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Chapter 25: Novice Trickster +1
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"Haha… haha… HAHAHAHA!"
A raspy, intermittent laugh burst from him, a sound of pure, unadulterated joy.
In that moment, surrounded by destruction and drenched in his own blood, he had never felt more alive.
He had never realized just how fun life could be.
He had never experienced this facet of life before... It was exquisite.
[He's lost it. He's finally snapped, and it's glorious.]
[This is his villain origin story, and it's a comedy.]
[The laugh! It's so unhinged! I love him!]
[Actual Peak!]
All of Jean's complaints died in her throat.
She watched him, this broken, brilliant, terrifying young man, shining with a light she had never seen before.
He was carefree, confident, and utterly certain in his own self, and in that moment, she felt a sharp, undeniable pang of envy.
She wished she could be half as confident as he was.
She wanted to see just how far he could go.
Her desire turned to alarm as his laugh cut off abruptly. His legs gave way, and he collapsed.
Jean lunged forward, her telekinesis catching him just before he hit the ground.
He had pushed his body and mind past their limits, and consciousness had finally abandoned him mid-triumph.
She held his unconscious form, the bloody, smiling conqueror, and wondered what monster or savior they had brought into their home... The Strange Case of Adam.
The morning sun streamed through the window of the infirmary, painting Adam Cypher in a warm, golden light.
He sat propped up in his bed, a mess of white bandages covering his torso and arms.
Yet, a state of profound peace rested on his features, a small, serene smile playing on his lips. He felt… ascended.
He had faced the Master of Magnetism and won.
He had outmaneuvered the Brotherhood and parlayed with the White Queen.
He wasn't nearly as strong as they were; thus, he used what he had, a blend of stolen intellect, calculated trickery, and sheer, unadulterated gall.
He felt a phantom level-up, his internal metrics ticking upward: Novice Trickster nearly mastered, Novice Manipulator not far behind.
[He's literally leveling up his character sheet in his head.]
[The absolute smugness is radiating off him. I love it.]
[After what he pulled, he deserves to feel like a god.]
[But what the fuck is Novice Trickster? Should be at least adept with what he did.]
[In Marvel scale, he is indeed a Novice.]
How could he not feel unstoppable? The intoxicating certainty of his own capabilities was a new high, a drug more potent than any painkiller.
Yet, he consciously reined in the feeling.
Arrogance was a terminal disease in the Marvel Universe.
For every peak he scaled, there was a Celestial staring down from a higher mountain, a cosmic entity that treated galaxies as baubles.
He was a Novice, and he embraced the title.
It meant he had room to grow, a universe of potential to exploit.
A soft cough broke his reverie.
He turned his head to see Professor X, Wolverine, and Jean standing by his bedside.
He'd been so deep in his thoughts he hadn't sensed their arrival.
"Good morning," Adam said, his voice calm. "How is everyone?"
Jean stepped forward, her expression a mix of concern and frustration. "Everyone is fine, Adam. You're the one who looks like he lost a fight with a woodchipper."
She handed him a bottle of water and a small cup of pills. "For the pain. The anesthetics should have worn off by now."
Adam accepted the water but waved away the pills. "No need. I… enjoy the pain."
It was only half a joke.
The searing ache from where Magneto's metal had burrowed into his flesh was a familiar sensation, an old companion.
His nervous system had been conditioned by a decade of far worse; this was merely a persistent itch, something he wanted to get used to.
Professor X watched him, his gaze penetrating. He had been wary of Adam from the start, relieved by his quiet first month, only to have his worst fears realized in a single, explosive night.
"You are intelligent enough to understand the consequences of your actions, Adam," Charles began, his tone even but firm.
Adam nodded. "Of course. Being removed from the X-Men was a distinct possibility."
Charles raised an eyebrow. "A 'possibility'? I would call it a certainty."
Adam shrugged, a gesture that made his bandages pull taut. "I disagree. Had things gone perfectly: no Magneto, no Hellfire Club: it would have been a minor risk. But well, shit happens."
"Then why?" Charles pressed, his voice gaining an edge. "Why not consult me? Why not involve the entire team from the start? We could have mounted a coordinated rescue."
"Because I know why," Adam replied, his gentle smile never wavering. "I wanted things done in a way the rest of the X-Men wouldn't approve. If I'd brought you in, Professor, it would have turned into a negotiation festival. A lot of talking, very little… Action."
[He's not wrong. Charles would have tried to talk it out.]
[Adam: "I wanted to break stuff." Charles: "But we could have held a seminar!"]
[The sheer disrespect is hilarious.]
Charles's frown deepened. "If you so fundamentally disagree with my methods, why did you oppose Magneto? Do you believe in his path?"
Adam's brow furrowed in genuine confusion. "Professor, you're mistaken. I don't believe in Magneto's methods at all. They're theatrically hopeless."
He leaned forward slightly, his gaze intense. "In contrast, I agree with your end goal far more. It's the 'how' where we disagree. It's how we look at things where we differentiate."
The answer surprised Charles, but after a moment, he understood. Adam wasn't an idealist; he was a pragmatist.
He saw the dream but preferred a scalpel to a sermon. At least, he assumed such.
But that didn't change the facts.
"Your 'sharper tools' have created a political firestorm," Charles stated. "Your tendency to kill, to forgo all peaceful avenues… Logan, at least, heeds my counsel. You operate on your own agenda."
"Therefore, if you wish to rejoin the X-Men, you will attend mandatory psychological sessions with Jean. You will continue until she deems you fit for duty."
It was a clever, if transparent, ploy. Charles likely knew Adam would never fundamentally change.
It was a way to sideline him, to put the onus on Jean. The disagreement was one of method, not morality; Adam had, after all, liberated dozens of mutants from a hellish fate.
"One more thing," Charles added, placing a sleek, secure phone on the bedside table.
"Keeping that helmet will make you Magneto's primary target. Call the last number on this phone. Someone wishes to speak with you."
With that, the Professor turned and left, Logan following with a grunt and a last, unreadable look.
Jean lingered for a moment, her expression conflicted, before she too departed.
Alone again, Adam picked up the phone. He dialed the only number in its memory.
"Fury," A voice grunted on the other end. Nick Fury. He knew why he wanted to talk to him.
They engaged in a verbal dance, Fury probing, Adam deflecting. Adam was deliberately vague, his answers circling the heart of the matter like a shark smelling blood.
"Cut the crap, Cypher," Fury finally snapped. "Why the one-man war on the M.R.D.? This has Hydra's stink all over it, doesn't it?"
Adam's hesitation was a performance in itself. He let a silence hang, allowing Fury's infamous paranoia to fill in the blanks.
Hydra was living rent-free in the director's mind, a ghost haunting his own organization.
Adam's initial information had been a seed; Fury's own investigations had watered it into a towering, terrifying tree.
He'd found traces of the cancer within S.H.I.E.L.D. itself.
"You're pressing on a wound, Director," Adam said, his voice dropping, feigning reluctance. "My trust… is a scarce commodity now. From this point forward, any information exchange will be purely transactional. I have conditions."
[He's playing Fury like a fiddle!]
[What are the conditions?! Don't skip it!]
[My guess: unlimited funding, a private jet, and a lifetime supply of burritos.]
[Why didn't I know that this is about Hydra?]
[Is M.R.D. Hydra?]
The scene seemed to skip; the details of their negotiation left a tantalizing mystery to the audience.
When the audio of the conversation returned, Adam was speaking again.
"...I'm sending you something. A recording I intercepted before the incident."
"Hold," Said Fury.
A minute of absolute silence followed, presumably as he activated every scrambling protocol he possessed. "Go ahead."
Adam transmitted the file. It was a crisp, clear audio recording.
Hendricks, the M.R.D. Chief of that specific facility.
"I assure you, the Sentinels will be deployed soon. The final calibrations are being handled by Trask himself."
The unidentified Voice would respond in anger, complaining about the endless delays, how much they paid, yet they have seen nothing of the miracle machines.
Hendrick: "The value of the garbage mutants you've provided is insufficient as a price for the Sentinels anyway. Our mutual friends are growing intolerant of your services."
"Your anger will not make things easier. Find us high-value mutants, and the deal shall proceed... You will have your sentinels."
The silence from Fury's end was profound, a void of sheer, horrified comprehension.
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