The battlefield was eerily silent now. The masked woman and her forces had vanished into the sky, leaving nothing but ruins, fire, and the dead.

  Storm landed gracefully, her white cape billowing as she knelt beside Wolverine. He was already pulling himself together, his skin and muscle slowly knitting back over his exposed adamantium. The wound was healing, but it had been a brutal hit. The flesh around his ribs and jaw was still charred and raw.

  "Thanks, Stormy. That was one hell of a hit," Logan muttered, his voice rough, more gravel than usual.

  Storm placed a hand on his shoulder, concern written across her regal face. "Logan, you will survive. But you must be more careful."

  Wolverine smirked, wiping blood from his mouth. "What would I do without ya, ‘Ro?"

  "Rest now," she said, gently guiding him toward the porch. He didn’t resist, allowing her to help him up the steps.

  Rogue landed near the collapsed debris, her boots crushing broken wood and concrete beneath her. Dust still hung thick in the air, mixing with the acrid scent of burnt metal and explosives. Beneath the rubble, one of the power-armored soldiers was barely breathing. His suit was wrecked, his helmet half-crushed, his exposed face covered in blood and grime. He wheezed with every breath, his ribs likely shattered.

  Rogue loomed over him, her green eyes burning with fury.

  "Ya better start speakin', asshole," she growled, slowly pulling off her right glove. The leather peeled away with a soft creak, revealing her bare hand, fingers twitching with anticipation.

  The soldier grinned through bloody teeth.

  "FUCK YOU! DO YOUR WORST!" he spat, his voice gurgling.

  She clenched her fist, her patience hanging by a thread.

  "Don’t test me, Sugah."

  She raised her bare hand, holding it inches from his exposed skin.

  The moment stretched, thick with tension. Her fingertips tingled, the energy coiling inside her, desperate to be let loose.

  The soldier suddenly barked a laugh, his body shuddering.

  "GOT YOU, WHORE!"

  Before she could react—

  Her eyes widened.

  The armor was rigged. The self-destruct sequence had already started.

  For one horrifying second, she saw her life flash before her eyes.

  Then, the soldier was yanked violently upward, suspended in the air, his entire body locked inside a glowing pink bubble of telekinetic energy.

  Jean Grey stepped out of the ruined house, her blue-and-gold uniform dusted with debris, her red hair whipping in the wind. She held one finger against her temple, her glowing eyes focused entirely on the soldier.

  "Jean—" Rogue started, stepping back.

  The soldier snarled inside the bubble, his face contorted in pure hate.

  The beeping from his armor grew faster, louder.

  Then it happened.

  His body detonated, the force of the explosion contained entirely inside Jean’s bubble.

  Blood. Bone. Mist.

  It was all that remained. Tiny, crimson droplets splattered against the inside of the telekinetic field before the containment bubble flickered out of existence.

  The remains fell like dust, silent, insignificant.

  Rogue staggered back, eyes wide.

  "Damnit," she muttered, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

  Jean lowered her hand, exhaling softly, her expression unreadable.

  "I told you to calm down, Rogue," she said gently.

  Rogue’s jaw tightened, her hands curling into fists at her sides. She wasn’t mad at Jean.

  "Ah'm sorry, Jean, it's just that—" her voice wavered.

  Jean stepped closer, lowering her voice.

  "It’s okay, Rogue. It’s okay to be angry. It’s okay to feel—"

  But Rogue wasn’t ready for comfort. She felt like she was drowning in rage.

  She clenched her fists even tighter, her nails digging into her palms.

  Jean watched her carefully, sensing the storm building inside her friend.

  "Rogue, where are you going?"

  Rogue took a step back, shaking her head.

  "..." She moved to the porch, sitting at the blasted stairs.

  "Take your time, Rogue," she whispered.

  The air was thick with smoke and sorrow. The firefight was over, the masked woman and her troops had retreated, but the damage had been done. The blood of Thompson had already stained the wooden floorboards, soaking into the cracks of the ranch house, an ugly reminder of their failure. The echoes of gunfire had faded, leaving behind only the anguished sobs of his wife and daughters.

  Rogue stood frozen, her shoulders trembling, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She had seen a lot of violence in her time. She had seen the worst of both humanity and mutantkind. But this?

  This wasn’t just another battle.

  This was an execution.

  Her mind kept replaying the moment. Thompson had been speaking. He had been cooperating.

  Then came that sickening CRACK—the shot that had ended it all.

  That woman, that cold machine of a person, had executed him without hesitation.

  She thought

  Jean was beside Scott, kneeling as she pressed a glowing hand over his shoulder, the bullet wound still fresh.

  "Scott," she murmured, her voice steady despite the pain she felt radiating from him.

  He exhaled sharply, grimacing as her telekinetic energy sealed part of the wound.

  "Careful, Jean," he muttered, his voice tight.

  "I'm here, Scott," she reassured him, her fingers hovering gently over the wound.

  Scott let out a slow breath, sweat beading on his forehead. He looked pale, but he was still standing. His resilience had always been both admirable and frustrating.

  Thank you... I'll be fine."

  Jean shot him a look that clearly said You’re lying, but I’ll let it slide.

  "We’ll treat you once we’re back."

  Scott shook his head, rolling his shoulder experimentally. The pain was still there, but he ignored it. He always ignored it.

  "Yeah. It’s fine. Let’s proceed with the mission. We got something."

  Rogue’s head snapped toward him so fast it could have cracked her spine.

  She thought, thought of saying. But held back.

  Her lips pressed together in a hard line, biting back the explosion of rage bubbling inside her.

  Scott had a bullet in his shoulder. Logan had been blown apart. They had nearly been killed. And yet, all he could say was We got something like this was just another mission.

  She refused to look at him.

  Instead, she turned on her heel and walked back into the house—the ruined, blood-stained house—where a family had just lost its father.

  Rogue barely noticed the wreckage around her.

  She saw the broken furniture, the blood spattered across the floor, the smashed windows letting in the cool Arkansas night air. But her mind was elsewhere.

  She could still hear the girls crying, their wails raw and endless. She saw the wife, collapsed onto her knees, gripping her dead husband’s shirt with both hands, as if she could somehow pull him back to life.

  Jubilee was standing in the corner, her usual chatter replaced by stunned silence. Her eyes were wide, filled with something Rogue hadn’t seen before.

  It was fear.

  Not of the enemy, not of the fight.

  But of what they had failed to stop.

  Logan leaned against the far wall, arms crossed. His face was unreadable, but his claws were still out. He hadn’t even realized it. Half of his body mangled, but regenerating as he watched his muscles grow back.

  Rogue's gaze flickered back to Thompson’s body.

  He was helping us.

  And they killed him for it.

  Storm entered just as Rogue felt her rage spike again. The taller woman moved with quiet grace, her white hair catching the dim light from the shattered lamp. She found Rogue’s gaze and held it, her expression calm but firm.

  They killed ‘im, ‘Ro! Rogue’s voice cracked, her fists trembling at her sides. "They killed that man in cold blood!"

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  Storm’s eyes flickered toward the body before she looked back at Rogue. Her voice was steady, filled with quiet authority.

  "Rogue, calm down."

  ?!" Rogue took a sharp step forward, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She couldn’t calm down. How could she?

  Storm didn’t flinch. She simply tightened her grip on Rogue’s shoulder.

  "Ah could have gone after em'..." She said low, but her voice was filled with anger.

  "You would be alone against them, Rogue," she said evenly. "And I will not lose you to your anger."

  The words hit her like a truck.

  That’s exactly how Rogue felt right now.

  For all her strength, all her abilities, she was still powerless to stop what had happened. She could fly faster than the speed of sound, lift cars over her head, tear Sentinels apart with her bare hands.

  But she hadn’t been able to save one man.

  She swallowed hard, her voice quieter now.

  "It ain’t right, ‘Ro.

  Storm’s gaze softened, just a little.

  "No. It isn’t."

  Rogue exhaled sharply, her anger dimming just enough for her to breathe again.

  Jean finally entered, standing beside Storm.

  Tom’s wife clutched his lifeless body, her trembling hands gripping his bloodstained shirt as though her touch could bring him back. Tears streamed down her face, her chest heaving with sobs. The two girls, Sophia and Emily, clung to their mother, their voices cracking as they called out for their father.

  “,” Sophia, the younger girl, couldn't be older than twelve, whimpered, her voice barely audible. She shook his arm, her tearful eyes searching his still face. “.”

  Emily buried her face in her mother’s shoulder, her small body wracked with sobs. “”

  Their mother’s voice broke as she tried to soothe them, though her own grief overwhelmed her. “” Her words dissolved into choked sobs, her head bowing over her husband’s body.

  Jean knelt a few feet away, her hands pressed to her temples as she fought back her own tears. She reached out telepathically, trying to offer some measure of comfort, but the woman’s mind was closed off, her pain and anger too great.

  “Ma’am…” Jean began softly, her voice trembling. “We’re so sorry. We didn’t mean—”

  The woman’s head snapped up, her eyes blazing with fury. “LOOK WHAT YOU’VE DONE!MY HUSBAND IS DEAD! MY HOME IS DESTROYED! THAT’S WHAT YOU MUTANTS DO! YOU BRING DESTRUCTION WHEREVER YOU GO!

  Jean flinched as if struck, her hands dropping to her sides. “We… we didn’t mean for this to happen,” she stammered.

  “!” Sophia said, her voice trembling as she clung to her father’s arm. “.”

  Cyclops stepped forward, his visor glowing faintly in the dim light. His tone was firm, though his posture betrayed his guilt. “Ma’am, we didn’t bring those soldiers here. We’re here to—”

  “” Sophia screamed, cutting him off. She turned back to her father, shaking him desperately. “Please, Daddy, wake up! Wake up!”

  “Leave em' alone, Cyclops” Rogue whispered to Cyclops. Her expression was pained as she watched the family’s grief unfold.

  Tom’s wife cradled her daughters, her fury undiminished. She glared at the X-Men, her voice rising again. “DON’T TALK TO ME!” she screamed, her body trembling with rage. “LEAVE US ALONE, YOU MONSTERS!”

  Storm stepped forward, her calm demeanor intact though her eyes were filled with sorrow. “Ma’am, we’re not your enemies,” she said softly. “We came here to protect people, to stop—”

  “STOP?!” the woman roared, cutting her off. “YOU DIDN’T STOP ANYTHING! YOU BROUGHT THIS HERE! MY HUSBAND IS DEAD BECAUSE OF YOU!”

  “Ma’am,” Cyclops said gently, his voice low but steely, “we understand your anger, but please believe us when we say this was not our doing. Those men—”

  “THOSE MEN WOULDN’T HAVE COME IF NOT FOR YOU!” the woman shouted, her voice breaking. “GET OUT! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!”

  Cyclops opened his mouth to respond, but Jean placed a hand on his arm, shaking her head. “Scott,” she said softly, her voice barely a whisper. “Let’s go.”

  “But—”

  “Please,” Jean insisted, her eyes pleading.

  Tom’s wife clutched her daughters tightly, her voice trembling but resolute. “LEAVE! NOW!”

  The X-Men exchanged heavy glances, their expressions a mix of guilt and sorrow. Slowly, they began to back away, making their way toward the door.

  “Ma’am…” Rogue started, her voice breaking.

  “DON’T TALK TO ME!” the woman screamed. “JUST GO!”

  Outside, the distant wail of police sirens grew louder, cutting through the oppressive silence of the aftermath. Storm glanced toward the horizon, her sharp eyes catching the faint glimmer of flashing lights.

  “We need to move,” she said quietly, her tone clipped.

  Cyclops hesitated, his fists clenched at his sides. “This isn’t our fault,” he muttered more to himself than anyone else.

  Jubilee lingered at the doorway, her lip quivering as she looked back at the grieving family. “I didn’t… I didn’t want this to happen,” she whispered.

  Rogue gently guided her away. “None of us did, Jubes,” she said softly. “But we can’t fix this now.”

  Jean was the last to leave, her telepathic presence lingering in the house even as she stepped outside. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured, her voice almost too quiet to hear.

  The X-Men regrouped outside, their usual confidence shattered. As they climbed back into the Blackbird, the sirens grew louder, the flashing lights now visible on the dirt road leading to the ranch.

  “Let’s go,” Cyclops said grimly, his voice hollow. "Our presence here will only worsen their pain."

  The X-Men, moved to the Blackbird.

  The Blackbird lifted off, the ranch shrinking below them as they ascended into the night sky. Inside the cabin, the team sat in heavy silence, the weight of their failure pressing down on them.

  No one spoke as they flew away, leaving behind a family broken by grief, a home in ruins, and the bitter reminder of the cost of their fight.

  The Blackbird hummed softly as it soared through the morning sky, the quiet rhythm of the engines a stark contrast to the chaos the X-Men had just left behind. Inside, the cabin was filled with tension so thick it was suffocating. No one had spoken for several minutes, the weight of the failed mission hanging over them like a storm cloud.

  Storm broke the silence first, her voice soft but insistent. “Logan… talk to me.”

  Wolverine sat in his usual seat, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees. His hair was still singed from the rocket blast, and though his body had mostly healed, he moved with a stiffness that betrayed his injuries. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his voice low and gruff.

  “I’m fine, ’Ro. Don’t worry.”

  Storm studied him for a moment, her sharp eyes catching the faint tremor in his hands, but she didn’t press. “Good,” she said simply, though her tone held a weight that lingered in the air.

  The quiet was shattered by Jubilee, who leaned back in her chair and let out a long, frustrated sigh, her eyes filled with tears. “This is so fucked up,” she muttered, shaking her head.

  Wolverine shrugged, his claws tapping idly against the edge of his seat. “It happens, kiddo. It’s war.”

  Rogue snapped her head around, her green eyes blazing with fury. “” she shot back, her accent thickening with her anger.

  She gestured sharply toward him, her voice rising. “? What damn side was he on, huh? What damn cause was he tryin’ to stand up fer? ’Cause the way Ah see it, he was just tryin’ to protect his family, god damn it!”

  “We fucked up,” Jubilee said, her voice quieter this time, but no less bitter.

  Logan leaned back in his seat, his expression dark. “Look, darlin’, he enlisted. He fought. He signed up with , didn’t he? ? Or do ya think he wasn’t aware of the risks?”

  Rogue’s fists clenched at her sides. “We brought em' straight to their door, Logan! Straight to his family! He didn’t deserve this!”

  Cyclops turned to face them, his tone firm and unyielding. “We did our mission, Rogue. We went there to get information, and we got it. What happened to Thompson is tragic, but let’s not act like he didn’t make choices that led him there. This is a way for us to learn moving forward."

  Rogue stared at him, her voice trembling with disbelief. “Seriously, Scott? Logan? How can y’all be so ?”

  “Darlin’,” Logan said, his voice low and rough, “it’s the real world. Messed up things happen. It ain’t about bein’ insensitive—it’s about seein’ things for what they are.”

  The tension grew even thicker as Jubilee. Her voice was small but edged with raw emotion. “Guys, this is still messed up. His kids… they were younger than me.” She pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging them tightly. “I mean, come on. We’re supposed to be heroes, right? This didn’t feel like a .”

  Jean reached out to place a hand on Rogue’s arm, but stopped short, sensing the storm of emotions swirling inside her. Instead, she turned to Cyclops, her voice quiet but firm. “Scott, you’re right. We have to learn from this. But that doesn’t mean we can just move on like it’s another mission completed. People died today. Families were broken.”

  Scott nodded, his expression grim. “I know. And I won’t forget that, Jean. But if we let it paralyze us, more people will die. We don’t have that luxury.”

  The cabin fell silent again, the only sound the soft hum of the engines and the occasional rustle of movement. Each member of the team was lost in their own thoughts, the weight of the day’s events pressing down on them.

  Storm glanced around the cabin, her sharp gaze lingering on each of her teammates. “We will carry this with us,” she said, her voice low but steady. “As we always do. But we will also carry on, because the world needs us to.”

  The Blackbird continued its flight, the ranch now miles behind them, but the memory of what had happened there remained, etched deeply into the hearts of the X-Men.

  The cabin of the Blackbird was thick with tension, the weight of the mission’s failure pressing down on everyone like a suffocating fog. The hum of the engines filled the silence, but it did nothing to drown out the voices in their heads—grief, anger, guilt—all swirling and threatening to boil over.

  Storm’s voice broke the silence first, steady but tinged with frustration. “The world needs us, Rogue,” she said, her tone calm but firm. “Do you not see that? If not us, then who will stand for those who cannot stand for themselves?”

  Rogue snapped her head around, her green eyes blazing with a mix of pain and anger. “The world us, ’Ro? Huh? Did Tom need us? Did his family? Did he ask fer us to show up on his porch and bring hell to his door? Maybe his wife was right. Maybe we don’t bring nothin’ but trouble wherever we go!”

  Cyclops stood abruptly, his fists clenched at his sides as his voice rose. “We didn’t cause his death!” he barked, his usually controlled demeanor fraying. “Those soldiers did. Don’t put this on us!”

  Rogue shot to her feet, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. “Since when did we start lookin’ like , Scott? Huh? That’s what scares people—us actin’ like we’re their damn judges and jailers!”

  Scott turned on her, his visor glowing faintly as his temper flared. “We are not—”

  Then it came to Rogue's mind again

  In that damn West Texan accent.

  Was this what mutant salvation was, dead bodies? A family who lost their father? Death? Destruction? Pain?

  “What?” Rogue cut him off, stepping closer. “A ? We wear badges, Scott! That’s how they see us! That’s what throws people off, that’s what scares the hell outta them! No wonder some mutants don’t wanna touch us with a ten-foot pole!”

  “She is talkin’ about the Alamo,” Jubilee muttered, though her tone lacked any of her bubbliness.

  Rogue spun toward him, her voice sharp. “, Ah ain’t talkin’ ’bout him!”

  Storm raised an eyebrow, her expression skeptical. “You’re thinking about it, Rogue. We all know you are.”

  Rogue clenched her fists, her teeth grinding as she turned back to Storm. “That ain’t what this is about! Don’t twist my words!”

  Storm’s voice remained calm, though there was a hint of frustration in her tone. “Is it not? Perhaps what truly gets under your skin is that he’s a mutant who doesn’t need to wear our badge to make a difference. Perhaps he represents something you think we’re missing.”

  “And what if he does?” Rogue shot back, her voice trembling with emotion. “What if the fact that he can do what he does without any of this is proof we’re doing somethin’ wrong?”

  Cyclops took a step forward, his voice cutting like a whip. “And you think he’s the solution to the problem? A lone wolf who runs around making everything worse?”

  “” Rogue shouted, her accent thick with anger. “Duncan has nothin’ to do with this, Scott! What’s got me worked up is that we always end up hurtin’ someone, whether we mean to or not! It’s always the same thing! We show up, people die, families get broken, and we call it a mission accomplished. What the hell kind of heroes are we supposed to be?”

  Cyclops took a deep breath, trying to steady his voice, though it was clear he was still fuming. “Do you think he would’ve done this any better? That if we left it to him, it would’ve ended any differently?”

  Rogue hesitated for a moment, her anger faltering. “Ah don’t know,” she admitted, her voice softer now. “Maybe not. Maybe he’d’ve blown it all to hell. But Ah do know we messed up, Scott. War or no war, we’re supposed to be here to protect people. Not just… win.”

  Jean stepped in then, her voice calm but with an undercurrent of urgency. “We all feel this, Rogue,” she said gently. “None of us are okay with what happened back there. But blaming ourselves for things we can’t control isn’t going to help anyone.”

  “Jean’s right,” Storm added, though her tone was heavy. “We are not infallible, Rogue. And we are not immune to the consequences of our actions. But that is the burden we carry—the burden of trying to make a difference in a world that does not always understand us.”

  “That’s the problem, Ororo!” Rogue snapped. “We keep tellin’ ourselves it’s okay to carry that burden, like that makes it any better for the people we hurt along the way. We act like it’s just part of the job, but it don’t feel right. Not anymore.”

  Wolverine, who had been quietly listening, finally spoke, his voice low and gravelly. “Look, darlin’. You’re not wrong. We do screw up. Hell, sometimes we screw up big. But you know what? So does everyone else tryin’ to fight the good fight. It’s not about bein’ perfect—it’s about gettin’ back up and tryin’ again.”

  Rogue shook her head, her voice tinged with bitterness. “That’s easy to say, Logan, but it don’t make it feel any less wrong.”

  “Maybe it don’t,” Logan replied, his eyes meeting hers. “But sittin’ here beatin’ yourself up over it ain’t gonna fix a damn thing.”

  The cabin fell into silence again, the weight of the conversation pressing down on everyone. Rogue slumped back into her seat, crossing her arms tightly across her chest.

  “Fine,” she muttered, her voice barely audible. “Fine. Let’s just move on then.”

  Storm exchanged a glance with Cyclops, her expression troubled but resigned. “We will carry this with us,” she said softly, echoing her earlier words. “But we will also carry on. Because we must.”

  The Blackbird continued its flight, the lights of the Xavier Institute growing faintly visible on the horizon. Each of the X-Men sat lost in their own thoughts, the burden of their mission heavier than ever.

  But to Rogue it was a long road. It was her family, yes.

  But was the dream worth it? What if she just kept it to herself, what if she gave up on it all, fought for herself.