CHAPTER 178 — THE LAST FUTURE
Manhattan was a skeleton. Streets cracked like broken ribs, towers leaning like drunks about to fall. Kitty Pryde pressed herself to the shadow of a burned-out bank, breath tight, eyes darting.
'Logan had to pick here,' she thought bitterly. 'Couldn't be a nice rooftop, couldn't be some abandoned diner. No. Middle of Manhattan's corpse. Fitting, I guess. Nothing left worth saving.'
The thought almost made her smile, but it died on her lips when the pavement groaned beneath her. Too late—her foot sank through a false slab. The trap snapped, metal jaws rising like teeth. She tumbled into a pit, smacking stone, bruises blooming instantly.
Three ragged shapes leaned over the edge. Scavengers. Not mutants, not Sentinels—just desperate, mean humans.
"Well, well," one sneered, dropping down after her. His knife gleamed dull. "Look what fell in the hole."
The collar at her throat burned cold, humming. No phasing out. No escape.
Kitty pressed against the wall, shaking but steady. 'So this is it. After everything, after the funerals, the marches, the graves—cut down by gutter trash.' She raised her fists anyway. "Come on, then."
The first lunged.
And then he flew. A shadow crashed in, fists moving in blurs, not claws but knuckles. The scavenger crumpled. The second got an elbow to the jaw. The third made the mistake of raising his knife—only for it to vanish into the dark with a crack of bone behind it.
When the dust settled, Logan stood over the heap. No claws. Just raw hands, scarred and dripping.
"You look like hell, kid."
"Logan," she gasped, relief flooding.
He sniffed, jerking a thumb upward. "Let's move. Sentinels got ears everywhere. Didn't pop the claws—too easy to trace. These punks'll wake up with headaches and shame."
He reached into his jacket and pressed something small, metallic, into her palm. The jammer.
"Midnight," he said. "I'll move then. Tell the others. Prep everything."
Kitty squeezed it like it was hope itself. "We'll be ready."
---
She ran. Past the husks of cars, through snow-choked alleys, until the perimeter wall of the Sentinel camp rose before her. She slipped inside with practiced ease. The guards didn't even look anymore. What was one collared mutant worth?
And then the graveyard hit her. It always did.
Rows upon rows of stone, names etched in broken hands. Cyclops. Jean Grey. Nightcrawler. Names of friends, names of strangers. Some half-erased by the wind.
Kitty knelt at one marker, touching cold rock. Her voice was a whisper. "I'll fix it. For all of you. I swear."
She pulled herself away, deeper into the camp.
---
The meeting place was a gutted warehouse, guarded by shadows. Inside, the last of the X-Men waited.
Colossus—his face worn but gentle, massive frame slouched like the weight of the world bent him. He reached for her, calloused hands brushing hers. Husband. Partner. Anchor.
Storm sat regal even in chains, eyes sharp as lightning trapped behind clouds.
Magneto, frail in his wheelchair, but his gaze burned iron.
Rachel Summers, her fiery hair tangled, her power still fierce despite the collar. Franklin Richards beside her, hand resting on hers, hope flickering in his eyes.
Kitty set the jammer down on the crate. "Got it."
Franklin snatched it up like treasure, slotting it into a half-finished device. "With this—I can nullify the collars. Just for a window. Enough to—"
"Enough to try," Rachel finished, fingers brushing his.
Colossus frowned, voice low. "But… should we? We gamble on time itself, Katya. If we succeed, maybe the world will be better. Or maybe it will be worse. Worse even than this."
Magneto's hand slammed the crate. The sound echoed sharp. "Nonsense. Nothing can be worse than this. We rot in cages while Sentinels rule. What future do you imagine darker than this hell?"
Colossus's jaw clenched. His eyes flicked to Kitty, soft. "I only fear for you, my love. For what it costs."
Kitty's hands curled to fists. Her voice trembled, but her words cut clean. "I fear nothing more than losing our children to graves like these. I fight for them, Piotr. For all the children we'll never get to hold."
The room went silent.
Rachel rose, eyes glowing, hands raised. "Then let's begin."
Kitty lay down on the makeshift cot, heart hammering. The device whirred, her collar humming as Rachel's power coiled.
Rachel's voice thundered in her head: Your mind for hers. The future for the past.
The world spun white.
---
Somewhere else, Kitty Pryde—the young, nervous one—stepped into the Danger Room for the first time.