The Nenni household sat quietly under the dim glow of a Midland evening, the faint hum of cicadas in the distance. Inside, the tension was palpable as Duncan stood in the living room, his arms crossed and his face unreadable. Marcy paced near the window, glancing nervously between the curtain and the TV, while Robert sat stiffly on the couch, his hands gripping his knees. The news hadn’t been kind—Duncan’s face was everywhere now, his name tied to both the Dallas confrontation with the X-Cutioner and the Arkansas warehouse takedown.

“They got your name, son,” Robert said finally, breaking the silence. “You’re on the TV.”

Marcy sighed, shaking her head. “Maybe not in the way we would’ve wished… but well done, Duncan.”

Duncan leaned back against the wall, his gaze distant. “I guess it’s the powers, I reckon. But this ain’t necessarily good.”

Robert tilted his head, his voice steady but cautious. “It means people... well, it means yer work is impactful.”

Duncan shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “Might be, Daddy. Still.”

Marcy turned to face them both, her expression tense. “Do they know our names?”

Duncan’s eyes flicked toward her, his tone calm but grim. “They’ll find out soon enough, Mama.”

Robert exhaled, his jaw tightening. “This means...”

Marcy cut him off, her voice trembling slightly. “It means they can come here.”

Robert straightened, his tone sharp but confident. Already reaching for his concealed weapon. “Hell, let ’em come. I’ll put ’em all down on the dirt.”

Duncan nodded, his voice tinged with resolve. “Yup, I’ll help. Though I’d rather just break their knees and wrists.”

Marcy shot him a disapproving glare. “Robert! Duncan!”

Robert raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “So essentially makin’ ’em suffer fer countless years in unbearable pain and limited mobility? It's a hill of beans to even keep em' alive, a burden to the state."

Duncan shook his head, his tone taking on a more analytical edge. “It ain’t a hill of beans, Daddy. It’s ’bout reducin’ the incentives fer committin’ crimes. This includes the physical limitation of the act itself.”

Robert rolled his eyes. “So ya’re concerned with rehabilitatin’ criminals so they can contribute to the economy?”

Duncan nodded, his tone matter-of-fact. “Is there any better reason? Why should we take from the pool of the labor market if we can expand the availability of workers, thus reducin’ costs—”

Marcy raised a hand, cutting him off. “Duncan, come back to earth… you’re veerin’ off-topic again.”

Duncan sighed, waving her off. “Whatever, y’all—”

A sudden loud thud on the door interrupted him, the sound reverberating through the small home like a gunshot. Marcy froze mid-step, her eyes wide as she turned to Robert.

“Robert,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Robert stood slowly, his movements deliberate. “I’ll go.”

Marcy grabbed Duncan’s arm, her grip tight. “Duncan, take care.”

Duncan rolled his eyes, gently pulling free from her grasp. “Meh, whatever. They can’t hurt me anyway.”

Robert approached the door, glancing back at his son one last time. “Are you sure, Duncan?”

Duncan didn’t move, his arms crossed and his tone casual. “Go ahead, Daddy. I’ll handle it.”

Robert opened the door cautiously, revealing a heavily armed squad of Friends of Humanity guards standing in formation just outside the porch. Behind them, the hulking forms of three Sentinels loomed, their glowing eyes fixed on the house. The lead guard, a man with a scar running down his face and a FoH insignia stitched onto his tactical vest, stepped forward.

His voice was sharp and accusatory. “Are you Duncan Nenni?”

Duncan stepped past his father, leaning casually against the doorframe as he looked the man up and down. “Ah, great,” he muttered. “We’ve got ourselves a circus.”

The guard scowled, raising his voice. “You’re a danger to humanity.”

Duncan tilted his head, his tone laced with sarcasm. “Seriously? You’re literally dyin’ on that hill?”

The guard ignored him, his hand inching toward the gun holstered at his side. “You are done, freak.”

Duncan’s smirk widened. “No, I don’t think I am.”

Before the guard could draw his weapon, Duncan moved. His enhanced speed made him a blue blur, his hand darting out to grab the man’s wrist. The guard screamed as Duncan’s grip crushed the gun into useless scrap, his fingers snapping under the pressure.

“ARGH!” the man yelled, falling to his knees as the other guards raised their weapons in panic.

Duncan held up the mangled remains of the gun, his plasma energy flickering faintly around his fingers. “Now, y’all better think twice ’fore ya try somethin’ stupid.”

The Sentinels whirred to life behind them, their massive frames stepping forward ominously as they locked onto Duncan. From inside the house, Marcy’s voice trembled. “Robert… what’s happening?”

“Trouble,” Robert said simply, his eyes never leaving his son.

Duncan turned slightly, his tone calm but firm. “Mama, Daddy, get back inside. This ain’t fer y’all to worry ’bout.”

Robert hesitated but nodded, pulling Marcy back as the door closed behind them. Duncan turned back to the guards and Sentinels, his smirk fading as his expression hardened.

“Alright, boys. Let’s get this over with.”

The battle erupted like a thunderstorm tearing through the quiet serenity of the neighborhood. The whirring and clanking of the Sentinels echoed like distant thunder, each metallic step rattling the ground. Plasma bolts hissed as they streaked through the night air, and energy blasts cracked like fireworks. The Nenni family home—a modest, single-story house with a neatly trimmed lawn and a white picket fence—was now ground zero for an all-out war.

Duncan hovered just above the lawn, his boots barely brushing the grass. His hands glowed with a faint blue light as plasma energy crackled around him. His gaze locked onto the advancing Sentinels, their towering forms illuminated by the glow of their internal systems. The cold, mechanical precision of their glowing eyes bored into him.

“TARGET IDENTIFIED: MUTANT PRESENCE DETECTED,” the lead Sentinel boomed, its voice devoid of emotion as its sensors scanned Duncan and the house behind him.

Duncan set his jaw, his lips curling into a defiant sneer. “I ain’t givin’ an inch of my parents’ house to y’all!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos like a whip. “They’re humans, dammit—leave ’em alone!”

The Sentinel paused, its head tilting slightly as though to process his words. The response came cold and unyielding: “ALL INDIVIDUALS HARBORING MUTANTS ARE CLASSIFIED AS COMPLICIT THREATS. TERMINATION AUTHORIZED.”

Duncan’s fists clenched, the blue energy around him surging brighter, illuminating his face in an otherworldly glow. “Dangerous?” he spat, his voice rising with a mixture of anger and exasperation. “What’s so dangerous about me? If y’all weren’t such sore losers and accepted when to have credit denied… we wouldn’t even be here! Denti and Creed wouldn’t be in the damn hospital!”

From behind the towering Sentinels, a human voice barked out, venom dripping from every word. “You’re done, mutie! This ends here!”

Duncan shot the man a glare, his eyes narrowing, but his focus quickly returned to the Sentinels as they began to move. Their massive feet crushed the lawn, leaving deep craters in the soil. The whirring of their cannons charging sent a low hum vibrating through the air.

“Argh, fine,” Duncan muttered, rolling his shoulders. The plasma surrounding him flared in a sudden burst, streaking like a comet as he launched himself toward the lead Sentinel. The impact was explosive, the force of his punch sending a shockwave rippling outward. The machine staggered back, but its size kept it upright, and its glowing red eyes focused on Duncan once again.

The Sentinel swiped at him with its massive arm, the motion accompanied by a mechanical whine. Duncan twisted in midair, narrowly dodging the blow, and countered with a plasma-charged uppercut that left a molten dent in the machine’s chest plate. “This house was costly to buy!” he yelled, shoving the Sentinel back with a forceful kick that left him hovering for a moment.

One of the guards, a wiry man with a sneer plastered across his face, shouted over the cacophony, “Then buy another, mutie!”

Duncan’s plasma flared again, this time tinged with red. His voice was a low growl as he fired off a rapid volley of energy blasts at the guard’s position, forcing the man to duck behind one of the Sentinels. “Motherfucker, why would we buy somethin’ we already have?” he snapped, turning his attention back to the machines.

The Sentinels were relentless, advancing despite the damage he dealt. Another aimed its cannon at him, the barrel glowing with a charged plasma blast. Duncan darted sideways just as it fired, the blast narrowly missing him and striking the siding of the house. The windows shattered, shards of glass scattering onto the lawn. Duncan’s eyes widened as he glanced back at the damage.

“Dammit, too many…” he muttered, blocking a swipe from a Sentinel’s clawed hand. He twisted around the arm, using it as leverage to swing upward. With a roar, he drove a plasma-infused punch into the machine’s head, sending sparks and shards of metal flying. The Sentinel stumbled, its systems faltering, before it toppled to the ground with a resounding crash.

But another was already stepping forward to take its place.

Just as Duncan braced himself for the next wave, a new sound cut through the chaos—the sharp whistle of wind, swirling with unnatural intensity. A voice, calm and steady, rang out from above. “Needin’ help, partner?”

Duncan glanced up, his eyes widening in disbelief. Four figures descended from the sky, silhouetted against the faint glow of the moon. The leader, clad in a blue and red costume with a wide-brimmed white hat, landed beside him, the winds swirling around him in a protective vortex.

“Holy shit,” Duncan muttered, his plasma dimming slightly as he took in the sight. “Texas Twister… and the Rangers!”

Texas Twister tipped his hat, a confident grin tugging at his lips. “We’re here to help, kid. Duncan, right?”

Duncan nodded, still catching his breath. “Yup.” His eyes flicked to the blonde woman beside Twister, her red-and-blue outfit glinting in the light of the Sentinels’ eyes. “Miss Shootin’ Star.”

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She gave him a warm smile, her twin pistols glowing faintly as she drew them. “Let’s show these tin cans what Texans can do, sugar.”

Duncan grinned despite himself. “Fine. But no scratchin’ the Camaro in the driveway.”

“Noted,” Texas Twister replied, the winds around him picking up as he faced the advancing Sentinels.

The Rangers moved as a unit. Firebird took to the skies, her fiery aura casting the battlefield in an orange glow. She launched a volley of fireballs, the intense heat melting through the Sentinels’ armor. Fifty-One, the team’s alien member, moved with clinical precision, his energy beams systematically disabling the machines’ weapons.

Texas Twister summoned a powerful whirlwind, pulling several guards off their feet and scattering their weapons across the yard. “Y’all don’t belong here, boys!” he shouted, his grin widening. “Take it as a blessin’ I ain’t lettin’ the kid finish ya off!”

Shooting Star moved with deadly accuracy, her pistols firing glowing bolts that disarmed the remaining guards. She rolled gracefully, using a lawn ornament for cover as she popped up to take out a Sentinel’s exposed joint with a well-aimed shot.

Duncan, his plasma burning brighter than ever, slammed into another Sentinel with the force of a meteor. As it stumbled, he glanced at Twister, shouting, “Thanks for the backup, Twister!”

Twister smirked. “Anytime, kid. Just don’t expect us to fix the lawn.”

With the Rangers at his side, Duncan felt a surge of hope. The battlefield was chaos, but amidst the blazing plasma and roaring winds, the tide was finally turning. The once-intimidating Sentinels were falling one by one, their massive frames crumpling like discarded scrap metal. Guards from the Friends of Humanity scrambled for cover, their confidence shattered by the combined might of the Alamo and the Texas Rangers.

Shooting Star moved like lightning, her pistols blazing with energy as she disarmed the guards with pinpoint accuracy. Each shot knocked a rifle or sidearm from their hands, sending weapons clattering to the ground. She pivoted gracefully on her booted heels, her blonde braid whipping through the air as she fired over her shoulder. “We’re here to make sure this neighborhood stays safe, Duncan,” she called out, her voice clear and firm amidst the chaos. “You’re doin’ great, but everyone could use a hand now and then.”

Nearby, Texas Twister stood at the eye of his own storm, his wide-brimmed hat tilted just enough to shield his sharp blue eyes. With a sweeping motion of his hand, he summoned a roaring whirlwind that engulfed a cluster of guards attempting to flank them. The gale swept them off their feet, flinging them harmlessly into the bushes across the street. “Y’all ain’t learnin’ fast enough, boys!” he hollered, his Texan drawl cutting through the whistling winds. “Stay down, or I’ll blow ya clear to Amarillo!”

Firebird was a streak of flame against the dark sky, her fiery aura casting long shadows over the battlefield. Her hands burned bright as she hurled blazing orbs of energy at the advancing Sentinels, each strike melting through their reinforced armor. One machine collapsed in a heap of molten metal, its systems sparking and sputtering. Firebird hovered just above the wreckage, her intense gaze scanning for her next target. “Keep pushing! Don’t let up!” she shouted, her voice fierce and commanding.

On the ground, Fifty-One moved with an alien grace, his movements precise and efficient. His glowing green energy beams carved through Sentinel joints with surgical precision, disabling their mobility and leaving them vulnerable to finishing blows. As one machine stumbled forward, its legs buckling, Fifty-One raised his arm, firing a concentrated blast that severed its cannon arm at the shoulder. “TARGET NEUTRALIZED,” he intoned in his calm, robotic voice, already pivoting toward the next threat.

Duncan, now fully embodying the name Alamo, was at the center of it all, a blur of plasma energy and raw power. His fists glowed white-hot as he darted between the towering Sentinels, delivering devastating blows that left craters in their armor. He vaulted onto the shoulders of one machine, gripping its head with both hands. “You picked the wrong house to mess with!” he roared, his fingers digging into the metal. Plasma surged from his hands, melting through the Sentinel’s reinforced frame like butter. With a final, guttural shout, he tore the machine’s head free from its body, sparks and metal fragments flying in every direction. The headless Sentinel collapsed, shaking the ground as it fell.

But before they could catch their breath, the largest Sentinel yet stepped forward from the shadows. Its massive frame towered over the others, its reinforced plating gleaming under the faint glow of streetlights. Cannons mounted on its shoulders whirred ominously as it scanned the battlefield. “TERMINATION PROTOCOL INITIATED. ALL HOSTILES WILL BE NEUTRALIZED,” it announced in its cold, mechanical voice.

The Rangers and Duncan braced themselves as the Sentinel’s targeting systems locked onto the Nenni family home. Its shoulder cannons began to glow, charging for a devastating blast.

Duncan stepped forward, his fists glowing brighter than ever, his determination etched into every line of his face. “Damnit if I’m lettin’ y’all take my folks’ home,” he growled, his voice steady despite the chaos around him.

Texas Twister nodded to him, a confident grin tugging at his lips. “We’ll keep the guards off your back, kid. You take that big bastard down.”

“On it,” Duncan replied, his plasma energy flaring as he launched himself toward the massive Sentinel.

The machine fired a volley of plasma blasts from its cannons, but Duncan weaved through the onslaught with practiced agility, the heat of the near-misses searing the air around him. He extended his hands, releasing concentrated beams of plasma from his fingertips that struck the Sentinel’s chest, leaving glowing scars across its armor.

Firebird swooped in from above, launching a stream of fire that engulfed the Sentinel’s left cannon, causing it to explode in a fiery burst. “You’ve got an opening, Duncan!” she shouted, circling around to distract the machine.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Duncan closed the distance in a blur of motion. He landed on the Sentinel’s chest, gripping the edge of its torso for leverage. “Let’s see how tough y’all really are,” he snarled, driving his glowing fists into its core. The metal buckled and warped under his assault, sparks flying as he tore through its plating.

The Sentinel swiped at him with its massive arm, but before it could land a hit, Shooting Star fired a precise shot at its joint, disabling the limb. “You’re welcome!” she called out with a wink.

Duncan didn’t waste the opportunity. He climbed onto the Sentinel’s shoulders, his plasma energy surging to its peak. With a mighty roar, he plunged his hands into its head, sending a surge of energy that overloaded its systems. The Sentinel shuddered, its movements growing erratic as its lights flickered. With one final effort, Duncan ripped its head clean off, tossing it to the ground with a resounding crash.

The massive machine collapsed, its lifeless frame crumpling in a heap of twisted metal. Duncan landed lightly on the ground, his chest heaving as he surveyed the wreckage. His glowing eyes dimmed slightly as he turned to face the scattered guards, most of whom were retreating in defeat.

“This,” Duncan said, his voice low but firm, “this is a violation of everythin’ I hold dear. The FoH claim to stand for humanity, but this?” He gestured to the destruction around him. “This is somethin’ else. Criminals and terrorists, that’s what they are.”

Texas Twister adjusted his hat, stepping up beside him. “Easy there, cowboy. The fight’s over.”

Shooting Star stepped closer, holstering her pistols and resting a hand on his shoulder. “They’re neutralized for now, kid. Don’t worry. Your folks are safe tonight.”

Duncan nodded, but the anger in his voice didn’t fade. “I appreciate the help, Rangers. I really do. But if the FoH comes back again, there won’t be any of ’em standin’. I’m done with second chances.”

Texas Twister’s voice hardened, though his calm demeanor didn’t falter. “Murder is not an option, kid. You don’t wanna go down that road. Trust me.”

Duncan’s eyes flared red for a moment as he stepped closer to Twister, his tone firm. “This is Texas, Mr. Twister. It’s a stand-your-ground state. If they show up again on my family’s property… I’ll stand. And I’ll put ’em in the ground.”

The tension between them hung in the air like a storm cloud until Shooting Star stepped between them, her voice softening the edge. “Alright, alright. Let’s not get into a debate here. Duncan, your family’s safe, and that’s what matters. Let’s focus on that.”

Firebird landed nearby, her fiery aura dimming as she folded her arms. “She’s right, Twister. The kid’s not wrong, though—his family’s a target now. They’ll have to relocate. New names, new lives… FoH doesn’t let go.”

Duncan turned to her, his expression darkening. “Exactly. They’ll always have a target on their backs now. And that’s my fault.”

“Not entirely,” Texas Twister said, his tone softening slightly. “The FoH operates on hate, Duncan. They’ll use any excuse to come after folks like you. This ain’t on you.”

Duncan exhaled sharply, crossing his arms. “Doesn’t change the fact they’ll never stop.”

There was a heavy silence before Texas Twister spoke again. “Well, kid, I reckon you’ll cross that bridge when the time comes. For now, you did good tonight. You kept your folks safe, and you stood your ground. That’s all anyone can ask.”

Duncan nodded slowly, the glow in his hands fading as he allowed himself to relax, if only slightly. “Much obliged fer the help, Rangers. Couldn’t’ve done it this clean without y’all.”

Shooting Star gave him a small smile. “That’s what we’re here for. But, Duncan… if you feel like you can do more, you know we’ve always got an open door.”

Before Duncan could respond, Firebird chimed in. “He’s a mutant, Twister. He knows where to go. The X-Men are better suited to his kind of fight.”

Duncan frowned, looking between the two of them. “Calm down. I ain’t sayin’ no to the Rangers, nor yes to the X-Men. And fer the record, I was never offered to join the X-Men or nothin’.”

Texas Twister chuckled, tipping his hat. “Fair enough. But if you ask me, you’d make one hell of a Ranger, kid.”

Duncan couldn’t help but smirk at the compliment. “Thanks, Mr. Twister. I’ll consider the possibility.”

Twister nodded. “That’s all we ask. Think on it, Duncan. You’ve got potential. Don’t waste it.”

With that, the Rangers began to depart, each offering their own brief farewell. Fifty-One, ever formal, gave a brief bow before his mechanical voice sounded. “MISSION SUCCESSFUL. ASSISTANCE RENDERED. FAREWELL.”

Shooting Star smiled warmly. “Take care of yourself, Duncan. And your folks. They’re lucky to have you.”

Firebird gave him a nod before lifting into the air, her fiery aura reigniting. “Stay safe, kid. And remember—you don’t have to fight alone.”

As the Rangers disappeared into the night, Duncan stood there on the porch of his family’s battered home, watching the horizon. The moonlight caught the faint blue glow of his hands as he clenched them into fists. He exhaled, his voice barely above a whisper.

“The Alamo don’t forget. Not tonight, not ever.”

He turned back toward the house, his mind already racing with plans for the days ahead. This wasn’t over.

Duncan stepped through the broken front door, his shoulders tense but his expression calm. The battle outside had taken its toll, and though he’d managed to fend off the Sentinels and the FoH, the damage was undeniable. The house smelled faintly of scorched wood and ozone, the aftermath of energy blasts leaving blackened marks along the siding and a few shattered windows. He found his parents in the living room, sitting close together on the couch, their faces pale but determined.

“Daddy, Mama?” he called softly.

Marcy was the first to respond, her voice trembling slightly. “We’re here, Duncan.”

Robert stood, his movements deliberate but steady. “Are ya hurt, son?”

Duncan shook his head, brushing a hand over his singed shirt. “Nope. Ahem, the Rangers showed up to help.”

Marcy’s eyebrows shot up. “The Rangers? Really?”

“Yup,” Duncan replied, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms.

Robert’s expression softened slightly. “That’s great. Did ya thank ’em? Don’t be arrogant now, Duncan.”

Duncan sighed, managing a small smile. “Yeah, I thanked ’em, Mama. They were helpful, even if I coulda handled it myself.”

Marcy gave him a sharp look. “A little humility wouldn’t kill ya.”

Duncan ignored the jab and glanced around the room. The house was still standing, though parts of it bore the scars of the fight—scorched walls, a broken window frame, and a few overturned pieces of furniture. “The house is… intact, mostly,” he said, nodding toward the damage.

“Well, I’m good at my job, it seems,” he added, a faint grin tugging at his lips.

Robert chuckled. “Not bad at all, son. Not bad at all.”

But the humor faded quickly as Duncan’s expression turned serious. “Y’all can’t stay here, though,” he said firmly. “The FoH will come again, and they probably won’t ever stop.”

Marcy shook her head immediately, her voice rising. “No. This is our house. We bought it. This is where we’ve built our lives.”

“As much as I agree y’all shouldn’t have to leave yer home ’cause of a bunch of mobs,” Duncan said, his tone softening, “I still understand y’all need to be safe.”

Robert frowned, crossing his arms. “But my job’s here, son. We can’t just up and leave.”

Duncan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Mama, Daddy, listen. I hate sayin’ this, but y’all need to relocate. I know it’s unfair, I know it’s wrong, but I can’t always be here to protect y’all. It’s not safe.”

Marcy hesitated, glancing at Robert. “Well… we do have the funds, Robert. We could buy a house somewhere else.”

Robert frowned deeper. “Where, Marcy? Florida? You wanna move to Florida?”

Duncan shook his head quickly. “I don’t think Florida’s a good idea. Maybe Canada.”

Robert’s face twisted in disapproval. “Have ya lost yer mind, son? We ain’t goin’ to Canada.”

“I ain’t a fan of Canada either, Daddy, but that doesn’t mean it ain’t safer right now,” Duncan countered.

Marcy tapped her fingers on the armrest, her expression thoughtful. “We could go to Iowa,” she suggested.

Duncan raised an eyebrow. “Iowa? Why not Arizona?”

“Arizona’s too close, unfortunately,” Robert said with a sigh. “It’d be my second pick, too.”

“Alright,” Marcy said after a long pause. “Iowa. We could move to Des Moines.”

Duncan nodded. “I’ll help y’all. Whatever ya need.”

“We don’t need money, Duncan,” Robert said firmly. “We’re fine. We have funds.”

“I’m not talkin’ ’bout just money, Daddy,” Duncan said, leaning forward. “The house might have some liquidity problems now that it’s been attacked. Midland isn’t usually a target, so the local brokers will remember this. Y’all might struggle to sell it.”

Robert waved him off. “We’re fine, son. We’ve got what we need.”

Marcy added, her voice gentle but firm. “We did this ’cause we love you, Duncan, not ’cause you’d owe us anything.”

Duncan smiled faintly. “I know. I love y’all too. But y’all have to move. Unfortunately—and I hate to say it—Texas ain’t safe right now. You can come back later when things cool down.”

Marcy sighed, leaning into Robert’s shoulder. “We’ll buy a house in Iowa and rent this one. Then, when we’re ready, we can sell the Iowa house and come back here.”

Duncan’s expression brightened slightly. “Good investment plan, Mama. That works. Now let’s find y’all a hotel to stay in for a few days while we figure this out.”

Marcy and Robert exchanged a glance before nodding. “Alright, Duncan,” Robert said. “We’ll pack some things.”

Duncan stood, his expression resolute. “Good. We’ll make this work. I promise.”

As they began to gather their belongings, the faint hum of cicadas returned, filling the silence in the house. Outside, the wreckage of the battle still lingered, but inside, there was a small flicker of hope that, with time, things might just settle down.