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Chapter 65: Cum Talk
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He allowed himself one deep, shuddering breath. Just one.
Then, it hit. And it was hard
A psychic wave of unimaginable scale and malevolence. It washed over the landscape, through the trees, through the metal of his suit. It pressed against his mind, a tsunami of focused hatred.
His Hollow curse and his own formidable, fortified psyche acted as a breakwater, dampening the direct effect.
But he felt its intent. Its target.
It was searching. Reaching out. It's reaching out to erase.
Adam's head snapped up, all exhaustion forgotten. There was no surprise.
Cerebro-like machine. They have it.
William Stryker wasn't just trying to kill mutants one by one.
He was using Charles Xavier to try to kill them all at once, the ultimate genocide, max win.
[Lmao! Adam's descriptions are killing me!]
[IT'S HAPPENING! THE GLOBAL MUTANT GENOCIDE ATTEMPT!]
[Max win? Is Adam a fellow gambling addict?]
[Remember guys, you're just one spin away from a big win! Never stop gambling!]
[True, I gambled all my shit yesterday, and I fucking won. Not about to stop. The world is going to shit anyway.]
Sensing the psychic wave grow with time, Adam's frown deepened, etched with a profound, weary annoyance.
The pressure on his own mind as the hollow curse continued devouring his stamina at such a frantic rate to shield the others.
Another problem, he thought, the irritation sharp and personal.
Do I have to solo-clutch every single crisis?
Can't they handle their own damn housekeeping for five minutes?
His curses were potent, but their efficacy was highest on himself.
The protective hollowing he'd cast over the X-Men was a diluted buffer, enough to give those with strong mental fortitude; like Wolverine, a fighting chance, but not a guaranteed shield.
It was a stopgap, and a draining one.
Closing his eyes, he unleashed his Technopathy, letting it flow through the ground and into the dam's industrial nervous system.
In seconds, he was inside. He bypassed firewalls and encrypted feeds, his consciousness becoming one with the surveillance grid.
Multiple camera views opened in his mind's eye.
He saw Beast, a whirlwind of blue fur and improvised explosives, disabling security systems and Purifier soldiers with terrifying efficiency.
He saw Wolverine, a berserker ghost painted in crimson, cutting a path of pure, adamantium-laced fury through the facility. No hesitation. No mercy. Just brutal, effective liberation.
A faint smile touched Adam's lips. They get shit done. He liked that. Logan's indomitable will and Hank's prepared genius were variables he could rely on.
[Adam's watching the show through the security cameras! Big Brother is a voyeur!]
[Wolverine does get shit done. Like, he saves the X-Men so many times.]
[He's literally using the enemy's eyes to monitor his allies. That's so cool.]
[Show us more Wolverine!! Ahh, those muscles, mwahh!]
[...]
The rest of the team, however, needed a nudge. His six mechanical arms reconfigured.
Their tips pressed against the scorched earth where he'd landed. With a synchronized pulse of energy, they launched him into the air like a catapult.
Thrusters on his back and legs ignited, and he became a white-and-black streak rocketing towards the monolithic dam.
His mind, even exhausted, compiled the data. William Stryker. Colonel. Televangelist. A man whose hatred was both a faith and a strategy.
The kidnapping method, as he discovered, was audacious: bait Charles Xavier, the world's foremost telepath and idealist, into a public debate on mutant rights.
A trap, Charles, in his endless hope for understanding, would walk right into.
The "how" of the actual capture was still unclear, but the existence of a weaponized, teleporting Deadpool proved Stryker had access to capabilities far beyond a preacher's pulpit.
From the audience's frantic scrolling commentary, he pieced together the likely scenario from canon events: Scott and Ororo in tanks, pain transference to Charles, psychic torture.
Using Scott and Ororo's suffering to break Charles, then attempting to twist that broken psyche into a weapon.
From the audience's retelling of the events, it seems that William was somehow able to twist Charles' cognition of the events, making him believe the X-Men and mutants turned on him and tortured him.
What bothered Adam the most was the scale.
A machine to amplify Xavier's telepathy to a global genocidal broadcast. So many coincidences. This whole thing stinks, as he expected.
He breached the dam facility through a mangled service entrance, his technopathy painting a real-time blueprint in his mind.
He could see it all, but he could not find the man behind it all.
William Stryker himself was conspicuously absent. Only his fanatical Purifiers remained, now being mopped up by the X-Men.
Of course, Adam mused, his internal voice dripping with sarcastic annoyance.
The mastermind is never in the building when it blows. Hydra connections?
Mephisto's subtle influence greasing the wheels for advanced tech and convenient absences?
He mentally filed it under "Probable Conspiracy" and moved on. The "why" could wait. The "clean-up" could not.
[Stryker's gone! He used the Purifiers as cannon fodder and bounced!]
[This is already largely different than how it happened in canon! Definitely Mephisto's influence.]
[Adam's "Probable Conspiracy" file must be a mile long by now.]
[Hey! In Marvel, paranoia is your friend, else you'd be made a fuckhole to be tossed around by cosmic and bullshit beings.]
[True, protect that ass!]
He moved silently through the steel corridors, his mechanical arms allowing him to navigate the wreckage and dangling wires with eerie grace.
Then he found her.
Nailed to a set of steep, crate-like bars was a woman. Asian, with a sleek fall of black hair, her body a testament to both brutal enhancement and savage punishment.
Her clothing was torn, revealing skin grafted with adamantium lacing, but her face… one side was flawless, the other a ruined landscape of scar tissue etched with Japanese characters.
Lady Deathstrike. Yuriko Oyama.
She thrashed against her bonds, not in pain, but in feral urgency, her enhanced physiology ignoring the grievous wounds the nails inflicted.
She saw him. Her eyes, dark and desperate, locked onto his. "Help me!" She gasped, her voice a strained hiss. "He… Stryker… he brainwashed me! Used me! I broke free! Please, release me!"
Adam stopped, his head tilting. A smile played on his lips, devoid of warmth, full of curiosity.
One of his mechanical arms unfolded, its smooth, white carapace reflecting the emergency lights as it drifted toward her.
"I notice you have a formidable healing factor," Adam said, his tone conversational, as if discussing the weather.
"Superhuman regeneration. Yet the scars on your face remain. Fascinating."
The arm stopped inches from her throat, not threatening, just… observing. "Why is that?"
Her expression shifted. The desperate pleading froze, then shattered into something harder, more cautious.
The confusion in her eyes was now laced with alarm. "I… I don't know," She said, "Please help! It hurts!"
"I see," Adam nodded, as if she'd given him valuable data. "A psychosomatic block, then. The mind refusing to heal a wound it believes defines it. Very interesting."
He leaned a little closer, his cybernetic eye whirring as it focused on the scars. "They look quite cool, I must say. Dramatic. Though, between us," He added with a wink, "I still have way cooler scars."
Before she could process the bizarre boast, the mechanical arm moved. It gently pressed a panel against the side of her neck. There was a soft hiss.
Yuriko's eyes widened. "What are you...?"
"Go to sleep for now," Adam said softly. "We can talk when you wake up, or maybe not."
She struggled, her adamantium-laced bones straining against the bars, but the sedative was no ordinary toxin.
It was a cocktail, a tranquilizer that can put out an elephant quite easily, a continuous, slow-release infusion keyed to interrupt cellular regeneration and nervous system signals.
Her furious thrashing weakened, her snarls fading into slurred curses, then into silence. Her head lolled forward.
[He just… politely sedated Lady Deathstrike.]
[He's collecting dangerous women like Pokémon!]
[Marvel is Pokémon, cosmic entities wanting to collect stuff, so fight hero. The hero has to collect stuff to have a chance. Now, Mephisto wants to collect Adam, quite fitting, I'd say.]
Adam directed the mechanical arm to carefully extract the nails and pull her limp form free.
He let it hold her aloft, a macabre puppet, as he continued his advance quickly.
He needn't hurry really because the psychic wave had stopped, and his technopathic link to the cameras showed him that the critical situation was resolving.
Wolverine and Beast were in the control room. Wolverine was cradling an unconscious, pale Charles Xavier, having ripped him free of the monstrous machine.
Well, he also knocked him out to stop him.
Beast was frantically scanning the Professor's vitals.
He could afford to catch his breath, his own exhaustion a heavy cloak, but he still quickened his pace to help the others.
He found them in a large, icy chamber. Iceman had created a magnificent, layered sculpture of ice, encasing a furious, struggling Cyclops.
Scott's eyes blazed behind his cracked visor, the red glow intensifying as he built power for a full-force optic blast.
The ice around his head was webbed with fractures, glowing cherry-red from the contained energy.
"I can't… hold it much longer!" Iceman grunted, his own form shimmering with the effort of continuous freezing.
Cyclops' muffled roar echoed. "RRRGH; YOU'RE ALL… TRAITORS!" Yeah, he's been brainwashed, too.
[Orgy of brainwashing.]
[I hate Orgies. Like, one time I touched dicks with another on accident and... Fuck man, it felt good, but I ain't gay.]
[Dude, I know what you mean. I tried to eat a pussy one time, but forgot my buddy's cum was in there. I ate his cum. I still have nightmares about that.]
[Did it taste good? Curious for research purposes.]
[It tasted like my cum, ok.]
[...] [...] [...] [...] [...] [...] [...] [???] [Tf is this chat?]
[Fuck you guys! Get a room! Like, I'm eating for Christ's sake.]
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