NOW
Forty Six. Forty Seven. Forty Eight...
He didn't really know why he counted each step as he passed them, one foot in front of the other. It was just something he'd started doing one day, as a way to escape the pressures the building he exited laid on his shoulders.
In truth, it wasn't the building, or the organization it housed, that was the culprit for the stress the young man felt. No, the blame for that fell squarely at the feet of one Erik Lensherr, current leader of the Mutant Nation, Genosha. The task before the barely twenty year old male was huge, but it was his choice to pursue it; Mister Lensherr never once forced him into his current role.
His role as United Nations Representative for Genosha.
Gomi, the cybernetically induced telekinetic, and his pet lobster Bill, day in and day out, sat through hours of meetings and summits, each day getting a little firmer grip around the political ball of yarn the former Magneto had thrown them. Mutants had been a part of the greater human populace for decades now, yet they as a race had very few rights to themselves. Genosha was an example of how mutants could live and work together with the other nations of the Earth, a direct about face in the way the landmass used to treat mutants. Slaves was too nice of a word for what the Magistrates, the former rulers of Genosha, had used mutants as. Gomi's eyes still stung when he recalled some of the ways mutants were used as sexual playthings. How someone would even think to use a pyromancer that way in the first place repulsed Gomi enough. Yet, none here had raised an eyebrow, publicly, to the atrocities committed to human beings on foreign soil. Everyone was up in arms about the Serbian Racial Cleansing, but no one cared about the thirteen year old with the ability to induce a sensation similar to the body's reaction to heroin or what her former masters forced her to do.
That's why Gomi was there: to make them care about the problems they failed to see until now. Not through force or with threats, but by working within their system, using their laws and treaties to garner his nation every option he could.
It was a mountain of responsibility set atop the frame of a boy barely taller then five foot four. Hence, he required little tricks to keep his mind off the larger problems once outside the UN's doors. The New York skyline greeted him, the spires of the Chrysler Building alight with lights winking at him from the distance. The stress of his life began to dissipate, the weight on his chest lessened, and the kinks in his neck worked themselves out after a few rolls of his head around his shoulders. Bill, with his azure shell, thumped the street once, impatient to be away from the building with all the yelling monkeys. Without waiting for Gomi to finish his nightly reverie, the lobster turned and started the trek toward the car.
Only to have his path hampered by a foot covered in deep coca with a glittering little bracelet around the ankle that the amphibian’s eyes immediately attached too.
"Representative Gomi, of Genosha, my name is Clarice Winthrope," the obvious college student suddenly said in front of Gomi, offering her hand in greeting. Her brown eyes were filled with determination, an attitude only amplified by the wild dred locks of black raining down her back. Gomi was about to respond when Clarice cut right to the chase.
"Let me be blunt, Sir. You have been following the news, I assume. CNN has run a story over the past two days about a section of the Amazon being destroyed and their reporters being detained by local governmental agencies."
"The tribe of supposed terrorists being burnt out of the brush, yes, I've heard of it. How can I help you?"
"They aren't terrorists, Gomi. They're mutants. Genosha is the haven of mutants, correct? It’s time you started showing it."
Forty Six. Forty Seven. Forty Eight...
He didn't really know why he counted each step as he passed them, one foot in front of the other. It was just something he'd started doing one day, as a way to escape the pressures the building he exited laid on his shoulders.
In truth, it wasn't the building, or the organization it housed, that was the culprit for the stress the young man felt. No, the blame for that fell squarely at the feet of one Erik Lensherr, current leader of the Mutant Nation, Genosha. The task before the barely twenty year old male was huge, but it was his choice to pursue it; Mister Lensherr never once forced him into his current role.
His role as United Nations Representative for Genosha.
Gomi, the cybernetically induced telekinetic, and his pet lobster Bill, day in and day out, sat through hours of meetings and summits, each day getting a little firmer grip around the political ball of yarn the former Magneto had thrown them. Mutants had been a part of the greater human populace for decades now, yet they as a race had very few rights to themselves. Genosha was an example of how mutants could live and work together with the other nations of the Earth, a direct about face in the way the landmass used to treat mutants. Slaves was too nice of a word for what the Magistrates, the former rulers of Genosha, had used mutants as. Gomi's eyes still stung when he recalled some of the ways mutants were used as sexual playthings. How someone would even think to use a pyromancer that way in the first place repulsed Gomi enough. Yet, none here had raised an eyebrow, publicly, to the atrocities committed to human beings on foreign soil. Everyone was up in arms about the Serbian Racial Cleansing, but no one cared about the thirteen year old with the ability to induce a sensation similar to the body's reaction to heroin or what her former masters forced her to do.
That's why Gomi was there: to make them care about the problems they failed to see until now. Not through force or with threats, but by working within their system, using their laws and treaties to garner his nation every option he could.
It was a mountain of responsibility set atop the frame of a boy barely taller then five foot four. Hence, he required little tricks to keep his mind off the larger problems once outside the UN's doors. The New York skyline greeted him, the spires of the Chrysler Building alight with lights winking at him from the distance. The stress of his life began to dissipate, the weight on his chest lessened, and the kinks in his neck worked themselves out after a few rolls of his head around his shoulders. Bill, with his azure shell, thumped the street once, impatient to be away from the building with all the yelling monkeys. Without waiting for Gomi to finish his nightly reverie, the lobster turned and started the trek toward the car.
Only to have his path hampered by a foot covered in deep coca with a glittering little bracelet around the ankle that the amphibian’s eyes immediately attached too.
"Representative Gomi, of Genosha, my name is Clarice Winthrope," the obvious college student suddenly said in front of Gomi, offering her hand in greeting. Her brown eyes were filled with determination, an attitude only amplified by the wild dred locks of black raining down her back. Gomi was about to respond when Clarice cut right to the chase.
"Let me be blunt, Sir. You have been following the news, I assume. CNN has run a story over the past two days about a section of the Amazon being destroyed and their reporters being detained by local governmental agencies."
"The tribe of supposed terrorists being burnt out of the brush, yes, I've heard of it. How can I help you?"
"They aren't terrorists, Gomi. They're mutants. Genosha is the haven of mutants, correct? It’s time you started showing it."
Back to Gatefold#21 - "Bipolarization - Part II"
|
48 HOURS AGO
They never showed themselves to the outside world. Being isolated from everything beyond the Amazon's borders was part of their way of life. It was the ways of their ancestors and so it was theirs, passed down from generation to generation.
As were the gifts each tribe member enjoyed, genetic sequences that equated to gossamer wrapped parcels of power. The manna of the ages flowed through their veins, the ghosts of their dead kin empowering them.
One such gifted individual, one who could speak into the minds of others, stood watch on the outskirts of his village, high in the canopy of the luscious Amazon jungle. His name was unimportant, as was his physical make-up. All that mattered was the mental scream of warning he sent his tribesmen before the rain forest in front of him was incinerated in a volley of napalm.
The psychic cry was felt by all, young and old, in the pits of their hearts. They each felt the skin burn and flake away from the dead man's bones, each knew intimately of the danger they now faced. The outside world they'd cut off, by their own choice, had decided solidarity was no longer their prerogative.
One dead, and a tribe of sixty to go.
NOW
To go and do what he was about to do put a foul taste in his mouth. But, she DID like Bill.
Shaking his head, Gomi reached for the cell phone in his pocket. With a flick of the wrist, the phone opened up, allowing him to punch in the number he wished to contact.
"Hello, this is Garcia,” the other end said softly -- the formal greeting she'd used infused with a welcoming tone. However, there was the smallest edge of stress in her voice, something Gomi noticed instantly.
"Bruna? It's Gomi."
"Gomi! How are you this evening?"
"I'm... well, in truth, I'm confused about a few things, Bruna, and I need your help."
"You know what it will cost," she responded with a smirk in her voice. Gomi wondered not for the first time if Bill was just an excuse to see him. And, again, he reached the same conclusion: the lobster just had more play then he did.
"What's going on in the Amazon, Bruna?" Gomi questioned, getting to the point in a hurry. Ever since Ms. Winthrope had confronted him on the steps of the New York United Nations Embassy, Gomi had become increasingly worried about the state of affairs in Brazil. CNN continued its coverage of the spectacle; although, it'd been reduced to mere ten second sound bites by now. Still, images of dead natives had been shown, and other sources had collaborated with the news network to offer up all sorts of conclusions as to what was going on. Gomi had decided it was time to go to the source. He’d parted ways with Clarice about an hour ago, swearing to call her once he did a little research of his own. Originally, he hadn't believed her, but, once he saw the footage with his own eyes, he knew something wasn't quite right about the whole thing.
"Deforestation?" Bruna offered dead-panned.
"Funny. CNN doesn't carry a story about deforestation for two days, Bruna."
There was a sigh on the other end, followed by the changing of the ear piece from one side to the other. Bruna was an aid to the Brazilian UN representative, with her ear pretty close to the pulse of politics. She knew what he was asking; she just didn't want to tell him.
"You don't know, do you?" Gomi suddenly said, the conclusion hitting him before he realized he'd uttered a word.
"No, we don't. Listen, Gomi, I'm not the one who should be telling you this. In fact, you didn't hear this from me or anyone associated with my government. This concerns your nation more than it does mine, in fact."
"So, there are mutants being razed in the region."
"We aren't positive, but there are a few tribes within that area, and one was rumored to be gifted in ways others had never seen. In fact, we have records of an anthropologist, a Doctor Winthrope, making contact with the tribe twenty years back or so. To date, he's the only one to ever see the tribe that supposedly lives in that strip of bush."
"Winthrope? Interesting."
"That’s not all. Gomi, the Brazilian government has been pressured by Roxon Industries to sell that area for forty-eight months now. For four full years, Roxon has lobbied to own that land. And, now, we have a sudden raging fire spreading through the Amazon, and damaging CNN footage broadcasting worldwide. CNN won’t air a rebuttal from our Prime Minister and continues to show the images of its reporters being accosted by Ecuadorian Militia -- people in no way answerable to the Brazilian government, in fact."
"You're being forced into the decision, you're saying."
"Yes. And, we don't know how to stop this from crushing a tribe of natives in the process."
Gomi took a moment to reflect before he replied.
"I think I do."
48 DAYS AGO
"You do have the plans, yes?" the Oriental general asked, looking across the board room at the analyst who'd just hobbled in.
"Hai, Sir,” he replied, holding a crisp file folder to his lab coat wrapped chest, resting just under the man's pocket protector. He placed the folder on the table next to the general's aide and promptly left the room. His presence wasn't required, or even wanted.
"Gentlemen," the general began, as he turned to the other three in the room with him. "Genosha has cost us not only a premier agent but millions in property damage and lawsuits. Retribution is demanded by all."
He dropped the file folder onto the table, opened it, and handed each a small optical disc.
"And retribution shall be had. You have your orders."
NOW
"The order of steel has been received from Africa, sir,” a technician piped up, his voice confident yet youthful. All they had left, it seemed, was youth.
Erik pulled himself from his mental musings before nodding to show he'd heard the technician. The former Magneto, now leader of the mutant state of Genosha, reclined in his chair at the head of a makeshift computer monitoring station. Video relays from all over the island were routed here, allowing Erik and his technicians to review every aspect of the slow process of rebuilding the island nation.
The ruins of Hammer Bay stared back at him from the wall sized monitors. There was so very much to rebuild, and only a few precious resources they could use to do it.
"Has Jackie been returned?"
"Yes, Sir, she transported to Robert's location twenty seconds ago."
"Good, good. See the twins get some rest, we have to move more materials in three hours."
"Sir, you have a call on Line Three."
Erik turned and lifted the handset from its cradle and held it to his ear. "Go ahead."
"Sir, it’s Gomi."
"It isn't time for an update yet, Representative Gomi. Why are you calling?"
"Have you seen the news lately, sir?"
"I assume you are referring to international news, to which Genosha at this time has limited access to due to our.... hampered state of affairs. What haven't I heard?"
"Sir, I believe there is a group of mutants in the Amazon basin who require safe-haven. Over the past four years, Roxon Industries has tried to strong arm the Brazilian government into selling a strip of land that is now the home a raging fire threatening to spread through a major portion of the Amazon. I've uncovered a few things, including mineral deposit findings in the area, at the insistance of a new friend. Sir, there is a vein of Vibranium underneath the area Roxon is so interested in. And, they are destroying some sixty peaceful mutants in the process."
"And, you would like us to do what, exactly, Gomi?" Erik continued as he watched the waves of the ocean lap haphazardly against the fallen stones of Avalon Tower.
"I want to transport the tribe to Genosha, sir."
"Gomi, I'm going to let this infraction slide. Next time you feel that Genosha needs to extend its hand to others, remember how often that hand has been broken, severed, and mutilated since we've taken over this island. Genosha is in shambles, Gomi. She doesn't have the resources to sustain much more. I won't turn away refugees who come knocking on our door, but I will not over-extend myself in order to invite them in."
There was nothing but silence on the other end as Erik continued his vigil, pressing a button here and there to rotate the camera views shown on the main screen.
"So, that’s it, is it Sir? We're supposed to be a haven for mutants, according to your speech. Yet, we're going to turn our back on these people?"
"That's exactly it, Gomi. Good day."
48 DEAD BODIES LATER
"Good day? That's all he said?"
Gomi sat back in his chair, his blond hair falling over his face as tilted his head downward. "Yeah. That's all he said."
Clarice could only stare back at Gomi, frankly too overwhelmed to do anything else.
"Clarice," Gomi began, with the hope he could offer some comment that would make this all make sense to her. However, something hit him before he finished his original thought. "Clarice, why does this matter to you so much?"
"It's all about finding ones origins, Gomi." The young Winthrope had to take a breath, her dark hair moved behind her left ear with a coca colored hand of delicate beauty. Once composed, she looked back at Gomi. "My father is a successful anthropologist. It seems, twenty-three years ago, he was traveling in the area under CNN scrutiny. I was told my mother was an intern attached to my father's team, and that she abandoned my father shortly after he knew he would be returning to America. I've come to find out, however, that my father, in fact, had a scandalous tryst with one of the tribe they were studying. The same tribe that’s now being napalmed to death."
The air was heavy with tension as Gomi fiddled with his glasses, moving them up the bridge of his nose as he contemplated her words. On the table, Bill looked up briefly from his saucer of water, and, without much thought, decided the liquid was more interesting than whatever the bipedals were talking about.
"Are you a mutant?" Gomi asked, his voice a tiny bit lower then before, but not by much.
"I... I don't know. There are some... odd things I've experienced, but I'm uncomfortable saying anything more.
"Sir, this is a political and international crisis," Clarice challenged. "Genosha has been seen globally as a broken and defeated nation. Your leader, that bastard with his oh-so-sincere façade, Mister Lensherr, isn't doing any mutant any help with his somewhat-but-not-quite isolationist platform. These mutants can't come knocking on your door; they can't cry for your help. They don't know of you, but you know of them. Is Genosha, a place that is meant to HARBOR oppressed members of the mutated sub-set, going to sit on its hands while a score of its population are burned to the ground?"
"Genosha IS a broken and defeated nation Clarice. It HAS been defeated, time and time again. We thought we were helping. We were lied to, but, worse yet, we were wrong in the first place. We don't have the right to exact vengeance on behalf of someone simply because we share a genetic tie. It's proved damaging to ALL of us, not just the mutants willing to come to Genosha."
"Who said anything about vengeance? The Avenger's own that territory. I'm asking you to get a group of mutants the hell out of a hot zone. I'm asking you to do something that will force people’s decisions about your nation to change. This is a redeeming action, Gomi. You help them, the international media notices, and Genosha gets some assistance in the long run. You've tried to force your way onto people before, and you got beaten back for it. So, lead by example for once. Help these people. Help Genosha."
4 HOURS AND 8 MINUTES LATER
"Meltdown to all points. Go."
Employing a synchronicity that one had to marvel at momentarily, the four Genoshians readied themselves for departure. Below them, off in the distance by a few thousand feet and decreasing rapidly, a fire raged in the heart of the Amazon. The very place they intended to land.
A mistress of explosions jumped into the air heated by the flames, followed by an ebony hued man of the snow, a beast of orange fur, and a leather clad left-over.
Beneath them, the fires of hell licked at their feet, their air foils allowing them to glide effortlessly into the blaze. Determined to help, the quartet of Angels continued to fall.
NEXT ISSUE: The Transplants story begins.
POSTMARK: GENOSHA
Heh, this thing is a pain to write. However, I'm still trying to get this beast out, and apologize for its tardiness. The next issue will come out sooner next time, I promise... errr… hope. ;)
-ALEX
[email protected]
06.11.03
BIBLIOGRAPHY
- Erik Lensherr addressed the UN in FALLEN ANGELS #19
- Jamie Madrox began teaching two mutant students in X MEN UNLIMITED #23
- Clarice Winthrope discovered her the truth of her patronage in FALLEN ANGELS #20
- China was attacked by the Fallen Angels in FALLEN ANGELS #11
They never showed themselves to the outside world. Being isolated from everything beyond the Amazon's borders was part of their way of life. It was the ways of their ancestors and so it was theirs, passed down from generation to generation.
As were the gifts each tribe member enjoyed, genetic sequences that equated to gossamer wrapped parcels of power. The manna of the ages flowed through their veins, the ghosts of their dead kin empowering them.
One such gifted individual, one who could speak into the minds of others, stood watch on the outskirts of his village, high in the canopy of the luscious Amazon jungle. His name was unimportant, as was his physical make-up. All that mattered was the mental scream of warning he sent his tribesmen before the rain forest in front of him was incinerated in a volley of napalm.
The psychic cry was felt by all, young and old, in the pits of their hearts. They each felt the skin burn and flake away from the dead man's bones, each knew intimately of the danger they now faced. The outside world they'd cut off, by their own choice, had decided solidarity was no longer their prerogative.
One dead, and a tribe of sixty to go.
NOW
To go and do what he was about to do put a foul taste in his mouth. But, she DID like Bill.
Shaking his head, Gomi reached for the cell phone in his pocket. With a flick of the wrist, the phone opened up, allowing him to punch in the number he wished to contact.
"Hello, this is Garcia,” the other end said softly -- the formal greeting she'd used infused with a welcoming tone. However, there was the smallest edge of stress in her voice, something Gomi noticed instantly.
"Bruna? It's Gomi."
"Gomi! How are you this evening?"
"I'm... well, in truth, I'm confused about a few things, Bruna, and I need your help."
"You know what it will cost," she responded with a smirk in her voice. Gomi wondered not for the first time if Bill was just an excuse to see him. And, again, he reached the same conclusion: the lobster just had more play then he did.
"What's going on in the Amazon, Bruna?" Gomi questioned, getting to the point in a hurry. Ever since Ms. Winthrope had confronted him on the steps of the New York United Nations Embassy, Gomi had become increasingly worried about the state of affairs in Brazil. CNN continued its coverage of the spectacle; although, it'd been reduced to mere ten second sound bites by now. Still, images of dead natives had been shown, and other sources had collaborated with the news network to offer up all sorts of conclusions as to what was going on. Gomi had decided it was time to go to the source. He’d parted ways with Clarice about an hour ago, swearing to call her once he did a little research of his own. Originally, he hadn't believed her, but, once he saw the footage with his own eyes, he knew something wasn't quite right about the whole thing.
"Deforestation?" Bruna offered dead-panned.
"Funny. CNN doesn't carry a story about deforestation for two days, Bruna."
There was a sigh on the other end, followed by the changing of the ear piece from one side to the other. Bruna was an aid to the Brazilian UN representative, with her ear pretty close to the pulse of politics. She knew what he was asking; she just didn't want to tell him.
"You don't know, do you?" Gomi suddenly said, the conclusion hitting him before he realized he'd uttered a word.
"No, we don't. Listen, Gomi, I'm not the one who should be telling you this. In fact, you didn't hear this from me or anyone associated with my government. This concerns your nation more than it does mine, in fact."
"So, there are mutants being razed in the region."
"We aren't positive, but there are a few tribes within that area, and one was rumored to be gifted in ways others had never seen. In fact, we have records of an anthropologist, a Doctor Winthrope, making contact with the tribe twenty years back or so. To date, he's the only one to ever see the tribe that supposedly lives in that strip of bush."
"Winthrope? Interesting."
"That’s not all. Gomi, the Brazilian government has been pressured by Roxon Industries to sell that area for forty-eight months now. For four full years, Roxon has lobbied to own that land. And, now, we have a sudden raging fire spreading through the Amazon, and damaging CNN footage broadcasting worldwide. CNN won’t air a rebuttal from our Prime Minister and continues to show the images of its reporters being accosted by Ecuadorian Militia -- people in no way answerable to the Brazilian government, in fact."
"You're being forced into the decision, you're saying."
"Yes. And, we don't know how to stop this from crushing a tribe of natives in the process."
Gomi took a moment to reflect before he replied.
"I think I do."
48 DAYS AGO
"You do have the plans, yes?" the Oriental general asked, looking across the board room at the analyst who'd just hobbled in.
"Hai, Sir,” he replied, holding a crisp file folder to his lab coat wrapped chest, resting just under the man's pocket protector. He placed the folder on the table next to the general's aide and promptly left the room. His presence wasn't required, or even wanted.
"Gentlemen," the general began, as he turned to the other three in the room with him. "Genosha has cost us not only a premier agent but millions in property damage and lawsuits. Retribution is demanded by all."
He dropped the file folder onto the table, opened it, and handed each a small optical disc.
"And retribution shall be had. You have your orders."
NOW
"The order of steel has been received from Africa, sir,” a technician piped up, his voice confident yet youthful. All they had left, it seemed, was youth.
Erik pulled himself from his mental musings before nodding to show he'd heard the technician. The former Magneto, now leader of the mutant state of Genosha, reclined in his chair at the head of a makeshift computer monitoring station. Video relays from all over the island were routed here, allowing Erik and his technicians to review every aspect of the slow process of rebuilding the island nation.
The ruins of Hammer Bay stared back at him from the wall sized monitors. There was so very much to rebuild, and only a few precious resources they could use to do it.
"Has Jackie been returned?"
"Yes, Sir, she transported to Robert's location twenty seconds ago."
"Good, good. See the twins get some rest, we have to move more materials in three hours."
"Sir, you have a call on Line Three."
Erik turned and lifted the handset from its cradle and held it to his ear. "Go ahead."
"Sir, it’s Gomi."
"It isn't time for an update yet, Representative Gomi. Why are you calling?"
"Have you seen the news lately, sir?"
"I assume you are referring to international news, to which Genosha at this time has limited access to due to our.... hampered state of affairs. What haven't I heard?"
"Sir, I believe there is a group of mutants in the Amazon basin who require safe-haven. Over the past four years, Roxon Industries has tried to strong arm the Brazilian government into selling a strip of land that is now the home a raging fire threatening to spread through a major portion of the Amazon. I've uncovered a few things, including mineral deposit findings in the area, at the insistance of a new friend. Sir, there is a vein of Vibranium underneath the area Roxon is so interested in. And, they are destroying some sixty peaceful mutants in the process."
"And, you would like us to do what, exactly, Gomi?" Erik continued as he watched the waves of the ocean lap haphazardly against the fallen stones of Avalon Tower.
"I want to transport the tribe to Genosha, sir."
"Gomi, I'm going to let this infraction slide. Next time you feel that Genosha needs to extend its hand to others, remember how often that hand has been broken, severed, and mutilated since we've taken over this island. Genosha is in shambles, Gomi. She doesn't have the resources to sustain much more. I won't turn away refugees who come knocking on our door, but I will not over-extend myself in order to invite them in."
There was nothing but silence on the other end as Erik continued his vigil, pressing a button here and there to rotate the camera views shown on the main screen.
"So, that’s it, is it Sir? We're supposed to be a haven for mutants, according to your speech. Yet, we're going to turn our back on these people?"
"That's exactly it, Gomi. Good day."
48 DEAD BODIES LATER
"Good day? That's all he said?"
Gomi sat back in his chair, his blond hair falling over his face as tilted his head downward. "Yeah. That's all he said."
Clarice could only stare back at Gomi, frankly too overwhelmed to do anything else.
"Clarice," Gomi began, with the hope he could offer some comment that would make this all make sense to her. However, something hit him before he finished his original thought. "Clarice, why does this matter to you so much?"
"It's all about finding ones origins, Gomi." The young Winthrope had to take a breath, her dark hair moved behind her left ear with a coca colored hand of delicate beauty. Once composed, she looked back at Gomi. "My father is a successful anthropologist. It seems, twenty-three years ago, he was traveling in the area under CNN scrutiny. I was told my mother was an intern attached to my father's team, and that she abandoned my father shortly after he knew he would be returning to America. I've come to find out, however, that my father, in fact, had a scandalous tryst with one of the tribe they were studying. The same tribe that’s now being napalmed to death."
The air was heavy with tension as Gomi fiddled with his glasses, moving them up the bridge of his nose as he contemplated her words. On the table, Bill looked up briefly from his saucer of water, and, without much thought, decided the liquid was more interesting than whatever the bipedals were talking about.
"Are you a mutant?" Gomi asked, his voice a tiny bit lower then before, but not by much.
"I... I don't know. There are some... odd things I've experienced, but I'm uncomfortable saying anything more.
"Sir, this is a political and international crisis," Clarice challenged. "Genosha has been seen globally as a broken and defeated nation. Your leader, that bastard with his oh-so-sincere façade, Mister Lensherr, isn't doing any mutant any help with his somewhat-but-not-quite isolationist platform. These mutants can't come knocking on your door; they can't cry for your help. They don't know of you, but you know of them. Is Genosha, a place that is meant to HARBOR oppressed members of the mutated sub-set, going to sit on its hands while a score of its population are burned to the ground?"
"Genosha IS a broken and defeated nation Clarice. It HAS been defeated, time and time again. We thought we were helping. We were lied to, but, worse yet, we were wrong in the first place. We don't have the right to exact vengeance on behalf of someone simply because we share a genetic tie. It's proved damaging to ALL of us, not just the mutants willing to come to Genosha."
"Who said anything about vengeance? The Avenger's own that territory. I'm asking you to get a group of mutants the hell out of a hot zone. I'm asking you to do something that will force people’s decisions about your nation to change. This is a redeeming action, Gomi. You help them, the international media notices, and Genosha gets some assistance in the long run. You've tried to force your way onto people before, and you got beaten back for it. So, lead by example for once. Help these people. Help Genosha."
4 HOURS AND 8 MINUTES LATER
"Meltdown to all points. Go."
Employing a synchronicity that one had to marvel at momentarily, the four Genoshians readied themselves for departure. Below them, off in the distance by a few thousand feet and decreasing rapidly, a fire raged in the heart of the Amazon. The very place they intended to land.
A mistress of explosions jumped into the air heated by the flames, followed by an ebony hued man of the snow, a beast of orange fur, and a leather clad left-over.
Beneath them, the fires of hell licked at their feet, their air foils allowing them to glide effortlessly into the blaze. Determined to help, the quartet of Angels continued to fall.
NEXT ISSUE: The Transplants story begins.
POSTMARK: GENOSHA
Heh, this thing is a pain to write. However, I'm still trying to get this beast out, and apologize for its tardiness. The next issue will come out sooner next time, I promise... errr… hope. ;)
-ALEX
[email protected]
06.11.03
BIBLIOGRAPHY
- Erik Lensherr addressed the UN in FALLEN ANGELS #19
- Jamie Madrox began teaching two mutant students in X MEN UNLIMITED #23
- Clarice Winthrope discovered her the truth of her patronage in FALLEN ANGELS #20
- China was attacked by the Fallen Angels in FALLEN ANGELS #11