At a roadside tavern just off the highway near the outskirts of the city—
James carefully parked a Ram truck into a designated spot. Stepping out, he popped the trunk and pulled out Charles Xavier's wheelchair.
After escaping from the Essex Corporation's southern border facility, James had gone straight to the black market and sold the luxury car they had rented. It wasn't exactly the most honest move—he felt bad for the rental guy—but options were thin these days.
Ever since they went up against Essex, James had been surrounded on all sides. Charles was now listed as an international fugitive by the military, and Lorna and Blink were both mutants from alternate Earths. Carrying the three of them around felt like walking around with a trio of ticking bombs.
In Simple terms? He was carrying around three pieces of Philosopher's Stone—every man out there wanted a bite. One wrong move, and they'd all pounce.
Waving for Lorna and Blink to follow, James pushed Charles into the tavern.
"A picture-perfect family of four,"
The tavern owner smiled wistfully as he watched them walk in.
This was a remote stretch of road—people rarely came here unless they were long-haul drivers or mercenaries. A family on vacation? Totally out of place.
Then again, the world wasn't what it used to be. Since the fall of the mutants, the economy had collapsed, and society had unraveled in countless ways. Once-mighty America had entered its decline, its resources now hoarded by the wealthy and powerful. Ordinary people like this tavern owner had long since lost the freedom to truly live.
His wife had run off the year before. His two kids had died of disease. Watching James and the others, a flood of mixed emotions filled his heart.
He wanted to chat with them—just some small talk—but they didn't look like they were in the mood. Probably exhausted from travel, he figured. So, he quietly gave them a room with three beds—the largest suite in the place—and watched them head upstairs.
Blink swiped the keycard and opened the door. The suite was surprisingly spacious, considering the tavern's condition.
"That barkeep's eyes were... off," Lorna muttered, helping James push Charles into the room. "He could be connected to one of those groups. And a tavern like this, out here? Kinda suspicious. Want me to go... handle it?"
"You should really learn to relax," James replied with a frown. "After the crash, factories in this area either shut down or moved out. The people running taverns now? They're mostly former workers with nowhere else to go."
"Oh."
Lorna didn't press further. She knew this world wasn't hers—and when Logan said something was fine, it probably was. Listening was one of her better traits.
"Eat something. Get some sleep," James said, scanning the room. He gently lifted Charles onto the far bed. Then he pointed to the remaining two. "You each pick one."
"What about you?" Blink asked.
"I'll crash on the floor," James said, pulling out a few cans of cheap bean stew from his bag—barely edible stuff, with the consistency of bad canned porridge but only beans inside and dry as hell.
He tossed a can each to Lorna and Blink, then opened one for himself.
After a pause, James looked up at the two girls and said flatly,
"You've seen it. This world's done. Whether you're mutant or human, no one's gonna survive here for long. Rest up, then figure out how to get back."
"Back? Back where?" Lorna asked, poking at her beans with a forlorn look in her eyes.
"Back to your world," James said firmly. "You two don't belong here. I don't think you're the 'invaders' that Pierce makes you out to be. But either way, you need to leave."
Lorna heard the concern behind his words. He was trying to protect her and Blink.
She sighed.
"To be honest, we don't even know how we ended up here. For people with mutant powers, sure, weird things happen—but this? This is next-level bizarre. And about going back…" She shook her head. "Even if there was a way to do that—which we haven't figured out—we don't want to."
"What do you mean?" James blinked, staring at the two increasingly somber women.
"You think your world is uninhabitable—but let me tell you, mine is no better," Lorna said quietly. "Blink and I ended up here by accident… because we were being hunted."
She raised her eyes, locking onto James with sudden intensity.
"You know what, Uncle Logan? I just remembered who you are. And that old man in the wheelchair inside—you're the X-Men, right?"
James didn't respond immediately. His expression grew grim. He already had a feeling about what Lorna was going to say next.
Sure enough, Lorna gave a small shake of her head and continued,
"In my universe, the X-Men are history. Even my father—Magneto. After the Mutant Civil War, all the powerful mutants were wiped out. The rest were branded as threats—didn't matter if they were good or bad. If you were a mutant, you got locked up. No exceptions."
"Mutant Civil War…" James echoed quietly. The room fell into a heavy silence.
James didn't know what the two young women were thinking, but his own mind was in chaos. He couldn't understand why—across every version of reality—mutants were always persecuted. Different timelines, same fate.
Did mutants really have no future? Were they always destined to be feared, hated—unable to coexist with humanity? And yet, they were born from humanity itself.
No one spoke. The only sounds were the faint clink of spoons tapping metal cans and the slow, reluctant chewing of flavorless food.
After a long pause, Lorna finally broke the silence.
"To us, these two worlds aren't any different. But if I had to choose… honestly, I think your world might suit us better."
"No," James said without hesitation. "It's too dangerous here. Staying will only make you bigger targets. They won't stop coming for you—and you're from another dimension. That makes you even more valuable to the wrong people."
"But—" Lorna was just about to reply when a sudden knock at the door cut her off.
The three of them froze, exchanging looks. Silence fell once again. James slowly rose from his seat, signaling the others to stay calm as he quietly prepared himself for a fight. He stepped cautiously toward the door.
"Who is it?" James asked, voice low and steady.
"It's me, sir," came a voice from the other side.
Judging by the tone, it sounded like the tavern owner. James frowned, his senses scanning the hallway. Only one heartbeat.
Only then did he unlock the door and crack it open.
"Something you need?" James asked, staring at the middle-aged man smiling on the other side.
"Uh, well... I just came up to let you all know that after midnight, the water will be shut off—so if you want to take a shower, keep an eye on the time. Also, you forgot the remote downstairs. If you want to watch TV…"
The tavern owner chuckled as he handed James the TV remote, then hesitated and added in a quieter voice,
"Also, if you're not too busy, maybe you could come downstairs for a drink with me later? Don't worry—on the house. It's just that... I haven't had guests in a long time."
James gave a small nod.
"Thanks. I'll come down if I get a chance. But we've been on the road a long time—just trying to rest for a bit."
"I see… where are you folks coming from, anyway? A family traveling like this—where are you headed? I wouldn't recommend moving around too much these days. Something's up lately—military convoys have been patrolling around here nonstop…"
James didn't respond. He just stared silently at the tavern owner.
Sensing the tension in James' gaze, the man quickly laughed it off and waved his hands.
"Ah, my bad—shouldn't pry. Please rest well, if you need anything, I'll be at the front desk."
As the tavern owner shuffled back downstairs, James exhaled slowly and closed the door behind him, tossing the remote to Blink.
"We can't stay here long. Get some rest—once it's late enough, we're leaving."
"Got it," Lorna replied, keeping her voice low.
They all knew the situation—they were still in danger. Whatever choices lay ahead, right now they had to stick together and make it through the storm.
Blink, seeing that both Lorna and James had fallen silent, turned on the TV.
A moment later, the voice of a news anchor filled the room.
("…this tragedy…")
The screen immediately drew their attention.
A thick column of black smoke engulfed the U.S. Capitol. Flames towered into the sky, devouring everything in sight.
("…Authorities have not yet identified the perpetrator behind the destruction, but based on surveillance footage, the suspect strongly resembles Pyro—formerly of the Brotherhood of Mutants…")
..........
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