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Chapter 95: Hocoming
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But the demon had been crucially, magnificently wrong about one thing.
It wasn’t Envy that thrumd at the center of Adam’s power, hungry for the spotlight.
It was [Information].
The panel, his connection to the audience of his old world, his secret engine.
It fed on observation, on data, on the spread of information about him.
The scandal, the lies, the corporate attacks orchestrated by Hydra and subtly encouraged by phisto; they had made him a global talking point.
Every news segnt, every viral post, every whispered rumor was a drip-feed of potent energy into his reserves.
The amount of [Information] he had harvested over the last week of chaos had been ludicrous, a tidal wave of unseen currency.
And during the transformation, in that silent, death-like suspension between human and vampire, with the alchemical cocktail burning through his veins, Adam had kept a sliver of his consciousness glued to that internal panel.
He had waited, with the patience of a predator, as his body died and was reborn.
A new Trait had begun to manifest. As the transfusion took hold, the panel flickered and presented a new trait.
Lesser Vampire (D): Enhanced Senses. Sunlight Weakness. Blood Thirst.
It was a pitiful thing. An impossibility given the ingredients he’d used. It could only an sabotage, of a curse within the gift; Dracula’s final spite, or phisto’s infernal fine print.
It didn’t matter.
That was the mont he’d been waiting for.
With a surge of triumphant will, he had taken the entire, vast reservoir of [Information] he’d accumulated; the wealth of a week of global infamy; and poured it into that nascent, flawed Trait.
The cost was astronomical, far more than upgrading Stupefy or anything before.
It was like trying to turn a candle into a star.
But [Information] obeyed its own rules. The illusory currency vanished from his reserves in a torrent, and the Trait on his panel erupted.
Lesser Vampire (D) shattered, overwritten, reborn in a flash of cosmic data.
When Adam had opened his crimson eye in the jet, it was not as a lesser creature.
It was as sothing new. Sothing the panel itself had labeled, with satisfying finality, as the culmination of his gamble.
He glanced down at the chips, then out the window as the car turned into Hell’s Kitchen, approaching the sleek, modern tower that housed Cypher Enterprises.
He smiled. phisto would now likely work to quiet the storms around him, believing he was cutting off Adam’s power source. It was a delightful irony.
It was already too late.
And if there is sothing Adam lacks least, it's twisted ideas. He felt like he could be a very successful attention whore.
The limousine pulled into the private underground garage. As Adam stepped out, the familiar, comforting interface flickered at the edge of his perception, [Information].
The view was not bad at all.
[Information: Sothing's Rising Hard]
[Natural Traits]
Envy(B): Slow. Stupefy. Brittle. Misfortune. Fade. Hollow. Recoil
True Vampire(A): Vampirism. Supernatural Physiology. Regeneration. Immortality. Shape Alteration. Atmokinesis. Blood Manipulation. srism.
[Information Traits]
Technopathy(A). chanical Force(B). Information Vision(B). Yin Yang Harmony(A)
The elevator doors slid open with a soft, expensive shoom. Adam Cypher stood frad in the opening, backlit by the warm, recessed lighting of his private penthouse floor.
He was a study in contrasts. The immaculate, three-piece grey suit spoke of boardroom elegance, the fit perfect.
It was sowhat ruined or enhanced, depending on one's taste, by the empty left sleeve, which hung limp and useless against his side, a stark reminder of the price paid in the Carpathian woods.
He stepped out, the plush carpet silencing his steps. A deep, contented sigh escaped him. “It’s good to be back.”
He’d used Fade on the way up, his presence dimd to a ghost’s whisper, ensuring his passage through the bustling Cypher Enterprises HQ went unnoticed by the employees.
Most importantly, it was to avoid the nurous journalists surrounding the HQ, looking for a story amidst the controversies.
It was a trick that worked on almost everyone.
Almost.
Leaning against the wall opposite the elevator, a smirk playing on her full lips, was Domino.
She was dressed in practical but form-fitting black casual clothes, a stark contrast to the corporate opulence.
Her black and white hair suited her pale skin perfectly, and her gorgeous blue eyes sparkled with amusent and sothing warr.
The self-curse ant to lower his presence seed to have little to no effect on her; her mutant luck simply guided her to be exactly where she needed to be to intercept him.
“Took you long enough, boss,” She drawled, pushing off the wall.
Adam opened his right arm, and she stepped into the embrace without hesitation.
They hugged warmly, a familiar comfort in a world of chaos and bullshit.
“Missed you, Dom,” He muttered into her hair, which slled of cherry blossoms. Nice shampoo.
“Missed you too, you ssy bastard,” She replied, her voice muffled against his shoulder.
She pulled back, her hands sliding down to his biceps, her gaze imdiately dropping to the empty left sleeve. Her smirk turned into a flat, exasperated stare.
“A few days. You were gone a few days. And you co back minus a limb. Why are you such a trouble magnet?”
Adam chuckled, the sound genuine. “I have an audience to entertain, Dom. Trouble is pretty much part of the gig’s description. No pain, no gain, no ratings.”
“Yeah, yeah, right,” She said, rolling her eyes, utterly accustod to his particular brand of cryptic bullshit.
She hooked her thumb over her shoulder towards the interior of the penthouse.
“You’ve got guests. They were expecting you. Or, they were expecting you eventually. Your schedule is… fluid.”
“Guests?” Adam’s eyebrow arched. The highest floor was his sanctum, accessible only to a select few.
Domino just shrugged, falling into step beside him as they walked through the open-plan living space towards the formal guest hall. “See for yourself.”
He did see for himself before laying eyes on him, his technopathy reconnecting with the HQ's systems, and Alice, the main Alice, with all her processing power.
The guest hall was a sun-drenched room with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking, dizzying view of the most popular place in Hell's kitchen. It wasn't too bad considering... Everything.
The light, however, did little to dispel the tense, expectant atmosphere.
Seated on the low, modernist couches were the visitors. So expected, so not.
Charles Xavier sat in his wheelchair, his hands steepled, his expression one of deep, thoughtful concern.
Flanking him were Ororo Munroe and Scott Sumrs; Storm and Cyclops. Storm’s regal bearing was calm but watchful, while Scott’s posture was rigid, his jaw tight beneath his ruby quartz visor.
And then there were the ones he’d anticipated seeing. Jean Grey, her auburn hair like a fla in the sunlight, her green eyes wide with a mixture of worry and deep scrutiny.
And beside her, practically vibrating with anxious energy, was Anna Marie; Rogue.
The mont Rogue’s eyes locked on Adam, all her forced composure shattered.
She was across the room in a heartbeat. She launched herself into his embrace, her arms wrapping around his neck with desperate strength.
He caught her easily with his one arm, holding her tight, feeling the slight tremble in her fra.
They stood there for a long mont, a silent conversation passing between them: her fear, his reassurance, her guilt over her previous actions.
She was acting like a little girl where she needn't be. He didn't feel like he needed to forgive her for anything because what she tried to do only made him prouder, and the ssage certainly reached her now.
The silence was broken by Jean, who approached more slowly. Her eyes weren’t on his face, but fixed on the pinned, empty fabric of his left shoulder.
Her expression was stormy, a mother hen who has found her chick wounded.
She reached out, her fingers gentle but firm as they touched the space where his arm should have been, the suit fabric flat and unforgiving over the smooth, healed stump.
“Adam,” She said, her voice low and strained. “What happened?”
The question broke Rogue’s reverie. She pulled back, her eyes following Jean’s touch.
The sight of the missing limb seed to physically wound her. The warmth in her eyes evaporated, replaced by a glacial, terrifying frost.
She didn’t speak, but the question hung in the air, heavier than any words: Who do I have to kill?
Adam felt the protective, homicidal intent radiating from both won. He offered a placating smile.
“Don’t worry about it. Really. It’s a temporary setback. I was already in the market for a cybernetic upgrade. This just… expedited the process.”
Jean let out a long, resigned sigh, shaking her head. She knew pushing him for details in front of everyone was futile.
She watched as Adam expertly redirected the looming storm. He reached out with his right hand and pinched Rogue’s cheek, his tone shifting to playful scolding.
“And you, young lady. I hear you’ve been naughty. Thinking about bad stuff? Tsk tsk. What’s your progress on the power control? We can’t have you going all psycho on the wrong people.”
He kept it vague, not wanting to say that the bad stuff she's thinking about was putting his parents in a coma.
[The family is back together! Hocoming!]
[Jean’s mom-energy is off the charts! The yandere orgy is expanding!]
[Adam imdiately defuses a potential apocalypse by pinching Rogue’s cheek. Masterful.]
[I think he's loving the yandere shtik.]
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