Chapter 18: PATTERN RECOGNITION
Tom returned from his third reconnaissance mission looking sick.
"Well?" Ruth demanded.
He phased through the wall into my office—still made me jump when he did that. "Found their meeting place. Abandoned barn, twenty-two miles east. They're calling themselves 'Friends of Humanity.'"
I felt my stomach drop. That name. From my meta-knowledge, I knew what Friends of Humanity became. A hate group. Nationwide. Responsible for countless mutant deaths in the comics. But this was 1987. They shouldn't exist yet. Not in organized form.
Or maybe they did and history didn't record their early years.
"How many?" Miles asked.
"Twenty-three that I counted. Could be more. They had weapons—guns, bats, knives. And maps." Tom pulled out a crumpled paper he'd stolen. "Maps with locations marked. Look."
Red circles marked seven locations. I recognized three from refugee reports. The other four—
"These are mutant communities," Sofia said, studying the map. "Or suspected ones. They're systematically targeting anywhere mutants might gather."
"Have they marked us?" I asked.
Tom pointed to a rough circle north of the other marks. "This. No label. Just 'investigate north.' They know something's here but not exactly what."
Days. Maybe a week before they found us. Maybe already found us and were planning.
I spread the map on my desk. "What else did you see?"
Tom's face went pale. "Photos. On the wall. Mutants they've—they've killed. Trophies. They're proud of it."
Silence. Heavy. Dark.
"How organized are they?" David asked. The ex-cop, thinking tactically.
"Very. They have a leader—older man, maybe fifty. White supremacist tattoos. Former military based on how he talks. He's training them. Drills. Formation. This isn't a mob. It's a militia."
Fuck.
Sofia had her eyes closed, trembling slightly. "I can feel the hate from here. Just—thinking about them. Their minds are—" She opened her eyes. "They truly believe mutants aren't human. That killing us is pest control. There's no reasoning with that."
"We don't reason," Ruth said. "We defend. Or we attack first."
"No," I said immediately.
"They're planning to kill us."
"Probably. But we don't strike first. That makes us the aggressors. Gives them justification. Turns public opinion against us."
"Who cares about public opinion? We need to survive."
"We survive by being defendable, not by being murderers. There's a difference."
Ruth slammed her hand on the desk. "You're playing politics while they're loading guns!"
"I'm playing the long game while they're making short-term mistakes. Every attack they make, we document. Every death, we record. We build evidence. When the time comes—and it will—we have proof. Moral high ground. Something to show the world."
"The world doesn't care about dead mutants."
"Not yet. But it will. Eventually."
She didn't believe me. But she sat back. "Fine. Document and defend. But we defend hard. Walls. Weapons. Training. No half measures."
"Agreed."
Over the next week, Tom made four more scouting runs. Each time, he brought back intelligence.
The Friends of Humanity local chapte r—they weren't connected to a larger organization yet. Just a group of scared, angry humans who'd decided mutants were the problem. Led by a man named William Stryker.
I froze when Tom said that name.
Stryker. In my meta-knowledge, William Stryker was a major villain. Military scientist. Mutant hunter. Responsible for the Weapon X program eventually. But was this the same person? Or just someone with the same name?
Didn't matter. Dangerous either way.
Tom's intelligence revealed patterns. The Friends hit mutant families at night. Overwhelming force. Quick violence. They'd killed twelve mutants in six weeks. Police did nothing—some cops were probably members.
We compiled everything. I saved newspapers reporting "mutant incidents" with heavy anti-mutant bias. Sofia documented refugee testimonies. Tom sketched maps of their meeting locations and member descriptions.
Evidence. For later. For when the world was ready to see it.
But first, we had to survive.
Ruth implemented her security plan with ruthless efficiency. Perimeter wall expanded—now eight feet tall, topped with sharp metal. Four watch towers under construction. Patrol routes established. Twenty people trained in basic combat. Improvised weapons stockpiled—pipes, blades, tools turned defensive.
Miles created escape routes. Three paths through the wilderness, pre-scouted, marked only for residents. Rally points if we evacuated. Supply caches hidden along the routes.
I hated that we needed this. Hated that building a home meant preparing for war.
But I did it anyway.
Sofia's telepathy became our early warning system. She could sense hostile intent within her range. Not perfect—only surface thoughts, only fifty meters. But better than nothing.
Day six of preparation, she grabbed my arm during dinner.
"Someone's watching us. East perimeter. One person. Hostile thoughts but—curious. Not attacking. Observing."
I found Ruth. "We have a watcher. East side."
"Scout or threat?"
"Unknown."
Tom phased out, circled around behind the observer's position. Came back ten minutes later. "Gone. But I found binoculars in the grass. They were here. Watching. Now they know our position."
The countdown had started.
I called a full community meeting that night. All thirty-four people—population had grown even during crisis. Because word spreads and desperate people keep coming.
"There's a group nearby," I said. No point sugarcoating. "Anti-mutant militia. They've killed twelve mutants in six weeks. They know approximately where we are. They'll probably find us exactly soon."
Fear rippled through the room. Expected.
"We're preparing. Defenses are improving. We have escape routes if needed. But I need everyone ready. If they come, it'll be at night. In force. With weapons. We defend if we can, evacuate if we can't. Children and non-combatants evacuate first, always."
Emma—the child with useless wings—looked at me with those old eyes. "Will they hurt us?"
I wanted to lie. Tell her she was safe. Promise nothing bad would happen.
"They'll try," I said instead. "But we won't let them. That's why we're building walls. Training. Preparing. So when they come—if they come—we're ready."
"I'm scared."
"Me too. Being scared is smart. It keeps us alert. But scared doesn't mean helpless."
She nodded. Small. Fragile. Trusting me to keep her safe.
Don't fuck this up. These people are counting on you. That child is counting on you.
After the meeting, I found Tom.
"One more reconnaissance. I need to know their timeline. Are they planning an attack? When? How many?"
"That's dangerous. If they catch me—"
"I know. But we need to know."
He nodded. "I'll go tomorrow night."
"Be careful."
"Always am."
He left at dusk the next day. I waited. Ruth waited. Miles waited. Sofia monitored for his mental signature returning.
Four hours later, Tom phased through the wall, breathing hard.
"They're coming. Heard them planning. Four days from now. Night attack. Twenty men. Guns, gasoline, intention to burn us out and shoot anyone who runs."
Four days.
Ruth stood. "Then we have four days to finish preparations. Everyone who can fight, trains. Everyone who can't, learns evacuation routes. Marcus, you need to decide—are we standing or running?"
I looked at the faces around me. Scared. Determined. Trusting me to make the right call.
"We stand," I said. "We defend our home. But we're smart about it. Use every advantage. Prepare for worst case. Fight to protect, not to kill. Survive to build tomorrow."
"Four days," Miles said quietly. "A lot can happen in four days."
"Then we make them count."
The meeting broke up. Everyone to their tasks. Walls. Weapons. Training. Evacuation drills. Four days to prepare for twenty armed humans who wanted us dead.
I walked to the greenhouse—the stupid greenhouse with its tiny tomato plant. Still growing. Fragile. Green. Alive.
In four days, this might all be ash.
Or we'd survive and prove we couldn't be burned out.
I touched the glass. The plant inside grew regardless of violence outside. Didn't care about human hate or mutant fear. Just grew because that's what living things do.
We'd grow too. Survive. Build. Endure.
Four days until the Friends of Humanity came for us.
Four days to make sure we were ready.
The System pulsed, calculating.
[THREAT DETECTED: FRIENDS OF HUMANITY]
[ESTIMATED FORCE: 20 COMBATANTS]
[NEW QUEST: DEFEND NEW HAVEN]
[SURVIVE ATTACK WITH MINIMAL CASUALTIES]
[REWARD: 2000 EXP, 1000 NP, UNLOCK MILITARY FUNCTIONS]
[FAILURE CONSEQUENCE: SETTLEMENT DESTRUCTION]
Four days.
We'd be ready.
We had to be.
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