I leaned back in my chair, watching the screens in front of me with a mix of satisfaction and mild surprise. S.H.I.E.L.D. was scrambling, pulling out of all their mutant-related operations in real-time. It had only been a few hours since my conversation with Hawkeye, and already, the gears were turning.
"Hmph, they actually decided to pull out," I muttered, my eyes scanning the data streams that Magina was projecting onto the screens. The sheer speed at which S.H.I.E.L.D. was cutting ties was impressive, even for an organization as resourceful as they were.
"It was an order from Director Fury himself, apparently," Magina's voice chimed in, her tone calm and analytical. On the screen, digital trails of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s activities were being tracked in real-time. Investments, funding, experiments—anything tied to mutants was being severed with surgical precision. "They're cleaning house," she added.
I crossed my arms, my expression darkening as I watched the data flow. "It's horrifying to see just how many mutants they were experimenting on," Magina continued, her voice tinged with a rare hint of emotion. She pulled up profiles of mutants who had been in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s custody, their faces and stories displayed in stark detail.
"Like I said, they're not clean either," I replied, my voice cold. There was no surprise there, really. S.H.I.E.L.D. had always been quick to turn anything—or anyone—into a weapon if it served their purposes. But seeing the extent of their involvement laid out so plainly was still unsettling.
Magina continued, her tone clinical but with an undercurrent of disapproval. "All the projects they were directly working on involved mutants with criminal records. But for the ones they invested in or funded, they didn't seem to care where the mutants came from. Ninety percent of the mutants in those independent programs came from questionable sources."
I clenched my fists, my frustration boiling over. "Typical," I growled. "I guess we can add those bastards to the list, then." The disregard for life—mutant life, in particular—was infuriating. S.H.I.E.L.D. had always operated under the guise of protecting the world, but this? This was exploitation, plain and simple.
Getting S.H.I.E.L.D. to back off from mutants was a crucial step for me. As much as I despised some of their methods, I didn't want to wipe them out entirely. They were necessary, especially with what was coming. The Battle of New York would be devastating, and countless lives would be lost. The aftermath—contaminations, dangerous technology being traded, the chaos—would need to be contained. S.H.I.E.L.D., for all its flaws, could help with that.
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "I can disagree with their methods, but I won't deny their usefulness," I said aloud, more to myself than to Magina. "They're good, but they're not great. At the end of the day, they're just another government agency, parading around like they're holier than thou."
Magina's voice broke through my thoughts. "Father, I've located the underground mutant community."
I turned my attention back to the screens. "Already? That was fast."
"I found them four hours ago," Magina replied, her tone matter-of-fact. "I've also finished mapping the entire abandoned underground maze beneath New York."
The screen shifted, displaying a detailed map of the forgotten tunnels and passages that sprawled beneath the city. My eyes widened as I took in the sheer scale of it. "Woah, this place is huge," I said, genuinely shocked. The underground network was as vast as the city itself, a labyrinth of forgotten spaces that had become a refuge for those who needed to stay hidden.
Magina zoomed in on specific sections of the map, highlighting areas where mutant activity had been detected. "This is where they've been hiding," she said. "It's a fully functional community, complete with living quarters, supply lines, and even a rudimentary governance system."
I leaned closer, studying the map with a mix of awe and determination. "These changes everything," I said quietly. "If we can connect with them, offer them protection, we might be able to build something real. Something that lasts."
Magina's voice was calm but firm. "It won't be easy. They've been burned before. Trust won't come quickly."
"I know," I said, my gaze fixed on the map. "But it's a start. And right now, that's all we need."
I stared at the screens, my heart heavy as I took in the grim reality of the underground mutant communities. The images Magina displayed showed a world hidden beneath the bustling streets of New York—a world of darkness, struggle, and survival. Mutants, rejected by society, forced to live like animals in the sewers, clinging to life in the direst conditions.
"I knew there was an entire system down there," I muttered, my voice low. "A cluster of mutant communities, hidden from the world above. But seeing it like this… it's worse than I imagined."
Magina's voice was soft, almost sympathetic. "They've been pushed to the fringes, Father. The world above has no place for them, so they've carved out a life in the shadows."
I sighed, leaning back in my chair. From what I knew about mutants in this world, I'd read about the Underground Society of Mutants beneath New York. I'd hoped, secretly, that such communities wouldn't exist here—that mutants wouldn't be forced to live in such squalor. But as I came to terms with the reality of their existence, I knew I had to find them. And now, thanks to Magina, I had.
"Have you found the Morlocks, Magina?" I asked, my tone somber.
"I have, Father," Magina replied. "They're located near Queens and Brooklyn. I tracked a mutant coming from the surface and followed him. He led me straight to the Morlocks' settlement."
The screen shifted, displaying a live feed of the Morlocks' town. It was less of a town and more of a shantytown—ramshackle structures pieced together from scraps, dimly lit by flickering lights. The mutants there moved slowly, their gaunt frames and hollow eyes telling a story of hardship and despair.
"Ninety percent of the population is malnourished and sick," Magina commented, her voice tinged with sadness. "They're dying, Father. And yet, they're still fighting to survive."
I clenched my fists, my frustration and anger simmering beneath the surface. "They've been dealt the worst hand," I said bitterly. "Their mutations didn't give them powers—it twisted their bodies, made them outcasts. They never stood a chance."
Magina nodded, her avatar flickering on the screen. "Ninety-eight percent of them have lost their human appearance due to their mutations. They're the ones who drew the short end of the stick in the genetic lottery."
The images on the screen were heartbreaking. The Morlocks lived in constant fear, unable to venture above ground for food or supplies. They couldn't grow their own food, and sickness was rampant. Death was a constant shadow hanging over them. It was a doomed existence, one that no one deserved.
Before I could dwell on it further, Magina interrupted my thoughts. "Father, I've found the Marauders."
The screen shifted again, this time showing a new video feed. The Marauders' base was a stark contrast to the Morlocks' shantytown. It was a fortified hideout, filled with mutants who looked far healthier—and far more dangerous. They were partying, laughing, and drinking, their faces twisted with cruelty.
But what caught my attention were the military crates stacked around them. "Magina, zoom in on those crates," I said, my voice sharp.
The image enlarged, revealing the markings on the crates. My blood boiled as I read the labels. "Roxxon Energy Corporation… and HYDRA," I growled. "Those sons of bitches!"
Magina confirmed my suspicions. "The markings are a 100% match, Father. HYDRA and Roxxon are supplying them."
The pieces fell into place. The Marauders weren't just a group of thugs—they were traffickers. They captured and sold other mutants, trading them like commodities for profit and pleasure. It was a vile, despicable operation, and HYDRA was right at the center of it.
"I've added them to the list, Father," Magina said, her tone firm.
"Thank you, Magina," I replied, my voice heavy with frustration. "Once again, I'm faced with the ugly truth, and I'm the only one who knows about it."
Magina's avatar tilted her head, her expression softening. "It's the curse of knowledge, Father. At least now we truly understand what that means."
I couldn't help but chuckle dryly at her attempt to lighten the mood. "You're right, Magina. There's too much to do, and only one of me. For now, keep observing them. We can't help everyone at once—we've got our own battles to fight."
Magina nodded, her avatar flickering as she added the Marauders and their operations to the watch list. The screens shifted back to the Morlocks, their desperate faces a reminder of the work that still needed to be done.
As I sat there, staring at the images, I couldn't shake the weight of responsibility pressing down on me. The world was broken, and fixing it felt like an impossible task. But I had to try. For the Morlocks, for the mutants, for everyone who had been cast aside—I had to try.