Behind us, Cell 97 stood empty—one more prison left behind. Ahead, the facility's emergency lighting painted everything red.
As we made our way our way forward. The girl's eyes shifted—a subtle change in focus, posture straightening as if someone else had taken the wheel.
"Thank you for not killing us." Different voice. Calmer. More controlled. "I'm Sophie. The one who attacked you was Phoebe—she's... defensive."
"How many are you?" I asked.
"Five." Another shift—this one aggressive, leaning forward. "Sophie, Phoebe, Irma, Celeste, and Esme. They killed all but one. Forced us into one body to 'consolidate our psychic potential.'" The bitterness in her voice could strip paint. "I'm Phoebe. And you're either really here to help or really good liars."
I studied the rapid transitions. Each personality carried distinct tells, posture changes, vocal patterns, and eye movements.
"We're here to help," Laura said quietly.
"Prove it." Another shift. This one calculating, suspicious. Eyes narrowed as she—Esme, probably—scanned us for weapons, exits, lies.
The causal threads around her were chaos. Five separate consciousness competing for control created overlapping decision paths, contradictory intentions. Beautiful and terrible.
"We were made into weapons too," I said. "Fifteen years in a facility like this one."
"And you escaped?" Back to the first voice—Sophie. Diplomatic. "Just the two of you?"
"Three now." I we made another turn 10 minutes to an exit. Alarms still screaming. We had maybe four minutes before reinforcements arrived. "If you want out."
A pause. Then another shift—softer, more hesitant. "I'm Celeste. You're... really not going to kill us?"
"No," Laura said firmly. "We're getting you out, but we need to hurry"
The girl kept pace but I could still sense her warriness like all this might be a trap. Another rapid shift—suspicious Esme again. "Why should we trust you?"
"Because no one else is coming," I said bluntly. "And staying here means dying."
Truth landed hard. I watched it register across her fractured expressions—Sophie's resignation, Phoebe's fear, what I guessed was Irma's quiet grief.
The personalities cycled faster now. "Phoebe thinks you're lying." "Sophie says we should go." "Celeste is scared." "Esme wants guarantees." "Irma just wants to leave."
Too many voices fighting for control. Too many perspectives fracturing a single decision.
"What do we call you?" Laura asked. "When we don't know who's talking?"
The question seemed to surprise her. All of them. The cycling stopped.
"No one's ever..." Back to Sophie. Measured. "We don't have a name for when we're all here."
"Spice," I suggested. "First letters. S-P-I-C-E."
Silence. Then the smallest smile I'd seen since entering this cell.
"Spice." The voice was soft—Irma, maybe. "I like that."
"Good." I turned toward onto another corridor. "Now move. We've got three minutes before this place floods with guards."
Spice nodded.
"Are you going to kill them?" Different voice again. Phoebe. Harder edged. "The guards?"
"If they get in our way," I said flatly.
"Good." Esme now. Cold satisfaction. "They deserve it."
We moved into the another corridor.
Spice stumbled. Laura caught her without breaking stride.
"Thank you," Sophie whispered. Then immediately after, in Phoebe's sharper tone: "Don't thank them yet. We're not out."
"We will be," I said.
Because I'd already saw the thread that lead to our escape.
The first response team rounded the corner thirty seconds later—six guards in tactical gear, weapons drawn.
"Contact!" The point man raised his rifle.
I didn't give him time to fire.
Strings shot forward, invisible threads slicing through gun barrels and trigger mechanisms. Metal clattered to the floor in pieces. Laura was already moving, a blur of controlled violence that put two guards down before they realized they were disarmed.
"Behind us!" Spice's voice—Sophie's measured tone—came from beside me. "Three more approaching from the west corridor."
Her eyes were unfocused, seeing through walls. Telepathy giving us tactical awareness we'd never had before.
"Can you stop them?" I asked.
A shift—Phoebe now, aggressive and sharp. "Watch me."
The three guards behind us stopped mid-stride. Their weapons dropped. Then they collapsed like puppets with cut strings.
"Unconscious," Phoebe said with satisfaction. "Won't wake up for hours."
Laura dispatched the last of the first team with brutal efficiency. Blood sprayed across white walls. Spice flinched but didn't look away.
"More coming." Sophie again. "Twelve. Armed with tranquilizers. They want me alive."
"They won't get what they want," I said.
We moved closer to an exit. The layout matched what I'd memorized from the stolen files—three possible exit routes, two already compromised by our entrance path. That left the southern loading bay.
Emergency lights flashed red. Alarms screamed. The facility had fully mobilized.
"Adrian." Laura's voice held a warning edge.
I saw them the same moment she did. The corridor ahead was blocked—riot shields, body armor, twelve guards positioned in a defensive formation. Professionals this time, not the overnight security we'd been cutting through.
"They're terrified," Spice murmured. Different voice—softer, more empathetic. Celeste, probably. "They know what I am. What you are."
"Good," I said. "Fear makes people predictable."
I sent out multiple strings that began to cut through the line closes to us. Severing weapons and Limbs alike. The one's closest to us that were still alive began to flee
"Now," I said.
Laura charged. Shield were bissected under her assault, claws punching through reinforced polymer. I followed, strings creating a web of invisible razor wire that turned the corridor into a death trap.
"Ten more coming from below!" Sophie's warning came sharp and clear. "They're using the service elevator!"
"Can you stop them?" Laura asked, driving her foot-claws through a guard's thigh.
Another personality shift—this one cold and calculating. Esme. "I can do better than that."
I felt the psychic pressure build. Reality seemed to ripple around Spice as five minds synchronized their power. The causal threads around her went wild—overlapping, contradicting, creating probability chaos I'd never seen before.
"The commanding officer turned on them," Esme said with dark satisfaction. "Tragic accident."
Laura shot me a look. I understood the question—how far would we let this go?
But Spice was already moving past us, personalities cycling rapidly. "Sophie says we need to move." "Phoebe senses more guards." "Irma wants out of here." The shifts came faster now, stress fracturing the already fragile unity.
"Spice." I kept my voice level. "Stay focused."
"We're trying." Celeste's voice, small and strained. "There's so many of them. So much fear and anger. It's loud."
Telepathy without control. I could see how it affected her—each personality pulling in slightly different directions, creating decision paralysis.
"Laura, take point," I said. "I'll cover Spice."
We pressed forward. The loading bay was close now—two more corridors, one checkpoint, then freedom.
The checkpoint was fortified. Reinforced doors, automated turrets, guards behind cover.
"They've locked it down," Sophie said. "Biometric access only, and they've purged our clearance codes."
I studied the threads. The biometric reader connected to the door locks, the locks connected to the security system, the system connected to—
There.
I severed the thread linking the security system to emergency power. Backup generators died. Turrets went silent. The reinforced doors cracked open as magnetic locks failed. But the consecutive use of interfering with causality was taking its toll.
"Move!" I snapped.
Laura was through first, claws out and hunting. The guards behind cover never stood a chance. I followed with Spice, strings already deploying to cut down anyone Laura missed.
The loading bay opened ahead—massive space filled with trucks and equipment. And between us and the exit, thirty guards in full tactical gear.
"That's a lot of people," Spice murmured. All five voices at once, creating an eerie harmony. They were working together now, synchronized by necessity.
"Can you handle them?" I asked.
The personalities cycled—Sophie analyzing, Phoebe aggressive, Irma hesitant, Celeste fearful, Esme calculating. Then they stopped.
"Yes," they said in perfect unison.
The psychic pressure built again. Stronger this time. Five minds combining their power into something greater than the sum of its parts.
The guards froze. Every single one.
Then, as one, they lowered their weapons.
"Walk away," Spice commanded. Her voice resonated with telepathic weight. "Forget you saw us. Forget we were here."
They walked away. Thirty trained soldiers abandoning their posts without question, minds rewritten by overwhelming psychic force.
Laura stared. "You can do that?"
"When we work together." Sophie's voice, but I heard the strain. "It takes all of us."
I checked the causal threads around her. Still chaotic, still unpredictable—but more organized now. Five separate patterns weaving into web that was almost beautiful.
Almost.
"Exit's clear," I said. "Let's move before reinforcements arrive."
We ran for the loading bay doors. Cold air rushed in as we burst outside—different facility, same frozen wilderness. My breath misted in the night air.
Behind us, alarms still screamed. Ahead, trees and darkness.
"There's a vehicle depot half a mile north," I said, already mapping escape routes. "We steal transport, drive until we're clear, then—"
"Then what?" Laura interrupted. "We show up at Xavier's with another rescue they didn't authorize?"
I considered the probabilities. Xavier's reaction, Wolverine's grudging respect. Emma Frost's reaction was a toss up. It could go either way seeing as we saved her clone.
"We face consequences," I said finally. "All three of us."
"They'll be furious," Laura said quietly. "We violated their trust."
"We saved a life," I countered.
"They won't see it that way. Not all of them." Laura siad. "Maybe we should just run. The three of us. Find somewhere else."
I looked at Laura. She met my eyes, we could run. Take Spice somewhere safe, disappear into the world.
But we'd made a choice two days ago. Try to be more than weapons. Learn what it meant to be human.
That meant facing what we'd done.
"We go back," I said.
"What if they don't accept us?" Spice asked. Phoebe this time, aggressive and defensive. "Might lock us up. Might—"
"Might accept that we did what we thought was right," I interrupted. "Or might not. Either way, we face it."
Laura nodded slowly. "Together."
Spice cycled through personalities—Sophie considering, Phoebe resistant, Irma uncertain, Celeste afraid, Esme calculating odds. Then she stopped on Sophie.
"Together," she agreed.
We moved into the tree line. Behind us, The World facility screamed with emergency lights and chaos. Ahead, uncertain consequences and the only home we'd known that wasn't a prison.
Three weapons now instead of two.
The X-Men were going to love this.