The Memphis bus terminal at 10:47 AM was a carnival of controlled chaos—a symphony of diesel fumes, crying babies, and the kind of fluorescent-lit desperation that made Jackson's terminal look like a five-star resort by comparison. Marcus and Marie stepped off Earl Patterson's bus into humidity so thick you could practically swim through it, their backpacks heavy with everything they owned in the world.
**[SYSTEM ALERT: MULTIPLE THREAT SIGNATURES DETECTED]**
The notification flashed across Marcus's vision like a neon emergency beacon, accompanied by a tactical display that made his blood run cold.
**[SCANNING MEMPHIS TERMINAL...]**
**[ENHANCED INDIVIDUAL DETECTED: 200 YARDS NORTHEAST]**
**[CLASSIFICATION: UNKNOWN MUTANT, TELEPATHIC SIGNATURE]**
**[ENHANCED INDIVIDUAL DETECTED: 150 YARDS SOUTH]**
**[CLASSIFICATION: TECHNOLOGICAL AUGMENTATION, TRACKING EQUIPMENT]**
**[ENHANCED INDIVIDUAL DETECTED: 175 YARDS WEST]**
**[CLASSIFICATION: ENHANCED HUMAN, MILITARY TRAINING]**
**[WARNING: SURVEILLANCE PATTERN SUGGESTS COORDINATED OPERATION]**
**[PROBABILITY: MUTANT TRACKING OPERATION - 94.7%]**
**[IMMEDIATE THREAT LEVEL: EXTREME]**
Marcus felt his borrowed heart skip about three beats as the implications hit him like a Louisville Slugger to the chest. Someone—multiple someones—was actively hunting mutants in Memphis, and they'd positioned themselves around the bus terminal like spiders waiting for flies to wander into their web.
"Marie," he whispered, grabbing her elbow and steering her toward a bank of payphones near the terminal's east wall. "We got problems. Big ones."
"What kind of problems?" Marie's voice carried that edge of panic that had become all too familiar over the past twelve hours.
"The kind where people are lookin' for folks like us, and they're real good at it."
Through their empathic connection, Marcus felt Marie's terror spike like a fever. She'd spent the entire bus ride from Jackson cautiously optimistic that maybe, just maybe, they were going to make it to safety without anyone trying to hurt them, experiment on them, or worse.
That optimism was about to get brutally murdered by reality.
**[TACTICAL ANALYSIS UPDATING...]**
**[THREAT ASSESSMENT: COORDINATED MUTANT HUNTING OPERATION]**
**[PROBABLE AGENCIES: WEAPON X, FRIENDS OF HUMANITY, GOVERNMENT BLACK OPS]**
**[DETECTION METHOD: LIKELY MONITORING TRANSPORTATION HUBS FOR ANOMALOUS TRAVEL PATTERNS]**
**[ESCAPE ROUTES: LIMITED - TERMINAL EXITS UNDER SURVEILLANCE]**
"System," Marcus muttered under his breath, "please tell me you got some kind of plan here."
**[ANALYZING ALTERNATIVE TRANSPORTATION OPTIONS...]**
**[BUS TRAVEL: COMPROMISED - PASSENGER MANIFESTS BEING MONITORED]**
**[TRAIN TRAVEL: COMPROMISED - SIMILAR SURVEILLANCE PATTERN DETECTED]**
**[AIR TRAVEL: EXTREMELY COMPROMISED - TSA COOPERATION WITH MUTANT TRACKING AGENCIES]**
**[ALTERNATIVE DETECTED: TRUCK STOP - 0.3 MILES NORTHWEST]**
**[LONG-HAUL TRUCKERS: MINIMAL GOVERNMENT OVERSIGHT, CASH-BASED ECONOMY]**
**[RECOMMENDATION: HITCHHIKE WITH COMMERCIAL DRIVER]**
Marcus looked around the terminal with new eyes, cataloging exits and potential threats. Near the information desk, a woman in a business suit was holding what looked like a standard tablet but was scanning the crowd with mechanical precision that screamed 'technology way beyond civilian grade.' By the vending machines, a man in casual clothes was reading a newspaper while his eyes tracked every person who walked past—and Marcus would bet money the guy hadn't actually read a single word on that page.
And somewhere in the crowd, there was a telepath doing God knows what kind of mental surveillance.
"We can't take the connecting bus," Marcus said, his voice carrying the kind of certainty that came from having a cosmic video game system explain exactly how screwed they were. "They're watching the terminals. All of them, probably."
"Then how do we get to New York?"
Marcus thought about that. The truck stop was only a few blocks away, but getting there without being detected would require some creativity.
"Ever hitchhike with an eighteen-wheeler?"
Marie blinked at him like he'd just suggested they sprout wings and fly. "With a what now?"
"Big trucks. Long-haul drivers. They travel all over the country, most of them are decent folks just trying to make a living, and best of all, nobody's monitoring their passenger lists because they're not supposed to have passengers."
**[TRUCK STOP ANALYSIS: UPDATING...]**
**[PETRO TRUCK STOP - 24-HOUR FACILITY]**
**[CURRENT OCCUPANCY: 47 COMMERCIAL VEHICLES]**
**[DESTINATIONS: MULTIPLE NORTHBOUND ROUTES AVAILABLE]**
**[DRIVERS: STATISTICAL ANALYSIS SUGGESTS 73% RECEPTIVE TO CASH PAYMENTS FOR UNOFFICIAL PASSENGERS]**
**[RISK FACTORS: UNREGULATED INDIVIDUALS, POTENTIAL SAFETY CONCERNS]**
**[MITIGATION: SYSTEM CAN ANALYZE DRIVER PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILES VIA BRIEF CONTACT]**
"How do we even get to this truck stop without those people following us?" Marie gestured subtly toward the woman with the tablet, who was now definitely scanning people in their general area.
Marcus consulted the system's tactical display, looking for blind spots in the surveillance pattern. There—a service corridor near the restrooms that led to a loading dock behind the terminal. Probably meant for employee use, but the system indicated it was currently unmonitored.
"Service exit," he said. "We slip out the back, circle around through the neighborhoods, approach the truck stop from the opposite direction. Make it look like we came from somewhere else entirely."
"And what if we can't find a driver willing to take us?"
"Then we steal a truck," Marcus said with the kind of matter-of-fact tone that suggested he'd already accepted that their definition of 'law-abiding' might need some adjustment in the face of mutant hunting death squads.
Marie stared at him with the expression of someone who'd just discovered her mild-mannered brother was actually a criminal mastermind in disguise. "Marcus D'Ancanto, are you seriously suggesting we become truck thieves?"
"I'm suggesting we survive," Marcus said. "Everything else is negotiable."
**[SYSTEM RECOMMENDATION: IMMEDIATE MOVEMENT REQUIRED]**
**[SURVEILLANCE PATTERN TIGHTENING - DETECTION PROBABILITY INCREASING]**
**[OPTIMAL ESCAPE WINDOW: NEXT 4-7 MINUTES]**
They moved toward the restrooms with the casual pace of people who definitely weren't fleeing from a coordinated mutant hunting operation. Marcus kept his eyes on the service corridor door while Marie watched for anyone taking unusual interest in their movement.
The telepathic signature was getting stronger, which meant whoever was doing the mental surveillance was either getting closer or focusing their attention more intently. Either option was bad news for their continued freedom.
"There," Marcus whispered, nodding toward the service corridor. "Act like you're looking for a water fountain."
The corridor was exactly as mundane as the system had indicated—concrete walls painted institutional green, fluorescent lights that flickered with bureaucratic enthusiasm, and the lingering smell of industrial cleaning supplies mixed with decades of cigarette smoke from when people were still allowed to smoke in public buildings.
At the far end, a heavy metal door marked "AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY" led to the loading dock. Marcus tested the handle carefully, half-expecting an alarm to start blaring.
Instead, the door opened with a soft click that sounded like freedom.
The loading dock was empty except for a few scattered cigarette butts and a dumpster that had seen better decades. Beyond it, the Memphis skyline stretched toward a horizon shimmering with heat and possibility.
"Which way to the truck stop?" Marie asked, adjusting her backpack and pulling her gloves tighter.
Marcus consulted the system's navigation display. "Northwest. About six blocks through residential streets, then we hit the commercial district where the truck stop is."
**[ROUTE ANALYSIS: OPTIMAL PATH CALCULATED]**
**[ESTIMATED TRAVEL TIME: 23 MINUTES ON FOOT]**
**[SURVEILLANCE AVOIDANCE: 96.7% SUCCESS PROBABILITY]**
**[WARNING: TELEPHATHIC RANGE TYPICALLY 200-500 YARDS - MAINTAIN DISTANCE FROM TERMINAL]**
They set off through the neighborhoods surrounding the bus terminal, moving through a part of Memphis that looked like it had been hit by economic hurricane several decades ago and was still waiting for federal disaster relief. Shotgun houses with sagging porches. Corner stores with barred windows. The kind of area where people minded their own business because getting involved in other people's problems was a luxury they couldn't afford.
It was perfect for two teenagers who needed to be invisible.
"Marcus," Marie said as they walked past a house where an elderly man was watering his lawn with the dedication of someone who'd decided his grass was going to survive the summer heat through sheer force of will, "how do you know all this stuff? About surveillance and truck stops and... and everything?"
It was a fair question. Marcus had been operating on borrowed knowledge from CJ's comic book obsession and the system's tactical analysis, but to Marie it probably looked like her previously normal brother had suddenly developed expertise in covert operations and criminal activity.
"Been reading a lot," he said, which was technically true if you counted having cosmic information downloaded directly into your brain as 'reading.'
"Reading what? The Anarchist's Cookbook? Spy novels? Government conspiracy websites?"
"Something like that."
Marie shot him a look that suggested she knew there was more to the story, but before she could pursue the question further, they crested a small hill and saw their destination spread out below them like a promised land built of diesel fumes and neon signs.
The Petro Truck Stop was exactly what Marcus had hoped for—a sprawling complex that looked like someone had taken a gas station, a restaurant, a convenience store, and a small shopping mall, then smashed them together with the architectural sensibility of someone who'd given up on aesthetics in favor of pure functionality. Dozens of eighteen-wheelers sat in neat rows like sleeping giants, their drivers either catching rest in the cab bunks or grabbing showers and hot meals in the main facility.
**[TRUCK STOP ANALYSIS: DETAILED SCAN COMPLETE]**
**[ACTIVE VEHICLES: 52 COMMERCIAL TRUCKS]**
**[DRIVERS CURRENTLY ON DUTY: 31 INDIVIDUALS]**
**[NORTHBOUND DEPARTURES: 7 SCHEDULED WITHIN NEXT 2 HOURS]**
**[OPTIMAL TARGETS IDENTIFIED: 3 DRIVERS WITH HIGH COMPATIBILITY RATINGS]**
**[TARGET 1: ROBERT "BIG BOB" JENKINS]**
**[AGE: 47, OHIO RESIDENT, 23 YEARS COMMERCIAL DRIVING]**
**[ROUTE: MEMPHIS → CHICAGO → BUFFALO → ALBANY]**
**[PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE: PATERNAL, PROTECTIVE, SUSPICIOUS OF AUTHORITY]**
**[COMPATIBILITY RATING: 87%]**
**[TARGET 2: MARIA SANTOS]**
**[AGE: 34, TEXAS RESIDENT, 8 YEARS COMMERCIAL DRIVING]**
**[ROUTE: MEMPHIS → NASHVILLE → PHILADELPHIA → NEW YORK]**
**[PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE: PRACTICAL, EMPATHETIC, EXPERIENCED WITH FAMILY EMERGENCIES]**
**[COMPATIBILITY RATING: 91%]**
**[TARGET 3: WILLIAM "PREACHER" THOMPSON]**
**[AGE: 52, GEORGIA RESIDENT, 19 YEARS COMMERCIAL DRIVING]**
**[ROUTE: MEMPHIS → ATLANTA → CHARLOTTE → BALTIMORE → NEW YORK]**
**[PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE: RELIGIOUS, CHARITABLE, BELIEVES IN HELPING THOSE IN NEED]**
**[COMPATIBILITY RATING: 94%]**
"System's got some candidates," Marcus murmured, studying the tactical display. "We need to find someone heading toward New York who's likely to help a couple of teenagers in trouble."
"How exactly do we approach this?" Marie asked, looking around at the massive trucks with obvious uncertainty. "Just walk up to someone and ask if they want to smuggle some minors across state lines?"
"Pretty much, yeah. But we frame it differently."
Marcus led them toward the main building, where drivers were coming and going with the steady rhythm of people accustomed to long hours and irregular schedules. Through the windows, he could see a restaurant area filled with people eating breakfast and drinking coffee while checking their logbooks and route schedules.
"We're college students," he said, developing their cover story as they walked. "Siblings. Car broke down, can't afford bus tickets after paying for the tow truck, need to get back to school in New York. We've got some cash for gas money and food expenses."
"College students at sixteen?"
"Smart college students. Skipped a grade or two." Marcus grinned. "Trust me, with the right approach and enough cash, truckers have been known to bend the rules for people who need help."
**[SYSTEM ALERT: TARGET ACQUIRED]**
**[MARIA SANTOS - EXITING RESTAURANT, HEADING TO BAY 17]**
**[OPTIMAL INTERCEPTION POINT: FUEL ISLAND]**
**[APPROACH RECOMMENDED: DIRECT, HONEST, FINANCIAL INCENTIVE]**
"There," Marcus said, nodding toward a woman in her thirties wearing jeans, work boots, and a t-shirt that read "IF YOU CAN READ THIS, YOU'RE TOO CLOSE TO MY TRUCK." She had the confident stride of someone who'd learned to navigate a male-dominated profession through competence and attitude. "Maria Santos. Heading to New York via Philadelphia."
"How do you possibly know that?"
"Lucky guess," Marcus said, which was becoming his standard response to questions about impossible knowledge. "Come on."
Maria was checking her fuel level and inspecting her tires when they approached, the kind of pre-departure routine that suggested professional habits developed over thousands of miles. She looked up as they got closer, her expression shifting from focused concentration to curious assessment.
"Help y'all with something?" she asked, her accent carrying hints of Texas mixed with the generic American English that came from traveling all over the country.
"Yes ma'am, I hope so," Marcus said, letting his Southern charm and genuine desperation do most of the work. "I'm Marcus, this is my sister Marie. We're students at NYU, and we're in a real bind here."
Maria raised an eyebrow. "What kind of bind?"
"Car broke down yesterday outside Jackson, Mississippi. Tow truck cleaned out most of our cash, and we can't afford bus tickets to get back to school. Classes start Monday, and if we miss orientation, we lose our scholarships." Marcus let genuine worry color his voice. "We've got about two hundred dollars left, and we'll gladly give it to you for gas money if you can give us a ride toward New York."
It was a good story—specific enough to be believable, sympathetic enough to appeal to protective instincts, and practical enough to make the financial arrangement seem reasonable rather than suspicious.
Maria looked them over with the practiced eye of someone who'd learned to read people quickly and accurately. Her gaze lingered on their muddy clothes, their obvious exhaustion, and the way Marie was staying close to Marcus like someone who'd learned to depend on protective family members.
"NYU students, huh? What's your majors?"
"Pre-med," Marcus said without hesitation. "Both of us. Want to work in rural medicine, help people in places like where we grew up."
"Where's that?"
"Mississippi. Small town called Caldecott County."
Maria nodded slowly. "Long way from home for college."
"Full scholarships," Marie added softly, speaking for the first time. "Only way we could afford to go anywhere."
**[PSYCHOLOGICAL ANALYSIS: MARIA SANTOS]**
**[RESPONSE INDICATORS: SYMPATHETIC ENGAGEMENT, PROTECTIVE INSTINCTS ACTIVATED]**
**[PROBABILITY OF COOPERATION: 78% AND RISING]**
**[RECOMMENDATION: EMPHASIZE FAMILY RESPONSIBILITY, EDUCATIONAL OPPORTUNITY]**
"Two hundred for gas money," Maria mused. "That's more than generous for a ride share. Makes me wonder why you're not taking the bus instead."
"Tried that," Marcus said honestly. "But we missed our connection in Jackson, and the next bus that would get us there in time costs more than we've got left."
Maria checked her watch, then looked at her route schedule. "I'm heading to Philadelphia first, then New York. Won't get to NYC until tomorrow afternoon. That work for your timeline?"
"Yes ma'am," Marcus said, feeling a surge of relief so powerful it nearly knocked him over. "That would be perfect."
"Alright then." Maria made her decision with the kind of straightforward practicality that suggested she'd helped stranded travelers before. "I got a sleeper cab, but it's not huge. Y'all gonna have to share the passenger space, and there's rules."
"Yes ma'am. Whatever you need."
"No drugs, no alcohol, no drama. You keep your voices down when I'm driving—I got to concentrate. When I stop for rest breaks, you stay with the truck. And if we get pulled over by DOT inspection, you're my cousins visiting from Mississippi, and you're riding along to help me stay awake. Understand?"
"Absolutely," Marcus said.
"And if you cause me any trouble—any trouble at all—I will leave you at the next truck stop with no discussion and no refund. We clear on that?"
"Crystal clear, ma'am."
Maria nodded approvingly. "Good. Load up your gear and climb in the passenger side. We roll in ten minutes."
As they walked toward her truck—a massive Peterbilt with enough chrome to blind aircraft and a paint job that suggested someone had given serious thought to highway aesthetics—Marie grabbed Marcus's arm.
"I can't believe that actually worked," she whispered.
"Sometimes people are just good," Marcus said, watching Maria complete her pre-trip inspection with professional efficiency. "Sometimes they help because it's the right thing to do."
**[OBJECTIVE COMPLETE: SECURE ALTERNATIVE TRANSPORTATION]**
**[CURRENT STATUS: EN ROUTE TO NEW YORK VIA PHILADELPHIA]**
**[ETA NEW YORK CITY: 28 HOURS]**
**[THREAT LEVEL: SIGNIFICANTLY REDUCED]**
**[WARNING: PROLONGED CONTACT WITH CIVILIAN - MAINTAIN COVER IDENTITY]**
As they climbed into the cab of Maria's truck, Marcus caught a glimpse of the Memphis bus terminal in the distance. Even from here, he could see what looked like increased activity around the building—more official-looking vehicles, people in suits who moved with the kind of purpose that suggested they were very unhappy about something.
"System," he thought, "those people at the terminal. Any idea who they were working for?"
**[ANALYSIS: SURVEILLANCE OPERATION DATA]**
**[MOST PROBABLE AGENCY: WEAPON X ADVANCE RECONNAISSANCE TEAM]**
**[SECONDARY POSSIBILITY: FRIENDS OF HUMANITY CIVILIAN MILITIA]**
**[TERTIARY POSSIBILITY: GOVERNMENT BLACK PROJECT - DESIGNATION UNKNOWN]**
**[WARNING: ALL THREE ORGANIZATIONS EXTREMELY HOSTILE TO MUTANT INDIVIDUALS]**
**[RECOMMENDATION: MAINTAIN CURRENT EVASION STRATEGY]**
Marcus settled into the passenger seat as Maria started the engine, which roared to life with the kind of power that suggested this truck could probably pull a small building if necessary. Through the windows, Memphis began to slide past as they headed toward the interstate, taking them away from the hunting party that had been waiting at the bus terminal.
"Y'all comfortable back there?" Maria called over the engine noise.
"Yes ma'am," Marie replied, adjusting herself in the small sleeping area behind the driver's seat. "This is perfect."
As they merged onto I-40 East, Marcus felt the tension in his shoulders beginning to relax for the first time since they'd left Caldecott County. They were making progress, they had safe transportation, and for the moment, nobody was actively trying to capture, kill, or experiment on them.
It was a small victory, but Marcus was learning to appreciate small victories when the alternative was becoming a government lab rat.
**[SYSTEM UPDATE]**
**[DISTANCE FROM HUNTING PARTY: 15 MILES AND INCREASING]**
**[PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE: MARIA SANTOS - TRUSTWORTHY]**
**[ESTIMATED ARRIVAL WESTCHESTER COUNTY: 32 HOURS]**
**[CURRENT POWER DEVELOPMENT: EMPATHIC CONNECTION WITH MARIE - 23% MASTERY]**
**[AVAILABLE ABSORPTION SLOTS: 2 REMAINING]**
**[RECOMMENDATION: REST, PLANNING, PREPARATION FOR XAVIER'S SCHOOL APPROACH]**
As the Tennessee landscape began to replace Mississippi outside the windows, Marcus closed his eyes and tried to plan their next move. They were getting closer to safety, but they still had to find Xavier's School, convince whoever ran it to take them in, and somehow build new lives in a world where their old identities were probably already being broadcast on some kind of mutant hunting network.
But for now, they were alive, they were free, and they were together.
Sometimes, that was enough.
"Thank you," Marie whispered through their empathic connection, not wanting to disturb Maria's concentration but needing to express her gratitude.
"Always," Marcus replied the same way, meaning it with every fiber of his reincarnated being.
Outside, America rolled past at seventy miles per hour, carrying two teenage mutants toward their destiny.
In the distance, Marcus could hear the faint sound of his system quietly updating their survival odds from "grim" to "cautiously optimistic."
It was the best news they'd had all day.
—
Raven Darkhölme had been Dorothy D'Ancanto for so long that sometimes she forgot which identity came first. But as she turned her rental car down the familiar gravel driveway toward the house she'd called home for ten years, the sight that greeted her made both identities scream in unified alarm.
Police cars. Three of them, their red and blue lights painting the white clapboard house in strobing colors that looked like a fever dream. Crime scene tape fluttering in the humid Mississippi breeze like yellow prayer flags marking some terrible disaster. And officers—too many officers for whatever had happened here to be routine.
Raven pulled over about a hundred yards from the house, her mind immediately shifting into the tactical assessment mode that had kept her alive through decades of covert operations. The rental car's engine ticked as it cooled, providing a mundane counterpoint to the surge of adrenaline flooding her system.
*The children.*
The thought hit her like a physical blow, accompanied by an emotional response so intense it surprised her. Ten years of playing Dorothy D'Ancanto, loving mother and pillar of the Caldecott County community, had created neural pathways that apparently ran deeper than she'd realized. Marcus and Marie weren't just her cover identity's adopted children—somewhere along the way, they'd become *hers*.
She reached for her cell phone, fingers already moving to dial their numbers, then stopped. If they were in police custody, calling them would only create electronic evidence linking Dorothy D'Ancanto to whatever had happened. If they were hiding somewhere, it might expose their location. And if they were...
Raven refused to complete that thought.
Instead, she closed her eyes and felt her cellular structure begin to shift with the fluid grace of someone who'd been shapeshifting since childhood. Her auburn hair darkened to black, her green eyes shifted to brown, her facial structure subtly rearranged itself into something more angular and professional. Even her clothes transformed, business casual morphing into a crisp police uniform complete with badge, utility belt, and the kind of authoritative bearing that suggested she belonged exactly where she was about to go.
Deputy Lisa Hartwell of the Mississippi State Police stepped out of the rental car, her stride confident and purposeful as she approached the crime scene. The transformation was so complete that even Raven's own mother wouldn't have recognized her—if Raven's mother hadn't been dead for over a century, killed by anti-mutant hysteria in a different era.
"Afternoon, boys," she called out to the cluster of local deputies standing near their vehicles, her voice carrying the perfect blend of professional courtesy and implied authority that came with state-level jurisdiction. "Deputy Hartwell, State Police. Got a call about unusual activity at this location. What's the situation?"
Sheriff James Crawford looked up from his clipboard with the expression of a man who'd been having a very long day that was about to get longer. Raven had known Jim Crawford for eight years—had attended his daughter's wedding as Dorothy D'Ancanto, had brought casseroles to his wife when she'd been sick, had discussed the weather and local politics over coffee at least a hundred times. Now she was looking at him through different eyes, cataloging his stress levels and body language for tactical advantage.
"Deputy Hartwell," Crawford said, touching his hat brim in greeting. "Appreciate the backup, though I'm not sure we requested state involvement yet."
"Multi-jurisdictional coordination," Raven replied smoothly, pulling out a notepad that had materialized with her uniform. "When minors go missing and there's potential for interstate flight, the state boys like to get involved early. Prevents jurisdictional headaches later."
Crawford's eyebrows rose slightly. "How'd you know about the missing minors? We only put out the BOLO about an hour ago."
*Because I've been listening to police scanners for forty years, and reading micro-expressions for even longer,* Raven thought. What she said was, "Information travels fast when kids are involved. What happened here?"
"Twin siblings, Marcus and Marie D'Ancanto. Sixteen years old. Got a call yesterday evening from a local girl claiming Marie had some kind of... incident... with her boyfriend." Crawford consulted his notes, clearly uncomfortable with whatever he was about to report. "According to the witness, Marie D'Ancanto somehow put David Collins into a coma just by touching him."
Raven felt her blood temperature drop about ten degrees, but Deputy Hartwell's expression remained professionally neutral. "Put him in a coma how, exactly?"
"That's where it gets weird." Crawford shifted his weight, clearly wishing he was dealing with a nice, straightforward drug bust instead of whatever this was turning out to be. "Girl claims Marie absorbed his memories somehow. Said she could see his whole life playing out in her head after she touched his skin."
*Power manifestation.* The words echoed through Raven's mind with the weight of inevitability. She'd been waiting for this moment for years, watching Marcus and Marie for signs that they were developing mutant abilities, preparing contingency plans for the day when their peaceful life in Caldecott County would come to an abrupt end.
She just hadn't expected it to happen while she was three states away coordinating a Brotherhood operation against a Trask Industries research facility.
"Witness reliable?" she asked, maintaining her professional demeanor while internally calculating how many hours the twins had been missing and what kind of head start they might have.
"Jenny Carlisle. Seventeen, honor roll student, no history of drug use or mental health issues." Crawford's tone suggested he wished Jenny had a history of both. "But Deputy Hartwell, what she's describing... it's not medically possible. People don't absorb other people's memories by touching them."
"Unless they're mutants," Raven thought, but Deputy Hartwell just nodded sympathetically. "Any sign of where the D'Ancanto kids went?"
"That's the other strange thing," Crawford said, leading her toward the house. "We searched the property thoroughly, found signs they packed in a hurry and left through the back woods. Tracked them to Old Creek, but the trail went cold. Either they waded downstream to throw off the dogs, or..."
"Or they knew exactly how to avoid police search protocols," Raven finished, feeling a surge of pride mixed with concern. Marcus had always been remarkably intelligent for his age, but the tactical thinking required to escape a coordinated search suggested capabilities she hadn't suspected.
"Exactly. These kids either got very lucky, or they had help from someone with law enforcement training."
Raven followed Crawford up the front steps, noting the splintered door frame where the entry team had used a battering ram. The house looked exactly as she'd left it three days ago, except for the obvious signs of police search activity and the subtle wrongness that came from strangers moving through spaces that should have been private.
"We're treating this as a missing persons case," Crawford continued, "but there's federal interest too. Got a call this morning from some kind of task force. Wouldn't identify themselves specifically, just said they were monitoring unusual incidents involving minors."
*Weapon X. Or possibly Friends of Humanity.* Raven's tactical mind immediately began cataloging which government agencies might have been alerted by reports of mutant activity in rural Mississippi. None of the possibilities were reassuring.
"They send anyone down to assist?" she asked.
"Not yet, but they're coordinating with transportation hubs. Bus stations, train stations, airports. Looking for two teenagers traveling without adult supervision."
*Smart children,* Raven thought with grudging approval. *They'll avoid the obvious routes.*
Deputy Hartwell walked through the house, taking notes and asking appropriate questions while Raven's enhanced senses cataloged details that Crawford's people had missed. Marcus and Marie's rooms showed signs of hasty but organized packing—they'd taken clothes, personal items, and anything that might be useful for extended travel. But they'd also taken things from her room, which suggested a level of operational thinking that was both impressive and concerning.
In her bedroom, Raven discovered that the cash reserves she'd hidden throughout the house were gone. More troubling, the locked box under her bed had been opened and its contents—including several classified files related to current Brotherhood operations—had been removed.
*Marcus.* It had to be. Marie was brilliant, but Marcus had always shown an uncanny ability to find things that were supposed to be hidden, to understand complex situations with minimal information, to make intuitive leaps that often proved correct. If he'd discovered her real identity...
"Find anything useful, Deputy?" Crawford asked from the doorway.
"Signs of systematic packing," Raven replied, closing the violated box and making mental notes about which operational security protocols had just been compromised. "They took time to gather supplies, which suggests this wasn't a panicked flight. More like a strategic withdrawal."
"Strategic withdrawal? These are sixteen-year-old kids, not special forces operatives."
*You'd be surprised,* Raven thought, remembering Marcus's habit of reading military history books and Marie's tendency to notice details that adults missed. *And if they're manifesting mutant abilities, they're going to need skills that no normal teenager should possess.*
She spent another thirty minutes playing the role of investigating deputy, gathering information about the timeline, the witness statements, and the current search efforts. By the time she left, Deputy Lisa Hartwell had a complete picture of what had happened and what the local authorities were doing about it.
The federal task force was monitoring transportation hubs throughout the Southeast, looking for two teenagers matching Marcus and Marie's descriptions. They'd put particular focus on routes leading to major cities where runaways typically tried to disappear. But they were also checking hospitals and medical facilities, apparently believing that someone with Marie's described abilities might seek medical attention for their "condition."
*They don't understand what they're dealing with,* Raven realized as she drove away from the house that had been home for ten years. *They think it's some kind of psychotic episode or drug-induced hallucination. They're not prepared for actual mutant abilities.*
That might give Marcus and Marie an advantage, but it wouldn't last long. Sooner or later, someone in the federal task force would make the connection between "memory absorption through touch" and the classified files that various government agencies kept on known mutant abilities. When that happened, the manhunt would shift from missing persons to mutant capture, and the resources deployed would increase exponentially.
Once she was far enough from Caldecott County to avoid immediate suspicion, Raven pulled over and shifted back to her natural blue-skinned form. The rental car's interior suddenly felt cramped and confining after hours of maintaining a human disguise, and she needed to think clearly about her next move.
Her encrypted phone buzzed with a text message from Erik: "Operation successful. Trask facility neutralized. Returning to base tomorrow. How is your reconnaissance progressing?"
Raven stared at the message for a long moment before responding. Erik Lehnsherr—Magneto—had sent her to Caldecott County ten years ago to monitor potential mutant children and report back on any unusual developments. The D'Ancanto twins had been on his watch list because of some genetic markers that suggested they might develop significant abilities, but they'd been dormant so long that Raven had started to think the intelligence was wrong.
Now she knew it wasn't.
The question was what to do about it.
Her mission was clear: locate Marcus and Marie, assess their abilities, and bring them to the Brotherhood if they showed potential for advancing mutant supremacy. Erik had specific plans for mutants with absorption abilities—Marie could potentially drain and permanently acquire the powers of other mutants, making her an incredibly valuable weapon in the coming war between humans and mutants.
But ten years of raising them, of loving them, of being their mother in every way that mattered... that had created complications Erik hadn't anticipated.
Raven typed and deleted several responses before finally sending: "Complications have arisen. Will brief you in person upon return."
She started the car and pulled back onto the highway, heading north. Not toward the Brotherhood's current base of operations, but toward wherever her children had fled. Because despite everything—despite her loyalty to Erik's cause, despite her belief that human-mutant conflict was inevitable, despite the tactical value of two young mutants with significant abilities—Marcus and Marie were still *hers*.
And Dorothy D'Ancanto protected her children, even when Raven Darkhölme had more important concerns.
The question was whether she could find them before the government task force did, and what she would do when she caught up with them.
*North,* she thought, remembering Crawford's report about transportation hub monitoring. *They're smart enough to avoid the obvious routes, but they still need to get far from Mississippi fast. They'll need help, and there aren't many places that provide sanctuary for young mutants.*
Charles Xavier's school in Westchester County was the most likely destination, but it was also the most obvious. Erik had intelligence files on Xavier's operation, knew that the telepath had a weakness for "rescuing" mutant children who were in danger. If Marcus and Marie had somehow learned about the school...
Raven made her decision and turned onto I-55 North, following the same route her children had probably taken. She would find them, assess the situation, and then decide whether to bring them to Erik or help them reach Xavier's sanctuary.
Either way, she would make sure they were safe.
Even if it meant choosing between her mission and her family, she would choose family.
After all, some things were more important than the cause.
*Even for Mystique.*
---
*300 miles north of Caldecott County, Raven's enhanced senses picked up traces of familiar scents at a truck stop outside Memphis. Her children had been here, had found transportation, had continued their flight toward an uncertain future.*
*She smiled despite herself. They were learning.*
*Now she just had to decide whether to stop them or help them.*
*Either way, Dorothy D'Ancanto would make sure her children survived long enough to make their own choices about which side of the coming war they wanted to join.*
*Even if those choices broke her heart.*
---
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