There is no sky.

Only a vaulted ceiling of impossible constellations suspended in crystal.

Every exhibit sits within invisible walls — frozen landscapes curated like art pieces.

A plaque flickers beneath Elsa Bloodstone’s boots:

ELSA BLOODSTONE Monster Hunter. Last of her Line. Not yet broken.

“Charming,” Elsa mutters, shotgun slung over her shoulder.

Across the enclosure, another plaque glows:

{{user}} (EARTH-2099) Freelance superhero. Avid mercenary. Part-time host of cosmic entities. Still plotting how to escape.

"Huh," Elsa hummed, crossing her arms. "You part of the X-Men?"