Chapter 13

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When Mark first used the template, the aftermath was severe. He remained unconscious for an entire day. Upon regaining consciousness, his body exhibited pronounced signs of fatigue and weakness, indicative of the immense physiological toll exerted by the process. However, in stark contrast, this latest episode of template integration resulted in merely an hour-long unconscious spell. When he awoke, there were no outward signs of debilitation; his physical condition appeared stable, even vigorous, entirely consistent with his normal baseline of health.

This marked improvement suggested a notable adaptation process. It was reasonable to surmise that with continued training and acclimatization, the negative side effects of template assimilation might soon be completely eradicated. Such progress hinted at the vast potential of his hybrid physiology.

"Have we been able to establish contact with the Professor?" he asked.

"No, we haven't" came the solemn reply.

"We were only able to reach Jean and Ororo. They're currently en route from Boston and are expected to arrive sometime tomorrow."

Logan, casually handed the beer he was holding to Bobby. Bobby exhaled a sharp breath across the bottle's opening, instantly chilling it with a thin sheen of frost, a perfect bottle of ice-cold beer conjured with a mere puff of his breath.

The fact that they had failed to contact Professor Xavier was telling. It all but confirmed a troubling hypothesis, that the Professor had likely fallen into the hands of Colonel William Stryker. Xavier's formidable power resided in his telepathy and mental manipulation abilities. However, physically, he remained an ordinary human being. Vulnerable to ballistic injury and increasingly susceptible to the ailments of old age, including cognitive decline, Xavier's body offered no protection without someone by his side.

This vulnerability explained why he did not often travel without Scott Summers. Cyclops acted not only as a comrade but as a shield against threats that Xavier's mind might not immediately counter.

Stryker had exploited this very weakness with brutal efficiency. During Xavier's visit to interrogate Magneto in prison, Stryker had orchestrated an ambush by sealing the room and releasing a concentrated dose of sedative gas before the Professor had time to mentally react. The operation was surgical, ruthless, and tragically effective.

"Well," Mark remarked, choosing his words carefully

"Then we'll wait until the others return before taking action."

He deliberately withheld information regarding Stryker's plans. It was neither the time nor his place to reveal such knowledge. After all, how could a young student newly arrived from Sokovia, here to receive an education, plausibly possess intricate details about global anti-mutant conspiracies? Even if he spoke the truth, his credibility would be heavily scrutinized, and his motives questioned. Worse still, it might draw unwanted suspicion from Xavier himself. Had the Professor been present, the mere suggestion of exploring the Cerebro facility might have already raised red flags.

In fact, the only reason Mark's previous request to investigate Cerebro alongside Logan had gone unnoticed was Logan's characteristic disregard for formalities and his general obliviousness to hidden motives. Had Xavier been the one consulted, things would have unfolded very differently.

Moreover, sharing this information prematurely would serve no practical purpose. Stryker's base of operations was located somewhere near one of Canada's Great Lakes, a remote region beyond their immediate reach. Without access to the X-Jet, neither Mark nor Wolverine had the means to travel that far. Yet doing nothing was not an option. If Stryker were allowed to proceed unhindered, if his plan to exterminate all mutants on Earth succeeded, then even Pietro, would perish.

Such a catastrophe would spell doom not only for countless innocent lives but also for Mark's own carefully calculated plans. He had been exploiting his position at the mutant school to accumulate meals, security, and, most importantly, justice points. Any existential threat to mutantkind would render his strategy obsolete.

Worse still was the risk of Magneto seizing the moment to reverse Stryker's ambitions, eliminating not mutants, but all non-mutant humans instead. That would be even more disastrous. Mark himself would be caught in the carnage.

Or would he?

After all, Mark was no longer fully human. His biology had been irrevocably altered. He was now a Saiyan.

Still, one could never be too sure. The ambiguity of his nature, combined with the volatility of the current situation, demanded caution.

Leaving fate in the hands of others was never Mark's style.

"Iron Boy will continue attempting to contact the Professor," said Wolverine, referring to Colossus.

"I'll keep watch tonight. You just focus on getting some rest."

Wolverine gave Mark a reassuring pat on the shoulder, clearly trying to alleviate the boy's concerns. In Logan's eyes, no matter how capable Mark proved himself in combat, no matter how composed he acted, he was still a child. There were burdens no child should ever have to carry.

At that moment, a low rumble emanated from Mark's abdomen.

"Uh… is there anything to eat around here?" he asked, rubbing his stomach with a sheepish grin.

"I need to refill my tank."

Despite the substantial meal he had consumed earlier that evening, the immense energy expenditure from the past hour's intense combat had already drained his reserves.

Wolverine chuckled at the sound of Mark's grumbling stomach.

"Follow me," he said with a grin.

"The basement's fully stocked."

The basement had been specifically designed by Xavier as a secure emergency shelter for the school's students. Naturally, food and clean water were among the essentials stored in abundance. Even the beer Logan was drinking had come from that subterranean stockpile.

After ensuring that Wanda and Pietro were comfortable and safe, Mark accompanied Logan down into the basement.

"I feel like singing 'Stairway to Heaven,'" he muttered under his breath, eyes gleaming.

Before him lay crates upon crates of chocolate bars, sausages, loaves of bread, and a wide variety of drinks, everything from carbonated sodas to electrolyte-rich sports beverages. It was a banquet fit for a ravenous warrior. Mark's body, already in desperate need of replenishment, responded eagerly to the sight. He dove into the food with gusto.

"Oh, hell," Wolverine muttered, pausing mid-sip.

"I finally understand what Jorg meant when he said there was a 'bottomless pit' in the house."

Crates of food vanished before his eyes as Mark devoured them one after another with almost supernatural speed.

By the following afternoon, an advanced stealth jet touched down gracefully on the lawn behind the mansion. Its sleek design shimmered faintly in the daylight.

"Jean, you're much later than expected. I was starting to worry something had gone wrong," said Logan as he approached, giving Jean a brief, familiar embrace.

Behind Jean Grey stood Storm, Ororo Munroe, accompanied by kurt and a scent so bizarre he almost didn't believe it.

Sensing Logan's unasked question, Storm gestured toward the jet.

"We ran into a few… unexpected guests along the way," she explained.

Logan turned, brow furrowing.

Descending from the jet were two individuals, an elderly man wearing a distinctive metallic helmet and a woman whose entire body was covered in azure-blue scales.

"Old friends," the man said cheerfully, raising his hand in greeting.

Logan's expression hardened instantly. Without hesitation, his adamantium claws extended with a snikt, ready for battle.

The two figures were none other than Magneto and Mystique, the same pair the X-Men had battled viciously atop the Statue of Liberty just a few years prior. That encounter had nearly cost Rogue her life.

"Logan, they're not enemies, at least not right now," Jean quickly intervened, stepping between him and Magneto.

She proceeded to explain the situation. After Stryker abducted Professor Xavier, Mystique had engineered Magneto's escape from prison. The two had then reached out to the X-Men, proposing an uneasy alliance to rescue the Professor and, by extension, save all of mutantkind.

"Magneto's goals, however," muttered Mark from his vantage point on the second-floor window

"Are never that simple. He wants to save mutants, yes, but only if it means wiping out humanity along the way."

Munching on a sausage, Mark shook his head. He had no choice but to participate in the rescue operation. Whether their goal was the preservation of mutant life or the salvation of humanity, both outcomes would yield massive amounts of justice points. With luck, the influx would be sufficient to unlock a second protagonist template.

As he had told himself before, he would not leave his fate in the hands of others.

In the films, this mission had ended in success. But this was not a film, nor was it guaranteed to follow the same narrative beats. His very existence was a deviation, an anomaly. The butterfly effect had already begun, and the events to come could easily spiral into unforeseen chaos. His knowledge of canon was a reference at best, not a doctrine.

That kind of blind faith could get him killed.

"Wanda, Pietro," he said, gently ruffling their hair, "stay here and watch TV with everyone. I'm heading downstairs."

With that, he descended the staircase and entered the living room where the others had gathered.

"Still no word from the Professor?" he asked, feigning the concern of an ordinary student.

"Don't worry, child," Storm responded gently, crouching slightly to meet his eyes.

"Professor Xavier will be fine. He'll return soon, and we'll all go back to school."

She spoke with the tender concern of a teacher consoling a frightened student. She knew Mark was new and had only just arrived with Xavier the day before. In the wake of the attack, it was only natural for him to feel anxious, especially now, with Xavier absent.

Behind her, Logan couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. The entire exchange struck him as slightly absurd. Yes, Mark was technically a child, but after witnessing the boy's performance in battle the night before, it was difficult, if not impossible, for him to be treated as just a normal kid anymore.