Muir Island didn't look like much from a distance—wind, rock, ocean—but it was the safest home the Morlocks ever had.
Muir Island had become something the Morlocks never thought they'd have—a place that wasn't a cage or a crypt. It had clinics. Labs. An Academy. A garden that actually grew things. Quiet mornings. Safe nights.
Most of them had adjusted slowly. A few still flinched at sudden noises or avoided mirrors, but the desperation was gone. The pain had stopped months ago.
The Stabilizer had worked.
For at least most of them.
The first real sign of progress had come last summer, when Bouncer stopped needing painkillers. Then Glowworm's seizures vanished. Then Mole's skin normalized, and the burns on Bliss's hands faded without surgery.
And then came the real miracle: conception.
For years, they'd thought they were sterile. They had believed their mutations had corrupted their reproductive systems. Turned off the switch. That had been true.
But now it wasn't.
The first pregnancy had been cautious. The second, celebrated. By the time the fourth baby was born, they were building a proper nursery. Some of them cried when they held the children—not from joy, but disbelief.
No more stealing babies from the surface.
Yep. You read it right.
Morlocks often raided the surface world, preying on the lower classes so that losses as a result of their activities would not be noticed. They stole furnishings, food, clothing, and the other necessities of life, but sometimes they stole 'children', too, as many Morlocks were sterile.
Yeah. So now I solved one more of their problem. And what better reward then getting more people under me who had even more likelihood to get powers. Though I won't be like Charles who has Child Soldiers. But by the time Thanos came I would have a proper army of Meta-Humans.
Yes. Once again. From all the fanfictions I read in my past life I knew the best way to boost the moral of the Mutants and give them hope and change public opinion of them is to first change their name from Mutants to Meta-Humans. And that was what was taught at the Academy.
The Academy stood just past the tree line, its glass barely catching sunlight.
Magnus taught once a week. The rest of his time went to upgrades, medical reviews, or research. Emma handled the day-to-day counseling and training. She was better at dealing with the students anyway. The younger ones liked her. The older ones respected her. No one underestimated her.
They didn't use the word "mutant" here. That was the rule.
Meta-Humans. A cleaner label. A future-oriented one.
Some still slipped, but they corrected each other.
The classes were focused. Power regulation. Ethics. Social theory. Physical defense. Languages, even—many of the rescued Morlocks hadn't had formal schooling in years, if ever. Some were illiterate when they arrived.
Everyone and everything was changing.
All except for one.
Masque hadn't spoken in weeks.
He didn't eat with the others. Didn't show up for meetings. He replied to messages with one-word answers, if at all. When questioned, he said he was working on private modifications to old medtech. Magnus had authorized limited access to the labs months ago. There was no reason not to.
But Emma noticed it first. Masque was fraying around the edges.
He walked like someone waiting for an excuse. Slept in short bursts. Kept tools on him, even in non-secure areas. His face—what was left of it—told the rest.
The left side was smooth now. Reconstructed. Almost elegant. A normal eye, clean skin, partial cheekbone. Magnus's therapy had taken hold there.
But the right side remained untouched. Scarred. Mutated. A patchwork of twisted flesh and bone that refused to settle. Every attempt at restoration was undone within days. His powers rejected change.
It wasn't conscious. That's what Magnus had explained, over and over.
But Masque didn't care about theory.
He watched the others—how they laughed, how they held their children, how they looked in mirrors without flinching. And he waited.
The bitterness wasn't loud. It was slow. It grew in pauses and glances. In skipped meals. In the way he avoided the nursery wing. In the way he stopped meeting Magnus's eye in the halls.
He hadn't tried to harm anyone. He still did his assigned tasks. Still contributed of what little he did. But there was something under all of it. Emma could feel it.
They didn't read the minds of Morlocks. That was policy. Consent mattered. Most of them had been violated enough by the world already. Emma had helped write that rule herself.
But if she had looked, she would've seen it.
Masque had convinced himself Magnus was holding back.
Maybe not at first. Maybe the early failures were real. But now? No. Now it had to be deliberate.
Everyone else had been fixed. Some as worse off as him were fixed.
And him?
Still half a monster.
He knew Magnus's treatments failed to integrate on his cellular level. He knew the official reason. He just didn't believe it anymore.
Maybe Magnus didn't want him healed.
Maybe he wanted someone left behind. A reminder. A contrast. A tether to the old pain so the others wouldn't forget who saved them.
Or maybe he was just lazy. Or distracted. Always with Emma. Always in the main labs. Always somewhere else.
How long it had been since he made another attempt on Masque's condition.
A month.
A month since the last trial.
He'd waited long enough.
He'd been studying something new. A neural sync cage. Basic design, based on brainwave mapping and induced sedation, merged with tissue stimulation cycles.
He'd improved it—designed it to keep a subject stable, conscious, and capable of live recalibration while working.
In other words, it would keep Magnus working. As long as needed.
Masque didn't want to kill him. He wasn't stupid. Magnus was the only one who could fix him. But he'd given Magnus enough time. Enough space. Enough benefit of the doubt.
Now he would take the solution by force, if that's what it came to.
He'd already started constructing the frame. Parts were easy to come by. Most of the tech labs were under renovation. A few blind spots in the system. No one noticed.
The others had no idea.
Life was moving forward for them.
Masque's wasn't.
He had no partner. No children. No future. Just half a face and a hundred failed scans.
So he worked silently, patiently, day by day.
Emma checked in twice. He smiled both times. Said everything was fine.
It wasn't a lie. Not completely.
He was getting close.
Close enough that even Magnus would feel it soon.
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