Inside Noah's factory, Rogue sat quietly at a workbench, her focus absolute.
In her hands, a small white lab mouse struggled weakly—then stilled.
Around her, dozens of lifeless mice lay scattered across the surface.
Behind her, inside a sealed container, hundreds more waited.
She exhaled slowly.
"One hundred and fifty-one…"
Her voice was soft, almost thoughtful.
Compared to the first attempt, the mouse had lasted longer this time. Not by much—but enough to notice.
Noah had been right.
Control was possible.
It just took practice.
"If I can limit it… just physical energy…" she murmured, glancing at her hands. "Then I can actually help him."
A faint blush crept across her face.
The thought alone was enough to throw off her focus.
She reached into the container again, pulling out another mouse.
A few seconds later—
It went limp.
Faster than before.
Rogue frowned, taking a breath and forcing herself to calm down before trying again.
Meanwhile, across the city—
Noah sat in a movie theater, Gwen leaning lightly against his shoulder.
The screen flickered as the film played, the quiet daytime showing leaving the theater mostly empty.
At least, that's how it looked.
Noah's eyes shifted slightly.
Something felt… off.
He didn't need to look.
He could hear it.
Heartbeats.
Too steady. Too strong.
Not normal.
From the outside, the audience looked like ordinary people—casual clothes, relaxed posture.
But their bodies told a different story.
Conditioned. Controlled.
Trained.
Noah narrowed his eyes slightly.
So they're here too.
Still, no one moved.
No interruptions.
No confrontation.
The movie played out to the end without incident.
As they stepped out of the theater, one of the agents lingered back.
"Director," he asked quietly, "should we follow them?"
Nick Fury stood a short distance away, watching Noah and Gwen walk off hand in hand.
"No," Fury said calmly. "I'm here to talk. Not to start a problem."
The rest of the morning passed peacefully.
Noah and Gwen moved from the theater to a nearby amusement park, enjoying a rare stretch of normal time.
For once, there were no enemies. No interruptions.
Just laughter, teasing, and quiet moments.
By noon, Noah checked the time.
"We should head back," he said.
Gwen frowned slightly. "Already?"
He smiled faintly. "I've already blown through my downtime for the day. Training doesn't stop."
She sighed, but didn't argue.
When he lifted her into his arms again, she wrapped around him instinctively.
A second later, they were airborne.
Elsewhere—
Inside a secured military facility, William Stryker held a phone to his ear.
Ross's voice came through.
"Noah turned you down," Ross said. "He leans toward protecting mutants. You won't get along."
Stryker's expression darkened.
"Protecting mutants?" he repeated. "There are still people like that?"
He exhaled sharply. "Fine. I won't waste time on him."
The call ended.
Stryker turned to his subordinates.
"What's the status of the U.N. summit in New York?"
A file was handed to him immediately.
"Here's the list of attendees."
He flipped it open, scanning the names.
Then—
He stopped.
A slow smile spread across his face.
"Of course you'll be there…"
His finger tapped a single name.
Charles Xavier.
With the mutant registration debate on the agenda, it was only natural.
And for Stryker—
It was an opportunity.
"With Xavier's telepathic ability…" he murmured, eyes gleaming, "this becomes much easier."
If he could control that power—
Combined with his existing equipment—
He could wipe out mutants entirely.
Every last one.
He snapped the file shut.
"Intercept him before he reaches the summit," Stryker ordered coldly. "He's physically vulnerable. Wheelchair-bound. Take him down before he can react."
His subordinates nodded immediately.
"Yes, sir."
They turned and left.
On the desk behind him, a sealed document sat quietly.
Stamped across the front:
Sentinel Production Program
Beneath it—
A list of names.
Bolivar Trask
Howard Stark
Alexander Pierce
Henry Pym
Reed Richards
Stryker glanced at it once, then sealed it away.
Back in New York—
Noah landed smoothly outside Gwen's house, setting her down gently.
"Text me later," he said with a small smile, brushing a kiss against her cheek.
"Yeah," she said softly, heading inside.
The door closed.
And in that instant—
Noah vanished.
A blur of motion cut through the air as he crossed the distance in seconds, reappearing in front of a familiar figure.
A bald man.
An eyepatch.
Watching him calmly.
Noah stopped, expression neutral.
"You had people tailing me all morning," he said. "And now you're waiting outside my girlfriend's house."
His gaze sharpened slightly.
"So tell me—what does the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. want with me?"
Nick Fury didn't look surprised.
Given Noah's connection to Ross, it wasn't unexpected.
"I just want to talk," Fury said evenly.
Noah tilted his head slightly.
"That's fine," he replied. "But can you ask the psychologist in your earpiece to stop analyzing me?"
His eyes locked onto Fury.
"It's distracting."
...
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