The SUV purred down the long, rain-slick road in silence. The tinted windows let in only slivers of the dim evening light, turning the world outside into a blur of grey and shadow. None of them spoke - not Isaac, not Sven, not Takeshi.

Elizabeth and Isaac's brother were in another vehicle up ahead, probably discussing him.

The tension in the air was suffocating. Even Sven, who normally couldn't stay quiet for more than thirty seconds, leaned back with his head tilted and muttered nothing but the occasional hiccup. Takeshi sat motionless beside him, blindfolded eyes fixed forward, his presence alone enough to make the driver's hands tremble on the steering wheel.

When the SUV finally rolled up to the Fletcher estate, Isaac found himself staring out at a sprawling manor bathed in floodlights. The gates alone looked like they cost more than most homes.

Past them stretched a driveway flanked by trimmed hedges and statues, leading to a house that could only be described as a palace for people who'd built their empire from blood and dirt.

The front doors opened before they even stepped out - rows of servants lined up, all bowing in perfect synchrony. Isaac felt his stomach twist. Nothing had changed. The opulence, the performance, the masks.

They were led through the grand hall, where chandeliers glowed like stars and portraits of past Fletchers loomed from the walls. Isaac recognised each face. The conquerors. The schemers. The monsters in fine clothing.

Elizabeth hovered by his side, wanting to speak - her hand almost reached for his sleeve - but their brother stepped in, tugging her away with a pointed look. "Later," he told her sharply.

Isaac watched them go, his jaw tightening. 'Same old Irwin.'

A maid guided Isaac, Sven, and Takeshi through endless corridors until they reached their guest rooms in a separate wing of the manor.

Inside, everything was absurdly luxurious - soft beds, polished wood, and fresh clothes waiting for them.

Isaac showered quickly, letting the hot water wash away the grime and travel dust. When he stepped out, he dressed in the provided suit. It fit perfectly, tailored to the measurements that hadn't changed much since he'd left.

He struggled for a while with the tie - trying to knot it one-handed wasn't exactly easy. After a few failed attempts, he scowled and threw it onto the bed. "Screw it."

It felt strange seeing himself like this again - sharp and clean. Like he was pretending to be someone he wasn't anymore. Though his face now had stubble and his hairstyle wasn't the most refined, he looked much better than he had been in years.

Sven, meanwhile, looked like he'd raided a high-end tailor and immediately ruined the look by tossing his old leather jacket over the suit. His trademark necklace dangled from his neck - a ring looped through it.

They both stepped out almost simultaneously.

"Now this," he said proudly, "is what I call class with character."

Isaac chuckled under his breath. "You look like a mobster from a bad movie."

"Better than looking like a stressed-out banker," Sven shot back with a grin.

Takeshi appeared moments later, already dressed in his immaculate robes. They were the same ones he'd worn through half a dozen battles, yet not a single speck of dirt clung to them. His very presence seemed to clean the air around him.

"You never change, do you?" Isaac said.

Takeshi gave a slight tilt of the head.

Sven snorted. "Smug bastard."

It was almost annoying how perfect and graceful Takeshi was at all times.

But before they could start the one-way bickering, a respectful cough interrupted them. A young maid stood there, eyes lowered, clearing her throat to get their attention.

"Master Fletcher requests your presence in the dining hall. Dinner is ready."

Isaac glanced at his companions. He knew this wasn't just dinner - it was an interrogation dressed up with silverware.

He could have refused. Could have left the moment he landed. There wasn't a soul in this mansion capable of stopping them. Isaac could easily phase his way out. Sven, even drunk, could massacre a small army. And Takeshi… well, if he drew his sword, no one here would even realise they'd died until their heads hit the floor.

But he stayed.

Because running would solve nothing. The ghosts of his past would keep following him, and besides, he still needed what his family could offer. Information. Connections. Resources.

And maybe, just maybe, closure.

So he adjusted his sleeves, nodded once, and stepped forward with Sven and Takeshi following closely behind him.

The maid led them through winding halls lined with gold accents and family portraits. It was like everything within the manor had to show just how wealthy and powerful the Fletchers were.

They continued onwards until they reached a pair of massive double doors.

When they opened, warm light spilt from inside. A long dining table stretched across the room, set with crystal glasses, polished silverware, and enough food to feed twenty people.

But within, awaiting their arrival, there were only four figures sitting at the table.

The Fletchers in the flesh.

Seeing them, Isaac was calm and composed.

He had mentally prepared for the day he came face to face with his family for a while, and now it was finally happening. Surprisingly, it wasn't nearly as nerve-racking as he had expected.

If anything, it was amusing and exciting.

Isaac exhaled softly. "Right then," he muttered. "Let's get this over with."

Sven cracked his neck. "Cheers to awkward family dinners."

Takeshi's hand rested near his sword, and he seemed ready for more than just dinner.

As such, the trio stepped within, and all eyes were immediately on them.

But as Isaac faced his family, he couldn't help but reminisce about how he got here.

He went from the peak of luxury to what was the exact opposite. He became a lone wandering mutant who had never experienced the world, and his phasing ability isn't exactly flashy or combat-oriented. So how did he end up coming across the Mutant Outlaws?

Well, that's a long story...

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