The air in the Institute's conference room was stale. Not physically—Ororo kept the air moving with subtle, unconscious shifts in pressure—but emotionally. It carried the heavy, lingering scent of burnt coffee, old arguments, and loss. It had been months, and the space where Rogue should have been, sprawled in a chair with a sarcastic comment, still felt like a phantom limb. Every mission debrief, every team meeting, echoed with her absence.
Scott Summers stood rigid by the wall, arms locked across his chest. The ruby quartz of his visor hid his eyes, but the tight line of his jaw spoke volumes. He'd been against this from the first memo.
Scott : Are we really doing this? Handing over a project this sensitive to some… teenager who made a game about matching colored candies? Professor, come on. Mutant awareness isn't a side-quest. It's our lives.
Ororo Munroe stood by the tall window, her gaze on the manicured grounds below. The afternoon light caught the silver streaks in her hair. She didn't turn, but her shoulders were tense.
Ororo : The concern has merit, Scott. We are all… stretched thin. Our judgment may be clouded by recent events.
At the table, Jean Grey's fingers traced the grain of the polished wood. Her telepathy was a low hum in the background, picking up the currents of doubt and fatigue in the room. Next to her, Logan slouched, a battered leather jacket over the back of his chair. An unlit cigar was clamped between his teeth, a silent act of rebellion against the room's sterile formality.
Jean : He's not wrong, Professor. We're vulnerable right now. Rogue's… departure has left a hole in our operational readiness and our morale. Trusting an outsider, a teenager no less, with how the world perceives us? It's a massive risk. What if he turns it into a joke? Another reason for people to point and whisper?
Charles Xavier sat at the head of the table, his hands resting calmly on the arms of his wheelchair. He felt the weight of their stares, their unspoken grief and frustration. It pressed on him, a constant, aching reminder of his failure to keep one of his own safe, to make her feel she belonged.
Charles : Yes. I have entrusted him with the project. And I understand your apprehension. Profoundly. These last months have been… difficult for all of us. We are questioning ourselves. Our methods. Our purpose.
He wheeled himself back an inch, creating a sliver of space.
Charles : But Peter Parker is not merely a teenager with a successful mobile game. When I met him, the impression was… significant. There is a sharpness there. A depth of calculation that belies his age. And, for what it is worth… he is not entirely an outsider. He is a mutant.
The word landed in the quiet room like a stone dropped in a still pond.
Logan's head swiveled. He took the cigar from his mouth.
Logan : A mutant? You sure about that, Chuck? Kid's got a tech startup in Queens. Builds apps. Smells more like a Silicon Valley wunderkind than one of us.
Scott pushed off the wall, taking a step toward the table, his posture defensive.
Scott : How do you know? Did you just… go rummaging around in his head without asking? Because that's a great way to start a partnership.
A flicker of something regret, perhaps passed over Xavier's face.
Charles : I attempted a surface reading. Merely to gauge his sincerity. It was… reflex. A poor one. He detected it immediately. And he blocked it. Completely.
Jean sat up straighter, her psychic senses prickling with focused interest.
Jean : He blocked you? A surface scan is like… a change in air pressure. Most people don't even feel it. To not only feel it but to have the control to shut it out… that's not a passive mutation. That's a shield. A deliberate, powerful one.
Charles Xavier : He was quite curt about it. Told me it was 'rude.' Said his ability blocks anything mental. He was casual, but the defense was absolute. Seamless. It felt less like a wall and more like… a redirect. As if my probe simply found no purchase, no point of entry. There was no struggle. Just a quiet, definitive 'no.'
Ororo turned from the window now, her white robes shifting. Her storm-grey eyes were serious.
Ororo : That suggests training. Or an instinct so potent it mimics training. But it does not tell us what he plans to build. Awareness can mean many things, Professor. A gentle educational tool, or a piece of propaganda we cannot control. After Rogue… we cannot afford missteps. If this fails, if it makes us look foolish or dangerous, it will be more than a setback. It will be fuel for our enemies.
Xavier nodded, steepling his fingers.
Charles Xavier : I believe he intends to build something substantial. He asked quite pointedly if members of the staff and student body would be willing to provide voice performances for the project.
Logan barked a short, humorless laugh.
Logan : Voice-overs? We're gonna be actors now? What's next, action figures?
Charles : Consider what that request implies, Logan. He is not building a simple puzzle game. He is building a narrative. Characters. A world. He wants authenticity. He wants the voices of mutants to give life to digital mutants. That speaks to ambition. To a desire for something immersive, something that might foster genuine empathy, not just disseminate facts.
Jean's mind was racing now, turning over the implications.
Jean : A narrative game… where players make choices as a mutant. That's… potent. It's experiential. You could simulate the fear of a manifesting power, the prejudice, the choice between hiding and fighting back… It could be more powerful than a hundred press conferences.
Scott shook his head, unconvinced.
Scott : Or it could be a disaster. If he's a mutant with that level of psychic defense, what else is he hiding? We've seen it before. Mutants who seem benign until their agenda surfaces. And with our team already down a member… we're not exactly operating at full strength. This feels like inviting a variable into an already unstable equation.
Charles : Rogue's absence is felt in this room every day. It is a wound that informs our every caution. But it is precisely that isolation—hers, and the isolation we risk as a species—that we must fight. Peter approached this as a business proposition, but when I presented the investment, he did not simply see dollar signs. He saw an opportunity for collaboration. He is, I believe, trying to build a bridge from his side of the river. We have spent so long building from ours.
Ororo walked to the table and rested her palms on its surface.
Ororo : Collaboration requires trust. And exposure. Our students lending their voices… that is personal data. Their inflections, their emotions, tied to a product we do not control. If this game is poorly received, or twisted, their voices are still out there. It is a risk for them.
Charles : The participation would be voluntary. We would have approval over any script involving our people. It is a controlled risk. And… I had a feeling, watching him. The way he shielded his mind. It wasn't aggressive. It was protective. The act of someone who has learned, perhaps the hard way, that the interior self is a fortress. There is a weight to him that his age and his business success do not explain.
Logan grunted, chewing on his cigar.
Logan : Kid's got secrets. Big surprise. Everyone in this room's got a closet full of 'em. Doesn't mean he's on our side. I was living rough when I was his age. What does he know about the real fight? Coding games in a warehouse ain't exactly the same as surviving Weapon X.
Jean shot him a look.
Jean : Different battlegrounds, Logan. Maybe the fight for minds and hearts needs a different kind of soldier. One who understands systems, networks, culture. A game that goes viral… that could reach millions of kids in their homes. Change minds before they ever harden into hate.
Scott paced a short, tight line.
Scott : Or it could give those same kids a target. A list of mutant 'voices' to track, to mock. Professor, you said you couldn't read him. That's a giant red flag. What if he's connected to Essex? Or the Friends of Humanity? Or… Magneto? This could be an infiltration.
Charles : I have considered every one of those possibilities, Scott. Extensively. Prior to the block, I sensed no malice. No hidden glee or deception. What I sensed was… a formidable intelligence, caution, and a flicker of something like anger at the intrusion. Righteous anger. The kind we teach our students to have when their boundaries are violated.
The room was quiet for a long moment, the weight of the decision pressing down.
Ororo sighed, the sound like a breeze through leaves.
Ororo : I will do it. If it helps, I will lend my voice. The students… they need a positive focus. Something to believe in beyond the danger and the drills. Kitty has been… adrift. This might engage her brilliant mind in a new way.
A small, genuine smile touched Jean's lips.
Jean : She'd be incredible at it. And you're right. If Peter is a mutant, even a hidden one, he might be able to connect with them on a level we can't. They might trust someone who isn't an authority figure, who's building something in their world.
Logan shrugged his heavy shoulders.
Logan : Fine. If you're all gonna do this touchy-feely stuff, I'm not reading any poetry. But if there's some grizzled old loner character who says 'bub' a lot… let me know.
A ripple of faint, weary amusement went through the room. It was the first crack in the tension in what felt like weeks.
Scott stopped pacing. He let out a long, controlled breath. The tactical part of his mind was still listing the risks, the vulnerabilities. But the part that led this team, the part that trusted Charles even when he disagreed, knew when a decision had been made.
Scott : Alright. But conditions. We see everything. Scripts, character designs, marketing plans. No surprises. And we pull our people out the second it smells wrong. This isn't a blank check.
Charles Xavier : Of course, Scott. Those were the terms I intended to set. This is a partnership, not a surrender.
Xavier wheeled himself back from the table, the meeting effectively concluded.
Charles Xavier : I will contact Peter and arrange the next steps. In the meantime, consider who might be suited. Ororo, your voice carries natural authority. A leadership role seems fitting. Jean, your empathy would translate powerfully. And Logan… I am certain they can write in a 'grizzled loner.'
As the team began to file out—Scott with a last, lingering look of concern, Ororo already thoughtful, Jean animatedly discussing possibilities with a grudgingly interested Logan—Xavier remained.
The door hissed shut, leaving him in the quiet. He looked at the empty chair where Rogue used to sit, a fresh pang of loss hitting him. This project was a gamble. But so was every step towards a future where a girl like Rogue wouldn't feel she had to run away to find herself.
He had a feeling, deep in that part of his mind that was rarely wrong, that Peter Parker wasn't building a simple game. He was building an argument. A manifesto in interactive form. And Xavier, despite the doubts of his weary X-Men, was intensely curious to see what shape it would take.
Somewhere else
The command center was a cavern of cold, humming metal, buried deep beneath the skeletal remains of an industrial pier. The only light came from the ghostly blue glow of dozens of holographic displays, casting long, shifting shadows across the reinforced walls. The air was chilled, sterile, smelling of ozone and polished steel.
Erik Lehnsherr sat motionless before the central console, a king on a throne of cables and silent machinery. His helmet rested beside him, a somber, metallic skull. His fingers, calloused and strong, tapped a slow, absent rhythm on the chair's armrest. The data flowing across the screens painted a familiar, grim picture: Sentinel production updates from a hidden facility in Nevada, casualty reports from a mutant safehouse raided in Genosha, the rising rhetoric of human-supremacist politicians in five different countries. The war was everywhere, a constant, low-grade fever. Tonight, there was no immediate fire to put out. Just the quiet, relentless pressure of a world squeezing his people into extinction.
The heavy vault door at the far end of the room emitted a soft, hydraulic hiss, then slid open without a sound. No knock. No announcement. Only one person had that level of access.
Raven Darkhölme—Mystique—stepped through, her true form a splash of vivid cobalt and scale-like texture against the monochrome room. She wore a simple, dark bodysuit, her posture relaxed but her yellow eyes sharp, missing nothing. The door sealed behind her, returning the chamber to its tomb-like silence.
She crossed the grated floor, her footsteps utterly noiseless. Erik didn't turn. He finished annotating a Sentinel schematic with a flick of his wrist, the hologram zooming in on a suspected power core vulnerability.
Mystique : Erik.
Her voice was flat, a statement, not a greeting. It cut through the electronic hum.
Magneto : If it is another report on the Brotherhood's petty internal squabbles, Raven, save it. I am occupied with threats that matter.
He still didn't look at her. A map of New York City sprang to life above the console, mutant energy signatures flickering like dying stars in a polluted sky.
Mystique : It's about Charles.
His tapping finger stilled. The map froze. A slow, deliberate breath expanded his chest. He finally turned his head, just enough to see her in his periphery. The name alone was a key that fit a very old, very complex lock in his mind.
Magneto : Charles. What has the good professor done now? Organized another seminar on peaceful co-existence? Delivered a stirring lecture to a room full of politicians who will betray him before the champagne is flat?
A faint, humorless smile touched Mystique's lips. She leaned a hip against the edge of the console, crossing her arms. The pose was casual, but her gaze was a laser sight.
Mystique : He paid a personal visit. To a teenager in Queens. Runs a video game company out of a converted warehouse.
Now Erik turned fully. His brow furrowed, the lines on his face deepening in the hologram's light. He powered down the displays with a casual gesture, plunging the room into near-darkness save for the emergency strips along the floor. The sudden quiet felt heavier.
Magneto : A… teenager. With a game company. And Charles, in his infinite wisdom, decided to drop in for tea. Your spies are wasting your time, Raven. And mine.
Mystique : The company is called Obsidian Works. Its flagship product is a mobile game titled 'Candy Smash.' It has been downloaded over two hundred million times. Its owner and primary developer is one Peter Parker, age seventeen.
She recited the facts with the cool precision of an intelligence briefing. Erik's eyes narrowed. He knew Raven's tells. The specific numbers, the name—this wasn't a vague rumor. She was concerned.
Magneto : Two hundred million. A impressive number for a child's diversion. I fail to see the relevance. Charles has always had a soft spot for lost children, but he usually brings them to his school, not their place of business.
Mystique : This wasn't a charity call. My contact—a low-level telepath who does janitorial work in the building across the street—caught the periphery of the meeting. He couldn't get clear thoughts, not with Charles in the room, but the emotional resonance was… significant. Investment talks. Substantial ones.
Erik rose from his chair, his movements fluid, controlled. His cape settled around him. He began to pace a short, tight circuit, the faint magnetic aura around him causing the loose ferrous particles in the air to stir.
Magneto : Investment. Charles is many things, but a venture capitalist is not one of them. The Xavier fortune fuels his school and his little team of heroes. He does not 'invest' in frivolous human enterprises.
Mystique : Unless it isn't frivolous. And unless the entrepreneur isn't entirely human.
He stopped pacing. The air grew still.
Magneto : Explain.
Mystique : Parker is an anomaly. Orphaned young, lives with his aunt and uncle. No record of mutant manifestation, but his rise is… statistically improbable. Built a multi-million dollar tech company from his bedroom in less than two years. The game is deceptively simple, but the code, according to a hacker I had look at it, is elegantly brutal. Efficient in a way that suggests a mind operating on a different level. And then Charles shows up, in person, for a closed-door meeting that lasts over an hour.
Erik's mind, a tactical supercomputer forged in the camps of his youth, began assembling the pieces. Charles's relentless, naive hope. His belief in reaching the world through understanding, through culture. A game reaching hundreds of millions… it was a microphone louder than any press conference.
Magneto : He is not investing in a company. He is investing in a platform. A propaganda machine.
Mystique : That's my read. 'Candy Smash' is a gateway. It's friendly, addictive, everywhere. Imagine the next game from Obsidian Works. Mutant-themed. A narrative where players 'experience' life as one of us. Carefully crafted to elicit sympathy. To paint Charles's passive resistance as the noble path. It would be a masterstroke of soft power. Shape a generation's perception before they ever meet one of us in person.
A low, simmering anger began to warm Erik's blood. He saw it with perfect, horrifying clarity. While he built fortresses and plotted strikes against weapons factories, Charles was preparing to wage war in the app store. To sand down the rough edges of mutantkind's righteous anger into a palatable, marketable story.
Magneto : Of course. He seeks to gentrify our struggle. To make it safe for human consumption. A digital theme park where the danger is a thrilling game mechanic, and the moral is to 'understand.' He would have us be pitied, not respected. Understood, not feared.
He slammed a fist onto the console, not in rage, but in grim emphasis. The metal dented under his knuckles with a dull thoom.
Magneto : Fear is the only language our oppressors truly comprehend. Respect is born from the knowledge of consequence. He would strip that away with a compelling storyline and a catchy soundtrack.
Mystique watched him, her head tilted. She understood his anger, shared it in her own way. But she was also pragmatic.
Mystique : The boy is the key. If he is a mutant, Charles will be trying to recruit him, to shape his vision. a powerful recruitment tool wrapped in a business contract. If he's not a mutant, he's a useful human pawn. Either way, Charles is making a move on a new battlefield. We cannot cede it.
Erik turned, his eyes like chips of flint in the dim light.
Magneto : What do we know of this Peter Parker? His character? His… resilience?
Mystique : Publicly? A quiet genius. Shy in interviews. Privately? A ghost. He's either incredibly careful or has help. My telepath sensed a… blankness around him when Charles was near. Not a void, but a wall. A very well-constructed one.
Magneto : A mental shield? From a teenager?
Mystique : Or something else. The point is, Charles couldn't just read him like an open book. That alone makes him a person of interest. And I'll confess… I've played the game. On long surveillance stakes. It's clever. There's a ruthless efficiency to its design that is… familiar. It doesn't feel like it was made by someone who dreams of rainbows and understanding.
A new thought, cold and calculating, surfaced in Erik's mind. What if the boy wasn't just a pawn? What if he was a piece that hadn't yet chosen a side?
Magneto : We need eyes inside Obsidian Works. We need to know the specifics of Charles's proposal. The nature of this game. And we need to assess Peter Parker. Is he a dreaming idealist ripe for Charles's poetry? Or is there something harder there? A mind that understands systems, power, and leverage?
Mystique's smile returned, this time reaching her eyes. It was the smile of a predator scenting a hunt.
Mystique : Infiltration is what I do. They're hiring. Rapid expansion. I can be a talented software engineer from Europe. Mila Petrova. Excellent references, a vague background that hints at mutant sympathies after seeing family harassed in Prague. I'll get inside.
Erik stepped closer to her, the air between them crackling with shared purpose. He placed a hand on her shoulder. The gesture was rare for him—an acknowledgment of their deep, complicated trust.
Magneto : Do it. But with subtlety, Raven. This is not a smash-and-grab. We are probing the foundation of a new front in Charles's war. Learn the lay of the land. The boy's routines, his pressures, his unspoken loyalties. Does he chafe under Charles's moralizing? Does he see the game as art, as business, or as a weapon?
Mystique : And if he is receptive? To a different perspective?
Magneto : Then we make contact. Carefully. He must come to see the truth of the world not through Charles's stained-glass windows, but through the bars of the cage humanity is building for us. A mind that can build an empire from nothing… such a mind could be a powerful ally. Or a devastating enemy if left in Charles's hands.
She nodded, absorbing the mission parameters. It was delicate, long-term work. The kind she excelled at.
Mystique : I'll have a portfolio and cover story built by morning. Interview by the end of the week.
Magneto : Good. Keep the Brotherhood out of this. They lack… nuance. This is a scalpel's work, not a club's.
He turned back to the darkened console, his reflection a grim silhouette in the black glass.
Magneto : Charles believes he is writing the next chapter of our story. We must ensure we hold the pen.
Mystique watched his broad back for a moment, then melted back into the shadows of the room, her form already beginning to shimmer and reshape as she planned her new identity. The vault door hissed open and shut.
Alone again, Erik Lehnsherr did not reactivate the displays of war and persecution. He stared into the darkness, thinking not of Sentinels or legislation, but of a teenage boy in Queens who had, unwittingly, become the newest piece on the board between two old friends who dreamed of saving their people in diametrically opposed ways.
The quiet of the lair was no longer peaceful. It was the quiet before a different kind of storm.
Picture of ororo, Jean grey and mystique in comments