"High-tech, huh? Looks more like a magic trick to me," Uncle Zhong muttered, his eyes squinting with deep suspicion as he watched Jack and Reese Fisk retract their suits. The shimmering fabric vanished into the watch casings with a metallic hiss, leaving the two men standing there in their ordinary clothes.
Uncle Zhong didn't look impressed. Instead, he leaned in, sniffing the air near Reese's wrist. "Tell me something. If you wear that skin-tight thing while you're sweating or fighting, how do you wash it? Does the watch have a tiny laundry machine inside? Or are you just going to walk around smelling like a gym bag?"
The question hit the room like a lead weight. Jack, who had been feeling like a superhero just seconds ago, froze. Reese Fisk opened his mouth to explain the molecular self-cleaning properties Huang Wen had mentioned, but realized he didn't actually know how to explain it without sounding like a nerd.
The silence in the hotpot restaurant became excruciatingly awkward. Jack gave a bitter, lopsided smile, offered a quick nod of respect, and beat a hasty retreat downstairs. Uncle Zhong's practical, "old man" logic had effectively deflated the coolest moment of their lives.
Logan, sitting on the sofa with a beer in one hand and the remote in the other, raised a bushy eyebrow. He had seen Huang Wen wear the prototype before, but seeing it on the disciples made it clear: Huang Wen wasn't just a master; he was becoming an arms dealer for the virtuous.
However, the peace of the morning was about to be shattered. While the boys were worrying about laundry, a shapeshifter with a very long memory was already turning the corner into Chinatown.
Deep beneath the earth, in the heart of the newly christened "Fortress," Huang Wen slumped against a cold metallic wall, his chest heaving. Before him sat a small, reinforced room—a literal vault—forged from a pool of refined Adamantium.
"What a waste," he hissed, wiping sweat from his brow.
Adamantium was indestructible, sure, but it was spiritually 'dead.' It didn't conduct internal energy well, and it was heavy as a mountain. If he wanted a true sanctuary, he needed the star of the periodic table: Vibranium. It was the only metal that could truly harmonize with the kinetic energy he threw around.
"Silly Girl, I'm drawing a blank," Huang Wen said, staring at the ceiling. "There was a guy... a smuggler. Professional jerk, missing an arm later on, dealt in the Wakandan black market. What was his name?"
He racked his brain for the name from the movies, but between the soul-shattering explosions of the last few days and his focus on the Dream Butterfly Escape, the name Ulysses Klaue remained just out of reach.
"I can't exactly knock on Wakanda's front door and ask for a cup of sugar," Huang Wen sighed. "Silly Girl, new protocol: scan every satellite uplink and private call recording for the keyword 'Vibranium.' Don't get caught by SHIELD or Stark. Just listen."
"On it, Boss!" Silly Girl's holographic avatar shimmered, her eyes glowing with digital hunger. For an AI, Vibranium wasn't just metal; it was the ultimate hardware upgrade. "With enough of that material, I can turn this base into a fortress that even a nuke couldn't scratch. I might even build you a throne."
"Let's start with a decent bed first," Huang Wen laughed. He closed his eyes, centering his breath. He felt his internal energy—his Qi—cycling through his meridians, repairing the microscopic strain of his recent battles. His mental power, once frayed, was now a calm, deep lake.
The base was secure. His disciples were armed. It was time.
"I'm heading out. Keep the lights on, Silly Girl. Don't go too crazy with the offensive lasers while I'm gone—focus on the shields. This place needs to be a ghost to the rest of the world."
With a thought, Huang Wen's body dissolved into a cloud of golden butterflies, shimmering for a heartbeat before vanishing entirely.
He reappeared high above the surface of Alkali Lake, the wind whipping his hair. His plan was simple but ambitious: head south, cross the Drake Passage, hit the Antarctic Circle, and then loop back up through Australia and Indonesia until he hit the heart of Asia.
He looked down at his feet. He could fly now—truly fly—without the gaudy, golden "chicken wings" of his Dou Qi transformation. Between his own power and Silly Girl's flight stabilization, the oceans were just puddles. The world was his backyard, and he was going to walk every inch of it until his Dream Butterfly Escape was flawless.
While Huang Wen was enjoying the crisp air of the upper atmosphere, Chinatown was heating up in a much less pleasant way.
The Wing Chun Martial Arts Hall was a hive of activity. Jack's crew was moving with military precision, but the renovations ground to a halt when a woman appeared at the entrance. She was stunning, with an air of cold authority that made the workers instinctively hold their breath.
"Whoa, whoa, lady," the foreman said, stepping in front of a pallet of marble. "You can't be here. This is a restricted site. You're blocking the flow."
The woman—Mystique, though she looked perfectly human for the moment—didn't even look at him. Her eyes scanned the hollowed-out building with a mixture of confusion and irritation. "Where is the Wing Chun Hall? Where is the man who owns this place? Where is Logan?"
"Miss, I'm going to have to ask you to move," the foreman repeated, though his heart was thumping against his ribs.
Reese Fisk, who had been watching from the street corner, felt a chill go down his spine. He recognized that "predator" energy. He signaled to John, who was peering out from the second-floor window of the hotpot restaurant.
John's face went pale. He remembered the reports from the X-Mansion. He remembered the descriptions of the woman who could be anyone. He bolted from the window and ran into the living room.
"Logan! Uncle Wolf! We've got company! Mystique is at the front door and she doesn't look like she's here for noodles!"
Logan's eyes snapped open. He didn't look surprised; he looked annoyed. He glanced at Yuriko, who was still deeply invested in an episode where SpongeBob was trying to pass his driving test.
"Stay here," Logan grunted. "If things get loud, handle it. But don't kill anyone unless I yell."
Logan stepped out onto the street, his presence immediately shifting the atmosphere. The construction workers gave him a wide berth.
"I'm looking for Huang Wen," Mystique said, her voice like ice as she locked eyes with Logan. "Or you. I suppose you'll do for a start."
"Master's not in," Reese Fisk interrupted, stepping up beside Logan. He was trying to look brave, but his hand was hovering nervously over his watch. "He's on a trip. Long distance. Why don't you leave a message?"
Mystique finally looked at Reese, her lip curling in a sneer. She completely ignored the boy, turning her full attention back to the old wolf. "Is this true, Logan? Has the great Huang Wen run away?"
"He didn't run. He just got bored of looking at faces like yours," Logan growled. He scanned the rooftops and the alleyways, his nose twitching. No other Brotherhood scents. She was alone. "You've got a lot of nerve coming here. Chinatown is a bit of a fortress these days. There are eyes on us from every shadow—government spooks, mercs, you name it. You want to have this conversation in front of a dozen cameras?"
Mystique looked around. She could feel the hidden lenses too. "Fine. Upstairs. Now."
Logan led her into the hotpot restaurant and up to the second floor. The air in the apartment was tense. Yuriko didn't even turn around, but her claws slid out a fraction of an inch, glinting in the light of the TV.
"Where is he?" Mystique demanded the moment the door closed. "Erik is dying. The damage Huang Wen did... it's not healing. The metal in his body is reacting to some kind of lingering energy. We need the Master of Wing Chun to undo what he started."
Logan let out a dry, harsh laugh. "Erik? You mean Magneto? The guy who tried to turn the world's leaders into jelly? He got what was coming to him. Huang Wen isn't a doctor, and even if he was, he wouldn't waste a bandage on a genocidal ego-tripper."
"He will help," Mystique said, her voice trembling with a rare flash of genuine emotion. "Because you're going to make him help."
"And why would I do that?" Logan stepped closer, his claws itching to break skin. "Give me one good reason why I should care if Magneto kicks the bucket."
Mystique took a deep breath, her form flickering for a split second, showing a flash of blue skin before stabilizing. She looked Logan straight in the eye, her expression breaking into something agonizingly raw.
"Because you owe me, Logan. More than you know."
Logan frowned. "I don't owe you a dime, Raven. We had a night in the seventies we both regret, and that's the end of it."
"It wasn't the end," Mystique whispered, the bombshell dropping with the force of a tectonic shift. "That night... I didn't just walk away. I carried something with me. I gave birth to your son, Logan. And if you ever want to see him alive, you'll find a way to get Huang Wen to save Erik."
The silence that followed was absolute. Logan's beer bottle shattered in his grip, the glass crunching as his hand tightened into a trembling fist.