"It's him?"
Rorschach's brows furrowed as he stared at the photo clipped to the file.
Chris Bradley. The name finally clicked into place.
An old associate of Logan's from his time under Stryker—part of that grim lineup alongside Sabretooth, Ghost, Wade Wilson, and the others. They ran black ops, stuff so dirty it made the CIA look like a charity group.
Bradley, if memory served, walked away from that life. Just like Logan.
Last he heard, the guy was lying low, running a shady carnival game somewhere—using his electrical abilities to hustle anyone who walked too close.
His fate hadn't been great, either. If Rorschach remembered the timeline right, Sabretooth eventually found him and terminated the loose end.
Now… they were going to recruit him?
Rorschach frowned slightly.
Bradley's powers were underwhelming—minor electrokinesis, mostly party tricks. Lighting up bulbs, charging dead batteries, static shocks at best. He hadn't seen him demonstrate any real combat ability.
But before he could question it, Erik's voice cut in.
"You look concerned. Something wrong?"
Rorschach glanced up, shaking his head. "No, nothing."
"Good." Erik nodded. "Pack up. We leave in half an hour."
With that, he turned and left the office.
Rorschach stood to go, but Charles's calm voice stopped him.
"Rorschach," he said, "I've shared a lot with you today, but aren't you even curious about the kind of enemy we're facing?"
Charles smiled slightly as he spoke, but there was a hint of intent in his gaze.
Truthfully, Charles could usually read people like books—memories, emotions, thoughts. But Rorschach was an anomaly. His mind was… opaque. Even passive scanning turned up nothing.
It fascinated Charles. And concerned him, too.
Rorschach, for his part, just smirked. "When I need to know, I'll know."
He turned and left without another word.
Charles leaned back in his chair, watching the door close behind him. So calm. So composed.
More mature than he had any right to be.
Maybe even more prepared than the rest of them.
Later, back in the common area.
"Hey, Rorschach!"
A few mutants gathered around a poker game glanced up as he came in.
"Back already? What did Erik want?"
Raven tossed a card on the table and leaned toward him, her curiosity barely contained.
"Recruitment run," Rorschach replied simply. "Might be getting a new teammate."
"For real?" Sean perked up. "Nice. I wonder who it is this time."
"Hope they've got a cooler power than 'screams real loud,'" Darwin teased.
"Hey, it's tactical screaming," Sean shot back.
There was a mix of laughter and excitement. For young mutants still figuring out their place in the world, the idea of more people like them was comforting—thrilling, even.
It meant they weren't alone.
But one girl—Angel—watched Rorschach a little too carefully.
"You're going with Erik?" she asked, trying to sound casual, but the edge was there. "Why you?"
Rorschach paused, gave her a crooked grin. "Maybe he needed a driver."
That shut her up.
Without waiting for more questions, he made his way to his room to prep. Jacket, boots, a quick rinse at the sink. His mind wandered a little—not to the mission, but to Erik's sudden interest.
And to the question Erik hadn't asked yet, but would.
Half an hour later.
"Rorschach."
"Erik."
They exchanged brief nods before getting into the car and pulling onto the road.
The highway stretched before them, dotted with springtime sunlight and occasional green blur from the trees. The radio stayed off. Erik liked the quiet.
After a while, he broke it.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Sure," Rorschach replied without hesitation. "What's on your mind?"
Erik didn't look at him right away. He kept his eyes on the road, one hand relaxed on the wheel.
"Do you think mutants and humans can truly coexist?"
There it was. The question that defined Charles and Erik more than any other.
Rorschach took his time before answering. "I think… Charles wants that to be true. He needs it to be."
"And you?"
"I think… it's complicated. Look at how America still treats Black people. Minorities. It's not just prejudice—it's structure. Power. Fear."
"If they can't accept people who look like them," Rorschach said quietly, "how can we expect them to accept people who don't?"
Erik nodded slowly, his jaw tight.
"Exactly."
But when Rorschach looked at him, he added, "Still, I'm not on your side either, if that's what you're trying to figure out."
Erik gave a quiet chuckle. "Just small talk."
Sure, Rorschach thought.
They didn't speak much after that. Just the hum of the tires against pavement, and the occasional sign telling them they were nearing their destination.
Springfield, Ohio – Twilight.
The lights of the rundown playground twinkled under the dusky sky, casting a soft, almost eerie glow.
Chris Bradley lounged behind his booth, half-asleep, barely paying attention to the carousel of kids and laughter nearby.
"Hey, how do you win this thing?" a voice asked.
He cracked one eye open.
A blonde girl was pointing at the glowing bulb on the table.
"Easy," Bradley mumbled. "Turn off the light and you win a prize. Two tries for a buck."
She smiled and flipped the switch.
Nothing happened.
She unplugged the cord. Still glowing.
Her boyfriend tried unscrewing the bulb. Still no change.
Bradley didn't move. He looked half-dead, like the glow came from boredom more than power.
The couple backed away, muttering.
"Freak."
Bradley didn't even blink.
But nearby, in the shadows just outside the carnival lights, two figures stood watching.
"Looks like the Thunderbolt kid's still got it," Sabretooth growled, eyes gleaming.
He turned to the man beside him—tall, cold, dressed in black.
"Ready, Zero?"
Without a word, Zero nodded, slipping something from his coat.
Bradley's evening was about to get interesting.