Date: Friday, July 16, 2010.

Location: Xavier Institute, Scarsdale, NY

Tyson faced Stryker and the quintet of identical blondes. Stryker wore a smug smile, confident in the power of his entourage. His eyes gleamed with anticipation, eager to see how this would unfold. The five women stood in perfect formation, each of their features mirrored in the other. Their skin was porcelain-white, contrasting sharply with their deep blue eyes that held an almost predatory glint. Their blonde hair cascaded in perfect waves down to their shoulders, and their outfits were pristine white dresses that seemed to shimmer subtly in the ambient light.

Each breath Tyson took felt like it was tinged with the scent of death and metal and the back of his head tingled. He knew the sensation meant a telepath was trying to infiltrate his mind. His gaze darted from one blonde to the next, trying to determine which might be the leader or the strongest of the bunch. Jean and Professor X assured him he had some telepathic resistance, but would it hold up against a coven of telepaths working in concert? If he were immobilized or controlled, his battle would be lost. He had to incapacitate the telepaths first.

Without warning, Tyson lunged towards the blonde on the far left. The distance between them closed in a heartbeat as he aimed to knock her off balance and remove her from the fight. He hoped that the surprise and swiftness of his attack would give him the edge he needed.

Tyson's momentum suddenly halted. His body jerked back, caught in the vice-like grip of a cold, metal tentacle. He swiped at the tentacle, but his claws failed to pierce the metal. Its hardness was unnatural, far more durable than steel, some unique alloy. His muscles strained as he tried to free himself, but a second tentacle whipped forward, coiling around him, and tightening its grasp.

As he was turned forcibly around, he locked eyes with the behemoth responsible for his ensnarement. The towering figure stood over seven feet tall with ghastly white skin. Veins of cybernetics ran through his head and muscular arms, complementing the metallic tentacles that extended from his wrists. Tyson recognized the man’s scent as the previously unidentified one. It was tinged by the aura of death that hung about him. A dark leather suit hugged the figure's immense physique, hinting at the raw power that lay beneath.

A cruel smile formed on the tentacled man’s lips, revealing yellowed teeth. The tentacles tightened around Tyson, squeezing the breath from his lungs. As Tyson's vision darkened he struggled to inhale. The man leaned close, his voice a low, rumbling growl with a heavy Russian accent.

"I am Omega Red," he sneered, his chilling gaze never leaving Tyson's eyes.

Tyson snarled in response, “I’ll make sure it’s written on your tombstone.”

With a sudden, powerful motion, Omega Red swung his arms, using his tentacles to launch Tyson with terrifying force. Tyson was hurled like a ragdoll, crashing through the brick facade of the Institute. Dust and debris showered the air as he landed hard in the courtyard. The impact reverberated through his bones, and he could taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth.

Pushing himself to his feet, Tyson felt a sting of alarm. His wounds, which usually healed at an astonishing rate, were mending more slowly. The gashes on his skin were closing but at a lethargic pace compared to the near-instantaneous recovery he was accustomed to. He realized that Omega Red, the cold, deathly feeling of his aura, might have affected his healing ability.

Tyson's fingers closed around the cool metal of a fallen soldier's rifle. Sabertooth's familiarity with weapons had him instinctively shouldering the firearm. Pushing aside the chaos around him, Tyson's gaze narrowed on Stryker, the mastermind behind it all. If he could eliminate the leader, the hierarchy of command would crumble, perhaps giving him an edge in the battle. Squeezing the trigger, Tyson released a hail of bullets, but before they could find their target, Omega Red's tentacles surged forward, weaving together into a dense, metallic wall. The bullets pinged off, leaving no mark on the protective barrier that shielded Stryker. The ominous clang of each bullet echoed Tyson's growing desperation.

With the last bullet spent, Tyson's fingers released the gun, letting it clatter uselessly to the ground. Omega Red, sensing his advantage, sent his tentacles snaking rapidly toward Tyson, hoping to ensnare him once again.

But Tyson was ready. Drawing upon every ounce of agility he possessed, he dodged the lunging tentacles. Instead of trying to slash at the impenetrable metal, he shoved them aside, deflecting their trajectory. Every step taking him closer to Stryker.

Using the room's structures to his advantage, Tyson vaulted over furniture, leaped from pillars, and rebounded off walls. He zigzagged, using his agility and speed to keep Omega Red off balance, always with Stryker in his sights.

Tyson was drawing closer when the haunting voices of the Cuckoos began to resonate through the chamber. Like a ghostly choir, they shifted their message between one another, their tones a chilling cascade of harmonized warnings.

"He's coming," began the first, her voice dripping with caution.

"Stryker, you're his target," the second added, emphasizing the urgency of the situation.

"Your presence here puts us all at risk," the third stated, the weight of her concern evident in her words.

"We should leave," suggested the fourth, a logical conclusion to their collective observation.

"Now," finished the fifth, her voice echoing the urgency of the moment.

Stryker, while arrogant and resolute, was not a fool. He recognized the unity in the girls’ counsel and, with a begrudging nod, began to retreat. The blondes, forming a protective barrier around him, retreated in kind.

Tyson's eyes shifted, Stryker was out of reach and the tentacles were closing in. He couldn’t reach his target, but one of the blondes was closer. He lunged towards her, fist pulled back and every muscle tensed for the blow. But just as his fist was about to make contact, an unexpected transformation occurred.

Her skin shifted, morphing into a translucent, shimmering diamond-like form. The hard, faceted surface of her body caught the light, making her shine brilliantly in the dim room. It was a breathtaking sight, but then Tyson’s punch met the unforgiving hardness of her diamond form. The impact was so great it sent her flying backward, and she crashed into the opposite wall. The indentation of her form was visible in the wall, as though a sculptor had carved her out of the very brick and plaster. With surprising grace, the diamond-skinned woman stepped out of the wall, leaving behind a silhouette-shaped imprint. She brushed away the debris from her flawless form and reverted to her soft-skinned human appearance, looking none the worse for wear.

Tyson's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, trying to make sense of what he'd just witnessed. He mumbled, “Emma Frost?”

But his moment of distraction was costly. Omega Red's tentacle snapped forward, ensnaring him once more. With a quick, powerful motion, the tentacle sent him crashing through the exterior wall of the institute for the second time.

Tyson gritted his teeth, brushing dust and bits of brick off his clothes. Omega Red, with his pallid skin and crimson armored suit, stepped through the hole in the wall, his metal tentacles writhing eagerly for the next round.

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Tyson circled the Russian powerhouse, his feral eyes fixed on the adversary. Every ripple of his muscle, every shift of weight was an anticipation of the next strike. Omega Red's tentacles darted forward, seeking to ensnare Tyson again. With a growl, Tyson dodged, using his speed and agility to avoid the grasping appendages. But Omega Red was more than just tentacles. He lunged forward, throwing powerful punches that Tyson barely managed to deflect. The two traded blows, the sound echoing across the courtyard like thunderclaps.

In a swift move, Tyson tried to get behind Omega Red, slashing with his claws, but the Russian mutant whirled around, landing a crushing blow to Tyson's midsection. Tyson spat blood but retaliated with a high kick that connected with Omega Red's jaw. The tentacles surged forward again, seeking to wrap around him. But this time, Tyson was ready. With a roar, he lunged, grabbing one of the tentacles and using his momentum to swing Omega Red off the ground and slam him into the courtyard’s fountain.

Water splashed everywhere, and for a moment, it seemed Tyson had gained the upper hand. But Omega Red wasn't down for long. Rising with a ferocious growl, he swung his tentacles with even more force, binding Tyson's arms to his sides and lifting him off the ground.

"Struggling is pointless," Omega Red hissed, his face inches from Tyson's.

But Tyson, even when bound, was not easily defeated. With a feral snarl, he drove his knee into Omega Red's stomach, forcing him to release his grip. They were both drenched and battered, but neither relented. Omega Red's tentacles struck again, but Tyson ducked, driving his shoulder into his opponent's midsection, and tackling him to the ground. They wrestled, each trying to gain the upper hand, but the combination of Tyson's agility and Omega Red's strength made for an evenly-matched fight.

Minutes felt like hours as the two mutants clashed, leaving the courtyard in disarray. But finally, with a powerful swipe of his claw, Tyson managed to tear through part of Omega Red's armor. The Russian mutant howled in pain, momentarily stunned. Seizing the opportunity, Tyson delivered a powerful punch, sending Omega Red crashing into the remains of the fountain.

Tyson's feral instincts kicked in as he lunged at the sprawled Omega Red, every instinct screaming to finish the battle. But before he could deliver the final blow, the sharp echo of gunfire rang out. Bullets tore into Tyson's back, each one a white-hot sting, jarring him from his attack.

As Tyson twisted around, a group of soldiers came into focus. Tyson tried to push through the hailstorm of bullets but the sheer number of shots became overwhelming. Thanks to Omega Red, his once almost instantaneous healing was now lagging, struggling to keep up. The bullets penetrated his skin, only to be slowly pushed out by his healing factor moments later. He dropped to his hands and knees, a pool of blood forming beneath him. With every ounce of his being, he tried to will himself forward, to rise again, but his body was reaching its limit.

Omega Red seized the opportunity. His tentacles surged forward and wrapped around Tyson like cold steel snakes, constricting, making it impossible for him to draw a breath. The soldiers took a few steps forward, firing a few more rounds into Tyson's vulnerable form. With each bullet, Tyson weakened a little more, as his body struggled to heal multiple wounds simultaneously.

His lungs burned and screamed for air, but the tentacle's grip was unyielding. Blackness crept in from the edges of Tyson's vision. As he lost consciousness, the last thing he heard was the triumphant laughter of Omega Red.

~~ Rogue Replacement ~~

Jean and Jubilee emerged from the escape tunnel. The imposing figure of Colossus had led the procession, his metallic body acted as their beacon to follow and their protective shield.

They had all made it out Jean, Jubilee, Bobby, Illyana, and John. The surroundings were an unsettling kind of quiet. They all knew that just minutes before, the sounds of Tyson's ferocious defense of their home filled the air. But now, there was only a faint echo of destruction.

The silence was broken by a sudden, distant volley of gunfire. It sounded mechanical and cold, like the staccato of a firing squad. The group froze, the sound reverberating in their hearts.

Jean's face crumpled. A single tear slid down her face. Her voice, when it finally came out, was but a whisper filled with anguish. "They have him."

Illyana's face hardened. She spun on her heel, ready to charge back into the Institute and save Tyson. But as she approached the grate, there was a shimmering rush of cold, and within seconds, a thick sheet of ice blocked her path.

Bobby stood with his arms extended, eyes filled with apology but resolve. "I'm sorry, Illyana. But we can't go back in."

Illyana’s hand ignited as her Soulsword slowly formed, "What have you done, Bobby? He's in there, and we need to help him!"

John's voice crackled with fury as he sided with Illyana, the fire in his hands reflecting the anger in his eyes. "She's right! We can get him out. The kids are safe. Let's go back and take the fight to them."

Jean stepped forward, placing herself between the two groups, her voice calm but assertive. "It's not that simple. If we go back now, we risk getting captured or worse."

Illyana snapped, "So, we're just supposed to run away? Leave him to them?"

Jubilee replied, "It's not about running away. It's about fighting smarter. Illyana, you're not in fighting shape. If you were, Bobby's ice wouldn't matter, you'd just teleport to him."

Bobby, eyes still locked on Illyana's, added, "If we get caught, who will save him then? We need to get to safety, regroup, and plan our next move."

Jean nodded in agreement. "They are right. Now is not the time. We go, we gather our forces, and then we return for Tyson."

Illyana, her fury simmering beneath the surface, whispered, "Go where? With the children?"

Bobby spoke up. "Listen, we need somewhere to regroup and lay low," he began, his voice firm. "My house is just a couple of towns over. We can take the backroads. My folks are away on vacation. They won’t be back for another week."

Jean looked hesitant, "Bobby, are you sure about this?"

Bobby nodded, "My home has space, and they won’t expect us to be there."

John huffed, "Hiding in your parent’s house."

But Bobby kept his cool, "Right now, it’s our best option. We go there, plan our next move, and decide how we're going to rescue Tyson."

As the group agreed and began to move away from the Institute, the weight of their choices pressed heavily on their hearts. The promise of retribution and the hope of reuniting with their friend spurred them forward.

~~ Rogue Replacement ~~

The bar buzzed with the chatter of the off-duty guards. It was the typical after-hours hangout, where guards often came to vent about their day and share stories over drinks.

At the bar, a woman with fiery red hair and an entrancing green dress sat perched on a stool, slowly sipping her drink. Now and then, she’d glance across the room, her eyes catching those of the off-duty guards, who were mesmerized by her presence.

Jason, one of the guards, leaned over to his friend Ron, nodding in the woman's direction. "Who's the new girl? Haven't seen her around here before."

Ron replied with a smirk, "No idea, but I wouldn't mind getting to know her."

The bar was alive with the buzz of chatter and background music, the dim overhead lights casting a warm glow on its patrons. As a beautiful redhead, Mystique's alluring appearance drew several glances. However, her attention was solely fixed on one man, Jason, a guard from the facility she'd been surveilling.

Positioning herself strategically, she slid into the seat next to him. "Hey there," she greeted with a sultry smile.

He checked her out, surprise evident in his eyes, but quickly masked by a smirk. "Haven't seen you around," he responded, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Just passing through," she replied, her fingers lightly skimming his arm, igniting a spark of electricity between them. With a mischievous glint in her eyes, she whispered, "Why don't we find somewhere a bit more... private?"

Without awaiting a reply, she seized his hand and directed him towards the restroom. The door had barely swung shut when she playfully pushed him into one of the stalls. He chuckled, lifting his stein for a long sip. "I'll drink to this."

As he was distracted, Mystique swiftly withdrew a syringe from her outfit, injecting it into Jason's side. His eyes widened momentarily, a mix of shock and disbelief, before clouding over. The stein slipped from his grasp, thudding on the floor as he slumped against the stall wall, unconscious.

Ensuring he was stable, Mystique adjusted her appearance and stepped out, her mission quietly completed.