They thought no one would find it.

Tucked beneath the ruins of a decommissioned military base, masked in lead and lies, was a place that stank of sterilization and fear. Magneto hovered just above the cracked concrete floor, not trusting it to bear his rage.

Chains still hung from the walls.

Shock collars. Restraint tables. Branding irons—meant not for cattle, but for children born with the wrong genes.

Mutants.

His people.

He said nothing as the others filed in behind him—Logan’s fists already curling, Storm biting back a scream. They had seen horrors before. But this? This was genocide under fluorescent lights.

And Magneto, once again, was reminded: there are no innocents when the world builds cages for your kind.