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XGO CHAPTER 18
🕑 Added 2025-04-11 10:39:45 +0000 UTCA heavy silence settled over the Helicarrier's deck, the acrid scent of burning metal and scorched circuits thick in the air. The wrecked Quinjet smoldered at the center of the chaos, its once-sleek exterior now battered and torn. Inside, only the occasional flickering of sparks disrupted the darkness, casting brief, erratic shadows against the shattered interior. The agents surrounding the wreck held their positions, their grips tight on their weapons, fingers hovering over triggers. The tension in the air was almost suffocating. No one dared to move.
A creak. A subtle shift within the Quinjet's husk.
With a violent crash, the cockpit door exploded outward, slamming against the deck with enough force to send nearby agents stumbling back.
Before they could react, a small blue blur shot out like a bullet. Stitch launched himself into the air, his compact body moving too fast for anyone to get a clean shot. He collided with the nearest agent, a powerhouse of dense muscle and momentum, knocking the man clean off his feet. The unfortunate agent crashed into a second operative, both hitting the ground in a heap of armor and limbs. Before the others could adjust their aim, Stitch was already gone, scuttling between their legs in a chaotic blur, his unnatural agility making him impossible to track.
"Contain it!" an agent barked, but their words were wasted breath. Orders meant nothing to something that refused to be contained.
Stitch ricocheted off a nearby crate, his clawed feet gripping the surface with ease before he launched himself again, twisting midair to flip over the heads of two advancing operatives. He landed atop a control panel with a mischievous cackle, his four arms snapping into action. Sharp claws plunged into the exposed wiring beneath him, yanking out a tangled mass of cables in one smooth motion. A violent spark erupted as systems flickered and shorted, sending a cascade of error messages flashing across the surrounding monitors.
An emergency alarm blared to life, the deep, droning klaxon shaking the deck.
"Oops," Stitch muttered mockingly, cocking his oversized head to the side as if puzzled by the damage. "Stitch very clumsy."
A gunshot cracked through the chaos, a bullet whizzing past his ear. Stitch's large, bat-like ears twitched at the sound, his reaction instant. He ducked low, then sprang forward before the shooter could correct their aim. More agents opened fire, their shots precise but restrained—no one dared risk damaging critical ship systems. But Stitch was already two steps ahead. He lunged onto a railing, his powerful limbs contracting like coiled springs before launching him skyward toward the upper catwalk.
Below, Nick Fury groaned, his body aching from the residual shocks that had left his muscles sluggish and unresponsive. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself upright, vision swimming for a moment before locking onto the creature above.
A damn menace. That's what this thing was.
"Son of a—" Fury muttered under his breath, fingers fumbling for his communicator. He pressed it to his lips. "Lock down all exits. I want that thing contained, now!"
Up on the catwalk, Stitch grinned. A wide, sharp-toothed grin full of mischief and challenge. His large, inky-black eyes gleamed with amusement as he tilted his head, his ears perking at the command.
"Try," he taunted.
With a sudden burst of movement, he leaped from the catwalk, twisting midair to latch onto the overhead ventilation shaft. His claws made quick work of the metal covering, peeling it away as if it were no more than paper. With one last glance at the scrambling agents below, he wriggled inside, disappearing into the labyrinth of ducts winding through the Helicarrier's underbelly.
A tense silence followed.
An agent sprinted to Fury's side, his breath labored. "Director, do we pursue?"
Fury wiped the corner of his mouth, his thumb coming away red with blood. He let out a slow breath, rolling his sore shoulder as his gaze remained locked on the open vent above.
"No," he said after a moment, voice edged with something almost like resignation. "He's not running. He's hunting."
Deep within the ship's ventilation system, Stitch moved without a sound, his small but powerful body navigating the cramped space with ease. His ears twitched at every sound, cataloging the movement of boots below, the faint hum of failing systems, the panicked chatter of agents.
Stitch scuttled through the vents with predatory focus, his claws barely making a sound as he moved toward the Helicarrier's main control room. The metal walls reverberated with distant footsteps, agents moving through the corridors below, their voices hushed but urgent. Every few seconds, Stitch paused, ears twitching, analyzing their movements.
They were methodical, precise—trying to box him in.
He smirked. They were too slow.
With a sudden burst of movement, he propelled himself forward, squeezing through tight corners with unnatural agility. Then, without warning, he slammed his claws into the vent cover and burst through it, landing in the control room with a loud thud.
Chaos erupted. Agents stumbled back, drawing their weapons, but Stitch was already moving.
"Time for chaos!" he declared gleefully, his oversized black eyes gleaming with mischief.
One agent lunged at him, attempting to grab hold, but Stitch shot forward like a cannonball, landing squarely on the man's face. With a powerful push, he launched himself off, sending the agent crashing into two others before flipping onto the central control panel.
His stubby fingers danced across the buttons, pressing every switch in reach. Klaxons blared. The hangar bay shields dropped. Emergency lights flickered as the Helicarrier's mainframe struggled against the sudden overload.
"Oopsie! Stitch not meant to do that!" he giggled, before slamming his claws into the console. Sparks exploded from the machinery, casting wild shadows across the walls.
More agents rushed in, weapons raised. Stitch grabbed the nearest object—a discarded coffee mug—and hurled it at the closest operative. The agent yelped as the hot liquid splashed over his face, dropping his weapon in surprise.
Another agent tried tackling him. Stitch latched onto his chest, using his sheer strength to push off, sending the man flying backward like a bowling pin, colliding with two others. Another agent attempted a stealthy approach from behind, but Stitch twisted his body in an unnatural way, slipping free like an eel—and yanking the man's belt off in the process.
The agent's pants dropped instantly.
"Hohoho! Stitch see too much!" he cackled, scurrying back onto the control panel and pressing more buttons at random.
The ship shuddered.
Sirens blared.
Screens flooded with error messages.
Then the door hissed open.
Natasha Romanoff stepped inside, Clint Barton at her side. The Black Widow's piercing green eyes locked onto Stitch. She moved with a seductive sway, her expression soft, almost inviting.
"Hey now, let's not break anything else," she purred, tilting her head slightly. "Why don't you calm down, cutie?"
Stitch paused. His ears twitched.
Then he snorted.
"Are you really trying to seduce a 12-year-old?" he asked, tilting his head. "And that too when he's an alien?"
Natasha's sultry expression froze.
Clint, who had been inching into position, burst out laughing before quickly composing himself. "Well, that backfired," he muttered, still chuckling as he drew an arrow from his quiver.
Stitch's ears twitched again. The faint creak of a bowstring being pulled back was all he needed.
"I have super hearing, Belve," Stitch growled, his large eyes narrowing. "I will kill you before that arrow even leaves your bow."
Clint hesitated. Stitch was fast—too fast. He knew it.
But before anyone could react, a different voice filled the room. Not Fury's.
"Alex, we need you here!"
Stitch froze. His body stiffened.
He recognized that voice.
Professor Xavier.
"Rogue's life is in danger!"
For the first time since setting foot on the Helicarrier, Stitch hesitated. His claws retracted slightly, his gaze snapping toward the nearest comm panel.
"Then you shouldn't have left me behind," Stitch said bitterly.
"Alex, we don't have time for this!" Xavier's voice was urgent. "Jean and I are out of commission—I've only just regained consciousness. They used chemicals on Cyclops's visor, and the others are fighting to save her, but Magneto is too strong!"
At the mention of Rogue, Stitch's tiny claws curled into fists.
Rogue—who, despite his attitude, always looked out for him.
Rogue—who sighed every time he did something reckless but never turned her back on him.
Rogue—who was in danger.
Stitch exhaled sharply. "Where is she?"
Before Xavier could answer, the control room doors were thrown open.
Nick Fury stormed in, looking furious and disheveled. "We're already heading to the Statue of Liberty," he growled. "But thanks to you, we'll be slower getting there."
Stitch blinked. "How the hell are you awake?! Next time, I'll give a bigger shock!"
Fury's glare could have melted steel. "And what exactly are you going to do once we get there, kid? Magneto isn't a joke. You're just a casualty waiting to happen."
Stitch bared his teeth. His fur bristled, and his four arms flexed, claws extending.
"Casualty?" He hopped onto the control panel, standing proudly. "No. You're the casualty. I will handle Magneto."
The control room fell silent. Even Natasha and Clint exchanged uneasy glances.
