Rogue Replacement: A Marvel Story

Chapter 87

Arc 7 - Ch 4: Let's Talk About This

Date: Monday, August 29, 2011.

Location: Times Square, Manhattan, New York

Sirens filled the air as a ring of police cars screeched to a halt, forming a perimeter around Tyson and Max Dillon's glowing figure. Officers poured out of their vehicles, hands hovering near their holstered weapons as they assessed the situation. Max stumbled to his feet. His eyes, now an eerie electric blue, widened in panic as he took in the wall of armed officers surrounding them. Sparks danced across his skin, intensifying with his rising fear.

"Get your ass down on the ground! Now!" An officer bellowed.

Tyson shook his head at the cop's idiocy. Here was a potential superpowered combatant, and he was already here trying to control the situation, yet they were aggressive regardless. He was acutely aware of how quickly this could spiral out of control. With a thought, he expanded the number of his illusionary selves surrounding them, creating a barrier that obscured Max from the officers' view.

"Stand down, officers," the illusions commanded. He pushed hard with his power, trying to ensure the directive stuck. "This situation is being handled."

Tyson blinked rapidly as his vision blurred, and a wet warmth spread across his face. Swiping at his nose with his sleeve, he was glad his costume was black because it hid the blood stain. The pressure in his head was immense, but he pushed back against the strain, gritting his teeth.

Behind the illusory barrier he had erected, Max Dillon's eyes were wide with panic. Blue sparks danced wildly across his skin, his shock and fear feeding his abilities. Tyson could sense the electricity building, arcing dangerously between Max's fingertips. The situation was on a knife's edge. He had to regain control, and fast.

"Hey bud," he said, keeping his voice calm and friendly. "Long time no see."

Max's head snapped around, his glowing eyes fixing Mirage with recognition and then relief. "It's you!" he exclaimed, then hesitated. "You... remember me?"

"I think so," he said. "You looked a bit different the last time we met. But yeah, I remember you, Max. Oscorp. Blueprints guy, right? I gave you a shoutout in that interview."

He subtly extended his power as he spoke, allowing the tendrils of his illusion to weave their way into Max's mind. This delicate process required intense concentration. Tyson immediately felt the strain on his mind growing but pushed through. He couldn't allow a repeat of the movie's events and would coerce Max if needed.

Max's face lit up, quite literally, as sparks of joy danced across his skin. "Yeah, you remember me! I saw that interview." His expression softened, a touch of vulnerability creeping into his voice. "Aw man, I'm glad you're here. I had tickets to your show tonight. It's... it's my birthday."

"Happy Birthday, Max. I'm glad I ran into you. But, we might have to postpone that show, though. It will be a close call for us to get all the way downtown."

Max chuckled; the sound hummed with electricity.

It was then that he noticed the massive screens dotting Times Square. Each one displayed their conversation in larger-than-life detail, his glowing form impossible to miss. "They see me," he whispered, awe in his voice. "You see me."

Tyson couldn't help but crack a joke, hoping to keep the mood light. "You're glowing, Max. Not sure anyone could miss you at the moment." His illusions didn't work on electronics. The cameras catching their conversation recorded unhindered.

From beyond their illusory barrier, a police officer's voice rang out. "All team members, hold your fire and wait for my call."

He relaxed slightly, dropping the outer ring of his illusions that had been maintaining crowd control. The strain on his powers eased, if only marginally.

Seizing the opportunity, Tyson pressed on. "See? No one wants to hurt you here, Max. We all want to walk away nice and safe, maybe catch that show. What do you say?"

He held out his hands, electricity crackling between his fingers. "I don't know what's going on with me."

Tyson reassured, "I've got some brilliant scientists back at House of M. We specialize in this kind of thing. I promise you, we'll figure this out."

"It's strange, the power I feel. I got so much... I got so much anger." He said in a tortured whisper.

Tyson's chest tightened at the young man's voice. This was a critical moment. He needed to keep Max from spiraling and show him there was still hope.

"I know," Tyson said gently. "But that doesn't mean you have to listen." He stepped closer, hands open, stance nonthreatening. "You're still in control, Max. Believe me, I understand that anger. My friend Spider-Man lives by a saying. 'With great power comes great responsibility.' And this… this is your moment. It's probably making you anxious with all these eyes on you." He gestured to the towering screens surrounding Times Square, each displaying Max's radiant form for all to see. "You have the eyes of the city upon you now. I know it's confusing, even scary, but this is your chance to show the world the man you are."

"I know you're angry, and you've probably been tossed aside, ignored, and treated badly your whole life. I'm not going to lie to you. You could unleash all that rage on those who've hurt you, and with these new gifts, you could pay them back a hundred times over." Tyson's voice grew softer, more intense. "But is that the man you want to be? I see more in you, Max." Max flickered, sparks dancing across his skin as he wrestled with the choice. Tyson held his glowing gaze, years of struggle reflected in his eyes. "It's your time to shine. What happens next is your call."

The electricity around him dimmed slightly as he considered Tyson's words. After a long moment, he nodded. "Yeah, you're right," he said. "I want to be like you and Spider-Man. I want to help."

Relief washed over Tyson. "Alright," he said, nodding. "Why don't we head downtown? We'll talk and see if they have ideas on how we can help you."

"That sounds good," he said, his voice wavering slightly.

Tyson managed a reassuring smile. "Alright, birthday boy," he quipped, trying to keep the mood light. "Let's go figure out your new superpowers."

But before they could take a step, a new voice rang out from above, cutting through the din of Times Square like a knife.

"What's the rush?"

The words dripped with false cordiality, undercut by a dangerous edge.

"Why don't we stay for a while and chat? I've been looking forward to speaking with you."

Tyson's head snapped up, his heart sinking as he saw the scene above them. A figure wearing an iconic helmet descended from the sky, his crimson cape billowing dramatically in the wind. But it wasn't his arrival alone that sent a chill down Tyson's spine. With him, like a sinister honor guard, were a dozen others, all floating down on a platform under the newcomer's power.

Under Magneto's power.

"Fuck," Tyson muttered under his breath.

This was bad. Very, very bad.

He had expected Magneto to make his move later, at House of M, where he had allies. Here, in the heart of Times Square, he was exposed. Vulnerable. Miles from any meaningful backup, with only an unstable, untested, and unreliable Max Dillon at his side. And Magneto was rolling deep.

Tyson's eyes darted around, taking in the sea of civilians surrounding them. Using his illusions here would be a nightmare. Blanket illusions would affect the entire crowd, overwhelming his abilities. He'd have to rely on individual illusions, a far more taxing and precise approach. But as Magneto and his entourage touched down, his blood ran cold.

Each member of the Brotherhood wore a replica of Magneto's infamous helmet.

Tyson had thought that helmet was unique. It blocked psionic abilities, which rendered his most potent weapon, his illusions, useless. Against Magneto, he'd be no better than Sabertooth. The realization hit him like a physical blow.

He was screwed.

— Rogue Redemption —

Glancing up at the massive screens dotting Times Square, Tyson saw his confrontation with Magneto being broadcast in real-time, larger than life, for all to see. If it was playing here, chances were it was breaking news, at least locally. If his allies saw this, they might come to his aid. It wasn't much, but it was something to cling to. Now, he had a plan. He would fall back on a classic tactic…

Stalling until help arrived.

Tyson would need all his focus. He dropped his illusions and mumbled a desperate plea for aid that he knew was unlikely to be answered. But he was desperate.

"If you're watching, Amora, I could use a hand right now."

He glanced around, hoping to see the telltale shimmer of one of the Enchantress' magical gateways. But no portal opened. Amora did not answer his call to come fight by his side.

Pushing down his rising panic, Tyson called out, "Plastic Protocol."

It seemed he was speaking to no one, but if they heard him back at House of M, they'd know what to do.

Simultaneously, he projected an illusory voice audible only to Max. "Sorry, Max," the phantom whisper said. "We'll have to put that ride to the Armory on hold. This man is a bad guy. Like a big bad. I'm going to do my best to protect you from him."

Channeling every ounce of bravado he could muster, Tyson addressed Magneto. "If you were looking for tickets, you could have just called House of M," he quipped, earning a few nervous chuckles from the crowd.

Magneto's lips curved into a cold smile, his eyes gleaming with malicious amusement behind his helmet. "Oh, I'm not interested in your show... Mirage." He drawled the name, savoring each syllable. His voice hardened, dripping with disdain. "Quite the clever moniker. Much better than the name I knew you by."

"Tyson. What last name did you pick for yourself? Ah, that's right. Smith. Tyson Smith. How quaint."

Tyson's blood ran cold. His fists clenched at his sides.

"Did you just out me on live television?"

Every instinct screamed at him to lash out at the man who had just shattered the carefully constructed facade of his life. But he forced himself to remain still. His best chance now, maybe his only chance, was to keep Magneto talking.

"Well, you know how it is," Tyson said, forcing a casual shrug. "Smith is a classic. Easy to remember, doesn't stand out. Unlike some people, I prefer to blend in."

Magneto's eyes narrowed, the first flickers of genuine anger crossing his face. "Blend in?" he spat. "Is that what you call hiding what you truly are?"

Tyson felt Max shift nervously beside him, electricity crackling along the man's skin. He needed to be careful. One wrong move and this situation could explode. Literally.

"I'd hardly call putting on a show for thousands daily as hiding," Tyson replied. "In case you missed it, I said I was a mutant during a Senate hearing and brought Stryker's actions to light. Mutant issues are becoming known again."

Magneto countered, "Knowledge isn't the same as understanding. You could be so much more, Tyson. You could be a leader, a beacon for our kind."

Tyson reached up and took off his fox half-mask.

He stared at it, turning it over in his hands. He'd grabbed the mask on a whim to hide his identity while running through Chinatown when the Lizard first appeared. Over time, it had become a part of his identity. Earlier today, he'd told Jubilee that his secret identity was meant to protect those around him, not himself. But that those surrounding him now were strong enough.

He could only hope that was true.

The mask slipped from his fingers, dropping to the ground. The Mirage guise had served him well, but it was time for him to let it go.

Tyson shook his head, his lips curled up in a sad smile. "I am a leader, Erik. Just not the kind you want me to be."

His eyes darted around, taking in every detail of his surroundings. The police still maintained their perimeter. The crowd of civilians watched with fascination. The massive screens broadcast every moment of this confrontation to the world.

He glanced down to ensure the little black box on the belt he'd been wearing was still secured to his waist. Hopefully, the gift from Ivan Vanko earlier this morning would do its job, otherwise he wouldn't last until help arrived.

"What do you want, Magneto?" Tyson asked, buying time, his hand still outstretched. "You didn't come all this way just to critique my choice of last name."

"What I want is for you to join us. To take your rightful place among mutant-kind's elite."

"So you can strap me into your machine? Use me as a weapon of mass destruction and kill me in the process?"

A collective gasp went up from the crowd. Tyson felt the weight of a thousand eyes upon him, waiting to see how he would respond. Though he already knew. He declared, "I don't think so."

Magneto's expression hardened, and all pretense of friendliness vanished. "Then you will be dealt with as all traitors to our kind are dealt with."

The threat hung in the air, heavy and ominous.

"You talk about mutant-kind's elite," Tyson said, his voice carrying across the square. "But look around you, Erik. Look at the people gathered here. Humans. Watching us, yes, but not with hatred. With curiosity. You hovered down from the sky with your arms outstretched. Do you know what I thought the first time I saw you do that?" he asked, pausing dramatically.

"That you were the messiah. You have so much power. You could bring so much hope to the world."

He gestured to Max, still glowing with electrical energy. "This man here? He just got his powers today. But he wants to help people. That's the future I believe in. Not segregation. Not superiority. Cooperation." Magneto's eyes narrowed, but Tyson pressed on. "You're offering me a place? I already have one. Right here, with the people of New York."

For a moment, silence reigned in Times Square. Tyson knew his words were being broadcast far beyond this crowded intersection. Beyond trying to buy time, he was trying to spread a message. If he were captured, things would be bad for mutants. At least there would be proof that not all were like Magneto.

Slowly, a sound began to build. It started as a whisper, a rustle of movement. But it grew, swelling until it filled the air.

Applause.

The people of New York were clapping. Cheering. Supporting Tyson's vision of a united future.

Magneto's face contorted with rage. "Fool," he yelled. "You think a few pretty words will change anything? You think these humans will accept you once they know what you truly are?"

Tyson drew strength from the support of the crowd. "I think they already have," he said.

Magneto's eyes narrowed behind his helmet, a sneer twisting his lips. He raised his hand, fingers splayed as if to grasp an invisible force. "Bold words," he spat, "but have you forgotten what happened the last time we met? You can't fight me."

Seconds ticked by.

But nothing happened.

Magneto's power didn't affect him. Tyson remained rooted to the spot. But he looked from side to side dramatically as if trying to figure out what Magneto was reaching for.

The small black box strapped to his waist hummed softly as it interfered with Magneto's powers. It hadn't disabled Magneto's mutant ability; he could still manipulate fields and metals. The belt only disrupted any magnetic fields in a small radius around Tyson, protecting him and anything within arm's length.

"What's the matter? Performance anxiety?" Tyson called out, injecting a note of mock concern into his voice. "It's not uncommon in men your age."

The quip hit its mark, drawing laughter from the crowd and causing Magneto's face to flush with rage.

"It's no matter," Magneto snarled, struggling to maintain his composure. "You can't fight—"

"You know, I've been studying a little bit of magic lately," he said cutting Magneto off mid-sentence for the first time in their confrontation.

"There's this thing called the Rule of Three. Are you familiar with it?" Magneto's silence was answer enough. Tyson pressed on, his words gaining momentum. "I don't really get it, to be honest. But the way it was explained to me was that our actions have consequences. Every choice we make shapes the world and the lives of those around us. The number three holds significant power, often signifying completeness, balance, and structure."

He took an aggressive step forward, his gaze locked on Magneto. The crowd seemed to fade away, the city's noise dimming until it felt like only the two of them existed at this moment. "I declare this now," Tyson said, his voice resonating with a power he didn't fully understand. "Three times you have come after me, seeking to use me as your pawn. Thrice, you have come to capture me with the intent of taking my life. And twice, now, you have failed."

The air around them seemed to thicken, charged with an energy that had nothing to do with Max's electrical powers or Magneto's magnetic fields.

"You will fail again, and when I escape your grasp for the third time, the universe will demand its due. There will be no more attempts, no more chances."

He held his hand out.

The gesture was as metaphorical as it was physical. He was reaching for a connection. His backpack, hidden in an alley blocks away, holding his clothes and Jessica's dress, among other things.

He could feel it, it was far away, but within reach. Focusing his will into his outstretched hand, he felt the link within his mind. With a thought, he pulled.

Muse answered his call. The enchanted dagger materialized in Tyson's hand. He pointed the weapon at Magneto.

"I will demand my due," he declared, his voice ringing with finality.

Times Square fell into an unnatural hush. The massive LED continued broadcasting the rapidly devolving situation, but the air seemed to thicken, charged with unspoken power that made skin prickle and breath catch.

A transformation rippled across Tyson's features. His mismatched blue-green eyes shifted, bleeding into new colors like ink in water. One iris bloomed into a deep, royal purple while the other ignited into a predatory amber-yellow. The change, driven by channeling Muse's power, lent an otherworldly quality to his already imposing presence, turning his steady gaze into something more dangerous. Combined with his imposing frame and the mystical blade in his grip, he projected an aura of power.

Magneto's steely gaze flickered between Muse and Tyson's face. His jaw clenched as he processed this unexpected turn. The master of magnetism's usual iron confidence showed hairline cracks of uncertainty as his power still couldn't affect Tyson and his new weapon.

The crowd watched in breathless anticipation, sensing they were witnessing something momentous. Few could grasp the true weight of what was unfolding before them.

Tyson's grip tightened on Muse as he swept the enchanted dagger across the gathered Brotherhood. His eyes scanned their faces, some familiar, others unknown.

"I don't know most of you," Tyson declared, "but know that in trying to aid Magneto's cause, you are trying to kill me. I will defend myself." The Brotherhood members shifted uneasily, exchanging glances. Some looked defiant, others uncertain.

"Empty threats," Magneto spat, "You stand alone, boy. Your parlor tricks and pretty words won't save you."

Tyson's gaze swept across the group once more, settling on a familiar face standing near the back of the group. John Allerdyce. Pyro. Slowly, deliberately, Tyson pointed Muse directly at John.

"You came knowing that he intended to kill me? We were classmates. Friends."

Johnny didn't say anything. His face remained a mask of indifference, but his eyes told a different story. There was conflict there, a war between loyalty to Magneto's cause and the memories of his time at Xavier's Institute.

"Come on, Johnny," Tyson pressed.

John's jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists at his sides. For a moment, it seemed like he might speak, might break ranks. But then Magneto's voice interrupted. "Enough of this sentimentality," he growled. "Pyro, show your old friend the strength of your convictions."

John's eyes hardened, the conflict disappearing behind a wall of determination. With a flick of his wrist, he ignited a flame. The fire danced between his fingers, forming a ball that hovered above his palm.

"I'm sorry. But, if one of us from our class has to die to secure the future for mutants, it's worthwhile."

The crowd around them murmured nervously. Tyson could feel the weight of their gazes, the fear and anticipation rolling off them in waves. This confrontation was balancing on a knife's edge. One wrong move could send it spiraling.

A figure emerged from the crowd.

He moved with a purposeful stride, commanding attention despite his unassuming attire. While they all wore what qualified as costumes, the newcomer wore a plain white t-shirt and tan pants. The police, who had been maintaining a perimeter, made no move to stop him.

Tyson's eyes widened in recognition. He let out a slow breath, grateful that Nick Fury had at least had the sense not to send him in with the iconic shield in front of Magneto.

— Rogue Redemption —

The man came to a stop, standing between Tyson and Magneto. When he spoke, his voice was tinged with a hint of sadness.

"It doesn't have to be this way," he said, addressing Magneto.

Magneto's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "And who might you be?"

The man shook his head with a small, rueful smile. "Just a soldier who's seen too much war."

"My name is Steve Rogers. You might know me better as Captain America."

A ripple of shock went through the crowd. Magneto seemed taken aback, his composure slipping momentarily before he regained control.

"Captain America," Magneto repeated disbelieving. But looking closer at the man, the familiarity was uncanny. He replied with bitter amusement. "The star-spangled man with a plan. Come back from the dead to lecture me on the virtues of the American dream?"

"I'm not here to lecture you. I'm here to talk. To understand. And maybe to find a better way forward."

Magneto scoffed, gesturing widely. "A better way? Look around you, Captain. This is the world you and your kind have built. A world where my people are feared, hunted, persecuted. Where does your vaunted American dream fit into that?"

"You're right," he said softly, acknowledging the pain in Magneto's words. "The world isn't perfect. Far from it. But tearing it down... that's not the answer."

"No?" Magneto's voice rose, anger seeping into his words. "Then what is the answer, Captain? To sit idly by while my people suffer? To trust in a system that has failed us time and time again?"

Steve stepped forward, his hands open at his sides, in a gesture of peace. "The answer," he said, "is to keep fighting. Not with violence but with ideas. With compassion. With the belief that we can be better."

Magneto's laugh was cold and bitter. "Compassion? Where was that compassion when I was a child in Auschwitz? Where was it when mutants were being rounded up and experimented on?"

A shadow passed over Steve's face. "I was there," he said quietly. "In the war. I saw the horrors of the camps. I helped liberate them. And I swore then that I would never let something like that happen again."

Something flickered in Magneto's eyes for a moment. Recognition, perhaps even gratitude. But it was quickly replaced by the hard glint of resolve. "And yet here we are. Different decade, same story. You may have saved me then, Captain. Where were you when mutant children were being hunted in the streets? Even now, groups of mutants, exiled from society, live in the sewers under our feet."

"I can't change the past," he admitted. "And I can't erase the pain you've suffered. But I can stand here now and tell you there's another way. A harder way, maybe, but a better one."

Magneto's eyes narrowed. "And what way is that?"

"Working together. Side by side. Building a world where everyone has a place, where everyone's rights are protected. It won't be easy, and it won't happen overnight. But it's possible."

"Naïve. You cling to your ideals like a child. The world doesn't work that way."

"It can," he insisted. He gestured to the crowd around them, to the mix of awed and frightened faces. "Look at these people," Steve urged. "They're not your enemy. They're just trying to live their lives the same as anyone. Same as you."

Magneto's gaze swept over the crowd, his expression unreadable. "And when they turn on us? When fear and ignorance drive them to violence?"

"Then we face it," Steve replied firmly. "We stand up to injustice wherever we find it. We protect the innocent. All of them, human and mutant alike. We lead by example."

A tense silence fell over Times Square as Magneto considered Steve's words.

Finally, Magneto spoke, "Pretty words, Captain. But words alone won't change the world… I can. Using Tyson's power, I will change the world."

As Steve Rogers spoke with Magneto, Tyson cast an illusion. His voice became a whisper meant only for Steve. "I appreciate the effort, Cap, but he's a true zealot. He won't be turned from this course."

While Captain America's words echoed across Times Square, Tyson focused on identifying the threats he faced. He scanned the group assembled behind the Master of Magnetism, cataloging faces and abilities.

He'd already addressed John Allerdyce, Pyro, his former classmate from the Xavier Institute. He still held a flame in his hand. John could manipulate the fire but couldn't create it.

Next, Tyson's attention was drawn to a trio standing slightly apart from the others. His heart sank as he recognized the Maximoff twins, Wanda and Pietro. Wanda, the Scarlet Witch. He'd prepared blood wards at House of M to combat her power, but they wouldn't serve him here. Beside her, Pietro, Quicksilver, waited with a bored expression. Standing with the twins was a woman Tyson didn't immediately recognize. Like the others, she wore a copy of Magneto's helmet, but it couldn't hide her vibrant green hair. Then he realized, if Magneto's children were standing apart, was that supposed to be Polaris? He mentally assigned her magnetism powers and moved on.

His eyes settled on a black woman with a facial tattoo. If his memory served, this was Callisto, a mutant with enhanced senses and super speed.

And then there was… Brad Pitt. What the hell was Brad Pitt doing here? Wearing the helmet made him look like when he'd played Achilles in the movie Troy… But since he wasn't wielding a sword or spear, Tyson had no clue what his powers could be, and he didn't have time to dwell it.

There were several other men who Tyson didn't recognize or couldn't identify from his position. He bet one of them was Toad.

But it was the final figure that Tyson had been avoiding focusing on, hoping that he was imagining this guy's presence. Standing head and shoulders above the rest, a behemoth of a man loomed at the back of Magneto's group. Easily nine feet tall, he was the only one not wearing a copy of Magneto's helmet because he wore his own signature helmet.

The Juggernaut.

Magneto brought the fucking Juggernaut.

Cain Marko was an intimidating sight. A giant with bulging muscles. Tyson knew that once the Juggernaut started moving, nothing could stop him. He was the embodiment of an unstoppable force.

"This is bad," Tyson whispered to himself, more than to Cap or Max. "Really bad."

He turned his attention back to Steve, still engaged in his impassioned plea to Magneto. Tyson admired his optimism and his unwavering belief in the good of people. But looking at the assembled might of Magneto's Brotherhood, Tyson couldn't share that hope.

The sheer firepower arrayed against them was staggering. And he didn't even know who some of them were.

Magneto's voice rang out across Times Square. "Pretty words, Captain. But words alone won't change the world… I can. Using Tyson's power, I will change the world. I will change everything," he declared, his eyes fixed on Tyson.

Tyson leaned in close to Captain America, his voice low and urgent. "I need a favor, Cap. I need you to help my buddy Max get away from here."

Without waiting for a response, Tyson projected an illusion of himself standing just to the side.

"Hey, Max, can I borrow your power?"

Since Magneto descended, Max had been standing at Tyson's shoulder, watching with wide eyes. He looked uncertain but answered, "I'll do what I can to help."

"I need you to put your hand on my neck," Tyson said.

"Are you sure I should do that? This electricity…"

"Yeah, it'll be rough for us both, but I need it. I'll owe you one. When I get out of this, I'll throw you a birthday party at House of M. And I'll invite all my superhero friends, promise."

Max reached forward, sparks leaping from his fingers. Electricity lanced through Tyson's adamantium skeleton as he gripped the back of Tyson's exposed neck. For a moment, Tyson's body went rigid, every muscle tensed.

But on contact, Tyson's absorption power kicked in, drawing not just Max's ability to control electricity but his very life force, memories, knowledge, and absorbed energy.

From his earliest memories, he was always the invisible kid, the one nobody noticed, whose name teachers forgot, the face that blended into the background. His mother worked multiple jobs to support them and always told him he was special, but the world seemed determined to prove otherwise. Growing up, while other kids played sports or chased popularity, he spent countless hours taking apart old radios and rewiring broken appliances. It wasn't a hobby; it was his escape. High school was a blur of mediocrity. He wasn't popular enough to be noticed, nor unpopular enough to be bullied. He existed in the margins, earning good grades in science and math while struggling through social interactions. His guidance counselor suggested trade school, telling him to be "realistic" about his prospects. But Max dreamed bigger. He worked his way through technical college, taking night classes while working days as an electrician's apprentice. Every spare dollar went toward his education. His mother's pride sustained him through the exhausting years of study and work. When he finally landed a job at Oscorp Industries as an electrical engineer, it felt like his life was finally beginning. Reality at Oscorp proved different from his dreams. Despite his expertise, he remained invisible. Supervisors stole his ideas. His dedication went unnoticed year after year. He designed the complex electrical systems that harnessed Oscorp's cutting-edge bio-electric energy research, but his name never appeared on a report or recognition board.

The only person who showed him any kindness was Mirage, who saved him from traffic and gave him a shout-out during an interview. That brief moment of recognition, of being seen as someone worth saving, meant everything to Max. He began to fixate on Mirage, imagining they were partners, friends even.

Then came the accident. One wrong move, one slip, and suddenly he was falling. The last thing he felt besides the sting of electricity was landing in the tank of genetically modified electric eels below.

Times Square, with its brilliant electric displays, drew him in. As he absorbed power from the city grid, he became a being of pure electrical energy who would never be invisible again. The electricity coursing through him seemed to amplify every emotion and bitter memory. But then Mirage appeared, remembering him and treating him like he could be a hero.

Using his illusions, Tyson overrode the sensation of pain and weakness Max would have felt from the life drain, allowing the man to hold on until he slipped into unconsciousness.

As Max's hand fell away and his skin returned to its normal rich black tone, Tyson ordered Steve. "Get him out of here. They only want me. I'll stop them, noone else needs to get hurt."

Steve hesitated for a split second, torn between his duty to protect and his instinct to fight. But seeing Max's helpless form, he made his choice. He scooped Max up, slung him over his shoulder, and jogged away from the impending confrontation.

And Tyson hoped his bravado wasn't totally false.

— Rogue Redemption —

Tyson's skin took on a blue tinge as electricity crackled around him like a living aura. "Last chance," he called out, his voice carrying a dangerous edge.

Magneto responded by calling forward members of the Brotherhood. "Cain, Jamie," he commanded.

Two figures stepped forward from Magneto's group. The first, a man Tyson didn't recognize, began pounding on his chest. A duplicate of himself appeared with each thump. Tyson wondered if he was dealing with another illusionist. But no, his mental resistance should've given a hint that these were psychic projections. He considered the other members of Magneto's group. Callisto, The Juggernaut… He let out a curse as he realized what he was facing. This was the group that Magneto gathered during The Last Stand. That was the clue Tyson needed to key him into who he was dealing with.

Multiple Man.

This revelation was telling. Multiple Man's copies wore Magneto's psychic-blocking helmets, like the original. That explained how all the other Brotherhood members also had copies of the helmet. It was neat to know, but it wasn't Tyson's main concern. That would be the looming Juggernaut.

As if on cue, Marko charged, the ground trembling beneath his massive feet.

Electricity crackled through him as he dashed forward to match the Juggernaut's charge. However, he knew better than to meet the behemoth head-on. At the last moment before impact, Tyson used his agility to slide past the massive fist swinging toward his face. He raked his adamantium claws along the Juggernaut's thick forearm as he vaulted over the brute's arm. Tyson landed in a crouch, claws ready, as the Juggernaut lumbered past.

Now Tyson was confronted by a small army of Jamie Madrox's duplicates. The dupes fanned out, attempting to surround him. Tyson bared his fangs in a snarl, claws extended, ready to tear through them like tissue paper.

His claws easily sliced through the nearest duplicate, parting flesh as if it were made of butter. He reached for another, this time with his claws retracted so his bare fingers made contact, seeking to tap into its life force to gather intel on the Brotherhood's members and, more importantly, absorb Multiple Man's power. His fingertips grazed fabric, then skin, sending a violent shudder through the duplicate's body. But no rush of stolen power or memories came, just the odd drainage that seemed to sap the life from Multiple Man's copy without empowering Tyson.

He hadn't gained any power, but he learned something valuable.

He couldn't absorb the duplicates. He'd have to find the original.

No matter. The horde of duplicates may have him surrounded, but Tyson was more than a match for Jamie Madrox's copies; they were only human. With Muse granting him vampiric speed, on top of his year of ninja training and raw mutant strength, he shredded through the duplicates. Bodies fell, the copper tang of blood perfuming the air.

Tyson glanced at the lumbering Juggernaut, still recovering from his missed charge. A more pressing threat loomed in Magneto, who hovered arrogantly over the battlefield, assured of his Brotherhood's impending victory. With his free hand, Tyson targeted a bolt of lightning toward the Master of Magnetism, seeking to wipe the smug certainty from the villain's face. The ozone sizzle of discharged energy lit up the clearing as the bolt lanced through the air.

Unfazed, the Master of Magnetism hovered with an arrogant look. The lightning bolt splintered against the electromagnetic shield he'd raised.

Tyson hadn't expected the attack would land. He was probing the Brotherhood's defenses, trying to find an opening. Next, he swept his arm in a wide arc, sending forked tongues of electricity toward his other enemies, the ones who'd yet to engage. The lightning found no flesh, instead being grounded or dispersed harmlessly as metal debris swept into its path. Magneto had manipulated the metal around the battlefield to guard his Brotherhood. But he was undeterred by the failure of his lightning attack. Though it splintered uselessly against his shield, the assault served its purpose. It forced Magneto to spread his power thinner in defense, providing a valuable distraction.

As crimson rivulets ran down the blades of his daggers, Tyson continued his relentless advance through the endless sea of duplicates. No matter how many he shredded through, Jamie conjured more to take their place. Tyson carved a path through the copies as a whirlwind of adamantium claw and Uru dagger. Soon, the blood Tyson had spilled coalesced into blood elementals forged in Jamie's image. Each wielded its own copy of Muse as the vampiric dagger drank. But when Magneto reached out to seize one of the Uru copies and succeeded, Tyson immediately dismissed the conjured duplicates, unwilling to let him claim such dangerous weapons.

Without the nullification belt to protect them, the blood elementals and their copied daggers were vulnerable to Magneto's mastery over metal. It was too risky to allow the possibility of him gaining his own copies of Muse.

He pushed forward as he fought. If he could reach the original Jamie and absorb his power, he would quickly turn the tide of this fight. But before he could make significant progress, the Juggernaut was again upon him.

Distracted by the horde of duplicates and his probing attacks on the Brotherhood, he couldn't dodge the giant's attack in time. The Juggernaut's massive hand reached into the dupes, killing a few in the process, but he succeeded in wrapping around Tyson's torso, pinning his arms to his sides.

Adamantium claws tried in vain to dig into the Juggernaut's impenetrable skin. But they failed to pierce the giant's flesh. He realized with dawning horror that even adamantium, reputed to be indestructible, the strongest material on Earth, couldn't pierce the Juggernaut.

Tyson's mind raced for a solution to why his talons had proven so ineffective. He recalled from his meta-knowledge that the Juggernaut wasn't a mutant. The source of his power was arcane, granted by the Crimson Gem of Cyttorak, an artifact of immense magical power.

Seeing no other option, Tyson retracted his claws. The holes they left in his gloves allowed skin-to-skin contact with his foe. Immediately, he felt the familiar pull of his absorption power as he began leeching the Juggernaut's strength.

His early years were filled with anger and resentment, especially after his father married Sharon Xavier following the death of his mother. The arrival of his new stepbrother, Charles Xavier, made things worse. While Charles was brilliant and gifted, receiving their father's praise and attention, he was labeled the problem child, the failure, the disappointment. While Charles excelled academically and showed early signs of his telepathic abilities, Cain took pleasure in bullying Charles, using his superior strength to torment his stepbrother. He resented the Xaviers' wealth, the privilege, and most of all, Charles's growing powers. When their father died, Cain blamed Charles, convinced that his stepbrother could have saved him with his telepathy but chose not to. As soon as he was old enough, Cain enlisted in the military, eager to escape the shadow of the Xavier name. He was deployed to Korea. During a mission, he and his unit discovered a hidden temple. Inside, he found an ancient gem on a pedestal.

The inscription read, 'Whosoever touches this gem shall be granted the power of Cyttorak. Henceforth, you who read these words shall become forevermore a human juggernaut!' Of course, he grabbed the gem. Power beyond imagination flooded through, causing his body to grow massive, his strength became limitless, and he gained the power to become unstoppable once in motion. The temple collapsed around him, but he eventually emerged unscathed, reborn as the Juggernaut. His first act was to ensure no one could claim the gem as he had. Using his new strength, he threw it, launching it into space. But his new powers came with a price; he was now mystically bound to serve Cyttorak, an ancient entity. But he didn't care about the cost. Finally, he had the power to overshadow Charles.

He sought revenge against Xavier, now known as Professor X, who ran a school for mutants. When Magneto began gathering allies for his Brotherhood of Mutants, he saw the opportunity. Though he wasn't a mutant, his hatred for Charles and his power made him a valuable asset. Magneto promised that defeating Mirage would be the first step toward facing the X-Men and finally defeating Xavier.

The Juggernaut's booming laughter briefly faltered as he felt the slightest drain on his power. "What are you doing, tickling me? Is that all you've got?" he taunted before slamming Tyson into the unforgiving ground with earth-shattering force.

Tyson felt a surge of power unmatched since he'd absorbed the Abomination. This was different, though. An unstoppable force coursed through his veins, filling every fiber of his being with raw, unadulterated strength. His muscles bulged, straining against his suit.

The Juggernaut, curious if his opponent still drew breath, leaned down to inspect the crater where Tyson lay. But he sprang to his feet, his body healing from the devastating impact as if he hadn't been injured.

As the Juggernaut was leaning down, Tyson cocked his fist back and unleashed a punch of cataclysmic proportions.

The air seemed to shatter as Tyson's fist connected with the Juggernaut's jaw. A shockwave rippled outward, the force of the impact sending tremors through the ground beneath their feet. Dust and debris exploded into the air, obscuring the immediate area in a thick, impenetrable cloud. The punch echoed like a thunderclap, reverberating through the streets of New York. Every window within a one-block radius shattered, raining glass onto the sidewalks below. Car alarms blared, their wails muffled by the lingering rumble of Tyson's earth-shattering blow.

As the dust settled, Tyson shook his hand, flexing his fingers. "Damn," he muttered, "He sure packs a punch." chuckling to himself.

But the smirk on his lips faded as the air cleared, revealing The Juggernaut still standing there, unmoved, unharmed, and utterly unfazed by the colossal strike. If anything, the behemoth looked... impressed.

Tyson's eyes widened in disbelief. He'd put every ounce of his newfound strength into that punch, a blow that should have leveled a city block. Yet here stood the Juggernaut, as immovable as a mountain.

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest, growing into a full-bellied laugh. "Not bad, kid," the giant said, his voice a gravelly boom. "You've got some fight in you, after all."

Before Tyson could respond, the Juggernaut's massive hand swept through the air. With a casual backhand, he struck Tyson squarely in the chest. The force of the blow sent Tyson hurtling backward, his body carving a path through the air like a human missile. He crashed through the facade of a nearby building, brick and mortar crumbling around him as he disappeared into the structure's interior, leaving behind a Tyson-shaped hole in the wall.

But Tyson was far from finished.

Being knocked into the building gave him a moment's reprieve, allowing him to think. His massive punch didn't loosen the Juggernaut's helmet, which was too bad. If he had gotten it off, he could've used his illusions on the monstrous man. His power must somehow protect not just his skin but his clothing. Tyson looked down; his costume and, thankfully, the belt interfering with Magneto's power remained intact. Vanko had built it from the same materials used in the shell of the Whiplash armor, so it was sturdy but not sturdy enough to withstand the Juggernaut. Thankfully, he now had the Juggernaut's power, combined with his own, and Muse, his…

Magical dagger.

A fierce grin spread across his face. And with supernatural speed, he leapt to his feet.

Magic to fight magic. He could win this.

Empowered by the energy he had absorbed, Tyson charged forward, straight through the building's outer wall, and drove Muse into the Juggernaut's midsection, penetrating his previously impregnable skin.

The Juggernaut's eyes widened in shock as Tyson's blade bit into his flesh. The giant staggered back, hunching over the wound in his abdomen where Tyson's blade, Muse, protruded. Sensing opportunity, he darted forward, summoning another copy of the weapon and driving his blade into the Juggernaut's eye socket. Cain unleashed an agonized scream as the dagger sank to the hilt, forcing him to reel away instinctively, clutching at his face. Summoning another mystic blade, Tyson leaped upwards, plunging the second dagger into the Juggernaut's remaining eye. Again, the titan bellowed in pain.

Tyson watched as the Juggernaut tore the mystic blades from his ravaged eye sockets in a gruesome spray of vitreous fluid and blood. The gaping cavities that remained began knitting closed at an astonishing rate, new orbs regenerating before Tyson's eyes. He landed lightly, unable to look away from the grisly sight. For the first time, Tyson grasped what it must be like for his enemies when facing his own healing abilities and the disheartening realization that any damage inflicted is fleeting at best.

"So this is how it feels to be on the other side of it," he muttered.

The playing field was now brutally even. Muse's enchanted blades had granted him an all-too-brief advantage, though the wounds closed rapidly despite the mystical properties of the Asgardian metal. But he would need to change his tactics. A direct assault was pointless against an opponent he couldn't truly harm. He knew the Juggernaut's blindness would not last long.

Analyzing the seemingly impenetrable defenses, his eyes locked onto the points where the behemoth's helmet connected to his suit.

He darted forward once more, stabbing out with Muse, not aiming for the vulnerable eyes or exposed skin, but for the precise junctions where helmet met armor. The enchanted blade bit into the narrow gap, its tip barely piercing the Juggernaut's flesh beneath. Tyson left it there, embedded like a wedge, and summoned another dagger to his hand. Again and again, he struck, each time targeting a different connection point. Four precisely placed daggers now protruded from the Juggernaut's armor. The giant swung wildly, trying to swat Tyson away like an annoying insect, but Tyson's reflexes allowed him to dance just out of reach.

As the Juggernaut's eyes finished regenerating, his vision cleared. Tyson leaped onto the behemoth's back, scrambling to stand on his broad shoulders.

Cain roared in fury, reaching up to grab his nimble opponent. But Tyson was faster. He bent down, fingers finding purchase on the helmet's rim. With a grunt of effort, he wrenched upward as if he were deadlifting weight in the gym. With a screech of metal and a pop, the helmet came free. Tyson leapt clear, landing in a crouch several yards away, clutching the Juggernaut's helmet like a trophy.

The instant the helmet left his head, Cain Marko froze. His massive frame became rigid, and his eyes were wide and unfocused. He blinked rapidly, his head swiveling as he tried to make sense of his surroundings.

"Where... where did you go?" Cain growled, his voice a mixture of confusion and rage. His gaze swept across the battlefield, searching for his elusive opponent.

Suddenly, his eyes locked onto a group of figures standing huddled together, each one a replica of Tyson.

The Juggernaut's face twisted into a snarl of hatred. "I don't know which of you is the real one," he bellowed, "so I'm going to crush you all!" With that declaration, Cain charged forward, each thunderous step leaving craters in the pavement. He barreled towards the cluster of Tysons, his massive arms outstretched, ready to pulverize them all into dust.

As he neared the group, one of the figures stepped forward. It was Toad, his sickly green skin glistening with nervous sweat. "Hey mate," he croaked, his eyes wide with fear. "You've got the wrong guys!"

But Cain was beyond reason. His momentum was unstoppable, his rage all-consuming. He showed no sign of slowing or changing course. Toad's eyes bulged in terror. With a yelp of panic, he leapt away, using his powerful legs to propel himself to safety. The other Brotherhood members scattered. Callisto's form blurred as she dashed away. Others dove for cover as the Juggernaut bore down on them like a runaway freight train.

Magneto watched the scene unfold with growing anger. This was not how he had envisioned the battle progressing. His carefully laid plans were unraveling before his eyes. He shouted, "Cain! Stand down!"

But the Juggernaut paid him no heed. He continued his rampage, smashing through anything and anyone in his path. The Brotherhood members chaotically scrambled to avoid his devastating blows.

Magneto raised his hands. He used the metal in the Juggernaut's costume to send the giant floating to hover above the ground where he couldn't do more damage.

Wasting no more energy on that behemoth, a plan formed in Tyson's mind. He'd target one of the other mutants. Quicksilver was too fast, even with Muse, but if he could get his hands on Multiple Man and drain his power, his victory was all but assured. Tensing, he launched himself into a full sprint across the battlefield.

With his other hand, Magneto raised metal debris of all sizes into the air, forming a deadly obstacle course around Tyson. He saw a path through, using his agility, but he didn't use it, or dodge, he just kept going, unstoppable.

"You cannot evade us forever, boy," Magneto's voice boomed. "Brotherhood, Get him!"

"I'm not evading you. I'm barreling through you!"

He was close, mere yards away from the nearest Brotherhood member, Jaime, Multiple Man. Victory seemed within reach.

Then, pain exploded across his body.

— Rogue Redemption —

Pietro Maximoff watched intently as Tyson battled against the sea of duplicates and the towering Juggernaut. Despite the overwhelming odds, Tyson held his own. The speedster's muscles tensed, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. When Magneto's command rang out, Pietro didn't hesitate. The world around him slowed to a crawl, colors blurring and sounds stretching into long, drawn-out echoes. This was Pietro's element, a realm where he alone could move freely while the rest of the world crawled by at a snail's pace.

Tyson was fast, far faster than normal people. But his speed was nothing compared to Pietro's mutant gift. To the speedster's eyes, he might as well have been moving through molasses.

As the Juggernaut reached up to remove the daggers from his eyes, Pietro saw an opportunity. The mystical blades fell from Cain Marko's massive hands, drifting slowly towards the ground.

Pietro plucked one from the air.

A plan formed in his mind as he hefted the daggers. If these magical blades could harm the seemingly invulnerable Juggernaut, they would certainly be effective against Tyson. Even if the man had somehow absorbed Marko's power, making a head-on charge impossible, Pietro had other options. He circled Tyson, who appeared nearly motionless from Pietro's perspective. The speedster unleashed a flurry of slashes. Dozens upon dozens of wounds opened across Tyson's body in the blink of an eye.

As his unrivaled speed slowed, the world around him resumed its normal pace. He came to a stop near his sister, Wanda.

The results were astonishing. Tyson's muscular frame was decorated with dozens of deep, angry lacerations. Blood poured freely from the wounds, drenching his tattered clothing and pooling onto the concrete below in small crimson rivers. It seemed impossible that anyone could withstand such a vicious attack, much less remain upright. Yet Tyson endured. The grievous wounds marring his body began to close, gashes knit themselves together, and blood flow ebbed. Mere moments passed before Tyson's imposing physique showed no lingering sign of damage, completely regenerated.

As the healing finished, Tyson's mismatched eyes locked onto Pietro, glinting with recognition.

Then, something inexplicable happened. The dagger in Pietro's right hand simply vanished. It didn't fall or get knocked away. One moment, it was there, and the next, it had ceased to exist. Confusion and disbelief flooded through him. In all his years of using his powers, Pietro had never experienced anything like this.

Unsettled and suddenly wary, the speedster realized he might have underestimated his opponent.

But then, Pietro watched as Tyson threw another dagger at him in slow motion. A smirk played across the speedster's face. He had been wrong.

He hadn't underestimated him at all.

Instead, his opponent foolishly gave Pietro another weapon that could harm him. He waited until the dagger was close, and then time slowed to a crawl around him as Pietro intercepted the dagger before it impaled him. The speedster's fingers wrapped around the sailing weapon. Time slowed to a crawl as his perception accelerated. In this frozen moment, he closed the distance, circling his opponent, analyzing him with a tactical eye. In contrast, Tyson's gaze remained fixed on his previous position. Pietro took in every detail of his face. He examined the man's oddly mismatched eyes, wild hair, and bulging muscles. But Pietro wasn't admiring him. Instead, he was looking for a weakness.

He needed to find a way to circumvent his enemy's regeneration. The way that Tyson healed, going for the heart, was pointless. He could thrust the dagger into his eyes, which worked effectively on The Juggernaut. But they'd already seen how temporary that effect was. He could aim for the base of the skull, which would be fatal.

Magneto's orders echoed in his mind; Mirage was to be captured, not killed.

Every warrior had a weakness. And Pietro sought his. His initial strikes had proved fruitless against Tyson's healing factor. Even this empowered blade did little to stop him.

He strolled around the nearly stationary Tyson until he settled on a weak point.

As he completed his circle, Pietro's gaze fixed on the vulnerable span of spine between Tyson's shoulder blades. One clean thrust to sever the spinal cord would paralyze even this monster. Tyson could heal the wound, but with the dagger lodged in place, it would incapacitate him completely. It should put Mirage down and keep him down without killing him.

He moved in, angling the blade precisely towards its target. Mirage's reflexes were superhuman, but to Pietro, he was a statue, oblivious to the strike that would end this fight. The speedster's smile widened in anticipation of victory.

It was almost too easy.