For all that the world had changed since the War, there was some things that never seemed to change. Humanityâs bone-deep hatred of those that were different was one of those apparently permanent things--it never went away, it merely changed targets.
It wouldnât matter, this time. Evolution was not on their side, and there was nothing in the world that was going to stop nature from taking its course--from mutants winning. Charles could stick his head in the sand all he wanted, but the influx of mutants to the Brotherhood showed all too clearly that the rest of homo superior was every bit as aware that this was exactly what Erik had always claimed it to be: a war.
His attempt to take a break from the mission, after the all-too-public death of the man heâd only just found to be his son, had only ceded ground to the humans, and now he intended to make up for the lost time. Â
If he just so happened to start doing so in the same city his informants told him that the daughter he had yet to meet had returned to, well. Two birds with one stone. New York would serve other purposes.  Â
If there was one thing his time away had done beneficially, his face was apparently much less recognizable with a couple yearâs distance between now and the whole volcano incident. Then again, the chaos that had erupted in the city with the rupture between worlds probably meant that most people had something much more important on their minds than paying attention to a man who was very clearly trying to avoid notice.Â
Most people. But clearly not everyone. Heâd noticed the tail on him three blocks back. A thought unlocked the door to a little convenience shop that was âClosed for Another Fucking Crisis,â according to the sign on the door, and he slipped inside and waited. Â
â You know, the last I checked, there was a warning out not to approach me alone.â