White House
The air in the Situation Room was heavy with tension. A long oval table sat beneath the harsh glow of ceiling lights, occupied by the President, the Secretary of Defense, and a handful of senior officials. Files were stacked high; a faint hum from the air conditioning was the only sound between breaths.
The Secretary of Defense broke the silence first.
"Gentlemen, we're reviewing all defense expenditures. Every classified program, every black book—everything is on the table. We can't keep funding a weapon designed to target our own citizens." He leaned forward, his voice steady but firm. "If these mutants, as you call them, are already living among us peacefully, then why provoke them? We haven't had a single incident in over ten years."
"That's not entirely true," one official countered sharply. "Are we just going to sweep what happened in Cuba under the rug?"
"That was never confirmed," another interjected.
"We have real enemies to worry about," said a third, adjusting his tie. "The Germans, the Russians, the Chinese—take your pick. We don't have the time or resources to chase ghosts when the mutants haven't done a damn thing in decades."
"This isn't about resources," someone else said, voice rising slightly. "We're talking about nearly a tenth of our population—and their numbers are growing. Do you even realize what it would mean if we greenlit your project?"
Across the table, Dr. Bolivar Trask smiled faintly, rising from his seat. His eyes glinted with something colder than reason.
"Allow me to read you something," he said, pulling a folded paper from his coat pocket. "This came to us through our friends at the CIA. Written by a mutant, currently studying at Oxford University."
He cleared his throat, his voice calm but heavy with implication.
"When our kind emerged, the less evolved species which was our cousin ,perished. Evolution favors the adaptable—the stronger of related species—and leaves the weaker behind to die out."
Trask folded the paper, letting the silence linger before he spoke again.
"Gentlemen… that is the position we now find ourselves in."
The room went dead quiet. The President leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, eyes unreadable.
The silence lingered for a long beat before the President finally spoke.
"You make a persuasive argument, Dr. Trask and thank you for the science lesson. But your reasoning is not enough for us to authorize mass genocide of innocent American citizens. Your Sentinel program is definitely not going to fly."
Murmurs rippled around the table. Trask's jaw tightened; for the first time his composure looked brittle. The Secretary of Defense let out a breath as if relieved, while other officials exchanged furtive glances, already calculating political fallout and press statements. The President rested his hands on the table, eyes sweeping the room, signaling the end of the debate , for now.
After traveling for days and carefully avoiding main roads, Nathan finally arrived at Xavier's School of the Gifted. He parked his SUV outside and immediately noticed a slick, vintage car already in the driveway. Logan had beaten him here, which meant the situation had likely already been explained to Xavier and Hank.
Nathan stepped out of the car and scanned the grounds. The mansion had seen better days,the lawn was overgrown, the trees in the garden unpruned. If it weren't for Logan's car, he might have assumed the place had been abandoned long ago.
He walked over to the front door and knocked firmly.
Inside the Mansion
"So let me get this straight," Xavier said skeptically, leaning forward in his chair. "You were sent by me, from the future, to change the future by preventing Raven from assassinating Trask?"
"That's pretty much it," Logan replied, his tone grim.
"And I'm supposed to just believe you?" Xavier pressed, brows furrowed.
"If you still had your powers, you'd know I'm telling the truth," Logan said evenly.
"Who are you?" Charles asked, curiosity sharpening his voice.
"I'm your friend—a good one, too," Logan explained. "I know everything about you. How you got your powers at age nine, how you learned to control them, and how you accepted them by age twelve."
"Well… you've certainly piqued my interest," Charles admitted. "But what exactly do you want from me?"
"I need your help. We need your help, Charles," Logan said urgently.
Charles shook his head with a hint of frustration. "I'd like to wake up now," he muttered, walking away.
Logan turned to Hank. "What happened to him?"
"A lot," Hank replied quietly, his tail flicking in agitation.
A sudden knock at the door made Logan's claws extend instinctively. "Are you expecting someone?" he asked.
"No… I'll go check who it is," Hank replied, moving toward the door.
Hank transformed back to his normal form as he approached the door, opening it just enough to peek outside. Standing there was a young adult boy with striking white hair, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
"Good morning, sir. You must be Hank," the boy said politely.
"Yes… that's me. Can I help you?" Hank asked, uncertain.
"Yes," the boy replied earnestly. "I would like to see Professor Charles."
"And why is that?" Hank pressed.
"I need his help to prevent a great catastrophe from occurring in the future," Nathan said, his voice steady but urgent. "It starts a few weeks from now if we don't stop it."
Hank paused, furrowing his brow. "Hold on a second," he said, closing the door and turning toward Logan. "There's a guy outside… white hair, duffel bag. Do you know him by any chance?"
Logan's eyes narrowed slightly, memories flickering through his mind. "I think I do," he said carefully, Quicksilver coming to mind.
"And… what about him?" Logan asked, a note of caution in his voice.
"He's saying the same thing as you," Logan replied.
"You should let him in," Logan added after a pause.
Hank opened the door wider, motioning for Nathan to enter. "Alright… come in. But know this—you're on thin ice. Any funny business, and you won't get a second chance."
Nathan stepped inside, glancing around the mansion as the door closed behind him.
Minutes later.
"So you're saying they took Raven's power… and weaponized it?" Charles asked, his voice tight.
"Pretty much," Logan replied.
"Is it the same in your dream—uh, what was your name again?"
"Nathan," he supplied. "And yes. It's the exact same thing."
Charles glanced at Hank. The scientist adjusted his glasses, thinking it through.
"I mean… it's not scientifically impossible," Hank admitted. "So they could be telling the truth."
Charles shifted his attention back to Nathan. "Is this dream of yours related to your gift?"
Nathan shrugged, selling the uncertainty. "I don't know."
Hank stepped in. "What happened after they weaponized Raven's DNA?"
Logan's expression darkened. "They created hyper-adaptive Sentinels. Killer robots designed to adapt and counter any mutant ability. At first it was just mutants. Then they started identifying the genetics in non-mutants—people who would eventually have mutant children or grandchildren—and they wiped them out, too."
Nathan nodded in grim confirmation.
Logan continued, "We fought as hard as we could. With the help of a few good humans, too. But it didn't matter. It was still a one-sided slaughter."
The room fell silent.
Charles broke it with a tired sigh. "Let's say I believe you. That I choose to help you. Raven doesn't listen to me anymore. Hell, I don't even know where she is right now. And without my powers, finding her before then will be… challenging."
"I know," Logan said. "That's why we're going to need Magneto."
Charles blinked. "Erik?"
"Yes, him," Logan confirmed.
Charles burst out laughing—harsh, humorless laughter. Hank looked away.
"You do know where he is, right?" Hank asked.
"I know," Logan said. "So we're going to break him out."
Charles shook his head, still laughing as he stood from his chair. "You're a funny man, Logan."
His face hardened. "But I'm not helping you break out that monster. He's exactly where he belongs."
Charles began walking toward the staircase.
"You've really changed, Charles," Logan called after him. "The professor I once knew would never abandon people who've lost their path."
Charles stopped short of the first step, turned, and descended back toward Logan.
"Oh, I remember you very well now," Charles said as he approached. "Do you remember what you told us the last time we came for your help?" His voice sharpened, mocking Logan's tone. "Oh, I remember it clearly."
He leaned in.
"You said,'go fuck yourselves'.now iam going to say it to you.Fuck.off "
End of chapter