Domino looked at Beast. Beast looked at the floor.
“Tell the Cuckoos… I’m sorry I couldn’t be their friend. Only their wound.”
Hank McCoy was already paranoid. He had good reason. The last time X-Force trusted him, he’d turned the team into a black-ops suicide squad. Now he worked in a separate wing of the Arbor Magna, designing botanical counter-intelligence. xforce 2021
Before Quentin could deploy his diamond shroud, the clone detonated his own skull. The psychic feedback didn’t kill Quentin—but it scrambled his memories for 4.7 seconds. Long enough for another John to step from the shadows and plant a kiss on his forehead.
When Quentin attacked—claws of solid psionic rage—Hank didn’t fight back. He pressed a button. Domino looked at Beast
“He wasn’t a weapon,” Quentin said. “He was just lonely.”
Or rather, the copy found him. Quentin was meditating in the Moon habitat when a John Proudheart—freshly grown in a stolen Egg—walked through the airlock and smiled. Only their wound
“Sorry, Quentin,” Hank said, wiping green slime from his fur. “But I’ve been expecting this. John Proudheart isn’t resurrecting himself. Someone is printing him.”