After buying everything they needed, Richard and Clarice checked out and stepped out of the supermarket, carrying several bags between them. The automatic doors slid shut behind them with a soft hiss as they headed back toward the narrow alley where they had arrived earlier. The afternoon air was warm, and the city noise hummed in the distance.
Clarice shifted the bags to one hand and lifted the other, purple energy already beginning to gather around her fingers. She was just about to open a space door back to the apartment when Richard's voice cut in, calm but firm.
"Don't open it yet. We've got company."
He tilted his chin toward the entrance of the alley. Clarice followed his gaze and immediately recognized the group approaching. It was the same girls from the supermarket who had tried to strike up a conversation with him earlier. This time, however, they weren't alone.
A handful of men flanked them, spreading out with the loose swagger of people who thought they owned the sidewalk. Even without knowing them, it was obvious what they were. Their oversized jackets, heavy boots, and flashy metal chains made the message clear. The way they walked—shoulders squared, eyes scanning for a reaction—was even more telling.
They didn't look like they were here to shop.
"Give me thirty seconds," Richard said casually as he handed the grocery bags to Clarice. "This won't take long."
Clarice accepted the bags without protest, watching him walk toward the group. His expression didn't change, but there was a sharpness in his eyes now that hadn't been there a moment ago.
He didn't need telepathy to understand what was going on. The girls had been friendly enough in the store, bold and direct with their invitation. In their world, men didn't say no. At least, not to them. They were used to admiration, to attention, to having a line of eager followers ready to jump at the smallest hint of approval.
Richard had rejected them without hesitation.
To someone confident in their own appeal, rejection could feel less like a simple "no" and more like a public insult. It wasn't about romance or attraction anymore. It was about pride.
And pride, when bruised, had a habit of looking for backup.
The gang members stopped a few feet away from him, spreading out in a loose semicircle. The girls lingered behind them, arms crossed, their expressions a mix of irritation and expectation.
Richard didn't waste time on conversation. He didn't threaten them or trade insults. He simply stepped forward.
The first punch came so fast it looked like a blur. A sharp crack echoed through the alley as one of the men dropped to the ground before he even realized he'd been hit. The second and third followed immediately after, each impact precise and controlled.
Richard wasn't trying to cripple them. He used barely a fraction of his strength, just enough to make a point.
Within seconds, the alley was filled with groans and panicked shouts. Bodies lay sprawled across the pavement, clutching their stomachs or jaws, faces twisted in pain. The earlier swagger had completely vanished, replaced by raw fear.
Richard stood in the middle of them, unruffled. Not a single strand of his hair was out of place.
"I'll give you five seconds," he said evenly, his voice carrying across the alley. "Get out."
No one argued.
The gang members scrambled to their feet, stumbling over each other as they rushed toward the street. The girls followed right behind them, shock still written across their faces. Whatever lesson they had intended to teach had backfired spectacularly.
In less than ten seconds, the alley was empty again.
Richard turned around and walked back to Clarice as if nothing unusual had happened. He took the grocery bags from her hands and gave her a small nod.
"All set. You can open the door now."
Clarice blinked, then nodded quickly. Purple energy flared from her palm, swirling into a glowing circular portal. Through it, the familiar interior of the apartment was visible.
They stepped through together.
Back inside, Clarice headed straight to the kitchen without delay. She tied her hair back and began unpacking the groceries, moving with a quiet focus that suggested she needed something to do with her hands.
Richard, on the other hand, walked into the living room and dropped onto the sofa.
Across from him sat Sabretooth.
The large mutant had been watching the entire exchange in silence, his golden eyes narrow and unreadable. Now, with Clarice busy in the kitchen and out of earshot, the two men simply stared at each other.
The silence stretched for nearly a full minute.
It wasn't hostile exactly, but it wasn't comfortable either. The air felt heavy, charged with unspoken thoughts.
Finally, Sabretooth exhaled sharply and broke the stalemate.
"You like her," he said, his voice low and blunt.
Richard didn't look away. "Didn't you like beautiful women when you were young?"
The answer was so direct that Sabretooth froze for a moment. It clearly wasn't what he had expected.
For a brief second, something like reluctant amusement flickered across his face. Richard's straightforward attitude wasn't unpleasant. In fact, it reminded him a little of his own younger days.
But that didn't mean he was willing to smile about this.
Clarice might not be his biological daughter, but he had raised her. He had protected her. Watched her grow. In his mind, that made her his responsibility in every way that mattered.
No father, adopted or otherwise, enjoyed the idea of someone else walking in and taking that place.
"You're not right for her," Sabretooth said flatly. "You can't give her the life she wants."
Richard leaned back slightly, his expression calm but firm. "You're not her. How do you know what kind of life she wants?"
Sabretooth's jaw tightened. For a moment, his claws twitched at his sides before he forced himself to relax.
"No matter what you say," he continued, his tone hardening, "I won't agree to this. Once this mess is over, we go our separate ways. We won't see each other again."
"I don't mind going separate ways," Richard replied. "As for whether we meet again… that's not entirely up to you."
The tension between them thickened again, like a storm about to break.
Before Sabretooth could respond, Clarice stepped out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. She glanced between them, clearly sensing the atmosphere, but chose not to comment on it.
"Do you eat spicy food?" she asked Richard.
"I'll eat anything," he answered easily. "I'm not picky."
She nodded once and returned to the kitchen, the faint sound of chopping vegetables resuming a moment later.
The argument dissolved as abruptly as it had begun.
…
Department of Mutant Affairs. Los Angeles Branch.
Jack, the intelligence director, hurried down the corridor at a pace just short of running. His usually composed demeanor was gone, replaced by visible urgency. He reached the operations department and pushed open the director's office door without knocking.
"Aiden and his team are in trouble," he said immediately.
Benjamin, the head of operations, looked up from behind his desk. He was a tall man with sharp features and an imposing presence, but even he stiffened at the tone in Jack's voice.
Jack crossed the room in a few quick steps and handed over the tablet in his hand.
Benjamin took it and began scrolling through the footage.
The screen displayed aerial video captured by a drone. The camera hovered over an RV campground on the outskirts of Los Angeles. Police cars filled the area, red and blue lights flashing in a steady rhythm.
The scene was controlled but tense.
Forensic teams moved between the parked vehicles, photographing evidence and covering bodies with white sheets. The aftermath was unmistakable.
Benjamin's expression darkened as he watched.
"The campground manager called it in," Jack explained, his voice tight. "The Los Angeles police responded immediately. When they arrived, they found Aiden and the rest of the team dead."
He swallowed before continuing.
"The officers on scene realized this wasn't a routine case and escalated it up the chain. I've already contacted the commanding officer there and asked him to preserve everything as carefully as possible. Our own investigators are on the way."
Before Jack could finish the rest of his report, a sharp crack echoed through the office.
Benjamin's hand tightened around the tablet, and the screen shattered under the pressure. He dropped the broken device onto the desk, his face grim.
"Get me a full investigation report as fast as possible," he ordered. "As soon as it's ready, you're coming with me to see the branch director. I'm applying for authorization to deploy a Sentinel."
.....
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