While George was dodging X-24's attacks in a desperate sprint toward the bus, Laura had already closed the distance.
The four soldiers filming the "demonstration" spun around, unloading their SMGs at the small figure darting toward them.
Laura moved like a feral animal—twisting, leaping, minimizing fatal hits while enduring the searing pain of bullets tearing into her limbs. She'd been trained for this since birth. Murder was her mother tongue.
"Shit—!"
The sniper atop the bus abandoned his overwatch on Logan, swiveling to aim at the girl below.
Bang!
A high-caliber round smashed into Laura's chest, flinging her backward like a ragdoll. She shrieked, clutching the gaping wound.
The two surviving soldiers pounced, pinning her arms and legs.
"Let's see you heal a headshot."
The sniper grinned, adjusting his scope. Even if the first round didn't kill her, he'd enjoy the screams.
Fifty meters away:
George timed it perfectly.
A magnetic jerk to X-24's ankle made the clone stumble. In that split second, George whipped out the pistol concealed under his jacket—barrel pressed to X-24's temple.
"Game over."
Bang.
The adamantium bullet punched through bone and brain matter. X-24 crumpled.
The sniper's head snapped up at the gunshot. His face paled when he saw the clone's corpse.
"What the fu—?"
He tried to reacquire George, but his rifle suddenly writhed in his grip like a live snake. The scope swayed wildly. Three panic-fired shots missed entirely.
Bang! Bang!
George's return fire dropped the two soldiers pinning Laura.
Freed, Laura scaled the bus with claw-assisted leaps. The sniper barely had time to key his radio:
"Commander—X-24's down! Watch for X-23 and Subject 757, they're—"
"Gaaaaah!"
Steel claws erupted through his sternum.
George approached the bus as Laura dragged the sniper's body off the roof, her small frame drenched in blood.
"It's done." He ruffled her hair—sticky with gore—before hoisting her into the passenger seat.
No child should fight like this.
But survival had no age limit.
He claimed the dead men's SMGs and—most crucially—the .50-caliber sniper rifle, stroking its barrel like a cherished trophy.
"Thanks for the upgrade, dumbass."
A sniper rifle with curving bullets? That was a game-changer.
Gunning the engine, he smashed the bus through the factory gates. Within magnetic range, he shattered the windshield and levitated all four SMGs in a deadly arc.
Bullets rained in parabolic death.
Inside the factory:
Pierce sneered at the wheezing Logan.
"Stimpack wearing off? Don't worry—your little friends will join you soon."
His radio crackled abruptly with the sniper's dying warning.
Logan laughed through bloodied teeth, rising on shaking legs.
"Sounds like you're the one who's fucked."
A panicked soldier burst in: "Commander! The bus—!"
Gunfire and screams crescendoed outside.
Pierce spat a curse and fled with his surviving men.
The moment their taillights vanished, Logan collapsed.
The bus doors hissed open. George and Laura stepped out.
"Alive, old man?"
"Barely." Logan groaned. "Twenty years ago, I'd have skinned them all."
Xavier emerged from the water tank, wheeling forward with the others.
"Language, Logan. Though I'd say you held your own."
George clapped his hands.
"We move now. Stick to the plan—"
Gabriela interrupted, her voice firm.
"We're not going to Canada."
She met George's gaze.
"The Professor's right. Friday's deadline is too tight. We won't risk your lives for our selfishness."