Chapter 35: Transportation Has Arrived

Saturday, November 15th 2020. Ontario, Canada.

It had been three weeks since Bronte met the goddess watching over his bloodline— and his mother. It had also been three weeks since Bronte and his siblings raided Department H, fought off three wendigos, Alpha Flight and decided their stay in Canada had been long overdue. They were headed to Africa. Wakanda specifically. Apparently Bronte was royalty, and that meant he and his siblings were protected. If only he knew that before everything had gone south. Before the students inside Midtown High met their end. Before Spiderman and Ghost-Spider had to step into a war they knew nothing of…

Before Rahne…

In the passing three weeks Bronte thought less about the royal African lands far from the icy slopes of Canada and more about Ororo Munroe. Her shortcomings. If she thought a happy son was on the way, she was tripping.

The more Bronte thought on it, the angrier he got. And anger was like fire on the murky oil of his inherited mutant abilities. Volatile, to put it simply.

So, he worked to keep his mind elsewhere. While they all made their way out of Canada, he did what he could to stay out of that headspace. The cabin was gone, Chop now stationed with a flourishing pack of wolves back in Alberta, it seemed his last pack was killed by a Wendigo, after their deaths the hound lost his fear. Good things could be born in chaos. Brontë hoped the same could be true for him in their travels. In his free time he exercised and sparred with his siblings. And when they were busy elsewhere, he roamed the city beyond.

As he was now….

He found himself in a park. The bench he sat on was cold— stiffened by the harsh oncoming winter. He could hear the cries of a child a few miles south who got his tongue stuck to a pole. Snowflakes fell from the sky like paper confetti in a steady lightweight downpour.

It was quiet. Peaceful. A few couples walked through the long field within the park but other than that he was alone.

Truly alone, he thought as he looked at the cameras stationed around him. They'd been out of commission for the last ten minutes due to the low intensity electrical shockwave he let off when he entered the park. He had a few minutes before he had to move, and that was fine. He didn't sit still for long anyway. Only as long as he needed to.

And need he did. Ever since he sat down, he'd been flipping through a file like a maniac in search of a cure hidden in the white government issued pages within. In many ways his cure— key, was written in the pages. Because knowledge was power, and knowledge on Romulus and Wolverines past was written all over. Dates when they all were recruited, United and completed missions all the way to current dates and moves dictated by Romulus. But the man was smart, never directly referenced in name and never referring to current or real addresses. Even his aliases had aliases..

So he stuck to the past and the receipts. Wolverine and Romulus split, Remus disappeared around the same time. They were involved. And sometime after, the whole story leading all the way down to Bronte had began. As for the receipts, there were four main players that loomed over the others. Four players that Romulus funneled the majority of his resources and assets through.

Brontë flipped through the pages until he found a picture of a cup full of what looked like a living slime. The Life Foundations stamp of approval was stamped into the page along with schematics of prototype designs for something called "Beast Hides". Brontë read over the file more than once and didn't understand much of anything. But he found Romulus had interests in the Klyntar Race and their uses. Oddly enough, Raze's name was mentioned in the Life Foundation file…

As if being a possible Progenitor of the feral Mutant strain wasn't enough. An alien race also had to find its way in.

Department H and Project Rebirth were a connective branch that Bronte and his siblings had only recently removed the last leg from. It was historically rich and pursuing what it always pursued. Super Soldiers. Enhancing Mutant abilities through scientific advancements and horrific human trials or gene splicing. The pictures were too horrific to decipher at times. Wolverine and Laura's names were all over the file.

As well as Remus. The one who wanted to help. In all of the monstrous enemies and mutant hunters they'd encountered, it was Romulus' own sister that had come to help. If only he knew where she was…

Speaking of known locations.

Bronte got up off the frost bitten bench on fresh legs. He closed up the file and shoved it back into his aviator jacket. As he headed off for the more crowded parts of the city, he sniffed the air from within his hood.

Wood, car exhaust, shampoo, squirrel shit. Normal day so far. And it stayed that way as he made it to the city. He walked alongside strip malls and libraries, peering inside casually as he scarfed downed his eighth serving of steaming poutine drowned in hot sauce. The cheese reminded him of home. Nothing like New Yorks pizzas. He finished off his last serving while waiting at a crosswalk. Christmas music blared from the constantly opening doors of a clothing store behind him and his fellow pedestrians. Something simple, festive. He could dance to anything.

After a while he noticed one of the children standing next to him was staring. A young boy no older than eight. The cold air turned his pale nose red as the stop sign at the interstate. He reminded Bronte of home.

"Whats good?"

"qu'est-il arrivé à tes dents?"

French. Something about teeth. The boy probably wasn't used to seeing large men with silver fangs.

"Cavities." Bronte replied.

The walk signal appeared. The smells of metals, sweat and gunpowder flew in from afar.

"You must have some sweet tooth, Mr. Connors. Or should I say, Mr. Munroe?"

Bronte stayed still as everyone passed him.

"You know what I go by, so don't play."

Bronte turned around to find Agent Coulson. He hadn't seen the painfully mundane appearing man since the Xavier Institute after Sabertooth flipped the place. SHIELD wanted him bad. So did Bronte.

You know what they say. The enemy of my enemy….

But Bronte had a feeling this meeting didn't relate to that. Call it Mutant intuition. Or maybe it was what Coulson called him.

Coulson took off his shades, "Of course, my apologies." He looked Bronte up and down before raising his eyebrows, "Well, you look like you've been in the gym…. of sorts. I go the gym too, hit the heavy bags when I can."

Just as weird as ever.

"Word…" Bronte replied.

The awkward silence that remained after the bull of pedestrians left was thick enough for Bronte to slice with his claws.

"So you found us again? What do you want?" Bronte questioned.

"We want what we've always wanted." Coulson replied.

Bronte raised an eyebrow.

"We want to take you home. I think you know what home I'm referring to. Your mother agreed to aid us in a number of asset recoveries in exchange for helping you and yours arrive safely. We're three years behind schedule and she's very angry. You know what happens when godesses are angry? There's about a million historical tales on it and they usually end in floods for some reason." Coulson explained.

Brontë suddenly wanted to hit himself as he thought it over.

"So you saying….. this whole time— no really, this entire time y'all were trying to take us where we should've been!? Are you deadas—"

"So, Mr. Connors. Are you ready?"

Bronte's thick jaw muscles flexed beneath his dark skin, "Only if we can make a few stops along the way. Oh, and if you ever come talk to me with snipers aimed again I'll defend myself accordingly. And that's on everything."

Agent Coulson didn't budge, "Noted."

The winds picked up. "Don't follow me. I'll find you by tonight." His eyes flickered in and out of white.

Agent Coulson moved to question Bronte's words only for him to be cut off as Bronte took to the skies in a blast of wind and flew away.

It was then that Coulson noticed the impossibly thick walls of snowy fog covering the front of the stores and other side of streets where the other pedestrians were.

"Smooth." Coulson commented.