The cities looked too bright for this late at night.
Skyscrapers glowed like lit matchsticks, reaching high into a sky that had forgotten how to be dark. Below, the roads pulsed with the last gasps of the day—cars drifting like slow blood cells through concrete arteries. People were still out there. Moving. Hustling. Living. Clinging to something.
Some were grinding out overtime for bills they'd never outrun.
Some were stumbling out of bars, laughter too loud to be sober.
Some were heading into the night, dressed like rebellion, smelling like regret.
And some… just wandered. Shadows among neon.
People of the night. People like me. Only, they didn't know it yet.
I watched them from the sky. Envious, maybe. Curious, definitely. But distant.
I drifted toward one of the higher towers—smooth, glass-paneled, and humming with fluorescent fatigue. Inside, I spotted a man, probably in his early forties, still grinding through some late-night corporate report like it owed him a life back. He was visibly worn down—forehead creased, shoulders sagging. A clock behind him clicked over to 1:13 AM.
On his desk sat a framed photo—smiling kids, tired wife, joy. The kind of photo you stare at to remember why you're selling your soul piece by piece.
He muttered, "I need to retire." like it was both a joke and a wish.
Then he spun in his chair and caught sight of me outside the glass, hovering.
His eyes went wide. He half-rose in shock.
I gave him a casual wave, a little two-fingered salute, and zipped off before he could shout.
Up I went, slicing through the clouds like they weren't even there. When I broke through the top layer, I killed most of the suit. Let the tech peel back to bare essentials—just enough to let me feel the mist hit my skin, sharp and real. The kind of real you can't fake in a world built on lies and LED screens.
The turbo energy in me kept me from freezing to death.
And then there was silence.
Not peace. Just quiet.
I floated there, alone above a city that didn't know what to do with someone like me. But that was fine. I'd long since stopped waiting for a place to belong.
The suit hummed softly, keeping me suspended like a secret no one wanted to hear. I tilted my head back, eyes closed. The clouds wrapped around me like old ghosts. I didn't mind their company. Ghosts didn't ask questions.
That's the thing about being alone. At first, it chews at you. Gnaws at the corners. Then, eventually, it just becomes part of the air you breathe. Loneliness stops feeling like absence. It starts feeling like armor.
The Quinjet's roar broke the stillness, a low hum pushing through the clouds like an unwanted reminder.
I opened one eye and smirked. "About damn time."
I reactivated comms. My voice was dry, lazy.
"I thought you forgot a national threat was loitering in your sky."
The response was immediate. Gritted teeth over military comms.
"Ranger, consider this my final warning." came Sam's voice, low and sharp. "If you break formation one more time, I will personally hunt you down with everything I've got."
I snorted. "You say that like we don't both know you've already tried."
Silence. Tense. Controlled. The kind that says he's counting to ten on the other end.
I looked down again—at the glowing city, at the people, the noise, the life.
And for a second, I felt nothing. Not numb. Not sad. Just… separate.
I wasn't down there.
I didn't belong up here.
But floating between it all? That, I'd gotten used to.
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I flew into visual range of the Quinjet—just close enough to be seen, just far enough to ignore the barking voice coming through my comms. Orders, warnings, some threat about airspace protocol—I let it all wash over me like white noise.
I wasn't afraid of Captain America 2.0 or his shiny new Avengers. Sure, they were powerful. Trained. Some dangerous enough to drop me before I could blink.
But then again—what in this universe couldn't kill me?
I wasn't playing nice because I feared them. I followed the directive because we were close to the island now, and if I pissed off the welcoming committee too soon, I'd have a lot more than Sam's ego to deal with.
Ahead, the island came into view. Lush, isolated, wrapped in a shroud of thick mist and top-shelf perimeter defenses. Krakoa.
As the Quinjet slowed to prep for landing, still behind me. I matched its pace and began my descent—deliberate, careful. This wasn't just strategy. It was respect. You don't barrel into the home of omega-level mutants like you own the place unless you've got a death wish.
Apparently, that didn't matter.
The first shot came fast—tight beam, red-hot, straight for my head.
I tilted to the side, let it fly past. Then two more followed. I rolled and dipped, keeping smooth, controlled motion. No counter-fire yet. Not until—
Beeeeep.
Lock-on warning.
I looked up just in time to see the streak of a heat-seeking missile cutting through the clouds toward me. Then another. And another.
"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me."
For a race that claims to be beyond mankind, they sure loved to use mankind invention.
I twisted in mid-air, wings flaring, engines pivoting. I couldn't dodge them all. Not clean. So I raised both hands, palms lit with blue charge, and fired a tight spread of micro-blasts.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
Each detonation cracked the air and lit up the sky like fireworks, shrapnel raining down over the sea.
I wasn't aiming to kill—I was buying space. Still, the island's inhabitant weren't impressed.
Below, I could already see them. Mutants—dozens—emerging from the tree line and high ridges. Some walked. Some slithered. Some flew. All of them were armed, focused, and not even pretending to hide their hostility. I could feel the weight of their eyes. Not curious. Cautious. Angry. Bloodthirsty.
I hovered above the treetops, hands still faintly glowing from the last round of blasts. Didn't raise them again. Didn't run. Just held position.
The sky shifted.
Clouds rolled in unnaturally fast. The temperature dropped. Wind currents turned sharp, angry.
I didn't need to look to know who was coming.
The air buzzed with electricity. My HUD spiked, sensors scrambling to keep up. Static danced along my armor as a figure descended through the clouds like royalty made of stormfront and judgment.
Storm.
Queen of the elements. One of the few beings alive whose presence you felt before you saw.
She hovered above me, cape snapping, eyes faintly glowing. Her hair floated like it was underwater. She didn't need to speak—every thunderhead within five miles said enough.
Still, I gave it a shot.
"Quite the welcoming committee." I called out, my voice amplified just enough to carry down to the mutants gathering below. "You always shoot first and ask questions never?"
She didn't smile. Didn't even blink.
"My apologies." she said coolly, lightning crackling around her fingertips. "We weren't informed an Iron Man knockoff would be dropping by uninvited."
Ouch.
"And let me guess the Captain America in the Quinjet behind me didn't add me in the guestlist." I looked back to see the Quinjet still hovering in the air. And from the window I could see a smug Sam glancing.
"Storm, I came here for the meeting nothing more." I could see heavy hitters in the distance glancing at me. "I am not your enemy." I raised my hand signaling I came with goodwill.
"You shooting down our missiles suggests otherwise." She spoke.
"A man can't defend himself, Storm?" Typical. Mutant Superiority Complex. "After this meeting is over, I will be out of your mutant lair and we both will be happy, capisce?"
She said nothing. But I could see the electric current flu in her ear. A message. She floated down the island and the defense system didn't lock onto me anymore. But looking at the mutants below me, I had made an enemy of quite a few of them.
Fucking Sam and his petty grudges.
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Mutant Timeline: Half a year after Krakoa is made a mutant nation. Silent Council Timeline with major and minor changes. Not Earth-616.
Most of the X-men are alive cause they are too iconic to be killed and I don't know much about other mutants to write them. And as shown in most of the comics. They are insufferable, arrogant, and mutant Superiority mentality against most people aside for few they can do nothing about.
One Example would be: " You wanna know why? Because there's nothing to cure. Nothing's wrong with you." said to a lonely girl who kills everything she touches by a girl who is basically a weather goddess.
Not saying all mutants are assholes but most of the higher-up in power scale are. So, I just wanna stay true on that point in this fanfic.
For those asking about if this is MCU timeline. Why is Black Widow alive?
Its because she is a plot point that will be answered at the very end. And I am not going to spoil anything anymore on this topic. 'Someone' else will.
And Yea, Tony is dead. Steve is retired that's why Sam picks up his Shield following the MCU timeline that has its own major and minor timeline.