"Class A wanted order?"
After hearing Cyclops finish his report, Professor X's brows drew together immediately. The wrinkle between them deepened, not from surprise alone but from something heavier—disappointment.
"The Los Angeles branch issued a Class A warrant days ago," he said slowly. "Why weren't we informed immediately?"
He turned his chair slightly toward Cyclops. "According to the agreement, once a Class A warrant is issued, they are required to contact us at once and consult with us. That clause wasn't optional."
Although he had failed to prevent the passage of the Mutant Restriction Act, he had not been passive afterward. The X-Men and the Department of Mutant Affairs had signed a formal agreement. It was limited in scope, but deliberate.
One of its core provisions was simple: whenever a Class A warrant was issued, the X-Men had to be notified and given the opportunity to participate in the arrest.
If the X-Men joined the operation and the mutant was captured, custody would first go to them. They would assess whether incarceration in a mutant prison was truly necessary.
If the individual showed potential for reform, the X-Men would be given the chance to guide them instead of handing them over to the system.
Professor X had insisted on that clause for one reason—limit the unchecked power of the Department and preserve the strength of the mutant community.
A Class A warrant was second only to an S-Class designation. It meant the target wasn't ordinary. It meant they were powerful.
Ordinary mutants didn't even qualify for that list.
Cyclops exhaled quietly.
"It's not just Los Angeles," he said. "Other branches haven't been strictly honoring the agreement either. Most of the time, we only receive information after we discover it ourselves. Then they send files reluctantly."
Professor X's expression darkened.
"How long has this been happening?"
"Since the agreement was signed," Cyclops replied without hesitation.
Silence filled the office for a moment.
"Why wasn't I informed?" Professor X asked. "I could have spoken directly to the Minister. I could have demanded compliance."
Cyclops hesitated.
"It's not that we didn't want to tell you," he began, then stopped.
"But what?" Professor X asked gently, though there was steel beneath the tone. "Scott, I would prefer not to use telepathy to finish that sentence."
Cyclops's hands clenched unconsciously.
After a few seconds, he spoke.
"Professor… do you know how the public talks about us now?"
Professor X did not interrupt.
"Since the Mutant Restriction Act passed, people say the X-Men are government dogs. That we beg for approval. That we help hunt our own kind."
His voice tightened despite himself.
"They say this school isn't a sanctuary. They say it's a training camp. That we're raising mutants to serve the government."
He rarely spoke this bluntly. Normally, he filtered his frustration, even when he didn't fully understand why Professor X had chosen compromise over confrontation. He had trusted him.
But time had changed things.
Discrimination hadn't eased after the Act passed. It had intensified. The law had formalized fear. Registration had categorized mutants. Official language had turned difference into defect.
"After watching the footage of Richard killing those agents," Cyclops continued, "and now seeing him sitting there on Sentinel wreckage… I don't see someone monstrous."
He paused, then said quietly, "I feel sympathy."
Before coming to the office, he had checked the database.
"Roy Wesley wasn't a criminal," Cyclops said. "He was a philanthropist. He funded charities in Los Angeles. Supported underprivileged communities. Even after founding Crimson Manor, he didn't train extremists. He just sheltered mutants who needed help."
"And Richard? He wasn't some spoiled reckless heir. He drove an ordinary car. No scandals. No crimes."
He shook his head.
"Roy was arrested. Richard was labeled a threat. Their assets were frozen."
He looked at Professor X directly.
"They weren't trafficking drugs. They weren't funding terrorists. They just didn't register."
His voice dropped.
"If I were in Richard's place… I might have gone further."
Professor X did not expect that from him. Not the anger. Not the doubt.
After several seconds of silence, he spoke calmly.
"Go inform Jean, Logan, and Ororo," he said. "You will leave for Los Angeles immediately. Bring Richard and Victor back here."
Cyclops blinked in surprise.
"If the Department interferes," Professor X continued, "tell them it was my decision. Charles Xavier. If they have objections, their Minister may discuss them with me personally."
Cyclops had prepared himself for lectures about coexistence and restraint.
He had not prepared for this.
"Professor, I…"
"We can discuss everything else later," Professor X said gently. "First, bring him here."
Cyclops nodded slowly.
"Understood."
He turned and left the office.
…
Elsewhere, at the headquarters of the Brotherhood of Mutants, another pair of eyes watched the same broadcast.
In his office, Magneto leaned back, gaze fixed on the screen.
"This young man is interesting," he said lightly. "From the look of him, he has no intention of leaving until he finishes what he started."
Beside him sat Mystique.
"Raven," Magneto continued, "take a few people and approach him. Ask whether he would consider joining us."
Mystique did not respond immediately.
"He won't join," she said after a moment.
Magneto turned his head slightly.
"You've met him?"
"I believe so," she replied. "Richard Wesley. Son of Roy Wesley."
Recognition flickered across Magneto's face.
"Ah," he said softly. "That family."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"Two months ago, he was a wealthy young man with no concern beyond comfort. Now he sits on the remains of three Sentinels as a Class A fugitive."
He folded his hands.
"Still, go. And tell him something for me. If he joins the Brotherhood, I will see to it that the Wesley family regains every asset that was seized—plus interest."
Mystique stood.
"I can go," she said evenly. "But I cannot promise to bring him back."
She glanced at the screen again.
"A mutant who can destroy multiple Sentinels cannot be taken by force. Not unless you go personally."
Without waiting for a reply, she left.
…
Back in Los Angeles, Richard remained unaware that both Professor X and Magneto had set plans in motion.
Even if he had known, it would not have changed his focus.
He only cared about one thing.
Would enough mutant agents return?
He still needed eleven more kills to complete the system mission. He had no interest in spending the next two days tracking scattered agents across the city.
Police vehicles and tactical units had already surrounded the perimeter of the branch. Sirens wailed. Barricades were erected. Floodlights illuminated the smoke-filled sky.
Then he saw them.
Figures moving past the police line. Individuals who carried themselves differently from ordinary officers.
Mutant agents.
Richard's eyes sharpened.
He began counting.
One.
Two.
Three.
…twelve.
Thirteen.
Fourteen.
Fourteen mutant agents.
A faint, satisfied smile appeared on his face.
To most mutants, fourteen elite agents arriving at once would trigger alarm. Instinct would scream retreat.
Richard felt the opposite.
Fourteen meant he could complete the mission tonight.
Fourteen meant Vergil's Phantom Sword would be his.
Fourteen also meant more abilities to plunder in the future.
Under the watch of news helicopters, police, and thousands of live viewers across the country, he rose slowly from the throne of Sentinel wreckage.
He gripped the hilt of his blade and pulled it free from the ground.
The metal rang softly.
He spun the sword once in his hand, casual and controlled.
Then, beneath the glare of cameras and searchlights, he murmured quietly to himself.
"The hunt… begins!"
.....
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