As soon as the Black supervisor finished speaking, Inisha crossed one long leg over the other and leaned back in her chair. She was dressed in something that looked more suited to a nightclub than a strategy meeting, the fabric hugging her curves and leaving little to the imagination.
"I'm not interested in a small organization that doesn't even have a Level Four mutant," she said lazily. Her voice carried a natural, smoky allure that could have pulled most men forward without effort. "Boss, send someone else."
Her outfit revealed plenty of pale skin, and under normal circumstances, she would have been the center of every wandering eye in the room. Any ordinary man might have entertained dangerous fantasies just looking at her.
But none of the men seated around the conference table looked at her.
Not one.
Even now, after she spoke, their gazes stayed carefully fixed on the table, the walls, anywhere but her. The Black supervisor didn't meet her eyes either. This wasn't politeness. It was caution.
Most people didn't know the details of Inisha's ability, and those who didn't often paid the price. These men, however, knew exactly what she could do. The moment they allowed their focus to lock onto her, even briefly, they would be exposed to her power.
"I'm not negotiating with you," the supervisor replied evenly. His tone was slow and controlled, deliberately neutral. "This comes from the branch chief."
He folded his hands on the table, still not looking at her.
"If you don't want to go, explain it to him yourself."
The charm that seemed permanently etched into Inisha's expression vanished in an instant. The flirtatious curve of her lips flattened, and the softness in her eyes turned sharp.
"Since it's the branch chief's decision," she said, rising smoothly from her seat, "I'll go."
She didn't wait for permission to leave. Without glancing at anyone, she walked out of the conference room, her heels clicking steadily against the floor. The moment she exited, Slater and Byrne stood as well and followed her out in silence.
…
Santa Ana.
After setting the manor ablaze, Richard drove south until the city skyline of Santa Ana came into view. The fire behind him had swallowed his former home, erasing evidence and severing ties in one decisive act.
Santa Ana sat in Orange County in Southern California, southeast of Los Angeles and roughly fifty-five kilometers away. It was large enough to blend into, small enough to avoid immediate scrutiny.
Even though he was now an unregistered, illegal mutant, hiding in some remote wilderness never crossed his mind. Isolation wasn't safety. It was vulnerability.
He intended to go bigger.
Los Angeles.
The most dangerous place is the safest place.
Los Angeles had the largest mutant population in California. Ironically, it also housed the largest branch of the Department of Mutant Affairs in the state. Yet despite the heavy official presence, plenty of illegal mutants managed to disappear into its urban sprawl.
Richard's plan was simple.
Settle in Los Angeles. Increase his strength. Look for opportunities to plunder more mutant abilities.
As long as he became powerful enough, his status wouldn't matter. Strength solved most problems in this world.
Magneto was living proof.
Everyone on the planet knew he was an unregistered mutant. Not just that, but the hawkish leader openly opposing the U.S. government. Yet the government had never managed to eliminate him.
They couldn't arrest him. They couldn't even destroy the Brotherhood of Mutants he had founded.
Power was the ultimate shield.
After reaching Santa Ana, Richard sold the Ford pickup truck without hesitation. The dealership didn't ask too many questions, and he walked away with a little over twenty thousand dollars in cash.
With that settled, he found a 24-hour chain restaurant and decided to eat while planning his next move. The place was brightly lit and smelled of grease and coffee, the kind of place that never truly slept.
His father—this body's original father—had been captured by agents of the Department of Mutant Affairs. That meant both he and Crimson Manor were exposed.
His father wouldn't voluntarily talk. Richard was certain of that. But falling into government hands didn't leave much room for choice.
If they found a telepath, everything would be extracted.
Not only that, but based on the Department's usual methods, every asset connected to his father was likely seized or under strict surveillance by now.
Fortunately, Richard had prepared.
When he set fire to the manor's main building, he'd emptied both the bedroom safe and the study safe. Cash. Jewelry. Portable valuables. Everything had been stored in the system's storage space.
As long as he avoided his old bank accounts, the Department's financial monitoring wouldn't touch him.
That was assuming they hadn't issued a warrant yet.
If his name and face were already circulated, then even cash transactions wouldn't be completely safe. Public discrimination against mutants was severe, and official propaganda only made it worse.
The prejudice wasn't subtle. Mutants were treated as dangerous anomalies at best and enemies at worst. In many places, the hostility felt comparable to the darkest periods of racial oppression in American history.
The waiter soon delivered his order.
Hot dogs. Bacon. Omelets. French fries. Burgers.
A table full of unapologetically American food.
Richard glanced at it, then started eating. The flavors were heavy and salty, grounding in their familiarity. It was his first proper meal in this new world.
While chewing, he considered whether joining an organization temporarily might be worthwhile.
Before becoming truly powerful, backing from a group had its advantages.
But the idea didn't last long.
Small mutant organizations were pointless. They offered limited protection and even less growth potential.
The X-Men and the Brotherhood of Mutants were a different matter entirely.
Countless people wanted to join the X-Men. Very few succeeded.
The Mutant School in Westchester, New York, was no secret. Everyone knew it was the X-Men's headquarters. But that didn't mean anyone could just walk in and sign up.
More importantly, the X-Men and their school weren't designed for illegal mutants with uncertain backgrounds like his.
As for the Brotherhood of Mutants, most people didn't even know where its headquarters was. Even the U.S. government lacked confirmed coordinates.
If they had known, the Brotherhood—officially labeled a terrorist organization—would have been targeted relentlessly.
Forget it.
Self-reliance was the safest route.
Richard pushed aside the thought of joining any faction and focused on finishing his lunch. He needed strength first. Everything else came later.
Just as he was nearing the end of his meal, the restaurant door swung open.
A middle-aged man walked in first. He had a rugged, aggressive presence, broad shoulders and a thick neck, moving with the confidence of a predator that had never learned restraint.
Beside him was a girl who looked seventeen or eighteen at most. Her appearance was striking, almost unreal in its symmetry and brightness, the kind of beauty that could rival Hollywood's biggest stars.
Richard recognized them immediately.
Sabretooth—Victor Creed.
And Blink—Clarice Ferguson.
They looked almost identical to their movie counterparts. If there was any difference, it was that Clarice appeared much younger than she had in Days of Future Past.
The moment he saw her, an odd thought surfaced in his mind, half humor and half nostalgia. She had once set off an aesthetic trend with her distinctive look, sharp features and colored hair becoming iconic overnight.
He had expected to encounter familiar characters eventually. After all, this was the Marvel Universe.
He just hadn't expected it to happen this soon.
The encounter was unexpected, but he had no intention of approaching them.
Clarice was undeniably eye-catching. That was obvious. But he didn't forget his current situation.
He was only a Beta-level mutant with limited fusion progress. Even with the Sephiroth template, he was far from invincible.
If he wanted to build a harem like certain overpowered transmigrators in fiction, that was a distant problem. Right now, survival and growth came first.
Women would only slow the draw of his blade.
Until he possessed enough strength to protect himself without hesitation—until he could cut his way through any threat standing between the White House and the Pentagon without blinking—he wouldn't waste time chasing romance.
Unfortunately, while Richard had no intention of making contact, Sabretooth's feral instincts were razor sharp.
The moment Richard's gaze lingered even a fraction too long, Victor Creed noticed.
.....
Want to read ahead by more than 60 chapters. Then join my p@treon Right Now.
Link: p*atreon.com/BookReaderBoy (Remove the *)
Also Free members get 2 advanced chapters for Free as well.