Chapter 11

I woke up in what looked like… a van, I think? My back was pressed against the driver's cabin wall, strapped to it with a couple of belts. I was sitting on a bench, taking in my surroundings. On either side of me sat some soldiers—or at least, that's what they looked like—fully kitted out in masks, helmets, body armor, and armed with guns. Don't ask me what kind; sure, I like pew-pews, but I've never been good at remembering the names of all the hardware.What I do know is that those were not AKs or M16s—these looked more compact, vicious. Two on each side.

And me? Oh, I was looking real dapper. Shackles on my hands and feet, and not just any shackles—these were fancy ones, fully encasing my hands and feet like medieval gauntlets. Even my fingers were hidden. The chains ran from the floor of the van—secured somewhere out of my view—up through the cuffs and connected to a massive collar around my neck. Judging by the weight of it, it was about as subtle as a tank. To top it all off, I had a muzzle strapped to my face. It covered my mouth and nose, though thankfully there was no built-in gag. Oversight on their part, honestly. What if I had a tongue sharp enough to cut through steel?

Oh, and let's not forget the piece de resistance: the underwear. Not mine, mind you. These were the most hideous vintage boxers you've ever seen—parachute-sized, reaching down to my knees. Straight out of the 1950s, by the looks of them. Definitely not armored. What if I, I dunno, weaponized my junk or something? Game over for these ladies.

Speaking of which—when I realized I'd been abducted, my first thoughts were surprisingly wholesome: "Thank God Penny's gone." If she'd been around to pick me up from training, she might've tried to protect me and gotten hurt. Same goes for if they'd snatched me from home—if anything happened to my moms or Gigi… I couldn't even think about it. So yeah, if someone had to get grabbed, better it was just me.

Still, here I was, shackled and muzzled, riding with these armed women. My opinion on this situation? Probably about as important to them as a mosquito's thoughts on bug spray. So, I sat back, took in the scenery—or lack thereof—and tried to figure things out. Who knows? Maybe an Arab princess kidnapped me for a night of passionate love. I'd win her over with my incredible bedroom skills, convince her to bring Penny into the family, and live the high life eating baklava. Hell, I'd even send MJ pics—me on a beach, me with gorgeous women, me on a magnificent horse during a sunset ride. Let him choke on it, the smug bastard.

Anyway, we were bumping along some rough terrain—either a dirt road or straight-up wilderness. The soldiers occasionally glanced my way, and I decided to break the ice.

"Hey, ladies," I said, my voice muffled and creepy thanks to the mask. With four of them, it was giving serious "Shredder and the Ninja Turtles" vibes.

Dead silence. All four turned to look at me.

"I mean, not to be presumptuous or anything," I continued, "but I've seen some… films… that started exactly like this. So, if this is what I think it is, could you be gentle? And, uh, maybe keep the backdoor action off the table?"

There was a snicker or two. One of them, sitting nearest to me on the left, actually responded.

"Relax, kid. Your ass is safe from us. We're just the delivery service. Besides, you're a little young for that kind of thing."

"Excuse me? I'll have you know I'm practically engaged!" …Or, well, I was. That one stung a little. Even the soldiers seemed to feel the awkwardness—avoiding eye contact and all that.

"Where are we going, then? And what's with the ridiculous underwear?"

"Where you're going isn't our business, and those boxers? They're all we've got," she said with a smirk you could feel even through her mask. "Unless you want mine—off my back, so to speak."

"Oh, please do. Let's see if they're an improvement."

The van erupted in laughter. The soldier next to her clapped her on the shoulder. "He got you, girl."

"Alright, kid, shut it now," she grumbled, still amused. "We're not supposed to talk to you."

Fine by me. I leaned back, chains clinking, and kept quiet. They were just doing their job, after all. No use raising hell—they'd probably just clock me with a rifle butt. Or worse. Besides, it's not like I was going to sweet-talk my way out of this with Naruto-style diplomacy.

Was I scared? Hell yes. I was being hauled off to who-knows-where by armed women. But freaking out wouldn't help. So instead, I started spinning theories.

Maybe this was some gang settling a score with Mom Beth? Nah, doesn't add up. Cops go nuclear over that kind of thing. Kidnapping someone's kid, especially a guy? That's messy. Even other criminals wouldn't like it.

What about whoever jabbed me with that needle? Maybe they're the ones behind this. Some kind of… activation serum? Did Magneto see my potential and decide she needed me for the mutant cause? I mean, hey, if it's her, I wouldn't mind. Bring me to Magneto in her shiny helmet—"Tobias, pshhhh-pshhhh, join the dark side! Pshhhh-pshhhh. We have cookies. I'll even throw in a lightsaber and some new kicks!" Hell, if that's the case, I'd even knock up a few hot mutant gals for the cause. And it wouldn't be impossible to get away later, either. Get them to trust me, carjack the Sabertooth at night and off to the green fields.

But if it's Stryker? Then I'm fucked. Like, proper "the only prostitute in port" levels of fucked. That's captivity, experiments, maybe semen extraction, maybe cybernetic augmentation, and brainwashing. That's the worst-case scenario. Stryker has always been the most repulsive character in Marvel for me. A literal fascist of the mutant world. Women, children—he doesn't care. All mutants must either die or be kept on a leash. Sigh, fingers crossed… Oh, right... With these stylish gloves, I can't even cross my fingers. Well, let's just hope it's not him—or her…

Xavier? Definitely not, it's not his style. If it were him, he'd send kindly ladies with a platter of lemon squares to sweet-talk me into joining them for the greater good. Then again, he might not have the same personality here. But I think he or she is probably close to canon. If Xavier were a villain here, with his powers, he'd already be the Emperor of Humanity, and we'd all be marching into a bright future, singing kumbaya.

Mr. Black turned out to be not Black, but Fury, did a memory probe on me, realized that I was a time traveler, decided that I was a pedobear and ordered to bury me? Noooo, that's heresy. Call the Ordo Hereticus, I deserve it. They would have just slapped me without further ado. Or organized an accident by having me fall from a skyscraper.

Hydra, perhaps? Yeah, no thanks. If they're into mutant experiments, we're back to the same hellscape as Stryker.

So yeah, options were looking bleak. But hey, at least they weren't harvesting my kidneys. Yet.

If we discard completely insane theories, like MJ's hare-brained scheme to have me offed so I wouldn't steal his Petra, then I think I've covered all possible options. Okay, done with "Who?" Now onto "Why?" The only logical reason left is me being a mutant. No other reason. After all, Tobi is a good boy.

Alright, fine. Final question: What do I do?

I glance over at the ladies—they're still sitting as they were, quiet as mice. Watching me, each other, and the walls. Here I am, chained up; the door's sealed; the truck's moving. Purrrrum, purrrrum. Hmmm. Let's try flexing this "great power" of mine. Maybe it's some kind of force-field thing. If I can create a blade so thin it could slice atoms, I might just vrrrt through everyone and make a run for it.

Closing my eyes, I attempt to detach from the world around me… BAM! Motherfu—! Damn pothole smacked my head into the wall. Didn't hurt too bad, but come on! I'm meditating!

Okay, regroup. Focus. Feel the power…

Fifteen minutes of this. Squinting, straining, relaxing, focusing, searching for the Great Power, chakra hotspots, or magical core energy... That's when one of the women breaks my concentration.

"Hey, kid. If you gotta take a dump, do us all a favor and hold it. We're not letting you out to squat in the bushes, but if you shit yourself, we're all stuck with the smell."

I glance at them. All of them. Eyes sharp, wary, hyper-focused. They care. Not about me, but their noses. And you know what? I haven't crapped my pants since I was two. Took great care not to, as a kid—it's really unpleasant. But right now, I kinda want to. A big, steamy pile in these god-awful parachute undies.

Would it really help? Nah. But I seriously considered it. And just as I decided against being forever nicknamed "Hey, shitter" by my rescuers, the vehicle's bouncing smoothed out. 'Must've hit pavement,' I thought, but then noticed the incline. We were climbing.

And then the walls started to groan.

First creaking, then tearing, like tissue paper. Screws ripped loose, metal screeched, and the truck's body started peeling open, petal by petal. You already know who I'm thinking of, right? Meanwhile, my poor escorts don't know where to point their guns—flailing around uselessly as their weapons either bent like pretzels or flew clean out of their hands and disappeared into the sky.

Epic. Honestly, it was epic. Someone should've blasted some metal music for this scene—would've been perfect. Instead, I got my own soundtrack filled with panicked swearing. The driver was motherfuckering, the soldiers were motherfuckering… Hell, even I'd have been motherfuckering if I wasn't too busy marveling at my chains disassembling themselves. Links popped apart like Legos, straps slid off me, my boots split down the middle, gloves unclasped, collar clicked open, and the muzzle-mask peeled away.

So here I stood: barefoot, breeze blowing through my hideous 50s-style boxers, epic as hell in the glow of a sunset. Chilly, though. Would've been nice if they'd given me fleece-lined undies, cheap bastards.

And opposite me, striding out of her own epic vibe, was Magneto herself. No cape, no armor, no helmet—just a deep burgundy suit and boots. Huh. No cosplay today? Beside her was… a cat lady? Tall, mid-thirties, with wheat-colored hair, a wild, feline face, and prominent upper fangs. She looked pissed. Not "mildly annoyed" pissed, but "someone's scratching her butt where her tail starts" level pissed. Dressed casually, too: white tee, fur-lined vest, worn jeans, combat boots.

So, there we all were. Me, the epic sunset boxer boy. Magneto and her feline plus-one. The six soldiers, metal-bound like burritos, silently panicking.

I cleared my throat. "Ahem. Ahem. Uh… good evening, ladies. You, uh, here to rescue me?"

"Yes, Tobias," Magneto said, stepping toward me. "Do you remember me?"

Do I remember you? Of course, I remember you, damn it. How could I forget?

But I pretended to squint, then broke into a grin. "Miss Lehnsherr, ma'am! I am so glad to see you!" And I meant it. Relief poured out of me. "Can you help me? I was heading home from practice, sat down for a break, and next thing I know—bam! Darkness. They took everything—my phone, my clothes!"

"Wait, Tobias, slow down," she said with a smile, ruffling my hair. I let her get away with it this once. She did earn it. Magneto then turned to the soldiers, her voice frosting over. "Where are his belongings?"

The soldier who spoke to me earlier answered. "We tossed them after we changed him. Dumped 'em in the nearest alley."

Great. My phone, workout gear, my favorite sneakers—all gone. All Gone in 60 Seconds. All I worked so hard for!

Magneto faced me again, and Cat-Lady moved closer, staring daggers at the captives.

"Tobias, did they do anything to you?" Her tone carried enough venom to melt steel, and the soldiers stiffened under her gaze.

"No, ma'am," I replied earnestly. "They were actually kind and tried to keep me calm." I wasn't about to let her hurt them. Even if they are simple mercenaries, fuck'em, let them live. They may have children, wives, husbands. And they really didn't do anything bad to me. And even if they were killed, no one would give a fuck. The one who gives the orders will send more. And more. And the grief will only multiply. So I added a request in my voice. "Don't hurt them, please.."

You know, I don't kid myself thinking people will suddenly become kind and honest. I wish they would, but it's impossible. Still, judging by the grateful looks peeking out from behind those masks, if someone ordered these soldiers to shoot me, they'd at least hesitate. Sure, it's not much of a win, but if I killed them all right now, their friends would pull the trigger on the same order—happily. Being a self-serving nice guy? It pays off in the long run. Maybe the very long run. That's not too naive, is it?

Cat-Lady snorted at my words. If Madara ever visits me in a dream again, I'll ask him to gift her the Sharingan. That snort? Pure secret Uchiha vibes. Magneto, though, just smiled, ruffled my much-abused hair again, and said, "Alright, Tobias. Let's go. The transport is waiting, and we'll find you some clothes."

"Thank you, ma'am," I said, barefoot, trailing after them down the dirt road, leaving the soldiers behind.

The walk wasn't long—three minutes, tops. Now, we've all run barefoot at some point, but not me. I'm all about comfort and not having sharp rocks or thorns stabbing my feet. Honestly, without my powers, it would've been worse, but even then, it wasn't fun. Three minutes in, Cat-Lady—who had been eyeing me as I picked my way along the road—sighed, scooped me up like a princess, and kept walking.

I froze for a few seconds, stunned, then protested. "I can walk on my own! It's not that far!"

"Tobias, this is Victoria Creed. My comrade and friend," Magneto said as we got some distance from the soldiers. "Don't worry, she's strong. And it's not far."

"Ugh, fine," I grumbled, then added with a smirk, "But Miss Victoria, for the record, I have a fiance!"

Magneto burst out laughing, and Victoria raised an eyebrow at me, amused.

"Hey, I'm just saying. You know, just in case. I mean, look at the situation." I was joking, of course. How could I not? The whole scene was straight out of a cheesy novel—two noble heroines rescuing a helpless young man and carrying him off into the sunset. Symbolic as hell.

"You're a bit small for me," Victoria finally said, her voice low and raspy, smirking as she glanced at Magneto. "Fast talker, isn't he?"

Magneto just smiled again.

"Miss Lehnsherr, how did you find me?" I asked as we walked—or, rather, as they walked while I rode in Victoria's arms. Things were starting to settle down now.

"We intercepted information about a young mutant boy being targeted for abduction today. Your details and probable escape routes from the city were included. Our allies were stationed at each one. Once we reach the transport, we'll need to notify them that the mission was successful. Tobias, are you aware that you're a mutant?"

A hundred thoughts swirled in my head. So, I'm officially a mutant. And these soldiers? Probably working for Stryker. Just my luck.

"Yes, ma'am. Found out yesterday and was testing my abilities today."

"And you're not afraid?" she asked, curious, almost intrigued. Victoria listened too, though she didn't have much choice—I was literally in her arms.

"What's there to fear? A power is just a power. It doesn't mean I'm going to start attacking people. It's like… if my mom gave me a hunting rifle. You take care of it, you're careful with it, and hey, you can even go shoot some rabbits."

"And what about someone else's abilities? Like Victoria's. She looks… a bit different than a typical girl." Magneto's words made Victoria glance down at me with a crooked, amused smile, clearly waiting for my reaction.

"Ma'am, I'm equally cautious around everyone—mutants, humans, doesn't matter. Crazy people are crazy people. A mutant could burn you with fire from their hands, but a regular person could stab you with a knife. So no, Miss Victoria doesn't scare me. She picked me up without asking, sure, and it's a bit awkward, but people who treat you kindly deserve at least kindness in return.

"Once, I ran into Venom. Barely survived that. If it weren't for two regular police officers and a now-disabled superhero, you wouldn't have had to save me today—you'd have been digging me out of a grave. So, Miss Victoria, don't take this the wrong way, but you don't strike me as a monster."

Victoria snorted, turning her gaze forward.

"There's our transport," Magneto said, her tone satisfied. Maybe she was pleased by my words, or maybe just glad the walking part was over.

That's when I realized why she wasn't in her usual superhero getup. The transport? A plain old car. Nothing fancy. And yeah, in that car, her armor would've stood out a mile away. The tinted back windows were a blessing too—no chance of flashing anyone my scandalous nipples.