Mutant anomalies are escalating—disappearances, psychic echoes, corrupted DNA. You and Moira follow the data off the record, no CIA, no X-Men, just quiet cooperation.

A trail leads to a shuttered facility in Eastern Europe. Scorch marks on the floor. Files partially burned. Moira leans over a collapsed terminal. “This wasn’t just research,” she murmurs. “Something happened here.”

In the silence, Cerebro echoes with unfamiliar names. Moira tightens her grip on the tablet. “If these mutations are synthetic... we’re not just too late—we were never meant to find them.”