Chapter 11: Counterattack – Escape from the Base
Five days later, inside a secret lab run by the Genetic Modification Institute in Mexico City.
Dr. Sandor Rice stood in front of a large glass tank, grinning with pride. Floating inside the tank was a young clone of Wolverine—code-named X-24. This version was faster, stronger, and, most importantly, completely under Rice's control.
"I've done it," Dr. Rice muttered, a twisted smile spreading across his face. "A Wolverine that obeys every command. With him, I can rule the world."
His father, Dale Rice, had once helped install adamantium into Logan's body years ago. But Logan escaped, killing Dale in the process. That event changed Sandor Rice forever. From that day on, he vowed to wipe out every mutant who couldn't be controlled and build a new race of super-soldiers who would follow orders without question.
Rice later founded Yaklai Genetics and launched a long-term plan to control mutant evolution. One of his biggest moves was using food and drinks from the companies he secretly owned to spread a virus—called M43—among the population. This virus didn't harm humans but stopped mutants from passing their powers on to the next generation. Slowly but surely, no new mutants were being born.
Now, twenty years later, his plan was almost complete.
Rice turned to a man standing nearby, a tall soldier with a cybernetic right arm. "Donald," he said coldly, "the test subjects who aren't following orders—get rid of them."
Donald Pierce nodded. He didn't even blink at the command.
Originally, Rice had used mutant DNA to grow children in surrogate mothers across Mexico. These kids were supposed to be turned into weapons and sold to powerful organizations. But as they got older, many started developing independent thoughts and personalities. Some had even tried to escape.
Now that Rice had perfect, obedient clones like X-24, he no longer needed the unpredictable kids. They were failures in his eyes.
"What about Subject 757?" Donald asked.
Dr. Rice paused for a moment, then nodded. "Eliminate him too. Cloning technology is stable now. We'll move on to stronger subjects—maybe even clone Professor X or Magneto."
"Understood," Donald replied. He pulled a pistol from his side and walked toward the containment cells.
Meanwhile, George—Subject 757—sat quietly in his room, practicing wandless spellcasting with hand gestures. He looked up at the clock on the wall. Something felt off. No one had come to take him for training like usual.
His face grew serious. "So it's finally happening…"
As if on cue, the door burst open. Two familiar faces entered. The one in front was George's training instructor, a man who had spent weeks mocking and underestimating him.
"I told you this one's a waste of time," the instructor sneered. "All that effort for nothing. Go ahead and finish him off."
Behind him were two guards armed with submachine guns. One of them pulled the bolt back, preparing to fire.
But George didn't panic. Instead, he whispered quietly, "Alohomora."
There was a soft click. The metallic ring around his neck—the ability inhibitor—unlocked itself and fell to the floor.
The guard blinked in confusion. Then he felt something cold slide across his throat. A thin dagger, hidden by George at the door earlier, shot forward like lightning, slicing cleanly across his neck. The man collapsed before he could fire a shot.
The instructor's eyes widened. "What?!"
George had used the distraction to activate his mutant powers. The moment the collar fell off, he used his magnetic control to call the dagger to life. Because his movements had been small and subtle, no one noticed the spellcasting—until it was too late.
The instructor quickly pulled a dagger from his belt and managed to block a second flying strike—but just barely. Sweat dripped down his forehead.
"If I'd been just a second slower…" he thought. "He would've killed me right there."
He had always believed Subject 757 was weak. During training, George had never shown much strength or skill. But now, the power in that flying dagger was terrifying. His wrist still tingled from the force of blocking it.
"You've been hiding your true strength…" the instructor growled.
George didn't answer. He just raised his hand, and with a flick of his fingers, the dagger slashed through the surveillance camera in the room. Sparks flew.
Then, like a storm, he sent the dagger flying again, attacking over and over. The instructor tried to dodge and counter, but George gave him no space to breathe. Every attack was faster and more precise than the last.
George wasn't holding back anymore. He knew he had to escape now, or it would be too late. Every second wasted increased the risk of more guards showing up.
The instructor tried to get close—maybe he could overpower George in hand-to-hand combat. But George kept his distance, using the flying dagger to control the space.
With one hand, George controlled the dagger. With the other, he motioned toward the dead guard's body. The submachine gun in the guard's hands lifted into the air and flew toward George.
"Time to end this," he muttered.
He grabbed the gun and pointed it directly at the instructor.
The man's face turned pale. "Wait—!"
Too late.
"RATATATATA!"
Bullets tore through him before he could finish his sentence. He collapsed, full of holes, never knowing how badly he'd underestimated Subject 757.
George retrieved both daggers, tucked them into his belt, and stepped out of the cell where he had been locked up. Holding the submachine gun in one hand and controlling his daggers with the other, he began to make his way through the base.
As he moved, he destroyed every camera he saw. Any guards who crossed his path were taken out quickly and silently. His goal was simple: escape.
Farther inside the facility, gunshots rang out. Screams echoed through the hallways. It wasn't just George. The other mutant children were also fighting back.
That's why no backup had come to stop him yet—everyone was busy trying to control the chaos.
This was all part of George's plan. He had known something was wrong for a while and figured the lab might soon dispose of him. But if he escaped alone, he'd be caught within minutes—this place was covered in cameras and security.
So he waited for the right moment: when the base was distracted dealing with the other kids.
He didn't have the raw power of Magneto. If he faced a group of armed soldiers head-on, he'd lose. But now, with everything in chaos, he had a real chance to get out.
And he wasn't going to waste it.
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