The battlefield was momentarily still, the hum of Sentinel remains sparking in the night air, the scent of burning circuits and damp grass mingling with the ever-present humidity of the Florida wetlands. The last Sentinel had fallen, its chassis still smoldering, but before the dust even had a chance to settle, something moved.

Fast.

A blur of blue plasma and heat tore through the air like a comet, and in a single motion, another Sentinel collapsed. The massive machine convulsed as the force of impact caved in its chest, the energy overloading its power core in an instant before it finally fell silent, collapsing with a resounding crash.

The blur slowed—

Then, with a solid impact, a figure landed on the wet grass, the sheer heat of his descent causing steam to rise from the dew beneath him.

For a second, nobody spoke.

Rogue narrowed her eyes, arms crossed as she watched the newcomer straighten, his silhouette almost ghostly against the hazy smoke and neon plasma residue flickering in the air.

Jubilee’s eyes widened in realization before her mouth dropped.

"OH MY GOD—"

Before she could fully freak out, Gambit clamped a hand over her mouth, pulling her slightly back.

"Cher, ya gonna spook de cowboy," he muttered, his voice amused.

Jubilee made a muffled protest, glaring at him but unable to fully deny her excitement.

Rogue, meanwhile, took a step forward.

Her green eyes swept over him, taking in every detail.

"Ya must be the Alamo," she finally said.

The newcomer turned his head toward her, standing tall, his jet-black duster flaring slightly in the wind as he adjusted his coat. His chrome mask gleamed under the moonlight, smooth and unblemished, save for the glowing red optics that pierced through the dimness of the battlefield.

Atop his head, a black cattleman-style cowboy hat sat, the brim casting a dark shadow over the top half of his face. His white cavalry gloves contrasted sharply against his otherwise black attire, the white star emblazoned on his chest glowing faintly—a nod to Texas, his home, and, perhaps, to something greater.

To Rogue, it was a subtle reminder of another man, of another star.

Maybe not the same ideals, but the symbolism was still there.

After a moment, he extended a gloved hand.

"Pleasure to meet y’all."

Rogue tilted her head slightly, then smirked, reaching out to shake his hand.

"Same here, cowboy," she said, gripping it firmly.

The moment she touched him, she blinked.

"Yer hands are warm, even with the gloves."

Alamo rolled his eyes behind his mask, the motion subtle but not lost on her.

"I get that a lot, trust me."

Rogue crossed her arms again, regarding him.

"So, what are ya doin’ here, Alamo?"

Alamo dusted off his coat slightly before answering, his voice calm but firm.

"I reckon the same as y’all," he said. "Lookin’ fer evidence on my investigation."

Jubilee finally managed to break free from Gambit’s grasp, stepping forward with renewed excitement.

"MAN! You’re like taller than I expected!"

Rogue arched a brow at her enthusiasm.

Jubilee continued, gesturing wildly as she spoke.

"I mean, I dunno, I thought you’d be like under six feet for some reason, but you’re just over it! Also, I love the mask… It’s so sleek! And the hat! It’s so classic! And—oh, right, uh—"

She paused for half a second, then stuck her hand out.

"I’m Jubilation Lee! You can call me Jubilee if you want. That’s how most people call me. Yeah, call me Jubilee."

Alamo, still adjusting his gloves, looked down at her extended hand for a second, then finally took it.

"Pleasure, Jubilee," he said simply.

As he released her hand, Gambit finally spoke up, his tone half-amused, half-wary.

"Homme, ya look like a villain," he mused, arms crossed. "All black, chrome mask… red eyes… wat are ya, Cowboy Doom?"

Alamo exhaled sharply, tilting his head slightly, the chrome catching the light.

"Great. Just great."

Before any of them could say more, Rogue cut in.

"Alrighty, you two. Give the guy here a rest—he just arrived."

Jubilee pouted slightly, but Gambit just chuckled, flipping a single charged playing card between his fingers before flicking it away casually.

The momentary silence that followed was cut short—

In the distance, a loud metallic rumbling shook the air.

The ground trembled slightly.

The unmistakable hum of Sentinel engines echoed across the field.

They all turned instantly, eyes snapping toward the distant horizon.

More Sentinels.

"Alright," Alamo said, his voice shifting into something sharper.

He barely tilted his head before he blurred into motion.

He launched himself into the sky, moving so fast it was almost like he teleported, his plasma trail cracking the air like a sonic boom.

Jubilee almost tripped trying to watch him.

"Oh, hell naw—" Rogue growled, her wings of flight igniting as she shot off after him.

Gambit let out a low chuckle, adjusting his trench coat.

Jubilee, however, turned on him aggressively, elbowing him hard in the ribs.

"Remy! I was tryin’ to talk to him!" she hissed.

Gambit rubbed his ribs, wincing slightly.

"Argh! Ain’t ya a bit young to have crushes on cowboys, cher?"

Jubilee huffed, crossing her arms.

"I have crushes on whoever I like, asshole."

And with that, she turned sharply, watching as Rogue and Alamo disappeared into the night, rushing headfirst into battle.

The humid Florida sky clashing with the heat of battle, a mix of plasma discharge and burning Sentinel circuitry tainting the wind. Rogue hovered beside Alamo, her green eyes locked onto the incoming wave of Sentinels, their massive metal bodies illuminated by the eerie glow of their red optics.

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Her arms were crossed, but her mind was running at full speed.

"Do ya have a plan, cowboy?" she asked, voice casual but laced with curiosity.

Beside her, Alamo adjusted the grip of his gloves slightly, his black coat flaring in the wind from their flight. The chrome sheen of his mask was unreadable, but his voice was steady.

"Yes."

She arched a brow.

"What is it?"

A brief pause.

"I’m kinda elaboratin’ as we fly."

Rogue let out a sharp breath through her nose.

"So ya don’t have a plan."

"It’s ad-hoc, improvised."

She smirked.

"So no plan, got it."

The Texas mutant tilted his head slightly, as if considering.

"It ain’t somethin’ to be ashamed of, y’know… Ah don’t have that much of a plan either." Rogue said.

A beat of silence.

Then—

"Oh. Then I don’t have a plan."

Rogue rolled her eyes, but there was a chuckle beneath it.

As they closed in, Rogue noticed something that made her breath hitch.

Something that sent a shiver straight down her spine.

Alamo reached for his left glove.

He pulled it back—smooth, practiced—exactly like she did.

Not just in movement, but in spirit.

She stared, her mind flashing back to just minutes ago, when she had done the same thing to threaten the FoH soldier into talking.

Her mouth felt dry.

Alamo casually stowed the glove in his white belt, just like she did, before launching himself straight toward the Sentinel ahead of them.

Rogue hesitated, for just a moment, caught in something she couldn’t quite place.

Then she shook herself out of it, forcing herself forward in pursuit.

Alamo was already on the Sentinel’s hull, his left hand glowing a deep, unnatural blue, like a flame had ignited beneath his skin.

Then, in a single, brutal motion, he punched through the machine’s armor.

Metal shrieked at the force of the impact, the sound echoing over the battlefield.

He dug inside, his hand gripping at something deep within the Sentinel’s power core, but something wasn’t right.

The Sentinel jerked violently, its circuits spasming under the pressure, its massive frame beginning to slip beneath his grasp.

Rogue's heart lurched.

She knew that kind of movement.

She knew what was happening.

Alamo’s arm was cutting through the metal too easily—his hand wasn’t just gripping, it was tearing through it, slicing it like hot steel through ice.

She saw him try to adjust, his shoulders shifting slightly as he reduced the temperature of his hand, but it wasn’t enough. The Sentinel was slipping, its chassis cutting apart beneath him like butter.

That was when she realized—

He didn’t have full control.

Without thinking, she shot forward.

"What are ya doin’, sugah?"

Alamo, still trying to keep hold, gritted his teeth beneath his mask.

"I’m tryin’ to absorb it," he muttered. "I have a plan."

Rogue’s breath caught in her throat.

Absorb.

That word hit her like a punch to the gut.

Her fingers twitched instinctively, but she didn’t move.

She stared at him, feeling something sink inside her chest, like watching a memory she had forgotten come rushing back to life.

Did he absorb energy?

Was he…?

Was he like her? At least in a way

The thought made her stomach tighten, but she shoved it down.

"Here, let me help ya," she said, her voice level despite the storm raging in her mind. "Use more of yer arm—the surface area is too narrow. It cuts too easily like a knife if ya have super-strength. Use more of yer arm."

Alamo froze for a second—then he nodded once, processing the words.

"That’s a very insightful observation, thank ya, Rogue."

Then, without hesitation, he thrust his entire left arm into the Sentinel’s core, pushing deeper into the heart of the machine.

Rogue hovered just above him, watching closely.

"There ya go," she murmured, eyes narrowed in fascination.

Alamo chuckled, his voice shifting slightly, a hint of something more confident behind it.

"I’d like ya to watch this, Rogue."

Her arms crossed, but she smirked slightly.

"Oh, Ah’m watchin’, sugah."

"Good."

Then—

His eyes flickered blue.

Not red.

Blue.

A strange, intense shade, glowing beneath the chrome of his mask.

The Sentinel’s entire system started failing, the glowing circuits flickering violently, its body jerking like a dying animal.

Alamo’s right arm suddenly snapped forward.

For a moment, Rogue didn’t understand.

Then she saw it.

His right hand ignited with plasma energy, his fingers trembling slightly before—

BOOM.

A storm of plasma ripped from his palm.

Not a single bolt, not a controlled shot, but a rapid, unrelenting barrage, spitting out at a speed so fast it was like a minigun had activated in his hand.

The Sentinels flying toward them reacted immediately, raising their massive arms in defense, but it didn’t matter.

The sheer heat and density of the plasma barrage burned through their armor plating, the projectiles piercing through their hulls like they were made of paper.

One Sentinel collapsed, its torso shredded.

Another tried dodging, but plasma sliced through its core, leaving sparking, smoking holes across its body.

A third barely had time to react before its head was gone.

Rogue felt her stomach twist.

Not out of fear—

But out of recognition.

And as she hovered beside him, watching the battlefield turn into a graveyard of metal husks, she realized something unsettling.

She didn’t know what Alamo really was.

And for the first time in a long time—

That made her nervous.

The battlefield was quiet now, the air still humming with residual energy, the smell of burning metal and plasma hanging thick in the night. The glow of melted circuitry flickered dimly, casting an eerie light across the swampy clearing. The wreckage of the Sentinels lay scattered, their bodies torn apart, holes burned clean through their armor, wires sparking weakly like dying embers.

Above it all, Rogue hovered, her arms still crossed, though her mind raced with thoughts she hadn’t quite sorted yet.

Her green eyes locked onto him as Alamo lowered his arm, steam hissing from the vents in his gauntlet, the glow of plasma slowly fading from his fingertips.

She had seen a lot of things in her time with the X-Men—fought machines, mutants, monsters, even aliens and gods—but this?

This was something different. Or at least it was to her.

Her lips parted slightly, her voice leaving her before she could even think about stopping it.

"That—" she exhaled, still trying to process the sheer destructive force he had just unleashed, "What was that?"

Alamo let out a slow, measured breath, rolling his shoulders as he flung the dead Sentinel’s husk aside, the heavy metal crashing into the swamp with a violent splash, sending murky water rippling outward.

His mask tilted downward slightly, as if he was studying the wreckage—making sure it wasn’t going to get up again.

"I redirected the Sentinel energy to my hand," he explained evenly, voice calm but firm, like this was just another day’s work for him. "Usin’ it to fire at ‘em… I technically didn’t need it, but the Sentinel energy capacity is high. Call it killin’ two birds with one stone."

He stretched his fingers slightly, letting faint, flickering traces of plasma dissipate off his gloves before he clenched his fists, forcing the last of the residual energy to settle.

Then he shrugged, his tone shifting slightly, almost amused.

"That ‘bout to leave ‘em more fucked up than a soup kitchen."

Rogue blinked.

Her brain stalled for half a second before the corner of her mouth twitched—

Then she snorted, shaking her head as a short, genuine chuckle escaped her lips.

She tilted her head slightly, watching him now with a new layer of curiosity, one that wasn’t just about his powers.

"Ain’t just a real Texan, are ya?"

Alamo’s chrome mask glinted in the dim light, his red optics pulsing faintly as he adjusted the fit of his gloves. His posture was relaxed, but his voice carried something close to a smirk.

"Y’know what they say, ma’am," he said smoothly, "Texas moves into ya… it ain’t a choice, it’s just how it is."

Rogue exhaled through her nose, shaking her head slightly, her expression a mix of amusement and thoughtfulness.

"Ah reckon Ah heard somethin’ like that ‘fore."

Her gaze flickered down to the still-smoking remains of the Sentinels below them before landing right back on him.

"Now, what is it ya do?"

Alamo paused, tilting his head slightly, as if he was measuring how much to say.

"Powerwise?" he asked, voice carefully even as he hurled another Sentinel husk into the water below, its body sinking into the murky depths with a deep, gurgling splash.

"Yup."

Alamo adjusted his gloves again, rolling his shoulders, his voice slipping into something more technical.

"Well… it’s a plethora of physiology-alterin’ symptoms of plasma-encased cellular protection."

Rogue’s face went flat.

She deadpanned.

"Ah wasn’t askin’ Dr. McCoy, Ah was askin’ ya."

Alamo hesitated, then exhaled, adjusting the brim of his black hat slightly before responding.

"Okay, by that—"

She cut him off, firmly and without hesitation.

"In English, sugah."

A beat of silence.

"I go plasma," he said, flatly, "Plasma do many things."

Rogue squinted slightly, her arms still crossed but her brow arching just enough to make it clear she wasn’t letting him off easy.

"Ah ain’t dense, Alamo…"

Alamo cleared his throat, shifting slightly.

"Ahem. My bad. There’s a lot of things… I’m still figurin’ out some of ‘em."

His right hand flexed slightly, and Rogue watched closely as the faintest pulse of energy flickered beneath his glove before disappearing.

That was control.

Or maybe lack of it.

"Look, I’d be more than happy to explain later, but right now—we got a job to do."

Rogue, however, wasn’t done.

She tilted her head slightly, her gaze dropping to his left hand, the one he had so carefully covered again, the same hand she had seen him use to absorb energy.

"Ah’m askin’ ‘cause o’ that glove thing," she said, her tone pointed now.

Alamo glanced at his own hand, fingers flexing slightly, before giving a simple, even answer.

"Oh, this?" he said, "I can absorb energy. It’s more like eatin’ energy, since it becomes available fer me to use."

Rogue’s chest tightened slightly.

"Like Bishop?" she asked, keeping her tone neutral.

Alamo tilted his head slightly, his mask unreadable.

"I don’t know who that is."

Rogue exhaled slowly, lips pursed.

"Nevermind."

Her green eyes locked onto him again, this time watching his every movement—the way he adjusted his stance, the way he rolled his fingers, like he was making sure the power he took was fully settled.

She knew that feeling.

That hesitation, that constant self-checking, that awareness of what was inside you—of what could happen if you pushed too far.

"Do ya have control over these powers?" she asked, her voice sharper now, more focused.

Alamo hesitated.

"Somewhat," he admitted, his voice quieter, but firm. "But I struggle if I’m too overcharged. Haven’t happened in a while, but y’know."

Rogue felt something cold settle in her stomach.

That was too familiar.

"So ya have problems controllin’ yer powers when ya absorb stuff?"

Alamo rolled his shoulders, adjusting his coat slightly.

"Energy," he corrected, "But yes."

Rogue exhaled sharply, tilting her head slightly, green eyes narrowing.

"Well, where have Ah heard that ‘fore?"

Alamo froze for half a second.

Then his head tilted slightly, as if something had just clicked in his mind.

"Oh… Oh," he muttered, his voice low, almost like he was talking to himself.

His red eyes flickered slightly, dimming just for a moment before returning to their usual glow.

"Maybe Spidey was right," he muttered under his breath.

Rogue squinted. "What’s that?"

Alamo snapped back to attention. "Nothin’," he said quickly. "Let’s go down. I need to find some info."

Rogue watched him carefully, then nodded. "Me too. Let’s."

Alamo gestured downward. "Ya first, ma’am."

Rogue smirked. "Ain’t ya a gentleman."