Rogue Replacement: A Marvel Story

Chapter 67

Arc 5 - Ch 20: Week’s End

Date: Saturday, June 4, 2011.

Location: RAFT, Hudson River, New York

Tyson and Natasha passed through a series of security checkpoints, each guarded by stone-faced agents clad in the dark blue uniforms of SHIELD before they reached Director Fury's office. The screens lining the far wall flickered with data streams, satellite images, and security footage from around the globe. Fury stood with his back to them, hands clasped behind him as he gazed out the wide window at the steely waters of the Hudson River below. He cut an imposing figure even from behind, clad in his signature black leather trenchcoat. His one good eye was hard as it fixed upon the two agents.

"Agent Smith. Agent Romanoff," he rumbled, "I've been looking forward to this debriefing. I hope you've got intel worth the wait."

Tyson settled into the chair across from Fury, not speaking but making lingering, direct eye contact with the director. Suddenly his voice filled the room, emanating from everywhere, and nowhere.

"Director Fury, I am casting an illusion to convey my message securely," a disembodied voice announced. Fury's eye narrowed slightly in response. "What I have to share is for you and Agent Romanoff alone. My illusions can relay information without fear of interception, but your verbal responses will be audible to all present. The nature of what I have to tell you are things you will not want others to know."

Fury's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He glanced at Natasha, seeking her opinion. She gave a single brisk nod in acquiescence. Without missing a beat, he reached over to a console and cranked up some music, the heavy beats filling the room with a layer of auditory cover. He then activated a surveillance detection device, its lights blinking rapidly as it scanned for any hidden bugs or cameras. Finding several covert listening devices, Fury's fingers danced nimbly over the controls, efficiently rerouting their feeds to create a private audio bubble within the office.

"Alright, Agent Smith," Fury's words were nearly drowned out by the pounding music, his expression steely and guarded. "This room is now secure from electronic eavesdropping, and your... unique precautions are duly noted. Now, start talking. What's so important it needed all this cloak and dagger?"

In response, Tyson made a subtle motion, and the music's deafening volume lowered, at least within the bubble of their perception, to little more than background noise. In reality, the blaring tunes continued to safeguard their privacy. "That's convenient," Fury remarked dryly, a hint of grudging appreciation in his tone.

Tyson nodded almost imperceptibly before speaking. "Before I get to the events of tonight and their significance, there's a question that Natasha asked me months ago, and I think it's finally time that I answer for you..." He paused, his mismatched eyes boring into Fury's single, watchful one. "Why does no one remember mutants?" Another beat of silence. "To answer that, I need to explain what happened at Alkali Lake."

Fury leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together, his face an inscrutable mask as he listened intently. The lights from the console washed his dark skin in a pale glow, casting shadows that emphasized the hard lines of experience on his face. His eye never left Tyson's face, taking in each minute shift in expression as the agent began to unravel the mystery.

Tyson's mismatched eyes darkened as he delved into the painful memories. "I was taken to Alkali Lake," he began, his voice low and gravelly. "William Stryker, the leader of the Weapon X project, orchestrated an attack on me and several other mutants. His plan was nothing short of genocide."

Tyson paused, jaw clenching. "Stryker had constructed a structure at Alkali Lake designed to amplify psychic abilities. He captured one of the world's most formidable telepaths and used another mind controller to force him to kill every mutant on the planet." Fury listened intently, his single eye fixed on Tyson, taking in the agent's every word and shift in expression. "But another faction interfered," Tyson continued after a moment. "They turned the tables, changing the telepath's orders to target all humans instead." His eyes flashed with remembered anger.

"I see. And since we're all still here, I take it you or someone else stopped this from happening?" Fury replied evenly, though his shoulders tensed at the thought of the near-catastrophe.

Tyson gave a curt nod. "I killed the mind controller who flipped the script. His abilities passed to me in his death, granting me the power to create illusions." He waved a hand vaguely around his head. "It was then that I made the choice to... erase mutants from the collective consciousness. At the time, it seemed the best way forward."

Fury studied the agent, his single eye piercing in its intensity. "This is all very interesting, Smith," he said slowly. "But I suspect it's not the main reason for all this secrecy."

"No, it's not." He hesitated, the tension in the room ratcheting up. "Stryker admitted to me that he was Hydra."

The words dropped like stones in the ensuing 'silence'. Fury's eye narrowed, his expression grim as the implications set in.

"Hydra," Fury growled after a long moment, anger simmering beneath his stony exterior. "So you believe Hydra still exists and that they've infiltrated SHIELD." His gaze sharpened. "Do you have proof?"

Tyson nodded. "Earlier this year, one of my classmates vanished. I decided to investigate on my own. It led me to a man named Edgar Lascombe, the CEO of Marchand Pharmaceuticals. Using my illusions, I eavesdropped on him and learned that he was Hydra." Fury's expression remained stoic. He motioned for Tyson to go on. "As you know, with just a touch, I gain access to a person's entire set of memories," Tyson continued, "While I was in New Mexico, I came into contact with Agent Jasper Sitwell. In his mind, I saw flashes of Hydra's training."

"Sitwell even tried recruiting me to their cause. It confirmed my suspicions. Hydra still exists within SHIELD."

Fury absorbed this bombshell revelation, his jaw tightening. Hydra's tendrils running through SHIELD could destabilize everything he had built.

After a weighty pause, Natasha spoke up. "Banner's gone off-grid again. But we learned something critical from General Ross." Her lips thinned to a grim line. "Ross now heads the Weapon Plus program, the current iteration of the Weapon X program. And Ross gave one of the soldiers under his command, Emil Blonsky an early version of the super soldier serum."

Fury's eye widened a fraction. Natasha pressed on, "Blonsky was exposed to Banner's blood which then transformed him into the raging beast that tore through Harlem. Agent Mirage was able to subdue Bonsky, and he's currently in the custody of Weapon Plus. But we discovered where the serum is being kept. Camp Lehigh."

"A site that I believe is used by Hydra," Tyson tacked on ominously.

Fury rose from his seat, pacing with purpose. He turned to Natasha, his one good eye boring into her with laser-like focus. "Suggestions?" he asked gruffly.

"Small team infiltration and acquisition," she said crisply. "In and out quickly and quietly with the serum. No need for a full assault."

Fury considered her words, absently stroking his chin. After a moment he gave a curt nod. "Approved. We'll keep this low profile. Once we have the serum, I want it stored at a secure off-site facility."

Natasha inclined her head in acknowledgment. Fury trusted her judgment. He corrected, "Banner's not off-grid yet. Satellite images had us following your extraction, tracking his taxi was easy enough. We've got eyes on him. If we need to, we can bring him in, but I'll give him space for now." Fury turned his eye on Tyson next, his expression now tinged with exasperation. "Now Agent Smith, tell me what the hell happened in New Mexico."

Tyson's mismatched eyes glinted with amusement. "We're not alone in the universe," he said, a teasing lilt to his voice. Natasha let out an unladylike snort.

"The phenomena Dr. Selvig and Dr. Foster witnessed was an Einstein-Rosen Bridge, as Agent Coulson mentioned at Stark's mansion." He continued, "This bridge was generated by a device called the Bifrost. It allows travel between different realms." Tyson's voice took on a lecturing tone. "Turns out Asgardians are the protectors of these realms. Their prince, the tall, blond muscle-head that Coulson captured briefly was Thor. Asgardians are long-lived superhumans who see Earth as a kind of protectorate."

Fury digested this, his expression unreadable. Natasha, however, looked intrigued despite her earlier flippancy. They'd only had so much time to talk, and hadn't discussed everything that happened on Asgard and its implications yet. Nat was hearing this for the first time, just as Fury was.

"Asgard is home to two princes, the thunder god Thor, and his adopted brother, the trickster Loki," Tyson explained. "It seems the Norse myths are rooted in the exploits of these so-called gods. If the idea of gods makes you uncomfortable, you can consider them long-lived beings from a world far more advanced than ours."

"Thor's arrogance led him to defy the will of his father, Odin, nearly plunging Asgard into war. As punishment, Odin stripped Thor of his powers, making him human, and banished him here, powerless and mortal." he continued, "The immovable object in the desert was Mjolnir, Thor's hammer, which Odin enchanted so that only one 'worthy' could lift it."

"While Thor was exiled, Loki seized the throne. To prevent his brother's return, he sent the Destroyer to end Thor's life. The Destroyer was the giant metal construct that we fought in the desert." Tyson went on to explained the ironic twist in Loki's scheme. "Facing the Destroyer, Thor's courage and sacrifice allowed him to lift Mjolnir once more. Now wielding his powers once again, he laid waste to the Destroyer, foiling Loki's plan."

Fury leaned forward, his single eye narrowing as he processed the information. "What were the Destroyer's capabilities?" he asked, his voice gruff with concern.

"The Destroyer had exterior armor plating that was incredibly difficult to pierce," he began, his tone matter-of-fact. "I'm certain bullets wouldn't have affected it at all. Even the Asgardian's weapons, which are made from what they call 'Asgardian steel', though I'm sure it's not actually steel, but some other alloy, had trouble penetrating its armor."

"My adamantium claws, however, had no difficulty cutting through it," Tyson continued. Fury's eyebrow raised slightly at this, but he remained silent, allowing Tyson to continue his explanation. "Thor's hammer was also able to damage it," Tyson added. "But that's a magical weapon made from a metal called Uru, which to my knowledge has no equivalent on Earth."

"It was superhumanly strong," he said, his voice low. "And it possessed a heat beam that fired from its faceplate. This beam was capable of destroying buildings and vehicles with ease."

Fury nodded slowly, his face a mask of contemplation. "Lines up with Coulson's report," he muttered, almost to himself. "The Destroyer's power is concerning. But what's more troubling is the fact that it was sent here at all. This Loki character, you said he was behind it?"

Tyson nodded, his expression grim. "Yes. Loki sent the Destroyer to kill Thor and prevent his return to Asgard."

Fury's eye narrowed further. "And what's to stop him from sending more of these things? Or something worse?"

"I'll get to that. Let me finish explaining, and by the end you'll understand." Tyson continued, "Thor returned to Asgard with the other Asgardians, and I joined them,"

Fury, eager to gain a deeper understanding of the events that had transpired, inquired further, "Tell me more about Asgard. Paint me a picture," he requested.

Tyson nodded and responded, "That I can do. He projected an illusion of the view from the Bifrost observatory. "Though I never entered the main city itself, from a distance it appeared utterly massive and magnificent. A blend of futuristic technology and high fantasy architecture. It was like something straight out of a sci-fi novel, yet infused with mythological elements that made it seem otherworldly and mystical." He went on, "The world itself looked almost flat, with a visible edge where you could gaze out into an endless cosmic expanse. It was breathtaking."

"After Loki attacked Heimdall, the guardian of the Bifrost, the other Asgardians rushed to tend to the injured guardian. Thor went to confront his brother, and I was left alone with a sorceress at the Bifrost site."

Natasha's eyes narrowed, zeroing in on a new detail. "You didn't say anything before about a sorceress," she remarked.

Fury raised an eyebrow as well, intrigued by this new information. "Yes, tell us more about this sorceress," he said.

"I'm getting to that part," Tyson replied. "But a full account will be included in my written report."

He went on, "The Sorceress, Amora, had been sent to Earth by Loki. I fought her in the desert. After Thor regained his powers, Amora submitted. She was one of the Asgardians that returned with us. Soon after everyone left, Loki himself approached our location and ordered the sorceress to leave. Despite his actions he was still the lawful king of Asgard at the time. I tried to reason with him, as a representative of Earth. But he dismissed my words outright."

Tyson paused, then said, "I engaged him in combat... and lost."

Fury leaned forward intently, his single eye boring into Tyson. His tone was a mix of disbelief and anger. "Let me make sure I have this straight. You. Who easily defeated the Green Goblin and knocked out Vanko in his oversized Iron Man suit with one punch, lost in a fight against Loki? And on top of that, you attacked the king of an advanced alien civilization exponentially more powerful than ours? You're going to have to explain this to me very clearly because I'm struggling to comprehend how and why you would do something so stupid and get your ass handed to you in the process."

Tyson shifted in his seat, choosing his words carefully as he addressed Fury's concerns. "The Bifrost isn't just for teleportation. I have no idea how far away Asgard is, but the Bifrost harnesses enough energy to travel interstellar distances in moments. Imagine trying to control that kind of power." He paused, letting the gravity of his statement sink in.

Fury's eye widened slightly as understanding dawned. "You're saying this thing could destroy the planet."

Tyson nodded. "If left open, yes. Loki had already expressed hostility toward Earth, so I thought it prudent to deny him access."

"Risky move, but I get it," Fury conceded. "What happened after you got your ass kicked?"

"Loki opened the Bifrost, using it as a weapon. But he didn't target Earth, he went after a realm called Jotunheim. Thor intervened and they fought." Tyson's mismatched eyes darkened at the memory. "Thor won, but the Bifrost was still active, stuck open. He had to destroy the bridge between it and Asgard which supplied the Bifrost's energy to shut it down."

Fury leaned forward intently. "So no bridge, no teleporting armies or weapons of mass destruction?"

"Correct. We're cut off for now," Tyson confirmed.

Natasha, who had been listening closely, spoke up. "That explains why Asgard is out of reach, but it doesn't explain how you got back."

Tyson scratched his stubbled jaw. "I had help from that Asgardian sorceress I mentioned."

Fury muttered under his breath. "Great, an alien wizard on the loose here too." He shook his head before continuing more optimistically, "Well, at least I've got some good news for the World Security Council. Earth isn't facing an imminent invasion."

Tyson held up a hand, a serious look crossing his rugged features. "Before we celebrate too much, there's something you should know. Asgard has been Earth's silent guardian for longer than recorded history. Like a watchful big brother, their presence has kept hostile alien races from moving against us. With the Bifrost gone, that deterrent disappears. We're vulnerable in a way we've never been before."

Fury's expression darkened as he absorbed Tyson's warning. "Let me get this straight. With big brother gone, the bullies are going to come around to steal our lunch money?" He shook his head. "We just went from a gated community to the bad side of town. Lovely."

After a pause, Tyson waved a hand, and an illusory image projected between them. "Speaking of the World Security Council and potential threats, what can you tell me about this man?" Tyson asked, though his tone implied he already knew the answer.

Fury leaned forward, recognition flitting across his weathered features. "Alexander Pierce. He's the Secretary of the World Security Council and the man who appointed me as Director of SHIELD." A note of wariness entered his voice. "Why do you ask?"

Tyson locked eyes with Fury, his expression deadly serious. "Because I believe Secretary Pierce is actually an agent of Hydra."

Fury reeled at the accusation, his single eye wide with disbelief. "You think the Secretary of the World Security Council, one of the most powerful men in global security, is secretly part of a Nazi splinter group?"

Tyson gave a solemn nod. "I do."

He searched Tyson's face for any hint of uncertainty. Finding none, he slowly sat back, exhaling sharply as the implications sank in.

Fury weighed the revelations Tyson had shared. The threat of Hydra infiltrating the highest levels of global security was dire. "Dammit," he muttered, he turned and tapped at a console. After a moment, he looked up, his single eye fixed on Tyson. "Congratulations, Agent Smith you've been promoted to level six clearance."

Tyson's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Level six granted extensive privileges and meant Fury trusted him with SHIELD's most sensitive operations. Beside him, Natasha blinked, though her expression remained neutral. As a level seven agent herself, she understood the significance of Tyson's new status.

Fury turned to Natasha. "Agent Romanoff, you're leading the op to recover the super soldier serum." He glanced at Tyson. "Agent Smith, you'll assist her."

Tyson met Natasha's gaze and gave a slight nod. She responded in kind, wordlessly acknowledging their new partnership.

"I'll be in touch on our snake issue," Fury continued, folding his arms across his chest. "Per our prior agreement, Romanoff remains your liaison, but you now have autonomy befitting your level six clearance."

Fury's single eye bored into them both. "We good?"

"Yes sir," Tyson and Natasha responded in unison.

With a subtle wave of his hand, Tyson returned the blaring music in Fury's office to its previous deafening volume.

"Dismissed," he barked.

— Rogue Replacement —

[Opening Music]

Good evening, New York! It's your truth-teller, J. Jonah Jameson, back with another eye-opening episode of 'The Daily Bugle'. And tonight, we've got a hot topic – Mirage! Yes, that Mirage. Now, folks, when I first heard Mirage was cooperating with federal agencies, I laughed! I thought, "What's this? More of Mirage's smoke and mirrors? Another act in his circus of deception?" I was ready to call baloney!

But hold your horses, dear listeners! In January, at Sergei Kravinoff, otherwise known as Kraven, the Hunter's trial, Mirage was officially tagged as a federal agent. "What's the game here?" I thought. Still, I didn’t buy it. Not one bit!

[Trial footage plays in the corner of the screen]

Then came last Saturday's Senate Hearing. And, oh boy, did things take a turn! Mirage, in a move that could've knocked me off my chair, turned over military hardware from the Green Goblin! The Green Goblin, folks!

[A clip from Mirage at the Senate Hearing plays over half the screen]

"I have connected with SHIELD. If the government needs me, I'll answer the call. I'm not your enemy, Senator. I help stop those in my neighborhood who pose a threat that the police can't handle. I kept a military weapon out of the hands of the bad guys. You wanted me to give it back, and I have... but like Mr. Stark… I'm not your weapon."

[Cut back to Jameson]

Can you believe it? I couldn't! Mirage, sitting there, looking all noble, pledging his allegiance to law and order! It’s like watching a bulldog wearing a tutu!

[Cut to comparison footage of Mirage and Spider-Man]

And then there's Spider-Man, swinging around in his pajamas, making a mess of our city! Spider-Man, if you're out there, get a pad and start taking notes from Mirage! This is how you do it! You work with the law, not above it!

But back to Mirage! I admit, I was wrong about him. There, I said it! J. Jonah Jameson was wrong! He's not the villain I painted him to be. He’s cooperating. He’s playing by the rules, something I thought was as likely as me getting a full head of hair again!

But hold onto your hats, because that was just the start. At the Stark Expo disaster, when Oscorp dropped the ball, things were going south fast, who swooped in? Mirage! You know who was also there? Spider-Man. But let's be clear, folks. He was obviously taking cues from Mirage, New York's only official hero!

And just when you think he might take a breather, Wednesday rolls around. The second debacle at the Stark Expo was caused by Hammer Industries. A mess if I ever saw one. Who do we see jumping into the fray? You guessed it, Mirage!

[Cut to footage from the Stark Expo]

But wait, there's more! Tonight, a monster. Yes, a monster! Rampaged through Harlem. There was chaos, and panic in the streets. And who was there to stop this behemoth? Mirage, once again! He didn't just stop the monster; he saved the lives of brave soldiers who faced this creature head-on.

[Cut to shaky footage from the Duel of Harlem]

Ladies and gentlemen.

Mirage is a shining example of what a real hero looks like. He’s not swinging from webs or flying around in fancy armor making a spectacle. He's on the ground, working with our forces, ensuring the safety of our great city. Spider-Man, if you're listening, and I know you are, take a leaf out of Mirage’s book. This is how you serve the city. This is how you earn respect. Not by gallivanting across the skyline but by being a team player, by cooperating with the authorities!

So, to Mirage, I say thank you. Thank you for your service, for your bravery, and for being the hero New York needs. This week has shown us the best of what a hero can be. Mirage didn’t just step up; he soared. He's been everywhere, doing everything, and for that, he deserves our applause.

Betty!

Get on the phone to House of M. I want Mirage in here for an interview.

As we wrap up tonight's segment, let's remember the actions of this remarkable individual. Mirage, you've set a new standard for heroism in this city. And for the other vigilantes out there, it's time to step up or step aside.

[Closing Music]

This is J. Jonah Jameson, signing off. Stay safe, stay informed, and always keep an eye out for the real heroes among us. Goodnight, New York!

— Rogue Replacement —

The observation room enclosed Kaine Parker like the walls of a prison cell. He sat motionless in one of the room's few pieces of furniture, a cold, metal chair that offered little comfort. His gaze was fixed through the wide pane of transparent glass that dominated the far side of the room, staring across the corridor at the identical observation room opposite.

Within that opposing room was Dr. Miles Warren fully engrossed in his latest experiment. Sitting demurely was Warren's newest creation; a young woman whose flawless beauty and physique seemed sculpted to perfection. Her short hair framed a face of ideal symmetry and proportions. She had been engineered to be the pinnacle of human potential. Yet Kaine knew that no matter how ideal this woman appeared on the outside she was but a clone, just like himself, made from Warren's obsessive pursuit of genetic perfection. For Warren had grown dissatisfied with Kaine, deeming him an imperfect, failed experiment.

And Kaine was all too aware of his flaws, from his scars to his ever-present pain.

The ceaseless pain he experienced was a constant reminder that he was a failed experiment, merely a discarded prototype in Dr. Warren's obsessive pursuit of perfection. His scarred body from Warren's flawed cloning process marked him as an aberration. The physical problems were not just superficial. A bone-deep hurt that consumed his every waking moment. Kaine's cellular abnormalities left him in unrelenting pain. It never ceased, never abated. He longed to be free of this broken shell of a body, to escape the raw, naked anguish that defined his pathetic life.

Kaine watched Warren work with a mix of simmering anger and unease. No matter how flawless this new clone appeared to be, Kaine knew from experience that Warren would always find imperfections, minute deviations from his vision that would inevitably lead to the same disappointment and rejection.

His only respite was the television screen on the far wall. As news anchor J. Jonah Jameson launched into another diatribe, Kaine stared blankly, letting the words wash over him. He felt a flicker of recognition hearing Jameson rail against Spider-Man, against Peter Parker. The person Kaine had been cloned from. He had all of Peter's memories and knew the life he had lived. It was one free from torment, full of purpose and promise. The gulf between that past life and Kaine's current one was staggering. He could never be Peter. Kaine was doomed to eke out his days in this wretched, defective body, while his progenitor went blithely about his life. Bitterness welled up inside Kaine, mingling with the ever-present pain. He found himself agreeing wholeheartedly with Jameson's sentiments. Peter didn't deserve the gifts he'd been given. He was oblivious to Kaine's plight. His hands curled into fists, the urge to lash out rising.

Kaine sat transfixed, his eyes locked on the television screen as J. Jonah Jameson launched into yet another tirade. However, tonight's vitriolic broadcast was different. The bombastic news anchor focused his attention on Mirage, extolling the masked hero's virtues and his collaboration with authorities around the city.

Kaine listened intently, momentarily distracted from the smoldering embers of pain that consumed his body. At the mention of Mirage, memories of Tyson surfaced in Kaine's mind. Kaine remembered Mirage all too well, and the man behind the mask.

As Jameson trumpeted Mirage's heroism and selfless deeds, a slow burn of anger began to build within the depths of Kaine's scarred body. The sheer injustice of it all struck him profoundly. Jameson, who despised Peter Parker with every fiber of his being, was now singing the praises of Tyson Smith. The disparity made Kaine's blood boil. He could still recall Peter's own complicated feelings towards Tyson. The effortless popularity, the flashy motorcycle, the easy confidence. Tyson represented everything Peter yearned to be but could never achieve. Everything Kaine could never be.

Tyson was admired, and celebrated, living the life of a hero in the light of acclaim. Meanwhile, Kaine languished alone in the shadows, enduring ceaseless, naked pain. The injustice cut deep into Kaine's core, mingling with the ever-present hurt. But beyond the jealousy and unfairness, Kaine's anger stemmed from a more personal place.

Tyson had helped Peter in the past, yet he had done nothing for Kaine.

He was oblivious to Kaine's existence, to the relentless agony that consumed his every waking moment. It was this ignorance, this lack of understanding, that truly fueled Kaine's simmering hatred. Kaine despised Tyson for not knowing, for being blind to the depth of his suffering. In Kaine's mind, Tyson lived a charmed life of popularity and heroism while he wasted away in obscurity, consumed by never-ending pain. Hearing Jameson extol Tyson's virtues only amplified these feelings, deepening the simmering well of resentment. Kaine imagined Tyson soaring through the city on his motorcycle, revered, celebrated. Bile rose in his throat.

But, Kaine was no fool.

Kaine understood Dr. Warren's true motivations. The geneticist saw him as nothing more than a failed experiment, a defective clone to be disposed of once his perfect creation was ready. His eyes flicked to the new clone. She was a step closer to Dr. Warren's masterpiece, endowed with all of Peter's intelligence, and none of Kaine's flaws. Soon she would be released into the world, showered with the adoration and acceptance that Kaine could only dream of.

He saw his only path to freedom was appeasement, to play the pliant subject. And so he swallowed his pride and fury, knowing each small concession brought him closer to escape.

But compliance was only part of Kaine's plan. Once free, he would force Peter and Tyson to see him, to acknowledge his existence. More than that, Kaine would make them feel his agony, to experience but a fraction of the ceaseless pain that defined his pathetic existence. Only then would they understand.

Kaine trembled with anticipation, his scarred hands curling into fists. Soon, very soon, he would step from the shadows into the light, and Peter and Tyson would come to know the gnawing emptiness that ate away at his soul. They would see him as more than a failed clone, an aberration.

Kaine would make certain of it.

— Rogue Replacement —

Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a breathtaking panorama of the glittering cityscape below, the lights twinkling like stars under the velvet night sky. Plush sofas in rich leather dominated the room, complemented by a sleek minimalist coffee table where two glasses of red wine awaited.

After a grueling week fraught with peril, Tyson and Natasha were eager to unwind. Fresh from rejuvenating showers, they slipped into comfortable clothes, shedding the weight of their professional personas along with the confines of their formal wear. Tyson's fitted black t-shirt hinted at the muscular physique beneath, while relaxed lounge pants replaced his usual skintight costume. Natasha chose a silken blouse in deep red, matching the shorts that showcased her toned legs. Her fiery locks tumbled freely over her shoulders, the picture of casual elegance.

Settling together on the sofa, wine glasses in hand, a sense of peaceful respite enveloped them. "Tell me about the sorceress," Natasha requested. Though her tone held no traces of jealousy or mistrust, her curiosity was evident.

"Her name is Amora," he began. "She's powerful." He paused, conjuring up memories of their intense encounter. "We fought in New Mexico. She bested me without too much effort." He went on to describe Amora's abilities. "She relies primarily on magic but still possesses superhuman attributes greater than mine." Tyson's eyes glazed over briefly as he recalled a pivotal moment of their battle. "The only reason I stood any chance against her was because when she tried to put me under her spell, she kissed me, attempting to charm and beguile me."

"But her ploy backfired," he continued, a note of grim satisfaction entering his tone. "When she kissed me, I absorbed a fragment of her power. I also got a glimpse into her soul along with it."

Tyson's expression became contemplative as he described his insights. "She is cunning and manipulative, that much is certain. But I don't think she's bad per se. There's more nuance to her than that." He met Natasha's attentive gaze. "And she possessed a magic that allowed her to touch me without triggering my absorption."

He chose his next words carefully, hoping to convey the full meaning to Natasha. "You know how I mentioned that there's a psychic imprint of everyone I've killed with my touch, stored in my mind?"

Natasha nodded slowly. "Yes, I remember you saying something like that."

"Well, it wasn't just a metaphor," Tyson said earnestly, holding her gaze. "On two occasions, powerful telepaths helped me enter my mindscape… A representation of my subconscious that's almost like a physical space. And there, in that white room, were the remnants of those I'd killed. Jason Stryker, Victor Creed, all of them."

Natasha's eyes widened slightly as she grasped the implications. The idea of a tangible mental landscape, housing the echoes of those he'd absorbed, was a revelation. "I think I understand," she said after a moment, her voice tinged with fascination. Then she refocused, tying it back to their original discussion. "And this relates to Amora… how?"

Tyson's eyes took on a faraway look as he recounted, "After Loki defeated me, Amora was there waiting. She'd been watching the whole time," he began.

He went on to explain Amora's predicament. "She was obligated to follow Loki's orders, but she also supported Thor in the brewing conflict. They were engaged in what amounted to a sibling squabble, but it was also a fight for the Asgardian throne. She couldn't interfere directly, bound as she was by law. So instead, she did something subtle." His voice took on a note of wonder.

"She empowered me, unlocking something deep within my mutant ability. In that moment, I realized there was more to my life absorption power than I ever imagined." Tyson went on, delving deeper into the revelation. "The white room, where the psychic remnants of those I've killed reside, wasn't the only mental space I could access."

"I ended up in a long hallway beyond the white room, stretching deeper into my mindscape. Lining the hallway were doors, and behind each one lay the imprint of everyone I've ever touched, not just those I absorbed." Tyson met Natasha's attentive green eyes. "A part of them, their essence, was stored inside me."

Natasha listened raptly, grasping the profound implications of what he was describing. The idea that Tyson retained a piece of every person he'd touched, that his mind held those fragments like rooms in a vast mental mansion, was astonishing. She smiled. "I like the idea of a piece of me being inside you, no matter what happens."

Tyson's lips puckered for a moment, but he went on. "With Amora's spell empowering me, I was able to open one of those doors. I gained access to and control over Azazel's power, that red-skinned demon I impersonated during the fight against Magneto."

Tyson gave Natasha a significant look. "It shouldn't have been possible. Azazel was killed months ago."

"But I had full access to Azazel's powers, without any of the dark influence of his twisted personality, which had influenced me both times I’d previously made contact with him." He shook his head, still grappling with the magnitude of what had transpired. "I was in complete control of his abilities," Tyson said, his mismatching eyes distant, as if glimpsing possibilities he'd never dreamed existed.

"I told Fury that the Sorceress's magic had brought us back, implying her spells had transported us from Asgard to Earth." Tyson's gaze refocused on Natasha. "But it was her magic empowering my own mutant gift, that allowed me to return home." He lifted his wine glass and took a slow sip, the pause allowing him to steady his thoughts before continuing. "In the aftermath of my power boost, I was drained like nothing since I first absorbed Sabertooth's healing factor." The strain in his voice made it clear how completely the experience had taxed him.

"The last thing I remember before collapsing was Amora saying she'd come along to ensure I arrived safely." Tyson's eyes grew distant again. "She told me to grow strong. And that she'd be watching over me."

He let out a long breath. "Despite her cunning nature, she showed real care and interest in seeing me thrive." Tyson gave Natasha a significant look.

Natasha reached across the table and gave his hand an understanding squeeze. "If anything, I'm thankful she brought you back to me."

She asked pointedly, "You absorbed her memories, so you knew everything about her, at least for a little while. Do you have any insights into her true goals and ambitions?" She studied Tyson intently, reflecting her keen interest in unraveling the intricacies of Amora's character.

Tyson shook his head, his mismatching eyes clouded with uncertainty. "That's just it. It doesn't make sense," he admitted, his confusion apparent in the furrow of his brow. "She was in a perfect position in Asgard, her actions maneuvered her into a role where she stood to gain significant power and prestige. Amora has always been ambitious and hungry for influence." He paused, gaze distant as he pondered the complexity of the Asgardian enchantress. "She coveted Thor in the past, but he was smitten with Jane Foster when we left New Mexico. Maybe Amora realized she could never truly have Thor the way she desired." Tyson guessed.

"Before we left Asgard, she claimed she needed to atone for past mistakes, but I don't believe that for a second," he added, his tone skeptical as he dismissed the sincerity of her words.

"But you do believe she's invested in you now, wanting you to grow stronger?" she asked.

"Yes, that much seemed genuine at least," he affirmed.

Natasha sat back as she pieced together the intricacies of Amora's behavior. "So with Thor beyond her reach, she's set her sights on you instead?" she proposed, returning her piercing gaze to Tyson's. "But to what ultimate end?"

Tyson grimaced, considering her suggestion yet still grappling with uncertainty. "Maybe?" he replied hesitantly. "The sliver of her psyche inside my mind spoke to me when I was in the… Hallway of Possibilities. She made it abundantly clear that she understands the full depths of what I'm capable of."

He took a slow sip of wine, steadying his thoughts before continuing. "When she boosted my abilities, her only request was that I look upon her favorably in the future as repayment." Tyson's voice took on a distant quality as he added, "I get the distinct impression she wants to nurture my potential, to see me grow into something greater still."

Tyson met Natasha's gaze again meaningfully. "She specifically urged me to imagine what we could become together."

A contemplative silence descended. Tyson and Natasha slowly savored their wine, each lost in their own spiraling thoughts about the mysterious Asgardian enchantress and her designs for Tyson.

In an elegant hotel suite across the bustling metropolis of New York City, Amora the Enchantress gazed intently into her enchanted mirror, its surface shimmering with arcane magic. Strange runes and glyphs were etched into the walls of the lavish room, pulsing with an eerie glow.

She watched through the mirror with a critical eye as Tyson engaged a hulking, rampaging monstrosity.

"Powerful, but a mere brute. Hardly a challenge," Amora commented, her tone tinged with condescension. She observed the battle with a detached, analytical gaze as if the confrontation was beneath Tyson's true capabilities.

Later, the image in the mirror revealed Tyson and Natasha seated together in a more intimate scene as they engaged in deep conversation. Amora watched them closely, greedily gathering insights into their relationship and personal struggles revealed through their exchange. A faint smile curved her red lips as she listened intently to Tyson and Natasha's conversation. Her fingers lightly traced the ornate frame of the magical artifact. She gleaned hints from the conversation revealing that Tyson had shared his vision of the future. Her brow furrowed. She had dismissed it as a clever ruse, but now, hearing him again use the same premise, she felt a flicker of doubt.

"Curious," she murmured, her lips pursing in thought. "The same tale, yet he speaks with such certainty." Amora thought back to the events on Asgard. Tyson's actions there had been almost prescient. At the time, she had attributed it to quick thinking and adaptability. Now, in light of this repeated narrative, she wasn't so sure. The Enchantress tapped a perfectly manicured nail against her chin, her expression a mixture of intrigue and skepticism.

"Could there be truth to his claims?" she wondered aloud, her voice barely above a whisper. The implications of such a possibility were staggering. If Tyson truly possessed knowledge of future events, it would explain much about his actions. It would also make him even more valuable than she had initially believed.

Amora's gaze remained fixed on the mirror, watching as Tyson continued to confide in Natasha. The sincerity in his voice, and the details he shared, all lent credence to his story. Yet, the seasoned sorceress knew better than to take things at face value.

"Truth or deception," Amora mused with a small smile, "either way, you're oh so interesting."

Amora leaned closer to the enchanted mirror, fascinated as their conversation shifted to herself. She listened with rapt attention and a sly smile as Tyson and Natasha analyzed her motives and speculated about the meaning behind her intrigued interest in him. Though they tossed theories back and forth, trying to decipher the sorceress' inscrutable intentions, Amora remained silent, giving no tells to betray her thoughts. She absorbed their words like a sponge, gathering invaluable insights into how they perceived her and what they believed she was after. The mirror allowed Amora to evaluate not just Tyson's reactions and strategies, but the very nature of his partnership with Natasha, this supposed Black Widow.

"He's not just strong, but noble," Amora mused aloud, breaking her silence as if conversing with the empty room. "And far more considerate and thoughtful than that oaf, Thor." She frowned slightly, at the thought of the Asgardian Prince who'd never paid heed to her advances.

"Tyson will make a fine king. And I, his queen," she declared confidently.

As she entertained thoughts of their potential together, the enchantress shrugged, nonchalant yet scheming. "Every king needs his mistresses and subjects," she added with a coy smile. The mirror shifted its focus to Natasha then, prompting a whispered response from Amora. "She'll suffice, I suppose. For a start." the sorceress remarked, her tone dismissive. Viewing Natasha as a temporary fixture in Tyson's saga, someone to be tolerated for now, but hardly an obstacle to her grander ambitions.

— Rogue Replacement —

The Hart Senate Office Building stood as a pillar of government authority, housing the offices of prominent legislators who shaped the course of the nation. Within his spacious third-floor office, Senator Robert Kelly sat at an imposing antique desk. The wood-paneled walls and bookshelves laden with leather-bound law books exuded gravitas and tradition. Awards and commendations from Kelly's lengthy political career adorned every available space, reflecting his rise to power and influence. Outside the tall arched windows, the Capitol Building towered above the bustling city, a constant reminder of the far-reaching consequences born within these halls.

Pouring over a confidential briefing labeled 'Stark Expo Incidents', Kelly scrutinized the dossier. Witness testimonies, expert analyses, and forensic evidence combined to paint a portrait of a narrowly averted catastrophe. The first section chronicled Oscorp's failed fusion reactor experiment, an ambitious clean energy project gone terribly wrong. Pages of impenetrable scientific jargon followed the sheer terror and havoc described by those present during the reactor's meltdown.

Senator Kelly flipped through the thick dossier. Through the report, it was clear that the intervention of two 'heroes' had prevented the experimental fusion reactor's meltdown from becoming a deadly disaster. He snorted derisively at the report's politically correct language.

"Saved by mutants, they mean," he muttered under his breath, the words saturated with scorn. But scorn not at the mutants, at the ones who compiled the dossier.

While the report tiptoed around directly acknowledging the heroes' mutant status, Kelly recognized them for what they were. As he reviewed the timeline of events, one technical detail seized his attention. The fusion reaction had destabilized, generating an intense magnetic field in the reactor's vicinity. According to witness statements, this intense magnetic pull had impeded one hero's efforts at reaching the endangered civilians. This "Mirage" character had been forced to take a more roundabout approach, while his partner, the vigilante Spider-Man, was unaffected. Kelly's instincts tingled at this revelation. He furrowed his brow, considering the implications.

Why would a magnetic field hinder Mirage specifically?

Kelly had assumed both so-called heroes were mutants, but what if that assumption was mistaken? What if Mirage was human after all, relying on some sort of advanced technology that interacted poorly with magnetism?

The Senator steepled his fingers thoughtfully, his sharp gaze boring into the report. This anomalous detail warranted further investigation. He turned the page, his mind still mulling over the implications of Mirage's mysterious interaction with magnetism at the Oscorp reactor. As he continued reading the dossier, his focus shifted to the next incident at the Stark Expo.

The report provided a detailed timeline of the rampaging Hammer drones and Iron Man's efforts to contain them. In dry, clinical language, it noted the "minimal loss of life" thanks largely to the drones' singular focus on eliminating Stark.

Kelly's sharp gaze caught on the mention of Mirage's involvement. According to eyewitnesses, the vigilante had used his illusions to expertly guide panicked crowds to safety. But from what few recordings were recovered from the Expo area, Mirage's actions went unrecorded, leaving no video evidence of his illusions. Kelly considered the implications of this. The lack of hard evidence suggested Mirage's abilities were psychic in nature. A classic manifestation of mutant powers.

Yet this seemed to contradict the earlier magnetic interference. Kelly furrowed his brow, intrigued by the puzzle this presented about Mirage's abilities.

Delving further into the report, Kelly found accounts of Mirage physically tearing apart the Hammer drones with his bare hands. He contemplated the sheer force required for such a feat. The vigilante's streamlined suit lacked the obvious enhancements of Stark's armor. How could he possibly match Iron Man's strength without an exosuit?

No, this level of power was clearly superhuman.

Things were not adding up with this Mirage character. The disparate abilities simply did not align. The mutant seemed capable of both extraordinarily psionic illusions and immense displays of physical strength. Such a combination was anomalous among mutants, who tended to exhibit powers within a single category, or theme, or abilities which were otherwise somehow connected.

Kelly theorized that perhaps Mirage possessed a secondary mutation, or perhaps telekinetic powers. This would grant him the raw force needed for physical feats while still aligning with psionic abilities. The Senator nodded slowly, satisfied with this plausible explanation that fit the profile of a mutant with primary illusory powers and secondary tactile telekinesis.

The Senator set aside the Stark Expo briefing, turning his sharp gaze to the manila folder that had just been delivered to his desk. Flipping it open, he scanned the contents; reports and photographs detailing the devastating battle that had ravaged Harlem only hours earlier.

The folder centered on the rogue experiment that had transformed a soldier into a raging behemoth dubbed the Abomination. This hulking monster had rampaged through Harlem with unchecked strength, leaving widespread destruction and loss of life in its wake. Soldiers and civilians alike had been helpless before its power.

Kelly's gaze lingered on the mentions of Mirage throughout the report. The mutant had once again been at the center of the chaos. The Senator raised an eyebrow at the inclusion of a CD containing photos and videos from the scene. For security reasons, the digital files had not been transmitted remotely, but instead physically copied.

Kelly slid the disc into his computer. The screen flickered to life, revealing footage from a building's exterior security camera. A massive figure burst through a concrete wall, the camera lurching as the Abomination leaped into an alleyway. The security footage provided a harrowing glimpse into the devastation wrought by the rampaging Abomination. Vehicles lay strewn about the streets like the discarded toys of an angry child. Soldiers scrambled for cover, their futile shots ricocheting uselessly off the creature's impenetrable hide. Each scene showcased the Abomination's titanic strength and capacity for indiscriminate destruction.

Senator Kelly watched as the footage shifted to Mirage's sudden intervention. The mutant arrived to stop the taxi descending to crush the military Humvee. Muscles bulging, Mirage held the vehicle aloft, his teeth gritted from the strain. Kelly scrutinized the image, reconsidering his earlier notions about Mirage utilizing telekinesis. The raw physicality of the act was evident; this was strength borne of muscle alone.

But Mirage's heroic efforts proved short-lived. Pitted against the Abomination's vastly superior might, his resistance quickly faltered. Mirage's eyes widened in desperation, his breaths growing ragged as the taxi inched closer to crushing him and the soldiers behind.

Just when it seemed the Abomination's victory was assured, the footage captured a sudden change in the beast. Brow furrowing in confusion, the creature turned this way and that, releasing the taxi to jump away toward some invisible foe. Kelly surmised Mirage had deployed his illusions as a distraction. While the camera recorded nothing, the Abomination was clearly battling phantoms conjured from the mutant's imagination. Once again, Mirage had demonstrated his penchant for both physical and psychic feats, a rare combination among mutants.

But what unfolded next left the Senator stunned and questioning all he thought he knew about the mutant's abilities.

With startling suddenness, metal talons tore from Mirage's fingers. Kelly reeled at this unexpected development. Since when did the illusionist have claws? The senator scrutinized the screen as Mirage buried those razor-sharp claws into the Abomination's back. The beast's impenetrable hide, impervious to rockets and gunfire alike, was pierced with ease by these mysterious weapons.

Kelly's mind raced, grappling with this revelation. But the shocking developments were far from over. Before the senator's disbelieving eyes, Mirage's body began to swell and shift, muscles expanding, clothes tearing from the strain. The illusionist grew steadily in height and mass, his mask ripped away to reveal his face transforming as he attained gigantic proportions. Soon Mirage matched the Abomination, having shapeshifted into a hulking behemoth.

Overwhelmed by the implications of what he had just witnessed, Kelly paused the video and slouched back in his chair. The revelation of Mirage's transformation and his use of metallic claws opened up a whole new dimension.

It was clear now that Mirage was no ordinary mutant. He was not simply an illusionist or someone with enhanced strength or tactile telekinesis. No, it was evident Mirage possessed abilities far more complex than Kelly had realized…

Abilities he'd been searching for.

The senator slowly reached for his phone. He dialed a number ingrained in his memory, one not saved among his contacts.

The voice that answered was unmistakable, carrying a distinct tone of calm authority laced with a slight European accent. It resonated with gravitas, the voice of one accustomed to commanding respect and even fear. Smooth yet underlaid with strength, it compelled attention without the need to raise its volume.

"Hello, Senator Kelly," the voice greeted, "To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure?"

As Kelly responded, his voice took on a distinctly feminine lilt, his eyes flashing a vivid yellow.

"I've found him."