...
"Any of them still breathing?"
Two kilometers from the border checkpoint, Donald Pierce stood over the field of fallen Reavers, his expression dark. It wasn't that he harbored any particular warmth for his subordinates; he simply felt that after years of following him, having them systematically dismantled by a pair of mutant children was an embarrassment to his reputation.
"They're all alive, sir. But they're all in critical condition—comatose from blunt force trauma. Here is the footage from Captain Bill's tactical recorder."
An operative handed over the device. Pierce connected it to his laptop and began reviewing the combat log. Five minutes later, his face had hardened into a mask of grim focus.
He had initially assumed that X-23 and the wild mutant boy had worked together to take down the squad. That, he could have begrudgingly accepted. He had trained X-23 himself; he knew her lethality.
With her healing factor, combat conditioning, and Adamantium claws, taking out a dozen mercenaries wasn't outside the realm of possibility—especially with a high-strength mutant assisting her.
But the footage told a different story. X-23 hadn't lifted a finger. The wild boy had done everything alone.
The battle had been a complete, one-sided slaughter. It wasn't even a contest. Most importantly, this boy possessed highly refined martial arts techniques and the unmistakable heart of a warrior.
Having hunted mutants for years, Pierce knew that while their powers were dangerous, a mutant who actually knew *how* to fight was a nightmare.
A mutant with no combat experience, regardless of their raw power, was just a civilian with a gimmick. An elite human soldier could often take down even a Level 3 or 4 mutant with a well-placed tranquilizer dart. But a mutant who was also a seasoned fighter? Even a Level 2 became a lethal threat.
This boy was clearly the latter, and according to Pierce's experience, his power level wasn't low either. Between his staggering physical stats and the ability to project illusions, he easily classified as a Level 3 mutant.
Before Dr. Rice's GMO suppressants hit the market, mutants were categorized into five distinct levels:
Epsilon-Level (Level 1): Roughly 20% of the population. Their powers were weak or purely cosmetic, often involving physical deformities like horns, scales, or partial animal transformations.
Delta-Level (Level 2): About 50% of the population. They looked human and possessed decent abilities that could challenge trained soldiers if used creatively.
Beta-Level (Level 3): The top 10%. Highly powerful but often unstable. If they mastered their gifts, they became icons. Most of the X-Men fell into this category—Wolverine, Cyclops, and Storm.
Alpha-Level (Level 4): Extremely rare. Their power could level cities, making conventional military resistance almost futile. Think Professor X or Magneto.
Omega-Level (Level 5): The stuff of myths. The only one he knew of was Phoenix, and she was long dead.
This wild boy, tail and all, was operating at a solid Level 3.
"Doctor, I am requesting formal authorization to deploy X-24," Pierce said, having dialed Dr. Rice immediately. "I also need clearance to pull the El Paso surveillance grid to locate the targets."
On the other end, Dr. Rice's voice was cold. "I will bring X-24 myself. As for the surveillance, contact John in El Paso. He'll handle the grid access. Once you locate the target, do not engage. Wait for my arrival."
John was the Hydra operative in charge of the El Paso region. Hydra was a terrifyingly deep-rooted clandestine organization; it was only through their partnership that Rice could ensure his tainted GMO products reached every corner of the globe while evading S.H.I.E.L.D. scrutiny.
While local police couldn't just hand over a city's camera network, Hydra's spies embedded in every level of government could do it with a keystroke.
...
"The ride's been accepted!"
Inside the motel, Gabriela let out a long sigh of relief as her phone showed Logan's car approaching. Now came the hard part: convincing the Wolverine to help. She believed that even if a man had been broken by life, his core nature didn't truly change.
Half an hour later, a long, black luxury limo pulled up to the motel entrance. An aging, weary Logan stepped out. The moment his eyes landed on Gabriela, his face twisted in annoyance.
"Mr. Logan, we need your help!"
"Fuck. God dammit." Logan turned away, his voice thick with exhaustion. "I can't help you. Get another taxi."
"My name is Gabriela Lopez..."
She hurried to intercept him, but Logan cut her off. "Lady, I don't want to know your name."
"People are hunting us. we have to get out of here. We need to go north, to Canada..."
"Enough!" Logan barked, his anger flaring. "I don't want to know your business. You've already brought enough trouble to my door. The people hunting you found me yesterday. I don't want any part of this!"
Since the Westchester incident, he had spent his life in hiding, taking care of a Professor X who drifted between sanity and senility. He had finally carved out a meager existence on the border.
All he wanted was to earn enough money to buy a boat and take the Professor to live on the ocean. Once the Professor passed, he planned to find peace in death. He wasn't going to let anyone jeopardize that.
However, as he reached out to push past Gabriela, a figure suddenly blurred into his path.
"Hello! My name is Son Goku. Will you duel me?"
Goku looked up at the strong but weathered man and gave a very polite, formal bow. He had heard Gabriela call this man "Logan," confirming he was the powerful friend she mentioned—the same Wolverine from the comics Laura had shown him.
In Goku's mind, this man had to be a master on the level of Master Roshi. Sparring with a legend like this would surely be the key to his next breakthrough.
"Duel? I don't have time to play house with a brat."
Logan's lip curled. He reached out to grab Goku by the shoulders to shove him aside, but his hands were caught mid-air. To his shock, no matter how much strength he put into his arms, he couldn't move the boy a single inch.