The hallway stretched long and sterile, the polished white walls reflecting the dim emergency lighting, making it feel even more claustrophobic than it already was. The lobby behind them had been deceptively small—this place was built to hide its true size from the outside world.

"Eugh, creepy," Rogue muttered as she leaned in slightly, surveying the blank expanse ahead.

"It ain't pretty, I'll tell ya that much," Alamo replied, scanning the walls for any sign of movement.

"Let's move. We have to find as much information as possible," Cap ordered, his voice calm but firm.

"Cap, what exactly are we expectin' to find here?" Alamo asked, his voice quieter now, as if speaking too loud would invite whatever horrors lay ahead.

Steve’s gaze was unwavering. "Trask parts. Used in inhumane experiments with live innocents."

Alamo took a deep breath, his mind racing with thoughts of what that could mean—and who was responsible.

"What sort of experiment, Cap?"

Steve’s face hardened. "They used human brains to integrate with computer circuitry, make machines that couldn't be easily hacked."

A cold chill ran through Alamo’s spine. "You believe they can be here, sir?"

"Yes, I do."

They walked down the hallway, carefully checking doors as they passed. Each was sealed shut, their labels nothing more than coded numbers. No clear signs, no descriptions.

"This is eerily silent, never a good sign," Alamo muttered.

"Quiet before the storm," Cap agreed.

Then, they spotted a map mounted on the wall—a layout of the facility.

"Alright, so there’s a lab here. Unmarked. The rooms all have codenames," Steve noted, running a gloved finger over the diagram.

"Which means they prolly didn’t expect visitors. 'Cause this would just make reachin’ places harder," Alamo added.

"It is supposed to be a secret facility. We’ll find out soon enough what they were trying to hide."

Then, from the shadows, they heard it.

Heavy thuds.

They barely had time to react before armed personnel appeared at the T-intersection ahead. Two squads, one on each side, raising rifles.

"HANDS UP!" one of them barked.

Captain America looked between Alamo and Rogue, assessing the situation.

"We got this, Cap," Alamo said coolly.

"Yup," Rogue added.

In a blur of movement, both of them shot forward. Alamo launched himself right, a streak of plasma energy illuminating the dark as he plowed through the guards. He shattered the barrels of their guns and sent them sprawling like ragdolls.

On the left, Rogue tore through the other squad with equal force. Their gunfire was useless—Steve, standing in the center, deflected each stray bullet with his shield, ensuring no one else got hit in the crossfire.

Seconds later, ten men were on the ground, groaning or unconscious. Rogue and Alamo inspected their gloves, satisfied.

"Not bad, Rogue."

"Handled yerself pretty well, Alamo."

Alamo tipped his hat. "Much appreciated, ma'am."

Steve exhaled. "We need to head to the lab. They came from somewhere."

They pressed forward, finding an elevator at the end of the hallway.

"This must be the access to the lab. Rogue, Alamo, with me."

"Alright," Alamo said, cracking his knuckles.

They stood inside, the sterile air thick with the scent of antiseptic, the fluorescent lights casting an almost clinical pall over the long white hallway stretching before them.

Rogue leaned in, arms crossed. "So, free thinker. Ya have no problem followin’ Cap’s orders?"

Alamo smirked but swallowed dryly. "I mean, ya want me to go against him?"

"No, no. Ah’m just curious why ya don’t seem to wanna argue or lecture him… like ya did when ya met me in Florida?"

Alamo let out a small chuckle. "Rogue, he’s over one hundred years old. Ain’t nothin’ I have to say he hasn’t heard before."

She eyed him with skepticism. "Ya sure?"

He sighed, looking at the shield on Cap's back.

"He’s my childhood hero. I don’t wanna antagonize him."

Rogue grinned. "So there’s the real answer."

Alamo tilted his head slightly. "Does that answer bother ya?"

"No, Cap’s a decent guy."

"By ‘decent guy,’ ya mean a war hero."

"I look up to him, in a way. Same way y'all X-men look up to Xavier, only difference my hero has hair. Minus the whole cult of personality y'all have goin' on with baldie"

Rogue continued, nudging Alamo. "Stop, Duncan, we ain't no cult of personality. Also don’t let the Professor hear that comment ‘bout his hair… or lack thereof."

Alamo grinned. "What if he reads my mind?"

Rogue smirked. "Then good luck, sugah. That’s a mess Ah ain’t cleanin’… just don’t call him bald an’ ya know…"

Steve, who had been only inches away, caught wind of their conversation. He thought about saying something but instead just smiled to himself. It warmed him that even younger generations—even mutants, who often viewed the Avengers with skepticism—could still see him as a hero.

Before she could finish, the elevator doors slid open with a soft hiss.

Beyond them lay the lab.

It was massive—far larger than the external structure suggested. White-walled corridors stretched out in all directions, sterile and pristine, yet beneath the perfection was something deeply unsettling. This wasn’t just a research lab. It was a production facility. Conveyor belts hummed softly in the distance, robotic arms moving in unison as parts were assembled—parts they could all recognize. Not just tech, but cybernetic enhancements, exoskeletal plating, neural interfaces. The pieces of something sinister being built on a large scale.

Alamo’s eyes darkened. "This ain’t just a lab, labs don't have conveyor belts all that I'm aware, it's a state-of-the-art factory. Sure hell buildin' stuff here"

Steve gripped his shield tighter. "We find out what, and we shut it down."

Rogue cracked her knuckles. "Ah was hopin’ ya’d say that."

And with that, they stepped inside.

Rogue, Captain America, and Alamo moved like shadows through the massive expanse of the underground lab-factory. The overhead lights cast a dim industrial glow over the vast assembly lines and conveyor belts, while the dull hum of machinery filled the air. They kept low, slipping between support beams and crates stacked high with metallic components.

"This is a very big facility," Alamo muttered, glancing up at the catwalks overhead. "They must have a main elevator to bring these manufactured parts up top."

"Yup, a platform lift." He exhaled. "Cap, I reckon this is where they make Sentinels. When I was in Arkansas and Florida, Sentinels attacked us…"

Rogue picked up where he left off. "Usually, these things have an American flag on ‘em… or whatever rude host wants to get rid of us."

Steve’s eyes narrowed as he processed their words.

"Yup, like Rogue said, but these models seem similar to what the FoH has sent on us."

Steve clenched his jaw. "Then this is possibly an illegal plant, manufacturing arms with Trask schematics and resources they buy from the market—or from Trask directly."

Alamo nodded. "That’s what I was thinkin’, sir. If we find the invoices, orders, and inventory, we could prove the building—which is theoretically Carraro’s—is in fact manufacturin’ Sentinels for the FoH."

"Which would explain why they’re older models," Rogue added, glancing at the rows of partially assembled machines.

"Yes, ma’am."

Steve set his shoulders. "Good. Then we stop the factory. But I want to be sure we have all the information we can."

Alamo adjusted his gloves. "That’d be optimal, yes."

Steve nodded. "Then follow me. We’ll take them down."

With that, Captain America leaped from the shadows, his movements precise as he landed against a corner. He spotted two guards talking—a stocky man leaning against the wall and another smoking casually, his face turned away. In one smooth motion, Steve threw his shield at an angle. It ricocheted off the metal wall, striking both men just beneath the chin, knocking them unconscious before they could react.

Before the bodies even hit the ground, Alamo surged forward in a streak of blue light, tackling a third guard who had just rounded the corner.

Rogue landed lightly behind him, hands on her hips. "Ya’re leavin’ me no fun, cowboy."

Alamo grinned, adjusting his coat. "I promise the next one’s yers."

She smirked. "Ah’ll hold ya to that."

They stepped over the fallen guards, pressing forward toward the control room where the real evidence would be waiting.

Steve retrieved his shield, glancing at the unconscious guards. "You made too much noise."

Alamo’s eyes widened behind his chrome mask. "Dang, I messed up."

"Don’t worry, sugah. Leave it to the professionals." Rogue teased, smirking at him.

Alamo scoffed, adjusting his gloves. "Ain’t no way I’m lettin’ ya outcompete me."

"This is serious. It’s not an excuse to bond." Steve cut in, his voice firm.

"Sorry, Captain."

"Our bad, Cap." Rogue echoed.

More soldiers came, already firing, but that wasn’t the real problem. The scientists rushed toward the elevator, and then the rumbling started.

Tony’s voice crackled over the comms. "Steve, I’m hearing loud noises outside. Can you turn on your feed?"

Steve grimaced. "Where were you, Tony?"

"Sorry, Janet came to talk to me… Wait, Rogue and Alamo are there?"

"Yes."

"What’s going on?"

"We have more hostiles—possibly Sentinels."

A pause. "That’s not good. Do you need help?"

"No. I trust their abilities to see this through. Thanks, Tony."

The comms went silent.

Alamo frowned. "I’m sorry, Cap."

Steve shook his head. "You made a mistake. It was understandable. But we can fix it. Now focus."

The soldiers burst in, weapons raised. Steve hurled his shield, knocking two over before rushing in, striking them down. One soldier grabbed the shield, attempting to use it.

"Learn how to use it first."

In one swift motion, Steve pulled his pistol, shot the man in the foot, stowed the gun, and reclaimed his shield with a brutal punch.

Meanwhile, Alamo and Rogue turned their attention to the Sentinel now rising from the shadows.

"This one’s gonna cause trouble, sugah." Rogue said, eyeing the towering machine.

"Not that much."

Alamo shot forward, slamming his fist into the machine, tearing into its chest. Then, he removed his gloves.

Rogue’s eyes widened before she smirked. "Oh, this is gonna be good."

Alamo’s eyes shifted from red to blue as he absorbed the Sentinel’s energy. The machine’s systems flickered, then went dark.

"Lot of pent-up energy in this one. Just a second."

The excess power surged through him. He looked around, considering his options. He couldn’t just fly around or explode. Instead, he directed the energy back into the Sentinel, releasing it as intense blue heat. Metal groaned, melting under the sheer heat of his energy. For thirty seconds, the machine burned from the inside out, its core liquefying.

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Then it was done. He exhaled heavily, pulling his gloves back on.

Rogue grinned. "Not bad, Duncan. Gloves an’ all."

Alamo smirked. "Learned from the best, no?"

"Y'know, if Ah didn't know any better, Ah'd say ya're doin' this to impress me."

Alamo shrugged. "I hope that ain't against yer X-Men rules."

"They call me Rogue fer—"

"Ahem." Captain America cleared his throat, bringing them both back to focus. "Tony, tangos down. We're moving on with the data collection. Scientists ran. Keep an eye on them." He said pressing to the side of his helmet.

The trio moved deeper into the facility, carefully navigating toward a lab.

"You have control over those powers, Alamo?" Steve asked as they walked.

Alamo sighed. "Not entirely, Cap. Trade-offs, a lot of ‘em. I suck energy. If it's more than I need, my body has to purge it somehow—if not intentionally, then unintentionally."

"How exactly does that work?"

"Medical research calls it a physiological coronal mass ejection, like in the sun. ‘Cept, in this case, I’d be the sun. If my energy levels rise beyond what my body can safely store, it expels the excess in plasma waves."

"That could hurt people?"

Alamo hesitated before answering. "It has. In the past... never intentionally, though."

Rogue glanced at him, a flicker of understanding passing between them. She, more than most, understood the unintended consequences of mutant powers.

"Understood." That was all Steve said as they entered the lab.

Inside, they found a lone scientist, trembling as he pointed an energy weapon at them.

"Don't move, I'll shoot!"

The man’s hands were shaking, his knuckles white.

"Im—" He stopped mid-word, eyes widening. "Captain America!? What are you doing here?"

Steve’s expression remained unreadable. "We came to investigate. You will answer our questions."

"Or—"

In a blur, Rogue appeared beside him. She plucked the weapon from his hands with ease and, with a simple squeeze, crushed it into a useless hunk of metal.

"Or else, sugah."

The scientist gulped. "Damnit."

Captain America pulled a chair as Alamo set the scientist down, ensuring he was stable. The three stood before him, their collective presence intimidating yet controlled. The dim glow from the overhead lights cast sharp shadows across the sterile lab.

"You understand you are under arrest?"

The scientist shifted nervously, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. "Why?"

Steve folded his arms. "Should I be specific about the nature of the crimes committed inside this facility?"

The man looked down, defeated. "No, I understand it."

Alamo stepped forward. "Well, fer starters, I’d like to ask—what exactly is this factory, this lab?"

Captain America didn’t like the interruption but understood Alamo’s intent. Rogue smirked and nodded, letting him proceed.

The scientist exhaled, hesitating. "We work for Carraro."

"Do you?" Alamo’s right hand shimmered blue, the faint glow reflecting off the scientist’s terrified face.

The man’s eyes widened as he saw the plasma flicker across Alamo’s fingertips. "I—I swear. I just do my job."

"Y'know, maybe Ah can do this faster," Rogue said, pulling off her glove and stretching her fingers menacingly.

"Rogue." Steve’s tone was firm, but she ignored it.

"Rogue, wait!" Alamo called, but she touched the scientist anyway.

A surge of energy rushed through her as his memories flooded into her mind. The scientist groaned, his body weakening instantly before he collapsed into unconsciousness. Steve caught him, setting him back in the chair. Alamo moved quickly to steady Rogue, but she waved him off.

"Ah appreciate the thought, but Ah’m used to it. Thanks." She patted his hand before turning to Steve. "So?"

"What did you get?" Steve asked.

Rogue closed her eyes for a moment, sorting through the information. Her breath was heavy as she pieced together the fragmented thoughts she’d pulled from the scientist’s mind. "It’s a factory, alright. They develop experimental modifications fer Creed. No Trask here. Everythin’ from Sentinel blasters that can be scaled up, to ‘budget-friendly’ mutant pacification units. Cheaper ways to control us."

Steve’s face darkened. "Sentinels?"

"Sorry, that’s how they call ‘em. Ah picked up that term from his head. Write this down, Ah’ll forget the more technical stuff soon enough."

Alamo nodded, taking notes. "What about the AIM robots?"

Rogue’s brows furrowed, the weight of the knowledge pressing against her mind. "Oh yeah, those? They were sold off by the facility overseer, Albert Hoss. He’s outta state now."

"Where?"

"Somethin’ ‘bout Alaska. He mentioned it to Riviera." She pointed to the unconscious scientist. "That’s the guy we just knocked out. He might know more."

Steve’s expression tightened. "Understood. What else?"

Rogue exhaled sharply. "Trask’s inhibitors—they were based on MacTaggert’s designs."

Steve’s jaw clenched. "What? She’s supposed to be dead."

Rogue nodded grimly. "Well, maybe not. Or at least, her research ain’t dead. Oscorp had its hands on it first. Turns out when she was workin’ on a so-called ‘cure,’ she found a way to suppress the X-Gene without injection. Instead, it works like a magnetic disruption, an EMP for mutant abilities."

Alamo felt a pang in his chest, almost like the inhibitor was still there. "Damnit"

Rogue exhaled slowly. "The inhibitors they’re makin’ now aren’t original tech. They’re based on a stolen Oscorp prototype. Trask and his people reverse-engineered it."

Steve’s brows furrowed, his mind racing with the implications. "So Oscorp was developing mutant suppression tech?"

"Not originally for suppression," Rogue corrected, the scientist’s memories still swirling in her head. "It started out as a detection system for Sentinels—something to help them find mutants faster, in real time, without a database. But the deeper they got into the research, the more they realized they could flip the switch, make it turn powers off instead of just detecting ‘em."

Alamo crossed his arms. "Is there any limitation to this inhibitor, anythin' at all?"

Rogue continued. "From their empirical tests some powers can’t be shut off, dependin’ on how they work. But most? Yeah. It’d probably even work on me. Like they worked on ya too, Alamo."

Alamo inhaled sharply at that thought, his mind flashing back to the inhibitor that had nearly killed him. "Damn."

Steve’s grip tightened around his shield. "We can’t let this technology spread. If this gets out, every anti-mutant faction in the world will have an arsenal of weapons to wipe out mutantkind."

Rogue nodded. "Ah agree. There's somethin' else."

"What?" Steve asked.

She hesitated before answering. "Creed’s office is in Chicago. He’s the one pullin’ the strings there, not Trask. They might be workin’ together, but this ain’t just Trask’s operation. Creed has his own agenda, it doesn't seem to align always with Trask."

Steve let out a slow breath. "Then we start with Chicago."

Alamo cracked his knuckles. "We bringin’ the Avengers, Cap?"

Steve hesitated. "We’ll have to discuss it first. But my intention is to help, protect American citizens mutants and humans alike."

The room fell silent. They had uncovered more than they expected, but there was no time to process it fully. The mission wasn’t over yet. Not even close.

"Let's take the technology down, I'll upload what I can to Tony and the rest we send to Xavier" Captain America moved to the mainframe console inside the lab, he planted an USB device on it, soon enough the virus Stark created took hold of the computer, from the distance Alamo and Rogu saw Cap going over some details with Stark.

"We got the mainframe, Tony. Get what you need and send it to Xavier."

"Sure, Cap?"

"Affirmative"

The computer was soon wiped out of its data, soon enough the files would be on the X-Men hands. When it was over, Captain America turned to Alamo.

"You're free to destroy their equipment, Alamo."

"Got ya, Cap." Without hesitation, Alamo raised his hand toward the computers, tables, consoles, and machines. A single controlled plasma beam erupted from his palm, engulfing the entire array of hardware in a blinding inferno. The extreme heat melted metal, shattered circuits, and sent cascades of sparks flying as smoke and the acrid scent of burning plastic filled the room.

Within seconds, the facility’s entire operational infrastructure was reduced to molten slag.

"Done. Inoperational." He exhaled, lowering his arm. "I’ll take care of the rest as we go."

With that, they turned and made their way toward the exit. As Alamo systematically burned down the remaining equipment, the files they had retrieved were secured and sent to their respective locations—copies were transmitted to the Avengers Tower, the X-Mansion, and Alamo himself, ensuring the evidence was preserved for further investigation.

As the last embers died down behind them, the mission in Mount Hood was complete. They headed to the Elevator back up, leaving the facility.

The first morning light air carried the scent of burning electronics and scorched metal as Captain America, Rogue, and Alamo emerged from the now-compromised facility. Smoke curled from broken equipment deep inside, Alamo’s handiwork ensuring the operation would never recover. The stolen data had already been uploaded to the Avengers Tower, the X-Mansion, and Alamo’s own secure line. The mission was successful.

But someone was waiting for them.

A figure clad in red, white, and black stood at the treeline, gripping a shield of his own. The letters “US” emblazoned in place of Steve’s traditional star marked his allegiance. John Walker, the USAgent.

"Captain Rogers," Walker said, his voice clipped and professional, though his tone carried its usual edge.

Steve narrowed his eyes. "Walker."

Walker gave a curt nod. "Pleasure to see you, sir."

Steve simply nodded back, his expression unreadable.

"We’re here on SHIELD’s behalf. This facility is now under our jurisdiction."

Steve crossed his arms. "Where are the other security guards?"

Walker gestured towards a nearby tree. "Some idiot tied em' up with zip ties. One of them had a knife and managed to cut loose. They ran, but we apprehended them."

Rogue scowled. "Some idiot? The nerve."

Steve glanced at her. "Calm down, Rogue."

Walker chuckled. "Oh, it was you? Sorry, pretty girl. X-Men don’t usually have the best care for protocol. You’re not professionals."

Rogue’s expression darkened. "Don’t’cha dare call me ‘pretty girl’ again, ya creep."

Walker smirked. "I didn’t mean to offend your delicate Dixie heart, sweetheart."

Alamo stepped forward, his voice cold. "Partner, you’re playin’ a mighty dumb game right now."

Walker tilted his head, looking Alamo up and down. "You must be the Texas kid. Pretty ballsy callin’ yourself ‘The Alamo,’ dressing all edgy like that."

Alamo kept himself steely behind the mask, his tone didn’t waver. "Ya have some damn mouth fer a glorified lapdawg."

Walker let out a low chuckle. "Oh, you’re snappy. Tough crowd, Rogers."

Steve’s face remained neutral, but his tone turned firm. "I’d rather you didn’t insult them, Walker."

Walker held up a hand in mock surrender. "Alright, my fellow southern friends. I didn't mean to offend you, not at all. I'm here for the mission, same as Captain America, I'll leave you to your mutant sensibilities, God bless."

Alamo’s fists clenched for a moment, but he exhaled slowly, reigning his distaste in. Rogue’s glare remained fixed on Walker, but Steve took a step forward, subtly placing himself between them.

"Our mission here is over," Steve said, his tone final. "Walker, SHIELD can handle cleanup. But watch yourself."

Walker gave a salute. "Yes, sir."

With that, he turned and walked back toward his squad. Steve exhaled, shaking his head.

Rogue crossed her arms. "Ah hate that guy."

Alamo nodded. "Yup."

Outside the facility, a familiar presence made himself known. Standing tall, his brown hair neatly combed, its white sides catching the light, was Nick Fury. Beside him stood a man who exuded an air of bureaucratic arrogance—a boastful presence wrapped in a grey suit with a red tie. His red hair was neatly slicked back, and his sharp green eyes studied the scene behind thick, framed glasses.

"Fury."

Fury nodded. "Captain Rogers. Thank you for assisting SHIELD. And thank you to the mutants, as well. I understand this cause is important to you. The facility will be contained now."

Steve’s gaze flicked toward the man beside Fury. "Who’s that?"

The man adjusted his tie. "I'm Henry Gyrich, Superhuman Affairs Subcommittee. I'm here to observe, Captain America. Rest assured, my intentions are only the best for the American people."

Alamo leaned closer his voice dropping low. "‘Nother damn regulator. All the state knows to do is regulate an' tax, tax an' regulate."

Rogue crossed her arms. "He don’t look like the kinda person who’d be supportin’ any mutant cause soon."

"This subcommittee is a joke," Alamo muttered. "Bunch of ol’ farts without any damn knowledge on the subject they’re supposed to regulate."

Fury ignored the comments and turned back to Steve. "Well, Captain, we have much to discuss. Can you follow me?"

Steve held up a hand. "Just a moment, Fury."

Turning to Rogue and Alamo, his expression softened. "Thank you for helping me."

Alamo nodded. "Ain’t a problem, Cap. Always good workin’ with ya, sir."

Rogue's voice turned serious. "Cap, Ah just want ya ta remember what we told ya. Think ‘bout it, think ‘bout us. Mutants are people too. We can’t live scared forever."

Steve met her gaze. "I understand, Rogue. Don’t worry. I will work to the best of my ability to bring the Avengers to support your cause."

Rogue’s face softened. "Thanks, Cap."

Alamo nodded, tipping his hat. "Much appreciated, Cap."

Steve nodded back. "No problem."

Fury folded his arms. "Done there, Rogers?"

Steve turned sharply. "Don’t rush me, Fury."

Fury smirked. "Whatever you say, Steve."

Steve took a deep breath before stepping forward. "We’ll talk. See you soon, soldiers."

Rogue smirked. "Yeah, Cap."

Alamo nodded. "See ya, sir."

As Steve walked off, Alamo turned to Rogue with a knowing look, a tone of humor to his voice. "I told ya he’s a sweet ol’ man."

Rogue sighed. "Ah hope he’s the man ya make him up to be, Alamo. Ah really do."

As they finally left the facility behind, the cool night air rushing past them, Alamo and Rogue ascended into the sky, their flight steady as they maintained course side by side.

"Just let us go home." ALamo exhaled, looking at the horizon.

"Ya headin’ to Texas?" Rogue asked.

"Yes, ma’am. Ya?"

"Westchester, ya know the drill... If ya were an—"

"Nuh-uh, missy. I ain’t debatin’ ya."

"Alright, cowboy. Just fly with me till Nebraska or somethin’. Or Ah could drop ya in Texas."

"Oh, ya’re takin’ me home?"

"Do ya need a ride?"

"I can fly."

"Ah can fly better."

"Yeah, no."

They took off, adjusting their speeds, trying to maintain an even course.

"Ya flight’s stiffer than a wet cat."

"Ya steer too much to the left."

"Ah can handle mah flight perfectly fine, cowboy."

"Ain’t seein’ that, belle. From here ya look like an aimless bird."

"Ya have to be more free. Fer someone who talks big ‘bout liberty, ya fly like a drone, on Jubilee’s hand."

"Oh, I don’t know how bad she flies, but after that I reckon it ain’t pretty."

"It’s just stiff."

She flew around him, doing barrel rolls, opening her arms, swinging with grace.

"All that pretty plasma trail so ya can fly like an ol’ crop duster."

He replicated her flight pattern with less finesse.

"Show planes are nice, but they ain’t fast."

He took off faster than her, leaving a plasma trail from his feet and hands.

"Damn, boy," she struggled to keep up.

Until he slowed, allowing her to catch up.

"Alright, Ah get it, Alamo. Ya’re pretty fast, sugah."

"Do you admit yer inevitable defeat?"

"Ya’re dreamin’, cowboy."

He remained silent for a moment, his eyes dimming slightly.

"Yer eyes, they come and go in that mask of yers."

Then, his glow disappeared entirely.

"Duncan?"

He closed his eyes and took off his mask. The red glow faded into a dark brown.

Rogue’s breath hitched. "Oh... Oh... Yer eyes... They ain’t red?"

"They’re red, but just when I make ‘em glow. Otherwise, they’re brown."

With that he took off the chrome mask, revealing his face. He was young, younger than Rogue expected, not quite as young as Jubilee, but he seemed a bit younger than someone around twenty three years old would be, but there was something about the eyes, the intensity from the eyebrows to a almost pitch black color of his iris, a stark contrast to his paler skin, almost made him look like a vampire under the morning light. His face, like him seemed full of contradictions, from the intensity to the softness, she had expected some gruffer exterior, maybe it was the cowboy motif, maybe it was the conviction, still caught her off-guard how unexpected he looked.

She studied his eyes for a moment. "Not a bad set."

"Thank ya, kindly." He flushed a bit awkwardly, it seemed like he had a hard time keeping eye contact.

Her voice softened. "Yer face... Ya’re younger than Ah expected."

"How old ya expect me to be?"

"Ah dunno. In mah head, ya looked like ya were pushin’ thirty or somethin’... Y’know, not far from Remy."

"I look younger?"

"Yeah"

"That bad?"

She nodded, blushing lightly. "No, no. Ah like that. Thank ya fer... y'know, not hidin' behind the mask this time."

"Yeah, no problem." He put the mask back on, the red glow returning. "I’ll put it back ‘fore I eat a bug or somethin’."

"We fly too high fer bugs, silly."

He looked down, his gaze remaining fixed in silence. The mask meant more than hiding his face, he knew that.

"Well, I like the mask on, anyhow."

They soared through the night sky, the stars above twinkling as Rogue and Alamo adjusted their flight speeds to match each other. The cold wind brushed against them, but it wasn’t enough to quiet the thoughts swirling in Duncan’s mind.

"Ya're thinkin'."

"I am."

"It's fine, ya can tell me. Is this 'bout Houston?"

He sighed. "Yes, it's 'bout Houston... It's just that, I didn't know what to make of my own mortality back there."

"Ah know, ya felt like it led nowhere."

"Yes."

Rogue nodded, her voice carrying a quiet understanding. "Ah understand what ya're sayin', really am... It's just... It's been years. Jean and Scott been doin' this almost longer than Ah been alive, ya been alive. An' still it feels like it goes nowhere."

"It's just, ya fight Sentinels, ya fight Sinister, Hellfire Club -‘cause why not- fight the FoH, Marauders, fight hell knows what fer so long... The Brotherhood, the X-Men—it just feels like it goes nowhere. It's always a new thing..."

She sighed before she continued.

"This whole Moira bein' back to the picture, somehow it comin' back to her... Which, lemme tell ya, Professor Xavier won't be happy to hear that... It just... Just feels like it's nowhere, just like-"

"Shearin' a pig." He chuckled dryly behind the chromes mask after he interrupted

"Yeah, like that. Like we keep doin' things that lead nowhere."

Alamo sighed, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, I know. It can be real frustratin' runnin' 'round in circles like that."

"Ya don't have some answer fer that in that big ol' brains of yers?"

"Hardly old... But if it serves as any consolation... These things, they take a while. The rights of men, Magna Carta, it all took a while. Slavery was a globally accepted practice up until the 19th century, legal in some places almost up to this century. It took thousands of years fer men to realize people kinda deserved to be free, somehow took longer to realize it was contradictory to own people when ya believed em' to be equal... I reckon things have been movin' faster from then. So one day, they might start acceptin' us better, but it'll take time."

"Why? It's just so—eugh, infuriatin'. Ah just want ta be treated normally—" Her voice almost sounded defeated, her memory swirling with pasts that weren't only hers.

"Well, we ain't normal Rogue. It's easier to respect folks when they can't bend metal to their will, light ya up to ashes, read yer mind, blast ya off with their eyes... Kill em' with yer very touch. Ya an' I know that very well." Alamo cut through her thoughts.

"It's...." She sighs. "True."

"I don't think it's right that mutants don't have the freedoms humans have, and have to be in constant surveillance. But they don't have the powers we do, it's the same with aliens really. They're out there, down here we can't wait fer em' to be the good guys to defend ourselves, can we?"

"Ah reckon, ya're right, Duncan. Ah reckon ya're right."

"I just can hope one day we can be free, no surveillance, no threats of death, no burnin' our shit or invadin' the offices of our employers"

"That's the dream, no?"

"Well, if y'all say so." He chuckled.

They finally closed in on Dallas, the city lights glimmering beneath them.

"This yer spot?"

"My spot. Thanks fer the company, Anna Marie."

"Ya were great, sugah." She leaned in, planting a light kiss on the side of his chrome mask, her lipstick leaving a faint imprint on the metal.

Alamo smirked beneath the mask, tipping his hat. "I'll see ya 'round, Rogue."

She hovered for a moment, smirking back. "Ya will, Alamo. Ya will."

And with that, they parted ways into the night sky.

He touched the side of his chrome mask, her lipstick smudging his white gloves. Then he looked back to where she departed.

"I hope so, I really do"