The room was always too bright with the hum of stale air and the mechanical whine of the vent in the ceiling.
Roberto sat with his back to the wall, arms around his knees, eyes fixed on the thin slit on the steel wall across the room. It hadn't opened since breakfast.
He spoke without looking up. "We should try to escape."
Sooraya glanced up from her corner, startled. James blinked, then slowly turned toward him.
Magnus frowned. "Try what?"
"Getting out," Roberto said, voice low.
James sighed. "We can't even open the door."
"I know."
"No. I don't think you do." Magnus stood up. "There are no guards, no weak spots, no keys. We're in a box, man. A locked box inside some concrete hellhole with god-knows-what outside."
Roberto kept his gaze forward. "There's a way in and out."
That quieted the room.
Sooraya shifted slightly. "What do you mean?"
"They take people," Roberto said. "When I first got here... there were more of us. Older kids. One night, the gas came through the vent. Put us to sleep. When I woke up, all of them were gone."
James's voice dropped. "And they never came back?"
Roberto shook his head. "Not once. I saw it happen twice before it was just me."
Magnus's face tightened. "And we're just supposed to wait around for it to be our turn?"
"That's why I said we should try," Roberto muttered. "Before it's one of us."
"You want to what?" Magnus snapped. "Start punching the walls? Scream into the vent? You think they won't just knock us out early and drag us out one by one?"
Sooraya spoke softly. "He's not wrong."
"I'm not saying we have a plan," Roberto said. "I'm saying we need to stop pretending like waiting is helping."
James looked up at the ceiling. "Even if we got out of the room, then what? We don't know where we are. Don't know how far the next wall is or how many more doors there are."
"We don't know anything," Sooraya said. "That's the point. They've kept us numb and powerless. Like animals."
Magnus let out a sharp breath. "Because that's how they see us. You think if we did escape, the world would welcome us back? We're not just mutants. We're failed experiments to these people. Runaways with dangerous and muddled blood."
Roberto stood. "I don't care what they think. I just want to breathe real air again. I want to see the sun. Even if it's just for five minutes before they shoot me."
Sooraya looked down at her gloved hands. "I used to think I'd be safe if I just stayed quiet. That maybe if I followed the rules, I'd be accepted and free someday."
"And now?" James asked.
She looked up. "Now I think they were always going to take us. Quiet or not."
Magnus sat down slowly, the weight of it hitting him all at once. "They're gonna gas us again. Maybe not tonight. But soon."
James nodded. "Yeah."
"And when it happens," Roberto said, "I don't want to just lay down."
Silence wrapped around them like the walls themselves.
"I want to fight," Roberto said. "Even if it's hopeless."
Sooraya nodded once. "I'd rather die fighting than disappear in my sleep."
James leaned forward, voice calm. "Then we don't sleep at the same time anymore. One of us stays awake. Every night. If the gas comes, we shout. Shake each other."
Magnus rubbed his face. "And then what?"
"Then we do something," Roberto said. "Anything."
No one argued.
The camera in the ceiling clicked quietly.
The vent above them let out a soft hiss, just air for now.
But they all felt it.
Time was running out.
____
The engine growled low as Logan turned onto the gravel path leading up to the mansion.
The motorcycle rumbled low as it pulled up the gravel drive, the growl of the engine cutting through the early morning quiet.
The Ducati Diavel Cromo looked like it had been dragged through hell and back, mud caked along the frame, rain-streaks dried in dusty arcs across the chrome, and the once-glossy black now dulled with grit and time.
A long scratch ran down one side of the fuel tank like a scar that hadn't healed, catching the light in a jagged shimmer.
The seat was worn, the handlebars wrapped in tape, and the mirrors hung just slightly crooked as if the road had tried to shake them off, and failed.
He parked in silence.
He didn't shut his eyes. Just stared at the front doors for a few seconds like he was trying to remember why he came back at all.
The air was damp. Clean. Spring in the trees, dew on the stones. It smelled like peace.
And it made something in him ache.
His boots hit the stone walkway with weight. Not the weight of exhaustion. Not yet. This was different. Heaviness that came from what he left behind. What he had buried in Grayhaven, Ohio.
He didn't get far before the front doors flew open, banging against the walls like they'd been waiting for him.
"Logan!"
Bobby Drake rocketed out first, skating full-speed on a thin, gleaming strip of ice, arms spread wide like he was coming in for a flying hug.
Logan didn't flinch. Just took a sharp step to the side.
"Don't touch me, Drake."
Bobby wiped out with a theatrical yelp, skidding across the stone walkway and crashing into a bush.
From the ground, he threw up both arms like a touchdown referee. "Still love you, old man!"
Logan snorted once through his nose. That was all the affection Bobby was gonna get.
Then came the flood of noise.
Kitty Pryde barreled through the door next, phasing straight through it out of habit and yelling,
"He's back!"
Hank followed behind, steps heavy and precise, juggling a clipboard and what looked like a protein shake. "You're three days late. You owe me a souvenir."
"I brought dirt," Logan muttered. "You want that?"
"Not particularly."
Rogue leaned over the banister, smirking. "You look like ten miles o' bad road, sugar."
"Feel like twelve," Logan replied.
Sean Cassidy raised a coffee cup from the steps and said, "We were takin' bets you got arrested again. I lost twenty bucks."
"Shoulda bet more," Logan grumbled.
Scott came out last, arms crossed over his chest, visor gleaming red in the light. He didn't smile, but one eyebrow ticked up like even he might've missed the guy.
Logan gave him a grunt. "Slim."
"Logan."
That was the entire conversation. And somehow, it meant more than the rest.
Then a soft whoosh, and a rush of air told Logan, Angel had landed behind him, wings folding neatly at his back. He gave Logan a quiet nod.
It was a whole damn welcome committee.
It was too much warmth. Too many voices. Too alive.
Logan hadn't been around that in a week, and he'd aged ten years in that week.
But he raised a hand, brief, tired, and almost reluctant.
"Yeah," he said, voice gravel-slick and low. "I'm back."
And for a second, just a flicker, there was peace.
They didn't know where he'd been. Didn't need to ask.
But for now, they were glad he was here.
And for now... that was enough.
____
By the time Logan stepped into Charles's office, the laughter and chatter had faded into the walls. The door closed behind him with a soft click, shutting the world out.
Charles Xavier sat at his desk, hands folded loosely in front of him. He didn't speak right away.
Just observed.
Logan sat down heavily in the chair opposite him. Reached into his coat and pulled out a cigarette and old lighter and lit it with a flick of his thumb. The flame glowed for a moment, steady and small.
Then he said it.
"It's done."
Charles didn't ask for details. He didn't need to.
Logan leaned forward, elbows on his knees, cigarette hanging between his fingers.
"His name was Jesse Cross."
Charles closed his eyes briefly. Just once.
"Sixteen. Small town kid. Soccer player. Good grades. Had a crush. Had a life."
Logan's jaw tensed.
"He wasn't born broken, Charles. His mutation didn't make him a killer. It just... woke up wrong."
He stared at the floor.
"By the time I found him, the whole town was gone. Turned to dust.. Just… crumbling."
He took a long drag from the cigarette.
"Kid didn't know what was happening. He was hiding in a cave. Curled up in a corner like a wounded animal. Said he could feel it in his skin, and every breath he took made things die."
The silence between them wasn't hollow. It was full. Of grief. Of weight. Of regret. Of everything they'd both seen and done to protect the world that didn't know they existed.
"I talked to him," Logan said. "I listened."
His voice dropped.
"He asked me to end it."
Charles didn't speak. He couldn't.
"I told him he wasn't a monster. But he already believed it. Said he didn't want to hurt anyone else. Said if someone had to kill him… it might as well be someone who understood."
Logan looked away.
"So I did it."
The only sound in the room was the quiet ticking of an old clock behind the bookshelf.
Logan took another drag. Exhaled smoke like regret.
"Fury's erasing him," he said flatly. "School records. Birth certificate. Jesse Cross is being turned into a gas leak. A chemical spill. A lie."
Charles's voice came quietly. "But you remember."
Logan nodded once. "Yeah. I remember."
"And that matters."
Logan didn't answer at first.
"Not enough."
He leaned back, eyes distant, ash falling off the end of his cigar.
"He deserved better. Not just a cleaner death. A life. A chance. Hell, even a warning. But we weren't there fast enough. And he paid for it. Kid wanted to be a hero, just like the Avengers."
Charles's hands tightened slightly.
"There will be others," Logan said. "Mutants like him. Ones we don't find in time. Ones who lose control before they even know who they are."
"I know," Charles said softly.
"We're not ready."
"I'm trying," Charles murmured. "With what little time we have."
Logan looked toward the door, where voices had once echoed.
"The kids," he said. "They're learning. Growing. But they don't know what it costs. Not yet."
"They shouldn't have to," Charles replied.
Logan stared down at the worn lines of the desk. At his hands. At the places blood had once stained but no longer showed.
"Somebody's gotta carry the weight."
Charles looked up. "And it's always you?"
Logan didn't smile. Didn't argue.
He just sat there. Quiet.
Remembering a cave.
A boy.
A name the world would never know.
And outside, the birds began to sing again.
Like nothing had happened.
____
Concrete walls, flat roofs, faded paint that peeled under years of wind and silence. No lights. No sign of life.
But Naruto knew better.
He crouched low on a branch just beyond the tree line, the black robe draped loose over his frame, blending with the shadows. His kitsune mask reflected no moonlight, its empty white face angled downward. Silent and watching.
No movement on the perimeter. No patrols. No drones. But that's what made it suspicious.
A place like this should've rotted by now. Instead, the fences were new and reinforced.
Naruto shifted, landing quietly on the grass below. Ninja tabi muffled his steps, soles finding purchase on moss and gravel. He scanned the fences again.
No cameras.
No visible guards.
But still… something.
He moved west, circling slowly until he found it.
A section of wall set slightly deeper than the rest. Cracked from age, overgrown with vine. No spotlights. No sensor beams. Dead zone.
Too perfect.
Naruto tilted his head.
"Trap?" he muttered under his breath.
Kurama stirred in the back of his mind, grumbling awake.
"No. Not a trap." he said, "A veil. There's a forcefield here, idiot."
Naruto blinked. "Why didn't I see it?"
"Because you're thinking like a soldier, not a sensor. It's subtle. Thin. But it's there woven like thread. But it's weak."
He reached out toward the air and felt it just barely. A static ripple across his fingertips, like dragging his hand through still water. When he pushed, resistance met him. The air shimmered slightly, like heat above asphalt.
He could break it. Easily. One focused hit and it'd shatter.
But that would set off alarms. Or worse, let whoever was watching know someone had gotten close.
"You want in quiet," Kurama said, "you gotta match its rhythm. Feel it. Let it believe you belong."
Naruto frowned behind the mask. "You're telling me to vibe with a wall of energy?"
"Don't make it weird. Attune your energy. Sync with the pattern. Walk through it. Like mist."
Naruto sighed.
He closed his eyes and reached out, not physically, but deeper. Past muscle. Past skin. Into instinct.
The forcefield pulsed like a slow breath. Inhale. Exhale.
Naruto inhaled with it.
Then stepped forward.
The shimmer parted around him. A skin of resistance gave way like fog before wind, and then he was through.
No alerts. No alarms. No one knew the better.
The courtyard on the other side was cracked and quiet, moonlight stretching long shadows across dry earth. He padded across it quickly, keeping low, eyes locked on the main structure ahead.
A set of reinforced metal doors blocked the entry. Two guards stood posted with military grade gear, black masks, full-body armor, and M4A1 rifles. They were silent and waiting for anything or anyone.
Naruto crept closer, ducking behind a rusted old generator unit. He pulled a kunai from his belt and waited, keeping his breath steady and heartbeat slower than normal.
Then he moved quickly in a flash of black.
The first guard dropped before he could blink. A single pressure point jab at the neck, body crumpling soundlessly.
The second turned, but Naruto was already behind him, wrapping a forearm around his windpipe and easing him to the ground.
The exchange lasted only 5 seconds, and was relatively noiseless.
He dragged both bodies into the shadows, stripped the smaller one of his gear, and pulled it on over the robe. Vest. Pads. Tactical gloves. Mask.
He kept the kitsune mask tucked under the chest plate. Just in case.
From the guard's belt, he retrieved a black keycard. Plain and unmarked but magnetic.
Naruto stepped to the door and slid it through the reader.
A soft beep echoed.
The light turned green and he pulled the door open.
"Shit.." he said.
_____
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