The air inside Carraro Headquarters was unnaturally still as the heroes moved deeper into the building. The tension in the room hadn’t yet settled, but the presence of Captain America and the X-Men had rendered resistance futile. The guards stood aside, some casting wary glances at each other, others simply relieved they wouldn’t be caught in the middle of what could have been a bloodbath.

Steve Rogers walked with purpose, his boots echoing on the pristine tiled floors. The hallways were sleek, modern, lined with glass-walled offices and corporate artwork meant to exude power and sophistication. The cool, sterilized air of Carraro’s corporate affluence was an odd contrast to the war zone just outside its doors.

Scott Summers matched his pace, walking alongside him, his voice calm, but pointed.

"Captain, what exactly are you looking for?"

Steve’s eyes didn’t waver.

"Parts, manifestos, everything we can get our hands on."

Scott exhaled, already suspecting the answer but still feeling the weight of the situation.

"Wouldn’t SHIELD be better suited to handle this?"

Steve’s steps didn’t slow, nor did his expression shift. His voice was firm but carried no anger. Captain America knew that SHIELD was partially responsible for this mess and he wasn't willing to give them the benefit of the doubt right now, but he didn't have to stoke flames on Cyclops, without enough evidence was too easy for them point fingers.

"I think I'm doing fine enough, Summers. Thank you for your concern."

Behind them, Iron Man, Falcon, and Wasp followed. The trio exchanged glances, having worked under SHIELD’s influence long enough to recognize the tension in the air. Captain America had a long past with the government, with Fury, but he wasn't their pawn, not at all. His loyalties lied on America, the nation and its people, not bureacrats in DC.

Then Wolverine approached, the gruff, battle-hardened mutant moved with that distinct casual confidence only he could pull off. He was clad in his black on yellow uniform—not entirely practical, but no less made for war.

He moved in beside Captain America, and for a moment, the years faded away.

"So, big blue." Wolverine’s voice was gruff, but there was something familiar in the way he said it. "Seems like we have common enemies again."

Steve couldn’t help the small, knowing smile that tugged at the corner of his lips.

"It’s good to see you, Logan."

"Likewise, Cap. It’s been a long time."

"Long, yes."

And just like that, memories surfaced.

The scent of damp earth in the forests of France. The blistering heat of the North African desert. The sharp crack of gunfire in the streets of Italy.

The Howling Commandos.

Nick Fury. Dum Dum Dugan. Rebel Ralston. Percival Pinkerton. Eric Koenig.

And James Howlett.

There had always been something different about Logan back then. A soldier, yes—but a man who carried a weight far heavier than even war could explain.

And yet, despite their differences, there had been camaraderie.

Steve had been a man of principle, leading with duty and discipline.

Logan had been a man of instinct, raw and untamed, a warrior through and through.

Two soldiers—opposite in philosophy, but bound by the battlefield.

But the moment was short-lived.

Because Scott Summers was a man who kept things moving.

"Let’s see what we can find."

Steve gave a short nod, his mind snapping back to the present.

Behind Rogue, Alamo and Jubilee moved in sync, but the air between them was thick with an unspoken tension that neither Rogue nor Alamo fully understood. It was an unusual silence—one that settled heavier on Jubilee, who had never been fond of the quiet.

She threw up her hands, frustration evident in her tone.

"Hey, why is no one sayin' anything? Are we good, or like, did you two fight or something?"

Neither of them immediately answered.

Alamo, for once, found himself at a loss for words.

And that wasn’t something he was used to. He had expected to see Rogue again, sure, but he hadn’t expected to feel anything about it.

Yet, here he was, hyper-aware of her presence, the small shifts in her expression, the slight glance she gave him as if expecting him to say something.

Rogue, on the other hand, was mildly irritated. He had been so adamant about bringing up every argument in Florida, but now, when she was standing right beside him, the guy suddenly had nothing to say?

Something had changed.

She just wasn’t sure what.

The silence stretched for a beat too long, and finally, Alamo cleared his throat.

"Ahem... Well, I was just thinkin’ is all."

Rogue crossed her arms, looking at him sideways.

"Yeah, everythin’ is right."

Jubilee, not one to let tension fester, scoffed loudly, stepping in between them as she threw her arms up dramatically.

"Nothin’ sassy to say, Roguey? And you, Mr. Lone Star, should be borin’ my ears off with that whole philosophical bit you do"

Alamo chuckled, shaking his head.

"I ain’t always philosophical, alright. You barely know me."

Jubilee rolled her eyes, dramatically flipping her short black hair.

"I know enough that you’re booooring."

Alamo smirked, crossing his arms.

"I ain’t borin’ at all. You just hate knowledge."

Jubilee gasped, pressing a hand over her chest as if he had gravely offended her.

"Never, I love... knowin' and stuff! Unless If it’s your useless nerd talk, then I do!"

Rogue, amused but keeping her voice casual, chimed in.

"Everythin’ is nerd talk ta ya, Jubes."

Jubilee turned dramatically, pointing at her.

"Rogue!"

Rogue grinned, shaking her head.

"All ya wanna do is eat Doritos and play games."

Jubilee threw up her arms as if making a grand declaration. Every bit aware of her own theatrics.

"That’s what EVERYONE wants to do!"

Alamo snorted, shaking his head.

"Not all the time, no."

Jubilee shot him an incredulous look. Retorting right back with Alamo's argument.

"You don’t know me, alright."

Rogue smirked. Shaking her head as to recall the past, every single bit of Jubilee's erratic behavior, much like an older sister remembers the more chaotic younger one's deeds.

"Ya know the other day she got mad ‘cause Storm took away her Doritos and gave her actual food. That very same day we came from Florida."

Jubilee gasped again, this time with real offense.

"Look, first of all, I was savin’ that for a while! Secondly—YOU ATE ‘EM TOO!"

Rogue tilted her head smugly.

"Not as much as ya, sugah."

Alamo, watching the back-and-forth, shook his head with amusement.

"I can’t blame her. Doritos are good."

Jubilee spun to him, pointing enthusiastically.

"Right? Right?"

Rogue rolled her eyes, laughing.

"They are, but Jubes, ya live off snacks. Ain’t nobody livin’ to 80 eatin’ what ya eat."

Jubilee shrugged, completely unfazed.

"I don’t have to live to eighty. I just wanna have fun!"

"Talk 'bout ain't here fer a long a time, I'm here fer a good time."

"Yes! Yes- Wait is that a cheesy country song?"

"By George Strait, yup"

Alamo, leaning back slightly, gave her a skeptical look, now taking her figure a bit more seriously, his eyes darting around her more athletic frame.

"Heck, how do you even keep yerself in shape?"

Rogue, without missing a beat, answered for her.

"Have ya seen this gal, Duncan? She runs ‘round all day when she’s not playin’ games or eatin’."

Alamo, smirking behind his mask, caught the subtle way Rogue had said his name.

"Oh yeah? Danger Room for the win, babes?"

Jubilee, grinning, flexed her arms dramatically. Her biceps weren't particularly big, but she was leaner than expect for someone who allegedly

"So it ain’t a power?"

She shook her head, still flexing.

"No sir, I’m just physically active like that."

Alamo nodded, arms crossed, his smirk widening.

"She likes to keep it lively."

And just like that, the weight in the air lifted slightly.

Whatever unspoken tension had been hanging over the three of them had given way to something lighter—something familiar.

Jubilee grinned wide, flicking her wrists as small bursts of fireworks popped and fizzled in the air around them, colorful and vibrant.

"Oh yeah!" she said, tossing another playful display of pyrotechnics into the air. "Too bad I wasn’t here to entertain the crowd when you guys took down that big-ass Sentinel."

Alamo gave a soft chuckle under his mask, shaking his head.

"The X-Cutioner," he corrected.

Jubilee’s brow furrowed. "What? The X-Cutioner was on that thing?"

Rogue, arms crossed, nodded. "Yup."

Jubilee’s eyes widened. "Why?"

Alamo exhaled, his voice steady but laced with something unreadable. "'Cause he lost his legs."

Jubilee blinked. "Oh damn. Oh, shit... It was you, wasn’t it?"

Alamo’s jaw tensed slightly behind the mask. He didn’t regret what happened in Dallas. He had been defending himself, defending civilians. But still, something about the way she said it made his gut twist.

"I’m not sure that’s somethin’ to be proud of," he finally said, his tone quieter.

Jubilee tilted her head, a skeptical look on her face. "What? You took down a bad guy. What’s not to be proud of?"

Alamo hesitated, his eyes momentarily drifting down to his gloved hands.

Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

"Well, I didn’t exactly take him down... he killed six people today, didn’t he?"

And just like that, the atmosphere shifted.

Jubilee and Rogue went pale.

The weight of that statement settled between them like a lead brick.

Rogue had seen it firsthand—the burning blast, the screams that never came because the people never got the chance to scream. Six lives gone, just like that.

And Alamo... Alamo had spent years running numbers, calculating risks, probabilities, trying to make sense of chaos through finance and mathematics. But there was no way to quantify this.

Six lives.

Six people who weren’t supposed to die today.

She watched him, the way his posture stiffened just slightly. He wasn’t blaming himself outright, but she knew that feeling.

She had lived that feeling.

"It ain't yer fault, Duncan," Rogue said, her voice softer now.

Alamo exhaled through his nose, nodding. "No, it ain’t. But... then again, maybe if I had—"

Rogue cut in, her voice firmer. "Maybe ya should’ve."

Alamo’s eyes flickered toward her, unreadable beneath his mask.

Jubilee groaned, throwing her arms up dramatically. "Or maybe not, because that is not a nice thing, okay? Chill out, guys."

Rogue sighed, shaking her head. "Oh, no... Ah ain’t a fan of murder or anythin’."

"It’s hardly murder if it’s savin’ lives," Alamo muttered, his voice carrying that low, weighty conviction he always spoke with.

Rogue nodded slowly, processing. "But Ah reckon ya’re right... it ain’t the right thing to do."

Jubilee nodded along, more than happy to change the subject now that things had gotten too heavy for her liking.

"Yup!" she chirped, her tone pointedly lighter.

There was a moment of silence before Rogue glanced at Alamo again, something softer in her expression. "It’s good that ya’re here."

Alamo blinked, the simple statement catching him off-guard.

He wasn’t exactly used to hearing that.

"It’s good to be here," he admitted, and Rogue swore she heard the tiniest bit of hesitation behind his words, like maybe he didn’t fully believe it himself yet.

Jubilee, standing slightly behind Rogue, shot her a look—one of suspicion, but also amusement.

Rogue noticed, rolling her eyes. "Ah mean, to help us."

Alamo coughed lightly, nodding. "Sure, ahem, yeah... Y’know, I started the thing with Carraro. Have to see it through."

"Damn right, Cowboy," Rogue said, smirking just slightly.

Jubilee giggled.

Rogue snapped her head toward her. "What’s so funny, Jubes?"

Jubilee grinned, shaking her head, her voice dripping with mock innocence.

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

But Rogue could tell.

Jubilee had noticed something.

But before she could say it.

Captain America spoke, he looked at the blue sign on the wall to the server room.

"Iron Man, Falcon go to the server room we need to make sure what they have, in your way try to find anything about those AIM prototypes."

"Alright, Cap." Iron Man nodded and flew upstairs.

"Understood sir." Falcon added before following Tony Stark.

Then Cyclops spoke, his tone even and authoritative, as always.

"Jubilee, Storm, Jean—could you follow the Avengers to the server room? Rogue, Wolverine, with me."

Jubilee huffed dramatically but gave a mock salute. "Yes, fearless leader."

Storm simply nodded, "Yes, Scott."

Jean, her gaze flickering between the team, gave a reassuring smile before stepping toward the departing group. "We'll rendezvous back at the main office, Scott."

Captain America turned to Wasp. "Van Dyne, with me."

Wasp smirked. "Yes, Captain."

And just like that, the teams split.

The server group, led by Cyclops, followed the Avengers. The others, including Logan, moved with Cap deeper into the facility, leaving behind two figures in the vast, cold hallway.

Rogue and Alamo.

The air between them shifted.

For the first time since Florida, they were alone. Just the two of them.

Alamo exhaled, shifting his weight onto one foot before glancing sideways at her. "She always like that?"

Rogue arched a brow. "Jubilee? Oh, she's usually worse."

Alamo let out a soft chuckle. "I can’t imagine havin’ so many roommates at once."

Rogue smirked, arms crossed as she leaned slightly against the wall. "It ain't as bad as it seems."

Alamo narrowed his eyes slightly behind the mask. "You sure?"

Rogue sighed, shaking her head with a reluctant smile. "Okay, it's pretty bad sometimes."

"Knew it." Alamo said, looking ahead. "Peace and tranquility is somethin’ you can’t put a price on."

Rogue hummed thoughtfully. "Yeah, things get real rowdy. But, family is family... It’s complicated, but it’s also supportive. We take care of each other."

"Family."

Alamo repeated the word, like he was testing it, as if the concept itself was something distant to him.

"Ya have yers, don’tcha?" Rogue asked, her voice curious, but not prying.

Alamo nodded, but hesitated. "I do. My mom and dad."

Rogue’s expression softened. "Must be nice."

His lips pressed together behind the mask. "You lost yours?"

"Long time ago," Rogue admitted, her tone casual, but there was something beneath it—something guarded, She felt the weight of her parents leaving her even if she was just a baby, her aunt Carrie had no idea of how to handle a mutant, the past didn't bring good memories to Rogue, it never did. "Grew up with my aunt fer a while. Until..."

Alamo didn't need her to finish. He already knew.

"The Brotherhood took ya in."

"Yup. Then it was Mystique and Destiny."

Alamo nodded, recalling what he had read on the internet, what he had heard. Mystique and Destiny weren’t just leaders of the Brotherhood—they had been her parental figures.

"Oh yeah," he murmured. "Read that before."

Rogue tilted her head, watching him. "Does it feel any different? Y’know… with the X-Men?"

There was a pause before she answered.

"Oh... It does," Rogue said, a faint smile crossing her lips. "It’s… calmer. More trustworthy. Y’know, doesn’t feel like Ah’m alone anymore. They support me… Jean, ‘Ro, Logan… Ya also have to support people, Jubes, Kitty."

Alamo absorbed her words. Support.

He mulled it over for a moment before answering, his voice slower, more thoughtful. "I see."

Rogue narrowed her eyes slightly. "Ya don’t think that’s nice?"

He hesitated.

"It’s... complicated."

Rogue leaned in slightly, her eyes sharp. "Why?"

Alamo exhaled. "I never was much a fan of people. I like bein’ alone."

Rogue gave him a long look.

Then, her voice came out quieter, but strong.

"Yet ya ain’t. Ya never been alone. Truly... alone."

Something about the way she said it cut through him.

To Rogue it seemed hollow, Duncan pretended to be this high and mighty spirit of the frontier, yet here he was, someone who never had the opportunity of actually be in the frontier, and as for much as his own words made him feel like he was alone.

Alamo opened his mouth, ready to refute it, ready to argue—but then he stopped.

Because she was right.

Duncan Nenni only pretended to be alone.

He told himself he was a lone wolf, a man who didn’t need anyone, who could handle his own battles, live by his own rules, answer to no one.

But the reality?

From the moment he left Midland, from the second he stepped into the world as Alamo, he had never truly been alone.

His parents were always there. His friends back in Dallas, even if they had abandoned him.

Even when he fought, he was never fighting alone.

Spider-Man. The X-Men. Americop. The Avengers.

Even now, standing beside Rogue in this quiet hallway, he wasn’t alone.

And that realization? That truth?

It bothered him.

It made him feel cheated.

Because if he wasn’t alone now… if he had never truly been alone…

Then what would it feel like if one day he was?

Would it be peaceful? Or would it be hell?

He shook the thought from his head, it was more curiosity. He claimed to be alone, in a way that he seemed like he fought alone, but maybe deep down that was never what he had truly meant.

Rogue's words lingered between them, hanging like thick heat.

"But Ah wondered what it’s like... Maybe ya do have a point. The things we do… ain’t always the best. It hurts people."

Her voice was softer now, tinged with the weight of memory. If she had been alone, truly alone... Like she thinks the Alamo pretended to be, if she were this alone could have she not suffered. Could have the people she drained be alive and well, would she have hurt those in her past.

She remembered Arkansas.

Thomas Thompson’s children.

The look in their eyes, the way grief twisted their faces as they cried over his mangled body. A father, torn from them in an instant, collateral damage in a war they never asked to be part of.

Rogue swallowed hard, trying to shove the image back down, but it clawed at her.

"Maybe bein’ alone takes away the pain of seein’ others suffer."

Silence.

The argument flipped, never in his life had he been prouder from not being alone, from not pulling himself from his bootstraps. And he felt that Rogue was feeling down from what happened.

"You were right, Rogue. I was never alone an' honestly, that's a good thing. People support us, tell us our mistakes, help us change... if we are alone there's no change, there's no questionin'... people wither and die from stagnation."

Alamo's words broke through her thoughts.

She was glad to listen to them, it remembered her of what Jean had told her, that she had a family, she had a place... And remembered her of her own words.

"Nobody is better off alone, Rogue. Not even you.” Jean's words echoed in her mind.

“Not even the Alamo," She recalled in her own voice, "as much as it seems he likes to believe that"

She saw him behind the mask then, and she was right.

"Ah know.... But... Ah thought ya believed in bein’ alone." Her smirk was proud, even sarcastic.

She tilted her head slightly, watching him.

"No, that’s... That’s... Not what I meant."

And it wasn’t.

Maybe he meant it for himself, but not for others.

Or at least he thought that way, in reality he never wanted to be alone, he just really thought he could.

Rogue studied him for a moment, her green eyes sharp and thoughtful.

She smiled, it was nice to hear that maybe he wasn't as isolated as he pretended to be.

To her this brought a sense of warmth, her powers long brought her isolation. Inabiliy to touch, she longed for it.

And though the Alamo, someone who could touch, someone who could feel, claimed to not care for being isolated. She knew that deep down he would feel this isolation as badly as she felt it, he could be powerful, just like she was, but people are people and even if you can asborb powers or energy, you can't escape your own feelings.

"You can be free, ya can be an individual without bein’ lonely." Alamo started.

She glanced at him, a confirmation that he wasn't who he claimed to be.

"It’s ‘bout valuin’ yerself, not devaluin’ others. It’s knowin’ someone’s worth, through their skills… Their labor… Their… Principles, not just pretendin’ ya can isolate yerself from society."

Alamo let out a small, sharp breath, the corners of his mouth twitching beneath the mask.

"Ah thought... Ya made it sound like ya don’t need anyone." She smiled as the words escaped her mouth.

He hesitated, his voice quieter this time.

"Maybe in terms of needin' assistance, on bein' overeliant on others... but not isolation." He took a sharp breath.

"It ain't 'bout never needin' anyone, is 'bout bein' accountable to yer own decisions, 'bout bein' able to try to handle yerself. Doesn't mean ya always will, just means ya can try... before ya let others help."

Rogue smirked, crossing her arms. "Y’know, ya ain’t as bad as Ah thought."

Alamo arched a brow. "What? You thought I was evil?"

She rolled her eyes. "No, nothin’ like that. Just a pretentious pain in the ass."

Alamo laughed under his breath. "Oh wow, that’s one way to say ‘I was wrong ‘bout you.’"

Rogue gave him a side glance, grinning. "Duncan, sugah. Ya can be very annoyin’."

Alamo smirked behind his mask. "You barely know me."

"Exactly." She added.

The two of them kept walking side by side, the tension between them lighter now.

Rogue had expected the conversation to go differently. She’d expected him to be his usual argumentative self, firing back with some philosophical retort about individuality, about standing alone in the world.

But instead?

He was honest.

"Y'know, Ya might not be evil, Alamo. But ya ain't doin' yerself any favors bein' all black with chrome mask and red glowin' eyes."

"It's subversion of the expectations ok? You might expect a big bad, but he's like... here to help."

"Like what a vigilante who uses appearance to strike fear on the hearts of criminals?"

"Yeah, cowboy ghost works fine... maybe an animal like a shark or a bat."

"A Bat? Bless yer heart, sugah. But that ain't a good idea."

"What? Why that's a mighty respectable idea."

"Who's even scared of bats?"

"Who's scared of wolverines?"

"Who ain't? They're plumb-crazy animals."

"Spiders ain't scary either. Didn't stop em' gettin' a hero too."

"The hell they ain't."

The conversation was abruptly stopped as they arrived at the main office.

"Can ya two kids, quit your yappin'?"

Captain America knocked on the door.

"Allow me, Rogers" Wolverine said, kicking down the door. "Just like ol' times, bub."

Inside the Carraro Executive Office

The air inside the office was stifling. The guards had raised their firearms the second the Avengers and X-Men entered, their fingers twitching over the triggers, their training screaming at them to stand their ground.

But then, Steve Rogers spoke.

"Stand down."

His voice was calm, but it carried the full weight of authority. Not just as Captain America, but as a man who had seen more battlefields than any of them could fathom.

There was hesitation at first—One second, then two—before the guards slowly, reluctantly, lowered their guns.

Maybe it was Captain America, they respected him as a fellow soldier. Or maybe it was the thousand of ways they could be all dead before they even fire, whether by adamantium claws, optic blasts, bone shattering punches or plasma bolts. Regardless, they lowered their weapons anyway.

No shots fired. No blood spilled.

Rogue let out a small breath, watching as the office guards exchanged uncertain glances, looking for orders that weren’t coming.

Behind her, Wolverine let out a low whistle. "Well, Cap. Never knew ya had such a sweet presence."

Steve exhaled slightly, but his face remained unreadable. "A soldier’s greatest weapon is its power to inspire."

Rogue turned to Alamo, raising a hand to her mouth, barely stifling a laugh. "Bet he rehearses that ‘fore he goes to sleep."

Alamo smirked under his mask, whispering back. "We both know who's carryin’ the Avengers brand here."

"Heh."

Logan gave them a sharp glance. "I told you two to quit yappin’."

At the desk, the office worker—pale, sweating, his tie loosened—looked at the scene unfolding before him and just… sighed.

Defeat.

He slumped back in his chair, exhaling sharply through his nose. "Y’know what? Screw it. Not even worth fightin’ at this point. You want information? You can have it."

He motioned toward the glowing screens on the sleek Carraro desk. "Server’s got what you want. I ain't getting shot for this damn company."

Steve, ever the tactician, pressed forward with his own questions. "Tell me about the drone parts you sold AIM."

The office worker scratched the back of his head, clearly caught off guard. "Uh… which parts?"

"The ones linked to Dr. Adler. New York."

At the name, the office worker's eyes flickered—a sign of recognition.

"Oh…" His voice dropped slightly. "Now, Captain. We sold him parts for a SHIELD project. Didn’t know much about it."

Steve's face didn't change, but his voice hardened. "Not about his victims."

The office worker had no response.

Silence.

Steve waited, giving him time to say something—anything—that might help him salvage an ounce of his integrity.

Nothing came.

"Do you know where those parts were manufactured?" Steve continued, pressing forward.

The worker shook his head. "Sir, no idea. But they came from Oregon. We barely had any contact with them during transport."

"Who sold them to Adler?"

This time, the worker didn’t hesitate. "Albert Hoss."

"Who is that?"

"He used to be our manager here, but he was relocated to Oregon."

Steve's expression darkened slightly. "Understood. What else is in Oregon?"

The worker swallowed. "Similar office, but… out of town. On the coast. Less oversight. That’s all I know."

Cyclops, standing nearby, had been listening carefully. His jaw clenched slightly before he finally spoke up. "And what about mutant-related operations?"

The office worker hesitated.

The shift in his body language was immediate—his fingers clenched, his back stiffened. This was the question he didn’t want to answer.

"I—look, I don't know much about that—"

SNIKT.

A sharp, metallic sound.

A set of gleaming Adamantium claws extended from Logan's knuckles, the points resting just against the desk, inches from the worker’s shaking hands.

"Try again."

The worker gulped.

His voice shook slightly now. "A-alright, alright… There were operations. Contracted by Trask International. Eliminating dangerous mutants."

Rogue’s fingers curled into a tight fist.

Cyclops stepped forward, voice sharp. "Who did you use?"

The worker hesitated.

"FoH personnel," he admitted, barely above a whisper. "Carraro employees. But— he raised his hands as if in defense "—these were bad people. Mutants, I mean. Dangerous ones."

The air in the room shifted.

Scott’s visor glowed just a little brighter.

Rogue’s fists trembled.

Logan’s claws flexed, his lip curling.

Even Captain America, ever the composed soldier, tightened his stance.

Alamo just stared.

Wasp too, remained mostly watching.

"Bullshit." Wolverine’s voice was low, guttural. "Bad people? Or just mutants?"

The office worker shook his head violently. "No, no, you don’t get it! These weren’t normal mutants, these were Maraudera—mutants who attacked humans! Mutants who—who—"

Cyclops cut him off. "And who decided that? You? Trask? Friends of Humanity? Who handed down the death sentence before they even saw trial?"

The worker had no response.

Rogue knew about it, they got the list in Florida. Alamo, Cyclops and Wolverine knew it too. The FoH took down the Marauders.

Alamo wouldn't cry over the bodies any time soon, neither would Rogue or any of the X-Men, maybe Gambit felt bad, but not the rest of them. As much as they hated it, the man was right, the Marauders were dangerous mutants, not only to humans but to other mutants, specially the Morlocks.

But still it felt wrong, it felt like this wasn’t about eliminating threats. This was about eliminating mutants.

Steve Rogers inhaled deeply, his eyes locked on the office worker with steel-cold intensity.

"I fought a war once. A war against people who called themselves the 'Master Race.' They justified their killings the same way you just did."

The worker's face paled. But he stood his ground.

"We're are not the Master Race, humans are the victims, Captain. Not the other way 'round."

Silence.

It weighed on the room.

Cyclops was the one to finally break it. "Anyone else?"

The office worker hesitated, his Adam’s apple bobbing. "If there's any, They're… on the servers."

"Good," Cyclops said, his voice razor-sharp. "Because I swear to you—if we find out you lied, you won’t have to worry about us. You’ll have to worry about them."

He gestured toward Logan.

Logan just grinned, flashing his teeth.

The office worker swallowed hard. "T-they're all there, I swear."

Captain America turned slightly, pressing against his comm device "Tony?"

"Almost done," Stark replied over the comms. "Once I have the files, we’ll know what we can get."

"We'll be heading there," Steve said.

"Ok"

"Let's move."

With that Captain America, Cyclops, Wolverine, Wasp, Alamo and Rogue were on the move to link up back to the other team.