"Can I borrow your phone?"
The truck rumbled back onto the highway, putting distance between them and the burning lab. George turned to Gabriela.
Before he could commit to saving Tony Stark, he needed intel. He needed to know the shape of this world's history. Was this the MCU? The Fox Universe? Or some bastard child of both?
"Sure." Gabriela handed over her cracked smartphone without hesitation.
George spent the next two hours scrolling, his face illuminated by the pale glow of the screen as the Mexican twilight deepened.
"I see," he muttered finally, handing the phone back.
The history of this earth was a patchwork quilt of familiar events, stitched together with new, darker threads.
1943: Captain America defeats HYDRA. The Super Soldier serum works, implying early genetic tinkering was successful before the X-Gene was widely known.
1973: Mystique assassinates Bolivar Trask. Unlike the Days of Future Past movie where she stops, here she succeeded. She became a martyr, but the Sentinel program was delayed, not cancelled.
1977: Quicksilver breaks eight world records. A divergence from the movies where he's born in the 90s. This meant the timeline was accelerated.
1983: The Apocalypse Incident. Followed shortly by the "Westchester Incident."
George's finger hovered over the article. The Westchester Incident.
Charles Xavier, suffering from a degenerative brain disease, had a seizure. His psychic blast killed seven X-Men and 600 civilians. The X-Men were disbanded. Mutants were declared "Weapons of Mass Destruction."
Since then, the government—and corporations like Transigen—had worked to erase mutants from history. They used the M43 virus to suppress the gene, ensuring no new mutants were born.
"They tried to bury us," George thought. "And for twenty years, it worked."
But now, in 2008, Iron Man was rising.
This was the pivot point. The Age of Heroes was about to start again, but this time, mutants were an endangered species on the brink of extinction.
"Have you thought about finding Logan?" George asked suddenly.
Gabriela blinked. "The Wolverine? We... we looked. There were rumors of a limo driver in El Paso who fit his description. But he's old. He's sick. And Xavier... Xavier is a classified WMD. If we go near them, we bring the government down on our heads."
"We need them," George said firmly.
His plan was taking shape.
He needed to find Tony Stark. But he couldn't just walk into Afghanistan and knock on a cave door. He needed a way to locate Stark specifically.
Obadiah Stane—the man who ordered the hit—would have the location. But Stane was in New York, surrounded by security. George couldn't get close enough to read his mind, and his telepathy was too weak to crack a disciplined mind like Stane's anyway.
But Charles Xavier?
Even in his senility, Xavier was the world's most powerful telepath. If George could get Xavier to focus, he could pluck Stane's secrets from across the continent.
And Logan?
They needed a tank. George was a glass cannon. He could bend bullets, but he couldn't take a hit. Logan, even old and dying, was unkillable.
"Here's the play," George said, leaning forward. "We find Logan. We find Xavier. We use Xavier to locate Tony Stark. We save Stark. In return, Stark gives the children asylum. Legal status. Protection that Canada can't guarantee."
Gabriela looked torn. "That's... a lot of 'ifs', George. What if Xavier is too far gone? What if Stark is already dead?"
"Then we go to Canada," George said. "We have until next Friday, right? Today is Saturday. That gives us six days. If we can't pull this off by Thursday, we abort and head for the border."
Gabriela looked at the sleeping children in the back of the truck. She looked at Laura, who was sharpening her claws on a piece of scrap metal.
"Canada is a cage," George said softly. "Stark is a future."
Gabriela took a deep breath. "Okay. We try your way first."
"Thank you," George said.
"Don't thank me," she gave a tired smile. "You saved us. Technically, you're the youngest one here, you know. Subject 757. Created less than a year ago."
George chuckled. "True. I guess that makes me the baby of the family."
"Alright, Baby," Esme called from the front seat. "We're crossing into El Paso. Where do we look for this limo driver?"
George looked out at the lights of the American border.
"Look for a cemetery," he said. "Or a bar. Knowing Logan, he's probably at both."