The air in the cramped, dimly lit bedroom of the secret Friends of Humanity facility was thick with the scent of antiseptic and sweat. Ben Willis stirred on the narrow cot, his cybernetic arm twitching as if it had a mind of its own. His eyes fluttered open, a kaleidoscope of fragmented memories swirling behind them, and he found himself surrounded by a gaggle of women—each more striking and formidable than the last. Their faces hovered over him, a mix of concern, amusement, and something dangerously close to possession.
“Well, well, sleeping beauty awakens,” purred Emma Frost, her voice as icy as her platinum blonde hair. She leaned against the wall, arms crossed, her piercing blue eyes dissecting him with surgical precision. “Did you dream of us, darling, or are those circuits in your head still on the fritz?”
Ben blinked, his throat burning from the recent cybernetic upgrades. He tried to sit up, but a firm hand pressed him back down. Jean Grey, her auburn hair cascading over one shoulder, gazed at him with an empathetic warmth that almost felt intrusive. “Easy, Ben. You’ve been through hell. How’s the throat? Does it hurt?”
He smirked, though the pain was a sharp blade in his voice. “Hurts like I swallowed a razor blade, but who are you lot? My personal nurses or some kinda harem I forgot about?”
A chorus of laughter erupted, sharp and biting, as Jubilee—petite, fiery, and brimming with chaotic energy—swatted his shoulder. “Oh, you wish, tin man. We’re your family. Your *wives*, remember? Or did that last upgrade wipe out what little brain you had left?”
Ben’s brow furrowed, confusion etching lines into his youthful face. His gaze darted between them—Emma’s cold smirk, Jean’s soft concern, Psylocke’s intense violet stare from the corner, and Jubilee’s playful grin. “Wives? That’s a hell of a joke. I don’t even know your names.”
Jubilee pouted, then, with a mischievous glint, turned and wiggled her backside at him. “C’mon, babe, you gotta remember this!” She yelped as Ben, on impulse, gave her a cheeky smack, the sound echoing in the tiny room. Before she could retaliate, he pulled her down for a quick, teasing kiss, tasting the cherry gloss on her lips.
The others hooted and catcalled, but as Ben pulled back, his eyes caught a glint of something on Jubilee’s finger—a crude, tin foil ring, bent and tarnished. A flicker of memory sparked, warm and fleeting, like a half-forgotten dream. “Fading memories,” he murmured, twirling the ring with a wry smile. “But I ain’t letting ‘em go that easy.”
Emma stepped forward, her heels clicking on the concrete floor like a judge’s gavel. “Charming, but let’s not get sentimental, shall we? You’ve got five ‘wives’ here, Ben, each more demanding than the last. I, for one, don’t share well. So, do try to keep up.”
Psylocke, silent until now, pushed off the wall, her tone dripping with dry menace. “Speak for yourself, Frost. I don’t play second fiddle to anyone. If Ben’s memory needs jogging, I’ve got a few... *personal* techniques.” Her lips curled into a smirk as she dragged a finger along the edge of her katana, the threat and promise equally clear.
Jean rolled her eyes, though a smile tugged at her lips. “Can you two stop posturing for five minutes? Ben, we’re here for you. Whatever you’re missing, we’ll piece it together. Together.”
“Aw, Jeannie, always the mom of the group,” Jubilee teased, sticking out her tongue. “But seriously, Ben, you’re stuck with us. Better get used to being bossed around by a bunch of badass babes.”
Before Ben could respond, the door creaked open, and the mood shifted as if a storm cloud had rolled in. They shuffled into the main room, a cavernous space with flickering monitors and cold steel walls. Carl Denti, the sinister leader of Friends of Humanity, stood waiting, his gaunt face twisted into a smirk that made Ben’s skin crawl. Without a word, Carl gestured to the screens, and grainy footage began to play—violent, incriminating clips of Rogue, Mystique, Domino, and even Emma herself committing brutal acts against humans.
Ben’s stomach churned as he watched Rogue drain the life from a screaming man, her face a mask of grim necessity. Mystique shifted forms mid-fight, her blue skin a blur of deception. Domino’s luck turned deadly as bullets found their marks with unnatural precision. And Emma—cold, calculating Emma—used her telepathy to shatter a man’s mind, leaving him a drooling husk.
“What the hell is this?” Ben growled, his cybernetic fist clenching. He turned to the women, his fragmented trust fraying at the edges. “You’re telling me you’re my family, my *wives*, and you’ve been out there slaughtering people? Explain. Now.”
Emma didn’t flinch, her voice cutting like a diamond. “Don’t be so naive, Ben. Survival isn’t pretty. Those humans would’ve hunted us down without a second thought. I did what I had to do. We all did.”
Rogue stepped forward, her Southern drawl thick with defiance. “You don’t get it, sugar. They came for us first. I ain’t proud of it, but I ain’t gonna apologize neither. You’d do the same if you remembered half the crap we’ve been through.”
“Bullshit,” Ben snapped, his voice rising. “There’s a line, and you’ve all crossed it. I don’t even know who I am, and now I’m supposed to just nod along to this?”
Jubilee tried to lighten the mood, stepping between them with a forced grin. “Hey, tin man, let’s not blow a gasket. We’re not perfect, okay? But we’ve got your back. Always have. Can we at least agree on that?”
Ben’s gaze hardened. “Don’t patronize me, Jubilee. And don’t any of you call me ‘son’ or act like you’ve got some claim over me. I’m not a damn kid, and I’m not your pawn.”
The tension snapped like a taut wire. With a roar of frustration, Ben slammed his cybernetic fist into a nearby table, splintering it into jagged pieces. The room fell silent, the women exchanging wary glances as his anger reverberated through the space. Carl, ever the opportunist, slithered closer, his breath hot against Ben’s ear as he whispered something low and venomous—words Ben couldn’t quite process but felt like poison seeping into his veins.
Without another word, Ben stormed toward the exit, his heavy footsteps echoing. “I need air. Don’t follow me.”
The door slammed shut behind him, leaving the women in a charged silence. Emma’s icy facade cracked just enough to show a flicker of concern, while Rogue clenched her gloved fists, her jaw tight. Jean stared at the broken table, her mind racing with unspoken thoughts, and Psylocke’s eyes narrowed, already calculating their next move.
Jubilee broke the quiet, her voice softer now, almost vulnerable. “Well, that went great. Anyone got a plan to fix this mess, or are we just gonna stand here looking pretty?”
Emma turned to her, a ghost of a smirk returning. “Oh, darling, I always have a plan. But Ben’s trust? That’s a currency we might’ve just spent.” Her gaze drifted to the door, a storm brewing behind her cold exterior. They’d need more than sharp words and dominance to win him back—and they all knew it.
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