Rogue Replacement: A Marvel Story

Chapter 90

Arc 7 - Ch 7: Favor for a Favor

Date: Monday, August 29, 2011.

Location: House of M, Manhattan, New York

Tyson's gaze immediately locked onto a cascade of golden hair draped over the back of the guest chair across from his desk. Even without seeing her face, he knew who it was.

Amora The Enchantress.

His body tensed, muscles coiling as if preparing for a fight. Surprisingly, Amora didn't even turn to acknowledge his presence. Tyson tried to decipher her intentions. Was this a trap? Another game? Or something else entirely?

Slowly, deliberately, he made his way to his desk. Crossing the room, he never took his eyes off the Asgardian. Lowering himself into his chair, he finally came face to face with Amora.

Her beauty was as breathtaking as ever. Flawless skin, piercing green eyes, and features that seemed sculpted by the gods themselves. But there was something different about her tonight. A solemnity that he'd never seen before. He'd never seen her looking anything short of perfect. But this time, it was obvious she'd been crying. Her mascara had run down her cheeks. Instead of her normal green corset and skirt, she wore a black sweater dress, clearly purchased here on Earth.

Finally, she broke the silence. "Hello, Tyson." Her voice was soft, almost somber.

"Amora," he responded tersely.

"Please, allow me to speak," she requested, her voice carrying an earnestness that gave Tyson pause. "I'm sure you aren't interested in games right now, but I have a matter of importance to discuss." He studied her face, searching for any hint of deception. Finding none, he inclined his head slightly, bidding her to continue.

"I watched tonight's battle. I thought it might finally be what I was waiting for. The moment you embraced your power and seized your destiny."

"I smiled when you quoted me, invoking the rule of three. I cheered when you gained those powers and held your own against overwhelming odds." Her expression darkened. "And I mourned with you when your mistress… your friend passed on."

Tyson's jaw clenched. Amora's voice took on a more somber tone. "But it's the Rule of Three which brings me here tonight. I find that I have erred, and you have suffered the consequences."

He raised an eyebrow, not comprehending. "What do you mean?"

"I heard your request for aid but I ignored it, hoping you would become stronger on your own. And you have." She paused, a flicker of regret crossing her features. "However, it was at the cost of your mistress. The same mistress for whom I withheld my blood. I thought by becoming a vampire, she would become stronger, and you stronger by proxy from having her at your side."

His hands clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white.

"Her death is not what I wanted," Amora said softly. "I accept partial blame."

"That day, I challenged you to get stronger; I challenged her as well. I told her that she may yet prove herself a suitable mistress. And she did so. Fantastically. I watch you, and so I saw her. And though she never knew me beyond that one conversation, I will miss her."

The Enchantress dabbed her cheek before continuing, "You invoked the rule of three tonight. The last time we spoke, I warned you that I might, as well, if you made another request of me. As you know, I have already helped you twice. Once by bolstering your power on Asgard and again by offering my blood for the ritual to save your friend. I told you that a third freely offered favor would put you in my debt."

"However, it is I who have placed myself in your debt with my actions."

Tyson's brow furrowed. "How so?"

"Three times you asked for my assistance. First, on Asgard before fighting Loki. I denied your request, and Loki defeated you. Second, you requested my blood to prevent your mistress from turning into a vampire. I initially denied you, and she died, becoming one of them. Third, tonight, you requested my aid, and I ignored you. Your mistress died."

The weight of her words hung heavy in the air between them.

"Three times you have made a request of me," Amora continued. "Three times I have withheld helping you, and three times you have failed where, with my assistance, you would have succeeded."

Tyson sat back in his chair, considering the implications of what she was saying.

Amora's voice softened. "I'm here to settle my debt."

The room fell silent. He could barely breathe. He struggled to hold back the wetness forming in his eyes, daring to hope for the impossible.

"Can you bring her back?" he asked quietly.

Amora's expression grew grave. "You must understand the gravity of what you're asking. Resurrection... it's not a simple matter, even for one as powerful as I am."

"But is it possible?"

The Enchantress sighed, her gaze drifted. "There are ways to bring back the dead," she said slowly, carefully choosing her words. "None come easily, cleanly, or without a significant cost."

Tyson interrupted. "I don't care about the cost…"

He stopped speaking abruptly. His thoughts were suddenly far from the Enchantress before him. Amora looked at him questioningly, but he merely echoed his last word.

"Cost."

The Ancient One.

Last year, when he first came to New York seeking out the Sanctum Sanctorum, the Ancient One accepted his now ex-girlfriend, Illyana, allowing her to study the mystic arts. But the Ancient One had refused Tyson, cryptically telling him that he had not yet paid the necessary cost to walk the path of magic. She never specified what price he must pay, only that it would reveal itself in time. When he'd sought her help after Jubilee had been turned into a vampire, the Ancient One had called it a down payment on his 'cost' for learning sorcery.

Tyson's anger and displeasure at the memory must have been evident on his face, for Amora took on a guarded stance as if preparing to defend herself.

Seeing the Enchantress tense warily, he realized how he must have appeared at that moment, lost in his resentful thoughts. He relaxed his posture and spoke apologetically, "I beg your pardon. Your words reminded me that there is another with whom I must speak..." Tyson took a deep breath, steadying himself before meeting Amora's gaze. "Please, continue."

Amora's emerald eyes softened with sympathy and regret. "I am not an expert in Earth's magical creatures, but I know of no way to bring back a vampire that has been slain. With no body remaining, all methods of resurrection I know of are unavailable." Tyson's jaw clenched, and the flicker of hope died in his chest. Amora continued, "Save a True Resurrection, which is regrettably far beyond my magical capabilities. None on Asgard could perform such a magical feat save the Allfather. And even then, it would come at a great cost to himself."

Tyson licked his teeth, trying to hide the storm of emotions within him, but Amora saw through his facade. She reached out, offering her hand. After a moment's hesitation, he took it.

Amora possessed a magic that allowed her to negate Tyson's draining touch. She was one of the few people he'd met who could make physical contact with him without being harmed. Her touch was a small comfort but one he desperately needed at that moment.

Amora stood, gently guiding Tyson to his feet. Though she might not look it, the Asgardian was far stronger than him, and despite being over six-feet tall, she still need to look up at him slightly when they stood face-to-face. She led him to the couch in the office. As they sat, Amora leaned back, bidding Tyson to lay in her arms. He complied, too emotionally drained to resist the offer of comfort. Amora held him close, her fingers gently stroking his hair. The simple act of being held, of allowing himself this moment of vulnerability, threatened to break the dam holding back Tyson's emotions.

"Your mistresses have left you alone, yet I remain," Amora whispered, her breath warm against his ear.

He looked up at her, confusion mixing with his grief. "What do you mean?"

Amora's lips curved into a sad smile as she elaborated. "The demoness continues her studies, far from your side. The cat is captured, taken from you. The spider spins her web on the other side of the world. And now... the vampire has been slain."

Tyson considered her words and how she referred to the other women who had come into and out of his life. It was an odd choice of terminology, even for Amora. "Why do you call them mistresses?" he asked, curiosity momentarily overriding his sorrow.

Amora looked down at him, her expression a mix of amusement and something more profound, more calculating. Her tone was light, but her eyes were intense. "I believe that term mistress encompasses them appropriately. Women who are masters in their areas of expertise. And also those who are engaging with one who will be a king but are not his queen."

He couldn't help but snort at her assessment of his previous romantic partners and himself. "I'm to be a king?" he asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow. "King of what, Amora? Maybe if I turned House of M into a castle." He shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "This country doesn't have a king."

Amora's response was simple yet filled with an unshakeable certainty. "It is inevitable."

Tyson rolled his eyes but found himself leaning further into her embrace. Despite his skepticism at her words, Amora's presence was comforting. Her strength provided a sense of security and her gentle caresses soothed him in a way he hadn't realized he needed. As they sat there in silence, his mind wandered. He thought about the women Amora had mentioned. Tyson wasn't sure how she even knew about her, but the demoness studying far away referenced Illyana. The captured cat was certainly Felicia, who he'd be leaving to rescue shortly. The spider spinning her web must mean Natasha, the Black Widow. And... Jubilee. The vampire. Her loss was still too raw, too painful to even think about.

Each of them had left their mark on his life. And now, here he was, alone, in the arms of Amora. An Asgardian sorceress who spoke of destiny as casually as others might discuss the weather.

Amora's voice was gentle yet carried a weight of wisdom as she spoke. "You wielded Gungnir. You lifted Mjolnir. I watched closely." Her tone was intense and unwavering. "You never touched Thor, never absorbed him until afterward. It was you that was deemed worthy. It was not by proxy; it was not some trick of your powers. It was you." Tyson remembered the incredible feeling of holding Thor's hammer. "You stand equal to Thor, Prince of Asgard. You stood above Loki, and you stand above me." Amora insisted. "And just as Thor, you are destined to be king."

He opened his mouth to protest, but Amora pressed on. "There are many ways to approach being king. Many kings are strong, conquerors. They take that which they desire, carving a kingdom for themselves. Some ascend to the throne with cleverness and manipulation, like Loki had. Yet others inspire those around them, bringing men to their cause, raising them up, along with themselves." Her lips curved into a knowing smile. "You embody all these traits with your actions."

He narrowed his eyes, not liking the implication that he was a conqueror or manipulator. But before he could voice his objection, Amora continued.

"You claimed you were a leader, but not the kind that Magneto wanted you to be. He led with violence while you took another path. But did you not conquer him? Taking his power for your own through violence?" Her tone wasn't accusatory, merely matter-of-fact. "Yes, you did not seek him out, but you prepared specifically to fight him. I digress; you could have killed others and taken greater power, but you show restraint.

"Tyson the Mirage always showing such restraint... But it is a sign of a good king." She paused, her fingers still gently stroking his hair. "And you cannot deny your manipulations. I saw your life, and I've been watching you since. Half your allies and this place itself were gained through manipulation." He tensed, but Amora's voice remained calm. "I do not judge. All leaders must manipulate their subjects in one way or another. Some subtly, some not, some with promises, gold, or security. All are manipulations, even if they're not labeled as such. And you are undeniably a leader among men. You speak out for your kind. You convinced the electric man to follow you, turning him from a path that could have easily led him to claim vengeance. You did that with your words, not with your power."

Amora wasn't wrong, but this entire discussion was making him uncomfortable. Seeing his actions laid bare, so starkly described from an outsider's perspective, was unsettling.

"You are of Asgard," she stated certainly.

"Pretty sure I'm not," he objected.

The Enchantress didn't falter. "There is a part of me inside you," she replied, making her case. "And Thor and Lady Sif. You claimed Gungnir, the spear of the king, from an unworthy ruler in combat. You lifted Mjolnir, and your mistress was accepted into Valhalla."

Tyson froze, his body suddenly rigid in Amora's embrace.

"What did you say?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Amora's expression softened, a hint of sympathy creeping into her features. "Your mistress," she repeated gently, "she's in Valhalla."

Disbelief surged through him. "How?" he demanded, his voice cracking with emotion. "Are you sure?"

The Enchantress regarded him carefully, her fingers still absently stroking his hair. "What happened to the other vampires you've killed?" she asked leadingly.

"They turned to ash," he answered, recalling the many vampires he'd killed after graduation.

Amora nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving his face. "And Jubilee?"

He recalled that terrible moment in Times Square. But as he focused on the memory, he remembered something was different. "There was no ash," he said slowly. "Jubilee... she turned into motes of light."

"Now you see," she said softly. "Jubilee died fighting for a prince of Asgard. Those who die in battle in defense of Asgard go to Valhalla."

Tyson shook his head, struggling to comprehend the implications of her words. "It can't be," he muttered, more to himself than to Amora.

"I would not say so if I did not believe it."

He sat up abruptly, breaking free from Amora's embrace. He paced the length of the office, his mind whirling with possibilities. Could it be true? Could Jubilee really be in Valhalla?

"But I'm not Asgardian," he protested, turning back to face Amora. "I'm a mutant from Earth. How could I possibly be a prince of Asgard?"

Amora rose gracefully from the couch. "You have absorbed the essence of Asgardians," she explained patiently. "Our power flows through you. Our memories are a part of you. In a very real sense, you carry Asgard within you."

"But that doesn't make me Asgardian," he argued. "It doesn't make me a prince."

"Doesn't it?" Amora challenged.

"But even if that's true," Tyson said slowly, "how does that make Jubilee's death a battle in defense of Asgard? We were fighting Magneto and the Brotherhood, not some threat to the Nine Realms."

Amora's lips curled into a knowing smile. "You are Asgard, Tyson," she said softly. "Whether you accept it or not, Jubilee died defending you. In the eyes of Valhalla, that is a noble death indeed."

Tyson collapsed onto the leather couch, his head cradled in his hands as he struggled to comprehend Amora's words. Could Jubilee truly be in Valhalla? He rifled through the memories and metaknowledge in his mind, seeking anything that could confirm the Enchantress's claim. An echo of Thor's voice during the events of Ragnarok stirred to the surface. As he tried to recall the exact line, he mumbled aloud, "Asgard is not a place. It's a people."

Amora's smile widened, "You have gained an understanding that seldom few Asgardians attain," she said, confirming his suspicion. "I say this with as much certainty as my centuries of life have granted me. I see no falsehood in my words, nor in your revelation. But only the Allfather knows beyond doubt."

He searched her face, finding no hint of deception. Amora believed with utter conviction that Jubilee now walked the halls of Valhalla. But there wasn't anything he could do about that now. Seeking to shift the subject, Tyson asked, "You said you were here to settle your debt. Did you mean only to comfort me?" A hint of his usual wit crept into his voice. "Is your role here as my queen? Or would it be queen consort?"

Amora laughed, a musical sound that filled the room. She slapped him lightly on the arm. "Careful with that tongue," she warned, though her eyes sparkled with amusement. "You get ahead of yourself." He noted that she hadn't denied what he said, but he didn't dare to push the issue further. He was enjoying Amora's presence and didn't want to incense her. "I cannot bring back the woman you lost," Amora said, her tone growing serious once more. "But I can help you with one who remains."

"How?" Tyson asked curiously.

Amora reached into her sweater dress pocket and pulled out a small vial filled with a shimmering, golden liquid. "This is what your ancestors called the Elixir of Life," she explained. "It is difficult to make, and most of the ingredients cannot be found in this world, but this potion is the most fitting replacement I have for what was taken from you. Anyone who drinks this will be returned to their prime age and stay there forever. They can still be killed, but they'll be immune to the ravages of time and disease."

His eyes widened as he stared at the vial. "Vampires do not age," Amora continued. "And now you may choose another who will not either."

Tyson felt the formality of Amora's offer. He mentally prepared an appropriate acceptance, but before he could speak, Amora placed a silencing finger on his lips.

"That's one," she said. "For your second favor, I offer you transportation to one of your other mistresses. Should you wish to expedite your rescue of the cat, or visit the spider, I am at your disposal." Her voice took on an almost ritualistic cadence. "Thirdly, I promise that the next time you request my aid, I shall come, no questions asked, and provide support, including boosting your power again, should the need arise."

Finally, she removed her finger from Tyson's lips. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, overwhelmed by the magnitude of her offers.

"Amora. I appreciate the generosity of your offer. Truly. And I can see the sincerity with which it's given."

He paused, choosing his next words carefully. "But our interactions... they always seem so forced, so transactional. Does it need to be this way?" Amora's eyebrow raised, and a flicker of surprise crossed her features. Tyson pressed on. "Instead of trading favors and debts, now that we're even, might we have a less antagonistic relationship?"

Amora hesitated, her usual confidence wavering for a moment. "Most of my dealings have been barters to gain knowledge, power, or status," she admitted reluctantly.

Tyson smiled with genuine warmth in his expression. "I know. But it doesn't have to be like that." Seeing Amora's unconvinced look, he continued, "When we returned to Earth after leaving Asgard, you left my apartment before I had a chance to offer you lodging. You deprived me of the chance to be a good host."

A smile tugged at Amora's lips as she pulled him back down to the couch and resumed stroking his hair. "Your suite has been rather crowded recently," she commented.

Tyson couldn't help but chuckle. "Amora, goddess of magic and peeping," he teased.

Her melodic laugh filled the room with warmth, which seemed to chase away some of the lingering shadows.

"As you said earlier, I'm alone now. Jubilee is gone."

Amora's eyes narrowed slightly at his wording. She hesitated before asking in an uncharacteristically quiet voice, "And the other?"

His brows furrowed in confusion for a brief moment before realization set in. "You mean Agatha? She lives in the apartment downstairs."

The enchantress frowned, a shadow passing over her face. "Her geas was powerful, indeed," she murmured under her breath.

Tyson looked at her questioningly, but she shook her head, the guarded expression slipping from her face as quickly as it had surfaced. "Don't mind my rambling," she said, the smooth confidence returning to her voice. "Know this, Tyson Smith. I can provide for myself. I have no need for favors or pity."

He merely inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Of course. I meant no offense," he replied. "Consider my offer an open invitation should you ever desire company or conversation. But no strings attached, no bargains. I offer lodging with no expectation of reimbursement or debts between us. Does that suit you, my lady?"

The corner of Amora's mouth quirked upward slightly at the courteous address. She looked pleased but still shook her head. "Such a thing would be inappropriate unless we were formally courting."

The words hung in the air, charged with possibility. But before Tyson could respond, Amora's expression shifted.

"You are emotional. Mourning," she said softly. "Rest. Soon, you'll depart to save your mistress, but sleep until then."

Amora whispered a spell, her lips brushing against his forehead. As if a switch had been flipped, Tyson felt the weight of exhaustion crash over him. His eyelids grew heavy, and he drifted into a deep sleep.

— Rogue Redemption — 

Tyson's eyes snapped open, and his heart raced as he jolted awake. For a moment, disorientation clouded his mind; Amora's firm yet gentle embrace quickly grounded him. Her presence reminded him of their earlier conversation.

"How long was I out?" he asked, his voice still rough with sleep.

"Only an hour," she replied, her tone tinged with amusement. "Though I suspect it felt far longer to you."

He marveled at how refreshed he felt. It was as if all his exhaustion had been wiped away in that brief time. Before he could dwell on it further, Amora continued speaking.

"Your ninja returned. She said your friend Logan awaits, and the other spider has arrived."

Tyson's brow furrowed in confusion. "Other spider?" he mumbled, his mind still shaking off the last vestiges of sleep. Then, he realized. Peter and Jessica. A pang of guilt shot through him. He'd never followed up with them after everything that had happened.

Pushing aside his regret, he turned to face Amora fully. "Thank you," he said softly, "for this." A genuine smile spread as he quipped, "It was nice waking up and finding you still here."

Amora's expression softened momentarily before her usual air of detached amusement returned. "Don't get used to it," she warned, though there was no real bite to her words. "You've grown, but you've got far to go. Especially if you seek to earn my affection."

Tyson nodded, acknowledging the truth in her statement. As much as he'd enjoyed this moment of peace, reality was already creeping back in. "I know where Felicia is. She isn't far. Might I save that portal offer for a future time?"

Amora inclined her head gracefully. "You may," she said, her voice carrying the weight of a formal agreement.

"How will I contact you?" he asked, realizing they hadn't discussed the logistics of their new... arrangement.

A mysterious smile played across Amora's lips. "I'm sure you'll find a way," she replied enigmatically. "I'm never far."

With a wave of her hand, a shimmering portal materialized in the middle of the office. Amora rose gracefully and stepped towards the portal, pausing at its threshold to bid Tyson farewell.

He returned her farewell but couldn't resist adding, "Amora, should you need me, it's friends, not favors."

Amora rolled her eyes dramatically, but Tyson caught the ghost of a smile on her lips as she waved her hand, closing the portal and vanishing from sight.

As the last sparkles of magic faded from the air, he felt surprisingly refreshed. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, prioritizing the tasks ahead. Logan was waiting, and either Peter or Jessica had arrived. He needed to find out which one and what had happened with Gwen. And then there was Felicia...

No matter what else was happening, he would find her and bring her home.

Moving towards the door, he replayed the conversation with Amora. It had raised questions about his path.

King, she had called him. The word echoed in his mind. Was that truly his fate? He pushed those thoughts aside for now. There were more immediate concerns to deal with. Felicia needed him in the here and now.

With one last glance at the spot where Amora's portal had been, Tyson stepped out of his office. He strode purposefully through the halls of House of M, mentally cataloging the tasks ahead. But first, he needed to check on Max Dillon. The man had been thrust into an extraordinary situation, and Tyson felt responsible for his well-being.

He reached the guest rooms and knocked on Max's door. After a moment, he heard a muffled "Come in" from the other side.

Tyson entered to find Max sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands clasped tightly in his lap.

"Mirage?" Max asked uncertainly.

"You can call me Tyson if you want. I'm sure the rest of the world will be soon enough. How are you feeling, Max?"

"I... I'm not sure. Everything happened so fast. One minute I was at work, the next..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

Tyson pulled up a chair and sat across from Max. "I know how overwhelming this must be for you. All mutants go through what you experienced tonight, though most of us are fortunate enough that it doesn't happen so publicly or spectacularly," he said softly.

"I owe you an apology."

Max looked up, surprised. "An apology? For what?"

"For absorbing your power so suddenly," Tyson explained. "I know it must have been jarring, and I'm sorry I didn't have time to explain fully in the moment."

"But you saved me. You stopped me from hurting anyone." Max seemed to consider this before shaking his head. "No, I... I'm glad you did it. I was angry, but I didn't want to lose control. You helped me."

"Max, I want you to understand something. Allowing me to use your power... you're the real hero here."

Max's eyes widened in disbelief. "Me? But I didn't do anything."

"You did everything," Tyson insisted. "Without your power, I might have died. You saved countless lives today, including mine."

"I... I hadn't thought of it that way."

"Well, it's the truth. You're a hero, Max Dillon. Don't ever forget that."

"Thank you. That... that means a lot."

Tyson stood. "Now, what do you say we go see about getting you some help? I have some friends who specialize in dealing with unusual cases like yours."

Max hesitated for a moment before standing. "You really think they can help?"

"I know they can," Tyson assured.

He led Max through the corridors of the House of M. As they approached the lab, Tyson sensed Max's nervous energy. "Relax. Dr. Connors is one of the best in his field. If anyone can help you understand your new abilities, it's him." He said, pushing open the lab doors. At the center of the room stood Dr. Curt Connors, his attention focused on a complex series of equations on a whiteboard before him.

"Dr. Connors," Tyson called out, causing the scientist to look up. "I'd like you to meet Max Dillon."

Dr. Connors' face lit up as he approached them, extending his hand. "Mr. Dillon, it's a pleasure to meet you."

Max shook his hand, a hint of awe in his voice. "Dr. Connors, I... I'm familiar with your work. I'm an engineer at Oscorp."

"Ah, Oscorp," Dr. Connors looked abashed. "They've been doing some fascinating research lately. But I'm more interested in hearing about you, Mr. Dillon. I understand you've had quite an experience."

Max glanced at Tyson, who nodded encouragingly. Taking a deep breath, Max began to recount his story. "It was just a normal day at work," he started, "I was called to fix an issue in one of the labs. There was a malfunction, and I... I got electrocuted." He paused, his eyes distant as he recalled the moment. "The next thing I knew, I was falling. I ended up in the genetically modified eel tank. The pain was... indescribable."

Dr. Connors listened intently. "And after that?" he prompted gently.

Max ran a hand through his hair. "When I woke up, everything was different. I could see the electricity around me, in the walls, underground. And when I tried to touch something..." He trailed off, looking at his hands.

"You conducted the electricity," Dr. Connors finished for him. "Fascinating. It seems the combination of the electric shock and the eels' bioelectric fields and maybe even their genetic modifications have fundamentally altered your physiology."

"Can you help me?" Max asked hesitantly.

Dr. Connors placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Mr. Dillon, I assure you, we'll do everything in our power to help you understand and control your new abilities. This is a unique case, but that makes it so exciting from a scientific standpoint."

Tyson, who had been quietly observing the exchange, said, "You're in good hands, Max. Dr. Connors and his team are the best at dealing with unique physiological changes. I'll leave you two to get started," he said, moving towards the door. "Doc, keep me updated on any progress."

"Of course," Dr. Connors replied, already guiding Max to one of the examination areas. "We'll begin with some basic tests to measure the extent of your electrical output..."

As Tyson stepped out of the lab, he could hear Dr. Connors launching into a detailed explanation of the tests they would be running. He smiled to himself, confident that Max was in capable hands.

With that taken care of, he turned to his next task.

He stepped into the VIP lounge. At the bar, Logan hunched over a glass of single malt scotch, a half-smoked cigar dangling from his fingers. The acrid smell of tobacco mingled with the rich aroma of aged whiskey.

Next to Logan sat Jessica Drew, still clad in her vibrant Spider-Woman costume. She nursed a steaming cup of coffee, her fingers wrapped tightly around the mug as if seeking warmth.

"You sure you don't want something stronger?"

Jessica shook her head, but as Tyson approached, she murmured, "Maybe just a little."

Logan reached for a bottle of Irish cream with a knowing smirk, pouring a generous splash into Jessica's coffee. Tyson slid onto the barstool next to Jessica. Without a word, Logan slid a shot glass past her, the amber liquid sloshing slightly as it came to rest before Tyson. He knocked back the shot smoothly, welcoming the burn as it slid down his throat.

Logan's cigar smoke curled lazily as he said, "Hope you don't mind me smoking in your fancy lounge."

Tyson waved him off. "Old Man, you can do whatever you want in my house."

Jessica's voice was barely above a whisper. "I can't believe she's gone."

He nodded, a lump forming in his throat. "I'm still numb," he admitted. After a moment, he turned to Jessica, a question in his eyes. "Gwen?"

Jessica sipped her spiked coffee, her face scrunching at the unexpected strength. She shot Logan a reproachful look. "I said a little."

The stocky man shrugged, unrepentant. "It wasn't that much."

Shaking her head, Jessica turned back to Tyson. Her eyes were slightly unfocused as she recalled the events. "Kaine dropped her from the Empire State Building. He webbed Spider-Man and me up, so we couldn't reach her in time to save her."

The scenario she described drew a frown from him, as it reminded him of Gwen's fate in The Amazing Spider-Man 2.

"But then, at the last moment, she fired a webline and swung, saving herself." Jessica paused, taking another sip of coffee. "After we talked, she told us that she'd gotten spider powers after the night she was attacked by Kaine. When she woke up in the hospital, she was like us. When I left, she was with Spider-Man."

Tyson stared at Jessica for a long moment, processing her words. Then, unexpectedly, he began to laugh. It started as a low chuckle but quickly grew into a full-bellied laugh that echoed through the lounge.

Logan eyed him warily. "You losing it, kid?"

He shook his head, wiping tears from his eyes. "Nope. Just something I did months ago paid off. I thought it was a wasted effort."

Jessica leaned forward, her eyes narrow. "You had something to do with Gwen getting her powers?"

Tyson nodded in affirmation. "You know I was there that day when Spider-Man got his. What you didn't know was that I captured the spider after it bit him." Jessica's jaw dropped, her coffee forgotten. He pressed on, the words tumbling out now. "I kept the spider in a terrarium in my apartment for months. Until Kaine broke in and dropped Gwen in my living room and wrecked my place. When I got back and saw the broken terrarium, I thought I'd lost the spider forever. But I guess it bit Gwen before it escaped."

Silence fell over the group, broken only by the soft clink of ice in Logan's glass. Finally, Jessica found her voice. "You just kept a superpower-granting spider in your apartment?"

Logan burst out laughing, reaching for the bottle to pour another round. Tyson replied with a hint of defensiveness in his tone. "We did analyze it. I couldn't have it bite me. My touch would've killed it, and my healing factor would have probably overrode whatever it did to grant powers. By the time I got my hands on a mutation inhibitor collar to suppress my abilities, the spider was already gone."

Jessica shook her head, still processing the implications, while Logan slid another shot to Tyson. She asked, "How could you have known? Why capture the spider?"

He hesitated, then explained, "Think back to that day. We were in a lab filled with genetically-engineered super-spiders. There was one clearly missing from its container; another student even pointed it out. Then, one lowers itself from the ceiling. Wouldn't you try to catch it?" Jessica narrowed her eyes suspicious of his explanation, but he continued, "We can talk about it with Spider-Man later. Right now, I need to go rescue Felicia. She was kidnapped by Magneto's group."

Jessica's head snapped up. "Felicia Hardy?"

"One and the same," Tyson confirmed.

Logan drained his glass, his expression hardening. "Alright, one problem at a time then. Where's she at?"

"In the sewers, sort of." His answer was met with a collective groan.

Logan mumbled, reaching for the bottle again. "I'm going to need another drink."

Tyson stood. "Bring the bottle. We've already waited too long."

Jessica rose as well, she declared firmly. "I'm coming."

Tyson raised an eyebrow, but before he could protest, she continued. "I'm sticking with you. You cared enough to send Spider-Man and me away. It worked out for us, but you suffered because of it. I might have been able to make a difference." Her voice softened slightly. "Gwen has Pe-- Spider-Man, and I have no one but you... so I'm coming."

Logan grabbed the bottle, his cigar bobbing as he spoke. "I'm sending you the laundry and dry cleaning bill."

Tyson's lips quirked into a half-smile. "No sweat, business expense." He turned to Jessica, who met his gaze steadily.

"I've spent more time in the sewers than any of you, back when I was hunting the Lizard," she stated matter-of-factly before he could object.

He raised his hands in surrender. "I'm not going to fight you on this."

Logan chuckled, clapping Tyson on the shoulder. "Smart man."

The unlikely trio made their way through the House of M, each lost in their own thoughts. Logan's cigar smoke trailed behind them. As they reached the exit, Tyson paused, his hand on the door. He turned to his companions, his expression a mix of gratitude and resolve. "Thank you. It means a lot that both of you are here."

Logan grunted. "Save it, kid. Haven't you made enough speeches tonight?"

Jessica chuckled. "Let's go bring Felicia home."

— Rogue Redemption — 

Remy LeBeau's boot splashed into a puddle of foul-smelling water as he descended into the dank sewers beneath New York City. The stench of decay and waste assaulted his nostrils, but he pressed on, part of a motley crew of mutant mercenaries delving deeper into the underground labyrinth. The flashlights cast eerie shadows on the curved walls as they moved through the tunnels.

"Dis be de last time I do anyt'ing for Essex," Remy muttered under his breath, his Cajun accent thick with frustration. He ran a gloved hand through his auburn hair, pushing it back from his distinctive red-on-black eyes. The trench coat he wore flapped softly against his legs as he walked.

When their large group entered the sewers, they split due to the tight confines. Leading Remy's pack was Sabretooth, a feral mutant with long, wild blonde hair and razor-sharp claws. His lips were curled in a perpetual snarl, revealing elongated canines that gave him his namesake. Behind him, the crystalline form of Prism glittered, each facet of his body reflecting the murky surroundings. The mutant's entire body was composed of an opaque, crystal-like substance. Beside him lumbered Blockbuster, a mountain of a man whose bald head nearly scraped the ceiling of the sewer tunnel.

Remy's mind wandered to the events that had led them here. Just moments ago, they'd been topside, eyes glued to screens broadcasting the shocking revelation that Captain America was alive. A legend, thought lost to time, had somehow survived decades. It was a discovery that had sent shockwaves through the world above. But their curiosity had been short-lived. One offhand comment about mutants living beneath the streets had set their employer, Nathaniel Essex, into a frenzy. Before Remy could even finish watching if the situation devolved into a fight, they were dispatched below ground on some cryptic mission.

"I don' like dis, mes amis," Remy spoke up, his voice carrying a note of caution. "We don' even know what we're lookin' for down here."

Sabretooth turned, fixing Remy with a predatory glare. "I know what Essex has us looking for, Cajun. Your job isn't to ask questions. It's to do what you're told."

Remy bristled at the rebuke but held his tongue. He owed Essex, after all. The geneticist had performed a delicate surgery that allowed Remy to gain better control over his mutant ability to charge objects with kinetic energy. Without that intervention, Remy's powers might have consumed him entirely.

If what the man in the broadcast said was true, then was there a mutant community that lived down here? Who were they? Why had they chosen to make their home in this dank, dark place? And more importantly, what did Essex want with them?

The group came to a fork in the tunnel, and Sabretooth held up a hand, signaling them to stop. He sniffed the air, his enhanced senses picking up something the others couldn't detect.

"This way," he growled, pointing down the left path. "I smell fear."

Remy's stomach churned at those words. Whatever they were about to encounter, it wasn't going to be pretty. He reached into his coat pocket, fingering the deck of cards he always kept close at hand. With his mutant ability, even these simple playing cards could become deadly projectiles.

They emerged into a large chamber where several tunnels converged. The sound of rushing water echoed off the damp stone walls. At the far end of the cavernous room, a slender figure stood motionless.

As they drew closer, Remy made out the details of the lone woman. She appeared young, with bright pink hair that fell in messy waves past her shoulders. Her body was covered in bony spikes and ridges that jutted out at unnatural angles. She watched their approach with eyes wide in fear and mistrust.

Remy tensed, ready to draw the deck of cards from his pocket. This woman was clearly a mutant like them, but her intentions were unknown.

The woman took a hesitant step back as Remy and the others advanced. Her gaze flicked over each of them in turn, as if gauging whether they posed a threat.

"Well, well," Sabretooth growled, smiling cruelly. "Looks like we found ourselves a Morlock."

The young woman took a defensive stance, her hands hovering near the bone growths on her arms. "Stay back," she warned, her voice trembling slightly. "Please. I don't want any trouble."

Sabretooth let out a low chuckle. "Honey, I go and do whatever I damn well please." He took a menacing step forward, his claws extending.

Remy felt a surge of unease. This wasn't right. They couldn't have been sent to terrorize innocent mutants. "Hold on, Sabretooth," he said, stepping between the feral mutant and the woman. "We don' need to do dis."

Sabretooth's eyes flashed with anger. "Get out of the way, Cajun. Essex wants one of the Morlocks. We need information, and I'm going to get it. No witnesses."

Before Remy could react, Sabretooth shoved him aside and lunged at the young mutant. She let out a cry of fear and pain as Sabretooth's claws raked across her arm, drawing blood.

"Non!" Remy shouted. He pulled out a handful of cards, charging them with kinetic energy. "Dis ain't right!"

He flung the cards at Sabretooth, the explosion forcing the feral mutant back. The woman took advantage of the distraction, pulling a sharp bone from her arm and hurling it at Sabretooth. It embedded itself in his shoulder, eliciting a roar of pain and rage.

Blockbuster and Prism hesitated for a moment before moving to Sabretooth's side.

"What the hell are you doing, LeBeau?" Blockbuster demanded, his massive fists clenching.

Remy stood his ground, more cards at the ready. "I signed up to do a job, not to hurt innocent people. Dis ain't what I agreed to."

Prism's crystalline form shimmered as he took a step forward. "You're making a big mistake, Gambit."

Sabretooth pulled the bone from his shoulder, the wound quickly healing before he fixed Remy with a murderous glare. "I'm going to enjoy tearing you apart, traitor."

Remy knew he was outmatched. He glanced at the girl, who was clutching her wounded arm. Just like Sabertooth, her wound began healing, but it happened much slower than it had for the feral mutant. Fear was evident on her face. "When I say run, you run," he muttered to her. "Understood?"

She nodded, her eyes darting between Remy and the other mutants.

Sabretooth charged forward, claws extended. Remy met him halfway, using his staff to vault over the feral mutant's lunge. As he sailed through the air, he flung a barrage of charged cards at the ceiling.

"Run!" Remy shouted as the cards exploded, bringing down a shower of rocks and debris.

She bolted for one of the side tunnels, Remy hot on her heels. Behind them, they could hear the enraged roars of Sabretooth and the sounds of shifting rubble as Blockbuster attempted to clear the cave-in. As they ran through the winding tunnels, Remy felt a sharp pain in his side. One of Sabertooth's claws must have caught him during his vault. But there was no time to stop and assess the damage. They needed to put as much distance between themselves and Sabretooth's team as possible.

"This way," she gasped, pulling Remy down a narrow side passage. "I know a place we can hide."

Remy followed, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The adrenaline was starting to wear off, and he could feel the full extent of his injuries. But he pressed on, knowing that stopping now could mean death for both of them.

After what felt like an hour's worth of twists and turns, she led them into a small, hidden chamber. The space was cramped but defensible. She eyed Remy warily. "Why did you help me? You're one of them."

Remy grimaced, both from pain and the weight of their situation. "I'm sorry 'bout all dis, petite. I didn't know what they had planned." Remy shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "Not wit dem anymore, I t'ink. Gambit may be many t'ings, but he ain't no murderer."

As they sat there in the darkness listening for any signs of pursuit, Remy LeBeau found himself at a crossroads. He'd betrayed Essex, burned bridges with his team, and thrown in his lot with a stranger. But for the first time in a long while, he felt like he'd done the right thing.

"Gambit? They call me Marrow. What happens now?"

Remy sighed. The sounds of distant searching echoed through the tunnels. "Now, chere, we figure out how to get out of dis mess."