
The wounded mutant slowly trudged through the ruins that had recently been his home. The wound in his side pulsed with pain, blood seeping through his fingers, leaving a dark trail on the debris.
The school building had turned into a heap of twisted metal and concrete. The air was filled with dust and the smell of burning, the silence broken by the sounds of smoldering debris.
Memories of the events from a few hours ago flooded back with renewed force. Mike had seen how his electrical discharges were powerless against the armor of the new Sentinels. Jess desperately tried to protect other mutants with energy barriers, but the shields broke one after another.
Alex and Rick were the first to enter the battle. Fireballs and ice spears only momentarily slowed the robots. David, their instructor, demonstrated incredible skill in hand-to-hand combat, but even his abilities proved useless against the upgraded machines.
The last thing his memory preserved was the face of a protector who created a dome around him and sent him away from the refuge. He saw her strained features growing smaller until darkness swallowed his consciousness.
Now the young man stood at the destroyed entrance, looking at empty corridors and several motionless bodies. Most of the haven's inhabitants had disappeared – taken to those very mutant camps about which horrible rumors circulated.
Suddenly he heard a growing hum. In the sky appeared a strange aircraft, larger and more elegant than a normal plane. The young electrokinetic froze, not knowing what to expect – in his condition, he was too weak to run or fight.
The ramp descended with a metallic clang, and figures emerged from the plane. The wounded man peered at their faces, hoping to see allies. In one of them, he recognized Rogue – a girl with a white streak in her chestnut hair who had previously saved him and Jess.
Relief washed over him, and the young man staggered – his legs buckled from weakness. Several people exited the plane: a young man with a strange visor, a red-haired woman, a grim man with a wild look. And two boys with unusual appearances whom he had never seen before.
The blond-haired shinobi immediately approached the wounded man and extended his hand toward the injury.
"Don't be afraid," he said calmly.
To the victim's amazement, the healer's hand began to glow with a golden light. Warmth spread throughout his body, the pain receded, and the wound began to visibly heal.
Mike looked at the approaching team leader. Cyclops briefly introduced himself and, wasting no time, began to ascertain the details of the attack. The rescued mutant, still shaking, recounted the events of the previous night. With each of his words, the commander's face grew darker – the government had sent those same black Sentinels here, as he had feared.
"Damn," Scott muttered through clenched teeth. Before his eyes flashed the recent battle at their school, when these machines had nearly destroyed them.
The red-haired telepath stood, unable to utter a word. The wind carried the smells of burning and blood, which brought nausea to her throat. In her memory flashed the pale face of her beloved, his motionless body among the wreckage of their school. She involuntarily glanced at the young ninja. If not for these two, if not for the last Uchiha, who literally snatched Scott from the clutches of death... Jean clenched her fists, trying to control her trembling. Now other mutants needed the same miracle.
"What are we going to do?" she asked quietly, looking at Cyclops.
"We know where they're taking them. We know their defense system. But breaking in there..." the commander shook his head.
"Impossible," Wolverine finished for him.
The energetic blond leaned forward, ready to offer help, but Scott stopped him with a gesture.
"Let's return to the school, we need to plan everything carefully."
Tension hung in the air, each team member processing what had happened in their own way. The young cryokinetic stood slightly apart from the others, arms wrapped around himself. His usually lively, smiling face was frozen in a mask of fear and anger.
The team silently headed toward the plane. The Blackbird soared into the night sky. In the cabin reigned tense silence – everyone was thinking about the upcoming mission, on which depended the fate of the kidnapped mutants.
"So they've been captured," his voice sounded hollow, as if each word scratched his throat.
Thirty years ago, he believed in the possibility of changing the world. He turned dream into reality: opened a school, built Cerebro, created the X-Men team. Taught children to control powers they feared. Explained to parents that their children were not monsters. Spoke before Congress, proving that mutants were equal to the rest of humanity.
The result? Concentration camps. Sentinels in the streets. Children torn from families in the middle of the night. Parents themselves turning their offspring over to authorities.
Xavier shifted his gaze to his student. Just a week ago, he had stood over his lifeless body, which was cradled in the arms of a sobbing telepath. The memory was imprinted with frightening clarity – the emptiness where the young leader's consciousness should have been, the icy coldness of his skin. This moment still haunted him in nightmares.
Visitors from another world, capable of violating the laws of reality. Their appearance had overturned all the founder's notions about the boundaries of the possible. If there exists a power capable of snatching a person from the clutches of death – what else is achievable? And most importantly – does he have the right to cling to former beliefs?
For years the wise telepath had taught students restraint. "Don't stoop to their level." "Be better." "Prove that we're not monsters." And now these same students were rotting in dungeons, where they were treated like animals. Experimented on. Destroyed.
The mentor's fingers dug into the armrests. The metal protested with a creak. Perhaps his longtime opponent had been right all these years. Perhaps the only way to protect their people was to act decisively and mercilessly.
This thought horrified him, contradicting everything he had believed for three decades. But after what he had learned, he now understood that they had reached the moment when a fateful decision needed to be made. Either they would begin to fight in earnest, or their kind would disappear. And with the appearance of the young shinobi, there was a chance not just to survive, but to win. And the silver-haired mentor was ready to pay for this victory even at the cost of his own soul.
Jean stepped forward.
"Professor? We can no longer stand aside."
Summers shook his head, jaw muscles working.
"She's right," his voice sounded hoarse. "We've been hiding for too long. If we don't act, they'll simply destroy us. All of us."
The words hung in the air like heavy lead. Bitterness rose in Cyclops's throat – memory helpfully resurrected childhood scenes. The gray walls of the orphanage, where he was kept as an experimental specimen. The suffocating smell of antiseptic. The ominous clicking of locks in the night silence.
Logan slowly detached himself from the wall where he had stood all this time. His nostrils flared predatorily, as if sensing danger.
"And what's next?" he growled through clenched teeth. "Even if we break in there, then..."
"It's all about the collars," interrupted the blue-skinned mutant with a characteristic German accent. "As soon as one enters..."
"The system activates automatically," McCoy finished for him, removing his glasses and tiredly rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Any unauthorized intrusion triggers the mechanism – all collars inject a neuroparalytic. Instantaneous paralysis of the entire body." The scientist paused. "Trask outdid himself in creating protection."
The red-haired telepath leaned forward.
"There must be a way to deactivate the system, Hank. You've designed similar mechanisms yourself."
The leader surveyed his comrades.
"We'll find a way," he said sharply. "We have to find one."
The last of the Uchiha clan observed the tense discussion from the shadows. Naruto leaned forward, ready to intervene at any moment – invariably impulsive, always rushing into the thick of things. This trait of his old friend's character still evoked mixed feelings: a blend of irritation and some painful attachment.
By immersing themselves in the problems of an alien world, they would inevitably attract attention. Their techniques, strikingly different from the abilities of local mutants, were too noticeable, too foreign to this reality. This would attract not only allies but enemies as well. Part of his being demanded to stay away from this confrontation. But beside him was the eternal idealist, ready to sacrifice himself for strangers.
In his mind flashed the Valley of the End – their first real clash. Back then, this persistence, this blind faith in the possibility of "salvation" drove him to fury. Naruto's desire to fix everything, to return him to the "right path" seemed an unbearable manifestation of self-confidence.
Now everything had changed. Their world had dissolved into nothingness, leaving only memories and this single thread of connection. In the new reality, there remained no goals, no path. Only this irrepressible optimist – the last anchor, the last reminder of the past, of his own essence.
A bitter smirk twisted his lips. Once he had fled from any attachments, tore them out by the root, considering them a manifestation of weakness. Now he clung to the last remaining one like a drowning man to a straw. Fate had a twisted sense of humor.
The dark-haired shinobi clenched his fists. There was no choice – they had already become part of these events. All that remained was to move forward, hoping that their intervention would not worsen the situation.
"Show me the place. I'll bring them back," the jinchuriki's resolute voice cut through the silence.
The team leader tiredly rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"Listen, Naruto. Everyone's at their limit right now. I've seen what haste leads to in situations like this." He looked over the exhausted faces of his comrades. "I suggest we go back. Rest. In the morning, we'll gather and develop a strategy. Now we have your support." He nodded toward the visitors from another world. "We'll find a solution. But not today."
The Professor silently observed his former student. Over the years, the uncertain teenager had turned into a true military leader. Each trial, each battle only tempered his spirit.
The young shinobi frowned, fighting his usual impulse to act immediately. But even he understood the rationality of these arguments.
"Alright."
The team began to disperse. In the air hung an oppressive premonition – the coming day would change everything.
Left alone, the telepath gazed at the photographs of graduates. Before his inner vision still stood images from Uchiha's memory – monstrous creatures capable of altering the landscape with a single blow. This power could become their trump card in the confrontation with the government. Or doom them finally.
But no other path existed. After what he had seen in the young shinobi's memories, Charles realized – this was their only chance to save their people. Even if the price proved immeasurable.
Night
The young mutant walked down the school corridor, trying to step quietly. The night silence was broken only by the muffled hum of ventilation systems and the distant ticking of clocks. The conversation with Mike still echoed in her head, his words about Jess resonating painfully.
In her room, she first dropped her heavy boots. The leather jacket went on the back of a chair, and the gloves – on the bedside table. Changing into a soft long-sleeved T-shirt and loose gray pants, Rogue rubbed her temples, trying to ease the growing headache.
The clock showed one in the morning. Then half past one. The girl tossed and turned on the bed, alternately throwing off the blanket from the stuffiness, then wrapping herself in it against the penetrating cold. Thoughts about tomorrow's operation mingled with memories of the school evacuation. Closing her eyes, she still saw images of captive mutants, appearing under her eyelids.
At three in the morning, the mutant surrendered. Moonlight penetrating through the not fully drawn curtains fell on her hands. The pale skin seemed almost luminous, a reminder of her curse. Her fingers involuntarily clenched into a fist, fighting approaching panic.
Naruto's words suddenly came to mind: "Your power isn't dangerous to me." Unclenching her fist, she examined her palm. A lump formed in her throat.
The stuffiness of the room became unbearable. Rising from the bed, Rogue approached the cabinet in the corner. The bottle of whiskey she kept for such nights should have been there. But the shelf greeted her with emptiness.
"Damn," whispered the girl, leaning her forehead against the cool side of the cabinet.
She knew about the stash in the kitchen. Slipping out of the room, the mutant moved down the dark corridor, trying to stay closer to the walls where the floorboards creaked less. The dim light of night lamps cast bizarre shadows, turning the familiar space into a labyrinth of light and shadow.
Around the corner came quiet muttering. Rogue slowed her step and saw Naruto sitting on a wide windowsill. The light from his phone screen illuminated his face, and he had earphones in. Noticing her presence, the young man raised his head and smiled that special smile that always warmed her heart.
"Yo, Rogue!" he greeted, removing one earpiece.
She momentarily froze, torn between the desire to continue on her way and an unexpected urge to stay. The fatigue on his face was noticeable even in the semi-darkness – dark circles under his eyes spoke of sleepless nights. In this was reflected an echo of her own demons.
Taking a few steps, the girl leaned against the wall next to the window, maintaining her habitual distance. The night cold seeped through the thin fabric of her T-shirt, making her shiver.
"What are you doing?" she asked, trying to make her voice sound casual.
Naruto raised his phone, the screen casting a pale light on his face.
"Wolverine-Oyaji said that music helps you sleep. Trying to figure out this thing," he frowned, looking at the screen. "You understand this better. Can you help?"
Rogue raised an eyebrow, hearing the nickname, and a barely noticeable smile slid across her face.
"Wolverine-Oyaji?" she repeated, unable to suppress a chuckle. "Well, he definitely won't forget that."
Glancing at the empty corridor, the girl dismissed the thought of whiskey.
"I'll help, but not here. It's cold."
His room was in its usual state of disorder – empty ramen cups on the table, scattered T-shirts, an open laptop on the couch. The girl's gaze involuntarily caught on the book "Computers for Beginners" next to it. This detail brought a smile.
Taking off her gloves – a simple action that usually caused anxiety – she took the phone with slightly trembling fingers. Not now, not with him.
Settling on the couch, the owner of the white streak began to explain, trying to speak simply and clearly. Naruto frowned, rubbed his temples, but closely followed her movements. His proximity felt especially acute in the silence of the night room.
"You like rock, don't you?" the shinobi asked unexpectedly. "I've never listened to it."
Rogue looked at him in surprise.
"I don't think it's your style."
"Come on, I'll like something!" genuine interest sounded in his voice.
Choosing one of her favorite compositions, she extended an earpiece when the blond suggested:
"Will you listen with me?"
The mutant froze. Her heart skipped a beat at the accidental touch of fingers. Carefully inserting the earpiece, the girl felt a strange mixture of fear and excitement from this simple closeness.
Music filled the space between them. Heavy riffs gave way to melodic interludes, and Rogue enthusiastically told about each song, explaining why she chose it.
"And this one..." she began, turning to her companion, and stopped short.
His head rested on her shoulder, blond strands tickling her neck. Measured breathing and barely audible snoring betrayed deep sleep. The daughter of Mississippi froze, afraid to move lest she disturb this fragile moment of closeness.
Moonlight fell on his face, softening his features. She watched his eyelashes quiver in sleep, his lips slightly parted. Her hand reached for his face – slowly, uncertainly. Fingertips carefully touched his cheek, barely perceptibly running over the skin. Warmth. Living, real warmth.
Gathering courage, the former Brotherhood member pressed her palm to his cheek, feeling her heart pounding. With her other hand, she found his fingers, intertwining them with her own. Sensations crashed like a wave – the softness of skin, the warmth of touch, the slight roughness of calluses on his palm. Tears flowed down her cheeks from this simple, so ordinary for others and impossible for her, closeness.
Suddenly reality crashed down with the heavy realization. "He will return home. Everyone leaves." This thought pierced with sharp pain, tearing her from the moment of intimacy.
Jerking her hands away, Xavier's student carefully moved his head to the back of the sofa and quickly rose. Her temples pounded as she silently slipped out of the room. Her feet carried her to the kitchen, where she found the hidden bottle of whiskey.
The alcohol burned her throat. The girl in gloves looked at her hands in the moonlight – hands capable of killing with a single touch. The memory of the warmth of Naruto's skin was fading, turning into a dream.
Staggering, she made it to her room and collapsed on the bed, still dressed. Darkness enveloped her, offering only the weak consolation of alcoholic fog. Tomorrow she would again be the strong, impenetrable Rogue. But now, in the silence of night, she allowed herself to be just a girl, longing for the warmth of human touch.
The Next Day
The bluish light from holograms filled the command center. Team members and shinobi gathered to discuss the operation. Rogue stood by the wall, leaning against it slightly—her head still buzzing from last night's whiskey. The blond impatiently tapped his fingers on the table, while Uchiha, casually leaning back in his chair, maintained his usual calm. Charles leaned forward, looking attentively at the scientist. Silence hung in the room. The telepath's calm voice broke the silence:
"What data do we have from our previous reconnaissance? We need to know everything."
"The 'Hive' base in the Mojave Desert," Hank approached the hologram. "Between Baker and Las Vegas."
Naruto listened attentively, examining the hologram of the complex with enthusiasm.
"The upper part is just the tip of the iceberg," continued the mutant, enlarging the image. "The main complex extends two hundred meters underground. Security includes Sentinels, a laser grid around the perimeter. Inside, they've installed biometrics, heat sensors, and telepathic suppressors."
"But we already know that," Iceman impatiently interrupted. "The main problem is the collars. As soon as the alarm goes off—everyone gets paralyzed."
"We've found a lead," the scientist adjusted his glasses. "Roger Gunn, one of the bosses. He has the codes to disable the system."
The Professor frowned:
"The problem is that we can't get to him. Telepathy is useless—he has a blocker implanted under his skin. And a Sentinel is constantly by his side."
"There must be some loophole," Cyclops leaned forward. "Anything in his routine?"
"Oh, there's an interesting point," Hank looked slightly embarrassed. "Gunn regularly visits an elite escort agency in Vegas. On Fridays or Saturdays."
"Ha!" Wolverine grinned. "During the day, he tortures our people; at night, he entertains himself with prostitutes. Bastard."
"Oh! Oh!" the shinobi jumped up, eyes blazing. "I can definitely help with this! This is my signature technique, dattebayo!"
"Don't tell me you're going to..." Sasuke tiredly rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"Transformation Jutsu!"
Smoke filled the room. When it cleared, an attractive blonde in a tight black dress with a revealing neckline stood before the team.
Rogue involuntarily winced—too bright a flash for her aching head. Another ability of the alien among others, why wasn't she surprised? Something about this transformation subtly reminded her of Mystique, though the ability clearly worked differently.
Bobby choked on his cola, dropping the glass.
"Holy..."
After coughing, the cryo-mutant froze with his mouth slightly open, unable to take his eyes off the transformed Naruto.
"Close your mouth, Drake," Logan smirked. "You'll catch a fly."
"Not bad, right?" The blonde twirled around, then adjusted a lock of hair and winked. "When this pervert shows up, Sasuke and I will handle him. I'll pretend to be an escort, and this bore will—"
"Put him under a genjutsu," the brunette interrupted.
"What about security?" the mutant nervously fidgeted with his glasses.
"Come on!" Naruto waved dismissively. "They won't just stand there watching what he's doing. And if anyone interferes..."
"I'll handle it," Uchiha activated his Sharingan. "Unlike some people, I know how to act quietly."
"Hey! I can be quiet too!"
"When you're asleep," Sasuke snorted.
Rogue suppressed a smirk, covering her mouth with her gloved hand. A muffled laugh rolled through the room—the bickering between these two had already become a sort of entertainment for the team.
"Wait," the leader tried to steer the conversation back to business. "We need to consider the risks. What if he sees through the disguise?"
"Or the real girl wakes up earlier than planned?" added the scientist.
"My genjutsu is flawless," Uchiha coldly cut off. "She'll sleep for exactly as long as necessary."
"And my transformation..." the blonde twirled again, the dress fluttering. "Even her own mother wouldn't tell the difference!"
"With all due respect..." Hank hesitated. "How can we be sure we'll get all the information? One mistake..."
"Listen," Sasuke didn't even let him finish. "My Sharingan leaves no traces and misses no details. This isn't some cheap trick."
The telepath cleared his throat, hiding a smile:
"The plan might actually work. Let's prepare."
The plan was approved. The team spent the next few days meticulously preparing for the operation. The blonde perfected his transformation technique, refining every detail to perfection, while Uchiha studied the building's layout and worked out possible escape routes. The mutant configured equipment, and the other team members rehearsed their roles in the upcoming mission.
Then came the decisive evening. Twilight enveloped the city, plunging the streets into a soft half-light. Around the elite establishment located in a respectable district, members of the X-Men team unobtrusively positioned themselves. In an inconspicuous gray van parked in the shade of trees, Scott and Jean watched the monitors intently. The telepath, frowning, adjusted the communication frequency. Suddenly, the scientist's voice came through the earpieces:
"Attention everyone. The limousine has entered Flamingo Boulevard. Estimated arrival time—seven minutes."
Cyclops responded immediately:
"Understood. Team, this is the leader. Target approaching. Prepare to start the operation. Confirm readiness."
"Logan in position," he hoarsely whispered into the microphone. The mutant had settled on a bench near the entrance to the establishment, pretending to be a homeless alcoholic. Dressed in worn clothing with disheveled hair, he blended perfectly into this role. A half-empty bottle of cheap wine, wrapped in a paper bag, stood nearby. Wolverine's cloudy eyes seemed to wander aimlessly around the street, but in reality, he was closely watching every movement around the building.
"Rogue in position," the mutant girl whispered from the roof of the adjacent building. Lying on her stomach at the very edge, she observed the street below. The cool night wind tousled her hair, but she remained motionless, fully focused on the task. Her hands, encased in black gloves, firmly gripped the binoculars. Internal tension was building, but Rogue didn't allow it to take over, concentrating on the task.
"I'm ready," came the shinobi's female voice.
"In position," confirmed Uchiha, concealed in the shadows of the VIP room.
On the luxurious couch in the center of the room sat the jinchuriki in the guise of an attractive brunette. The transformation was flawless: long locks framed the face, emphasizing elegant features. The revealingly tight black dress with a seductively deep neckline and a high, instantly noticeable slit on the thigh accentuated feminine curves. High-heeled shoes completed the look, giving it elegant sensuality. With a glass of champagne in hand, Uzumaki looked completely relaxed, but inside was ready for action. "All that time training my sexy jutsu wasn't for nothing," he thought with a barely noticeable smirk. "Today, my technique will serve an excellent purpose."
Scott, adjusting his glasses, addressed the team:
"Remember, our goal is to obtain information without making noise. No improvisation."
After receiving confirmations from all team members, he turned to Jean:
"Monitor all communication channels. Any suspicious activity—report immediately."
"Understood," Jean briefly replied, focusing on the equipment.
They again immersed themselves in silent observation, ready to react to any change in the situation.
Suddenly, Rogue's voice interrupted the silence:
"Attention everyone. Limousine approaching. Distance—one hundred meters."
The luxurious car smoothly stopped at the entrance to the establishment. The driver quickly jumped out and opened the rear door. Out stepped the corporation head—a tall, middle-aged man dressed in an expensive suit. His cold gaze carefully slid over the street, examining every corner and shadow. It lingered briefly on parked cars and passersby, as if trying to detect signs of surveillance. Convinced there was no danger, the businessman barely nodded to his bodyguards and headed for the entrance.
"Target in place," whispered Logan. "Looks tense. Five bodyguards with him."
The corporation head walked confidently through the quiet corridors of the establishment. His thoughts returned to the day's events. The morning had begun with a meeting on the "Clean Genome" project. The team of scientists reported significant progress in developing a serum that suppresses the X gene. The businessman listened with impassive satisfaction, anticipating how this work would one day change the world.
Before leaving, the corporation head inspected a new batch of collars. These devices were his pride: they not only blocked abilities but could also remotely inject a paralyzer in case of rescue attempts, ensuring no mutant could escape. This was his personal initiative—"as a precaution," as he explained to the board of directors.
The establishment's manager—a well-groomed man in an expensive suit—greeted the businessman with a servile smile.
"Good evening. Monica is ready to receive you."
The corporation head nodded briefly, remaining detached. Approaching the right door, he gestured to his security:
"Wait here."
Entering the room, he momentarily froze, his gaze sliding over the luxurious interior before stopping on Monica. She sat on the edge of a dark burgundy velvet-covered couch, her pose radiating confidence and seduction. The dim light of the crystal chandelier created an intimate atmosphere, casting soft shadows on the walls adorned with expensive paintings.
Monica rose slowly. Her movements were graceful and polished, each step precisely calculated to attract attention.
"Good evening, Mr. Gunn," she spoke in a low, velvety voice. "I've been waiting for this moment... impatiently."
The businessman allowed himself a barely noticeable smile, his eyes appraisingly sliding over her figure.
"I hope the wait was worth it." His voice sounded cold and authoritative.
At this moment, Sasuke, concealed by the transparency jutsu, silently took up position behind the target. His fingers trembled slightly, ready to use genjutsu at any moment.
Naruto, fully immersed in the role, took a step closer to the corporation head, reducing the distance. For a moment, he glanced into the emptiness where his friend was, conveying a silent message.
"Perhaps we should start the evening with something... refreshing?" suggested Monica, her hand sliding over the businessman's shoulder, gently guiding him to the bar. "I have excellent champagne that I've been saving especially for such an occasion."
When the corporation head turned, Sasuke seized the moment. His eyes flashed with the red light of the Sharingan. In a fraction of a second, he immersed himself in the target's consciousness, methodically sifting through information. The businessman froze, his gaze dulled. Uzumaki instantly reacted, catching the glass he almost dropped.
Sasuke acted quickly and efficiently, extracting the necessary data: codes, schemes, security protocols—everything was at his disposal. After a few seconds, he finished his work, implanting false memories of a passionate night and putting the corporation head into a deep sleep.
The man's eyes rolled back, and he began to fall. Naruto immediately caught the limp body.
"Done," Sasuke said quietly, remaining invisible. "He'll sleep for an hour. Won't suspect anything."
Naruto nodded, holding the businessman in his arms:
"Watch the door."
Sasuke silently moved to the entrance while Naruto carried the body to the bed. His movements remained confident, but internal irritation was growing. After laying the man on the bed, Naruto proceeded to the final phase of the mission—creating the appearance of a passionate night. With evident disgust, he removed the corporation head's shoes and tie, then began unbuttoning his shirt. His fingers momentarily froze on the exposed skin, but, gritting his teeth, he continued.
Uzumaki tousled the businessman's hair and rumpled the pillow to create an illusion of passion.
"Almost finished," he whispered to his friend.
Naruto silently approached the bar counter and extracted the unconscious body of the real Monica. Placing her next to the man, he, maintaining outward calm, began removing the girl's clothes, leaving only her underwear. His movements were quick and precise.
Carefully arranging her hair on the pillow and smudging her makeup, he ensured the scene looked plausible.
"Now everything's perfect," whispered the jinchuriki, stepping back from the bed. "No inconsistencies."
Uchiha silently nodded.
"Let's go," he said quietly.
Meanwhile, in the van, Scott and Jean tensely awaited results. The silence was broken only by the quiet hum of equipment. Suddenly, a voice came through the earpieces:
"Reporting situation. Target neutralized, information obtained, no witnesses. Leaving the location."
"Excellent work," replied Cyclops, trying to hide the surprise in his voice. "To all team members: operation completed. Withdraw along predetermined routes."
He exchanged glances with Jean—both didn't hide their slight amazement at the speed of the task completion. Jean raised an eyebrow, silently expressing her thoughts.
The atmosphere of tense anticipation gave way to a feeling of relief and satisfaction. Summers quickly checked the monitoring systems, ensuring there were no signs of alarm or suspicious activity around the building.
On the roof, Rogue relaxed slightly, allowing herself a small smile. She began carefully folding up the surveillance equipment, constantly keeping the surrounding streets in her field of vision.
Logan, still sitting on the bench, smirked and stretched, portraying an ordinary passerby, before slowly moving toward the evacuation point.
The shinobi silently left the room.
The mission was crowned with success. The team had obtained critically important information needed to free numerous mutants, while their intervention remained unnoticed by the adversary.
When the ninja silently materialized at the van, shrouded in night darkness, the atmosphere changed. The tension that had bound the team began to dissipate, giving way to cautious relief.
"Everyone's here," said Scott, starting the engine. "Let's get out of here."
The van moved off, heading to an uninhabited area on the city outskirts. The journey passed in tense silence—each person absorbed in their own thoughts.
When they stopped in a wasteland surrounded by abandoned buildings, Cyclops turned to the team:
"Alright. Sasuke, we're ready to receive the information."
The Sharingan owner nodded and approached closer, establishing eye contact with the team. At that moment, reality seemed to dissolve—everyone's consciousness was filled with a stream of information. They saw a massive underground complex filled with advanced technology. At the very heart of the complex was the main computer—the key to saving thousands of mutants. Information was transmitted instantly, synchronously, allowing the team to get a complete picture in a matter of seconds.
Jean involuntarily shuddered. Her telepathic abilities enhanced her perception, and she felt echoes of the pain and fear of the imprisoned mutants. Logan gritted his teeth and clenched his fists upon learning about the cruel experiments conducted in the complex.
Rogue, being the last to receive the information, sighed heavily. Everything turned out to be much more complicated than she thought.
Uzumaki frowned. Uchiha had not shared the information with him, understanding that his companion wouldn't be able to process everything at once anyway. It seems the jinchuriki hadn't even asked for this, hoping that others could explain everything to him clearly.
"What exactly did we learn?"
Scott, the first to come to his senses, began to explain:
"The main computer is in the center of the complex. To disable the paralyzer injection system, we need to access the terminal and enter the cancellation code. This will send a signal to all collars simultaneously."
Jean added, her voice tense:
"But there's a problem. The collars can only be removed individually by entering a unique code for each mutant. We can't free them all at once."
Logan snorted, clenching his fists. "These bastards thought of everything," he thought.
Summers continued:
"The security system is more complex than we anticipated. Level after level, each with separate protocols. Breaking through will be... challenging."
Logan barely contained his anger:
"So, what's the plan?"
"We need to act with a cool head," Scott firmly stated. "Let's return to the school and develop a detailed plan. This operation is too important to risk hasty actions."
The team quickly and silently left the van and moved to an abandoned warehouse on the city outskirts. There, carefully camouflaged, the "Blackbird" awaited them. Cyclops entered the access code, and the massive doors slowly opened, revealing the aircraft.
Leaving the van in a secluded spot, they took their places in the aircraft. Scott and Jean sat in the pilot's cabin, the others settled in the rear. The "Blackbird" smoothly rose into the air—stealth systems made it virtually invisible to detection means.
Upon returning to the school, Uchiha transmitted the obtained information to the professor. The rest of the team had already gathered in the conference hall, preparing for discussion. The atmosphere was tense—everyone understood the importance of the moment.
Charles thoughtfully folded his fingers in a steeple, his face expressing concentration. When he spoke about the information received, his voice carried the weight of realizing how much the situation had changed.
Hank, standing by the holoprojector, activated the three-dimensional image of the complex. As he repeated the key points of the intelligence data, Cyclops frowned increasingly, clearly preparing to express some serious considerations. But the jinchuriki beat him to it.
"Professor, we have a plan."
The attention of those present shifted to him.
"What plan?" asked Jean, surprise evident in her voice.
The shinobi nodded, his face serious.
"My friend and I discussed something on the way back. And it will work one hundred percent!"
Silence reigned in the room. Professor Xavier looked attentively at the young man:
"Alright, Naruto. We're listening."
Erik Lehnsherr sat on the edge of an iron cot; his once majestic figure seemed dejected under the weight of three years of imprisonment. His long gray hair was tangled, and in his eyes, still burning with inner fire, a new depth could be read—rage mixed with grim determination.
The metal collar tightly encircled his neck—a masterpiece of anti-mutant technology, suppressing his abilities. The weight of the shackles continuously reminded him of imprisonment, not only physical but symbolic. The cell was simple and impersonal, but the real prison was not in the walls, but within himself.
Magneto raised his hand and touched the cold metal, feeling how the collar's impulses cut him off from the powers that had always been an integral part of his being. Closing his eyes, he again immersed himself in memories of the fateful day when everything changed...
The Brotherhood of Mutants was preparing for its boldest operation—an attack on Trask's research center. The plan was simple: destroy data about the Sentinels and free the imprisoned mutants. Erik personally supervised the preparation. Wanda and Pietro were nearby, as were loyal allies—Emma and Mystique.
But then events took an unexpected turn. Rogue, one of the most promising members of the Brotherhood, had left them a few weeks before the operation. Erik remembered their last conversation: concerns, doubts, which he took for weakness. Now he understood that her departure presaged the approaching catastrophe.
On the day of the operation, everything went wrong from the very beginning. The enemies knew their every step. The battle was fierce but short. One by one, his comrades fell. Pietro was caught in a net that neutralized his speed. Wanda, who seemed unstoppable, was stunned by a new weapon. Emma collapsed unconscious, unable to break through mental barriers. Mystique, using her shape-shifting abilities, tried to infiltrate the command center but was exposed.
Erik fought to the last. The metal around him melted and tore, but there were too many of them. A final glance at his fallen comrades—and it was over.
He awoke here, in the "Hive"—a top-secret prison for mutants. The first days merged into a nightmare of pain and interrogations. The enemies demanded information, but he remained silent, though each day he heard the screams of comrades from neighboring cells.
Then the experiments began. His body and abilities became objects of study. He turned into a guinea pig for those he once despised.
Three years. Some broke, others disappeared. But Erik held on. Each day he meditated, performed simple exercises and breathing practices, preparing for the moment when he could strike back.
He approached the transparent wall of the cell. In the adjacent cell sat Emma. Her once impeccable image had faded, but steel still burned in her eyes. The cells of his children—Wanda and Pietro—were located above.
His thoughts often returned to Rogue. Where was she? Had she joined Charles and his dreamers, or was she hiding in a world that had become even more hostile to mutants?
Erik knew the world beyond the prison walls had changed. Anti-mutant sentiments had peaked. Sentinels patrolled the streets, and surviving mutants were in hiding.
But he was not broken. Each day of imprisonment only strengthened his hatred. One day he would get out of here. And when that day came, the world would learn what it means to face the wrath of someone who spent three years in a hell created by humans.
The silence of the corridor was broken by Emma's quiet voice:
"The neighbor hasn't returned."
Magneto stood motionless. His face remained impassive, but a shadow of interest flashed in his eyes. After a brief pause, he replied—his voice sounding hoarse from long silence:
"How long has it been?"
"Four days," she answered, unconsciously touching the collar on her neck. "Usually they bring them back after a day, two at most."
Lehnsherr frowned:
"What were they doing to him this time?"
"I heard guards talking about something called 'Clean Genome.' Sounded serious."
"Clean Genome..." he repeated thoughtfully. "When they took me last time, I caught a fragment of conversation about this. It seems they're close to creating a 'cure.'"
Emma tensed:
"You think they've found a way to..."
"Destroy us completely? Quite possible," he replied with a bitter smirk. "But suppression isn't enough for them. They need control."
"Erik," lowering her voice, Emma continued, "have you heard about the new prisoners? They brought them in last night."
He nodded:
"There was noise. Many of them?"
"Hundreds. But there's something interesting... I recognized one of them. David, from Haven of Hope."
"Don't recall him."
"You're not acquainted with him," she explained. "I met David long ago, before he came here." The last word was pronounced with evident disgust—Emma knew perfectly well how Magneto felt about such havens.
"Havens," he grimaced. "Mutants hiding like rats. The irony: those who should rule are hiding from inferior beings."
Emma nodded:
"Nevertheless, this David was strong. If they could capture him, their technology has become even more dangerous."
"Possibly," Magneto said thoughtfully. "If they've reached one of the havens..."
"...then the others are also under threat," Emma finished. "This could mean mass arrests of mutants across the country."
"Let them hide or surrender," he threw out with a dry smirk.
Emma wanted to say something, but a sudden wail of sirens cut through the silence. Both flinched and exchanged meaningful glances—over the years of imprisonment, they had learned to understand each other without words.
When the siren quieted, leaving behind a ringing emptiness, Emma sarcastically said:
"Lunch time."
With a characteristic hiss, the cell doors slid to the sides, revealing rows of hexagonal cells. Guards in black uniforms with red inserts lined up along the corridor.
"Everyone stay in line!" barked one of them. "No talking!"
Their faces were hidden behind visor helmets, giving them a faceless, mechanical appearance. In their hands, they held electric shock batons, ready at any moment to release a charge capable of instantly immobilizing anyone.
"Hey, you!" shouted another guard, pointing at one of the prisoners. "Keep your hands where I can see them!"
The prisoners slowly exited their cells. Bright orange jumpsuits sharply contrasted with the white walls. Each had a number on their chest, and around their neck gleamed a collar, the symbol of their powerlessness. Their steps were slow, their figures emaciated and subdued.
"Move faster, rejects!" growled a third guard.
Magneto and Emma took their place at the end of the queue. In front of them moved mutants—once mighty, but now stripped of their powers. The snow-white corridor seemed endless, only red markings on the walls disrupted the sterile emptiness.
Finally, they reached the dining hall. The spacious room with high ceilings seemed cramped due to the multitude of surveillance cameras hung in the corners. Long metal tables, firmly fixed to the floor, were covered with small scratches—traces of long years of silent protest.
At the far wall was the serving line. Workers in white coats and masks silently placed gray, tasteless mass onto trays. The air was saturated with the smell of disinfectants and cheap, inedible food.
Wanda, Pietro, and Mystique were already sitting at one of the tables. Their faces were pale, their eyes dimmed, but a spark of strength still smoldered in them. Pietro nervously tapped his fingers on the table; his body, accustomed to super-speed, couldn't cope with forced immobility. Wanda sat silently, her gaze fixed on emptiness, as if trying to see something beyond these walls. Mystique remained alert—her eyes constantly scanning the room.
Magneto and Emma sat down at the table, placing trays with gray mass and glasses of water before them. For a moment, silence reigned in the dining hall, broken only by the clinking of dishes and the muffled voices of other prisoners.
Pietro, continuing to tap his fingers, finally broke the silence:
"Hey, sis, remember that amusement park in Detroit?"
She raised an eyebrow:
"Where you nearly caused a disaster on the roller coaster?"
"Exactly!" confirmed her brother. "I think I'd beat my record now."
Mystique smirked:
"Only now your run isn't on roller coasters, but from the cell to the dining hall. Impressive."
"At least I'm not pretending to be food on a plate to avoid this slop," he retorted, glancing at his portion.
Wanda rolled her eyes:
"Enough. Better tell me what you think about the new doctor. That blonde with the cold gaze."
"I noticed her," Emma responded, gripping her fork. "Seems she's new here. And something seems to be bothering her."
Magneto silently observed the conversation, appraisingly looking over his comrades. Finally, he said:
"New faces here are not accidental. Stay alert."
Mystique nodded:
"As always, Erik. By the way, have you noticed how the guard schedule has changed?"
"Yes," replied Wanda. "Now they change every four hours, not six. Interesting what that means."
"Maybe they're afraid we'll charm them with our irresistibility?" suggested Pietro with a smirk.
Magneto looked at him sternly:
"Son, focus. Any change could be important."
"Sorry, father," Pietro slumped, averting his gaze. "Trying to lighten the mood a bit."
Wanda placed her hand on his shoulder:
"It's alright. We all cope in our own way."
With a clang, massive doors at the end of the room swung open. In the doorway appeared a group of new prisoners. Their steps were uncertain, and their faces full of fear and confusion. They wore the same orange jumpsuits, but not yet worn by time and deprivation. Guards roughly pushed them forward.
Emma tensed. Her fingers gripped the fork tighter. Among the newcomers, she noticed a familiar face—David. Their eyes met across the room, and in the experienced mutant's eyes flashed composure, behind which firm determination was hidden.
The silence in the dining hall became almost palpable. It was broken only by the footsteps of the newcomers and the quiet hum of surveillance cameras. The prisoners slowly moved forward, choosing places at the metal tables. Their gazes anxiously darted around, as if trying to comprehend the new reality.
"Here's the replenishment," Mystique said barely audibly.
Wanda shook her head:
"Seems they're becoming more numerous each time."
Pietro nervously continued tapping his fingers on the table. His gaze darted between the guards and the newcomers:
"Wonder where they're from this time?"
Emma silently watched what was happening. Her eyes narrowed, as if trying to penetrate the thoughts of the newcomers, despite the collar suppressing her abilities.
A white-haired girl sat at her usual table, lazily stirring the tasteless mass on her plate. Despite the dim lighting, her hair seemed to glow from within. At twenty, Ororo Munro maintained her natural grace and inner strength, despite the harsh conditions of her confinement. Her gaze drifted across the faces of the newcomers until it settled on a boy of about fourteen with messy chestnut hair. He looked lost, hesitantly scanning the room for an empty seat. Their eyes met, and for a moment, a glimmer of hope flashed in his gaze.
Evans approached the table, silently asking permission to sit. The white-haired girl gave a barely perceptible nod, and he lowered himself onto the bench opposite her, clutching his food tray tightly.
For several minutes, they sat in silence. The newcomer picked at his portion, clearly hesitant to try the strange substance. Ororo watched him from the corner of her eye, feeling a mixture of sympathy and a desire to help.
Finally, she smiled gently and broke the silence:
"Hey, new kid," her voice was quiet but friendly, "what's your name?"
The boy flinched slightly, his shoulders tensing, but he quickly composed himself, trying not to show his nervousness. Wary eyes, reflecting a mixture of fear and curiosity, slowly rose to meet her calm, understanding gaze.
"Hi," he mumbled, stumbling over the word. "My name is Jake."
"I'm Ororo," she extended her hand across the table, the movement smooth and reassuring. "Don't worry about the food. It's better than it looks. You'll even start to distinguish flavors eventually."
Evans shook her hand uncertainly. A faint smile briefly lit up his face.
"Thanks," he whispered hoarsely, as if he hadn't spoken in a long time.
The white-haired girl leaned closer and quietly asked:
"How did they catch you?"
His fingers convulsively tightened around the spoon, knuckles turning white. Jake swallowed, as if trying to push down a lump in his throat.
"They... came to the school. Right in the middle of class and took me away," he replied anxiously.
Ororo's gaze became sympathetic as she carefully placed her hand on the boy's.
"I'm sorry you had to go through that."
She scanned the cafeteria, her face becoming thoughtful.
"Many here were torn from their normal lives, just like you," she began in a quiet but confident voice.
Leaning slightly forward, she used her spoon to point at a grim-looking man in his forties sitting by the far wall.
"See him?" she asked. Evans gave a barely perceptible nod. "His name is Dean. He worked as a dockworker at the port. There was an accident once—a container broke loose and headed straight for his friend. Dean reacted instinctively—created an energy ball and pushed the container away. Saved his colleague's life. And you know what happened next?" Ororo smiled bitterly. "The very man he saved turned him in to the authorities."
Jake inhaled sharply, his fingers nervously drumming on the table. The white-haired girl continued, her voice growing even quieter:
"See that blonde girl?" She nodded toward a girl sitting alone. "That's Ellen. Her own aunt turned her in when she caught her experimenting with her ability—making light shows. She thought it was her ticket to show business. But her aunt decided it was 'unnatural' and 'dangerous.'"
Evans listened with bated breath. His eyes darted from one person to another, as if trying to memorize each face, each story.
Memories of life before his arrest flashed through his mind—constant fear of exposure, endless pretending, agonizing loneliness.
Now, sitting here, Jake suddenly realized—he was no longer alone. Around him were others just like him: betrayed and torn from their familiar lives. The initial horror of arrest and imprisonment began to recede, replaced by a strange calmness. Yes, he was a prisoner, but here, he didn't have to pretend.
The boy looked at his new acquaintance, and relief flickered in his eyes. Now he was part of something bigger—a community united by a common fate.
"And... what about you? How did you end up here?" Evans finally dared to ask.
Ororo fell silent for a moment, her gaze becoming distant. Then she quietly began, her speech slow, with a slight accent:
"I was born in Cairo. My parents... left early. I was five years old—and found myself alone on the streets. Then the winds of fate carried me to Kenya." She smiled weakly. "Later, news came that I had an aunt in America. She found me through the Red Cross. I thought—this is my chance, a new life... But dreams, all dreams. Two years ago, I flew to the States, settled in New York. But one day... my powers—erupted like a hurricane."
The white-haired girl paused momentarily, then her voice grew quieter, bitter in tone:
"It happened a year ago. The sky turned black in seconds. Lightning tore through the earth, wind ripped off roofs. And I stood in the middle of the chaos, not knowing how to stop it all."
Jake listened, holding his breath.
"The Sentinels... appeared as if from nowhere. A flash, a blow—and here I am, with this." She touched the metal collar around her neck.
Ororo fell silent for a moment, her gaze clouding over. Then she quietly continued:
"You know, the scariest part wasn't being captured. It was seeing the faces of people around me. Fear, hatred, disgust... As if I wasn't human, but some kind of monster."
Evans unconsciously clenched his fists.
"It's not fair," he whispered. "We didn't do anything wrong."
The white-haired girl smiled sadly:
"Life is rarely fair, little one. But you know what?" She leaned closer, her voice becoming firmer. "We're not alone here. We have each other. And as long as we're together, we have hope."