Chapter 18: A Heist, Panic Room, and Invasion
The Heist
You were drowning in caffeine and data streams when
the first alert flashed across OmniSight's interface at 3:47 AM. Your makeshift
workspace in the compound's Tac Ops Centre had become a nest of empty energy
drink cans and hastily scrawled notes—the price of your insomnia and
determination to still prove yourself useful. Even after yet another
successful mission and product launch.
The sound came first. The distinctive rumble of
Maria Hill's Jeep Wrangler echoing through the underground corridors. Your
fingers flew across the keyboard, switching to the exterior cameras. And as
expected, there she was… moving with that purposeful stride of hers toward the
underground safe for the Haliburton case. The case containing the mysterious,
incredibly sought-after, Project X Compound. Everything looked normal, exactly
as planned for the scheduled transfer to S.H.I.E.L.D., except…
Your heart stuttered as OmniSight highlighted an
anomaly. Six heat signatures in the garage level, moving when nothing should
have been moving. Moving when nothing was moving. Nothing on the
security cameras, nothing on your live feed. The visualisation, however,
rendered in real-time: doors opening, engines turning over. You slammed the
emergency protocols into action, alarms blaring throughout the compound, but it
was already too late.
The screech of tires against the tarmac pierced the
night air. Through the security feeds, you watched as two Lincoln Navigators—windows
tinted beyond legal limits, plates obscured—burst from the underground exit.
Maria spun toward the sound, her free hand already reaching for her sidearm,
but the vehicles were ghosts in the night, disappearing around the compound's
perimeter.
Neither you nor Hill needed to check the Titan
Vault Mk 1 to know what had happened.
The Project X Compound was already gone, tucked safely into one of those
Navigators.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * *
About an hour or two away, in Westchester County,
New York, another heist took place. Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters...
An unknown mutant hopped out of the Navigator in the dead
of night, scaling the mansion’s centuries-old walls with inhuman panache. The
intruder's physical form rippled like water, flesh and features flowing until
Mystique emerged—perfect in every detail, from the blazing red hair to the
confident, feline-like strut. The transformation was flawless, a masterwork of
deception that would fool even Charles Xavier himself. Mystique was a familiar
face. A trusted ally. The perfect cover.
She navigated the X-Mansion's corridors with
familiarity, as if she belonged, making a beeline for the basement. The bridge
to Cerebro stretched before her, a smirk playing on her lips. This mission
couldn’t have been easier if she donned the Cloak of Invisibility.
Her shape-shifted form flickered, just once, a
digital glitch in analogue flesh. But no one was around to witness the minute
flaw in an otherwise perfect heist. She lifted the helmet with deliberate care,
then, in one fluid motion, brought it down against the control panel. The crack
of shattering circuits echoed through the chamber, sparks cascaded like falling
stars, effectively destroying Charles’ connection to every mutant mind.
But Cerebro's destruction was only the beginning.
She moved through the silent halls to Charles' office, her steps urgent,
knowing exactly what to look out for. Security cameras caught only a flash of
something being taken from Charles’ desk draw. Small enough to conceal, but important
enough to warrant this elaborate charade. And within moments, she had vanished
into the night as seamlessly as she had appeared.
Two precision strikes. Two critical blows against
Earth's greatest defenders. The timestamps aligned too perfectly for
coincidence: Project X vanishing from the Avengers Compound just as Cerebro
fell silent. In the chaos that would soon follow, one question would echo
through both teams… Who could orchestrate attacks on both the Avengers and the
X-Men in a single night, and to what end?
The pieces were in motion, but the game remained
unclear, leaving only breadcrumbs of a larger design yet to be revealed…
The Panic Room
Your fingers were still cramping from hours of
running scenarios when the siren hit. One moment, the common room buzzed with
tense strategy discussion—Steve pacing the length of the room, Nat taking
minutes while parsing through potential leads. The next, that bone-chilling
wail pierced the air, drowning out all thought. And this wasn’t your
run-of-the-mill klaxon alarm. Nor was this OmniSight’s gentle pulsing alert…
This was an all-consuming, fear-inducing DEFCON 1 air raid siren. The real
deal.
Chairs clattered. Clint tossed Steve his shield as they
raced toward their relevant muster points so fast it gave you whiplash. But
before you could follow, Tony's hand clamped around your elbow, yanking you in
the opposite direction.
"Wait... b-but..." The protest died in
your throat as he half-dragged you down a corridor you'd never noticed before.
"Nope, your job's this way, rookie.”
The reinforced doors appeared like magic, sliding
open with a soft hiss. Tony practically threw you inside before you could
argue. The ancient terminal in the centre of the room cast a sickly green glow
across banks of outdated monitors and tactical displays. This wasn't the sleek
tech you'd grown used to; this was old school, built to survive whatever was
coming. Think Bill Gates in his humble garage in Albuquerque, New Mexico.
The doors sealed with a sound of finality, leaving the
two of you alone in this concrete tomb of a command centre. Through the walls,
muffled by feet of reinforced steel, the siren kept wailing. The world was
falling apart, and apparently, this was where you were meant to help put it
back together.
"Alright, welcome to our cozy little fallback
zone… Don't let the lack of flashy tech fool you—this baby's got bite. Here, OmniSight's
running on what I call 'Compatibility Mode’. Not the full experience,
but enough to still keep us ahead of the curve."
You glanced around the cramped space, taking in the
rows of monitors that looked like they belonged in a Cold War bunker.
"Compatibility Mode? You mean the stripped-down, budget version?"
"Hey, don't knock it till you try it. This
isn't budget, it's vintage." The pride in Tony’s voice was unmistakable.
"It's all about tactical overlays and good, old-fashioned intuition. We're
running on a separate server here—isolated, offline. If the big system is
compromised, this is our lifeboat."
The screen in front of you displayed what looked
like an ancient ASCII interface. "Okay... So, what am I looking at? A
retro video game?"
Tony snorted. "Close. Think of it as
OmniSight's ancestor." His fingers moved across the keys, bringing up a
grid-like display that filled the main screen with pulsing dots and lines.
"No predictive holograms, no fancy visuals, just data streams and basic
threat matrices. It's raw, but it works. Here, look."
You leaned in closer, squinting at the cryptic
patterns. "Okay... what's all this?"
"This right here is your battlefield."
Tony's voice took on that focused intensity he got when explaining his tech. He
gestured at the screen, where green dots moved in formation patterns.
"Threat markers, movement patterns, proximity alerts—everything the big
system does, but in text and dots." His finger jabbed at a key, and a
section of the grid lit up brighter. "And this? This is our current
position, and this flashing red blob? That's the bad guys. Big, ugly, and
getting closer."
Your mouth went dry. "So... how do I use
it?"
"Simple. You're not interpreting visuals—you're
reading trends." Tony pulled up another window, splitting the screen with
more data streams. "See how the red blob's trajectory is shifting? That's
predictive modelling. It's not as precise as the goggles, but it still gives
you an edge." He tapped a sequence of keys, and a new panel appeared,
filled with varying shades of red. "Now, watch this. Cross-referencing
with heat signatures. The darker the red, the hotter the target. You’ll have to
rely on your instincts more, though. Compatibility Mode won’t spoon-feed you.
It’s a partnership—you and the data. Got it?"
You squared your shoulders, trying to ignore the way
your hands trembled slightly over the keys. "Got it. But what if they
breach the compound? Does this thing do evacuation plans?"
Tony leaned back, the chair creaking under his
weight. "It does everything except bake you a cake." He gestured
toward a series of pulsing markers on the screen. "You see these green
markers? Those are fallback routes. If we lose this room, follow the plan. But
let's not get to that point, yeah?"
"Yeah." You nodded, feeling something
shift inside you—fear and determination. "Okay, I'm in. Just tell me what
you need me to do."
His hand landed on your shoulder. "That's the
spirit." The corners of his eyes crinkled with what might have been pride,
or possibly concern. "Now, rookie... don't screw this up. This room may be
small, but it's holding the only thing keeping our home and command centre from
total chaos. No pressure, right?"
A half-smile tugged at your lips despite the gravity
of the situation. "No pressure at all."
"Atta girl. Now show us how good you are
without the bells and whistles."
As Tony stepped out of the vault, leaving you alone
with the humming terminal, your fingers settled into position over the ancient keyboard.
Outside, the siren's wail mixed with the distant sound of the team and staff
mobilizing, but in here, in this concrete cage of old tech and new
responsibility, everything narrowed down to you and the data stream.
The Invasion
Your fingers sped across the keyboard, each
keystroke a desperate bid for more information. Lines of code filled the screen
as you breached firewalls and security protocols, tapping into every available
feed.
The first images hit you like a bucket of cold water.
Times Square, usually a riot of neon and tourism, had become a war zone.
Through a patchwork of traffic cameras and smartphone footage, you watched
creatures descend from the sky. Twisted, alien-like forms that moved with
impossible speed. And they weren't just attacking; they were hunting.
"Y/N, some intel on what we're up against would
be really helpful," Steve's voice cut through your earpiece. The feed
showed him ducking behind his shield as one of the creatures launched itself at
him, all teeth and talons.
Your hands shook as you cross-referenced heat
signatures with movement patterns. The creatures' erratic paths filled the
screen with jagged red lines, like a child's angry scribbles. A bank's security
camera caught one scaling a building, its form shifting and rippling in a way
that made your stomach lurch. Through a teenager's live Instagram stream, you
watched another phase through solid concrete.
"I-I'm trying," you managed, voice
cracking as you furiously typed commands into the aging interface. "I'm
working with ancient hardware over here."
"Hey! That's for our protection and you know
it!" Tony chided. “We have to keep our servers offline.” On screen, his
suit's repulsors lit up, but the creatures seemed to absorb the energy rather
than fall back.
You forced yourself to focus. To see patterns in the
chaos. To be struck on the head by the proverbial apple. But you couldn’t
ignore the screaming civilians, or the horrific sounds of the creatures tearing
through barricades. Their erratic movements and relentless aggression too
overwhelming for local defences.
You closed your eyes, trying to drown out the noise.
“Focus, Y/N,” you breathed. “They need you. Focus.”
As the sounds faded, replaced by the rhythmic beat
of your own heart, you slowly took control of your breathing—deep, deliberate
inhales and exhales.
Your mind quietened.
It was just you. In Tony’s panic room. For some
quality ‘me’ time…
Slowly, incrementally, a strange sensation washed
over you. A pulsating awareness that wasn’t your own. It was primal and
chaotic; a collective consciousness, you realised. Like the night in the duffel
bag.
Your eyes snapped open, but the sensation didn’t
stop. Instead, it intensified, drawing you deeper, as if being swept out by a
rip current. Hunger… Fear… Rage… Images flashed in your mind. Scenes of
experimentation, pain, confusion.
And that’s when it dawned on you.
Somehow, you were communicating with these
creatures. Only, they weren’t creatures at all. They were once human. Someone’s
mutant-hybrid creation gone horribly wrong.
Your stomach churned at the mere thought, repulsion
clawing its way up your throat. Why would anyone do such a thing? How
could they?
But it was through this connection that you sensed
their biology. How they were engineered through forced genetic mutations,
combining mutant DNA, alien biochemistry, and human hosts. The instability in
their cells, a ticking time bomb of energy, is what fuelled their aggression,
making them highly volatile. You felt it too. The prickling sensation up your
calves like restless leg syndrome.
“They’re unstable,” you thought aloud. “They’re in
constant agony. Their bodies are fighting to sustain the conflicting genetic
material.”
“What was that? Y/N, can you speak up?”
In an instant, you finally had your Newton moment.
But it wasn’t as satisfying as expected. If anything, you struggled to shake the
guilt of what you were about to do. The mutant-hybrids were victims before they
became monsters. Yet, you knew there was no other choice—their existence
threatened countless innocent lives.
"Their biology..." Your voice wavered as
you forced out the words. "They're unstable. Their nervous systems are
overloaded. It's like they're short-circuiting. Their cells are fighting
themselves. If we can destabilise them further, we can stop them. Maybe even
kill them all."
"Whatever you're getting at, get there faster!"
Natasha's voice was strained, punctuated by the sound of combat.
"Does the programme tell us how to do
that?" Steve's question made your stomach drop.
You froze, swallowing thickly. The team was still
under the impression you were getting your intel from OmniSight. When in truth,
OmniSight was about as useful as an inflatable anchor. You had no choice but to
think fast, continuing the charade.
"They're, uhm..." You stared at the
useless OmniSight interface, its green cursor blinking mockingly. "They
should be reactive to high-frequency vibrations, heat... Anything that speeds
up their cell decay."
Natasha was the first to respond to the new intel. "High-frequency?
There's a sound cannon on the Quinjet..."
"That's not exactly made for city-wide
use," Bruce interjected.
"Well, neither were we, but look where we
are." Tony's quip was followed by the whine of his repulsors.
"That could work, but it's not the most
efficient way."
"You know what? I might have just the
thing," Tony's voice brightened. "I've got an old radio station setup
in my basement workshop—repurposed it for audio testing. Basically, a glorified
PA system."
The pieces clicked together in your mind.
"Tony, that's perfect! If I can patch my earpiece into the mic, I can hack
into and broadcast through the city's emergency alert system. It'll reach every
block in New York."
The vault's door hissed open with a sound that
seemed impossibly loud in the silence. Tony's voice crackled in and out through
your earpiece, uncharacteristically gentle. "Hey, rookie... We don't know
what it looks like out there. The state of the compound. Be careful, you hear?"
You stepped into the hallway, immediately missing
the security of your concrete cage. The emergency lights cast long shadows
across the walls, transforming familiar corridors into something alien and
threatening. Your footsteps echoed no matter how softly you tried to move, each
sound making you wince.
The compound felt wrong. Like a body without a
pulse. No agents hurrying past with tablets. No distant murmur of tactical
meetings. No cleaning staff. Just emptiness and the faint vibration of battle
through the walls.
The stairwell to the basement yawned before you,
emergency strips casting a sickly glow on the metal steps. You descended
slowly, one hand trailing along the wall, half-expecting something to lunge
from the shadows. Each landing brought a pause, a held breath, a careful scan
of the darkness.
Tony's workshop, usually alive with holograms and
whirring robots, lay dormant. The radio setup stood in the corner like a relic
from another era; all chrome and vintage dials, complete with a professional
soundproof booth. Your hand found the 'ON AIR' switch, flicking it to life. Red
light spilled across the broadcasting desk, illuminating a bewildering array of
controls.
You stared at the equipment, doubt creeping in like
frost. The entire plan hinged on theoretical knowledge, using equipment you'd
never touched, to achieve something that might not even work. Your fingers
ghosted over knobs and sliders, muscle memory failing you—unlike the day on the
Bus—proving everything about this was unprecedented.
Through the booth's window, you could see DUM-E
powered down in his charging station, his arm drooping like a wilted flower.
The sight of him made the workshop feel even more abandoned, more wrong.
Movement flickered in your peripheral vision, and your
hands stilled on the control panel, primitive instinct screaming danger.
Slowly, fighting every urge to run, you raised your head.
It stood in the station doorway, its exoskeleton rippling
like hot asphalt. The hybrid's eyes locked with yours, and something primal and
hungry slammed into your consciousness. Your stomach clenched with a ravenous
need. A desperate, feral craving that leaked from the creature's mind into
yours.
"Oh, God..." The words escaped in a
breathless whisper as you backed into the booth. "Guys, they're here. In
the compound. They've filtered into the basement. What do I do?"
The creature took a step forward, its movements
jerky and wrong, like a marionette with tangled strings.
Steve's voice cut through your panic. "Y/N,
there's a big, red flashing button. You see it?"
You couldn't respond. The hybrid's hunger pounded
against your skull like a migraine, drowning out thought. Its jaw unhinged,
revealing rows of teeth that shouldn't exist in nature. Your hands groped
blindly across the control panel, but your eyes remained locked with the
creature's, trapped in a predator's gaze.
"Y/N, do it!" Steve's voice cracked with
urgency. "Do it now!"
Your hand slammed down on the button with enough
force to bruise. In one fluid motion, you yanked your earpiece free and thrust
it toward the microphone. The feedback was instantaneous. A piercing shriek
that felt like needles through your skull. The sound ricocheted off the
workshop walls, amplified by every metal surface until the air itself seemed to
vibrate.
The hybrid's reaction was visceral. Its inhuman
screech competed with the feedback as it stumbled backward, its form destabilising
like static on an old TV. The hunger that had been battering your consciousness
vanished, replaced by something that felt like pure agony.
Above ground, through the city's sprawling network
of speakers, the frequency tore through New York's concrete canyons. The
hybrids dropped as one. Not a gradual collapse, but a simultaneous shutdown, as
if someone had cut their strings. Their bodies hit the pavement with dull thuds
that echoed in the sudden silence.
The team stood frozen among the fallen creatures,
weapons still raised, waiting for movement that didn't come. There was no death
rattle, no final twitches. Just stillness where moments before there had been
chaos.
“Yeah, okay, I’ll give her credit for this one…” Nat
muttered to herself.
In the booth, you sagged against the control panel,
ears ringing in the aftermath. The hybrid lay crumpled in the doorway, looking less
like a monster and more like a victim. One of many scattered across the city.
And in that moment alone, no earpiece, no handler,
you let out a loud, heart-wrenching sob.
Thank you so much for reading! 🙏 Your support means the world to me, so if you enjoyed this chapter, please show some love by liking the video and leaving a comment with your thoughts… 🎥💖
Watch Episode 18 Here:
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