Chapter 18

"Is it not… blowing up?"

Outside the main control room, Colonel William Stryker stared at the monitors, his face a mask of disbelief. The reinforced blast door, his own brilliant design, was dented and scorched but stubbornly intact after a fourth detonation. The smell of cordite was thick in the air.

"We need more plastique, Colonel," the captain of the demolitions team explained, his voice strained. "A lot more."

"No!" Stryker snapped. "Any more force and you'll threaten the integrity of the entire dam! The water pressure…" He trailed off, the image of his entire state-of-the-art facility being crushed by billions of gallons of lake water flashing through his mind. He'd made the door too well, adding a trace of adamantium to the alloy. An ironic, infuriating trap of his own making.

It was his own fault. He'd seen him on the surveillance feed—Wolverine, his prize creation, walking right into the spillway. In a moment of hubris, he'd let him in, planning to trap him. Only when it was too late did he realize it wasn't Wolverine at all, but the blue-skinned shapeshifter. She'd slipped into the control room, likely disguised as Stryker himself, and initiated a full lockdown.

A frantic voice crackled over his radio. "Sir, spillway guards are down! All of them! We have multiple hostiles, repeat, multiple powerful hostiles inside the perimeter!"

Stryker's blood ran cold. Magneto. He had to be here. He knew Erik's terrifying power all too well. His men were just lambs for the slaughter. The plan was collapsing.

"Forget the door," he commanded, his voice cold with a sudden, desperate clarity. "Abandon this position. Everyone, fall back to the Cerebro chamber. We initiate the plan now."

"But Colonel," his subordinate protested, "the machine is barely assembled! It hasn't been tested, if there's a malfunction—"

Stryker cut him off with a glacial stare. "It's too late for caution. We have one chance. Hold them off," he barked into his radio, addressing every soldier left in the base. "Hold them off at all costs. Buy me time." It was a death sentence, and he knew it. But the longer they delayed the inevitable, the better his odds of succeeding.

Inside the control room, the massive, adamantium-laced door lay on the floor, twisted and torn from its hinges like the lid of a tin can. Magneto floated a few inches above the ground, a low hum of power emanating from him.

"Well, that was trivial," he remarked. "Mystique, find Charles."

The blue shapeshifter's fingers danced across a keyboard. A three-dimensional map of the base sprang to life in the air. With a few deft gestures, she isolated a power signature. "There," she said, pointing. "A massive energy draw, feeding into a single room at the lowest level of the base. It has to be the new Cerebro chamber."

"Can you shut it down from here?" Storm asked, her voice tight.

Mystique shook her head. "It's on an independent power source. A closed system. It can only be disabled from within the room itself."

As they spoke, Ethan's eyes were locked on a small security monitor in the corner. He saw a flicker of movement—a familiar, grizzled face filled with cold rage. Stryker. Then he saw Logan turn, his expression a mask of grim determination, and slip out of the control room without a word. He was going after his ghost.

Ethan made a split-second decision. "Piotr," he said, his voice sharp with authority. "Logan's going after him alone. He's emotional. He'll need a clear head watching his back. Go."

Colossus looked to Storm, who, after a moment's hesitation, gave a firm nod. Her own suspicions about Magneto made the idea of keeping a powerful bargaining chip like Stryker in play seem wise. Piotr nodded once and lumbered out of the room after Wolverine.

Besides, Ethan thought, with Magneto here, those two are just walking liabilities. Better to put their metal bodies to use elsewhere. He also had a flash of memory of a female assassin with claws just like Logan's. If she was here, Logan would need help. He'd grown to like the gruff, heartbroken man. He wouldn't see him die here.

"The construction schematics for this new Cerebro were… extracted from my mind while I was in prison," Magneto announced, drawing their attention. "I know how to disable it. Mystique and I will proceed to the chamber and rescue Charles. You and the boy can deal with the remaining soldiers."

It was a reasonable, logical suggestion. And a complete lie. Storm's eyes narrowed, her earlier conversation with Ethan echoing in her mind.

"No," she said, her voice as cold as the mountain air outside. "I think it's better if we all go together."

A flicker of something—annoyance?—passed between Magneto and Mystique. A silent conversation. They had been countered. But now was not the time to force the issue.

Sensing the shift, the sudden, unspoken threat of betrayal, Ethan felt a familiar surge. Load Wukong template, he commanded silently. Power flooded his limbs. His hair shot up, his clothes flickered into the orange gi, and the Power Pole settled onto his back.

Magneto raised an eyebrow at the sudden transformation. "You remind me of another mutant I once knew. Psylocke. She could manifest her energy in much the same way."

The name, the idea of another powerful fighter, lit a fire in Ethan's mind. The calculating strategist receded, and the battle-hungry Saiyan surged forward. "Is she strong?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with a sudden, intense excitement. "Can she fight? If she's a good fighter, you have to introduce me! We should spar!"

"She is quite formidable," Magneto said, a slow, meaningful smile playing on his lips. "A pity she serves a pathetic creature named Caliban. But you…" Ethan's focus was so intense it was almost unnerving. "You have that same fire."

"Are you strong?" Ethan blurted out, taking a half-step towards the Master of Magnetism, practically vibrating with a barely suppressed desire to fight. "You seem really strong. We should have a match sometime!"

The raw, joyous battle lust was so palpable that Magneto actually took a step back, stunned, before his smile returned, wider this time. "Patience, little warrior. There will be a chance."

The group moved out, sweeping through the sterile metal corridors of the base. The few soldiers they encountered were dispatched with brutal efficiency. As they rounded a final corner leading to a large, circular chamber, a new sound cut through the air. A high-pitched, sizzling hum.

"Careful!" Storm yelled.

Two beams of pure, concussive ruby-red energy shot from the darkness, scoring deep, molten gashes into the wall where they had been standing a second before. They scrambled for cover as a figure stepped into the light. He wore a black uniform and a silver visor that completely covered his eyes.

It was Cyclops. And his expression was chillingly blank.