Whoosh!
Two daggers flew through the air, slitting the throats of two patrolling guards. George reached a fork in the corridor.
From his months of observation and eavesdropping, he knew the right path led to the cafeteria—and beyond it, the cells holding the mutant children. The left path led outside.
If he turned left now, with his current abilities, he could likely slip out undetected, steal a car, and vanish into the city.
With the mutant children drawing most of the fire, few would even pursue him.
"Aaaaahhh!!!"
Just as he lifted his foot toward the left path, a piercing scream echoed from the right—a child's voice, raw with pain.
George lowered his foot.
"Sigh... Turns out I'm not as coldly rational as I thought."
After a brief hesitation, he turned right.
The facility held fifty mutant children. Yet from what he remembered of the films, fewer than twenty escaped—including X-23, the young Wolverine girl.
That meant over thirty would die tonight.
George didn't consider himself a hero. But he wasn't a monster either—just an average person with average morals.
Logic screamed at him to let the children serve as distractions while he fled.
But humans aren't machines.
Had those screams come from adults, he might've hardened his heart and walked away.
Yet these were kids—ones he saw daily. They'd never spoken, but he recognized their faces.
"I'll help if I can. But if it's hopeless, I'm out. Survival comes first."
Cafeteria
Gabriela's tears fell as she crouched beside the bodies of Rady, Will, and Allie—three children gunned down while covering the others' retreat.
When she'd learned the truth—that this wasn't a cancer research facility but a mutant assassin factory—she and a few compassionate coworkers had planned an escape.
But before they could act, the order came: exterminate all test subjects.
Now, despite the children's extraordinary abilities, they were no match for armed, battle-hardened guards.
They'd barely reached the cafeteria. Three coworkers and over a dozen children already lay dead.
"Laura!"
Gabriela gasped as X-23—the strongest among them—was pinned midair by four guards after slaughtering six.
Snatching a submachine gun from a dead guard, she turned to the surviving children.
"Go to the exit! Aunt Iza will take you to safety!"
Iza, their last remaining ally, drove the facility's supply truck. She waited outside now.
"What about you and Laura?" asked Rickto, the oldest boy. Though raised in labs, they weren't fools.
"Rickto, you're the eldest. Get them to the rendezvous. Wait for us there."
Gabriela sprayed suppressing fire toward the guards. Her wild shots forced them to duck, letting Laura wrench free one leg—
—and drive her adamantium claws through a guard's eye.
But more guards poured into the hallway.
Gritting his teeth, Rickto herded the others toward the corridor—only to freeze as four armed guards blocked their path.
"Fight together!"
Terrified but determined, the children braced to attack.
Thwick! Thwick!
Before they could act, two guards collapsed, throats slit. The remaining two spun—
—and took bullets to the skull.
"You okay?"
George lowered his guns, relieved to count thirty-four survivors. He'd made it in time.
"Subject 757?!"
Rickto gaped at the silent boy who never spoke. Then urgency returned.
"Gabriela and Laura are still trapped in the cafeteria—"
"The path behind you's clear. Go! I'll get them."
Ditching his empty gun, George grabbed two fresh submachine guns and charged toward the cafeteria.
Cafeteria
The scene that greeted him was brutal.
X-23 straddled a guard's shoulders, methodically reducing his head to pulp. Even the other guards recoiled.
But her small frame left her vulnerable. Gunfire forced her back—her healing factor the only reason she wasn't dead.
Nearby, Gabriela crouched behind cover, out of ammo.
"Fuck."
Daggers alone wouldn't win this. Unlike Laura, George couldn't heal from bullet wounds.
He needed overwhelming force—fast.
So he did something reckless.
Channeling his magnetism into the bullets' casings, he unleashed both guns at once—
—and bent the bullets mid-flight.
Submachine gun spray. Sniper precision.
This was his real trump card.