As Cyclops finished issuing his somber command, the younger, physically deformed mutants—those who had endured the horrific experimentation under William Stryker—immediately stepped forward.
Years of imprisonment and being reduced to mere lab specimens had taught them the grim, fundamental lesson of survival: unity in the face of annihilation. Though their faith in Charles's moral superiority was deeply shaken by the disaster, they knew that arguing about past decisions was a luxury they couldn't afford now.
Using their various abilities—small bursts of focused energy, or minor control over organic matter—they began to snap and cut sturdy branches from the surrounding wilderness. Soon, a pathetic, limping, and heavily supported line of survivors began to move.
The able-bodied supported the staggering, while others laboriously carried the most severely injured and the unconscious. They resembled a broken refugee column, fleeing an immediate, unimaginable catastrophe.
"Jean… I will return for you," Cyclops thought, forcing himself to turn away from the now-silent, placid surface of Alkali Lake. He made a vow in the deepest, most anguished chamber of his heart, then limped forward, leading his broken family into the unknown.
It was a long, painful, and terrifying ordeal. The journey through the rough, unforgiving terrain exhausted every mutant who still had the strength to walk. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they reached the edge of the wilderness, near a small, forgotten logging road.
It was here, as the sun began to set, that Charles Xavier finally stirred, his eyelids fluttering open. He looked around wildly, his gaze settling on the surrounding group of mud-splattered, bruised, and utterly defeated students.
"Where is Jean?" Charles asked immediately, his voice weak and raspy, the sound of agonizing concern etching itself onto the quiet air.
A heavy, thick silence descended upon the group.
Cyclops merely glanced at the Professor, his customary reverence replaced by a cold, searing resentment. There was no need for words. In the original timeline, Jean's sacrifice had been a heroic, tragic necessity.
This time, it was a direct, avoidable consequence of Charles's decision to align himself with the villainous Eric against the only man who had shown them kindness—Huang Wen. The X-Men's trust in their mentor was irrevocably fractured.
"She was… swallowed by the flood, Professor," Ororo said softly, stepping forward to shield Cyclops's raw anger. Tears welled in her eyes again. "Jean sacrificed herself to ensure the rest of us—all of us, even the children—were lifted to safety. We all owe her our lives."
"Jean…" Charles closed his eyes slowly, a fresh wave of grief and guilt washing over him. He desperately extended his telepathic power, straining to feel any fragment of her unique, powerful consciousness across the vast distance. He scoured the entirety of the Alkali Lake region, but found nothing—just the chilling, deafening silence.
"The Ancient One… she warned me to leave immediately. Was it because of this? Has the terrible, cosmic power within Jean truly awakened and consumed her?"
"Professor, now that you have recovered, what is our next immediate objective?" Ororo asked, trying to introduce some pragmatism into the crushing despair. She glanced at Magneto, still dead weight, and Mystique, stiff as a statue. "We can't possibly walk back to the Academy. We'll all be dead of exposure or exhaustion first. We don't even know how far we are from any major road."
"We will get a car," Charles declared, opening his eyes. Despite the visible pain, a flicker of his old, calm confidence returned, the self-assurance of a man accustomed to having absolute control.
"First, we drive back. Then, we must use whatever influence we have to manage the fallout from Nightcrawler's attack on the President—minimize the mutant panic and exposure. The rest… we will address once we are safe."
"A car? With all due respect, Professor, we are in the middle of nowhere," Ororo whispered, glancing at the expectant, desperate faces of the survivors. "There isn't a single vehicle on this logging trail."
"There will be, Storm. Soon." Charles smiled faintly, but it was a smile that didn't reach his eyes—a smile born of necessity and moral compromise.
Moments later, they all heard it: the heavy, unmistakable groan of a large engine approaching their muddy location. It was a massive, grey transit bus, large enough to seat every survivor and even provide reclining seats for the injured.
The driver, however, sat unnaturally still, his eyes wide, glazed, and utterly devoid of life—a clear indication that Charles had ruthlessly taken over his consciousness and forced him to provide transport.
Cyclops's jaw tightened. He knew Charles always justified these acts as necessary for the greater good, but the moral line was becoming blurred, smeared in the mud of their disastrous failure.
Soon, every exhausted mutant was crammed into the bus. The sudden relief of comfortable seating, warmth, and motion was palpable, and the bus descended into a deep, weary silence.
Charles looked down at the figure of Eric, his oldest friend, still unconscious beside him. "Eric, my brother… don't worry. I will find a way to make you whole again. I will undo what that martial artist has done to you!" Charles vowed in his mind, his resolve solidified by guilt and a desperate need to reclaim some semblance of control.
Meanwhile, oblivious to the X-Men's painful journey, Huang Wen was deep in his own world of martial training, the sounds of his Wing Chun school a familiar, comforting rhythm.
He was currently on the second floor with his star student, Huang Liang. Huang Liang had long since perfected the entire syllabus of Wing Chun, achieving the Proficiency Level—more than enough to handle a professional boxer like Terry.
Now, Huang Wen was introducing him to the esoteric and highly effective techniques of the Sunflower School Martial Arts (specifically the set of techniques adapted from Bai Zhantang's lineage), beginning with rigorous finger strength training in preparation for the precise and deadly Sunflower Acupuncture Technique.
It was now past 8 p.m. Most of the daytime apprentices had left, but a few core, dedicated students like Jack and Max, driven by sheer motivation or the allure of gaining favors, were still downstairs practicing.
The quiet focus of the evening was abruptly shattered.
"Ding! ALERT! Large number of unfamiliar individuals detected in Chinatown surveillance perimeter. Analysis indicates high-grade tactical gear and significant volume of heavy, illegal firearms! Threat level: HIGH!"
The notification from Huang Wen's customized watch—linked to a network of sensors and cameras he had subtly installed throughout Chinatown—blared silently, only for his ears. His relaxed, contemplative expression vanished instantly, replaced by a hawk-like intensity. His perception, a form of focused Qi awareness, immediately expanded outward, sweeping over the district.
"Hmm? Gang members? Are these the remnants of the Star Gang, foolishly seeking immediate, suicidal revenge? No, that's not right. Their aura is different—far more disciplined, colder, and their equipment is military-grade, not street weaponry,"
Huang Wen analyzed, a deep frown creasing his brow. The sheer volume of firepower worried him. While he wasn't personally threatened, the risk to the innocent neighbors and his students was unacceptable.
"Sniff! Sniff!"
In the living room, Logan, who had been attempting to watch the increasingly surreal antics of SpongeBob SquarePants with a bewildered Yuriko, suddenly twitched his nose.
His ears swiveled, catching faint, metallic clinks and the muffled rumble of heavy vehicles that ordinary ears couldn't register. He shot to his feet, instantly shedding his civilian facade. Yuriko, sitting beside him, looked up, her expression a mix of confusion and alarm.
"You don't sense that?" Logan paused, looking intently at the girl. "You didn't inherit the olfactory or auditory sense of me and that bastard Stryker's DNA?"
Yuriko shook her head. Her lifelong conditioning and the suppression of her will had clearly stunted the development of her latent animal senses, leaving her reliant on human perception.
"Master, what happened? You look… serious," Huang Liang stopped his finger-strengthening exercises, his eyes gleaming with youthful anticipation rather than fear.
"We have visitors, Liang. Unwanted guests here to cause trouble," Huang Wen replied, shaking his head. "Come with me downstairs, but listen carefully: do not engage or make any move until I give you explicit permission. We need to assess their intentions first."
"Yes, Master! Finally, some real experience!" Huang Liang was secretly ecstatic. He had been training for months and was ready to test his skills in a genuine conflict.
Logan was already at the top of the stairs, his senses hyper-alert. "You sensed it too? Who are they? They smell wrong—like old metal and cheap industrial disinfectant, not street thugs."
"A large, heavily armed group, moving with professional speed," Huang Wen confirmed, a flicker of cold disdain entering his eyes. "They are certainly aggressive. I need the students to evacuate the neighbors immediately. We cannot allow any innocent civilian to be caught in the crossfire."
He turned to Huang Liang, his expression settling on cold authority. "Liang, go gather the students downstairs. Tell them to clear the entire block. Secure the neighbors. No heroics, just evacuation."