"Veins of Blue"
Location: Rooftop Greenhouse, Upper Manhattan. Midnight.
POV: Roxy.
---
The moonlight spilled through the glass panels of the rooftop greenhouse, casting silver veins over the hanging orchids and ivy. It was silent. Too silent. Just the way Roxy liked it.
Correction.
Just the way Roxy required it.
She sat cross-legged on the stone bench in her "Roxy" skin—long brown curls spilling like lazy ink down her back, clad in ripped jeans and a Midtown High hoodie. She looked like any troubled, over-it teenager. The kind that bit her lip in class and slept through gym and secretly journaled about poetry or serial killers.
Leon thought she was cute.
Not that he'd ever say it out loud. His attention flicked, smoldered, lingered. He stared at her like she was a riddle he didn't know he was solving.
But Roxy?
She only observed.
She studied the way his fingers tapped when he was anxious. The way his shoulders coiled under stress. The glint in his eyes—not just intelligence, but design. The boy had no origin story. No parents. No fingerprints. No proper history.
He's not real, she thought, fingers drumming against her knee.
Yet somehow… he was.
And she couldn't stop watching him.
---
A faint click. Mechanical. Purposeful.
She rose to her feet, twisting her neck like a wolf scenting rain. Her form shimmered like heat above asphalt—and the illusion melted.
Gone were the soft curves and human hues.
Now, under the moonlight, stood Mystique.
Blue-skinned. Amber-eyed. Cold as forged steel.
She pulled her comm-bead from a hidden crevice in the wall and pressed it gently.
"Contact secure. Go."
A voice answered like crushed static.
"Report."
"Leon Walter. Subject 7-A-Theta. He doesn't know what he is. But he's evolving."
"Define evolving."
Mystique's eyes narrowed.
"His power isn't linear. It grows emotionally. Erratically. Like… like something inside is trying to remember."
The silence on the other end was telling.
Then: "And your assessment?"
She hesitated.
Raven never hesitated.
But her mouth opened before she could stop it.
"He's... not a child. Not a weapon. Not a mistake. He's a trigger. A catalyst."
"For what?"
She swallowed.
"I don't know yet."
---
A gust of wind blew petals from the orchids. They swirled between the glass panes like ash.
Then Magneto's voice deepened, careful:
"Can he be controlled?"
Mystique looked out across the city. Her yellow eyes caught sight of a distant blur—Leon's window, maybe, glowing faintly with the light of some late-night YouTube binge or textbook.
And for a moment—just a moment—her chest tightened.
"...I don't think anyone can control him. Not forever."
Silence.
Then:
"Do you want to?"
Mystique didn't answer.
Instead, she reached up… and touched her own cheek. Just where he'd brushed her earlier that day—by accident. A spark. Nothing more. A ghost of connection.
"I'll get closer."
"Good. Come over HQ, we have an important meeting regarding your target."
The line went dead.
---
As the comm-bead folded away, Mystique's form shimmered once more—brown hair, hazel eyes, soft skin. Roxy again. Teenager. Crush-worthy. Vulnerable.
But her gaze as she stared into the moonlight was anything but soft.
"He's too human," she whispered.
Too dangerous.
Too... mine.
---
A boy with no past.
---
(Time skip: 3 Hours Later)
Location 1: Underground Brotherhood Bunker, Abandoned Metro Tunnel – Brooklyn, 12:14 a.m.
Location 2: Xavier's Institute for Higher Learning, War Room – Westchester, 12:14 a.m.
---
BROTHERHOOD
The lights flickered above the rusted rail tracks, humming like a predator's breath. Around the circular table sat Magneto, Mystique, Pyro, Avalanche, and Exodus. The walls were lined with ancient brickwork scarred by time—and by war.
"He's just a boy," Pyro scoffed, flicking fire between his fingers. "Angsty, reckless, stupid hormones in sneakers. What's the big deal?"
"Wrong," said Mystique, coldly. "He's not a boy. He's an experiment. He was made. Not born."
The room shifted. Avalanche muttered under his breath.
Exodus leaned forward, clasping his hands. "Shield buried the project. One of their black-budget branches. We assumed it was decommissioned. Terminated."
Magneto's expression darkened.
"It wasn't."
Mystique nodded. "He's alive. And worse—he's awakening."
"And what exactly is he awakening into?" Avalanche asked.
That's when Mystique hesitated.
Then whispered: "I don't know."
---
X-MEN
Storm paced, arms folded. The air in the War Room was tense, charged with the faint scent of ozone. Seated around the circular console were Beast, Cyclops, Jean Grey, Wolverine, and Kitty Pryde. A large holo-display floated above the table: Leon's school photo, blurred footage of the cafeteria food fight, and energy readings spiking off the charts.
"His readings match nothing in Cerebro's archives," Beast said. "Not mutant. Not Inhuman. Not Celestial. It's as if he was... written into reality."
"That's not reassuring," Cyclops muttered.
Jean closed her eyes briefly. "I brushed his mind. There's a void. Not darkness. Not repression. Just... absence. Like his soul didn't start here."
Wolverine, arms crossed, grunted. "I smelled him when I visited that school. Whatever he is, he's wrong. Unnatural. Like reality's bending around him to keep him normal."
"Could he be a threat?" Kitty asked softly, anxious for some reason.
Storm stopped pacing.
"Or a hope."
---
BROTHERHOOD
"We strike now," Avalanche said. "Before the X-Men sink their claws in. Before he fully understands what he is. We might have a very powerful alley on our side."
"And do what?" Mystique snapped. "Kidnap him? Manipulate him? Weaponize him?"
"That's what we do," Pyro grinned.
Magneto raised a hand. The room silenced.
"No," he said.
The others blinked.
"I want to speak to him."
Mystique turned slowly. "You want to recruit him?"
"I want to understand him."
"He might be the end, Erik."
Magneto stared at the hollowed-out tunnel ahead of them.
"Then let me look into his eyes... when it begins."
---
X-MEN
"We should bring him in," Jean said. "He needs training, guidance—he's surrounded by chaos. If he loses control—"
"He already has lost control," Logan growled. "He's just too young to realize it."
Beast tapped the table. "Containment is not an option. Observation, perhaps. Integration... cautiously."
Cyclops turned to Storm. "You knew. You met him."
She nodded slowly.
"I did. He offered me coffee." off screen... 😒
The room paused.
She smiled faintly. "And then tried to fix a broken vending machine with a lightning bolt made from a taser and chewing gum. He's chaotic. Unstable. And kind."
Logan muttered, "The worst kind."
Storm's smile faded.
"But not evil. Not yet."
---
Magneto: "If he chooses war, we must be ready."
Storm: "If he chooses peace, we must protect him."
Mystique: (softly, to herself) "But what if he doesn't choose at all?"
---