Author's Note:
I'M BACK! 🔥
Starting the week strong with a bonus chapter for you guys - couldn't resist dropping some extra content!
Power stones = more bonus chapters. You know the drill. Let's push for TOP 10 in the rankings, and I'll keep the chapters coming!
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The silence stretched until Fury's presence filled the chamber.
His single eye swept across the scene with the practiced assessment of a man who'd seen every kind of clusterfuck the world had to offer. Behind him, S.H.I.E.L.D. agents held tactical positions, their weapons ready but not yet aimed—professional restraint barely containing the tension.
"Well," Fury said, his voice cutting through the underground stillness, "this is about as fucked up as I expected it to be."
The director of S.H.I.E.L.D. stepped further into the torchlight, his long coat settling around him like a battle standard. "Power Broker, X-Men, prisoners—nobody moves until we sort this mess out. And trust me, we're going to sort it out."
Jay's mask reflected the flickering flames as he turned to face this new player. His suppression field hummed invisibly around him, keeping the X-Men powerless while the Morlocks stood ready behind their human shields of restored faces.
"Director Fury," Professor Xavier said, relief evident in his cultured voice despite his powerless state. "We came here to retrieve our operative—"
"Shut it, Charles." Fury's tone brooked no argument. "You had one job. Keep the mutant community stable while we handled the political fallout. Instead, I've got Morlocks fighting in the streets, Hellfire Club facilities destroyed, and half of Manhattan's emergency services tied up dealing with what looks like a goddamn monster movie."
Storm, her powerless form still radiating authority. "Director, the situation is more complex than—"
"Complex?" Fury's laugh was bitter. "Lady, I've got my superiors breathing down my neck, asking why we can't contain a bunch of sewer rats. Your original deal with us was to prevent exactly this kind of public incidents."
Jay stepped forward, his electronic voice carrying across the chamber with calm menace. "Stay out of it, Fury. Let mutants solve mutant matters."
"That's not how this works." Fury's single eye fixed on Jay's masked form. "The moment you took your little underground rebellion public, it became my problem. And I solve my problems."
The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents shifted slightly, weapons still held ready. The message was clear—they were prepared to escalate if necessary.
"X-Men," Fury continued, "you're going to pair with my agents for immediate containment. We shut this down before it spreads to other cities."
Bobby Drake, still staring at his powerless hands in disbelief, looked up. "Uh, Director? We've got a slight problem with that plan."
"What kind of problem, Drake?"
"The kind where our powers don't work anymore." Bobby gestured helplessly at his normal skin. "Whatever this guy did, only Beast and Nightcrawler still look like mutants, and even Kurt can't teleport."
Beast's brilliant mind continued working through the puzzle, his enhanced intellect racing through possibilities.
"Most curious," Beast muttered, adjusting his glasses as he studied Jay. "The specificity suggests an intimate knowledge of our genetic structures."
Jay's laugh echoed strangely through his mask's modulation. "Doctor McCoy, always the scientist. Tell me, Fury—which UN Security Council member is a Hellfire lackey? I'd like to... have a conversation with them."
The temperature in the chamber seemed to drop several degrees. Even the torchlight flickered as if responding to the menace in Jay's distorted voice.
Fury's expression hardened. "How do you know about Security Council involvement?"
"Same way I know you were too late to stop their influence from spreading through your organization." Jay stepped closer, his suppression field moving with him like an invisible sphere of negation. "You want to talk about problems, Director? Let's talk about how S.H.I.E.L.D. is no better than anyone here."
The Morlocks shifted behind their leaders, tension rippling through the crowd like electricity. They could sense their protector building toward something, and they were ready to follow wherever he led.
"Working with dictators when it suits you," Jay continued, his voice carrying to every corner of the chamber. "Making deals with terrorists when they have information you need. Partnering with the Hellfire Club when their resources prove useful. Using the X-Men as your pet peacekeepers while letting innocents suffer to maintain your precious status quo."
Fury's jaw clenched. "That's how the world works, son. You pick your battles and make hard choices. Someone has to keep the lights on while idealists like you play revolution in the sewers."
"Idealists?" The electronic modulation couldn't hide the edge of genuine amusement in Jay's voice. "Director, I think you've got me confused with someone who still believes in fairy tales."
The moment stretched taut as both men sized each other up—the seasoned spymaster who'd built an empire on necessary compromises, and the masked figure who'd emerged from nowhere to challenge everything Fury thought he understood about mutant politics.
Then Fury fired back, his voice sharp with authority and frustrated anger. "You want to talk about fairy tales? Let's talk about you, Power Broker. Coming out of nowhere, manipulating an entire population with parlor tricks and false promises. Handing out facelifts like some bargain-basement messiah, giving these people hope you can't possibly deliver on."
The effect on the Morlocks was immediate and volcanic. Voices rose in outrage throughout the chamber, men and women who'd found dignity through Jay's intervention now faced with casual dismissal of their transformation as worthless trinkets. The sound was like a hive of angry wasps, decades of suppressed fury finding voice in unified rage.
Caliban's pale form tensed with barely contained violence, his gaunt features twisting with something dangerous and primal. Beautiful Dreamer's ethereal features hardened into something that promised retribution. Even the restored children pressed forward, their newly human faces flushed with indignation that ran deeper than their years.
"Fake hope?" S'kk's reptilian voice carried clearly over the crowd's growing rage. "You think their restored faces are fake?"
"Our dignity is fake?" Callisto stepped forward, her scarred face set in hard lines. "Our unity is fake?"
The mood shifted from tense standoff to the precipice of violence. The air itself seemed to vibrate with potential energy, like the moment before a dam bursts. Even without their powers, the X-Men recognized the signs—a mob building toward savage retribution, decades of suppressed rage finding a target in the man who'd just dismissed their transformation as circus tricks.
Then Jay simply snapped his fingers.
The sound echoed through the chamber like a gunshot, sharp and commanding. Suddenly, the Morlocks fell silent from choice. Choosing to listen to their leader rather than act on their justified fury. It was a display of absolute authority that needed no supernatural power to enforce, just the complete trust of people who'd found someone worth following into hell itself.
"Much better," Jay said calmly, as if the near-riot had been nothing more than a minor interruption. "Now, Director Fury, since we're discussing the credibility of hope..."
Jay walked toward Fury with measured steps, his boots echoing off stone as the suppression field moved with him invincible to all. The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents tensed, but Fury held up a hand to keep them from escalating.
"There's an old Indian proverb," Jay said, stopping just outside Fury's personal space. His mask caught the torchlight, making it impossible to read any expression beneath. "Those whose houses are made of glass shouldn't throw stones at others' houses."
"Speaking of glass houses," Jay continued conversationally but silently enough for only Fury to hear, his electronic voice dropping to a whisper that somehow carried more menace than any shout, "how's Natasha's family doing? You know, the ones you've been telling her are dead for years, while they either rot in Russian prisons or under the still operating Redroom's control?"
Fury's single eye widened fractionally—the only sign of shock on his carefully controlled features. But Jay caught it, caught that micro-expression that revealed everything. The legendary spymaster's poker face had cracked, just for an instant.
"Or should we discuss Project T.A.H.I.T.I.?" Jay's electronic voice carried a note of dark amusement that made Fury's blood chill. "Fascinating work, using Kree genetic material to create resurrection serums. Tell me, how many test subjects died screaming before you got the formula right?"
"How the hell do you know that?" Fury's voice was deadly quiet, his hand moving unconsciously toward his sidearm.
"The same way I know you've been running illegal human experimentation programs under the guise of 'enhanced individual research.'" Jay tilted his head, the gesture somehow managing to convey casual interest despite the mask. "The same way I know about the Fridge facilities, the Index, and your delightful habit of recruiting criminals and terrorists when their skills prove useful to your little shadow empire."
Fury's mind raced as he felt a strange déjà vu wash over him—this conversation, this casual revelation of state secrets, felt familiar.
"You're connecting me to someone," Jay observed, watching Fury's face carefully through his mask's eyeholes. "The doctor, perhaps? Cool guy, I heard he was single and available in the market." His head turned slightly toward the X-Men, the gesture somehow managing to appear amused despite the electronic distortion.
"Who are you?" Fury demanded not falling for his psychological tricks, his composure finally cracking.
Jay's laugh echoed through the chamber, and for a moment—just one terrifying moment—the electronic distortion seemed to glitch, allowing something else to bleed through. Something that made Beast's enhanced intellect freeze in sudden, impossible recognition.
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