The Genoshan Job - Part 2
Posted on Thu Feb 27th, 2025 @ 2:33am by Connor Bruin & Hayden Davis & Kennedy Kelly & Kayleigh Marshall & Maeve MacKenna & Drew Williams & Desmond Greene & Alex Summers
4,410 words; about a 22 minute read
Mission:
Episode 6: X-Fernus Agenda
Location: Genosha
Timeline: December 7th, 1990
The midnight hour in the motor pool was quiet, save for the occasional shift of boots on concrete and the low hum of distant machinery. The strike team stood in a loose circle, tension hanging thick in the air, with Alex, Connor, Kennedy, Drew, Desmond, Kayleigh, Hayden, and Tandy each trying in their own way not to worry.
Alex glanced at the clock on the wall for the third time in as many minutes, his jaw tightening.
Connor was the first to voice what they were all thinking. His haptic gloves flickered as his hands moved, the mechanical voice of his speech generator cutting through the silence. "ANY SIGN OF VICTOR?"
Alex exhaled through his nose, arms crossed over his chest. “Not since you last asked five minutes ago.”
"HE'S OVERDUE BY ALMOST AN HOUR."
“I know, Connor.”
"THAT'S A BAD SIGN."
Alex's jaw clenched. "Yeah. I know."
The uneasy silence stretched.
Connor shifted her weight from foot to foot, his normally easygoing demeanor subdued. "IF THE MAGISTRATES GOT TO HIM—"
"He's not dead," Alex cut in before she could finish the thought.
The sullen silence from everyone prompted Alex to shed light onto his confidence.
"Because Victor Creed isn't the type to die easy," Alex said, running a hand through his hair. "Before Victor started the Resistance, he was known as the Sabretooth. He was a mercenary, a killer for hire. He was ruthless because he had to be. People said he couldn't be killed. He's got the scars of countless wars to prove it." His eyes flickered with a combination of horror and admiration. "His healing factor is off the charts. Maybe that's why he survived the Machine back in the early days before Moreau refined it to what it is now. Maybe they thought they could break him. But they didn't. He broke through their programming and started all of this. If it wasn't for Victor, none of us would be here right now.”
Even as he spoke, his mouth pressed into a tight frown, the same chiseled jawline and furrowed brow his brother Scott always had when he was worried but refusing to admit it.
“Okay, he’s not dead, he's just late to something incredibly important.” Kennedy grumbled as she continued to adjust and preen the disheveled arrows she had been provided with. “Maybe we should start considering a Plan B if Victor doesn’t make it back.”
Hayden listened to the conversations. After what she'd seen, it was no wonder he'd been a mercenary in the past. She was glad to have him on their side. Him being late now however... She didn't want to think about how this could go if they had lost such a fighter on their team.
Kayleigh didn't weigh in on the conversation, all they could do for now was wait and see what happened.
Before anyone could add more to the conversation, the distant growl of an approaching vehicle cut through the night.
Everyone tensed.
Through the jungle, a Magistrate transport emerged, its headlights dimmed and it rolled to a stop along the rugged path. Then it turned around and began parking in reverse. The strike team instinctively took defensive positions until the driver's side door creaked open.
Victor hopped out of the cab. Limping slightly, covered in blood, but still standing.
"Told you," Alex said with a vindicating smirk.
Connor was the first to ask the obvious. "ARE YOU GOING BE ABLE TO FINISH THE MISSION?"
Victor snarled at first, sharp fangs glinting in the dim light. But then the annoyance faded, replaced by something darker—a low, rough chuckle. He shook his head and wiped a smear of blood from his chin. "You should see the other guys." He cracked his neck, the sound sharp in the quiet night. "Or what's left of 'em."
"All right, load up, everybody," Alex said before heading toward the cab. "We've got a short drive before we reach the depot and we're already behind schedule."
"Yeah, yeah, shut yer trap," Victor playfully groused as he opened the transport compartment for the rest of the strike team.
“What happened?” Kennedy dared to ask the massive, blood covered man. “Is there a problem we should be worried about if you ran into an issue?” Her blue eyes narrowed as she questioned Victor’s delay, it seemed strange that he wouldn’t offer any form of explanation. Nevertheless, she climbed into the back of the vehicle along with everyone else.
Victor turned his bloodshot gaze toward Kennedy, his lips pulling back into a sharp-toothed grin that was more menace than mirth. "What happened?" he echoed, wiping a fresh streak of blood from his knuckles onto the front of his already-ruined shirt. "Had to run down a few jackrabbits through the jungle after they ditched their ride. They didn't wanna give up the truck easy, so I had to... persuade 'em. That okay with you, sweetheart?" His gravelly voice dripped with mock courtesy, his yellow eyes narrowing with something that was half amusement, half warning. Then, without waiting for a response, he jerked a thumb toward the truck. "Now, unless you wanna hear all the juicy details 'bout what a man's guts sound like when they hit the dirt, I suggest you all buckle your asses up and get ready for the real action."
The stolen Magistrate transport rumbled down the dirt road toward the train depot, its armored frame rattling from the rough terrain. Inside the cramped compartment, the strike team remained silent, each lost in their own thoughts, checking gear, and bracing for the inevitable chaos about to unfold.
Victor sat near the door, rolling his shoulders like a caged animal itching for a fight, his blood-caked fingers flexing in anticipation. Across from him, the rest of team exchanged glances in silent solidarity. Tandy leaned back against the wall as she hold onto a hand bar, the fingers twitching on her free hand as she subconsciously reached for the light that always burned inside her.
Up front in the cab, Alex had one hand on the wheel and the other gripping the edge of the dashboard. His jaw was set, he slowed the transport as they approached the gate, playing his part to keep up the ruse.
The Magistrate checkpoint ahead was manned by three guards, all of them armed, though their posture suggested they were more concerned with boredom than security. One stepped forward and motioned for Havok to halt.
"Here we go," Alex muttered under his breath.
The Magistrate officer leaned in toward the driver's side window. "You're late," he said gruffly, his face partially hidden beneath his helmet.
Havok feigned casual indifference. "Yeah, well, you try gettin' through the jungle in one of these tin cans," he replied, jerking a thumb toward the transport's exterior. "You wanna clear us through already?"
The officer narrowed his eyes, clearly not convinced. "Passcode."
Alex tensed. There wasn't anything about a passcode from Victor. "Yeah, about that—"
A second officer stepped up to the side of the vehicle, his hand drifting toward his sidearm. A third moved toward the back of the truck, likely preparing to open the rear hatch.
"Shit," Alex muttered. He slammed his foot down on the accelerator.
The transport roared forward, plowing through the checkpoint before the guards could react. The makeshift barricade crumpled like paper, and the depot alarm began blaring through the night.
"Hold on tight!" Alex yelled as he jerked the wheel hard, steering them straight into the train yard. The vehicle crashed through a row of crates and skidded to a violent stop just short of the railway tracks, throwing everyone inside against the walls.
Victor was the first to recover. He kicked open the rear doors and leapt out, only to be immediately riddled with bullets as Magistrate troopers opened fire. His body jerked from the impacts, but he remained upright, a guttural roar ripping from his throat.
"GET TO THE TRAIN!" Victor bellowed, his voice cutting through the gunfire. "NO RETREAT, NO SURRENDER!"
Without hesitation, he charged straight into the enemy line, bullets ripping into him as he tore through the first wave of Magistrates like a living battering ram.
Alex shoved open the cab door and stumbled out, his hands already crackling with pent-up plasma energy. "Move! Move! Move!" he shouted as he fired off an energy blast, sending a group of Magistrates sprawling.
Hayden wished she could help. No, she wanted to help, wanted to do something. Deep down, she wanted to get back at them for what they'd done to her. But the big guy had ordered them to the train and so had Alex. There was a bigger mission at stake so she started running towards the train. Maybe once she was there, she could provide some sort of cover. But for now, it almost looked like they were drawing the enemy gunfire so that everybody else could get away.
With his hulking form, Desmond covered almost the entirety of the rear exit. He jumped out, and immediately caught several bullets. Hard thunk-sounds came from his chest. A moment of surprise stopped the tree-man before he realised he was still fine. In following with Victor's example, Desmond closed the distance to two Magistrates that had avoided the Beserker-man's charge. With a sweep of his powerful arm the first Magistrate slammed into a nearby metal post. His other hand slammed into the side of the second Magistrate, knocking him out with one blow. His eyes swept the area nearby for other imminent attackers as he waited for others to climb out.
Drew was the next out. Orders were to take the train. He sprinted forward and charged up the cattle prod, disabling four Magistrates on his dash to the train. He leapt on to the side of the engine and scurried in stunning two more guards before holding the cattle prod close to the engineer's chest. "Start this thing up or you're going to find out what 10,000 volts feels like."
“This is a total disaster.” Kennedy spat out the words before making her move to leave the vehicle. Her exit took a bit more timing and finesse compared to the more resilient members of the team. Using the carnage and chaos Victor and Desmond created as a distraction, Kennedy ran to the train as fast as possible.
While Drew went to the front of the train and secured the engine room, Kennedy traveled to the back of the train. Hoping into the back with her natural grace, she pulled an arrow from her quiver and began to silently wound and incapacitate the Magistrates from behind. Too distracted by the anarchy outside and at the front of the train, their backs remained turned to her as she fired on them.
Kayleigh had followed Kennedy out of the vehicle, making her way across to the train. There was enough heat energy both in the jungle humidity, and those in the area to be able to use it against the magistrates, focussing on all the heat and energy around her she redirected it using it against their foes.
Connor sprinted toward the front of the train, his mind racing just as fast as his feet. He vaulted up onto the engine car with an agility that belied his size, landing beside Drew just as the conductor fumbled at the controls, his hands shaking.
Connor tapped Drew’s shoulder to get his attention, then quickly signed: "DITCH HIM. I CAN OPERATE IT."
Drew simply nodded and gave the man the boot.
Connor was already scanning the dashboard, his fingers flicking switches and adjusting levers with practiced precision. The layout wasn’t all that different from the training sims Xavier had put them through back at the mansion. He had memorized those, just like he memorized everything else.
Meanwhile, outside, the battle was turning into a full-scale war.
Havok braced himself against the train's exterior, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the barracks at the far end of the depot. The building housed the largest concentration of Magistrates, and if they didn't neutralize it now, they'd have an army of reinforcements breathing down their necks.
Plasma energy crackled along his arms before he thrust both hands forward, unleashing a concussive blast that ripped through the barracks' upper floor. Metal and concrete blew outward in a violent eruption of blue light, sending Magistrates scattering like ants.
"Artemis! Hit the barracks!" Alex barked over his shoulder to Kennedy, hoping she would hear from her position.
“On it.” Kennedy replied from her position in the train car’s doorway. Creating an arrow from pure energy, it sparkled and glittered in her bow before flying through the air with ease and precision. Upon impact the barracks exploded and crumbled taking down any Magistrates that might be inside.
Tandy followed Kennedy’s lead and threw daggers of light at any Magistrates that dared to flee from the fallen building.
At the same time, Victor was still in the thick of it, his claws dripping with fresh blood as he tore through another wave of Magistrates. His body was riddled with bullet wounds, but they were already closing up. The grin on his face was pure, predatory satisfaction.
Then the roar of engines cut through the night. Half a dozen trucks burst through the jungle, headlights blinding as Resistance fighters poured out, weapons blazing.
John Proudstar was the first to leap from a moving vehicle, his powerful legs sending him straight into the fray beside Victor. His fists found the nearest Magistrate, sending the man flying backward like a ragdoll.
"You took your damn time," Victor growled, swiping a bloody hand through his wild blonde mane.
Proudstar shot him a dry look before grabbing the next Magistrate by the throat and slamming him into the ground. "I was letting you have your fun."
It wasn't so much cover that Hayden ended up providing as it was crushing water attacks. As the jungle's humid air bent to her command, torrents of water slammed into the magistrates and softened the ground beneath them into mud.
She then twisted her wrist sharply and formed swirling spheres of water. Looking at a magistrate with his weapon raised, she flicked her fingers and shot them towards the firearm. Necessity was indeed the mother of invention, even when it came to using mutant powers in the midst of combat.
While Magistrate armour seemed like hell on wheels when it came to stopping high speed impacts it crumpled nastily when heavy wood slammed into it. Desmond discovered this when he knocked a Magistrate onto the ground that was trying to sneak up on the front part of the train. Desmond had pulled him off of the roof, and stomped on the chestplate. Loud sounds that could be hard composites cracking, or ribs. With that, Desmond was one of the first that climbed into the train.
With the Resistance reinforcements flooding the depot, the battle turned decisively in their favor. The remaining Magistrates knew it, too. Some continued fighting, but most broke and ran, disappearing into the jungle in a desperate bid to escape.
Victor turned, spotting the X-Men regrouping near the train. With a sharp whistle, he signaled the retreat.
"EVERYBODY ON THE TRAIN!" he bellowed.
Proudstar was already moving, barking orders to the Resistance fighters as they clambered aboard.
Alex was the last to board, firing one last parting blast at the barracks before vaulting onto the train.
Victor, standing on the platform, took a long, satisfied breath before turning to the X-Men with a wicked grin. "Not bad, kids," he said, his golden eyes gleaming. "Step one's done."
"Great" Kayleigh sighed. "Plenty more steps to go then."
Kennedy reached out for Tandy and helped her climb into the back of the train as it started to lurch forward.
“Girl, remind me to call you on the Fourth of July. We could really light up the sky together.” Tandy said as she caught her breath and settled in for the ride.
Maeve's head lolled to the side, a dull ache radiating through her skull as she fought against the sluggish pull of unconsciousness. The world around her was blurry at first—harsh fluorescent lights overhead, the sterile scent of antiseptic burning her nostrils, the rhythmic click-click-click of booted footsteps echoing off cold, metallic walls.
Then she felt it. The unyielding press of restraints.
Thick, reinforced straps bound her wrists and ankles to the armrests and footrests of a heavy steel chair, her torso cinched in place by a broad belt across her midsection. Her head was held still by a brace clamped around her neck and forehead, preventing even the smallest turn. The metal armature at her back extended into a wheeled base, allowing her to be transported like some kind of dangerous specimen rather than a person.
A smooth voice cut through the sterile silence.
"Ah, you're awake. Good."
Her body ached. It felt helpless, zapped of all energy, of any power she had to even open her eyelids. On her body there were trails of burn marks, like what one would expect when coming into contact with electricity trying to escape the sky and reach the ground. She had been stripped of her uniform and wore a simple gown so the marks were easily seen up her arms and branching out across her neck. She would give Windrider her dues, she was not wrong about what she'd have to endure to see this supposed 'light'.
Dr. Moreau walked beside her, his crisp white lab coat billowing slightly as he kept pace with the Magistrates flanking them. His silvered hair was neatly combed, and the faintest hint of cologne clung to him, masking the soulless steel of their surroundings. He exuded calm authority, but there was something in his gaze—something joyfully sinister.
He smiled, the expression almost sympathetic. "I must apologize for Windrider's... enthusiasm. She means well, I assure you, but she can be rather heavy-handed when it comes to taming new recruits." He sighed and waved away the concern with a flippant flick of the wrist. "I had hoped you would see reason without the need for such measures, but I do understand. Some lessons are harder to learn than others." Moreau chuckled, his amusement genuine. "But don't you misunderstand. This is not about breaking you. This is about enlightening you."
"Please just let me go." Maeve pleaded as her voice cracked. "You don't have to do this. I don't need your enlightening.". Tears formed in her eyes as that was the only power she felt she had control over. Being unable to move anything, even her head she felt truly trapped and onlookers within the station looked at her like a sideshow attraction caged and put on show. Closing her eyes she stretched out her fingers in an attempt, any attempt to make the ground obey her command.
Dr. Moreau let out a quiet sigh, shaking his head in mock disappointment as he walked alongside her, hands clasped behind his back.
"Young lady, tears are simply wasted bodily fluids," he said, his voice smooth as glass. "Energy better spent on something productive. Something useful." His steel-blue eyes flicked to hers, unbothered by the raw emotion brimming in them. "You may wish to steel yourself for what comes next. Though, perhaps, being sensitized to it will hasten your acceptance."
Watched her struggle with a clinical detachment, the Genegineer tilted his head as if observing an insect pinned beneath glass. "Fascinating," he mused. "Even now, you still believe you have some measure of control. But I assure you that illusion will pass. In time, you will come to see the futility of resistance."
Before Maeve could muster another protest, a Magistrate approached from the opposite corridor, his armored boots clicking sharply against the polished floor. He came to a brisk stop, offering a tight salute.
"Sir," the soldier reported. "Our embedded asset has just confirmed it—the Resistance has breached the southeastern depot and is moving toward the central station."
For the first time, Moreau smiled. A genuine one. Not the polite, condescending smirk he had worn before, but something actually pleased.
"Ah," he breathed, his face beaming with satisfaction. "Right on schedule."
Maeve's pulse pounded in her ears. The Resistance. They were coming. There was still hope.
But then Moreau turned his gaze back to her, his expression knowing, amused. "I imagine you believe this to be good news," he said lightly. "That your would-be saviors will storm in, guns blazing, and deliver you from this terrible fate." He let out a chuckle, as if the thought itself was amusing. "But you see, Maeve… revolutions are predictable things. And predictability is such an easy thing to control.”
He took a step closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
“Tell me… have you ever considered that some revolutions are allowed to happen?"
"I've considered maybe your mam didn't love you enough as a child." Maeve replied, hatred beginning to fill her voice. "That she found out what kind of boy you were and knew you'd grow up to this... you're not even Human, not even a man, you're just a monster." she added as her mind reeling over hearing there was a spy inside the resistance. She'd have to tell them so they could weed them out, that is if they survived the day. They were coming and they'd show this Genegineer that if you push people too much they push back and when those people have abilities stronger than common man then he will be tested beyond what he can manage.
She began to try and move. The restraints were pretty solid and it would probably hurt but she had to try something. She cried out for help to try and get someone, anyone to help her, and to help those coming for her to find her.
Moreau listened to her outburst with mild amusement, as though she were a child throwing a tantrum rather than a prisoner bound to a steel chair. He tilted his head slightly, considering her words before responding in that same measured, clinical tone.
"You mistake cruelty for necessity. You mistake progress for tyranny. And you mistake me for someone who cares about being called a monster." He stepped closer, his tone taking on the patient quality of a teacher explaining a fundamental truth to a stubborn pupil. "Do you know the origin of the word 'monstrum'?" he asked, though the question was clearly rhetorical. "It is derived from the Latin 'monere'—to warn, to advise. A monster is not merely a thing to be feared; it is a sign, an omen of things to come." His faint smile widened. "And I am nothing if not a harbinger of the future."
Maeve continued to struggle against her restraints, but Moreau didn't even acknowledge the attempt. He simply continued speaking as if he had all the time in the world.
He gestured around the room, to the sterile efficiency of the facility, to the ever-watchful Magistrates standing at attention. "And so, I do for Genosha what any parent would. I have given them something greater than freedom. I have given them purpose. They do not resent me. They love me for it. Because they understand what you refuse to see—without structure, without discipline, there is only chaos."
He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice to a near-whisper.
"Others hate your kind because the world has already reached its natural equilibrium. It is not built for change—it is built for sustainability." He straightened, his expression almost pitying. "You are an anomaly. You and the rest of your kind disrupt that balance. And so nature corrects itself. Through me. That is why, in time, you will love me as do all my Magistrates."
"Maybe we are the next step in Human evolution, and you, you are the thing that disrupts the balance. In history Humans have started more wars with each other for land, for resources. With us, we can create and shape whatever we want without the need to fight each other. We do so because we disagree how to co-exist with the weaker species on the planet, you." Maeve responded as she stopped her struggle. "I understand without rules, without discipline, people are free to do whatever they want and that leads to chaos. The way you do it is wrong... if the people love you then why is there a resistance? Sounds like you have some citizens who don't really fall for the structured order with no chance to live over the chance to build something that mutants can be proud of. I feel sorry for you, and those that listen to you. The black woman with the white hair, Windrider I think, she has so power she could wipe you off the face of the planet but instead she is too scared to see a better way. If Professor Xavier had been in her life she would not be this hollow person I see when she thinks no-one is looking."
Moreau’s faint smile thinned at the mention of Xavier, his sharp eyes narrowing ever so slightly. He tilted his head, as if considering the thought for the first time, but the glint in his gaze betrayed something colder—something already decided.
"Charles Xavier," he repeated, his voice smooth but laced with intrigue. "A fascinating man, though painfully idealistic. I do wonder..." He trailed off, before offering Maeve a small, knowing smile. "Perhaps it is time my Magistrates paid him a visit. We would benefit from understanding his methods firsthand."
His words were casual, almost polite, but there was a deadly weight beneath them.
Then, as if Maeve's defiance had been nothing more than a brief, passing amusement, he turned on his heel and gestured toward the towering monitors lining the walls. The dim glow from the screens cast a pale light over the sterile control room, illuminating rows of data feeds and shifting security camera angles.
"You speak of the Resistance as if they are anything more than a predictable variable in an equation I have already solved," he said coolly. He stepped aside, allowing Maeve an unobstructed view. "But you will see, soon enough. This is a closed-circuit feed—what is happening below us is not for public consumption. Consider yourself privileged to witness it."
TBC...
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