"Um… who are you?" Jean asked, studying him with cautious curiosity. "I don't think I've seen you before."
Luke raised an eyebrow. "You know," he said dryly, "you're the one who knocked on my door. Usually introductions start on your side."
For a second, she looked caught off guard—then slightly embarrassed.
"Right. Sorry. It's just… I sensed some sort of activity from this room and came to check."
The real reason was harder to say out loud. She had felt something brush against her mind—distant, vast, unfamiliar. Not a psychic probe exactly, but close enough to set every instinct on edge. So she followed that sensation, and it led her here.
"That would be me," Luke said simply. "I was checking something."
Jean paused, then nodded. That explained it. Whatever she'd sensed earlier—it was him.
"Oh," she said, not quite sure what else to say.
"Well," Luke broke it at last, extending a hand, "I'm Luke Haken."
She hesitated for half a second, then took it. "Jean," she replied. "Jean Grey."
An awkward silence settled between them, thick but not uncomfortable—just two people unsure who should speak first.
Jean cleared her throat. "So… are you new here?" she asked. "I don't remember seeing you before."
"Yeah," Luke replied. "Sort of new. I arrived this afternoon."
"That explains it," she said, nodding once. Then she hesitated, fingers brushing lightly against her sleeve before she asked the real question that had been bothering her. "Are you… also a telepath?"
It wasn't suspicion. More like curiosity.
"I'm sort of," Luke said. Then, after a beat, "but also not sort of."
Jean blinked. "…That's confusing."
"Fair," Luke admitted. "I don't really fit into neat categories."
Jean paused, clearly unsure how to continue. She wasn't uncomfortable—just… not great at filling silence. She tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear, gave a small nod, and took a step back.
"I—um. Alright then," she said softly. "Good night."
"Good night," Luke replied.
She turned and left, her footsteps fading down the corridor.
Luke closed the door and exhaled.
"Huh," he muttered. "She's not exactly a conversation person."
Then the thought that had been nagging him clicked back into place.
"And she's young," he added quietly. "Too young."
And it wasn't just that—she didn't seem comfortable with conversations either. There were awkward pauses, carefully chosen words, like she wasn't used to talking much at all.
Something didn't add up.
Charles was already old. Wheelchair-bound. By that point in any timeline Luke knew, Jean Grey should've been well past her twenties. Early thirties at least. Confident. Grounded.
So why was she like this?
Luke frowned for a second longer, then let it go.
He shook his head. "Multiverse," he muttered. "Nothing's ever simple."
***
At the same time—far from the bunker—something else was happening.
The night air vibrated with the low, ugly thrum of helicopter blades. A small formation flew low and fast, lights off, shadows skimming over the ground. Below them, military jeeps pushed hard along the road, suspensions rattling, weapons strapped to every side.
Inside the lead jeep, the officer in command stared at the display screen with clear irritation.
"ETA," he demanded.
"Twenty minutes, sir."
His lips curled. "Make it fifteen."
He keyed the radio. "All units, confirm weapons hot."
A chorus of acknowledgments crackled back.
One of the soldiers in the back scoffed as he checked his rifle. "Hard to believe we're wasting this much firepower on… things."
"They're not things," another replied bitterly. "They're mistakes."
The officer overheard and didn't correct them. Instead, he added coldly, "Call them whatever you want. Just don't call them human."
A helicopter gunner leaned out slightly, scanning the darkness below. "So what's the plan if they try to talk?"
"They won't," the officer said flatly. "And if they do, ignore it. Abominations don't negotiate."
Someone laughed—short, humorless. "Good. I'm tired of pretending these freaks deserve mercy."
"Exactly," the officer replied. "Every one of them is a ticking bomb. We're here to defuse the problem permanently."
Magazines were locked in. Safeties clicked off.
"Remember," his voice came again over the comms, thick with disgust.
"They're not people," he said coldly. "They're just abominations—mistakes that shouldn't exist. They have no right to live."
They'd come prepared, equipped even with devices designed to block mind control.
The bunker's alarms wailed—sharp, urgent, impossible to ignore.
Red lights flashed along the corridors as footsteps echoed from every direction. Those who could fight converged on the meeting room almost instinctively.
Blink arrived first, Wolverine followed. Colossus ducked through the doorway, metal skin already forming. Hank came in last, in his Beast form as screens lit up behind him.
Professor Xavier's expression was calm—but tight.
"They've found us," Hank said quickly, tapping the display. "Multiple helicopters. Ground vehicles. Heavy weapons. ETA under ten minutes."
A low growl rumbled from Logan's chest. "That's not a patrol."
Jean swallowed. She could feel it too—fear spreading through the bunker like static. Hundreds of minds. Children. Families.
"We can't hold this place," Hank continued. "Not underground. If they breach the entrance—this becomes a tomb."
Charles nodded once. "Agreed. We evacuate."
Blink looked up sharply. "Ten minutes won't be enough for everyone."
"It has to be," Charles said evenly. "Blink, you handle transport. Groups only. Don't overextend yourself."
She nodded, jaw set. "I'll start with the lower levels."
"Colossus, Logan," Charles said, already turning his chair. "Cover the corridors. Delay them if needed. Don't engage fully."
Both acknowledged and moved out without another word.
The rest didn't linger.
Hank shut down the screens and headed for the evacuation routes. Jean followed, already calling out instructions. One by one, they left the room quickly, each heading to their assigned task.
Within seconds, the meeting room was empty.
Charles remained for a moment longer, silent.
This was bad timing—no point pretending otherwise. Most of their combat-capable mutants were away on another mission and wouldn't return until morning. If they were here, they might have held the bunker. Without them, staying meant risking everyone inside.
And there were too many who couldn't fight.
There were too many civilian mutants—those without any real fighting ability. Too many children among them.
Holding their ground would only get them trapped underground.
Evacuation was the only choice.
*****
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