MUTANT UNDERGROUND HQ
DETROIT, MICHIGAN – SIX MONTHS FROM NOW
Thunderous metallic fists in hues of solid grey and dusky purple smashed through the walls as Paulie Provenzano barreled forward, his arms catching a fellow mutant frozen in fear. With all his strength, the Brooklyn-born ex-Marine pushed the woman from the collapsing debris and allowed it to consume him. Spared, she screamed at his self-sacrifice. What seemed like minutes was nothing more than a moment before the debris shivered, unveiling the unharmed form of Paulie. His face was contorted in a mixture of fury and exasperation. Constantly on the fringe of the Underground, at least compared to his peers, due to his brash and aggressive attitude – the same traits that had led to his dishonorable discharge from the U.S. Marines – heroics and authority had always challenged him. Still, when the circumstances called for brawn over diplomacy, Paulie wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty.
“Run,” he choked to the woman as he watched her scramble away.
Another swipe of the fist brought the wall crumbling further, Paulie leapt forward through the newly created gap and into the open smog-filled air of the Detroit docklands. Towering high above him was the latest in the line of Sentinels, the malevolent robotic mutant hunting abominations created by Bolivar Trask and frequently adapted by his progeny. It wasn’t as sleek or polished as those he’d seen in news reports before. Paulie had never fought one before, but he fancied his chances in this fight. Since puberty, his body had been invulnerable to almost all forms of physical damage. He’d run from the destiny of other mutants, wanting a life with neither the X-Men nor the Brotherhood. His deep shame in what he’d become had led him down a righteous path of serving and protecting but his motivations had never been as honorable as his actions.
He hoped to assimilate, to forget what he was and join the ranks of normalcy. It wasn’t lost on him that the very creation that he now faced was targeting him, and the others at the Mutant Underground, exclusively because of the genetic mutation that had brought him his darkest thoughts and, more than that, he was to defend against it.
“Omerta!” came a call from a distance, drawing his attention to the true gravity of the situation.
The Sentinel before him was not alone. Against the bright and neon skyline of Detroit, two further Sentinels marched towards the still-standing portion of the headquarters as mutants scrambled – some defending themselves as best they could without the training they needed whilst those with less offensive powers simply ran into the night. Thankfully, he could see the bright sparks of Lola Lopresti – the mutant teleporter known as Hub – rapidly shining through the dispersing crowd and transporting them from harm.
“Let’s do this,” he smiled with a curl to his lip.
Rushing forward, Omerta swooped to his left as his hands wrapped around a dislodged metal beam as a weapon. Although he’d never been gifted with superhuman strength alongside his invulnerability – a common pairing in mutants – his strength was still beyond that of an average man. Hoisting it into the air, Omerta jumped onto the hood of a nearby car and used the momentum and height to launch into the air. With a guttural yell, he slammed the beam into the face and visor with a crash and the screech of metal. Velocity brought him to the ground with a thud as he rolled into the movement and caught himself, half-kneeling, looking into the minimal damage he’d achieved.
“TARGET IDENTIFIED: PAUL PROVENZANO – OMERTA.”
The Sentinel turned, a red glare flashing across the visor, and a sense of familiarity struck Omerta. He didn’t have time to think as a red optic beam of concussive energy rushed towards him.
He rolled, pausing as the ground beside him lay shattered. “Is that–?”
“TARGET IDENTIFIED: CECILIA REYES.”
Before he could react, the Sentinel released another beam. He stared aghast, expecting the hit to land but he soon realized that the energy slid around his body. The Italian American turned to investigate the focused featured of Cecilia Reyes, the resident doctor of the Mutant Underground. Her hands were outstretched forming the barely visible force field, noticeable only in moments when it shimmered, and there was a bead of sweat forming on her forehead as she continued to hold back the blast. Unlike Omerta, Cecilia had retained some semblance of a normal existence after her brief foray into the ranks of the X-Men. Her combat experience, whilst not forgotten, was rusty. It quickly faded but Cecilia – technically codenamed Panacea in the field, but she rarely had need to use it – maintained the field. Both appeared confused briefly but then they saw.
Cecilia braced herself, gritting her teeth, as she reinforced the field in preparation for the boot that was hurtling toward them. It struck once but she held the integrity of the field. The strain on her face was evident upon the second strike – she was struggling against the force; it was like a physical strike against her mind.
“Drop the field,” demanded Omerta.
Cecilia replied but her speech was broken as the third strike seemed to show cracks when the shield was visible. “You might be able to survive, Paulie.” She groaned on strike four. “I won’t.”
Omerta stood, his arms catching the doctor by her waist as the foot prepared to slam down on them once more. “You won’t be hit.”
In a leap of faith, inspired by the confidence and uncharacteristic sincerity on the man’s features, Cecilia dropped the force field. Her feet left the ground as, with a yell, Omerta lifted her into the air and threw her outside of the impact zone – taking the impact alone. Cecilia hit the dirt, her vision groggy and distorted by dust floating in the air, as Hub sparked onto the battlefield. Her hand was outstretched, she seemed tired from the evacuation, but she pulled Cecilia to her feet.
“I saw what was happening,” stated the Seychellois mutant. “Where’s Provenzano?”
The dust was cleared, and she could make out the hunched figure of Omerta, but it was his demeanor that caught him off-guard. Stumbling forward with his right arm was cradling his stomach and, as he got closer, they saw blood streaming from the nose of the invulnerable mutant. Without hesitation, Hub teleported to and from his position in an instant – removing him from the impact zone as he collapsed into Cecilia’s arm.
He coughed, blood on his lips. “What is that thing made of?” He seemed shaken. “This shouldn’t . . . I can’t be . . .”
“What do we do?” Hub asked panickily.
“You go. Get them somewhere safe.”
They turned to see the statuesque blonde figure of Amara Aquilla; the former New Mutant known as Magma. Her long hair blew in the aftermath of the shockwave. Normally, her beautiful features struck awe in the eyes of those who saw her – every bit the princess she had been born to be – but now, the aggressive coldness in her eyes struck only fear. It was clear to the trio that Magma was done playing games and that to protest the command of the Detroit Mutant Underground co-leader would not be wise. She strode past them, flames dancing at her heels as each portion of her body slowly ignited in sequence until the woman was no longer what stood before them. It was the embodiment of the Earth’s core – life and destruction in one singular form.
“Go,” she commanded. “Now. Leave this to me.”
Hub placed her palms on the shoulders of her colleagues as they sparked from the scene. Magma wasted no time in rushing forward, allowing the flames on her hands to shift and condense into a circular form which she immediately launched towards the Sentinel. Both struck but she was surprised to see that they barely scuffed the metallic body of the robot. Omerta had been right, what was this thing made of?
“TARGET IDENTIFIED: AMARA AQUILLA – MAGMA.”
If fire projectiles wouldn’t bring the menace down, Magma had other ideas. It was a misconception that she was nothing more than a pyrokinetic – an inaccurate description of the woman. The earth itself danced to her very whim, it shuddered at her command, and she was about to show the Sentinel exactly why he’d chosen the wrong compound to attack – then his colleagues were next. Outstretching her hands, a grimace forming beneath her furrowed brow, she reached deep down through the veins of the earth as her mind encompassed all the elemental components she needed. Drawing them together, weaving them into a singular form to control, Magma turned her palms upward and thrust her hands into the sky. Her scream filled the air.
The docklands shuddered, dirt bouncing before them, until swathes of lava and magma shot raging into the skies. Pushing her hands forward, the streams crashed into the Sentinel like a tsunami – the sheer force caused the Sentinel to stumble but it remained upright much to her chagrin. As the smoke cleared, she noted that at least it had sustained damage – weakened, she might stand a chance of bringing it down on her own and keeping the others from harms way. The Sentinel, large portions of its external chest armor melted and burned. However, it was the simple gesture of reaching for the rebar and structural beams that left her perplexed. It gathered these materials pressing them into the burn space on its chest as they melted and reformed the damage that she had temporarily managed to create.
It pushed its hand forward and with a tilt of her head, she noted the cold fractals forming upon its fingertips.
Magma’s jaw dropped. “They’re adapting.”
The Sentinel unleashed an icy blast and forced Magma to duck. As she looked on in horror, unsure of her next action, the wind began to whip around her.
DETROIT, MICHIGAN – SIX MONTHS FROM NOW
Thunderous metallic fists in hues of solid grey and dusky purple smashed through the walls as Paulie Provenzano barreled forward, his arms catching a fellow mutant frozen in fear. With all his strength, the Brooklyn-born ex-Marine pushed the woman from the collapsing debris and allowed it to consume him. Spared, she screamed at his self-sacrifice. What seemed like minutes was nothing more than a moment before the debris shivered, unveiling the unharmed form of Paulie. His face was contorted in a mixture of fury and exasperation. Constantly on the fringe of the Underground, at least compared to his peers, due to his brash and aggressive attitude – the same traits that had led to his dishonorable discharge from the U.S. Marines – heroics and authority had always challenged him. Still, when the circumstances called for brawn over diplomacy, Paulie wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty.
“Run,” he choked to the woman as he watched her scramble away.
Another swipe of the fist brought the wall crumbling further, Paulie leapt forward through the newly created gap and into the open smog-filled air of the Detroit docklands. Towering high above him was the latest in the line of Sentinels, the malevolent robotic mutant hunting abominations created by Bolivar Trask and frequently adapted by his progeny. It wasn’t as sleek or polished as those he’d seen in news reports before. Paulie had never fought one before, but he fancied his chances in this fight. Since puberty, his body had been invulnerable to almost all forms of physical damage. He’d run from the destiny of other mutants, wanting a life with neither the X-Men nor the Brotherhood. His deep shame in what he’d become had led him down a righteous path of serving and protecting but his motivations had never been as honorable as his actions.
He hoped to assimilate, to forget what he was and join the ranks of normalcy. It wasn’t lost on him that the very creation that he now faced was targeting him, and the others at the Mutant Underground, exclusively because of the genetic mutation that had brought him his darkest thoughts and, more than that, he was to defend against it.
“Omerta!” came a call from a distance, drawing his attention to the true gravity of the situation.
The Sentinel before him was not alone. Against the bright and neon skyline of Detroit, two further Sentinels marched towards the still-standing portion of the headquarters as mutants scrambled – some defending themselves as best they could without the training they needed whilst those with less offensive powers simply ran into the night. Thankfully, he could see the bright sparks of Lola Lopresti – the mutant teleporter known as Hub – rapidly shining through the dispersing crowd and transporting them from harm.
“Let’s do this,” he smiled with a curl to his lip.
Rushing forward, Omerta swooped to his left as his hands wrapped around a dislodged metal beam as a weapon. Although he’d never been gifted with superhuman strength alongside his invulnerability – a common pairing in mutants – his strength was still beyond that of an average man. Hoisting it into the air, Omerta jumped onto the hood of a nearby car and used the momentum and height to launch into the air. With a guttural yell, he slammed the beam into the face and visor with a crash and the screech of metal. Velocity brought him to the ground with a thud as he rolled into the movement and caught himself, half-kneeling, looking into the minimal damage he’d achieved.
“TARGET IDENTIFIED: PAUL PROVENZANO – OMERTA.”
The Sentinel turned, a red glare flashing across the visor, and a sense of familiarity struck Omerta. He didn’t have time to think as a red optic beam of concussive energy rushed towards him.
He rolled, pausing as the ground beside him lay shattered. “Is that–?”
“TARGET IDENTIFIED: CECILIA REYES.”
Before he could react, the Sentinel released another beam. He stared aghast, expecting the hit to land but he soon realized that the energy slid around his body. The Italian American turned to investigate the focused featured of Cecilia Reyes, the resident doctor of the Mutant Underground. Her hands were outstretched forming the barely visible force field, noticeable only in moments when it shimmered, and there was a bead of sweat forming on her forehead as she continued to hold back the blast. Unlike Omerta, Cecilia had retained some semblance of a normal existence after her brief foray into the ranks of the X-Men. Her combat experience, whilst not forgotten, was rusty. It quickly faded but Cecilia – technically codenamed Panacea in the field, but she rarely had need to use it – maintained the field. Both appeared confused briefly but then they saw.
Cecilia braced herself, gritting her teeth, as she reinforced the field in preparation for the boot that was hurtling toward them. It struck once but she held the integrity of the field. The strain on her face was evident upon the second strike – she was struggling against the force; it was like a physical strike against her mind.
“Drop the field,” demanded Omerta.
Cecilia replied but her speech was broken as the third strike seemed to show cracks when the shield was visible. “You might be able to survive, Paulie.” She groaned on strike four. “I won’t.”
Omerta stood, his arms catching the doctor by her waist as the foot prepared to slam down on them once more. “You won’t be hit.”
In a leap of faith, inspired by the confidence and uncharacteristic sincerity on the man’s features, Cecilia dropped the force field. Her feet left the ground as, with a yell, Omerta lifted her into the air and threw her outside of the impact zone – taking the impact alone. Cecilia hit the dirt, her vision groggy and distorted by dust floating in the air, as Hub sparked onto the battlefield. Her hand was outstretched, she seemed tired from the evacuation, but she pulled Cecilia to her feet.
“I saw what was happening,” stated the Seychellois mutant. “Where’s Provenzano?”
The dust was cleared, and she could make out the hunched figure of Omerta, but it was his demeanor that caught him off-guard. Stumbling forward with his right arm was cradling his stomach and, as he got closer, they saw blood streaming from the nose of the invulnerable mutant. Without hesitation, Hub teleported to and from his position in an instant – removing him from the impact zone as he collapsed into Cecilia’s arm.
He coughed, blood on his lips. “What is that thing made of?” He seemed shaken. “This shouldn’t . . . I can’t be . . .”
“What do we do?” Hub asked panickily.
“You go. Get them somewhere safe.”
They turned to see the statuesque blonde figure of Amara Aquilla; the former New Mutant known as Magma. Her long hair blew in the aftermath of the shockwave. Normally, her beautiful features struck awe in the eyes of those who saw her – every bit the princess she had been born to be – but now, the aggressive coldness in her eyes struck only fear. It was clear to the trio that Magma was done playing games and that to protest the command of the Detroit Mutant Underground co-leader would not be wise. She strode past them, flames dancing at her heels as each portion of her body slowly ignited in sequence until the woman was no longer what stood before them. It was the embodiment of the Earth’s core – life and destruction in one singular form.
“Go,” she commanded. “Now. Leave this to me.”
Hub placed her palms on the shoulders of her colleagues as they sparked from the scene. Magma wasted no time in rushing forward, allowing the flames on her hands to shift and condense into a circular form which she immediately launched towards the Sentinel. Both struck but she was surprised to see that they barely scuffed the metallic body of the robot. Omerta had been right, what was this thing made of?
“TARGET IDENTIFIED: AMARA AQUILLA – MAGMA.”
If fire projectiles wouldn’t bring the menace down, Magma had other ideas. It was a misconception that she was nothing more than a pyrokinetic – an inaccurate description of the woman. The earth itself danced to her very whim, it shuddered at her command, and she was about to show the Sentinel exactly why he’d chosen the wrong compound to attack – then his colleagues were next. Outstretching her hands, a grimace forming beneath her furrowed brow, she reached deep down through the veins of the earth as her mind encompassed all the elemental components she needed. Drawing them together, weaving them into a singular form to control, Magma turned her palms upward and thrust her hands into the sky. Her scream filled the air.
The docklands shuddered, dirt bouncing before them, until swathes of lava and magma shot raging into the skies. Pushing her hands forward, the streams crashed into the Sentinel like a tsunami – the sheer force caused the Sentinel to stumble but it remained upright much to her chagrin. As the smoke cleared, she noted that at least it had sustained damage – weakened, she might stand a chance of bringing it down on her own and keeping the others from harms way. The Sentinel, large portions of its external chest armor melted and burned. However, it was the simple gesture of reaching for the rebar and structural beams that left her perplexed. It gathered these materials pressing them into the burn space on its chest as they melted and reformed the damage that she had temporarily managed to create.
It pushed its hand forward and with a tilt of her head, she noted the cold fractals forming upon its fingertips.
Magma’s jaw dropped. “They’re adapting.”
The Sentinel unleashed an icy blast and forced Magma to duck. As she looked on in horror, unsure of her next action, the wind began to whip around her.
Issue #5 (September 2023)
"The Tides of Tumult"
Written by Paige McMahon
"The Tides of Tumult"
Written by Paige McMahon
Featuring:
Archangel
Colossus
Dazzler
Shadowcat
Karma
Hub
Magma
Mammomax
Omerta
Evangeline Whedon
Panacea
Trinary
Wind Dancer
Leper Queen
Apate
Wild Sentinels
|
MUTANT UNDERGROUND HQ
DETROIT, MICHIGAN – NOW “It is with great pride that we welcome you today,” Warren Worthington III, the mutant Archangel and the Director of Worthington Industries, beamed brightly as he stood before the crowd. Charming and debonair, this was the arena in which Warren truly excelled. He had been no stooge as a hero, but the darkness of his past actions had sullied that honor. “As you are aware, two years ago Worthington Industries with the assistance of some former X-Men set up a humanitarian initiative to shelter those mutants who had been turned from their homes, who were lost on their path, and the Georgia Mutant Underground has been a roaring success, for all intents and purposes.” The crowd cheered as expected, the event was curated to prevent discourse that would prevent a successful launch. Perhaps there was a bias in that decision, but Warren knew that the public image of this organization was everything he needed to erase the difficulties that had plagued them over the last two years – particularly the ongoing dispute with the Sapien League, turning those mutants they’d failed into weapons against their own kind. “Hundreds of mutants have been rescued from situations that were a detriment to their existence, they’ve been offered homes and education to allow them to return to the general public in a way that it beneficial to both human and mutant,” he continued. “With that, I would like to introduce the Detroit Mutant Underground.” More cheers echoed. “In the matter of transparency, I would like to introduce you to the co-leaders of this initiative: Karma and Magma,” his smile widened as he ushered the former New Mutants onto the stage. Xuân Cao Mạnh was the first to enter the spotlight, a soft and reserved smile on her face. She had led in many instances and, as Warren had said, she was a natural choice when it came to expanding the Mutant Underground. It wasn’t the leadership that concerned her, it was the humanitarian perspective of the role. Her traumatic upbringing had instilled in her a deep sense of justice, but it hadn’t been so long ago that she had manipulated her team into finding her siblings, fracturing the New Mutants almost irrevocably. It was for that very reason that Xuân was accompanied by Amara – a second opinion to keep Xuân under control. As Amara joined her on stage, they smiled and waved to the crowd. “From today, we will be operational and fighting the good fight without the violence that has plagued it in the past,” Warren concluded. He expanded his wings to their full spread, a final bit of showmanship as he hovered slightly above the stage and waved. Warren walked from the stage pulling his phone from his pocket and checking his emails. He was approached by a stern looking woman, gothic in style with a short black bob, who was also on her phone. They fell in line, never looking away from the tapping of their phones – they’d fallen into such a routine over the last two years. Warren was the figurehead, the founder of the organisation, and alongside his Mutant Underground leaders he was the idea man. Evangeline Whedon, on the other hand, was the legal mind that turned those ideas into a reality – much as she had done with today’s unveiling. “Where are we with Toronto and Austin?” he asked matter-of-factly. Evangeline replied in a similarly unconcerned manner. “Austin is a lock once we finalise the paperwork and get an area approved mutant for the leadership role. We might need to find someone who skews well in Texas. As for Toronto, there have been a few hiccups. Department H are blocking us due to Alpha Flight’s operational jurisdiction. I’ve set up a meeting with them at 4pm today.” “I suggest we get to the jet then,” he replied. Warren led Evangeline from the stage and into the distance. “Amara,” Xuân called as she descended the stairs, reaching out to her former friend. If they were to work side by side then it would be prudent to work through their issues, to leave the past were it belonged, but it was clear from Amara’s expression as she turned that it wasn’t what was on her mind. “What?” she snapped. Xuân twisted her foot against the ground, uncomfortable. “I know I made some stupid choices and I’ve created a rift. I’ve not even seen any of you in over a year, and no-one gets back to me when I reach out–” “Are you surprised?” “Can’t we at least put this behind us? We need to put this behind us if we’re to work together.” Amara scoffed. “Work together, Xuân? I’m not here to work together, I’m here to make sure you don’t pull another stunt and put more lives in danger.” With that, the Nova Roman stormed off. # # # # # # # # # # SYRACUSE, NEW YORK We’re approaching the scene now. “Thank you, Shilpa,” replied Kitty to the intercom. “Keep your eyes out, we’ll be switching to earpieces.” She leaned back in the chair, drawing her mass of brown hair into a high ponytail. It was disconcerting to her how far she’d come from the original mission statement she’d signed up for, a peace-keeping refuge that had somehow drawn her back into being a mutant soldier. The strides she’d made in the earlier days of the Mutant Underground had somehow become yet another endeavor in chasing ghosts. This had seemed to have finally been behind them, the Sapien League had been underground for more than a year but like all horrid things it had once again reared its head to cause chaos and destruction. This was their third adventure in a month and they’d yet to save one of the afflicted mutants or discern the cause. Her consistent failure to find a solution was clouding her mind. Piotr pulled her from her thoughts, resting his hand on her shoulder. “Are you ready for this?” Kitty remained stoic. “I’m just hoping or praying really that this is it. That this is the time we finally put a stop to this.” He wanted to speak, to assuage her concerns and fears, but no words came to him that would soothe her. Piotr had always been a romantic, he could explore the complexities of his emotions and help others to do the same yet after so much loss and disappointment, he was struggling to do so. Instead, he walked around the chair and took her hands in his before pulling her into his arms and embracing her. Despite her initial reluctance to fall into it or accept his help, he could feel the moment that Kitty sunk into it and allowed herself to feel for the first time in months. Piotr rubbed her head. “It hasn’t been easy, we’ve been chasing our tails, and we might not win this time or the next, but we will end this.” “Are you sure about this, Max?” Alison stared intently into the undiscerning features of her elephantine friend. His specific mutation often made him difficult to read and he had never been much of a communicator when it came to addressing what ailed him. As she’d treated his wounds all that time ago, Alison would never have imagined a kinship would develop between them – she’d wanted nothing more than to escape this life but seeing the benefits it could bring through the rescue of Maximus. As much as she missed life, she’d forged for herself before the Fever Pitch incident and the traumas they’d faced yet, she would easily admit that not every moment had been dreadful. Maximus nodded and spoke in a gravelly voice. “I’ve given it a lot of thought Ali. When I came to MU, I needed help and I’ve done my best over the last month with this new Sapien League sitch. This isn’t the life I want.” He sighed. “I’ve spoken with Warren and he’s offered me an opportunity to help manage the Detroit branch under the leaders – like James and Pete.” He paused, softly place his trunk on her hand. “I just feel like I can do more than fight bad guys. I can return the help I got.” She smiled, but it was somber. “I’ll miss seeing you around every day, but I can’t fault the rationale.” Prepare to disembark. There are multiple hostiles in the field. “You ready, Sofía?” asked Piotr. The silent fifth member of their party slipped from her seat and stood before them. Sofía Mantega Barrett had never seen combat, she’d recently been rescued from a situation in Venezuela where she’d lost control of her mutant power to control the air and destroyed the village where she’d been raised. It was an incident that still showed in the haunted expression of her eyes. Yet, she sought contrition for what she had done by helping others and that had led her to this moment – the opportunity to prevent further chaos even if she risked sacrifice. She was a lithe, beautiful young woman with golden irises and long flowing chestnut hair stretching to the nape of her back – tied back in a ponytail. Her costume, which she still felt noticeably uncomfortable in, was fitted in hues of gold and white with a long ribbon around her waist. “I hope so,” she replied but her words were lost as the jet opened the deck. Air currents rushed over them as Sofía prepared to make her debut as Wind Dancer and stepped forward, outstretching her hands until the wind moved upon her command. Her feet lifted from the ground as she allowed it to wash over her, weaving it through the ship until she could sense it wrapping around her colleagues and hoisting them into the air. Hesitating slightly, she reminded herself of what she was truly capable of and how she had chosen to find beauty in her gift even after she’d caused so much destruction. This was her amends, her penance, and she couldn’t fail. Floating forward, she drew herself and the Mutant Underground into the open air and propelled them towards the ground. Mammomax bellowed as they sped towards the ground but with an expression of determination, Wind Dancer cushioned their fall and allowed them to land safely on the street. Shadowcat rested a hand on her shoulder. “Good job, kid.” “Thanks,” replied Wind Dancer shyly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Mammomax growled. “We’ll she wasn’t lying, plenty of hostiles to go around.” He drew their attention to the line of Sapien League soldiers ahead of them. The Mutant Underground sprang into action. Mammomax trumpeted, creating a cacophony of sound, as Dazzler took her cue. The sounds washed over her body, being absorbed into every cell in her body and igniting vibrant light at her fingertips, until she unleashed it forward and blinded the soldiers ahead. Mammomax rushed forward, ploughing through the soldiers, and discarding them like confetti paper. Colossus caught Shadowcat by the hand and threw her like a softball special as she phased her body through the soldiers ahead, falling back on her combat skills from the center. As bullets fired from the Sapien League, Wind Dancer landed and used the winds to deflect them before flying into the fray. “Can you identify the cause, Trinary?” grunted Colossus as he slammed his fist into the wall, the Sapien League soldier ducking at the last moment. I’m trying Colossus. Colossus caught the Sapien League soldier by the neck as he attempted to draw his weapon and slammed him into the wall, walking off towards the others as the man slumped to the ground unconscious. A woman screamed as Shadowcat delivered ger a roundhouse kick to her face, backflipping from the gunfire. Two men launched towards her, Shadowcat slipped forward on her knees, sliding between them, before side swiping their feet and taking them out. It was then that she saw her, the stoic leader of the Sapien League – the masked Leper Queen. Gritting her teeth, she bounded from the ground. “Leper Queen is on the field,” she said. “And she’s got a kid with her.” A soldier attempted to tackle her, but she punched him in the throat and walked towards Leper Queen. “Oh no,” she whispered as she paused, noticing the injection firmly pressed into the young woman’s neck before the Leper Queen pushed her forward into the crowd. An explosion erupted from the young woman, washing over those in her immediate vicinity. Suddenly, doors and shopfronts opened to reveal regular humans marching onto the street – their eyes glowing the same shade as purple as the young woman’s. There was a moment of silence from all until the humans rushed at the Mutant Underground with battle cries. Shadowcat could see Wind Dancer taking a punch to the face as she attempted to deflect someone else. I’ve got her. Berniece Bailey, a low-level telepath. “This is low-level?” chirped Wind Dancer incredulously. Pirouetting into the air on the currents, Wind Dancer’s eyes glowed as pulled the element to her like a beacon and, pushing her hands downwards, unleashed a wave of wind that knocked all those pursuing her off their feet as she slammed back into the earth. Those that maintained their standing rushed her, forcing her to fall into close combat blasts of wind to deflect their punches. “These are innocent civilians, non-lethal attacks only!” barked Shadowcat. “Dazzler, get to the girl and knock her out.” “On it!” With disdain, Shadowcat noticed that the girl – Berniece – was now alone as she watched Dazzler blast and jump her way through the ongoing horde of civilians. The blonde spun and dove through the crowds, attempting to protect herself but inflict minimal damage. “Colossus,” Shadowcat said. “Leper Queen’s gone.” The phrase almost broke her, but she knew she didn’t have time. “Let’s round up her lackeys. Mammomax and Wind Dancer, crowd control.” Shadowcat took off in a run towards the fleeing soldiers, catching sight of Colossus on her heels as she ran. Mammomax stomped his foot, the street shattering beneath it and causing several of the Syracuse residents to stumble. They recovered quickly, reaffirming his earlier sentiments of the violence of this role with Dazzler, and quickly overwhelmed him. He thrashed at them, attempting to dislodge them as they climbed his arms and trunk, but he couldn’t shake them. As his past trauma slipped over him, his mind blanked with fight or flight, and he caught a man by the throat and held him up. A blast of wind struck them both, forcefully, and it caused Mammomax to release the man as he was slammed into the wall. His eyes narrowed on the lithe frame of Wind Dancer who had an arm outstretched towards him. “They said non-lethal,” the Venezuelan reminded him before returning her attention to her own inadvertent foes. Mammomax growled as he forced himself to his feet. With the chaos behind her, Dazzler marched towards the young woman – kneeling with her head in her hands – with caution but her hands were free and ready to blast. “Berniece?” she called as she approached, eager not to startle the young woman. “My name is Ali. I want to help you.” Berniece looked up, tears streaming from her violet eyes. “I . . . I can’t stop it. There’s so . . . so much noise.” “I’m sorry,” Dazzler whispered as she stood above the weeping woman before bringing her fist down on the woman’s face – knocking her out and watching as the mind-controlled drones slumped to the ground and started to awaken. She bent down, cradling Berniece’s body before lifting her into her arms. Colossus arrived carrying the unconscious form of a Sapien League soldier with Shadowcat on his heel. Mammomax and Wind Dancer slumped up behind them, the latter more bloodied than the others. Shadowcat tapped her earpiece, disappointment in their loss still echoing in her voice. “Trinary, we’re coming home.” With a nod from her leader, Wind Dancer wrapped the air around them and drew them all into the air towards the jet. |