Sarah Across the Multiverse

Sarah descended the staircase, each creak from the old wooden steps echoing her reluctance to embrace the day. The uniform clung awkwardly to her, the scratchy beige fabric feeling less like gear for a mission and more like a crime against fashion. She tugged at the stiff collar for the millionth time, muttering about the absolute lack of style in the sixties.

"Ah, there she is," Charles greeted, his voice warm but calm. His ever-serene vibe clashed with the charged energy in the room. Erik stood nearby, arms crossed, his piercing gaze cutting over the team like he was already tallying their odds of survival.

Raven trailed close behind Sarah, giving her a quick nudge. "Relax, you look just as ridiculous as the rest of us," she teased her grin light enough to chip away at Sarah's uniform-induced foul mood.

"Oh, for sure. Nothing says 'we're here to stop you' like beige," Sarah deadpanned. "I'm sure Shaw will just throw himself at our mercy the moment he lays eyes on us."

Across the room, Alex smirked, clearly enjoying her misery. "Hey, at least yours fits. Mine's so tight I feel like I'm in some dystopian romper."

Sarah shot him a glare. "Fit? If I zip it up, I can't breathe. If I leave it half-open, it's a free-for-all for my boobs. Pick a struggle."

Raven's quiet laugh at that made Sarah's mood lighten a fraction, but Charles's gentle voice cut through before the conversation spiraled further.

"Not the time," he said, his tone firm but kind. "We're walking into dangerous territory, and we need to be focused. Sarah, are you ready?"

She met his gaze, giving a nod. "As ready as I'll ever be."

"Good," Erik said, stepping forward with that natural authority he always seemed to exude. "Shaw's smart, and he's strong, but he's not invincible. Precision and unity will win this fight. Stick to the plan—no deviations."

Sarah felt his eyes linger on her, a weighty acknowledgment of her importance to the mission. She didn't miss how Erik had been the one to advocate for her when Charles had doubts. Now it was her turn to prove she belonged here.

"Let's move," Charles said.

The group piled into the car and headed for the hangar. Under the fluorescent lights, Hank's custom-built jet gleamed like the mutant dream machine it was, their one-way ticket to Cuba and, fingers crossed, a world-war-free future.

"Where's Hank?" Raven suddenly asked, her brow furrowed as she scanned the hangar.

Sarah narrowed her eyes. Something about this was familiar. Like, déjà vu but in high-definition. If her memory was right, Hank wasn't exactly on the runway waiting to be admired for his handiwork.

Oh no. She remembered exactly where this was going.

Hank, in a misguided attempt to win over Raven (spoiler alert: it didn't work), had taken some genius-scientist serum to suppress his mutant genes. Only, instead of suppressing anything, the serum had cranked his mutation into hyperdrive. What started as "toned scientist" spiraled into "blue-furred linebacker on a werewolf cosplay binge."

The result? Hank ditched the hangar, clearly horrified by his transformation and dead set on avoiding the inevitable roasting he'd get from his teammates. Not to mention how this really didn't help his bid for Raven's affection.

Sarah smirked to herself, glancing at the jet. Hank would show. He always did—because no one else could fly this thing without turning it into a high-tech fireball. But if the past was any guide, his grand entrance was going to be... dramatic.

Sure enough, right on cue, a hulking blue figure emerged from the shadows of the hangar entrance. It wasn't just Hank McCoy anymore; this was Beast, the furry, ferocious muscle of the X-Men. And damn, was he massive.

"Hank?" Alex stammered, eyes wide as he stared at the creature before them. Without the familiar glasses and the dated uniform, Alex probably wouldn't have recognized Hank if he'd been wearing a name tag.

Hank shifted awkwardly, his eyes flitting around the room before landing on Mystique. "The serum... it went wrong. Instead of suppressing the mutation, it… enhanced it. I-I..." His voice wavered with that all-too-familiar tremor of vulnerability, the kind that said more than words could about how terrified he was—especially of what Raven would think.

Sarah couldn't help but feel for him. Back when they were all still figuring out who they were, Raven's kindness had been a beacon for Hank. The kind of spark that made him think maybe he wasn't so hideous after all. But no one wants to be a freak in front of someone they admire.

But Raven, being Raven, wasn't about to play into Hank's self-doubt. She didn't see a monster. She saw beauty, raw and untamed, just like the real Hank had always been.

"Hank, you don't need to be ashamed," Raven said softly, her hand reaching out to touch the blue fur on his cheek. Sarah watched as the tension slowly melted from Hank's massive shoulders under the warmth of Raven's touch.

Internally, Sarah winced. This was the part in the original timeline where Erik would've chimed in, snarking at Hank's predicament and setting the stage for the inevitable awkwardness to come. But not today. Nope. Not on Sarah's watch. She wasn't about to let that tension take root.

With a wink, she shot Hank a thumbs up and chimed in, "Honestly, Hank, you look awesome! Like a giant, cuddly teddy bear come to life!"

The room went silent. Every single person turned to stare at her like she'd just declared the moon was made of cheese. Sarah shrugged unapologetically. She meant it. Hank didn't look like some tragic monster; he looked like someone you'd want to hug the hell out of. And besides, this was only temporary.

Hank shifted uneasily, clearly trying to process her comment, but Alex, ever the quick wit, broke the tension with a grin. "Well, Beast seems like a much better fit now, huh?"

The name hit just right, and Hank couldn't help but crack a smile. It was official: "Bigfoot" was no longer going to cut it.

But before anyone could linger on Hank's new identity too long, the reality of the situation slammed back into focus. The Cuban Missile Crisis was still looming like an overzealous storm cloud and every second that ticked by brought the world closer to the brink of destruction. They had wasted enough time.

With Hank now officially the biggest, furriest, most badass pilot they could hope for, the team piled into the sleek, metal jet. Sarah found herself wedged between Magneto and Raven, the metallic hum of the jet cutting through the air like a countdown to everything they were fighting for.

Raven shifted next to her, fingers brushing just enough for Sarah to know it wasn't an accident. And she wasn't about to pretend it was. She tilted her head, catching Raven's eye with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

"You good?" Sarah asked, her voice low, a far cry from the usual snark that'd escape in the chaos.

Raven hesitated, the corner of her lips curling up in that way that made Sarah wonder if there was more to it than just the mission. "I'm fine. Just... a lot riding on this."

Sarah didn't buy it, but she didn't push. "Well, last night seemed like you were handling the 'riding' part just fine."

Raven's cheeks flushed—a rare sight, but Sarah noticed. The woman leaned in, voice dropping like a whisper meant for Sarah's ears only. "You're lucky I like you, or I'd make you regret that."

"Lucky?" Sarah smirked, leaning in just enough to mess with her. "I thought I earned it."

Raven rolled her eyes, but the warmth in her gaze said more than words ever could. "Focus, Sarah. Big picture."

"The big picture is the only reason I'm stuck on this death trap of a flight," Sarah muttered, though her tone softened. A little.

Erik threw a quick glance their way, his expression unreadable, but he stayed silent. Sarah pretended she didn't feel the weight of his eyes on her. She turned her attention back to the window, trying to ignore the tension that crackled through the cabin.

Charles, at the front, kept his eyes ahead, though Sarah could practically feel the storm brewing inside him, the same as the rest of them.

And there was Raven. Poised, perfect as ever, but Sarah caught that flicker of something behind her eyes—unease, maybe? She reached out, fingers brushing Raven's hand in a silent show of support. Raven didn't pull away.

They didn't have long. Cuba was coming up fast, the world holding its breath as if it knew what was coming next. Below them, ships from both sides of the Cold War faced off like a pair of boxers too stubborn to back down. A Soviet cruiser was toeing the line with Cuba's quarantine, a line drawn in the sand (read sea), like it didn't even know the definition of 'self-preservation.'

In the original timeline, they were supposed to arrive with the cruiser still a safe distance away. Now? That script had gone straight into the shredder. The cruiser wasn't just close—it was about to breach the zone, and the proverbial fan was seconds away from getting splattered.

"This doesn't look good, Professor," Beast muttered, his voice tight as he wrestled with the jet's controls. The tension below mirrored the turbulence shaking the X-Jet like an angry toddler's toy.

Charles wasted no time. With a mental push, he dove into the minds of the fleet commanders, peeling back layers of panic and protocol to reveal a truth so grim it deserved its own theme music: the cruiser was a ghost ship. Empty of life. Everyone on board had been murdered by Azazel.

Charles swore under his breath—a rare sight and sound, but when telepathy serves you a platter of impending doom, decorum takes a backseat. "Damn it, they're going to launch the missiles!" His voice cracked like a whip, panic threading through every syllable. Below, the American fleet bristled with tension—fingers hovering over crimson buttons, ready to dance the nuclear two-step. And that damn ghost ship? It had crossed the line, breaking the fragile peace like a wrecking ball through stained glass.

This wasn't supposed to happen. Not like this. Sarah's presence, that wildcard in the deck, had skewed the timeline just enough to throw things catastrophically off course. A delay of mere minutes—thanks to her admittedly lazy ass—had snowballed into a crisis with world-ending potential.

Both Soviet and American personnel were teetering on the edge of launching. If it weren't for Charles holding them back like a telepathic referee, World War III would already be halfway through its first round.

Meanwhile, Sarah stared down at the chaos below, her thoughts racing faster than the jet itself. "I've never blacked out this much tech all at once," she thought. "Frying a warship is one thing, but twenty? That's a high-stakes roulette spin." Still, she knew she had to try. The weight of partial responsibility pressed hard against her shoulders. Her actions—inaction?—had helped pave this mess.

She glanced at Raven beside her, who, for once, looked more like a concerned partner than a calculated tactician.

"Charles!" Sarah shouted, her voice slicing through the cockpit noise.

"Huh?" Charles jerked his head toward her, his brow furrowed, sweat slicking his temples. Controlling that many minds at once clearly wasn't on his preferred to-do list.

"I can deploy an EMP attack!" she yelled, her words tumbling out faster than she could process them. "Electro-magnetic pulse. It'll fry their systems. But—" She hesitated, a twinge of recklessness lighting her eyes—"I have to get outside the plane."

Charles blinked at her, caught between confusion and desperation. "You what?"

"No time for Q&A!" she snapped. "Trust me, this'll work!"

After a moment's hesitation, Charles nodded, the strain of his mental tug-of-war evident. "Hank, open the hatch!" he barked.

Hank shot Sarah a look that screamed, Are you insane? But the urgency in her unbuckled stance left no room for debate. "Pop the hatch, Hank, and Sarah—hit them with everything you've got!" Charles ordered.

With a grimace and a flick of switches, Hank opened the rear hatch, letting the roar of wind and the icy bite of altitude slam into the cabin. The warships below gleamed like sharks circling the deep, their missile arrays primed to launch.

"Sarah, wait!" Raven called out, her voice laced with something dangerously close to fear. "What are you doing?"

Sarah turned, her smirk brighter than it had any right to be. "No worries, love. Worst-case scenario, I fall—good thing I can fly." With a wink, she stepped toward the open hatch, letting the adrenaline take over.

With one last glance at Raven, Sarah stepped out onto one of the jet's wheels, steadying herself with magnetic finesse to avoid an impromptu skydive. "Do, or die, I guess," she muttered to herself, squinting at the warships below. A second later, she rolled her eyes. "Wait, that's just stupid. Why risk it? EMPs are multidirectional. What about the jet? It'll be toast too, right? And jets don't exactly do well with dead engines mid-air."

A cold wind lashed her face as doubt gnawed at her plan. But Sarah wasn't one to wallow. "Hmm, with me and Erik onboard, a safe landing shouldn't be an issue." She paused. "Well, controlled crash is probably more accurate. But hey, better than nuclear winter." Gallows humor had always been her coping mechanism and this moment? Prime coping material.

Unbuckling her mental seatbelt as much as her literal one earlier, Sarah rifled through the chaotic files of her memory bank. "Electromagnetic shielding device... electromagnetic shielding device..." Her lips curled into a triumphant smirk. "Gotcha, baby!"

She realized she could whip up a temporary electromagnetic shield for the jet using her own powers. The only catch? It'd require multitasking on a ridiculous scale. But for Sarah, multitasking wasn't a bug—it was a feature.

"Easy-peasy," she muttered, mostly to convince herself. The weight of the stakes pressed heavily on her, but she shoved the anxiety aside. First, she'd have to create an electromagnetic field around the jet. Then, she'd unleash the EMP to fry the warships below. Two tasks, one Sarah. No biggie, right?

Sarah closed her eyes and steadied her breathing, her fingers twitching as she conjured the protective barrier. Invisible waves of electromagnetic force cocooned the jet, shimmering faintly under the moonlight.

"Sarah! Hurry!" Charles shouted from inside, his voice strained, the telepathic strain gnawing at him.

"I'm going, I'm going! Sheesh, give a girl a second!" Sarah snapped, her voice laced with mock irritation. The truth? She was nervous as hell.

Extending her arms outward, electricity crackled at her fingertips like tiny lightning storms. The blue glow intensified as she focused, pouring every ounce of willpower into her next move. She snapped her fingers, unleashing a thunderous crack as the electromagnetic pulse surged outward in a perfect sphere.

Below, the warships flickered, their systems succumbing to the blast. One by one, they went dark, their engines sputtering into silence. Control panels fizzled, missile arrays went limp, and the once-menacing fleet became a collection of oversized metal paperweights.

The jet bucked violently, its instruments flickering and dimming in protest. Hank wrestled the controls as they owed him money. But thanks to Sarah's electromagnetic barrier, the worst of the pulse was deflected, leaving the jet operational. Mostly.

Sarah glanced down and saw the satisfying sight of sparks erupting from the warships. "Bye-bye, electronics," she muttered under her breath. Without their gadgets, the fleets were as threatening as a toddler with a water gun. How they'd get back home? Not her problem.

"Sarah, you pulled it off!" Charles exclaimed, his voice tinged with relief. 

Sarah leaned back into the cabin, looking windblown but victorious. "Told you I had it under control," she said with a grin.

Raven stared at her, equal parts amused and exasperated. "Under control? You just fried half the hemisphere and nearly gave me a heart attack."

"Details," Sarah replied with a wink. She collapsed into a seat, her adrenaline starting to ebb. "Mission accomplished, nuclear winter averted, and I didn't even break a nail. You're welcome."

Hank groaned from the cockpit. "Next time, warn me before you nearly EMP my jet."

"Relax, Big Blue. You're still flying, aren't you?" Sarah shot back, already leaning her head against the seat. Outside, the battlefield lay eerily quiet, the warships glowing faintly with the aftershock of her handiwork.

"Another crisis averted?"

"Not so fast," Beast grumbled from the cockpit, his expression a mix of exasperation and worry. "Tempestas' intervention came with a price tag. The rear landing gear is shot, and the hatch refuses to budge."

Sarah's electromagnetic shield had done its job—well, mostly. It had safeguarded the jet's vital systems, but the peripherals? Not so much.

Charles waved off the concern with a dismissive flick of his hand. "Minor inconveniences compared to the bigger picture. The American and Soviet fleets are neutralized. Now, we focus on the real target—Sebastian Shaw."

"Underwater, most likely," Erik cut in, his tone cool and calculating. Shaw's submarine was a logical assumption, one that added to the growing list of complications.

Charles nodded and turned to Hank, who was already frantically fiddling with the radar. "Hank, any readings?"

Hank's shoulders sagged as he shook his head. "Unfortunately, this aircraft doesn't have sonar capabilities. That's a feature I'd love to add... if we weren't constantly on life-threatening missions."

"Speaking of sonar…" Charles began, his gaze drifting to Banshee, whose sonic abilities could potentially serve as a makeshift alternative. But before he could expand on the idea, Sarah, now visibly more composed, cut through the chatter.

"Hold up a second," she said, her voice calm but laced with the faintest edge of excitement. "While I was playing EMP queen out there, I picked up on something—a curious electromagnetic signature. It was faint but distinct. My gut says that's where Shaw is hiding."

The cabin fell silent. All eyes turned to Sarah, who stepped toward the now-stuck-open hatch, her windswept hair framing her face like a heroine in an action poster. She raised a single finger, pointing downward with dramatic flair.

"That direction," she declared.

"Ah, yes, the famously precise gut compass," Erik remarked dryly, folding his arms. "Perhaps we should navigate by it more often."

"Don't knock it till you try it, Erik," Sarah shot back with a smirk. "Unless you've got a submarine detector stashed in that stylish coat of yours."

Erik arched an eyebrow, his lips twitching in the faintest hint of a smirk, but said nothing.

Charles closed his eyes momentarily, reaching out telepathically to scan the area below for signs of Shaw. His brow furrowed as he encountered interference, likely from the electromagnetic remnants of Sarah's handiwork.

"I can't get a clear read," Charles admitted reluctantly, his tone tinged with frustration.

Sarah crossed her arms. "Then I guess you'll have to trust my gut. It's never wrong. Except for that one time with sushi... but we don't talk about that, right Raven?"

Hank glanced over his shoulder. "If she's right, and Shaw is down there, what's the plan? We can't exactly knock on his submarine door and ask politely."

Sarah grinned. "Oh, I've got a plan. It's risky, dangerous, and involves a lot of improvisation. Basically, it's perfect." Like Shaw going nuclear, she had no idea how much different things could be now.

Raven groaned softly. "Why does that not reassure me?"

Sarah leaned against the edge of the hatch, her gaze fixed on the waters below. "Relax, love. Worst-case scenario? We crash, Shaw gets away, and the world still ends in nuclear fire. No pressure."

"That's supposed to make me feel better?" Raven asked incredulously.

Sarah winked. "Absolutely not. Now, buckle up. Things are about to get interesting."

And with that, the jet began its descent toward Sarah's electromagnetic mystery, the team's nerves strung tighter than the cables holding the plane together.

...

While Sarah pinpointed Shaw's location, a wave of bewilderment crashed over Azazel on the Soviet warship hurtling towards the Cuban quarantine line.

Just moments ago, every piece of equipment aboard the vessel had inexplicably failed – propulsion system included. The ship was now a colossal metal glider, its momentum carrying it forward with the grace of a drunken hippo.

Azazel's attempts to regain control were as futile as swatting away a hurricane. He vaguely connected this sudden malfunction to the brief, unsettling sensation he'd experienced earlier. Without further ado, he vanished from the bridge in a blink, reappearing within the confines of Shaw's submarine lurking beneath the ocean's surface.

"What the devil is going on?" Shaw demanded, a deep furrow etching itself between his brows. The American missiles should have been launched by now, yet there was an unsettling silence above.

"Beats me," Azazel muttered, his voice laced with frustration. "Every damn device on that ship just crapped out simultaneously..." He moved towards the listening equipment, donning the headset. Static. Nothing but an endless barrage of static filled his ears.

"Can't pick up a single bleep from the other ships either," he added, tossing the headset onto the console with a grimace.

Shaw couldn't ignore the chaos unfolding on the surface any longer. His face darkened, a storm brewing behind his eyes. After a tense moment, he spoke, his voice a low growl. "They've arrived. But how the hell did they disable all the electronics in one fell swoop?"

A sliver of memory flickered in Azazel's mind. "Think I saw a flash of blue electricity just before everything went kaput," he offered, brows furrowed in concentration.

Connecting the dots, it must have been Sarah, a chilling chuckle escaped Shaw's lips. "Interesting development. Leaving her behind was a strategic blunder. Her abilities could wreak havoc on human society… But we can deal with her after we complete our mission. For now, let's proceed with the backup plan."

Through this incident, Shaw recognized Sarah's immense potential. Modern society, while not yet a slave to technology like in the future, leaned heavily on electronics. In the wrong hands, Sarah's ability to manipulate electricity could render human technology utterly useless.

Without guidance systems, launch mechanisms, or even basic communication networks, humanity would be left crippled, vulnerable to the whims of mutants like himself. But before leveraging Sarah's power, Shaw had a more immediate objective – triggering a global nuclear holocaust.

Only after the dust settled, if any humans were left struggling to survive, Shaw wouldn't hesitate to bring Sarah into his fold. Her free will was a secondary concern in his grand scheme. After all, within his twisted ideology, there was a role for everyone – a position to be filled.

He, of course, envisioned himself as the Black King, a fitting moniker for the ruler of this desolate new world. Emma, the White Queen, would undoubtedly stand by his side. And Sarah, with her burgeoning powers, could seamlessly slot into the role of Black Queen– a perfect addition to Hellfire Club.

Resistance, however, was a foreseeable obstacle. Should Sarah prove uncooperative, Shaw wouldn't hesitate to exploit Emma's telepathic abilities to bring her to heel.

Pondering these thoughts, Shaw donned his helmet, a physical barrier against Professor X's telepathic intrusion. He rose to his feet and said, "I'm going to absorb the nuclear reactor's energy. Until I reach full capacity, do not let anyone or anything disturb me."

With that, Shaw strode towards the reactor chamber, a room specifically designed to shield against telepathic intrusions. With his helmet, and with the room's shielding, Shaw was confident Professor X couldn't touch him.

However, a flicker of unease flickered across Shaw's facade. Shaw knew his weakness: while no energy could harm him, he was vulnerable to telepathic attacks. If a telepath breached his mind, he'd be helpless.

As Shaw disappeared into the reactor room, a tense silence descended upon his team. They exchanged wary glances and readied themselves for battle.