[67] Crossed Wires

Chapter 67: Crossed Wires

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The afternoon sun slanted through the tall windows of Xavier's office, casting long shadows across what had once been a place of quiet contemplation. Now, holographic displays flickered in the air, showing Sentinel sightings across the Eastern seaboard, technical schematics that made Jean Grey's stomach turn.

The formal meeting room had transformed into a war room, and she hated every second of it.

Jean stood near the window, arms crossed, watching the driveway. She sensed Emma Frost's approach before the woman's white Bentley even crested the hill. After all, that particular psychic signature, all diamond edges and calculated coldness, was impossible to mistake.

"She's here," Jean announced, not bothering to hide her distaste.

Professor Xavier's mental touch brushed against her shields, gentle but firm. [Jean, please. We need her resources.]

Yes, I know, she replied, but couldn't quite keep the bitterness from her mental voice. Emma Frost had been many things over the years. Enemy, rival, and now, supposedly, ally. Jean trusted her about as far as Logan could throw a Sentinel.

The office door opened with theatrical precision.

Emma Frost didn't just enter rooms; she conquered them. Her hair was cut short in a bob, and her white suit probably cost more than most people's cars, tailored to perfection and designed to intimidate. Those massive diamonds must have been real, too. In recent years, she’d cultivated her body into a weapon. She was built like a tank, her thighs were massive, and Jean knew they’d become pillars of power during her diamond form.

[Image Here]

Behind her, three bodyguards followed. Monet St. Croix moved with the fluid grace of someone who knew exactly how dangerous she was. The woman's dark skin gleamed in the afternoon light, muscles coiled beneath her white bodysuit.

But it was the twins that made Jean's skin crawl.

The Stepford Cuckoos, two of them anyway, flanked Emma like matching bookends. Emma’s clones; her children. Blonde hair, blue eyes, identical down to the way they blinked in perfect synchronization. They couldn't have been older than eighteen, but their eyes held that particular emptiness that came from having your thoughts tangled with your siblings' since birth.

"Charles," Emma purred, settling into the offered chair like a queen taking her throne. "How delightful to see your school still standing. I'd heard the most dreadful rumors about funding cuts."

Xavier's smile remained fixed, though Jean caught the slight tightening around his eyes. "Emma. Thank you for coming. As I mentioned in my message, the situation has become... urgent."

"Urgent enough to call me away from Massachusetts?" Emma's laugh tinkled like breaking glass. "It must be serious indeed."

Hank McCoy cleared his throat, fur bristling slightly as he gestured to the largest hologram. "Perhaps we should focus on the matter at hand? The new Sentinel design—"

"Nimrod Beta," Emma interrupted, examining her manicured nails. "Yes, we're quite aware. My girls have been tracking their development for months."

The Cuckoos spoke in unison, their voices creating an eerie harmony in the room. "Seventeen manufacturing sites. Three command centers. Estimated production capacity of twelve units per week."

Jean suppressed a shudder. Telepathic gestalts always made her uncomfortable, and the Cuckoos took it to an extreme that bordered on the inhuman.

"The question," Emma continued, "is what you intend to do about it, dear X-Men. More peaceful protests? Another impassioned speech at the UN?"

Scott stepped forward, jaw clenched. "We're exploring all options–"

"You're stalling," Emma cut him off. "These machines are designed to hunt us, to adapt to our powers, to exterminate us. And you want to explore options?"

"We are not killers, Emma." Ororo said quietly, but her eyes flashed with barely contained lightning.

"No?" Emma's smile turned predatory. "Tell that to the children in my care who wake up screaming because they've seen their friends cut down by purple robots."

The temperature in the room dropped several degrees. Jean felt the psychic pressure building as emotions ran high. Even Logan, usually content to lurk in corners during these meetings, had straightened up, claws itching beneath his skin.

"Perhaps," a new voice cut through the tension, "this might sound crazy, but maybe we can simply find where they make these machines and destroy its creator?"

Everyone turned to look at Illyana Rasputina. She'd been so quiet Jean had almost forgotten she was there. The young woman, barely twenty-six although physically nineteen due to her special circumstances, sat perched on the arm of her brother's chair, looking for all the world like she'd suggested they order pizza instead of discussing domestic terrorism.

"Illyana," Piotr rumbled, his massive hand gently touching his sister's knee. "It is not so simple, you should understand."

"Why not?" She tilted her head, blonde hair falling across one eye. Her Russian accent was subtle but present, adding an exotic lilt to her words. "They build machines to kill us. We destroy machines. Simple."

Jean studied the girl who'd joined them only six months ago. Illyana's file was mostly redacted, full of gaps that Xavier refused to explain. All Jean knew was that she'd appeared one day with abilities that defied classification. Not quite mutant, not quite magic, but something that made even Jean's cosmic-touched senses recoil.

"Your new recruit has the right idea," Emma said, clearly delighted by the division in Xavier's ranks. "Direct action. It's refreshing to see someone in this room with a spine."

"We don't murder humans," Scott said firmly. "That's not who we are."

"No?" Emma leaned forward. "Then what are you, exactly? Because from where I sit, you look like sheep discussing how best to negotiate with wolves."

Logan snorted. "Lady's got a point, Slim. Sometimes you gotta show your claws."

"Logan," Xavier started, but Emma's voice suddenly sliced into Jean's mind like a scalpel.

[Your team lacks discipline, Jean. Perhaps they need a firmer hand? You know what I mean, right?] Emma’s voice was like the devil’s whisper.

Jean's psychic shields slammed up hard enough to make Emma blink. Stay out of my head, Frost.

[Touchy.] Emma's mental voice dripped with amusement. [I'm simply observing. Your little family is fracturing, and you know it.]

Before Jean could respond, the mansion trembled slightly. Everyone looked around. Then, the world exploded.

The first impact shook the mansion to its foundations. Books tumbled from shelves, and the holographic displays flickered and died. The second blast was closer, shattering the office windows in a spray of glass.

"Sentinels!" someone shouted, maybe Scott, maybe Logan, Jean couldn't tell over the sudden cacophony of alarms.

Through the broken windows, she saw them. A massive purple and grey monstrosity, thirty feet tall and built like a walking tank. Smaller drones buzzed around it like mechanical wasps, their sensors sweeping the grounds.

"How did they find us?" Hank demanded, already moving toward the door.

Emma stood with infuriating calm, brushing imaginary dust from her suit. "Really? Your school’s location is public knowledge. But does it matter? They're here now."

The Cuckoos spoke again, their synchronized voices cutting through the chaos. "Twelve drones. One primary unit. Adapting to defensive systems in real-time."

"Then we give them something they can't adapt to," Logan growled, claws sliding out with a familiar snikt.

Xavier's voice echoed in all their minds. [X-Men, defend the school. Protect the students.]

As they rushed from the office, Jean caught Illyana's expression. Where everyone else showed fear or determination, the Russian woman looked... excited? Her hand had already manifested that strange silver sword she carried, its blade seeming to cut through more than just air.

"Finally," Illyana murmured, and Jean wasn't sure if the word was meant for anyone else to hear. "Something interesting happens."

The mansion shook again, and Jean pushed her unease aside. They had bigger problems than one mysterious Russian with a sword fetish.

They had a school to defend.

****

The Rust Bucket's engine coughed and wheezed as we pulled up to the gates of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. I'd expected a lot of things, maybe some security, definitely some weird looks at our beat-up RV. What I hadn't expected was a full-scale robot apocalypse in progress.

"Holy shit," I said, watching a thirty-foot purple giant stomp through what had probably been a really nice garden about five minutes ago.

Grandpa slammed on the brakes, throwing us all forward. "Sentinels. I thought the program was shut down years ago."

"Apparently someone forgot to tell them," Gwen said, her face pressed against the window. “Tell us the story about this ‘Sentinels’ when you have the time, yes Grandpa?”

The scene outside was pure chaos. Laser beams crisscrossed the air like a deadly light show. Smaller drones, maybe a dozen of them, buzzed around the main Sentinel like angry mechanical bees. And caught in the middle of it all were the X-Men, looking significantly less composed than when we'd last seen them.

Understandable. I suppose fighting against these Sentinels was quite similar to Ben fighting against the natural predator aliens of the Nemetrix. I really hoped that bullshit device did not exist in this universe.

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Author Note: I promised yall Tank Emma, here’s Tank Emma ?