The small door of Xavier Manor.
A black sedan slowly pulled out, turned onto a side road, and merged with the main traffic.
Soon, it became just another car among many, attracting no attention.
"Raven, where are we going?"
In the passenger seat, Rorschach glanced at the middle-aged man behind the wheel and asked.
"Going to find someone," Raven replied casually, steering like a seasoned driver. "If he's willing to help, we might be able to find out where Shaw is hiding."
Rorschach raised an eyebrow. It sounded like whoever Raven was referring to had serious connections.
But Shaw—aka the Black Emperor—wasn't someone just anyone could track. The Hellfire Club wasn't merely a mutant faction; it had deep roots in both mutant and human circles.
Some of society's elite were involved.
Even Howard Stark had received an invitation to join.
How else could Shaw manipulate global politics and help ignite the Cuban Missile Crisis?
This wasn't just mutant power—it was influence, reach, and strategy.
So Rorschach couldn't help but be skeptical.
"Raven, who exactly are we meeting? Are you sure he's reliable?"
"Don't worry," Raven said as she tapped the brakes slightly. "He's one of us—he can sense our kind."
Rorschach blinked. That kind of ability narrowed it down to one name in his memory.
"You don't mean… Caliban?"
Raven shot him a surprised look. "You know him?"
"I've just heard about him," Rorschach said with a shake of his head, though he was inwardly reassured.
Caliban could sense mutants within a certain range. If he cooperated, pinpointing Shaw wouldn't be difficult.
And they'd also know whether Shaw had tracked them down.
"Huh. Didn't think Caliban was that well-known," Raven mused, but shrugged it off. Rorschach was in the loop—rumors traveled fast.
"Wait," Rorschach said after a pause, "If you know Caliban, then Charles must know him too, right? So why hasn't Charles ever brought him up?"
"Because Charles knows Caliban wouldn't join us."
Raven's tone turned a little sharp. "He doesn't trust anyone. All he sees is money. He's twitchy as hell. You'll understand once you meet him."
Rorschach didn't press further. He remembered Caliban showing up in Apocalypse—useful, but not exactly world-shaking. Range of about twenty-five miles, if he recalled correctly.
After driving across four blocks, Raven finally pulled up in front of a bar.
"When I was little—before I met Charles—I used to steal to survive," Raven said as they stepped out of the car. "I'd use my powers to sneak into places, change appearances. Food, money, clothes—whatever I could get."
"But even then, I was often hungry. A lot of nights I had to sleep in the sewers."
"One of those nights, I met Caliban. He was living there too… but even then, he didn't trust me."
As they walked toward the entrance, she looked ahead. Her voice was steady, but something about it made Rorschach pause.
"That's rough," he said quietly, unsure if he meant Caliban or Raven.
"So Rorschach, let me handle the talking, okay?" she said, glancing sideways.
Rorschach nodded without hesitation. She was the one leading this mission, after all. He was here to tag along—and maybe get lucky with a new lead.
They entered the bar.
The place was lively. People filled the tables, chatting over drinks, laughter echoing over the soft music.
Rorschach and Raven walked up to the bar without hesitation.
A man was hunched over a glass, drinking quietly.
Behind the counter stood a sharp-looking bartender in his early thirties, wearing a crisp white shirt and an easy smile.
"What can I get you two?" he asked.
"Where's Henry?" Raven asked with a slight frown.
The bartender didn't match the one she knew.
"You must be regulars," the young man smiled. "Henry's my uncle. He's down with a back injury, so I'm filling in for a few days."
"Is he okay?" Raven asked, concerned.
"He'll live," the bartender shrugged. "Poor guy threw his back out. Keeps insisting it's nothing, but hey, he's not exactly a spring chicken anymore."
"Hope he gets better. May God bless him," Raven said politely, then lowered her voice slightly. "Is he here?"
The bartender blinked. "Who?"
Before she could answer, a voice boomed from the back.
"Let them in!"
A large man stepped out from the hallway, clearly expecting them.
Raven nodded to the bartender and motioned for Rorschach to follow.
The bartender didn't stop them.
"Another whiskey," said the man at the bar, lifting his empty glass with a small shake.
As Rorschach walked past, he gave the man a passing glance.
And froze.
Howard Stark.
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