Author’s Note: I usually don’t do pre-chapter author’s notes, but I do give warnings in rare cases when appropriate. This chapter tains Impriso and Torture.

  Date: Saturday, July 17, 2010.

  Location: Alkali Lake Industrial plex, British bia, ada

  The room was cold, and the dim overhead lights cast eerie shadows over the crete floor and walls. Tyson found himself in a cell, the chill he felt wasn't just from the temperature but from the air of desotion that hung thick. Along the corridor outside, other cells stretched in both dires, each a duplicate of his own. At the end of the hall, just at the edge of his vision, there was a trol station surrounded by ss dispying the interiors of the cells, and beyond that, a rge reinforced door, suggesting the entrance – or exit – to this prison block.

  Gathering his strength, Tyson gripped the bars of his cell and pulled with all his might. To his surprise, they didn’t budge an inch. Feeling a mix of anger and desperation, he uhed his razor-sharp cws, attempting to slice through the metal. Sparks flew, but the bars remained unscathed.

  He felt trapped, not just by the bars but by the silend isotion. There was no sign of other prisoners, and even guards were spicuously absent. Tyson pressed his forehead against the cold bars. The stark emptiness of the cell blod the ck of human iion made every minute feel like an hour. With no pathway of escape and an overwhelming sense of fi, he slowly folded himself onto the ground, adopting a cross-legged position.

  He closed his eyes, trying to remember the calm tone of Professor X's voice. "Focus, Tyson," he whispered to himself, eg the Professor's instrus from their first session. "Seek out the door in your mind."

  Breathing in slowly, he pictured the expanse of his mind; a vast, dark pne illuminated by fleeting memories, thoughts, and feelings. There, in the distance, was a faint glimmer. A door. It was wooden, ornate, and glowing slightly. During their first session, Professor X had told him this door led to deeper parts of his sciousness.

  Tyson took another deep breath, trying to release the tension in his muscles. He approached the door, his steps eg in the quiet of his mind.

  "You have the power within you," he recalled Professor X saying. "This door is the gateway to your true self. Beyond it lies crity, and uanding."

  As Tyson reached for the doorknob, it was as if an invisible force yanked him out of his inner sanctuary and thrust him bato the grim reality of his cell.

  Tyson sighed in exasperation. While he hadn't made it to the room hidden deep within his mind, this was the closest he had e yet. He felt a twinge of hope.

  Over and over, he returo meditation, each time drawing closer to the door in his mind, only to be pulled back. But the door beed, promising him answers and crity. He had to reach it. He had to know.

  On his fifth attempt, as his fiips brushed the cool surface of the door, the unmistakable sound of a smmed door echoed throughout the cell block, jolting him back to reality. Eyes narrowed, ears strained, he attempted to dis who or what was ing. The footsteps indicated that he was about to receive a visitor. The unmistakable fragrance of vanil, with various other hints, permeated the cold, dank air of the cell block. It was an ued aroma in such a bleak setting, but it wasn't lost on Tysoensed, eyes narrowing in anticipation from the familiar st.

  Soon enough, the figures responsible for that aroma came into view. A man with a stern face, cold eyes, and a hardened demeanor came first, Stryker. Fnking him oher side were three striking blohe source of the st. Identical in appearahey moved with an eerie synicity. Eaatg outfits, their golden locks casg in perfect waves, yet their pierg blue eyes were uling in their iy.

  Tyson growled, "Aren't you missing a couple?"

  Stryker gave a small smile, clearly relishing the moment. "Don't mind them," he said, nodding to the three blonde women by his side. "I came t you some good news." Tyson narrowed his eyes. "In fact, it's more than just news," Stryker tinued, his voice dripping with feigned kindness. "I'm going to give you a wonderful gift. The same gift I gave your friend Logan."

  For a brief moment, fusion clouded Tyson's eyes. But then, uanding dawned on him. The adamantium bonding procedure. Sabertooth remembered Logan's agony, the disorientation, the wiping of his memory. He recalled the agonizing process Logan had undergohe liquid metal boo his skeleton making him nigh iructible but at a tremendous cost.

  The anger drained from Tyson in an instant as Sabertooth's aggressiveness was cowed by the potential torture. Putting on a mock cheerful toyson replied, "From what I hear, the price of adamantium is astronomical. And holy, you don't o grant me su extravagant gift. I mean, what would my girlfriend think? She might get a bit jealous." He smirked, trying to mask the genuine worry that welled up inside him.

  The three blondes locked eyes with Tyson, their gaze pierg into him. They began to speak in their haunting tone, with one pig up where the other left off, their voices blending seamlessly. Simultaneously they stated, "He's afraid."

  "He knows about the procedure," the middle girl stated, her voice a ghostly whisper.

  "And fears the pain," the third added.

  One began, "He covets its strength,"

  The sed finished, "but fears the weakness it brings."

  Tyson ched his jaw but said nothing, trying to shield his mind from their probing.

  Stryker, clearly intrigued, leaned forward, "What weakness? Adamantium is the stro knowal."

  The blondes, still speaking in harmony, didn’t miss a beat. "Mago. They've already fought. He was nearly killed," they finished in unison, "As was Mago," their voices eg throughout the chamber.

  Stryker's expression tightened. It was clear that this information was o him, or at the very least, not something he had taken into sideration.

  Stryker tried to i a note of fideo his voice, hoping to vih Tyson and himself. "So you were the demon that fought Mago?" He paused to digest that information. "No matter. Mago is in his pstic prison, and trust me, he's going nowhere. He'll stay there until he rots away."

  Tyson rolled his eyes, clearly not vinced. "If you say so."

  The girls began again, their voices harmonizing in that chilling manner. "He believes..." oarted.

  "Mago will escape," the tinued.

  "Has already escaped," the third chimed in.

  For the first time, the three identical girls looked between each other, fused. They clearly didn't agree on what they were seeing in Tyson's mind. As ohey spoke, "We he others to fully uand his thoughts."

  Tyson tried to divert them, shifting his thoughts to a different nguage. Sabertooth had imparted knowledge of several nguages, ailized them now, silently reg words in Russian, then French, and then German, hoping to throw off the girls' psychic probing.

  However, they persevered. "He fights us," the blondes heir voices spoke in harmony, though each carried different notes. Anger, frustration, and genuine curiosity mixed within.

  Their tinued intrusion into his mind brought visible ges to each girl's demeanor. It was rare to see them dispy such raw emotion. This was a game, a challehey weren't used to, and it intrigued and ahem in equal measure.

  Stryker's eyes gleamed with a sinister light. "We'll begin the procedure soon. You're about to bee even more... extraordinary."

  Tyso his gaze head-on, a dark smirk pying on his lips. "I look forward to you opening this cell."

  The girls picked up on Tyson's defiant tone instantly. "He will fight..." one began, her voice eg eerily iallic chamber.

  "...The moment the door is opened," another tinued.

  Tyson chuckled, a hint of mischief in his voice, "Please, send Red my way. I wouldn't mind going a sed round."

  The st of the trio spoke, her voice low and dripping with warning, "Sehstrike too."

  The eg steps in the corridheir arrival long before Tyson could see them. First, a tall, lean figure with long raven-bck hair stepped into the light. Her almond-shaped eyes held a cold, bnk expression. Her bck leather suit g tightly to her, highlighting every muscle and curve. Tyson knew who she was, and that her manicured nails gave a hint of the lethal on she hid beh. A few steps behihe hulking figure of Omega Red emerged. His pallid skin and deep-set eyes made for an imposing sight. His tentacles, capable of crushing steel, were retracted, the tips peeking out near his wrist, ready for a.

  A ptoon of heavily armed soldiers trailed in after them, their guns held at the ready. Without hesitation, they raised their ons and began firing at Tyson, their bullets poundilessly against his body. Before he could react, one of Omega Red's tentacles shed out, ing itself around him and squeezing. As Tyson tried to fight against the strig hold, the sed tentacle snaked out, joining the first in its vice grip.

  They didn't waste time. Only ohey were certain Tyson was secure did the door to his cell open wider. It was clear Stryker wasn’t taking any ces; they'd learned from the first time they subdued him.

  As Omega Red trudged through the dimly lit hallways, the tentacles left him immobile and suspended. He tried flexing his muscles, attempting to break free, but it was futile. Omega Red's grip was unyielding.

  He was brought through a massive door inte chamber filled with chilling maery. The equipment looked more like medieval torture devices than anything modern. Ominous, dark stains dotted the floor.

  Beside Stryker stood a balding man with a gray beard, dressed in a white b coat stained with various chemicals. The man’s cold, analytical gaze scrutiyson as Omega Red brought him closer. "I'm Dr. elius," the man replied with a hint of pride in his voice. "Don't worry, I've dohis plenty of times, including on both of them," he tinued, gesturing toward Omega Red ahstrike.

  Tyson had resigned himself to his fate. Instead of being impetuous, he tried to maintain some levity, smirked, and said, "No offense, but I'd prefer her package over his." The room remaiense, but the slight tilt of Dr. elius' mouth indicated that even he appreciated the humor in the grim circumstances.

  As Omega Red moved Tyson towards the ominous-looking mae, Stryker barked his orders with chilling precision. "Red put him in. Yuriko, secure his straps."

  Deathstrike, or Yuriko as she was onown, eyson was pletely immobilized. With a sinister grin, Stryker leaned in, "I'd say this won't hurt, but I'd be lying," he hissed.

  Beside him, Dr. elius adjusted his gsses, interjeg with a professional tone. "If it's any sotion, the procedure has been refined over the years. We've discovered that once Adamantium fuses with the bones of mutants with a healing factor, it undergoes a slight ge in structure. We refer to it as Adamantium Beta. It retains the strength of its inal form but allows for the natural biological processes of bone growth."

  Stryker rolled his eyes, not b to hide his annoyahat's absolutely fasating, doctor, but I'm sure our subject couldn't care in the slightest."

  Tysoe his dire situation, couldn't resist a quip. "Actually, I like to know what's going on. Heck, I might've even applied for a job here if I'd been given a choice." Turning to Omega Red, he tinued, "Hey Red, you guys offer dental bes?"

  Omega Red's eyes, pierg and cold, fixed on Tyson. In his thick Russian at, he growled, "I hope you don't survive."

  Stryker, impatient, sigo Dr. elius. "Begin the procedure," he ordered, anticipation evident in his voice.

  Tightly strapped to a plex-looking table, Tyson had no idea what was happening. Above him, an intricate assembly of needles, pipes, and tanks domihe ceiling. Eaeedle glistened with a forebodiallic gleam uhe harsh white lights. The hum of the maery filled the room, an incessant drone.

  Dr. elius, face mostly hidden behind a surgical mask and gsses, checked the gauges on one of the tanks. The liquid inside was a dull silver, the Adamantium, held at a temperature so high it seemed to glow.

  With a deep breath, the doctor said, "You're about to bee something more than you've ever imagined." His tone was both ical and cruel, belying any sembnce of passion. Stryker, standing just outside the safety gss, added with a smirk, "This will be a transformative experience, in more ways than one."

  The procedure began. The needles started their slow dest towards Tyson's skie his superhuman attributes, the pierg of eaeedle sent searing pain throughout his body. It felt as though molten va was being poured into his very bones. His face torted in agony, every muscle tensed and strained against the restraints. Soured down his face, his teeth gritted so hard it seemed they might shatter.

  Tyson's mind raced to find an escape from the pain, memories fshing like a fast-forwarded film reel. Friends, battles, moments of joy; eae a brief respite before the pain dragged him back to the grim present.

  The dnaled, and the set of needles began to desd. They aimed for Tyson's skull, a particurly sensitive area. The sharp tips made tact, and Tyson's world became a bze of pain. It was as if his brain was on fire, every neuron screaming in protest. He gritted his teeth, trying to ride out the storm, but it was overwhelming.

  A moment of relief was cut short as yet another set of needles targeted his fiips. Each prick was like a bolt of lightning, jolting him to his core. His cws, once a source of pride and strength, were now duits for searing agony. The hot, molten adamantium filled each cw, bonding, and strengthening, but at a terrible cost.

  His spine was . The core of his body was under assault. The sensation was indescribable – a mix of burning and crushing, as if his very essence was being remade.

  His growls of pain grew louder, eg off the walls. Every drop of the liquid metal felt like it was burning him from the i.

  Hours seemed to pass. The room was filled with the st of sweat aal, the hum of maes, and Tyson's tortured cries. The muted versations around him became a distant backdrop to Tyson's pain. Each breath was a struggle, each sed ay.

  Finally, the st drop was ihe needles withdrew, and Tyson's torture ended. He couldn't muster the will tle as Omega Red dragged him back to his cell.

  ~~ Rogue Rept ~~

  Professor Charles Xavier sat, vulnerable. Gone was his -built wheelchair, repced by a nondescript, squeaky one. But what was most arming was the high-tech band that encircled his usually calm forehead.

  As sciousness returned, Xavier attempted to ter himself. With every ounce of his will, he tried to extend his formidable telepathic abilities, hoping to send a bea to his X-Men. He closed his eyes, reag out...

  But suddenly, a shrill buzz sounded. A jolt of excruciating pain shot through Xavier's mind, causing his whole body to shake violently. The headband had effectively ralized his powers, harming him with every attempt of their use.

  Laughter echoed iifling sile was cold, mog. Xavier, still reeling from the pain, slowly turned his head to see William Stryker, grinning maliciously at him.

  "Did you think I'd let you use your powers, Charles?" Stryker sneered, stepping closer. "This band? We call it the Nural Inhibitor. The more you think, the more it hurts.” Stryker tapped his head, “And it keeps you out of here."

  Xavier, though weakened, mao meet Stryker's gaze evenly. "What do you want, William?"

  Stryker's eyes gleamed. "Please Xavier, don’t get up.” He smiled at his own joke and tinued, “I’m sorry we couldn’t find you more fortable quarters. My home is going through some renovations… So is yours.”

  Xavier asked, "What have you doh Scott?"

  Stryker chuckled again, "Oh, he’s here. With some of your students."

  Xavier's calm voice stated, "There’s o involve them, William."

  Stryker's eyes fshed with a mixture of pt and amusement, "I’ve seen your ‘school’, Professor." He used air quotes mogly. "With its bat training rooms and high-tech defense systems. What oh are you teag those creatures?"

  Xavier’s gaze remained unwavering, "To survive. To peacefully co-exist in a world that fears and hates them."

  Stryker scoffed, "It doesn’t look very peaceful to me."

  A touch of sadness crept into Xavier's eyes, "You approached me for help once. You wanted me to 'cure' your son, William. But mutation is not a disease."

  Stryker's face twisted in a bination of pain and rage, "You’re lying, Xavier. You were more afraid of Jason than I was." His voice became more intense, a deep-seated anger bubbling up, "You know, just one year after Jasourned from your sy wife...," Stryker paused, taking a shaky breath, "tormented by stant tact with his 'gift'. She took a power drill to her left temple in an attempt to ‘bore out’ the images he rojeg into her mind."

  Xavier looked deeply pained, but he kept his voice steady, "I'm sorry for your loss, William. But using your pain to justify this..."

  Stryker interrupted, bitterness seeping into every word, "My boy, the great illusionist." He let out a mirthless chuckle, "Look where that got him. And us."

  Xavier's eyes sharpened, pieg together the puzzle. "Yed the atta the President," he surmised, a touch of anger in his otherwise calm voice.

  Stryker chuckled, smugly, "And you didn’t even have to read my mind. Impressive, isn't it?" He moved closer, a predatlint in his eyes. "You know, I’ve been w with mutants as long as you have, Xavier. And in all those years, do you know what's vexed me the most? Nobody seems to know how many mutants eve… or how to find them." He paused for effect. "Except you."

  From the depth of his coat pocket, Stryker produced a vial taining a yellowish liquid. It shimmered ominously uhe low light. "Do yhis?" he taunted. "I distilled it from my very own son's cerebral spinal fluid. Makes others utterly susceptible to my every and. Fasating, isn't it?"

  Xavier eyed the vial warily, uanding dawning in his eyes. "So, you've been using Jason to manipute others."

  Stryker smirked, "Sharp as always. But unfortunately, this little potion won’t work on you, will it?" He leaned in, voice dripping with malice. "You’re too powerful for that. So, I thought, why not ght to the source?"

  With a dramatic fir, Stryker turned and opened a door that until then had been cealed in the shadows. The sight that greeted Xavier was enough to make even the most hardened of souls shudder.

  In the dim room, a shriveled, almost lifeless man sat bound to a wheelchair. His sunkeared bnkly, his skin a ghostly pale. Syringes protruded from his scalp, each drawing out the same yellowish fluid Stryker held earlier. Tubes ran like spider webs from the man’s head, eg to clear tainers positioned on the back of the chair, which tinuously filled with the precious liquid.

  Stryker looked proudly at the figure, his smile sinister, "Professor, allow me to introduce you to Mutant 143."

  Xavier's eyes widened as he gazed at Mutant 143, a flood of memories rushing back. The mismatched eyes - one blue, the reen - were unmistakable. He took a shaky breath, a mixture of sorrow and disbelief c his features. "My God, William," Xavier whispered, his voice den with emotion. "This is your son. Jason. What have you doo him?"

  Stryker's expression remained cold, void of any fatherly affe. "My son is dead," he retorted bitterly. "And soon, the rest of you mutants will join him."

  With that, Stryker smmed the door shut with a deafening g. Mutant 143, or Jason, tio stare vatly, but now, directly at Xavier. Their gazes locked, and Jason's eyes pierced straight into Xavier's very soul.

  Author’s Note

  On other sites where I’ve posted, this chapter has been heavily disliked. Chapters 19-24 are particurly grim, but that’s by design. Arcs 1-3 are written as their own individual stories (movies), but also collectively tied into a ‘book’. Right now, we’re entering the “All is Lost” and “Dark Night of the Soul” story beats. Not just of this Arc, but of the ‘book’ as well. So it's a bit of a double whammy.

  Prepare yourself…

  Arc 3 is less depressing, and Arc 4 is mostly “fun and games”, kind of like a vacation after hh Arc 1&2 ended up being.