Chapter 77

Arc 6 - Ch 10: Going Rogue

Date: Saturday, June 25, 2011.

Location: Xavier Institute, Scarsdale, New York

The atmosphere in Professor X's office was heavy with concern as Jubilee, Jean, Logan, Storm, and the Professor himself gathered to discuss the situation. Jean took the lead, her voice laced with an undercurrent of worry as she explained the events that had transpired in Cerebro.

"Amora offered Tyson her blood if he absorbed a power," Jean began, her gaze sweeping over the assembled group. "He picked out several targets, people he thought were powerful enough to satisfy Amora, but bad enough to warrant death."

Ororo's eyes widened, a flicker of disbelief crossing her regal features. "And he plans on absorbing one of these bad people, adding their evil to his mind?"

Jubilee spoke up, her voice fierce with conviction. "He wouldn't kill someone who didn't deserve it."

Logan asked, "Who are the targets?"

Jean's expression tightened as she recounted the information she gleaned. "He picked out several, but only three of them are close enough that he could reasonably reach them in time to save Jubes."

"First is Mystique. She's a shapeshifter. She was part of Magneto's group, the one who impersonated Professor Ororo and attacked us on the train. She's posing as a Senator in Washington, D.C. The second was the imposter Spider-Man, I located him just south of Central Park in Manhattan."

"Tyson was looking for him anyway," Jubilee interjected, "The imposter killed a cop who was the father of one of Tyson's friends, then dropped her injured in his apartment. And on top of that, Tyson is friends with Spider-Man, who he's impersonating."

"It's the perfect target," Logan mused, his voice a low rumble. "He gets powers, stops a bad guy who seems to know his identity, and clears his friend's name. And it's also close by."

The others nodded in agreement. Logan turned to Jean, "Who was the last target?"

Jean hesitated, a flicker of unease crossing her face. "A man in Los Vegas called Kilgrave. As far as I could tell, he was just a normal guy. He registered as human through Cerebro." She paused, her voice dropping to a cautionary tone. "Tyson said he was dangerous. He didn't say that about any of the others. And we've all seen what Spider-Man can do on TV."

Professor X spoke up after everyone processed Tyson's ominous warning. "I'll stay here and keep in contact, guiding you with Cerebro."

Ororo stepped forward. With Scott not part of this mission, she was the de facto leader. "We should split up," she suggested, "Jean and Jubilee, head into the city. Try to reach him before he finds the imposter. Logan and I will remain here with the Professor, monitoring his progress. If Tyson goes after one of the others, we'll take the Blackbird and head him off."

Jubilee spoke up, her words heavy with gratitude and guilt. "Thank you, everyone, for helping me and for helping Tyson. It's my fault he's doing this, so I appreciate you all."

Logan shook his head. "Nah, pretty sure it's his fault. Kid's a trouble magnet."

Despite the gravity of the situation, a flicker of amusement passed through the room. They all knew the stakes, the risks Tyson was taking, and the potential consequences of his actions. But they also saw the lengths he was going to save Jubilee. And so, with a renewed sense of purpose and determination, they set their plan in motion. Jean and Jubilee made their way to the garage, to find Tyson before he could take another life.

As Jean drove toward the city, Jubilee pulled out her phone with trembling hands. She dialed Tyson's number, each unanswered ring sending a fresh wave of dread coursing through her.

Of course, he didn't pick up.

Glancing at the time, her brow furrowed. It was late for Illyana, but she knew she had to let her know what was happening. She dialed Illyana's number, her fingers drumming anxiously against her thigh as she waited for the call to connect.

On the third ring, Illyana picked up, and in her Russian accent, she asked, "Jubilee! How did the date go?"

Jubilee's throat tightened, the words catching as she tried to form a response. Slowly, haltingly, she began to recount the events of the evening. She told Illyana about the vampire attack, about the blood rain, and that she had been bitten. She spoke of Tyson's desperate quest to find a cure and informed her about the Asgardian sorceress-slash-goddess, Amora's challenge, and the terrible price he was willing to pay. By the end of her explanation, Jubilee was crying, her voice thick with emotion as she choked out the words. "Tyson's going to kill someone to save me, Illyana. He's going to take a life, to absorb their power, all to keep me from turning into a monster."

Illyana's response was fierce. "Jubilee, listen to me. Tyson loves you. He's only doing this because of that love because he can't bear the thought of losing you."

Jubilee's sobs intensified, guilt and desperation warring in her chest. "I'm so sorry, Illyana. I never meant for any of this to happen."

But Illyana's voice remained steady. "There's nothing to apologize for, Jubes. Tyson has a hero complex, but I'd do the same if I were in his place. You were there for me when I needed it most. Tyson tried to save me from Azazel and the demons, and now he's doing the same for you." Jubilee's breath hitched. She clung to Illyana's words and the support and understanding that radiated through the phone. Illyana's voice softened with a quiet certainty. "There's nothing to worry about. Tyson will take care of you, no matter what happens. And if he comes out of this changed, if the burden he's taking on alters him, I know one thing that won't change. The way he feels about all of us. His love for you, for me... that's unshakable."

Jubilee drew strength from her friend's words. "Thank you, Illyana," she whispered, her words thick with gratitude. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"I'm going to try to call Tyson," Illyana said, "Maybe he'll pick up for me."

"Yes, do that, please," Jubilee agreed. With a final exchange of goodbyes, Jubilee ended the call.

— Rogue Replacement —

Tyson sped down 87 with the imposter's location fresh in his mind, intending to follow the trail like a bloodhound. He knew he was almost an hour behind, but that wouldn't stop him.

He made a phone call as he pushed the bike to its limits, his voice terse but focused. "Pete, I need you to stay home this afternoon."

Peter's confusion was evident even through the phone. "Why?"

"I have his scent," Tyson explained, his words clipped and urgent. "I need you to stay away so I can track him."

"Got it," Peter said, "Let me know how it goes. Good luck."

The call ended, and Tyson fixed his attention on the road ahead. He was nearing the city proper when another call came through. This time, it was Jubilee. Tyson couldn't bring himself to answer. Not now, not when he was so close to his goal. He let the call go to voicemail, a silent apology on his lips.

Several minutes later, a third call came through. Tyson recognized the number.

Illyana.

They hadn't spoken since that day on the steps of the New York Sanctum. It had been almost a month. The conversation was a misunderstanding that had driven a wedge between them. Tyson had been too angry, too busy with the events of the Stark Expo, then the Asgardians, then the Abomination, to reach out, to mend the rift that had formed.

He answered the call with a simple, "Hey."

"Hey back." Illyana's next words were a statement, not a question. "I hear you're going hunting."

"I am."

"When was the last time you went hunting?" she asked, a hint of nostalgia creeping into her tone. "In Limbo?"

A laugh escaped Tyson's lips. "Yeah. Hopefully no fart demons this time." They both chuckled at the shared memory. But as the laughter faded, Tyson felt the weight of his secrets pressing down on him. He'd been mad about Victor, yet he hesitated to tell her why.

"Illyana," he said, "I've been hiding some things from you."

"I know," she said, her tone gentle yet weighted with empathy. "Jubilee told me about Amora."

Confusion clouded Tyson's eyes. "Huh? Amora?" He shook his head. "No, this isn't about her. I didn't even meet Amora until after our last conversation."

Illyana's words were measured as she clarified, "You found another sorceress. One who wants you to bind someone strong to yourself. Why didn't you call me?"

Tyson opened his mouth but only a dumbfounded "Uhh" escaped his lips. "I'm not sure I just interpreted your question properly."

Illyana sighed, the rush of air crackling through the phone. "Just tell me what you've been hiding."

Tyson's grip on the handlebars tightened, his knuckles paling from the strain. "I saw more of the future than I ever let on," he confessed. "Glimpses of events years yet to come." He hesitated old anger and hurt welling up inside him. "Finding out about Victor left me upset. It wasn't you dating someone else that bothered me, Lyana. It was who you were spending time with."

Illyana's voice came through the phone again, insistently. "I didn't date Victor, Tyson."

"I know, I know," Tyson replied, "But Victor is dangerous. As dangerous as Magneto, maybe even worse. The visions showed me that much." He let out a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry I wasn't open with you. I was angry and confused, but that's no excuse."

Silence hung between them for a moment before Illyana responded, her voice gentle. "It's okay, Tyson. Let's not dwell on Victor right now. There will be time for that later." She paused, and Tyson could imagine the determined set of her jaw as she turned over ideas. "I can steal a sling ring easily enough. Then I'll come to New York, and we'll go to Limbo together. Track down one of the stronger demons for you to take out."

"I need the sorcerers to do the ritual to save Jubilee," he explained, his voice tight with regret. "I can't ask you to put yourself at risk with them again, nor can we anger them. I need their help."

She offered an alternative, "Okay, then get the X-Men to fly you here in their fancy jet."

Tyson hesitated, the idea taking root in his mind. "I don't know exactly how fast their jet is, but a flight to Nepal takes like 20 hours."

Illyana's voice took on a coy edge, a hint of amusement lacing her words. "Do you know that because you considered visiting?"

A mumbled "maybe" was Tyson's only response, but it was enough to draw a laugh from Illyana, a sound that warmed his heart.

"I'll consider it a last resort," he conceded.

"I won't try to stop you, but Jubilee doesn't want you to do this."

Tyson's heart clenched. "I know," he admitted, the truth of her words was a knife in his gut. "That's why I didn't give them a chance to stop me."

"Keep her safe for me, either way?" Illyana whispered in request.

"You know it," Tyson vowed.

Her voice softened, a hint of wistfulness creeping into her tone. "It was nice hearing your voice again."

"Same," Tyson murmured, the weight of the unsaid hanging heavy between them. "Good night, Illyana."

"Good luck, Tyson," she replied.

The call ended, and he was alone once more.

Tyson exited the Hendrick Hudson Parkway at 54th Street. He wove through the streets of Hell's Kitchen, heading eastward.

Carnegie Hall.

This was where Cerebro had pinged the imposter's presence. He stopped his motorcycle to scan the area. He inhaled deeply, his enhanced senses sorting through the myriad scents that assaulted him. Street food, garbage, the acrid tang of gasoline, and concrete all blended.

But deep within, Tyson found what he was looking for. A scent that was achingly familiar, yet not quite right. The smell of Peter Parker.

The imposter.

Tyson followed it westward, back in the direction he had come. The scent did not originate at Carnegie Hall, but Tyson followed it that way due to the old gamer's adage.

When in doubt, go left.

The scent wound south then south and east, leading Tyson on a dizzying path through the streets. He rode slowly, his helmet discarded in favor of keeping his senses unobstructed. He stopped frequently, inhaling deeply as he sought to hold onto the scent, to keep it from slipping away in the currents of the city. The trail led him to 39th Street, just past 9th Avenue. The roads here were near the Lincoln Tunnel exit, a confusing tangle of overpasses and underpasses.

The scent was everywhere.

Tyson growled in frustration, his eyes darting from one potential path to another. Which way should he go? Which trail would lead him to the imposter?

And then he saw a red figure swinging through the sky.

He gunned his engine, the motorcycle leaping forward like a beast unleashed. The wind whipped at his face, his eyes watering as he pushed the machine to its limits. The imposter was fast, but Tyson dodged around cars and pedestrians, his focus never wavering from the figure ahead. The imposter swung from building to building but Tyson wouldn't be deterred. He couldn't let them slip away now. Not when Jubilee's life hung in the balance.

Even if it meant becoming the monster he had tried not to be from the moment he arrived.

The imposter Spider-Man seemed to sense the feral presence that stalked them, their movements becoming more erratic, more desperate, like a frightened animal seeking escape. They swung low, skimming the tops of cars and buses that honked angrily, trying to shake their relentless pursuer. But Tysone wove expertly through the traffic, never losing sight of his target. He could smell their panic, fear, and desperation, on the wind. The scent urged him onward like blood in the water, his predatory instincts in overdrive. He pushed the motorcycle to its limits as he rapidly closed the distance.

And then, Tyson used the subtlest of illusions, he added a street light at the perfect spot for the imposter to swing from. The imposter's webline shot through the air. But instead of finding a purchase, it passed through the illusion. Their swing faltered, but with the agility born of spider-enhanced reflexes, they adapted, rolling to disperse their momentum and sliding to a stop in a classic superhero pose.

Tyson who'd shrouded himself in the illusion of his Mirage costume when the pursuit began, launched himself from his motorcycle in a ferocious charge. But as he closed the distance, he suddenly pulled up short. Doubt took hold through the haze of his anger and his burning desire for revenge for Gwen, redemption for Peter, and above all, to save Jubilee. Tyson's rage and desperation slowly ebbed.

He looked at the imposter, taking in the details of the costume. It didn't match Peter's Spider-Man suit. With a clarity that had eluded him in the heat of the moment, Tyson saw the truth. This wasn't the Spider-Man he sought.

It was a Spider-Woman.

He had made the same mistake Peter had at graduation, targeting the wrong imposter.

Peter's account of the attack on Gwen had been clear. The imposter who had assaulted them was a man. But the figure before him, the one he had chased and cornered, was unmistakably female. Cerebro revealed Cindy Moon's location in Siberia, so this couldn't be her. The only other possibility for a Spider-Woman that he could think of was… Gwen herself. Spider-Gwen or Ghost Spider. But the woman before him wasn't Gwen. Her hair wasn't blonde, and he was there the day Peter was bitten. Gwen had been in the room, but he was certain she hadn't been bitten. She might have fought better against the imposter if she had.

Spider-Woman's mask was a small domino, barely disguising her features. Even so, Tyson didn't recognize her. There was too much evidence this wasn't who he sought. He'd found the wrong clone.

Tyson stared at the woman, his rage dissipating. "I thought you were the other one," he said slowly. Amora's words echoed as he studied her, particularly the option to claim a powerful mistress. Here stood a woman with all of Peter's abilities, practically gift-wrapped and delivered to him. He knew Peter didn't have any particular resistance to his illusions. His power could bend her will, just as with Vanko and Connors.

The temptation pulled at him, whispering he'd found an easy solution to his desperate situation.

But something held him back. News reports painted a clear picture.

Spider-Woman was a hero.

Like Peter, she stopped crimes and saved lives. She swung through the city, protecting the innocent and vulnerable. There'd been no incidence where she'd committed unnecessarily violent acts.

Guilt spread through him. Using his powers to manipulate someone who had done nothing wrong felt wrong on a fundamental level. This wasn't like Vanko, who had tried to kill Tony Stark, or Connors, who had transformed into a monster and intended to do the same for the rest of the city.

This was different.

The weight of his moral compass pressed against his desperation. Yes, he wanted to save Jubilee more than anything. But at what cost? Mind-controlling an innocent hero was crossing the line.

Tyson's shoulders slumped as the tension drained from his posture. He wouldn't do it. He couldn't justify using his powers on someone who had committed no crime and had only tried to help others. The path of manipulating the innocent wasn't one he would walk, no matter how convenient it might be. His threatening stance relaxed, and his hands dropped as he let go of the dark possibility. There had to be another way to save Jubilee that didn't require compromising everything he believed in.

His thoughts were interrupted as her scent reached him, stopping his thoughts in their tracks. She smelled familiar, like Peter, but there was something more.

An alluring undertone he couldn't place.

Unbidden, thoughts of Jubilee faded from his mind, replaced by interest in this mysterious Spider-Woman.

She cocked her head, eyes flashing defiantly. "Do I look like a dude to you?" she questioned, sarcasm dripping from each word.

Tyson's gaze traveled over her slender yet toned frame, the curves of her suit leaving no doubt as to her femininity. "Far from it," he conceded, unable to keep a hint of appreciation from seeping into his voice.

Spider-Woman placed a hand on her hip, her body language radiating sass. "Eyes up here, cowboy," she quipped, though her words held a playful edge. "I know the suit's tight, but try to focus."

Tyson's eyes snapped back to her barely masked features. "Are you alright?" he asked.

She looked at him, her eyes narrowing. "No thanks to you," she retorted, "What's the deal with the heroes in this town? You're the second one to ambush me."

Tyson winced. "I'm sorry," he began, but Spider-Woman cut him off.

"Why were you chasing me, Mirage?" she asked. There was suspicion in her tone, but also a flicker of curiosity.

Tyson let out a frustrated sigh. "Do you know where to find the other imposter?" he asked.

Spider-Woman shook her head. "I don't," she admitted, a hint of apology in her voice. "Believe me, if I did, I'd be giving him a piece of my mind. It's hard enough being a spider-hero without him ruining our reputation."

Tyson grunted in frustration. He'd been so close to securing the power to save Jubilee's life. But now, he was back at square one, with nothing to show for his efforts but a case of mistaken identity.

He couldn't afford to wallow, though.

He would find another way. But first, he owed Spider-Woman an apology. "I'm sorry," he said again sincerely. "I shouldn't have attacked you like that. I let emotions get the better of me, and you paid the price. My… friend is dying, and to save her, I need to find the other Spider-Man."

Spider-Woman's posture softened, understanding dawning in her eyes. "I get it," she said, her voice gentler now. "We've all been there. Desperate to save someone we care about, willing to do whatever it takes. It's not an easy place to be."

Tyson nodded. He extended his hand, an offer of truce. Spider-Woman hesitated for a beat, then took it. He noted how strong her grip was despite her slender fingers.

"I hope you find what you're looking for," she said sincerely. "And I hope you save your friend."

Mirage's smile was genuine, if a bit strained. "I'm glad I ran into you, even under these circumstances. It was good to meet you, you look great in that costume. I mean… It's good to know another costumed hero is out in the streets."

Spider-Woman laughed. "Flattery will get you everywhere," she teased. "But seriously, no hard feelings. We're all fighting the good fight."

"Damn straight. And if you ever need a hand out here, give me a shout. I'm not that hard to find," Mirage offered.

"I might just take you up on that," she said playfully. "It's not every day a girl gets an offer from our local celebrity hero." She stepped back, preparing to swing away. "Good luck, Tyson," she said, in a warm, genuine tone.

He watched her swing away knowing he'd nearly made a terrible mistake, letting his desperation cloud his mind and attacking the wrong target. But as Spider-Woman disappeared from view, a realization hit him like a thunderbolt.

She had called him Tyson. His real name, not his alias.

How did she know his identity?

But there was no time to dwell on it now. With a shake of his head, Tyson turned back to his motorcycle. When the dust settled, he would track down Spider-Woman and get some answers.

But for now, the hunt was on.

As Jessica swung away, her mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and emotions as she distanced herself from Tyson.

The encounter had left her unsettled.

She couldn't stop thinking about what she'd said, those words that had slipped out almost without thought. "Flattery will get you everywhere." It had been a knee-jerk response, a quip thrown out in the heat of the moment. But now, in the cold light of hindsight, it made her cringe. Had she been flirting with Tyson? The thought made her stomach twist.

"Gross," she muttered.

Jessica was still coming to terms with the fact that she wasn't Peter Parker, that despite the memories and experiences that felt so real, she was her own person.

A woman, not a man.

It was a jarring realization, one that she grappled with daily.

But even amid that inner turmoil, she couldn't deny that talking to Tyson had been... nice. Comforting, even. He was her friend, or at least, he had been Peter's friend. Those memories of their camaraderie, of the trust and understanding they shared, still resonated within her, even if they weren't truly her own.

Her thoughts drifted to Gwen, and the tragedy that had befallen her father. When the news reached her, Jessica was hit with a wave of grief that was both foreign and achingly familiar. Memories of time spent with Gwen, of kisses and embraces, had surged to the surface, vivid and heart-wrenching. But they weren't her memories, not really. They belonged to Peter, to a life that wasn't hers.

And then there was Kaine. Her "brother," the other clone shared her genes but not her heart. Jessica had known, with a bone-deep certainty, that Kaine was responsible for Captain Stacy's death. It was the kind of thing he would do, lashing out in anger and pain at a world he didn't understand. They had been separated after their release. Jessica hadn't seen Kaine since that day, and honestly, she was surprised he was still loose in the city. She had half-expected him to be locked up by now, his violent tendencies and unstable mind a danger to himself and others.

A part of her, the part that clung to Peter's innate sense of responsibility, felt a pang of guilt. Maybe she should have tried harder to reach out to Kaine, to help him find his way in this strange new world they found themselves in. But another part, the part that was slowly, painstakingly carving out her own identity, knew that she wasn't responsible for Kaine's actions. She had her own life to figure out, her own path to forge.

Since her creation and subsequent abandonment by Dr. Warren, Jessica had grown accustomed to being treated like a pariah. Everywhere she went, she was met with fear. Suspicion and disdain had become her constant companions. Even out of costume, it seemed people sensed her true nature and that something was off about her, making them keep their distance.

But Tyson had been different.

His initial aggression had given way to genuine remorse and kindness. Jessica couldn't shake the memory of his apologetic tone, and the sincerity in his eyes as he explained his desperate situation. Normally, that would be the point that whatever was driving people away kicked in. But the hostility she'd come to expect from others hadn't occurred; with Tyson, it seemed, almost the opposite. Like what drove normal people away had drawn him to her.

She landed on a rooftop, perching on the edge as she gazed at the cityscape, replaying their interaction. Her spider-sense had screamed danger when Tyson pursued her, and for a heart-stopping moment, she'd thought this was it. That would be her end. Whatever mysterious force had been turning people against her had finally infected Tyson, her best friend, or at least, the man she remembered as her best friend. Instead, he'd surprised her. Not only had he apologized, but he'd been almost... charming. Jessica felt a warmth creep into her cheeks at the memory of his appreciative gaze and compliment about her costume. Or was it her body he was complimenting? Was that flirting? No one had shown her any positive attention since she'd been left behind at the lab. She wasn't sure if she could even recognize it anymore.

"Come on, Jessica," she muttered, shaking her head. "First boy to show interest in you and you swoon? That's so cliché."

But try as she might, she couldn't dismiss the flutter in her chest, the way her spirits had lifted during their brief interaction. Tyson had been the first person since her "birth" who seemed to accept her without question and treated her like a person rather than an outsider, threat, or abomination.

Was she so starved for positive attention that a few kind words could affect her this deeply?

She thought back to Tyson's offer to help. The sincerity in his voice had been unmistakable. For the first time in what felt like forever, Jessica felt maybe there was a place for her in this world after all.

But doubt crept in, tempering her optimism.

What if Tyson's kindness was a fluke? What if, once he learned the truth about her, he'd recoil in disgust like everyone else?

Jessica stood up, stretching her limbs as she prepared to continue her patrol. She couldn't afford to dwell on what-ifs and maybes. She had a city to protect. And yet, as she leaped off the building, shooting a web to swing away, she couldn't quite shake the warmth that Tyson's acceptance had kindled within her. Try as she might to dislodge the thought.

She had enough on her plate without adding confusing feelings for her gene donor's best friend into the mix.

She needed to focus on herself, her life, and her identity. It wouldn't be easy; nothing in her short, strange existence was. But she was determined to do it, to carve out a place for herself in this world that made sense.

She was Spider-Woman. Jessica. Not Peter Parker.

— Rogue Replacement —

Kaine felt the warning of danger from his spider-sense. It was greater than any sensation he'd gotten yet. It was greater than anything he remembered Peter feeling. He searched but saw nothing, his sense only giving him a general direction. Something bad was coming for him from the North.

Kaine headed for the Lincoln Tunnel, the sensation he got through his spider-sense was so large that he wasn't sure if the threat was against him, or an attack on Manhattan itself. If it was the latter, the tunnel might be his quickest escape. He reached the tunnel and crawled along its ceiling as the sensation suddenly disappeared. Kaine stopped and stayed there for a minute, clinging to the top of the Lincoln Tunnel. He crawled back toward the Manhattan side. But when he exited, he saw what must have caused the threat. Mirage. He was chasing Jessica. Kaine smiled, good. A chance to kill two birds with one stone; get rid of Jessica, and maybe even get Mirage off his back.

Kaine watched from the shadows, observing how Mirage was handling Spider-Woman. He had to be careful, he couldn't let Mirage get the drop on him. Not with his powers. Mirage's illusion tricked Jessica, sending her crashing into the ground.

Mirage lept at her.

Kaine's smile grew wider. This was perfect. Hopefully, his claws would ruin the perfect, pretty girl's face.

Kaine's smile disappeared as Tyson stopped short of Jessica. They were talking now, their voices carrying faintly on the wind. He watched as Mirage's aggressive stance relaxed, his body language shifting from that of a predator to almost friendly. Kaine's eyes narrowed, a growl rumbling deep in his chest. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen.

Jessica, the clone who thought she was a woman, was smiling. The sight of it twisted Kaine's insides with disgust. She was falling for Mirage's tricks, just like everyone else. It was sickening. Of course, Tyson wouldn't attack her. Kaine knew all too well his womanizing ways. He had seen it with Felicia Hardy. The way she looked at Tyson with a mix of admiration and desire. And then there was Gwen Stacy, the girl who had captured Peter's heart. Tyson had circled her like a vulture, trying to weasel his way in. It was despicable.

Kaine couldn't stand to watch any longer. He crept back into the shadows, his mind racing. He needed to find some way to stop Tyson, to expose him for the manipulative monster he truly was. But how? Tyson was perhaps even more powerful than Kaine himself. His illusions were enough to make anyone question their sanity.

As Kaine slunk away, he couldn't shake the image of Jessica and Tyson from his mind.

— Rogue Replacement —

Tyson sat astride his motorcycle as he grappled with the next step in his desperate quest. The encounter with Spider-Woman had thrown him off balance; realizing she wasn't the imposter he sought was a bitter pill to swallow. He had asked Peter to stay home, knowing that his friend's familiar scent would interfere with his tracking abilities. But he hadn't accounted for the existence of another clone, a wrinkle in his plan that left him frustrated and unsure.

It was a shit coincidence, he mused darkly, that the other clone had traveled through the area near the Lincoln Tunnel. Their scents had intermingled, confusing his senses and leading him on a wild goose chase.

Now, he was left with three options, each with its own set of risks and uncertainties.

The first was to backtrack to Carnegie Hall and follow the scent in the opposite direction. But Tyson was hesitant to pursue that course of action. If the scent trail led to a dead end, he would have wasted precious time chasing false leads. And given that the imposter had managed to evade Peter for the better part of a month, the odds of Tyson finding him in a few short hours seemed slim.

The second option was to assume that Spider-Woman had been lying, to follow her, hoping she would lead him to the imposter. But even as he considered it, Tyson felt a pang of reluctance. Spider-Woman had been forthcoming, even friendly, in their brief interaction. And there was a familiarity that reminded him of Peter. The fact that she knew he was Mirage gave him pause, revealing a depth of knowledge that he hadn't expected. But it wasn't enough, in his mind, to suspect her of any wrongdoing.

That left the third option.

Choose another target.

With a heavy sigh, Tyson made his decision. He revved the engine of his motorcycle, the machine roaring to life beneath him. Merging into traffic, he sped eastward, towards the House of M.

As he entered the building, he was met by Felicia. "I took some calls while you were out," she said without preamble.

Tyson sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Let me guess. Jubilee."

"Yeah. She's worried, doesn't want you to do what you're doing, and she's coming here."

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

"No surprise there," Tyson mumbled. He knew Jubilee's heart was in the right place, but he couldn't let her dissuade him from his path.

Felicia studied him for a moment, her gaze searching. "Have to ask, are you sure about this?"

"Yeah. I am."

Felicia nodded, accepting his resolve. "Alright then. On to other things." She consulted her tablet, scrolling through her notes. "Maki called, asking when she could come for an interview."

"Maki?"

"The woman who put in the random application to be Mirage's bodyguard," Felicia clarified, a hint of amusement in her tone. "You said, and I quote, 'she's a ninja assassin, make sure you hire her.'"

Recognition dawned on Tyson's face. "Ah, yeah. Bring her in. Maybe... Wednesday." He paused, considering. "Don't let her into the secure areas without me around, and keep a close eye on her until after I speak with her."

"Got it." Felicia made a note on her tablet, nodding. "I didn't realize you knew about Wednesday already."

Tyson shifted, his mind already moving on to the next step in his plan. "Right. Anything else?"

"Nothing besides Wednesday," Felicia shook her head, offering him a small, supportive smile. "That's all."

Tyson started to walk away, but then, an illusion of him turned back to Felicia.

The illusory Tyson reached out, pulling Felicia into a warm embrace. "Thanks for understanding," he murmured, "And for everything you do."

Felicia leaned into the embrace, her own arms coming up to wrap around him.

"I have to try to save her," he whispered, "I'd do the same for you."

"I know," she whispered back.

For a long moment, they stayed like that, locked in an embrace. Finally, Felicia drew back, her eyes searching the illusion's face. "Spend a few minutes with me," she pleaded softly, "until you disappear."

"Of course," he murmured, drawing her back into his arms.

And so they stood, Felicia and the illusory Tyson, stealing a moment of comfort and connection as the real Tyson continued to Vanko's lab.

"What's the status of the whiplash armor?" Tyson asked, his voice carrying an edge of impatience.

Vanko looked up from his workbench, answering in his heavy Russian accent, "I resized the chassis for you. Extending it four inches was no problem, man. Either of us may use it."

"Time for me to suit up. How far will the arc reactor allow me to fly?"

Vanko shrugged, responding, "Far as you want."

That was what Tyson had hoped to hear. He had taken a risk, going out on a limb to prevent the armor's destruction and Vanko's death at the Stark Expo. Now, it was time to put the tech to use.

Vanko rose from his seat. He gestured for Tyson to follow, ready to assist him in donning the Whiplash Mark 2 armor. The suit was a match for the Iron Man and War Machine suits and he was about to take it for a spin.

The armor hummed to life, the arc reactor glowing a brilliant blue at its core. Tyson flexed his fingers, feeling the strength and precision of the suit's hydraulics.

Vanko stepped back, admiring his handiwork. "You're all set, man."

Tyson turned towards the exit.

Outside, Jean and Jubilee had just pulled up to the House of M in their borrowed car from the Xavier Institute. They stepped out, their eyes widening as they caught sight of a figure streaking off from the building's roof. It looked like Iron Man, but there was something different about it.

Jean reached out with her mind, trying to get a read on the figure inside the armor. But she hit a wall, a mental barrier she couldn't penetrate from this distance. Whoever was in that suit, they were well-protected.

Jubilee let out a low whistle. "Damn, that's some serious tech. You think it's Iron Man's new suit?"

Jean shook her head, her brow furrowed with concern. "I don't think so, Jubes. His mind was shielded... I think that was Tyson."

They watched as the figure disappeared into the distance, a trail of blue light marking its path.

Jubilee growled in frustration, she said, "That's so cool… but now I'm mad. We need to call Professor Ororo to come pick us up. We'll never be able to catch him without the Blackbird."

Tyson soared through the sky, the armor responding to his every directive and movement. He had never felt so free as the world stretched out below him.

The Whiplash suit's thrusters propelled him forward as he left Manhattan behind. The southern tip of the island grew smaller with each passing second, and Tyson couldn't help but feel a rush of exhilaration as he ascended higher into the clouds.

As he reached cruising altitude, a notification flashed on the suit's HUD, indicating an incoming call. Tyson glanced at the caller ID and saw that it was none other than Tony Stark himself.

"Mr. Stark, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Tyson asked, his voice laced with a hint of sarcasm.

"I got an interesting notification from Wednesday," Tony replied, his tone a mix of curiosity and concern.

"Who's Wednesday?"

"That AI assistant security system we talked about," Tony explained, a slight edge to his voice.

Tyson mumbled under his breath, "Didn't think it would happen that fast."

"You should listen to that assistant of yours more," Tony chided.

"You're one to talk."

Tony brushed off the jab and continued, "Anyway, Wednesday told me a suit left from House of M, but Vanko was still on the premises. Do you know anything about that?"

Tyson hesitated for a moment before answering, "Uh, yeah. That'd be me."

"Going for a joyride?" Tony asked.

"Something like that," Tyson replied, trying to keep his voice casual. "Just a quick flight to DC."

"DC? What's there?" Tony pressed.

"Need to meet with a Senator."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Tyson could almost picture the look of concern on Tony's face.

"Not sure that's the best idea," Tony finally said seriously. "Government has been real difficult with the suits. They finally got off my back when I let Rhodes have my hand-me-downs. If they find out you have one, it'll be trouble."

Tyson tried to reassure him, "I won't take the armor into the city proper. I'll leave it outside the city limits. I just needed a way to get south quickly."

"You're making me a bit nervous," Tony admitted, and Tyson could hear the unease in his voice. "You know, Vanko didn't make that thing for stealth. I'm tracking you as we speak, and I doubt my eyes are the only ones on you."

A sense of realization washed over Tyson. He hadn't considered that the suit would pop up on military radar, but Tony had a point. If Natasha was here, she'd make a joke about cameras, or in this case, electronic surveillance being his greatest nemesis. With a sigh, Tyson asked, "Any chance you could hide my movements with your tech wizardry?"

"Maybe," Tony replied, "Tell me what's so important that you'd risk taking the armor to the capital."

Tyson hesitated before explaining, "There's a mutant who's a shapeshifter, posing as a Senator. I need to stop her."

"I know you've appointed yourself the Secretary of Mutant Affairs," Tony said, a hint of skepticism in his voice, "but why do this yourself? Why not tell SHIELD and let them handle it?"

Tyson admitted, "It goes deeper than that. A friend of mine is in trouble. To save her, I need to kill the shapeshifter."

Tony interrupted, his voice rising with concern, "Let me get this straight. You're going to Washington DC to kill a Senator?"

"It sounds way worse when you say it like that," Tyson replied, trying to downplay the gravity of the situation.

"What happens when you kill the Senator and everyone finds out that he was killed by a mutant?" Tony asked his words carrying a heavy weight.

Tyson mumbled under his breath, "Fuck." Could he return mutants to the spotlight in such a negative way? As he pondered Tony's words, a text flashed in his HUD from Jubilee. "The Professor called Senator Mystique. She's gone into hiding. You won't be able to find her. Please stop and come back."

Another curse escaped Tyson's lips. With Tony still on the line, he answered, "You know what, you're right. I'll let SHIELD handle the Senator. Instead, I'm just going to go for that joyride. Vegas sounds nice. Maybe I'll put on a show. Thanks for the advice."

Tony watched as Tyson banked inland on the satellite tracking. "Good man," he said relieved. "I'll cover your trail just this one time. But if I see you heading toward DC, I'm suiting up."

"Understood," Tyson replied, ending the call.

The Whiplash suit hummed with power as Tyson altered his course, the bright lights of Las Vegas now his destination.

— Rogue Replacement —

Tyson carefully concealed the Whiplash armor at an outdoor speedway amusement center on Route 15, just south of the glittering lights of Las Vegas. With a final glance to ensure its security, Tyson turned his attention northward, toward the beckoning glow of the Strip.

His superhuman speed and endurance made the journey a breeze, his feet pounding against the pavement in a steady rhythm. As he ran, Tyson drew upon his powers to cloak himself in an illusion, rendering him invisible to the eyes of the passing motorists. The cars whizzed by, their occupants blissfully unaware of the extraordinary figure running alongside them, nearly matching their speed.

The Bellagio sat on the southern end of the Strip. But as Tyson neared the edge of the Strip, a familiar group came into view, their silhouettes standing out against the vibrant backdrop of the city. Jubilee wearing her yellow jacket, stood alongside Jean Grey. Wolverine flanked them on one side, Colossus on the other. And finally was Storm, her white hair billowing in the gentle breeze.

Tyson slowed his pace, realizing that his friends had anticipated his move. As fast as the Whiplash armor was, it couldn't match the unparalleled speed of the Blackbird, the sleek aircraft modeled after the legendary SR-71 spy plane. The X-Men had beaten him to the punch, and now they stood before him, their expressions a mix of concern and determination.

The Strip beyond them buzzed with energy, the chatter of excited tourists filling the air. The towering hotels and casinos loomed ahead. Neon signs flickered and pulsed, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the faces of the gathered mutants.

Tyson approached, his illusion fading away as he revealed himself; Jean and Ororo had seen through the simple deception already. The weight of his decision to come to Las Vegas hung heavy in the air, the unspoken concerns palpable between them.

Jubilee stepped forward, her eyes locked on Tyson's. "We know what you're doing. Why did you leave before even speaking to us, Ty?" she asked, her voice a mix of worry and frustration.

Tyson met her gaze, his own eyes filled with a determination that bordered on defiance. "I had to," he said simply, his words carrying a weight despite their brevity.

Wolverine warned, "You don't need to do this, kid."

Jean placed a hand on Wolverine's shoulder, her touch was a gentle reminder of their shared purpose. "We all want to help Jubilee," she said, her voice soft but firm. "This isn't the way. Just talk to me, please. We can figure this out."

Storm nodded in agreement, her eyes filled with a wisdom that seemed to transcend her years. "We are a team, Tyson," she said, her words a promise of support and unity.

Tyson looked at each of his friends in turn, the gravity of their presence sinking in. He had come to Las Vegas with a singular purpose, but now, standing before his friends, he knew he was right to avoid them. Seeing their faces, and hearing their words, made him hesitate, and question his path.

"Talk about what? You becoming my slave?" he asked Jean. His eyes were dark with desperation as he shifted to pleading with Jubilee. "Let me try to save you."

Jubilee shook her head. Her expression was resolute even as her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I can't let you kill someone else for me," she replied, her voice soft but unwavering.

How could he stand by and let her die?

"You don't understand. This guy I'm going after is the absolute worst kind of person. He can bend others to his will and does so without remorse or second thoughts. Killing him would be doing the world a favor." He turned to Logan, "If he knew you existed, he wouldn't hesitate to control you, keep you as a bodyguard."

Tyson then addressed the women, his voice taking on a somber tone. "I'm sure I don't need to say what he'd do to any of you. I don't want you to be in the same city as this guy, let alone be so near to him. Let me take care of him, and this will all be settled."

Storm, her white hair billowing in the gentle desert breeze, asked, "And what happens to you when you absorb this man's power, Tyson? Will you become him?"

Tyson met her eyes, a flicker of uncertainty passing across his features. "I've kept Sabertooth in check all these months."

"How much evil can one man hold before it begins to affect him?" she asked.

But Jean interrupted, raising her hand.

Suddenly, Tyson, who had been running across the street, was yanked off his feet and dragged in front of them by Jean's telekinesis.

The disappointment could be heard in Jean's voice as she explained, "He tried to get past us by distracting us with an illusion."

Tyson struggled against Jean's telekinetic hold. "You don't understand," he growled in frustration. His eyes darted between his friends, locking onto each of them. "I have to do this. Why won't you trust me?"

"We know the weight you carry, Tyson. But taking on this burden alone will only lead you down a dark path. Let us help you find another way." Storm said.

Tyson's eyes locked with Storm's, lingering for a long moment as desperation filled his eyes. Then he focused on Jean.

Despite the invisible force of her telekinesis holding him in place, Tyson suddenly was able to raise his arm, his bare hand reaching for her face.

Jean reacted instinctively, using her telekinesis to toss Tyson away from her.

The simple illusion he had crafted slipped past her defenses, catching her off guard. As Tyson hit the ground, the impact freed him from Jean's grasp, just as he had hoped. He split into several illusionary duplicates, each locking eyes with the mutants assembled against him…

Jubilee's world shifted…

The neon lights and desert heat of Las Vegas vanished, replaced by the gentle lapping of water beneath her feet. She blinked, adjusting to the sudden change. Somehow, she stood atop an expanse of water, the surface tension holding her weight like solid ground. The air felt different here, cleaner, filled with the scent of forest and stone. Looking down, Jubilee found herself wearing an orange and black jumpsuit. A glance at her surroundings revealed towering cliffs on either side of a waterfall, and at their peak, two massive stone statues faced each other in eternal confrontation.

"The Valley of the End," she whispered, recognizing the scene from countless anime marathons, and it was one of the scenes Tyson had created on their date.

Across the water he stood, dressed in a loose white shirt, dark pants, and that purple rope belt. His expression matched Sasuke's brooding intensity perfectly, his three-tomoe Sharingan eyes stared her down.

"Really, Ty? You're gonna make me do this whole thing?" Jubilee called out, unable to suppress a small smile despite the situation. "Like, I get the metaphor and everything, but this is seriously extra."

The water rippled beneath her feet as she took a step forward. "Look, I know you think you're protecting me by going after this Kilgrave guy. But that's not what I want. That's not what any of us want."

She took another step forward, her reflection wavering in the water below. "I know you're scared. I'm scared too. But becoming a killer isn't the answer. That's not who you are. I know you're not going to hurt any of us. You're such a nerd, I noticed all your little details. Three-tomoe sharingan, not a Mangekyō. Whether you intended it or not, that has meaning."

"You don't understand what he's capable of," Tyson replied, his voice echoing across the water.

"Maybe not," Jubilee admitted. "But I understand you. And this path you're on? It leads nowhere good." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "Remember when we first met? You had just killed for the first time. You didn't know how any of us would feel about you. But you let us in any way. You let me in."

The water stirred beneath them as a breeze swept through the valley.

"I love you, you big dummy," Jubilee said, her voice cracking slightly. "And I'm not gonna stand here and watch you throw away everything you've built. Everything you are. Not for me. Not for anyone."

Tyson's expression softened, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. Then he closed his eyes and shook his head.

"Sorry, Jubes. Your Talk no Jutsu failed," he said quietly. "You don't want me to become a killer, but that's exactly what I've been since that day I arrived."

Logan and Colossus's world shifted…

Logan's nostrils flared as the sulfurous stench of Limbo filled his lungs. The familiar crimson sky and twisted landscape materialized around them, replacing the neon lights of Las Vegas. Across a field of black stone, Tyson stood transformed. His skin was bleached white and covered in glowing runes that pulsed with an otherworldly light.

"This again?" Logan growled, "Didn't we do this dance a few weeks ago?"

Tyson's voice echoed across the hellish landscape. "And have you forgotten how that ended up?"

"Alright kid, that's how it's going to be." Logan's jaw clenched. "I'm going to beat some sense into you."

Colossus took a hesitant step forward, his metal skin gleaming in the crimson light. "Logan, perhaps we should..."

But Logan was already moving. With a familiar SNIKT, his adamantium claws burst from his knuckles. He launched himself at Tyson, claws extended for a devastating strike. Just before impact, Tyson's form rippled like water and sank into the black stone beneath their feet, mimicking the faceless Vilsteth demon's ability they'd encountered in their battle within Limbo while fighting Azazel.

Logan's claws sliced through empty air as Tyson emerged from the ground behind him. The feral mutant spun around, his claws carved deadly arcs, whistling through empty air as Tyson melted into the rocky ground of Limbo. The sulfurous stench burned Logan's nostrils, bringing back unwanted memories of their previous visit to this hellish dimension.

"Getting slow in your old age?" Tyson's voice echoed from behind.

Logan spun, claws leading the way. His strike caught nothing but air as Tyson sank into the ground again. The kid was playing games, testing his patience.

"Logan, we must be careful," Colossus warned, his metal skin gleaming in the crimson light. "This is not the real Tyson we face."

"Real enough," Logan growled.

Tyson emerged from a nearby boulder, those mismatched eyes glowing with otherworldly power. The arcane runes etched into Tyson's bone-white skin pulsed with energy. He moved like the Vilsteth demon, fluid and unpredictable. Logan lunged forward with his adamantium claws extended. Tyson flowed around the attack like water, his form rippling as he phased through solid rock.

Logan dropped and rolled as Tyson burst from the ground behind him, stone claws raking through the space where Logan's head had been.

"You're not the only one with claws, old man," Tyson taunted.

Logan sprang to his feet, spinning to face his opponent. Colossus stepped forward. "This accomplishes nothing, comrade. We should…"

"If you don't want to fight then stay back, Pete," Logan snapped. "The kid wants to dance? Let's dance."

Tyson's laughter bounced off the twisted spires of rock surrounding them. He phased through another boulder, emerging with his stone claws extended. Logan met the attack head-on, adamantium meeting stone in a shower of sparks. They traded blows, neither gaining the upper hand. When Logan slashed high, Tyson would sink into the ground. When Tyson emerged for a surprise attack, Logan countered.

Logan pressed forward with a series of quick strikes, forcing Tyson to phase through a twisted column of black stone.

"Getting tired yet?" Tyson's voice echoed from within the pillar.

Logan snorted, rotating his shoulders, ready to continue the fight. But he realized the truth. Even compared to the last time they fought…

The kid was holding back.

Ororo's world shifted…

The neon lights of Las Vegas dissolved into a familiar scene. The manicured lawns and elegant architecture of Xavier's Institute materialized around her. She stood in the central courtyard, the sky indicating the sun had recently set. The first thing that caught her attention was the sound. A seeking noise in the distance, growing louder with each passing moment. Black vans pulled up outside the ornate gates. The doors burst open, and soldiers began streaming out. The whoosh of helicopter blades cut through the air, and the sound echoed across the grounds as multiple aircraft approached from different directions.

Storm watched soldiers wearing dark uniforms scale the walls. As they entered the courtyard, something struck her as wrong. Then she saw it, each soldier had the same face. Tyson's face. Dozens of him, armed and ready for battle, surrounded the school.

"What is this?" Storm demanded, her voice carrying on the wind that had begun to stir around her.

Tyson's voice came from the mouth of a soldier, each sentence projecting from a different armed figure.

"This was the battle I fought for you."

"I protected your students."

"That's what I'm doing here."

"Protecting one of your students."

Storm's white hair whipped around her face as the wind picked up, responding to her rising emotions. It had been a year, but the guilt from that day was still fresh. The attack on the school, the children in danger. She'd missed the entire battle since she was off with Logan searching for the mutant that had attacked the President.

"Are you sure that's what you're doing?" she challenged, her eyes beginning to cloud with white energy. "It seems more likely that you've given in to your bloodlust and are trying to kill a man. Just like you killed during this battle."

The illusion of soldiers paused in their movements, frozen in time. One Tyson, dressed in uniform, stood before her, his mismatched eyes blazing with anger and hurt.

"If you'd been there, and done your job," he fired back, his voice sharp as a blade, "maybe I wouldn't have had to."

The wind howled around them now, whipping at their clothes as Storm faced down her former student. The soldiers remained motionless, silent witnesses to their confrontation, each wearing Tyson's face like an accusation. The institute's grounds stretched out around them, peaceful and serene despite the invasion force frozen in time. This place of learning and sanctuary was surrounded by violence and death.

Just as Tyson himself seemed caught between being a protector and a killer.

The helicopters hung suspended in the darkening sky, and their blades caught mid-rotation. Storm could see every detail of the scene Tyson had recreated. The determination on the soldiers' faces, the weapons in their hands, the fear they must have brought to the children who called this place home. But this wasn't about protecting the school. This was about something else entirely, and they both knew it. The illusion served as a mirror, reflecting the consequences of that day.

Logan's claws glinted under the flickering lights, a snarl emanating from his throat as he faced off against one of the illusionary Tyson duplicates. Storm's eyes glowed a brilliant white, the wind whipping around her as she summoned the forces of nature to her aid. Jubilee's hands crackled with energy, her mutant power casting a dazzling display of light and color across the scene.

But none of them fought the real Tyson. The X-Men found themselves engaged in battle against an enemy that only existed within their minds.

Or rather Tyson's mind.

Jean stood still, her brow furrowed in concentration. She'd brushed away Tyson's illusion that attempted to ensnare her like she'd swat away a fly. Her telepathic powers reached out searching for the familiar presence of her friend. She ignored the distraction of Tyson and Jubilee battling on the water, Logan and Colossus fighting the projection in Limbo, and the army of Tysons arrayed against Professor Ororo. None of the illusions had thoughts of their own, making them easy to ignore, but Jean had always had difficulty sensing Tyson. More so since he'd gained the illusions, his psionic powers seemingly bolstering his defenses.

But then, like a beacon in the darkness, Jean felt it. The unmistakable essence of his mind, the unique but muted pattern of his thoughts and emotions set him apart from the illusions he created. Her eyes snapped open, locking onto the real Tyson as he tried to slip away.

"There!" Jean shouted. She pointed at the retreating figure, her telekinetic power surging forward to grab hold of him once more.

But the other X-Men failed to heed her call.

Their attentions were fully drawn to Tyson's illusion. The real fight was between just the two of them.

Psychic vs psychic.

Tyson remained firmly held in Jean's telekinetic grasp, his body suspended mid-air, unable to break free. Their eyes locked once more, a mixture of frustration and resignation etched upon his features. At that moment, Tyson made a decision born of desperation and a singular focus on his goal.

His mind stretched outwards forming invisible wispy tendrils of psychic energy that snaked toward Jean's consciousness. He pressed against the edges of her psyche, his influence spreading like a heavy fog. Manipulating others had always been a last resort reserved only for his enemies when left with no choice. But now desperation drove him to cross that line.

"I trust you, Jean. And I know you trust me. I've felt it. We connected. I've been inside you, and you've been inside me… In a way that goes beyond intimacy. The others can't possibly understand our connection and what we've shared." Tyson said. He pushed harder, his psychic powers seeping into the familiar pathways of her mind. After their time linked together in Cerebro, he knew how to navigate the complex terrain.

She felt his presence at the edges of her mind, probing and searching. His psychic touch differed from Xavier's, far less precise, but somehow more intimate.

Her telepathic barriers stood firm, walls of pure thought and will. But they couldn't contain everything. Emotions leaked through, wisps of feeling that Tyson's power caught. He found the warmth she held for him. Pushing against that section of the barrier, he picked up impressions. Their shared moments at the Institute, quiet conversations at breakfast, the way he made her laugh, his power giving her the solace of silence.

The exact nature of those feelings remained unclear to his untrained abilities. Not quite love, but not simple friendship either; something more complex that defied easy categorization. But he recognized their strength, their genuineness.

In response, Tyson gathered his own emotions. Memories flooded through him. Jean's gentle guidance when he first arrived at Xavier's, her fierce protectiveness when Illyana vanished him to Limbo, quiet moments when the rest of the institute slept. Deeper feelings rose unbidden. Flashes of her smile, thoughts of her beauty that he'd tried to suppress.

He took it all, this tangled mess of gratitude and desire, friendship and want, and pressed it against her mental shields.

Not attacking. Offering. Sharing.

Jean's barriers softened, almost imperceptibly. The rigid walls became permeable, allowing tendrils of his consciousness to seep through growing cracks. He felt her acceptance, her willingness to let him in.

That small success spurred him on. He reached through the widening fissures, grasping for Jean's feelings, using them to create more openings.

A voice in the back of his mind whispered encouragement…

She was letting this happen, wanting it as much as he did. Their mutual desire created a feedback loop, each moment of connection amplifying the next.

A soft gasp escaped Jean's lips. The sound was not pain, resistance, or exertion.

Pleasure.

Pure and unrestrained. Her mental barriers crumbled further as waves of sensation passed between them.

Their psychic connection deepened as emotions flowed freely now. Physical sensations began to blur; her racing heart and his quickened breath became indistinguishable. Las Vegas faded as their consciousness intertwined more intimately than any physical embrace.

Jean's emerald eyes locked onto his mismatched ones, pupils dilated. Her lips parted slightly as another small sound escaped. The telekinetic hold on Tyson weakened as her concentration wavered under the assault of shared sensation.

Around them, the other X-Men remained caught in Tyson's illusions, unaware of the intimate psychic dance unfolding. The neon lights of Vegas cast shifting colors across Jean's face as she swayed slightly, caught in the tide of their mental joining.

Tyson pressed deeper into the connection, riding the wave of Jean's acceptance. Each barrier that fell revealed new depths of emotion, and new sensations to explore. Awareness of the physical world faded away, leaving only their interwoven consciousness floating in a sea of shared feelings.

Tyson had succeeded.

Her grip on him wavered.

Their eyes remained locked eyes, neither able to look away as his mismatched ones burrowed into her emerald greens. With a final surge of energy, Tyson tried to override Jean's will, to bend her to his command against her consent.

"Let. Me. Go."

But then, through their connection, Tyson felt something new streaming through Jean's barriers. The sensation was unlike anything he'd experienced before. More than just emotions or thoughts, it carried an almost physical weight, pressing against his consciousness with tangible force.

He saw Jean, but not as she appeared before him in Las Vegas. This vision showed her wreathed in flames, her usual gentle demeanor sharpened to a razor's edge. The warmth he typically felt from her had transformed into searing heat. Where Jean's normal presence was like sunlight filtering through leaves… This was a solar flare.

The love he sensed wasn't the complex mix of friendship and attraction he'd grown accustomed to. This presence radiated pure want, primal and unrestrained. It didn't wait for him to reach out, it surged forward, grasping his mind with fierce intensity. Not content to simply accept his advances, it sought to claim him entirely.

Raw power rolled off this presence in waves. It dwarfed anything Tyson had encountered before, making even Professor Xavier's formidable abilities seem modest comparatively. The sheer force of it threatened to overwhelm him completely. His psychic defenses had already lowered to connect with Jean and offered no resistance against this tide of power.

The presence filled every corner of his mind, leaving no room for doubt or hesitation. Where Jean's touch had been gentle, this entity burned through him like wildfire. It found every hidden desire, every suppressed wanting, and drew them to the surface. His carefully maintained control began to slip away.

Tyson's consciousness reeled under the onslaught. His identity began to blur at the edges as this force pressed in from all sides. He could feel Jean's presence too, familiar and warm, but it was overshadowed by this other entity that burned so much brighter.

The physical world seemed impossibly distant now. The neon lights of Las Vegas, his illusions battling his friends, even his own body… all felt less real than this psychic connection. The presence consumed his awareness until nothing else remained but its burning intensity.

— Rogue Replacement —

With a cry, Jean forced Tyson back, extinguishing his influence over her mind in an instant. She hovered above him, eyes blazing, her powers swirling around her. There would be no manipulating her mind.

Jean's consciousness surged through the connection Tyson had opened between them. His attempt to manipulate her mind had created a bridge, and now she crossed it, diving deep into the landscape of his thoughts. The familiar sensation of entering another's mind enveloped her, but this differed from her usual telepathic encounters.

Tyson's mindscape materialized around her psychic presence. Unlike the ordered thoughts she typically encountered, his mind was a swirling maelstrom of memories and emotions. Images flashed past her; faces of those he'd killed, the weight of powers he'd absorbed, the constant struggle to maintain control.

The memories whirled faster, more recent ones rising to the surface. She saw Jubilee through his eyes, growing paler and weaker from the vampire's bite. Felt his crushing fear of losing her, the desperate need to save her at any cost. The memory shifted to his conversation with Amora, her smile as she demanded he grow stronger to earn her help. His determination crystallized into a single thought.

He wasn't strong enough to protect those he cared about.

Jean pushed deeper, past the surface thoughts. Here, in the depths of his consciousness, she found the true source of his desperation. It wasn't just about saving Jubilee. Deeper currents of guilt and shame swirled around memories of others he'd failed to protect. Azazel's domination over Limbo, over Illyana. The students at Xavier's school during the attack. The soldiers he'd slaughtered and their memories, most decent people. Each death was a weight he carried, each failure another crack in his resolve to remain noble.

Tyson's consciousness reacted to her presence, trying to push her out. But Jean held firm, her telepathic abilities far more refined than his nascent psychic powers. She felt his frustration, his anger at being invaded this way, but also his bone-deep exhaustion from constantly fighting his darker impulses and controlling the other psyches within his mind.

The landscape of his mind shifted again, revealing what truly drove him. It wasn't love, nor a desire for power that pushed him toward Kilgrave.

It was fear.

Fear that if he didn't act, and didn't become strong enough, he would lose everyone he cared about.

This went deeper than protecting Jubilee.

Jean witnessed the battle raging within him. The part that wanted to be a hero wrestled with the part that would do anything, become anything, to protect those he loved. She felt his conviction that absorbing Kilgrave's power was the best of his current paths forward, even as another part of him recoiled from the idea of taking another life.

Through their connection, Jean sensed something else.

Resignation.

Tyson knew what he was about to do was wrong, and knew it would disappoint his friends, but he'd accepted those consequences. In his mind, their opinions of him changing was a small price to pay for saving Jubilee's life.

A small price to pay to protect the future.

Jean had to ask, What future was Tyson trying to protect?

But as she delved into those thoughts, the mental landscape grew hazy. She could feel something fighting harder against her presence. But it wasn't Tyson. He wasn't strong enough to push her out of his mind, not when she was this deep. This was something else. Memories and emotions swirled chaotically around her, but Jean had seen enough. She understood now the depth of his struggle. He was desperate enough to sacrifice his humanity to save...

Everyone?

No.

Half of everyone…

What did that even mean?

Jean reached out for the barrier trying to force her out. She got the impression it was impenetrable. Like a mental version of Tyson's unbreakable bones. But stronger. Impossibly so. As she reached out to touch it, her consciousness suddenly shifted.

The chaotic mindscape of memories and emotions dissolved, replaced by the velvet darkness of a movie theater. Jean sat in a plush seat, the familiar scent of popcorn hanging in the air. Beside her sat Tyson, his hand intertwined with hers. It was Tyson, but not Tyson. Gone was his massive frame and wild wavy hair, he looked more… normal.

Her breath caught. Their fingers were interlocked, skin against skin, yet his power wasn't activating. No drain, no pain, no pull of memories or abilities. Just the warmth of his touch.

This couldn't be real, she thought. But she was able to see through his illusions. This was different. This was more. And yet…

The screen before them flickered with images. A massive battle unfolded, heroes she didn't recognize fighting. The scenes grew darker and more desperate until it happened.

Two fingers, a gold gauntlet.

Snap.

People began to dissolve into ash, scattering on the wind. A young man in red and blue, clutching… an older Iron Man… begging not to go before he too faded away.

The final scene showed a muscular figure with purple skin sitting peacefully, watching a sunset over pristine mountains. His expression held satisfaction, perhaps even peace, as he observed the golden light spilling across the landscape.

The screen faded to black. White text appeared.

"Thanos will return..."

Darkness enveloped the theater.

"That's the end?" Jean asked, confused, her voice barely above a whisper in the quiet theater.

Tyson turned to her, his mismatched eyes reflecting what little light remained. "Yeah, I know, it's crazy." he squeezed her hand reassuringly, "But don't worry, the story's not over yet."

He leaned forward, one hand rising to cup her cheek. Jean moved to meet him, drawn by something deeper than physical attraction. Their lips met in a gentle kiss that felt more real than any vision had a right to.

As they separated, he breathed, "I promise." as the theater dissolved around them.

Jean's presence hovered within his mind, her hand still against the impenetrable barrier. She felt it pulse and she was violently forced back into her own mind, the taste of their kiss still lingering as reality reasserted itself.

Hurled out of his mental landscape, she again felt Tyson's power squirming toward her mind. But then, with a single word, Jean shattered his resistance.

"Stop Fighting Me."

The command was soft, but its impact was immeasurable. Tyson's illusion power withered and died, his mental tendrils retracting back into his mind as if scorched by the sun. His struggles ceased, and his resistance crumbled in the face of Jean's psychic might.

As strong a psychic as Tyson was, and as much resistance he had from the multiple minds within his head…

None of it was a match for Jean Grey.

Around them, the illusions flickered and vanished, the X-Men's attacks passing harmlessly through the empty air. Logan's claws sliced through nothingness, while Storm's winds dissipated into the night sky. Jubilee's energy fizzled out, the dazzling light show fading into the ever-present glow of the city.

Tyson hung limply in Jean's telekinetic grasp, his eyes vacant and his face expressionless.

Jean felt a mixture of sadness and understanding, her eyes filled with a deep empathy for her friend. She knew the pain that drove Tyson, the desperation that had led him to this moment. What she didn't know and couldn't understand, was the barrier within his mind, stronger than any Professor Xavier had helped her build within her own.

… And the

… theater.

She struggled to hold on to the thoughts as she hovered to the ground, the city around her growing dimmer.

The other X-Men gathered around them, their faces etched with concern and compassion.

They had seen Tyson at his lowest; when he'd arrived at the Institute having taken Sabertooth's life to survive, when he'd nearly been killed by Magneto, when he'd been tortured and mutilated at Alkali Lake, and now when he tried and failed to take a life to save one.

— Rogue Replacement —

Tyson's senses returned to him gradually, the fog of confusion lifting as he found himself strapped securely inside the Blackbird. As he regained his cognizance, Tyson reached out with his powers, quick to restart the fight, to finish what he started. But Jean tamped down his power at the slightest use of psionics. She was still maintaining a minimal psychic connection, and with a greater familiarity with his power after their mental battle, she easily rendered his subtle manipulations ineffective.

With a heavy sigh, Tyson relented. "Alright, I'll stop. You win."

Logan, seated nearby, mumbled gruffly, "Already won, kid. Now, where's that armor? Can't leave it lying around here."

Tyson's voice was filled with resignation as he directed them to the speedway where he'd left the Whiplash Mark 2. Once the armor was safely loaded into the aircraft, Tyson asked aloud with a flicker of hope in his eyes. "Any chance you'll give me a ride to Nepal?"

Jean, her brow furrowed with confusion, asked, "Why?"

Tyson explained, "I spoke with Illyana. She said if all else failed, she would open a portal to Limbo. I could hunt and absorb a demon. I wouldn't kill any people that way."

Storm questioned, her voice filled with skepticism, "How would taking in a demon be any better than taking in a vile human? Wouldn't you still be changed?"

Tyson paused for a moment, considering his words carefully. "In Limbo, time moves differently. Illyana could drop me in, and I might have days, weeks, or longer to find the right demon to absorb. The biggest problem now is time."

Every gaze turned to Jubilee, waiting for her response. The young mutant sat quietly, her usually vibrant features had begun to pale, her face starting to look drawn, the toll of her illness evident in the shadows beneath her eyes.

Tyson sensed the growing unease, prompting him to propose, "Or there are other gods…"

Jubilee interrupted him softly, "Stop. Please."

Tyson continued, "I could try to find an Eternal, Thena might be considered a god, or..."

She turned to face Tyson directly, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

"I'm dying. I can feel it. Please, stop making my death about you."

Her words struck Tyson like a physical blow, causing him to recoil. The pain in Jubilee's voice, and the raw honesty of her confession, cut through the layers of his desperation.

She took a shaky breath, her voice trembling as she continued. "I love you. I love that you tried so hard… And if you love me back, you'll be there to support me as I die."

The following silence was deafening, broken only by the gentle hum of the Blackbird's engines. Tyson's eyes widened with shock and realization. His desperate plans and schemes now seemed hollow and meaningless in the face of Jubilee's plea. He had been so consumed that he had forgotten the most important thing.

To be there for her, to love her, and to support her in her darkest hour.

Tyson knew that he had a choice to make. He could continue down the path of desperation, seeking out powers and gods. Or he could choose to be the man Jubilee needed him to be, to stand by her side and face the coming darkness together.

At that moment, as he looked into Jubilee's eyes, Tyson knew there was only one choice. With a shaky breath, he took her hand in his.

"I'm here, Jubilee. I'm not going anywhere."

It was well into the evening as the X-Men's jet touched down. The ramp lowered with a hiss, and the team disembarked, their faces etched with sorrow. At the center of the solemn procession walked Jubilee, her usual bubbly energy notably absent. With each step, Jubilee felt the crushing weight of her fate pressing down upon her slender shoulders. In a day, the ichor would claim her life, transforming her into a vampire. But even in the face of her mortality, Jubilee refused to succumb to despair. She'd always been an upbeat beacon of light, even in the darkest times. She would not let this final challenge break her spirit.

Steeling herself with a deep breath, Jubilee gathered the strength to face the grim task she had been considering during their flight.

Planning her funeral.

Tyson placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, a sad smile crossing his rugged face. "While technically you're dying, you'll rise again as a vampire. This isn't the end," he reminded her gently.

But Jubilee was adamant. "How many people hear what their loved ones think of them after they're gone? This is my chance to find out how I'll be remembered."

"I don't know what's going to happen to me. You might need to put me down if I become a ravenous, undead monster." She tried to keep her tone light and joking, but the fear in her voice was palpable.

"That's not going to happen," Tyson firmly stated, "I won't let it."

Jubilee's laughter echoed through the hangar in stark contrast to the somber mood that had settled over the group.

"If I'm going to die," she said, her voice tinged with a mix of humor and resignation, "we're either having a wedding or a funeral."

She turned to Tyson, her eyes sparkling with mischief despite the gravity of their situation. "Want to get married? Till death do us part? That's only… what? A day, maybe two, max?"

"Vows or eulogy? What'll it be?"