Hal stood silently before a tall glass window, watching as the convoy of ruined armored vehicles—those same ones that had come to kill him and his friends just hours ago—slowly rolled out of the Avengers Compound parking lot. They were leaving now, intact enough to retreat, but not untouched. Their wounded rode inside. The dead were carried with efficiency. In the far distance, bright yellow tape now marked the perimeter of the battle site, sealing it off before the world could learn what had really happened here.
Behind Hal, the others had gathered. Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff stood with them, delivering quiet explanations. Dani had reappeared after hiding deep in the forest. And Rahne had been here for longer than the others as she arrived first. Hal, Roberto, and Rahne—who had emerged from the scenario without a shred of clothing between them—were now dressed again in borrowed clothes. The group had regrouped. They were together again, if not whole.
Steve's voice was calm but heavy. "S.W.O.R.D. will pull back. The remaining mutants in their custody will be released. Reintegrated into society. As for S.W.O.R.D. itself—they'll return to observation only. That's what we've managed."
Hal's eyes stayed on the window. "That's it?" he muttered. "They just walk away? After everything?"
"They answer to the Air Force and the CIA," Natasha said, arms folded. "It's all… legally sanctioned. There's no official recourse."
"Brainwashing kids is legal now?" Dani asked, disbelief written across her face.
"It's not the outcome we wanted," Steve admitted. "But you're free now. That's what matters."
"Free?" Roberto scoffed, eyes narrowing. "While they keep watching us?"
"They have protocols," Steve said carefully. "It's not ideal. But it's... oversight."
Roberto clenched his fists and looked away, but the first to move wasn't him. It was Illyana. She turned and walked off in silence. Hal didn't need to look to know it was her—he could feel the fury radiating from her like a heatwave. No one stopped her. Even Steve simply looked down and shook his head.
"What happens now?" Sam asked quietly.
"You have options," Natasha said. "You can go back home. Or we can help you start over. Set you up here. Make sure you get back in school, finish your education, whatever you need."
"Go home?" Hal repeated bitterly. "Not all of us have that privilege."
"Then we help you build something new," Nat said, her voice softer now. "And in the meantime, we can run some quick tests, to make sure—"
"No," Hal said, cutting her off flatly.
Nat blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"No more tests," Hal said again.
She looked around at the others. Their faces echoed the same emotion—exhaustion. Resentment. A quiet, hardened annoyance of the word.
"I meant medical, not... the other kind," Nat clarified gently. "But I get it. If you're not ready, it can wait. Just… if anything feels wrong, please go to the infirmary. You've all been through a lot."
"Thank ye, Miss Romanoff," Rahne said with a soft, genuine smile. "We will."
Nat returned the smile, but her eyes were tired. She turned to Steve, who gave her a subtle nod.
"I'll leave you to it, then," she murmured, before stepping out of the room and closing the door behind her.
Now only Steve remained, standing quietly among the young mutants. The silence hung for a moment—heavy, uncertain, but not hopeless.
Before Steve could speak, Hal turned away from the group.
"I'm going to find Illyana," he said, already moving. "Before she does something we all regret."
Without waiting for a response, Hal pushed past Steve and slipped out the door. Steve watched him go in silence, his gaze lingering on the space Hal had left behind. Then, with a quiet sigh, he stepped toward the window and stood where Hal had stood moments ago.
"It took me years to understand something," Steve said "As a soldier, not every order is what it seems. Not every command deserves blind obedience."
The group turned their attention to him. Quiet. Listening.
"Sometimes, you're only told half the truth," Steve continued. "Sometimes, you're lied to outright. But you—all of you—you didn't fold. You didn't just take what they told you and sit down. You questioned. You resisted. That takes strength."
Roberto leaned back, arms crossed, voice bitter. "And look where that strength got us. Nowhere."
Steve turned to him. "Don't downplay what you did. Because of you, those kids in S.W.O.R.D.'s custody now have a chance. A second chance. That matters."
"We're still being watched," Roberto muttered.
"Some might call that a precaution," Steve replied. "If one of you loses control—if someone gets hurt—being watched means someone might actually be there to stop it. Or save you."
Roberto frowned, his frustration rising. "Captain... you fought the whole world government because you wouldn't sign away your freedom. You went on the run. A fugitive. Why is it different for us? Why are you deciding for us?"
Steve let out a long breath. "Because I've already lived that life. I've had a childhood. I got to be a teenager. You haven't. Not really. You're what—sixteen, seventeen? You want to spend your youth hiding, hunted, with a target on your back every time you close your eyes? I don't want that for you. Them watching you isn't ideal. But it's better than living every day wondering if it's your last."
He stepped closer to Roberto and placed a hand gently on his shoulder. "Where're you from?"
"Rio," Roberto muttered. "Rio de Janeiro."
"You've still got family there?"
Roberto hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah."
"You want me to contact them for you?"
Another pause. "No. Not yet. I just… I need time."
Steve gave him a light pat on the shoulder. "Fair enough. When you're ready."
He turned back to the rest of the group. "You should get some rest. There's still a lot to figure out. Tomorrow's going to be busy."
They nodded. Steve then left, leaving the group alone.
"This is what we're settling for?" Roberto asked the others. "They got away with everything. No punishment. We're still being watched like criminals. We have no idea if our lives will ever go back to what they were."
Sam stood, rubbing his face with tired hands. "Do we even got a choice? I'm plumb wore out, man. If this gives me even a scrap of normal, I'll take it."
Roberto looked down. "After everything… that's enough for you?"
"What do you want us to do?" Dani asked, exasperated. "Run again? Spend our lives in the shadows? We finally have people who want to help us. People like Captain Rogers and Miss Romanoff. That's more than we had yesterday."
"At the very least, I want Hayward behind bars," Roberto muttered.
"Well, that ain't happenin'," Sam said with a long sigh. "Y'all heard Miss Romanoff. Roberto, just let it be."
There was nothing else to say. One by one, the rest of them left, their footsteps echoing down the hallway.
And Roberto… stayed. Alone at the window. Staring out into the fading light. Wondering if this strange new world had room for someone like him.
—
It wasn't hard for Hal to find her.
Illyana's rage was like a beacon—loud, unmistakable, and impossible to ignore. He followed the invisible trail of fury all the way to the public restroom at the edge of the compound grounds, where the sounds of destruction echoed off tile and porcelain.
He pushed the door open, and the scene inside stopped him in his tracks.
The place was wrecked. Shattered mirror fragments littered the floor. One of the stalls had been sliced clean in half, and the others weren't faring much better. In the middle of the chaos sat Illyana, slumped against the wall, sword still in hand. Her blonde hair hung over her face like a curtain, hiding her expression—but the heat of her anger still burned in the room like wildfire.
Hal let out a slow breath as he stepped in, glass crunching beneath his shoes.
"You know," he said quietly, "when I told you to let out your repressed emotions… this isn't quite what I meant."
Illyana didn't look at him. Not at first. Then, just for a second, she glanced up—her eyes stormy and tired—before turning her gaze back to the floor.
"What do you want?"
"I guess I didn't expect this," Hal said. "Not like this. I didn't think you'd be this... upset."
Her head snapped up. "And what's that supposed to mean?" she hissed. "That I don't care?"
"No," Hal replied, cautiously. "Just... I remember you wanted to leave. Go off on your own."
"I did," she spat, eyes burning now. "And I came back. You know why? Because I wanted justice. No, not even justice—I wanted revenge. I wanted the man who took me. Who put me in that facility. I wanted to end him myself. But instead, I had to watch as they drove off. Untouched. Protected. Like none of this ever happened. What do you expect me to do, Hal? Smile? Nod? Say 'thank you for the second chance'? I am angry."
"I'm angry too," Hal said quietly.
"No," she snapped. "You're upset. You're disappointed. But you're not angry like me. Not the kind of anger that lives in your bones. You ever look at someone and know they've ruined lives—your life—and then watch the world let them go free? Do you know how that feels, Hal?"
Hal didn't answer.
"You wanted to know about my past?" she snapped, rising to her feet.
She walked straight up to Hal, stopping inches from him, her voice low and sharp. "Fine. You'll hear it. When the Snap happened, my parents disappeared. Just… vanished. It was just me and my two brothers after that. We joined a group, made the long trek from Siberia to Alaska, hoping to find people—some kind of safety in a group."
She shook her head bitterly.
"We found a sliver of it. A small camp. It wasn't much, but we were alive. Until some gang of monsters found us. They raided everything. They killed my oldest brother."
Her eyes welled, but her voice never wavered.
"And me? I was eight. They… hurt me."
She looked away, just for a moment.
"They took me with them. And it didn't stop. Not that day, not the next. Over and over, they passed me around. I was just a child. I didn't even understand half of what was happening. Only that it wouldn't end."
She clenched her fists, barely holding herself together.
"Okay, stop." Hal voiced. "I—"
"No," she snapped, her voice cutting through the silence, sharp as a blade. "You don't get to tell me when I stop talking."
Her words came out in a rush, as though everything she had buried for so long was clawing its way to the surface. "They moved me all across the states. I don't even know where half the time. They sold me like I was nothing. They locked me in small rooms, and..." She faltered for a moment, swallowing hard before continuing. "And different men took me. Over and over again. You want to know who they were? Politicians. Cops. Soldiers. Generals. Lawyers." Her breath hitched, the anger and disgust twisting in her voice. "And more. So many more."
Hal said nothing, his body frozen in place. Instead of speaking, he pulled her into his arms, feeling the weight of her pain as her tears soaked into his shirt.
"I was so scared," she whispered, her voice cracking. "And then… then my powers came. The portal. It sent me to Limbo. There, I thrived. I was taken in by a demon. Met people, stranded just like me, who taught me what I know today, how to use my powers. But I learned something else... The demon wasn't saving me. He wanted to use me, just like they had. When I realized what he was, I killed him. Took his place as the ruler of Limbo."
Hal remained silent, listening as she continued.
"When I came back here... I still remembered them. The faces of those who had hurt me. I couldn't stop seeing them in my nightmares. And in reality, they were still free. They had never paid for what they did. So I made them pay. All of them." Her voice was steady, but the anger behind it was unmistakable. "The raiders. The politicians. The cops. The soldiers. The generals. Every last one of them."
"All of them?" Hal repeated.
"All of them," she repeated, her eyes hardening. "No one was left. No one got to walk away from what they'd done."
She pulled back from him, her hands balling into fists at her sides, the rage now unmistakable in her every movement. "So yeah, I'm angry right now. And you don't get it. You don't understand what it's like. Because we let one man slip away, where in the past, I would never have let that happen."
Hal stepped forward, his movements slow, careful, as he reached out and gently wiped away a tear that had fallen down her cheek. She didn't flinch, didn't pull away. The fury still burned in her, but the raw vulnerability was there too. But he was here. And that, for now, was enough.
"You're not going to chase him?" Hal asked softly. "Not hunt him down?"
Illyana shook her head, her expression hardening. "Not right now."
Hal raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Why?"
"Because if I kill him now, it'll ruin everything," she muttered, almost to herself. "Sam, Dani, Rahne, Roberto... They won't get what they want."
Hal's lips curled into a soft smile, the kind that showed he was trying to understand. "And what exactly do they want?"
"Peace," she said, her voice bitter with the weight of the word. "If I kill Hayward now, SWORD will just retaliate. They'll double down. It'll just bring more chaos. The others, the mutants locked away in SWORD's custody, won't get their peace. None of them will."
A beat passed as Hal took in her words, nodding slowly. "So, what do you do then?"
Illyana's jaw clenched as she walked back to her spot, sitting down heavily against the wall. "Wait. Until the time's right. But damn, it's frustrating."
Hal shifted and moved to sit down in front of her, looking at her with a hint of mischief in his eyes. "What if we channeled that frustration into something productive?"
Illyana scoffed, eyes narrowing. "What do you mean by that?"
"We plan," Hal said, his voice steady, though there was a spark of excitement there. "We start thinking about how to take him down in the future. Just... rough ideas, you know? After all, we can't predict what's ahead."
She frowned at first, then slowly relaxed, a glimmer of intrigue sparking in her eyes. "You're an idiot," she muttered, but there was no real malice in her words. "What are you thinking?"
Hal cleared his throat, a slight grin forming as he began to get swept up in the moment. "Well... I was thinking maybe we could—"
The night wore on as the two of them fell into a rhythm, their conversation spinning into plans that were as reckless as they were elaborate. They brainstormed everything—most of it too impractical, too wild to ever work—but neither of them cared. They were consumed by the madness of the plan, lost in each other's wild ideas and the dark thrill of the future they might create.