The quiet determination that settled over the small group—Jean, Scott, Logan, and Bruce—was fractured the moment the large, antique telephone in Charles's study began to ring. It was an old-school, Bakelite instrument that seldom rang, used only for the most sensitive, private contacts.
Rewinding time slightly: just as Logan had finished his explosive, high-altitude sparring match with the Hulk, William Stryker was receiving final, chilling authorization.
The President, reeling from the traumatic, nearly fatal attack and terrified by the public unrest, had given Stryker a terrifying green light: "Do whatever you deem necessary, General. Just ensure no news of… unusual children… or abuse makes the headlines. Give them control."
Stryker was absolutely elated, but the victory felt incomplete. He still had one colossal obstacle: the psychic powerhouse, Professor Charles Xavier. The knowledge that Charles, if truly pushed to the brink of despair, could potentially reach out and simply erase the consciousness of most of the world—or at least the Western Hemisphere—was a terrifying reality Stryker had lived with for years.
However, the General was a planner, a man who saw emotion as a weapon. He had devised a way to not only neutralize Charles but to use him in the final, devastating play against the entire mutant species.
And the first step was a visit to the plastic prison.
Stryker entered the cell block, his steps quiet on the sterile floor. He had the guards subdue Magneto—who was only mildly resistant, believing this was a standard, irritating security check—and then, with a syringe, Stryker dripped a clear, viscous liquid onto the back of Magneto's neck, directly on a specific nerve cluster. It wasn't a chemical restraint; it was a highly advanced, nanotech-laced neuro-pacifier.
Magneto, who had been waiting for the opportune moment to stage his escape, never saw it coming. The moment the liquid absorbed, his brilliant, magnetic-willed eyes became clouded and confused.
William Stryker's lips curled into a cold, predatory smile. He leaned in close to the now-vacant, staring face of the Master of Magnetism. "Now, Eric," he whispered, his voice soft yet commanding, "tell me everything you know about the brainwave amplification machine in the basement of Charles's school, the one you call Cerebro."
"The brainwave enhancement machine… Cerebro… is a large sensory array that amplifies Charles's telepathy a millionfold, allowing him to perceive every mind on Earth…" Magneto's voice was utterly devoid of emotion, his eyes empty as he delivered the secrets of his oldest friend's most vital defense.
"Perfect. Does Charles know about the president's assassination attempt yet?" Stryker nodded in deep satisfaction at the detailed technical data, then suddenly switched the subject.
"I know, he contacted me mentally. He asked if I had ordered the action," Magneto continued, his face a chilling mask of compliance.
"Very good. Then contact him now. Use the secured line. Tell him you have made a major, personal discovery and that you must speak with him face to face, immediately, outside the prison," William Stryker dictated in a low voice, his cold smile growing wider. He had found Charles's single point of emotional weakness: his enduring, misguided loyalty to Erik.
And that was how the call came to Xavier's Academy. Charles picked up the receiver, his brow immediately furrowing as he listened. A flicker of doubt crossed his eyes, quickly followed by deep concern. He slowly closed his eyes, extending his mental presence, attempting to breach the heavily shielded prison and make direct contact with Erik.
A long, agonizing moment passed. When Charles opened his eyes again, his confusion had deepened into profound anxiety.
"What happened? Why can't I find Erik or contact him telepathically? It's like he's… vanished from my mind's map," he murmured, his voice tight with unease. "Did something happen to Eric? No, I have to go check on him myself."
The group, who were preparing to board the Blackbird jet to search for Nightcrawler, immediately stopped, sensing the urgency in their mentor's voice.
"What's wrong, Professor? What did the metal-bender want?" Logan was the first to ask, his instincts telling him something was deeply wrong, though he couldn't pinpoint the threat.
"Eric might be in deep trouble. Scott, you are my eyes and my strength. Come with me to check on him immediately!" Faced with the possibility that his old friend and nemesis might be in danger, Charles's customary calm completely dissolved. He looked up at Cyclops, the urgency in his eyes unmistakable.
"But what about that assassin? The child we were going to find? We can't just ignore the Academy either," Cyclops argued, frowning. He disliked Magneto and hated the idea of abandoning the mission.
"Jean, you and Ororo (Storm) go in the Blackbird and find that child. Logan, Mr. Banner, I'm leaving the safety of the school and the children here entirely in your care! Your combined presence is the best shield," Charles decided quickly, already motioning for Scott to prepare his chair. "Scott, we must move quickly!"
"Fine, I guess I'm just here for babysitting duty again. I've gotten used to it by now anyway. Don't worry about the kids, Chuck," Logan shrugged, trying to project indifference, though his internal beast was prickling with unease. He knew he couldn't change Charles's decision when it involved Erik.
Despite the apprehension, Logan was not truly worried about Charles's safety. In his worldview, Charles Xavier was an untouchable mental god; no conventional threat could ever touch him. A tragic, fatal assumption.
Soon, the group split. Charles and Cyclops arrived at the high-security prison block. But the grim-faced guard who met them at the entrance immediately halted Scott.
"I'm sorry, sir. Strict protocol. Only the Professor is cleared for entry into the isolation area. You must wait outside the containment barrier."
"Hmm?" Charles frowned, the request instantly triggering his suspicion. He reached out with a light, non-invasive tendril of telepathy, accessing the prison guard's surface memories for context.
Charles's expression changed drastically in an instant. He saw not routine, but the calculated, emotionless face of William Stryker.
It's a trap!
But the realization came too late. Before Charles could utter a single word of warning to Scott, the ceiling vents hissed.
Hypnotic gases, refined to target neurological functions, were sprayed directly throughout the sterile plastic prison block. Even the hardened prison guards—who had been specifically instructed to hold their breath—collapsed to the ground, losing consciousness immediately.
A cold, mocking glint flashed in William Stryker's eyes as he walked into the silent corridor, his face hidden by a tactical mask. He gave a quiet signal, and his heavily armed men—paramilitary forces dressed in tactical black—rushed forward. They quickly secured the paralyzed Charles in his chair and the unconscious Cyclops, dragging both away.
"Magneto…" William Stryker glanced toward the vacant-eyed figure in the plastic cell. He paused for a moment, then shook his head, showing no intention of taking his prized prisoner.
"Keep the neuro-pacifier activated," Stryker commanded a technician. "He's useless to me in the field and too unpredictable. He's much safer here, a tool ready for the final move."
As the first shadows of night fell over the sprawling campus of Xavier's Academy for Gifted Youngsters, an eerie quiet settled in. In a common room, Logan and Bruce Banner were chatting idly, Bruce talking about his latest attempt to mediate with the Hulk, while Bobby Drake (Iceman) sat nearby, attempting to listen but mostly focused on his phone, trying to contact Rogue.
"Huh?"
Suddenly, Logan's relaxed expression vanished, replaced by a feral, focused snarl. His arm shot out, and his steel claws instantly stabbed into the nearby coffee table, narrowly missing the edge of Bruce's mug. The metallic scraping sound was harsh and final.
"Bobby, get up! Get out of here and warn everyone in the dorms—we have incoming enemies! Now!"
"What?" Bruce Banner and Bobby's expressions instantly changed. Bobby looked at Logan in utter disbelief. The Xavier Academy was a sanctuary; it had never faced a direct, organized crisis before.
"No time for questions! It's real! They are fast and heavily armed!" Logan exploded, rushing into the nearest corridor. "Colossus! Get out of your room! Get everyone out of here! Enemies are coming to raid the school!"
Colossus, the massive, metal-skinned mutant, rushed out of his dormitory in a panic, his skin already hardening to its protective state. Not only Colossus, but every student who heard the commotion—the shouts, the stomping of Logan's boots, the insistent, screaming alarm of a natural predator—also ran out in a panic. For a moment, the entire Xavier Academy for Gifted Youngsters was plunged into deafening chaos.
"Colossus, organize them! Take them to the secret passages! Banner and I will secure the perimeter and cover the rear!" Logan barked out the orders, already hearing the muffled, rhythmic pounding of heavily equipped boots approaching the main hall. He tore toward the sound.
"I never actually said I was going to charge into the fray with you, you lunatic!" Bruce Banner complained, pouting somewhat reluctantly, rubbing his temples in anticipation of the inevitable headache.
But when he looked up and saw the first wave of fully armed soldiers—black tactical armor, assault rifles raised, night vision goggles glowing faintly—charging towards him, his scientific composure instantly evaporated. With a terrifying surge of emerald power, he instantly transformed into the raging Hulk and rushed out to meet them.
"Hulk smash!"
"Hulk…" A glimmer of anticipation and deep respect flashed in Colossus's eyes at the sight of the giant green figure throwing himself into the fight. He quickly galvanized his courage, turning to lead his charges. "Students, follow me! We escape through the lower level! Bobby, what are you doing? Let's go!"
"You guys go first! I need to find Little Rascal!" Bobby wasn't willing to leave. He hadn't found Rogue (Anna Marie LeBeau), with whom he had just established a tenuous, deeply important relationship. Seeing his resolve, John Allerdyce (Pyro), the Fireman, also rushed over.
"I'll cover your back, Icicle! Let's find the girl!" John said, and the two set off to search the panicked corridors for Rogue, while Colossus, moving with the heavy grace of a metal tank, led the terrified students along the secret underground passage toward safety.
"Bang! Thwip! Thwack!"
Countless tranquilizer darts—high-velocity, potent neural inhibitors—struck Logan and the Hulk. The heavily armored soldiers' initial directive was to neutralize and capture the students of Xavier's Academy of Geniuses for research, and naturally, they wanted to capture them alive and intact.
However, the chemical weapons were utterly pointless against these two. The tranquilizer darts simply disintegrated upon hitting the Hulk's dense skin, and they were metabolized by Logan's super-charged healing factor before they could even register a slight headache.
The soldiers who discovered this failure instantly switched to live ammunition, but the result was no different; the rapid-fire bullets only served to enrage the Hulk into a frenzy and push Logan past the point of rational control.
The Hulk roared, shattering the ornate grand staircase with a single swing, clearing the entire first wave of soldiers and sending them tumbling backward in crumpled heaps. Logan, meanwhile, was a low-crawling blur of claws and fury, slicing through gun barrels and armor with surgical precision.
A loud, clear voice, slightly amplified and carrying a chilling familiarity, cut through the din of chaos.
"Long time no see, Weapon X. You're still fighting in the name of the freaks, and you're still so young!"
The voice, emanating from a figure in a specialized, armored suit flanked by elite commandos, caused Logan's momentum to stop dead. He felt a sickening twist in his gut; the voice triggered a primal memory, a deep-seated trauma that predated his adamantium skeleton. He didn't remember the slightly aged, scarred man in the tactical armor in front of him, but the voice was terrifyingly, intimately familiar.
"Stop, Hulk!" Logan roared over the sound of smashing furniture, waving an urgent claw at the giant green figure who was about to smash an entire squad. He narrowed his eyes, studying the man who represented so much of his past suffering. "Who the hell are you?"