Chapter 28 -Danger Room
The steel doors stenciled DANGER ROOM swallowed their reflections as the team lined up: Cyclops at point, jaw set; Wolverine loose-shouldered and watching; Storm calm as a held breath; Colossus a patient mountain; Nightcrawler perched on a wall sconce like an Imp; Sunfire standing tall, arms folded; Thunderbird rolling his shoulders like he wanted the room to swing first; Banshee with his hands tucked into his bell, eyes crinkled, taking the measure of things.
"Today we stop being strangers," Cyclops said, voice clipped, visor a narrow, burning promise. "Scenarios escalate every session. You use your powers-or you get benched. We're training for a world that won't pull punches."
Logan flicked his gaze over the bulkheads as they irised open to reveal a hangar-sized chamber. Panels slid, retracted, and rose; false walls telescoped out of the floor; gunmetal gantries folded like origami into a maze. The air smelled faintly of ozone and machine oil. Hidden turrets tracked like blinking eyes. A dozen discs hummed to life overhead.
'Big shiny cage, Logan thought, mouth quirking. "Let's see if it bites.'
"Scenario Delta-One," Cyclops ordered. "Live drones. Minimal lethals. Keep your heads."
The room answered with a waspish whine. Spherical drones popped loose from ceiling cradles and streaked down in spirals. Red targeting dots jittered across the floor.
"Colossus-front!" Cyclops barked.
Piotr exhaled and steel rippled across him in a gleam, skin becoming mirror and weight. He planted, taking the first three impacts on his chest with a clang that rattled ribs all the way to the observation glass.
"Good wall," Logan said. "Keep your feet, big man."
"Da," Colossus grunted, shoving a drone aside hard enough to crater a panel.
"Nightcrawler-harass and relocate," Cyclops snapped.
Bamf. Bamf. Bamf. Brimstone and shadow, Kurt flickered through the air like a swallowed cough, tail flicking as he cuffed a drone with playful precision. "Catch me if you can, ja?"
"Stop showboating, Scott growled. "Tag those nodes."
"Let the boy dance, Summers," Banshee called, planting his feet. "We'll get more done
if ye let rhythm in." He drew a long breath, chest expanding. The scream that leapt from him was focused, a tight lance of sound that hammered two drones into the same wall with
a crunch. "There's a sweet spot at their seams -hear it and ye'll never miss."
"Nice pipes," Logan said, grinning.
"Thank ye kindly," Sean shot back, eyes bright. "Try not to slice the speakers."
Sunfire ignited in a low flare, heat rolling off him like desert noon. "Targets acquired," Shiro said, voice stiff with control. Microbursts of flame spat from his palms, clean, surgical-two drones slagged into sparking hunks.
"Dial it back," Cyclops warned. "Conserve fuel."
Sunfire didn't look over. "I am not a gas tank, Cyclops. I am a man."
"Save the debate for later," Scott snapped. "Storm-wind shear corridors. Give Nightcrawler lanes."
Ororo lifted her hands, fingers scribing
Invisible geometry. Air answered; the room's haze snatched sideways as if grabbed by a glant. "Paths open," she said, calm as rain.
Bamf-Kurt vanished, reappearing mid-lane to boot a drone through a retracting gate. "Danke, Ororo!"
Thunderbird hit the field like a linebacker, no finesse just speed, angles, and fury. He hurled a drone into another, took a ricochet off his shoulder and grinned like it woke him up. "C'mon!" John barked. "You call this a fight?"
"Hold formation!" Cyclops called. "Don't outpace your cover!"
"I am the cover," Thunderbird snapped, driving through a hall of pellets.
Logan slipped between bearns, eyes narrowing as the world slowed into that familiar syrup. Bullet-time stretched the room thin: darts drew white commas in the air.
servos whined in notes; heat shimmered like
breath. He saw the pattern-the half-beat
between turret sweeps-and flowed through it,
six claws breathing in and out, silver
punctuation marks that snipped sensors and split housings. A drone fizzed behind him and fell apart in neat, embarrassed halves.
'Still got it, he thought. 'Still hate the smell of hot circuits.
Cyclops pivoted, visor ticking. "Wolverine, left flank. Banshee, with him. Colossus-anchor. Storm, hold those lanes. Sunfire, precision only,"
"And me?" Thunderbird shot back. "Don't die," Scott said. "Yet."
Thunderbird laughed and went faster.