Chapter 11

Sharon stood with a devastated expression, struggling to process the cascade of tragedies. The weight of the news hit her hard—first Charles, now this.

"Who did this?" she asked, her voice low but simmering with anger.

"We don't know yet, ma'am," the officer replied, his tone steady. "We're still investigating, but witnesses suggest it may have been intentional."

Sharon's fists clenched tight, her nails digging into her palms. "Find them. Whoever did this—find them."

"I will, madam. It's my duty. We'll update you as soon as we learn more," the officer assured her before departing with his partner.

Left standing in the sterile hospital hallway, Sharon struggled to breathe. It felt like the world was crumbling beneath her feet. "Why? Why am I facing this alone?" she muttered under her breath, the words barely audible, even to herself.

Memories of Brian flashed in her mind, her anger igniting. 'I warned you. I told you not to experiment with our son, but you didn't listen. Now you're gone, and I'm the one left to face the consequences. This is your fault, Brian. But why am I the one left to pick up the pieces?'

But then she thought of Charles. Her heart softened, and she resolved to stay by his side, to watch over him until he woke. She wouldn't let anything else happen to him.

Lafitte, standing just outside Charles' room, leaned against the wall, her mind racing. 'I never expected things to take such a turn...' She was still reeling from the events, unsure what to make of them.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she noticed a man standing across the hall. His presence immediately set her on edge. There, glowing faintly on his forehead, was a red omega symbol.

'Mutant?' Her instincts sharpened. The man's intentions were unclear, but one thing was certain—he was trouble.

As the man began to walk toward Charles' room, Lafitte's hand shot out, gripping his wrist with surprising force. "Who are you?" she demanded, her voice cold and sharp.

The man smiled faintly, his eyes glinting with malice. "Nobody."

Before she could react, a tentacle-like appendage shot from his palm, aiming directly at her throat. Lafitte narrowly dodged, backflipping away from the deadly attack with fluid grace.

To her shock, no one else in the hallway reacted—no screams, no panic. It was as if the world outside their fight was frozen, unseen and unheard. 'Some kind of illusion or interference?' she wondered, narrowing her eyes.

Lafitte wasted no time, drawing two sleek pistols from her thighs and firing at the man. But he was quick, his tentacles whipping through the air to deflect the bullets, the metallic limbs acting as an impenetrable shield.

'What is that made of?' Lafitte's mind raced, but she didn't let it distract her.

The man studied her, his movements measured. 'Who is she? I wasn't expecting anyone this skilled to be close to Xavier.'

With the distance between them closing, the man lashed out again with his tentacles, each strike faster and more aggressive. Lafitte, like a trained acrobat, weaved and twisted through the air, evading each attack with precision.

She squeezed off another round, aiming for his weak points, but he was too fast. The tentacles retracted and shot out again, shielding him from her gunfire.

He surged forward, punching with his tentacles, trying to pin her down. But Lafitte was relentless, dodging with ease.

It became a test of endurance, both fighters pushing themselves to the limit in the confined hallway. Neither willing to back down, both determined to outlast the other.

As Lafitte fired her last shot, the sound of the empty click echoed in her ears.

"Fuck," she muttered under her breath, quickly reaching to find more bullets. But she had none. 'Great', she thought, cursing herself for not carrying extra rounds. She never expected a mutant to just pop up out of nowhere.

She tried to stall, buying herself time, but the man noticed. His tentacles were relentless—bouncing up, down, left, and right, too fast for her to track.

They circled around her, trapping her in a tight space. Anyone unfortunate enough to be walking down the corridor was slaughtered, the tentacles piercing through their bodies with ease.

Lafitte's heart raced. 'No way out.' The tentacles closed in on her, ready to strike. But just before they could impale her, everything stopped—frozen mid-motion, including the man.

A heavy sigh cut through the tension, and a voice echoed from behind. "You're trying way too hard, Rossivich."

The man, Rossivich, snarled in frustration. "You found me again!"

Lafitte's eyes widened as she turned to see a man stepping into the chaos. He had the same face as Charles with blonde hair. 'Impossible,' she thought, but Rossivich's reaction confirmed it.

"Son of a bitch!" Rossivich spat. "How do you keep finding me, Charles?!"

"It's not that hard," Future Charles said casually. "I just trace your mutant power signature across timelines." His smirk was sharp, his words cutting. "And you're still a bitch trying to kill me in the past, huh? Pussy. You've got no guts—just like Mikhail."

With a flick of his wrist, Future Charles crushed Rossivich like he was nothing. The tentacles and the man collapsed into a lifeless heap.

Turning to Lafitte, Future Charles smiled. "You alright, grandma?"

Lafitte blinked, stunned. "Grandma?" The nickname irked her, but she recognized him. "You... you're really future Charles?"

"Yeah, pretty much," he replied with a casual shrug. Without missing a beat, he waved his hand, and all the destruction—the blood, the bodies, the carnage—was erased, disappearing as if it had never happened.

"And him?" Lafitte gestured to the remains of Rossivich.

"You're not ready to know about him yet. You'll meet him eventually," Future Charles said. "But I suggest you stop watching over my younger self. He can handle things from now on." He paused, then added, "Your mission's done. Go back to Irene."

Before Lafitte could even respond, Future Charles vanished into thin air, dissolving into blue particles like some kind of futuristic hologram.

She stood there, shaking her head in disbelief. 'This is getting way too complicated.'

'I need to talk to Irene about this', she thought, turning to leave the hospital, feeling like she'd just stepped out of a nightmare.

Meanwhile, our Charles was deep in thought, fine-tuning more commands for his body. His fingers moved as if he were typing on an invisible keyboard in his mind, programming his next safeguard.

"Hmm... just in case I get knocked out, my body should still function on its own," Charles murmured to himself.

He understood the risks. If someone managed to knock him unconscious, they might assume they'd won. But with his new setup, his body would continue to operate without his conscious control—defending itself, even reacting to threats.

And if that wasn't enough, he still had his ace in the hole: Astral Projection. Even while knocked out, his mind could leave his body, assess the situation, and reawaken it if necessary.

As Charles wove these layers of commands into his brain, he felt a sense of ease. Each mental block, each instruction, was a lifeline, making him better prepared for emergencies.

"That should do it," he whispered, satisfied with the intricate failsafe he had set. He knew he was ready for anything now.