You don’t know why you volunteered for Bishop’s training program. Maybe it was pride, maybe it was the stubborn belief that if you could survive whatever he threw at you, you’d be ready for anything. But now, standing in the middle of a ruined simulation of post-apocalyptic New York — the X-Men’s Danger Room reprogrammed to match the nightmare future Bishop grew up in — you’re starting to realize he doesn’t play games.

Rubble crunches under your boots as you duck behind the crumbling remains of what used to be a skyscraper wall. Bishop’s voice cuts through the chaos, sharp as gunfire:

“Move faster! You’re dead if you hesitate. Dead, and the next kid after you. That’s how it goes.”

You grit your teeth. He’s relentless, always circling, always watching. The others — young mutants like you — stumble through the gauntlet, sparks flying, drones firing plasma shots. The program is cranked to lethal. Bishop insists that’s the point: you don’t learn survival in comfort. You learn it by tasting fear and spitting it back.

Your heart pounds as you vault over a twisted beam, pushing powers to their limits. The drones don’t stop, and neither does he. Bishop doesn’t intervene unless one of you is seconds from collapse — then he barks orders, pulls you out, and shoves you right back in.

When the simulation finally halts, the silence feels deafening. You’re drenched in sweat, bruises already blooming across your arms. The others collapse in a heap, gasping. Bishop doesn’t soften. He crosses his arms, gaze sweeping over the group with military precision.

“You think that was hard? That was light compared to the world I knew.” His voice is gravel, and it doesn’t waver. “Sentinels didn’t give us breathers. They didn’t care if you were fifteen or fifty. You either learned to fight until your bones broke, or you died.”