{T/N: We're still withholding those Reviews? Even this late into the story, this book has no rating... Imagine that :-(...}
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~Northern Alberta, Canada - Lofen City~
The noisy, rundown bar was alive with excitement. The frigid weather outside did nothing to dampen the crowd's enthusiasm...
Travelers and long-haul truckers, unable to continue their journeys on the icy roads, had gathered here to rest. The bar's second floor offered rooms for rent. Pay enough, and you could even get hot water and food.
Shouts rose like tidal waves. At the center of the space stood a massive iron cage, where two burly men brawled violently.
Blood and brutality were timeless themes... people always reveled in watching beasts or their own kind tear into each other, a thrill to jolt their numb nerves.
Some brawny gamblers, after losing money, would jump into the cage themselves. They usually ended up beaten to a pulp by the professional fighters. Those who couldn't pay were tossed out into the cold without a second thought. No one here would call a doctor for you. Survival in these parts left little room for charity.
In a room on the second floor, Magneto sat in silence, absent from the public eye for some time. Compared to the grimy hovels nearby, this cleaned-up space was decent. Yet the Brotherhood's leader who was accustomed to grandeur frowned with visible distaste.
"The military has been tracking us. Many of our kind have been exposed. I had to be cautious," explained a hat-wearing subordinate.
Magneto gave a slight nod...
Since the Worthington incident, human authorities had intensified their pursuit, forcing the Brotherhood to retreat from the United States to Canada.
This "maple-leaf nation", with its sparse population and weak military, was often mocked as America's backyard. Its vast, unguarded borders made it an ideal hiding place.
But his public appearance hadn't been in vain. Magneto's stirring speech outside Worthington Tower had drawn many hidden mutants to the Brotherhood's cause, all eager to join his vision of a mutant homeland.
It was a prime opportunity to expand...
Previously, only radicals (those who'd suffered human oppression) flocked to Magneto's banner. But now, even mutants who'd once clung to Professor X's ideals found themselves swayed by his rhetoric.
History proved people favored charismatic orator, like a certain Third Reich leader who had mastered the craft.
"Caliban, keep searching for more of our kind. I want them gathered. Only when mutants truly unite will humans learn fear."
The pale, robe-clad man named Caliban nodded eagerly. His mutant ability to sense others within a 25-mile radius made him invaluable for recruitment.
Yet something felt off. The former black-market dealer seemed unusually tense today.
Before Magneto could ponder further, the world outside fell silent. The raucous noise of the bar faded as if snuffed out. Patrons and staff alike moved like puppets, filing out wordlessly.
Shooting Caliban a glance, Magneto stepped out. Though alone (his followers dispatched on other missions), the proud elder feared no threat. Even an entire army would be trivial.
Clad in his signature purple helmet and flowing cape, Magneto descended the stairs like a king surveying his domain. The once-boisterous bar now stood empty, save for the vacant fighting cage and the roaring fireplace.
"Charles?" Magneto called out skeptically.
Only the telepathic Professor could orchestrate such a mass exodus. Yet he refused to believe his old friend would side with humanity.
A tall figure pushed through the door, letting in a gust of icy wind, "The Professor didn't want to face you. I understand why. This decision pains him, his guilt weighs heavy. But sacrifices are sometimes necessary for greater outcomes."
Magneto remained on the stairs, looking down at the newcomer. Firelight glinted off the form-fitting black suit, and decades of combat instincts prickled at the faint aura of danger the young man exuded.
A glance back confirmed Caliban's disappearance.
"Who are you?" Magneto demanded.
"Sean Cyphers." The young man smiled, "The original plan was different. S.H.I.E.L.D. and Stryker intended to coerce that poor mutant into luring you here. Then they'd deploy mustard gas from World War I, blood agents or similar biochemical weapons. All fast-acting, agonizing, and lethal..."
The black suit absorbed the firelight like ink. Sean took a step forward, spotlit as if on stage.
"...But Nick Fury preferred luring you to an open area. No metal gear, just elite troops with polymer weapons, resin shields, and mutant power suppressants. The director favors capture. Stryker? He'd rather you were dead."
"Suppressants?" Magneto seized on the term.
Sean nodded proudly, "I expanded on Worthington's research. While the X-gene is deeply rooted and nearly impossible to remove, it can be temporarily suppressed, stripping you of your gifts... Your Brotherhood members have already experienced its... effects..."
Magneto's pupils contracted. With a flick of his wrist, steel beams twisted like living things, their jagged tips aimed at Sean.
The Brotherhood's leader had heard enough. Whatever scheme this boy had, power would decide the outcome. Even an army outside wouldn't faze him.
The entire bar trembled as its metal skeleton reshaped into a fortress around Magneto. Sean's warnings had put him on guard, this armored shell would negate any tricks.
"Young men are always reckless, blind to the dangers of power they don't understand," the elder sneered.
Like a striking serpent, the steel beams lashed out...