Rogue Replacement: A Marvel Story

Date: Sunday, July 18, 2010.

Location: Alkali Lake Industrial Complex, British Columbia, Canada

Tyson didn't need much sleep, but after the procedure, the constant firing of his pain receptors had mentally exhausted him. His slumber was deep, allowing him a brief escape from the intense agony he had endured, and the prison he inhabited. 

Awakening in the cold confines of his cell, memories of the procedure crept back in. The needles pierced his skin, through muscle and bone. The sensations of molten metal seeping not just around his skeleton, but through it, becoming one with it. He flexed his fingers, feeling the newfound weight. With an exertion of will, he extended his new adamantium claws. They slid out smoothly, catching the dim light and reflecting it. They were beautiful in a deadly way, each claw resembling a perfectly curved metal talon.

Approaching the cold bars of his cell, he slashed forward, expecting to carve through easily. Instead, there was a loud, grating screech of metal against metal, and sparks flew. Tyson pulled back, examining the bars and his claws. Neither bore a single scratch.

He exhaled deeply, the weight of his situation weighing as heavily as his new metal bones. "Great," he mused aloud, sarcasm dripping from his voice, "What's the point of having claws made of the strongest metal if they can't cut anything?"

Tyson's sarcastic comment hung in the air, but not for long. The room's stillness was disrupted by the harmonious, almost ethereal voices of the three blondes. They held an eerie undertone that seemed to echo, each slightly offset but in perfect sync. They sounded like a ghostly choir, the kind that could sing both lullabies and funeral dirges.

"Did you think that would work?" Their icy eyes locked onto his.

Tyson, sensing where this was headed, quickly interjected before they could continue, "I get it. You're right, no need for all of you to rub it in." The third sister looked visibly irritated. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and her lips formed a thin line. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as Tyson taunted, "You might as well tell me your names, or I'm just going to call you all the 'Beckys."

There was a brief moment of silence as the three exchanged glances. Then the one who hadn't spoken, still looking slightly miffed, replied, "Esme."

The first followed with, "Sophie."

And the second, with a slight smirk mirroring Tyson's, finished, "Phoebe."

Tyson, leaning against the back wall of his cell asked, "Is there something you want? Besides staring at me and talking like a weird-ass cult?"

Sophie, taking the lead as usual, said, "We were sent to ensure you didn't escape, somehow." The way she pronounced 'somehow' was dripping with doubt, as if the idea itself was ludicrous.

Tyson tilted his head and shot back, "If I did manage to get out of this cage, how would you three stop me?"

Without a word, the sisters moved in tandem, showcasing their powers. Their flesh started to shimmer, catching the overhead lights and refracting them like prisms. Within moments, all three had transformed into pure, glistening diamonds. The room was filled with a dance of reflected and refracted light, turning the drab cell into a chamber of iridescence.

But just as quickly as it started, it ended. The synchronization broke, and each reverted to her human form out of sync. Esme was the first to change, then Phoebe, and finally Sophie. With a smirk, Phoebe said, "That's how. Diamond doesn't break easily."

Sophie added, "Consider it a gentle reminder. Your claws might be the strongest metal, but even they would find it tough against diamond."

Esme just winked.

Tyson, with a hint of arrogance, said, "Actually, I'm more dangerous than you think." He let out his claws, gleaming with a fresh shine. The polished silver of the adamantium captured the attention of the room as he began to examine them, more for effect than out of necessity.

Esme and Phoebe exchanged glances but stayed silent, allowing him to continue.

"I'm friends with Logan. You probably don't recognize the name, but he's a previous subject of this facility. He has adamantium claws as well. They're long, but aren't nearly as sharp as mine." Tyson held up his claw for emphasis, letting the room absorb the danger they represented. "And while diamond is exceptionally hard, it's also brittle. And with my strength," he flexed his arm slightly, "I could apply enough force to chip or even break it. But adamantium breaks the rules. Its almost magic in how durable it is, and how easily it cuts"

Sophie, ever the skeptic, narrowed her eyes. "Are you trying to threaten us?"

Tyson shrugged, "Not a threat. Just a little lesson." After a brief pause, Tyson finished, "Well, if you're just on guard duty, I'm going to try and find some peace." He moved to the center of the cell and sat down cross-legged. "Might as well make use of the time," he mumbled, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes to meditate.

Tyson settled back, searching through his subconscious, seeking that elusive door.

Tyson tried to relax his mind. The pain and trauma from the procedure had thrown his mental compass off, and his subconscious door seemed distant and out of reach. He took deep breaths, trying to ignore the girls' scent, picturing the door, and trying to will it closer. Time became a backdrop feeling both still and fluid.

Suddenly, a clear, slightly sarcastic voice pierced his concentration. "You're not doing it right."

Tyson's eyes snapped open to find a blonde, leaning casually against the bars of his cell. It may have been her proximity, but he noticed, unlike her sisters, she had a delicate sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks and nose. Her posture was relaxed, yet there was a certain meticulousness about her, from the way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear to the precision of her manicured nails.

Tyson studied her for a moment. "I didn't meet you earlier, did I?"

Esme, standing a little behind her, answered, "Shift change. You were too engrossed in your little mind voyage to notice. Meet Irma."

Irma gave a slight nod, her lips curling into a half-smile. "Pleasure. And just for the record, if you ever want to get inside that head of yours properly, you might need a few pointers." She tapped her temple knowingly, a playful challenge evident in her gaze.

Tyson met Irma's gaze evenly. He had an urge to charge the bars and grab her, but that would be pointless. He doubted she had the key, and even if he could get to her in time, with the bars in the way, he wouldn't have the leverage needed to break her diamond form. 

Instead, he suppressed his instincts and put on the most pleasant face he could muster. "It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Irma," he began with a tone that was half-caution, half-respect. "Though, a little advice. You might not want to stand too close to those bars. The prisoners can be rather violent. That being said, I could use any pointers you have."

Irma snorted, her eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and irritation. "I'm well aware of the dangers, thanks. After all, you did slam me into a wall." Her voice dripped with sarcasm, but there was a hint of begrudging respect too. She crossed her arms and leaned her weight onto one hip, looking at him quizzically. "So, why should I help you?"

Tyson cursed under his breath, realizing who she was. He suppressed his aggressiveness as best he could, "I'm sorry about that," he replied, genuine remorse tingeing his voice. "I was cornered, outnumbered. I just...reacted. It was nothing personal, just survival instincts… But think about it. If I'm lost in my head, I won't be out here, plotting an escape."

Esme, tilting her head thoughtfully, added, "He has a point. He isn't psychic like us. What harm could it do?" 

Phoebe, who had been silent up till now, nodded in agreement. "It might even keep him busy," she mused.

Irma sighed, exchanging a look with Esme and Phoebe. "Fine. We'll help. But only this once," she remarked. The atmosphere in the room felt thick with tension, but also anticipation.

"Close your eyes," Phoebe instructed softly. Tyson hesitated for just a moment before obliging. He could feel the weight of their collective gazes on him, and their scents wafted to his nose each subtly vanilla but distinctly flavored.

Irma began, her voice surprisingly gentle, "Picture yourself in a calm place. A place where you feel entirely at ease, safe, and grounded."

Tyson pictured the basketball court at the Xavier Institute. He'd had fun on the court; a place where he could safely cut loose with his physical prowess. Even though it was combative, he had his first encounter with Illyana there as well. Esme continued, "Feel the ground beneath your feet, the warmth of the sun on your face, or the gentle breeze brushing against your skin."

Tyson tried to block out the confines of his cell, the metallic scent of the bars, and the memory of the painful procedure. With each word from the blondes, he felt himself sinking deeper into relaxation, his mind transporting him to a serene forest clearing he'd once visited.

"Now, in the distance, see the door," Irma whispered. "That door that's so unique to you, the door that evades you."

Tyson visualized it. On the wall of the Institute nearby, a sturdy oak door with intricate carvings manifested. The handle gleamed the silver of adamantium in the dappled sunlight.

"Walk towards it," Phoebe urged. "With every step, feel more connected to your inner self."

The weight of the blondes' words, which seemed to come from all around and yet also from within, was punctuated only by the singular focus of the door growing nearer. Tyson, reached out. The moment his fingers met the door's handle, a surge of purpose flooded through him. 

Esme's voice came as a gentle whisper, like a soft breeze brushing his ear, "Now, step inside."

Tyson turned the handle. It didn't budge. He pulled harder, using every ounce of strength in his frame, but it was no use. The door was locked tight.

Suddenly, there was a shimmer in the air next to him. Out of the shimmering light, Irma's mental form began to take shape. Instead of her normal appearance, her form was both diamond-like and spectral. She looked like a shimmering ghost made of intricately cut diamonds. Her skin refracted light in a million directions, and yet Tyson could also see right through her, like a crystalline specter. The usual blue of her eyes had turned a deep, hypnotic shade, resembling precious sapphires.

Irma gracefully approached the stubborn door and placed a hand on it. The glow in her eyes intensified as she examined it, hinting at a connection with something unseen. She spoke, her voice echoing in Tyson's head, "Esme, Sophie, lend me your strength."

As if summoned, two other equally radiant and diamond-like ethereal figures, began to form next to Irma. The three figures momentarily merged into one, their combined strength evident in the even brighter glow they emitted. When they separated again, Irma held a shimmering key in her hand.

With a serene smile, Irma handed the key to Tyson, the three, spoke as one, "This is the key to the deepest parts of your mind. Use it wisely."

Accepting the key, he felt its coolness, its weight. He then slid it into a newly revealed keyhole, felt it turn smoothly, and opened the door to enter the very core of his subconscious. With one last deep breath, Tyson turned the handle and pushed the door open, stepping into the white of his subconscious. 

The three blondes watched as Tyson stepped through the door. Suddenly, their connection to his innermost thoughts was severed, and they were left staring at the blank barrier.

Irma crossed her arms, frustration was evident on her face. "I didn't think he'd be able to go so deep we couldn't follow."

Phoebe frowned, her fingers absentmindedly twisting a strand of her hair. "We should get Sophie or Celeste. With another, we'd be able to go with him."

Esme shook her head, "If we bring them in, it's going to raise questions. Stryker will want to know why."

Irma shot back, "But we can't just let him go in there! Who knows what he'll uncover, he was meditating with a purpose. What if he discovers something?"

Phoebe added, "Or worse, what if he finds a way to communicate with others from within?"

Esme sighed, trying to ease the tension. "Look, we've seen the expanse of his mind. There are no other connections, no latent psionics. It's just his mind. What harm can he truly do inside his own head?"

Irma seemed to contemplate this. "You're right. Still, we should keep a close eye on his physical state, just in case."

Phoebe nodded in agreement. "Fine. But at the first sign of anything unusual, we get Sophie or Celeste." All three women exchanged firm nods, settling into a silent pact. 

~~ Rogue Replacement ~~

Bobby unlocked the door and led the way. Jean, Jubilee, John, and Illyana followed. Inside the cozy suburban house, pictures of Bobby's family were strewn across the walls, showcasing cheerful memories. The worn-out couches showed that this home was lived in, and had witnessed countless cherished moments.

Bobby, taking the lead, smiled reassuringly. "Guys, make yourselves at home. There should be soda, juice, and some leftovers in the fridge. I'll be right back with some clothes."

Jubilee, her eyes scanning the room with youthful excitement, said, "Dibs on the last slice of pizza if there's any!"

Illyana smirked, "You might have to fight me for it."

John instead of heading to the fridge, walked over to the wall and examined the decorations. He focused intently on one of Bobby's family photos. Jean walked over to the landline phone. She began to dial, hoping against hope for an answer on the other end. Meanwhile, Jubilee and Illyana raced to the refrigerator, their banter filling the room. John shook his head, staring longingly at the idyllic family before grabbing a can of soda.

The phone rang a few times before there was a click. Jean's eyes lit up as she recognized Professor Ororo's voice, "Hello?"

"Ororo! It's Jean. We're safe, at Bobby's family home," Jean whispered, relief evident in her voice.

On the other side of the room, Jubilee triumphantly held a slice of cold pizza while Illyana pouted playfully. John, chuckling, as he sipped.

Amidst the chit-chat and the chewing of food, Jean's eyes widened momentarily as a wave of unease washed over her. "Uh oh," she murmured under her breath, her telepathic senses picking up on incoming emotions.

The kitchen entrance door swung open, revealing a middle-aged man and woman, both looking taken aback at the group in their home. 

The older man's face immediately darkened, his protective instincts kicking in. "Who are you? What are you doing in my house?" he demanded, taking a step forward, his posture defensive.

Behind them, a younger teen stepped in, his expression morphing from surprise to recognition as he spotted the strangers seated in his kitchen. Bobby walked in, hands full of folded clothes. He paused at the sight of his family, a mixture of relief and nervousness evident in his eyes. The teen blinked, recognition flashing across his face. "Bobby?"

Bobby took a deep breath, shooting a pleading look at his friends before facing his family. "Hey," he began, voice tentative. "Hi mom, dad. We... we need to talk." 

The living room was filled with tension. Plush couches and comfy chairs were occupied, and the room was thick with anticipation. John leaned nonchalantly against the fireplace, idly flipping a lighter, while Illyana stood in the opening that led to the kitchen.

Taking a deep breath, Bobby met his parents' worried gazes. "Mom, Dad," he began slowly, "The school I've been attending... it's not just a school for the academically gifted. It's for those who have... well, special abilities."

Jubilee, always one to bring some levity to tense situations, chirped, "Surprise!" She made a playful gesture, sending off a small, shimmering burst of sparkles from her hand, which illuminated the room briefly.

The corners of Bobby's mom's lips turned down, her eyes wide with concern. "So, when did you first realize you were a..." she hesitated, struggling to find the right words.

John completed her sentence, "A mutant?" His lighter clicked again.

Bobby's mom shot a disapproving look at John. "Can you stop with that?" she asked, nodding at the lighter. She took a deep breath, her gaze softening as she looked at Bobby. "We still love you, Bobby. We always will. It's just... the whole mutant problem. It's... complicated."

Illyana, the sharp edges of her Russian accent making her words even more cutting, asked. "What 'mutant problem'?" her voice dripped with challenge. The room seemed to get colder as everyone held their breath, waiting for the response.

Jubilee, sensing the thick tension, piped up with her characteristic brightness. "You should see what Bobby can do," she exclaimed, her eyes twinkling. "His power is honestly amazing!"

All eyes turned to Bobby, who reached out for his mom's teacup, which sat on the coffee table. The steam from the hot tea curled up into the air. With a touch of his finger, the once steaming cup froze instantaneously. His mom, eyes widened in amazement, turned over the cup and a block of frozen tea tumbled out. Their family cat wandered to the ice block. It began to lick the frozen tea, seeming to enjoy the unexpected treat.

"I can do a lot more than that," Bobby added, trying to bring some pride into his tone, even if the atmosphere in the room was a mix of amazement, apprehension, and disbelief.

Bobby's younger brother, looking equal parts angry and overwhelmed, pushed himself up from the couch and stormed out of the room. A door slammed in the distance, evidence of the teen's displeasure.

Bobby's mother hung her head and dejectedly said, "This is all my fault."

John commented, "Actually, we discovered that the males are the carriers of the mutant gene." He pointed at Bobby's dad, "So it's his fault."

Within Bobby's brother's room, the teen turned on the television to see breaking news.

In the wake of the assassination attempt on President McKenna, just weeks before his State of the Union Address, there are unconfirmed reports of a raid on an underground mutant organization based in Westchester, New York. Authorities refuse to comment, but the surrounding area has been evacuated, and a manhunt for several fugitives from the facility is underway.

Ronny's eyes were fixed on the TV screen, where images of the school Bobby attended were flashing. It was unmistakably Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. He picked up the phone and began dialing the number displayed.

As Bobby and Jubilee tried to smooth things over with Bobby's visibly shaken parents, Jean suddenly interrupted. "We need to leave," she stated firmly.

Bobby's blue eyes were wide in confusion. "What? Why?"

Jean responded with urgency in her voice, "Your brother is calling the police."

A mix of disbelief and panic crossed Bobby's mother's face. "Ronny!" she shouted, her voice laced with a combination of fear and anger. She hurriedly made her way upstairs to confront her younger son.

Bobby, frustration evident, murmured under his breath, "Come on, Ronny." He shook his head in disbelief that his brother called the cops on them. Bobby turned to face his father, his eyes searching for understanding. "I'm sorry, Dad," he said, the weight of the situation pressing on him. "If... If I don't get a chance to... Just tell them I love them, okay?"

His father's face was etched with worry as he nodded and pulled Bobby into a tight embrace. "I will," he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. "You just be safe out there."

The mutants moved quickly, realizing their stay had been cut tragically short. Exiting the suburban home, they moved away from the house at a pace that hopefully wouldn't draw attention. Putting distance between themselves and Bobby's home where the authorities were likely heading. 

"We're in luck," Jean sighed, brushing a strand of her fiery red hair behind her ear. "I got in touch with Professor Ororo when we first got to Bobby's."

Jubilee grinned, her youthful energy unabated despite the evening's drama. "Let's get their attention then!" With that, she stretched out her hands and sent up a brilliant flare. It was a display of shimmering fireworks, fit for a holiday, that was bright enough to light up the afternoon sky. 

The familiar silhouette of the Blackbird came into view. It landed in a local park just a few blocks away. As the team neared the jet, the Blackbird's ramp lowered, revealing Logan, wearing his usual leather jacket and scowl, Ororo, looking as regal as ever, and... a blue-skinned mutant they didn't recognize.

"Look who decided to join the party," Logan grumbled, though there was a hint of relief in his eyes.

Ororo stepped forward, her silver hair flowing like a cascade of moonlight. "I'm glad you're all safe. We came as soon as Jean contacted us."

Jean nodded in gratitude. "Thanks, Ororo. It means a lot."

Bobby, still coming to grips with the whirlwind of emotions from the confrontation at his home, looked at the unfamiliar blue mutant. "Who's this?"

The blue mutant, with a playful smirk and an accent, replied, "Name's Kurt. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Jubilee grinned at Kurt. "Cool look. Welcome to the team, blue guy."

As they all settled in, the Blackbird's engines roared to life, ready to carry them back to safety and away from the dangers they'd narrowly escaped. 

But Jubilee's fireworks and a sleek jet landing in a local park didn't go unnoticed by the authorities…