Silver and black mutation

In another corner of the multiverse, far from the polished halls of Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, Dr. BBL Beasty — The Beast — found himself in an unexpected arena: the Las Vegas Strip. He wasn’t saving mutants anymore. He was calling plays, managing egos, and pacing the sidelines as head coach of the Las Vegas Raiders in the Premier Madden League, the most advanced hybrid of sport and spectacle humanity had ever created.

It should’ve been his redemption. A chance to lead, to inspire, to bring intellect and integrity to a league built on chaos and competition. But two weeks into the season, the brilliance had begun to rot.

The Raiders were 0–2.
Two brutal losses.
Both by a single score.

The media was circling.
The fans were furious.
And the league — that shiny machine of money and marketing — had begun to whisper the oldest insult in the book.

"He’s too smart for his own good."
"Overthinking everything."
"Maybe the game’s passed him by."

Every comment pierced deeper than a claw.

Beast replayed the moments in his mind — the fumble that shouldn’t have happened, the missed call that cost them a touchdown, the league’s “random” review delays that always seemed to go against his team. The math didn’t add up. Something was being manipulated.

Then one night, under the hum of the Vegas skyline, as neon light bled across the black chrome of his office window, a voice cut through the silence.

It was Magneto.

“You believed you could lead them,” the old mutant said, his image flickering in the glass like a ghost. “Teach them strategy. Discipline. Evolution.”

Beast’s blue hands trembled, claws scraping against the edge of his desk. “I believed in progress,” he said softly. “In coexistence. In proving that intellect could triumph over instinct.”

Magneto stepped closer, his reflection sharp and cold. “And what has that earned you? Mockery. Defeat. Two losses and a city that only loves winners.”

Beast’s yellow eyes narrowed. “You think I should become like you? Wage war against them because they don’t understand?”

“No,” Magneto said with a faint, knowing smile. “I think you should stop pretending they ever will.”

That night, something inside Beasty fractured.

Gone was the kind-hearted scholar who believed in peace through knowledge. What remained was something darker — sharper — forged from betrayal and brilliance. He stayed in the film room long after everyone left, the hum of the servers blending with the thud of his heartbeat.

He rewrote his playbook. Not with strategy — but with intent.

The plays became symbols. Codes. Each route, each formation, an act of rebellion against a system that had always looked down on him.

By morning, the lights in his office glowed crimson, reflecting off his fur as he stared out at the empty stadium. The air vibrated faintly, the metal around him bending ever so slightly under his shifting aura.

For the first time, BBL Beasty wasn’t trying to fit in.

He was ready to take over.

When reporters came the next day, they found a different man at the podium. No jokes. No optimism. Just cold precision in his eyes.

A journalist asked if he was worried about starting 0–2.

Beast leaned forward, his voice low, calm — dangerous.
“Worried?” he said. “No. I’m simply calculating how many teams will fall before they realize I’m done playing by their rules.”

The press room went silent.

And somewhere in the distance, Magneto smiled.

The Las Vegas Raiders were 0–2.
But a storm was coming.
And Beast was done being the hero.