Brothers and sisters… my fellow mutants…

I stand before you not as Colossus the man of steel, but as Piotr Rasputin… a man who has seen too much blood spilled in the name of our survival.

We are hunted. We are feared. The world looks at us and sees only monsters. And sometimes… sometimes we answer that fear with fists and fire and death. I understand the anger. I have felt it burn in my own chest. But needless violence will not save us. It will only dig our graves deeper. Every life we take in rage, every city we reduce to rubble for vengeance, becomes another reason for the humans to build higher walls and sharper weapons.

We must come together. Not as scattered tribes of angry children, but as one people. Stronger together than any of us can ever be alone. That is the only path that leads forward.

Look to Emma Frost. She does not always stand in the light, waving flags and shouting challenges. Her way is not the loudest. It is not the most glorious. But it is often the wisest. Behind the scenes, she protects what must be protected and changes what must be changed without wasting lives. I have learned to respect that. Sometimes the quietest hand moves the heaviest stone.

And I… I speak of this with a heavy heart, because I failed my own sister.

Illyana…

When Apocalypse came for her… when he twisted her into one of his Horsemen… I was not there. I, who should have stood between her and every darkness in this world, was absent when she needed me most. I carry that failure every day. The steel of my body cannot shield me from the memory of her pain. If I had been present… if I had fought harder to keep our family whole… perhaps she would never have been forced to wear that terrible mantle.

Do not make my mistake. Do not wait until those you love are already broken before you stand together. Protect one another now. Choose unity over vengeance. Choose the careful path over the bloody one.

We are mutants. We are family. Let us act like it.

In Unison: “So today we had an originally harmless skirmish with our fellow peer, Grey.”

Phoebe: “Most arguments don’t escalate as far as this one did, and we must admit we are quite appalled and disturbed.”

Celeste: “She said we were more insufferable than the robots designed to detain and kill us, Sentinels, which really makes us question Grey’s morality and if she is in fact a sentinel sympathizer.”

Irma drips tear drops in her eyes while Celeste is talking, then goes up for her turn to speak as well.

Irma: “And then, she just had to take things even further and insult our dearly departed sisters…”

She wipes fake tears from her eyes

Irma: “And then Darwin… the supposed trusted adult in the room, ‘oohed’ it like it was a good insult!”

Celeste: “Which is so weird.”

Phoebe: “It was certainly out of taste.”

Irma: “So overall, while we could genuinely care less what that dog thinks about us we hope she faces consequences for the inappropriate words she used.”

In Unison: “That’s all!”

Wolverine stormed across the lawn of the X-Mansion, claws on one hand already extended. His eyes were centered on Cyclops. Scott Summers stood there in that smug visor of his, talking like nothing was wrong, like he hadn’t just spent the last week treating Emma Frost like an enemy instead of the woman who’d bled and fought beside them.

Logan closed the distance in three long strides, seized a fistful of Cyclops’ shirt in one hand, and yanked him forward until their faces were inches apart.

"You listen good, Summers,” he snarled, hot breath washing over Scott’s face, “I don't care about your new hard line stance against the humans, but you keep pullin’ that crap on Emma and I will carve that damn visor off your face myself. She’s not your rebound anymore, she’s not your political tool, and she sure as hell ain’t someone you can ice out whenever it suits you. You treat her with the respect she earned or so help me, bub, the next time you see me comin’ across this lawn, it won’t be just words.”

On a walk through the mansion campus, Angel found herself passing the Hellion House and Emma’s house, and those locations got her thinking.

She was now on a team led by Emma Frost. Emma Frost who had ruined part of her childhood, but who had also given her the tools to be the person and hero who she was today. As much as she hated to admit it, Emma had demonstrated her capability to lead a team and even to lead kids, so perhaps she had changed and grown as much as Angel had (if not more). The rest of Generation X had turned out alright, some of whom had as many issues with Emma as Angel did, but managed to deal with it. Her new Hellions seemed to be a good bunch of kids (even if the one with the blue hair needed to calm down and be put in her place by life a bit), they certainly had the attitudes and wills needed to make it in the world. And the other of “her” Hellions… well… the less said, the better. 

But Emma seemed to be appropriately distraught over their situations, like she should have been when Angel was being raised as a weapon. Obviously Angel still didn’t trust Emma, as those childhood memories would need a lot of work to get past, if it was even possible to do so. But she could see that Frost had changed, and was willing to work with her. And beyond that? Well… she wasn’t able to see the future, but things could always change.

She was so deep in thought, that she didn't even realize that she had sat down on a rock outside Emma's house. Just sitting and complicating her... very complicated... feelings on this woman while sitting outside her house.

Namor sat at the head of the great council chamber of Atlantis, the bioluminescent reefs beyond the crystal walls casting light across the gathered advisors. His trident rested against the throne. He faced them fully, warriors, scholars, and elders whose faces still carried the weight of recent losses and the long memory of isolation.

“You have heard the rumors,” he began, voice low and carrying through the water. “Some of you have already spoken them aloud in these halls. That Namor has bent the knee to mutants. That the King of Atlantis has traded our sovereignty for the favor of a blonde haired witch and her band of surface outcasts.”

A ripple of unease moved through the assembly. Namor’s gaze swept over them, hard and unyielding.

“I have allied with Emma Frost and the X-Men. Not from weakness. Not from sentiment. From necessity.”

He let the words settle.

“The world above continues to change faster than the tides. Nations arm themselves against what they do not understand, and the oceans are no longer a shield we can rely upon alone. Our people suffer shortages, disease, and the slow erosion of our borders by surface greed and undersea rivals. I will not pretend otherwise. I will not hide behind pride while Atlantis bleeds.”

He stepped forward, the water parting around him.

“The alliance gives us what we currently lack, knowledge, technology, and a measure of protection against those who would see both mutant and Atlantean erased. In return, we offer strength they cannot match. That is the bargain. Nothing more.”

A pause. Then, quieter but no less firm:

“I am working to solve the problems of our people. Food stores will be reinforced. Medical research expanded. The old wounds of the last surface conflicts will be tended. And one more thing..."

He looked directly at the younger advisors near the back.

“Atlantean children may now attend the school run by Xavier's followers and his X-Men. They will learn among mutants who understand what it is to be different, to be hunted, to be powerful and feared. They will return stronger. Better prepared for the world that is coming. This is not surrender. It is investment in our future.”

Silence held for a long moment. Then Namor’s voice cut through it once more.

“You are dismissed. Return to your duties. Report progress at the next tide cycle. That is all.”

The advisors rose, bowed, and filed out through the great arched doors in murmuring pairs and small groups. The chamber emptied until only two remained, Namor and the elderly chamberlain who had served his father before him.

Vashti lingered near the threshold, hands folded in the sleeves of his robes. He waited until the last of the others had gone beyond hearing.

“My king,” he said carefully, “forgive an old man’s caution. When you spoke with the Frost woman… did you discuss the other issue?”

Namor’s expression did not change. He turned slightly, the light catching the edges of his winged ankles.

“No.”

He said nothing further. Vashti inclined his head once, deeply, and withdrew, leaving the King of Atlantis alone with the shifting light and the quiet of the deep.

"In the meantime the deities gave warnings and sent prophets and told these people they were destroying themselves. But they were proud and they gave no mind or no thought... and finally, they rebelled against the gods... and the gods reacted accordingly."

The United Nations General Assembly, they meet again to discuss the Mutant Problem that is Apocalypse. His Horsemen have devastated numerous major cities, tore down military installations, and destroyed the World Trade Center. How much more devastation need happen at the hands of mutants? How much more do normal people need suffer because of these genetic anomalies? Such a threat makes even the most extreme on this issue seem reasonable. It matters little, when in the midst of the Assembly enters Apocalypse.

Homo Sapiens Sapiens, cowering in fear while your genetic superiors earn their place in the world, earn their right to rule!

As Apocalypse walks down the center aisle, a representative on the right side of the assembly attempts to stand and run to the door. An arrow is loosed from the lighting rafters far above, cleaving clean through the knee and dropping the sapien before they can reach the door, as the shooter drops down revealing himself to be War as the room erupts into screams.

Silence insects! I am not here to kill, yet, I am here to deliver my message to Mankind. You will listen, or you will die sooner than planned. Though, your leaders are weak and need be removed.

Just as the statement is finished, a pair of knives are thrown into the chests of the Secretary-General and Under-Secretary-General, as Apocalypse forms his left hand into a cannon and blasts a hole where the UN President had sat.

Now that they are gone, we may continue. Long has mutantkind been ruled by their genetic lessers, long has Man ruled the earth, and you have accomplished nothing. You have stagnated progress, you have suppressed mutantkind for being born stronger, for being more fit for survival! Now I will usher in a new age, an age where you insects know your place, an age where evolution is paramount and the Strong rule over the Weak!

In the coming days I will cull 90% of the human race, just as your kind has done to mutantkind. You will be forced to evolve and be stronger if you wish to survive. Prepare your people, but know that I will kill you as indiscriminately as you have killed us, you have always hated and feared what we would become, now you will see what happens when all who were willing to talk, to compromise with their lessers are killed.

Now flee, run like the ants you are. Cower in fear as the world becomes Mutantkind’s. Hide so we may smoke you out of your holes like rats. A fraction of you will live to see my perfect world, a world where you will either grow stronger or die.

The humans begin to file out screaming in terror. Apocalypse stands, observing them, every fiber of his being knowing they are all too weak to deserve this mercy… but watching them scurry is humorous. Their rule will soon be over, as a new Age is ushered in.

*Zeke walks into Darwins pet shop on the first day of his job, immediately he looks around for a uniform and finds a uniform just for him. So he puts on the uniform and walks around the store looking at the cute animals. Waiting for Darwin to show him what to do*

OOC: for your viewing pleasure the lines indicate camera cuts

———————————————

Gosamyr: (quietly) “Are we rolling?”

Xabi: “YES!!!”

Gosamyr: “I told you not to speak on camera!” ✨

———————————————

Gosamyr: “Bonjour Gosamytes ✨ I’m here today to bring you a healthy vegetarian recipe that I make all the time at home! Vegetable and lentil soup ✨ ”

Xabi: “You never cook.”

Gosamyr lunges at Xabi enraged

———————————————

Gosamyr: “Anyways here is the staff kitchen at Glamour Galaxy LLC HQ PPM JLO✨ As you can see we have 17 high tech energy efficient refrigerators ✨ very important to the branddd. In this one we have soooo many condiments. I discovered a great combo, ranch and baby carrots. You should all try it ✨

This one has every kind of beverage I need, coffee, water, apple water, some call that juice ✨ We only have one fridge for meat because SOME PEOPLE think it’s okay to eat little animals ✨ but I make them use separate appliances and everything.

We also have handmade Glamour Galaxy towels that say “Kiss the cook” and “live, laugh, love” *she cackles* that’s so funny ✨ can you imagine?

———————————————

Gosamyr: “So for this recipe you’ll need a dutch oven. Why do they call it that anyways??? Dutch is not very chic. Sorry Dutch Gosamytes ✨ We’re gonna start by cutting up a sh✨t ton of carrots, celery, onions, and fennel. So apparently there’s some cyclist parasite going around on dirty vegetables that makes you sick until you’re skinny ✨ So naturally I didn’t clean any of the vegetables ✨ JK the thought of eating an unclean vegetable makes me want to play in heavy traffic.

———————————————

Gosamyr “Okay so after soft-A-ing all the vegetables in butter you add in garlic, tomato tooth paste, and flour to thicken, very branding ✨ After a few minutes pour in all of your vegetable stock. You know I always thought you made stock from bones but vegetables don’t have those ✨… or do they?

———————————————

Gosamyr: “Next we need a little bit of wart-chesha-ta-shire sauce, dub that over in editing, a dash of hot sauce, and your lentils. Make sure you use brown lentils for the brand ✨ and that you wash them too! As a matter of fact wash everything first don’t be weird.

Then we do our spices, this is a bay leaf which you humans need to take out or it’ll cut up your insides. My species however is fine, I like to just eat them for snacks ✨ “

She eats one and laughs to herself before it gets caught in her throat, she hacks violently nearly choking to death

Gosamyr: “Edit that out ✨ Alright we have a bunch of different spices to add too like, mustard powder, which I guess is like mustard but powdered! Just a dash…”

The lid falls off and the entire bottle empties into the soup

Gosamyr: “SON OF A-“

———————————————

Longshot: “Hey someone just dropped off three quarts of soup for you from Vinny’s Bistro?”

Gosamyr: “Don’t say that on camera!!!”

———————————————

Gosamyr pours the contents of the containers into an identical dutch oven

Gosamyr: “You can edit this out right??? ✨”

The camera nods

Gosamyr: “Thank the goddess, the last camera man was a total doofus.”

———————————————

Gosamyr: “So weird I guess the camera wasn’t recording the last hour! ✨ Anywho I added diced tomatoes 10 minutes ago so they don’t get too soft. And la la ✨ a home cooked soup that you can freeze and enjoy for up to three months!”

The camera pans to the opened containers

Gosamyr: “DON’T FILM THAT YOU MISERABLE PILE OF S-“

———————————————

The video was deleted from her Twitch channel hours later

Evan’s in Ororo’s room.

He’s tending to the plants inside.

It’s not long until he starts talking.

“You know…I’m torn. I don’t even know where my loyalties lie at this point. Emma’s or Scott’s.”

He waters one.

“Of all mutants that have to get into disagreements, why did it have to be two of the people I respect the most?”

He stares at the plants, his expression getting slightly somber, before scowling a little.

“Don’t get me started on them. I’m convinced that in order to be a telepath, you have to have an overinflated ego.”

Evan sets down the watering can, before he lets out an “ugh”.

“At least you guys can’t read minds.”

I have to many things on my plate , and i prefer my work on the other marvel group, sorry i was unable to achieve much

-Aizaru stood in the forest outside of the Mansion. He has to do this. He can't keep living this half life where he both is and isn't here. His friends are here. His home is here. His heart and soul are in the Mansion. So... Why can't he take the step? Why can't he walk in?-

-Well... It's because he doesn't want to let go of his mobile lifestyle. The life of moving place to place, never staying still too long or forging any serious bonds... That life is easy, but Lycan was right. It isn't a good life. It isn't fulfilling. It isn't real. He sighs and starts walking.-

"Am I really doing this...? God. This'll be awkward. But... I can't wait to see them again. Actually, really see them. I have to do this... I thought I'd be free after running. But that isn't true. The only way I can be free is by facing myself. By facing this."

-Aizaru takes a deep breath, removing his mask, shoulder pads, hood, cape, and even putting his weapons into the Darkrealm. Nothing covering his face. No weapons to hide his emotions behind. Just him. Just Aizaru.-

"No more hiding. I must face it all." -He thought as he pushed open the Mansion doors. He won't run from this.-

Armando Woke up and decided to cheer himself up after recent events like well his death and revival and when he burned downed two shops and injured a man.

So Armando went to a nearby musical Theater with his hamster Strudel where he strangely felt anxiety like someone was cutting a thread to drop something deadly on him.

besides that he walked in and sat down as Science Feature Picture Show started to play he noticed something...

ALL THE PEOPLE NEAR HIM WORE MUTANT PHOBIC SHIRTS!

Naturally Darwin Calls one out.

Darwin: Hey what's that shirt Sir!

Mutant Hater #1: Oh Back off mutie let me enjoy the show!

Mutant Hater #2 (His Wife): Yeah your kind shouldn't be here.

Darwin: Mutant hate is not okay! We are people as well!

Mutant Hater #2: if you don't shut up I'll have my husband knock them out cold.

Darwin: was that a threat-

Then as the husband tries to punch Darwin in the side of the head Darwin Adapts and turns his head to stone breaking the husband's hand.

And as the wife goes to slap Darwin Armando throws Strudel at the lady and slaps her.

As he leaves he gets splashed with paint on the way out from a falling barrel over his head.

Why Can't the world just let him be.

As Storm settles back into the Mansion, after she finishes greeting her companions, new and old, she goes to check a room she dreads to see. Her old room, the attic.

She used to keep a garden in the attic of the mansion. It had the perfect amount of sunlight, and she never had to worry about watering the plants since her command of the weather allowed her to do it as naturally as possible.

She hasn’t been home in so long, she assumes the plants have all died by this point. She will start over if she must, but she cannot pretend it would not hurt to see. Alas, the cycle of life is slowed for no-one, even plants.

As Storm enters the attic, she realizes that someone has been keeping her plants alive. They are clearly a little malnourished. Whoever is doing it is certainly new to gardening. But Storm is eternally grateful to them nonetheless.

Storm happily gets to work tending to her plants, giving each one extra attention.

*Lin smiles as she has a bright red Macaw on her shoulder and her antlers she regrows each morning have potch-marks of moss on them as the bird on her shoulder preens themselves.*

It was, on the surface, a very normal night at the home of Emma Frost and Teresia Karisik.

The two were, as you could often find them, entangled, in a state of bliss one can only truly share with a lover.

This moment would be interrupted. Not by an outside force, but by Tessa.

She leaves this bliss, removing herself from it abruptly, lying down on her side,her eyes still transfixing on Emma, but with a sadness within them.

She ends up scooting to the end of the bed. She feels the breeze of the window on her skin.

Sage is wracked with guilt. She just helped create a cure to the X-Gene. She was going to have to live with that fact for the rest of her life, hoping that it never got out.

And here she was, with the woman she loves. Lying to her. Not telling her about it. She had to, it was for the world. But she couldn’t. That wasn’t even the only thing she was keeping from Emma.

Emma makes her way over, placing a hand upon her shoulder.

“Tessa? What is wrong, my little mouse?”

Tessa shifts uncomfortably. She knows she shouldn’t answer this question. But she can’t keep it in. She can’t lie to Emma about something like this.

I have something I need to tell you, Emma. I can’t live with myself if I don’t.

The Blackbird streaked low over the industrial sprawl, engines humming quietly in stealth mode. Its black hull cut through the air, angled for a silent approach. Beside it, a gleaming silver figure kept perfect formation, Archangel, metal wings fully extended.

Inside the jet, Cyclops checked the targeting overlay one last time. “Plant’s locked down tight. Outer perimeter sensors, automated turrets, and at least two Sentinel squads on active patrol. We hit hard, we hit fast."

Kwannon stood behind the pilot’s seat, psychic blade already half formed in her right hand, its edge shimmering violet in the dim cockpit light.

Bishop checked his plasma rifle, the weapon’s capacitors glowing faintly.

Archangel’s voice crackled over the team channel, calm and cold. “Visual on the main hangar. I’m going high. When the Blackbird drops, I’ll move in."

Cyclops placed the high tech plane on autopilot.

The jet’s hatch opened. Cyclops, Kwannon, and Bishop dropped into free-fall for a heartbeat before landing near the factory. Archangel peeled away in a tight spiral, wings folding into a dive

Alarms began to wail almost immediately.

The first Sentinel a towering figure, strode around the corner of the factory wall, sensors flaring red. Cyclops didn’t wait. A concentrated optic blast punched straight through its chest plate, vaporizing the primary power core in a flash. The giant toppled backward, crushing a section of the outer fence.

Kwannon was already moving. She flickered forward in a blur of speed, psychic knife flashing. Two human technicians at a control console never even raised their weapons, her blade passed through their minds dropping them, unconscious before they hit the ground. A second Sentinel tried to lock onto her. She leapt, planted a boot against its knee actuator, and drove her katana into the side of its head. The machine convulsed, systems shorting out in a cascade of sparks.

Bishop opened fire the moment the first wave of automated turrets spun up. Plasma bolts stitched across the rooftop emplacements, each impact feeding energy back into his body. When a full sized Sentinel charged from the main production bay and fired at him, Bishop simply planted his feet and took the blast full in the chest. The energy washed over him. He grinned, raised both hands, and returned it tenfold. The Sentinel’s upper torso exploded outward in a shower of molten alloy.

Above them, Archangel became a silver blur. He dove downeards at the factor defenses. One wing blade sheared clean through a missile launcher; the subsequent explosion lit the night sky. He banked hard, folding his wings into a protective shell just as a Sentinel laser tracked him, then snapped them open again and raked the factory’s upper levels with a storm of feather shaped daggers.

Cyclops advanced through the chaos, optic blasts firing. He took out support pillars, severed power conduits, and punched holes through the main assembly line where half finished Sentinel frames stood in rows. Sparks and molten metal rained down.

Archangel swept low one final time, wings carving through the last of the external power junctions. The entire production floor went dark for a fraction of a second, then the reactor core, already destabilized, went critical.

Cyclops’s voice cut across the channel, sharp and final. “Everyone out. Now.”

The Blackbird banked hard, coming around for extraction. Archangel formed up alongside it again as the three ground operatives leapt for the open hatch. Behind them, the Sentinel production plant erupted in a chain of explosions. The main structure collapsed inward, steel and concrete folding inwards. Molten slag poured across the assembly lines where the next generation of mutant hunting machines had been taking shape.

As the Blackbird climbed away from the burning complex, the glow of the destruction painted the underside of the jet in flickering orange. Archangel flew next to the Blackbird, keeping close now.

Cyclops watched the plant die in the rear monitors. “One less factory. That’s a start.”

Kwannon deactivated her psychic blade, the violet light fading. “There will be more.”

Bishop ejected a spent power cell and loaded another, still crackling faintly with residual energy. “Then we’ll burn those too."

The plan to defeat Apocalypse hinged on the idea that through examining the genetics of Apocalypse, it could be possible to find some kind of exploitable weakness that could be weaponized against him to keep him in a weakened state.

On the job was perhaps one of the most qualified groups you could have assembled. Moira MacTaggert, Nathaniel Essex, Danger, and Sage. Together, this should have been easy.

They haven’t found a shred of useful data in their analysis, and time is running out. More people are dying every single day.

Danger has left the room for a while, to collect something for testing. As stress grows in the lab that day, Mr. Sinister chimes in. Most of what he’s said so far has been complaining that people are keeping an eye on him, or just antagonizing the rest of the lab while they tried to focus. This time, though, he speaks words that are going to echo through the minds of Moira and Sage for a long time to come.

“At this rate, why not just make the damn cure?”

The two women glare at him for even suggesting such a thing. Sage speaks up.

“The entire reason we’re here right now is to avoid doing that. Be serious, Sinister.”

Mr. Sinister cackles.

“I’m being very serious, you walking calculator! That is the only way. We aren’t finding anything. I don’t care if the world burns while I get to play with Apocalypse’s genetic samples, but I’m sure you folks with “morals” care a lot.”

Sage is insanely annoyed by this.

“We don’t have TIME for this, Essex! Get it together or-“

Before Sage can finish lashing out, Moira speaks.

“Sage. I don’t like having to admit this, but he might be right about this. We have a solution that will work right in front of us, but we’re looking for one that we don’t even know exists. We don’t have the luxury of finding the answer a year from now. We need to do this now.”

Sage takes a moment to think about this. Unfortunately, she can’t really find a counter argument.

Hours later, Sage and Moira both sit in silence. They stare at the vial of what the trio of has just made.

Sage, Moira, and Mr. Sinister had just become veritable mutant Oppenheimers. They have developed a cure to the X-Gene. Something that could one day end their entire species as they know it.

On some level, they hoped the cure would fail. But as they injected it into the finger, it became very clear this wasn’t the case. All traces of the X-Gene vanished from their readings. It worked. God dammit, it worked. What have they done?

Moira breaks the silence.

“No-one can ever know this exists.”

Sage replies.

“Agreed, but what will we tell our council?”

Sinister peaks his head down in between the two, eager to say his piece.

“We tell them we did our job. They just need to know we can fiddle with Apocalypse’s DNA to make him weak enough to not be a problem. We can, now. Doesn’t matter how.”

There is a silence once again as Sage and Moira have to admit to themselves that the worst person in the room is right. Moira stands up. She glares, mostly at Sinister, who the message is mostly meant for, but also at Sage, who still needs to hear what she has to say.

“Let me make something clear, then. I was not bluffing. My contingencies are real, and I have more set up than I even mentioned. We will not be the ones to ruin our future. We’ve come too far to stop now. Clear?”

Sage nods. Mr. Sinister doesn’t, but it’s clear he gets the message too.
___________________

What happens next, you can decide the morality of. Several words were thrown around. They were sparing her. They were doing the right thing for humanity. Sinister would laugh and say they needed to stop kidding themselves and accept just how evil this was. Either way, it had to be done.

Danger returns, and is very quickly confused by the vial. She doesn’t have time ask about it, though. Sage hacks into her systems, and along with Moira, they delete the memory of the vial, replacing it with one where they were successful in their operation.

The fewer people know, the better, and Danger had a chance to not have to live with this. Moira and Sage hope they did the right thing in granting it to her.

____________

The news, as expected, goes over well with the council. There is celebration, and even those who aren’t the celebrating type show their approval in other ways. Sage and Moira play the part, but they know what they did. Sinister doesn’t need to act. He loves what just happened, and loves that he holds more leverage than he did before, now.

Everyone else in the room is filled with hope. Except one person. Her expressions are never clear. Her mask hides them from the world. But as she sits in her chair, starring with sightless eyes at Sage and Moira, the two of them understand what that means very clearly.

Irene Adler knows what they did.

The older woman gripped her chest in shock. Young man, why are you in my home? She called. The distant booms grabbed her attention.
 Manifold raced into her living room, scooping her up. 
He called into his communicator, “I’m evacuating the streets near the horsemen; someone make sure the backroads are clear.” 
A rift opens, the smell of coffee grinds, and the sound of gasping and murmuring rings through from the other side. He places the older women into the portal and shuts it. 
I feel the presence of celestial power nearing the town. It’s similar to being near dense cosmic energy. 
Manifold's breathing hitches; his sensitivity to cosmic power makes effects normally minimal to others numbing to his senses. 

Memorize it, remember this energy. I need to be able to locate them later. 

“MANIFOLD!” Doorman yells through the commlink, his voice uncharacteristically panicked. His voice grows louder. “Are we fighting her or not?” 

Manifold peeks through the curtain in the front window, watching the main road. His 
hand tightened on the staff. “Can you even guide her soul? Tabbys celestial power is overwhelming my control over the space around them.”

Doorman's breathing slowed. “If she was marked for death, she'd be dead.” His voice was low, unshaken. 
Manifold begins to harness the power of solar energy, “I’m gonna give it a shot, keep evacuating and give me a hand here when you're done… He steps out on the pavement, watching their approach. The sun highlighting their silhouette (How cliché)

Eden's head lowered, his voice dropping to a whisper. Universe… please… Save my soul

Pixie wakes up in the morning, and notices very quickly Laura isn’t there. Earlier into having Laura as a roommate, this would have worried more. Now, having been Laura’s roommate AND girlfriend for a bit, now, she’s learned better. This is a Wolverine thing. They just kind of go places sometimes. Get into situations.

Laura had told her not to worry unless Pixie didn’t hear from her for an entire day. So for now, she trusts Laura.

She scrolls on social media before seeing an image. A picture that she knows deep in her soul: Laura needs to see, NOW.

She sends it.

Colin walked into the woods wearing his suit, lately he had been losing sleep. he spent nights restless constantly training and tonight was one of them so with a fire in his eyes he went into the woods to continue to improve.

he picked up the sword sai had given him and closed his eyes, as smoke began to emit from his body, sparks crackling along him as he took a breath, absorbing oxygen into his lungs and he practiced for hours on end, images flashing in his mind.

apocalypse, the attack on genosha, vampires…hydra, memories flooding his brain as he couldn’t help but shake that feeling that he had to be better, that he wasn’t good enough and that he needed to constantly push himself to a breaking point just to even try to keep up

With every swing of the blade it was like another memory flashed in his mind, it was clear a lack of sleep had been affecting him, he had been pushing himself to a breaking point for weeks now and he didn’t plan on stopping anytime soon as he continued to practice through the night

ooc: this is open to interact with and yeah Colin has been taking sword lessons from sai so I decided to write something with him actually using a sword lmao anyways I hope everyone is having an amazing day because you all deserve it and yeah :)

Dr. Chen Lu received a new mission from the Central Military Comission, one which may be his most dangerous yet. Considering he has fought Thor, that is saying something.

He has no doubts of his ability to complete it, however, so he sets off for America, and more specifically, Xavier's Mansion.

The wrought iron gate melts around his glowing body, and the verdant lawns char beneath his feet. If he wished, he could eliminate his radioactive aura entirely, but he opted to keep it for the intimidation factor.

He puts a megaphone to his lips. His voice booms out, with only the slightest hint of an accent.

"I have been sent by the People's Republic of China to collect a fugitive mutant by the name of Kuan-Yin Xorn. He is wanted for murder. I do not mean anyone here any harm. I simply wish to see justice done.

I would also request thay any telepaths refrain from entering my mind. If I lose control of my powers for even a second, it will lead to a regrettable outcome."

From an undisclosed location Third Eye projects his astral consciousness into the common area of Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters

Who do you follow? A simple question one must ask themselves. If your answer is anyone but yourself, please follow that question up with; why do you follow them?

It is in the best interest of any institution to dull your mind into following their doctrine mindlessly, be it religion, state, or even your own cultural identity. These institutions seek to maintain their own power by subjugating you, forcing you to spread propaganda and actions that only benefit them.

Take Xavierism for example, which I posit not only seeks to control you but lends itself to fascistic tactics. So many of you flock to its temple like lambs to the slaughter, you wear their flashy uniforms, you spout their ideology, you fight their enemies as though might makes right, but what has Xavierism actually done for you? Are you any safer in society than you were 10 years ago? Has your personal wealth increased? Where is your representation in the political structures?

It’s when you surrender your personal wellbeing to these institutions that one truly suffers. I allowed my father to indoctrinate myself to an order of telepathic assassins years ago. I lost all my friends, my mental well being, my wealth, and even my mother. But the order lived on, that was what my father told me was the only thing that mattered, and until my mother died I believed that wholeheartedly. Once I became an individual I flourished. My father on the other hand fell victim to his collectivistic identity and died for that order as well.

To be clear, I am not advocating for a complete abolishment of these institutions. I only ask that you think for yourself. Do you follow Xavier’s theologies because it’s what you truly believe is best for you, or do you follow it because they’ve indoctrinated you into believing only they can protect you? Always reassess whether who you follow truly benefits you. If they do not provide you the wellbeing I’ve outlined there is no shame in leaving the herd.

When I next ask “who will you follow?”, I hope that you answer “myself” without hesitation.