The Assembly Gathers
The pearl doors sealed with a low, resonant hum, and silence rippled outward across the Atlantean chamber. The gathered mutants—leaders, veterans, survivors—shifted their attention from war maps of kelp-light to the seven hybrids who now stood at the center of the amphitheater's circular floor.
It was not a welcoming silence.
It was an evaluative one.
Magneto stood like a monument carved from judgment itself, cape torn and armor scarred, yet still commanding every line of the room's attention. Cable hovered just behind him, arms folded, cybernetic eye glowing faintly as it scanned each member of the team with tactical precision. Namor remained poised on the higher steps, half-shadowed, regal and unreadable as the ocean around his kingdom.
Elle stepped forward first, shoulders square, her expression respectful but unshaken. Stryke matched her on the opposite side, posture sharp, ready for whatever came next. Alloy and Bul held the rear guard, hands close to ready positions, while Shade assessed the room's tech with wide, curious eyes. Surge paced in a restless half-circle behind the group, irritation sparking beneath each step. Vex stayed between Elle and Shade, still feeling the echo of Atlantean magic pulsing softly under her skin.
Cable broke the silence.
"You've stepped into one of the last sanctuary's the Reapers haven't cracked. That makes your arrival significant. Or dangerous."
Surge scoffed under his breath. "Here we go."
But Cable's tone remained steady. "We don't trust easily anymore. Not after what we've lost. Not after what they've taken."
A flicker of grief passed through the chamber—barely perceptible, but there.
Namor leaned forward on the railing. "We demand clarity before deciding whether you are a liability or an asset."
Bul lifted a brow. "Well, we ain't liabilities."
Shade nudged him lightly. "He means they need information."
Domino stepped into the circle, boots clicking against the polished stone as she circled them with calculated indifference.
"Well, they look like trouble," she said. "Could be good trouble. Could be the wrong kind. Which is why we're here."
Stryke's jaw tightened. "Then ask your questions."
Magneto's voice cut in—quiet, steel-lined.
"You were created by Sinister."
The weight of the name fell over the room like a cold wind.
Elle answered evenly. "Yes. We woke in a lab. We escaped. We came here because we were told mutants were alive and fighting back."
Namor's gaze sharpened. "Mutants are alive because Atlantis hid. Not because the surface stood strong."
Vex swallowed hard. "We're not asking you to trust us. Just… let us help."
Cable stepped closer to her, studying her expression, her Hex-flare still gently shimmering beneath her skin.
"You felt the resonance of Atlantis. That matters more than you realize."
Vex didn't answer—because she didn't know how.
Magneto shifted his attention to Alloy again, his voice lower, more controlled.
"And you… carry an echo of my daughter. Not her memories. But her imprint. It means your existence is entangled with ours whether you intended it or not."
Alloy met his gaze unflinchingly. "I didn't ask for any of this. But I won't run from it."
The air tightened, heat building in the pause.
Finally, Namor rose fully from his seat.
"Then hear this clearly," he said, his voice carrying like a tidal decree. "Atlantis does not offer shelter without purpose. We do not give resources without return. If you remain here…"
His eyes swept the seven hybrids.
"…you will serve the resistance."
Stryke exchanged a look with Elle.
"What does that service look like?" Stryke asked.
Cable stepped forward.
"That," he said, "is what comes next."
Namor's hand lifted, gesturing toward the rising war holograms.
"Because what we want," he said,
"…is far from simple."
---
The Demands of the Last Survivors
The kelp-light holograms in the center of the chamber shifted, blooming outward into a three-dimensional map of the world. Red marks pulsed across nearly every continent—clusters of Reaper presence, glowing like infected wounds. Only a few regions remained unscarred.
Atlantis.
Wakanda.
Latveria.
And scattered pockets too small to label.
The hybrids stared in stunned silence.
Cable pointed to the illuminated globe. "This is the surface. What's left of it."
Surge frowned. "Looks like fire and trash."
"Accurate," Domino muttered.
Cable ignored her commentary. "Cities fell in days. Nations in hours. The Reapers adapted to every defense thrown at them. Every tactic. Every weapon. Except—"
Magneto's voice cut through the air.
"Mutants."
The word hung in the chamber like an ancient verdict.
"Mutants and others with… similarly altered genetics," Magneto continued. "The Reapers cannot assimilate them. Therefore they focus on exterminating them."
Firestar's voice trembled with restrained fury. "We've spent months trying to protect what's left. Children. Untrained mutants. Anyone immune."
Vex's chest tightened. The thought of mutants—scared, hunted, alone—hit something deep in her. Something almost memory-like, though she knew it wasn't hers.
Namor stepped down from the upper platform, water rippling around him in a faint halo. His presence carried the weight of command—and the pressure of the deep.
"You asked what the resistance wants," he said. "We want force. We want skill. We want power that can strike where we cannot."
Bul cracked his neck with a grin. "We can do striking."
Elle shot him a warning look, but Namor's expression didn't shift.
"We do not need brutes," Namor said coolly. "We need precision."
Alloy stiffened, metal rippling across his arms, but he said nothing.
Shade stepped forward with calm, respectful confidence. "Then give us targets. We'll handle the rest."
Cable nodded, appreciating her composure. "There are three assignments we require help with. Critical missions. All high-risk."
Surge perked up. "Finally."
Domino smirked. "You won't be smiling long."
Magneto raised a hand, and the hologram focused on a pulsing red region above Europe—an enormous crimson web.
"The Reaper Lattice," he said. "A global network. It controls their scouts, their collectors, and their adaptives. We have identified a flaw in its behavior… something none of us understand."
The image distorted, glitching.
Stryke's eyes narrowed. "Glitch in what way?"
"The pattern changed," Cable replied. "Abruptly. Recently."
Namor crossed his arms. "Coinciding with your awakening."
A heavy silence fell. The seven hybrids exchanged looks, tension rising like static.
Elle lifted her chin. "We didn't cause anything."
"No," Magneto agreed. "But your creation by Sinister may be relevant. His work… echoes in Reaper behavior."
Stryke's voice sharpened. "Meaning what?"
"That you may be connected," Cable said simply. "Which could either be our greatest advantage—or our greatest threat."
Surge bristled. "We didn't ask to be born."
"No one is blaming you," Firestar said gently. "But understanding is essential."
Namor's gaze hardened again. "Your existence carries weight. Whether you accept it or not."
Alloy stepped forward, metal shifting across his shoulders in controlled waves. "Then give us purpose. Don't talk around it."
Magneto inclined his head slightly. "The first requirement is simple."
The room leaned in.
"You will earn our trust."
Stryke's jaw tightened. "How?"
Cable gestured toward the door behind them.
"With a test."
Surge's grin spread instantly. "Now we're talking."
Domino chuckled. "Oh, he's going to love this."
Shade tilted her head. "What kind of test?"
Namor answered.
"One that will reveal whether you are truly allies…"
He stepped aside, revealing an Atlantean doorway pulsing with arcane light.
"…or something far more dangerous."
---
Enter the Danger Room
The corridor opened into a circular chamber of reinforced metal, lit by sharp white lights embedded into the walls. The air hummed with electric tension, a familiar sound to anyone who had ever trained at Xavier's school.
Even the hybrids—born yesterday—seemed to feel the weight.
Stryke's eyes narrowed. "This… looks like the Danger Room."
"It is," Cable said, stepping forward. "Rebuilt. Modified. Hidden."
Vex scanned the steel panels, noting the faint shimmer of holographic grids beneath the metal texture. Shade tilted her head, instantly recognizing the hybrid tech signatures woven into the walls.
"This is Cerebro-based projection mesh," she whispered. "And… Sentinel alloy plating?"
Magneto nodded. "We salvaged what we could from the ruins. Reconstructed it here beneath Atlantis. Mutants needed a place to train, to test, to survive. Now—so do you."
Namor stepped beside him, arms folded across his chest.
"You say you wish to stand with us," he said, voice deep and controlled. "Then prove it. Not with words. In here."
Bul grinned. "Finally, something I understand."
Surge cracked his knuckles, tiny shockwaves snapping under his feet. "Let's get this over with."
Elle laid a calming hand on his shoulder. "We don't know what we're walking into. Be smart."
Surge shrugged. "Smart as I get."
Alloy stood tall, arms crossed, silent as always, but the metal of his skin rippled faintly—ready, steady, prepared.
Vex frowned, taking in the environment. "Is this… necessary?"
Magneto's gaze sharpened. "Your kind are an unknown. You wield powers you do not fully understand. And Sinister's hand is in your creation. Caution is not disrespect. It is survival."
Domino smirked. "Plus, it's fun watching new people try not to die in here."
Shade shivered as the walls shifted, faint holograms flickering like something waking up. "What will it throw at us?"
Cable typed a command into the control console. Light rippled across the room as hidden machinery activated.
"Whatever it thinks will break you," he said simply. "And whatever it thinks will show us who you really are."
Stryke stepped forward, voice even. "Parameters?"
Cable glanced at him, then at the team as a whole.
"Three criteria," he said. "Teamwork. Control. Resilience. We don't care how powerful you are alone. We care how you handle pressure together."
Namor added, "And if your loyalty fractures under stress."
Elle straightened at that. "We aren't traitors."
"We don't know that," Magneto said without apology. "Not yet."
Across the chamber, holographic images flickered to life—ghosts of past foes, shapes of danger, projections of chaos waiting to manifest.
The Danger Room was waking.
Bul cracked his neck. "All right, boss man," he said to Stryke. "What's the plan?"
Stryke inhaled, steady and analytical. "We adapt fast. We watch each other's backs. No one moves unless it's necessary. Elle controls field flow. Shade handles tech and openings. Surge runs interference. Bul draws fire. Alloy anchors. Vex supports."
Surge grinned. "Look at Captain Calculated over here."
But there was respect in his voice.
Vex raised her hand slightly. "And if our systems react? We still don't fully understand the triggers."
Magneto's gaze softened only slightly. "Then we watch and we learn."
He gestured toward the steel platform. "Enter when ready."
Shade glanced at the ceiling. "Any advice?"
Domino winked. "Try not to die."
Bul laughed. "No promises!"
The X-Periments stepped as one onto the metal floor.
The lights dimmed.
The holograms solidified.
The Danger Room roared to life.
-