Horizon University – Faculty Wing, After Hours
Steel leaned against the window, watching the lights of Horizon's spires flicker against the desert night. Too clean. Too ordered. He'd been in enough wars to know when things were arranged instead of organic.
The door behind him clicked. Natasha Romanoff stepped in, coat collar up, red hair tied back. No pleasantries.
"You picked a hell of a place to build a school," she said flatly.
Steel handed her a thin datapad. "Read the roster."
Natasha scrolled, her eyes narrowing with each line. Kraven. Octavius. Warren. Toomes. Essex. She stopped at the last one. "Essex?"
Steel's jaw tightened. "I don't like it. I know that name. From somewhere else. From…" He shook his head. "Doesn't matter where. Let's just say every instinct I've got is screaming."
Natasha arched a brow. "And you think this is HYDRA?"
Steel exhaled through his nose. "HYDRA would love this lineup, but it's too messy even for them. No—this feels curated. Like someone wants every unstable genius and predator corralled in one petri dish."
Natasha tapped the screen once. "Essex."
Steel nodded slowly. "He plays the part of a calm, rational lecturer. But he slips. Talks about genetic destiny like it's scripture. Uses words that sound… older than science. I don't know who he really is. Yet."
Deadpool meta-cut:
"Translation: creepy prof is creepy. If you see a guy in a waistcoat saying 'genetic destiny,' you don't not assume he's got a basement full of pickled clones. Steel's trying to play it cool, but readers? Yeah, you know. We all know."
Natasha slid the datapad back. "If you're right, Horizon isn't a sanctuary. It's a farm. And the students? Cattle."
Steel's fists clenched at his sides. "Then we burn the farm down before the farmer cashes in."
Location Unknown – The Lower Chambers
Romulus stood over a projection table, the hologram of Jake McGrath's glowing aura suspended in midair. Energy swirled like a storm caught in glass. His claws tapped the edge of the table.
"Still raw. Still unstable. Perfect prey," he rumbled.
"Not prey," came a smooth voice from the shadows. "A prototype."
Nathaniel Essex stepped into the faint orange light, immaculate as ever. His coat pristine, his posture flawless. His smile, however, was far too sharp.
"You push too fast, Romulus," Essex said, eyes gleaming. "The boy's instability is an opportunity. He is a living equation, waiting to be solved. With the right touch, he will illuminate every flaw in mutantkind… and every path to transcendence."
Romulus sneered. "You speak like a priest. I hunt like a wolf. When the boy breaks, I'll take the pieces."
Essex's smile widened. "And when he breaks, I will be there to reassemble him. Better. Stronger. Sinister."
The chamber lights dimmed, casting their faces half in shadow. Above them, the hologram of Jake pulsed once—like a heartbeat.
Deadpool meta-cut:
"And there it is, folks. Two Saturday morning cartoon villains in one room, plotting like it's Taco Tuesday. Wolf-Daddy McHairball wants a fight, Mister Perfect-Posture wants a science project, and Jake? Poor Jake's the prize at the carnival. Place your bets now, because the real fun is just starting."
Steel didn't know it yet, Jake couldn't feel it yet—but the snake was already in the nest.