2 Arc 1 - Ch 2: Roadtrip, Interrupted

As the clock ticked later, the crowd around the bar dwindled significantly. The bawdy laughs and raucous cheers were now a faint echo, replaced by the quiet clinking of glasses and the muffled whispers of the remaining patrons. The place wore a desolate look, a stark contrast to the vibrant chaos it had been just hours ago. The few patrons left were slouched over their drinks or nursing the last of their whiskey.

Tyson's body was completely healed thanks to the traces of Wolverine's power that he'd absorbed during the slugfest earlier. His fighting had impressed some of the regulars; they had rewarded him with a bit of pity money for putting up a decent effort. It allowed him to buy a meal with his charity winnings. His stomach no longer growled with hunger as he sat at the bar sipping on his water. His attention was fixed intently on a newspaper spread out on the table. His eyes flitted over the lines, even though he'd read it several times, he was still having difficulty believing its contents. 

His gaze fell on a particular line at the top of the paper. It wasn't an article or story that held his attention. Tyson's eyes darted toward the date. June 2, 2010. He blinked, rubbing his eyes, making sure he wasn't seeing things. He was in 2023 just a day ago, or at least he thought he was. He stared blankly at the paper, his mind churning with questions. 

This was no elaborate prank, he was certain. This grimy bar, with its chipped wooden tables and worn-out bar stools, was the farthest thing from a vintage memorabilia shop. There was no way they'd keep an antique newspaper around just for kicks. His thoughts circled back to the rowdy crowd from the fight. There had been a lot of people, all shouting, cheering, and making bets. But no one was recording. He didn't see a single phone held aloft, no flash of camera lights, no one peering through their screens to capture the moment. An incredible fight, and no one thought to record it?

A sinking feeling gnawed at him. The evidence was mounting. He accepted he had somehow landed in a parallel universe where he was a super-powered mutant, Rogue. Now he had to cope with being in the past as well. Tyson picked up the newspaper again, rereading the articles, looking at the advertisements, taking in the details. 

Stark Industries Stock Value Begins Recovery Amidst Shift to Clean Energy 

By Betty Brant, International Business

NEW YORK - Stark Industries, once the foremost leader in weapons manufacturing, has shown signs of a stock value rebound since announcing its unprecedented shift toward clean energy initiatives. Investors and industry insiders were initially skeptical about the company's unexpected pivot, especially after its CEO Anthony Stark was captured during a weapons demonstration in February, leading to a plummet in share prices. Stark's sudden disappearance lasted until May when he made a mysterious and dramatic escape. While details remain undisclosed, Stark's return has spearheaded the company's reinvention.

Initially, Stark's return and his public declaration of moving away from weapons caused a precipitous drop in the company's value. In the month since, there has been a 12% recovery in stock value, which experts attribute to both Stark's reputation for innovation and a growing global demand for sustainable energy solutions. Experts speculate that Stark Industries may reveal plans for an improved Arc Reactor. Arc Reactors were a promising clean energy source but were abandoned when the technology hit a development ceiling. The reactor was considered a publicity stunt by many, but with Stark moving away from weapons the Arc Reactor has garnered significant interest from those in tech industries and eco-activists alike.

However, the departure of Stark Industries from the weapons sector has paved the way for other defense companies to step up. Leading the charge is Hammer Industries which witnessed a massive surge in stock prices and signed several key defense contracts over the last couple of months. Justin Hammer, CEO of Hammer Industries, commented, "While Tony's position is, uh, noble, we at Hammer Industries are committed to ensuring global security, and someone has to take the helm."

Other energy corporations like Roxxon Energy have also seen fluctuations in their values at Stark Industries' sudden jump from weapons to energy. The shakeup continues as insiders place several corporations as considering expanding into weapons manufacturing to fill the void left by Stark. Oscorp, primarily a chemical manufacturer, already has several military contracts, but insiders report the corporation has fallen behind on its promises to the government. Other notable newcomers expanding into the sector include Advanced Idea Mechanics, Essex Corp, and Trask Industries.

The market waits with bated breath to see if Stark Industries' gamble pays off in the long run. For now, Tony Stark's return and his ambitious vision for a sustainable future have offered a glimmer of hope to investors. Yet, one can't help but wonder about the circumstances of his disappearance and what truly transpired during his time in captivity.

Tyson gulped down the last of his water, the cold liquid doing little to settle the thoughts in his mind. There was so much information for him to unpack from that article. His brow furrowed as he pondered his strange predicament. But he was interrupted when out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a figure moving toward him. His gaze lifted, locking with the unmistakable eyes of the man he'd recently squared off with. Wolverine. 

The bartender ambled over, dropping a thick wad of cash in front of Wolverine. He grunted in acknowledgment, scooping up the money with a smirk that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Your winnings, Logan," the bartender said, clapping him on the shoulder.

Wolverine, or Logan as the bartender had just called him, turned towards Tyson. He leaned over, the bar stool creaked beneath his weight. Logan's rough voice stated, "You take a hit pretty well for a scrawny kid."

Tyson barely had time to digest the gruff compliment when a shadow fell across the bar. The man who had suffered a humiliating defeat at the hands of Wolverine was back. His face was a map of fresh bruises, his wrist and hand were wrapped, but his eyes clearly showed his desire for revenge. The huge man turned his penetrating glare towards Logan, "No man takes a beating like that with nothing to show for it. I think you owe me some."

Before Logan could respond, Tyson's laughter echoed through the room, drawing the attention of the few stragglers still occupying the dimly lit bar. The man's attention swiveled to Tyson. A threat passed in his eyes as he snarled, "Something funny?"

Tyson's shoulders shook with his last chuckles. He finally looked up at the large man, the shadow of a smile still playing on his lips. "Yeah," he admitted, "You. You want him," he gestured at Wolverine, "to pay you. For kicking your ass? That's crazy." 

His chuckles filled the tense air once again, proving to be the only source of lightness in a room packed with tension. It was contagious, and soon enough, a few stray laughs joined his. Wolverine looked on, a slight smirk crossing his lips, as Tyson managed to lighten the situation, if only for a moment.

The man responded by grabbing a fistful of Tyson's jacket around his shoulder, lifting Tyson with startling ease. 

"You don't want to do this," Tyson advised. His voice was steady despite his precarious situation. 

Ignoring Tyson's warning, the man easily hauled him to his feet. Tyson just stood there seemingly unimpressed by the display of strength. 

His nonchalance infuriated the man even more. "Think you're tough, eh?" he sneered. The man balled his hand into a fist and wound back.

The punch hit Tyson hard across the face. The blow sent him sprawling backward, careening into the barstools and crashing onto the ground. The impact echoed through the nearly deserted room, drawing cheers from the lingering patrons. 

The man had hit Tyson hard enough to send him sprawling, but in doing so, had unwittingly triggered Tyson's unique ability. The moment his fist connected with Tyson's face, a sharp, visceral pain shot through him, the likes of which he'd never experienced before.

He was a young boy, full of potential, slowly succumbing to the pressures of high school and dropping out. He had a turbulent marriage, scarred by loud arguments and acts of domestic violence, which ultimately led to a bitter divorce. He felt anger, regret, and self-loathing. He worked as a mechanic and knew how to repair cars. But also had a side hustle of hotwiring and stealing. All his bar fights lent him proficiency in a simple style of street fighting.

Tyson groaned as he slowly got to his feet, his hand exploring the tender spot on his cheek. Fighting without Logan's power wasn't as fun. He could already feel his skin blossoming into a dark bruise. But he knew that in that short exchange, regardless of the hit he'd taken, his odds of winning the fight increased. The man's strength and experience advantage had been nullified when they made contact. 

His eyes narrowed on the large man, who now held his hand in surprise, pain etched onto his face. Tyson's power allowed him to absorb not just the life force, but also the skills and strengths of the person he touched. The man might not have been a mutant, but in the fleeting moment their skin made contact, Tyson had siphoned off some of his essence. Stolen strength flowed through his veins and the man's knowledge of fighting was transiently embedded in his mind. 

There was a sudden shift in the energy of the bar as Tyson lifted his guard. His hands, though, didn't shape into fists as one would expect. Instead, his palms were open, almost like he was about to engage in a slap-boxing match. Tyson took some hits, absorbing each punch with a grimace. But he didn't strike back with fists but with open-handed swipes. To any onlooker, it would seem comical, and a poor strategy for winning a fight.

But each slap that landed on the man's skin was more devastating than any punch thrown. The man began to falter. His veins bulged under the stress, a wild look of fear dawning in his eyes. With each slap, his strength dwindled. It wasn't about brute force; it was about siphoning off his opponent's life force and strength, one slap at a time. With every contact, Tyson was gaining the upper hand, and the crowd around them could sense it. The cheers had transformed into stunned silence. 

Tyson was about to wind up for another slap when the chilling sound of a shotgun being cocked echoed in the bar. He froze, turning his head slowly to find the grizzled bartender pointing the barrel of the shotgun at him.

"Your kind isn't welcome here," the bartender growled, his eyes narrowed dangerously at Tyson. The bar, which moments ago was filled with raucous cheers, had now fallen deadly silent, the patrons carefully watching the unfolding drama.

Tyson wanted to say, It's cause I'm black, but he held his tongue; he doubted his attempt at humor would diffuse this situation. His heart pounded against his ribcage. Despite his newly gained powers, a close-range shotgun blast would kill him. He lifted his hands in surrender, showing no intention of escalating the situation further. Now that his focus had been broken, he noticed the state of the man he'd been fighting. His veins bulged from his face, and blackness was spreading through them. It was faint but noticeably unnatural.

"Then I'll be going... peacefully," he announced, trying to keep his voice steady. The bartender, still scowling, nodded towards the door, gesturing with the gun for him to make his exit. 

With his hands still raised, Tyson began to back away towards the door. He exited the bar, stepping out into the night.

Tyson's breath fogged up in the frigid air as he stepped outside the bar. The newspaper had claimed it was June, but the biting Canadian winds told a different story. He was practically in the middle of nowhere, with no transportation and no money. 

As Tyson pulled his thin jacket tighter around himself, he heard the creak of the bar's door behind him. He turned to see the figure of Logan, stepping out into the night air, his breath also clouding in front of him. Logan's eyes met his, his gaze steady and unreadable under the dim light of the moon.

"Need a ride, kid?" Logan's gruff voice carried across the parking lot. He jerked his thumb in the direction of a beat-up camper with a small trailer hitched to the back. It wasn't much to look at, but right now it felt like a lifeline.

Tyson was surprised but didn't hesitate, knowing he didn't have much of a choice. With a nod, he made his way towards Logan. Tyson slipped into the passenger seat of the camper. The worn leather seat creaked under his weight. Logan turned the key and the engine rumbled to life before he pulled out onto the deserted road. The two sat in silence for a while, the only sound being the gravel crunching under the tires and the soft hum of the camper's engine. 

Logan was the first to break the silence, his tone gruff yet curious. "Your hits hurt, kid," Logan started, his eyes stayed trained on the dark road ahead as he spoke, "And you bounced back in the ring faster than any normal man should have. I saw the lines on that guy's face, that's not from a normal slap. What's your secret?"

Tyson took a deep breath, his gaze shifting from Logan to the passing trees that were barely visible in the night. He had nothing to lose by telling the truth. "I can absorb other people's life force. With skin contact," Tyson admitted, "When we were in the ring... I... borrowed some of your strength. Your healing abilities. It was temporary, but it was enough. I can't control it, it's always on. Anyone I touch starts to die."

Logan glanced at Tyson, one eyebrow raised in surprise before he chuckled, "Now that's a neat trick. Girls must love it."

Tyson couldn't help but smile at the humor in Logan's voice. He banged the back of his head against the headrest. "Fuck, hadn't thought about that. I haven't gotten that far yet." 

"Don't worry, kid. Maybe it'll happen one day," Logan mused, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. His fingers drummed rhythmically on the steering wheel, the old camper's headlights slicing through the night.

"That's not what I meant" Tyson mumbled, hanging his head. Now Logan thought he was a virgin. He stared out the window, watching as the dark shadows of the forest zipped past them. 

"But you handled it well, kid," Logan added, a note of approval in his gruff voice. He gave Tyson a sidelong glance, "Not everyone can go toe-to-toe with me in the ring and have a gun pulled on them and keep their cool."

Tyson chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, "Well, I had a bit of help in the ring. From you, actually."

As the camper chugged through the winding Canadian roads, Tyson found the cab was surprisingly comfortable. Logan was not like he expected; far from being just a fierce combatant, he was a man willing to extend a helping hand to a kid in need, like himself. 

~~ Rogue Replacement ~~

They were on the road through sunrise and most of the day. Dark, heavy clouds unfurled across the mid-afternoon sky, an ominous sign of an approaching storm. Light flurries of snow began to flutter down, dappling the weathered hood of the camper in a fresh, white dusting. The snowfall gradually intensified, turning the world outside into a swirling, white wonderland. 

Logan was in the middle of a sentence, recounting a bar brawl in Saskatchewan when, without any warning, a massive, frost-bitten tree came crashing down onto the road ahead of them. His eyes went wide with alarm, but there was no time to swerve or brake, the ice-slicked road offered no grip.

The impact was deafening. Metal screeched, glass shattered, and the harsh jolt knocked the breath out of Tyson's lungs. Logan, who hadn't bothered to put on his seatbelt, was suddenly hurtled through the windshield by the violent collision.

Tyson's seatbelt bit into his chest, jerking him forward, but locked too late. It failed to prevent his forehead from smacking against the dashboard with an audible thud, leaving a throbbing, raw wound that immediately started to seep with warm blood. The world wavered before his eyes, spots of darkness flickering at the edges of his vision.

The violent rattling of the camper stilled, replaced by an eerie silence that was punctuated only by the sound of his ragged breaths. Tyson's heart pounded in his chest as he processed the sudden turn of events. Logan was gone, thrown from the vehicle, and he was left alone, dazed, and bleeding in the wreckage of their camper.

Logan's body hit the ground with a sickening thud, rolling over the snow-covered road like a rag doll. His body was an unnatural collection of twisted limbs and jutting bones, an image that would've spelled death for any normal man. 

But Logan wasn't a normal man.

His body twitched like he was one of the living dead. With a grimace that held more annoyance than pain, he slowly rose to his feet. He cracked his neck, the sound of Logan's bones relocating was grotesque and unnatural. His arms moved, manipulating bones back into their rightful positions. His legs straightened, the bones sliding back into place with an audible pop that had Tyson wincing in sympathy. A deep gash ran down the side of Logan's head, blood glistening against his matted hair. But even as Tyson watched, the wound puckered and closed, leaving behind only a streak of dried blood.

"You okay, kid?" Logan called out. His gruff voice was filled with concern as he turned his attention back towards the wreckage of the camper.

Tyson glanced down at his predicament. The impact had caused the dashboard to collapse, pinning him in place and making it impossible for him to reach the buckle of his seatbelt. The acrid scent of smoke began to permeate the air, sending a jolt of panic through him. 

"I'm stuck!" Tyson yelled back, his voice strained. He could feel the cold dread settling into his bones, reality setting in. He was trapped in a wreckage that was possibly about to become a car fire.

Tyson's head throbbed like an overblown drum, each beat a pulsating echo of pain. His thoughts skated around like slippery eels, impossible to grasp, let alone hold. He was aware he should remember something, something crucial. The words swirled around in his foggy mind. Wolverine. X-Men. Car accident. Then the pieces clicked into place, like a well-solved puzzle. Sabertooth. The tree falling wasn't an accident, it was an ambush. They were under attack. Tyson's breath hitched, and his lips parted to shout a warning, but it was too late. 

He could see Logan through the cracked windshield, the metallic snikt of his claws extending was audible even from Tyson's position in the camper. But just as swiftly, a monstrous figure exploded from the trees, seizing Logan and sending him flying into the forest.

Tyson caught a glimpse of the attacker. He was massive, a terrifying figure that dwarfed Wolverine. His long, matted blond hair cascaded around his broad shoulders. A wild beard added to his feral appearance. His eyes glowed an eerie amber, holding a predatory gleam that froze the blood in Tyson's veins. And the teeth were far too large for a human, pointed and sharp, reminiscent of the claws that extended from his fingertips. 

Sabertooth had come calling and Tyson was stuck in the middle of their battle, quite literally. The smoke in the cabin increased, something in the back was on fire.

Feverishly, Tyson squirmed in his seat, his fingers stretching towards the red button of his seatbelt clasp. But the dashboard was pressed tight against the latch. He twisted his wrist at an awkward angle, but still couldn't reach it. The lingering scent of gasoline and smoke teased his nostrils, and the fear of being trapped in a fiery, metal coffin began to rise in his throat.

Past the fallen tree, Sabertooth roared. It was a throaty, primitive sound. With a savage grin that revealed an unsettling array of sharp teeth, the blond behemoth spoke, "Happy Birthday, Logan. It's been years since I nearly killed you. Have you missed me?"

Sabertooth grabbed a fallen tree and swung it like a bat. Wolverine was caught off guard and launched through the air as easily as if he were a baseball. With a resounding crunch, he landed atop the crumpled hood of the camper, clearly unconscious. Tyson watched helplessly as the menacing silver claws retracted into Logan's knuckles. It was a bad sign. Wolverine was down.

The hair at the back of Tyson's neck stood on end as Sabertooth's malicious gaze drifted to the camper van. The terrifying grin stretched wider on the savage man's face, revealing his gleaming, monstrous canines. The realization struck Tyson. He was next. Trapped and defenseless, he was easy prey for Sabertooth.