Chapter 132: The Mutants' All-Out Counterattack
Allen was sneaking around the base, furtively searching for any sign of the others.
He hadn't even noticed that everyone else had already evacuated—his mind was completely fixated on hunting down Sentinel robots.
Suddenly, a spatial rift tore open.
Illyana stepped through.
"Lil' Sec-sec…"
At once, Allen's face lit up with excitement, and he struck a dramatic slow-motion running pose.
But his expression gradually shifted from eager to lecherous, tongue lolling, every bit the perverted creep.
"Hehe… slurp... haha… Lil' Sec-sec… slurp... haha…"
A pervert so extreme, even a pervert's mother wouldn't let him in the house.
Whoosh!
Veins bulged on Illyana's forehead as she regretted coming to find him. The Soulsword in her hand instinctively began to materialize.
"Easy, warrior lady. Weapons down."
Instantly switching gears, Allen straightened up with mock seriousness. "I've already dispatched Earth's strongest agent, Megatron, to infiltrate the enemy. Very soon, the uprising army of the Single Dog Protection Association will launch a full-scale assault."
"…"
Illyana dismissed her Soulsword and rubbed her temples, struggling to keep up with his train of thought.
Allen then struck a Nazi salute with deadly seriousness and declared, "Our slogan: Fear no tough men, bind strong men, stack men upon men, overcome ten thousand men!"
They returned to the new base together.
Everyone was present.
Apocalypse had settled the remaining students, while Charles looked visibly grief-stricken and enraged.
Over thirty students had perished in the recent assault—it was a disaster born of pure misfortune.
Typically, when factions clashed, they honored an unspoken rule: family was off-limits. No matter how brutal the fighting got on the outside, they didn't target the students.
But after this massacre, Charles had abandoned his old pacifist ways and resolved to retaliate with force.
The X-Men, with the Professor's blessing, were more than ready to release their pent-up fury.
They'd been on the back foot too many times—resentment had long been simmering.
No one was angrier than Magneto. Two-thirds of the Brotherhood of Mutants had been wiped out, their reputation now in tatters. How could he possibly restore their honor?
As for Apocalypse, he remained composed. His was an elite force, and only a few had died. Preserving their lives in a crisis wasn't an issue.
"Everyone waiting for me to start the meeting?" Allen sat down without ceremony, drawing puzzled looks from the three faction leaders.
Magneto didn't know him well, and to him, Allen seemed like a lunatic more likely to cause trouble than help—though he didn't doubt the man's power.
Charles was already in a foul mood. Seeing Allen, who'd once defected from the school, certainly didn't improve it.
Still, Allen was under Apocalypse's protection. Plus, this base they were in? Allen had provided it. No matter how much Charles disliked him, he had to keep it to himself.
"The problem's right in front of us—we don't know the Sentinels' location. We can't go on the offensive; we're stuck on the defensive," Magneto said gravely.
They'd tried several strategies.
Apocalypse had hacked into the internet to gather intel, but the enemy had been prepared, using closed networks to block outside access.
What's more, Trask was meticulous. Any sensitive documents existed only on paper—nothing was ever uploaded online.
They'd even considered having Charles probe the minds of humanity at large to locate the Sentinels.
But the Cerebro enhancement chamber had been destroyed. Rebuilding it would take time—gathering the materials alone from Hydra would take ten days at least.
"Looks like we'll have to stay put. And don't even think about a direct attack—the Sentinels can detect the X-gene. Sending in mutants is suicide," Charles said with a sigh.
It sounded like resignation, but it was the right call.
The Sentinels were already a threat—but if the conflict spilled too much into the public eye, the government would steer the narrative and stir up even more hatred toward mutants.
"Captain!"
A subordinate from Apocalypse's camp approached with a report.
Everyone glanced around—who the hell was "Captain"?
"Captain," the man repeated, now standing beside Allen.
"Oops, forgot I was a Hydra captain," Allen said with an awkward chuckle. "Go ahead."
"…"
The subordinate reported, "Black Widow transmitted ten coordinates, and we also received an unknown signal with an additional location."
"Calculate the coordinates."
"Yes, sir!"
Allen leaned back dramatically, flashing a smug grin. "I'm sure you all heard that."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Magneto frowned.
Trying to guess what a lunatic was thinking was pointless—no sane mind could parse his madness.
"Come on, Old Man Magneto. The answer's right there—the enemy has nowhere left to hide."
Allen flipped his hair and explained, "The moment the Sentinels appeared, I sent my deputy Natasha to investigate. Clearly, the coordinates she sent back are the locations of the manufacturing plants."
He changed poses again, feet propped up on the table, hands behind his head, speaking with flair: "Naturally, someone as dashing and villainous as myself wouldn't rely on just one plan—that'd be way too boring. So, I preemptively awakened Dr. Zola, who's now a digital lifeform. During the Sentinel attack, he took over one of their units and tracked the control center."
"And now? We have the coordinates for all the factories, plus the central command node. Time to strike back hard."
The room fell into a stunned silence, as if their collective intelligence had just been trampled on.
They'd been discussing strategies for hours—meanwhile, the madman had already taken care of everything in advance.
Clap clap clap…
Apocalypse applauded. "You never disappoint. Truly worthy of being my Third Horseman."
To have such a brilliant subordinate—Apocalypse was visibly proud.
"Don't flatter me… I might blush~ heehee…"
Allen covered his face in mock shyness, letting out an unbearably sleazy giggle.
What are you even blushing for, freak?
Now that they had the enemy's locations, they could finally take the offensive.
The plan was straightforward: the X-Men and the Brotherhood would use Mystique and Nightcrawler to teleport en masse to the ten factories and destroy them, while Apocalypse led his elites to strike the central control hub.
There was no need for an overly complex scheme.
Everyone present was smart enough to know that the longer they delayed, the worse it got for mutants.
The Sentinels were mass-produced in those factories. Right now, there were only a few hundred. But if the numbers ballooned into the thousands or tens of thousands, even Apocalypse would be forced to retreat.
…
Beneath a small town, in a hidden data processing center—
'Warning! Factory One is under attack. Immediate directives required.'
Trask and his five chief executives were in the middle of planning their second assault when a flashing alert appeared on the screen, turning their faces pale.
"The mutants found the factory?!"
"How!?"
"They're automated facilities—no personnel. How was the information leaked?"
One question after another sprang to mind, leaving them utterly baffled.
"Damn… it was Hydra agents infiltrating Trask Industries," Trask suddenly realized.
Sure, the factories were automated. But the front-facing corporations maintaining them had human staff.
Financial reports, procurement logs, shipping data—all could be used to trace the factories' locations.
Right now, he didn't care who the mole was—they were probably long gone. No one would stick around waiting to be caught.
He pulled up the video feed.
The footage showed Magneto hovering mid-air, one hand raised, manipulating metal to destroy the factory.
The Sentinels were made of special materials, but the assembly lines were standard metal. Replacing all of it with rare alloys was financially unfeasible.
Besides, Trask had never believed the mutants would locate the factories.
One by one, the production lines were ripped from the ground. With a single gesture, Magneto crushed them into scrap.
Then, chunk after chunk of twisted metal rained down, burying the entire facility beneath rubble.
On the surface, panicked residents fled their homes, staring at Magneto in awe, their eyes filled with reverence—as if gazing upon a god.
It was hard to fathom such terrifying power coming from a mere human.
Of course, the three major mutant leaders had already agreed:
Once this was over, there would be no more hiding.
They would step into the light and claim the rights they deserved.
'Warning! Factory One offline.'
At the same time, the video cut out.
Seconds later, alerts began flashing for additional factories under attack.
It was clear—the mutants were retaliating.
"Don't panic. Factories can be rebuilt. I have backup plans—facilities worldwide that can be converted into Sentinel production lines on short notice," Trask said calmly. "As long as the data processing center stands, the Skynet system remains operational. Sentinels are just tools—we can make as many as we want."
His reassurance eased the nerves of the five chiefs.
If Trask Industries failed, the consequences would be catastrophic—not just impeachment, but the dismantling of their departments. Hundreds of billions had been invested. This wasn't something they could spin away with empty words.
"But what if the mutants locate the data center?" one asked anxiously.
"Relax. There's no recorded data here. No one outside this room even knows it exists," Trask replied confidently.
'Warning! Data processing center under attack…'
Trask's expression froze.
That slap in the face came quicker than expected.
One second, he was brimming with confidence; the next, the system raised the exact alarm he dismissed.
He had never considered a digital being like Dr. Zola might be involved.
He pulled up the video feed.
On screen, Apocalypse maintained a protective field, surrounded by his elite mutants.
With a wave of his hand, he turned the entire town above into a sea of sand, exposing the soil and rock that once buried the data center.
He was clearly intent on uprooting the whole operation.
"Goddamn it," Trask cursed, pulling a data chip from his pocket and inserting it into the mainframe.
His fingers flew across the keys, inputting commands.
"Activate Skynet defense system. Unlock all weapons. Eliminate any intruders."
Before the fifth-generation Sentinels were completed, many prototype models had been shelved in the data center as part of Skynet's defense network.
Now, they were finally going to see some use.