Chapter 2

Arc 1 - Ch 2: Roadtrip, Interrupted

Date: Wednesday, June 2, 2010.

Location: Laughlin City, Alberta, Canada

As it grew later, the once raucous crowd at the bar dwindled to just a handful of patrons. The boisterous laughter and cheers of earlier were replaced by the soft clinking of glasses and hushed conversations. The few remaining customers were slumped over their drinks or slowly nursed the last drops of whiskey in their tumblers. Tyson sat at the bar, sipping water and intently studying a newspaper. Thanks to Wolverine's healing ability, which he had absorbed during their brawl, Tyson's body was completely restored. His fighting had earned him some pity money, just enough to buy himself a decent meal.

Despite reading the paper several times, Tyson still struggled to believe the contents. The words on the page filled him with a sense of disbelief. Particularly one line at the top of the newspaper. It was not an article or story that seized his attention, but rather the date itself.

June 2, 2010.

He stared, dumbfounded, rubbing his eyes again to ensure he was not hallucinating. Just yesterday, or so he thought, it was the year 2023. Now he found himself over a decade in the past.

He knew this was no joke or elaborate prank. The dingy bar surrounding him, with its chipped wooden tables and worn leather barstools was far removed from any vintage memorabilia shop. There was no way they would keep an antique newspaper as a prop or novelty item.

But was it so farfetched?

He accepted that somehow he had landed in a parallel world where he possessed the mutant powers of Rogue. Coping with being thrown over a decade into the past was icing on the cake. Tyson picked up the newspaper once more, rereading the articles intently.

Stark Industries Stock Value Begins Recovery Amidst Shift to Clean Energy

By Betty Brant, International Business

NEW YORK - Stark Industries, once the foremost leader in weapons manufacturing, has shown signs of a stock value rebound since announcing its unprecedented shift toward clean energy initiatives. Investors and industry insiders were initially skeptical about the company's unexpected pivot, especially after its CEO Anthony Stark was captured during a weapons demonstration in February, leading to a plummet in share prices. Stark's sudden disappearance lasted until May when he made a mysterious and dramatic escape. While details remain undisclosed, Stark's return has spearheaded the company's reinvention.

Stark's return and public declaration of moving away from weapons caused a drop in the company's value. In the month since, there has been a 12% recovery in stock value, which experts attribute to both Stark's reputation for innovation and a growing global demand for sustainable energy solutions. Experts speculate that Stark Industries may reveal plans for an improved Arc Reactor. Arc Reactors were a promising clean energy source but were abandoned when the technology hit a development ceiling. The reactor was considered a publicity stunt, but with Stark moving away from weapons the concept of Arc Reactors has garnered significant interest from tech industries and eco-activists alike.

However, the departure of Stark Industries from the weapons sector has paved the way for other defense companies to step up. Leading is Hammer Industries which witnessed a massive surge in stock prices and signed several key defense contracts over the last couple of months. Justin Hammer, CEO of Hammer Industries, commented, "While Tony's shift is, uh, noble, we at Hammer Industries are committed to ensuring global security, and someone has to take the helm."

Other energy corporations like Roxxon Energy have also seen fluctuations in their values at Stark Industries' sudden shift from weapons to energy. The shakeup continues as insiders place several corporations considering shifting into weapons manufacturing to fill the void left by Stark. Oscorp, primarily a chemical manufacturer, already has several military contracts, but insiders report the corporation has fallen behind on its promises to the government. Other notable newcomers expanding into the sector include Advanced Idea Mechanics, Essex Corp, and several smaller competitors.

The market waits with bated breath to see if Stark Industries' gamble pays off in the long run. For now, Tony Stark's return and his ambitious vision for a sustainable future have offered a glimmer of hope to investors. Yet, one can't help but wonder about the circumstances of his disappearance and what truly transpired during his time in captivity.

Tyson gulped down the last of his water, the cold liquid doing little to settle his mind. There was so much information for him to process from that article. But he was interrupted when the man he'd recently squared off against, Wolverine, approached.

The bartender ambled over and dropped a thick wad of cash on the bar in front of Wolverine. "Your winnings, Logan," the bartender said, clapping him on the shoulder.

Wolverine, or Logan as the bartender had just called him, grunted in acknowledgment, scooping up the money before turning towards Tyson. He leaned over, the barstool creaking beneath his weight.

"You take a hit pretty well for a scrawny kid."

Tyson barely had time to digest the gruff compliment when the man who had suffered a humiliating defeat at Wolverine's hands earlier interrupted. His face was a map of fresh bruises, his wrist and hand were wrapped, but his eyes clearly showed his desire for revenge.

"No man takes a beating like that and walks away with nothing to show. I think you owe me some compensation."

Before Logan could respond, Tyson's laughter echoed through the room, drawing the attention of the few stragglers.

The man's attention swiveled to Tyson, he snarled, "Something funny, kid?"

Tyson's shoulders continued to shake with the last remnants of his laughter. "Yeah," he admitted lightly, his voice still tinged with humor as he gestured towards Wolverine. "You want him to pay you... For kicking your ass so bad… That's just crazy."

The man was not amused. His face darkened and he responded by grabbing a fistful of Tyson's jacket with his one good hand. Tyson's feet momentarily left the ground as the man hoisted him upwards.

"You don't want to do this," Tyson advised evenly, his voice steady despite the precariousness of his situation.

Ignoring the warning, the man hauled Tyson roughly to his feet. Tyson stood there calmly, his continued nonchalance only further infuriated the figure looming over him.

"Think you're tough, eh?" the man sneered in a stereotypical Canadian accent.

Tyson couldn't help but chuckle at the man's exaggerated manner of speech. "Eh?" he mockingly parroted back.

The man balled his hand into a tight fist. The punch collided solidly with the side of Tyson's face. The strength behind the blow sent Tyson sprawling backward. He careened into the barstools, crashing painfully to the ground. The impact drew chuckles from the few lingering patrons. The man's fist unwittingly triggered Tyson's power the moment it connected.

He was a young boy, hard-working, but slowly succumbed to the pressures of high school and dropped out. His marriage was scarred by loud arguments often ending with screams and slaps which ultimately led to a bitter divorce. He was angry and regretful. He passed the days repairing cars, and the nights hotwiring them.

Tyson groaned as he slowly regained his footing, one hand gently probing the tender swelling on his cheek. Fighting without Logan's power was far less entertaining. He could already feel the skin purpling into a dark bruise. But he knew that regardless of the hit he had taken, the odds were now tilted in his favor. The man's advantages of strength and fighting experience had been nullified when their skin made contact. Tyson's mutant power allowed him to siphon not just lifeforce, but skills and strengths from anyone he touched. Though the man was no mutant, Tyson had stolen a piece of his essence for himself in that brief moment of contact. The man's knowledge, and even his experience brawling, had been temporarily copied.

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Rather than balling into fists, Tyson's hands remained open, palms out as if preparing for a slapboxing match. Tyson accepted the incoming punches with grimaces of pain, but his return strikes were open-handed slaps rather than closed fists.

To any observer, it would appear a poor strategy for winning a bar fight.

Each of Tyson's open-palmed slaps siphoned his opponent's strength. With every contact, his strength dwindled. Tyson's strategy was not about brute force but stealing life essence, one strike at a time. The cheers from the remaining patrons faded as they sensed the strangeness of the fight.

Tyson reared back, ready to deliver another blow, when the chilling click of a shotgun cocking echoed through the bar. He froze, slowly turning to find the bartender leveling the barrel at him.

"We don't take kindly to your kind here," the bartender growled, eyes narrowed dangerously.

Tyson wanted to quip, It's cause I'm black, but he didn't give voice to his thoughts. Humor would not diffuse this situation.

He raised his hands in surrender.

Despite his newfound powers, a close-range shotgun blast would still kill him.

Holding his breath, Tyson backed toward the door with his hands still raised. The bartender's scowl and shotgun barrel tracked his every move. Tyson's boots scuffing across the wooden floor was the only sound in the bar as patrons watched with bated breath.

Frigid air engulfed him as he pushed through the doors into the night outside. He shivered, his breath plumed, in the cold. The fabric of his jacket offered little protection against the Canadian chill. According to the newspaper back in town, it was June, but the biting wind told a different tale. How far north was he?

Tyson scanned the darkened road. No streetlights, no traffic, just an empty two-lane highway slicing through the wilderness. He was well and truly alone out here. No transportation, no money, no options.

The creak of the door snapped his attention back. He turned to see Logan fill the doorway.

"Need a ride, kid?"

Logan jerked a thumb over his shoulder, pointing at a dilapidated camper with a small trailer hitched to the back.

It wasn't much to look at.

The offer surprised Tyson, but he did not hesitate, knowing he had few options. With a nod, he walked over and slipped into the passenger seat. The worn leather creaked as he settled in. Logan turned the key and the engine rumbled to life before pulling the vehicle onto the deserted highway.

They drove in silence for a while, the only sound the soft hum of the engine. Logan was the first to break the quiet, his voice tinged with curiosity as his eyes fixed on the dark road ahead. "Those hits of yours pack a punch, kid," Logan began. "And you bounced back in that ring quicker than any normal man should've. Those were no ordinary slaps. What's your secret?"

Tyson looked between Logan and the trees passing by. He had nothing to lose by telling the truth. "I can absorb other people's life force through skin contact," Tyson admitted. "In the ring, I... borrowed your strength and healing. It was only temporary, but it was enough. I can't control it… It's always on. Anyone I touch starts to die."

Logan glanced at Tyson, one eyebrow raised in surprise before he chuckled, "Now that's a neat trick. Girls must love it."

Tyson couldn't help but smile at the humor in Logan's gruff voice. He leaned his head back against the worn leather headrest and sighed. "Fuck, I hadn't thought about that," he admitted with a small laugh. "I haven't gotten that far yet."

"Don't worry, kid. Maybe it'll happen one day," Logan mused with a hint of a smile.

"That's not what I meant," Tyson mumbled. Now Logan probably thought he was a virgin.

"But you handled it well, kid," Logan added after a pause, a note of grudging approval in his voice. "Not everyone can go toe-to-toe with me in the ring, then have a gun pulled on them and keep their cool."

Tyson chuckled. "Well, I had a bit of help in the ring. From you, actually."

As the old camper chugged down the winding wooded Canadian backroads, its worn suspension creaking over every bump, Tyson found the cab was surprisingly comfortable despite its run-down appearance. And Logan was not so callous as he expected.

His only concern was the implications of his situation. If this was truly the world of the X-Men films he remembered, then danger lurked just around the corner.

Sabertooth would attack them soon.

The road ahead wound through a steep ravine, treacherous cliffs looming on either side. It was the perfect spot for an ambush. Tyson braced himself. He spared a glance at Logan.

Wolverine's senses were far sharper than his own, yet he seemed relaxed.

— Rogue Replacement —

The old camper rumbled down the mountain road as bright morning sunlight gradually faded behind ominous gray overcast skies. Tyson had barely slept a wink the night before, his senses on high alert as he anxiously anticipated the ambush that Sabertooth would soon unleash upon them.

But as the hours dragged on, no attack ever came.

Exhaustion finally overtook him in the late afternoon. Tyson collapsed into a dreamless sleep. It had been nearly an entire day since he arrived in this world. Now he awoke to find himself still rumbling along in Logan's rickety but comfortable camper.

Tyson peered out the camper's grimy window rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Dark, heavy clouds unfurled across the horizon. Light flurries of snow fluttered down leaving a fresh, white dusting. The snowfall gradually intensified, turning the world outside into a swirling, white wonderland.

Logan began recounting the story of a bar brawl in Saskatchewan, narrating the fight enthusiastically.

Without warning, a massive, frost-bitten pine tree crashed onto the road.

Logan's eyes went wide with alarm, but there was no time to swerve or brake, and the ice-slicked road offered no grip for the camper's bald tires.

They crashed into the felled tree.

Metal screeched and bent, glass shattered into a thousand shards, and the harsh jolt knocked the breath from Tyson's lungs. Logan, who hadn't bothered to put on his seatbelt, was hurtled through the windshield by the violent collision.

The seatbelt bit into Tyson's chest, holding him in place. But his forehead smashed against the dashboard, leaving a raw, throbbing wound that immediately began weeping warm blood. The world wavered before his eyes, darkness crept at the edges of his vision. An eerie silence descended, broken only by Tyson's ragged breaths.

Logan's body hit the ground with a sickening thud, limp limbs sprawling across the snow like a rag doll. It was a twisted, unnatural collection of jutting bones that would have spelled instant death for any normal man. But Logan was no normal man.

His body twitched, limbs jerking as if animated by an unseen force. With a grimace of annoyance, Logan slowly rose to his feet. He cracked his neck, creating a grotesque sound as the movement reset his displaced bones back where they belonged. Though his adamantium bones could not break, his ligaments had stretched to their limits as joints separated and then snapped back into place with audible pops. A deep gash ran along Logan's scalp, blood matting his hair. Before Tyson's eyes, the wound sealed itself, leaving only a streak of rusty red behind.

Logan called out to the boy trapped in the wreckage. "You okay, kid?"

Tyson glanced down, taking in the collapsed dashboard that pinned him in place, the seatbelt clasp was well out of reach. Acrid smoke began to spread through the interior.

"I'm stuck!" he yelled, straining against the seatbelt and dashboard. Pain throbbed through Tyson's head, each pulse a hammer blow inside his skull. His thoughts skittered wildly, hazy, impossible to grasp. He knew he should remember something important, but the details swirled just out of reach.

Wolverine,

The bar fight,

The car accident...

Then it clicked into place. Sabertooth.

The fallen tree had been no accident. It was an ambush. The long car ride had lulled him into a false sense of security. He'd been on guard initially, but after an entire night of driving through the unchanging Canadian wilderness, he grew complacent.

They were under attack.

Tyson's lips parted to warn Logan, but it was too late.

he saw Wolverine sniff the air through the cracked windshield as if he sensed the danger and his metallic claws extended. But before Logan could act, a figure exploded from the treeline.

Tyson caught a glimpse of the attacker. The man was massive, a hulking figure that dwarfed Wolverine. His long, matted blond hair cascaded around shoulders as broad as a bear's. A wild, unkempt beard added to his feral appearance. A manic grin split the man's face, revealing canines too large and sharp for any human. If Tyson hadn't known better, he might have thought the creature a werewolf.

Sabertooth had come.

Tyson was trapped, helpless, in the middle of the ensuing battle. Acrid smoke filled the camper cabin as flames licked at the interior behind him. Tyson squirmed desperately in his seat, fingers straining towards the latch of his seatbelt. But the crumpled dashboard pinned him back, preventing him from reaching the release button. He twisted his wrist awkwardly, fingertips brushing uselessly against the plastic clasp as panic rose in his throat. He worried about being trapped, killed by the flames or smoke before he ever had to worry about Sabertooth.

Outside, the feral mutant let out a primal roar. With a savage grin that displayed his unsettling teeth, he called, "Happy birthday, Logan. It's been a few years since I nearly killed you. Have you missed me?"

Sabertooth grabbed a nearby fallen tree and swung it like a baseball bat. The heavy log struck Wolverine head-on, launching him through the air to land with a resounding crunch atop the crumpled hood of the camper. Logan lay still and unconscious as his adamantium claws retracted back into his knuckles.

Wolverine was down.

The hair on the back of Tyson's neck stood on end as Sabertooth's malicious amber gaze drifted to the camper van. The creature's grin stretched impossibly wide, exposing the full horror of his monstrous fangs.

At that moment, Tyson realized that he was next.

Trapped and defenseless, he was easy prey for Sabertooth.