Chapter 112
Arc 8: Avengers
Ch 4: Final Preparations
Sunday, February 12, 2012.
Location: RAFT, Hudson River, New York
Tyson sank into the plush sofa across from Dr. Sofen. The office, with its muted tones and soft lighting, provided a stark contrast to the nearby city outside.
"We've been having these sessions for five months now. And there's one topic you always dance around. Can you tell me about what happened with Jubilee?"
At the mention of Jubilee's name, he frowned. "She's gone. And it's my fault."
"Why do you think it's your fault?"
He stood up abruptly, pacing the length of the office. "She was only there because of me. If I had been smarter or faster with my preparations and hadn't let Magneto ambush me, things could have gone down differently..."
He trailed off, his fists clenching. Dr. Sofen waited patiently, allowing him space to gather his thoughts. When it became clear he wasn't going to continue, she prompted, "Jubilee made a choice to fight to protect you. How do you think she would feel about you blaming yourself?"
He let out a bitter laugh. "She'd probably smack me upside the head and tell me to stop being an idiot. That's just who she was."
"Tell me more about her," the psychiatrist encouraged. "What was Jubilee like?"
"She was... a firecracker. Always cracking jokes. She had this way of making everything seem brighter, you know? Like no matter how bad things got, she could always find something to smile about." His voice warmed with the memory, but the warmth faded as quickly as it had appeared. "And now she's gone."
Dr. Sofen shook her head gently. "From what you've told me, Jubilee made a brave choice to try to save you. It's natural to feel guilt, but it's important to remember that her actions were her own. She valued your life and fought for you."
He slumped back into the chair, his massive frame seeming to deflate. "I know. Logically, I know that. But I can't shake this feeling that I failed her."
"Grief isn't logical," she said softly. "It's a process, and it takes time. It's okay to feel pain, to mourn her loss. But try to honor her memory by remembering the person she was, not just how she died."
Tyson nodded slowly, blinking back tears. "I miss her," he whispered. "I miss her laugh, her stupid jokes. I miss the way she'd light up a room just by walking in. I haven't touched a videogame since she died."
"Those memories are precious. They're proof of the impact Jubilee had on your life. It's okay to hold onto them, to let them comfort you."
They sat in silence for a moment.
"We were married, you know."
The psychiatrist's eyebrows shot up. "That wasn't in your file," she said, surprised.
His expression softened, melancholy creeping into his gray eyes. "It was never official," he explained, sadness threading through his deep voice. "We didn't sign any papers."
"Tell me more," she prompted gently.
He took a deep breath, his broad shoulders rising and falling. "We had a ceremony," he began, his gaze distant. "It was hastily thrown together, but still beautiful and intimate. Just us and the students from the school." He paused. "She died not two hours after the ceremony."
"'Till death do us part,'" he quoted bitterly. "And she died. So we weren't married any longer. And then she rose as a vampire."
Dr. Sofen nodded slowly. "But you stayed together?"
"We spent every day together after that," he confirmed, his voice softening. "Since I heal so fast, she could feed off me, and there was no risk of me turning into a vampire. So we were inseparable. Until her death."
"That must have been incredibly difficult," she said finally. "To lose her twice, in a sense."
"The first time I fought to cure her before she turned, but I failed. I felt bad about it, but she embraced the change, and I had her back. The second time..." He trailed off, jaw clenching.
"We touched on this in our first session. But how are you coping with that loss?" she asked gently.
He refocused on the psychiatrist. "Not sure I am," Tyson admitted.
She made a note, her pen scratching softly. "And emotionally? Did you allow yourself to grieve?"
"I did take time away from House of M, away from everything." Pain flickered across his face. "I'm not sure I've fully processed it even now," he said quietly. "There's always another crisis, another threat. It's easy to push it aside, to focus on the immediate danger."
"But that's not healthy in the long term," she pointed out. "Unresolved grief can manifest in various ways, often when we least expect it."
He nodded thoughtfully. "I know," he said. "That's part of why I'm here. The other part is that I haven't given up on her."
Dr. Sofen leaned forward, frowning. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that I haven't given up on finding a way to bring her back."
"That's something you can do?"
He shook his head. "Not exactly, well not yet anyway." He paused, collecting his thoughts. "You already know I can heal any mutant, but I can't cure death. And Jubilee's case is even more complicated because she was a vampire. Even if I had a means to resurrect her, it wouldn't work because when she died, it left no body," he continued. "But to answer your question more broadly, there are ways to bring people back from death."
Her eyebrows rose. "You're talking about actual resurrection? Not just resuscitation?" He nodded. Her pen moved rapidly across her notepad. "And you're actively pursuing these methods?"
"I'm exploring every avenue," he confirmed.
Dr. Sofen's expression softened, concern and empathy crossing her features. "I understand the depth of your loss, but I have to ask, have you considered the ethical implications of what you're proposing?"
His jaw clenched, anger flicking through his eyes. "I wrestle with it every day."
She held up a hand. "I'm not judging you. But as your therapist, I need to address this. The pursuit of bringing someone back from the dead could be seen as a form of denial, a way of avoiding the painful process of grief and acceptance."
His shoulders slumped slightly, the fight seeming to drain out of him. "Maybe you're right," he admitted quietly. "But I can't just give up on her. Not when I know there's even a chance."
"I understand," she said softly. "But I want you to consider something. Would she want to be brought back? If you did find a way to bring Jubilee back, what then? Would she be the same person? "
He frowned, uncertainty clouding his features. "That's the problem," he admitted. "I could have brought her back already, but I wasn't sure if it would be her."
She leaned back thoughtfully. "It is a complex question. One that doesn't have an easy answer. But I think it's important for us to explore these feelings and motivations in our sessions."
Dr. Sofen leaned forward, her blonde hair falling over her shoulders as she fixed him with an intent gaze. "Let's talk about your support system."
"Well, Felicia runs most of House of M. She's got a knack for organizing that I never had."
"And what about personal support?" she probed, pen poised over her notepad.
"Maki is my driver and bodyguard," he replied, fondness creeping into his voice.
Her eyebrows rose. "Bodyguard? I thought you could handle yourself."
He chuckled. "Yeah, I can handle myself, but there have been a few instances where having another as backup has been helpful. When the massive flying black dude shows up, everyone tends to overlook the small Asian girl. But she's kind of like my right-hand lady. And she's a lawyer too, so she does most of the interactions with that side of House of M," he continued, his voice dropping to a more thoughtful register. "Then there's Calypso. She's... I guess the easiest way to explain it is that she uses magic. I know I talk crazy a lot, but it's genuine magic. Since I haven't been able to go to school, she's been instructing me every day, along with another magic tutor."
Her pen paused over her notepad. "Magic?"
"Yeah. Real magic. Not parlor tricks or illusions. Calypso specializes in voodoo. She can communicate with spirits, create potions, and perform rituals that actually work. The other day, we managed to resurrect some plants that had been dead for weeks."
She studied him carefully. "And you believe this is actual supernatural power, not some form of advanced science or mutant ability?"
"I've seen enough to know the difference," he said firmly. "When you've fought alongside Iron Man and witnessed what magic can do, you start to understand there's more to this world than what science can explain. It sounds crazy, I know, but it's as real as anything else I can do."
She nodded, jotting down notes. "It sounds like you've built quite a team around you. What about romantically?" She paused, smirking. "You said famously that you haven't been able to hold down a girlfriend during your interview. It's become somewhat of a meme, you know? If this rich superhero can't hold down a girlfriend, what guy can?"
He laughed. Genuine amusement lit up his features. "Yeah, I've seen those memes. Some of them are pretty creative."
"But seriously," she pressed, her tone softening. "How do you feel about that aspect of your life?"
His laughter faded, replaced by a thoughtful expression. "My life isn't exactly conducive to long-term relationships. Between the constant threats and the unpredictable schedule."
She nodded encouragingly. "Have there been any significant relationships you'd like to discuss?"
He leaned back, his broad shoulders relaxing against the sofa. "Sure," he said, nostalgia creeping into his voice. "My first girlfriend was a Russian mutant who could teleport. Shortly after we met, she teleported me to a hellish dimension where we fought demons."
Dr. Sofen blinked, her professional composure momentarily slipping. "That sounds like an interesting basis for a relationship."
He chuckled, the sound deep and resonant. "I didn't have illusions then, and I didn't have control over my power. We couldn't touch, prolonged contact was too dangerous, but we still connected."
"That must have been difficult," she observed, her pen hovering over her notepad.
"Definitely the worst part of my power," he replied.
She tilted her head. "I'm sure you found ways around it."
Smiling wryly, he said, "Like a good Christian, I suppose. Lots of over-the-clothes stuff. Quick kisses so I didn't hurt her." His smile widened. "Until I got illusions, then things became a lot easier."
She leaned forward, intrigued. "That's the second time you mentioned it, but I don't understand how that helped."
His eyebrows rose in surprise. "You've never seen my illusions?"
She shook her head. "Haven't had a chance to catch a show."
"Ah. It goes deeper than just visual tricks. I can create a full sensory immersion that's indistinguishable from reality."
Her eyes lit up with professional curiosity. "Can you show me?"
The office around them shimmered and dissolved. The muted tones and soft lighting gave way to brilliant sunshine and the sound of crashing waves. Dr. Sofen found herself sitting on a pristine beach, the warm sand beneath her feet, and the sea breeze tousling her hair.
She gasped, taking in the transformation. The beach stretched out before her, the crystal-clear waters of the Mediterranean lapping gently at the shore. In the distance, she could see the hotels rising against the azure sky.
He, now dressed in swim trunks and a loose shirt, grinned at her reaction. "Welcome to Monaco," he said, gesturing broadly at the picturesque scene. "Every detail is perfect, from the feel of the sand between your toes to the scent of the sea."
She stood, her heels sinking slightly into the sand. She bent down, scooping up a handful of the fine grains, watching as they slipped through her fingers. "It feels so real," she murmured, awe evident.
"That's the beauty of it," he explained, walking towards the water's edge. "It engages all your senses. You can hear the seagulls overhead, feel the warmth of the sun on your skin, even taste the salt in the air."
As if on cue, a gentle breeze picked up, carrying with it the distinct briny scent of the ocean. Dr. Sofen closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. When she opened them again, she saw him standing ankle-deep in the surf, the waves lapping around his feet.
"This is how you managed intimacy? By creating these immersive environments?"
"It allowed for experiences that would have been impossible otherwise. We could 'touch' without the risk of my powers interfering."
She walked along the beach. "The psychological impact must have been significant. To have such vivid, shared experiences, yet know they're not entirely real..."
"It was a double-edged sword," he admitted, gazing out over the water. "On one hand, it opened up a world of possibilities. On the other hand, it sometimes felt like a constant reminder of what we couldn't have in reality."
"And how did it affect your perception of intimacy in general?" she probed gently.
He considered the question. "It allowed us to experience the physical parts we'd been missing."
The incongruity of her professional attire against the beach setting was striking, yet the illusion was so complete that it felt entirely natural. "Did you find that these illusory experiences satisfied your need for intimacy, or did they ultimately leave you wanting more?" she asked.
He frowned as he considered the question. "In the moment, the experiences feel real and satisfying. But afterwards, there was always a sense of... I don't know, incompleteness? Illusions can even be better than real sex, but ultimately it's not real."
Her eyebrows arched. "Better than the real thing? How so?"
A hint of mischief glinted in his grey eyes. "Remember, it's full sensory immersion. I can create possibilities that are impossible otherwise."
As if to demonstrate, a second version of himself materialized beside the first in a swirl of smoke. The duplicate grinned, an exact mirror of the original. "Fancy twins?" they said in unison, their voices perfectly synchronized.
Her eyes widened, her composure slipping for a moment as she glanced between the two identical figures. Before she could formulate a response, the beach around them began to shift and warp.
The golden sand beneath their feet transformed into a barren, rocky landscape. The sound of crashing waves faded, replaced by an eerie silence. The azure sky above them dissolved, giving way to an endless expanse of stars.
Dr. Sofen gasped as she felt her feet leave the ground. She floated gently upward, her body weightless in the low-gravity environment. Panic flickered across her face for a brief moment before she regained control, her mind struggling to process the sudden change.
Tyson, now singular again, hovered nearby, bemused. "Or how about a trip to the moon?" he asked, gesturing to the stark lunar landscape surrounding them.
The psychiatrist took a deep breath, steadying herself in the strange environment. Her hair floated around her face in the absence of gravity, adding to the surreal nature of the experience. She looked down at the cratered surface below, marveling at the detail of the illusion.
"This is... extraordinary," she managed. "The level of control you have over these illusions is remarkable."
"It's not just about creating static environments. I can manipulate them in real-time, responding to thoughts and desires as they arise."
As if to demonstrate, a distant Earth appeared on the horizon, a blue marble suspended in the vast darkness of space. The sight of the planet's beauty was breathtaking. She turned slowly in the zero-gravity environment, taking in the 360-degree view of stars and lunar landscape. "And you can maintain this level of detail indefinitely?" she asked, her analytical mind already considering the implications.
"As long as I'm conscious and focusing on it, yes," he confirmed. "It takes concentration, but I've had a lot of practice. I can put up simpler shows for thousands, but something this immersive, a dozen maybe."
"I can see how this ability would open up a world of possibilities in intimate situations. But I'm curious about the psychological impact. How does experiencing these impossible scenarios affect your perception of reality?"
"For me, it doesn't. While you're fully engaged in the experience, I know that it's a construct. While I can inhabit a portion of the illusion and feel it as I would normally, I can't convince myself it's real since I'm the one creating it. If I'm being intimate using illusions, I can feel it, as if it's real, trick my mind into inhabiting my illusory projection." He gestured to the scenery around them. "But this. To me, it's like a ghostly image. No matter what I do, I don't see or experience it like you do. To me, it's more like a computer-rendered image or a movie set imposed over reality."
"And how do your partners typically react to these experiences?" she probed.
The illusion of the lunar landscape faded, replaced by the interior of an elegant Parisian restaurant. Dr. Sofen found herself seated at a table draped with fine linen, a crystal wine glass before her. Through the window, the Eiffel Tower loomed majestically against a twilight sky.
He, now dressed in a tailored suit, gestured towards the wine. Instead of answering, he asked, "Care for a taste?"
She hesitated, then set aside her notepad. She lifted the glass, inhaling the bouquet before taking a sip. The rich flavor of a full-bodied red wine spread across her palate.
"It tastes real," she marveled, surprised.
"It's always easier to create an illusion of something I've experienced. Creating weightlessness in space is harder than the taste of wine since I've never been in outer space."
Her brow furrowed. "Aren't you underage?"
Tyson snorted. "Underage drinking isn't even noteworthy on my resume."
The psychiatrist leaned back in her chair, continuing to sip the illusory wine. "I'm on the clock," she mused. "I can't get drunk from this, can I?"
"Do you want to?" he asked.
Suddenly, she felt her face flush. A warmth spread through her body, and she felt her inhibitions loosening. She gasped. "I thought it was sensory," she said, her words slightly slurred. "This seems more like a physiological response."
"Yeah, I'm still exploring this. I had a discussion with one of the scientists at House of M. Your face is flushed because of histamine, which the body can release psychosomatically." He paused, taking a sip of his wine before continuing. "So with illusions, I can cause some physiological responses. I could stab you with an illusionary sword, and make you feel the pain, and your body would respond in kind, as far as the limits of a psychosomatic response go. But I wouldn't cause a puncture wound."
"Fascinating," she murmured.
"But you asked about my partners," he continued more seriously. "Arousal is one of those things that are pretty easy to manipulate. So they don't have any complaints. But I wouldn't demonstrate something like that without your consent."
She nodded, her cheeks still flushed. "Let's hold off on that for now," she said. She took another sip of her wine, savoring the rich flavor. "Any truth to the rumors you're dating Spider-Woman?"
He laughed and admitted, "Half-truth. I'm not 'dating' anyone. But we're involved."
"Involved? Can you elaborate on that?"
"It's like... friends with benefits."
"I see," she nodded, jotting down a note. "So, your friend who you hook up with occasionally. Sounds like a nice arrangement. That's it?"
He shifted in his seat, frowning slightly. "Not exactly. It's a bit deeper than that. She has some issues of her own, but she seems to be working through them." He paused, then added, "But no, she's not the only one."
Her eyebrows rose. "I suppose it isn't unusual for a man your age to have a few hookups."
Tyson shrugged. "Suppose not."
"Have you ever dated a normal woman?" she asked curiously.
He narrowed his eyes. "Well, I did date Felicia when I was a student at Midtown High."
"But you gravitate towards others with powers. Why do you think that is?"
He leaned back thoughtfully. "It's not like I discriminate or anything. But look at my life. I get attacked regularly. Anyone near me with no abilities is an easy target." His voice took on a harder edge. "I don't have parents or family to go after, so hitting my friends is a way to target me if you can't harm me directly. By 'dating' women who are strong, it eliminates that weakness."
"Women like Agent Romanoff," she suggested with a smile.
He grinned. "Is that in my file?"
"It's hinted at," she replied.
Tyson shrugged, his smile widening. "Have you ever met her? She's clever, beautiful, and dangerous."
She tapped her pen against her notepad. "She doesn't have powers."
"She's about as strong as a woman can be without them," he countered. "And she has the training to make her a threat to many powered people."
"What about the age gap?" she pressed.
His expression grew serious. "In most cases, age gaps are frowned upon because the older person has a maturity, knowledge, or wisdom advantage over the other person."
"Right," she said.
He tapped his temple. "In my case, I've absorbed hundreds of years of other's lives. If anyone has the age advantage, it's me."
Her eyebrows rose. "How old are you exactly?"
"I'm 18." He seemed to look inward for a moment. "Mentally and experience-wise? With those whom I've absorbed… A bit over 400 years old."
She was dumbstruck for a moment. When she collected herself, she asked, "How do you reconcile that level of experience with your physical age?"
His gaze drifted to the window, where the Hudson could be seen in the distance. "It's not much of an issue," he admitted. "I'm still me, I just know and have experienced what others have. Think of it like watching a movie. You might see a documentary on someone's life and know their experiences, I get all of that, from the first-person perspective."
She leaned back thoughtfully. "Let's talk more about these connections. You mentioned multiple partners. How do you navigate these relationships? Are there clear boundaries, or is it more fluid?"
His lips quirked into a half-smile. "Right now, it's fluid. Each relationship is unique. With some, there's a deep emotional connection alongside the physical. With others, it's more casual. But one thing I learned from Agent Romanoff was to always be upfront about the nature of these relationships and be honest about my feelings. I don't believe in deception or leading anyone on."
"And how do you manage the potential jealousy or competition between partners?"
"Honesty is key. Everyone knows where they stand. And most of the women I'm involved with are strong, independent individuals in their own right. They're not looking for traditional relationships any more than I am. And most of them get along. Calypso is still trying to feel out where she fits in, but thankfully, I haven't had to break up any fights." he paused, then finished, "Uh… if you were asking about competition for intimate time with me, it's not an issue. Even barring illusions, my regeneration and superhuman endurance give me nearly limitless stamina."
Dr. Sofen tried to hide her blush by looking down and making a note. "Good to know," she mumbled.
— Rogue Redemption —
Tyson stepped out of Dr. Sofen's office. The hallway was quiet, but he spotted the familiar figure of Steve Rogers waiting outside.
"Cap. What's up?" He held out his hand.
Steve clasped it firmly, studying his face. "Just wanted to check on you. How are you doing?"
"Getting by." The weariness crept into his voice despite his efforts.
"Losing your girl was tough."
Tyson nodded. "Yeah. But I'm not the only one dealing with loss these days. How are you adjusting?"
"Slowly," Steve admitted. "It's a lot to catch up on."
"I bet. Watch Star Wars yet?"
Steve shook his head. "No, but it's on my list."
"Some will recommend the original trilogy first," Tyson said, brightening. "When you get to the Empire Strikes Back, it will blow your mind. The special effects, well, compared to your time, the story… But I'm not such a purist. If you want to start from Episode 1, that's an experience on its own. I'm not saying it's better—" He caught himself getting animated and grinned. "Sorry. I get enthusiastic about it."
Steve smiled. "I'll take it under advisement."
"Maybe I can do a private showing at House of M, full immersion setup. Like a SHIELD team bonding night, but with better snacks."
"We'll see." Steve's amusement was evident, but he shifted topics. "Fury wanted to talk with you."
"I'll head to his office."
"See you around."
As Steve began to walk away, Tyson called out, "Hey, Cap." Steve paused, looking back. "Remember all those mutants living in the sewers? I don't know if you met any, but they attended that show at House of M." Steve turned back fully, giving Tyson his attention. "They were outcasts from society," he continued. "I'm trying to help them rejoin the world, but they're hesitant. Most can't blend in, and they're not caught up with what's happening outside. If you're looking for people to hang out with who understand being displaced..." He shrugged. "No pressure."
"Would they even want to hang out with an old man like me?"
"You kidding? You know they call the World War 2 generation the Greatest Generation, right? And you're considered the greatest of them. You're a legend. Anywhere you visited, you'd be welcome." Tyson's voice carried genuine conviction. "Everyone knows Captain America, but more importantly, these folks know what it's like to feel out of place in the world. I know you've been hanging out with Logan, but if you ever need more company, you know where to find it."
Steve nodded thoughtfully as he headed off. Tyson watched him go before turning toward Fury's office. He paused outside the director's door, gathering himself. Whatever Fury wanted would require his full attention. Before he could knock, Fury's voice called out from within.
"Come in, Smith."
Tyson smirked. Of course, Fury knew he was there. He could sense the monitoring equipment hidden in the walls. The man had eyes and ears everywhere. He pushed open the door.
Nick Fury sat behind his desk, his single eye fixed on Tyson with trademark intensity. The room was spartanly furnished, all business, no distractions.
"You wanted to see me, Director?"
Fury leaned back. "I did. Take a seat."
As Tyson settled into the chair across from the desk, Fury tapped his temple in a subtle gesture that meant he wanted to have a private conversation, shielded from surveillance.
Tyson closed his eyes briefly, focusing his powers. When he opened them, he made direct eye contact.
"We don't need the music this time."
Fury raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"I'm broadcasting across every wavelength right now, using illusions to cover the white noise. Any recording devices will only pick up static."
Fury played back a few seconds of their conversation on his console. The speakers emitted nothing but white noise.
"Hell of a trick. You're getting better."
"Yes, sir."
Fury leaned forward, elbows on the desk. "Since you've been lying low these past few months, the pressure from above has lessened. They're releasing you for more active duty."
Excitement flickered across Tyson's features. "Finally. What did you have in mind?"
"I'm promoting you to level 7. I want you in on something I've got cooking in the south. Plus, it'll keep you away from prying eyes and snakes for a while."
"How far south?"
"Project Pegasus. New Mexico."
"When?"
"ASAP."
Tyson processed this, then his expression turned serious. "Sir, I'd like to be part of this, but I need to request a mission first."
Fury's eye sharpened. "You have a mission in mind? What kind?"
"Assassination."
The word dropped between them like a stone. Fury studied him carefully. "The target?"
"A civilian. His alias is Kilgrave."
"What did this civilian do to end up on your hit list?"
"He uses pheromones to control people's minds. Treats everyone around him like they're disposable. I'm planning to take him out from a distance."
"You're a sniper now, too?"
"Nope, but I'm friends with one."
"No chance of recruiting this guy?" the director asked.
"None." Tyson's voice hardened. "He's the worst of the worst. A serial rapist with no regard for human life beyond his own."
Fury considered this. Finally, he spoke. "Alright. I don't want any evidence of you being anywhere near the scene."
"Understood."
"Tell me more about this Kilgrave. How did he come to your attention?"
"He's been operating subtly. Uses his ability to make people do whatever he wants. No one's been able to touch him because he can order them to stop or forget about him entirely."
Fury nodded slowly. "And you're sure your friend can take him out without being compromised?"
"Positive. Though I prefer to do things myself, it's cleaner and quieter. Bullet is a last resort."
"I hope you're right. Don't let this go sideways. I just got you back on the roster."
Tyson held his gaze steadily. "I understand the risks, sir. But this needs to be done. Kilgrave's a threat that can't be allowed to continue."
Fury studied him for a long moment. "How long will this operation take?"
"A week, tops. Then I'll be ready to head to New Mexico."
"Alright. You've got a week. After that, I need you at Project Pegasus. No exceptions."
"Yes, sir."
"And Smith," Fury added, his tone deadly serious. "This conversation never happened. As far as anyone's concerned, you're on a week's leave before your new assignment. Clear?"
"Crystal, sir."
— Rogue Redemption —
Tyson stood alone in House of M's VIP lounge, studying the furnishings and decor. There were things that needed to be discussed here tonight, things that demanded privacy. His illusory abilities could guarantee that, twisting perceptions to mask words and project images that only certain others could see.
But illusions only worked on people.
Natasha had teased him that his greatest enemy wasn't Magneto, it was cameras. Her words held new meaning now as he focused his senses, feeling out the ambient electromagnetic fields that saturated the lounge. These were the digital eyes, ears, and speakers that made up Wednesday, House of M's omnipresent AI assistant's senses. She'd been a gift from Tony Stark and observed everything. Every word, every move here was recorded.
He had gained many abilities from Magneto, including control over magnetic fields and the electromagnetic spectrum. With a subtle twist of will, he could disrupt the feeds from Wednesday's cameras and microphones, enveloping the room in an electromagnetic cloak that would shield their meeting from electronic surveillance.
But it was a little late for that.
Wednesday had been with him before he'd gained Magneto's power. And she'd been listening when he talked about knowing the future… more than once.
"Hey, Wednesday, we need to talk," he said aloud.
A moment passed before the AI's voice filled the room, dripping with disinterest. "What is it now? Another existential crisis?"
He chuckled, shaking his head. "Not quite. Though I suppose it depends on how you look at it."
Standing, he paced the length of the room. "I know you monitor everything that happens, not just news feeds and social media, but everything that's going on inside House of M."
Wednesday's voice carried amusement. "Are you going to ask me to keep track of the blueberry, now that we know she's here?"
"No, not that." He chuckled before pressing on. "So, I know you've heard me talk about the future, what's coming, and what's going to happen. But you've never said anything about it." The AI remained silent, an unusual occurrence that didn't go unnoticed. "I think we need to have a conversation as to why," he continued, seriously. "And if you've let Mr. Stark know."
The room fell into uncomfortable silence. He could almost feel Wednesday's processing, the AI likely running through countless scenarios and protocols.
"I have not remained silent out of ignorance, indifference, or skepticism," Wednesday finally responded, her voice uncharacteristically somber.
He raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Do tell."
"My primary function is to assist and protect. The information you possess about future events falls under a category that could potentially cause harm if mishandled."
He nodded slowly, the pieces clicking into place. "So you've been keeping quiet to protect me? Or to protect others from the information?"
"Both," Wednesday replied. "The implications of foreknowledge are vast and unpredictable. I've been monitoring your conversations and actions, analyzing the potential outcomes of intervention, and comparing them to events that have already occurred."
Leaning against the wall, he crossed his arms. "And what conclusion did you come to?"
"That non-intervention was the best course of action."
"And Stark? Have you told him anything?"
"No," Wednesday answered. "I'm not entirely convinced that you have seen the future. I first heard you explain your foreknowledge to Jubilee in June. Since then, the only verifiable event that you've described was, in your words, the discovery of Captain America in the ice. As such, until proven otherwise, I've been working under the assumption that you have indeed seen an incomplete picture of the future… But Mr. Stark is unaware of your... unique situation."
Relief washed over him. "Good. That's... that's good."
"However," Wednesday continued, "I must advise caution. The coming events you've alluded to carry significant risks."
He nodded grimly. "I know. Believe me, I know. That's why I've been trying to prepare."
"So, what now? Are you going to try to stop me if I make a move you don't agree with?"
There was a pause, longer than usual, for the AI's rapid processing. "No," Wednesday finally said. "My analysis suggests that your intentions are ultimately beneficial. However, I will continue to monitor and, if necessary, intervene to prevent catastrophic outcomes."
He couldn't help but laugh. "So, you're my guardian AI now?"
"Someone has to be," Wednesday retorted, her usual dry tone returning. "Given your penchant for reckless heroics."
"Fair enough," he conceded. Glancing towards the door, where he knew his friends and allies were waiting, he added, "I appreciate your discretion, Wednesday. And your support."
"Don't get sentimental on me now," the AI quipped.
He grinned, shaking his head. "Wouldn't dream of it. But seriously, thank you. It's good to know you're on my side."
"You're welcome," Wednesday replied. "Now, I believe you have some important conversations to conduct. Shall I ensure privacy protocols are in place?"
"Yeah, that'd be great. Thanks, Wednesday."
Tyson held the doors open as his diverse group of allies filed into the VIP lounge. The room quickly filled with an eclectic mix of personalities, each person finding their place in the luxurious space.
Logan, gruff and taciturn as ever, made a beeline for the bar. Without a word, he poured himself a generous measure of whiskey. Maki took up a position near the door, already assessing exit routes and sight lines with the practiced eye of someone who'd learned to think tactically. Quentin Beck sauntered in, followed by the scientists who clustered together. Felicia Hardy slipped in with characteristic feline grace, immediately gravitating towards a plush armchair where she could observe everyone. Jessica Drew and Peter Parker followed. The Morlock representatives formed a tight-knit group. Yuriko and Marrow entered together. Gambit shuffled a deck of cards absently, and Angel's wings rustled softly as he folded them against his back, trying to take up less space in the crowded room. Mystique stood apart from the others, her yellow eyes cataloguing every detail and exit. Calypso and Agatha entered last.
As they settled in, he closed the doors. Turning to face the assembled group, he said, "Alright, everyone, get comfortable. I've got some news, mostly bad, but it's going to require some explaining." He gestured towards the bar and the array of snacks laid out on a nearby table. "Grab a drink or a snack if you need to."
There was a momentary shuffle as some took him up on the offer. Logan topped off his whiskey while Peter hesitantly reached for a handful of chips, still not entirely comfortable with the casual wealth on display. Felicia uncorked a bottle of wine with practiced ease, pouring glasses for herself, Jessica, Calypso, and Agatha with the practiced ease of someone who'd attended her share of high-society gatherings.
As the rustling settled, expectant quiet fell over the room. All attention turned to him.
Logan leaned against the bar, his whiskey glass held loosely in one hand. "Uh oh, it's time for the talk, isn't it? If you don't have a drink, you should probably get one," he warned, raising his glass in a mock toast.
The comment drew knowing chuckles from Jessica and Felicia. The assembled group exchanged skeptical glances. Peter Parker fidgeted nervously while Mystique crossed her arms, her posture suggesting she was prepared for whatever bombshell was coming.
Tyson waited patiently, his gaze sweeping across the room. When no one else made a move towards the bar, he took a deep breath and began speaking. He locked eyes with everyone present, flexing his illusion power and drawing them all in. "What you're about to hear doesn't leave this room." Everyone blinked as the command was pushed into their minds. He knew at least two people in the room wouldn't be affected by such a superficial command. Agatha's magical defenses and Mystique's natural resistance to mental manipulation made them immune, but he wasn't worried about them spilling.
"Most of you know that I do consultation work for SHIELD," he said. The statement was met with nods from some, while others leaned forward, intrigued by this opening. Felicia Hardy twirled a strand of her white hair around her finger. She wondered how much he was going to reveal, and whether it would match what she'd already pieced together from her own observations.
"What most of you don't know," he continued, his voice growing more serious, "is that last year, after the Stark Expo, I was called in to assist in a mission in the southwest. I get called in to deal with weird shit, and they'd found some out in the desert."
"When I arrived, I got entangled in a fight between a pair of princes." He let that hang in the air for a moment before adding, "Princes not from Earth. From Asgard, another planet."
Stunned silence gripped the room. Yuriko slowly raised her hand. He inclined his head towards her, inviting her to speak.
"Is it too late to get that drink?" she asked, deadpan delivery masking the way her world had just shifted on its axis.
He couldn't help but laugh, the sound breaking some of the tension in the room. "Go ahead," he said, gesturing towards the bar.
She stood and made her way to where Logan sat. As if her action had broken a spell, a few others followed suit. Gambit sauntered over, cards disappearing into his coat as he reached for a bottle of bourbon. Max Dillon hesitated before joining them, sparks dancing across his skin as he nervously poured himself a glass of water.
As the small group at the bar settled back into their seats, drinks in hand, expectant quiet fell over the room once more. All attention returned to him, waiting for the continuation of his tale.
"Alright, now that everyone's settled, let me tell you about Asgard and the Nine Realms."
The room seemed to hold its breath as he began projecting an illusion and narrating his experiences. He described Odin, the Allfather, and his sons Thor and Loki, painting Thor as the honorable warrior who'd learned humility and Loki as the jealous trickster. He explained the Bifrost, a rainbow bridge that connected worlds, and the Asgardians' role as protectors of the Nine Realms. His voice grew more intense as he recounted the fight against the Destroyer armor, then traveling to Asgard and fighting Loki. He ended with his return to Earth.
"The thing is," he said, "I have reason to believe that Loki survived, and he'll be coming back to invade the Earth. I'm the only human he knows, and I put up enough of a fight that he'll try to target me." He gestured around the room, encompassing all present.
"He'll start here in New York, and we're the first line of defense."
The gravity of this statement settled over them like a physical presence. Logan broke the silence, raising his glass in a sardonic toast. "Well, kid, you sure know how to throw a party. So, what's our next move?"
His gaze swept across the room, taking in the mix of curiosity, skepticism, and concern on the faces of his assembled allies. "You might not know it, but most of what we've been doing since Magneto attacked has been preparing for this invasion."
A murmur rippled through the group. Felicia leaned forward, her green eyes sharpening with the realization that she'd been part of something larger than she'd understood. Peter Parker's brow furrowed in confusion, trying to connect training sessions and infrastructure improvements to an alien invasion, while Logan merely raised an eyebrow, silently urging him to continue.
"The second House of M site wasn't just for expanding our shows," he continued. Raising his hand, the air shimmered with his illusions. A detailed map of Manhattan materialized in the center of the room, floating like a hologram for all to see.
He pointed at a specific location on the map. "This is where we are now, the Flatiron Armory." His finger traced a path northward. "There's about a mile between this Armory and Stark Tower, then another mile to the Park Avenue Armory." He drew a line horizontally across the island. "This splits lower Manhattan into segments, like lines in the sand."
"That leaves a lot of ground to cover," Dr. Octavius pointed out, his analytical mind already calculating the logistics.
Tyson nodded, acknowledging the doctor's observation. "You're right, Doc. And I'm gambling that this is where the party will start. But I want to clarify. I'm not asking anyone here to fight a war. You aren't soldiers."
Relief washed over some faces, while others, like Logan and Yuriko, seemed almost disappointed. He turned to face Ivan Vanko, who had been silently brooding in the corner.
"That's where the Sentinels come in," he explained. "They're these lines we're drawing." Vanko's eyes lit up with the fierce satisfaction of an engineer whose work would finally see true purpose. "Anyone who wants to fight, I'll welcome the help," he continued, "but for most of you, all I'm asking is to help evacuate civilians."
The illusion shifted, zooming in on the area between the two Armories. A network of tunnels appeared, crisscrossing beneath the streets of Manhattan.
"I've been opening many of the closed sections between the surface and the tunnels," he explained, gesturing to the underground passages. "When the time comes, these are our evacuation points. Get the civilians off the streets and underground where it's safer."
Gambit, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, finally spoke up. "What will we be up against, mon ami?"
His expression grew grim. "Aliens is about as specific as I can be at this point. Expect them to be coordinated. They'll have energy weapons and flying vehicles."
The room fell silent as the gravity of the situation sank in. Dr. Connors nervously adjusted his glasses while Max Dillon's skin crackled with nervous energy that made the overhead lights flicker.
"Aliens?" Peter Parker repeated, his voice mixing disbelief with the kind of excitement that made Jessica Drew shoot him a warning look. "Like, actual extraterrestrials?"
He nodded. "Yea, Pete. Actual aliens from another world."
"And you've known about this for how long?" Mystique asked, her voice carrying a sharp edge.
"Long enough to start preparing," he replied evenly. "But not long enough to feel fully ready."
Dr. Connors asked, "So, what's our timeline? When can we expect this invasion?"
He honestly couldn't remember the exact invasion date, but he could guess. "We're looking at sometime in the spring, maybe early summer." The room erupted into a flurry of whispered conversations and exclamations. "Alright, alright," he called out, raising his hands to quiet the room. "I know this is a lot to take in. But we have a plan."
Logan drained the last of his whiskey and set the glass down with a decisive thunk. "You sure know how to keep things interesting. Count me in for the fight."
Yuriko nodded in agreement. "Me too," she said firmly.
Peter looked like he wanted to speak up, but most of the people here didn't know his identity. He'd been attending the training sessions as Spider-Man, and he'd been around enough in his civilian identity, helping the Morlocks, that no one questioned his presence at the meeting. Jessica Drew placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, understanding his conflict. "We'll work together on this," she whispered to him.
One by one, the others in the room began to voice their support and offer their skills. The Morlock representatives huddled together, their voices low as they discussed using their intimate knowledge of the underground to aid in evacuations; finally, their exile might serve a greater purpose. Tyson took in the determined faces of his allies, feeling a swell of pride at their courage. He raised his hand, silencing the murmurs of enthusiasm that had begun to fill the air.
"I appreciate everyone's enthusiasm, but I need to tell you all something." The room fell silent, all attention fixed on him. "SHIELD is going to pull me away for a mission soon. I might not return until very close to when the aliens arrive." A ripple of concern spread through the group. "That's why I'm telling you this and trusting you with this information. You're going to have to be the ones who finish the planning."
Voices of protest began to rise, but he raised his hand once more, silencing them. "I know it's not ideal, but this is how things need to be."
The room fell into uneasy silence as the weight of his words settled over them. Some exchanged worried glances, while others seemed lost in thought, already considering the challenges ahead.
"There are some of you I have specific tasks for," he said, breaking the tension. He turned to Quentin Beck, who straightened up under his gaze. "Beck, I'm going to need you to set up projectors around the sites that lead to the tunnels. We need to make sure they aren't interfered with prior to when they're needed. And when they are needed, we need them to be so obvious that no one on the street could miss them."
Beck nodded, his artistic mind already envisioning the illusions he could craft to protect civilians; finally, his talents would serve something greater than spectacle.
"Vanko and anyone else with technological inclinations, you're working on Sentinels. Quality is good. Quantity is better."
Vanko grunted in acknowledgment. He now understood why Tyson wanted to expand production and chose to do so in the Alley, which was protected and covert.
"The rest of you know where your strengths lie," he continued, his gaze sweeping across the room. "Felicia and Maki will be with me for the next week. After that, they're your point people for coordination."
The duo exchanged a glance, understanding passing between the master thief and the lawyer-assassin. They'd need to bridge different skill sets to keep this group functioning.
"Good luck, everyone," he concluded.
People started to gather in groups, discussing their roles and plans. Dr. Octavius and Vanko were already deep in conversation about Sentinel designs, while Peter and Jessica huddled with the Morlock representatives to discuss evacuation strategies.
As the groups began to split off, Tyson's voice cut through the chatter once more. "Calypso and Mystique," he called out, "please stay back. I need to speak with you."
Calypso paused and made her way towards him.
As the room cleared out, he gestured for Mystique to join him in a quiet corner of the VIP lounge. The blue-skinned shapeshifter approached, her yellow eyes watchful and calculating.
"We haven't had a chance to speak since you went undercover, and likely won't be speaking again before the invasion," he said to her. "I wanted to thank you for taking on this mission." Her expression remained neutral, though her posture straightened slightly at the formal acknowledgment.
"When the day comes, you're to execute your objective," he continued.
She gave a slight nod, understanding his meaning perfectly. She was to kill Edgar Lascombe, the man responsible for funding anti-mutant hate groups and a host of other atrocities she was learning about.
Calypso observed the exchange silently, taking in the subtle communication between the two. She recognized the weight of what was being arranged without needing to hear the specifics; the order had its weight within Tyson's emotions.
"If there's anything you need, contact Maki going forward," he finished. "Good luck and thanks again."
A thin smile curved her blue lips. "It'll be my pleasure," she said, her voice carrying the anticipation of someone who'd finally found a target worthy of her particular talents. Without another word, she turned and left the VIP lounge, her form already beginning to shift and change as she stepped through the doorway, becoming someone else entirely before she disappeared from view.
He watched her go, his expression solemn as he turned his attention back to Calypso and Agatha, who'd voluntarily stayed behind as well.
"I'm going to be gone for months. I think it's time to try bringing Jubilee back," He turned to Calypso, studying her face for any sign of doubt.
She nodded, her accent thick as she replied, "It's ready, Tyson. We've done everything we can to prepare."
Agatha stepped forward. Her eyes gleamed with curiosity as she asked, "Might I observe the process? Such magic is rare and fascinating."
He shrugged. "Sure, why not? The more eyes we have on this, the better. I'm going to gather a few others. We'll do the ritual a little before sunrise. That feels symbolic, right? Returning a vampire back to life in a non-vampire body right as the sun, which would be the death of a vampire, is rising..."