Escape

This was what Mutants were: people whose individual power surpassed the limits of conventional biology.

Once freed from restraint, that power could make any ordinary material buckle.

It was also one reason ordinary society feared and hated Mutants so deeply.

If one punch wasn't enough, he would throw another.

Boom! Boom!

Clang!

After several heavy blows and a teeth-grating shriek of tearing metal, he ripped a hole large enough for one person through the reinforced elevator doors—doors built to withstand a small explosion.

Beyond them lay a corridor lit by emergency lights. Air free of the underground stench of mold and blood flowed into the elevator.

"Freedom!" The burly man drank in the fresh air and roared with delight, impatient to squeeze through the opening.

But the instant he got halfway through—

Rat-tat-tat!

Gunfire erupted in a near-continuous barrage. A storm of hot bullets swept across the opening.

"Argh!"

The physically enhanced Mutant took the brunt of it.

His skin was hardened and his muscles far tougher than a normal person's, but at that range, under such a dense volley of rifle fire, his body jerked as if hammered again and again. Blood sprayed everywhere.

His powerful frame shuddered like a rag doll, flew backward, and slammed into the elevator wall, leaving a glaring smear of crimson. He was dead.

And that was only the beginning.

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

Several rockets, bright exhaust trailing behind them, followed the bullets through the opening and into the cramped elevator car.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Deafening explosions came one after another.

Scorching flames and violent shock waves tore through the enclosed space, building on each other. The alloy steel twisted, cold shrapnel flew, and smoke and fire swallowed everything.

The Mutants following him barely had time to scream before the flames and fragments reduced them to charred pieces.

The elevator car had become a burning steel coffin, a meat grinder.

Farther down the corridor, Colonel Connolly stood under the close protection of an elite squad. Watching fire and smoke billow from the elevator and hearing the thunder of explosions, he finally broke into a twisted, gleeful grin.

"Hahaha! Damn monsters! Bastards! You thought you could escape? You thought you could be free? Go to hell! I'm the one who wins in the end."

He waved his arms and laughed without restraint, as if venting all his earlier fear and humiliation. "Burn to ash in that metal coffin. That's what you get for fighting back."

But his laughter did not last long.

As the smoke and flames thinned, the twisted wreck of the elevator car came into view, still smoldering.

A figure slowly emerged from the hellish wreckage, one step at a time.

Russell's civilian clothes were filthy with soot and blood, torn by the explosions and flames into strips that hung from his blackened body.

He had made a mistake. He should not have faced the fruits of modern science inside a cramped elevator.

But Level Three Superhuman Healing gave him extraordinary vitality. Within seconds, damaged cells were replaced. The charred scabs on his skin peeled away, revealing fresh skin as smooth as a baby's.

His burned-away blond hair slowly grew back. His blue eyes, cold as polar ice, fixed on Colonel Connolly's frozen smile.

Russell stepped over burning debris and the remains of his companions. His boots made soft sounds in the thick, foul-smelling pools of blood.

He lightly brushed nonexistent dust from his tattered sleeve. His voice was frighteningly calm, edged with a bone-deep chill:

"Who was it you said was going to hell?"

Colonel Connolly's face went from flushed with triumph to deathly gray.

The soldiers around him instinctively took half a step back, their gun hands trembling. They had seen the rockets go in. They had seen the explosions. How could this man still be alive?

And he seemed to have the same terrifying healing ability as Wolverine.

Russell was privately relieved. At the last moment, he had not rushed out first. The instant the explosions began, he compressed all his Psychic Telekinesis around his body, shaping the air into an extraordinarily dense layer that absorbed kinetic force.

At the same time, his Superhuman Healing worked at full speed, repairing the minor shock-wave damage and burns that inevitably got through the shield.

Even so, the impact had left him dizzy and drained his Psychic Power at an alarming rate.

His Psychic Telekinesis was powerful, but he was only at level three. He had yet to approach the terrifying, almost reality-bending realm of the legendary Level Five Mutants, who could manipulate every vector at will.

Surviving concentrated firepower on that scale had pushed him to his limit.

But he had survived.

And now that he had, hunter and prey were about to trade places again.

Faced with this "demon" who had walked out of hellfire, Colonel Connolly's terror gave way to deeper madness and despair.

He knew begging would do no good.

"Fire! All of you, fire! Kill him! Kill him!" he shrieked, his voice warping.

The soldiers raised their guns again by reflex.

Rat-tat-tat!

The gunfire resumed.

This time, though, everything was different.

Russell was ready. He did not linger at the narrow elevator entrance.

The moment the guns fired, he vanished from where he stood. With help from his Telekinesis, he darted sideways at a speed far beyond human limits, avoiding the heaviest fire head-on.

At the same time, he raised both hands. An invisible field of Telekinesis spread through the corridor like living tendrils.

[Psychic Telekinesis Control experience +1]

[Psychic Telekinesis Control experience +1]

Midflight, the bullets began to veer unnaturally.

They abandoned their trajectories, curving through the air as if drawn by an invisible magnet or nudged by unseen hands. Then—

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Bullets struck flesh in a rapid succession even denser than the gunfire.

The soldiers stared in shock as blood burst from their bodies and those of their comrades. They felt their lives slipping away, yet could do nothing to dodge.

Some tried to find cover, but the bullets seemed to have eyes. They slipped into necks and armpits from impossible angles; some even ricocheted off the floor into jaws.

Within seconds, the gunfire stopped completely.

All that remained in the corridor was the dull sound of bodies hitting the floor and a sickeningly thick stench of blood.

Every soldier who had fired at Russell lay in a pool of blood, most killed by bullets fired by themselves or their comrades.

Russell slowly lowered his hands and looked at the only person still standing.

"You didn't just awaken Magneto's powers. You have Wolverine's too..." Colonel Connolly's lips quivered. Shaking uncontrollably, he forced out his last words.

He knew he had no chance of surviving. The last shred of his pride as a soldier kept him from begging.

He yanked the military dagger from his waist—a weapon more ceremonial than practical—and charged at Russell with a despairing howl, stumbling as he came.

He wanted to die charging like a soldier, not be put down like a dog.

Russell's face did not change. He lifted one finger and made a small cutting motion toward the charging colonel.

Crack.

A crisp snap of vertebrae rang out.

Colonel Connolly stopped dead. His head tilted at an unnatural angle, and the light in his eyes rapidly faded.

His dagger clattered to the floor. He swayed, then crumpled, the newest corpse among the many scattered there.

Now, within Russell's sight, not a single enemy remained standing.

Only a thin line of brilliant light showed faintly at the far end of the corridor.

Sunlight.

Russell stood still and drew a deep breath.

The breeze from the end of the corridor smelled of freedom.

Even with the temperament forged by two lifetimes' memories and trials of life and death, he felt an indescribable surge pounding in his chest.

Finally... finally.

He was finally free of that sunless underground prison. He no longer had to fear being strapped to an operating table, facing cold needles and scalpels, or being treated as a disposable test subject.

He steadied his slightly quickened breathing, pushed down the emotions churning inside him, and strode through the blood and wreckage toward the light.

Russell reached the door and placed his hand against the cold metal.

He pushed gently.

Creak—

The heavy door slowly swung open beneath his hand.

The view beyond opened up before him.