When Richard saw the Blackbird circling above the forest, searching for a suitable landing spot, he calmly sheathed his blade and activated Flash before the jet could touch down. Space folded around him, and in the next instant, he appeared inside the Blackbird's cabin, still seated on the large rock he had been resting on moments earlier.
The interior wasn't particularly spacious. Several figures filled the compartment. Besides Jean Grey, he saw Scott Summers at the controls, Logan seated nearby, Ororo Monroe standing alert, Victor Creed leaning against the wall, Clarice beside him, and the mutant children rescued from the underground Sentinel maintenance level the previous night.
Phoenix, Wolverine, Cyclops, Storm—they all looked almost exactly as he remembered. The familiarity was almost surreal.
After sweeping his gaze across them, he focused on Jean.
"I don't like people using telepathy on me," he said evenly. "If someone tries to invade my mind, I'll do everything I can to kill them."
She had only used telepathy to lock onto his position, not to invade his thoughts, but the boundary still mattered. The warning was deliberate.
Before Jean could respond, Logan was already on his feet. His expression was far from polite as he strode toward Richard with open hostility.
"Kid, watch your tone," Logan growled. "Jean just wanted to know where you were."
Even though Scott was the one piloting the Blackbird and officially Jean's partner, Logan reacted like a territorial guard dog. His protective instinct was immediate and unapologetic.
"You were impolite first," Richard replied calmly, meeting Logan's glare without flinching. "Victor and Clarice already told you I didn't want to see you. Locking onto someone with telepathy after they've refused contact—is that the X-Men's idea of respect?"
Logan's jaw tightened.
In raw combat strength, Logan surpassed Victor. But that was the extent of the comparison. Adamantium skeleton or not, Richard had dozens of methods to incapacitate him. Permanently killing him would take more effort, but it wasn't impossible.
Logan stepped closer, raising a hand as if to grab Richard by the collar.
"Logan, don't!"
Jean's voice cut through the tension instantly. Logan froze mid-motion, then slowly lowered his hand.
Jean stood and walked toward Richard, her expression sincere.
"You're right," she said. "It was wrong to track you without permission. I apologize. I'm sorry."
Her apology wasn't perfunctory. It carried genuine acknowledgment.
Richard studied her for a moment before replying. "Forget it this time. What do you want?"
"If you're here to take me back to the school, don't bother. I have no intention of going to New York."
He had no interest in dealing with Charles Xavier right now. He could already predict the conversation: responsibility, coexistence, moral obligation, protecting mutant rights, using power for the greater good. The usual rhetoric of idealists.
Jean and Scott chose that path freely. That was their choice.
He had no intention of walking it.
"The professor doesn't have bad intentions," Jean said gently. "He just wants to meet you and talk. We're not here to arrest you, and we're not working with the Mutant Affairs Department."
She paused before continuing.
"I can promise you something else. Even if they find out you came with us, they won't act against you. And if you want, we can push for your S-level warrant to be revoked."
Unlike Logan, Jean sensed he wasn't someone who reacted well to pressure. She also noticed something important earlier—before flashing into the cabin, he had put away his blade. That showed restraint.
"I don't think there's anything for Charles and me to discuss," Richard replied.
He gestured toward the rescued children.
"I pulled them out of a Sentinel maintenance facility under the Los Angeles branch last night. Whether you knew about it or not, seeing what they went through makes it hard for me to believe your assurances."
The X-Men had the resources to monitor the Mutant Affairs Department. If they didn't know what was happening to captured mutants, it meant negligence. If they did know and failed to intervene, that was worse.
Jean fell silent.
After several seconds, she spoke again.
"What they endured… that's partly on us. We should have been more aware."
Her voice was steady but heavy.
"I know it's hard for you to trust us. Still, I hope you'll—"
A shrill alarm suddenly pierced the cabin.
"A missile lock!" Storm shouted immediately.
The atmosphere shifted instantly.
"Missiles?" Logan's expression darkened. Jean's face tightened.
They were still within United States airspace. That meant the missiles were almost certainly from U.S. military forces or a government-aligned agency—perhaps the Mutant Affairs Department, or even S.H.I.E.L.D.
The Blackbird was registered. It wasn't some unidentified hostile aircraft. There was no plausible misidentification.
"It seems the government doesn't value the X-Men as much as you think," Richard said calmly.
Jean started to respond, but he turned to Clarice instead.
"Open a portal. Get the kids out of here. Now. This jet may not dodge what's coming."
"Okay," Clarice answered immediately.
She raised her hand and launched a sphere of violet energy forward. The air tore open into a circular portal leading back to the forest. As soon as it stabilized, Logan and Victor grabbed the nearest children and moved through without hesitation.
One by one, the rescued mutants disappeared through the gateway.
As Richard stepped through, Scott and Ororo were already maneuvering the Blackbird aggressively. The jet banked sharply, engines roaring as countermeasures deployed.
"They're probably targeting me," Richard said once they were outside. "If they didn't know I was onboard, they wouldn't risk openly attacking Charles' team."
As he finished speaking, he summoned his blade again.
"What are you planning?" Logan demanded, stepping closer. His adamantium claws slid out with a metallic snap.
"Relax," Richard said flatly. "I'm not interested in you. I'm interested in them."
He raised the blade and pointed toward the distant sky beyond the tree line.
Logan followed the direction, but he saw nothing. The trees blocked his view.
Richard, however, could see clearly.
The enhanced vision he had plundered the night before—farsight combined with penetration sight—cut through distance and obstruction. Far beyond the forest canopy, another aircraft hovered.
It resembled a S.H.I.E.L.D. Quinjet, but the insignia on the fuselage was unmistakable: Mutant Affairs Department.
Inside the aircraft, three agents in black tactical uniforms sat strapped into their seats. Their expressions were severe, focused. They weren't rookies. These were elite operatives dispatched from another branch—or directly from headquarters.
"They didn't hesitate," Richard murmured. "Good."
His grip tightened on the blade.
If they had come looking for him, then they would find him.
.....
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