Lily's Hope flourished—fields bloomed with Steve-crafted rows, aquafarms teemed with fish thanks to Upgrade's tech, and cosmic-enhanced soil bore fruit under Captain Universe's touch.
Bill stood atop the cliff tower, Clara beside him pruning vines—Lily laughed below, shaping fire into fish with Ellie's sparks—mutants like Lena, Rok, Buzz, and Spike thrived, their powers weaving a vibrant community—hundreds now, safe, fed. Comics' Utopia, a mutant haven—Bill had built it—but peace drew eyes.
The radio crackled—Beast's voice, tense: "Bill, news is spreading—Lily's Hope's a target. Governments call it a 'mutant threat,' anti-mutant leagues stoke hate—propaganda's everywhere—raids are coming."Bill's cosmic senses prickled—comics' X-Men vs. Humanity, fear turning to war—Upgrade's HUD scanned—ships massed on the mainland, chatter buzzing—"Mutant island must fall." "They hate us," he said, voice low—Quadra-Hulk's growl simmering—"for living."Clara's hand tightened on her vibroblade—Lily climbed up, glow dim—"Why, Dad? We're not hurting anyone.""Fear," Bill said—comics' lesson—Homo superior, humanity's dread—"They see power, not people."Lena joined—night-vision eyes sharp—"We've fought worse—Trask—but this feels… bigger."
The system chimed:
"Host emotional state: Steeled resolve. Templates available: Captain Universe, Upgrade, Steve, Quadra-Hulk, SCP-173, SCP-096. Threat detected: Global hostility. Objective: Defend Lily's Hope.
"Bill rallied them—mutants gathered—fields stilled—"They're coming," he said—cosmic voice resonating—"Governments, militias—hate's their weapon. We don't bow—we stand."Rok cracked stone fists—"Let 'em try."Buzz buzzed—"I'll scout."Clara nodded—"We're ready"—Lily's fire flared—"Together."Bill prepped—Upgrade merged with turrets, cosmic energy boosting range—Steve crafted walls—Quadra-Hulk hauled stone—SCP-173 snapped debris unseen—defenses rose, but hate's tide loomed—comics' Days of Future Past, mutants cornered—Bill's family, his mutants, wouldn't break.Night fell—cosmic senses caught it—ships launching—jets screaming—hatred closing in.