Charles' POV
"Is it Erik?" I snooped keenly as Hank hastily set down his tea.
"No. Though we have been making some progress on that front," he replied in a contemplative tone and swooped his arm down to his briefcase docked by his legs, swiftly pulling out an unidentifiable beige folder from within.
"Homeland Security was tracking Magneto. We got hits in Lisbon, Geneva, Montreal. NAVSAT lost him crossing the border, but we did get a consolation prize," Hank elaborated, thumbing through the stack of seemingly classified documents and eventually sieved out a regular-sized photograph, albeit only with its back towards us.
"She was picked up breaking into the FDA," Hank revealed, bearing a doleful expression, and Lynn gasped nervously as he apprehensively flipped over the picture in his palm.
Slowly, Hank slid the monochromic image across the coffee bench but it was soon snatched and quickly levitated into Lynn's grasp. Peeling her hand off mine for the first time since I entered, Lynn gripped the matte printout and scrutinised it closely, practically wishing her intent study was capable of altering the scene within, as Storm scampered over for the same examination.
Although the background deficient of ample light had surely limited its quality, the surveillance snapshot, virtually veiled under a grainy layer, still provided recognisable information of a lady, silky dark locks waving in the winds, rooted in the middle of a spacious foyer as she stared back at the lens.
Accompanying her presumably devious glare was an arrogant stance as she had her arm and fingers characteristically outstretched towards the camera. While details of her eyes and facial features were mostly masked under the dim conditions, her unique silhouette was certainly sufficient for immediate identification—at least amongst us.
Readily spotting the signature leather trench coat cloaking the intruder's cavalier pose, Storm cupped her mouth in dismay as she backed away towards my desk and the McCoys wore pensive faces whilst Lynn grew increasingly unstable in her breaths. Carefully, I strengthened my embrace of her and briskly rubbed her arms, striving to mollify her uptight nerves, but her body was still snared in a slight shiver as she peered up at me, eyes tormented.
"Hey, fur ball. Nice suit," Logan suddenly interrupted, his bold voice radiating with considerable sarcasm, and I glanced back towards the door, earning a glimpse of him cockily leaning against the wooden aperture.
"Thanks, Logan," Hank acknowledged with contrasting politeness.
"You think your prisons can hold her?" Lynn challenged, worriedly furrowing her brows together.
"Defence says we have some new prisons. They'll keep them mobile. Be a step ahead," Hank addressed, not too trusting himself with mild skepticism glistening his tone, and Lynn followed to scoff, shaking her head patronizingly.
"You know, her capture will only provoke Magneto," Storm alerted scornfully.
"But it does give you some diplomatic leverage?" I inferred, gazing tentatively at Hank who reciprocated an agonised expression.
"In principle, the President can't negotiate," Hank confided sheepishly and not even the blanket of handsomely groomed fur could disguise his pronouncedly prodigious troubles.
"I thought that's why he appointed you?!" Storm denounced with unprecedented audacity.
"Yes, it is," Raven retaliated bluntly, shooting the unusually aggressive one a stern glare, as Hank merely wallowed in his seeming incompetence.
"But that's not why you're here," Lynn deduced, disconcerted, as her face bled with a horrified expression of enlightenment.
"No, this is," Raven stressed, haphazardly tossing Hank's file over.
Nimbly steadying the assortment of papers flung into mid air, Lynn effortlessly guided the floating items into a neat pile that landed promptly to my lap. Lynn kindly flipped the pages as we browsed through the array of contents but her incredible skill of reading at unparalleled speeds was one I could hardly keep up with.
"It's what she stole from the FDA," Hank claimed wearily as Lynn rapidly skimmed through the chunky paragraphs.
While she was wretchedly never blessed with the rediscovery of her talents mysteriously lost to that dreadful accident, Lynn somehow regained a condensed version in her eyes after all these decades of indulging herself excessively in our library and before I registered anything but a familiar name, she had arrived at the end.
"Dear Lord," Lynn blurted anxiously, mindlessly releasing the lengthy article from her fingers and though highly reluctant, I expeditiously removed my hand from hers, catching them before they strewn across the floor in a complete mess.
"Is it viable?" Lynn investigated in disorientation, apparently negligent to the discreet abstraction of my intimate gesture as she stared blankly towards Hank.
"We believe it is," Hank genuinely attested as I seized the chance to actually delve into the report before me.
"You realize the impact this will have on the mutant community?" Lynn confronted in utter astonishment as I briefly scanned through the series of analyses increasingly bewildered me with every stunning word.
"Yes, I do," Hank admitted calmly, but with ostensible uneasiness emanating from his brain.
"Which is why Erik is not our problem," Raven emphasized in a vexed tone.
"At least not our most pressing one," Hank gravely rehashed.
"What do you mean? What's going on?" Logan prodded interestedly but contradictorily maintained himself at a distance, as if he was literally repulsed by the shocking intelligence that duly necessitated his avoidance.
Containing nothing but appalling and frightening facts, the impressively comprehensive account catalogued the curious findings of the corporation endowed by the one, Warren Worthington II.
Starkly miserable that he had fathered a mutant son many years ago, he worked tirelessly to fashion his private enterprise towards his own needs but it was only recently that it bloomed into one of the world's leading research facilities. However, contrary to popular belief, the unpredicted and skyrocketing success of his establishment was not attributed to pure luck or his unyielding efforts alone, but a clandestine partner who had made significant contributions covertly.
Worthington Industries was a renown household brand that had always been involved in the medicinal business across the country and even the globe. Unfortunately, exploiting rather conservative and ignorant approaches throughout the times inevitably shrouded them from any groundbreaking results with respects to their primary quest.
Yet, regardless of the countless setbacks and a bleak future looming, he stubbornly persisted, almost driving the establishment into bankruptcy as dwindling profits were constantly wasted to fuel futile undertakings. Cleverly tapping on that tinge of rage brewing within the frustrated founder, Stryker slyly weaseled his way into his target's mind and two came to a unpublished agreement.
Apart from substantially funding the original program, the retrenched militant willingly offered up his proficiencies and services. He critically improved their strategies, obviously infusing his extreme methods along the way, and additionally aided the team's exploration with the exhaustive knowledge of us he had painstakingly acquired, not to mention his widely extending range of resources.
Shortly, their joint venture was requited with fruition as both the confidential operation and their public face took flight in terms of advancing drugs, ultimately eliciting the precarious crisis that was currently situated upon us.
"A major pharmaceutical company has developed a mutant antibody. A way to suppress the mutant X gene," I explained as concisely and accurately as my boggled mind could summarize the wildly astounding news.
"Suppress?" Logan repeated with a raised brow, confounded, as he and Storm progressively gathered around.
"Permanently," Hank wistfully affirmed.
"They're calling it a cure," Raven added in a dejected tone and for several moments, the room was overwhelmed by a loud, discomforting, silence.
"That's ridiculous!" Storm remarked emotionally.
"You can't cure being a mutant!" Storm stated furiously, throwing her arms into the atmosphere dramatically, as her violent displeasure blatantly cascaded over her face.
"Scientifically speaking-" Hank rebutted but was heatedly impeded by the wrath of Storm.
"When did we become a disease?!" Storm yammered in irritation.
"Storm!" Lynn reprimanded fiercely.
As she glared her extremely disapproving eyes to the atypically rash and irrational teacher, I faintly detected a trifling commotion stirring in a faraway section of the mansion. Casually digging into the rousing fuss, I was aghast to espy the consequential topic of our urgent discussion being broadcasted live.
"They're announcing it now," I mumbled, contacting my disheartened gaze with Lynn's.
