"Reavers?"
Sam frowned. But judging by their numbers—and the high-grade weapons they were all carrying—he knew now wasn't the time to act recklessly.
He stood his ground, keeping his eyes fixed on the blond man leading the group.
"Codename: Pyro has been successfully secured."
The man spoke into his comms, then motioned to his team to move in and restrain the unconscious mutant.
Four mercenaries quickly brought over a massive cryo-capsule, basically a high-tech coffin filled with concentrated carbon dioxide to rapidly absorb heat. As Pyro's body was sealed inside, the leader visibly relaxed and turned to approach Sam.
He took off his sunglasses and offered a card.
"Donald Pierce. And you are?"
"Adam," Sam answered coolly, using his half-brother's name instead of his real one.
"Nice name." Pierce scratched his brow with a finger. "Saw you talking to the guy earlier. You two know each other?"
"No. Never met him," Sam replied with a slight shake of his head.
"No?" Pierce raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Then why didn't he fry you like the others? He seemed real chatty with you."
"I don't know," Sam said, steadying his voice. "Maybe he mistook me for someone else. The guy's clearly unstable. Who knows how his mind works?"
They locked eyes for a tense moment, but Pierce finally seemed to accept the answer and let it go.
Just then, two mercs walked over with Dean in tow. "Boss, found this guy lurking with a weapon. Real sneaky."
"He's my friend," Sam said quickly. "He was just worried about me."
Pierce signaled his men to release Dean, who shrugged off their grip, scowling as he stretched his wrists. He stalked over to Sam's side, glaring openly at Pierce.
The Reaver leader didn't react with hostility. Instead, he looked intrigued. He took Dean's shotgun from one of the mercs and examined it.
"Insurance guys carry this kinda heat?"
"Standard issue," Sam replied smoothly. "With the current situation, HQ didn't want us unarmed in case a rogue mutant got too close."
Pierce gave a dry chuckle, lifting the shotgun to his nose and sniffing the barrel before pulling back with a grimace. "What's in this?"
"Salt rounds," Sam said casually. "Heard mutants hate salt... you know, urban legends and all."
"Hah!" Pierce scoffed. "Big guy, mutants might have devilish powers, but they're still human. That kind of superstition won't do squat."
He tossed the shotgun back to Dean.
"You're done here. Leave. And keep your mouths shut."
Sam gave Dean a slight nod, and the two turned silently back to their car. No one tried to stop them. The mercs clearly had no interest in anything but mutants.
Once inside the vehicle, Sam leaned closer and muttered, "That Pyro guy—he knew something. We can't let them take him."
"I know," Dean grumbled, still clearly annoyed from the earlier ambush. "But what the hell can we do? It's just us—and they're better armed than the freakin' military."
Sam was quiet for a moment, then asked, "Do you think Pyro's the only one who knows what's going on? Or do you think every mutant who ended up here might remember something?"
Dean thought about it. "Not all of them, no. Remember, Polaris and Blink—they had no idea how they got here. I think only the really powerful ones—those who saw something—might have glimpsed whoever dropped them in this universe."
Sam nodded. "Exactly. So our next step? Start tracking down the mutants who do remember. If we can figure out who's pulling the strings, we might learn what they're really after."
Dean glanced at him. "You have a lead?"
Sam didn't answer directly. He simply reached into his pocket and pulled out the business card Pierce had given him. He laid it out in front of Dean.
The bold logo on it read: Essex Corporation.
Dean's eyes narrowed. "So… what about Alex? You wanna call him, fill him in?"
Sam took out his phone and dialed Alex's number. After a few seconds, he slipped the phone back into his pocket and shook his head.
"No signal. Either Alex is in some kind of pocket dimension… or he's not even in this universe anymore."
"Tch. Great," Dean sighed, rubbing his temples.
"Well, screw it. Guess we're on our own."
-----------------------
Elsewhere—
James sat still, worry etched across his face as he stared at the screen. This was the fourteenth time he'd watched the footage from the flash drive, and no matter how many times he ran it back, it still didn't make sense.
Beside him, Blink furrowed her brow, eyes fixed on the same screen—watching the supposed heroes of the Avengers in action, clearly unsettled.
She had arrived before sunrise, tracking James's location and quietly teleporting to the area. After making sure the perimeter was clear, she revealed herself and approached him—only to find him caught up in something incredibly strange.
Finally, it was Blink who broke the silence.
"This could've been done with CGI. I mean, we've all seen what special effects can do these days. Whoever made this probably used some advanced tech to fake it. I've never even heard of an 'Avengers,' and names like 'Iron Man' or 'Captain America' just sound… bizarre."
"You think someone forged this video just to mess with me?" James asked in a raspy voice.
"Wouldn't be the first time someone got duped by a conspiracy," Blink replied with a shrug. "Plenty of people still think the moon landing was fake."
"But there's no reason to go this far just to lie to me," James said, lifting his eyes to meet hers. "That guy—whoever sent this—he's targeting me specifically. If this was just some trick, why all the effort?"
"So what, you're saying everything in that video is real?" Blink looked at him, skeptical. "Come on, James. A guy frozen in ice for seventy years? A billionaire in a flying robot suit? This stuff sounds like comic book nonsense."
"I—I'm not sure..." James murmured, suddenly clutching his head in pain.
His vision went dark.
And then... flickers. Fragments of memories that didn't belong to his current life. They surged through his mind like sparks jumping a broken wire.
(He's the best Weapon X product. He'll be Hydra's sharpest blade.)
(This isn't our first time working with Hydra, but I'll admit—Red Skull's smarter than some of the Hand's top brass.)
(Kill them all, Logan.)
(Look at him… like Hercules of myth. But he doesn't know he's slaughtering innocents, not monsters.)
(Logan! Snap out of it—we're your friends!)
(You've got to remember who you are! Logan! At the very least, you should remember me! I'm Steve Rogers!)
"...Steve…"
James whispered, clutching his skull tighter, as if trying to hold the memories—or the pain—at bay.
His head throbbed violently, a storm of confusion and forgotten truths brewing behind his eyes. Soon, more and more fragments of memory surged forth like a tidal wave.
(Welcome to the New Avengers, Logan. We're glad to have you.)
(I know you're part of a dozen different teams, but that doesn't change your place here in the Avengers, Logan.)
—
"Logan."
Seeing that something was clearly wrong with Wolverine, Blink couldn't help but call out to him in a low voice.
But Logan didn't respond. Still clutching his head in pain, he let out deep, guttural growls through gritted teeth. Blink could see the veins bulging on the backs of his hands.
"Logan, what's going on?"
Worried, Blink tried again. When he still didn't respond, she immediately reached out, attempting to jolt him back to his senses with a push. But just as her hand began to move toward him—
A voice, unfamiliar and calm, echoed from inside the luxury vehicle nearby.
(Don't interrupt him. He's in the middle of remembering something crucial.)
...
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