"Well here we are gamers, Krakoa!" The fox-eared mutant known as Aya Tanaka practically yelled to a small, floating camera drone in order to be heard over the fireworks and all the rowdy people around her. Crowds like this were normally loud and rambunctious as it was, but everyone in this crowd also had mutant powers to boot. It was going to be a wild night, and Aya was there for it.

"I know some of you doubted that I would make it here, but when I said I was a mutant, I meant it!" Aya stated further to the drone that was filming her. To many on the internet she was a known vlogger and twitch streamer. Being a mutant hadn't stopped her from becoming popular with both mutants and otherwise (It helped that she was cute), though many online had long debated whether or not she was a 'legit' mutant or not. There had been a crackpot theory that she'd been bitten by a radioactive fox as a child. Seriously, what idiot thought that up?

The fact that she'd made it to Krakoa would shut any doubters up. After all, only mutants could enter the island. As far as Aya knew, she was the only person vlogging on the island, she was going to get so many views!

"I think the first line of business is to find out what the drinking age here is, I hope it's under twenty!" Her tails swayed behind her as she looked at the camera with a cheeky grin, knowing full well something like a drinking age wouldn't stop her.

Billy sat at the bar of the Green Lagoon with a drink in hand watching the fireworks. As much fun as the party was, Billy was here with a purpose. He had heard that the Scarlet Witch was here. It was because of her that he had his powers in the first place, and he wanted to thank her personally. Unfortunately after arriving on Krakoa and asking around, he didn’t get much help. All of them kept talking about The Pretender with disgust. What was that about?

Meanwhile, Tommy came running in to the green lagoon, and ordered a drink from the bar. Because he had super speed, he had to order a special drink so he could actually feel a buzz. Otherwise he’d just metabolize it. Tommy had escaped from superjuvie, and was hiding out on Krakoa. Surely, the sentinals guarding the place couldn’t get to him here.

As Tommy tried to drink, he noticed a dark haired boy staring at him. It was kind of weird. What was also weird was the boy kind of looked like him, if he had black hair and brown eyes. He didn’t think too much of it, this guy was weird. “Ugh, what are you staring at loser?” He really wasn’t in the mood to be getting strange looks from people. He had gotten enough of that crap back home.

Billy blinked. “Oh… uh… nothing… it’s nothing.” And quickly turned away. The truth was that it wasn’t nothing. Billy also noticed the resemblance between himself and this guy. That had to mean something…

The simple pleasures of a shave and shower in his own place had been exquisite, enough to clear any lingering feelings of remorse of losing the title of Sorcerer Supreme. He didn’t doubt Wong’s capabilities, it was just that Strange had gotten used to the role, and adapting would be one more part of the adjustment of returning home. After he finished up and ate some breakfast, Strange spent the morning gathering some of his belongings, and then stopped by the foyer on his way out to say a temporary goodbye to Wong.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay? Your room is just like you left it, and I’m sure there’s plenty you can do around here.” Wong said.

“No, I’m good. I’ll leave my stuff there and I might pop in, but I want to get out of my comfort zone. It’s all too familiar here.” Strange said.

“Alright, but just remember, you’re welcome any time.” Wong said

“Sure, and I’m glad things have been going well while I’m out. I think you’ll do a great job as Sorcerer Supreme.” Strange said.
“Thank you, It’s a great honor to have this responsibility. I just hope I can live up to the previous examples.”

“I’ve only heard a little bit but it sounds like it’s going well so far. Any goals you’ve set for yourself?”

“Well, I think comparisons between us are going to be inevitable, so I might as well work off of that benchmark. I’m aiming for the same amount of saving the earth; maybe a little less mess along the way.”

“Fair. If there’s anyone I trust to do that it’s you. I’ll see you around.” Strange said as he stepped out the door.

One of the old tricks of the Sanctum Sanctorum was that the back door would deposit someone on any street in Manhattan as long as you thought about it hard enough. That tripped up quite a few visitors, but for Strange it was just an easier way of getting to the library. He had four months worth of news to catch up on and some time to kill while he waited for his check-in at the hotel. Strange grabbed whole stacks of back issues of the newspapers and magazines from the periodical section and walked over to a table where carved out space for his pile. Even before he was trained in the mystical arts, Strange had a knack for reading quickly and remembering most of it; it was hard to get through a top flight medical school without that. The pages flitted by as he went through the events of the past quarter, as soon as he had finished reading one another floated over and opened itself, continuing the rapid pace. An animated pen filled up a scroll conjured from underneath his cloak with notes, half-muttered, half transmitted through telepathy. It was a symphony of activity around Strange, hyperfocused and devouring information with mystifying speed. The thrill continued until he felt someone tap him on the shoulder and suddenly it all paused. An old lady with a library ID badge had gotten his attention, and spoke in a voice that was trying to be firm but clearly startled “Ummm, sir I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to take your activities elsewhere. You’re scaring our other patrons.” Strange looked up slowly and saw that everyone in the room, from those seated at the table to the ones just walking by had stopped whatever they were doing to stare at him, and made sure to give him a wide berth.

While walking through Bryant Park after his unceremonious exit from the library Strange stopped by a news stand. He looked over the newspapers and magazines and bought a few different ones, even though all of their headlines were about one thing: Krakoa. He could tell it was a big deal when he was going through the back issues in the library, and even before he got inside he saw two rival groups holding rallies in the park. They were still there, just as determined as before. The pro-mutant side was clearly enjoying themselves; despite the signs they held it had the atmosphere of a celebration. Everyone on the anti-mutant was angry, whether it was simmering anger or blinding hatred varied from person to person. They chanted their slogans and alternated between glaring menacingly at the pro-mutant side and the cops manning the barricades separating them. Strange took a roundabout way to the subway station to avoid them.

On the train Strange enjoyed a proper New York bagel for the first time in what felt like thousands of years. Interdimensional wars didn’t care much about good food. Part of the reason he was so focused on the present and catching up was because it let him block out memories of the war. It had consumed him so fully for so long that much of it melded together into one massive event. He wish he could say he had come out of it better, but there was nothing he liked about it now, not even the “gift” they gave him at the end, a glimpse of the future as a way of thanking him for his dedication. That one would take him time to unpack, like many prophecies it operated on multiple levels, he had seen images, heard words, felt auras and so much more. Examining it would be for another time. For now he just focused on his food and the copy of the New York Times he had floating in front of him, reading about the UN recognition of Krakoa. No one on the subway thought it wise to bother the man who could make a newspaper levitate.

His room at the Hotel Chelsea was ready for him now. The clerk gave him a standard warning about how it was New York’s most haunted hotel, and Strange did his best not to laugh; while the clerk was talking he could see a whole host of malevolent spirits fleeing the premises, having realized who would be their new neighbor. Perhaps Wong could get one of the students to track them down before they found another place to haunt. Before he even opened the door he noticed someone had left a business card in the frame; oddly it was solid black, not a single mark on it. There was no magic residue at least, so Strange picked it up and filed it away as a curiosity.

Traveling was easy with magic, even a small bag could hold an enormous amount and with the right spell it could pack or unpack itself. As soon as Strange was sitting down his record player had already settled itself and loaded a Mahavishnu Orchestra album, and the electric kettle was readying a cup of tea. He held the business card in hand and twirled like one of those cheap birthday party magicians, then came up with an idea as he supped on his tea. A spell let him see the past of the object, and with that he saw what had been printed on it before it was covered in black: The web address of a meal delivery service on one side, and a logo he had never seen before on the front, along with one simple phrase “We’d like to talk”. It could’ve just been an advertising gimmick, but Strange had a lifelong belief in meaningful coincidences, and filed the logo away in his memory as he set the card down.

From the stack he opted to start with was a special issue of Time, “Krakoa: A Guide”. Most of it was basic, a lot of the profiles were of people who he had met personally, some of it was incorrect; overall it did help him learn about the power players and the features of Krakoan society. Strange kept reading and noticed a particular slant to the advertising, not a single slot was filled with the usual material about soft drinks and car brands. The most premium places had been taken by interests affiliated with Krakoa, the largest was an open letter from Xavier to the nations of the world, and further spaces were taken by the Hellfire Trading Company, the His Dream Foundation, Summers News and Media, and other mutant affiliated causes. All of it was glossy, well done, a little heavy on PR speak but clearly an earnest attempt to win the hearts and minds of the world, Human and Mutant alike. The rest of the ads were more numerous but less polished, and they all shared one feature: absolute opposition to mutants. It was impressive how every one seemed to come from a different group. Some of them tried to act highbrow, claiming to raise legitimate concerns about international law, world security, and human rights, couched in the sort of language common in the halls of power; those were credited to NGOs with little history and very generic names. Other ads came from groups aligned with old foes of mutantkind like the Friends of Humanity and the Church of Human Potential or new organizations like Facts and Logic About the Mutant Experience, and their content was downright vile. They featured headlines like “Magneto: From Nazi Collaborator to The Quiet Council”, “Decimation Wasn’t Enough: How You Can Continue Wanda Maximoff’s Legacy” and “The Genoshan Genocide: Mutant on Mutant Violence”. Whatever he could say about Krakoa, it had certainly given the anti-mutant groups a new sense of urgency. The next page made him pause.

It was an ad that was vague about their intentions, just mentioning some conference on “safeguarding the human race”, but something struck him about the logo, which he had seen only once before: on the card left in his doorway. The only thing other identifying mark on the ad was the name of the group, listed in fine print near the bottom: Orchis. This inspired Strange to pause his reading, maybe pull out his aging laptop for some internet searches, but as he set the magazine down he saw something else that grabbed his attention. By chance the page of the magazine he left facing up was a profile belonging to Ilyana Rasputin, better known as Magik. They’d met before, but now seeing her photo triggered something inside his mind, it dredged up the prophecy he saw in the war, it made him relive those visions, and it explained a part of him. Now it was clear as day to him, he had seen Ilyana in the vision, she was at the center of it all. Outwardly he remained calm, standing, staring at the wall for minutes on end. Inside, all he did was go over the words of the prophecy again and again, repeating the poem in his head:

“You Strange shall know earth's next sorcerer supreme
None born human shall hold the title again
All you know will be like water turned to steam

Make straight their path, depart and find peace at the end of mankind's reign
What more light, what glory shall be left for your eyes to ascertain

Mankind draws near finality and sorrow
Both you and they shall live without tomorrow”

"Jean, my thanks on your promptness, I hope I have not disturbed your plans too greatly." Erik's response to Jean's arrival was much in the manner of her greeting. Unlike her communication with Charles, and perhaps others of her more long term allegiance, it remained spoken, in the clipped politeness of humanity rather than the freeflow of mutant telepathic thought. In this instance in particular the latter would have been impossible, the cold metal of Magneto's helm placed upon his features. A sure sign these days that Eric whished to keep his thoughts from straying into the minds of those who might wish to listen. "I would offer refreshments as a good host, but I imagine the selection and the celebration I have taken you from would be far superior, so we shall be direct." Eric's hands met behind his back, his eyes drifting from the form she struck, having just touched down on the structure of his home. His focus settled on the view of the island, and the celebrants, even as he spoke again.

"I am sure you well understand the fragility of this, even as we celebrate. What Charles and I have had to become to ensure it, among the work of others, has necessitated a pragmatism that is far from his first vision, as much as it was my own." As the man spoke, he extended one hand, a trio of metallic orbs floating from within the chamber he had been waiting in, beginning to turn and rotate in perfect even synchronicity around his hand. A form of meditation, but also no doubt, demonstration. "It could not have been done without it, but I also believe we have lost something important, and equally necessary." Once again his eyes settled on her, a turn of his head to bring her back into focus, all the glimmer of her outfit and the blazing corona of her red hair. The woman who had held creation within her.

"It is necessary for you to take a place on the Quiet Council, to hold Charles to account, myself as well, although I doubt you would ever refrain from that duty, even if you weren't." Time and shared struggle had done much to ease the scars of the past, but the memories of their own terrible power turned on each other was still there. "It has to be you, you are a beacon to them, the people celebrating below, even those who hate you, and more importantly, only you could make us appear trivial, were it to be needed." It was certainly not a question, although it fell short of an order, a statement impressing upon her the importance of what he was saying, and perhaps addressing the need for the wearing of his helmet, to prevent him being convinced otherwise before he could bring the matter to her.

Molly had been enoying the festivities. She'd been dancing with strangers, stopping to watch musicians and performers. It was a little too noisy to have a very long, detailed conversation but she'd made plenty of small talk with random strangers. The atmosphere here was electric. Mutants with showier powersets had found spaces to exhibit them, which often drew a crowd who'd watch, clap, and then proceed to show off their own powers, Molly included, though using her strength too much had tired her out and she'd had to get something to eat and a short sit down. Recharged, she was now ready to party again.

She saw and heard a blonde fox-tailed mutant near her talking loudly into...was that a camera? She listened and deduced that she was either recording content for some kind of vlog, or she was streaming. Molly heard the girl muse on the alcohol age, and decided to chime in.

"It's eighteeen," answered a voice from behind Aya, coming from a brown-haired girl in jeans, a long-sleeved shirt and a blue beanie. "Hey, you making a video, or you streaming?" she then asked looking from Aya to the camera lens and back.

@Abillioncats

Even with all the noise around her, Aya's ears perked up from Molly's answer to Aya's question, along with a question of her own. The multi-tailed girl pumped her fist. "Yesssssss, that will make things easier." Her parents had let her sample some sake before, but she'd never been able to drink more than that, at least not legally.

"I'm currently making a video, though I do stream as well. But I prefer to stream in my own room. There's less uh..." She looked around at all the loud and rowdy mutants throwing their powers around and yelling, the fireworks going off, and all the other party chaos. "...background noise. At least with vlogging my editor can fix up the audio afterwards."

Aya looked Molly over as she spoke, she wondered what sort of powers she could have, it wasn't easy to tell by just looking at her, could be anything. Wondering what other people's unique powers were wasn't something Aya was actually used to. Despite being a mutant, Aya had never really interacted with many other mutants growing up, at least not offline. Now she was on an island full of mutants, it was pretty exciting.

"Oh, you don't mind being on camera do you?" Molly didn't seem to mind considering she'd come up to Aya and started a conversation, but Aya had to be sure. Some people really didn't like being filmed, Aya had found.

@Silver Carrot

Billy’s eyes went wide when Emma Frost of all people asked to speak to him. Tommy wasn’t as impressed as Billy was. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

Billy nudged Tommy’s side. “Dude, do you not know who Emma Frost is?”

Tommy rolled his eyes. “No, I’ve been in juvie for months, and I don’t keep up with every piece of gossip that comes up.”

Now it was Billy’s turn to roll his eyes. “I’m sorry Ms. Frost. What did you need to speak to us about?”

Even for one possessed of great mental control, Jean Grey was distracting. Eric imagined he could stretch the belief that it was a facet of her powers, but in truth that would be giving himself too much credit. It had far more to do with the cascade of red hair, the sing-song of her laugh as the giggle tumbled forth and the way the shimmering emerald of her outfit flared after her waist into her hips than any great telepathic ability.

"I believe there are still grooves." He mused quietly as she turned course on their conversation to discuss the furniture and its unintentional use. A lesser man would have joined the grin, but he prevented such, instead offering a warm smile at her acceptance of the request he had made of her, allowing his previous words instead to suggest that he hadn't quite forgotten either.

The next words which issued forth from her steeled him, allowing the warmth that had been building from her presence to drip away. Matters with Wanda were never easy, and her own children were often even more extreme. He could not blame them, but it was still a complication. They were wounds he one day wished to heal, but for the moment, had kept on cutting.

"Thank you, Jean." The words answered the summation of both her agreement and the news she had passed on, even as she was drifting away, the enclosing hold of his helmet slipped away, allowing the other, less horrifyingly powerful, telepaths of the island to reach him from beyond its restraining hold. She had only just passed the lip of the balcony before Magneto began his own flight. Unlike Jean, he did not drift leisurely, the Master of Magnetism soaring into the air as he twisted the force of the world around him, moving at a speed that was enough to draw attention from the ground below.

The attention only grew more intense as he neared his destination, dropping lower in descent, the exited inhabitants of the Lagoon turning from their revelry to note one of the Quiet Council moving towards them at speed. It wasn't panic, it was just good gossip. He did not land with force, nothing quiet so dramatic, but the magnetic ripple at him suddenly coming to a half a short distance from both Emma Frost and the two boys. Without the helm, the passing wave of energy shuddered through his own grey-white hair as he halted in mid-air, before gently drifting the final foot to touch down deftly.

"Miss Frost, I do hope you are enjoying the festivities." His initial greeting was directed to his fellow council member, before his attention shifted to the forms of Wiccan and Speed. "Welcome Home."

Another pot of coffee. Another long night. Another pain in the ass case. Probably another pain in the ass case that gets taken from them just when they really start to crack into it. Maybe straight up feds deciding this is their territory. If they figure they can get some good PR off it. Maybe a more ambiguous "this is not your jurisdiction; this is above your paygrade" if it's a really good case. Probably just Krakoa.

"Right now you're thinking Krakoa is gonna take this case off our hands." the junior deputy quipped while digging through a brown paper bag. He pulled out two big breakfast burritos. It was dinner time. Nothing like a breakfast burrito for dinner.

"You're not wrong." the senior deputy replied, unwrapping his burrito and folding it over to pick up any errant burrito bits.
"Wouldn't be the first time. You know how they are any time one of theirs is involved."

"Heard it was a kid too."

"You're a kid. That pyro was older than you."

"Yeah, but...well yeah. You're right. Early 20s. You seen the gas station tape?"

"Might as well put it on. That's the question right now isn't it. Who is that. Was he the one that killed the pyro mutant."

The younger deputy navigated around the computer's desktop to find the footage.

"Not much. Not super clear and we haven't been able to get an I.D. off it, but here we go."

Simple footage plays across their screen. Bog standard gas station market. Beige walls. Lighter shade of beige tile flooring. Needs a strip and some waxing but otherwise clean enough. Aisles all covered in colorful packaging for one or another variation of calorie bomb junk food. Probably will all turn out to be highly carcinogenic. Stocker is in the lower right filling up the potato chip rack. Some guy makes a beeline down an aisle, politely pressing closer to the one side so a mother and her child can peruse the candy bars. Guy heads straight for the restroom.

Subject of interest is wandering around a little more. He's got a note in his hand. Clearly working from that to gather up some groceries. It's nothing particularly interesting or unfamiliar. Salt, Lime Juice, Tajin, and Pabst Blue Ribbon.

"Fucking Pabst," the senior deputy mutters under his breath.

"Kids getting Micheladas. Who in their right mind uses PBRs for a Michelada?"

"That'd be a pretty shit Michelada."

"That'd be a pretty shit Michelada. Gotta go for Modelo."

"At least something Mexican."

"Some chamoy."

Subject gathers his ingredients up and heads to the register. This is their best clear look at him. Scrawny, straggly little fucker. Looks to be in the 160-180 pound range. Long hair, uncut, dirty. Chino shorts. Muscle shirt but he has no muscles. Ugly shit quality tattoos. It's not a good quality video but even if it were those tats would probably be too muddy to properly identify what any of them were supposed to be.

"Jail."

"Or juvie. Or dipshit friend."

"Maybe he practices on himself."

Subject pays with cash. Empties out his wallet and doesn't get much change back.

"Probably other fella gave him the money. Kid probably pocketed the cash so he could take Suzy Q to the sock hop or some shit."

"Sock hop huh. What's that from? The 50s? Jesus Christ. What are you Captain America?"

"I was just joking. And fuck you, I'm still a young buck."

Subject grabs the bag and walks out of the store. Definite limp. Footage cuts to outside the store and shows him for just a few seconds more as he drops off the curb, slightly tripping with the leg he was limping on, and moves around the back of a Toyota Corolla. Can't tell from the video if there is a passenger or not.

"Can't have been him. Too small. Too slow. Too out of it. That shit that happened at that compound, kid doesn't have it in him."

The deputies agreed on that. Maybe it was foolish. Maybe they were judging a book by it's cover, but nothing in the Subject's mannerisms or conduct would lead them to think he could wipe out a compound of dangerous extremists and a pyro type mutant to boot.

"That mutant at the compound, he wasn't exactly the Human Torch."

"True, true. But I still don't like that kid for it. More likely we'll find out he's in the car."

When it was all said and done, and Officers and Firefighters had responded to reports of the blaze, that Toyota Corolla was little more than a red hot smoldering frame. Mutants and demons and superhumans and all that shit. They had made a lot of things harder. How had the fire burned that hot and that long. How long had it been burning. Where did it start. Powers changed a lot of that. Couldn't look for traces of accelerants necessarily. Might have been started by the Pyro mutant. Wouldn't have left any trace at all if it had been.

The senior deputy muttered about as much.

"Shit," the junior deputy replied, "Might have been a portal from hell opened up and barbecued that Corolla with Holy Hell Fire."

They needed the video from the compound.

"We need the video from the compound."



In a dimly lit room in a well obscured location a shot out old detective watches the deputies discuss the situation through their screen's webcam on one screen and watches their actual screen through another. Bumpkin ass deputies are just throwing shit at the wall to see what sticks. It's a good indicator. They wouldn't find a damn thing. Mutant was dead. Other extremists all dead too. So far nothing tying anyone in particular to what happened. Good indicator.

Bergeron will be up most of the night using their assets to check up on exactly what the locals are looking in to. Reading the reports from the firefighters, sheriffs, cops, paramedics, coroners, all their supervisors. It was going to be a long night but it was looking like it would all lead to the exact outcome they were hoping for. A clean kill. Clean enough anyway. An effective operator.

Bergeron cracked his neck, then twisted his fingers this way and that cracking every knuckle every way he could. Didn't make any sense but it relaxed him. Turned his head to another screen to watch it again. Footage from the outpost. Didn't exist anywhere else now. JANUS had seen to that. By the end of the night he would be sending word on through and they would scrub it from history entirely. These were important first steps. He wasn't quite sure towards what, but they were important first steps.

On the screen a skinny fuck in a muscle shirt slowly morphed into their latest recruit. It was a weird list they were working from. Oddly specific and oddly low tier. Fucker was impossible to kill and make it stick but he'd never really been able to do all that much. This was a neat party trick. The long scraggly hair fell out, the body grew larger, couldn't tell from the angle of the video but his facial features were in flux. The Junkie Kid disguise fell away entirely as their recruit stepped into another disguise. It was complete when those faint blurry tattoos moved about into new positions and formed more recognizable patterns and figures.

As he approached the compound Bushwacker looked like one of them. Big, repulsive tattoos, and a case of PBRs.

Bergeron settled in to observe once more. To see what their recruit did right and what their recruit did wrong. Long night ahead.

What he had learned from the prophecy meant that Strange needed to get in touch with Magik as soon as he could. A telepathic message would be the normal way, but Magik lived a very eventful life; one never knew if she would be off in another galaxy or visiting some demon realm. Not being familiar enough with her signature to locate her without expending some effort, Strange decided the best option was to send a general message in the direction of Krakoa; someone there would know how to reach her. That gave him time to wait for a reply, and so he looked into another mystery,

Strange figured out that the meal ordering app on the back of the business card he found was a way of arranging a covert meeting. It advertised one free dine in or carry out meal anywhere in Manhattan, all he had to do was select the time. The fact they had timeslots open all week as soon as one hour from now showed that they were serious about trying to reach him.

The place he chose was called #1 Authentic World Famous Ray’s Original Pizza Manhattan. Despite the constant flow of tourists from the bus terminal every local knew it was awful. Inside there was a line out the door, full of people wearing newly bought “I <3 NY” shirts, speaking in a half dozen languages as they waited to grab a lukewarm piece of greasy pizza from one of the grumpy teenagers working behind the counter. Strange surveyed the place once he arrived and waited in the short line to pick up his order, as soon as he grabbed it a man sitting in at an empty table in the back started to walk towards him. He was in his mid-40s, wearing the midtown finance bro signature of Chinos, a plaid shirt, and Patagonia vest. Strange turned to the right, then to the left, and noticed the man still came towards his place, following the twisting path through the crowd. In all likelihood, that was the man coming to meet him.

Strange waved his hand and a field of magic fell over the area. Time slowed to a crawl, a spilled drink stayed mid fall, people stayed mid stride, and a dozen conversations became just extended noises. Then for his next trick he opened a line of telepathic communication to the main that was following him, confident he had the right person based on both deduction and magical intuition.

Strange sent his first message

“Don’t be alarmed, time is still moving, just at an extremely slow pace. Physically, neither of us will be able to do much but telepathically we can still have a full conversation in the time until the spell wears off. I apologize about not asking, but this is a very secure way of doing things. Not only is our telepathic broadcast warded and controlled enough that it will be difficult to notice, this will make it very short and nigh-impossible for an eavesdropper to understand. I hope you appreciate the security.”

The man replied

“I do, might take me a bit to get used to, hit me out of nowhere. You know I’ve gotten a little bit of telepathic training, purely defensive stuff but necessary with the threat model we deal with, and even before then I was with SHIELD and the three letter agencies when they started getting interested in this kind of thing.”

“Intriguing. I would like to know more about why you contacted me, whoever you are.”

“You can call me Agent Graham, and I’ll be honest with you, I’m from Orchis. What do you know about us?”

“Three things: The boilerplate on our website, the fact your ads ran alongside a lot of anti-mutant material in major press outlets, and that the Mutant Legal Defense Fund has added you to their list of anti-mutant hate groups.”

“Yeah…about that. I can’t exactly beat around the bush here but what I can say is that they don’t have the full perspective. Might not do much good to say it, but I’m not some Greydon Creed, Cameron Hodge type who just starts foaming at the mouth the moment they smell an X-gene on someone. I’ve never done anything to them personally, I’ve interacted affably with the few I’ve known, and I think you’d be surprised by how many of them would prefer us to that Krakoa business.”

“Whether I choose believe that or not I still don’t understand what you want to tell me. I think you know my current perspective based on my past actions, and my stance on recent issues is not yet settled. I would like to hear what your aim is.”

“Glad you asked, I’ll get right to it. Now, to start I’m gonna throw out an MLK quote, and it’s probably not one of the one’s you’d think. ‘Our scientific power has outrun our spiritual power. We have guided missiles and misguided men.’ King said that when there were thirty two thousand nuclear warheads in the world. What he didn’t know was that even then there were people walking the earth born with powers inside them that would dwarf every one of those bombs put together. There were a handful of them then, there are many more now, and who knows what the future will bring? Let’s talk about it in a different way.”

Agent Graham concentrated and a square of text and images appeared by his side, superimposed into the pizza restaurant. In the tone of his telepathic delivery Strange could tell he was surprised in a good way by his ability to leverage the medium and project something other than simple messages.

“Sorry some of the contents of my mind look like a powerpoint presentation it’s a bad habit I picked up. Believe me, I used to be the kind of guy that dove into papers back when I was the Kennedy School and SAIS, but enough years in the government will change you. To get to the point, I’ve got a couple of graphs that should tell the story.”

He flicked through a dozen charts, each showing trends over time of very serious matters. They included a logarithmic scale of known superhuman and their power outputs, a count of the postgenius level intellects on earth, a list of recorded incidents where extinction was narrowly averted, and more. Strange found them generally accurate, he could guess most of the datapoints; a few were missing but mistakes were inevitable, and all showed an upward trend over time. Then the agent wave his hand and all of the charts became divided into two colors, one representing mutants and one representing humans. Now an even clearer trend emerged: Mutants had been grabbing a greater and greater share. The agent said

“I minored in Math, but you don’t need me to tell you the way it’s going, heck even drawing a line on it is overkill. I’ve got another set.”

He pulled up charts related to the mutant population over time, all of the valleys from moments like the Genoshan genocide and M Day were clearly present, and supplemented them with a chart of mutants as a percentage of births, showing that although the population had faced a setback, it would rebound to even greater heights in the future.

“One final one, the showstopper.”

The charts from before returned, but now an additional feature: these showed what would’ve been without those incidents, how the mutants would’ve held an even greater share than they do now, and more than that, they showed the future projections, of mutant power spiraling so far the axes of the graphs had to be adjusted, so dominant that the human portion fell to an imperceptible sliver underneath.

“The funny thing about showing off these graphs is that it’s something most mutants agree with, something they’ll tell you it all if you ask them and it’s a point of pride for a lot of them. Everything I said here could be recycled into a Magneto speech and none of it would feel out of place. I’ll agree with all of the stuff Magneto says about the awesome power of the mutants, how they’re so much above the humans, except for one aspect, one point where I disagree with him: the ethical dimension. Homo Sapien and Homo Superior, there is one thing all of us share: the same hardwired instincts from our animal ancestors, underneath us all is some beast that is categorizing the entire world into things it wants to kill and things it wants to mate with. We can fight it, we do a pretty good job of in modern society, but we’ll never eradicate it, and mutants are no stronger against it than anyone else on the street, they just have way, way worse consequences if they do ever go sideways. If the mutants were a race of saints, down to every last one of them, maybe we could just go back to sleepwalking through our lives, but you and I both know that is a chance we can’t take. There is a loaded gun pointed at the temple of the human race, and we’ve got to find some solution other than hoping the mutant holding it doesn’t feel like pulling the trigger.”

Strange replied

“Interesting that there is one area missing from your chart, yet it is one that you alluded to: the spiritual dimension. I’ve never seen your agencies try to measure it, and if you did I wouldn’t trust your results, but I have seen much of it and I can speak from experience that it is the great equalizer. I’ve probably met or corresponded at least once with every one of the postgeniuses on your chart and I can tell you it is remarkable how little their talents correlate with magical aptitude; every attempt to find some inherent trait that will foretell who has a special genius for magic has failed miserably. I’ve tried to tutor Richards, Stark, Pym, Cho and others, none of them ever got far when it came to the mystical arts, and I’m only aware of two individual who have reached high levels in both science and magic. There’s even figures like Arash the Fool, an illiterate Persian mystic who never learned to count beyond ten or any mundane trade, but had magical power great enough to rearrange realms merely by misremembering where everything was before. Imaginary numbers came into existence when someone tried to teach him math. It seems to me that in the magical dimension we are all equals, human and mutant alike. I certainly haven’t seen any threat of mutant domination in that area.”

“Haven’t seen any yet.”

“I don’t indulge in fear-mongering. Even if I did, I wouldn’t trust your solutions. I prefer to see people as changeable, not fixed, and believe that moral character is something that can be built, can be honed and taught. I’ve always believed for that, I’ve always worked for that, and if your statistics are true then my work is more important than ever before. I see no reason to abandon my approach.”

“So you’ll do what? Hold some teach-ins, do some consciousness raising, and hope that’ll be enough to awaken the world and usher in a new age where we all just hold hands and sing?”

“You have a very small view of the possibilities.”

“Maybe I do, but I don’t deal with that kind of stuff, I deal with the concrete. Give me a call when you start to get worried, because you will, sooner or later. Every human will.”

Time began to move again and they both turned off in opposite directions, never exchanging a single spoken word.

"I don't mind. Especially if you're not streaming!" Was Molly's answer, half-shouted to be heard over the noise of the party. Molly had already taken in Aya's appearance, but also wondered whether that was the extent of her mutation, or whether she had animal senses, or something similar. What was capturing her appearance more was the technology she was using. That didn't look cheap. Was she rich? Was she rich specifically from making content, and if so, was she famous? Or did she perhaps make the tech herself?

"I'm Molly Hayes. Nice to meet you!" she greeted, before gesturing at the drone. "I've never seen a camera like that! Did you make that, or...?"

@Abillioncats

"I'm Aya Tanaka." Aya responded before looking at her camera drone as Molly asked about it. "The camera is from Stark Industries. My dad works there as an engineer and he got it for me." Aya realized that probably made her sound like a spoiled rich girl...which wasn't exactly wrong.

"I've been streaming for a while now, and I figured my next step in my online career would be to start vlogging, and I figured what better place to do that than here in Krakoa? I mean as far as I know no one else is doing it yet." Being the first to do anything on the internet was always a recipe for success after all, plus being on Krakoa was cool.

"Anyway, you wanna head to the uh..." Aya snapped her fingers. "...the Green Lagoon, that's it! I want to see exactly what sort of drinks they offer there, maybe sample a few~" She gave a foxy smile.

@Silver Carrot

Stormy night. Moderate rain. Dark road. All helpful.

Good night to pick. Krakoa is drawing a lot of attention from just about everywhere. Definitely keeping these dipshits distracted.

Pulled the old Corolla up their long driveway. Seatbelt off. Just in case. Compound wasn't far ahead. Target was in the Compound somewhere.

Checkpoint up ahead. Two guards manning it. Might be a problem normally. Just meant the fun was going to kick off a little sooner than expected. Feel myself coming to life. Mundanity of day to day dealings melted off. Today was to be a big day and it was all about to be in motion. The anticipation. The subtle movements that would lead to slow movements which would soon lead to controlled chaos. Just how I liked it.

"Who goes there?" one of the Guards called out, like a character in an old movie. Maybe a Stormtrooper in Star Wars, or a Nazi in Indiana Jones, or some dumb college kid in a slasher movie. His partner calls something out too. Barely hear it. Doesn't really matter. Dumb move. Let's me know exactly where he is. In the checkpoint booth.

They're idiots. Unprepared. Casual. They do not know what they are doing. Unfortunately for their families I know exactly what I am doing. I get out shooting. Who Goes There goes down in a sudden tangle of confused limbs and I riddle the checkpoint booth. Wait a second and put a few more rounds into the bottom of the booth. Insurance.

Check them both. Who Goes There is fading but conscious. Ensure they're both neutralized.

Back to the car. Ate the salt and Tajin, drank the lime juice. Grabbed the Pabst.

Stripped one of the corpses and slipped into it's clothes. Set both on fire before I headed in.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Slipped right on in. Got a little attention. Wore my own skin. Bigger than most of them. Worth the risk. Feels good to be seen. They don't ask too many questions anyway, I got PBRs. They like those. Makes them feel tough. It's piss. They're intoxicated already. Several sitting around dumpy couches watching the television. A few at a table looking over maps and talking about a plan. One over in the kitchen is watching some livestream, engrossed.

Don't know what plan precisely. Not sure what they found out. They found out something JANUS don't like. Planning something JANUS don't like. That's probably enough. Involvement of the mutie is definitely enough. Pyro type. Not well controlled. Creates a window, a window I am here to close permanently.

Find the exits, proper and potential. Map out floor plan. Wander around. Lots of guns. Most are armed. Shotguns resting against walls. Cinderblocks stacked up to just below the windows. Tweaker reinforcement. Rare opportunity here.

Glad I ditched that skinny build and it's vague shit tattoos. Should work to distract any investigation, hard to focus on. Red herring. Got the proper tattoos now. Clean lines. Nonsensical comingling of different symbols. Different ideologies. United in a few things. Frustration. Anger. Lack of imagination. Lot of old symbols mixed in with new shit. Very helpful.

Bunch of drunk druggy extremist fucks, eyes probably barely focusing, scan over my arms, chest, neck, they're gonna see a symbol or two they like and a symbol or two they don't like. Makes me fit right in. Let's them acknowledge my presence and simultaneously feel secure that they got a better head on their shoulders than me. Let's them go back to drinking, showing off their weaponry and plotting while I figure out where the pyro is. Process of elimination means it doesn't last too long.

First level is the party. Basement is for storing drugs and people. Several large cages, empty. Several footlockers, full. Pyro must be on the upper level.

I make two plates. Carne Asada. Beans. Rice. Put some Onions and Cilantro on both, on top of the Carne. One of the wastoids nudges me and tells me there are Taquitos in the fridge. I grab four of them and put two on each plate. The wastoid asks me why I'm making two plates. If I want company. I tell her no, and I point upstairs.

"Ohhh," she says, expressing her disappointment by looking down, then back up, then letting out a slight breath.

"That's too bad. Grab him a beer. One of the IPAs. He likes those. I don't, they're gross, they're too-"

I turn back to the fridge and grab two IPAs. When I turn back around she has taken the hint and is flopping back down on one of the couches, shooting me daggers. She won't be upset for long.

Up the stairs. At the door. One plate balanced on left forearm. One plate in left hand. Both beers in my right hand.

"Hey," I say as I kick the door lightly, "Hey man I got you a plate and an IPA. Says it's a Peanut Butter Milk Stout."

I wait a second, then kick again, "Hurry up man my hands are full, I don't wanna drop the grub."

Door opens. Pyro Mutant is walking away again, making room for me to come in. Plopping down in a chair.

"Thanks for the food man," he takes one plate, places it on his desk and reaches out for the beer.

I pass it to him. Put my plate next to his. Open up mine as he pops the tab on his. We clink cans. He takes a sip.

"I was hungry too. Didn't want to go down there right now. Too much noise you know? Hard to concent...wait who are you?"

I take a sip as he begins to stand up. I open up on him.

Exquisite.



Bergeron motions over to the man standing beside him.

He's queued up his three screens and added on a fourth. Their time codes all synched up.

"Discounting the bodies by the checkpoint this is the moment he starts up."

"Top floor right?"

"Yeah."

"You've told me about all this. I want your opinion. I don't need to watch. That's your job. I have many things I could be doing right now."

"I've got timecodes set Mr. Fury. I got my presentation ready. I've got a conclusion ready. But I want to show you. I've got it all queued. Timestamps. Angles. Cameras. We will definitely want to wipe this all when we're done, that's why I asked you to come see it now."

"Well you got me. Get on with it."

Camera 1 is an Outside View looking at the Compound from a distance. Showing several parked cars, the main building, and an open but empty garage filled with gym equipment.

Camera 2 is a view from just above the front door of the Compound, looking in on the party. Couches are to the left. Kitchen is to the right. Dead ahead is a hallway which leads to the stairs.

Camera 3 is a view from the Pyro Mutant's computer looking into the bedroom. The Mutant is visible to the right. Bushwacker is just offscreen to the left.

Camera 4 is a view from a temporary Vibranium implant in Bushwacker's eye. The Mutant has just stood up, looking dead at him. A bewildered expression on his face.

Bergeron looks to Camera 1. Not feeling the need to watch the other cameras again.

On Camera 1 the upstairs windows light up twice in quick succession. The gunshots loud and sharp through cameras 3 and 4. After a few seconds of silence he can hear the commotion from Camera 2.

Bergeron focuses on Camera 1 as the windows blow out violently, flames licking up, out, and onto the roof.

He turns to see what Fury thinks. The man's face doesn't show any emotion, but his eyes are glued to Camera 4.

"Ah, that makes sense! So this is Stark tech, huh?" Molly leaned closer to the drone to get a better look. Molly wasn't particularly surprised that there was a connection to Stark in Aya's life. Molly had tangled with so many aspects of the Superhero world in her own short life. It was still strange for her to think about the majority of the people here having superpowers but having never fought a villain before. Still, that's what this celebration was about. Mutantkind could let their guard down, be accepted, and relax. Speaking of, Aya had suggested going to the Green Lagoon. Molly nodded, and started walking in that direction, making sure Aya and her drone was following.

"I won't be able to drink there myself....legally...but they probably have some non-alcoholic options. Also, your fans. Are they all mutants too?" Molly asked after listening to Aya talk about streaming Krakoa. Molly's gut reaction was to dislike the idea of non-mutants seeing this party, but then she imagined Chase, Gert and Nico watching and felt a pang of sadness. She suppose she wouldn't mind them watching. There really was nothing logically wrong with people who accepted a mutant, watching her stream from here, Molly supposed.

@Abillioncats

Billy giggled as Magik spoke. “She got you dude.”

Tommy crossed his arms and pouted.

He returned to listen to them talk about his mother being on the island. He was confused at first, but then he figured out who she really meant. “I thought so. I’ve been having dreams about her and Vision raising us. They felt a little too real to just be just dreams.

“Cool, cool. But what does this have to do with me?” Tommy interjected.

“You can’t be that dumb. You didn’t notice how we kind of look alike? And in those dreams, Scarlet Witch was also raising a boy with white hair… Have you been having the same dreams too?”

“T-t-that’s none of your business!”

Before Billy could say anything else Magneto made his appearance. Billy’s eyes went wide, and he gave Magneto a hug. “Grandpa! Do you know where um… mother is?” He still had his family at home, and felt guilty for saying that.

Tommy wasn’t as convinced of this as Billy was. “Ok, look so if what he’s saying is true… How? The lady that gave birth to me left as soon as she saw my hair…”

"Don't worry about the drinks, I'll take care of that~" Aya said, winking at Molly as she walked towards the Green Lagoon, her drone following her. "As for my fans, the majority do seem to be mutants, at least according to the comments! I get non-mutants too of course, human or otherwise. Of course I get trolls and other people in the chat that try to cause trouble. Every streamer has to deal with that, but my moderators are pretty good at shutting them down." Aya explained as they finally made it to the bar.

There were a few things Aya noticed as they entered the Green Lagoon. Besides there being a decent amount of people of course, there were a few characters that immediately stood out in a crowd. She was pretty sure it was Emma Frost over there, and who didn't know who Magneto was? It wasn't too surprising to see them of course, they were both important figures on Krakoa. Aya briefly wondered if she could get either of them on her vlog, or stream...or both!

They did however, seem currently preoccupied. And Aya knew better than to interrupt them, less she remove any chance of an interview or chat of some kind. For now, drinks!

Aya gestured for Molly to wait a moment as she smoothly slid up to the bar and looked at the barkeep, her camera still following her and fixed on her movements.

"Yo bartender! I'd like ummm..." Okay so, she'd forgot the part where she had to actually pick something...she knew almost nothing about alcohol. "...you know what, surprise me with something sweet and fruity...gimme two of them actually!" Even if the bartender could not legally give Molly a drink, there was nothing to stop Aya from doing so.

@Silver Carrot @Ezekiel