Arc 1 - Ch 10: Repercussions

"Professor, what the hell?" Jubilee hissed, shrinking away as the needle glistened in Ororo's hand. Ororo lunged for Jubilee, the needle slicing through the air. Panic erupted in Tyson's chest, instinct propelling him into action. 

His mind shifted into a hyper-focused state. Everything became crystal clear, the noise and chaos of the train drowned out. He wasn't Quicksilver or the Flash, capable of moving at lightning-fast speed. But he had absorbed Sabertooth, gaining superhuman reflexes and senses. Tyson shot his hand out like a striking jungle cat. His fingers closed around Ororo's wrist with a vice-like grip. The needle halted mere inches from Jubilee's neck, time seeming to hold its breath as the three of them froze.

He glanced at the needle, then back at Ororo. A flood of sensory data washed over Tyson, his mind spinning as he grappled with the scene unfolding before him. When his mind didn't provide the answers, he had to trust his body to do the thinking for him. His nostrils flared as he focused on the woman he held at bay. One of his most unique abilities was his heightened sense of smell. He hadn't just memorized scents. He could recognize and differentiate them, down to the most minor discrepancies. Ororo Munroe's scent was imprinted in his memory.

The subtle perfume of nature and the faint but unmistakable undercurrent of rainstorms. He first encountered it in the Canadian wilderness, amid the pine trees and fresh, icy air. It was an aroma he'd grown familiar with during their close proximity in the Blackbird.

But as Tyson's heightened senses scanned the woman before him, he realized something was very wrong. His nostrils picked up a different scent altogether. Where he expected the fragrance of impending rain, the scent lacked the natural allure of Ororo, as if a hose had sprinkled the lawn instead of a rain shower. The revelation struck him like a bolt of lightning, his grip on her wrist tightening. He realized that earlier today, the woman at the table, her scent wasn't Ororo's either, it was this woman's. She was not Ororo Munroe. But if that was the case, who was she? And why was she masquerading as their professor? 

Tyson's mind went into overdrive as time around him froze. His mind was so caught up in the thrill of new powers, the intrigue of the Institute, extradimensional forays, and admittedly, the novelty of the world and women around him. He hadn't stopped to remember the important details of the world he'd somehow fallen into. It felt like a dream until this very moment, this very instant, when reality - or rather, the movie plot - struck him. Everything fell into sharp focus; he was living the plot. In the movie Rogue, the girl whose place he'd somehow taken, was the key to Magneto's plan. Suddenly, every scene surged through his mind in a tidal wave of realization. The central plot had been about Magneto's desire to capture Rogue, to use her powers in a machine that would turn humans into mutants. A chill ran down his spine as the realization clicked into place. His eyes narrowed at the woman he was still holding at bay. If this reality followed the course of the movie, then there was only one person who this could be. The shapeshifter, the one who could mimic anyone down to the last detail. 

Mystique.

The face of Ororo Munroe stared back at him, but he knew better. Now, Tyson knew exactly who, and what, he was dealing with. His heightened senses worked in overdrive, picking up the details that most would miss. His eyes traced the outfit 'Ororo' was wearing. A long-sleeved turtleneck and gloves were similar to the outfit he'd seen her wear when he first arrived at the institute. It hadn't raised any flags, but now that he looked, he noticed that it provided no opening for him to make skin contact. Clothes were like armor against his power. Mystique was no fool; she had come prepared, aware that his power required direct contact.

Tyson's mind spun with possibilities. His hand held Mystique at bay, but his other arm was occupied, the unconscious form of Jean leaned against his side. Another problem prickled at the back of his mind. If this was playing out like the film then Mystique wasn't the only adversary lurking around. Sabertooth was out of the picture, but there were others. Toad, the agile, tongue-lashing mutant, and, of course, the mastermind himself, Magneto. The thought of coming face-to-face with the magnetic manipulator set his nerves on edge. Regardless of Tyson's strength, Magneto was incomparable. 

Tyson wasn't his match, especially sitting inside a train car, which was essentially…

A giant metal box…

Tyson mentally cursed himself. The scene from the movie played out in his head. Rogue was kidnapped from a train. And that happened with Wolverine, Cyclops, and Storm nearby. Tyson only had Jubilee and an unconscious Jean as backup. He desperately needed to get off the train.

All these thoughts raced through his mind at a breakneck speed, but thoughts alone wouldn't resolve this situation. Time was not on his side. He had to act, and he had to act now. 

The strain in his eyes was evident, struggling against the reality he faced and the choices he was forced to make.

"Sorry about this," Tyson murmured. One hand still gripped Mystique as he reached around Jean with his arm that was cradling her. The movement pulled her close to him in a one-arm hug. His arm was long enough to allow his fingers to reach his chest. He sliced his shirt with his claw, while still holding his unconscious friend. The fabric began to fall away revealing his well-defined muscles underneath. Jean's head slumped toward his exposed skin. He didn't want to hurt her, but he knew what he had to do. He darted that claw straight for the imposter Ororo's face. The movement tipped Jean even closer. 

However, the faux Ororo tilted her head, narrowly avoiding the deadly swipe aimed at her. Her mocking laughter rang out. "Did you think it would be that easy?"

With a shimmer, her appearance began to ripple and change, her skin transitioning from the deep brown of Ororo's to a blue hue. White hair turned to vibrant red, and soon Mystique stood in front of them, smirking. 

Tyson looked into Mystique's yellow eyes, "You're making a mistake," he warned, his voice laced with tension.

Mystique smirked with confidence. The corners of her lips curled up. Even though he maintained his hold on her, the woman's body language revealed she was unconcerned. "Am I? Or is it you who has made the mistake?" she responded, her voice dripping with condescension.

Amidst the tense conversation, Jean, still unconscious, slowly leaned into Tyson. Time slowed; he felt the weight of her head, every strand of her hair brushing against his shirt. As he mentally prepared to count the seconds, her forehead touched his bare chest.

She was playing in a suburban backyard, laughing as she levitated toys around her. She felt fear when she first discovered she could hear people's thoughts. Her powers bursting forth unpredictably made her feel isolated and different. Whispers followed her in school corridors, children pointing and parents pulling them away. She struggled to keep the voices in her head at bay and was discovered by Magneto and Xavier. In her teenage years, she found her place at the institute, a home where she wasn't an outcast. She was compassionate and protective of those she loved. She bore the weight of her powers with grace, always striving for control. She was a mediator, often the voice of reason. The mental walls she built with Xavier helped her in the battle between her immense power and her human side. Beyond the walls was…

One...

Suddenly, a sharp sensation pricked at Tyson's temples. It was as if a dam had broken, unleashing a deluge of thoughts, emotions, and voices. He could hear the distant thoughts of every passenger on the train, their fears, hopes, memories, and desires. It was overwhelming. The cacophony of inner voices threatened to drown him. Everything was laid bare for Tyson to hear. He could sense the mother's worry for her child, the young man's anxiety about a job interview, and the old woman's nostalgia for her youth. With Jean's telepathy now intertwining with his senses, Tyson felt a new level of empathy. He could almost taste the emotions. Sweet joy, spicy arousal, bitter jealousy; each one distinct. The power was intoxicating.

Two…

The incessant rush of voices echoing in Tyson's mind made him dizzy. With her memories, he gained Jean's level of control. He felt the years of mentoring under Professor X's watchful gaze as if he'd undergone them himself. But Xavier had built walls to keep her powers in check. Without these barriers, Tyson was a raw conduit for the swirling vortex of psychic energy.

Amid the chaotic jumble of thoughts, one emotion pierced through the rest: anger. It was a seething, boiling rage. It may have come from himself or emanated from a passenger a few rows behind. But it didn't matter, the sheer intensity of it drew Tyson in like a moth to a flame. He felt the burning heat of resentment. All that mattered was the overwhelming power of the emotion itself. It was as if a floodgate had opened, letting Jean's suppressed power rush through Tyson unrestricted. 

Three…

A wave of telekinetic energy, far more potent than Jean normally displayed, surged out of him.

Mystique didn't anticipate the raw power that encapsulated her. His hand remained locked around Mystique's arm, gripping her like a vice. She watched Tyson reach for her, but when she tried to dodge, an invisible hold kept her in place, preventing her from avoiding the attack. He brought his free hand around and clamped it over her face. The contact was immediate and intense, his large fingers spanning her features, from chin to hairline, and silencing any words she might have uttered. 

She was a young blue-skinned girl shunned by a world that couldn't understand her. She attempted desperately to fit in, hiding her unique complexion and constantly shifting to meet society's standards. She felt the potential to become anyone, or anything, with just a thought. When she learned to control it, the world around her became a canvas, and she was the brush, able to paint herself into any scene or situation. There was an alliance with Magneto, a kindred spirit who understood the pain of being 'different'. Their shared dreams of a world where mutants wouldn't have to hide who they were. She initiated intricate plots and battles they had against those who sought to harm their kind and felt the betrayals that came from friends and foes. She was a baroness, a mother, a terrorist, a crime lord, a murderer, and more; she had taken as many titles as she had forms. There was time spent with the Brotherhood, her dealings with other mutants, and her constant struggle to find where she belonged in a world that kept shifting beneath her feet.

As the memories flooded him, Tyson felt a sudden malleability in his cells. The rigidity of his form loosened, becoming fluid and adaptable. More importantly, along with Mystique's shapeshifting, came a certain level of mental discipline. Raven Darkholme, the woman behind the blue skin, had learned the hard way to compartmentalize her feelings, her plans, and her true intentions. This ability to maintain multiple facades without losing herself granted Tyson a fraction of relief against the onslaught of Jean's telepathy. Although it was far from perfect, Mystique's mental fortitude did give Tyson a toe-hold, a slight chance to filter through the barrage of sensations and emotions. The storm in his mind abated if only a little, and he could feel the weight of both Jean's and Mystique's presences, guiding and influencing his actions.

Four…

The momentary clarity that surged through Tyson's mind brought with it an acute awareness of the intentions of those around him. It was like a sixth sense, buzzing with a near-electric intensity. Amidst the din of emotions and thoughts on the train, one strand of malice stood out, clear and potent. Another enemy was nearby. 

Toad.

Tyson's eyes darted around the car, narrowing onto Toad just in time to see the villain's elongated tongue darting out towards Jubilee, aiming to ensnare her. She was still in shock from Ororo's sudden attack and Tyson's response. She looked vulnerable and unprepared for Toad's sneak attack.

Without wasting a moment, Tyson's newfound telekinesis honed in on Toad. In his mind's eye, he visualized lifting the slimy mutant, and with a forceful mental shove, Toad was lifted off his feet and hurtled through the air. The world seemed to slow down as a surprised look registered on Toad's face. Then, with a loud crash, Toad collided with the back wall of the train car, his body slumping down in a heap.

The passengers screamed, grabbing onto anything stable, their fear palpable in the cramped space. Jubilee, recovering quickly, looked at Tyson with surprise. 

Five…

Tyson moved Jean into the seat next to him. His five seconds of contact should give him five minutes with her power. He said to Jubilee shortly, "Keep her safe. Don't worry about me. Escape if you can." 

Suddenly, with a force borne from superhuman strength, Tyson moved. His feet pounded against the floor of the carriage as he lunged for the side wall. Mystique's head was still captured in his grip, and she was forcibly carried along as he dragged her. They were a blur of motion, as they made contact with the wall, the window beside them shattered from the force, allowing the wind to whip around the train car. The train's metal wall groaned under the sudden pressure, bending under Tyson's superhuman strength.

The abruptness of the movement and the terrifying sight of their conflict sent shockwaves through the passengers. Some had been knocked down with Tyson's monstrous leap or telepathic wave. Others scattered or screamed as they struggled to move away from the epicenter of the fight. Confusion reigned as they stumbled over each other, and tripped over abandoned bags and briefcases. Their panic created a chaotic tide within the moving train. 

Tyson's attack was swift and unyielding. Mystique's head and upper body were embedded in the train's wall. The potent rush of life force from Mystique coursed into him like a river. Time seemed to crawl as chaos swirled around Tyson. It was like he was the eye of a storm; all was clear and calm in his immediate vicinity while pandemonium reigned just beyond as passengers tried to escape his ferocity. His focus was entirely on his target, Mystique. Underneath the grip of his hand, he could see the spread of black veins, a stark contrast against the pallor of her skin. It was as if a wave of darkness was spreading through her, taking her life energy back into him as it did so. She struggled and fought, hitting his forearms and trying to remove his fingers, but he had her strength and Sabertooths, there was no comparison between them.

Tyson took a brief instant to remember a flash from Mystique's past. The tide of life experiences had triggered a familiar glimpse. As he parsed the memories, an evil grin spread across his face.

His fingers tingled, signaling the onset of a transformation. The skin on his hands started to darken, turning a deep shade of crimson. As the change surged up his arms, it felt like fire running under his skin, hot and vibrant. His nails elongated into talons, each sharp enough to cut through steel. Tyson's face contorted, jaw elongating slightly, skin pulling tight against high cheekbones. His eyes turned a flat black that extended beyond the pupil, engulfing all the white. His hair became a jet-black mane, and his skin went blood-red. A devilish tail sprouted from behind, curling with a sinister grace. As the transformation was completed, Tyson stood there, a perfect imitation of Azazel.

Mystique was pinned against the wall, his hand engulfing her face. She stared at him from between his splayed fingers, yellow eyes wide with a mix of recognition and horror. The malicious pleasure that bubbled within Tyson was unmistakable, it was a feeling of power, of control. He leaned in, close enough that the cool mist of his breaths tingled her face. His voice, deep and dripping with malevolence, whispered, "I'm back, Raven... and I want our child."

The weight of his words hung in the air. Tyson had tapped into one of Mystique's most closely guarded secrets, intending to twist the knife and make her squirm.

Tyson didn't possess Azazel's charm. But the devil wasn't the only one who possessed the ability to dominate minds. The car resonated with an unseen force as Tyson channeled Jean's overwhelming psychic power. It was like a roaring wave, rushing forth, seeking an entry into Mystique's defenses. The raw might behind it caused the air to feel charged, and the atmosphere grew dense.

Mystique had always been adept at shielding her mind from unwanted intrusions. Over the years, her mental barriers had been honed and strengthened. Her brain was ever-shifting, matching her appearance, making it difficult for telepaths to read her thoughts. But Tyson's uncanny transformation and intimate knowledge of her darkest secrets created a momentary chink in her armor. He seized on it without hesitation. With a focused intensity, Tyson bore down on her mind, Jean's power acting like a battering ram against a fortress. The sheer magnitude of the mental onslaught was overwhelming. As he bore down, his new devilish form loomed over her. His face came closer, his whisper chilling in its intimacy. "You belong to me," he murmured with a cold certainty, "Forever tainted by my touch."

The psionic attack felt like fingers weaving their way into the fabric of Mystique's psyche, pulling at the threads of her identity, unraveling her. There was a momentary lapse in her once fierce demeanor. Her yellow eyes appeared clouded, filled with fear, confusion, and a hint of anguish. Her flailing movements seemed staggered as if trying to distance herself from the physical and mental intrusion.

The strong-willed shape-shifter looked fragile, shaken to her core. Tyson's words and brutal psychic assault aimed to leave a lasting mark.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he detected movement. It was as if the world around him had suddenly morphed into a surrealist painting. The metal of the train car peeled away, its rigid structure contorting and tearing open. It twisted and formed into metallic tendrils, all reaching out for him. Above, the roof split apart, unveiling the sky and the figure floating down.

Magneto.

He descended with his arms outstretched as if he were the Messiah himself. An aura of raw power emanated from his very being. He appeared to defy gravity, his descent steady and deliberate, resembling a deity descending upon his mortal subjects. 

Tyson's world was a swirl of slow-motion chaos. The metal lining the walls, chairs, and frame of the train car twisted and warped under Magneto's control. Time continued to stretch, each second a lingering moment as the reality of his predicament crystalized. The metal looked almost liquid under the influence of Magneto's power, slithering towards him like some monstrous creature. He knew, however, that the supposed fluidity of the metal belied a strength that, under the control of an Omega-class mutant, would be impossible for him to break.

Despite the looming danger, Tyson was reluctant to let go of his captive. He could feel her life force dwindling under his touch, her energy ebbing away. Mystique's eyes were wide with fear, the truth of her imminent death dawning within them. Yet, Tyson's grip remained unyielding. A flash of uncertainty flickered within him, a moment of introspection amidst the chaos. He wondered if his brutality was the remnants of Sabertooth's influence, the bestial instinct seeping into his psyche. Or was it a calculated move by Mystique's influence? An unwillingness to give up a nearly defeated enemy. And was it Jean's compassion that led him to consider releasing her? Tyson didn't have an answer.

He didn't know who was more valuable to Magneto; his shapeshifting ally, or himself. Was Magneto willing to sacrifice Mystique, his confidante and right hand, for the chance to capture him? Would the mutant supremacist's devotion to his cause outweigh his loyalty to his ally? The questions spiraled in Tyson's mind, yet he knew, he couldn't afford the luxury of time to think. He needed to act, and fast.

Under the perceived slow motion of his enhanced senses, Tyson sprang into action. His arm tightened protectively, almost possessively around Mystique. He was forced to shift his grip, halting the life force streaming into him. He wasn't sure how strong Sabertooth had been exactly, but Mystique felt light as a feather, barely noticeable against his formidable strength. He thought of her as no more than an awkwardly large football that he had to safeguard from the line of encroaching metal as he stormed down the aisle of the train.

Every muscle in his body coiled and uncoiled, each movement calculated, each step precise. The Sabertooth within him lent him a predatory agility, the raw power to move with ease even under the most challenging conditions. Magneto's metal tendrils squirmed like serpents, thrusting toward him. But Tyson was a step ahead. The confines of the train car served as both a hindrance and a playground. Fearful passengers became obstacles in his path, their cries and panicked scrambling adding to the chaos. But Tyson moved with a feline grace, navigating the turmoil as though it were second nature. He bobbed and weaved, sidestepped, and leaped, his every action guided by the predator lurking within. Each dodge, each swerve brought him closer to the train's exit. His escape was near.

As Tyson barrelled forward, a sudden jerk stopped him in his tracks. Confusion ran through him. Magneto had planned for this eventuality. Mystique had worn a weighted vest beneath her costume. The pull of his power was strong enough to yank Mystique from his grasp. The clothes that she wore had not just been a disguise and an armor against Tyson's power. But they also hid a contingency plan. Tyson's strength was too great to notice the weights; when he delved into her memories, he'd been so focused that he'd glossed over any current plans. It was an oversight similar to the one he'd made against Azazel. He'd again failed to examine memories for any incoming traps.

But Tyson was quick-thinking. He used Jean's telekinesis to halt Mystique's flight, countering Magneto's pull on the weights in her clothes. It left her hanging in mid-air. With a swift motion, his claws carved through the vest. The metal weights, now unobstructed, soared back toward Magneto as a collection of metallic projectiles.

The deftness of Tyson's actions had left only superficial scratches on Mystique's blue skin, minute cuts that marred her otherwise smooth surface. But there was no time for guilt, no room for hesitation. Tyson adjusted his grip on Mystique's body. The shreds of clothing still covering her blocked his power from draining her. 

With the metal released, Tyson wasted no time. The train car, now partially torn open by Magneto's assault, offered him a swift route to escape. He sprang back into motion, the urgency of the situation lending speed to his retreat. 

Suddenly, an impact akin to a gunshot rocked Tyson from behind. His feet staggered, and he bit back a grunt as the pain reverberated through him. It felt like being struck by a charging bull. His skin, toughened by absorbing Sabertooth, was more resilient than any human's, yet even it couldn't wholly negate the impact. The hits kept coming. One, two, three. Each blow slammed into him, a ceaseless barrage chipping away at his formidable endurance. He stumbled, his grip on Mystique faltering, but he refused to relinquish his hold. His muscles screamed in protest, but he fought against the pain, struggling to regain his footing.

At last, Tyson spun around, his black eyes flared with a mix of anger and shock. The source of the relentless assault came into view. The weights from Mystique's vest had altered into a pair of menacing bullets. He'd turned Tyson's clever move against him, using his powers to wield the weights into instruments of his downfall. Tyson realized he wasn't just being shot. He was under a barrage of cannonballs. The metal spheres accelerated to bone-crushing speeds under Magneto's power. With every hit, Tyson felt the ground beneath him shuddering, the strength of each impact echoing through the narrow confines of the train car. His bones broke with each strike, only to heal in time for the next.

Tyson had only been a mutant for a few days. Yet, he found himself caught in a showdown with one of the most formidable mutants on the planet.