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#30 VCM
🕑 Added 2025-03-26 16:00:22 +0000 UTCBefore Logan could react, the students exchanged knowing glances and nodded, mistaking his silence for agreement.
It seemed they truly had a student council president now.
"Alright, as your newly appointed president, I have a mission for you," Ethan declared, folding his arms with a mischievous smirk.
"In a little while, these lovely S.H.I.E.L.D. agents will be doing your makeup. Your job? Play dead. And the more dramatic the death, the better. Make it Oscar-worthy."
The group of kids gave hesitant nods, half-understanding his plan, but the female agents were already approaching with makeup kits in hand, ready to work their magic.
"Alright, everyone, get into your pajamas. Don’t skimp on the fake blood, and don’t worry about ruining your clothes
—Professor X will restock your wardrobe when he gets back." Ethan instructed as he adjusted the lighting for the perfect effect, signaling Agent 0233 and the others to start taking pictures.
John, watching from the side, raised a brow. "Man, what exactly are you doing?"
Ethan waved a dismissive hand. "No time for questions. You and Bobby, go check the kitchen and help the others out. Smear the ketchup all over yourselves
—I need it looking as gruesome as possible. Trust me, it'll make tomorrow's New York Times headline unforgettable."
John and Bobby exchanged a look, pure confusion on their faces. "...What?"
"I have to admit," Coulson interjected, observing the operation with an impressed grin, "your plan is either genius or completely insane."
"I’ll take that as a compliment," Ethan replied, grinning.
"Besides, I know Fury will love it."
"Well, then," Coulson chuckled, "I’ll leave the rest to you. You’re clearly more suited for this kind of chaos than I am. Just make sure you take care of these kids."
Ethan gave Coulson a firm pat on the shoulder. "Will do. But I’ve got other matters to handle. This isn't over yet."
Logan, who had been listening in silence, finally spoke. "Where are we heading now?"
Despite being the oldest and arguably the most authoritative one here, Logan knew Ethan had insights he didn’t.
Ethan sighed. "First stop—Magneto’s prison. The professor has been gone too long, and we haven’t heard from him. Something’s off."
Ethan had a gut feeling that Professor X had walked straight into a trap.
If he had waited for Ethan to return, or at least consulted him, things might not have spiraled like this.
"Are we going with you?" came Katie’s voice.
Behind her stood Bobby, John, and Colossus, all with determined looks.
"We may not understand everything that's going on, but it's obvious something isn’t right," Bobby said. "We want to help."
Ethan studied them for a moment before a sly grin tugged at his lips. "Then suit up. You’re in."
"First issue—we need a ride to Magneto’s prison," Logan pointed out.
Ethan smirked. "Oh, that won’t be a problem."
Three minutes later, they arrived at the garage—an impressive collection of over a dozen luxury cars.
"This... is Cyclops’ private collection, isn’t it?" Ethan mused aloud, eyeing the fleet of pristine vehicles.
A wild idea sparked in his mind. "You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if Cyclops was actually Professor X’s long-lost illegitimate son."
The group fell into stunned silence.
After all, Cyclops was constantly by Professor X’s side.
How had he even managed to afford all these?
Logan was the one to finally break the silence.
"Whatever. Let’s just take a car. I doubt he’d mind us borrowing one."
That was rich, coming from Logan, who had spent years as Cyclops' rival.
But if Cyclops ever heard the illegitimate-son joke, Logan would be on the receiving end of a few dozen optic blasts.
Without further delay, they piled into a sleek red Rolls-Royce Phantom and peeled out of the Mutant Academy.
Logan took the wheel, with Katie, John, and Bobby as passengers.
Colossus had volunteered to stay behind—not out of nobility, but because he was simply too large to fit in the car.
As they sped through the dark roads, Ethan turned to Katie, who was typing away on a tablet. "Any word from Storm and Jean?"
"Yeah, I sent them our status and used the tablet as a tracking beacon. They should be flying in soon with the jet." Katie replied without looking up.
Logan, gripping the wheel, narrowed his eyes. "Are you sure about this, kid?"
He wasn’t just questioning the plan—he was questioning Ethan’s resolve.
"We’re talking about breaking Magneto out of prison. That’s a dangerous play. And more than that
—it sends a message. The X-Men storming a high-security prison? Every angle you look at it screams bad a choice."
Ethan leaned back, completely unbothered. "Relax, Mr. Logan. We’re not lifting a finger."
Logan raised an eyebrow. "Come again?"
Ethan smirked, holding up his phone. "The X-Men can’t do it—but the Brotherhood can. Give me a sec. I need to make a call."
He tapped a number, and after a few rings, a cold, familiar voice answered.
"What do you want?"
"Mystique, we’re breaking Magneto out. Care to join?" Ethan expected an immediate agreement, but instead, there was a pause.
And then, an unfamiliar voice—calm, collected, and slightly amused.
"Ethan," the voice said smoothly, "it’s touching to know you care so much about me. That’s the best news I’ve heard all day."
Ethan’s breath hitched for just a moment. "...Magneto?" he muttered.
"You’re out?"
"Indeed," came the amused reply. "In fact, I’m right in front of you."
As the words left the phone’s speaker, the Rolls-Royce Phantom suddenly lifted off the ground, floating effortlessly into the air.
The car drifted forward for a hundred meters before gently touching back down.
From the shadows of the nearby trees, Magneto stepped forward, a smile playing on his lips.
...
Jean sat tensely in the cockpit of the X-Men's stealth jet, her gaze locked on Storm. "How long until we make contact with them?" she asked, impatience creeping into her tone.
Storm kept her eyes on the radar, scanning the screen. "Soon. According to the coordinates, they’ve stopped. They should be waiting for us."
Jean let out a deep sigh and leaned back against her seat. "Finally, some good news. I have to say, today has been absolutely awful.
It’s rare for me to be on a mission, and somehow, everything that could go wrong has gone wrong."
Her eyes flickered toward the back of the cabin, where a figure crouched in quiet prayer.
A blue-skinned man with an agile tail and intricate markings carved into his skin—Nightcrawler.
To most, he looked like a demon, but his devout nature and unwavering faith painted an entirely different picture.
At first, Jean and Storm had assumed he was either a fanatic or a bitter outcast bent on revenge.
But after spending time with him, they realized how wrong they were.
Rejected by humanity, yet still choosing to forgive the world that feared him—if not for his appearance, he could’ve been a saint.
According to Nightcrawler’s fragmented memories, his attempt to assassinate the president hadn’t been his own doing.
Someone had manipulated him, but before they could dig deeper into that mystery, they received urgent news—the mansion had nearly been taken over.
Thankfully, their allies had intervened just in time.
If a group of heavily armed special forces had infiltrated Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, the consequences would have been catastrophic.
As Jean and Storm were processing the near-disaster at the mansion, the cockpit’s radar blared an alarm.
Two fighter jets were approaching fast, locking onto their location.
"Damn it," Jean muttered, her expression darkening. "How did they find us?"
Storm’s expression was grim. "The jet’s energy consumption was getting too high.To conserve power for possible combat, I deactivated the cloaking device earlier. I didn’t think we’d be spotted this fast."
A voice crackled through the communicator.
"Unidentified aircraft, you are ordered to descend immediately. You will be escorted to a military base. Comply within ten seconds, or we will take action."
Jean clenched her fists. "This is bad. If they fire, do we have any countermeasures?"
Storm’s white eyes glowed ominously. "Of course we do."
Outside, the sky darkened, thick storm clouds swirling together.
The wind picked up rapidly, sending powerful gusts through the air.
Within moments, tornadoes began forming, twisting like monstrous tendrils reaching down from the heavens.
The fighter jets wobbled violently in the turbulent winds.
The pilots struggled to maintain control, but one made a split-second decision—he pressed the missile launch button.
The cockpit’s alarms screamed as Jean’s eyes burned a fiery red.
A surge of energy erupted from her, crackling in the air.
The first missile twisted violently midair, as if crushed by an invisible force.
It collapsed in on itself and exploded in a fiery burst before reaching them.
Jean turned to the second missile, ready to destroy it—but then, her entire body tensed.
A shudder ran through her as something deep within her threatened to break free.
A force, ancient and terrifying, clawed at the edges of her mind.
Storm’s voice barely cut through the haze. "Jean!"
But it was too late.
The second missile detonated near the jet, the force of the explosion ripping through the aircraft’s hull.
As the sky spun wildly outside, the plane plummeted toward the ground.
Storm barely had time to process the situation before the worst flashed through her mind—this was going to be a crash landing, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
Then, something impossible happened.
The gaping hole in the fuselage, ripped open by the missile's explosion, began sealing itself at a speed visible to the naked eye.
The shredded metal and torn wires wove back together as if time were reversing, yet the plane still continued its rapid descent.
The altimeter showed they were falling, but the speed was slowing down—something, or someone, was intervening.
Just as the plane was about to slam into the ground, it came to an abrupt yet smooth halt, floating mere feet above the earth before settling down with an eerie gentleness.
Storm exhaled sharply, her pulse still racing.
She turned her gaze to the front window, where an unmistakable figure stood, clad in a crimson robe and a flowing cape.
Magneto.
He stood firm, his hand slightly raised, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as if this was nothing more than an amusing inconvenience to him.
"Ethan, tell me—hasn't a single one of the X-Men learned how to properly land a plane?" he asked with a chuckle, turning toward the young man standing beside him.
Storm bristled at his nonchalance, but before she could respond, a voice piped up from behind her.
"That was... awesome!" John muttered, eyes practically glowing with admiration.
Magneto’s effortless display of power—commanding metal itself to defy gravity—was far more thrilling to him than the subtle mental prowess of Professor Xavier.
This was the kind of strength that left an impression.
The ramp of the plane lowered, and Storm wasted no time stepping out.
Her boots hit solid ground, and without hesitation, she strode toward the gathering group, her expression equal parts relief and urgency.
"God, I finally see you," she said, exhaling as though the weight of the day had finally caught up to her.
Logan, standing at the front of the group, raised a hand as if to intercept her. "There's no need for that—"
Storm stretched her arms wide, striding past Logan without hesitation, and pulled Ethan into a firm embrace.
Relief washed over her face as she glanced at Katie and the others. "It’s good to see you all safe."
Logan twitched his lips, retracting the hand he had started to extend.
He muttered something under his breath but didn’t make a big deal of it.
Thankfully, Jean approached just in time to smooth things over.
"We’re fine," Jean said, her voice calm but reassuring.
Logan gave her a small smile. "Yeah. I can see that."
Meanwhile, Storm turned to Ethan, her expression growing serious. "Can you tell us exactly what’s going on?"
"Of course." He nodded.
"Now that we’re all here, we just need to piece together what we know from all three sides."
Later that night, they gathered around a fire.
Talking on the move had been the plan, but the stealth jet had taken a direct hit from a missile, tearing a massive hole into its side.
Magneto had patched it up, but his repairs were just enough to keep it intact—not enough to make the plane airworthy.
"For Colonel William Stryker, attacking the academy and capturing mutant children was just a side mission," Ethan explained.
"His real goal was the Cerebro unit."
Jean, seated nearby, frowned. "But Cerebro can only be used by Professor X." She had experienced the machine’s power firsthand.
Even with her abilities, using it had felt like her mind was being stretched and torn, pushing her to the edge of exhaustion.
And even then, she had only managed to activate part of its potential.
Magneto chuckled dryly. "I know. That’s the only reason my dear old friend is still alive after being knocked out by Stryker’s anesthesia gas during his so-called ‘visit’ to me."
Storm’s face darkened. "That’s not good."
"I see you’ve already put it together," Magneto said, nodding approvingly. "Charles is the strongest telepath alive. He’s on the verge of becoming an Omega-level psychic.
But with Cerebro, that gap closes completely. If used to its full potential, it could—"
Magneto’s gaze flickered toward Ethan for a fraction of a second before finishing his sentence. "—wipe out most of mutantkind."
Ethan exhaled sharply. "You don’t need to worry about that. Stryker never even made it inside. He barely made it off his own plane before running for his life."
Magneto raised an eyebrow. "Oh? That doesn’t sound like the Stryker I remember. Are you sure his people never reached Cerebro?"
Ethan frowned, his mind racing.
He had been focused on stopping Stryker himself, but he would have noticed if his men had attempted to steal the entire system. Wouldn’t he?
"You’re sharp, but still young," Magneto said, shaking his head slightly.
Mystique, leaning casually against a rock, finally spoke up. "Before I infiltrated Stryker’s base, I gathered intel. He’s already built a replica of Cerebro. It’s not perfect—some key components don’t function properly.
But if someone managed to scan the original, even just the schematics, it wouldn’t take much for him to repair the flaws. He’s a genius. He built Wolverine, after all."
Logan, who had been listening quietly, tensed slightly at the mention of his past.
"That’s impossible," Storm said, shaking her head. "Even if he’s a genius, he couldn’t recreate something he’s never seen before."
Magneto shifted uncomfortably before finally admitting, "It’s possible. Because… I helped Charles design Cerebro. Stryker got all of that knowledge from me."
A silence fell over the group as every pair of eyes turned toward Magneto.
"So you betrayed us," Logan muttered, crossing his arms.
Magneto coughed, clearly eager to change the subject. "Stryker has also mastered a method to control mutants. That’s far more dangerous."
Jean narrowed her eyes. "Control them how?"
"That’s what we need to find out," Magneto said. "The first step is locating his base.
Mystique only knows that Stryker built Cerebro in his facility, but not where that facility is. However… we might have a way to find out."
Logan scoffed. "If you’re about to say me, I’ve already told Charles—my memories are gone. I don’t remember anything about the place where I was experimented on."
Magneto smirked. "Why do you always assume you’re the main character in every story?"
Meanwhile, Ethan had already pulled out his phone.
Finding Stryker’s location wasn’t going to be as hard as they thought.
Nick Fury was only one call away—and if there was one thing that man loved, it was taking advantage of a weakened enemy.
Ethan had no doubt that Fury was already expecting his call, ready to strike while the iron was hot.
