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━━ HER FUTURE
The Future. A dark, desolate world.
A world of War. Suffering. Loss. On both sides.
Mutants. And the humans who dared to help them.
Fighting an enemy they cannot defeat.
The clouds of night shrouded the world in darkness. Silence filled the air with a quiet roar. Everything was always quiet now. Silence was the enemy to all. If it was too quiet, and a footfall landed the wrong way, it could mean either death or a punishment worse than that. Sentinels, large, man-shaped beings of metal and steel, scales and fury, stood watching out over the hill in a region of China. Temples were constructed along the mountaintops, abandoned since the many purges had swept through the world.
Or so they thought.
Above in the sky, a jet silently streamed through the mists. As black as a cat with an ebony coat, and an engine near silent, like the soft feet of a panther, it flew through the hills, hoping, waiting, daring to reach its destination.
Everyone inside the jet was silent.
They did not dare speak, did not dare move. For the silence was their enemy, just as everything else. The pilot made the descent, his movements precise and weary. He knew that one wrong move could give away their location, and it was his responsibility to make sure they landed without being noticed. The lights of the jet were a necessary risk, and the jet landed. From inside the temple door, shadowy figures emerged. A dark-skinned man with a large red and black gun watched the occupants leave the jet. He did not smile, but on the inside he was relieved.
The first to emerge was a bronze-skinned woman, tall and lanky, with close cropped hair of flashing ivory and eyes like a summer storm. When her feet hit the ground, she looked from one side to the other, eyes clouding over as she scanned for something the man did not know. When she was satisfied, Storm, as most called her, stepped off to the side.
The next was a large, hulking man. He wore a sour expression and streaking black hair that jutted from his face like the puffs of smoke he now lit with his cigar. He took a long drag and watched everyone with a suspicious eye. Logan Howlett, or Wolverine, was always suspicious, it was what kept him safe. It was what kept him alive.
One of the last to come down the steps was the one the young mutants had been waiting for. Suspended several inches above the ground came an aging man with no hair and wise eyes. A slight smirk seemed to play on his lips as he descended the jet, and though he did not speak, a thousand words seemed to be set alight in his eyes. Charles Xavier, Professor X, was weary and tired, but he did not show it. He needed to be strong and brave and share knowledge with the others, for their time was short he did not know how long they would have.
