X-Mans Too: Who’s Yo Daddy?

by D D

After a threat breaches their mansion, the team must battle a stone-skinned villain to rescue captives while navigating a complicated, high-stakes pregnancy.

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X-Mans Part 2:Who’s Yo Daddy? The second chime came from the basement just as Reen unscrewed the bottle. Professor Z looked over his shoulder. “I said bring it. We ain't reached drinking yet.” “Speak for yourself.” Downstairs, the stolen-and-recovered field regulator glowed in its charging cradle. A green light blinked beneath the control ring. Monsta crouched beside it, dreadlocks falling over his enormous blue shoulders, and peeled away a panel that hadn't been there before Municipal Plaza. A tiny speaker crackled. “By the time you hear this,” Magnetrick's recorded voice announced, “my property will have returned to its rightful—” Monsta pulled a wire. The voice died. Above the cradle, every screw in a storage shelf began to turn. “Everybody back.” Cyrus dragged Z's transport chair away from the shelves. Jeanetta caught a falling toolbox with her mind while Monsta seized the regulator in both hands and tore it out of the powered cradle. The green light flared, then vanished. Loose screws pattered onto the floor. For several seconds nobody moved. “Him rig di charging connection,” Monsta said. “Another minute, it woulda sent a magnetic pulse through di house.” Reen glanced at the exposed pipes. “Man tried to repossess the plumbing.” Z studied the little speaker, his bald head shining under the work light. Somewhere across town, Magnetrick was in custody, apparently satisfied that he'd mailed them an electrical problem. “Can you fix it?” “By morning.” “Good. Remove anything he added. Then change every password.” Cyrus looked troubled. “Including the Wi-Fi?” “Especially the Wi-Fi.” Upstairs, something heavy collapsed. Everybody looked toward the ceiling. A shelf, Jeanetta announced through their mental link. She had already gone back to her chicken. Nobody dead. Y'all can keep having the basement meeting. Z finally held out his hand for the bottle. * * * Three mornings later, Cyrus assembled a crib in the sitting room while Reen watched with the expression of a man attending an enemy's funeral. The crib was pale wood, expensive, and surrounded by neatly arranged hardware. Cyrus wore a cream sweater with the sleeves pushed up. Beside him sat a binder labeled EARLY DEVELOPMENT. “You ain't even early,” Reen said. “You premature.” Cyrus tightened a bolt. “Somebody should prepare.” “For what? Could be my baby.” “Then somebody should certainly prepare.” Reen's smile went away. From the couch, Jeanetta lowered her phone. Copper curls were piled above her head, and one sock had been irritating her for twenty minutes. It floated off her foot and landed on Cyrus's binder. “Can either one of y'all prepare me some grits?” Cyrus rose immediately. Reen was faster, disappearing toward the kitchen with a grocery bag swinging from his fist. He returned carrying a bowl and a tiny pair of red sneakers. Jeanetta took the bowl. “Those cute.” Reen set the shoes on her stomach. His broad, battered face softened before he remembered Cyrus was watching. “Little somebody gotta come home fresh.” Cyrus examined the dangling tag. “These are two different sizes.” “Baby gon' grow, ain't it?” Jeanetta laughed, and Cyrus looked down at the unfinished crib. It was a small sound. That made it worse. He had spent two evenings comparing car seats, and Reen could walk in smelling like yesterday's liquor, produce mismatched footwear, and get the laugh Cyrus had been trying to earn all morning. Reen saw the binder, the crib, the appointment reminder Cyrus had taped beside the door. Every item seemed to belong in a life where people knew which bill was due and nobody fell asleep wearing their boots. He hated the room for showing him the difference. Jeanetta glanced between them. “Take all this daddy energy somewhere else. I don't know whose baby this is yet, and neither do y'all.” She lifted the shoes off her stomach and kept them beside her bowl. Later, Cyrus found her in the kitchen, staring into a cupboard. Without asking, he reached past the cereal and brought down the crackers she liked. “You remembered.” “You said the other ones smelled like wet cardboard.” She smiled, then straightened his sweater collar. “You ain't got to buy a whole childhood to make me like you.” His hand settled over hers. She let it stay there a moment. That afternoon, Reen knocked on her door carrying the matching shoes. He had gone back to the store. The receipt stuck out of his vest as if he wanted a witness. Jeanetta caught his wrist before he could leave. “You actually exchanged them?” “Man at the register acted like I was returning a kidney.” She drew him down and kissed his cheek, close enough to the corner of his mouth that he stopped breathing for a second. “Thank you.” He left walking straighter. Neither man saw the other visit. Rougie saw both and decided the house needed better entertainment subscriptions. * * * At a quarter past midnight, Scambit was winning money from a man whose knuckles had turned to stone. The private room above the Crown Casino smelled of cologne, old smoke, and expensive mistakes. Scambit sat beneath a gold chandelier in a plum coat, his dark skin warm under the lights. Thin twists brushed his collar. Rings flashed as he spread his cards, and his smile suggested he'd already forgiven everyone for being less fortunate. Across the table, Big Favor looked at the losing hand in front of him. “That make five.” “Six,” Scambit said gently. “I ain't count the little one. Didn't want to embarrass you.” Big Favor's shoulders broadened. His neck sank into them. The chair creaked beneath several hundred new pounds of dense gray flesh. Scambit had spent half his adult life in casinos and the other half explaining why the money couldn't be returned. He could usually tell when a customer was approaching the end of a productive relationship. This one was turning into a driveway. “You played me.” “Now, that's a hurtful way to describe consistent performance.” A guard locked the door. Scambit sighed and reached for a casino chip. Violet light crawled around its rim. He flicked it into the chandelier's support, where it burst with a sharp pop. Crystal rained down between him and the guards. By the time Big Favor stood, Scambit was through the service curtain with his winnings in a black satchel. He hadn't come only for the cash. Inside his coat lay a small drive he'd lifted from Favor's office while pretending to look for a restroom. It contained collection records: club owners paying protection, workers having their tips seized, names matched to threats. Scambit had expected to sell it back to him. He was beginning to suspect the negotiation would be difficult. Outside, he stole a valet's bicycle and rode three blocks before discovering that his plum coat had become involved with the rear wheel. * * * Rougie opened the mansion door at one in the morning holding a rolling pin. Scambit stood on the porch with one sleeve torn, his satchel over his shoulder, and the surviving half of his coat arranged to imply fashion. “Evening, beautiful. Professor home?” “Depends who's asking.” “Old friend.” From upstairs, Z shouted, “I owe you nothing!” Scambit spread his hands. “See? He remember me.” Rougie had deep brown skin, a white streak through her dark curls, and gloves she wore even with her pajamas. Her eyes traveled from his rings to the satchel. “You selling something?” “Usually. Tonight I'm exploring housing.” Z rolled into the hall in his transport chair, still decorated with the duct-taped hubcap. He recognized the visitor and stopped so abruptly one front wheel squeaked. “No.” “You ain't even heard—” “I cannot have a federal investigation living upstairs.” Scambit opened the satchel. Bundles of cash showed beneath a bag of casino mints. Rougie raised the rolling pin a little higher. “That's a very stupid way to prove you ain't trouble.” He explained enough of the casino incident to sound mistreated, then offered the drive. Z listened without blinking. When Scambit reached the part about accidentally finding himself in a restricted office, the professor closed his eyes. Scambit winced. “Man. Knock first.” “You intended to blackmail a protection racket.” “Recover a consulting fee.” “You stole the records, cheated their boss, and came here.” Scambit considered that version. “You make everything sound so crowded.” Z gave him the downstairs couch until morning, on the condition that Monsta examine the drive and no one invest in anything. As Scambit passed Rougie, he produced a playing card from behind her ear. She held up his wallet. His smile became real. “Oh, I like you.” “Work on your pockets.” * * * By noon, Reen had discovered Cyrus's name on the crib delivery paperwork. It should not have mattered. Somebody had to order the thing. But beneath CUSTOMER, in tidy black print, was a name that looked settled and official, while Reen's contribution sat in a shoebox on the couch. “You putting your name on everything now?” he asked. Cyrus didn't look up from attaching the last side rail. “Would you prefer the store invoice an unidentified potential father?” Scambit paused in the doorway. Rougie caught his elbow and steered him out of sight. “We watching or helping?” he whispered. “Depends how expensive it get.” Reen dropped the invoice onto the crib mattress. “You think because you got a sweater and some instructions, you ready to raise somebody?” “I think being conscious before lunch gives me an advantage.” “You been waiting to say that.” “Yes,” Cyrus said, standing. “For quite some time.” The room became quiet enough to hear Monsta drilling in the basement. Reen stepped closer. “You mad she don't look at you the way she look at me.” “And you're terrified she'll eventually need someone she can count on.” That one landed. Cyrus saw it and, for a second, looked sorry. Then Reen shoved him. Cyrus hit the armchair, caught his balance, and drove back into Reen hard enough to knock them both over the coffee table. A lamp burst against the wall. Reen rolled on top, swinging; Cyrus blocked the first punch and landed one beneath his jaw. The blow hurt Cyrus's hand more than Reen's face. “Metal skeleton,” Reen grunted. “Read a binder.” Cyrus's visor flashed. A red streak cut the curtain rod loose above them. Reen's claws sprang out by reflex, sinking into the floor beside Cyrus's head. Both men froze at how close they were. Then blue hands seized their collars. Monsta hauled them apart as if separating laundry. Z arrived behind him and clamped their movements with a sharp mental command. Reen hung with one boot off the carpet. Cyrus stood rigid, his sweater stretched at the neck. Jeanetta appeared on the stairs. She took in the broken table, the gouges, the crib pushed against the wall. Her face changed slowly. “Y'all fighting over me or just using me as an excuse?” Neither answered. “Because I wasn't even in the damn room.” Cyrus lowered his head. Reen's claws slid away. “I like both of y'all,” she said. “There. Everybody got their little announcement. But I ain't a prize, and this baby ain't a trophy for whichever one can act the stupidest.” She turned toward the kitchen. “The crib go in my room. Both of y'all can carry it.” Behind the doorway, Scambit quietly put away a pen. Rougie caught the movement. “Were you taking bets?” “Only mentally.” From the hall, Z said, “Refund them.” * * * Stormisha called her evening work atmospheric entertainment. The Velvet Vault called it the midnight feature and charged twenty-five dollars at the door. She stood backstage adjusting a gold costume while bass thumped through the walls. In the mirror, her white hair spilled to her waist. A little breeze lifted it from her shoulders. The other dancers had stopped asking where the fan was. Her job at the institute involved flying rubble and arguments over grocery money. Here, she had a dressing-room locker, people who respected a schedule, and men willing to pay to watch her ignore them. She liked the work. She disliked the new collection fee. The club's manager, a short woman named Peaches, stood beside the dressing table counting envelopes with shaking hands. “He coming tonight?” Stormisha asked. Peaches nodded. “You told him no?” “He put a dent in my car with his forehead.” Stormisha watched her slide half the dancers' tip money into a separate envelope. “Put theirs back.” “Girl—” “I said put it back.” Across town, Monsta had finally opened Scambit's stolen drive. The Velvet Vault appeared near the top of the collection list. Beside its name was a photograph of Stormisha arriving through the staff entrance, and a note: WHITE HAIR KNOWS Z. PRESS HER FOR THE GAMBLER. Scambit leaned over the monitor. All the easy amusement left his face. “Oh.” Z looked up. “What did you leave out?” “Favor asked where I was going when I left. I might've said I had powerful friends.” “You gave him my name?” “I wanted him discouraged.” Monsta enlarged the photograph. “Him already watching di people around you.” The professor reached for Stormisha's mind. He found music, annoyance, and a bright flare of alarm. At the club, Big Favor ducked through the entrance with two guards behind him. He wore a charcoal suit stretched across a body that could thicken into stone. One guard carried a black case; the other turned the lock on the front doors. Stormisha stopped at the edge of the stage. “Doors stay open.” Favor looked up. “Where the card man?” “I got customers asking for change and you asking for a whole man. Get out my workplace.” One guard opened the case and took out a squat device with a copper coil. He set it beside the bar. A high, thin whine cut through the music. Stormisha's breeze vanished. Professor Z's voice flickered inside her head, then broke into static. Favor smiled. “Now we can talk regular.” He took Peaches by the wrist. Stormisha picked up the microphone stand. “Regular work too.” * * * The institute's van arrived seven minutes later with Cyrus driving and Reen refusing to acknowledge any of his turns. Jeanetta sat in the back beside Z. She had insisted on coming to help anyone they brought out; she wasn't going inside to referee the men. Monsta carried a scanner, and Rougie sat across from Scambit, who had become unusually quiet. “You knew he was this bad?” she asked. “I knew enough.” “And still brought it to our house.” Scambit looked at his hands. For once, they weren't doing anything. “Yeah.” She seemed to prefer that answer to all the other things he might have said. At the alley door, Monsta checked his scanner. “Suppression field. Small radius. Powers weaken inside, come back outside.” Through the brick wall came a crash, then Stormisha's furious voice. “That is my good wig stand!” Reen drew his claws. Cyrus blocked his path. “We get the patrons out first. Monsta, rear entrance. Rougie, with him. Reen and I draw their attention from the floor.” “I ain't your assistant.” “No one is asking you to be.” But Cyrus said it too sharply, and Reen heard the sitting room all over again. They entered through the side service door. Inside, tables lay overturned. Customers crouched behind booths. Stormisha stood between the bar and Peaches, wielding the bent microphone stand. Her lip was split. One guard sat on the floor clutching his knee. Favor spotted Scambit behind the team. “There my money.” Scambit lifted the satchel. “We could've scheduled this.” Monsta and Rougie started moving people toward the kitchen. Cyrus pointed at the device beside the bar, then toward Reen. A simple plan: get around the stone man, destroy the coil. Reen went straight at Favor instead. Cyrus swore and ran after him. Both reached the villain together, each in the other's way. Reen's shoulder struck Cyrus's arm just as his visor opened. The weakened blast missed Favor, hit a ceiling bracket, and tore one end of a lighting rig loose. Stormisha looked up. Monsta lunged beneath the falling metal. He caught it across his back before it struck the last booth, but the impact drove him to one knee. His strength was fading inside the field. Two dancers crawled beneath his arm as the rig continued to bend. From the alley, Jeanetta saw the collapse through the open kitchen doors. She caught the far end with her mind, just beyond the device's strongest reach. “Get them out!” she shouted. Reen stopped moving. Cyrus stared at the bracket his beam had cut. Together, Monsta and Jeanetta lifted enough for Rougie to pull the final customer free. Monsta backed into the kitchen, letting the rig crash into the emptied booth. Jeanetta stood in the doorway with one hand against her stomach, furious and breathing hard. “I don't give a damn which one of y'all put this baby in me. Keep acting like this and neither one of y'all gon' be around when it come out.” A stone fist slammed into the bar beside Cyrus. He dragged Reen down as wood exploded above them. For the first time all evening, Reen let himself be moved. * * * Behind the bar, Cyrus pressed a napkin against a cut near his temple. Reen watched blood soak through it. “That ain't healing,” Reen said. “No. It generally doesn't.” Across the room, Favor tore a table leg free. Scambit kept him talking from behind an overturned booth while Stormisha helped Peaches reach the kitchen. Reen glanced at the device. Its coil sat beneath a protective cage. “You got a shot?” “Not through him. And not while my visor is losing output.” Reen nodded toward the open alley door. “Then we move him.” Cyrus studied him. “Together?” “Don't make it romantic.” They ran in opposite directions. Cyrus sent a short red burst into Favor's shoulder. It barely chipped the stone, but it turned him. Reen drove low into the back of his knees. Favor staggered one step toward the kitchen and swung down. Reen ducked, catching the thick wrist against his shoulder. Nothing healed fast enough inside the field. His ribs complained immediately. “Could use some of that dependable shit!” he shouted. Cyrus blasted the floor in front of Favor's foot. The villain stepped into the hole and lurched forward. Reen shoved with everything he had. Favor crashed through the kitchen doorway, carrying Reen into the alley. Out of the field, Reen felt his bruised ribs begin to mend. Favor's stone body expanded too. “Oh, that work both ways,” Reen muttered. Inside, the remaining guard raised a pistol toward Scambit. Rougie came over the booth and struck his wrist with both gloved hands. The shot went into the ceiling. Scambit caught the falling weapon and slid it under the bar before either man could reach it. Rougie knocked the guard unconscious against the padded seat. “Your flirting need work,” she told Scambit. “I was trying a vulnerable approach.” She pointed at the suppression device. “Can you blow that?” “Not in here.” He looked toward the front windows. Beyond them, the street was empty. He took a card from his pocket, but his fingertips produced only a dull violet flicker. Rougie stripped off one glove. “Come outside.” At the entrance, Scambit broke the lock with a barstool. They stepped onto the sidewalk, beyond the field. Violet light sprang brightly across his knuckles. Rougie held out her bare hand. “Just a second. I'll borrow enough to help.” He glanced at her palm. “This gon' hurt?” “Probably.” He took it anyway. The contact struck harder than either expected. His knees softened. Rougie caught a rush of glittering rooms, unpaid hotel bills, false names, and a lonely boy counting coins in a kitchen with no lights. Then she let go, breathing sharply. Scambit leaned against the wall. “You all right?” he asked. She pulled her glove back on. “Yeah. You?” “Ask me after I remember my zip code.” For once, she didn't laugh at him. He placed a casino chip in her gloved palm. “Small charge. Cage first. I'll get the coil.” They stood at opposite sides of the doorway. Rougie concentrated until violet light shimmered along the chip. Scambit charged a playing card between two fingers. “On three,” he said. She threw on two. The chip struck the cage, bursting its fasteners apart. His card followed through the opening and split the copper coil with a white flash. The whine stopped. From behind the bar, Stormisha slowly lifted her head. Every bottle on the shelves began to tremble. * * * In the alley, Favor had Reen by the vest and Cyrus pinned against a dumpster with his other hand. Jeanetta sheltered Peaches and the last of the dancers behind the van. Monsta was approaching from the kitchen when a cold wind rushed past his shoulders. Stormisha stepped into the alley barefoot, silver heels in one hand. Favor looked at her. “Stay out this.” She handed the shoes to Monsta. “Hold these.” Thunder rolled between the buildings. A tight column of wind hit Favor from below. His feet left the ground. He released both men to grab at a fire escape, but Cyrus blasted the railing out of his reach. Reen landed hard, scrambled clear, and watched the stone giant turn sideways in the air. Stormisha kept the wind narrow. It lifted Favor above the alley, away from the van and the fleeing workers. His suit split across the shoulders. He tried to make himself heavier, stone thickening over stone, but the updraft climbed with him. “You came in my job,” she said, “locked my doors, put your hands on my manager, and broke equipment I pay rental on.” She slammed him into the empty loading bay. Concrete cracked beneath his back. Favor started to rise. Lightning struck the pavement beside his head, close enough to leave his eyebrow smoking. He reconsidered. Z rolled forward. With the suppression field gone and Favor stunned, the professor slipped into his mind and stopped the command hardening his skin. Stone softened back into flesh. Monsta fastened restraints around his wrists. Reen stood beside Cyrus, holding a torn piece of his own vest against Cyrus's cut. “Press that.” “I am pressing it.” “Press dependably.” Cyrus gave him a long look, then almost smiled. Across the alley, Scambit watched police cars pull up at the curb. He glanced once toward the far end of the block. Rougie noticed. She didn't grab him or threaten him. He stayed. When an officer approached, Scambit handed over the satchel and the drive. Monsta had already copied the records. Peaches stood ready to identify the payments, and half a dozen workers gathered beside her. “The whole amount?” Rougie asked quietly. Scambit hesitated, then removed another bundle from his inside pocket. She kept looking at him. He took a smaller roll from his sock. “Now you just enjoying this,” he said. “A little.” * * * They returned to the mansion after three, smelling of smoke, spilled liquor, and Stormisha's very expensive hair products. The club would be closed for repairs. Stormisha had spent the drive calculating what Favor owed her. When Cyrus cautiously asked how long she'd worked there, she looked at him across the van. “How long you been doing that little online tutoring job?” “Eight months.” “And did I ask you to explain why you got a second income?” “No.” “Exactly.” In the sitting room, Z assigned Scambit a guest room for one week while they dealt with the police statements and the remaining racket members. He also assigned him repair work, supervised by Monsta, and prohibited all financial seminars. Scambit looked toward the broken coffee table. “Can I at least explain compound—” “No.” Rougie walked him to the stairs. At the bottom step, he reached into his coat and handed her his wallet. She raised an eyebrow. “Save you the trip,” he said. She pushed it back into his palm, keeping her glove between their skin. “Tomorrow. Breakfast. You paying.” “Like a date?” “Like restitution. Wear something cute.” He watched her climb the stairs with a smile that wasn't trying to sell anybody anything. In Jeanetta's room, Cyrus and Reen set the crib beneath the window. One side wobbled. Reen crouched and found the loose bolt before Cyrus could reach for the instructions. “Allen key,” he said. Cyrus passed it over. Jeanetta sat on the edge of the bed, watching them work in the unfamiliar quiet. When the crib stood steady, she beckoned them closer. Both men started forward, then stopped to let the other go first. “Oh, don't get weird in a new way. Come here.” She placed Cyrus's hand on one side of her stomach and Reen's on the other. They waited. A small movement pressed against her palm, then theirs. Reen's face opened in astonishment. Cyrus went very still. For a few seconds, neither man seemed interested in winning anything. Then Jeanetta's phone chimed. All three looked at it. The message was from the testing laboratory. Her results were ready in the secure portal. Reen took one step back. Cyrus removed his hand slowly. Jeanetta picked up the phone, read the notification twice, and looked toward the door. “Everybody out.” “Would you like—” Cyrus began. “I'm reading it first. Alone.” They obeyed. In the hall, Reen leaned against one wall and Cyrus stood against the other. Downstairs, somebody dropped a saucepan. Stormisha shouted for quiet. Even the house seemed to be waiting. Inside her room, Jeanetta entered her password. The page loaded halfway. Then the connection vanished. Downstairs, Professor Z called, “New Wi-Fi password starts tonight! Monsta finally secured the network!” Jeanetta stared at her phone. A moment later, every closed door on the second floor flew open at once. Z looked up from the router. Her voice carried down the stairs with terrible clarity. “Professor. What. Is. The. Password.” He glanced at the note in his lap. There was a pause. “Who'sYoDaddy. Capital W. Capital Y. Capital D.” Reen closed his eyes. Cyrus slid down the wall until he was sitting on the carpet. From the guest room came one small, helpless laugh. “Scambit, hush!” Jeanetta said. The laugh stopped. “And a question mark,” Z added carefully.

X-Mans Too: Who’s Yo Daddy?

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