The vast emptiness of near-orbit stretched endlessly in every direction. The Earth below glowed faintly, a shimmering canvas of blue and white, distant and indifferent. Up here, there was no sound, no air—only the suffocating silence of space. And in that silence, Alamo floated alone, his plasma-charged boots dimming as he hovered a few clicks from the Sentinel as he swung it away from him.

The countdown had ended.

One.

The moment had come.

He had prepared himself for the worst—the worst. His mind raced. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, deafening despite the mask’s seal. A cold sweat dampened his brow beneath the chrome surface. Every instinct screamed at him to let go, to turn back. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

"This is it."

"It’s gonna blow, and I’m too damn close."

His plasma flared desperately around him, a subconscious defense. But deep down, Duncan Nenni feared plasma wouldn’t be enough against a nuclear payload. The kind of payload that vaporized flesh in a millisecond.

The weight of fear settled hard in his chest.

"I’m not ready."

"I don’t wanna die."

He hated that thought. Hated how loud it had become. It gnawed at the edges of his mind with sharp teeth. He had always been ready to fight, ready to maim, ready to stand—The Alamo didn’t retreat. But this? This was different.

He wasn’t afraid of pain. He wasn’t afraid of the fight.

But death?

Death was something else.

The thought of oblivion—nothingness—sent a cold chill down his spine. The final end. No comebacks. No second chances.

No more plasma. No more sky. Just... gone.

He closed his eyes tightly behind the chrome mask.

"You ain't dyin’ today. Not like this. Not alone in this cold damn sky."

He braced for the blast.

A heartbeat passed.

Then another.

"Any second now..".

But instead of a blinding flash of annihilation—

BANG!

The Sentinel erupted in a violent explosion of shrapnel and debris. Metal shards scattered in all directions, some glowing faintly with residual energy, others jagged and black against the backdrop of the stars.

Alamo's eyes shot open, wide and wild behind the mask. His breathing was ragged.

"Oh... oh God..." His mind trembled laced with relief—and something raw beneath it. "Thanks... I was really thinkin’ they put a damn nuclear warhead there..."

But the relief was short-lived.

As the debris spread, it moved with frightening speed. Tiny fragments, each a potential bullet, rocketed toward a line of satellites. Television relays. Internet nodes. GPS arrays. All the trappings of modern life hung in space, vulnerable.

"Anti-climatic," he thought.

With a groan of frustration, Alamo shot forward, plasma surging from his boots. His silhouette cut a blue trail across the void as he weaved between debris, snatching larger pieces of metal mid-flight with plasma-hardened hands. Each fragment he grabbed sent vibrations up his arms—a reminder of the kinetic force each shard carried.

"Can't have folks missin' their Netflix or GPS goin' haywire. Wouldn't that be somethin'?"

But then, in the corner of his vision, he spotted it—a sleek, black satellite, gleaming with a faint insignia barely visible in the sunlight.

A government satellite.

Alamo slowed, hovering beside a jagged piece of Sentinel armor heading straight for it. He narrowed his eyes behind the chrome mask, reading the faint markings on the side of the satellite.

"Gov satellite… this gotta be some NSA shit."

He turned the piece of debris lazily in his hand, pondering.

"I could just…" His voice trailed off, the plasma aura around his boots dimming as he stared at the government device. "Hmmm. Maybe blind Uncle Sam fer a while..."

His hand hovered over the shard, considering the arc he could throw it at to disable the satellite without making it obvious.

"Would Cap be mad at me?"

Alamo rolled his eyes behind the mask.

"Yeah. He’d be pissed. Can't let Cap down."

With a reluctant sigh, he clenched the fragment, plasma surging as he vaporized it in a flash of blue light.

"I can't believe I'm savin' a damn government satellite," he thought, watching the cleared path between the debris and the device. "What if they use this against villains? What if it’s on the taxpayer dime? We’re gonna have to pay fer this again, I bet. Yeah. Dang it."

Still muttering, he flew toward another cluster of debris. His plasma aura intensified as he boosted forward, intercepting metal shards before they could collide with the delicate machinery.

But then—another satellite came into view.

This one was different.

Sleek. Angular. The letters stenciled across the side in Chinese characters were unmistakable.

"Now China..."

He hovered beside the debris hurtling toward the satellite. His hands rested casually on his hips as he watched it spin, gleaming like a knife in the sunlight.

"What a shame would be if this CCP satellite got fucked up... so sad..."

He made no move.

The debris struck the satellite head-on.

The collision sent a bloom of sparks into the void, and the satellite shuddered violently before losing its stable orbit. Alamo watched with an almost casual interest, tilting his head.

"Oops. Sorry, Cap. I like Taiwan better. See this as... I'm doin' the industrious people of China a favor by takin' the government from their backs, least fer a while"

He extended his hand, releasing a faint burst of plasma to stabilize the satellite just enough that it would remain in orbit but non-operational.

"Fair compromise," he muttered.

He didn’t linger. The next object caught his eye—a familiar design glinting far ahead.

A Stark satellite.

"Okay, this is definitely worth savin'."

Alamo accelerated, plasma trailing behind him like a comet’s tail. He reached the satellite just as a sharp-edged fragment of Sentinel plating spun dangerously close. His plasma-charged fingers sliced through the debris with ease, severing it into harmless pieces. The Stark satellite remained untouched, its glowing panels flickering faintly.

"Y’know, Tony’s got enough surveillance crap up here. But hell, at least he makes good tech."

Alamo drifted alongside the satellite for a moment, peering at the sleek Stark Industries logo embossed on its hull.

But then—he saw it.

A shard of the Sentinel, larger than the others, tumbling slowly in space. His plasma aura dimmed as he approached, boots brushing the edge of the void’s silence.

There was a marking.

Burned faintly into the metallic surface, but clear enough under the sunlight:

USAF-3484RTN

Alamo’s brow furrowed beneath his chrome mask.

And then—he saw it.

A tiny, almost imperceptible globe logo ethched beneath the code.

DARPA.

He stared at the emblem for a long moment, the void around him silent except for the faint hum of plasma energy.

"What?"

The word escaped him, barely a whisper.

He turned the debris in his hands, inspecting every angle.

"DARPA..."

Sarcasm dripped from his voice as realization dawned.

"This... explains this. I thought they stopped makin’ new ones since 2014."

He floated in silence, the chunk of metal glinting cold and dark in his grip.

"Who would've thought that Congress is completely untrustworthy?"

His voice echoed hollow in his mind.

He turned the debris again, squinting at the faint lines along its edges—what looked like schematics, or circuitry embedded deeper within.

"This ain’t just a Sentinel piece..."

"Experimental tech. DARPA’s fingerprints all over it."

He exhaled a long breath.

"Government contracts. Military-grade enhancements. And they said the Sentinel program was mothballed after 2012. Right. Like I’d believe that."

He drifted slowly, turning the fragment over and over in his hand.

The faint glow of Earth loomed large behind him. The curvature of the planet stretched endlessly—blue oceans, swirling white clouds, and the faint twinkle of city lights from distant continents.

And here he was. Floating with a piece of evidence that said everything.

The Sentinels weren’t just a Trask thing.

It seems the conspiracy was deeper than most thought, but precisely within the realm of Duncan's expectations.

"Well... shit."

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Alamo closed his hand around the fragment. The plasma hummed louder, threatening to burn through the metal, but he forced the energy to still.

No.

Not this piece.

This one needed to make it back.

"Cap’s gonna love this conversation," he muttered in his mind.

He tucked the fragment securely into a compartment along his belt, sealing it with a faint hiss of plasma-soldered metal.

As he turned back toward Earth, the sun’s glare caught the side of his chrome mask.

"Guess the government’s been busy."

The hum of plasma energy intensified around him as he angled downward.

"Busy lyin'."

He gave one last look at the satellites—some intact, some less fortunate—before accelerating. His body became a blue comet slicing through the edge of the atmosphere.

As the sky darkened from black to deep blue, he could already hear it—the faint echo of city alarms, distant helicopters, and the hum of energy signatures from the Sentinels that remained.

The streets of Chicago were a mess of flashing lights, twisted metal, and lingering smoke. The aftermath of the Sentinel attack stretched for blocks—gutted buildings, scorched asphalt, and shattered glass glinting in the afternoon sun. Yet, despite the destruction, there were no deaths. EMTs worked diligently, treating bruises and cuts. SHIELD agents coordinated with local law enforcement, securing the area. Civilians, shaken but alive, whispered among themselves, staring at the wreckage of machines that had nearly obliterated them.

High above the scene, Wasp hovered beside Iron Man, her wings buzzing faintly as she surveyed the damage.

"Well," she sighed, glancing down, "at least nobody died. Credit where it's due."

"Yeah," Iron Man replied, his helmet reflecting the ruined skyline. His tone, usually light and sarcastic, carried an unfamiliar weight. "But... he didn’t make it back."

Below them, She-Hulk spoke with SHIELD officers, her towering green form standing out against the human crowd. Her usual confident smirk was missing. Even Storm, regal and calm as ever, glanced repeatedly at the sky, her white hair fluttering in the wind.

But it was Rogue who looked the most broken.

She sat on the ground beside the shattered head of a Sentinel, her knees drawn to her chest. Her gloved fingers gripped her arms tightly as her shoulders trembled. Her face, streaked with tears, stared blankly ahead. The white streak in her hair framed her downturned face, blowing gently in the wind. Beside her, Jubilee sat with her head buried in her arms, crying softly.

Gambit leaned against the ruined Sentinel head, his staff resting on his shoulder. His usual smug grin was gone. His red-on-black eyes were hard with something deeper—grief, maybe, or regret. His jaw clenched as he tried to process it all.

"Look," Gambit finally said, his voice low but steady, "Gambit is sure de guy can take it."

Rogue didn’t lift her head. Her voice was barely a whisper, cracking under the weight of her emotions.

"He’s gone, Remy... Ah didn’t even... Ah didn’t get to tell him... just, fuck—goddamnit."

Jubilee sniffled beside her. "He was just here with us, man... that sucks... that sucks so bad."

"Hey..." Gambit crouched beside the two women, his gaze softening. "He was tryin’ to protect people at least. Maybe ol’ Remy judged him wrong. Maybe he does care ‘bout others after all."

"He was tryin’..." Rogue whispered. "Nobody’s perfect."

Jubilee could barely hold back her sobbing. "He was a dork... but he was our dork."

The trio sat there, surrounded by the remains of their battle, consumed by the quiet grief of believing they had lost The Alamo. The streets buzzed with activity around them, but their world felt eerily silent.

Then it happened.

A faint blue glow appeared on the horizon.

At first, it was just a speck—a shimmer against the pale afternoon sky.

Storm turned, her eyes narrowing.

Wasp lowered her altitude, squinting.

Iron Man’s sensors beeped. "What the—?"

The blue glow grew brighter, moving faster, leaving a plasma trail streaking through the air.

Jubilee lifted her tear-streaked face, blinking.

Gambit stood slowly, eyes wide. "Non..."

Rogue’s breath caught in her throat.

"Duncan?"

The blue blur closed in at breakneck speed. Wind whipped through the street as the figure descended—a streak of plasma energy blazing behind him. The team backed away instinctively from the gusts stirred by his landing.

With a powerful thud, he touched down. The plasma faded, leaving a man standing there—hat in place, chrome mask glinting in the sun.

It was him.

The Alamo.

Alive.

Rogue stood frozen for a heartbeat. Her green eyes widened. Then, without thinking, she ran.

"DUNCAN!" she screamed, her voice breaking.

Alamo barely had time to react as Rogue barreled into him, wrapping her arms tightly around his chest. The force of the hug made him stumble back a step.

He stood there, stunned for a moment, before hesitantly wrapping his arms around her in return.

"Rogue—?" His voice was softer, confused.

But Rogue wasn’t done.

With trembling hands, she yanked his chrome mask from his face and threw it onto the cracked pavement with a loud clank. The red glow of his eyes fading into natural brown, revealing tired but alive eyes staring back at her—wide with surprise.

Without a word, she cupped his face—careful to keep her gloved fingers between their skin—and kissed him.

Alamo’s eyes widened. His whole body stiffened.

For a moment, time seemed to stop.

Rogue’s eyes were closed, her face soft, as if this moment could fix all the fear, all the pain she’d just felt. She held the kiss for a few precious seconds, deep in her own head, imagining how it would feel if she could touch him without the barrier of gloves or her powers.

When she finally pulled back, her green eyes fluttered open.

Alamo stared at her, stunned.

"That was... unexpected," he finally said, voice cracking slightly.

"Ah thought ya died," Rogue whispered, her voice shaking.

"I didn’t," he said, forcing a small smile. "Ain’t that big a fan of sacrifices."

"Yet, ya were willin' to do it."

He paused. His gaze shifted away from her, settling on his chrome mask lying in the dirt.

"It was... I didn’t want y’all to get hurt," he said, voice quieter now.

Rogue stepped back slightly, searching his eyes.

"Ya got scared?"

For a moment, the confident smirk he wore like armor faltered. He looked over her shoulder at Jubilee, Gambit, and the others approaching. His gaze lingered on the chrome mask.

"Yeah," he admitted. "Almost shat myself."

He forced a laugh, but there was no humor in his eyes. They were tired. Haunted. The fear he had felt up there—alone in the cold silence of space—still lingered in his expression. Rogue saw it. She saw him.

"But more on that later," he added, trying to wave it off. "I just don’t wanna go right now."

Rogue shook her head and smiled despite herself. "Dumbass."

"DUNKIE!" Jubilee screamed as she ran toward them, wiping her face on her sleeve. She threw her arms around his neck. "PLASMA RANGERS NEVER DIE, I TOLD YOU!"

Alamo chuckled, the tension easing from his shoulders as he hugged her back.

"Can I kiss you too?" Jubilee grinned, wiping away the last of her tears.

"What the hell, Jubes. No"

"Another time then, when Rogue ain’t lookin’."

"Ah’m right here," Rogue growled.

"Jubes. Settle down," Gambit added with a smirk, though relief softened his usual sarcasm.

Jubilee grinned widely. "I’m just so glad you didn’t die, Dunkie. I was scared. We were scared. I think even Tony felt bad."

"HEY! KID!" came a voice from above.

Iron Man hovered down beside them, thrusters hissing as he landed with a metallic thud.

"I was thinking I’d run out of people to talk about boring topics with," Tony quipped, but there was a grin on his face.

"Good to see ya again, Mr. Stark," Alamo replied with a nod.

"So, how was it?" Tony asked, crossing his arms. "The far expanse of space?"

Alamo looked thoughtful for a moment. Then, without a word, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small piece of metal. He handed it to Tony.

Tony’s helmet retracted, revealing his wide-eyed stare.

"Oh..." Tony’s voice lost its usual levity. "This is bad."

"What is it?" Rogue asked, stepping closer.

Jubilee peered over Tony’s shoulder. "Yeah, what is that?"

Tony turned the metal fragment in his hand, revealing the faint logo stamped on its surface.

"Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency," he said grimly.

"Wait... wat?" Gambit frowned.

"It’s DARPA," Alamo clarified. "Government agency. Makes tech fer the military."

The group fell silent.

"The government sent those Sentinels?" Jubilee asked, her voice cracking. "No way."

"I’m not sure," Tony said, eyes narrowing. "Why would they send them after us now? They had chances before."

"Maybe this wasn’t a sanctioned op," Alamo said, folding his arms. His voice had lost all humor. "But someone with access to government tech wanted us dead."

"Dang..." Rogue whispered, her fists tightening. "So the government’s in on this?"

"Not necessarily the whole government," Tony said, still studying the fragment. "But someone with deep pockets and no oversight."

Alamo glanced back toward the sky, his face unreadable.

"Cap’s gonna love this conversation," he muttered.

Rogue laid a hand on his arm.

"Let’s just rest fer a moment, sugah," she said softly. "We’ll figure it out. Together."

For the first time, Alamo looked at her—really looked at her. The fear in his eyes dulled, replaced by something warmer. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Together, huh?" he echoed.

"Yeah," Rogue said with a grin. "Ya ain't gettin' rid of me that easy."

Jubilee nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! Plasma Rangers for life!"

The group had gathered at the remains of a toppled Sentinel, its head partially embedded in the street like a grotesque monument to the day’s conflict. The metal giant’s lifeless red optics reflected the figures standing before it. Alamo stood at the center, his plasma aura faintly crackling around his boots, his black cattleman hat shadowing his face. He grabbed his mask from the ground, but didn't wear it just yet. His face—young but lined with exhaustion.

The air stirred, carrying a faint scent of rain. The temperature dropped slightly as a figure descended from the sky, borne on a gentle wind. Storm landed gracefully beside the group, her white hair flowing like silk in the breeze. The fading sunlight cast a soft glow around her, almost framing her as a goddess descending to address mortals.

Her blue eyes locked onto the Alamo.

"Duncan," she began, her voice calm, rich with authority yet touched by a subtle warmth. "It’s refreshing to see you have made your way back. But then again, given your stubbornness..." She paused, allowing a faint smile to tug at the corner of her lips. "...it was quite expected."

Rogue, still standing close to Alamo after her emotional reunion with him, shot Storm an incredulous look, brushing her white-streaked hair behind her ear. Her green eyes narrowed playfully.

"Ya didn’t think of sayin’ that to us, 'Ro?" she asked, her Southern drawl carrying just a hint of accusation.

Storm turned her serene gaze toward Rogue. Her expression softened further, though a teasing arch of her brow remained.

"It surprises me you didn’t consider it, Rogue. Duncan Nenni is many things—but fleeting has never been one of them."

Rogue rolled her eyes, though her smile betrayed her relief.

"Guess Ah’m still learnin’."

Storm stepped closer to Alamo, her blue gaze meeting his.

"Regardless of expectations, you have protected us all. For that, I am truly thankful. You may not be an X-Man—" her voice grew firmer here, laced with something almost philosophical, "—but you have my respect, despite our vastly different opinions."

Her words hung in the air for a moment. Respect from Storm wasn’t something easily earned. It was deliberate, meaningful—especially given her role as both a leader and moral compass for the X-Men.

Alamo dipped his hat slightly, his West Texan drawl breaking the silence with a touch of humility.

"Much appreciated, ma’am. Ain’t gonna lie—I wasn’t lookin’ to cause a ruckus."

Storm’s expression remained composed, though the faintest smirk hinted at amusement.

"This—" she gestured broadly to the wreckage surrounding them "—will be addressed at another date. There are... larger matters at hand."

Before anyone could respond, She-Hulk approached with her usual confident swagger, towering over the others. Wasp, in her smaller form, buzzed beside her, landing neatly on Jennifer Walters’ broad shoulder. With a playful grin, Jennifer swung a muscled arm around Gambit’s shoulders. The Cajun mutant barely reacted, simply flicking a card between his fingers and offering a lazy smirk.

"Not bad for an economist, huh?" She-Hulk teased, glancing at Alamo with an expression somewhere between admiration and challenge.

Alamo tipped his hat back slightly, revealing tired eyes that still sparkled with amusement.

"Well, not bad for a lawyer either, She-Hulk" he shot back, the corners of his mouth lifting into a dry grin.

Jennifer paused, her brow arching in genuine surprise.

"Jennifer."

"Jennifer," Alamo corrected softly, his voice losing its usual sharpness. "Look, I reckon we started on the wrong foot. I was an asshole to ya—I'll own that. We’ve got differin’ views, like Storm just pointed out. But... we're on the same side. More or less." His gaze shifted toward Storm, and then Rogue. "Focus on less here, but the end goal’s the same."

The group stood quietly for a beat. Wasp folded her arms, studying Alamo closely, while Gambit’s red-on-black eyes flicked between the two, intrigued.

She-Hulk broke the silence with a short laugh.

"Well, for all that's worth, it was pretty honorable of you—what you did." Her tone softened, losing its usual sardonic edge. "I still think some of your opinions are... well, let’s just say they’re colorful, to put it nicely. But I can respect the man behind them."

Alamo shrugged, a small, self-deprecating grin playing at his lips.

"Feelin’s mutual, ma’am. Some of yer opinions are rather... utopic. But I reckon ya got a pretty wrinkled brain inside that green skull of yers."

The teasing jab earned a wide smile from She-Hulk.

"Oh, wrinkled brain? That’s your best line, cowboy?"

Wasp rolled her eyes dramatically.

"Okay, okay. Let’s settle down with the veiled compliments here, you two. We get it—you both secretly adore each other."

Gambit snorted with amusement.

"Like siblings dese two"

Before Alamo could reply, Tony Stark spoke. His faceplate retracted with a hiss, revealing a serious expression—a rare sight for the billionaire genius.

"Alright, kids, playtime’s over." His voice carried its usual sharpness, but there was a distinct tension beneath it. He held something in his hand.

The team’s attention shifted immediately.

It was the fragment—the twisted piece of metal Alamo had recovered from orbit.

Alamo glanced sideways at Tony, his posture straightening.

"Oh, right. He found this."

Tony raised the fragment higher, turning it so that the faint insignia could catch the light.

Storm’s silver eyes narrowed.

"Oh."

Wasp floated closer, peering at the etching on the metal. Her face lost its usual playfulness.

"Wait. That logo—"

She-Hulk stepped forward, her expression darkening as she recognized the symbol.

"No way. That’s—"

"DARPA." Tony’s voice cut through the group’s murmurs.

The word seemed to drain the air from the street.

"The Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency," Tony confirmed grimly. "U.S. government’s best friend when it comes to next-gen military tech."

Jubilee, still standing beside Rogue, gawked at the fragment.

"Figures"

Tony shook his head.

"Ok, this could be worse than we expected"

"Could be something left from older projects," She-Hulk speculated, her legal mind already racing. "DARPA’s worked on everything from AI to experimental weapons. But this?" She gestured at the fragment. "This means they’re either still making Sentinels or someone with deep enough pockets—and clearance—got their hands on government tech."

Alamo crossed his arms, his plasma aura flickering faintly with agitation. His face hardened.

"We thought they shut down Sentinel production after 2014. Congress made a big ol’ show of it. Maybe just maybe we should consider the possibility that the government lied to us, as it usually does, and they didn't stop jackshit. It's just under that 'plausible deniability' territory."

"Yeah, well," Tony said, examining the piece closely. "Congress lies."

Storm’s gaze remained steady.

"If the government—or a faction within it—is still producing Sentinels, then this was no simple attack."

"It’s a message," Gambit said darkly, flipping a card between his fingers. The kinetic charge made it glow faintly before he extinguished it with a snap. "Ain’t no accident."

"Or a cover-up," Alamo added. His voice had grown colder. He looked at the fragment again, this time with something more personal behind his gaze. "Trask might not be the only one funding these hunts."

Tony handed the fragment back to Alamo. The Texan caught it, tucking it into the inside of his coat.

"Cap’s gonna wanna see this," Tony said, rubbing his chin. "This changes things."

Alamo nodded, his jaw tightening.

"Yeah. I reckon it does."

Storm’s gaze drifted back toward the skyline, where the sun was dipping low. The air hummed with tension—unspoken questions, half-formed suspicions.

The day had been won.

But something deeper was just beginning.