Genosha was a geographic impossibility.
As Peter walked down the bustling main promenade beside Wanda, he couldn't help but stare at the architecture. The island's foundation was pure, forged steel, yet a towering, natural-looking ridge wove seamlessly through the metal framework. White sand beaches spilled out into the churning Atlantic, the salt spray catching the bright midday sun. It was beautiful, but the underlying, indestructible skeleton of the city was always visible just beneath the surface.
Wanda walked with a quiet, practiced grace. As they merged into the heavy foot traffic, her fingers twitched. Faint, crimson wisps of chaos magic drifted from her knuckles, coiling gently around Peter's wrist. The bulky, non-mutant tourist pass strapped to his arm shimmered wildly for a second before vanishing entirely beneath a localized optical illusion.
"Consider it a thank you for your trust," Wanda said, offering a small, sideways smile. "Now, no one will realize you're a baseline human on a visitor's pass. They'll just assume you're a newly manifested mutant who hasn't quite learned his way around the island yet."
Peter rubbed his wrist. He could still feel the fabric band, but his eyes told him it was just bare skin. "Thanks. That definitely lowers the chances of me accidentally causing an international incident before lunch."
They continued down the promenade. For the rest of the world, superpowers were often treated as a status symbol—a terrifying, awe-inspiring display of godhood. A guy who could shoot lasers out of his eyes or lift a tank was put on a magazine cover. But that privilege only extended to those who could easily pass for normal.
If the X-gene didn't give you a chiseled jawline and tactical lasers, the world was a vastly crueler place.
"The discrimination doesn't just stop at the human border, Peter," Wanda said, her voice dropping a fraction. She nodded toward a teenager shuffling awkwardly near a fruit stand.
The boy had a human torso, but his arms and back were covered in molting, dirty-brown feathers. His face protruded into a sharp, oversized avian beak. His limbs looked fragile, bent at awkward, bird-like angles.
"That's Barnell," Wanda explained quietly. "He has hollow bones and feathers, but he generates zero aerodynamic lift. He can't fly. Before he came here, he was despised by humans. But even when he arrived in Genosha, the mutants with 'clean' powers discriminated against him. They viewed the physical mutations as a lower caste."
Peter followed her gaze down the street. He spotted an elderly man sitting on a park bench, playing a soulful tune on a brass saxophone. The man looked entirely ordinary, except his skin was a vibrant, localized shade of cobalt blue.
"His name is Jazz," Wanda continued. "His only mutation is blue skin. Nothing else. And over by the newsstand? That man's neck is three feet longer than humanly possible. No super strength, no psychic barriers. Just a long neck. When my father first established this nation, the stronger mutants immediately tried to enforce a hierarchy. They bullied the visible, weaker mutations just as badly as the humans did."
Peter frowned, dodging a small child with scaled green skin who ran past his knees. "So how did Magneto stop it? Because everyone here looks like they're getting along."
"My father wanted to build a genuine home, not a caste system," Wanda said, her jaw tightening slightly. "He went to extreme lengths to eliminate the prejudice."
"How extreme?" Peter asked.
"He deployed the telepaths," Wanda said flatly. "If someone was caught harassing a physical mutant, my father would have the telepath forcibly rip their way into the perpetrator's mind. They would make the bully physically and psychologically experience the exact trauma, fear, and disgust of the victim. They forcefully rewired their empathy. It was... brutal. But it worked."
Peter swallowed hard. Weaponized empathy. It was incredibly effective, and completely terrifying.
Wanda's dark expression suddenly lifted. She stopped in front of a brightly painted street cart. "Ice cream?" she asked.
"Uh, sure. Chocolate, please," Peter said.
He stepped up to the cart. The vendor, a heavyset man in a striped apron, smiled warmly. Instead of grabbing a scooper, the man simply held up a crisp waffle cone. The skin of his right forearm rippled, morphed, and literally extruded a perfect, swirling spiral of rich chocolate ice cream directly into the cone. The man then shifted his wrist, generating a twist of vanilla for Wanda.
Peter stared at the chocolate cone placed into his hand.
[Eat it,] Venom grumbled in his mind. [If it's biologically toxic, I will filter the heavy metals out of your bloodstream. Just don't embarrass us.]
Peter took a cautious bite. His eyebrows shot up. It was genuinely the best chocolate ice cream he had ever tasted.
"His mutation allows his body to generate and secrete soft serve," Wanda smiled, taking a delicate bite of her vanilla. "Anywhere else in the world, the health department would have locked him in a laboratory. Here? He's a highly successful small business owner. Mutants generally have fortified immune systems, so nobody catches a cold from eating it in the winter."
They continued toward a large central plaza. A crowd was gathered around a massive stone fountain. In the center, a young mutant was waving his arms like a symphony conductor. He wasn't attacking anyone; he was using his hydrokinesis to shape the fountain's spray into a pair of massive, dancing water dragons that sparkled in the sunlight. The crowd clapped and cheered.
It was idyllic. It was peaceful. Everyone was freely using their powers without fear.
But Peter couldn't shake the math.
"Wanda," Peter said, lowering his voice as they walked past the cheering crowd. "I get that the telepaths forced people to play nice. But you have sixteen million refugees here. From every country on the planet. You can't telepathically control all of them. How does your dad actually keep them in line?"
Wanda stopped walking. The ocean breeze caught her red hair. She looked away, staring at the polished steel of the plaza ground.
"Because they fear him," Wanda said, her voice barely a whisper.
Peter didn't say anything. He just waited.
"When Genosha was first founded, the crime rate spiked," Wanda confessed, her eyes dark with the memory. "The cartels, the human traffickers, the mutant supremacists—they all thought there were no rules here. So, my father established the law. He publicly executed the worst offenders. He hung them from the iron gates outside the palace. I remember... on his busiest day, he executed seventy-two people before sunset."
Peter felt a cold chill wash over his skin, entirely cutting through the warmth of the afternoon sun.
"It paralyzed the criminal element," Wanda sighed, wrapping her arms around her own ribs. "The fear took root. People adapted. They started following the laws just to survive the week. And eventually, once everyone got used to the peace... the high-pressure executions stopped. Most people here just want an ordinary life. They don't want to break the law anymore."
As long as the dictator doesn't change his mind, Peter thought grimly.
"It's a beautiful city, Wanda," Peter said softly, trying to ease the tension in her shoulders. "It really is. Most people just assume mutants want to be soldiers or weapons. They forget you guys just want to eat ice cream and watch a fountain show without being hunted."
Wanda offered a small, grateful smile.
Inside Peter's head, Venom was currently hijacking Peter's optic nerves, rapidly scanning the crowd's biometric signatures and thermal outputs, desperately hunting for the massive electrical surge of Max Dillon.
[Nothing yet,] Venom hissed. [Just a bunch of glowing freaks. Let me keep scanning.]
Knock yourself out, V, Peter thought.
As they rounded a street corner, Peter's eyes caught a massive, holographic billboard plastered against a brick wall. The image displayed a beautiful woman with blonde hair, wearing a sleek silver jumpsuit, striking a dramatic pose under a shower of stage lights.
ALISON BLAIRE - DAZZLER - LIVE IN CONCERT TONIGHT!
Peter froze, staring at the poster. He felt a sudden, phantom itch on his skin. He remembered standing in the dark, blood-soaked dungeon of Castle Doom in the zombie universe, watching this exact same woman looking utterly terrified.
Wanda noticed his sudden halt. She stepped back, looking up at the billboard.
"Are you a fan of hers?" Wanda asked, tilting her head curiously.
"What? Oh. Not really," Peter stammered, tearing his eyes away from the poster. "I've just... heard some of her tracks."
He definitely wasn't going to mention he had met her alternate-universe counterpart during a localized zombie apocalypse.
"You should really go to her show," Wanda recommended, her smile returning. "Her mutation allows her to convert sound into light. Her concerts are incredible. Absolute sensory perfection. If you're interested... I could come with you tonight? As your guide, of course."
Peter looked at the red-haired teenager. The invitation was genuine. But he had a job to do, and a walking battery to catch.
"Let's figure out tonight's business later," Peter said smoothly, offering a polite smile. "For now, how about we grab some lunch? I think my metabolism just burned through that chocolate cone."
PS: Believe it or not, the mutants mentioned in this chapter—Beak (Barnell Bohusk), Jazz (John Arthur Zander), and Longneck (William Hannover), plus the guy who literally sweats ice cream (Soft Serve)—are all 100% real, canon Marvel mutants!
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