Early the next morning, Hang packed his bag and headed downstairs.
Charles was already waiting in the hall.
"You're leaving," Charles said.
"Yes."
"Where to?"
"To find other mutants," Hang replied. "I've learned everything I can here."
Charles turned his wheelchair toward the window. Outside, Scott was guiding John as he practiced controlling flas.
"Your goal was never to fit in here."
"No."
"Then what is it?"
"To beco stronger," Hang said. "Stronger than anyone."
Charles was silent for a mont, then nodded.
"I won't stop you. But there's sothing you should know." He turned back. "Have you heard of the Hellfire Club?"
"No."
"A mutant-supremacist organization. Its core mbers are Sebastian Shaw, the Black King, Azazel, the Red Devil, and Emma Frost, the White Queen. They're even more radical than Erik."
He paused.
"If you're searching outside, you'll likely run into them. Be careful."
"They're strong?"
"Shaw absorbs energy. Emma is a top-tier telepath and can turn her body into diamond. Azazel can teleport."
Charles looked at him. "You're strong—but they're an organization. Alone, you're at a disadvantage."
Hang nodded. "I'll be careful."
"And this." Charles handed him a sheet of paper. "So leads on special mutants."
Hang took it and glanced over it.
Five nas and addresses were listed:
Darwin (Armando Muñoz) – Las Vegas. Ability: Adaptation.
Angel (Angel Salvadore) – San Francisco. Ability: Insect wings, acid.
Banshee (Sean Cassidy) – Dublin, Ireland. Ability: Sonic waves.
Colossus (Piotr Rasputin) – Ural Mountains, USSR. Ability: Organic tal form.
The last na was crossed out, the writing smudged.
"Who's this?" Hang asked.
"Soone I don't want you to et," Charles said. "His ability is too dangerous—and he's already lost his mind."
Hang didn't press further. He folded the paper and put it away.
"Thanks."
"You're welco." Charles extended his hand. "If you run into trouble, you can co back."
Hang shook it, then turned toward the door.
---
Outside, Jean stood on the steps, holding a notebook.
"These are my notes," she said, handing it over. "About psychic power."
Hang flipped through it—neat handwriting.
"Thanks."
"You're really leaving?" There was a faint trace of reluctance in her voice.
"Yeah."
"Where to?"
"Las Vegas."
Jean looked down, fingers brushing the notebook cover. "Will you co back?"
"I will." Hang's gaze lingered on her, carrying deeper aning. "When the power inside you fully awakens—when you truly control it—I'll return."
Jean looked up suddenly, her expression complicated, confused… and faintly hopeful.
"You're waiting for that?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because by then, you won't be a girl trapped by power anymore," Hang said calmly. "You'll be soone who understands —soone who might even stand beside ."
He reached out and lightly touched her forehead. A faint ripple of psychic energy flowed into her mind, like a silent promise.
Jean stood there, dazed, even after he turned and walked away.
---
Half an hour later, Hang caught a long-distance bus to New York.
Six hours later, he transferred onto a flight to Las Vegas.
At 9 p.m., the plane landed.
The mont Hang stepped out of the airport, his psychic power spread across the city.
Among millions of minds, he quickly filtered out the unique energy signatures of mutants.
Three minutes later—target locked.
East side of the city. An underground casino. A young Black man.
Hang hailed a taxi.
"East District. Intersection of Fifth Avenue and Fremont Street."
The driver glanced at him. "Not a safe area, kid."
"I'll be fine."
---
Twenty minutes later, the taxi left the neon-drenched main strip and stopped on a quieter street.
Even here, the air reeked of smoke, alcohol, and cheap perfu. The distant clatter of slot machines and crowd noise echoed faintly.
Hang stepped out, ignoring the wary looks from a few thugs lurking in the shadows, and walked straight ahead.
His psychic sense pinpointed the underground location. The entrance was disguised as a rundown laundromat—faded sign, dusty windows, blending into the surrounding decay.
He pushed the door open. Empty.
A back door stood ajar—music and noise spilling through.
He went down the stairs.
The basent was packed, thick with smoke.
In the corner, a young Black man in his twenties fed coins into a slot machine.
Hang walked over.
"Armando Muñoz?"
The man flinched, dropping a coin. He stepped back warily.
"Who are you?"
"Soone looking for you."
"I don't know you," Armando said. "And I don't want trouble."
"I know you're a mutant."
Armando's expression changed. "What do you want?"
"To make a friend."
Before he could finish, a psychic ripple ca from the stairs.
A blonde woman in a white suit descended, followed by a red-skinned man and two burly bodyguards.
Armando went pale. "Damn it."
"The Hellfire Club?" Hang asked.
The blonde removed her sunglasses, icy blue eyes locking onto Armando.
"Emma Frost," she introduced herself with a smile. "Darwin—we et again."
Armando backed away. "I told you—I'm not joining."
"I know," Emma said. "That's why we're here to take you."
She turned to Hang. "As for you, stranger—I suggest you leave."
Hang didn't move.
Emma narrowed her eyes. Her psychic power stabbed forward—only to hit an invisible wall.
Her smile vanished. "You're a mutant too?"
"No."
Hang raised his hand. His psychic force surged outward.
Emma instantly shifted into diamond form, her body gleaming.
But Hang wasn't targeting her.
His psychic power struck the three behind her.
Azazel froze mid-teleport. The two bodyguards' eyes went blank.
Three seconds later, they turned and walked upstairs.
Emma's eyes widened. "What did you do to them?"
"Sent them ho to sleep," Hang said. "Now—it's your turn."
His psychic force bypassed her diamond shell and pierced her consciousness directly.
"Forget today. Leave."
Emma's gaze flickered—then cleared. She glanced at Hang once, said nothing, and walked upstairs.
---
Armando leaned against the wall, breathing hard.
"You… controlled the White Queen?"
Hang only smiled faintly. "Nice to et you. I'm Hang."
He extended his hand.
Armando hesitated, then shook it.
[Detected S Ability: Survival of the Fittest]
[Description: The body evolves in real ti to adapt to environntal threats, including but not limited to poison resistance, radiation resistance, underwater breathing, vacuum survival, energy absorption, etc.]
[Copy?]
Copy.
A flood of information surged through Hang's mind—not knowledge, but instinct.
Countless mories of life adapting, evolving, surviving under extre conditions poured into every nerve.
Three seconds later, Hang released his hand, fingers trembling slightly.
"That's it?" Armando checked himself, confused.
"That's it."
Hang closed his eyes briefly. Deep within him, a new force lay dormant—no longer just energy, but a complete evolutionary system, waiting to respond to threats.
---
"What about ?" Armando asked. "The Hellfire Club won't let go."
Hang tore off a piece of paper, wrote an address, and handed it over.
"Go here. Xavier's School. Find Charles Xavier. Tell him I sent you."
"He can protect ?"
"Yes."
Armando nodded.
---
Hang turned toward the stairs—when the basent door burst open.
Azazel reappeared, eyes burning red, followed by a dozen n in black suits.
"What did you do to Emma?"
"Sent her ho," Hang replied without turning.
"Bullshit!"
Azazel vanished—reappearing behind Hang, tail stabbing forward.
Hang sidestepped. The tail pierced the wall.
Azazel teleported again, appearing in front of him, fist swinging—
—and stopped midair, as if hitting steel.
"Your teleportation is fast," Hang said. "But your mind isn't."
His psychic force pierced through.
Azazel froze, eyes going blank.
"Take your people and leave."
Azazel turned, vanishing with his n in a flash of red light.
Silence returned.
---
"What… are you?" Armando whispered.
"A traveler passing through."
Hang stepped out into the cool night air.
A voice echoed in his mind—his original body.
"How's it going?"
"Telepathy, mind control, adaptive evolution—acquired."
"Good. The TVA has new movent. Loki found a Kang variant collecting energy cores—planning a dinsional bomb. Speed things up."
"Understood."
"And be careful of Sebastian Shaw. His energy absorption is tricky—don't fight head-on."
"Got it."
The connection cut.
---
Hang looked up at the night sky, then at the paper in his hand.
San Francisco. Dublin. Ural Mountains.
He folded it away and hailed a taxi.
"To the airport."
Ten minutes into the ride, his psychic sense caught sothing—
A massive, familiar energy signature.
Like a bottomless pit, devouring heat, light—even radiation—from the top floor of a luxury hotel downtown.
Sebastian Shaw.
Hang told the driver to stop and stepped out, locking onto the source with his mind.
He could copy the ability anyti.
But not now.
His cooldown wasn't over.
"Not yet," he murmured.
He got back into the taxi.
"Keep going to the airport."
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