"Mr. Sinister? Alex, didn't you kill Mr. Sinister?"

Hank's voice was tinged with disbelief, his brows knitted as he stared at Alex. The words slipped out almost before he realized it, as if the sheer impossibility of the idea demanded an immediate answer.

"Under normal circumstances, yes, he should be dead," Alex replied with a frown, the kind of frown that carried not only annoyance but also the faint pulse of an oncoming headache. "I turned him into a pile of mush—like meat that's been through a grinder."

The room seemed to collectively pause. The scrape of utensils against plates slowed, and the air took on a heavier weight.

Could Mr. Sinister really have survived being reduced to that state?

Even among mutants—whose powers often defied the very laws of nature—the concept bordered on absurd. This wasn't a matter of healing from wounds; it was akin to returning from liquefaction.

"Rogers, did you know about Mr. Sinister's ambush on Alex, using Cain Marko's attack on Xavier's Institute as bait?"

Erik's voice cut through the lingering shock like the edge of a blade, his tone cool but pressing for answers.

Captain America glanced briefly at Tony, the two exchanging a silent understanding before Steve shook his head. They weren't mutants, and their knowledge of mutant-specific incidents was patchy at best. Unless an event had shaken the entire world, it simply wouldn't be on their radar.

An attack on the Xavier Institute by the Juggernaut? For them, that was news.

Even without confirmation from Rogers, the atmosphere in the room shifted toward a grim certainty—Mr. Sinister was still alive.

And from their place in the timeline—1964, not 1962—many of the darker events of the future had yet to unfold. Apocalypse still slumbered, the Vietnam War had not yet erupted into its bloodiest chapters, and the pieces of the coming decades were still scattered across the board.

From this point in history, Sinister's move to use Namor against Alex was still a looming shadow rather than a past scar.

"So what if Mr. Sinister isn't dead?"

The initial jolt of surprise faded, replaced by a slow, confident curl of Alex's lips. "I killed him once. I can kill him again."

The statement wasn't bluster—it was a simple truth delivered with ironclad certainty.

"At this point, he's no match for me."

If they met again now, Alex knew he could crush him with ease. His power had grown far beyond what it had been, and that growth showed no signs of stopping. Each day widened the gap, pushing Mr. Sinister further into irrelevance.

And yet, Alex wasn't foolish enough to dismiss him entirely. A cornered predator could still bite. Sinister remained dangerous—too dangerous to leave unchecked.

Otherwise, in the future, he wouldn't have waited for Alex to face Apocalypse before making his move.

"Exactly. With Alex here, Mr. Sinister isn't worth worrying about!" Mimic's voice rang out from across the table, full of cheer and unwavering conviction.

Whether it was raw faith or a deliberate attempt to buoy the room's morale didn't matter—the effect was the same. Shoulders eased, and the tension thinned slightly.

"So then, Rogers, please continue," Alex said at last, slicing into his steak with deliberate calm before lifting his gaze toward Captain America.

The subject was set aside, and the flow of conversation turned once more toward the future.

Steve and Tony took turns revealing fragments of what lay ahead—events that would reshape the world in ways both expected and wholly alien to Alex's recollection. The founding of the mutant nation of Krakoa came far earlier than he remembered, and other milestones in history bent and twisted in the wake of his own presence.

It was expected. Alex was the largest anomaly in this world's tapestry. Of course the pattern would shift around him.

The meal continued in relative warmth, though threads of unease wove quietly beneath the surface. Between sips of wine and clinks of cutlery, Alex gathered pieces of a future that would guide his next steps—knowledge far more valuable than dessert.

"So, Alex, can we go now?"

Captain America leaned forward once the plates were cleared, his tone polite but carrying the impatience of a man bound by schedules.

"No need to rush, Rogers. Before we leave, there's one more thing I need to do," Alex answered, setting his glass down.

Sinister's survival had changed his priorities. The man was a threat, and Alex had no intention of letting him lurk in the shadows.

But Cerebro yielded nothing. Charles and Emma scoured the United States repeatedly, their psychic senses combing every possible corner, only to find no trace of him.

Not surprising—Sinister's own psychic defenses were formidable, bolstered by technology designed to cloak him from exactly this kind of search.

Frustration rippled through the X-Men. A foe you couldn't find was one you couldn't eliminate, and in that way, he held the advantage.

"Raven, get Caliban here as fast as possible. He might be useful," Alex instructed after a pause, his mind already mapping out the tedious process ahead.

Caliban's mutant-tracking ability had its limits—it would take time, effort, and patience to comb for a single target across such vast territory. Even then, success wasn't certain.

Selene could investigate through more mundane means, but that too would be a slow game.

"Alex, if we can't find Mr. Sinister now, why not check the future?"

Hank's suggestion hung in the air like a spark of possibility.

"I will," Alex said with a decisive nod.

Uncertain or not, it was a path worth exploring.

"So, Alex, can we go now?" Tony asked this time, his own restlessness showing in the briskness of his tone.

Alex glanced at Charles and Erik, reading their unspoken assent in the slight inclines of their heads. Decision made.

"Then, Rogers, Stark—see you in the future."

He offered them a faint smile before turning toward Hank. "Hank, go to the lab and bring me the Tesseract."

Moments later, Hank returned with the glowing cube, placing it into Alex's waiting hands.

Captain America withdrew the Pym Particles, passing them over with measured care. "We'll go first to set up the time machine. We'll bring you over in just a few seconds."

"See you soon!"

"See you soon!"

The farewells were brief, but the undercurrent of anticipation was sharp and undeniable. With a soft hum and a flash of light, Captain America and Tony Stark activated their devices—vanishing from the room in the blink of an eye.

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