The Blackbird descended smoothly, its cloaking technology ensuring they remained undetected. As the jet approached the ranch, the team caught sight of their destination: a sprawling property surrounded by barbed wire fencing, stables, and a large farmhouse with pristine paint. In the distance, cattle grazed lazily, oblivious to the approaching mutants.
Storm, ever observant, frowned as she surveyed the area from the cockpit. “It looks quiet. Too quiet. Something doesn’t feel right.”
The Blackbird landed in a clearing just outside the property line, and the team disembarked, moving with practiced precision. Cyclops took the lead, gesturing for everyone to spread out but stay within range of each other.
“Jean, keep scanning,” he said. “Rogue and Wolverine, take the east side. Storm, Jubilee check the west. Iceman and I will cover the north. Everyone stay sharp.”
As they moved toward the ranch, the tension in the air grew thicker. Jubilee couldn’t resist breaking the silence. “So, uh… what’s the plan if we do run into the FoH?”
Wolverine grinned, his claws extending with a soft snikt. “Same plan as always, kid. Improvise.”
The team exchanged wary glances as they approached the ranch, unsure of what—or who—might be waiting for them.
The X-Men approached the ranch cautiously, their boots crunching against the gravel path as they fanned out. Cyclops held up a hand to signal the team to slow their approach, but the warning came too late.
BANG!
A single rifle shot echoed across the open field, followed by the unmistakable sound of metal on bone. Wolverine staggered, his head snapping back as the bullet hit him square between the eyes. He growled, staggering briefly before righting himself, the wound already knitting together.
“God damnit,” he muttered, wiping the blood from his forehead. His claws extended with a sharp snikt, the gleaming blades catching the sunlight.
A gruff voice called out from the porch of the house, cutting through the tension. “Stay on your damn lane! This is my property!”
Cyclops stepped forward, his hand hovering near his visor. “Mr. Thompson,” he called, his voice firm but calm.
The man on the porch, tall and broad-shouldered, kept his rifle trained on the group. He squinted, clearly nervous but determined. “Who’s askin’?!”
“We’re here to ask questions,” Cyclops replied.
Thompson adjusted his stance, his grip tightening on the rifle. “Y’all are X-Men, aren’t ya? I know who you are. Get away from my property! You already made me lose my job! One step closer, and I’ll shoot the kid!”
“Wait, me?!” Jubilee blurted, her voice cracking as she instinctively ducked behind Beast.
“Don’t move!” Thompson barked, his eyes darting between the mutants.
Storm stepped forward, her voice calm and commanding. “Mr. Thompson, we only have questions about the Carraro company. We mean no harm to you or your family.”
From behind her, Wolverine muttered under his breath, “Well, I do, bub.”
Storm shot him a glare, her tone sharp. “Not the time, Logan.”
Thompson hesitated, his rifle lowering slightly. “I don’t got nothin’ to do with any of this anymore. I got a family. I want y’all off my property. Leave me and mine alone.”
“Please, Mr. Thompson,” Storm continued, her voice softening. “People are suffering.”
The man shook his head, his expression hardening. “I got nothin’ to do with that anymore.”
Jean stepped forward, her eyes filled with empathy as she extended her telepathic senses toward the man. “Mr. Thompson… you’re scared. I can feel it. You’re scared for your family—for Lily, Sophia, and Emily. Please, Mr. Thompson, many people will suffer, and their families too, if you don’t help us. Mutant families deserve peace too. I beg of you.”
Thompson flinched at the mention of his wife and daughters, his grip on the rifle faltering. His eyes darted to the upstairs window, where two little girls peered out, their mother standing protectively behind them.
“Jean,” Cyclops began, his voice a warning.
“Please, Scott,” Jean interrupted gently, not taking her eyes off Thompson. “Let me do this.”
Cyclops hesitated, then nodded. “Alright, Jean, just be careful.”
Thompson let out a long sigh, lowering his rifle completely. He stepped down from the porch, moving cautiously toward the X-Men. His weathered boots scuffed against the dirt path, and his face was etched with worry and exhaustion.
“What do y’all want?” he asked, his tone begrudging but no longer hostile.
Jean stepped forward. “Simple questions, Mr. Thompson,”
Wolverine he said, his voice low and menacing. “Yeah, bub… or else.”
SNIKT.
Thompson froze, his eyes widening as the claws gleamed in the sunlight. “What did you—”
“Don’t care for him, sugah,” Rogue interrupted. “He’s just a meanie. He won’t do anythin’… right, Logan?”
Wolverine grunted but didn’t retract his claws.
“Logan, stop,” Storm said firmly, her piercing gaze locking onto him.
“He shot me,” Wolverine grumbled, jerking his thumb at his forehead.
“Logan,” Cyclops barked.
With an exaggerated sigh, Wolverine finally retracted his claws. “Fine. But he’s lucky, bub.”
Thompson’s eyes darted between the mutants, his shoulders tense. “Fine,” he muttered, turning back toward the house. “Come in.”
The X-Men exchanged glances, then followed Thompson up the creaking porch steps. The house was small and modest, the front door swinging open with a faint squeak. Inside, the living room was sparsely furnished, with well-worn furniture and toys scattered across the floor. The scent of coffee lingered in the air, and a faint hum of tension hung over the house.
Thompson gestured toward the couch. “Sit. Don’t touch nothin’.”
The X-Men complied, spreading out across the room. Wolverine leaned against the doorframe, his sharp eyes scanning every corner. Cyclops stood near the window, his arms crossed, and Jean sat beside Rogue, her focus still on Thompson.
Thompson remained standing, his rifle now propped against the wall. He crossed his arms defensively. “Alright. Y’all got five minutes. Ask what you’re gonna ask.”
Cyclops nodded. “We want to know about Carraro. Specifically, their connection to Trask International and the Friends of Humanity.”
Thompson stiffened, his jaw tightening. “I told y’all—I don’t work for them anymore. I lost my job after the Arkansas mess. I don’t know nothin’ about what they’re up to now.”
Cyclops leaned forward, his tone gentle but firm. “Maybe not, but you may know enough to help us follow the trail. Financial records, supply chains, anything that ties Carraro to Trask or the Friends of Humanity.”
Thompson hesitated, glancing toward the window where his daughters were still watching. Finally, he let out a long breath and nodded. “Alright. I might know somethin’. But if y’all think I’m puttin’ my family in danger, you can forget it.”
Jean smiled faintly, her voice soft. “We won’t let that happen, Mr. Thompson. I promise.”
With a reluctant nod, Thompson began to speak, the tension in the room easing slightly as he shared what he knew.
The tension in the room felt like a storm ready to break as the X-Men sat around the small, modest living room. Thompson, despite his initial bluster, now sat slumped in his chair, the weight of the conversation dragging him down. His rifle was propped against the wall, forgotten for the moment, as he held the financial reports Rogue handed him in his calloused hands.
The papers crinkled slightly as he squinted at them. “Hmm… let me see,” he muttered, his Texan drawl slow and deliberate. “Nah, this is financial mumbo jumbo. I’m no accountant. I was a former cop, not a numbers guy.”
Cyclops frowned, his arms crossed tightly as he leaned forward. “The accountant in Michigan told us to find you. He said you might know more about Trask’s involvement.”
Thompson scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “He told y’all off, huh? Figures. Well, I’m just a supervisor. Was, anyway. Before y’all took away my job.”
“We’re not here to take anything else from you,” Jean said, her voice soft and empathetic. “Anything you can tell us will help, Mr. Thompson.”
Thompson hesitated, glancing toward the hallway where his wife stood partially hidden, holding their daughters close. He sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. “Alright. What do y’all wanna know?”
Wolverine stepped closer, his claws itching to pop out again. “Does the X-Cutioner work for Carraro?”
“Carl Denti,” Storm clarified, folding her hands in front of him.
The name seemed to spark recognition in Thompson. “Oh, yes. Yes. Denti was the acting operations manager when I got hired. He was the one who personally recruited me. Took me away from the Arkansas State Troopers to work for Carraro. Former FBI. He was really serious.”
Storm’s piercing gaze locked on Thompson. “What was his goal with mutants?”
Thompson rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. “Heck, it changed a lot over time. Carraro started as a regular private security company headquartered in New York. Then Creed got involved—bought the company outright. That’s when things changed. Denti whipped it into shape, bringing in ex-special forces, FBI guys, real hardcore operators. It got… intense.”
“You were part of this?” Cyclops asked, tilting his head curiously.
“Oh, yeah,” Thompson replied, leaning back in his chair. “I was with the 36th Army Infantry Division, 136th Military Police Battalion. Served in Iraq in 2008.” He rolled up his sleeve to show a tattoo on his forearm—crossed pistols with the words Semper Vigilans beneath them.
“So you were a military policeman?” Cyclops asked.
“Yup,” Thompson said, nodding. “When I got out, I joined the state troopers. Carraro made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. They paid real well to train their people.”
Rogue raised an eyebrow. “Was it ‘cause of mutants?”
Thompson let out a sharp laugh. “Mutants? I don’t give a shit about mutants. I joined ‘cause the money was good. Paid well enough to send my daughter to med school, finally take my wife on a honeymoon worth a damn.”
Jubilee looked incredulous. “You trained people who wanted to kill us for money?”
“Money?” Thompson shot back, his voice rising slightly. “Nah. Quality of life. I paid off all my debts, bought a house, gave my family a life worth livin’. All I had to do was train some kids in CQB, tactical response, firearms repair, and maintenance. So yeah, it was for money, bub.” He met Wolverine’s glare head-on, unflinching."
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Wolverine growled, his claws half-extended. “Protectin’ your family don’t give you a free pass to train a hate group, Thompson.”
“We’re not judging you,” Jean interjected, placing a calming hand on Logan’s arm. “We just need to know the truth.”
“Judge me if you want,” Thompson replied coldly, looking at Jean with tired eyes. “My family needed that cash, and I’d do anything to protect them. Simple as.”
Cyclops leaned forward again, his voice cutting through the tension. “What about Denti? Did he do it for the money too?”
Thompson let out a bitter chuckle. “Oh, hell no. That man hated yer kind.”
“Mutants?” Storm pressed.
“Yeah,” Thompson said. “But not at first. Denti didn’t wanna kill all mutants when I met him. He wanted to ‘punish’ the bad ones. Y’know, the real assholes: Mystique, Magneto, Pyro, Blob… all them.”
“Punish,” Storm echoed, her brow furrowing. “What changed?”
“Hellfire Club,” Thompson replied. “He uncovered some kinda corruption within their ranks and got burned bad for it. Then he had a run-in with y’all X-Men and decided all mutants were rotten.”
Cyclops’s voice was tight. “And you? What do you think of mutants?”
Thompson shrugged. “Couldn’t give two shits. There’s good people and bad people everywhere, doesn’t matter if they’re human, mutant, mutate, inhuman, or whatever the hell y’all call yourselves. I protect my family. That’s my priority.”
Jean stepped in again, her voice gentle but firm. “We understand, Mr. Thompson. But please, one last question—what about Bolivar Trask? What’s his connection to Carraro?”
Thompson’s face darkened slightly. “We were on their payroll. Supposed to secure their facilities, but I never saw a single Trask employee. Not once. Guess he didn’t wanna be tied down to the FoH. Maybe he wanted plausible deniability. Who knows?”
“Is there anyone who knows more?” Jean asked, her telepathy brushing lightly against his mind.
Thompson hesitated, his gaze darting toward the hallway. His wife and daughters were still there, watching with wide, fearful eyes. He sighed heavily, running a hand through his graying hair.
“Fuck,” he muttered. “Alright, there’s a hub… in Houston. Carraro’s got a—”
CRACK!
The shot rang out like thunder. Thompson’s head snapped back, blood spraying against the wall behind him. His lifeless body slumped forward onto the table, his face a mangled ruin. Half of his head blown over, it was a .50 Cal, there was barely any face left, all that remained was parts of his brain, flesh and bone. A hole on the wall behind him and a living room covered in blood.
“DADDY!” one of the girls screamed, her voice shrill with terror.
“Tom!” his wife cried, rushing forward but stopping short, her hands pressed against her mouth in horror.
The X-Men sprang into action, Jean pulling the family behind the couch with her telekinesis while Cyclops barked orders.
“Positions! Find the shooter!”
Wolverine was already moving, his claws extended and a feral snarl ripping from his throat. “I’m gonna gut whoever did this!”
Storm rushed to the window, her eyes glowing white as she summoned a gale to sweep the area. “We’re under attack!”
The X-Men fanned out, the mission taking a grim and urgent turn.
The X-Men froze for a moment as the chaos outside grew louder. Through the windows of the ranch house, they could see the tactical squads moving into position, their movements precise and rehearsed. In the distance stood the woman in charge—a cold, commanding figure wearing a chrome mask. She wore a sleek black power armor, something the X-Men had never seen. She radiated menace as she observed her forces with an air of complete control.
The family’s cries filled the room, the raw grief cutting through the X-Men like a blade. Tom’s wife knelt on the floor, her hands gripping his bloodied shirt as she sobbed uncontrollably. Their two daughters clung to her, their faces buried in her shoulders, screaming for their father to wake up.
“Daddy, please! No, Daddy!” one of the girls wailed, her voice cracking with desperation.
“Tom! NO!” his wife screamed, her grief turning into anger as her tear-streaked face snapped toward the X-Men. “You did this! You damn mutants! You killed my husband!”
Jean flinched as the accusation hit her, but she quickly stepped forward, her voice trembling with emotion. “No! No, we didn’t—please believe me, we’re not responsible for this.”
“You brought this here!” the woman spat, her voice rising with fury. “If you hadn’t come, he’d still be alive!”
Cyclops turned away from the grieving family, his jaw clenched. “Logan, secure the perimeter. Storm, keep us covered.”
Outside, the tactical squads were moving with ruthless efficiency, positioning rocket launchers and automatic weapons around the ranch. Their leader, the chrome-masked woman, raised a hand, signaling her soldiers to hold fire. All of them in similar black power armors.
“Hold fire!” her voice rang out, cold and commanding. “Our target is down. Do not engage any more humans. Focus on the mutants. Wait for them to come out, then execute them.”
“Yes, ma’am,” one of the soldiers replied, his voice steady.
The woman’s masked face tilted slightly as she stared at the ranch. She took a step closer, her boots crunching against the gravel path. “Mutants!” she called, her voice amplified by some kind of speaker embedded in the mask. “We have you surrounded. Come out with your hands raised above your head, and I’ll consider sparing the humans inside. If you refuse, we’ll blow the entire house to hell.”
She gestured toward the squads, and several soldiers moved forward with rocket launchers, taking aim at the house.
“You have thirty seconds,” the woman continued, her voice eerily calm. “Thirty… twenty-nine… twenty-eight…”
Inside, the X-Men scrambled to form a plan.
“Cyclops, we’re surrounded!” Beast said, his voice urgent as he peeked through a gap in the curtains. “These are heavily armed professionals. Whoever they are, they mean business.”
“Daddy!” one of the girls sobbed again, clutching at Tom’s unmoving body.
Rogue knelt beside the family, her voice soft but firm. “Ah’m so sorry, ma’am. But we need to protect y’all now. Please, stay back.”
Storm moved toward the window, her eyes glowing white as she began summoning the wind. “I can create a barrier to buy us some time,” she said. “But with rocket launchers…”
“We need to neutralize those squads before they fire,” Cyclops said. “Jean, can you locate their leader?”
Jean nodded, her hands going to her temples as she reached out telepathically. “She’s outside,” she said. “Her mind is… hard to reach. It’s like it’s shielded by some kind of interference. But she’s confident. She doesn’t think we’ll fight back.”
“Then she’s about to get a surprise,” Wolverine growled, his claws extending with a familiar snikt. “Let me at ‘em, Slim.”
“Not yet, Logan,” Cyclops snapped. “We need a coordinated plan, not another brawl.”
Storm’s voice cut through the tension. “I’ll draw their attention with a storm. If I can force them to take cover, it might give us a chance to get the civilians out of here.”
“Civilians?” Jubilee blurted. “You mean them?” She gestured toward the sobbing family, her voice cracking. “They hate us!”
“Doesn’t matter,” Rogue said firmly. “We protect people, no matter what.”
Jean knelt beside Tom’s wife, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Please,” she said softly, her voice trembling with empathy. “I know you don’t trust us, but you have to let us help. Your girls need you to stay strong right now.”
The woman looked up at Jean, her tear-streaked face twisted with rage and sorrow. For a moment, it seemed like she might lash out, but then her gaze shifted to her daughters, who were still crying against her chest. Slowly, she nodded.
Outside, the masked woman’s voice echoed again. “Twenty-seven… twenty-six… twenty-five…”
Storm’s eyes flashed as the wind outside began to pick up, swirling dust and debris around the house. “Cyclops, we’re running out of time.”
Cyclops nodded. “Alright. Storm, create a diversion. Logan, take the south side and deal with their heavy weapons. Rogue, Jubilee take the east flank. Jean, keep the family safe.
“Ah'll keep ‘em off y’all, sugah,” Rogue added, her voice steady despite the tension.
“Let’s move,” Cyclops said, his voice sharp with authority.
“Twenty-four… twenty-three… twenty-two…”
As the countdown continued, the X-Men sprang into action. Storm raised her arms, and the wind howled with increasing intensity, forming a protective barrier around the house. Lightning crackled in the darkening sky, forcing the soldiers to take cover as the first bolts struck the ground around them.
The masked woman watched the storm with calm detachment, her hands clenched into fists. “Hold your positions,” she ordered. “Prepare to fire on my command.”
The battle for the ranch was about to begin.
The X-Men stepped cautiously out of the ranch house, the storm swirling above them in a furious vortex summoned by Storm’s power. Dust and debris whipped through the air as the tactical squads opened fire, their energy blasters lighting up the darkened sky with streaks of blue and red. The team scattered, each member falling into formation as bullets and plasma bolts ripped through the ranch yard.
Cyclops led the charge, his visor glowing red as he fired precision optic blasts, taking out one of the heavy weapons operators perched on a nearby truck. “Everyone, stay sharp! They’re not amateurs!”
The battle erupted into pure chaos as the X-Men fought to protect the family and push back the enemy forces. Dust and debris filled the air, the ground shaking from explosions and concussive blasts as the masked woman commanded her troops with ruthless precision.
Wolverine was the first to engage, launching himself from the window straight at the nearest power-armored soldier. His claws sliced through reinforced metal like it was butter, severing the soldier’s arm before plunging deep into his neck. Blood splattered across the gravel, but before the body even hit the ground, the armor dissolved into a nanotech cloud, reforming like a swarm of metallic insects.
Before Logan could react, the nanites swarmed his arms and legs, wrapping around his bones, locking him in place. Then, with a sudden burst of propulsion, they fired him downward with crushing force, slamming him into the dirt like a meteor.
"Target acquired."
The masked woman didn’t hesitate. She raised her hand and signaled.
"FIRE!"
A rocket-propelled grenade streaked across the battlefield, detonating on impact with Wolverine’s body. A blinding fireball erupted, sending shockwaves through the ground. The smell of burning flesh and molten metal filled the air as half of Logan’s body was reduced to charred muscle and exposed adamantium bone.
"Take that, you animal," sneered one of the soldiers.
Storm’s voice cracked through the comms like a thunderclap. "LOGAN!"
Jubilee’s scream followed, panic-stricken. "WOLVIE!"
For a moment, everything went still.
Then, from the smoking crater, a skeletal adamantium hand rose from the fire—giving a slow, stubborn thumbs-up.
"He’s alive," Rogue muttered, gritting her teeth. "That’s all that matters right now."
A second rocket whooshed through the air, but before it could land, a single crimson beam cut across the battlefield, detonating it mid-flight. The explosion knocked one of the power-armored soldiers backward, his body flipping through the air before his nano-enhanced armor adjusted and stabilized his landing.
Cyclops grimaced. "Damn it—thes suits are adapting!"
The masked woman laughed coldly, adjusting the sleek sniper rifle in her hands.
"You mutants think you have all the advantages, but the greatest feat of humanity is adaptation. No matter how many cards you hold, we still manage to control the table!"
Her rifle cracked, sending a high-caliber round directly for Cyclops’ head.
He barely had time to react before—
CLANG!
The bullet stopped mid-air, just inches from his forehead, quivering as it hovered in place.
Jean had caught it telekinetically. With a flick of her fingers, she sent it hurtling back toward its owner.
The masked woman activated an energy shield, and the bullet shattered into molten shards on impact.
"Not bad," she mused.
The power-armored troops opened fire, sending a storm of bullets toward the house. The X-Men scrambled for cover, dodging between the collapsing porch and the torn-up terrain.
Jean dashed back inside, extending a force field around the family, stopping the gunfire inches from their heads.
"They’re targeting the house!" she warned.
Outside, Cyclops unleashed another optic blast, but the masked woman sidestepped, her energy shield absorbing the brunt of the force. In return, she pulled a smaller energy pistol the blast straight at his shoulder, the bolt punching through his armor, then his flesh.
"Scott!" Jean’s voice echoed in his mind, filled with alarm.
Cyclops gritted his teeth, clutching his burning shoulder.
"I’m fine!" he barked, but the pain flared hot.
The masked woman reloaded her rifle. "You X-Men are always so predictable. Just one good hit, and you start falling apart."
From the second floor, Rogue burst through the ceiling, rocketing straight at the masked woman with a furious snarl.
"Not so fast, bitch"
Her fist slammed into the woman’s armor, denting the plating. Rogue followed up with another devastating punch, cracking the mask slightly. Showing a burned skin below.
"Kid, you’re gonna have to do worse than that," the woman sneered.
She twisted her wrist, deploying a booster module, and before Rogue could react, a high-intensity thruster ignited against her chest, hurling her violently into the sky.
As Rogue tumbled, another rocket whooshed toward her, but before it could connect—
BOOM!
A lightning bolt arced through the sky, detonating the missile mid-air. Rogue quickly righted herself, adjusting her flight path.
"Thanks, ‘Ro!" she called.
"Just stay focused, Rogue." Storm’s voice was cool, but Rogue could sense her concern.
Down below, Jubilee sprang into action, sending bright plasmoids straight into the visors of one of the soldiers. The man stumbled blindly, firing wildly in panic. One of his missiles struck the side of the ranch house, the explosion sending wooden beams and debris crashing down.
Inside, Jean’s eyes widened in horror as she saw the ceiling collapse above the family.
"No!"
She extended both hands, catching the debris with her telekinesis, holding it mid-air before launching the rubble straight at one of the power-armored soldiers, crushing him beneath the weight.
"Man down!" one of the enemies called over the comms.
Another soldier locked onto Jubilee, his rocket launcher whining as it powered up.
"Oh shit—!" Jubilee yelped.
But before he could fire, Rogue dropped out of the sky, grabbing the missile out of the launcher and hurling it skyward.
The missile exploded mid-air, sending a shockwave rattling the ground.
"Thanks, Roguey!" Jubilee grinned.
Rogue hovered mid-air, panting. Her fists were shaking as she took in the chaos. The ranch was in ruins, Wolverine was half-burned, Thompson’s lifeless body was sprawled on the floor, his blood pooling beneath him. The masked woman stood there, completely unfazed.
Something inside Rogue snapped.
Her eyes darkened, her breathing hitched. She clenched her fists so tightly that her knuckles turned white under her gloves.
"These people… they hurt them. They hurt us. They killed him, blew up Logan—" She thought.
Her rage bubbled up, her fingers twitching toward her gloves.
Then, Jean’s voice cut into her mind—gentle, but firm.
"Rogue, calm down. Breathe."
"No, Jean… they—"
"Anna Marie, control yourself. You’re better than that."
Rogue’s fingers hovered over her gloves.
For a second, she wanted to tear them off.
To touch. To drain. To punish.
But then, from the distance—
"We were late, but we did what we came to do. League, retreat."
The masked woman raised a hand, signaling her troops.
Rocket thrusters ignited, and the soldiers launched into the sky, flying away in tight formation.
Rogue’s muscles tensed, ready to give chase.
"Rogue—no."
Storm’s hand gripped her wrist, stopping her mid-air.
She turned to see Storm’s piercing gaze—firm, unyielding. A silent plea.
"Let them go, Rogue."
Rogue swallowed hard, her fists still clenched.
Finally, she exhaled shakily, closing her eyes.
"Fine."
The battlefield fell silent, the retreating soldiers now just dark specks in the sky.
Whatever came next, they knew it wouldn't be pretty.