The dining area of the Friends of Humanity’s secret facility was a study in contradictions. Cold, metallic walls gleamed under the harsh buzz of fluorescent lights, the kind that made everyone look like they hadn’t slept in a decade. Yet, in the center of this sterile hellhole sat a rickety table laden with a breakfast spread that could’ve been ripped from a diner in Nowhere, USA—pancakes that looked like they’d been flipped with a shovel, bacon burnt to a crisp, and a pitcher of orange juice so neon it might’ve been radioactive. Adjacent to this bizarre domestic setup was a bedroom door, slightly ajar, revealing the edge of a comically oversized Uno Bed that looked like it belonged in a fever dream.
Ben Willis, all eighteen years of awkward, hulking mutant energy, sat at the head of the table, his cybernetic enhancements glinting under the unforgiving light. His left arm, a patchwork of Sentinel tech, whirred softly as he poked at a pancake with a fork, his mismatched eyes—one human, one faintly glowing—darting nervously between the five women seated around him. These weren’t just any women; they were his adopted moms and aunties, a squad of powerhouses who could probably level the facility if they sneezed wrong: Emma Frost, Rogue, Domino, Scarlet Witch, and Psylocke. Each of them radiated a different flavor of “don’t mess with me,” and Ben, despite his healing factor and newfound upgrades, felt like a kid caught sneaking cookies before dinner.
Emma Frost, perched like a queen on her chair, her platinum blonde hair catching the light like a halo of ice, broke the silence first. Her voice was a razor wrapped in silk as she leaned forward, one perfectly manicured nail tapping the table. “So, Benjamin, care to explain why you’ve been playing lab rat for Carl Denti while we’ve been tearing apart half the continent looking for you? And don’t give me that ‘I’m fine’ nonsense. I can smell the trauma on you from here.”
Ben swallowed hard, his fork bending slightly under his grip. “I, uh, didn’t have much of a choice, Emma. Carl’s got this whole ‘rebuild the mutant into a weapon’ thing going on. Plus, y’know, the neck thing.” He gestured vaguely to the sleek, metallic collar fused to his skin, a new upgrade that pulsed faintly with a red light. “It’s… complicated.”
Rogue, leaning back in her chair with a piece of bacon dangling from her gloved fingers, let out a low chuckle, her Southern drawl dripping with sass. “Complicated, sugah? Boy, you look like a damn toaster with legs, and you’re tellin’ us it’s complicated? Spill it, or I swear I’ll absorb whatever’s left of your common sense just to figure it out myself.”
Ben’s cheeks flushed, a stark contrast to the cold steel of his cybernetic jawline. “I’m trying, okay? Look, Carl wanted me to… do things. Bad things. I didn’t. I couldn’t. So, I made a vow—no more killing. Not for him, not for anyone. And I’ve got some stuff to make up for. Secrets I kept. I owe you all.”
Domino, her black-and-white face paint making her smirk look even more devilish, tossed a burnt bacon strip at Ben, hitting him square in the chest. “Oh, boo-hoo, Tin Man. You’ve got guilt? Join the club. We’ve all got skeletons—some of us literally. But if you think moping over lumpy pancakes is gonna earn you forgiveness, you’re dumber than this juice looks.” She held up the pitcher, squinting at it like it might bite. “Seriously, is this Tang or toxic waste?”
Scarlet Witch—Wanda, to those who dared—sat with her arms crossed, her crimson aura flickering faintly around her as she stared at Ben with an intensity that could melt steel. “Secrets have a price, Ben,” she said, her voice low and laced with something dangerous. “You’ve endangered us by keeping them. What do you propose to do about it?”
Psylocke, seated beside her, tilted her head, violet eyes narrowing as she twirled a butter knife between her fingers like it was a katana. “Yes, do tell, darling. I’m rather curious how a boy with a body like a walking scrapyard plans to atone. I hope it’s creative. I’m bored.”
Ben shifted uncomfortably, the Uno Bed in the next room suddenly feeling like a neon sign flashing “bad idea.” But he’d already opened his mouth, and there was no going back. “I… I thought maybe a punishment. Something to prove I’m serious about making things right. I’ve got control of the neck upgrade now—or at least, I think I do. Follow me to the bedroom, and I’ll show you.”
Emma raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smirk that could freeze blood. “A punishment, hmm? Benjamin, if you think you’re going to play martyr with some half-baked tech demonstration, you’re gravely mistaken. But fine. I’m intrigued. Lead the way.”
Rogue snorted, standing up with a stretch that showed off every curve under her bomber jacket. “Boy, you better not be wastin’ our time. I ain’t limpin’ around after no fool’s errand ‘cause you got a new toy.”
The group followed Ben into the bedroom, the massive Uno Bed dominating the space like a challenge. Ben fumbled with the collar, his fingers trembling as he muttered, “Okay, so, this thing isn’t just a control device. It’s… uh… got some side effects. I can amplify certain… traits. Just watch.”
Domino leaned against the wall, arms crossed, her grin wicked. “Traits, huh? What, you gonna turn us into cyborgs too? ‘Cause I’m already a walking bad luck charm, kid. You can’t top that.”
“Shut up and let me focus,” Ben grumbled, his face redder than Wanda’s magic. He pressed a button on the collar, and a low hum filled the room. For a moment, nothing happened—until the women started to change. Their proportions shifted in a way that could only be described as cartoonish, exaggerated beyond reason, their expressions ranging from shock to outright amusement.
Emma, her voice dripping with icy disdain even as her body ballooned comically, snapped, “Benjamin Willis, if this is your idea of a punishment, I’m going to telepathically rewrite your personality into that of a houseplant.”
Rogue, struggling to keep her balance, shot him a glare that could’ve stripped paint. “Sugah, I swear, if you don’t fix this right now, I’m gonna touch you ‘til you forget your own damn name—and not in the fun way!”
Domino, doubled over with laughter despite her own absurd transformation, wheezed, “Oh my god, I look like a damn anime character! Kid, you’ve got issues deeper than the Mariana Trench!”
The chaos was too much for Ben. Between the stress, the guilt, and the sheer absurdity of the situation—not to mention the pent-up frustrations of a body that was half-machine, half-mutant, and all teenage hormones—he lost control. In a messy, chaotic burst, he stumbled back, knocking over a lamp as the room descended into pandemonium. Fluids and sparks flew (yes, both kinds), and by the time the dust settled, the bedroom looked like a tornado had hit a junkyard.
Ben, panting and trying to play it cool despite the disaster, wiped his brow and muttered, “Uh… sorry about that.” Then, in a desperate bid for swagger, he smacked Emma and Rogue on the rear as he headed for the door. “Meet me in the main room, ladies.”
Emma turned slowly, her gaze a glacier as she adjusted her now-normalized form. “Benjamin, I didn’t feel a damn thing from the neck down after that little stunt. Try harder next time.”
Rogue smirked, limping slightly but still radiating pure Southern steel. “Boy, you’re lucky I can’t feel my legs right now, or I’d kick your sorry behind into next week.”
Domino, still snickering, called after him, “Nice try, Tin Man. But you’re gonna need more than a cheap shot to keep up with us!”
Wanda and Psylocke exchanged a look, the former’s lips twitching into a rare smile while the latter muttered, “Pathetic. But oddly endearing.”
Ben strutted out, or at least tried to, his cybernetic frame whirring with every step. Behind him, the women grumbled and adjusted themselves, their sharp tongues and unyielding presence a reminder that, no matter how much tech or mutation he had, they were always in charge. The sun was setting outside the facility, casting long shadows over the mess of a day, but one thing was clear: this was just the beginning of a very complicated dynamic.
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