The hideout was kind of quiet, too quiet for Pietro's taste actually. He'd been zipping in and out of the place over the past week, making runs between here and the Brotherhood's base. Mystique had set him up in this dump after their last visit together, and while he didn't hate it, the lack of action made his legs itch.
He was sprawled on a beaten-up couch, fingers flicking rapidly over his phone screen as he played a game, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Then, his phone buzzed.
Lance (Avalanche)
He sighed and answered, already annoyed.
"Yeah?"
Lance's voice exploded through the speaker.
"Dude, where the fuck did you run off to?"
Pietro rolled his eyes.
"Why the fuck should I tell you that?"
"Shut up and check the news, dumbass!" Lance snapped, voice serious now.
The call didn't end, but Pietro froze mid-swipe. He blinked, pulled down his notification bar, and opened Twitter first—his go-to source for chaos. The top trending topic hit him like a slap.
#HavelstadtMassacre
#MagnetoUnleashed
His casual posture vanished as he sat bolt upright. His breath hitched as he scrolled through real-time footage—grainy live streams, shaky phone videos, panicked captions.
Military bodies everywhere. Metal ripping through tanks. A car—a whole damn car—folded into a grotesque sphere, soldiers screaming from within, silenced in an instant.
"Oh my God," Pietro muttered, eyes wide. His stomach turned. For a second, he nearly hurled.
Then he heard it, the retching. From over the phone with lance.
"Jesus," Lance groaned through the phone.
"Toad's puking his guts out. You seeing this shit? Magneto's painting that whole place red—it's like some fucked-up gore story."
Pietro didn't respond. His screen showed Magneto now, floating above a twisted battlefield of blood and metal. And then familiar faces below.
"Wait—" Pietro leaned closer. "That's wolverine … and the others."
The X-Men were trying to talk to him. Convince him to stop.
It didn't work.
Pietro's jaw clenched. Without thinking, he stood.
"We need to get there. We need to assist Magneto."
Lance practically screamed.
"Are you fucking kidding me?! Does that man look like he needs help right now?? He's turning people into meatballs!"
Pietro's voice was sharp.
"Shut up, Lance. I'm on my way. Tell the others to get their asses there ASAP!"
He ended the call before Lance could protest further.
In a blur of silver, he vanished out the front door in a streak of wind and lightning-fast momentum—unknowing that someone else was listening.
Just down the hallway, hidden in the shadows, a redhead leaned silently against the wall, her expression unreadable.
She'd heard everything.
—-
Back at the Brotherhood's hideout, the atmosphere was far from calm.
Lance stared at his phone, jaw tight as the call with Pietro ended. He scoffed and muttered under his breath,
"Who the hell does the quick-shot bastard think he is?"
He took a moment, dragging a hand down his face in frustration before sighing.
From the side, Toad slouched into view, eyes wide and tongue twitching nervously.
"What's Pietro doin'? Sounded serious."
Lance slid the phone into his jacket.
"We need to make it to Havelstadt. ASAP."
Toad's eyes bulged.
"Uhh… isn't that where our angry and very very pissed-off boss is right now?"
"Yup." Lance nodded grimly.
"And under normal circumstances, I wouldn't dream of interrupting him in that kinda mood…" He grabbed his coat. "But the X-Men are there. We don't get involved, we might as well kiss what's left of our respect goodbye."
From the back of the room, Pyro stood up, tossing a lighter from hand to hand with a feral grin. "Finally. Some real action. And maybe we score a few points with the boss while we're at it."
Blob said nothing, continuing to shovel food into his mouth without breaking rhythm.
Lance looked around once more.
"Whatever. Let's just go."
Meanwhile…
On a quiet road just outside the city limits, the air shimmered with an electric stillness. Leaning casually beside a sleek Ducati Panigale V4 SP2 matte black with crimson accents and a gleam like a predator's eye—stood a striking figure.
Her skin was pale, almost ivory white, flawless in its tone. Her long blonde hair was swept into an elegant, sculpted bun that gave her the air of royalty. Black eyes—uncommon, intense—glimmered with calculation. Her figure, curvier than most, was wrapped in a tailored black suit with subtle silver stitching that clung to her like a second skin.
She slipped her phone back into her jacket and clicked her tongue.
"Those idiots are going to get in his way."
She'd just gotten off the line with Irene, who kept her well-informed. The Brotherhood was on the move. So were the X-Men. And Magneto was already in motion.
She narrowed her eyes toward the horizon, where faint smoke clouds rose from Havelstadt in the distance.
'Funny… I was just about making my way through this city to greet our possible hulking new ally,' she thought. 'If I didn't know any better, I'd say this was destiny.'
She mounted the Ducati, kicked the ignition. The engine roared to life like a beast uncaged.
And without another word, she took off, black streak slicing through the early twilight—headed away from the war zone that was becoming Havelstadt and possibly avoid all that carnage to reach her goal.