7s and 2s

[Silenced.Star]

It was a total 360 from the psychological profile they had and so needed heavy reworking.

Click to shrink...

If you go 360 degrees you end up where you started, maybe 180 instead?

Besides that fun chapter and a good story.

 

[JAM_classic]

What do you mean? Rogue and Tabitha already suspect.

Click to shrink...

Yeah, but the rest don't (and Rouge and Tabitha haven't shared their suspicions).

 

[SpectreOfChaos]

hell yea glad to see this back with more chapters

 

[WaywardWriter]

Chapter 22: Ripples Across the Pond​

Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men Evolution. I own the OCs.

---

The loud blare of the ship's horn pierced the still morning air. It started low before rising to an octave that traveled far past the edges of the boat and into the wide ocean beyond.

I awoke by the sound of the second horn blast, opening my eyes to the cramp but warm interior of our "room" in the lower hull. I unconsciously stretched my back and smacked my lips at the somewhat stale air as I sat up from the makeshift bed of pillows and blankets, the dark steel walls of the shipping container dimly illuminated by the nightlight hanging on the corner.

The doc was still fully out in his spot, the horn having no effect on the older man as he continued to snore away.

I was mindful to not wake him when standing, choosing to step over his body and carefully pry open the front latch of the container with only a little bit of creaking.

The walk up to the main deck was done in relative silence. The early morning meant there was few sailors roaming about the lower hull and the ones I did pass were just waking to rotate into the more active shift. The sleepy haze they were experiencing made it so I got acknowledging grunts at best before they went about their duties.

Salty sea air greeted me alongside a dense morning mist. I took a sharp inhale as the ship sailed deeper within, visibility down to near nothing until faint shapes started to become clearer in the white. The first readily noticeable structures were the multiple tall oil rigs poking out of the fog. Connected at their base; a wide stone harbor, rows of warehouses and soon came into view.

I gave a quiet sigh of relief as the large Port of Felixstowe came into view.

We finally made it.

Thank fucking Christ. That took forever.

'It wasn't that long.'

Not that long? My guy we were on this stinking boat for over 2 freaking weeks! There's only so many times I can watch you explore the ship at night or lose every single card game to Lionel before I go stir crazy from sheer boredom!

'…I'm didn't lose every card game.'

Yes. Yes you did. Even the one Lionel tried to throw a couple days ago. That…That had honestly been impressive. The old man was so shocked you had a worse hand than the shitty one he swore he would lose with. Bravo.

The corner of my eye twitched at that as more and more of the deep-water port became visible. The trip itself did start to drag on a bit too long, that I couldn't deny, but considering that neither Lionel nor I had any readily available means of transportation across the sea it was hard to be ungrateful about it.

The Rising Sons had been a godsend in that regard. Calling Callum to ask if he happened to know a way to London for…less than legal travelers, the Dragon Mutant came into clutch with a contact in Maine that would bring us across the sea on a cargo ship for a reasonable price. He also had options for a plane service but it was a bit outside of our price range and the cargo ship would have the means to transport my truck.

Taking a short drive to Maine from the middle of Alaska (it still took around 4 days), Lionel and I met with a surprisingly friendly smuggler who was all smiles and welcoming vibes, especially after we revealed our affiliations with the Rising Sons.

A wiry but jovial brown-haired man of…some European descent, the smuggler calling himself Richard cited the price was 4,000 dollars per person on the ship with an extra charge of 2000 for any vehicles we wanted transported. That was the discounted price due to our connections.

Lionel had gone ahead and footed the bill. Considering I had possession of my passport and technically didn't need to go through the hassle when I could just get a regular plane ticket the doc insisted on it and I accepted without much pushback.

For the price we paid, it was a pretty decent ride. Getting to set up shop in one of the many empty containers on the ship, a common thing apparently when they were on a return trip, we weren't restricted to just our containers and could even use the bathrooms and cafeteria as long as we didn't draw too much attention to ourselves.

Richard assured us the crew and officers wouldn't give two shits about us as long as we wore fake uniforms when moving about the ship. It was shockingly accommodating for what was essentially smuggling two people to another country but I imagined it would have been different if we didn't have the recommendation of an internationally known mercenary group.

I stayed on the front of the ship as it slowed its initial traveling speed and began what I assumed was the usual docking procedures into the port. The ship carefully maneuvered around one of those red tipped floating platforms a couple hundred feet from shore and moved towards an empty dock, delicately easing the ship into position.

Crew members started to throw thick black ropes onto the pier once it grew close. There waiting were dock workers that dragged the ropes over to curved bollards sticking out of the floor and got to tying them around the bollards. They did this at multiple spots on the ship and the vessel swayed as the engines were killed, the ropes going taut as the ship continued moving by momentum. A couple of smaller boats were also pressing on certain sections of the lower hull and were slowly pushing the cargo ship flat against the harbor.

I turned around when the horn sounded for a third time and the anchor was released, hitting the water with a loud splash. Making my way back to the shipping container I found the doc just as I left him, though he turned over at some point and was now drooling on his pillow.

"Doc." I said softly and shook his shoulder gently. "Yo doc, wake up."

"Whu-!" Lionel shot up from where he laid, whipping his head around with a groggy expression and settled on giving me a dazed look.

"We made it."

I smiled in amusement as the older man blinked owlishly at the claim. It took a minute of him rubbing his eyes and stretching before the doc gathered himself enough to follow me out of the container. An easy riser the doc was not.

A quick trip to the cafeteria and cup of coffee that was more like motor oil than liquid gave Lionel the extra boost he needed to really start our day. Meeting up with Richard's associate on the ship, a surly dark-skinned officer known as Dick (I was beginning to think these were fake names), he had us wait on the harbor while a giant crane took containers off the ship one by one and place them on transport trucks to be brought elsewhere. The container that had my truck was marked with black lines crossing over a red circle and after close to an hour of waiting, it was finally pulled from its spot on the pile.

We followed the truck carrying it to a hidden corner of the dock and the worker driving lowered the container to the ground so we could pop it open. The car had been wrapped in plastic and bolted to the steel hull to avoid jostling. While there was a faint smell of rust and the inside was a bit humid, it was mitigated by the holes on the sides for ventilation and the engine turned on with relative ease.

Satisfied overall, I subtly handed over a couple hundred bucks to the worker and he took the cash without a word, tilting his hat to me in thanks. Throwing our stuff in the back of the truck, Lionel and I exited through a gate heading due West farther inland.

It was a 2-hour car drive from the Port of Felixstowe to London proper. Lionel stared out at the passing countryside in quiet nostalgia and pointed out certain landmarks as I drove.

The older man had told me many stories about his time in the Capital of England with his wife while we were on the ship. On how he met her later in his life and having spent a good number of years here with her. While he ultimately had to return to the states when the next Camp Cathcart was constructed, his wife came with him and they raised their daughter (who was born a year or so later) in America.

I never learned when his self-imposed exile in Los Angeles began but by how he talked about his wife in the past tense, especially around the time his granddaughter was born and his daughter moved to London, I have the sneaking suspicion she wasn't among the living anymore.

Not wanting to potentially poke that sensitive subject I avoided asking about her and focused on his daughter. Mostly if he knew where she was currently living.

"I do." Lionel admitted after thinking for a moment. "I tried my best to keep tabs on them over the years, hiring private detectives to do so every once in a while. Just to see how they were doing and if they were okay. They always were. At least as far as the reports that I got back told me."

"When was the last time you commissioned a report?"

To that the doc took out his notebook from his bag and flipped through it, turning to the very last page at the very back. There, held in a tiny holster was a couple of small pictures and pulled out by Lionel, he raised one to the front so I can see it while watching the road.

It was a picture of a family. A short lithe woman with a freckled oval face, long frizzy brown hair and a radiant smile stood next to a tall middle aged thin man with short blond hair, round glasses and a 5'o clock shadow. And between them, standing proud with her hands behind her back and wearing a graduation gown, was a little girl that bore a great semblance to the woman save for her hair that was the same color of the man.

"I got it a few months ago." Lionel said, turning the picture to proudly smile at it. "My granddaughter had just graduated from elementary school and got to perform a solo in the graduation song. The detective at the time said the parents were very proud."

"They look happy."

"They do…They always do. A blessing I'm grateful for every day."

"Were there ever times you were tempted to go visit them in person, even if it was just from a distance?" I asked curiously and glanced at his forlorn expression. "More than you usually did I mean."

"…A few. Whenever there was a birthday or big celebration I sometimes hoped that I could drum up the courage to go to them, explain why I was gone for so long and reconnect with them." Lionel said with hopeful look in his eyes…before his expression fell just as fast. "But there would always be a voice in the back of my head telling me that I didn't deserve it. That I belonged exactly where I put myself…I could never find the strength to disagree with it."

My expression softened at that. Seeing the old man so downcast, I looked to the photo in his hand and then to him before thinning my lips.

"Well." I started, patting him hard on the shoulder and drawing Lionel from his funk. "That voice can take its opinions and shove them up its ass. The only voice in your head is mine now, and it's saying you're going to clear the air with your family. By Hell or high water. This is also something you can't disagree with. You got a problem with that?"

Lionel gave an incredibly amused but sincere smile at that and shook his head.

"No sir." He said fondly and I nodded firmly, focusing back on the road while Lionel turned to admire the passing terrain, his shoulders a little less heavy than they were before.

…Not to ruin the moment, but you do realize how ironic it is for you to say that, right?

'Oh shut up.'

Another hour of driving like this. Traffic became denser the farther we went and soon; peeking just a bit over the horizon, our destination came into view.

The Capital of England stretched out before us as drove around the suburban areas, driving around the edges of the city before reaching the river that ran through it all and following it to the center. It was a bit jarring having to drive on the left side of the road when on two ways streets but I eventually got used to it as the buildings grew more numerous and the roads narrower.

The makeup of London was very different compared to the metropolitans I visited in America, the place seemingly a mix of modern-day buildings and older architecture from different time periods. While a couple of towering glass and metal skyscrapers littered the innermost parts of the city, a lot of it was made of plain stone, wood and red brick with many roofs having pointed tops. Statues littered the entrances of parks and near the river that ran through London alongside sprawling water fountains, beautiful designs etched upon them.

At one point I saw Big Ben and the London Eye in the distance and had to contain my desire to start exploring. Taking a turn right before the British Museum and forcing myself to keep going without stopping to take a picture (I may have done some research before getting on the boat), we arrived at a quieter section of the otherwise busy city.

We passed a number of stores and larger residentials before I eased the truck to a stop once Lionel said to.

The former home of Lionel and his wife Kali was an admittedly plain looking one. A simple two-story house nestled in the middle of a cozy neighborhood; the front was fenced off with a metal gate that had long faded a dull grey from natural erosion and a tiny driveway leading around to (presumably) the house's backyard.

Has a nice view of the park though.

Exiting the truck and grabbing my stuff, I found Lionel standing a couple feet away from the fence. The older man stared up at his house with a faraway look in his eyes. His gaze flickered to every inch of the front, seemingly taking stock of every brick, stone, patch of dirt and glass. As if remembering memories long since buried.

Giving him a moment to reminisce Lionel eventually shook off the haze and quietly walked up the front steps to his door. The lock was a bit finnicky and it took a second of him jiggling his old keys in the keyhole but we were eventually able to get inside.

Boxes littered a long hallway with barren white walls and soft wood flooring, an archway on the left side halfway down and ended in a series of stairs going upward. Square marks on the walls that were faded compared to area around them hinted at pictures formerly strung up and were at some point placed away, probably in the boxes lying around.

The archway led to a relatively spacious living room that was furnished and beyond that another threshold leading to an open window kitchen. The furniture was a blend of brown and red couches and chairs, a small personal dining table meant to fit a family of 4. A giant (but empty) oak cabinet in the corner next to a tall Grandfather clock and a sliding door that led to a small backyard.

"It's nice."

"It's old…"

"Doesn't mean it's not nice."

Lionel snorted softly at that and idly ran a hand on the wooden threshold, rubbing his knuckle on multiple indents there of varying height. They looked intentionally made. I scanned the living room and hallway as the doc became lost in his memories once more.

The first thing I noticed was how clean it was. No thin layers of dust on the furniture or cobwebs in the dark corners, not like how I would expect from a house that hasn't seen any activity for so long. A peek through the sliding door also showed that the grass wasn't overgrown and was even freshly cut in some places.

It looked like someone had been cleaning this place…

I kept mum on my observations and followed Lionel upstairs. There were three rooms on the second floor, one of which was a large bathroom. Pointing out the farthest door which was the master bedroom where his wife and him used to sleep, Lionel opened the door to the last room.

It was a spartan room with a dresser next to the head of a single twin bed, a man-sized mirror in the corner and an open closet on the opposite side. There were no decorations on the white walls either.

"And this, is the guest bedroom. It was originally going to be converted into my daughter's room but life had other ideas." The doc said leaning on the doorframe as I stood in the room and looked around. "It's yours to use for as long as you plan to stay."

"I appreciate it." I was originally going to get a hotel or something in the city so Lionel's invitation saved me the trouble of searching. Though I didn't plan to stay here for very long. Once he reconnected with his family and I finished dealing with a few personal things, I would go about planning my next move.

Speaking of. Tossing my bags at the foot of the bed, I turned to Lionel and crossed my arms.

"You ready to go?" I asked, to which he blinked in surprise.

"Ready? Ready for-" He abruptly stopped at my long look and he audibly gulped after getting it. "N-Now?"

"It's better to get it out of the way now than later." I said and sighed at seeing his nervousness grow in real time. "I'm not trying to put too much pressure on you doc. I know this is a very big step for you…But we both know that if we hold it off until you feel fully confident, we'll be roommates for the next couple months until I finally lose my patience and drag you over to see them."

"…I wouldn't have taken months to do it…Just one or so."

Lionel awkwardly looked away at the unimpressed look I sent him. Shaking my head as he rubbed his neck, I rolled my jaw.

"You do what you want doc. I'm not going to force you if you're really not prepared to face them. I just think you've tortured yourself enough. The longer you shy away from your family is just more time you're never going to get back…and you've lost plenty as is."

Lionel stiffened at my words. Lowering his head slightly, I watched as a moment of clarity hit the older man past the fear and uncertainty.

"…I really have, haven't I?" He said, the unease warring with the realization for a few seconds before crystallizing into steely resolve. "Give me an hour. I need to take a shower and change."

"…The water is still on here?"

Evidently, it was. Unpacking my clothes and placing them in the drawer as the sound of the shower running echoed from down the hall, I went ahead and hid my bags full of cash in different hard to reach spots around the house.

Grabbing a drink from the kitchen, Lionel came down with the hard tapping of polished dress shoes on wooden steps. The old man had dressed to the nines. He wore a long beige coat with the same brown dress shirt and black vest he had when working at Glendale (though the pants were now matching the vest). He was also wearing a beige bowler hat, scarf and trimmed his beard to a neat edge.

"Well." He said, adjusting his coat anxiously. "How do I look?"

He looks like a 20th century English mobster going to collect protection money…Kind of dig it actually.

"You look good doc." I said and chuckled lowly at his heavy sigh of his relief. He was a little overdressed, especially for what was supposed to be a family reunion (that we still weren't sure was going to be a happy one) but if it eased some of his nerves than I didn't see the harm.

The fact that his daughter's house was a 30-minute walk from here was just the slime cherry on the Toad shaped cake.

…That was terrible.

'Yeah, that sounded better in my head.'

It really didn't though.

We chose to walk rather than drive, Lionel using the time moving through the neighborhood and busy commercial areas to brainstorm his approach. I swore I could hear the gears turning in the old man's head as he tried to think of every possibility.

What he could say to explain his absence and his reasoning for deciding to cut contact. Whether he should try and slowly disseminate pieces of his past to make it easier for her to understand or just say it all at once, trusting her to follow along. What his daughter would say in response to the truth and how he could mitigate the damage.

At some point he began to openly mumble his options and I had to gently guide him out of people's ways when he got too lost in his own thoughts and nearly bumped into them. I didn't try to draw him from his trance and just quietly walked alongside him to our destination. Since it was still summer, even if it was the very tail end of it, school was still out for the majority of kids from elementary to high schoolers so his granddaughter should in theory be home.

And considering it was Sunday, and the law firm his daughter works at is closed on weekends, it stood to all reason there was never a better chance than now.

Stopping at the corner of a small park (this city sure had a lot of parks), we arrived at an area full of family homes. Other than a man walking his dog and a group of teenagers hanging out on the nearby benches, there was no one else around. It was very peaceful.

I followed Lionel's gaze to a white brick house at the end of the street and nodded towards it.

"Is that it?"

"Yes…" He admitted but didn't move, nervously staring at the house like it was a deathtrap specially created for him. We stood there for a couple seconds as the old man looked ready to step forward, sometimes even beginning the action but stopped shy of actually completing it and returned his foot to its original position every time. He did this a few more times.

I rolled my eyes.

A well-timed shove as he pretended to take a step sent the doc into a stumble/jog forward into the street. Snapping his head around to give me a sharp glare, I grinned back unashamed, Lionel faced the front again and I heard him take a deep breath.

Then he began walking towards the house. I stood in the shade of a nearby tree, watching from a distance as Lionel softly opened the front gate and walked up the steps to the door. There was another long drag of hesitation before he worked up the nerve to ring the doorbell.

The bell rang a jolly tune for a bit before falling silent. Lionel stood ramrod straight while he waited the agonizing (to him) seconds for someone to come to the door.

It opened soon enough, the man from the picture he showed me being the one to answer. I watched the confused husband say something to Lionel (most likely asking who he was) and doc dipped his head before speaking. There was a short conversation shared and the man's confusion only grew as time passed.

A small head poked out from behind the left leg of the husband. Lionel's entire frame stiffened at the sight of his granddaughter unblinkingly staring up at the unknown man at the door. The husband placed a hand atop the little girl's head before turning his head and yelling something into the house.

A third figure arrived a few seconds later. Lionel's daughter came into view with a curious expression, looking to her husband with a tilt of the head…until she saw Lionel standing there and she mimicked her father's frozen state, her eyes going comically wide.

In response, the doc shakily took off his hat and held it to his chest, his stature growing incredibly meek. I couldn't hear what was being said but I could tell he was stuttering half the words while his daughter looked on in shock.

He stopped talking at one point, lowering his head with a pained expression. He probably thought he was butchering this due to the lack of reaction and looked ready to pivot. Perhaps even retreat to try another day.

Lionel was completely unprepared for the pair of arms that wrapped around his torso.

He was nearly sent stumbling backwards down the steps as his daughter barreled into his chest. Catching himself at the last second, a surprised Lionel wrapped an arm around his daughter as she held him tightly.

The old man stared into empty space for a moment. Even as he unconsciously returned the hug with both arms, even as she planted her face fully against his shoulder and he rested his chin on top of her hair, I could see he was still looked utterly stunned by what was happening. As if he couldn't believe it was happening.

I smiled softly when it finally dawned on him, and his perpetually tired, haunted eyes began to freely flow with tears.

…You know. This may sound insane considering we literally cured a world-renowned war hero not even a month ago…but is it weird that I've never felt prouder than right now?

'Not all.' I thought, watching Lionel's daughter openly fuss over the crying old man while her husband and daughter watched on slight confusion. 'I feel the same.'

Lionel was invited into their home, though it was less an invitation and more his daughter insistently dragging him inside.

The old man (naturally) put up no resistance. The last thing I saw was him disappearing into the house, his granddaughter shadowing their steps while the husband shut the door behind him.

'...Well then.' Bumping off the tree I was leaning on with my shoulder, I slid my hands into my pockets and turned around.

My steps were light as I walked away.

---

With Lionel reconnecting his family after so long and not wanting to intrude of what I felt was a private affair, that left the rest of the afternoon and evening open to do whatever I wished.

Having bounced from place to place for the better of a month with very little time to slow down and constantly chased by one evil organization or another, it felt nice to have some free time again. Going back to Lionel's house to take a nice hot shower and change into fresh clothes, I chose to leave my truck in the driveway and hit the streets on foot.

I didn't have a set destination in my mind. Choosing to treat it like a lazy day, I walked in the direction I remembered passing the British Museum. I had planned to just go about it the normal way and pay the admission fee to enter.

That was, until I realized that I needed to find a place to convert my American dollars to British pounds and didn't see one readily available so I just walked around to the side of the museum and leapt through an open window when no one was looking.

What? It's not like they'll miss the petty change. And I'm pretty sure I read somewhere that thousands of priceless relics inside the British Museum were stolen from other countries in their foreign escapades so, in a way, avoiding paying the fee was my way of somewhat righting the scales.

…I don't think that's how that works. And again. Really ironic that you're the one saying that.

After exploring for about an hour, seeing all the cool artifacts in each section and taking a bunch of pictures, I headed towards the center of the city and arrived at the infamous River Thames that ran through it. Leaning on a railing by the pier, I admired the many small boats and ships going up and down the waters, passing under the bridges at their leisure. From my position I could even see the famous London Bridge in the distance and took a couple pictures of it.

Since the phone plan I bought in America didn't have the capability to do international calls (considering the times I don't think any regular plan did), the photos I took would remain on my phone until I somehow got that handled. With just how long I've gone without contacting anyone back in the Brotherhood, it was probably best to deal with that sooner rather than later.

'I think the last person I talked to was Wanda and that was right before leaving Los Angeles with Lionel.' Damn. If my math was correct then that was over a month ago, marking this the longest I've ever gone without a call, text or even sending a picture of whatever place I was visiting. 'I sure hope they don't think I'm dead.'

Oh come on, don't be so dramatic. It's just a month. It's not like you constantly get into fights and other dangerous shenanigans involving evil groups that want to kill you…Oh wait.

…Point obnoxiously made aside, seeing as I couldn't do anything about it now I decided to continue on exploring. I'd look for a solution to that problem tomorrow.

Following the dense crowd of families, couples and the like down the busy pier, I eventually found a place to convert my cash to pounds and from there I bounced from one part of the city to another for the next couple of hours. Buying a ticket to enter Big Ben, climbing the hundreds of steps and taking a tour inside of the clock tower, I then went to the Buckingham Palace, walked around the palace grounds and took pictures of all the memorials.

I also got to take a few selfies with the King's Guards. Somewhat tempted to lower my aviators to get a reaction out of the incredibly stern soldiers, I held off on those intrusive thoughts and continued on my way. Lionel would have some words if I got in trouble on the first day we got here after all.

Slinking back into the crowds, I began making my way towards the London Eye to check it out and maybe grab a bite to eat around there.

It was throughout doing all of this that I noticed something odd.

By virtue of being a popular tourist destination spot, the streets of London were something of a melting pot so it wasn't strange to see people from different corners of the world here. And while I never placed much stock in the idea that you can recognize those from your country at a single glance, I learned that there was some validity to it because (when I was paying attention) I spotted a couple Americans here and there as I walked about.

I just found it very odd that whenever I saw one, it was always at the new stands scattered around the city. Every time.

The first time, I saw an American family huddled at the corner of a stand, whispering amidst themselves with obvious excitement. It drew a glance from me but I didn't think very much of it and kept moving.

Then I saw a similar scene at another one, an even larger family surrounding a stand and sharing a couple newspapers between them, the kids practically fighting for the ones they were holding. I saw this once more, only they looked like a group of young college students and they were going crazy over something in the papers, forming a semicircle on the grass to talk about what was on it. I saw something similar like this play out again a few blocks away.

And then again. And again.

And again.

By the time I crossed Westminster Bridge and made it to the Eye, my curiosity compelled to walk towards the next stand I found (which was blessedly not surrounded by people) and buy a newspaper from a portly British man sitting next to a short stack of them.

The funny thing was, I already had an idea on what all the commotion was about. While my sight was the sense most acutely affected by Rebirth, the rest had seen their own overhaul in terms of potency and control. My ears picked up plenty of very interesting words amidst the chatter despite the loud crowds and distance.

So I wasn't really all that surprised when I looked upon the front page of The Daily Telegraph and saw in large, bolded words –

Captain America, Return of the Legendary Super Soldier.

And below that was an article on Mutants, the mysterious X-Men and the man responsible for their reveal, Bolivar Trask.

Well. At least it wasn't Magneto.

'At least…' I thought dimly as I read the paper and learned of the conference hosted by the Mutant hating scientist. How he exposed the X-Men on national TV, calling them a danger to humanity followed by Steve Roger's return a week later.

I burst out in laughter at the Captain's speech and how he thought Trask's ideals resembled those of a certain 'visionary' he once disagreed with. Regardless if he meant Hitler or the Red Skull, the comparison made my year.

"Mad, ain't it?" The portly man who sold me the newspapers said once my laughter died down. "I almost didn't believe it when I read it. My old man always talked about his time in the 3rd Infantry and how he once saw Captain America and Union Jack push into France once the beaches were linked in 44. Greatest day of his life the old nutter used to say."

"Is that right?" I asked with a smile. "And how many other people today have heard that story too?"

"Hey, if I have to hear it every time I go home then so does everyone else." The man grumbled lowly and I gave a good-naturedly chuckle. "Still. I haven't seen my pops that happy in a long time. Shame we don't know who cured the Captain. I'd love to buy them a pint."

"I bet…"

Staring at the headlines a little longer in thought, I bid the portly man a good day before folding the newspaper under my arm and walking away.

Despite the literal world altering events that happened while I was indisposed on the ship, the novelty of what I learned just remained that. A novelty. Nothing that made me all that surprised or bothered.

I always knew Mutantkind was going to be dragged into the limelight one of these days. It was an inevitability. The fact it was hidden for this long and that I was able to enjoy my anonymity for as long as I had made it a little hard to complain.

The fact it didn't have happen like it did in the original canon and the Rogers was speaking out against the budding discrimination was the best-case scenario as far as I was concerned. If the doc wasn't already proud of what we accomplished then this will only validate his decision to use the cure on the good Captain even further.

More to that, I wasn't really worried about Trask. As callous as it might sound, the way I saw it, Trask just…wasn't my problem.

Ignoring the political shitstorm about to come his way after what Rogers said about him, the man has already made enemies with the X-Men and is set to piss off the greater Mutant community and in turn the Superhero groups currently in play.

This world didn't exist in a vacuum. With the amount of powerful, independent heroes doing their fair share, I don't see them just standing aside while Sentinels are openly hunting down innocent Mutants and slaughtering them in mass, not to mention the civilians that would get caught in the crossfire. They would intervene and then Trask would have to worry about being public enemy number 1 once enough people get tired of his shit.

And even if we ignored all of that…I was in fucking England. Trask and his current ambitions were very much locked in America and its politics. So unless he brings his particular brand of stupidity over to the United Kingdoms for…some reason, then I'm pretty sure I was in the clear.

We probably should still check on the others when we get the chance. See how they're doing with all of that.

'Of course. That's a given.'

And factoring my involvement in all this, I thought a little celebration was in order. Finding a place to eat after asking for some directions, a nice British restaurant right by the pier, I was given a table in the outside seating. Enjoying the soft breeze under a wide umbrella I rubbed my hands eagerly as my order was brought over by a waiter and gingerly placed in front of me.

Taking a long, wonderful inhale of the large juicy medium rare steak on the plate, I thanked the waiter as he placed my water on the side and eagerly picked up my utensils. After eating shitty ship cafeteria food for weeks on end, I couldn't wait to eat an actual meal again.

I dug in-

"Todd Tolansky?"

…That was, if it wasn't for the petite woman in a form fitting suit and short brown hair suddenly standing at the end of my table. My steak knife pausing inches from its prize, I slowly lifted my head to the pretty brunette smiling softly down at me.

"I'm sorry for interrupting your meal. Mind if I sit?" She asked but didn't wait for my answer and immediately pulled the chair out to sit down, placing a folder on the table. I continued to stare dumbly as she held out a hand. "Vicki Reppion. I'm with the British Division of Shield; we're known as Strike. And I think you'll want to hear what I have to say."

I stared blankly at her and the outstretched hand. I heard what she said, and how she casually dropped Shield (in a public setting to boot), but I couldn't properly focus on it. Why?

Because I was too busy focusing on the other voice I was now hearing. One coming a direction I couldn't track for a long moment…until I could.

'Todd? Todd, can you hear me? Are you sure this thing is-Oh, I think I can see him. Yeah, I can definitely see…Oh. Is…Is this a bad time?'

Tabitha's voice echoed in my brain. The sudden mental presence was a faint pressure on my temple that, while not painful, was very weird to experience for the first time with no warning. Definitely nothing I was expecting to happen.

I took a moment. To properly register the psychic presence in my mind. To look at the agent still waiting for my response.

I looked down at my (still) untouched steak.

I let out a deep, heavy sigh.

"I'm not going to get to eat this in peace, am I?"

Toad, for once, had no witty comeback to make.

---

A/N: Look on the bright side Todd, you almost got to the quarter mark of 24 hours before being ambushed by a secret agent and psychically mind called at dinner time. And nothing exploded (yet).

I'd take the win and run.

On a side note, things have gotten a little jumbled, in terms of timeline I mean. Let the record state that what happened in the previous Interlude, how Trask revealed the truth about Mutants, the world's reaction to them and Roger's conference didn't happen one day after the other. It was something that stretched on with weeks in between and almost all of it began the moment Todd and Lionel got onto the ship. Cap's conference and his visit to the X-Mansion pretty much happened a day or two before they finally landed in London. Hope that clears up any confusion.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed!

 

[Carlos99]

Thanks for the chapter!!

 

[Nicohals J Westerberg]

More toad is always welcome

 

[Darkban]

Well damn, poor guy really can't catch a break huh?
Really happy to have a new chapter so quickly after finishing reading the rest, what? a day or two ago? XD
That was lucky!

Thanks for the chapter =D

 

[SpectreOfChaos]

Hell yea new chapter always excited for these looking forward to how this goes

 

[SpectreOfChaos]

Not just Toad, Super Toad, the 'Super' part is very important you see.

Click to shrink...

Came back to reread this chapter after reading the newest one becouse seeing Steve campare Trask to Hitler is very emotionally satisfying, anyway I still vote that Toad should try and get extremis and become the Ultimate Thermite Toad

 

[Mortal Sage]

i am sick of reading this one chapter at a time. i feel like a starving dog and the author is the one who has locked all the other starving dogs(readers) in their basement and is feeding them scraps to keep them at the edge of death. I dont like this kind of edging. i am gonna put this in timeout for an year or so. someone call me back after the author uploads 15 - 20 chapters atleast.

 

[backgroundnoise]

Well, look at it this way, you had a couple of weeks of relative peace and the chance to reunite a family torn apart by tragic circumstances, that's gotta be worth something, right?

Came back to reread this chapter after reading the newest one becouse seeing Steve campare Trask to Hitler is very emotionally satisfying, anyway I still vote that Toad should try and get extremis and become the Ultimate Thermite Toad

Click to shrink...

Trask could not have picked a worse angle to take given the timing and the framing he went with. It makes sense, given he wants to push the most extreme and radical 'solutions' as hard and as fast as possible, but 'we need armies of Sentinels murdering American citizens' was always going to be a really hard sell without Magneto out there being, well... Magneto.

 

[transhumansage]

i hope toad eventually gets a transformation like the great toad boss in the IGA ESCAPE mission in NIOH. that dues was just nothing but pure badass.

 

[WaywardWriter]

i am sick of reading this one chapter at a time. i feel like a starving dog and the author is the one who has locked all the other starving dogs(readers) in their basement and is feeding them scraps to keep them at the edge of death. I dont like this kind of edging. i am gonna put this in timeout for an year or so. someone call me back after the author uploads 15 - 20 chapters atleast.

Click to shrink...

Your Hunger gives me life

 

[Silent Cosmos]

I cocked the gun and it did its intended effect because the dealer shut up.

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"Huh. The safety was on."

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Soo….
Was it a revolver or a standard handgun?

Cause you can only cock a revolver, not a handgun. Cocking means pulling back the hammer of the revolver, making it ready to fire.

Handguns have safety switches, usually. You can click it on or off. Revolvers don't. Also Glocks but their safety is kinda built into the trigger.

His eyes widened at the gun mag in my grip.

Click to shrink...

"What the fu-" Marcus pulled out his gun again and turned it over. The Magazine slot was empty.

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raised my other hand and opened my palm to reveal a pile of bullets.

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Bruh no. Anyone who carries around a gun would immediately notice the difference. Mags and bullets have weight to them. Not only that but the centre of balance feels different without them.


You don't know much about guns, huh. Lol.

Chapter 3: Committing Crimes, but Better​

Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men Evolution. I own the OCs.

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What's with the formatting? Why did you choose grey instead of black text colour for couple chapters? It makes them very hard to read.

 

[transhumansage]

"I'm not going to get to eat this in peace, am I?"

Click to shrink...

he should ask the shield agent to wait while he quickly finishes the steak and use that time while she is waiting to telepathically converse with his friends and get the whats what.