Location: New Mexico Desert - 15 Miles Outside Albuquerque
Four Weeks After the Malibu Incident
The Sentinel's plasma cannon charged with a high-pitched whine that Logan had learned to hate over the years. He dove left, adamantium claws flashing in the desert sun, but the blast still caught him in the shoulder, spinning him around and slamming him into the red clay.
"Logan!" Storm's voice cut through the chaos, and the sky above darkened as she called down lightning. Three bolts struck the towering robot simultaneously, but its adaptive armor absorbed the energy, redirecting it harmlessly into the ground.
"I'm fine!" Logan growled, pushing himself up. His shoulder was already healing, the burnt flesh knitting back together. "But these tin cans are getting smarter!"
He wasn't wrong. There were six Sentinels this time—more than they'd faced in months—and they were coordinating in ways that suggested someone had upgraded their programming. Beast was currently buried under rubble from a collapsed warehouse, Colossus was grappling with two at once, and Cyclops was dividing his attention between providing cover fire and trying to keep the civilians evacuated.
"We need backup!" Scott shouted, his optic blast carving a line across a Sentinel's chest plating. It staggered but didn't fall. "Jean, can you reach the Professor?"
"I'm trying!" Jean Grey floated twenty feet above the battlefield, her telekinesis holding back falling debris from crushing a group of fleeing teenagers. "But something's interfering with—"
The Sentinel targeting her fired.
Jean threw up a telekinetic shield, but the impact sent her tumbling backward through the air. She caught herself before hitting the ground, but Logan could see the strain on her face. They were losing this fight.
Then he heard it: a sound like a hawk's cry mixed with a wrestler's battle shout.
"HAWLUCHA!"
Something small and fast streaked across the battlefield—a blur of green, red, and white that moved like nothing Logan had ever seen. It struck the Sentinel advancing on Jean with a flying kick that had no right to generate that much force. The robot's head snapped back, and the creature rebounded off its chest, flipping through the air to land in a three-point stance that looked straight out of a lucha libre match.
Logan blinked. "What the hell?"
The creature was maybe four feet tall, covered in feathers with a green, white, and red coloration that resembled a luchador's mask. Its wings were small—too small for flight, Logan thought—but they flared out dramatically as it struck a pose.
"HITMON-CHAN!"
A second creature appeared on the opposite side of the battlefield, this one moving with the precise footwork of a trained boxer. It was about three and a half feet tall, wearing what looked like a purple skirt and sporting massive red boxing gloves that seemed disproportionate to its body. It ducked under a Sentinel's grasping hand with professional grace, then delivered a one-two combination to the robot's knee joint that actually dented the metal.
"Are you seeing this?" Colossus grunted, still wrestling with his two opponents.
"Everyone's seeing this, Piotr!" Cyclops replied, momentarily distracted from his own fight.
The bird-wrestler creature—Hawlucha, if Logan had heard right—launched itself at another Sentinel with a spinning aerial assault. It bounced off the robot's torso, ricocheted off its arm, and delivered a devastating kick to its optical sensors. The Sentinel swung blindly, but Hawlucha was already gone, flipping through the air with showman's flair.
Meanwhile, the boxing creature—Hitmonchan—was working over a Sentinel's legs with methodical precision. Jab, cross, hook, uppercut. Each punch landed with mechanical efficiency, targeting joints and weak points with the skill of someone who'd spent years in the ring. When the Sentinel tried to grab it, Hitmonchan swayed back with perfect footwork, then stepped in with a brutal body shot that made even the robot stagger.
"Well, I'll be damned," Logan muttered, watching the two creatures tear through Sentinels like they were sparring dummies. "They're actually winning."
"Should we help them?" Jean had recovered and was floating beside Storm, both women watching the spectacle with a mixture of confusion and amazement.
"I think they have it handled," Storm replied, lightning crackling around her hands but not yet released.
She was right. Within minutes, the two creatures had disabled four of the six Sentinels. Hawlucha was currently standing on one's shoulders, raining down strikes on its head with rapid-fire intensity, while Hitmonchan had literally punched a hole through another's chest plating to reach its power core.
The remaining two Sentinels, demonstrating what passed for machine survival instinct, activated their emergency retreat protocols and began to fly away.
Hawlucha screeched in indignation and tried to follow, but its wings couldn't generate enough lift. It landed back on the disabled Sentinel's head, hopping in frustration.
Hitmonchan, meanwhile, simply dusted off its gloves with professional satisfaction.
For a moment, there was silence across the battlefield. The X-Men regrouped, Beast emerging from the rubble with dust in his fur, Colossus powering down to his human form, Cyclops lowering his hand from his visor.
"Okay," Scott said carefully. "Anyone want to explain what just happened?"
"We got our asses saved, is what happened," Logan said, lighting a cigar that had somehow survived the fight. He nodded toward the two creatures. "By whatever the hell those things are. Gotta say, they were the MVPs today."
Hawlucha preened at the comment, striking another dramatic pose. Hitmonchan simply bounced on its feet, shadowboxing the air.
Then Hawlucha turned to look at Hitmonchan.
Hitmonchan turned to look at Hawlucha.
And Logan, who'd lived long enough to recognize the look of an unfinished fight, groaned. "Oh no."
"HAWLUCHA!" The bird-wrestler launched itself at Hitmonchan.
"HITMON!" The boxer met it halfway.
They collided in a whirlwind of feathers and fists. Unlike their methodical takedown of the Sentinels, this was chaotic, personal—the kind of fight that came from familiarity and rivalry. Hawlucha went for flashy aerial moves, trying to use its mobility advantage. Hitmonchan stayed grounded, technical, waiting for openings to land precise counters.
"Should we stop them?" Jean asked, already reaching out with her telekinesis.
"Wait," Beast said, adjusting his glasses as he watched the fight with scientific interest. "Observe their behavior. This isn't aggression born of hostility. Look at the structure of their engagement—they're following rules, even if we don't understand them."
He was right. Despite the intensity, neither creature was going for killing blows. This was competitive, not murderous.
"It's like they're... settling something," Storm murmured.
"Twenty bucks says the bird wins," Logan said.
"I'll take that action," Colossus replied. "The boxer has superior technique."
The fight raged for another three minutes. Hawlucha landed a spectacular flying press that would've made any luchador proud, pinning Hitmonchan to the ground. The boxer tried to reverse it, but Hawlucha's wings spread wide, maintaining balance and leverage.
Hitmonchan struggled for a moment, then—and Logan could've sworn this was the case—tapped out. Just like that. One of its gloved hands patted the ground three times.
Hawlucha immediately released it and leaped up, wings spread in victory. It crowed triumphantly, strutting in a circle around the prone Hitmonchan, who sat up and nodded with what looked like grudging respect.
"HAWLUUUU-CHA!" The bird-wrestler pumped its wings, celebrating like it had just won a championship belt.
Then it spotted Storm.
The goddess of weather stood nearby, white hair flowing in the breeze she'd unconsciously summoned, watching the creatures with fascination. Hawlucha's eyes lit up. It marched over to her with the confidence of a champion, one wing raised up high.
It wanted a high-five.
Storm, to her credit, only hesitated for a second before raising her hand. "You fought well, small warrior."
Hawlucha's wing connected with her palm in what had to be the most anticlimactic high-five in X-Men history. The creature chirped happily, struck one more pose—
And collapsed.
Just dropped right there at Storm's feet, completely unconscious.
"Is it...?" Jean started.
"Exhausted," Beast said, kneeling beside Hawlucha. He carefully examined it, mindful of its breathing. "Completely depleted. I suspect the fight with the Sentinels, followed immediately by its bout with its companion, overtaxed its energy reserves."
Hitmonchan waddled over, looking down at its fallen rival with what might have been concern. It poked Hawlucha gently with one glove.
"Should we take them with us?" Cyclops asked. "We need to figure out what they are, where they came from."
"And if there are more of them," Logan added, stubbing out his cigar. He looked at Hitmonchan, who looked back at him with surprising intelligence. "You got any answers for us, bub?"
Hitmonchan just shrugged—actually shrugged—in a very human gesture.
"I'll contact the Professor," Jean said. "These creatures... they're not mutants. I can sense that much. But they're not exactly not sentient either. This is something different."
"Different," Storm repeated, looking down at the unconscious Hawlucha still sprawled at her feet. "Yes. Something very different indeed."
She carefully picked up the small creature, cradling it in her arms. It weighed almost nothing, all feathers and surprisingly dense muscle. "We should take them both to the mansion. They saved our lives today. The least we can do is ensure they're safe while they recover."
Hitmonchan seemed to understand this and nodded, shadowboxing the air once more before following Storm toward the X-Men's transport.
As they walked away from the battlefield—six disabled Sentinels scattered across the New Mexico desert like fallen titans—Logan couldn't shake the feeling that the world had just gotten a lot more complicated.
First Tony Stark going public as Iron Man. Then reports of strange phenomena across the globe. Now this.
Whatever was happening, whatever these creatures were, it was only the beginning.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, a question formed that he couldn't quite answer: Where did you two really come from? And how many more of you are out there?
The answer, of course, was more than any of them could possibly imagine.