"Special?"
Pietro and Wanda frowned at the same time, the word clearly landing wrong. Suspicion crept into Pietro's posture as he shifted slightly in front of his sister.
Before he could press further, Richard cut him off calmly. "Save the questions for later. There are other mutants locked up here. We get them out first."
Pietro glanced at Wanda, then nodded. "Fine."
With the staff and guards still frozen in place under Richard's telepathic restraint, the rest of the rescue required little effort. Cell after cell was opened using magnetic field control, heavy metal doors ripped free and hurled aside like scrap. A handful of disoriented mutants stumbled out, blinking against the harsh corridor lights.
Once the last cell had been cleared, Richard looked over the small group without much interest. Their expressions ranged from fear to awe, but he focused only on the twins.
"Where are you going now?" he asked evenly. "Back home?"
Pietro's jaw tightened slightly. "We don't have one anymore."
The answer came flat, without self-pity.
"In that case," Richard said, "you can come with me for now."
There was no hesitation this time. Pietro and Wanda both nodded.
Before anything else could be said, a blond-haired mutant who looked to be in his early twenties stepped forward nervously. He had the uncertain energy of someone trying to be brave.
"Can I come too?" he asked quickly. "I'm a huge fan. Senior member of your forum. I even got a tattoo."
He rolled up his sleeve with eager pride. Inked on his arm was a small but detailed image—Richard sitting atop the wreckage of a Sentinel in Los Angeles, his blade planted beside him.
Richard didn't smile.
"Get lost."
His tone wasn't loud, but the weight behind it pressed down on the corridor like gravity. The blond man stiffened and instinctively stepped back, as did the others.
Richard ignored them completely and turned back to the twins. "Wait here. I'm burning this place down first."
"Let me help," Pietro said immediately.
"Sure."
Five minutes later, flames roared through the institute.
Laboratory equipment ignited first, chemicals feeding the fire into something violent and uncontrollable. Files, research data, experimental samples, even the immobilized staff and guards—all of it was swallowed. The fire reflected off the night sky in a harsh orange glow.
Richard watched without emotion.
When he was satisfied, he turned to Wanda. "Give me your right hand."
She didn't question him. Her fingers slid into his.
Pietro immediately understood and stepped forward to grab Richard's other side, but the White Queen moved faster. She slipped in close, wrapping herself around Richard's left arm and pressing her body against him without apology.
Pietro blinked in surprise.
He didn't recognize her as the White Queen of the Hellfire Club. He had heard the codename before, but he had never seen her in person. Right now, all he saw was a tall, elegant blonde with striking features and long, flawless legs that seemed almost unreal in the glow of distant firelight.
His expression shifted from surprise to obvious envy.
Wanda noticed immediately.
"Move," she said sharply. "Now."
Her tone carried more embarrassment than anger. She knew exactly where Pietro's attention had drifted.
Pietro cleared his throat and reluctantly tore his gaze away. He stepped beside Wanda and grabbed her free hand.
Richard activated teleportation.
The flames, the smoke, the approaching wail of police sirens—all vanished as the world folded in on itself.
…
Las Vegas.
Caesars Palace.
Instead of taking them somewhere obscure, Richard brought them straight back to the luxury business suite.
They gathered in the living room, the tension of the rescue slowly settling into something more grounded. Pietro sat across from Richard, posture guarded but no longer hostile.
"You said you don't have a home," Richard began. "Explain."
"And tell me how you were captured."
Pietro didn't hesitate. Over the next several minutes, he laid everything out.
They didn't know who their biological father was. Their mother had died years ago in a shooting incident, just another statistic in the endless cycle of gun violence. After that, they dropped out of school. The bank reclaimed their house when they couldn't keep up with the mortgage.
They were registered mutants, legally documented. Pietro's speed. Wanda's telekinesis and telepathy—at least, that's what authorities believed.
Because they were minors without guardians, they were scheduled for placement into separate foster homes.
They ran before that happened.
For years, they survived together. With powers like theirs, staying fed wasn't difficult. They met other wandering mutants, received invitations from different organizations, but never committed. They preferred freedom.
Half a month ago, Sebastian Shaw found them in Houston.
He captured them personally.
They were shipped to Orlando as "materials" for enhanced cloning experiments.
When Pietro finished, silence lingered in the suite.
Richard still couldn't confirm whether they were Magneto's children, but it no longer mattered. That question could wait.
"What about food?" Richard asked casually. "Hungry?"
"You're taking us out?" Pietro asked immediately.
Richard glanced at their white prison uniforms. "Like that?"
He shook his head slightly. "Order room service. Have them send clothes up too."
Caesars Palace was accustomed to wealthy clients. Purchasing clothing or arranging special requests was routine.
"Got it," Pietro said quickly.
"You can choose the other bedrooms."
Richard stood and walked toward the master suite.
The White Queen followed without a word.
Pietro watched them go and then looked at Wanda thoughtfully. "Is she his girlfriend?"
"She's gorgeous," he added.
Wanda rolled her eyes. "You stared at her like a creep."
"I did not."
"You absolutely did."
Pietro ignored her and leaned back. "Why can't I meet someone like that? I'm strong too. Same hair color. Similar style. He's a little more handsome, sure, but still."
Wanda sighed. "You're hopeless."
She stood and headed toward one of the secondary bedrooms.
…
Meanwhile, at the mutant school's underground base, tension was building.
In the conference room, Jean Grey, Cyclops, Storm, and Wolverine sat around the table, all watching Professor Xavier.
He had summoned them telepathically—a rare move that immediately signaled urgency.
"A contact in Miami informed me of a confrontation at Bayfront Park Marina," Xavier began slowly. "The participants were Richard and Sebastian Shaw."
The room stiffened.
"Shaw is dead," Xavier continued. "Killed by Richard."
Shock flickered across several faces.
"And that wasn't all. A younger version of Eric was also killed."
Cyclops leaned forward. "A younger—"
"Clone," Xavier confirmed quietly. "An Eric clone."
Understanding settled over them instantly.
"You three," Xavier said, looking at Jean, Logan, and Ororo. "Take the Blackbird to Miami immediately. Retrieve the clone's body from the Mutant Affairs Department."
He turned to Scott. "Tomorrow morning, you're coming with me to Washington. I intend to have a conversation with their director."
Anger, rare and unmistakable, colored his tone.
He had known for months that cloning projects were happening. Sabretooth had been one thing. Magneto was another entirely.
Friendship, no matter how strained, still mattered.
"Be careful," Xavier added.
Jean nodded. "We'll bring him back."
They left immediately.
…
Elsewhere, in the Brotherhood's headquarters, Mystique hurried down a corridor with a tablet in hand.
She pushed into Magneto's room without ceremony.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Footage from Miami."
She pressed play.
The video was brief but clear. Shaw standing beside a younger Eric. The fight. The destruction. The clone's broken body.
Magneto watched in silence.
When it ended, several seconds passed before he spoke.
"Have I been too quiet lately?" he asked softly. "Do they think I'm finished?"
Mystique remained silent.
Magneto's expression hardened, his voice turning cold.
"If they want a war," he said, "I'll give them one."
.....
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