In the aftermath, the office was a scene of chaos. Papers fluttered in the air, desks were overturned, and employees were slowly emerging from their hiding spots. Carl Denti groaned on the floor, his knees shattered, while Graydon Creed sat slumped against a cubicle, his pride—and his weapon—completely destroyed.
The whispers began almost immediately.
“Did Duncan just—fly?”
“He’s a mutant? Since when?”
“I can’t believe he took down Creed and that psycho Denti.”
“‘Remember the Alamo’? Seriously?”
Creed clenched his fists, his voice a low growl. “You freaks think you’ve won? This isn’t over.”
But the room had already turned against him. For the first time, Creed’s carefully constructed façade had cracked, and the people around him saw him for what he truly was.
And high above the city, Duncan flew through the open sky, the wind rushing past him as he considered his next move.
The Arkansas countryside stretched out below as Duncan Nenni streaked through the sky, a blue blur against the twilight horizon. The wind roared in his ears, but his thoughts were louder. The events of the last few days replayed in his mind like a broken record: Carraro Security, Graydon Creed, the Friends of Humanity, and their Sentinel tech operation.
Duncan’s phone buzzed in his pocket, reminding him of the task he’d just completed. Before leaving Dallas, he’d sent an anonymous email to the X-Men’s tip line, a tool he found strangely humorous yet surprisingly useful in times like these. Pulling out his phone mid-flight, he quickly reread the message he’d sent:
----------------------------------------
TO: Xavier’s Anonymous Mutant Rights Line
SUBJECT: FoH Operation in Arkansas
Message:
Howdy,
Got some hard evidence of Friends of Humanity activity in Arkansas. They’re using a Carraro Security warehouse as a front to store Sentinel tech. You’ll find weapons, guards, and likely more connections to Trask.
I’ve attached the coordinates and photos for you to check out. Handle it however you see fit—I’m not sticking around for the fireworks.
Signed,
Concerned Party
----------------------------------------
Duncan smirked to himself as he tucked the phone away. “X-Folk oughta love that,” he muttered. “Hope they bring the big guns for this one.”
But his focus shifted as the warehouse came into view—a sprawling industrial compound surrounded by chain-link fencing topped with razor wire. Floodlights bathed the area in harsh white light, illuminating armed guards patrolling the perimeter. Duncan’s enhanced vision picked out the familiar shapes of Sentinel blasters in the guards’ hands, the weapons gleaming ominously under the lights.
“Here we go,” Duncan muttered, descending lower. He didn’t plan to stick around long—just enough to get a closer look, stir up trouble, and make sure the X-Men had a clear target when they arrived.
But the moment he got within range, a shout echoed from below:
“MUTANT! OPEN FIRE!”
Duncan rolled his eyes. “Dang it, not even a goddamn hello.”
The guards raised their weapons, their Sentinel blasters humming to life.
“Kill him!” one of them barked, and the air filled with the sharp, mechanical sound of energy charging.
“Energy won’t—” Duncan started, but he was cut off as a massive blast struck him square in the chest. The force sent him hurtling backward through the air, tumbling end over end before he managed to stabilize himself.
“That burned,” Duncan growled, glancing down at his now-charred suit. “Fuck, my suit! I spent half of my damn bonus on this suit, dang it!”
His skin was a faint reddish hue where the blast had struck, a combination of residual heat and the plasma energy that coursed through him. But instead of feeling drained, he noticed something peculiar: he felt more energized. The pain was there, sure, but beneath it was a surge of vitality, like a shot of adrenaline.
He floated for a moment, running a hand across his chest. “Alright, so this is my espresso shot?” he muttered, his lips curling into a smirk. “I can get used to bein’ blasted regularly then”
The guards on the ground reloaded their weapons, their voices a mix of panic and determination.
“He’s still up there! Fire again!”
Duncan descended slowly, his arms crossed over his chest as he hovered just out of range. “Y’all done yet, or do I have to come down there and teach you manners? Reckon this is the rudest welcomin’ party I’ve ever crashed”
One of the guards barked an order, and a volley of energy blasts erupted from the blasters, streaking toward Duncan like bolts of lightning. He twisted and dodged with ease, the blue blur of his movements leaving trails in the air.
“Work on that aim, boys” he taunted, weaving between the shots.
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
But then one of the guards aimed a more powerful charged blast, the weapon glowing intensely before firing a beam that crackled with raw energy. Duncan didn’t have time to dodge, and the blast hit him squarely, sending him plummeting toward the ground.
He crashed into the dirt with a loud thud, a small cloud of dust rising around him. The guards hesitated, their weapons still trained on the impact site. For a moment, there was only silence.
Then Duncan rose slowly from the crater, brushing the dirt off his suit. His shirt was torn, the fabric burned away to reveal the faint glow of plasma veins running under his skin as he used his powers, like blue energized blood. His smirk was gone, replaced by a cold, focused glare.
“Alright, the posturin’ is over,” he said, his voice calm but filled with menace.
The guards exchanged nervous glances, their confidence wavering.
“Drop the weapons,” Duncan said, his voice carrying across the compound. “Last chance.”
One of the guards raised his blaster again, that was enough for an answer to Duncan as he sighed. “Fine. Have it yer way.”
In a burst of speed, he closed the distance between himself and the nearest guard, grabbing the man’s blaster and crushing it in his hand. The guard stumbled backward in shock as Duncan turned to the others, his hands glowing with blue plasma energy.
“Y’all really need to learn when to quit,” Duncan said, raising his hands. With a flick of his fingers, he sent two small plasma bolts streaking toward the remaining guards, knocking the weapons out of their hands.
The guards panicked, some fleeing toward the warehouse while others froze in place. Duncan stood in the center of the chaos, his calm demeanor contrasting sharply with the destruction around him.
From the corner of his eye, Duncan saw the warehouse doors begin to open, revealing more armed men inside. “More friends, huh?” he muttered. “Alright, let’s dance.”
He cracked his knuckles, his plasma energy flaring brighter as he prepared for the next round.
The Arkansas night was alive with chaos, the Carraro Security warehouse now a full-blown battleground. The air crackled with energy, plasma bolts illuminating the scene like blue lightning. Smoke and dust filled the air as Duncan Nenni, now fully embracing his power, systematically dismantled the Friends of Humanity guards who had foolishly thought they could stand against him.
The warehouse itself was massive, an industrial labyrinth of steel beams and towering shelves stacked with crates marked Trask International. Rows of Sentinel blasters, surveillance equipment, and other tech lay scattered among the debris as Duncan tore through the compound. The fluorescent lights above flickered erratically, some shattered by stray plasma bolts, casting the scene in an eerie half-light.
Duncan hovered a few feet off the ground, his blue plasma energy glowing faintly around him like an aura. His suit was singed and torn, revealing his broad shoulders and muscular frame beneath, faintly glowing with streaks of light where his plasma veins coursed through him. His eyes burned with determination, a faint red hue flickering in his irises.
A shout came from one of the guards. “KILL HIM!”
Duncan sighed, dodging a poorly aimed blast with casual ease. “Y’all keep shoutin’ the same thing. What? Weren’t ya tryin’ hard ’nuff already?” He raised a hand and fired a precise plasma bolt, knocking the weapon clean out of the guard’s hands.
But then the ground began to tremble. A low, mechanical whine filled the air as something massive came online within the warehouse. The noise grew louder, accompanied by the heavy clanking of metal footsteps.
Duncan turned toward the source of the sound, a wry grin forming on his face. “Finally. Thought this was gonna be too easy.”
The massive form of a Sentinel emerged from the shadows, its towering frame gleaming under the flickering lights. Its metallic purple-and-silver armor was polished to a mirror sheen, and its glowing eyes locked onto Duncan with cold precision.
The Sentinel’s voice boomed, its monotone echoing across the battlefield:
[OMEGA THREAT DETECTED.]
Duncan raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he hovered in place. “Omega? I appreciate the compliment, partner.”
[IMMEDIATE ELIMINATION PROTOCOL ENGAGED.]
Duncan smirked, tilting his head slightly. “A little backhanded, but I’ll take it. Great to know y’all machines have rated me so highly, Good thing I’m in my best suit, or at least what remains of it.”
The Sentinel wasted no time. Its massive arms whirred to life, firing a barrage of energy blasts that turned the warehouse into a war zone. Duncan darted through the air, weaving between the shots with fluid precision.
“They need to update that targetin’ software, but then again, y’all got the older models” he taunted, firing a series of plasma bolts from his fingertips. Each shot hit its mark, punching small, glowing craters into the Sentinel’s armor.
The machine stumbled slightly but recalibrated, raising one of its massive arms to swipe at him. Duncan dodged effortlessly, grabbing onto the arm mid-swing. His hands glowed brighter as he channeled his plasma energy into the Sentinel’s arm, the metal groaning under the heat.
With a sharp CRACK, he tore the arm free, the massive limb sparking wildly as he spun it over his head like a toy.
“That’ll hurt, but it won’t kill,” he said, hurling the arm into a group of FoH guards who were trying to retreat. The massive piece of metal hit the ground with a deafening crash, scattering the guards like bowling pins.
“You freak!” one of them shouted, raising a Sentinel blaster.
Duncan smirked, landing softly on the ground. “Yeah, freakishly good at depreciatin’ yer assets, amigo.”
The guards hesitated, their fear evident as Duncan walked toward the Sentinel. The towering machine tried to recalibrate, its remaining arm aiming another energy cannon at him.
“Energy won’t work on me, remember?” Duncan said, raising a hand. He fired a concentrated plasma bolt directly into the Sentinel’s chest, the impact sending it crashing into the side of the warehouse. The metal beams buckled under its weight, and the Sentinel’s glowing eyes dimmed as its systems powered down.
Duncan dusted off his hands, surveying the wreckage. One by one, he turned his attention to the remaining guards, using a combination of his super strength, plasma bolts, and flight to neutralize them. He moved with surgical precision, taking out their weapons and incapacitating them without a single fatality. As the last guard fled into the night, Duncan stood in the center of the ruined warehouse, his chest rising and falling with steady breaths. The air was thick with the smell of burnt metal and ozone, the faint hum of his plasma energy the only sound in the aftermath of the battle.
Then, in the distance, he saw it: the unmistakable silhouette of the Blackbird, its sleek frame cutting through the sky like a shadow.
Duncan frowned, glancing down at his torn suit. “I ain’t meetin’ these folks lookin’ like I’m doin’ right now,” he muttered.
Grabbing a piece of the Sentinel’s armor, he held it in his hands, the metal already beginning to melt under the heat of his touch. Using his finger, he etched a message into the softened metal:
I got ’em for y’all. No need to thank me.
—The Alamo
Duncan dropped the Sentinel plating onto the ground with a soft clang, stepping back to admire his handiwork. He smirked, his tone light as he spoke to himself. “The Alamo. I like it. The Texan who stands against tyranny against overwhelmin’ odds. That’s what I am. Let’s go with it… The Alamo.”
With that, he launched into the air, his blue plasma trail streaking across the sky as he disappeared into the horizon.